The woman’s arm muscles rippled as her dexterous fingers danced over the strings of her guitar, her dark tan accentuated by her white sleeveless dress.  Joe realized he was staring and shook his head slightly to break the spell.  This woman had caught his attention, piqued his curiosity, and generally fascinated the hell out of him.  Joe almost wished she were older.  But no, she wouldn’t be interested in him anyway -- she was too aloof, too independent, singular.  She sure knows her blues, though, he thought wistfully as he watched her from the side of the stage.  He’d have to ask if she’d jam with him after hours.  Her band, Timeless Colours, was newly formed, but each of the members of the band had years of experience under their respective belts.  Now they were scouting parts of France trying to find a spot to settle down and try to build a fan base.  Joe hoped they’d make his bar their main stage.

From his hawk’s-eye view, Joe spotted Duncan MacLeod at the door -- and was surprised as he saw Mac stiffen and look about.  That meant only one thing: another Immortal.  Joe wasn’t aware of another one here, and he was pretty well-versed in the Watcher listings of who was in town.  Still, there was always the possibility he missed a few, or that it was one who hadn’t been discovered.  Duncan’s eyes came to rest briefly on Joe, and he nodded an understanding hello.  Methos isn’t around at the moment…who is Mac sensing?  Joe’s heart leaped as Mac made and then maintained uneasy eye contact with Meg Maclean, the guitarist of Timeless Colours.  No…or could it be?  Joe turned his gaze to Meg, only to see a fiery, angry look in her eye aimed in Duncan’s direction.  Oh, man…thank goodness Immortals only do their fighting out of the public eye.  Looking her over again, Joe realized that those muscles were probably from more than guitar playing.  Time to check the database again.

As inconspicuously as possible, Joe sidled off the stage and walked over to his friend.  "What’s up, Mac?" he asked cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you know…?" Duncan nodded toward the stage.

"Not until I saw your face.  I’ll have to look it up later."

"Then you don’t know her."  Mac looked puzzled.

"Only a name…Meg Maclean.  You know her?"

"I don’t think so…" Mac furrowed his brow in thought.  "But she seems familiar."

"With your history, anyone could seem familiar."  Joe gave his friend a taunting grin.

"True." Mac grinned back.  Still…  Duncan turned back to the stage.  Meg was throwing him heated glances.  She obviously didn’t like him, and he didn’t know why.

"They’re almost done here…I can introduce you after the set."

"I don’t think that’s a good idea, Joe."  Mac caught Meg’s eye again, and she flashed him a narrow-eyed look.  What is with this woman?

Joe caught the look too.  "C’mon, Mac.  Turn on your charm, do your stuff.  No way she could resist."  Joe laughed at Mac’s incredulous look.  "Besides, better to know who you’re up against."

Mac abruptly turned his head, but this time Joe knew who it was: Methos.  And late, as seemed to always be the case lately.

"You’re late," Joe admonished him with a humorous glint in his eye.

"Sorry Joe…Things came up."  Methos shrugged out of his coat and sat down at the bar.

The serious tone caught Joe off guard.  "Trouble?"

"One word: Cassandra."

"She’s back?" Mac asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, she’s back all right."  Methos ordered a beer, then continued when the bartender was out of earshot.  "And still out for my blood, I’ll wager."

Duncan folded his arms.  "She’ll respect my wishes…"

"She’ll do as she pleases, MacLeod, regardless."  Methos snorted.  "She’s always been headstrong like that."

Duncan decided to change the subject.  "So did you notice…"

"Our friend there?"  Methos looked up at him, tilting his head to one side.  "The one on stage?  Yes, I noticed.  But it seems she only has eyes for you."  He smiled a bit maliciously, taking a drink.  "Do you know her, MacLeod?"

"No…not in my recollection, anyway."

"Wait til you get to be my age…remembering doesn’t get any easier."  He took another swallow from his mug and leaned back against the bar as the band finished their last song.

"Well, you missed nearly the whole thing.  Congratulations.  I thought you were going to help me get them to stay."  Joe looked at him in mock exasperation.

"I’m sorry, Joe.  I can’t help it if women want to attack me."

Joe turned around as Meg approached.  Her face was tense and unfriendly, but hidden behind a forced smile.  Looks like she’s fighting for control over some pretty rough emotions, Joe noted with concern.  The light glinted in her dark hair as she shook it back over her shoulder and took a deep breath.  "So, what do you think, Joe?"  She flashed a sincere smile at him.

"I think I want you to stick around, Meg."  He smiled back, but in his mind he was pondering her Immortality.  English-esque accent, but that could be affected.  Strong, obviously.  And with that dress, her sword wasn’t on her, but it had to be nearby.  Well, looks like age isn’t much of a factor anymore, he thought sarcastically.

"We’re certainly thinking about it.  This is a good place."

"Paris, or the bar?"

Meg laughed.  "Both."

"Let me introduce you to my friends, Meg.  This is Duncan MacLeod and Adam Pierson.  Mac, Adam, this is Meg Maclean."

"It’s a pleasure."  Methos reached out his hand to Meg, and she shook it firmly.  Joe watched this exchange closely.  Methos was taking an awfully keen interest in this woman who disliked Duncan so much, and it worried him a little.

