Disclaimers:  can be found in part 1.
Rated:  NC-17 for explicit m/f sex and for graphic depiction of violence.

Quarrels of All Kinds, part 3

 * * * *

Aidan worked quickly and surely at Joe's.  She had been doing this for just over a month, now.  She knew where every supply was and had the bar inventory down by rote unless Joe just decided to rearrange it on her.  In here she could and did blow off some steam by being thoroughly silly.  This was an old and familiar song the other immortal played, and she knew all the steps of the dance, including how to control her own reactions to it.

Mike couldn't help grinning as Aidan imitated old Fred Astaire routines with the push broom, sang along with Fleetwood Mac on an old song of theirs that always reminded him of the people he Watched,  and in general seemed to be in a fine and frivolous mood today.

"Hey, Mike, how's my tab look?"  She spun around, not quite dancing as she came back toward the bar to dump the dirt she had swept up.

"Well, it would look better if you'd quit spotting Pierson beers," and he grinned at her, "but you're doing fine.  Good thing, too, no one's going to take any more bets from you!"

She laughed, clear and reckless today.  "Ah, well, he's a gorgeous thing when he smiles; I can't seem to resist buying some of the time.  Nice of him to help while he's catching up on news with MacLeod.  And I only do bets like that when the mood strikes, but that was simply too good to pass up."

Aidan emptied the dust bin and set the broom and pan neatly in place.  "Will you bill me six reubens to go, with potato chips and such?  I think all three of us are getting tired of cold sandwiches."

"Sure, go tell Tony what you want.  How's the house going?"

She called over her shoulder, "Not too badly, I may actually be moved in by Midsummer's."

Mike called one last comment to her.  "You know, this is a hell of a job.  I can't even tell you to be grateful tomorrow's Friday.  And somehow, TGI Sunday just does not have the same ring, you know?"

Aidan felt the other immortal's presence wash over her again as she moved into the kitchen, and smiled to herself.  He thought she was tired.  Now that she wasn't worried about Joe, this might yet be fun.

* * * *

So, she still returns here.  It can't be a major source of income, she seems to work two hours or so a day.  Always in the late morning, before the bar opens for lunch.  If it isn't income, then she's not a craven returning to meet her bills, but a woman strong enough to meet her obligations... or fool enough not to know what I'm doing.  No, Elektra knows what I'm doing, she tried to call the challenge on her own terms yesterday.  So, she has some strength to her, despite hiding with her friends last night.  Or perhaps that is where she's been staying?

No, she took bags with her.  Not even proper suitcases.  No sense of propriety or fitness.  Hiding indeed.  There's no pattern to her reactions; is she already panicking?  Perhaps.  That will make this even more entertaining.  So, yes, this may be the start of the pattern.  Appropriate that her water trail should lead to a tavern.  Another day or so to follow her, to make sure of her habits.  She doesn't seem to work here on Sunday or Monday, so I'll take that much more time to make her uneasy and shatter her nerve.  Next Tuesday or Wednesday will do well enough to take her.  It's been ages since I had the pleasure of drawing out a hunt so.

The blond hunter smiled as he watched Joe's bar through binoculars from the top of a nearby building.  Very nice, both the doors could both be seen from one vantage.  And while there was a delivery entrance in the back, she always parked out front.  Now, if she kept taking the same route from her place to this bar, and continued to travel alone....

Mortals weren't part of the Game.  They never had been.  But her lanky friend was always in the truck with her in the evenings.  So morning it would have to be, either on the way from the gym, although they did seem to be taking both cars at once, or more likely, late morning when she left them at her new property to work while she went to the tavern.

Ah, that's a thought.  Time to unsettle her a bit more.  Where's a florist?

* * * *

 Aidan glanced at the sky, estimated the time at six or so and looked around.  The wiring was finished for all the outlets; some of the ceiling fans were already in and turning, thank the Lady.  She walked down to the first floor where the two men were working on shelves.  "How does dinner sound, you two?"

Duncan turned off the saw and waited until the whine of the blade stopped before asking, "What did you say, Aidan?"

She grinned at him.  "I was given to understand that Lincoln freed the slaves over here in 1860-something.  How do you two feel about knocking off early and getting dinner, maybe going dancing or catching Joe's early set?"  With a rueful shrug she admitted, "Sorry, I think I'm getting a touch of cabin fever, but I don't really think a long walk is a bright idea under the circumstances."

"No, I don't think so, either.  Shall we go spend the evening at the bar?  I think Joe wanted to do another set with you if you were willing.  Does he know you can play harp?"  Methos checked off the board lengths completed and started stacking up the wood for the next day's work.

"No, but then my harp is in....  Oh, may the Lady bless, it's Thursday.  Time to call Connor.  Half a second."  She dug around for her phone, looking abstracted as she mentally rehearsed her greeting.  Finally, she dialed and deliberately pitched her voice to sound cheerful and casual.

"Hello, Connor.  ...  What do you mean, what's wrong?  ...  I do not.  No, I won't.  ... Oh, shit."

Both Duncan and Methos blinked.  The younger immortal had never heard her use that particular piece of profanity.  Threats, certainly, or elaborate, verbose complaints but not that.

Aidan handed the phone to Duncan.  "Connor wants to talk to you."  She turned blindly away and sat down on a pile of bricks.

Duncan put the phone to his ear.  "How did you get her to say that?"

His cousin's familiar voice said, "What's going on, Duncan?"

"Try to give me something to work on, would you, Connor?  She said she was going to call you Thursday; it's Thursday.  We were just shutting down for the night over here at her new place."

Exasperated, Connor said, "Dhonnchaidh, she never starts our conversations with 'Hello, Connor'.  You and I don't say goodbye; she doesn't use hello.  Claims there are better ways to strike up a discussion with a good-looking man."  Connor chuckled softly.  "So, if she said hello, something is wrong and what is it?  Trouble with lifelines?"

Duncan blinked, then thought about that fairly seriously.  "Hold on a second, Connor."  He put his hand over the receiver and looked at Methos.  "Do you know Connor?"

Methos looked amused at the question.  "Oh, yes.  He was even using that name at the time.  Let's see, I was using the name... Robert Morgan, I was running a tavern in Boston and investing in trading ships."

"Good.  Saves problems."  Before Methos could ask what was up, Duncan went back to talking with his clansman.  "That would describe it, cousin.  Some damn fool is giving her trouble; won't come out to challenge, but won't leave her alone either.  However, I'm keeping an eye on it and so is another old friend of hers.  Would you remember a Robert Morgan, from Boston?"

"Heh-heh.  I remember.  He's the one who got me hooked on Sam Adams' ale.  Still in the Game, is he?  Tell him I'm not paying interest on that ten pounds he loaned me; he's the one who vanished before I could pay it back."

Duncan raised his eyebrows, grinning at that comment.  "I'll tell him for you.  No, this challenger's just giving her cabin fever, kinsman, nothing more serious than that.  We'll keep an eye on her for you."

"Tell her anything you get to see, I get to see, hmm?  I mean, clansmen should share everything."  Connor chuckled again.  "I'll see to it that her belongings get shipped out, not to worry.  Damn Spanish peacock is still getting me into trouble.  Watch your head, Dhonnchaidh."

"Connor."  Duncan stood there listening to the dial tone, then hit the off switch on the phone.  With Connor, the important part of the conversation was always what he didn't say.  What had been left out of this?  Hell, what hadn't?  He handed Methos the phone absently, still turning that conversation over in his mind.

Aidan came over and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on one cheek.  "Sorry about that.  I don't know how he does it."

Duncan replied, "Oh, I do.  He just pulls it out of the air.  Irritating thing he claims Ramirez taught him.  Oh, and Methos?  He said to tell you he's not paying you interest on that ten pounds that he owes you."

Methos looked intrigued.  "He owes me money?  Wonderful.  I'll get the interest somehow, or I'll just tell you two about the duel on Boston Commons back in... 1783?  That sounds right."

Aidan took her cell phone back and replaced it in its case.  "Duncan, remind me to call the phone company tomorrow and get the lines hooked up out here.  I need to go ahead and get phones in here, so that you two aren't completely cut off from the outside world while I'm at work."

Duncan nodded.  "My intern would appreciate that, I'm sure.  I gave her your cell phone number, but she didn't expect quite this much autonomy this summer. On that subject, Methos, who's running the bookstore while you're over here?"

"Oh, a young man by the name of Richard Redstone agreed to take over for a month or so if I let him use my apartment.  Since he's appallingly unlearned in languages, I didn't worry about him reading my journals."

Duncan spent the next several minutes explaining to Aidan why he was laughing so hard, and why Methos looked so smug.  The three of them shut down the house while discussing the likelihood that Duncan's latest student had eaten Methos out of house and home while making incredible deals in the bookstore.  Aidan turned around from locking the door and realized that Duncan and Methos were still standing in front of her.  She pushed against their backs and moved between them to see what the problem was.

She raised one eyebrow looking at the scene, then started chuckling softly.  "Well, well, well.  Interesting sense of humor on this one.  Help me look for a note.  No, on second thought, don't.  He may have poisoned the thorns.  He doesn't know you two are immortal, and I don't want him to find out."

Duncan looked at the blanket of white roses on the truck's hood and shook his head.  "White roses are for purity.  What's the point?"

Aidan was running her hands quickly and carefully through the roses.  "Yes, white roses are for purity or loyalty but in this country, white flowers are for the dead.  Look around some time on Mother's Day.  This is a funereal blanket.  No, no note.  Pity."  She looked over the roses again, interested in her opponent's mind now.  "Hmm, I don't think I quite trust him not to have put bugs in it, or something equally interesting.  So...."

She shrugged, looking thoughtful.  "Time to send him a message of my own with it."  She draped the roses over her shoulder, ignoring the thorns, and walked to the far end of the parking area where she arranged them to lie over the fence.  "Maybe he'll take the hint and get off the fence himself.  Shall we go fix dinner, gentlemen?"

* * * *

Very interesting reaction.  Why over the fence?  And the two men must know something is going on but what has she told them?  They're very protective of her, but she isn't allowing them to guard her.  As if mortals would stop one of our kind.

 I think I'll drive her toward the river.  A last kindness to one who travels to water and a way to ensure she goes where I want.  The look on her face as I remove her ability to run should be exquisite.  Such an expressive face my Elektra has and such unpredictable reactions.  She's not a  pacifist, but she hasn't made another attempt to bring the challenge to me.  What is she doing?  What does she think she's doing, rather.  I don't know when I've enjoyed a hunt more.

Time for a good meal and some sleep, perhaps a swim.  Three in the morning should be about right to jar her awake and keep her awake for the rest of the night.  Anyone who comes to work on a house by seven is definitely more fond of sunlight than moon.  That should interfere with her day very nicely.

* * * *

Joe listened to the story with great interest.  "A blanket of white roses?  Hell of a warning."

Aidan shrugged, unimpressed.  "No, Joe, the time Owain Rhys-Tewdor left me the horse skull with the red ribbons -- that was a warning.  This was interesting, mind, and it tells me quite a lot.  But I've seen better.  Blessed Mother, I've left better when I've been minded to arrogance."

She tapped her mug, silently asking for a refill.  Joe raised an eyebrow in question but he refilled it with hard cider anyway.  She didn't seem to be even mildly tipsy.

"Oh, it's Adam's turn to be sober and responsible, not mine.  What bothers me the most isn't the challenge.  Now that I'm out of your house, I'm not worried about that.  Either I'm better than he is or not.  In all likelihood I'm better, and I'm not careless even with infants.  I do want to see another millennia or two.  What worries me is the question:  how did he find me?  He's looking for me -- not Mac, nor anyone else."

Warm arms slipped around her from behind.  She leaned back against Methos, knowing who it was even before he asked, "Sober enough to dance?"

"Certainly, what do you take me for?"

"A woman brave enough to jitterbug with MacLeod.  He's already putting the music in the jukebox, have a good time."  Methos neatly plucked her off the stool and swatted her to send her on her way to Duncan.  She gave him an indignant look.

