Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Only One
By : HollyHobbit13
Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers
Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Seacouver, Washington
72 Hours Later
                  Dawn arrived to find the Highlander busy in his kitchen.   The smell of fresh coffee brewing filled the loft with its inviting aroma and floated down the hallway, rousing Methos from his slumber. With a groan, the Immortal turned his head, his eyes slitting open against the pale morning light; the digital numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table glowed a lurid red, announcing the unholy hour of six o’clock in the morning. Ignoring his belly’s insistent growl and his body’s craving for caffeine, Methos rolled onto his stomach and promptly fell back asleep. Sitting down to his breakfast, Duncan sipped his coffee and waited for his meal to cool.   Spearing a sausage link, the Highlander placed it in his mouth; chewing automatically, he hardly tasted his food—instead, the Scot’s mind was consumed with finding Jordan. There was a feeling of dread—an urgency bordering on desperation that spurred him on. The Immortal couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that time is of the essence, of which every passing minute is working against him. Duncan finished his meal in silence, all the while hoping Methos would wake soon; glancing hopefully down the dim hallway, not a sound could be heard.
“Come on, Old Man—time’s not exactly our friend,” he mumbled to himself.   Tired from his sleepless night, his Scottish brogue became more pronounced; taking a gulp of coffee, Duncan waited impatiently for the caffeine to kick in.
Restless, the Highlander cleared his breakfast dishes, setting his kitchen back in order. Making a plate of food for his friend, Duncan placed it in the oven to keep warm and took his mug of coffee out to the balcony. Below, the streets were slowly coming alive with morning commuters on their way to work; shopkeepers hosed down and swept their front stoops preparing for the day’s business. Brooding, Duncan stayed outside, oblivious to the passing of time. The sound of cutlery clattering in the kitchen brought the Immortal out of his reverie.   Glancing at his watch, the Scot wasn’t surprised to find it was almost 11 a.m.
“About time, Methos.” He muttered softly to himself.
“Breakfast is in the oven!” Duncan called over his shoulder. Yawning, the older Immortal returned the bowl, flaked cereal and spoon to their original places.
                  “Morning, MacLeod. Thanks for breakfast.” Methos’ words floated out to his friend. Draining his mug of the last dregs of cold coffee, the Highlander joined his friend in the kitchen.
                  “More like ‘afternoon’, Methos.” The Highlander snorted, annoyed. Noting the ease and familiarity with which his friend moved about, Duncan still wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing as he quoted his friend’s words from many moons ago.
“’Mi casa es su casa, eh’?” Duncan’s grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. The Ancient One grunted as he sat down to his meal.
“Sleep well? Bed not too soft?” the Scot inquired nonchalantly, trying to keep the impatience he was feeling from his voice.
                  “Well enough, thanks. So, I take it you still haven’t heard from the lady . . .?” Duncan shook his head ‘no’; the muscles of his jaw were clenched tightly in his frustration.
                  “You’ll break your teeth if you keep doing that.” Methos said mildly. The Highlander shot the elder Immortal a dirty look, which was ignored.
“Dare I ask what the day holds, MacLeod?” Methos asked; slicing his sausage in half and placing it atop the tomato and mozzarella cheese, the elder Immortal took a large bite of the thick sandwich, closing his eyes as he savored the flavors bursting in his mouth. It beat cold cereal any morning. Duncan waited for him to swallow before answering.
                  “Joe’s coming at noon to see what he can do to help. In the meantime, I was hoping you’d tell me what you know.” He replied.
                  “What I know?” Methos echoed, bewildered. He took another bite of his sandwich and chased it down with a gulp of coffee.
“What I know about what? I’m not psychic. Besides, shouldn’t it be the other way around—you’re the one who called me, remember? I’m just here to help—if I can, that is.” The Ancient One said. Duncan merely smiled. The Highlander knew his Elder could be of help. The tricky part would be convincing him to help.
“I’ll fill you in after you finish breakfast; there are some things I need to take care of; I’ll be in my office.” Duncan said.
Might as well prepare for the Inquisition. The Ancient One thought to himself.
Shooting his friend an indecipherable look, Methos took another bite of his sandwich. Sliding off the kitchen stool, Methos stretched his lanky frame; the bagel had barely made a dent in his appetite, but he wasn’t up to fixing another one.
