NEW FANFIC: THE MEETING III 6/6
Vi Moreau (vi@moreaufamily.us)
Tue, 18 Mar 2003 21:15:27 -0600
THE MEETING III by Vi Moreau et al
vi@moreaufamily.us
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A Tavern in Madrid, Spain
1540
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Methos slams down his mug with such force that most of the ale spills on the
wooden table of the [taverna.] "You're putting a lot of faith in this wild
boy from the hills of Scotland. You don't know anything about him!" he
protests.
"You're right. I've never met him. But I know him in here." Eyes bright,
from alcohol or true faith or both, Ramirez puts his hand on his chest. "I'
ve had a vision, and you know I'm never wrong about these things. Maybe the
Kurgan has visions too, and that's why he's after the boy. That's why I
need to get to the Scot first!" He slams his fist on the table.
Methos shakes his head. <How can I argue with visions?> But he knows
Ramirez is afraid of the Kurgan. What sane man wouldn't be? <Let's try
that argument.> "If the Kurgan is after him, then wherever this MacLeod is,
the Kurgan will be close. Last time he almost had you."
Ramirez stands. Although he's a little tipsy, his mental faculties are
completely sharp. "I am not meant to destroy the Kurgan. The Highlander
will do it, and one way or another I will help him."
Methos knows the implication. So does Ramirez. Methos cannot bring himself
to voice it, nor does he need to. It occurs to him that he can offer to go
with Ramirez, to help. But that is no way to survive. "The way to survive,
my friend, is to avoid fights, not go to them," he says, knowing it will do
no good because survival is not Ramirez's priority at this time.
Ramirez smiles. "You don't always avoid duels either, [amigo.]"
=================================
Renaissance Festival in Plantersville, Texas
=================================
Methos sighed. As much as he wanted to, maybe he couldn't avoid this duel,
and certainly not by using Alexa as his shield, or even Ramirez any more.
Hell, he couldn't even bring up Duncan MacLeod, whose name seemed to make
Connor MacLeod more suspicious and agitated. This has got to be between the
two of us. <He has to trust me enough to walk away, or else he'll be
hunting me, and that's the last-->
<Don't antagonize him,> Duncan had said.
<[Suerte y pulso,]> Ramirez would have said. Luck and strength.
The fire roared behind them, and they turned their heads to see the
blacksmith holding up a red-hot iron rod. He plunged it into the water with
a great hiss, then put it on the anvil and started pounding it. Methos
studied MacLeod's closed expression and was frustrated that he really couldn
't tell which way the other man would go. The Scot had a vulnerable
non-combatant with him. Actually, they both did. Methos knew the younger
Immortal was a smart survivor and would not deliberately fight an older,
more experienced opponent unless he felt threatened--in which case MacLeod
would show no quarter, nor expect any. The key was to make peace more
attractive than war. Methos leaned closer. "This is about pure
self-interest: I don't want you for an enemy." <Nor do you want me for
one.>
MacLeod was silent.
Time for a little more honesty. "The truth is, I don't like to fight. But
that doesn't mean I can't," Methos said.
MacLeod made a noise halfway between a snort and a chuckle.
Time to end this little tete-a-tete. MacLeod would either challenge him or
he wouldn't. Methos remembered the Renaissance Festival program. "Alexa
and I will be at the Mockingbird Music Gazebo at three o'clock, watching a
group called Istanpitta. I'm eager to see if they play a single or double
drone bagpipe. Should bring back old times for both of us," he said with a
smile. He walked toward the other side of the blacksmith's hut, MacLeod
following. Then, completely seriously, Methos finished with, "The decision
is yours, MacLeod."
Instead of answering, MacLeod commented, "Alexa doesn't know, does she?"
<What the hell?!> Methos turned to follow MacLeod's gaze. For a moment his
view was blocked by four swashbuckling, sword-carrying swains openly
flirting with three blonde teenage girls. When Methos finally caught sight
of Alexa and the boy, John had his head down, and was shaking it back and
forth. Alexa, from her seat on the ground, was clearly questioning him.
Neither one looked happy.
Methos sprinted toward them.
"Adam, John is upset," Alexa said when he reached her.
"Oh, why is that?" Methos asked. MacLeod had matched him step for step
again.