"If you wanted me to go away so you could talk to Joe, why didn't you just say so?"

"Go away so I can talk to Joe."  He smiled at her.

She sighed, the back of her hand against her forehead in mock despair, but she was chuckling as she went to dance.  Methos watched her leave, then looked at Joe.

"She told you?"

"Yeah, she told me.  Who was Owain Rhys-Tewdor?"

Methos raised an eyebrow at the non-sequitor.  "Is, Joe, he's still in the Game as of a year or so ago when I last checked.  And he's an old enemy of Aidan's; they've loathed each other for centuries, but he's never pushed quite hard enough to goad her into challenging.  The Watcher records list him as John FitzAlan."

"Which name's right?  Never mind.  She holding up all right?"

"She'll be fine.  She doesn't know you Watch; would it be easier if she didn't tell you anything?"

Joe gave Methos a sardonic look, then passed him a beer.  "How 'bout I answer your real question?  I'm not Watching her, Adam, and I'm trying my damnedest to keep her out of the reports.

"No, I haven't told her about us yet.  Time's coming, though, old friend, when I'm going to want to have an immortal that the Watchers don't know about who does know about the Watchers.  I want someone with enough love of history to let the Watchers live and ruthless enough to pare them down or wipe them out completely if we ever have a problem like Horton or Shapiro again.  And someone discriminating enough to make the call."

Joe glared at him.  "How do you feel about being named executor of my estate, to make sure my private journals stay in the right hands?"

Adam smiled slowly, then inclined his head with a malicious gleam in his eye.  "My compliments, Joe, that's gloriously devious.  And you're right, she's perfect.  She told me a few nights ago that she spent six years hunting Nazi war criminals."

"She what?  Good God, Adam, how?  Why?"

He shrugged.  "Like many of us, Aidan had friends among the gypsies.  The death camps reduced them from 700,000 in the late '30s to 200,000 at the end of the war.  And she's deadly when she's on a hunt.  She  applies the same philosophy she uses in her studies.  Go back to the source, eliminate that, then follow all the channels down.  So far as I know, she's only done it twice:  the Nazis and most of  one chain of immortal teachers and students."

"Which one?  Nevermind, later.  My God, how has she evaded our records?"  Joe shook his head in disbelief, then muttered, "Well, that might explain a couple deaths we could never figure out.  Pity I can't tell anyone."

Methos watched him intently.  "Joe, Aidan's most useful skill is looking perfectly ordinary when she wants to.  When she reins in her personality, she is not particularly noticeable.  Neither incredibly striking, nor incredibly ugly.  Mid-range of height these days, although that was more troublesome years ago.  It's the force of character everyone notices, much the way it is with you, although these last few centuries her carriage and grace make her more noticeable than she used to be.

"And she never gives her targets advance warning.  The challenge letter specifies a time not more than six hours distant and if they don't show, she hunts them again a year or so later.  Of all the students I've trained, Edana learned survival the best."

Joe couldn't resist the dig.  "Yeah, and she has the most fun, too."  After a moment's pause he shifted to a much more serious topic.  "Adam?  Ask her about Cassandra.  You need to know."

The immortal looked up and away for a moment.  "So.  They finally met.  It had to happen eventually.  It can't have been that grisly, Edana is still talking to me."  He drew a deep breath.  "I'll ask, Joe.  Thanks."

* * * *

Aidan lay there and listened to Duncan's slow, even breathing and to the whistle of wind against the windowpanes.  Lightning flared across the windows with the distant sound of thunder rolling high above and away.  At last she turned over, squirming under Methos' arm so that she faced him rather than being spooned against him.  She tucked her head under his chin, bottom arm folded against his chest, the other resting against the side of his ribs.

In an almost unvoiced whisper, she murmured, "I know you're not asleep.  What is it?"

"Did anyone ever try to burn you for a witch, dearest?"  Methos kept his voice equally low, not wanting to wake Duncan.  Heaven and Hell both this was, curled between his nearest and dearest with neither one his lover, both his loved.  After all these years, though, he had learned to enjoy what he could and let the rest wait.

"No, but I left in a hurry more than once.  What's bothering you, Methos?"  She kept her voice quiet, as much felt as heard, but Aidan refused to be distracted from the subject.

He sighed, not wanting to discuss this and not wanting to leave it too long either.  Characteristically, Methos broached the subject obliquely.  "I understand you ran into an old acquaintance of mine, from before I found you?"

Aidan riposted to the core of the matter.  "Cassandra, you mean.  Yes, we met.  I meant to tell you, but... Duncan's fond of her, as much as he can be, though that's less than it was."

He digested that in silence, stroking his hand down her back again and again as he thought.

Duncan woke to the sound of quiet voices, knowing that wasn't what had awakened him.  The tension in Methos' body against his chest and legs had pulled him out of sleep.  Odd how comfortable it felt to have these two in his bed, to wake curled up against another male body.  In the clan, that had been normal.  He'd been the chieftain's son, but he hadn't rated a bed to himself until he'd been a proven warrior.  In the winter, you were grateful to have someone else to curl against under the covers, away from the drafts that the fire never entirely chased away.  Besides, there was always too much to do just keeping shelter and food available for all.  There wasn't time for luxuries like a bed for each individual, much less building enough room for them.

He heard Methos ask, "What happened?"  Duncan could tell they were trying not to wake him, and without thinking about it he controlled his breathing, keeping it deep and regular as though he were asleep still.  The three of them didn't have quite enough privacy right now; pretending not to hear was the best he could do at the moment.

Aidan sighed softly against Methos, then wrapped her arm up over his ribs.  Her hand lay on Duncan's side where he was tucked against Methos.  "I had to come over here to meet Duncan.  He had agreed to come with me to look over the house.  I fully intended to buy it that afternoon if I liked the interior.  When I got here, another immortal was here, a woman with magic of her own.  I could taste it.  She smelt sharp, like fresh-cut grass, with a bite and aftertaste in the mouth."

She felt his laughter against her body, although he made no sound.  "She'd hate being compared to a lawn, you realize."

Aidan shrugged, then murmured, "Well, I'll tell you, she doesn't taste nearly as good as summer grass.  No, she was arguing with Duncan, wanting someone dead.  He hadn't completed a task to her liking apparently.  She was ranting that the Horsemen could be reborn since the head wasn't dead yet.  Then she decided to lace her arguments with bardic voice.  She wanted you dead, Methos, and she was trying to make him do it."

Feeling the sudden coiling of muscles, hearing the aching intake of breath, Aidan immediately reached up and touched his mouth with one finger.  "Hush, mo cridhe, hush, you'll wake Duncan.  She wasn't getting anywhere; he's as stubborn a Scot as was ever born.  He loves you dearly, you know.  I knew it watching her enchantment coil looking for a spot to strike and having trouble finding one.

"In any case, I stuck my nose into the matter, although mine isn't near so large as yours."  She felt laughter hiss from between his lips, although he was still more tense than she liked.  "My interruption broke her spell and we... discussed things.  I had to pull my blade, both to compel answers from her and to make it close enough to challenge to keep Duncan out of it.  I was afraid he would feel obligated to protect her else, and she was tearing him apart already."

In a controlled voice that hurt both Aidan and Duncan to hear Methos asked, "Did she tell you what I did?"

"About the Horsemen?  Her version, yes."  Aidan pressed the finger against his lips.  "Hush.  Did you truly think she could turn me against you?  That she could tell me things about you I didn't already know and accept?  Cassandra told me a great deal, but not what she thought.  She fell in love with you, didn't she?  She doesn't hate you for being one of the Horsemen, she hates herself for loving one of the Horsemen."

Methos drew a shaky breath, then replied softly, "Yes, among other things.  I can't blame her for hating me.  I did rape her; I did break her.  And I let Kronos take her.  I have never been strong enough to beat him.  Not by myself.  I couldn't stop him, but I didn't even try."

"Methos.  You're saying you were as much a slave as she.  From what little I know of Koren, I believe it.  You can't blame yourself for doing what you had to."

"Flame, I enjoyed it, do you understand?  At the time, I took pleasure in the killing, in the control, in the power over their lives and deaths.  I liked it, liked planning and maneuvering other people.  I even manipulated the other Horsemen.  Even Kronos.  I couldn't get away from him, I couldn't always hold his will, but I managed more often than not to make him dance to my tune."  His arms had tightened painfully around her, but Methos' voice hurt her worse, the self-loathing in it lashing both of them.

"Yes, I do understand.  It's what I feel every time some young idiot shatters the rules and I can fight them, kill them, without debating whether I should leave them alive, that they might be worth saving for the Gathering.

"Methos, I know what you were before the Horsemen found you."  Duncan felt the other man flinch at that statement and marked it away in his mind to ask Aidan about that, someday, somehow.  She kept talking as he made his mental notes.

"I can't blame you for wanting power over others.  I can't even blame you for taking what pleasure you could.  I remember what I was like when you bought me back out of that brothel.  I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't been there.  You made me control you, didn't you?  So that I'd get it out of my system.

"And I remember what you were like when you trained me.  You never hurt me more than you had to."  She pressed more firmly on his mouth.  "Hush.  You didn't.  Better that you kill me when I left myself open.  At least you left my head on my shoulders when I was dead.  And we both know I never made the same mistake twice when you taught me that way."

Methos tucked his face against her hair, shaking between the two of them.  "Gods, I never thought either of you would forgive me.  I couldn't tell you, either of you.  I'm sorry, Edana."

Aidan held him tightly, fingers kneading tension from him.  "It's all right, Methos.  It is.  Do you truly think I've told you everything I've done in my life?  Even Duncan has his secrets, and he's far and away the youngest of us.  Shh, it's all right.  You're not a monster, no matter what you fear of yourself.  My word on it, Magister, you aren't."

Duncan held still, knowing that he had dealt his own hand in this game.  It was too late to 'wake up' and comfort Methos.  It might even hurt the other man more to know the Scot had heard it all.

Out of a quiet pause Methos laughed softly, a pained sound.  "What haven't you told me?"

"Oh, no, another night.  Tonight I tell you about Cassandra.  She tried to use her voice on me."

This laughter was still soft, but more genuine.  "Oh, lovely.  As if bardic Voice would affect a trained druid.  She didn't have a clue who or what you were, did she?"

"No, she didn't.  I slammed her across the room with wind to make my point and shut her up."

"Damn, and I missed it?"  His tone was still more half-hearted than Aidan liked to hear.

"Hush.  She managed to irritate me enough that I challenged her.  How has she survived three millennia, old friend?  She's arrogant, and not very good with that sword."

 "You challenged her?  You haven't done that in seven hundred years, I didn't think.  What happened?"  Methos slowly began to relax as Aidan goaded him back into his usual sarcastic responses.

"Well, I've issued one or two.  She maligned Ramirez, insulted my taste in lovers, and made condescending remarks about Darius.  I lost my temper and challenged her.  We fought..." Aidan paused, thinking, "... the same morning Joe sent you the fax.  She's truly incompetent with a blade, at least for one of us.  Who trained her?"

Methos did chuckle softly.  "I have no idea.  Why, going to read him the riot act for doing such a poor job of it?"  More slowly, he continued, "Did you kill her?"

"No, I didn't.  Duncan told me after I challenged her that she had given you your head.  He didn't quite ask me to let her live; you know how he can be.  So I decided to put the fear of the Goddess in her.  You remember the duelists in Italy, the ones who threatened to give each other haircuts?"

"Yes, what about them?"

Aidan shrugged.  "Well, I have a lock of her hair painted with blood from her throat.  To be honest, I think I terrified her.  I put both blades on her throat and made her ask what I wanted.

"Methos, listen to me.  You don't owe her your head.  She revoked the debt in exchange for her life.  Revoked both your debt and Duncan's for asking it of her.  Do you hear me?"

He exhaled until Aidan wondered if he was going to breathe again, then slowly he pulled in fresh air.  "I hear.  Thank you.  I was terrified of when she might call it in, and for what."

