Note first: I only accept honest critiscms, so tell me if it sucks, or if it's decent, whatever. Josh, due to past relationships, is not a reliable source of objectivity(Apparently, he gave wonderful artist an honest opinion when she asked; Josh, unfortunately, doesn't have much tact, and is the brutally-honest-type. Now I can't get his thoughts 'cause he won't make that "mistake" again). Chris, Mrs J, and the few others who've seen it liked it. I'm trusting the Methos/Highlander experts to be honest with me. :)
****************************************************************
Methos sat on the balcony, sipping tea and watching the lights of Buenos Aires. It had been a great idea to come visit his old friend Gisela Krueger, especially after the hell he'd gone through in Paris. His brow furrowed as he briefly thought about it; Duncan's wild fantasy, the odd incidents, Richie's headless body, the constant echo of Kronos' and Horton's combined laughter in the back of his mind...
He shook his head to clear the fog, and focused on relaxing. He'd think of it later, a hundred years or so from now, when the memory was dulled, when the thought of Duncan MacLeod going insane didn't burn.
Gisela came out onto the penthouse's balcony, her modest green pajamas and robe setting off her auburn hair and grey eyes perfectly. She sat across from him, and poured herself a cup. He was glad he still had her friendship after almost five hundred years. Her teacher, Gunter Lehmann, had been an old friend, and Gisela's sweet, gentle nature had quickly won Methos. The younger German woman had that 'little sister' quality to her that the time-worn Immortal found very charming-and very safe. He could trust Gis; she could help him find himself again, figure out where to go and what to do now.
She cleared her throat. "Adam, we have to talk. It's not safe for you here. I've...I've talked to Alynore-"
"Aly?" Methos was suddenly alert. "Where is she? Why isn't it-"
"Adam, please! She called to say that Andre North is on the rampage again; he's begun killing her friends. She's afraid for me, and asked if I could find you. Adam, you now how he is-"
"How do you know him?"
"I...Made a mistake a few years ago. I thought I could trust him...I was wrong."
"Gis, those friends; were they only Aly's or yours, too?"
"He's after both of us. It ties together neatly, you see. His kind is so concerned about neatness..."
"You know? About him and Aly?"
"Not until it was too late. Adam, please, I'm almost positive he's on his way here now. You have to go. Alynore will never forgive me if anything happened to you."
"She'll hate me more if anything happens to you, little girl."
Gisela smiled, almost indulgently. "She doesn't hate you, Adam; far from it. She's just stubborn and full of pride. You taught her well."
"I'm not the only one responsible for her-" Methos froze as he felt the familiar buzz. He almost groaned aloud. North always had been know for his impecable timing.
"We're too late," Gisela whispered, standing. Her sword was in the living room. Methos drew his. Gisela was almost there when the door was busted in, two men carrying Desert Eagles entering and aiming at the Immortals' heads. Methos and Gisela froze.
A sandy-haired youth entered the apartment next. Methos didn't recognize him. But he knew the man who followed. Andre North could have been any age between twenty-five and fifty if he desired, though he was actually about five hundred fifty. He had neatly trimmed white hair, and piercing, dark blue eyes that glared at anything they saw. He was devestatingly handsome, and extremely dangerous. Gisela was terrified. Methos, knowing better how to cope with Immortals like Andre, blocked out any fears he might have had. Andre fixed his wicked grin on the ancient.
"Well, Methos, fancy finding you here. That just makes my job easier."
"Methos? Adam, what's he talking about? He can't mean..." Gisela's voice trailed as she watched his impassive face, the truth sinking in. Methos felt sorry, but couldn't express it. Gisela had trusted him with everything; he knew her worst secrets. She thought he trusted her. Now that had been broken, and he'd probably never get to make it up to her.
Andre's laugh filled the room. The man had always been too loud. "He's a crafty old fox, my dear, though when I'm his age, I probably will be too. Boys, take the lady to the roof. I'll take care of this problem now. As for you, old man...Jordan, I'd like to test your considerable skills in a practical test. It'll also, if you suceed, gain you a great deal of power. Take him down." Andre walked out as the youth pulled his sword. "And in case you have any doubts, Methos, let me assure you that my son can more than take care of himself." The white-haired man left. Jordan grinned wickedly.
Methos backed away, his own blade up, ready to parry. "He's using you, you know," Methos said. "If you kill me, he'll kill you, because that means you're stronger, a liability. Andre doesn't like anyone better than him-"
"Shut up!" Jordan snarled, rushing him. They knocked furniture, lamps, and knick-knacks out of the way as they fought. Mehtos found himself slightly worried. Andre hadn't made an idle boast(but then, he never did); the boy was a natural, and well trained. In a few years, he could give the MacLeods and a few others Methos knew a run for their money. Now, the ancient would just have to concentrate on keeping his footing...
As they made their way out to the balcony, lightning exploded from the rooftop. Energy bounced off power lines, shattered windows, set off alarms. The electricity in the immediate vicinity fluctuated briefly. Methos felt his heart break at the thought of another one gone, a beautiful life ended. He felt rage and pain and gathered his strength. Jordan had been distracted for a second. That was all he needed. He flung himself at the younger man, getting in under his guard, using the sword for defense while his knife slipped in between the boy's ribs. Jordan's eyes widened in shock and pain as Methos shoved him down onto the table, knocking the delicate tea set onto the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces.
"Where's Alynore?" He demanded. He'd be damned if Andre would execute her like he had Gisela, not if he could help it. Too many young ones dying recently...
"Why should I tell you?" The boy rasped. He was frightened; this was probably the first time he'd died since his change, and it could very well be the last.
"If you do, I'll let you live," Methos answered darkly. The boy's green eyes widened at the ferocity he saw in the ancient eyes looking back at him. He swallowed hard.
"Seacouver, Washington...Mt Hope Brethren in Christ...The parsonage...Under the name Britania..." The kid was fading fast. "My dad...Is going to kill you..."
"He's not your father; he's a snake." Methos answered, withdrawing the knife and stabbing it through his heart. Jordan died, but would wake soon enough, extremely angry. And of course, Andre was on his way back down.
Methos leaped up onto the wide stone railing and looked at the dizzying drop. Cars and people moved on the street far below, regardless of the late hour.
Back to Seacouver, then. He wondered just how long she'd been hiding there; had she been waiting for him to find her? Brendon wouldn't have let her play those kinds of games, would he? He was definately going to have to pay his errant student a visit-hopefully before Andre North and his misbegotten 'son' did.
As Andre and his two goons re-entered the apartment, Methos fell. North watched impassively at the stir his landing caused.
"Should we retrieve the body, boss?" One of the men asked.
"No. I know where he's going. Get Jordan and let's go; we've got a plane to catch."