_Here we go again. Yet another Tinat story, find the rest on my homepage

http://www.oocities.org/soho/lofts/6568

everything will make so much more sense that way, plus you'll get lots of reading enjoyment!

As always, huge bits of this story belong to those people at Rhysher (can't call them nice after travesty . . . er . . . Archangel). Anyone they didn't make up (i.e. Tinat, Lillith and people you don't recognize) is mine. Ask if you want to use them.

Some violence and sex and (red flag waving) ** homoerotic content (it is there, you have been warned- if the idea of two guys in love grosses you out, DON'T read this!!)** but not at all graphic as any of that goes.

There is also a major cliffhanger alert that goes with this story, don't say I didn't warn you.

Virtual chocolates and all manner of affection to my beta readers without whom you would have to put up with my grammar and general diffusiveness; Ann Stephens, T. Isilwath, Beth H, Elizabeth K, Attilla the HunE, and as ever Mary R. Thanks guys, without you this wouldn't be the same. Send comments. Oh please, please send comments.

By L.B.

"Unloose me again from this merciless craving:

Do what I long to have done - O my own

Comrade in battle" Sappho

Methos fingered the edge of his sword, watching the lines of blood appear and then vanish in blue lightning. Then he lifted it up, as the ringing Presence invaded his ears. He went to the door.

"Tinat?" he asked hopefully.

"Methos? It's me," Duncan MacLeod called from the other side.

Methos opened it with a tired sigh.

"Is there something you wanted?" He tried to keep the exhaustion

out of his voice.

"Do you always open the door half-naked with a broadsword in hand?

Or were you expecting someone else?" Duncan pushed past Methos into

the small apartment. "Nice place."

"I wasn't expecting anyone at all. Was there something you wanted?"

Methos repeated. MacLeod sighed.

"I just wanted to talk to you. And to Tinat. Is she--" he began.

"I don't know where she is, so don't ask. I'm really not in the

mood for chitchat -- if there is something you need, say so." He could

feel the memories in flashes. Her sitting by his bed watching him fall

asleep. Waking up to the sound of packing. Wanting to know why . . .

after everything.

shoulder. She threw it off violently.

"She's not angry because of Lillith? Methos, you didn't have a

choice." The flashing blade, Lillith's faint smile as she sent it

arcing toward Duncan's neck.

"Oh, I did, MacLeod. I did." He refused to allow MacLeod to wiggle

out of this with his black and white preconceptions. "I owed her a

hell of lot more than--" Than you.

Lillith's cold and kind smile.

"I see." MacLeod swallowed. "So she could forgive you for the

Horsemen without blinking, but for this she walks out the door."

"It wasn't so easy with the Horsemen either, MacLeod. It came to

swords between us. And she was my student." He shut his eyes against

the old memories and managed to keep them away. But not the more recent

ones.

"You still don't understand, Mac." He pushed down the frustration.

"Duncan, you're right it wasn't about Lillith or the Horsemen. It was

about . . . look -- it's not important. You came here for a reason.

Lillith did what she would do and nobody could have prevented it. No

apologies needed on your part." Careful not to mention Byron, who had

also wanted to die. He stood and began to usher MacLeod to the door.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what happened. Talk."

The bigger man rose up and Methos could almost hear something snap

inside.

"Fine. Enjoy the condo." He grabbed his coat and strode toward the

door.

"No. You are not running away from this, Methos. Talk to me."

Methos found his path blocked by the warrior.

"What do you want from me, MacLeod?" He raised his eyes to meet

MacLeod's gaze. A challenge of sorts.

"I want a straight answer. I want to understand you." He held

Methos by the shoulders.

"You really want to know? Tinat walked out because she believes

that what I'm doing with you is another version of the game I played

with Kronos. Are you happy now?" MacLeod backed away, shaking his

head.

"Where is she, Methos?" MacLeod spoke darkly.

"What do you want from her? She is nothing to you." Methos clenched

a fist and turned away.

"I consider her a friend. I want to talk to her. What do you

think?" he said.

"You don't exactly have the best track record with my friends,

MacLeod. What should I think?"

MacLeod leaned in grabbed Methos' chin, forcing him to meet his

eyes. "You know me better than that. Methos, where is she?"

Methos closed his eyes. No is such an easy word, right?

I yawned and tucked my head under the blanket. Somewhere the Iraqi

Army was shelling a Kurdish encampment. Yawn . . . I wonder how much

cash I'm going to have to part with to keep them away this time.

BOOM! Damn, those explosives are getting close.

Then I heard the pounding and realized it was at my door. An

Immortal by the feel of it. I checked the security camera and sighed.

So much for a nice leisurely breakfast. The truth is, I've forgiven

him already. Maybe I have even less bloody self-respect than he does.

"Hello, Methos. I guess you really can't take 'leave me alone' for

an answer. Drag him over that away." Methos stood in front of my door

looking nervously at the unconscious body he had lugged in with him.

Duncan MacLeod had obviously been the victim of one of my little

surprises... hey, a girl can't be too careful.

"You didn't tell me you'd added poison, Tinat. Want to help me?

He's kind of heavy, you know." I took a moment for self-pity, dragged

MacLeod inside, and then reset my security measures.

"Okay. Talk." I led Methos into the kitchen and turned on the

coffee machine. I'd had to install a generator for modern conveniences

because the grids were just too unreliable. You see they went and made

my homeland part of the third world while I was busy doing something

else.

"It wasn't my idea. Mac wanted to talk to you," he muttered.

"So why'd you lead him into one of the booby traps? And don't even

start on how you don't know where they are. What do you want?" I'll be

angry with him later. Coffee first.

"Byron is dead. He killed him." Exhaustion came through in his

voice. I took his hand in mine and knew it was a lost cause. Love is a

game for fools and babies. Guess what that makes me.

"Fine. We'll throw the Boy Scout into the padded room, and you'll

tell me all about it." I reached up to brush a stray hair from his

brow. It was still scarlet fever victim short, but getting better. He

smiled.

"He was annoying as all hell, but still one hell of a poet. Sometimes I

wish our kind weren't meant to die at all," I whispered, fingering Methos'

soft hair as he finished telling about Byron and his death.

"It isn't that. He wanted to die. Gods, my Shemesh, why did it have

to be Mac doing the killing?" 'My Shemesh?', what deity brought those

ancient words to his lips? My sun, my light.