She could feel his hand trembling slightly against her back with the release of tension, but made no mention of it.  "She's promised not to attack me, not to send headhunters after you, and not to misuse her magic.  If she does any of those things, by the spirit of the oath, not the letter, I will kill her and she knows it."

In a quieter voice, Aidan said, "I didn't make her promise not to attack you.  You raped her, by her admission and yours.  If she wants to come after you for that, I won't stop her, but I don't think she will.  For one thing, I don't think she's realized I left her that option.  For the other, she doesn't want to fight you herself, she just wants you dead."

In a controlled, calm voice, Methos agreed, "That's fair."

"Don't you dare give her your head if she comes after you!  Not for that.  Do you hear me?  She's been raping souls, and it's near impossible to heal that."

Methos immediately murmured, "Shush.  I have no idea how we haven't woken Duncan, let's not blow it now."

At the same time, Duncan stretched against Methos and 'woke up', making appropriately sleepy noises.  "Hmm?  You two awake?  Everything all right?"  Deliberately, he moved closer to Methos, wanting to give his friend what support he could without revealing he'd heard anything.  Feeling cords and knots under his fingers, Duncan began rubbing out Methos' back.

"We're fine, Highlander.  Gods, that feels good," Methos groaned.

Aidan reached out, felt what Duncan was doing and began to match it from the front.  "Sorry to wake you, I was trying to get him to go to sleep.  This may work very nicely."  She tilted her head, kissed Methos lightly on the throat and whispered in Greek, "Yes, I still love you, Methos.  Don't you dare give up over that incompetent witch or I'll petition the Goddess to send you back as my next student.  I'd do it, too."

Caught between the two of them, Methos shuddered and let their hands relax him.  In English he  replied, "I believe you.  Thank you both."

Aidan sang quietly to them, lacing her voice with some of the cadences of sleep and peace.  Out of practice though she was, it still worked.  All three of them fell soundly asleep as the rain began.

* * * *

The hunter stalked his prey across the city, deliberately letting her see his car as he followed her to Joe's Bar.  More than once she tried to lose him, only to be picked up again a few minutes later.  Soft, cruel laughter spilled through his car after he finally let her escape.  Better that she not figure out he had a tracer on her truck.  He had not spent a week on this chase to see her escape.

He drove at a more leisurely pace to the hardware store where he had first confirmed his prey, enjoying the irony of buying some of the tools of her death here.  Gravel, spray paint, and motor oil -- such plebeian items to kill one of their own kind, but they had their uses.

Gustav spent the afternoon swimming, working out with his sword, and visiting one of the museums in the town.  The exhibit of worked gold and silver actually met with his approval.  After a short nap, the sun finally down, he went to set up his killing zone.

He looked around again, pleased with his site.  A grassy slope with a few sparse, young trees and bushes ran down ten or twelve feet at a 45 degree angle -- steep enough she wouldn't be inclined to try to run back up it after he chased her over the edge.  From there, the Corps of Engineers had put in a four foot retaining wall and then an eight foot wide concrete walkway.  Below the walkway, land lined with irregularly sized white rocks sloped a short distance to the river.  So, she wouldn't go up or down.  Now to make this even worse.

The blond hunter aligned the most important part of his trap first.  Looking around for the best location, he braced the crossbow where it would almost certainly go unnoticed under one of the bushes.  He sighted along it to aim where it would best strike precisely the height he wanted.  Gustav built up a pile of driftwood, cocked and loaded the crossbow, then triggered it.  The quarrel slammed into the target a bit higher than he had hoped and he spent a few minutes resetting the crossbow.  The second time, the quarrel sliced into the deadwood exactly 40" off the ground -- precisely where he wanted it.

From the site of the impaled target, he gauged in his mind where his markers should be on the retaining wall.  Once he knew precisely where they would go, the immortal pulled out the spray paint and set a red skull and crossbones on either side of his target point, and then a third directly on it.  All he had to do was bracket her and trigger the crossbow when she eclipsed the center skull.

Using the other two cans, he set some more graffiti, black and green this time, to conceal from his prey which marks were important.  Although he saw some gang graffiti already there, he dismissed that as unimportant.  No mortal could seriously threaten him.

Now he placed the gravel and oil in a random appearing pattern to hold his prey near the kill zone.  Using leather gloves, he collected some broken glass where the bridge passed over the river nearby and worked that into the pattern.  He stepped back and studied the whole, then scattered gravel in a couple places.  Looking again, he made a few more finicky adjustments then stepped back and nodded this time.  One last time he deliberated, setting in his mind the precise details of the site and where not to stand.  An error would be fatal; he refused to lose his head to a mere fledgling of two centuries.

Satisfied at last, he set the trap.  He reloaded the crossbow for the last time, working carefully.  The broadhead quarrel was more than sharp enough for what he wanted; the radio trigger had fresh batteries bought this morning.  It was a good night's work, now to get some sleep before he trailed her for the last time in the morning.

* * * *

Duncan caught Aidan around the waist as she headed for the door.  "You are going to eat some breakfast, right?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation.  "Are you sure you're not Italian?"  An extravagant arm motion took in the entire room.  "Connor started my belongings on their way today, I have three ceiling fans to install, more locks to change out than I care to think about, and you want me to worry about food?"

"Yes.  Next question?"  He raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to argue with him.  "A lot of good you'll do if you pass out from low blood sugar.  Even we can be driven to it.  Behave, or I'll sic Methos on you."

An amused voice spoke up from across the room.  "I distinctly heard my name taken in vain.  What now?"  He glanced up from the wood he was staining.  Boards were carefully slanted against the wall on either side of him to dry.

"Just convincing Aidan that eating would be good for her."

Methos bent his head back over his work.  "If she wants to be challenged and lose her head from hunger and faintness, I'll deny I ever trained her."

Aidan laughed abruptly.  "All right, I concede.  You're both right, I'm wrong.  I promise, I'll get food at Joe's, but I'm going to be late."

"Good.  If you're off schedule, maybe he won't trail you today."  Methos continued to work, but he watched her from under his eyelashes to see how well that shot struck.

"How did you....  Damn.  You always get me with that.  Yes, he followed me yesterday, but I lost him eventually.  Actually, I'll be more worried when he stops.  That'll tell me he's getting ready to strike.  Do you suppose he gets off on stalking me?"

That thought stopped Methos' hands in mid-motion and his head tilted as he began to consider the question.  Alarmed, Aidan fell still in Duncan's arm as she threw her own mind to what had been only an idle suggestion.  Duncan watched the thoughts and emotions play over them, reading Aidan's face, seeing Methos' eyes narrow.  The older immortals looked grimly at each other.

"We've misread this, haven't we."  Her voice did not make it a question.

"Possibly.  It could go either way.  But let's start working as if he's not challenging you, but hunting you."  Methos set the board aside and stood up.  "You have your phone?"

She nodded, running possibilities through her mind.  Duncan looked back and forth.  Finally he said, "Translate this for me.  What's the difference, so I'll be sure we're all thinking the same thing?"

Aidan replied absently, "I'm now assuming he doesn't plan to fight me, but to kill me without issuing challenge or any other formalities -- like fair play.  Let's see, he seems disinclined to let mortals in on this, or he'd have struck at Joe's.  You two are always here with me, or I'm at Duncan's with you, and as of yet he shouldn't know you're immortal.

"So.  He'll have to try and take me at the hardware or grocery stores when I'm alone, moving from the door to the car here, or from the car to Joe's in the mornings.  My bet is on the latter.  Best killing zones.  Also the civilians at the stores are too unpredictable, which lets out the gas station."

Methos nodded, still thinking furiously.  "Yes, but don't assume that's it, either.  We have one other problem.  If this is a hunt, eventually he'll lose patience.  At that point, he'll either leave, which I doubt, or go for a hostage.  Now, luck would be that he tried for me or Duncan, but no assumptions.  He's put at least a week into this, Edana.  I don't think he's going to leave."

Aidan nodded quietly.  "All I have to do is hold him 'til my gear arrives.  If I have to, I'll set myself out as a stalking horse then.  Welded titanium-steel chainmail will stop enough for me to kill him if he won't challenge."  She noticed the expression on Duncan's face and hugged him tightly.

"Dhonnchaidh, it will be all right.  I've played this game before, more times than you truly want to know.  If I have to stake myself out it will be near water, where I can go for a swim if there's need.  I'm not going to get myself killed now.  Don't worry so.  He could simply be playing mindgames before challenging me; we're only moving to a worst case scenario."

Methos walked over and wrapped his arms around both of them.  "You'll be late.  Let's not break your patterns until we're ready to rattle him."  He caught her eyes and continued, "Get some food as soon as you get in the bar, all right?  You need to stay in good condition until this is over."

He thought for a moment then interrupted Aidan as she started to speak.  "Which route will you be taking today, just in case?"

Aidan nodded, very serious.  "I'll take one of my usual routes, so that I don't surprise him just yet.  But I'll watch for 'presents' in the road, too."

Duncan hugged both of them.  "Be careful, Aidan."

She chuckled softly.  "Don't worry, I won't make you explain anything to Connor.  This is the last day this week that I go in to the bar, and the phone company said the lines would be turned on by Monday.  I'll get a phone in here by then."

Aidan kissed Duncan lightly on the cheek, then Methos.  "See you all in a few hours."

* * * *

 Last time, my prey.  This is the last time I let you run in this truck.  Three more days, then I run you on foot and that will be a joy.  You're moving more slowly this morning, I wonder why?  Can it be you're not sleeping well?  I do hope so.  What's the saying?  'Professionals are predictable, but there are a lot of amateurs in the world'?  It's so much more fun when the prey is unpredictable.  What's a hunt without risk?

The look on your face as you try to evade my sword should be truly memorable.  You have such an expressive face, and the young always fear pain and death.  Shall I let you revive before I take your head?  The crossbow will almost certainly kill you.  You simply don't have the mass to absorb that kind of blow and live.  If you had more muscle on your frame, you might, but you're female, and weak.  A pity to kill you, but I never take students, no matter how brave.  Why should I?  In the end, there will be only one.

Are you wondering why I kept going when you turned into the parking lot?  Ponder as you like, Elektra.  Now I throw your balance off in the other direction, by leaving you alone for the rest of the day.  Time to make the bomb for your car.  I wonder if you'll scream when the quarrel hits, when you realize you've lost the Game?

Another present this afternoon, I think.  Something appropriate for a special occasion....

* * * *

Interrupting the discussion on what to cook for dinner, Aidan looked at the cars and commented, resignedly, "Well, either he can't figure out which one I drive, or this one's for you, Duncan."

Methos glanced at the black gift bag on the hood of the T-bird and mockingly said, "Even made it color-coordinated.  'For the young gentlemen,' so I guess that's us."  Methos opened the card.  "How nice, it's a letter of sympathy.  Bad scansion in the poetry, mind."

He handed the card over to Duncan and began ransacking the bag.  "Hmm, good whiskey, at least.  Here, Aidan, check out the bottle.  Now, what's this?  A CD?  Handel's Requiem Mass.  Going to be a dull wake."

"Did he sign the card, Duncan?"  Aidan never looked up from where she was inspecting the seals on the alcohol to see if there had been tampering.

" 'With my deepest sympathies on your loss.' " Duncan handed it to her, trying to match their nonchalance.  He'd had immortals stalk him before challenging, but he was starting to agree with Aidan.  Whoever this was had no intention of fighting her, just slaughtering her.

Methos kept digging in the bag.  "Ah, two black armbands, wrapped around shot glasses.  For the whiskey one supposes. An advertisement from Verdant Hills Funeral Homes, how kind.  A fruit basket, not even with anything exotic:  apples, pears, bananas.  Lovely.  Last, and least, a twelve-hour black candle.

"Boring chap.  Couldn't we have something a bit more modern for the wake?  I'm terribly fond of 'Dead Man's Party.'  Maybe Led Zeppelin's 'In My Time of Dying.'  'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald' would at least give the right feel to it."

