Disclaimer in part 0 ----------------- Duncan pulled his hand back again. Stung by the rejection, he was also relieved at the reprieve. His choices were not irreversible after all. He could say nothing, now, and leave the hurt where he had put it. Methos didn't want his comfort. Methos didn't care, after all. Much more what Duncan expected from a slaver and ruthless conqueror. Long moments passed and even the breeze was still. Sleep tugged at him, tantalizing, but Duncan resisted it. He needed to know the result of his choice. Would Methos just go to sleep? He barely breathed, waiting. Then it happened. Sighing with exasperation, Methos rolled over to face him. "What, Duncan?" he asked. Duncan smiled, though he knew the other man couldn't see him. But he didn't know what to say. The man's crimes were real. Their two-year friendship might have been a sham. Must have been, really, since Methos' true self was nothing like the friend Duncan thought he knew. The friend who risked his life to save Alexa, risked it again to save Duncan... and then risked Duncan's life by shoving him into fighting Kronos for him and risked the whole world by helping Kronos, and who then... Defended Cassandra and killed Silas. He couldn't, he wouldn't apologize for supporting Cassandra. Her hatred was justified, and her pain from simply being in Methos' presence awakened every protective instinct Duncan owned. Even in the dark, Duncan could see the ironic smile, which twisted Methos' features. Duncan had been tongue-tied too long. "Don't worry about it, Highlander," Methos whispered. The wind and the pine trees whispered something, too. Thus released, Duncan slept. He slept lightly however, and woke often. He'd considered posting a watch, but knew his own skill well enough to know that few people lived who could approach their camp without his waking, and now it seemed Cassandra's power of illusion was real. Still, he watched for the earliest hint of dawn so he could be the first one up. Cassandra would realize Methos was there, and Duncan wanted to be ready for her. He dreamed of Little Deer and her son. They'd all slept together, cozy against the cold. In one of his half-waking moments, he found himself pressed up to Methos' back, one arm over the man's shoulders, his half-erect cock prodding Methos' rear. He shifted, as his dream of Little Deer slid into a memory. A pleasant memory, for he'd often had that experience of desiring her while still in their bed, the wrong place for sex, at the time, for beds were so often shared among many people. Sex had been for private riverbanks, and remote meadows. Without moving, he performed one of his automatic perimeter sweeps of the camp, relying more on hearing than on sight, and then settled back into those so-seductive memories. Before long, his half-dreams had him fully stiff, again prodding Methos' backside. He was loathe to move as much as would be necessary, or to remove his arm, as either motion might wake the man. His predicament brought him fully awake, for his erection was well into the stage where it demanded to be stroked. He held still, but his breathing quickened, and he swallowed, hard. Beneath his arm, Methos stirred and tensed, and then his breathing changed. Either Methos also slept lightly under pressure, or something else had just awakened him. Duncan was sure of it. He held as still as he could and feigned sleep as well as his cock and breathing allowed. He prayed that Methos would slither out of his embrace. Instead, Methos snuggled into it. To Duncan's dismay, Methos pressed gently against him, particularly in the hip area, trapping Duncan's erection in a uniquely unsatisfying crush. With one hand Methos grasped the edge of the blanket and pulled it to him more tightly. Anger intruded into Duncan's state. It was bad enough to wake up to find he was embracing a man instead of the beautiful woman he had been dreaming of, but to find himself coddling a killer! Well, Methos was clearly already awake, so Duncan pulled away and rolled onto his back, still feigning sleep. He comforted his cock with an enveloping hand, and then he slept again. Dawn's early light did not inspire him to rise. Blue-gray mistiness crept through the trees, almost colder than the night had been. How could he have forgotten that? Dawn brings only light in the mountains, never warmth. Pre-dawn was the coldest time of day, the forest frigid and damp, abandoned for so long by the sun. Methos huddled at the edge of the blanket where Duncan had left him. The gray light reminded Duncan of the submarine base. He'd been dreaming about that place. Wisps of the dream returned to him. Like his dreams of Little Deer, they were mostly memories. Unlike his dreams of Little Deer, they were not pleasant. He'd been deeply frightened of fighting Kronos. He could admit that to himself. Thousands of years of skill and practice. Everything Duncan had expected to find in sparring with Methos, the legendary oldest immortal, and had been disappointed not to find. Every move, every stroke of the swordfight was etched in his memory. Everything had to be flawless; the slightest misjudgment would have meant his life. And the fight *was* flawless. Duncan's own skill and training, combined with his commitment to rid the world of the Horsemen threat, had paid off. It was, finally, Kronos who had erred. Koren, that larger-than-life butcher of south Texas, who had slipped up. He had let the sight of Methos' betrayal shake him. As Duncan had let it inspire him. And then