Alone? (1/1)

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Alone? Part 1 of 1
For full disclaimers see part 0
***

Whether it was the aftermath of Kalas' quickening or the amount of whiskey
he had consumed during the evening, MacLeod wasn't sure, but he started to
think about the game and its meaning. It was a line of thought he had
pursued plenty of times during his life without ever really coming to a
conclusion, but now he had a first class opportunity to bounce some of his
theories off other people.

"What's going on in that thick skull of yours?"

Amanda's question, combined with her hand waving in front of his face was
enough to bring MacLeod back to reality. "Sorry...just...thinking."

"Must be pretty deep," Joe observed. "Amanda's been trying to get your
attention for ten minutes!"

MacLeod grinned. "Sorry Amanda."

"So - what were you thinking about?" she asked.

"Life, the universe and everything else?" Methos suggested dryly.

"You do read minds," MacLeod accused.

"Pardon?" Joe and Amanda both looked blank.

Methos just smiled and shook his head. "Nope - no ESP here. Just a student
of human nature." There was a lengthy pause. Joe, Amanda and MacLeod all
stared at him bemused. Methos sighed and explained, "Whenever a man gets so
deep in thought that he misses twenty minutes of conversation and a further
ten minutes of a beautiful lady's attempts to gain his attention, there's
only two things that can be on his mind. And since Amanda's here, I ruled
out the first."

MacLeod shook his head ruefully. "I'd call you a cynic - except you're
right."

Methos just shrugged. "Student of human nature - life long. That's me."

"Excuse me?" Joe interjected. "Do I want this explaining?"

MacLeod glanced at Methos, who shrugged again and retreated into his beer
bottle. MacLeod sighed. "He's right. I have been thinking about life.
Immortal life, at any rate." Joe raised his eyebrows. "The Game - the
Gathering...the Prize. What it's all about."

There was a moment of silence, then characteristically, Amanda said, "You
weren't kidding when you said it was deep, Joe. Why?" she added, looking at
MacLeod.

He shrugged. "I have no idea. It's just... One of those questions. You
know - is there a point to it all."

"Kalas."

Everyone turned and looked at Methos again. "Kalas what?" asked Amanda.

"Kalas is the reason," Methos clarified. "After the last...how long had you
and Kalas been enemies?"

Duncan glanced at Joe. "I'm not sure. About three hundred years, give or
take."

Methos nodded. "After the last three hundred years, you've no longer got a
guy like Kalas coming after you. The relief of that is bound to send you
into introspection."

"What degree do you hold?" Joe asked.

Methos smiled enigmatically. "Do you mean at the moment?"

Joe just shook his head. "Wise-ass."

"So," asked Amanda, "what's your theory? Do you think there's a point to it
all?"

MacLeod was silent for a few moments. "I think there has to be. Otherwise,
why bother?"

"And what do you think that point is?" Methos asked.

MacLeod gave a helpless shrug. "I don't know. I've never managed to come up
with anything. At least," he added, "nothing that's leapt out and hit me as
being *right*."

"Well," said Joe, "the Watcher theory du jour," and he smiled a little, "is
that the Game is a battle of good versus evil."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Again."

"Again?" echoed Amanda.

"That's a theory that's kicked around off and on for the last five thousand
years." Methos gave a rueful grin. "If not longer."

"OK, Mr Wise-ass," said Joe, "what's your theory?"

"About the Game?"

"For starters," suggested MacLeod.

Methos shot him a dirty look. MacLeod grinned and shrugged. "I think..."
Methos hesitated. "No. I *hope* that the Game and the Gathering are all one
big hoax. That there is no such thing. That really, all we are is longer
lived human beings - and that someone made up the game in a fit of boredom."

"That's...ah..." Joe hunted for the right words.

"Quite a theory," MacLeod supplied.

Methos shrugged. "That's my theory - you ask, I tell."

"If you think it's such a big crock," Amanda began, "why do you still play
it?"

Methos sighed. "I want to live. I like being alive - seeing the sun rise or
set, watching the waves break on the shore, feeding the pigeons in Le Jardin
de Luxembourg, hearing a child laugh...going out to buy the latest Rolling
Stones album. And I can't do that if someone separates my head from my
body."

There was another little silence as people digested the outburst. Methos,
for his part, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Finally, Joe said, "So you'd want to win the prize, then?"

Methos shook his head. "Not me. I want to live, true, but..." He hesitated.
"There's things I've done in my life that... If there is such a thing, I'm
not worthy to win it."

"What sort of things?" MacLeod asked.

"It's done and in the past now," Methos answered tightly.

Wisely, MacLeod decided not to press.

"So you've made a few mistakes," Amanda shrugged negligently, "so what?
Hasn't everyone? Let he who is without sin etcetera, etcetera. Are you
seriously telling me you've *never* wanted to win the prize? Never wondered
what it would be?"

Methos groaned, clearly wishing they had never started on this topic. "I am
seriously telling you that I've never wanted to win the prize - in so far as
I can remember."

"But why?"

"You mean other than me being wholly unworthy?"

"Yes. You said yourself; the only reason you play the Game is so that you
can live. Isn't winning the Prize the ultimate extension of that?" Joe
asked.

Methos slowly stood up and made for the coat rack.

"You're leaving?!"

Methos glanced over his shoulder, a wry expression on his face. "Adam
Pierson has an eight o'clock meeting tomorrow morning for which he has done
no work."

Joe looked deeply sceptical. "Sure. You're just running out to avoid the
question."

"And that," Methos admitted.

"Aw c'mon, Methos - what've you got to lose by explaining this?" MacLeod
asked.

Methos shrugged his coat on, then turned back to the waiting trio. "OK, yes,
I want to live." He turned back to the door and put his hand on the handle.
"But I don't want to be alone."

Then before anyone could say another word, he was gone.

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