"Why did it have to be you who killed Lillith? Oh, I know it's

different, at least you loved her." A part of me wondered where my

anger had gone. The rest of me knew well why I could not turn him

away: for the same reason I took him in after the Horsemen debacle.

"Will he wake up soon?" he asked, leaving behind the fruitless

conversation.

"Not soon, the poison was synthesized with our kind in mind. These

are dangerous times, and one can't be too careful." I shrugged.

"Now you sound like Lillith. Am I forgiven?" he whispered, laying

his head on my shoulder.

"I wasn't really mad at you. Just think, okay. Know what you want."

I smiled a little, "Besides when I turn my back you always do idiotic

things. What were you thinking, taking Keane on like that?" He smiled

back and I couldn't resist the temptation of just one kiss . . . is

that banging I hear? Damn, I'm going to have up the doses in my

security measures.

Duncan MacLeod woke up in a room so blindingly white he had a few

bad moments considering mortality. But his head hurt too damn much for

him to be dead. He immediately inspected his surroundings, but found

only the padded white walls, with no furniture and no obvious exits. A

more thorough inspection showed no breaks or gives in the wall, the

room could almost have been built around him while he slept.

He felt a tendril of fear. There had to be someone around. Methos...

he had come with Methos. He started to pound on the wall, hoping

to catch the attention of whomever had brought him to this place.

Then he felt the Presence and the seamless wall parted. Tinat

stepped through, a .48 in her hand and a smile on her lips.

"You wanted to see me?" She cocked the gun.

"Yeah, I assume it wasn't mutual." He bit his lip nervously. She shrugged and put her weapon aside.

"I'm here. What do you want?" He could almost hear her calculating

the exact value of his Quickening.

"You haven't been around. I wanted to make sure everything was," he

blushed, "you know, working between you and Methos."

"You wanted what?" I heard the incredulity in my voice.

"You went out of your way to make sure things worked out between me

and Methos. I just wanted--" I couldn't help it. The laughter pealed

out of me. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod playing matchmaker.

Probably does it all the time.

"It's not funny," he muttered.

"I know. Couldn't you have just said so?" I managed to get my

breathing under control. He shrugged.

"Suppose so. I'm no very . . . but it wouldn't have worked nearly

as well then." His smile was enough to boil water. There's the problem

with these teenage bodies some of us get stuck with. Hormones.

"Damn. I haven't seen this kind of convolution since one of those

Byzantine Emperors talked me into marrying him." I bit my lip and

looked him over.

"Tinat, I won't hurt him. Come on, let's get drunk." I led him out

of the room and crossed my fingers. Really, I have nothing to worry

about. Alcohol makes everything better. How's that for nearly forty

centuries of wisdom?

Three hours and ten bottles later, MacLeod leaned across my cushions

and yawned.

"So, just how did you two meet?" He looked up at me hopefully.

"What the first time?" Methos unleashed his secretive smile.

"That's actually more of a story then you'd think."

"How much did you know?" I asked, a little suspicious.

"Oh, I doubt either of us knows the whole story." Methos tucked a

strand of hair behind my ear. "We're both too fond of our secrets."

"Well then, let's have it now!" MacLeod looked quite pleased with

himself. He obviously has no appreciation for the finer points of a

balance of knowledge. Or something. I think I'm a little drunk. No,

couldn't be.

"What the hell," Methos muttered. I shrugged.

"Take a look. I think he's something." Ninura tugged at my cloak. I

frowned, and we considered the figure of the Chief Architect from

behind the gate.

"He's awfully tall. Foreign." He moved well though. "But I like him,

do you remember his name?"

"It's Methos, and he's not really foreign, he's from one of the

cities on the lower plains. Don't you think he has amazing eyes? Have

you ever seen that color?" I giggled and shrugged my shoulders.

"Like the sea in a storm. But isn't he married?" Not that there

weren't ways around that . . .

"She died before he arrived here. In the summer fever. It was

terribly sad, they hadn't even a child." She sighed with the drama of

it.

"And who comforted him?" I asked practically. There was a duty I'd

volunteer for. She giggled again and shook her head.

"He wouldn't have anyone. Can you imagine going from mid-summer to

year turning with an empty bed?" I shuddered delicately at the

thought. A sin before Ishtar.

"It's not year turning yet. I have a suggestion." I smiled wickedly.

"A plan? I'm listening." Ninura perked up.

"First one to get him in her bed gets her initiations done for three

rituals. And a length of Egyptian linen." Ninura nodded. Initiations

could be interesting but not too many virgins had good technique. Of

course teaching them was our job.

"Just you and me? Or everyone?" she asked. I frowned. I knew I was probably the prettiest of the priestess, but if he wasn't interested in women after

his wife. . .

"Only the full priestesses, no novices and no temple boys. Before

the end of the New Year ritual . . . must have evidence of carnal

knowledge or be willing to swear it on the altar," I proposed. Ninura

grinned.

"You just want to win, Tinat." I laughed, and we linked arms and

wandered into the gardens.

"Always sister. And what a prize . . . I mean we can't just let the

poor man go uncomforted." So we dashed off making our plans of

conquest. Ninura was eighteen. I would have seventeen years at the

next midsummer festival. I know, I was a damn arrogant kid.

"Hello! Lord Methos?" I called cheerily to the man in the garden. He

turned around, his expression like a hunted gazelle.

"Yes. Can I do something for you, Lady of Ishtar?" he asked, warily.

Someone hadn't been at all subtle. That made my work challenging.

"Actually, you can. I've been searching the old temple records, and

I've found an interesting reference to Ninhursag of the mountains, but

I can't translate some of the text. They tell me you have the old

tongue." He perked up.

"Yes, my teacher insisted on it." A faint curve of lips, "Are you

scribe trained?"

"Not formally, but I can read." Quite frankly, I simply hadn't the

time to complete the formal training, so my script was childish at

best. "Will you take a look?"

"Of course. But I can't call you 'Lady of Ishtar' all the time.

Won't you bless me with your name?" He smiled winningly. Don't worry

sweetie, you've already won.

"It's Tinat. But if you call me that, I call you Methos." I grinned

over my shoulder.

"Of course. But . . . Tinat -- aren't you Surya's daughter?" I felt

myself stiffen and back away.