“Well, I’d better not wear out my welcome . . .” Methos muttered to himself.
He cleared away his breakfast dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. Heading towards the shower, the Immortal nixed the idea of returning to bed for another snooze, knowing Duncan wanted to pick his brain as soon as possible. Stepping beneath the pulsating spray, Methos let the hot water massage away the stiffness in his muscles. Sleeping in a strange bed always made him sore in the morning, at least until he acclimated himself to his surroundings. Lathering up, Methos absently scrubbed his skin as he thought about the day he first saw Jordan Waters . . .
                  ::: Paris, France
    Montparnasse Cemetery
    Spring 1998
                  It was well over a year before the Immortal known as Methos (or, as he preferred to be called -- Adam Pierson, mild mannered Watcher to others) finally surfaced. Over a year was spent coming to terms with the grief of her loss; in time, the pain would fade, the rawness of grief ease, but never fully leave. He would live, and he would love as he had previously done in the centuries before . . .somehow. Her loss was different, and it affected him in ways that continued to surprise him. Standing before the black marble headstone, Methos’ head bowed low. Grief and anger vied for expression on the angular planes of his aristocratically handsome face. Hunkering down, the Immortal rocked back on his heels before the grave marker, his head cradled in his hands, bittersweet memories replayed in his mind’s eye. One in particular stood out; he remembered the way she looked when he gave her the tickets:
“You spend what ever time you have left dying, or you spend it living - with me.” He told her.
The determination on her face as she decided to spend her remaining time truly living, to see the world with him, was seared in his memory. One year. The one-year they had together was spent loving, learning and discovering the wonders of the world, and all the while celebrating life itself. Up to the bitter end. Methos counted that year as one of the best in his long life. It was a full half hour before Methos looked up, his hand slowly reached out to lovingly trace the carvings on the glossy granite surface.
Alexa Bond
    Beloved
“Alexa . . .” Methos murmured, his voice cracking.
Fighting to maintain his composure, Methos steepled his index fingers together, then pressed them to his trembling lips. Regaining his composure, the Immortal took a steadying breath.
“So close. I came so close to saving your life. We’ll never know if Methuselah’s stone would’ve worked. This damned Immortality can be such a burden; I’d have gladly traded places with you if I could. You’ll live in my memory and my heart, my love. I’ll never forget you.” He whispered to the silent marker.
Reaching inside his overcoat, Methos removed a slender glass vial from an inner pocket. Unscrewing the lid, he shook out a measure of its contents into his hand and poured some of the pale, golden sand atop the headstone, the rest he scattered over the lush green grass covering the grave. Brushing his hands together, Methos refastened the lid before placing the vial to the side of the headstone.
“I brought Egypt to you, my love. ” he whispered softly.
With a sigh, the Immortal pressed two fingers to his lips then touched the cold headstone. Rising fluidly to his feet,
Methos took one last look at the engraved marker before he turned walked away. Sauntering along the busy rue, Methos crossed the street to his favorite sidewalk café; his step faltered slightly when he felt the Buzz; careful to not attract undue attention to himself, the Immortal expertly blended into the crowd; his dark eyes swept the gathered mass of humanity before coming to rest on a slip of a girl. An Immortal. Over time, Methos learned to appreciate fashion, and in the fashion Mecca of the world, it was with a practiced eye that he studied the yet-unknown Immortal.
Perched on her head at a jaunty angle was a straw hat to keep the cool spring sun off her face. Dressed in a short, tailored black skirt with opaque black tights, he followed the shapely legs down to her funky, chunky shoes. A fitted white shirt knotted fashionably at her waist completed the ensemble. Simple, hip yet classily sexy; the outfit flattered her figure nicely; apparently many men and some women thought so as well, judging by the openly admiring glances thrown her way. Appreciating the view so far, his gaze traveled upwards, to see if the rest of her matched up nicely. Her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses; holding a map of the city in her hands, it fluttered in the spring breeze, threatening to take flight. Her head swiveled back and forth, as she searched for the source of the Buzz.
She hasn’t learned the art of subtlety. Either her Teacher’s methods are lacking, or she needs one---or both. Methos thought.