the quickening. There was another memory Duncan was uneasy with. It was the most powerful, exquisite torrent of energy he'd ever experienced. Following closely after Caspian's equally ancient and nasty quickening, he'd thought it more than he could bear. He'd been so overwhelmed, in fact, that while he remembered calling to Cassandra to let Methos live, he couldn't remember much else until he'd found himself on the road. He did remember the extraordinary, erotic rush that had accompanied the general physical overload. And he remembered Methos in the maelstrom, though he couldn't say what exactly it was that he recalled. He only knew it made him uneasy. And oddly, aroused. He was aroused again, he found. Some quickenings were like that, and these two had been pretty bad. He'd have to do something about it, eventually, he thought. He thought of Cassandra, ten feet away with a bundle of kids. Maybe later, she... and maybe not. The cold would take care of the problem for now, he reasoned. And he had an idea about breakfast. Duncan slid out of the warm nest he'd shared with Methos, and stood. Studying the cliff face, he summoned his memories of yesterday's journey, trying to determine where the rains would naturally drain. He listened, but heard no sound of water. He also listened for human movements, as he had during the night. He felt uneasy about leaving the children for the length of time he would need, but they had two immortal protectors, and Cassandra's illusion. With a parting glance at the huddle of sleepers, he rubbed his chilled arms and padded eastward where he reasoned the natural fall line would be. Before long he was rewarded by the sound of running water, a sound that had been masked by the curve of the cliff. He found the stream -- more like a small river, now that it was engorged with rain. Duncan approached with care born of older cautions than just the danger from their pursuers. Water sources, he knew, were traditional places of ambush for both animal and human enemies. On the other hand, he chided himself, some camping tourists with a vehicle, or better yet, a working cell phone or radio would be a very welcome sight. He saw no one, both a relief and a regret. Upstream a distance, he spotted a good bivouac area -- sheltered in a hollow on three sides for warmth, with a rocky roof to keep off the rain. Defensible, with a clear view downstream, but not very well-hidden. The kind of place they might have chosen for a camp but for its visibility. He started to have an idea. But, breakfast first. Looking back at the stream, he found the perfect broad shelf, where the sheeting water shallowed to reveal the small forms of the plummeting fish before they submerged into invisibility in the cascades below the shelf. He removed his shoes and his trousers, wincing at the cold, both present and anticipated. His pants were still damp from yesterday's rain, but he preferred damp to soaked, so he draped them on a bush, shielded from sight by two boulders. He put his shoes back on and waded into the stream in his underwear. He positioned himself just below the shelf, the frigid water high on his calves, and bent over, watching for his prey. Small trout they were, and Duncan caught and scooped them like a bear would, tossing them onto a boulder on shore. As the second fish flopped onto the boulder, Duncan saw someone standing there. Andre, the oldest boy, watched Duncan in fascination. "Andre! What are you doing here?" he called. "Where did you learn to do that?" Andre asked. "Did you just leave the others by yourself? Did you think that might be dangerous?" Andre stuck out his chin. "I'm not afraid." Duncan snorted, and tossed a third trout onto the boulder. Andre grinned in open admiration. "Would you teach me to do that?" Duncan shook his head in exasperation, but, privately pleased, he directed the boy to remove his pants if he didn't want them to be wet all day and to make his way out to Duncan's side. Andre stood rigid beside him, frozen with the shock of the cold, as Duncan caught another two hapless trout. Duncan felt very exposed, standing in the middle of the stream with unknown enemies about, and he regretted that he would have to get breakfast as quickly as possible, so he wouldn't have time to give Andre much instruction. Still, after ten minutes, they had a catch of twenty-one palm-sized trout, and two of them were Andre's catch. "Enough," Duncan said. "Let's get out!" Shivering, they redressed, and Duncan let a proud Andre bring breakfast to the group, carried before him in his shirt. "Where did you learn to do that?" Andre asked again. "Japan," Duncan replied. A few of the children were awake by a newly flaming fire, watching the adults. Behind the children, Cassandra stood, fists clenched, between Methos and Sarah. Sarah sat against a rock near the fire, Genevieve's arm around her shoulders. Sarah turned a tear-streaked face toward Duncan, though the two elder immortals gave his approach not a glance. "What's going on?" he asked the adults, trying to sound lighter than he felt. "Duncan," Cassandra said, "I thought I made it clear I don't want this monster anywhere near the children." "Adam," Sarah cried, sounding more mournful than demanding. "I want Adam." Methos stood resolute before Cassandra. By daylight it seemed impossible that he could not see the fire and the children, but he never even glanced at Sarah. “Cassandra, I want you to let Adam in.” “No!” "Did you even notice," Duncan asked, "that Andre was missing?" Both immortals