"Yes. I'm sorry to have bothered you, I'll just--" I turned to

leave, the heat rising in my face. I should have known.

"Whoa, wait, don't go. What did I say?" He sounded genuinely

surprised.

"You know. Everyone knows who my mother was. The rebel. The

blasphemer. Look I--" He cut me off.

"Stop that. Not everyone thinks Surya was wrong . . . just

overzealous. Let's have a look at the manuscript, yes?" I met his

eyes, searched the hazel for mockery. I didn't know then how rare it

was to find none.

"A bet? It was a bloody bet? Egyptian linen?" Laughter and annoyance

warred in Methos' face.

"It was part of the plan." I grinned. "Once you had a taste of those

ham-handed girls who called themselves priestesses you were just ripe to

fall for the first girl with a delicate touch." And I, of course, have

an unrivaled touch.

"Unbelievable." Mac shook his head. "Delicate?" He snorted.

"Oh, Methos, he's insulted my honor! Aren't you going to challenge

him to a duel?" I giggled. Drunk. I'm very, very much so.

"Nope, why bother? You're handier with that sword than I am. I don't

use poison, you know." Only a pig sticker and a gun.

"You're ridiculous, the both of you." Mac took a long swallow of the

Stolchinya that had magically appeared from my cupboard. "Falling in

love over a dusty manuscript." Methos snickered.

"Mac, your ignorance is obvious. Ninhursag of the Mountains was an

Earth Goddess," he said when he caught his breath. "It was a book of

poetry."

"Sorry, I'm not as up on my ancient history as the two of you. This

means what?" I exploded into giggles. "What?" Mac demanded.

"They were hymns to a fertility Goddess. Not as bad as Ishtar's,

mind, but--Let's just say our hymns were part of a grand tradition that

included the Kama Sutra." He shrugged. "Which is not to say that dusty

volumes can't be stimulating."

"Really. So why did you go along with her little pass, Methos?"

Mac leaned closer, fiddling with the end of Methos' shirt.

"I could say it was some great mystical connection, but honestly, if

someone who looked like her wanted to read erotic poetry with you,

would 'no' be your first response?" I tossed a cushion at him, then

found myself noticing how very soft his lips looked in the dim light.

**

"A savage place! As holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!"

Samuel Taylor Coleridge **

Methos hummed to himself as he sketched the plans for the new

ziggurat. The proportions had to be just so to catch the light of the

sun on the equinoxes.

"Greetings, Lord Methos. How goes the work?" He turned to the

voice. It was Kashi, the high priest of Anu.

"Well enough, Lord Kashi." He kept the distaste for the rat-faced

little man from his features.

"That is good to hear, for one must keep to one's true task. I had

heard disquieting rumors." The man twisted his thin lips, and Methos

suppressed a shudder. His relations with Anu's temple had not always

been . . . exemplary. But the last priest who remembered his face had

been dust for more than a decade.

"Rumors my lord? Idle talk brings little credit to the Gods." That

for the old bastard.

"Indeed, I would not judge you by such speculations, but there are

those who worry when such talk is spread about a companion of the

King." He smiled.

"Really, my lord, you intrigue me. Just what sort of gossip are we

speaking of?" Methos kept a slightly bored mask on his face. Lillith

would laugh her head off at this fellow.

"It has been bandied about that you've spent an inordinate amount

of time with one of the young . . . er . . . priestesses of Ishtar."

Anu's temple advocated chastity for the clergy. They considered

Ishtar's people one step above harlots, if that. Methos frowned.

Still, that was not a cause for disquieting rumors.

"My lord, be that as it may-- " he began.

"I understand how a young man like yourself might find such women

tempting. The trouble is in the young . . . er . . . lady's

bloodline." The man continued, smiling ingratiatingly. "Against our

advice, the Temple of Ishtar took custody of the child after her name

mother's execution. For treason, Lord Methos."

"And is it not so that the child was ten years old. Surely you do

not think--"

"She is a girl child, Lord Methos. Women suckle their daughters on

treachery." Methos resisted the urge to knock the man into the wall.

Instead he turned around and stalked out of the room without another

word.

Methos hated festivals. It was an odd sort of thing to realize

about himself, but other people being happy annoyed him. Or if not

that, the noise of the younglings partying for all they were worth

made him realize just how disconnected he was. The last time he had

celebrated a year turning he had Surya in his arms, but the courageous

young mortal was seven years dead and he hadn't really wanted anyone

else for the seventeen years they'd been separated. So he'd kept the

court ladies and priestess away with some story about a tragically

dead wife. It wasn't really a lie, he would have gladly married Surya,

if she hadn't chosen to wed her martyrdom instead. And now there was

her beautiful, arrogant daughter.

At any rate, year's turning found him alone in Ishtar's grove

trying to catch a glimpse of the stars through the threatening rain.

The clergy believed that all of human destiny could be mapped out in

those stars. He didn't know about that. Lillith could see the future,

sometimes better than she saw the present. And she was afraid for him

. . . or of him. He inhaled the scent of cycads and tried to block

out the far away music and laughter. Someone was singing, not a

refined hymn, but a sickeningly sweet old love song.

and I'll never be alone.

But someone had other ideas.

"Hello Tinat." He felt the faint Presence of the pre-immortal

before he saw her. Despite himself a smile tugged at his lips, they'd

had some laughs, she was bright and tough enough to go far in the

game.

He casually pushed the dark hair out of his eyes while taking in

her festival attire. She was beautiful, swathed in linen and silk,

tiny compared to his height. Copper hair trailing on copper skin in a

kind of halo. Golden eyes accented by kohl. A stirring in his groin

reminded him of just how long it had been. He suppressed it.

"Can the chief architect himself not find a woman to help him share

the Goddess Ishtar's joy this night? I might call that a sacrilege." A

teasing grin chased across her face. He tried to ignore her. A drop of

rain penetrated the cycads of the grove.

"They used to call Her Inanna. When I was youn--" He stopped

himself, too close. Did he trust this girl that much? Started again. "When the

Akkidians ruled here. Before the Ammorites came and built their

Babylon." Not yet. But at this rate . . . he turned his attention back

to the stars, but they were drowned by clouds and rain. She stepped

very close, he could feel the heat radiating off her small, long

limbed body. Her skin smelled of sandalwood and vanilla, her lips

brushed against his ears.