A sudden gust of wind blew her hat off her head, to reveal shiny black hair bound in a French braid, the long queue of it trailed down her back. Hesitating, the Unknown abandoned her search for the source of the Buzz, and chased her hat as it rolled down the sidewalk like a child’s hoop, propelled by the wind, before an elderly gentleman kindly stopped the runaway hat. Straightening laboriously, he gave it to her with a nod and a smile.
The little fool needs to get her priorities straight! Choosing a hat over a potential threat. She definitely has a lot to learn.
Accepting it with a grateful smile of her own, the Immortal jumped in surprise when a bold young man pinched her on her derriere in admiration as he passed by. Indignant, she jammed the errant hat back onto her head, looking in vain for her amorous assailant. : :
                  #
                  Turning the shower knob to cold, the Methos gasped with the sudden change, his skin tingling, tightening in reaction to the icy deluge.
Never as good as a Quickening, but it’ll do
Rinsing off, the Immortal toweled himself dry before stepping out of the tub, wrapping the thick, soft cotton cloth around his narrow hips. Leaning on his hands, he stared at his reflection. Dark brown hair slicked back, his nose was a bit on the large side, but Alexa once told him it ‘added character’ to his face. To his recollection, it was never a hindrance, and she certainly never complained about it when they were locked in a passionate kiss or embrace. The bittersweet memory brought a sad smile to his face. Intelligent, dark eyes stared back at him--eyes thru which the wisdom and experience gleaned during his centuries of existence shone, or were masked at will.
Methos was a master at doling out his experience and wisdom to those he chose . . .as it suited his purpose. Tall, lanky and slighter in build than the big Scot, but no less capable, his wide shoulders could carry a custom-tailored tuxedo as easily as a shirt of chain mail, or a college sweatshirt, and he was just as comfortable wielding a sword or a pen. That was a definite plus of Immortality; other than keeping his sword skills up to par, Methos didn’t need to worry about working out, unless it directly involved keeping his head on his shoulders. Not an ounce of fat was on his lean frame — fortuitous, given his love of beer. Shrugging to himself, the Ancient One smoothed shaving cream over his face and picked up his razor.
                  >>======= >
                                                                                                            >>==== >
                  Powering down his computer, Duncan looked up at the sound of footsteps; the Highlander noted the Elder was dressed for comfort, resembling an overgrown college kid. Sprawled across the sofa in the younger Immortal’s office, Methos looked around with interest, appreciating the Highlander’s eclectic taste. Several objécts d’art were scattered about, some of which were used as paperweights. Following his friend’s gaze, Duncan’s thoughts were similar. There were definite advantages to being independently wealthy. Collecting souvenirs and artifacts from his wanderings and many adventures over the centuries, and recycling the antiques enabled him to command top dollar; his wise investments over the years afforded him the luxury of setting his own schedule. With a sigh, Methos looked at Duncan.
                  “So, where do we begin?” About to speak, Duncan was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
“Expecting someone, Highlander?” Methos asked.
                  “Joe. Weren’t you paying attention—or are you going senile?” Duncan answered, rising from his chair.
“Respect your Elder, Highlander.” Methos said wryly as he rose and followed him out of the office.
“I just got up—not exactly at my best. I’m awake now.” Methos replied, a touch defensively.
“Sure. Right. Uh-huh.” The younger Immortal said insolently. The Highlander answered the door, giving his friend and Watcher an affectionate clap on the back.
“Let me give you a hand with that, Joe.” Duncan said, reaching for the silver case.
“Thanks, Mac. Any word?” the Watcher asked, his voice full of hope. The Highlander shook his head, his expression bleak.
Lounging in the kitchen doorway, Methos observed his friends. Joe was a little older, his step not as quick, but other than that, still the same, still exuding brash vitality.
“Bonjour, mon ami.” He said quietly, a grin on his face as he moved forward to greet the Watcher.
Looking around at the sound of the familiar voice Joe’s bearded face split into a wide grin when he spied the older Immortal. Duncan smiled as he placed Joe’s case on the coffee table, before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving the two to catch up with one another. Picking up the phone in the kitchen, the Clansman placed a call.
“Hot damn—look what the cat drug in! Hey Old Man, how long you been here?” the Watcher exclaimed in delight.
“I arrived last night. Caught the afternoon flight over.” Walking over to the mortal, Methos and Joe clasped hands before pulling each other into a gruff bear hug.
