XOVER: Changing of the Guard 4: The Road To Hammelcar [PG13] 16/19
ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Tue, 25 Dec 2001 09:28:38 -0600
Notes and disclaimers in part 0/19
Chapter 17
The bed was soft and inviting, the woman equally so. But even so, it wasn't
working.
Methos had raped and pillaged with the best of them. Yet now, suddenly --
inexplicably -- he found himself impotent. Well, maybe not as inexplicable
as all that, he thought as he gave up, rolling onto his side with a soft
growl of frustration.
His plan, such as it was, had been to use his Quickening as a weapon. When
the moment came, just as the bracelets began to channel and merge their
energies, unlocking them from each other, he'd intended to blast Quinta with
the entire force of his focused Quickening. His one hope had been to
inundate her synapses and overload the neural pathways. No real damage, she
just wouldn't remember much of anything she received from his memories. She
might even forget he existed entirely. At this point though, none of that
seemed likely.
"Husband?"
Methos closed his eyes and finally let the anger take him. One hard right to
the jaw and his not so blushing bride was unconscious. He glanced at Quinta
briefly and sighed. He had but one option left, he knew. The head or the
hand. Neither appealed to him remotely. First, on the grounds that maiming
any Immortal like that went against the grain. And second, because she'd
come after him -- even if it took her centuries to do it.
Which means, you sentimental fool, you've only one choice.
Grimly, Methos reached beneath the bed to where Jack had hidden his sword.
With a soft, sad sigh Methos raised the blade. "Sorry, Ninta. But when it
comes down to a choice between you or me, it's always going to be..."
***
"Jack!"
O'Neill heard the muffled shout through the door and gave the order.
"Now!"
In less than a minute a dozen Ishri guards were down and the strike force
was hauling bodies into a room off the corridor.
"We'll keep an eye on things here," Bear nodded. "Darieux, Philipson," he
ordered as Jack paused near the door. "Go with him."
O'Neill's lips thinned for a moment, but he finally nodded. Methos would
need good stalwart friends beside him in the next few minutes.
The room was romantically dim as they entered to find Methos kneeling on the
bed, a sheet tucked around his hips, sword laid lightly across Quinta's
neck. She stared up at him silently, seemingly frozen at the shock of his
betrayal.
"I can't," Methos whispered softly, a stunned expression on his face. "I
can't do... Anything!"
O'Neill went over and gently laid his hand over Methos'. "I never thought
you could," he said quietly as he took away the blade and handed it to
Amanda for safekeeping. "Airman Philipson," he ordered tersely. "Hold her
for me."
"Jack!" Methos hissed.
Alexander came forward, easing his blade from its sheath. "I'll do it," he
said, eyes grimly focused on the woman in bed.
"It's not your job, Airman," O'Neill said bluntly.
"Jack!" Methos called again. "I don't want her dead! Please, there's got to
be another way. We could take her back with us. Let Carter try--"
"And the entire Ishri fleet comes charging through hyper-space to rescue
their Supreme Leader?" O'Neill shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but this
is the way it has to be."
"Jack..." Methos pleaded.
"You're forgetting something, Captain Pierson." O'Neill breathed deeply
through his nose and looked away. "It never was your decision to make."
There it was, Methos thought with a vague sense of relief. All of the moral
questions, all the agonizing choices, all the responsibility taken neatly
away.
"Methos!" Quinta squeaked nervously as Alexander coldly moved to hold her
steady. "What are you doing? You would let this mortal kill me?"
He shook his head sadly. "I'm not in charge here, Ninta. Never have been.
Sorry."
"But you are..."
"Nobody and nothing!" he told her harshly. "I'm just a man, Ninta! I'm
sorry."
"But..."
"Enough!" Jack ordered tightly as he drew his dress sword and pressed it to
her throat.
"Wait!" Amanda called and O'Neill looked ready to burst with fury. "Let me s
ee that edge."
A little surprised, O'Neill offered her the hilt.
"What I thought," she muttered after a cursory glance. "Serviceable, but..."
With a sigh, Amanda gave him her blade. "Use mine instead -- and make it
clean."
"Yes," Methos agreed softly. "One stroke, Jack. Please."
"One stroke," O'Neill told him gently, then pressed his shoulder, forcing
Methos to turn away. The Immortal nodded, shifting so that he knelt as far
from Quinta as he could manage with his arm stretched out behind him.
"Carter. Daniel," O'Neill ordered quietly. "Now would be a really good time
to go away."
Without a word they left and Amanda went to kneel beside Methos, laying a
strong arm around his bowed back as she pressed his head against her cheek.
"Courage, old friend," she whispered as she felt his silent sobbing. "Be
brave."
"This probably isn't a good time," Alexander suddenly interjected as he held
Quinta's shoulders to the bed. "But who gets her...? You know," he nodded.
"As soon as it's...done," came Methos' choked response. "You all move away.
I want to try something...different."
There was silence then as Jack steeled his thoughts, reminding himself of
all the reasons he needed to do this thing. Finally, he looked at Alexander
and nodded.