"He seems to be truly worried that you and Mr. MacL--Connor here, that there
's a problem between you. I mean something serious. Is there?" she asked,
looking at both men.
Alexa was afraid, dammit. So was John. They shouldn't have walked away
from them like this, stayed so long, spoken where Alexa and John could see
them, gone to where they couldn't see them... Methos' mind was racing
furiously. The boy hadn't given everything away, but--
"I didn't mean anything by it," John was saying, looking at Connor.
"John is referring to the fact that Pierson--Adam--and I had had a strong
disagreement before," Connor said.
"From the last time we met," Methos explained.
"But we've talked it out."
"We've straightened it out," Methos agreed. The muscles of his back between
his shoulder blades relaxed a little.
Connor put an arm around his son's shoulders and spoke to Alexa. "I'm sorry
if John upset you; he shouldn't have said anything."
John rushed to agree. "No, I shouldn't. I'm sorry, Dad. And I'm sorry,
Alexa."
"Please, John, don't worry about it," Alexa protested.
Connor squeezed John's shoulders lightly. "No harm done. And to put your
mind at ease, Alexa, I have no quarrel with Adam."
Methos allowed himself to give MacLeod a quick look of gratitude, while John
looked at his father for a moment, and got one of MacLeod's lightning
smiles. Then John looked at Methos and finally at Alexa. "Yeah. Hey, have
you seen the mud show yet? It's really funny!"
Alexa looked at each man's face one last time before turning back to John
and smiling sweetly. "All right! The mud show." She pulled a guidebook
out of her tote and consulted it. "That would be the Sturdy Beggars, right,
on the other side of the park? They're on at four; but now at three there's
a group called Istanpitta who play the bagpipes. Bagpipes are Scottish,
aren't they, or are they Spanish? Uh-oh. The Scottish Highland Games are
on in the Arena at four also. We'll have to choose!"
John plopped down next to Alexa. "We've already seen the Scottish Highland
Games and met the MacBrutes. I've had enough of them. The bagpipes are
good, then at four.what's Throw Up? Haven't seen them yet. Do you think
they'll really throw up? Hey, wow, there's these guys called The Pirates!
What do you think, Dad?"
"It's your birthday celebration. You decide."
"Your birthday!?" Alexa exclaimed, sitting up smartly. "How old are you?"
"Twelve."
"Happy birthday!"
"Thanks!"
"Looks like we'll be together the rest of the afternoon," Methos suggested
quietly to MacLeod. This could be a good thing. Or maybe not.
"Hmpf."
Methos helped Alexa to her feet, and MacLeod gathered up the quilt. He
started to hand it to her, but she shook her head. "Oh, no, the quilt is
yours! I mean, it was so sweet of you to get it for me and it's beautiful!"
she said. "But it must have cost you a fortune."
"I can pay--," Methos began.
"I make you a gift of it, Alexa," MacLeod said, forestalling him.
Alexa smiled and even did a quick curtsy. "I thank you, kind sir."
Methos shook out the quilt, folded it and stuffed it in her tote. "Why don'
t I carry this?" he asked, and she relinquished her burden.
"Thanks, Adam. Oh, John, look," she pointed. "The glassblower's
demonstration." She consulted her watch. "We have a little time."
"Let's go," John said, and the two of them crossed the lane.
"I'm glad one of us won't have to put John on a plane or send Alexa home."
Methos was careful not to specify which one. So far he'd avoided a pissing
contest with the very macho Highlander. He was almost there.
"Not tonight," MacLeod agreed.
And they hadn't set a date for another fight. Done and done. Now,
perversely, Methos dared to go further. "We'll have that [uisquebeath]
another time." <Maybe after Alexa's funeral. Maybe that would make you
feel less manipulated, MacLeod.>
MacLeod looked Methos up and down carefully before answering, "Another
time."
Methos nodded and found Alexa in the crowd of spectators. Her smiling face
was lit with the heat of the wine, her eyes glowing from the glassblower's
fire. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Living without her
was.unthinkable. Methos sighed. "It's not long enough," he murmured.
But MacLeod heard. "It never is," he answered.
Unsurprised, Methos followed the other man's eyes. MacLeod was gazing at
his son.
["Carpe diem,"] Methos said then they joined the others.
The end of Meeting III