"Does the name matter to Her so much? Or the deed?" He turned to

face her, opened his mouth to explain how wrong it would be. She

smiled again and caught his mouth silencing him with hers. He tried to

free himself, to breathe, to think. A child, he was taking advantage .

. .

"Wait, Tinat, you're still so young. You shouldn't--" He moved to

pull back.

"I am a woman and priestess, and I know what I want." She let her

lips slide gently across his face, tasting it. It had been so very

long since he had ridden away from Surya, intending to return, and the

heat and faint Quickening in the girl were too much to resist.

She caught his mouth again, silencing him once and for all. The

rain was pouring through the trees, drowning the shrieks of laughter

from the festival. It poured on them, thick and sweet as she made love

to him among the cycads. Her skin, her mouth intoxicated him, her

fingers, hair all around him. The legends said the embrace of a true

priestess could heal the soul and he could believe it now.

It would be dangerous, the court might connect him to Surya. But he

decided not to care, not to think.

"Is it just me, or are those shells getting awfully close?" Mac

muttered after the twentieth explosion. Methos shrugged and I poured

another round. "I'll get us plane tickets. They say Tahiti is nice

this time of year," MacLeod continued after a pause.

"In June? Are you kidding? It's hot enough to fry eggs on your

bloody skin," Methos muttered.

"Oh, and it's just all nice and cool here in the middle of the

desert during a skirmish. Why do you like this place so much, Tinat?"

"Why do you like your cabin?" Not really the same, I realized after

a breath, "This is my place. Mama left it to me, and I just never let

it go."

"It's not rational, clinging to the past like this, you know."

Methos reached down and caught my chin in his hands. I think I love

his hands best. Perfectly synchronized muscles, under pale skin. Long,

lean fingers, like clever velvet. That's what I missed most in all the

years we denied each other. Of course we had our reasons. Lillith used

to laugh at us for them, but they were there. Reasons, I mean.

"Some of us find comfort in the past." MacLeod's sad voice

interrupted my thoughts, his eyes were slightly glazed with memory.

It's the vodka. Vodka makes people maudlin. What am I thinking? Mac

doesn't need any help being maudlin.

"And some of us wish to the Gods we could forget it," Methos

whispered. I felt the echo of it in my mind, almost sublimating the

underlying desire.

"I could never make up my mind which I am. Caused most of my

problems," I realized aloud.

"Bright girl. Only taken you forty centuries."

"I always knew it, Methos. But what fun would we be without our

collective neuroses?" He smiled, but suddenly refused to be deflected.

"If you could forget how you died, and what you did, would you?" He

caught me with his sea gray eyes and I struggled with them.

"I had a chance. Remember Viviane du Luc?" I let the bitter sweet

memory come.

"I don't," MacLeod said, before polishing off another bottle. But

Methos and I were lost in the far more ancient memories.

We married under the harvest stars. Not at all a marriage as the

modern folk think of it. More a year contract, to stay together and

provide for any children. That was when I thought I might have some. A

girl with my nose and Methos' eyes, don't you just love irony?

The Lord Kashi, High Priest of Anu, came and glowered at us. I

remembered the little rat. After they murdered Mama, he chastised me

about how a girl child with sin in her blood must be extra careful

to behave well. The High Priestess had to punish me for

laughing in his face, but she made sure it wasn't much of a

punishment. Ishtar had no love for Anu in those days. But he was the

only cloud.

The moon shone clear and bright as the High Priestess bound our

hands. Methos grinned like a madman and I was probably worse. We

signed the contract, and I pretended not to be paying attention when

she promised to break every bone in his lordly, overly tall body if I

wasn't deliriously happy. She liked me. Who knew?

Ninura was my attendant. I let her keep the Egyptian linen. I had

what I wanted. She gave out months of teasing over that. It probably

would have been a lifetime's worth. Irony again.

The next three months passed in a kind of hormone induced haze. I

remember skin and tongue and such. Definitely nice to have a lover who

knew more than I did. Still, I started to squirm by the end of it, a

little mystery is nice, too much is madness. It was through gathering

tensions, about a week before the next festival that a nervously

worded missive arrived from the temple.

"Tinat, I think you better take a look at this," Methos called from

the lower story of our house. I was in the cellar with the texts . . .

what can I say, this scribe thing is catching.

"Not now -- I think I know the--" I began.

"Now!" You know if he hadn't interrupted me, I would have been the

first one to prove Pythagoras' theorem, of course then it would have

been Tinat's theorem. I grumbled and dragged myself upstairs.

"Fine, oh lord and master, what is so important?" I think the

hormones are passing, and me only seventeen. He handed me the letter

wordlessly. I scanned the pages . . . the honor of Anu . . . message

to Kurk . . . acceptable priestess . . . leave immediately . . . and

looked at him. There was an odd expression in his eyes. "Damn. This

isn't fair, but you know how it goes." I broke the silence.

"Tinat, I love you." He lifted my chin in his hands.

"No, you don't." He'd never implied such a thing.

"What, now you're an empath?" His smile was a little sad.

"No. But I don't understand." I silenced him, lay a finger on his

lips, continued hurriedly, "This is because of the letter, right? It's

no big deal. Anu's people want me to play messenger girl. Weather

allowing, I'll be back in less than month. So you don't have to get

mushy on me."

And then I grabbed my cloak and fled to Ishtar's temple. Because I

knew the odds were against coming back, and I didn't want to see the

look on his face. There was a desert between here and Kurk, and there

were bandits in the desert.

I ran through the halls, ignoring the line of supplicants and

guards until I found myself in the inner chambers, crying on the high

priestess' lap.

"Little one, I'll get someone else," she offered.

"No. I know the political situation. If you say no to Anu's people

on this without a good reason, you lose influence. Who knows what

legislation they'll be able to push through?" I whispered.

"I don't want to risk your life over some legislation, girl!" she

shouted.

"The thing is, we're in a death struggle here. You know it and . .

. Mama knew it. And I won't let you give an inch of ground because of

me." I pulled myself together with a wrenching effort.

"You think letting them kill off Surya's name daughter and pass

it off as an accident isn't giving ground? And what about that lover

of yours? Don't you want to live for his pretty face?" Oh, Methos . .

. I didn't want to lose him, and I didn't want him to love me.

"It's better this way, don't you see? Easier for him not to get too

attached. Besides you didn't even want me to marry him." She'd spent

days railing about how little we knew about him.