Aidan finally reached over and thumped him sharply on the arm.  "Enough.  Let's go cook.  Come on, you two, I've had enough of his bad attempts to frighten me.  Not a creative bone in his body, which may be worth thinking on." She threw all of it back into the bag and handed it to Duncan.  "Here, you keep it.  Not my brand of whiskey."

She turned to unlock her truck and stopped, staring.  Duncan reached out and took the keys from her, pressing her back with one arm.  When he opened the door, the light reflected off the white note and bright steel.  "Believes in overkill, doesn't he?" Duncan remarked, trying to casual.

Aidan only remarked, "So long as he's the one to lose his head, not me."

Methos came over to look while Duncan lifted out the top item, a black-bordered card which only said, 'Soon.'  Under it, a broken longsword had been tied into a cross with a dark brown braid.  Duncan carefully moved the bundle onto the hood of the truck.

Aidan removed the braid.  "Cheap wig.  But a good match for color."

Methos reached for the note, examining it for any details.  Duncan studied the sword, and Aidan leaned in from the side to see.  After he fit the sword pieces back together, Duncan pointed to the etching on the blade.  "Your name, Aidan."

She gave him an oddly intent look.  "Turn it over, Duncan.  I need to see what's on the other side."

Methos glanced at the blade, then gave it a second, longer look.  "That looks like the one you used in the first millennium, but you never tolerated that much ornamentation on a hilt in your life."

Meanwhile Aidan was studying the other side.  "It does, doesn't it?  Interesting indeed."

"What does it say?  It's Greek, isn't it?"  Duncan looked at the sword more closely, noting the quality of steel in the blade, the intricate crosspiece.  "I saw this blade in one of the replica swords catalogs a while back.  It didn't have the engraving, though.  This must have cost a hundred dollars, call it another sixty or so for the items on my car; the man doesn't go for cheap warnings."

"It says Elektra Mycenas.  Yes, it's Greek.  Interesting.  I haven't used that name or identity in over a century... however, the bank account I accessed a few weeks ago was originally set up by 'Elektra Mycenas.'  I have some idea how he found me now.  Good, one less puzzle in this."  She neatly bundled up the sword pieces and wrapped the braid around them, then placed them in the back of the truck.

"Passable metal, I'll reforge them one day.  For now, shall we go?  There are interesting implications to this, if I can just decipher them."  She handed Methos the car keys.  "Do you mind driving?  I need to think."

"Certainly.  Hmm, maybe we should put together a CD for wakes?  What should be on the playlist?"  Methos smiled to himself as the color started to come back up in her face.  The argument over 'Dannyboy' was flying fast and furious by the time they closed the truck doors and went to Duncan's to make dinner.

* * * *

Gustav studied the gymnasium carefully.  Even at six in the morning, there was a possibility one of her lovers would come out, or worse yet she would.  Completely under her truck as he planned to be, he would be hideously vulnerable to them.  To his advantage, though, only she would feel his presence and come looking.

No one was stirring; there was no sign of motion through any of the third floor windows.  Good, Elektra should be moving more and more slowly these days; otherwise, he'd have to come back tomorrow and do this in the dark at four or five in the morning.  Worrying yourself to sleep, then sleeping badly and long?  Oh, I do hope so.  Why spend all this energy for nothing?  Frowning, he noticed a young man walking slowly along, lost in thought.  Although he fumed at what it did to his timetable, the hunter waited until the street was completely clear.

He eased himself from shadow to shadow, then moved quickly across the open area to her truck.  Swiftly, Gustav squirmed partly under her truck and set the small bomb inside her wheel-well where the shaped charge would blow out her front axle.  If it went off on the passenger side she should be able to get out the driver side and run, which would give him a beautiful shot as she came around the truck.  He checked the connections one last time and wriggled back out.  Glancing around to ensure he was unobserved, he headed back to his car.

On a Sunday she should be working at the house all day.  For him, this would be a good day to sleep, enjoy a good meal, see what concerts or recitals were scheduled.  Let her wonder what he was doing, and worry.

* * * *

Methos roused first and sat up in the bed.  His movement woke the other two and all of them felt an immortal entirely too near.  Aidan rolled out of the bed, grabbing her saber as she went, and came up moving toward the door with her sword en garde.  Duncan slid off the other side and stalked toward the elevator, katana in both hands.  Once they were out of the way Methos melted into the shadows, longsword out and hidden by one leg.

Aidan set one shoulder against the door to provide the least profile possible and looked through the peephole.  Moonlight silvered her skin, glinted off her sword, necklace, and waist chain, as she dropped out of guard position and unlocked the door.  Both men pivoted as they heard the lock turn and the door open.  In a perfectly clear, calm voice, she commented, "It's called a telephone.  You pick it up, punch numbers, and if you're feeling particularly modern speak into one end of it -- hopefully the right one.  Or did you mistake it for a haggis again and put it in the refrigerator?"

Connor MacLeod grinned at her from the hallway, suitcase behind him, katana in hand.  "What kept you?  Or did I interrupt something?  And I never put the phone in the refrigerator."  His gaze traveled from the top of head to her feet and back again, slowing several times along the way.  "Nice look.  Skin and jewelry suits you."

"Nice.  Nice?  I see."  Aidan's eyes narrowed, then she smiled at him, a sultry look that made Connor think the temperature had just risen a good ten degrees.  Setting her sword to one side, Aidan began to stretch and twist through a series of poses and partial turns, smoothly enough it was almost a dance and slowly enough that all three men had plenty of time to see everything.  By the time she finished, Duncan was flushed, Connor (who'd been closest and had the best view) was sweating, and Methos was grinning at her temper and the reactions of the other two men.

Walking out of the shadows, the oldest immortal put his sword back by the bed and brought Aidan the top of Duncan's pajamas.  "No wonder I had to pay so much to buy out your contract that time."  He handed her the black silk, still smiling.

Aidan held the shirt down by one leg, still watching Connor.  "Did you look your fill, Connor?"

"Yes."  His voice was hoarse.

"Good.  Now that you're awake, make some coffee while I get dressed."  Methos smiled to hear the edge in her voice.

"You never do wake up well from naps, do you?  Pull the shirt on, Aidan, you got his attention."

Connor watched, shell-shocked and admiring, as she stalked to the dresser to pull out some shorts.  "She never did that in New York."  With an abrupt shake of his head, he looked at his clansman, noting the silk pajama bottoms that matched Aidan's top.  "Duncan."

Duncan grinned and hugged him.  "Connor.  She's right, what are you doing here?"

Connor raised his eyebrows.  "Headhunting, what else?"

Without turning around, Aidan replied, "Connor, he's mine.  Behave or I'll hunt your other head.  With my sword."

Connor opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and stopped.  His clansman held up both hands, palms out, and backed up a few paces.  Realizing he would get no support from the other two men, Connor changed tactics.  "So where is the coffee, Duncan?"

A few minutes later all four of them were seated around Duncan's table, drinking coffee and waking back up.  Aidan finally sighed and tilted her head back, eyes closed and hands wrapped around the hot mug.  "All right, Connor.  It's two in the morning, and we've all been a little stressed lately.  What's going on?"

"Your opponent annoyed me.  I came to get in line."

She opened her eyes again, interested despite herself.  "Oh, really?  What did he do to you?  I thought he was out here driving me crazy."

"He's doing a good job of it.  You've lost five pounds since Boston.  I tell you my side, then you tell me yours, yes?"  That husky, oddly accented voice sounded harsher than usual.

Aidan opened her eyes and looked at him, grey eyes meeting hazel.  "It's a deal, but I still get first shot at him."

"How do you figure?"  Connor leaned forward, running one hand through short, sandy hair.  As usual he wore jeans, a casual shirt, and tennis shoes, although Aidan suspected he hadn't changed since the flight just from the creases and rumples.

"Connor.  One, he's been harassing me for the last week and some, not you.  Two, I'm older.  Three, when it comes right down to it, you're stronger but I'm faster."

"Heh.  This from the woman who admits she ran away from the Kurgan twice."

Methos glanced up from his coffee.  "Well, that makes four.  She's smarter."

Duncan snorted.  "It's irrelevant, Adam.  He's been setting the rules for this, and he's challenging her.  But I never heard you dodged the Kurgan twice, Aidan."

Aidan sat there rotating her neck to ease some of the tension Connor's arrival had added.  "Well, the second time was when I lost track of this one for three centuries," and she jabbed a thumb at Methos.  "I bolted out of Budapest because the Kurgan had finally found out where I was staying.  He was in the inn ahead of me, so I just went out over the wall and into the river in what I had.  I never went back for any of my gear, I was too happy to get out alive.

"The first time, though, I was in Ethiopia, working my way along one of the lesser trade routes.  High as hell in the hills.  Ran into him, had no idea who he was."  She glanced at Duncan.  "You never saw the Kurgan.  Easily seven feet tall, shoulders out to here," she indicated with both hands, "and he wielded a sword as tall as I am.  He charged me, we traded three shots and I knew I was in serious trouble."

She shivered remembering.  "The first shot slammed our swords against my chest, the second threw me against the side of the mountain hard enough to make me see stars, and the third exposed bone from knee to opposite hip.  I did the only thing I could.  I went off the side of the mountain."  Her eyes watched those mountains for a moment, then she shook herself back to the present.

"I do not recommend an eight hundred foot drop into forty feet of water as a way to die.  That hurt.  I finally washed ashore a good sixty miles downstream.  It took that long for my wounds to heal, and Ramirez had taught me not to be afraid of drowning."  She traded a reminiscent smile with Connor.  "You remember."

"I remember.  Damn Spanish peacock, I'm glad I finally got his quickening."

Aidan looked malicious for a second.  "I hope he taunted the Kurgan for all four hundred years, myself.  If anyone could make their host hear him, Ramirez could.  However, back to our original discussion..."  and she nailed Connor into his seat with her eyes, "... I get this one for the simple reason that I want him.  Now, if you behave yourself and don't argue with me about it, I promise I'll show you the full version of that dance, in and out of the appropriate clothes, as soon as I unpack said clothes."

Connor thought about it, weighed all the evening's arguments and nodded.  "Done.  But if you get killed, I nail the bastard's ears to the ground and kill him slowly several times.  Then we fight over who gets his head."

Methos shook his head, looking amused.  "Connor.  Did you ask her where the clothes were?  And we're not fighting over it -- I get his head if it comes to that.  I've known her longest, by quite a bit.  You two have only met her this decade."

"Where are they?  Robert, you never remind me about these things in time."

"You're still in my debt, Connor, not the other way around.  By my reckoning you owe me about three hundred dollars.  Of course that's only three percent, compounded annually, not quarterly, but I was feeling generous."  Methos nodded to him.  "And it's Adam these days."

"They're on their way from New York, I hope."  Aidan smiled at Connor.  "But you already agreed.  It's not my fault if you didn't nail down all the details.  Now then, tell me what he's been doing to you, and then I'm going back to bed.  You can get my story over breakfast tomorrow."  She looked up at the clock and shook her head.  "Today, rather.  Duncan, remind me to unset the alarm clock.  To the hells with it, we'll get up when we get up."

Connor shrugged.  "I was planning on coming out tomorrow to settle you in and visit my kinsman here.  For the last few days someone has been trying to hack into the shop computer.  Yesterday, on a friend's advice, I let him.  We spiked his signal and tracked him as far as Seacouver, before we lost him.  The only things he accessed were your records and ownership on my shop.  He wants my attention, I thought I'd give it to him."  Feral pleasure shone in his eyes at the thought.

"Don't be so greedy, I told you I get him.  But you can get some sleep before you help with the house tomorrow.  Today rather."

"I only said I'd help you unpack, sister.  When did I agree to that?"

"We could spar for it if you'd rather.  But you'll still help, you'll just get pinpricked to death first.  Save yourself grief, Connor.  Agree."  She watched him, an amused half-smile on her lips.

"Damn, woman, how do you get me into these things?"  He ran a hand through his hair again, more rueful than annoyed.

"I learned it from Ramirez.  Anyway, I'm going back to bed.  Enjoy the couch, Connor."