regarded him stony-faced, though anger smoldered in Cassandra's eyes, and something flickered in Methos'. Methos looked at the boy with Duncan with a slightly startled expression. “Andre,” Duncan said to the boy, “take the fish over to the fire.” Methos squinted, watching Andre obey. Duncan wondered if Andre vanished from Methos' view. Methos blinked and looked back at Duncan. "I may be the young kid around here, but I want it clear that getting these children to safety is the most important thing right now. Sarah will need special attention today, and it might as well be from Adam. Cassandra, you'll have eleven other children to care for. Adam stays until the children are safe. I expect adult behavior from those of us who are adults. Is that clear?" Cassandra gave him a furious look. “And what are you doing?” she asked. “I” he said with some satisfaction, “will eliminate the threat. Now, let him in.” “Adam,” Sarah called. Tight-lipped, Cassandra turned a glare on Methos. “Go to her,” she spat. “Hurt her and I will rip you apart.” Methos again looked startled, viewing the cleft, the children, and the fire-ring. Duncan felt a thrill of awe at this further evidence that the illusion was real. Methos flowed into Sarah like water when a dam has burst. "Adam, why didn't you come? I wanted you to come, " Sarah said. "I wanted to, Sarah, I'm sorry. I wanted to." Methos slid his lanky frame around the girl, supporting her back against his arm and shoulder. Genevieve yielded her place to him, and stood uncertainly. "I tried to hold on," Sarah told him. "But you were so slippery." She sniffled. Satisfied for the moment, Duncan gave some thought to his plan. He would need the blankets, and some rope. The tarpaulin bag had a solid rope for a drawstring at the mouth, but he would need more. He decided to cut the entire bag into strips. “I'm so sorry," Methos said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Was it very scary?" "Cassandra said I could have been killed! I fell..." Sarah paused. Her voice held horror and awe. "But you weren't. You'll be all right. We'll all be out of here by tomorrow. Can I see your arm?" "No! It hurts if I move it." "Okay, we'll leave it where it is. I'm sure Cassandra set it just fine. You'll be fine." "Adam is that true, what she said?" Cassandra was at the fire, showing the children how to prepare the fish, but she and the children quieted, listening to this conversation. Duncan, too, was riveted, but tried not to appear to be listening. "It was a very very long time ago," Methos answered her. "I don't do that anymore." Cassandra whirled to face the fire so her back was to Methos. Unable to resist, Duncan looked up from slicing the bag. Sarah was nestled trustingly against Methos' chest, but she had leaned back to look at him when she asked her question. The other children fidgeted, but listened, rapt. "Did you kill kids?" Sarah asked. Duncan looked at Cassandra and saw her close her eyes. He wished he could spare her this. All she had to do was move farther away, into the forest, but Duncan knew she wouldn't dare leave Sarah unprotected from the murderer who had somehow captured the child's heart. It saddened him to realize that she didn't trust him to protect the children - not from Methos. She had to stay. "Everyone, Sarah. Kids, too." Duncan didn't want to hear this. Maybe he should move away. He hadn't wanted to hear Methos' admissions before, either. The anger in his heart was an old friend. Women and children. Unarmed men. *Thousands.* He suddenly felt wickedly glad that, if Cassandra had to go through this, so did Methos. *Not so easy to avoid a child's questions, is it?* Particularly not if you want her to trust you. "Why?" Sarah asked. *Yeah, Methos, why?* "There's no good answer for that." Oh, Methos was definitely not enjoying this. "But I don't do that anymore. I would never hurt you, Sarah. Please believe me." Duncan caught his breath. Cassandra went very still. Even the forest life seemed to quieten. "Did you go to jail?" Sarah asked. "What? No." "Are the police looking for you?" Methos paused before answering. "No, Sarah, it was so long ago the police don't know about it." Methos began to sound exasperated. Duncan sneaked another look, and smiled at Methos' incredulous expression. His smile faded at her next question. "Did God punish you?" "What do you mean?" Methos asked. "Mother says even if you don't go to jail, God still punishes you." Methos looked stunned. If he had been conscious of his eavesdroppers before, his world was now only Sarah. "Did God punish you?" she persisted. Duncan began to fear that Methos would never answer. He feared it because he couldn't hold his breath forever, and Cassandra looked ready to collapse. "Yes, He did," Methos said, low. "What did He do to you?" Would this never end? What in the hell would Methos say to that? Methos moved slowly to position his mouth next to Sarah's ear. She tilted her head to listen as he said something to only her. Then he sat back up and they regarded each other soberly for a long moment. "Now no more questions, Sarah, please. Here, I brought some willow bark." He produced a shaving of bark and began to scrape the inside of it with his fingernails. "I want you to eat this. They make aspirin from it." "Ew!" she cried. "I'm not eating bark!" _________________________________________________________________ Express yourself instantly with MSN Messenger! Download today - it's FREE! http://messenger.msn.click-url.com/go/onm00200471ave/direct/01/