“What, you didn’t take the jet?!” Joe asked disbelievingly.
“Adam can’t afford the jet.” Methos said calmly, enjoying their game.
“That’s too bad. Oh well! Let me take a look at you —yep, you’re still the same!” Chuckling at his bad joke, Joe made his way over to the sofa, easing himself down on the comfortable cushions.
“And you’re still as ugly as ever.” Methos rejoined easily, taking a seat in the recliner.
“That’s not what the ladies say!” Joe shot back good-naturedly. Duncan reappeared with an ice-filled bucket of beer in hand.
“Aha!” With a triumphant grin, Methos retrieved a long neck, using his bare hands to pop the cap off his bottle of beer. The elder Immortal took a swig, relishing the way it slid smoothly down his throat. Walking over to Duncan’s sound system, Methos browsed the menu, then pushed “play”. The sound of Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions’ filled the air. Duncan and Joe exchanged exasperated glances as the Highlander shrugged apologetically. With a sigh, Joe rolled his eyes, his delight unaffected.
“Glad you’re here, Old Man; let’s see what we got. Our friend here is chomping at the bit, eh? Can’t say I blame him.” Joe said, reaching for the case. Entering the combination, the lid sprang open, revealing a high tech notebook nestled within, and assorted accessories. Removing the notebook, at a touch, the computer quickly booted up, the password screen appeared.
“Where’s your case, Old Man?” Joe asked Methos.
“I left it at home. Didn’t think I needed it.” He answered. “Besides, I had to give you something to do, right?” he teased the Watcher. Before they could continue, the doorbell rang again.
“Who else you expecting, Mac?” Joe asked, as he lowered the case lid.
“Not who, but what—lunch.” Duncan replied as he pulled the door open.
The Scot reached into his pocket and pulled out several bills, accepting the pizzas from the delivery girl after paying for the pies. Placing them on the other end of the coffee table, he nodded his thanks to Methos as the older Immortal went to retrieve plates.
“What kind didja get, Mac?” Joe asked, inhaling the mouthwatering aroma. Methos returned, passing around the plates and napkins before sitting down.
“Ah, MacLeod, the bagel was merely an appetizer; sustenance arrives in it’s purest form.” The elder Immortal said, his appetite returning full force. The Watcher gave Methos a look of mock disgust.
“Puh-leeze! Just eat—you’re going to make me lose my appetite.” Joe complained, reaching for a box. Duncan smiled, amused. It was good to have his friends near; it made him feel less alone in his search for Jordan.
“Pepperoni, Hawaiian surprise and a combination. Put the notebook away, Joe; let’s eat first.” Duncan said.
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice!” Joe replied, smiling.
The three men sat around eating pizza and knocking back suds, the conversation lighthearted as the bonds of friendship were renewed. Soon the pizza disappeared and the beer dwindled; shortly thereafter, they began to clear the coffee table. The easy, carefree mood changed, becoming grave as the trio tackled the business at hand. Opening the notebook, Joe accessed the database. The Watcher logo flashed on the monitor. Typing in Jordan’s name, he clicked on ‘Search’. The search engine instantly displayed the results, as a smaller window on the right side of the screen opened with the most current revolving three-dimensional image of their lost friend:
                  Query Results:
                  Name:                                    Jordan Milagros Waters
                  Gender:                                    Female
                  Date Born: June 19, 1924
                  Place Born: Manila, Philippines
                  Parents:                                    Felisa Hsiao Waters
Garret Trent Waters
                  Height:                                    5’ 4”
                  Weight:                                    125 Lbs.
                  Hair:                                    Black
                  Eyes:                                    Green
First Death:                  July 3, 1945; motor vehicle (jitney) accident. Body retrieved by Duncan MacLeod.
                  Recent Death:                  May 2003; assaulted outside Seacouver Medical Hospital, mortally stabbed.
Body retrieved by Duncan MacLeod, revived in his loft.
                  Weapon: Masamune Phoenix Head Katana given by Duncan MacLeod.