"Pleased to meet you."  Duncan held out his hand as well, but Meg only took it briefly, as if he were contagious, and her stony exterior returned.

"Umm…Joe, I’d better go help put stuff away.  We’re really thinking about staying, though.  We’ve had a better reception here than we’ve had anywhere.  Think we can work a deal?"  She smiled at him hopefully.

"Absolutely.  And maybe we could jam together sometime?"  He smiled back, trying to encourage her.

"Definitely.  Now, I’d better go see what the guys need…"

"I hope we meet again," Duncan interrupted, charm in full-force.  But Meg only gave him a hard look in return.

"I’m sure we will."

Duncan watched her walk away, and shook his head.

"I don’t know where you knew her, Mac, but you’d better remember before she comes after you."  Joe looked at his friend with concern.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Joe steered himself away from the bar.  "I’m going to do some checking, maybe that will help.  If I find anything, I’ll let you know."

"Thanks, Joe."  Duncan shook his head again, and glanced over at Methos.

"Don’t look at me."  He smiled and drained the rest of his mug.  "I like her."

Meg sat with her back to her bandmates as she carefully packed away her guitar in the back room of the bar.  She had heard the name on and off over the years, spoken of with great respect or spite, depending on the source, but she hadn’t thought it could really be the same man.  After 400 years, Duncan MacLeod was still alive.  How could he not remember her?  She shook her head as tears came to her eyes.  Whatever excuses he had, she knew the truth: he had killed her sister.  And he would pay for it, she would make sure of that.

Scotland, 1618

The horse stood completely still, as if he knew of the sorrowful burden he carried.  Megan placed her hand on her sister’s body, laid across the horse’s back.  Poor Debra, she thought.  If only you had found a good man like I did.

The man Debra had found was an older man, of 26 years, Megan’s own age.  A man who had been on the cliff with her, a man who had -- by force or by words -- pushed her over the edge.  Megan felt her eyes mist with tears again.  First your betrothed, now you, Debra.  He is a murderer, that one.  The figure that suddenly loomed over Megan gave her a start.  When she realized who it was, she narrowed her eyes and stared hard at him.  "Duncan."

"Megan."  His eyes were full of tears as well, but it did not change her feelings toward him.  "I will give her honor, I swear, I will bury her in a place of beauty..."

"If it wasnae for you, Duncan MacLeod, she would be able to be buried in the kirkyard."  Megan’s voice took on a more vicious tone.  "Or she would no’ be bein’ buried at all."

"Megan, it’s no’ my fault..."

"It is your fault, Duncan.  Ye loved her so much -- or so ye say -- that ye drove her straight into the grave."  Megan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  "You were the death of her.  And I willnae forgive ye."

"Megan, if I could I would bring her back.  But I cannae do that.  I will honor her memory forever, and lay her body to rest somewhere beautiful.  That is the best I can do."

"And this is the best that I can do."  Megan pulled the dirk out of her stocking and waved it in front of Duncan’s face.  He stepped backward, nearly falling against the horse’s side.

"Megan, no," he pleaded.

"I will have my revenge, Duncan MacLeod.  I will avenge both Debra and Robert.  Blood for blood."

"No, ye willnae have my life."  Duncan backed up against his horse, feeling for the reins.

"But I will, Duncan MacLeod, if it’s the last thing I do."

"No!"  Duncan grabbed the reins of his horse, climbed on behind Debra’s body and rode off into the woods.

"I willnae forgive you, Duncan MacLeod!" she screamed after him.  "And I will have my revenge!"  Megan fell to her knees and sobbed until she could not choke out one more tear.

Meg wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  It was painful to think about, even now, 400 years after the fact.  She had not thought she’d live that long...shortly after Duncan had buried Debra, she herself had run off into the woods to die.  She had attempted to kill herself, but failed -- or so she thought.  The witch Cassandra had found her, taught her what she needed to know about her Immortality.  And until now, she had lived rather peaceably, living a good mortal-ish life, fighting only when she had to, playing music, falling in love with the blues.  How she wished she had never seen him again.  If he had forgotten her, had he forgotten Debra as well?  She knew she had only one choice, in honor of Debra: to challenge him, and take her revenge or die.  It was the only honorable thing to do.

"You okay, Meg?" asked Tony.  He was Timeless Colours’ drummer and one of her closest friends, although she had not told him about her Immortality.

"Yeah, Tony."  She smiled at him weakly.  "Just reliving some bad memories."

There were days Mac questioned helping Richie and his buddy Marc open and run a dojo here in Paris. Today was not one of them.  He had closed the dojo today "for repairs."  He had lied.  Duncan had really just wanted a day to himself, to work out and enjoy the quiet.  The dojo was always slow on Tuesdays anyway.  But the rainstorm and layer of dark clouds that had moved in this evening had already turned the night sky blacker than usual.  Lightning flashed, and seconds later heavy growls of thunder shook the windows.

As Duncan went through another kata, his mind wandered and fretted rather than cleared.  First he thought through the dojo finances, what still needed to be bought, fixed or replaced.  Unfortunately, it was a long list, just as it was for his own dojo back in Seacouver.