Quinta surged up on the bed, screaming as she tried to reach Methos, but the
blade rose and fell, so swift and nearly silent that she hardly had time to
move, let alone do any damage. Her body fell hard against his back and as
her head hit the floor he shuddered, pushing Amanda away. Then Methos sensed
her Quickening, as powerful as his, coiling behind him and he turned to face
Quinta's rage.
Empty... Empty...
Her mind pummeled against his even as Methos felt his wrist come free.
Nothing but emptiness and an all-consuming need -- even blurred as it was by
her overpowering rage. Then the images started flowing and he refused to
accept only this as his penalty, answering her with his own life instead and
the sense of sorrow he felt for her death.
Wave after wave of images pounded into her as their Quickenings joined and
warred. Blood, death, hate, fury and despair rocked the room, until Quinta's
mind finally reeled with the shock of it.
It was too much, and yet more kept coming. There was madness and pain,
slavery and worse, the whole gamut of a life lived on the edge of a blade.
She killed and fought and died as Methos -- and alongside him as with every
fleeting image she sensed the agony of his being. She struggled for release.
Tried to unwind her energies from his, but Methos held fast, suddenly
filling her with better things.
Love, laughter, friendship and the joy of simply existing. Lifetime after
lifetime of myriad experiences, including this one, and the pain he felt at
losing his only link to his distantly remembered family. Until at last
Quinta's mind quieted, and he felt her puzzlement, her shock and of all
things, her interest in living.
You are not nothing, Quinta's mind whispered reverently.
Methos bowed his head. "I have lived," he answered sadly. "Not always well,
but a life all the same."
And I have done so little that I am...
Empty!
The pain of her silent cry nearly undid Methos. "You can change that," he
insisted.
Change...
The word was a question that Methos tried to answer. "Change. Begin again. A
new life. A new place."
Yes... Again...
Methos sighed and raised his head, reaching up to gently touch his fingers
to the light that was Quinta's Quickening. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I
wish..."
Thank you, brother. And I will change. I promise. I shall follow your
example closely...
Methos' eyes went wide as he felt Quinta's Quickening begin to dissipate.
"My example?" he muttered. "Which example? Ninta?!" But it was too late.
"What the hell are you babbling about?" Jack queried.
"She said she was going to follow my example," he explained, hurriedly
getting off the bed. "I showed her my life. My entire life!" he stressed as
he searched for something to wear. "There must be thousands of examples
there. Not all of them good."
"She didn't say which, did she?" Jack grimaced.
"No. And Jack," he added, glancing nervously toward Alexander and Amanda.
"Quinta might have been older than me, but she was younger mentally. No life
experience worth counting. MacLeod's her elder psychologically."
"Oh, man!" He went to the door. "Hurry up, people. We are leaving!"
Methos quickly scrounged a loose pair of trousers and a shirt from one of
the cabinets. They looked like night wear, but he didn't much care. Quinta
was a child. Possibly a very angry, very powerful child. A child into whom
he'd hoped to knock some sense. That strategy, Methos thought ruefully,
might just have backfired on him. In any case, he didn't plan on sticking
around to see.
"Wait!" he said, realizing there was one last thing he needed to do before
they left. He turned and went to Quinta's personal communications station.
"Are you out of your mind?" O'Neill asked angrily. "I said we're leaving.
Now, Pierson!"
"Then leave!" Methos hissed. "I've got Quinta's codes now, and I'm damn well
going to use them! The Ishri are likely to be very cross with us, but I
should be able to link with every ship in the fleet from here and make it so
that anyone who tries to follow us will self-destruct. By the time they
figure it out, if they do, we'll be long gone. Hopefully, they'll be too
busy with the Goa'uld to want to risk losing the rest of the fleet."
"Sweet," Jack nodded. "I think we can take a minute for that. Several in
fact."
It took exactly three. By the time he was done, O'Neill had contacted
Teal'c, briefed the strike force, and laid out an escape route similar to
the one he and Methos had taken on their first visit here. There was no
opportunity for chatter this time. And even if there had been, neither
Methos nor Jack was in the mood for diverting conversation.
They made it down to the hanger bay without incident, where the Ishri guards
on duty didn't question Methos when he told them they were leaving. There
had been no alarm and no orders countermanding his, so they weren't
particularly concerned. Especially since, to their minds, he was their
co-Supreme Leader. Or something to that effect, Methos vaguely acknowledged.
It was good to see Teal'c again, patiently waiting and alert, so that only
moments after they boarded the shuttle, they were free of Quinta's flagship.
Still, it wasn't until they finally entered hyper-space that Methos sat back
in his seat and heaved a sigh of relief.
"I need to change," he muttered to no one in particular as he stood.
O'Neill ignored him and he turned away, hurt, yet understanding the man's
reticence. It could not have been easy to make the decision to kill Quinta.
Or, maybe it had been, but knowing she was Methos' only family must have
been hard on Jack. And yes, he admitted silently as Sergeant Bear took
charge and directed him below decks to where their gear had been stowed, he
was broken hearted to have lost her. He would have liked to have had a
sister, even for just a little while.