"We don't need any more martyrs, Tinat." The blow hit home. I

flinched. So I said what she wanted to hear.

"Then I won't be a martyr. I'll take their damn message to Kurk,

but I'll take our people as the honor guard . . . the King himself

couldn't fault me on that. And I won't let my bow out of my reach.

We'll see just who doesn't come out of the desert!"

"Now there is a war priestess. I'll make the arrangements. And Lord

Methos?" She smiled proudly at me.

"I can't talk to him right now. Tell him I will be back and we'll

talk about who feels what for whom." I twisted my fingers in my hair.

"Tell him I swear it."

"You don't look seventeen. Closer to twenty," MacLeod said

intelligently.

"I certainly *do* look seventeen. It's just that everyone else

looks ridiculously young this century. Must be the food." I shrugged.

"Why didn't you want Methos to tell you he loved you?" MacLeod took

a swig of something. We were all out of vodka, I have no idea how we're

going to restock my cellars. We, hah. They're going to make me do it.

"In't that a little personal?" My voice slurred a bit.

"S'ok. All friends here," Methos muttered. I felt a hand slide

under my skirt.

"Don't start what you can't finish, love," I told him.

"I want to know. How come you can say it now and you couldn't then?

Were

you afraid to?" MacLeod continued, ignoring us.

"Why do you care so much suddenly? It was nearly four thousand

years ago!" He gave me a puppy dog look. I really, really hate dogs.

"I was seventeen years old, I thought he was smart, pretty, sweet, the

works. But he was also more than a little fucked up, Mac."

"Hey! I resemble that remark." The hand was getting more

adventurous. I tried to remember to breathe.

"Wasn't my fault." I shrugged.

"Why?" MacLeod persisted.

"How in the hells should I know? Do you remember why you did

everything when you were a kid?" I vented my frustration. Methos' hand

had gone limp. Unbelievable. I didn't know he could pass out any more.

"Why were we having this conversation again?"

"I don't remember." MacLeod said after a long pause.

"Then ask me again when you can." I tucked myself into the hollow

of Methos' chest and fell asleep wondering how I'm going to get twenty

bottles of Stolchinya past customs this time.

**

Time is bearing another son.

Kill Time! She turns in her pain!

The oak is felled in the acorn

And the hawk in the egg kills the wren.

-- Dylan Thomas

**

Methos awoke with two sets of arms wrapped around him. He could

smell the heat of the lower plains. Dust tickled his nose. Tucked

against his chest were Tinat's copper curls but the arms around his

back were unfamiliar. Too bulky to be Lillith . . . then he

remembered. MacLeod. Lillith was dead. He looked down at Tinat's tiny

form and wished to any God who listened that he had been smarter for

her. Because his protection hadn't been nearly enough all those years

ago.

"Where is she?" A thousand years of survival had done wonders for

Methos' survival tactics. That was how he managed to slip into

Ishtar's temple and hold a dagger to the high priestess' throat

without being noticed.

"Isn't this a bit excessive?" The woman kept perfectly still, her

voice calm and even.

"No, I wouldn't say it is." His teeth gritted. "Particularly since

no one is telling me anything."

"You saw the missive. She was asked to carry a message to the king

in Kurk. Could you remove the blade? It does make it a bit difficult

to speak." Methos slipped around her and pulled up a seat.

"This will find your heart before you've had time to scream. Or I

could take a lung. You won't be doing much screaming that way. But a

lot of feeling." He smiled and the woman, fully inured to court

politics, shuddered.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I need the route she took and which guards she had with her." He

relaxed a little.

"Why?" The priestess fingered one of her medallions.

"The priests of Anu are going to have her killed."

The woman shrugged. "She is aware of the possibility. She is

Surya's daughter." Methos let frustration come through again.

"This isn't about Surya. It's about me. I am the reason they want

her dead."

No shock or distaste in her eyes. The High Priestess' expression

could only be described as odd. "Explain." She lay her chin on her

hand, held her medallion tightly with the other.

"This is going to sound crazy . . . but, oh, abyss take it, nearly

forty years ago I escaped from interrogation in Anu's temple.

Seventeen years ago, a friend and I were almost apprehended by the

last high priest and his guard. We killed them all. And I think they--

" He frowned at the look on her face. "You don't believe me do you?"

"No. I believe. I just hadn't expected you were that Methos." She

released the medallion and looked at him with a kind of wonder. A part

of him noted the thing was shaped like a forked path in a circle. It

was a symbol he'd seen before, but he couldn't place it.

"How many of me are there?" He resisted the urge to throttle her

then and there.

"You'll want maps. I can do even better. I'll get you a guide."

She ignored the question. "Look out for her. I've sent some of my best

fighters, but Ishtar alone knows what's waiting for that girl."

"Tell me something. Why did you let her go?" The accusation in his

voice made her flinch.

"An Oracle suggested it was the best course." The exhaustion and

worry in her face gave him pause. "What could I do?"

"And this Oracle mentioned me?" He kept his face impassive.

"What makes you ask such a thing?" She tilted her head up.

"She wouldn't have had white blond hair, about so long. Ice

colored eyes and a really long sword?" He had to ask. "Never mind, I

don't want to know. Get me the damned guide already."

"It's done, Lady." The high priestess turned to face the cold-eyed

woman.

"I'm no lady, Erishi." She drew back her lips, revealing too white

teeth. "Yes, I know your name."

"La- Serpent, will she be alright?" Erishi, whose true name had not

been spoken since she took the mantle of high priestess, whispered.

"She will survive." Serpent drew her cloak around her shoulders and

shuddered.

"Are you cold? We can build a fire."

"No. Thank you, I'll be fine. Erishi," She took a long breath and

her face seemed almost human, "it's the only way. The futures are

shifting too much."

"And the pain of my priestess will solidify them?" Erishi gathered

her courage. "I've kept her here since her tenth year. Her mother was

my friend!"

"I told you. She'll live. She has a great deal more potential than

she knows." Serpent gathered her robes around her and turned to leave.

"Wait," Erishi called. She stopped. "Tell me, what will become of

us?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" She turned and forced Erishi to

meet her glacial eyes.

"Yes," she whispered.

"You're fighting a losing battle, outnumbered on all sides, child.

For a time, at least, you must fall." Serpent paused.

"And what of we who watch?"