                  First Teacher:                  Duncan MacLeod
                  Quickenings:                  5 Total
                                                      1973                  Xiu Zhien                                    China
                                                      1955                  Thuy   Nyguyen                  Thailand
                                                      1950                  Maki Ami                                    Japan
                                                      1949                  Tedtaotao Saifun                  Guam
                                                      1948                  Herrflung Ruther                  Japan
After reading the displayed results, Duncan let out a low whistle. “You guys are pretty thorough.” he commented appreciatively. It never failed to amaze him that Watchers managed to follow Immortals thru the centuries, though ‘stalked’ seemed a better word. It was a bit unnerving, he thought.
                  “Well, we wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we weren’t, right Old Man?” Joe replied, peering at Methos over the screen. The elder Immortal merely smiled, his hand idly rubbing the Watcher tattoo on the inside of his left wrist.
                  “That’s pretty good, but tell me something I don’t know; is that all you have on her?” Duncan asked, a frown creasing his brow.
                  “These are the quick and dirty facts; other details can be accessed if you want.” The Watcher said, waiting for Duncan’s decision.
                  “Like what?” the Highlander prompted.
                  “The usual: occupations, likes/dislikes, favorites, lovers, you name it, encounters -- we’ll surely have something on it.” Glancing at Methos, Joe noticed he had an odd expression on his face; in fact, he almost looked uncomfortable.
                  “You okay, Old Man?” he asked.
“I’m fine—and stop with the ‘Old Man’, would you?” Methos replied, a touch crossly. Raising an eyebrow, Joe couldn’t resist the opportunity to needle his friend.
“Whoa—somebody feeling their age?” the Watcher teased. Eager to get his companions to refocus, Duncan spoke.
                  “What about a last entry?” the Highlander asked, increasingly glad by the minute that he Joe was there.
                  “Well, we can always check her Chronicles. Let’s see what it comes up with.” The Watcher said with a quick grin. After clicking on the ‘more’ button, a new window popped up to display the results.
                  Watcher:                  Bailey McDermott                  1991- present
Vanessa Lansherre                  1985-1991
Thuy Khomm                  1948-1985
                  “Lets see what ‘Micky D’ has to say about the lady, eh Mac?” Joe said, his fingers busy on the keyboard; moving to sit next to his friend, the Highlander grunted his assent, his eyes glued to the screen. Methos also moved closer and sat perched on the arm of the recliner.
                  “Here’s the entry dated 72 hours ago . . . that’s when you last saw Jordie, right Mac? Several entries for that day; last one at ten that evening.” Joe said, his eyes briefly flicking over to the Highlander.
                  “Yeah.” The Immortal replied. Joe read the words on the screen aloud.
1400                   Jordan exited MacLeod’s loft wearing her usual attire, trench coat on. From the looks of her, I’d guess she and Duncan finished practicing.                  After taking her hair out of it’s braid, she went into the convenience store where she apparently purchased sweets, one of which she eats. Its fortunate Immortals aren’t prone to the usual banes suffered by mortals. The way she goes thru candy would make any dentist rich. Her most common purchases are Reese’s peanut butter cups and Hershey Special Darks.
1430                  From my vantage point, I see her on the sidewalk. Odd, there’s no one else on the street; its empty; suddenly, I felt strange, I couldn’t move, though I want to move closer to the window, I couldn’t. My body felt so heavy. Thru my binoculars I saw her hair blow into her eyes as she looks around; seconds later, she was engulfed by a brilliant flash of light; when I am able to see again, she is gone. I’ve not seen her move that quickly ever, and am cursing myself. I scanned both directions with the zoom lens, but couldn’t find her.   To my knowledge, there are no other places she frequents in the area, other than MacLeod’s loft and the convenience store.   I waited until the evening and still didn’t see her. Will wait to enter more.
2200                  Later that same evening, MacLeod is alone in his loft. Still no sign of Jordan.’”
                  “What about the next day’s entry?” Duncan asked, his tone eager; this was a start. Intuition told him there was something there that could possibly help them. Joe continued to type away; the information appeared on the screen. Scanning the short entry, the three males remained silent.
                  “Same thing, Mac. Nothing. Micky D still didn’t lay eyes on the girl. Poor guy. Looks like you’re not the only one tearing their hair out about this. Her Watcher isn’t looking forward to logging how he lost his assignment. Can’t say I blame the guy, either. Doesn’t look good on your résumé.”
                  “Well, we can rule out kidnapping—that’s obviously a relief. Perhaps that flash of light might be something to consider.” Methos commented, studying the Highlander’s reaction. His friend remained silent, a sign that he was deep in thought.
