Changing of the Guard 3: Be All That You Can Be 11/22 [PG13] xover
Ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Mon, 24 Sep 2001 23:08:27 GMT
Chapter 13
The days seemed to drag on interminably for Methos. O'Neill came
by regularly, though not often enough to make the others feel as
if he were double checking Methos' orders. They knew he filled
out regular reports, just as Major Carter and Sergeant Bear did,
but they never suspected they were being manipulated. And if they
did... Well, Methos soon found things to divert them.
With a sigh Methos finished the last of his reports and saved it
to disk. In the morning it would be transmitted to the SGC with
the rest of the daily reports via the Stargate. He stretched in
his chair then slowly stood up, going to the door for a breath of
fresh air. From the vantage point of the officers' quarters he
could see most of the camp and he smiled a little wistfully as he
watched Sergeant Bear, Bra'tac and Teal'c leaving the canteen. He
still went every night to spend a little time with Joe, but he
never stayed for long. It was painful enough during the day to be
the recipient of cool Immortal glares and stilted politeness, it
was even more depressing at night.
He started to turn from the door, thinking of a shower before bed
when the sound of a jeep coming up the camp's only road caught
his attention. He glanced at his watch. This world had a twenty
six hour day and was about eight and half hours ahead of Colorado
time which would make it early afternoon there. Jack usually
dropped by either first thing in the morning his time or after
work. Unscheduled late night visits definitely meant something
was up.
"Quite a set up you've got here," Jacob Carter said approvingly
as he climbed out of the jeep a few minutes later and looked
around.
Methos nodded absently. He had mixed feelings about General
Carter. On the one hand, he admired the man's will to live. The
choice to blend with an alien parasite could not have been easy.
Humans, even Immortal ones, had a difficult time opening
themselves to others, especially when it endangered their unique
individuality -- the very thing that made them human. Just one of
the reasons which made enduring a Quickening so difficult. But to
spend one's life, even an extended, cancer-free existence sharing
one's every thought with a creature capable of suppressing that
existence without warning and taking over the host's body without
hope of escape required a leap of faith Methos couldn't even
begin to imagine.
On the other hand, Jacob's objectives had become somewhat less
than "human" over time, at least according to O'Neill. He was as
closed mouthed and not the least bit forthcoming about the
Tok'ra's plans and goals as the rest of the blended ones. Which
made him suspect. As far as O'Neill was concerned Jacob had been
compromised and he felt in no way obligated to enlighten the
other man about anything which did not directly concern the
Tok'ra, including Earth's long term goals and objectives. Methos
tended to agree.
Jack climbed out of the vehicle to stand beside Carter and
quickly ushered Methos back inside.
"What's up?" he asked as they went into his office and Jack took
a seat at the desk.
"Jacob?" O'Neill deferred.
The other man nodded, moving to sit in the only other chair as
Methos remained standing. "We have a little problem," Jacob
admitted. "It was...suggested that you might be able to help us
out."
"Really?" Methos responded noncommittally. He certainly didn't
care to be viewed by anyone as the fount of all wisdom and
knowledge, least of all by the Tok'ra, who seemed to think he'd
inherited his father's heroic sense of duty.
"Actually," Jacob went on, unfazed by Methos' obvious
ambivalence. "The Council ordered a complete review of all the
archives related to the origins of the Tok'ra and any reference
to Ancients and Immortals. There isn't much, but there was
something that we thought might help in the current situation."
"And that would be?"
"An ability or talent similar to the Tok'ra's ability to project
thoughts telepathically."
Methos' eyes went wide. "And you think I might have this
ability?"
"Well, it was worth a shot," Jacob shrugged.
"Sorry to disappoint you," Methos shook his head, crossing his
arms as he finally relaxed, leaning one hip against the door
frame. "No such talent here. But, just out of curiosity," he
added. "What makes you ask?"
Surprisingly, it was Jack who responded. "They caught a Goa'uld,"
he said quietly.
Carter nodded. "Goes by the name Kabra'kan. Intelligence says
he's Lord Zipak'na's brother. The Goa'uld we think is responsible
for wiping out the SG teams assigned to recover those alien
weapons your people found. With so many of the Goa'uld alliances
in disarray we believe Zipak'na is holed up somewhere trying to
figure out how to use them. If he does, he'll have a major
advantage in any upcoming negotiations. We'd like to keep that
from happening."
"I thought Zipak'na was dead. Didn't the report say he'd failed
to secure both Klorel and the Tollan home world for Heru-ur?"