Then there was the more serious matter of Meg Maclean...Joe hadn’t gotten back to him yet, so he assumed the Watcher files didn’t have a lot of information on her, if any.  After all, Joe hadn’t even known she was Immortal.  Duncan searched his memory for a clue to her and her anger toward him.  Had it been at Culloden?  No, he couldn’t place her there.  With the amount of anger she was aiming his way, he’d surely remember something he’d done to her there, especially with his recent run-in with Keane that had so roughly jogged his memory.  But there was a trace of Scots to her accent, much like his own.…Duncan froze in mid-thrust, temporarily pushing aside thoughts of the kata and his invisible opponent.  No, it can’t be...

It wasn’t that he had actually forgotten Megan Campbell Maclean; he had just shoved the memory so far down, not wanting to remember.  And he certainly hadn’t expected to see her again, not knowing that she too was an Immortal.  In fact, he had mentioned her to no one, not Tessa, not Joe, not Richie.  She had tried to kill him when he went to bury Debra’s body, and he had rode off to escape.  Just days later, she disappeared in the forest.  Everyone speculated that she had wandered out too far or too late at night, and her body had been lost to the wolves.  Now he knew the truth, at least a little of it.  She was alive.  And more than likely wanted his head, from the looks she had given him.

The phone in the office rang, and Duncan jogged over to answer it.  "Hey, Mac.  How’s it going?"

"You sure you want to know, Joe?"

"That bad, huh?  Well, I thought I’d tell you what little I found out about Meg Maclean..."

"Perhaps you’d be more interested in what I remembered."

"It can’t be any less helpful...You don’t sound too good, Mac.  How bad is it?"

"How about she wants my head for killing her sister."  Mac brushed the strands of hair that had come loose from his ponytail back away from his face.

"What?  Mac, when did you ever..."

"Her name is Megan Campbell Maclean," Duncan said, emphasizing the maiden name.  "She’s Scottish.  She’s my age..."

"…and she’s Debra’s sister." Joe finished Mac’s thought with the sudden clarity of realization.  "Holy jehosephat, Mac."  He fell silent a moment.  "Mac, how about I set up a meeting between you and Meg?  You know, holy ground and the whole nine yards.  Maybe you can talk this out."

"I don’t think she wants to talk this out, Joe.  I think she wants my head.  She already tried to kill me once over this, before we became Immortal."

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know.  And Mac...watch your head, okay?"

Duncan returned to his kata, but his mind was fully engrossed in Megan Maclean now.  There was nothing he could do if she challenged him.  If she really wanted his head, then he’d have to fight -- and probably kill her, unless she got to him first.  And that’s the last thing he wanted to do.  She was his last connection to Debra now, and the only person he could share memories of Debra with.  If only he could talk to her.  Perhaps he’d have to let Joe set up a meeting after all.

The buzz of another Immortal’s approach reverberated in Duncan’s head, and he reached over for his jacket and the katana hidden within.  The front doors of the dojo slammed open, followed momentarily by Megan striding in, gothic bastard sword aggressively raised in front of her and Campbell plaid tying her hair up away from her face.  "Draw your weapon, MacLeod," she hissed in a Scottish burr through gritted teeth.  "Or I take your head where ye stand."

"Megan, wait," Duncan began, but he drew his katana even as he spoke.  "We need to talk this out."

"Aye, do we now?  I don’t think so.  Do ye remember me now?"

"Aye, I do."  Duncan looked in her dark eyes, but could see nothing but rage.  "We need to talk, Megan.  I was not the cause of Debra’s death."

"And why should I believe you?"  Megan waved her sword threateningly.  "Why should I talk?  My actions can talk for me."  She lurched forward, preparing to attack.

"STOP!"  The shrill-pitched voice from the doorway halted both Duncan and Megan in their tracks.

"Cassandra?"  Megan’s eyes widened as her eyes turned toward the door.

"You can’t kill him, Megan."

"Cassandra, stay out of this," Duncan interceded.  "This is our fight.  She challenged me, we have to fight.  You can’t interfere.  It’s the rules."

"You can’t kill him, Megan," Cassandra repeated, looking into Megan’s eyes.  Megan felt her anger begin to wilt beneath the glare.

"Why not?"  She replied stubbornly, but her voice quavered a bit.

"Because blood is thicker than water."

"What has that got to do with it?" Megan asked, placing her free hand on her hip and giving a challenging look.

"As an Immortal, you know you are adopted.  Debra was your adopted sister.  But just because we don’t know our real parents doesn’t mean we don’t have real families."

"What are you getting at?" Megan asked suspiciously.

"Duncan is your twin brother."

"That’s impossible!" Duncan and Megan said together.

"Not impossible."  Cassandra faced them both.  "In fact, very true."

"And how do you know this?" Megan asked.

"Through my gifts of vision, I am allowed to see some things, to know bits of hidden truth, future and past.  I was given the vision of this confrontation, in order to stop it.  That is how I knew you were here."

"So you’re not after Methos."  Duncan raised an eyebrow at Cassandra.

"No…but he’s always a tempting thought."  She frowned.  "I ran into him yesterday.  Would have had him, too, if it weren’t for a few nosy mortals…"

"You stay away from him."  It was a threat, not a statement.

"Fine…" Cassandra’s nostrils flared, but she turned to Megan again.  "You can’t kill Duncan.  He is your brother.  And he did Debra no harm."