He straightened up, looking indignant.  "The couch?  Why me?"

Aidan grinned at him, already unbuttoning the shirt.  "For three reasons.  One, you're the one who didn't warn us you were coming so that we could see what we could do about housing for you.  Two, it's Duncan's house, so he definitely gets the bed.  Three, after Duncan you're the youngest.  You get the couch.  Sleep well."  She walked back to bed, settled her sword into place, stripped off the shirt and shorts and crawled back under the sheets.

"Don't stay up talking all night, you three."  She curled up and closed her eyes, muttering in Greek, "Men.  Sweet Goddess, were they really a good idea?"

Methos choked on his coffee but refused to translate for the other two.

* * * *

Aidan finished doing what she could for breakfast without waking the other three, then took her sword and went downstairs to the dojo.  At six on a Monday morning, no one was likely to interrupt or be startled by live steel, and she couldn't sleep any more.  Taking advantage of the quiet and solitude, she stretched out slowly then began to practice.

Dagger forms first -- swift supple movements that slid in and out around the sunlight.  Her body nice and loose, Aidan switched to sword forms with and without the dagger, dancing and striking again and again, working the room's equipment into her patterns as both obstacles and targets.

Sweat dripped off her and thoughts faded away as she wrapped herself into familiar katas.  Slowly she worked herself into the state where she didn't have weapons as such, simply longer, sharper arms.  She spun and struck, tumbled and rebalanced, without paying attention to the time or the heat.  Nothing mattered but the sharp edges in her hands, the opponents her mind's eye provided to strike or parry.  The weight bench has just died valiantly, again, when she felt an immortal behind her.

She spun, still half in that meditative state.  Connor sat on the stairs, katana out.  "Still irritated?"

"No.  I'm sorry about last night."  She settled onto the stair below him.  "I shouldn't have said some of it."

Connor shrugged. "If you ever come after my head, you'll warn me.  And I'd have to do worse than show up at two in the morning."  He watched her out of black-rimmed gold eyes.  "You're worrying.  What is it?"

"Nothing I can do anything about.  So I try not to worry."

He snorted.  "Try harder."  Connor pulled her to her feet.  "How out of practice are you?"

Aidan chuckled softly.  "Best two out of three?"

"What stakes?"

"Loser lets the winner drive to my place."

He shuddered.  "At least you didn't suggest the loser cook breakfast.  I wouldn't want you to throw the matches."

* * * *

Connor walked out of the freight elevator and turned slowly to get the full effect.  Off to his right, a kitchen took up most of that quarter of the house with what he suspected was a half-bath tucked against the side of the elevator column.  A work island stood on the edge of the tiled section, about three feet from the sinks; a hanging rack for pots and pans dangled empty over it.

As he kept looking counterclockwise along the wall, the tiling extended just past a washer and dryer.  Wood floors ran past a radiator on into the next corner.  So far that corner was empty.  In the middle of the wall opposite the freight elevator stood another radiator.  Starting about two feet left of it, bookshelves and cabinets surrounded the windows all the way down the wall to the corner opposite the kitchen.  The shelves rose to just under the window sills, then extended eight feet up in between the casements.

An enclosed room, maybe four feet by five feet, took up that corner with a lever-release fire door accessing it.  Just past that room (a stairwell, maybe?) more shelves and cabinets marched down the wall again, stopping a couple feet from that wall's radiator.  An open-faced closet sat against a long enclosed room; glass bricks curved out from the room to enclose much of the tiled floor left of the elevator.  Connor walked over to look more closely and discovered it was another, larger half-bath which accessed the largest shower area he'd seen outside commercial gyms.  The curving glass wall gave the shower privacy from the rest of the room.

Twin sinks and vanity stood next to the shower and abutted a raised tub big enough for three to five people, depending on how well they got along, which had no privacy from the room whatsoever.  Well, someone in the kitchen couldn't see through the elevator to ogle a person in the tub, but the rest of the room had wonderful sightlines.  The tub was surrounded on three sides by wooden ledges, possibly to set drinks on?  Or candles?  Connor was making no bets where Aidan was concerned.

In the dead center of the room, a five by five foot area had been tiled and ducting ran along the ceiling to it, but didn't connect to anything yet.  Connor studied the room as a whole now, seeing eight windows on a side; all started four feet off the floor and ran a good ten feet up the walls.  The pale wood floor reflected all the incoming light wonderfully and four ceiling fans circulated the air around.  Track lights on the ceiling aimed at different areas in the center of the room.

Boards still lay around to be assembled into shelves, a pile of bricks sat on a tarp near the shower area, and other building remnants were scattered, but still....

"Remind me, Aidan.  Why didn't I let you redesign my place?"

She laughed, pleased with the backhanded compliment.  "I did draw up the plans, Connor, but you looked at how long it would take and said you needed to go out of town and let Rachel handle it.  You were going to schedule a buying trip to Europe, you said."

"Too late, I take it?"

"Not really, but I'll have to dig the drawings out of my boxes when they arrive."

Connor grinned at her.  "You just want me to help you unpack.  So where do we start?"

In unison, Duncan and Adam replied, "There's the list!"

The four of them spent the afternoon and evening building shelves on the first floor and laying a brick column up the wall on each floor to conceal the plumbing and ducting.  To Aidan's disgust, she even got a call on the newly-installed phone -- a telemarketer tried to sell her vinyl siding.

On the second floor, her planned living quarters, Aidan quite calmly started laying another brick column on the opposite wall, between the radiator and the washer/dryer.  When Adam moved to help, she cheerfully told him to only lay the two sides at ninety degrees from the walls.

Methos very sarcastically commented, "Oh, not that old trick."

The two MacLeods looked over, interested in this one.  Aidan replied, "Why not?  No one but you and I remember it, and I'd bet you never look for it anymore."

"Look for what, Aidan?"

Duncan walked over to see what she was up to, only to be told, "You'll understand on Wednesday when I finish them.  Trust me, Duncan, you'll like this."

Connor grinned at her.  "Do I want to know?"

"Do you need to be able to deny knowing where those Italian daggers are?"  She raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, not really.  I just can't sell them until his students quit trying to find me."

Aidan rolled her eyes, but carefully didn't say anything.  Methos eyed her, a wicked smile on his face.  "What, no comment, Edana?  Why do I seem to remember something about a pearl and opal brooch...."

Aidan glared at him.  "Do you just want to cook dinner?"

"No, I was thinking you could buy us dinner somewhere other than Denny's if we got moving--"

Connor watched back and forth and Duncan muttered, "I'd stay out of it, cousin, unless you just want to buy.  This is normal for these two."

Aidan finally sighed and replied, "As soon as we finish this column, then.  I buy, you don't tell anyone that story.  Done?"

"Done."  Methos looked at the two Scots.  "One of you want to bring the ladder?  And some more bricks?  The sooner we're done, the sooner we eat."

 * * * *

Gustav watched from the parking area, patient as he would have been on any other hunt.  The lights on the top floor finally went out, then the other floors went dark as they worked their way out.  She was always methodical, which would only add to the pleasure.  Careful prey gave more satisfaction as they went down; they panicked so beautifully as control shifted away from them.

As usual Elektra came out first, ready to go for her sword, then moved to let the others out.  As soon as the men walked out the door, Gustav turned the switch in the ignition.  While they were still blinded by his car lights, he roared out the driveway.  For a moment he was startled to see four of them, not three.  And the sense of immortal presence was stronger....

All the way back to the hotel he debated it.  Had she called in reinforcements?  He would have thought one of the old priest's students would be a stickler for the one-on-one rule.  On the other hand, perhaps he had been right about Russell Nash being an immortal, not just an antique dealer.  Someone at that computer had certainly tried to track his signal.  It was remotely possible the man had come to Seacouver.

No, I will stick with my plan.  Tomorrow, I take her on her way to work.  As for the other immortal, it may well be Nash.  I will start inquiries tomorrow night from home.  If not, her will should make interesting reading; American courts will always let you buy a copy.

 Another immortal to hunt?  This year may yet be truly exceptional, one way or another.

* * * *

Connor, Duncan, and Methos were arguing in a booth about what the other immortal was up to, but Aidan had waited until the end of the night, then offered Joe a deal.  She would close the register and tidy up if he would play for her.  Done with her part, she sat sideways on the edge of the stage, one leg on the floor and the other drawn up against her chest.  Arms wrapped around her leg, she sat listening with eyes closed, chin on knee.  Joe lost himself in the music and took her with him, much to her relief.

Release lay here, she knew.  Everything she could think of to do had been done.  Her fighting skills were honed, as were her weapons of both flesh and steel.  All she could do now was relax her mind in the hope that when the attack came she would react without thought.  Not thinking came hardest to her of anything she had learned in all her centuries and drove her near madness some days.  Grateful for the help, she surrendered herself to Joe's music and went away.

A gentle hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present.  Joe said quietly, "I think they're ready to go if you are."

She opened her eyes, calm again.  Sure enough, Duncan stood there waiting with her coat.  Methos held her gaze for a second, then nodded once.  Somehow that support made it much easier to speak in normal tones.  "I don't doubt it.  It's been a long day, especially for me and Connor."  She pointed to Methos and Duncan with her chin.  "We let them sleep.  Good night, Joe, thank you for playing.  I'll see you in the morning for setup, correct?"

"Yeah, Renee had a dentist's appointment, so she and I switched.  I get the night off for once."

Aidan chuckled.  "You won't know what to do with yourself.  See you then."

* * * *

Aidan kept half an eye out for her stalker as she maneuvered through the streets on her way to the bar.  The rest of her attention flitted between traffic, work to be done on the brick columns, and hoping that the elevator gates would go on properly.  She had forgotten to turn the radio on as usual; the explosion under the hood therefore did not sound like part of any song.

Her brain never had any part of her next several decisions.  She fought the truck over to the side of the road, feeling the steering barely respond and hearing metal grating on gravel.  Absently she noticed that the hood was listing sharply to the right and fumes were pouring out from under the truck.  Smoke and burned plastic scented the air already.  Even as she turned off the ignition she felt an immortal and saw movement off to her left. The other side of the street and moving fast.

She slapped her seatbelt off with one hand, as the other slammed the unlock button for the doors.  Aidan grabbed her coat as she bailed out of the truck from the passenger side, heading for maneuvering room and a bit more privacy.  Within five strides she had hit her full speed and was headed straight for the river, grateful she had always liked traveling near water.  There should be clear space somewhere ahead....

A gazelle indeed!  Who'd have thought she'd go across the seat like that?  He ran, not so graceful but fully as fast, hounding his prey down his chosen line.  He noted absently that as usual his advance work had paid off.  On the two possible turn-offs, she took one look at the clutter down the alleys and kept going along the path to the river.  Now to speed her up some....

Aidan could hear him behind her.  When his pace slowed, she glanced back.  Oh sweet Mother, that's a .45 at least!  Immediately, she swerved left, then right.  Intent on evasion as she was, it was a complete surprise when the ground dropped out from under her.

She coiled herself into it as best she could but felt ribs give way when she hit the edge of the retaining wall.  The right arm wrenched painfully as she hit the concrete.  Still rolling, she came up onto her feet in time to see her pursuer descend the slope a good bit less precipitously, dropping the gun on the grass as he came.  Without pause she threw the Arkansas toothpick at him with one hand and a boot knife with the other.  The boot knife drove into his thigh as he twisted to avoid the stiletto-shaped toothpick.

The leg wound slowed him just enough.  She pulled her saber out of the coat, settling it into her left hand as he jumped to the pavement.  When he pulled the knife out of his leg, he dropped it to the ground scornfully.  Aidan appraised him swiftly and decided she would only have a problem if the shoulder took too long to heal.  Strong, but not quick.  Well, I certainly have practice at this.  This should be survivable, if I'm not stupid.