"The watchers? They continue to watch and THEY WILL NOT INTERFERE

UNTIL IT IS TIME. Understand?" The priestess drew back, collapsing

onto her chair.

"We understand. Until the day."

Serpent stalked from the room without slowing and prayed all would

be well. Methos would get to Tinat soon, hopefully before the girl was

broken completely. She must play her role in the futures. Lillith did

not admit to personal feelings for the girl, it was not the Serpent's

way.

She stirred in his arms and opened golden eyes. "Morning love."

More thought than word.

"You're beautiful." Methos whispered. "Like the sun."

"So they tell me." Her cheek brushed his chest. "But you know, I'd

rather not be that blinding. I like it when you look at me." She

snuggled up against his chest.

"How could you forgive me?" He stroked her hair.

"Didn't we have this conversation? I said I wasn't angry about

Lillith anymore . . . and you can keep your pet Boy Scout, too."

He exhaled slowly. She really didn't have a clue this time. Or she

was playing a very deep game. "Sometimes I don't understand you at

all." He complained.

"I'm a woman, you're a man. You're not supposed to." She began to

untangle herself, stretching gracefully in the morning sun. "You know

why I forgive you, Methos."

"Another attempt to clutch at the past? People die for holding on

too tight." He sincerely wished he'd drunk a little less and thought

about which memories he really wanted to uncover a little more. But

done was done, they'd have to deal with it or bury it.

"Trying to talk me into letting go?" Brittle laughter. Bury it

then. MacLeod groaned and shifted away. He held her tighter, but she

continued to speak. "You're the one who taught me to hold onto what I

was because it makes me what I am."

"That was before." Low blow, Tinat, he muttered under his breath.

"Before Kronos, I know. You think I carry no burdens? You know

better than that." She stood up and moved toward the kitchen.

He followed her. "It was my fault. If I'd gotten to you sooner . .

.. it's not that funny." He tried to explain but her laughter twisted

into a kind of hysteria.

"She never told you? Methos, you weren't supposed to save me from a

fate worse than death. I had to live through it."

"She?" He thought he knew, a red haze suddenly clouding his vision.

"Lillith needed a swordswoman. Someone who had seen darkness and

light, and could act or keep still. It was how she forged me." She

shrugged.

"Forged you? You're not a bloody sword, Tinat! She had no right . .

." He realized he was shouting and stopped. The anger was too close.

"And what you're doing to MacLeod, you have the right to do? You've

had glimpses of the futures, but she was an Oracle, she saw the

results of every action." She met his gaze dispassionately. "I love

that you care enough about me to . . . care."

"I have this thing with love at first sight. Mostly mortals, but

you and-- " They were interrupted by a huge yawn, as MacLeod strode

into the kitchen.

"Hey, can a man get some coffee around here?" The man was endearingly

clueless or his actions were intentional.

Methos, unsure which, smiled at him, caught by his grace. Trust

MacLeod to break into the tension, Tinat wouldn't push things in front

of him. "Morning MacLeod. I was about to ask the same question,

Shemesh?"

Tinat's grin was positively nasty. "Tell you what, boys, I make you

coffee, you help me restock."

"Of course," the gentlemanly MacLeod agreed.

Her smile widened. "That's twenty bottles of prime Stolchinya.

Forty beers, various brands, I'll find the labels. A very nice Sherry.

And this Chardonnay was--" She picked up an empty bottle. "Oh my,

that's an expensive year. Good luck with customs."

MacLeod groaned. Methos couldn't help snickering. "Don't laugh so

hard Methos. If I'm going into the smuggling business, you're going

with me," MacLeod growled.

"Hey, I wasn't the chivalrous type who just-- " Methos began.

"Children, children. Work it out between yourselves, but do work it

out. This coffee is nice roasted Jamaican stuff." She turned on her

coffee machine.

"You know, it's awfully quiet. What happened to the shelling?"

MacLeod remarked when he had a nice scalding cup in his hands.

"Moved on during the night, I'd imagine." Tinat shrugged, as if it

were of no matter.

"How can you just sit here with people dying all around you?"

MacLeod demanded, slightly upset. Mac had seen enough death in recent

years to be thoroughly sick of it.

"They always die. It's the lower plains, always been this way. They

just used different weapons when I was a kid," Tinat said and Methos

nodded. "When you were a child, the Highland clans fought plenty of

battles."

"I fought with them, with my people." MacLeod seemed more bothered

by the passivity than anything else.

"Our people are gone, Mac." Methos lowered his shoulders. "And mine

never thought much of me anyway."

"The world I wanted collapsed around my ears when Anu's temple

finally won dominance. I had to build my own clan." Tinat looked out

her bulletproof window and smiled sadly.

"I can understand that." MacLeod thought of his own gathered

friends, mortal and immortal who'd taken the place of the clan that

cast him out. "So, what happened?"

"What?" Methos tried to think of what he could mean.

"The story, what happened after Tinat took the message to Kurk?"

Story? Mac made it sound like a bloody fairy tale. Maybe it was, the

original fairy tales were pretty nasty.

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, why must you ask questions

that you

don't really want answered?" Tinat turned her animal golden eyes on

him.

"Maybe I want to know who my friends are and were," he replied

bitterly.

"This isn't a tale of high romance, Mac. It was nasty, sordid

business from the start," Methos warned.

"High romance? Why not? It has blood and gore, rape and revenge,

fits of horrible madness, the works. Could be an opera, except for the

ending isn't tragic enough." Tinat laughed nastily. "But the truth is,

it was a very long time ago. Besides, haven't you learned that what a

person was and did, is not always what they are?"

"The two of you don't trust anyone, do you? Not even each other."

MacLeod shook his head in disgust. They exchanged long-suffering

glances.

"You don't understand, Mac. What we share, our bond, is so tight

there's no room to breathe. It's like, well . . ." Methos began.

"It's like having another personality living inside your head. It

was hard enough when we weren't intimate, but the sex just makes it

worse." Tinat faltered.

"When there are things we don't share, it helps keep us separate."

Methos finished.

"But if you want complete honesty, Methos trusts you. I trust you

to act in a certain way and no farther, but then I'm not in love with

you." Methos turned a particularly pasty shade of pale.

"Tinat!" Trust her to throw a wrench in the works, and neatly get

his mind off her.