                  “Unless it was a trick of light; sunlight bouncing off a car’s windshield, reflecting on the window behind her—you know, that kind of thing.” Joe speculated, scratching his beard thoughtfully.
                  “Does Jordie know her Watcher, Joe?” Duncan asked. Frowning, Joe shook his head.
                  “Highly unlikely; you and I are the exception, Mac. As well as the Old Man here. Our policy of not interfering hasn’t changed. Did you ever tell her about the Watchers?” Duncan shook his head in denial.
                  “Not at all?” Joe pressed.
“No, Joe. Not a word, not a hint, nothing; as far as she knows, you and I are good friends, and you’re a bar owner.” The Highlander reassured him. The Watcher shrugged, satisfied, not doubting his friend’s word. Duncan stood, pacing the apartment; the information provided a clue, yet he was unsure how to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
                  “Is there anything else you can think of, Mac?”
“Dammit, don’t you think I’ve asked myself that a thousand times?” Duncan growled. Joe and Methos exchanged glances.
                  “I’m sorry . . . that was wrong of me; I shouldn’t take my frustration out on you guys.” Duncan said quietly, his dark eyes apologetic. He turned his eyes out towards the balcony, noting the position of the sun.
                  “Put the computer away, Joe. I’m going to fire up the grill.” Putting action to word, the Highlander made his way to the kitchen, leaving his friends to their own devices; the sound of dishes clattering and drawers opening and closing filled the silence as Duncan moved around in his kitchen.
                  “What do you think, Joe?” Methos asked, wondering what the Watcher thought about the matter.
                  “Well, I’d say either Jordie went thru a hell of a lot of trouble to disappear, or we have a bona fide mystery on our hands. She trained with Mac, so I know she’s at least halfway competent. Question is, why is she gone? What do you think, Methos, what’s your spin on the matter?” the Watcher replied, stymied.
                  “I can’t say. It really is a mystery to me as well.” The Immortal said quietly, reaching for the TV’s remote control. Channel surfing, Methos finally switched the television off in disgust.
                  “Technology has come a long way, yet there’s nothing on to watch.” He complained to the Watcher.
“Quit your bellyaching and take a look at this.” Joe said, motioning for the Immortal to join him. Keeping his voice down, he nodded towards the screen.   As Methos read the screen, something flickered in his eyes briefly before disappearing.
“She’s not a stranger to you. Does Mac know?” Joe asked quietly.
“What? That I’m more than merely acquainted with the lovely Jordan Waters?” the Immortal replied; the Watcher looked at him expectantly. Methos looked at Joe, stubbornly remaining silent. With a glare, Joe turned back to the screen, reading the rest of the entry.
                  “It was a long time ago; 1998 to be exact.” Methos began. Joe stopped what he was doing, waiting for him to continue.
“She was in France, and so was I; we . . . spent some time together. That’s all.” Methos said quietly.
“Were you two involved?” Joe asked, not really expecting him to answer, unsure if he’d like the answer the Eldest would give. Methos was saved from replying as Duncan came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.
“Did you find anything else out?” the Highlander asked Joe.
“I’m afraid not, MacLeod.” Methos said smoothly; turning his back to Duncan, the Eldest shot the Watcher a warning glance. Closing the window, Joe smiled at his friend.
                  “Sorry, Mac . . .nothing else.” The Watcher said apologetically.
With a sigh, the Highlander nodded, looking at the computer screen where the original query results were displayed. Joe shot Methos another glare; the elder Immortal’s expression was one of pure innocence.
                  “Well, is anyone else hungry around here? I’m going to grill in about an hour.” Duncan said.
The two other men readily agreed; the Scot went out to the balcony to prepare the grill before disappearing into his kitchen again. Joe returned to his computer; with a sigh, Methos walked out to the balcony. Joe’s question stirred memories that Methos preferred to keep in the furthest recesses of recall. Leaning on the rail, the Ancient thought about Jordan, trying unsuccessfully to quell the rising regret.
                                    >>===== >
                                                                        >>==== >
   “This a peace offering for losing it earlier, Mac?” Joe teased. True to his word, the Highlander grilled steaks and vegetables, serving both with a delectable rice pilaf.