He was perhaps two inches taller than she was, a good forty pounds heavier, mostly through the chest and shoulders.  Short gold-blond hair that wouldn't get into his eyes....  Was that a dueling scar?  He certainly looked Germanic.  Icy blue eyes glared at her, noting her sword.  He pulled out a bastard sword a good four inches longer than her own weapon and spun the blade in a figure eight as he came at her in a rush, slashing at her left side and then the right.

She parried sharply, thrusting the blows aside rather than letting him close and overwhelm her with sheer mass.  Body dancing sideways, still deflecting his strikes, she led him around until neither of them faced that wall.  Breathing hurt as her body strove to repair damaged ribs.  Another minute and I should be able to use the dagger without dropping it.  Oh, Gods, this is not good terrain for me.  Not enough room and gravel everywhere there is room.  Can't even go into the river; I'd never make the water before he took my head from behind.  Very well, then, let's play what's he's dealt me.  Experience must count for something, damn it!

Gustav tried to force his way through her guard, surprised by her skill.  Even one handed, she held him off and away. Time to do something before she manages to use that arm.  Deliberately he allowed her to land a cut across his thigh; in exchange, he opened up her right arm, high up where the blood would run swiftly down to the elbow and hand.  Only as he backed away again did he realize how deeply she had managed to slice.  It would be at least two minutes before that leg could be trusted.

"By God, you may be dangerous after all."  What twisted his lips was not, properly speaking, a smile.  "Karl Gustav von Stengel.  And you would be Elektra Mycenas."  To his surprise, she made no sound, only shook her head, a dangerous, merry wickedness in her eyes.

"Cat got your tongue?  Or did you fall so badly as that?"  He lashed out at her twice as he spoke, trying to drive her into position for his final attack.  She ducked under the second attack, rolling past him and slicing into his back before he turned to face her.  The leg wound slowed him more than he had planned.

Finally she spoke.  "No.  To all."  Aidan drew a deep breath as her ribs finally settled into place, and struck at him with sword and kick simultaneously.  The kick didn't contact firmly enough to do damage, but it startled him and for a  long minute she controlled the fight.  Her attacks followed a classic Italian fencing pattern but Gustav was too busy parrying to try to take advantage of it.  Indeed, only his recognition of the form saved him some nasty gashes.  Her speed made up entirely for his strength, to the point that fear began to climb in him.  Was he outmatched at last?

Twice in that pattern, she moved almost into position, but he was entirely too busy to take advantage of it.  Finally, he deliberately took the strike into his arm, and used his other arm to backhand her with the full force of his greater weight while her blade was pinned.  With great satisfaction, he noticed that it took her several seconds to fully recover from the blow.  She had rolled with it, though, and the jaw wasn't broken.  What a pity; he'd had hopes.

Now Gustav controlled the fight.  She took several gashes across legs and arms as he tried to force her into position, but nothing that would slow her enough.  Frustrated, he parried her sword away and kicked her while her blade was out of line, but she blocked it with her leg.  The sheer force threw her back and away, but she rolled to her feet obviously unhurt.  Worse, she tossed her saber into her right hand and drew a dagger from her boot.

"You should have challenged me in the alley a week ago."  Aidan launched her attack in dead earnest now, arm and shoulder recovered.  The sword drove his own blade out and away and she scored his ribs and arms with that dagger.  Within her first few dodging attacks, Gustav realized in shock that he might well be surpassed by this woman.  Sheer rage gave him the necessary strength to throw back her attack.

With a particularly vicious strike, he forced her saber out of the way and duplicated her own fighting style, pivoting around his own sword arm to hit her in the ribs with his elbow.  She still managed to catch him in the side with the dagger as the wind went out of her, but he pulled her knife with him as he moved back.  He yanked the blade out of his side, throwing it contemptuously at her coat.  "You'd have only died sooner."

Aidan shook her head, braid lashing behind her.  She parried his attacks with more difficulty now, trying to get a full breath.  When she could straighten again, she forced out, "Why attack me?  Have I killed one of your students?" That was stupid.  Can't let him close on me again.

He laughed and struck at her, seeing the effort she had to put into blocking his mass.  Her dancing, darting style had slowed as well.  Perhaps -- finally? -- she was tiring?  "No, I don't take students.  They're useless drains of energy."

I can't let him tag me like that again, that felt like Duncan landing on me in the dojo.  She feinted left, then sliced across his chest as his sword moved out of line.  Out of instinct, she had pulled her torso back and to the right as she did so.  His kick just barely missed her stomach.  Now Aidan threw herself into a diving roll at the wall to retrieve her thrown boot knife.

Almost there.  If I can move her another foot to the right, she should come forward enough on a lunge to be in perfect position.  But what is she doing?  Gustav reached into his overcoat pocket for the transmitter, trusting his own strength to hold her off one-handed with the bastard sword.  He stepped back from her, his sword dropping just barely too far off guard.  Aidan came up and for the first time in this fight, she slammed his weapon out of line with knife instead of sword.  She stepped forward and to the left, moving into the empty space she had just created in front of him with her blade. NOW!

Gustav pulled the transmitter out as she moved into place between his skull markers, and his eyes flicked down for half a second to hit the correct button.  He smiled and said, "Goodbye."  His thumb hit the button just as her saber drove right with all her strength behind it in the vicious backhand she had learned from Methos.

Afterwards, Aidan sorted it all out.  Her sword drove through his neck, the malicious smile still on his face as the head flew off.  Blood trailed off her blade as it kept going for another foot or so from residual momentum.  As usual, the crackling lightning of a quickening cauterized the neck immediately; no blood fountained up.  Her saber emerged from the far side of his neck at the same time that something slammed into her lower back with hideous force.

Her legs went out from under her, crumpling, spilling her forward onto the ground.  Oddly, the first thing she noticed was that her knees didn't hurt from the impact.  She could taste blood in her mouth where she had bitten through a lip.  She had caught herself on her hands automatically, blade hilts under palms.  Looking down, the first thing that registered was the bloodstained arrowhead standing out from her shirt with red pouring out around it to stain her formerly robin's-egg blue blouse.

Oh, Mother.   Already mist had begun to spring up around her opponent's body; tiny electrical surges crawled on his body like miniature Jakob's ladders.  This is going to hurt.

The energy swirled around Gustav's body, poured up from neck, torso, and severed head into a coiling tower that seethed and then struck at her.  Aidan screamed in pleasure and pain as all her nerves overloaded almost immediately.  The quickening flung her back, arms spread to ward off the power or call it in she was never sure, then tossed her up, pressing her up from the ground.  Memories and sensations poured across her, arrogance and evil, determination and prejudice, a stubborn will which would not believe he had lost.  She screamed again, using her name and its meanings to maintain herself against his final attack.

"Edana!  Flame, I am flame!  I -- am -- Edana!"  She kindled the image of the old balefires in her mind, burning away what was left of her opponent.  She consumed herself with fire and light, remaking herself again, giving him no purchase to overshadow her mind and will.  Lightning crawled off her hands, ricocheted off the weapons on the concrete, buffeted against the retaining wall.  Electricity shimmered and walked across the corpse and her coat, then battered back at her and was absorbed at last.

Aidan fell as the quickening faded with no way to control the impact.  Agony tore through her, worse than she had felt in years, as she landed on her back and the quarrel moved even farther through her torso.  Blood loss, pain, and shock combined to stop her heart and she died.

Twelve minutes later she drew a shuddering breath and automatically tried to sit up, to reach for her weapons.  Anguish scored white lines down her sight as stomach muscles contracted around the invader.  When Aidan could draw a second breath she raised her head only and looked down her torso.  Memory returned as she saw the quarrel standing out from the center of her shirt.

Whimpering softly -- it hurt too much to do it loudly -- she wrapped one hand carefully under the arrowhead and settled her head back onto the concrete.  With her free hand, Aidan arranged her braid to cushion the back of her head which still hurt from the fall.  Deliberately she turned her mind to the sounds of the water, the smell of Duncan's aftershave, the feel of Methos' body wrapped around her as they slept.  When the muscles of her back and stomach were as relaxed as they were going to get, Aidan yanked the quarrel up and out with the same motion and force she'd have used drawing her sword.

She convulsed against the pain, muscles spasming and yanking her head up, then back down to slam into the concrete again.  Blood gouted, staining her jeans and pooling around her body.  For the second time in this conflict, Aidan died and for more than twenty long minutes, her body did not move.

* * * *

Joe looked up at the clock, surprised and irritated.  It was twenty after ten.  Where the hell was Aidan?  Unless they had simply lost track of time working on the house.  He gave up and picked up the phone, pulling out the new number she had given him on Friday.

"Highland Construction, can we help you?"  Duncan hadn't been able to resist the joke.

"Duncan, it's Joe.  Did Aidan run late today, or do I get to fire the woman for forgetting to come at all?"  He managed to keep his tone light, but he was tired already from staying up last night playing for her.  Joe forgot all about that when he heard MacLeod's reply.

"Joe, she should have been there at least fifteen minutes ago.  She left here at quarter of."  The suddenly controlled voice from the other end of the line made Joe's skin crawl.  "Are you saying that she never made it?"

"Yeah, Mac, that's what I'm saying.  Any of you three got a cell phone?"  Joe forgot exhaustion as he began to worry.

"No, we don't.  Look, Joe, try to call her cell phone.  You've got the number?"  As soon as he heard the affirmative, Duncan continued, "We're going to take both cars and try a couple of the different routes she's been taking.  He had to catch her somewhere on the way.  If it was just car trouble, she'd call you.  Stay there so that she can contact someone."

Joe hung up the phone when he heard the dial tone and called Aidan's cell phone.  His heart fell when there was no answer, but he wasn't surprised.  Grimly he began to set up the bar, keeping the phone where he could grab it if it rang.  Every five minutes he hit the redial, hoping.

Duncan turned away from the phone to see Connor handing him his coat.  "We heard.  Adam will drive my car.  Settle which routes you're taking.  I'll close up the house."

* * * *

This time it didn't hurt as much to move when she woke.  Aidan could feel something damp and clammy on her skin, but the overwhelming sensation was pain.  Her legs hurt incredibly, and she felt everything from burns to cold, pinpricks to cuts.  Every kind of agony she had ever known had randomly distributed itself from her hips down to the toes.  Old skills kept the sounds down to moans instead of screams and she forced herself up on her arms to look around.

Her weapons were about six feet away, off to her right; her coat lay a good eight feet past them, near her enemy's body and his sword.  Nothing happened when she tried to move her leg.  Despite the fact that she'd expected it, Aidan flinched.  That kind of agonizing, random pain always meant severe nerve damage; given where the quarrel had been, the spinal cord must have been nicked at least, probably severed.

This is why Methos always insisted we train with real steel, take real wounds.  So that I would know how to move through pain.  Some days I hate it when he's right.  Goddess, did you have to make this so difficult?  This will take forever to heal, assuming I get out of this at all.  Well, if I don't get moving, I definitely won't make it out.

Deliberately, she pulled herself forward, using her arms and shoulders.  When she got to full extension, Aidan reached back and pulled her legs up under her.  Again and again and again....  Her hands left bloody prints as she inched forward, and the trail of blood from her torso lay across the ground like a giant child's attempt at painting.

Faintly she could hear her cell phone ringing but it might as well be in the river for all the good it did her right now. On the other hand, that means the case insulated it properly.  I had wondered if it would work.  Nice to know for future reference.  I'm half-dead and worrying about insulation; I can't afford hysterics right now, I have to hold this together for a little while yet.

Aidan whimpered as she moved, a continuous sound she never even registered.  Finally she reached her weapons and sobbed with relief.  Despite her best intentions she lay there for a few minutes, taking a desperately needed break.  The cell phone rang again and jarred her back into motion.

It took even longer to reach her former opponent.  Aidan took enough time to rifle his body for papers, wallet, keys, and jewelry.  It gave her an excuse not to move yet.  Finally, she leaned over his body and pulled her coat to her with the tip of the saber. Karl Gustav something he said.  Idiot.  I should have never let him force me into a kill zone.  I haven't been this stupid in ages.  Please, Lady, I'll never be such a fool again if you will make him not have had a partner.  Although he did seem too arrogant....