"He killed her!"

"Megan…"

"And I’m not going to listen to any more of this!"  Megan abruptly turned to Duncan.  "We will meet again, Duncan MacLeod."  Reconcealing her weapon, Megan stormed out the door of the dojo.

Methos gingerly stepped across the puddle of reflected moonlight glare.  He enjoyed walking the back alleys of Paris at night.  As if they knew he was armed and dangerous, the muggers and thieves tended to stay out of his way. And there were plenty of places to duck out of the way and keep himself safe.  The night walks cleared his head, not an easy task when there were more than 5,000 years of memories to deal with.

Methos pushed his hands down deeper into his pockets and slouched his shoulders against the cold.  The dampness had worked its way through his boots -- no workmanship these days, he lamented to himself -- so that even his feet felt numb.  He wrapped his coat a bit tighter around himself, the form of his hidden sword pressing into his side.  It gave him little comfort.  On a night like this, the last thing he wanted to do was fight, even though it might warm him up.

The hair on the back of Methos’ neck stood on end as invisible fingers arpeggioed up and down his spine.  Damn, he thought, scanning the dark alley.  Had to run into her, didn’t I?

"Show yourself, Cassandra," he called out in a low growl.  He silently whipped out his Ivanhoe, keeping on his toes for any sign of movement.  "Come out, I said," he called a bit louder, "I know you’re there, you know I’m here, Cassie my dear.  So on with it."

"Adam?" a voice queried from the shadows.  He watched Meg Maclean step into the brief light of a streetlamp, the shimmering flicker illuminating the reddish tendrils in her dark hair.

"Meg?"  He had only sensed one.  They were alone.  No Cassandra.

"Yes, it’s me."  She lowered her blade slightly, questions darting from her eyes.  "Still want to fight?"

"No…uhm…not particularly, no."  He put his weapon away as she did the same.

"You said Cassandra…do you know Cassandra?  The same one I know?"  She didn’t know how else to describe Cassandra.  Mystic, seer, witch woman…the latter had a very different connotation for her at the moment, considering the woman had just ruined her first chance at taking Duncan’s head.  But hopefully it would not be her last.

"If you mean Cassie the witch, yes, that’s the one.  We’re not on friendly terms.  So, what are you doing around here at this time of night, Meg?"  He raised an eyebrow as he realized they were near the new dojo.  "Hunting Scotsmen, are we?"

Megan gave him a stern look.  "If you must know, the man gravely wronged me, and I will have my revenge.  Unfortunately, Cassandra came in and stopped the fight before it had begun."  She looked up, then away again as she felt his eyes examining her soul.  She didn’t want him to see into her just now, not feeling the way she felt.  She might just melt into quivering nothing if he managed to stop the fire of her rage.  It was the only thing keeping her going right now.

"If he wronged you, you should talk it out with him, not kill him.  I’m sure it can be worked out."  Methos wished she’d look in his eyes.  He wanted to convince her she had nothing to be afraid of, although he wasn’t quite sure why.  Years ago, he would have just taken any woman he wanted, but now he had discovered just how much better it was to compromise.  There was so much more to gain that way.  And nothing to lose, except hate -- like he was getting from Cassandra.

"There’s nothing to work out.  Eye for an eye, blood for blood."  Megan could hear the Scots accent creeping into her voice again.  Until her run-in with Duncan MacLeod, she hadn’t used it in years.  It had come flooding out, along with the anger.

"Mmmm.  I see.  It’s a Celtic thing, isn’t it?"  He smiled a bit sarcastically.  "‘You have done wrong, so in the name of Cosmic Justice, I’ll come after you, just to help things along.’  No matter how many times I see this sort of thing, it never ceases to amaze me."

"Don’t mock me, Adam.  I don’t need it.  I’m ticked enough, and I’m tired to boot."

"Why don’t you come to my place for a drink, then?  I promise, no funny stuff."  He smiled, more sincerely now.

"I suppose I could use it.  And it’d be quieter than Joe’s."  Megan rolled her eyes, then smiled back.  "Sure, why not?"

When they entered his apartment, Methos went straight for the kitchen.  "What would you like?  Wine, beer, whisky…"

"Beer is fine."

"Aah, a woman after my own heart."  He pulled two bottles out of the refrigerator, and handed Megan one as he came to sit beside her on the sofa.  She opened her bottle and amused herself by turning the cap over between her knuckles like a showman’s coin.

"Agile fingers."

"Huh?"

"Agile fingers.  The cap there."  Methos motioned toward her knuckles.  "And the guitar.  You play very well."

"I’ve been working at it a long time.  The guitar, I mean."  She looked down at the repetitive motion of the cap.  "This I just picked up somewhere…it calms my nerves."

"Still uptight?"  Methos asked.  Real concern had crept into his voice.  Now where did that come from? he wondered.  There was just something about her that brought out the compassion in him.  He worried about that.

"Duncan MacLeod has always made me uptight."

"Want to tell me about it?"

Megan shook her head.  "Not really.  It’s a long story."

"Here," Methos said, putting down his beer and reaching over to rub her shoulders.  She turned her back to give him a better angle.  "We have all night, if you change your mind."