"No one said anything about love." MacLeod turned to Methos, almost

accusingly.

"So I can't separate sex and love. It's a character flaw, everyone

has them." Methos verbally backed away from the situation.

"Character flaw? You decided you were in love with Kronos and you

had to sleep with Lillith of all people." She gave him a long serious

look and he stared back until her expression cracked. "That's not a

flaw it's a bloody San Andreas Fault!" She giggled, caught by the

utter ridiculousness of the conversation.

"Thank you for the stunning evaluation of personality, oh, most

beloved." Methos laughed back. They caught each other's eyes and

collapsed into giggling heaps. MacLeod looked on, not sure whether to

be angry or bewildered.

"Hey guys." Tinat recovered first and her eyes lit up with an idea.

"Let's go see Joe, I miss Joe." And she bounced out of the room

muttering about airlines, without another word to anyone else.

"Methos, what was that all about?" MacLeod demanded when she was

out of earshot.

"What?" he replied cautiously.

"We never said anything about love," he returned quietly. "Do you

mean it or was that another one of her obscure jokes?"

"You want the truth, Duncan? No, cute little self-protective

sarcasm?" Methos' hazel eyes held a kind of compassion.

"I want the truth Methos." MacLeod met his gaze in kind.

"I . . . look it -- I -- I have a problem sometimes just being

myself and feeling things. A tendency to just drift off into my books

and not come up for air. Sometimes there are people who won't let me

do that. Who make me feel." He looked hopefully at MacLeod. "Just

that."

"Like Kronos?" MacLeod's voice was more wondering than angry.

"Pain, self-hatred, anger . . . those are very powerful emotions,

Duncan. But you make me feel. And I don't have to hate myself for it."

The hazel eyes lightened to green.

"But it's not enough for you to just feel something, anymore?"

MacLeod tried to understand.

"No. Not for a long time. She wouldn't like it, says there is more

to life than emotion sampling." He smiled self-consciously.

"So why do you need me, Methos? Isn't she enough for you?" MacLeod

asked, still bewildered.

"Tinat hates to be used." His smile came out lopsided. "I need to

be -- well -- used. She accepts it, but she won't do it to me. Can you

accept it?"

"I love you too, Methos. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to

*use* you," MacLeod whispered. "I love you."

"It's bizarre, isn't it? A couple centuries completely on my own,

and now I'm completely in love with both of you. Who would have

thought I'd go for sap after all these years?" Methos whispered.

MacLeod wrapped his lover in his arms and sighed.

Much later, I found myself staring at the night sky. Methos was

staring at me. "Why the sudden urge to see Joe?" he asked abruptly.

"I like Joe. I want to see him before he pulls the mortality thing

on me." I focused my eyes on the farthest stars.

"And?" he demanded.

"Lillith left me a note. Bloody sneaky thing to do. If you lot

hadn't cleaned out my liquor closet, I never would have found it."

Methos' eyes widened. "What did she say?" he asked, after a long

breath.

"That I should look into the origins of the watchers. I honestly

never heard much of anything about it in my sojourns with them. You?"

He frowned and shook his head. "No, nothing solid. But neither of

us got very far into the hierarchy." Not aging would look very bad.

"On the other hand, Joe . . ." I gestured, smoothly.

"I see. Mac thinks you're absolutely out of your mind, you know."

He ruffled my hair.

"Oh, and you don't?" I leaned into his hand.

"I hope I'm not that much of a hypocrite, oh, my lady of mood

swings." I captured his lips and gave a silent blessing for immortal

recovery time.

**

Merry it was to laugh there-

Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.

For power was on us as we slashed bones bare

Not to feel sickness or remorse for murder.

-- Wilfred Owen

**

It's funny how time dilates when you know you're going to die and just can't wait. The raiders came during third watch, and we were ready as we could be. The truth is, there is no way to stay constantly alert on a weeklong journey. At times you start to think the enemy isn't out there after all. That you've miscalculated their intentions. The enemy is out there, don't doubt it.

They came when we were recovering from a nasty sandstorm that fouled too much of our water. I heard the alarm, pulled my bow and had it nocked within minutes. Minutes we didn't have, but all the same I put arrows into the leader.

Do you know what it's like when you realize your enemy can't die? He pulled the arrow out of his stomach -- his stomach! I'd never seen the need for sword work, though Methos pushed me to try, so all I had was a knife for close combat. I took one with a gut thrust and severed the artery in his neck. This one died.

There were more, but my guards closed around me. They were the best the temple had, dedicated to Ishtar when She is war, and these scum were no match. Except their leader didn't die, and there were too damn many. The scum were armed with expensive bronze weapons and heavy armor. Anu's temple had paid them well.

I felt the sharp edge of a sword bite into my back.

"Step away or she dies!" The cold voice was familiar. Sur, one of the guards I'd played with since I was a small child. The bite of bronze felt like despair.

"Don't do this," I begged. He didn't seem to hear me, but the other side took note of him.

"Give us the whore, and the rest of you go free," the bandit leader promised. He was a tall man, though not as tall as Methos, some old scars marred his face. I'd seen a man of his like entering the slave market with a slave he claimed had died of illness within a week of purchase. If internal bleeding is an illness . . .

Sur shoved me through the stunned guards and onto my face. "Take her, in Anu's name."

One of the younglings, I never learned his name, voiced a protest. "We can't win, they'll have her anyway, and our lives as well," Sur answered. I didn't hear more, a hand dragged me up by the hair.

"Finish them," my captor told his raiders. Something slammed into my forehead and I dived into darkness.

Harin was not old as the immortals of the day counted it. He'd come into the world approximately five centuries earlier, the child of a desert tribe that clung to life on the outskirts of the lower plains, who shunned him as the demon offspring of some sand fiend, but dared not cast him out, for fear of offending his parent. It was only after he was accused of raping the chief's youngest daughter that he'd been cast out to die of exposure. But he hadn't died permanently, and eventually stumbled onto a village where one of the old ones made her home. She had not been delighted to have Harin as a student, but she'd taught him the basics of his nature and their game.

It was only the nearness of holy ground that saved him when he tried to take her head.

But his former tribe was much more susceptible to his terrorizing, their descendents still served as his slaves. Centuries of boredom had given him quite a taste for raiding and gold. He'd been more than happy to gain both by attacking a small caravan for the temple of Anu. It pleased him even more to discover that the priestess he'd been instructed to kill was potentially one of his kind.