Now to get my back against a wall.  I'll call in to Joe's after I do.  Got to get to what little shelter I can manage.  Wish I weren't so dizzy.  Loss of blood?  Wonder what time it is?  My watch blew up again.  Oh, well, this is why I buy the cheap ones.  I see his Rolex bought it, too.

Slowly, Aidan began the trip back to the retaining wall.  She had settled all the weapons into the various loops and sheathes tailored into the duster, and had put all of his papers in there as well.  Flinging the coat ahead of her while maintaining her grip on the collar, she pulled herself even with it and then started again.  The cell phone rang, but she didn't hear it above her own whimpering and her despairing need to get to some form of safety or defense.

* * * *

Joe looked up, hoping, and closed his eyes briefly when he saw Connor come in with Methos and Duncan.  Aidan wasn't with them and Methos was talking as they came in.

"Are you sure this is how she was coming in, Duncan?  How else could she have been doing it?"

"No luck, Joe?"  Duncan looked over from the discussion and read the answer on Joe's face.

"No answer, Mac, but cell phones blow up around quickenings, too.  She may simply not be receiving the calls."

Connor just stared at him, eyes dark in the dim room.  "Aidan's been gone an hour.  She should be here by now."

Joe sighed and poured himself a shot of scotch.  "Anyone else?"  He set out glasses and listened as Duncan and Methos started discussing exactly where to check next for her truck.  Connor went out to his rental car and came back with a map.  They were debating exactly which ways to search when Joe picked the phone up and hit the redial button again.

* * * *

What the hell was that?  Oh, I was asleep?  Passed out is more like it.  Cell phone, that's it.  Aidan pulled her coat up to her, keeping her back against the wall.  It hurt less if she didn't move her neck or torso.  The phone had quit ringing by the time she managed to get the case out and opened.  She didn't care.  Now that she had been reminded, she knew what a phone was and how to use it.

I haven't hurt this much in ages.  Wonder how long this will take to heal this time?  Drawing a long, careful breath, she forced down the whimpers rising steadily from her throat and dialed the number for Joe's Bar.

"Joe's."  Joe answered the phone himself, voice harsh with controlled emotions.

"It's Aidan.  Are they there?"  The weak, careful voice dumped adrenaline through Joe's system and made his heart jump.

"Yeah, damn it, hold on."  Joe handed the phone to Duncan, who happened to be closest.

"Is it over?  Where are you?"  Duncan kept his voice steady as he focused on getting her within arm's reach.  Time enough then to shake Aidan within an inch of her life for terrifying them.

"I won, yes.  I don't quite know the location.  I did some running."  A long pause from the other side of the phone, then she spoke again.  "This is the route I took...."  She gave precise turns, sounding weaker by the word.  "He blew up my truck somewhere before I made that last turn."

"Blew up?!  What!  Never mind.  Where from there?"  Joe watched the rage burning in three sets of eyes, not knowing that his face held the same expression.  Karl Gustav von Stengel had better hope he was dead.

Duncan listened carefully, then nodded firmly.  "We'll be there, Aidan.  Stay where you are, so we don't have to go hunting for you, all right?"

A long silence followed that.  "Aidan?  Aidan, answer me, damn it.  Are you there?"

"Duncan.  I'm here."  He heard a long intake of breath that sounded painful.  "I'll be here.  If you can, there's a duffel bag in the back of my truck.  Get it.  But hurry.  I can't walk."

That stopped him cold.  "What happened?  Will it heal?"

"It'll heal."  Her voice was so thin he could barely hear it, and the younger man thought for a second she'd disconnected.  Then she repeated, "Hurry."

Joe heard the dial tone as Duncan put the phone back on the hook.  "Joe, we'll call you when we've got her."  The three immortals headed back out the door, Duncan answering questions as they went.

* * * *

Done.  Now I wait, and soon I can pass out.  This hurts.  No, think of something else, there's no time for such maudlin weakness.  It's only pain.  It's not like that will kill you -- of itself.  Aidan looked up at the scuff of shoes on concrete.  Eyeing the teenager coming around the corner, her immediate reaction was to wonder what she had done wrong in that past life twenty-seven centuries or so ago.

He poked cautiously around, tall and gawky, with more bravado than courage.  She was not reassured.  Those were usually the ones who carried guns and couldn't aim.  Gun control is hitting your target.  Get your mind on business, woman.

From twenty yards away, Aidan could read his body language.  Curiosity gave way to shock and fear when he saw Gustav's decapitated body.  When he saw the pool of blood where her body had lain, he went from white to green.  He stared for a long time, fascinated and repelled, trying not to be sick.  Then he bolted.

Thank you, Mother.  I promise, a goblet of the best I can find goes out tonight.  Duncan will live with my turning one of his tables into an altar for a night or so.

Aidan whispered old songs to the Goddess for a little while, distracting herself from the pain, waiting for her friends.  The dizziness began to ease, as did the nausea, and she sighed with relief.  That must have been one hell of a concussion to last so long.

Five teen-agers strode around the curve of the walkway and her heart sank.  She didn't see anything in the clothing that told her they were a gang, but the body language spoke volumes.  She had seen the young fighters, the punks, the lost, in half a hundred cities and cultures before.  Aidan knew at that first glance how well they worked together, who ran this wolfpack, who resented it, and which one was the weak link.

A striking black teen-ager with flaming red braids to his shoulders was obviously in charge.  He looked around, noted the body, the head, the blood trails and her.  He waved two of them at the body, including the tall scout.  "Loot him, I want everything."  The other two he shoved toward the retaining wall.  "Get those fuckin' things off the wall, I want nothing up there but our markers."

The advance scout whined, "But, Dell, what about her?  She had one of those swords, too!"

"Shut up, Mikie, just do what I told you.  I'll deal with her."

Dell strolled over, completely unconcerned by this woman.  She sat against the concrete wall, coat over her lap and legs as if she were cold.  She had both hands under the cloth to keep them warm, but there was no bulge of a gun.  From the color of her skin and the fixed stare, she was probably in shock, but she wasn't shivering yet and she definitely saw him.  Dried blood ran from her cheek down onto her throat; those grey eyes never broke contact.  She gave him the creeps.

"You're in our territory.  You gonna pay passage back out, only question is how you're gonna pay."  He stood in a wide-legged stance, trying to stare her down and assert his authority, but she didn't look away or down.

Aidan nodded slowly, still watching him.  "Ah.  I'm not trying to move in on you.  I'll be out of your way in a couple hours.  The mess..." and she indicated Gustav's corpse with her chin, "... will be taken care of before I leave."

Dell shook his head, red braids flashing gold where beads caught the light.  "Uh-uh, you don't get this.  You'll leave all right, but you gonna pay first.  I want all your cash and valuables, and all of his.  Then we take you out of here, you understand?  People gotta see they can't mess in our territory."

Aidan drew a careful, deep breath.  "The cash you can have as an apology.  Anything else I keep.  And I'll leave when I'm ready, not before."

Just then Mikie and the other boy looting Gustav broke in.  "Dell!  He ain't got shit!  No wallet, nothing.  Just a Rolex that blew up on his arm!  This is too weird, man, let's grab the gold watch and go."

"Uh-uh, not 'til we get something out of this."  He glared at Aidan.  "Where's the guy's wallet, bitch, and a suit like that had jewelry or somethin'."

"He didn't have one.  The watch had a good bit of 18 karat gold in the band.  You should be able to get something for that."  She checked her grips on the hilts of her daggers, watching him.

"I ain't settling for no watch, bitch.  How the fuck did you take his head off, anyway?"

Aidan felt it then, faintly.  Immortals coming:  male, several of them, and strong.  Friends or foes, all she needed to do was stall for just a bit longer and be ready with her throwing knives.  Already she had picked her targets:  the tall boy, who would be the first to go for his gun and the Vietnamese would-be rebel, who would go for any opportunity to move up in the gang.

"Answer me, ho, now!  What the fuck did you do?  And where's the money?"

Grey eyes locked on dark brown.  "I killed him before he killed me.  I have some money.  You can have it if you'll leave."

"My territory, bitch.  Why shouldn't I take everything you have, take you, and dump you in the river when we're done?"  Dell snarled it, feeling the situation twist away from his control.

"Because once the killing starts, it doesn't stop until all five of you are dead.  If I have to kill, I will kill all of you to keep you quiet.  I have had enough of death today.  Take my offer.  Take the cash and the watch and go."  Aidan threw the coat off her lap with a twist of her wrist.  Her saber came up to guard within easy thrusting range of his groin.  Dropping the coat, she grabbed a dagger with the other hand, holding it by the blade to throw it if necessary.

"Make this easy.  Agree to the cash."

His eyes flickered from the sword, to the dried blood all over her body, back to the blades.  Then he looked up in time to see his gang members listening.  The scout shivered.  "Dell, this is too fuckin' strange.  Crazy bitch will kill some of us, she's fast.  Take the money, man, let's go."

The would-be rebel started to say something.  Aidan cut across his voice.  "You don't run this show, child, Dell does.  If you start this, you die first, my word on it."  Never taking her eyes off the red-headed young man, Aidan repeated, "Take the money.  Keep your lives."

"Fuckin' bitch, you can't kill all of us.  Shit, you can't even move, or you would have by now."

Between his legs, Aidan saw the sweetest sight she'd seen in decades.  Black overcoats flapped and morning sunlight streamed down their blades as Connor, Methos, and Duncan strode toward her.  From here she could recognize the ivory hilts the MacLeod's carried, the bronze crosspiece on Methos' broadsword.  Connor had gone over to a cold rage that gave her chills and even Methos was furious for once.  Rather than give them away, she immediately returned her attention to the gang leader.

Aidan's voice carried clearly, calm and precise.  "You're assuming I can't kill you.  There's a corpse over there that says otherwise.  For the last time.  Take the money and get out of here.  If this starts, you all die.  I won't be able to leave any of you alive; I can't trust your silence once one of you is dead."

Dell stared at her.  "Bitch, you are crazy.  I say we can kill you and take all of it.  You got any last words for that?"

Aidan could feel the other three immortals; their presence rolled over her in a wave that cut off as they got to within fifteen feet of her.  She hadn't heard a sound, but knowing how long all of them had been warriors and scouts, she hadn't expected to.  "So be it.  'Cry havoc! and let slip the dogs of war.' "

All of the gang members stared at her.  "Say what?  Speak English, bitch."

From behind them, Duncan's voice rumbled out, ominous in tone.  "She did."

Dell watched the strange woman whose face had never changed.  His gang members turned around to see who had spoken and froze.  Behind him a second voice, cold and strangely accented, said, "She offered you a deal."

In that brief second, it became obvious why Dell was the leader.  He held still and thought.  Only then did he turn slowly around to see what was going on, arms out.  He looked the three men over cautiously.  Tall, all of them, holding swords with the same sureness he had with his switchblade.  And those frozen, angry faces told him they would kill without a second thought.  Three of them and that crazy bitch behind him with at least one knife she could probably throw and that same cold-blooded look to her.

Dell turned back just as slowly.  "How much money?"

Aidan raised an eyebrow, then said clearly, "Just over two hundred."

"Give it to me and get the fuck out of my territory.  You ever come back, we kill you."

Aidan put the dagger back in her belt then carefully reached into her overcoat.  She pulled out a stack of cash and threw it to him without a word.  Dell pocketed it without counting and turned to gather his people.  The third man spoke, the one with the short dark hair and the straight sword.  "If we should  hear any stories about swords or headless bodies...."  The unspoken warning needed no interpretation.

"Who the fuck would we tell?  Get her out of our territory and don't come back."  Dell gathered his people with his eyes and they backed off to one side, although Mikie darted in to grab the watch off the corpse first.

The three men moved without discussing anything as if they had been a team forever.  The two with the curved swords moved to the woman, swearing in some weird language.  The taller one carefully helped her pull the coat on.  Somewhere along the way, her sword vanished.  The third man, the one who had spoken last, moved to the corpse and casually stabbed it in the chest twice then sliced the stomach open.  That done he wiped the blade on the dead man's shirt, then slung it inside his coat.  With a grunt of effort he picked up the corpse and threw it out into the water, kicking the head after as an afterthought.