"Let me think about it."  Megan slowly pumped her shoulders up and down under his touch.  He stroked her hair back out of the way, closing his eyes with the sensual touch.  Thoughts of Alexa flashed through his mind, along with the thoughts of dozens of other mortals -- and a few Immortals -- he had loved.  Every time it always ended up hurting.  And yet every time he felt this way again, he always fell.  And hard.  Life was so unfair.

But once again he caved in to it.  Methos brushed stray strands of hair away from her neck, then left a tiny kiss at the crook of neck and shoulder, working his way up to the line of her jaw.  He could feel and hear her breathing, which was slow and taking on a slightly labored sound.  Megan turned her face to meet his.  With two fingers he raised her chin, then kissed her with gentle force.  She returned the kiss, and more…

Methos looked down at Megan’s soft face.  Her eyes were closed, but he knew she was awake.  There was something oddly familiar about her face...who did she remind him of?  He stared at her for a minute more, then as the conclusion surfaced to his conscious mind, he pulled back from her a bit.  "Oh my," he said aloud.

"Hmmm?" she asked sleepily, opening her eyes.  Methos’ startled look drove the sleepiness from her.  "What’s wrong, Adam?"

"Nothing, Meg, nothing."

"That look wasn’t a ‘nothing.’  What’s wrong?"  Megan reached up to brush her fingers against his strong cheekbones.

"It’s just...oh, forget it."  Methos rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"Tell me."  Megan reached over and tickled his side, stirring him to a brief giggle.

"No...stop that."

"Then tell me!"  She fingered his sides furiously, and he burst into a fit of ticklish laughter.

All right, all right...just stop!"  he gasped.  He looked at her bright, inquisitive face.  "It’s just...your face reminds me...of someone."

"Who?"  Megan’s brows knitted.

Methos paused indecisively, then answered.  "Duncan MacLeod."

Megan’s face turned stony.  Methos had hoped not to see that look again.  "I see."  She frowned and turned away from him.

Great.  Done it again.  Shouldn’t have opened my big mouth...  "Meg, I didn’t mean to hurt you with that.  But there is a certain resemblance...it was just a thought...don’t take it so seriously."

Megan sat up, pulling the sheet and comforter to cover her as if they could shield her from her pain.  Methos let her be for the moment, tugging on shorts and a t-shirt as he padded to the kitchen and set up the coffeepot to brew.  After 5000 years, how did he still manage to upset women so easily?  Methos glanced back at the woman in his bed.  Megan’s forehead was against her knees, and he detected the faint sound of crying.  He turned back to the counter.  Damn, what have I done now?  He thought angrily.  If you can’t take me walking away from you, then...  Methos frowned hard and stared at the coffeepot, which was in the last throes of finishing its job.  I shouldn’t be this angry.  Bloody hell, I shouldn’t be this involved!  What am I doing with another Immortal?  Particularly one after MacLeod’s head?

"Adam?"  The sniffling voice made him turn around.  Her red eyes glanced down as he looked her way, but she continued to speak.  "I’m sorry, Adam, it’s not you.  It’s...it’s him...God, I wish I’d never seen him again!"

Methos poured two cups of coffee and went back to sit on the edge of the bed.  "Here," he said, handing her one steaming mug.  "It may not help, but it can’t hurt."  He looked over the edge of his cup as he sipped, taking in the tear-stained face.  "So you know Duncan MacLeod."

"I knew him a long time ago.  When we were both mortal."  Megan related the story of Debra while Methos listened intently, his eyes drinking in her soul as his ears gathered her words.  "So, I want revenge now, simple as that.  Except it’s not so simple."  Megan looked into her cup, as if the answers would magically appear there if she stared hard enough.

"Nothing’s ever simple."  Methos brushed a wayward strand of hair from Megan’s face.  Megan gave a tight smile, and once again Methos could not help but note the strong resemblance between her and Duncan MacLeod.  How odd, he thought.  And how ironic, to look like the person you despise the most.

"Don’t tell me, I did something to make me look like Duncan again."  Megan flared her nostrils and frowned.

"Hmm?" Methos asked, recovering from his thoughts and seeing her dark expression.

"You just gave me that ‘you’re too familiar’ look again."  Megan shifted and sighed.  "Then maybe it is true."  She stared at her knees, not daring to look at him.

"What is?"

Megan took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she spoke.  "That Duncan and I...that we’re twins."

Methos furrowed his brow a moment, then raised one eyebrow incredulously.  "And who told you that?  No, let me guess, you believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy as well."  Megan threw him another dark look, and he scrambled to save himself.  "Really, Meg, <> don’t even know where we come from.  Who could know about twins?"

"Cassandra came in and stopped my challenge to Duncan.  She told us she had seen it in a vision."

Methos frowned.  "As much as Cassandra and I don’t get along, she’s not one to lie.  And to the degree that you look like MacLeod, I wouldn’t doubt there’s truth in it."  He looked Megan over carefully.  "So are you still out to hunt Scotsmen, then?"

"What choice do I have?  I have sworn to avenge my sister’s death, and I will have my vengeance!"  Her fierce look reminded Methos even more of Duncan MacLeod, and he had to suppress a grin.  Megan’s face softened.  "But...but if he is my brother, if he is my blood..."  Her voice trailed off as she put her chin on her knees.