Methos asked, referring to SG-1's first meeting with the Goa'uld.
A time when Skarra, Daniel's brother-in-law, had sued for release
from the parasite which held his body prisoner and Zipak'na's
subsequent attack on the peaceful world of Tollana.
"Lord Zipak'na was sentenced to death by Heru-ur," Jacob agreed.
"But on the way to his execution Kabra'kan intervened and they
got away."
"That answers one question," Methos nodded slowly. "But I repeat,
what's the problem?"
"Zippy's little brother won't talk," O'Neill supplied. "And we
need that information."
"Normally," Jacob interjected. "We'd simply try to ferret out
their location from other sources and send in an operative,
leaving us free to extract the Goa'uld and save the host before
executing the symbiote. But Zipak'na's been off the radar for a
while now which leads us to believe he and Kabra'kan have been
working alone. No one seems to know where they are, or for that
matter what size force they're able to command."
"I see," Methos finally nodded in understanding. "And you think
some kind of Vulcan mind meld might do the trick."
"Like I said," Jacob sighed. "It was worth a shot. But if
Immortals aren't capable of it..."
"I never said that," Methos smiled tightly. "I only said I
wasn't."
O'Neill's brows shot up. "Are you saying someone here can do
that?" he glanced nervously toward the window.
Methos hurriedly shook his head. "No. No one here can thought
project, at least not that I know of. It's a rare talent, even
among Immortals. But I do know of someone who can."
"What did I tell you?" O'Neill smiled widely. "Now this really
justifies hiring the elderly."
Methos gave him a thin smile. "I'm old, Jack, not decrepit. And,"
he sighed tiredly. "It's not going to be as easy as all that. The
only Immortal I know of who has this ability would sooner take my
head than listen to me. At least that was the impression I got
the last time we met. I doubt she's changed much, though I have
my hopes."
O'Neill frowned confusedly. "You wanna be a little less than
cryptic right now, Pierson."
Methos closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Cassandra and I
go back a ways and," he finally met Jack's eyes with a sad and
serious gaze. "Let's just say she has good reason to want me
dead. You'll have to send someone else to convince her."
O'Neill nodded slowly and Methos was glad when the colonel didn't
push him for details in front of Carter. "Okay," Jack agreed.
"Who do you suggest?"
Methos rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, she knows MacLeod,
but I'm not sure she'd be willing to talk to him either. He
didn't exactly take sides last time we were all together, but he
did make it clear that he considered me worthy enough to live."
"Worthy to live?!" Jacob sputtered obviously surprised by the
comment. "Who the hell does he think he is?"
Methos said nothing and Jack held his silence. The Tok'ra knew
next to nothing about him and he'd just as soon keep it that way
-- as would Jack apparently.
"It's a long story," Methos finally shrugged. "And," he added
spitefully. "None of your damn business. But getting back to the
point of this discussion... As I recall, Ramirez knows her. Or,"
he amended. "Knew her fairly well at one time. Her chronicle says
they crossed paths in Scotland while he was searching for the
elder MacLeod. Her Watcher reported that they appeared to be
rather friendly. Not surprising given their ages."
"Exactly how old is she?" O'Neill asked curiously.
"Three thousand two hundred and forty-one," Methos responded
without thinking.
The colonel brows shot skyward and Methos winced inwardly. He had
supposed he and O'Neill would be talking later -- now he was sure
of it. Still, Jack didn't pursue the matter and for that Methos
was grateful.
"Okay, Pierson," he finally ordered. "Tell Bear to send Ramirez
over and we'll take it from there."
At that Methos nodded, not knowing whether he ought to be
relieved to have escaped a confrontation so easily or upset by
what this might mean for his future at the SGC. It was one thing
for Jack and the others to know about his past in general, quite
another to come face to face with one of his victims. He paused
abruptly as he left his quarters, squeezing his eyes shut and
clenching his fists as a desperate sense of loss suddenly
assaulted him.
Oh god! Methos thought. He was going to lose them over this.
O'Neill, Carter, Teal'c, Daniel. All of them. He didn't think he
could bear that now after alienating almost everyone who'd ever
cared about him. Nevertheless, he had to go on. He might not have
Tok'ra's strong sense of duty, but he did have a selfish desire
to live. And if they could find those weapons...
Who knew? He might leave the SGC a few friends short, but at
least he'd have a world of possibilities to which he could
return. And that's what he was in this for, right?