Methos was just finishing his shower -- and heaven bless the Tok'ra for
thinking of such mundane things -- when MacLeod came in. Methos heaved a
quiet sigh of despair at the Highlander's expression. The, "I am suffering
with deep, soulful and profoundly spiritual questions, and you, O Great
Fount of Wisdom, must help me find the true path to everlasting
enlightenment -- or else!" expression. On the other hand, Methos thought as
MacLeod gazed at him in silence, it might be one of those, "I feel your
pain, let me share your anguish -- and I mean now!" expressions. Methos had
the sudden urge to flee. Rabid pit bulls let you loose sooner than the
Highlander on a mission of mercy.
"Something on your mind, MacLeod?" Methos drawled as he started to dress.
"Yeah," the Scot nodded. "What the hell just happened back there?"
Methos feigned confusion. "Well, son, we left a really big ship in a very
little ship and now we're going home. Be a good boy and there'll be tea and
biscuits when we get there."
"Ha, ha, ha. Come on, Methos. You know... You didn't take her Quickening.
Amanda said she saw it begin, but then...nothing happened. It just sort of
faded away."
"Oh. That."
"Yeah, that," MacLeod nodded, faintly annoyed.
A good solid question with a good solid answer and he didn't even have to
think.
"Quinta knew what she was," Methos explained, zipping up his pants. "There's
no Game out here. Never was. She wasn't trying to enter me, she was lashing
out in anger. We chatted. She left. End of story." MacLeod looked stunned.
"I told you the truth, Mac. We're not Immortal because we're meant to be and
there's some great purpose to our fighting for our lives, but by virtue of
how we came into being."
"And how is that?"
Methos took a deep breath and sighed. He'd thought Ramirez had covered this
during their training, but perhaps not. Or perhaps MacLeod just wouldn't
believe it unless it came from Methos, fount of all ancient wisdom.
"You know the human brain forms thought as electrical energy, then sends
that energy into various areas of the brain through the synapses and from
there the signal goes to the parts of the body to create action, right?"
MacLeod rolled his eyes and nodded. "Now imagine that all you are is energy.
Pure energy. Energy that no longer requires a physical form to keep its
thoughts cohesive. With me so far?" There was a small nod and Methos went
on. "You have a passing thought or an idea. The basis of its creation is
still energy. The same energy that makes you what you are. And you give that
idea form and substance in order to see how it will play out. Sort of like
performance art. That's how Immortals come into being."
MacLeod's eyes grew distant. "'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word
was God and with God...'" he quoted softly. "It was in front of us the whole
time."
"The Ancients weren't gods, MacLeod. But they did outgrow the need for
bodies. And in the aftermath of becoming...something different, they went a
little wild. Like a kid with a new toy. Except the side effects of its use
were completely unexpected. Hence, Immortals. According to Tok'ra, like the
Ancients our power is cumulative, not chargeable, and, one day, we too will
be able to evolve past the need for bodies. But, we are no less or greater
without one, even young as we are. Quinta knew this," he explained. "Always
had. But like any creature she liked the body she was in. It was familiar
and safe. Still, she didn't need to be in that particular body, or any body
for that matter, to survive."
MacLeod shook his head and sighed.
Methos grabbed his tee shirt and shrugged. "Anymore questions? Or do I
really need to ask?"
"What about Quinta? What happens now?"
Methos was glad his face was hidden behind the material of his shirt as
MacLeod spoke. "I don't know," he responded tightly, smoothing his shirt
then reaching for his uniform jacket. "That's why we're running away. She
was older than me and twice as mad."
Methos grabbed his boots and started to leave.
"You aren't insane," MacLeod insisted, laying a hand on Methos' forearm as
he moved past. "In fact, you really impressed me back there. You could have
taken advantage of that woman. But you didn't."
"Proud of me are you?" Methos asked, his voice filled with disdain.
"Yeah," MacLeod told him sincerely. "I am."
"Well, bully for you, because I'm not!" He shrugged away and headed for the
door.
"You should be!" MacLeod called after him.
"Yeah, well, the way I see it," Methos sneered, pausing at the door to look
back. "I just wasn't man enough to do my own sister. She'd be alive now if I
had!"
He left the dressing room furious with himself and with MacLeod. And he
didn't much care at the moment what MacLeod thought of his morals now. It
hurt. It had really hurt to lose that part of himself. That one last
connection to his past. And he didn't need a young whelp like MacLeod
telling him it was better than okay. So, maybe he didn't believe in the
glory of personal sacrifice, but just now he'd had his chance. One last
chance to give enough of himself to mend the fence and finally set things
right.
He turned a corner and felt someone coming. Amanda. Without thinking, he
ducked into a corner and silently willed her to pass. She paused briefly,
then seemed to think better of it and moved on. With a quiet sob Methos sank
to the floor. He wanted comfort and yet... The idea of being with anyone
right now disturbed him.
"God help me!" he whispered, covering his face with his hands. He'd wanted
to save Quinta, but in doing so he also knew that a part of himself would
have died.
"I don't know what He's doing now," he heard Amanda say softly and looked
up. "But I'm here."
And once again she held him gently, letting him pour out his grief on her
shoulder. Ashamed to have been so weak, and yet, infinitely glad he had been
so.