"He’s not a bad man, Megan.  In fact, he’s one of the best I know."  Methos smiled.  "Even if it does get a bit sickening sometimes."

"I promised Debra I’d take our revenge.  I just never thought I’d be doing it 400 years later."  She searched Methos’ face.  "I know I’ve changed over time, I suppose he has as well."

"We all do."  Methos looked down into his cup, and Megan realized she knew very little about him.  But her heart told her she didn’t need to.

"I know this must sound strange, considering I hardly know you," Megan began, then realized her state of undress and laughed.  "Well, a lot of this is strange considering I hardly know you.  But I trust you."  Megan sighed again, sniffling the last of her tears. "I can even believe that he’s different.  Maybe."  Methos handed her a box of tissues, which she took gratefully.  "I just don’t know what to do."

"You sound like you want to be convinced."

"I guess I do, sort of.  After all this time, the anger just flared again, but now....I really wanted his head when I challenged him.  He wanted to talk, I wanted to kill.  But after tossing around what Cassandra said, and thinking that just maybe he is my brother..."  She shook her head.  "I don’t know.  I just don’t know."

Methos stood up suddenly and pulled his clothes off the chair where he’d left them scarcely an hour before.  "What are you doing?"  Megan asked timidly.

"I know who can convince you of MacLeod’s goodness."

"Who?"

"Joe.  He knows more about MacLeod than anyone.  It’s not too late yet, we can catch up to him at the bar."

"Joe?  But he’s not one of us."

"No.  He watches our kind.  They observe to record our history.  And he follows MacLeod.  He’ll have a good story or two, I’d imagine."  Methos tossed Megan’s shirt and jeans at her.  "Well, come on then, hurry up, if you’re coming."

Methos glanced over at Megan as they came to a stop at the first of several intersections on the way to the bar.  Although the dark interior of the Volvo wagon shielded her face, he could sense that she was heavily lost in thought.  As he carefully cleared the intersection, Methos also noted that she was turning something new between her fingers: a metal ring circumscribing a Celtic triangle.

"What’s that?" he asked her, keeping his eyes on the busy street.

"What’s what?" she asked, surfacing from her thoughts and halting the motion of her fingers.

"What’s in your hand there."

"Oh.  That."  She took a deep breath.  "My husband gave that to me."  She paused at length, but just before Methos’ curiosity got the better of him, she continued.  "My first husband, Iain.  When I was mortal.  He did a lot of smithing work, he loved working with metal."  Her fingers tightened around the small circular medallion in her hand.  "When Debra died, I ran off into the woods.  Iain fell sick and died shortly after."  Opening her hand again, Megan rubbed the metal triangle fondly.  "He was an unusual man for his day.  He even made me the sword I carry to this day, and he had taught me to use it, in case I ever needed it."  She smiled wanly.  "Never thought I’d be needing it this much.  Granted, it’s been worn down and worked on over the years, but it’s still at heart the one he crafted for me."

"Sounds like quite a guy."

"He was."  She looked over at him.  "So are you."

"So is your brother."

Megan’s scowl was highlighted by the streetlights they were passing.  "You had to throw that in, didn’t you?"

"I thought you had it in your mind to forgive him."  Methos began to worry.  I should have just left this whole damned thing alone, rather than try to convince her of MacLeod’s goodness.  Methos glanced over at Megan, then shook his head gently.  MacLeod must be rubbing off for me to get my ass this far into the middle of things.

"I made no guarantees about forgiving him.  But I want to hear these stories of Joe’s anyway."

"Just don’t close your mind completely before we get there, okay?"  Methos snorted.  Had to get myself into this, didn’t I?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At Methos’ request, Joe ushered the threesome into the office and closed the door behind them.  Joe leaned back against the desk as Megan and Methos took seats in front of him.  "So, what’s all this about?"

Megan shifted in the uncomfortable silence, unwilling or unable to start.  Finally, Methos spoke up.  "It’s about her and MacLeod.  And Immortality in general, actually."  Methos briefly covered the reasons for Megan’s animosity, the confrontation that had occurred between her and MacLeod, and the revelation that Cassandra had dropped upon them.

"Wow.  Twins, huh?"  Joe looked Megan over.  "Yeah, I guess there might be a resemblance, now that you mention it.  Are you sure?"

"We only have Cassandra’s word," Meg answered.  "She was my teacher, though, and I don’t think she’d stretch the truth that much.  And Adam also seems to think she wouldn’t lie."

"There’s another reason we came here, Joe," Methos interrupted.  "I thought you would be the best candidate for telling Megan what kind of man Duncan MacLeod really is."  Methos sprawled nonchalantly in his chair, but the eyes that met Joe’s were full of uneasy thoughts.

"He wants you to convince me not to take his head," Megan said bluntly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"Oh.  Well then..." Joe thought a moment.  "Then I guess the best story for that is when he returned to Glenfinnan a couple of years ago."  Megan flinched at the mention of the village, but said nothing.  "He told me the story of him and Debra Campbell."

"And what lies did he tell you?" Megan asked, narrowing her eyes.