Taking a deep calming breath Methos opened his eyes and squared
his shoulders. Reflecting on the consequences was for those who
had choices -- which he didn't. He raised his chin and moved on.
"Best just get this done," he muttered. He'd worry about the
friendless state of his existence at some future time.
***
Methos watched from the shadows as the jeep containing Ramirez,
Major Carter, and her father headed back toward the Stargate. If
O'Neill had been surprised by his recommending the Carters
accompany the Egyptian on his mission to recruit Cassandra he
hadn't shown it. She might listen to Ramirez, but that didn't
mean she'd believe him. Major Carter in the company of her
father, a representative of the Tok'ra, probably stood the
greatest chance of convincing her.
He turned and headed down the path that led to the small chapel
which served the half dozen camps scattered throughout the area.
The chaplain, a pleasant fellow whom Methos had briefly met at
the SGC, was always there during the day, but at night made the
rounds offering soldiers an opportunity to speak with him during
their time off. And the chapel allowed him solitude when he
couldn't sleep, or the safety to meditate without the
unconscious, lingering fear of being challenged. Tonight it would
likely serve a different purpose -- that of confessional.
As usual the chapel was unlocked and dimly lit. With a quiet sigh
Methos slid into a pew, waiting for long minutes as he tried not
to think about how O'Neill might react. Normally, he found the
atmosphere soothing. Tonight it merely reminded him of another
church and another conversation where he'd been forced by
circumstance to discuss the very same subject. He could only hope
Jack would be more accepting than MacLeod had been.
"Sergeant Bear said I might find you here."
Methos inhaled deeply, sitting a little straighter as Jack
stepped inside, taking a seat in the pew behind him.
There was a long pause as he waited and then, "Did you kill her?"
Methos smiled to himself, not looking back. That was Jack.
Straight and to the point. No messing about. He'd always liked
that about the man.
"No," Methos admitted, glad he didn't have to lie. "Kronos did.
But I helped to slaughter her village." He imagined Jack nodding
slowly as if confirming something. "But that's only part of why
she hates me," he suddenly added.
"Only part?"
The tone was neutral, giving away nothing. Methos swallowed hard.
"Cassandra was..." He stopped, seeking better words, but found
none. "She wasn't the first Immortal woman I'd ever seen, Jack.
But she was close. And in those days they were rare. Very rare.
They hardly ever survived their first meeting with another
Immortal. She didn't either, but she did still have her head when
she left us. I suppose that's something."
There was a whisper of moving cloth as O'Neill shifted
uncomfortably. "I take it she was forcibly invited to join the
party?"
"You make it sound like she was an unwilling guest." Methos shook
his head. "You're far too kind, O'Neill. I took her for my slave
because I had the power to do it," he whispered, staring blindly
at his hands. "And..." he sighed. "I used her when I wanted
because I could."
The jury remained silent for a long time, until he finally heard
Jack clear his throat. "Yeah...well... I've seen that world and
you weren't the only one. Not by a long shot."
"True," Methos agreed, feeling hopeful. "And not the only
Immortal here whose ever owned a slave."
"Just the only one with a victim still alive."
He winced visibly. Straight and to the point his Jack.
"So how bad was it?"
The question startled Methos, though it shouldn't have. "You want
details?" he asked rather shocked, turning suddenly to face the
other man.
O'Neill grimaced. "Keep the X rated crap to yourself. I just need
to gauge damage control."
Methos flushed and leaned back in his seat again. "On a grand
scale, not that bad," he admitted, swallowing his unease. "I
killed her several times to keep her from running and to convince
her that obedience was better than pain. Her...training was
brutal but mercifully brief. Cassandra learned fast not to piss
me off and even faster how to please me. Which is where most of
the problem comes from, I think."
"Stockholm syndrome," Jack commented knowingly and this time
Methos wasn't surprised. The military trained their personnel not
only to recognize the symptoms in themselves should they be taken
prisoner, but in others. And O'Neill had his own personal
experience to draw on.
"Classic case," Methos said shortly. "For both of us."
Behind him, O'Neill chuckled dryly. "Seems fair. She pleased you
and you felt obligated to please her. So what went wrong?"