                  “You could say that.” Duncan replied, a sheepish expression on his rugged face. Picking up his glass of red wine, the Highlander swirled it around, inhaling briefly before taking a sip. The trio watched the sun set over the western sky in companionable silence. Feeling charitable, Methos began to gather the dishes; Joe stood to help when the older Immortal waved him down.
“Sit—you did the research, I’ve got this. I’ll work for food, and will gladly sing for beer.” Methos said.
“That won’t be necessary, Old Man; I want my dinner to stay right where it is—in my stomach!” Joe said.
With a wry grin, Methos began to scrape leftovers into a bowl for the garbage disposal to deal with. Stacking their dirty plates, he quickly had the table cleared. Feeling industrious, Methos set to loading the dishwasher and the coffee maker to brew.
“Look at the Old Man—you’d think he’d been domesticated!” Joe quipped.
Duncan smiled automatically, his mind still on the information Joe provided. In the gathering darkness, the moon and stars shone softly in the night sky. Feeling something poke his chest, Duncan reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out the box Gregory gave Jordan. Frowning, he tried to remember how it got there; the last time the Highland saw it, it was on top of his dresser.
Now you’re losing it, MacLeod; can’t even remember what you’re doing anymore, can you?
“Nice night; think we’ll get a crescent moon, Mac?” Joe asked, staring at the night sky. When there was no reply, the Watcher repeated himself.
“Mac?” Glancing over at his friend, Joe noticed he was absorbed with the object he held in his hand.
“Whatcha got there, Mac?” he asked, curious.
“This is the box of a pendent Gregory gave to Jordan.” Duncan answered absentmindedly. Searching his memory, Joe tried to place the face with a name; after a moment, it came to him.
“Gregory . . .he’s your antique dealer friend, right? The one you introduced me to that morning?” Joe asked
“Yeah.” Duncan replied, not taking his eyes off the box.
“Can I see it?” Joe asked.
Wordlessly, Duncan handed it to the Watcher before turning to the woods. It was becoming automatic; since Jordan’s disappearance, more often than not, the Scot would inevitably find himself staring out at the woods every night.
“Hmmm….never seen anything like it. What are the carvings on it?” Joe ran his fingertips gently over the surface of the box, admiring it.
“I don’t know. I think they’re mainly decorative.” Duncan answered over his shoulder, his gaze turning back to the dark woods in the distance. He couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that he was close—very close to finding the answers he sought.
“Nice. What was inside again?” the Watcher asked, intrigued by the size and design of the box. It couldn’t have held much.
“A pendant. A green leaf with a silver thread entwined around it. You should’ve seen it—she loved it. Jordie’d never been one for baubles. This one really brought her eyes out.” Duncan’s face softened with the pleasant memory. Overhead the stars shone a little brighter, as if in response to the Immortal’s mood.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Hey, Mac—check it out! You know it could do this?” Duncan turned at the wonder in Joe’s voice. Holding the delicate item in the palm of his calloused hand, Joe held it out for Duncan to see; the runes glowed silver in the starlight.
“No, I didn’t.” he said softly. The Highlander continued to stare at the box; the feeling that he was one step closer to finding Jordan grew stronger.
“Wonder how it does that?” The Watcher said, thinking out loud.
“Methos! Come out here and turn the lights off.” Duncan called. Complying with the Highlander’s request, Methos joined him, a bottle of beer in hand.
“Why Duncan, this is all so sudden—after all this time, I had no idea . . .and in front of Joe, or is he going to join us?” Methos said sarcastically, chuckling at the Watcher’s horrified expression.
“Very funny. Notice I’m not laughing.” Duncan glared at his friend.
“Don’t worry, Joe—the women of the world need me too much for me to consider finding solace in the arms of a man—especially that one!” The older Immortal reassured him.
Joe simply nodded, a doubtful expression on his face as he passed the box to him. Duncan watched silently as Methos examined it; turning it over in his hands, the older Immortal’s fingers traced the gleaming silver runes, his expression thoughtful. Looking up at Duncan, Methos’ face was inscrutable.
“Pretty little thing, isn’t it?” Methos commented.
“Have you seen it before?” The Highlander asked.
“I’ve seen a lot of things over the centuries, Duncan.” The Older Immortal answered, his voice carefully neutral.