Methos turned back and walked over to Aidan.  "Ready to go?"

In Gaelic she replied, "I can't walk, old friend.  And there's a weapon on the grass directly above me that I want before we leave.  A .45."

Methos looked up.  "I see it.  Half a moment, then."  He scrambled up and pocketed the gun, then came back.  "Now?"

"Yes, please."  Aidan wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and bit her lip as Methos picked her up.  Her face went deathly white against his black coat and she closed her eyes, fighting the urge to either scream or be sick.

He could feel the tension in her arms; the hiss of breath told him just how badly this hurt.  Still in Gaelic her teacher said, "Just hold on until we get around the curve, all right?  They're still watching us.  Duncan and Connor are walking backwards covering us."

As they passed out of sight of the gang members, Methos switched back to English.  "Duncan, put her out, damn it, she's going to scream soon."

Duncan reached over and ran his free hand hard down the inside of her arm, then he ran an equally rough touch from her temple back into her hairline.  Aidan sagged immediately.  Connor scooped up her duffel bag from where they'd left it and they moved as quickly toward Duncan's car as Methos could carry her.

As soon as they reached the T-bird, Connor helped get her into the back seat, then said, "I'll call AAA and get her truck towed to your place, kinsman.  You two get her back and cleaned up."

Methos handed him her cell phone.  "Don't forget to call Joe while you're waiting.  Ask him if he can get hold of some painkillers somehow, about three days worth for a normal metabolism."

Connor nodded.  "Get moving.  Better she wake up clean and in a bed."

* * * *

Watching Methos, Duncan decided against offering to help with Aidan.  He didn't think his friend would accept.  Instead, he carried her duffel and opened doors as Methos moved straight toward the bathroom with her.  He did wonder if he'd heard correctly, though, when the older immortal said, "Strip down and give me a hand with her."

"Excuse me?"  Duncan blinked, but he dropped the duffel on the floor and began to peel his shirt off.  "What's up?"

"Edana isn't.  She's covered in blood, and she can't stand.  It'll take one of us to hold her up and the other to clean her off.  No point in soaking our own clothes."  Methos cradled her carefully, trying not to put extra strain on her back.  He knew from experience what had taken her legs out for this long, and exactly how badly a spine hurt as it healed.

Right now he was just grateful that the Highlander wasn't arguing.  Duncan looked around, then said, "Hold her for another minute, I'll be right back."  Methos swore in particularly emphatic Russian, knowing the younger man would understand it.  When Duncan brought back a stool and put it in the tub, though, Methos promptly forgave him.

"That's a wonderful idea."  The older immortal settled Aidan carefully, balancing her in place as she began to stir.  She was whimpering in quiet little pants that hurt worse to hear than moaning would have.  "Can you put her under again?"

Duncan had quickly stripped out of the rest of his clothes and now reached to balance Aidan.  "I can, but is that a good idea?  Breathing water is not going to help her heal."

"Neither will screaming."  Methos pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the nearest flat surface, then bent to quickly unlace hiking boots.  "All right, we'll let her decide.  She has an unholy tolerance for pain.  By the way, play along with me on anything I do.  I'll give you any explanations later, if you still need them."  He piled clean towels on the counter, stripped off the rest of his clothes, then started the hot water.

"Umm, don't we need to get her undressed?"  Duncan threw her pony tail holder away seeing how badly it was caked in blood.  He looked down at her boots, decided they belonged to Saint Jude, too.

"I'll get the shoes.  The rest of it we'll want to soak off her.  I suspect her skin's hypersensitive right now with the spinal cord still healing."  He made quick work of her boots and dropped them in the trash.  When her whimpers stopped abruptly, Methos said acidly, "I could have sworn ducking was on the curricula that decade."

"He was taller.  I couldn't duck, I was busy cutting his head off."  Aidan sounded hoarse, tired, and annoyed. "I'm alive, and he isn't.  That is what you trained me for."

Methos caught Duncan's eye over her head and mouthed, 'Trust me.'  Then he continued, "Oh, yes, it's what I taught you.  I'm not sure how well you learned it, though."

"I'm not going to argue this with you now, Connor is just going to want to hear it later.  Where is he?"  Aidan drew herself up on the stool and fell silent as pain poured through her for a long moment.  When she could see and hear again, Duncan was unbuttoning her shirt.

"--once, I'd like to take your clothes off you for something pleasant, Aidan." The water ran off her in dark red swirls down the drain, and Duncan went on, "Most of us just shred the clothes, did you have to re-dye yours?  I really don't think rust red is your color."

Methos grinned at that shot but composed his face before Aidan could see.  "He has a point you know.  How much blood do you still have in your veins, woman?  Sweet Gods."

She snapped, "Actually, yes it is my color, Duncan.  And I know the wound bled like hell.  Believe me, I know.  Do you want an IOU to clean your bathroom?"

"Actually, yes, I do."  He deliberately mocked her voice, having seen where Methos was going with this.  The arguments and sarcasm kept her mind off the pain.

"Fine, you have it.  Gods, I know I'm going to owe you all favors until doomsday!"

Methos remarked, "You still owe me favors from before we visited Rome, Edana.  Lean your head against me so I can get your hair.  And hush."  As an afterthought he added, "Don't even think about biting me, either."

Despite the sarcastic comments, Duncan and Methos worked very carefully not to hurt her any further. They did however deliberately annoy, irritate, and insult Aidan throughout the shower.  It succeeded wonderfully in occupying her mind and taught the Scot threats and imprecations he had never heard before, although some of them were muffled by the water.

"You want to lie on the bed or sit in the chair?  It's going to hurt regardless."  Methos stole Duncan's pajama top for her, and noted with satisfaction that she was feeling well enough to slap his hands away and button it herself.

"I do have clean clothes in the duffel bag, Methos."

"And what else?  That has to weigh thirty pounds, Edana!"

"Oh, this and that.  Clean clothes, spare sword, new identity, money, minor details like that.  The chair, please, I don't want to count the beams in the ceiling all day."

She began to carefully detangle the end of her hair as Duncan laughed, "And you call me a Boy Scout, Methos?"

"Oh, hush!  Is there any vodka, Duncan?  It would be  a shame to waste good scotch and I freely admit I'm going to pour it straight down as an anesthetic."  Aidan settled herself as comfortably as she could.  The pain came and went in waves now, and the hardest thing was keeping it off her face when it hit.  Working on her hair gave her an excuse to hide occasionally.

Duncan handed her a small glass, saying, "Well, at least you aren't going to do this--"

All three of them went still as another immortal moved into range.  Aidan reached reflexively for a sword that wasn't there and Duncan moved between her and the two doors.  Methos glanced out the window and commented, "Connor.  Aidan's truck is outside."

The elevator grate screeched up and Joe walked in followed by Connor, who commented, "He followed me in, what can I say?"

Joe headed straight for Aidan.  "Young lady, don't you ever scare me like that again! Take three of these, and then I want to know what the hell you did that needs painkillers."

She stared at him and then said longingly, "Oh, Gods, what is it, Joe, and the dosage?"

"Demerol.  The way you handle alcohol, three of them ought to blur the edges at least for a few hours."  Joe handed Methos the bottle with the rest of the meds.  "Always helps to know who to call."

Duncan caught his eye and mouthed, 'Anne?'  Joe nodded once.

Connor waited until she had taken the pills, then said, "So.  What happened?"

"Ah, Gods, Connor, we were both right.  You're stronger; I'm faster.  So then..."  Aidan contemplated the glass in her hands, then sighed.  "If I can talk one of you into trading this for something non-alcoholic, I'll talk."

Methos handed her his water.  "Here.  Talk."

Aidan took a sip, then put it down on the table and closed her eyes.  "It started with the explosion under the car...."

".... The quarrel hit me in the back just as my sword went through his neck."

When she showed no inclination to continue the story, Connor simply said, "You got lucky."

"Luckier than you know.  I was stupid, Connor, but he was stupid and arrogant.  He thought I was younger than you."

"What?  How?"  Joe stared at her.  "He went to this kind of trouble for a three or four hundred year old immortal?"

"No, for a two hundred year old.  Darius helped me set up a new identity in the early 1800s, down to forging baptism and confirmation records in the parish register.  I think we even borrowed a young orphan with the right coloring and did a photo, daguerreotype, wha'ever."  Aidan's speech began to slur as the painkillers finally struck with a vengence.

"He kept callin' me Elektra Mycenas.  Elektra was born in 1824.  I was paranoid that year, 'cause of the revolution.  Darius agreed with me.  So we started killing m'other identities, created new one.  Only thing saved me is I never get out of training."  Aidan slid into Greek without noticing it, muttering, "So sick of fighting ever'body else, m'self.  So tired of it."

Methos leaned over and laid a hand across her mouth, hoping she'd hush and fall asleep.  To his surprise, he became very glad he was facing her and not the others.  Aidan nipped his fingers, then began exploring them with her tongue, delicate little licks and darting probes that were incredibly arousing.  It took longer than he liked before he could bring himself to remove his hand, and at that he was grateful his pants were loose.  He spoke softly to her in Greek for awhile which the others didn't understand; eventually she fell asleep.

Joe watched the body language with a fair bit of interest in the meantime.  I may not have to play matchmaker with those two.  Damn, she really gets to him.  Out loud, he finally asked, "So how much of it was luck?  Was she really being stupid?"

Methos sighed, "That's the bad thing, Joe.  She didn't necessarily do anything wrong and what saved her was not particularly luck.  The bastard thought Edana was two hundred because of careful preparation on her part, and because she didn't give anything away when he was stalking.  He lost to her because she always trains against larger, stronger, meaner partners.  The only thing she really did wrong, and all of us did it, was not checking her car on a regular basis once we knew he had gotten in.  And even then we thought he would challenge."

Connor shrugged.  "Even the Kurgan issued challenges, Adam.  Even Slan.  I think this one would have tried to take her on Holy Ground if she had run."

Joe nodded.  "Hell, even Peter Canis warned you, Duncan, and he tried to hunt you with those damn dogs of his."

"Did you forget to tell me about one, Duncan?"  When his cousin stayed quiet, Connor continued, "But she was still lucky.  That crossbow bolt could have given him her head if he had moved her into position sooner."

Duncan shook his head.  "I've recovered from a broken back before, I think we all have."  He looked around at Methos and Connor, seeing nods.  "Will a severed spinal cord heal?"

Adam nodded.  "Oh, yes, but it's more painful than anything else we can survive.  Even regrowing an arm doesn't hurt as much, just longer."

The other three men stared at him.  "You can do that?" Joe asked.

At the same time Duncan commented, "But we don't recover from that."

Methos just gave him that irritating, superior look.  "Have you tried?"

"No, idiot, or I'd know.  But St. Cloud didn't recover from it, he had an arm hook when I took his head."

"I did it once, Highlander.  It simply takes a while.  Considering what easy prey you are for another immortal during the process, you can see why it isn't widely known.  Most of us who get hurt that badly don't manage to get away from the fight.  Even then, it's hard to survive long enough after to find out."

Connor asked sardonically, "So how did you make it?"

Methos pointed to the sleeping woman.  "Edana protected me for eighteen months.  After she took the bastard's head."

Joe stood up and regretfully said, "I need to get back to the bar.  I'll call and check on things later.  Tell Aidan not to worry about making it in to work until next Tuesday.  I know she wanted Saturday off, and I'm not sure when she'll be well or available before then, so...." He glared at Duncan and Methos.  "But call me if you all need something, all right?"

Duncan grinned.  "We'll call, I promise.  Thanks, Joe.  For everything."

"We'll guard her in shifts for a day or two while she heals.  In between, we can run errands and catch up on news."  Connor shrugged.  "I knew she'd get us to unload her belongings somehow."

Go back to Quarrels, Part 2
Go on to Quarrels, Part 4
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