You are far too clever, Methos thought wryly. "Well, as you've
guessed she quickly went from spoils of war to concubine. At
least in my mind. Kronos had other ideas. We--" Methos stopped
abruptly, again seeking the right words. With an angry shake of
his head he went on. "Off the battlefield Kronos never interfered
with our lives. We were free to marry, have friends, buy slaves,
whatever. He would never have questioned my loyalty or harmed
her. But Cassandra was loot and we shared everything we took in
battle. I forgot that law. My mistake, not hers. And he called me
on it. Demanded his share when he finally realized I'd gone over
the top where she was concerned. Cassandra..."
"Hates you for not protecting her," O'Neill nodded and Methos
grunted in assent. "Okay. How long did this go on?"
"It didn't," Methos responded, again feeling that hint of wonder
at Cassandra's audacity. "I never got the whole story out of
Kronos, but she somehow managed to stab him in the groin and
run."
"Good job," O'Neill muttered with a smile in his voice and Methos
turned to smile back.
"Very," he agreed. "I saw her go and didn't stop her, then high
tailed it to the river for a nice long soak. Kronos figured I'd
been there the whole time. I pretended to be angry over the loss
of my well trained slave, but secretly I wished her well. At the
time, I suppose I thought I'd taken a war bride. More than a
little unwilling, true, but also a fairly common occurrence for
the times. Especially when a man spent years in the field. I'd
never planned on her becoming the Horsemen's Whore."
O'Neill frowned as he suddenly thought of something else. "And
this was thousands of years ago?" Methos nodded. "I can
understand her holding a grudge. But she knows what things were
like back then. What folks did to each other because that's the
way things were. So... I don't get it. You're not that man
anymore. Why does she still want your head?"
"I didn't get it at first either," Methos sighed. "I had the
chance to talk to her about Stockholm syndrome but she wouldn't
listen at all. It was as if... As if she'd repressed all the
anger, all the rage she should have felt three thousand years
ago. In the normal course of time she should have worked through
all that. I know I've worked through mine. You can't help it when
you live as long as we do. Other things happen, just as bad or
worse, or good memories take the place of others and the
immediacy just fades. Her reaction, her fury wasn't normal.
"Her vengeance should have been measured," he added, thinking of
how Kronos had stalked him, killed him, and not, surprisingly
enough, taken his head on the spot. Even he'd worked through his
anger over Methos' betrayal and the thousand years of
imprisonment his elder had left him to. "Her attack should have
been well planned and precise if she wanted to make the Horsemen
pay for what we'd done.
"Even by the standards of this time," Methos went on. "Cassandra
has the right to seek justice. I'll never dispute that. But her
anger was all out of proportion for the amount of time which had
passed. The immediacy was still there. So much so it clouded her
actions."
O'Neill took off his cap, roughly rubbed his scalp and shoved it
back on, shaking his head the whole time. "It doesn't make
sense," he said after he thought about it.
"But it does," Methos corrected, "if Cassandra repressed the
emotions but not the conscious memories surrounding her first
death. Learning that Kronos was alive -- then me, as she
eventually did, probably brought it all back. With the same power
and intensity as if it had only happened months or even weeks
earlier."
O'Neill looked appalled. "That poor woman."
"That's what I thought after I'd had time to think about it,"
Methos nodded sadly.
O'Neill stared at him for a long moment then inhaled, breathing
out in a deep cleansing breath. "If you thought about it,
Pierson, then you must have had a plan. You obviously didn't take
her head, and I know you well enough to guess that you didn't
want her coming after you again. So, 'fess up. What did you do?"
Methos grinned widely. Sometimes it was good to be known. "I
found her a competent therapist. Someone skilled in working with
trauma victims and prisoners of war. Someone who'd lived through
similar times and could relate to her."
"And she accepted?" O'Neill looked surprised.
"My help?" Methos laughed. "Not on her life. But MacLeod's... I
stole some of his personal stationary and forged his
handwriting," he shrugged. "Sent a letter to her and the
therapist -- a woman MacLeod also knows -- and tricked them into
meeting each other at a church in London. From what I could see
they seemed to hit it off."
O'Neill nodded thoughtfully, finally relaxing enough to stretch
out his legs and sprawl in his pew. "So she's had some help. Good
work. The Great Satan is proud of you. That was a nice thing you
did for her."
Methos frowned and looked sideways at the colonel. "I didn't do
it for her," he insisted. "I did it to keep my head comfortably
attached to my neck."
But O'Neill only smiled and stood up. "You just keep telling
yourself that, Pierson," he patted Methos' shoulder then headed
for the chapel door.
"Marshmallow," Methos heard him mutter as he wandered off.
"...all soft and squishy on the inside..."