“They don’t have any interest in you,” he added. “I was surprised to find out that you aren’t in the top twenty.”
“Twenty. So that’s how many they’re targeting,” Genevieve commented. “With any success, that you’ve heard of?”
“Not exactly.”
“It figures,” Methos said. Everyone turned, and then waited for him to elaborate. He simply shook his head. “Probably isn’t a one of them over three hundred.”
“There isn’t,” Nick admitted. “There’s about nine of the group left—all under.” At this, Genevieve laughed—a terrible, not entirely sane sound. She covered her mouth and looked around, a bit surprised at herself. “What’s that about?” he demanded.
“Outnumbered. Not surprising, is it?” she said. “Twenty very old ones—nine young. You have to like those odds, right? I mean, if you were one of the twenty. With a few thousand years of experience apiece.” Her eyes met Nick’s. “How many of the Gauntlet were there to start with? More—had to have been. And they just kept…losing. And…nobody thought it was…a bad idea?” She had a catch in her voice that was semi-hysterical. She rose, and Methos took her arm. She barely noticed the touch of his hand on her. “It’s suicide.” She shook off Methos’ hand, and went to a window.
The silence that followed that was broken by Nick’s voice. “They’re only interested in you three, now. You, Methos, and Cassandra,” he said, nodding in the direction of the other two, but keeping his eye on her.
“We could wipe out nine standing on our heads,” Genevieve answered, hollowly. “Damn.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Damn,” she repeated, with force.
“You aren’t relieved,” Cassandra stated, looking at her. “It could be over, soon enough.”
“Screw that,” Genevieve answered. “Tell me what part of that sounded like it would be over? What I heard was that we’ve got nine stupid idiots to kill…who are too freaking miserably into the Game to realize they’re just…dying for no damn reason. Or else…they know they aren’t going to win, and are doing it anyway.” She wiped at her face. “For the hell of it.”
“Who said anything about killing them?” Methos began, but that made her turn, eyes flashing with heat.
“What else are we going to do? Feel like inviting them for a peace talk? No—you know better.”
“You’re right. I do,” Methos answered, very deliberately. Genevieve snorted, and turned back to the window.
“What do you know?”
She meant it rhetorically, but he had an answer for her. “I know you’re tired of it. And you know why they’re doing it…and why you can’t stand it.”
She nodded. “Sure. Sure, because you know everything. Tell me that it’s the Game, huh? They are just…playing the Game…and you know I don’t believe in it. And for that matter—you aren’t five thousand years old because you particularly believe in it, yourself. And by the way—I know why they’re doing it, and Nick knows why they’re doing it—and none of the rest of you probably even remember. Why should you? It sucks.”
“Remember what?” Amanda asked. “What is she talking about?”
“You don’t know, Amanda?” Nick asked. “I’d have thought you would, since you’ve had the experience. But I think I do know what she’s talking about. They have nothing to lose. They’ve already lost it. The way I lost it, two years ago.”
“Nick, I tried to explain. You were the one who left. You were the one who ran away. It could have been easier if you just let me…”
“What part of it would have been easier? Would it have been better if you were there when I…cut myself shaving, and almost wished it would keep bleeding, just because that would be more normal? Would you have made me feel less like a freak to myself? Or would it have been worse, knowing it was you coming into a room without looking because I could sense you—the way you had a feeling about me for a year without saying anything?”
“What could I have said?” she demanded. “Just what was I supposed to have said? I wanted to protect you. I think you can remember that—I told you to keep out of Immortal business. It was too soon.” She spread her hands in a gesture of exasperation. “I didn’t want it to be this way. It was supposed to be gift.”
“And I didn’t want it this way, Amanda. I can’t explain it. I was in an accident not long after I left you—a car crash, and I nearly expected that I would die. And as I was knitting together, all I could think was…”
“You should have,” Genevieve finished. “That it should have been something that would kill you. It should be a pleasant surprise, but it isn’t. When you live. When you aren’t hurt. And you have to live with yourself, and look at yourself differently. I would…cut myself. Just trying to understand…almost wishing it wouldn’t work, just once. I tried to tell myself I had some…scientific interest, but that wasn’t it. It was just…horror.”
“Nothing that has happened to me since has felt the same,” he said, flatly. “Some gift.”
Genevieve looked at Amanda, sadly. “I know you don’t want to hear this…but I agree with him—it isn’t always. Maybe it does get better…but where we are…it gets worse.” Her eyes closed. “Like now…I forget. I’m forgetting what it used to be like, before. I don’t want to forget, but I will. I’m going to forget what it was like not to heal. I’m going to forget…a time when I wasn’t looking over my shoulder, or waiting for a challenge, or fighting all the time. And in the meanwhile…”
“It gets better,” Amanda insisted. “Genevieve, you said you were glad you were never given the choice…”
She nodded. “Yeah. But I can think of nine people for whom it didn’t get better. Hell, I can think of thousands…that’s what the Game is. What am I supposed to think? That I’m challenged by people who don’t think they can die? Maybe they do know they can.”
“You think they’re asking for it,” Cassandra said, suddenly understanding. “That they just want it to end. It isn’t that simple.”
“Nothing’s ever simple.” She sighed. “I’m just throwing out ideas. Methos…you’re right,” she added. “I’m tired of it. And it is the Game. And I talk too much…I know you didn’t say that, but I’d be thinking it if I were you. I’m…Amanda…is it okay if I go upstairs and just…rest?”
Amanda nodded. As she disappeared, Methos shrugged, put down his beer, and followed her.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To keep an eye on her. There’s a good reason why she hasn’t slept…are your curtains flammable?” As Amanda looked on with a surprised face, he continued up the stairs. “Best we not find out.”
Posted on Oct 9, 2000, 5:49 PM from IP address 172.134.198.237