Joe gave her a reproachful look.  He  didn’t have the patience for this tonight.  "Okay, Meg, what do you want to know?  Do you want to know how she died?  She went out there to jump, Meg.  He was about to bring her back, he’d agreed to marry her, but the ground gave way and she fell."

"That’s what he told you," she said contemptuously.

"Were you there, Meg?  If so, I’d like to hear your version of things."

"I wasn’t there..."

"Then let me finish before you blow me off, okay?"  Joe took a deep breath to regain control.  "Mac came across a bracelet at an art auction, and recognized it as one he’d given Debra.  Grave robbers had stolen it and sold it.  He not only went back to Scotland to return the bracelet to her grave, he found and defeated the Immortal Kanwulf there -- the person who had killed his father four centuries before."

"And that’s all?  That’s supposed to make me forgive him?  I think not!"

"Now I really believe you’re brother and sister."  Joe shook his head.  "You’re as stubborn and bullheaded as he is."

Megan’s eyes flashed like lightning.  "What he did a few years ago was nothing compared to what he did a few hundred years ago.  Duncan MacLeod drove my sister to her death, and he will pay!"

"But she wasn’t your real sister.  And he is your brother," Methos interceded.

Methos’ pointed remarks simply worked to stir Megan’s anger further.  She stood up indignantly, the force of her movement sending the wooden chair clattering to the floor.  "She was my sister, regardless of blood.  And regardless of blood, he will pay.  Or I will die trying."  Megan stormed out impetuously.

Methos began to follow her, then stopped.  I can’t stop her now, not with that anger.  And I can’t interfere, MacLeod wouldn’t let me.  He turned to Joe and deadpanned, "I wonder if Indiana Jones had a sister."  They exchanged looks, then Joe picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the dojo.

"Mac?  It’s Joe.  Listen, I’ve got some bad news.  Looks like Megan’s on her way to see you again.  And she’s not a happy camper."

Duncan MacLeod sat on one of the benches in the dojo, one hand laid protectively over the handle of his katana, which rested on the seat next to him.  Most of the lights were extinguished, but now that the storm clouds had cleared away, moonlight filled the room from the high-set windows.  It was a beautiful setting, spoiled only by the fact that Megan Maclean was most likely on her way to attempt to take his head.

Duncan took a deep, cleansing breath and closed his eyes.  His mother had been the wise one, trying to stop the fight between him and Robert before it had started.  But "honor" had prevailed, and he had killed his cousin and childhood playmate over the love of a woman.  Then Debra had run from him to her favorite childhood place, and only moments after he had convinced her not to jump and they had agreed to marry, she had slipped and fallen to her death.  Then Megan had gotten lost in the forest and "died" there.  And shortly after, her husband Iain, a kind-hearted soul, had taken ill and died as well.  But they are all dead now, except Megan and me.  This cycle of death has to stop, here, with us.  But how?

By the third encounter within a short period of time, the signature buzz of an Immortal tended to be at least somewhat recognizable, and this was the case with Megan.  Duncan remained seated, but leaned forward and tightened his grip on the katana.

The heavy flash of moonlight on steel announced her arrival.  Her eyes found him quickly in the dark, and stared hard at him.  The rage Duncan saw there was something he’d seen many times -- in his own reflection.  Duncan surveyed her features as he stood up.  She is my sister.  The thought still astonished him.

"I willnae be distracted this time, Duncan MacLeod."  She spat the name out in contempt.  "I challenge ye to fight, one Immortal to another, and for Debra’s honor as well."

Duncan stanced himself defensively, but spoke gently.  "I don’t want your head, Megan."  I want to get to know you again, he added mentally.

"And ye willnae have it!"  She raised her voice savagely, coming at him with a heavy stroke.  Duncan blocked the move and backed out of her range again, playing defense.  She began to circle, like a wolf around its prey.

Her moves are too full of anger -- she’s being reckless, leaving weak spots.  I could easily have her, if I really tried.  But how could I take her head?  Duncan’s thoughts haunted him uneasily as he watched for Megan’s next attack.

"Dammit, MacLeod, fight me!  Don’t just hand me your life!"

"I’m not handing you my life, Megan, but I don’t want to fight you.  Can’t we talk about this?"

"There’s nothing to talk about.  You killed my sister!"

Duncan bristled.  "I am tired of being blamed for Debra’s death.  It took me long enough to forgive myself for being there when it happened.  But I didnae cause it!"  Duncan’s voice began to slip into his Scottish brogue as his anger heated.

"You didnae have to push her to be responsible!  Your words, your actions -- your killing Robert! -- those were the causes!"

"Then I am as responsible for killing her as you are for killing Iain."  Duncan pushed down his anger to regain his focus.

Megan blanched.  "What do you mean?"  She narrowed her eyes, whether in anger or pain Duncan couldn’t discern.

"Running off into the woods, disappearing.  He mourned for you.  Then he fell ill and died.  Some said he died of heartache."

"No!" she shrieked and rushed MacLeod, sword held high.  Duncan recognized his chance in her poor handhold immediately, and in a swift motion brought his katana up to stop her blade, in turn loosening her grip.  He quickly thrust upward, dislodging the hilt from her hands and sending the weapon flying across the dojo to clatter to the floor.  Knocked off balance by the force of the removal, Megan sprawled backwards.  Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she stared a moment at Duncan, who was looming over her with katana in hand, then brought her hands to her face and began to sob.