She woke to the sight of his weather-twisted face. Harin tossed her to his men when he finished playing with her. Thanks to their carelessness, she bled her mortal life onto the sand and the desert swallowed it. Holy is the desert and its children are strong when they die.

Methos had picked up a number of skills in his travels, some that would be considered unthinkable in the lower plains. One of them was horseback riding, a rather problematic skill as the horses available simply weren't big enough to carry him, or trained to do any such thing. But under the circumstances, he didn't question his luck when a local trader possessed a riding animal, and no clue what to do with the oddity.

He rode the beast into exhaustion, finally abandoning the high priestess' guide. On the second week he found the demolished campsite. The bodies of Ishtar's soldiers were scattered unburied across the camp. None of the bodies were Tinat, but there was a trail. To an ordinary tracker the trail was long cold, but Methos was far from ordinary.

He came to the raiders' camp two days from the ruins. On the outer edge of his awareness he could feel an immortal Presence, too strong to be a newly dead Tinat. He hurriedly backed off to the edge of sensing range, skirted the edge of the camp, checking for sentries. Methos had not been a warrior often, but he was better than any mortal man born and knew it.

He noted how the camp stultified under waves of fear. The men wore the slightly panicked, very paranoid expressions of those who serve a madman. His mind worked rapidly, until the plan was complete. The direct approach. With a twist, of course. He waited until full dark.

He moved closer, letting himself into range of the other. Waiting.

A man stepped out of the largest tent, dragging a small figure by the hair. Methos' heart contracted. She was immortal now. The other tossed her into the tent and went to investigate. He didn't call for help from his men.

He backed off into the desert, calming his horse. Really an incredibly well trained beast. It kept remarkably still. The other shouted an angry challenge and moved outside his camp. Methos noted his followers weren't following and smiled to himself. Good call. He led the other immortal back, relying on the horse to keep its footing. Then he rode the bastard down, a kick to the chest insuring there would be no screaming.

Methos considered taking his head right there, but decided against it. They were too close to the camp and his primary objective had not been accomplished. Instead he left a serrated dagger in the other immortal's heart. It was child's play to smuggle a very dead Tinat out of the camp. He turned his horse toward the nearest oasis. It was very isolated, and even many of the desert tribes didn't know of it. His wife Iyin had spread healing from there more than a thousand years ago, before she retreated into the mountains.

Animal golden eyes opened with a gasp. He tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. She drew back, shuddering.

"Tinat, it's me." She didn't seem to notice. "Me, Methos." No reply. He resisted the urge to touch, remembering what she must feel like. He slipped off to the spring and came back with a cup of water.

He offered it to her, but she drew back. After a moment, he set it on the stone next to her, moving away. Keeping her eyes on him, she reached for the cup slowly, then gulped the liquid down so greedily, he wondered when she'd last had any. He brought her more water, again leaving it near her like an offering.

When she drank her fill, she drew back into the corner of their cave. After a moment's consideration he offered her a knife. She clutched it in her hands, and stared at him until exhaustion claimed her and she slept. It took all his strength not to approach in the depths of her nightmares, but he was afraid his touch would make it worse.

The next morning he awoke, startled to realize he must have fallen asleep after all. She was gone. He panicked briefly, until he noticed the faint echo of her Presence. At the spring he found her, desperately scrubbing at her skin with a porous stone of some sort.

Utter blank determination suffused her face as she scrubbed. He noted how raw her flesh was from her ministrations.

"Tinat, don't," he begged. She ignored him, but didn't panic. Apparently he had not been classified as a threat. "Come on, you're hurting yourself, cutting up your skin."

"It grows back." A response. He stifled the urge to throw a party or at least shout for joy.

"Yes, it does. But there is no need to test it out like that." She met his eyes gravely. He could almost see a spark of sanity beginning to light.

"Methos."

"Yes?" He moved cautiously closer.

"Can I die?" He bit his lip, not sure if he should answer.

"Everyone can die, Tinat," he said, at last.

"Him. Can he die?" The light he'd mistaken for sanity turned feral. There was no question of which he she could mean. He considered his options carefully. It was the only handle that had presented itself.

"Yes, Tinat. He can die. You can kill him," he promised her. She smiled and he couldn't quite suppress a shudder.

Joe Dawson was behind the bar mixing up a drink that looked too exotic for words when I saw him. It wasn't often I got to sneak up on my friends, so I was rather gleeful when I got him to flinch. Cruel, isn't it.

"Hey Dawson, how've you been?" He threw me a nasty look.

"I've had better days. It was a better day." I smiled innocently. "Did you want something, Delenay?" Rather sweet of him to take the trouble with the alias. Not really necessary, the watchers never managed to keep much of a record on me.

"I wanted a vodka martini on the rocks-- "

"Straight up, with lemon," he finished for me." Getting yourself into a rut, Delenay." I shrugged.

"So, how goes the voyeurism?" He finished the drink and passed it to a waitress, then started on mine.

"Problematic, actually. My subject hasn't been exactly congenial lately." He placed the drink in front of me and I knocked it back.

"Well, MacLeod is always a roller coaster. It's why our Adam likes him so much." He raised an eyebrow.

"So are they finally over it?" *It* being the mind numbing revelations and betrayal-counter betrayal that followed the discovery that Methos wasn't always a nice guy.

"I wouldn't lay odds, but they were being all luvy last I saw them. All we need to do is hit the Boy Scout over the head with a board a few times and maybe some of it will stick." He shrugged. If anyone understood the flaws and good points of Duncan MacLeod, it was him and all he could do was hope.

"So where is your honor guard?" he asked. The image was so bizarre, I had to laugh at it.

"At Mac's loft, discovering firsthand why some positions were left out of the Kama Sutra." He smiled at that.

"That never fails to amaze me," he muttered. Hah, as if anyone could say no to Methos when he got seriously interested. Then louder. "So what brings you to my door when you could be helping them?" He leaned across the bar.

"Actually, I need to talk to you. An old friend suggested I look into the origins of your special brand of voyeurism. Methos doesn't know, or won't give." He frowned. Poor Joe, we really didn't appreciate him as much as we should.

"Always happy to be the font of knowledge and good advice."

I showed him my best grin. "Besides, where else am I going to find blues worth listening to on this puny planet?"

The End

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