“What do you know about it, Methos?” Duncan pressed his friend
“This box? Can’t place it. Sorry.” Methos answered. The Highlander continued to press his friend for an answer, sensing there was more to the older Immortal’s claims than he let on.
“Wait a minute—you’re telling me you know nothing about this box? C’mon, Methos, level with me. Surely you know something, or someone who can help.”
“Duncan, haven’t we had this conversation before? I didn’t become over five thousand years old by worrying about anyone else but me. If you care too much about someone, eventually you get burned.”
“This isn’t just anyone, Methos—it’s Jordan we’re talking about!” The Highlander snapped.
With a frustrated look directed at his friend, Duncan turned away. The Highlander needed to calm himself before he punched his friend from sheer frustration. Unruffled, Methos took swig of his beer, and observed the Clansman, his outward calm not betraying the thoughts in his mind. Rubbing his forehead, he closed his eyes. The Scot turned back to the elder Immortal.
“Is that all?” Duncan asked, incredulous.
“What do you want me to say, MacLeod?” The older Immortal asked.
“I don’t know—anything but that. You’re telling me in over 5,000 you’ve never seen anything like this?!” Methos turned the box over in his hand, examining it again closely. After a moment, he handed it back to Duncan, ignoring the younger Immortal’s comment. Tucking the box into his shirt pocket, the Highlander stared at Methos expectantly. Joe looked between the Immortals wondering what the answer would be.
“Do you believe in legend, Duncan?” the Highlander didn’t reply. Leaning back against the rails, Duncan waited for him to continue.
“What does this have to do with Jordie?” Duncan asked, wondering where the conversation was going.
“Maybe everything…maybe nothing.” Methos said. With a pointed look at the beer in the older Immortal’s hand, Duncan continued to badger him.
“That’s four beers you’ve had. Now pay up. Stop speaking in riddles. Either you know something or you don’t. Which is it?”
“Our origins are shrouded in mystery, lost in the fog of time. We are living legends, and if we exist, think of the possibilities, MacLeod. Really think about it.” Methos said. Joe listened the Immortals’ exchange thoughtfully.
“You of all people should be open to that possibility. After all, you have the Sorcerer Nakano in you, and how many times has Connor been out of this dimension with Ramirez?” Methos asked, finding the bewildered, doubtful expression on the Highlander’s face highly amusing.
“The Old Man may be on to something; y’know, Mac—maybe you ought a ask Gregory about the box. Maybe he’ll be able to give you some answers, or at least point you in the right direction.” The Watcher reasoned. Looking at his wristwatch, he was surprised to find it was later than he thought.
“Gotta go, Mac—It’s my night to close the bar. Call me if you need more information; in the meantime, I’ll nose around—see what I can find. ‘Night, Methos.” Methos waved good night as Joe made his way to the door with Duncan in tow.
“I’ll walk you to your car, Joe. Methos—I’m going down, if I don’t see you when I come back up, good night. Don’t sleep too well, you’re not off the hook” Throwing his hands up in mock surrender, the older Immortal nodded. Watching them exit, the Immortal waited for the door to shut before slowly making his way back to his room, deep in thought.
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In his room, Methos’ mind worked overtime. When Duncan handed him the box, he could scarcely contain his excitement. Though he was the oldest living Immortal, there were things in the world that were far older than him. He’d heard more than his share of legends; ironic since he himself was one. After he rode with the Horsemen, Methos’ travels brought him to England, where, for a short time, he lent his sword arm to King Arthur. A smile crossed his good-looking face. The year of the Lord 410 A.D. was a good one, albeit filled with some rather . . . ‘interesting’ learning experiences. Laying in the bed, Methos stared up at the ceiling, thinking about Jordan, wondering if Duncan was aware of their . . . ‘acquaintance’; obviously not, for Methos could only imagine the Highlander’s reaction – if he knew. A faint smile appeared on his lips
“Jordan . . .” Methos said softly to himself.
The mere mention of her name brought feelings that were a mixture of regret, along with a faint feeling of anticipation.   The Immortal remembered her lingering scent of sandalwood and strawberries, and the way she fit neatly in his arms. Yes, they definitely had to find Jordan Waters. The lady and he had unfinished business to tend to.
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Only One	By : HollyHobbit13 Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Crossovers Views: 4468 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Only One