"Do it, Duncan!" she choked.  "You won, now finish it!  Send me to Debra…" her voice softened.  "To Iain…"  Megan’s body shook with sobs as she leaned her forehead against her knees, exposing the back of her neck under her ponytail.

Duncan glanced back to check the position of Megan’s sword -- she can’t reach it, anyway -- then placed the katana a safe distance away and knelt on the floor next to Megan.  He wrapped her in his arms and softly shushed into her hair.  His heart ached as she willingly leaned in toward him, a sign of trust.  He stroked her back gently, and she unfolded from her fetal clutch to put her arms around him.  My sister, he thought, and tears came to his eyes.  My sister.

Megan sniffled harshly and cleared her throat.  "Duncan, forgive me," she whispered.  Her body trembled as much as her voice.  "Brother, forgive me."

"Don’t I have to forgive my wee sis?"

Megan hiccuped a giggle through her tears.  "Ye’d better watch who ye be callin’ wee now.  I may be smaller than you, but I carry a big sword."

"So I noticed."

Methos had lost track of how many beers he’d had, thanks to Joe’s repeatedly gathering the bottles to deposit them in the trash.  Couldn’t have been more than a half dozen...could it?  But collecting the bottles and cleaning up were just Joe’s way of trying not to think of the fight that was probably going on at that very moment...or which might be over already.  Methos shuddered.  As much as she’s letting her anger consume her, she’ll probably lose, he mused.  On the other hand, could MacLeod bring himself to take her head?  But if she gave him no choice...  Methos shuddered again, watching Joe tidy up behind the bar.  Neither of us wants to think of either of them losing.  New or old, a friendship is always hard to lose.

Methos’ head shot up as an Immortal buzz began.  As he attempted to determine which signature it was, the realization dawned that it was two buzzes -- distinct, yet quite similar.  He smiled at Joe, who had noticed Methos’ sudden alertness and whose eyes asked questions he could not bear to put into words.  "It’s both of them," Methos said quietly, and Joe slumped into a posture of relief.

The pair entered slowly, Duncan’s arm wrapped tightly around his sister as if he were holding her up.  Megan’s face was streaked with tears.

"Are you okay?" Joe asked, unsure who he should be directing the question to.

"I think so," Duncan answered for the both of them.  He gave Megan a squeeze and lightly kissed the top of her head.  She pulled away from him a bit, looking meekly at Joe, then Methos, then at the floor.

"I owe both of you a deep apology," she began, shuffling her feet.  "I blew up at you when you were only sharing stories with me."

"You had no reason to believe us, Megan," Joe replied soothingly.  "We were trying to convince you of something you didn’t want to believe."

Megan smiled weakly.  "You were just trying to show me the man my brother has become."  She looked up at Duncan, warmth emanating from her face.  "Not the self-centered 26-year-old chieftain’s son I once knew -- and the one I wanted to kill."  Megan closed her eyes and shook her head.  "Memory is selective, and doesn’t like new information -- especially when the memory has been ingrained through anger.  But that’s no excuse for my actions.  I’m 400 years old, I should have grown out of that phase by now."  Duncan reached over and gave her another reassuring shoulder hug.  That’s the same way he pals around with Richie, Joe mused.  Must be a family thing.  Joe couldn’t help but think of Richie as being like Duncan’s son; now he had an aunt to teach him a thing or two as well.

"Sometimes it takes a significant event to shake you out of that phase," Methos responded, standing up.  "We’ve all had things to forgive ourselves for."  He aimed a pointed look at Duncan.

"That we have," Duncan added, "and we all need to acknowledge our mistakes and get on with things.  But sometimes that’s harder than it sounds."  He returned the knowing look at Methos.  There’s something more to that statement than they’re letting on, Megan realized.  It made her curious as to what they were really referring to, but she wasn’t about to question either one at that moment.  Must remember to ask Joe later.

Joe poured four glasses of single-malt whisky, and proposed a toast.  "To friends and family."

Duncan raised his glass.  "And to peaceful solutions to disagreements."

"Here, here," Megan said as the four clinked glasses.

"So, Megan," Joe began after emptying his glass, "what are your plans now?"

"You mean, is the band sticking around?"  She smiled.  "I think so.  After all this trauma, I think I need to settle down a bit.  But I also need some time to contemplate...things."  She gave Methos a look that evoked a raised eyebrow and questioning look from Duncan.  "I need to figure out where I’m going, what I’m doing.  Not like I haven’t done that before -- it’s just time to do it again, I guess."  She gave her brother a warm smile.  "And I want to get to know my brother again.  Maybe he can help me remember some of the distant past that I’ve neglected...the good part."

"You mean like snowball fights?"  Duncan smiled roguishly.

"Ugh!  How about you putting snow down the backs of our dresses?"  Megan replied, playfully fierce.  "Now there’s something I ought to be gettin’ ye back for!"

"Children, children, please," Methos chided.  "There will be plenty of time for all that come winter."  He smiled wickedly.  "Maybe I’ll have to join in on that replay."

Megan gave him a playful glare, then smiled and picked up her glass again.  "To memories."