"Whispered On The Winds," Highlander/Marvel, part 2/5
Part 2 is available at the AO3 here.
Part 1 on Dreamwidth.
Rated: R most likely. Some spoilers for several of the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies, particularly Iron Man. The Highlander elements come in via Killa and Lapilus' amazing Alternate Universe vid, "Opportunities." Written for an art prompt from Pentapus' Reverse Bigbang, and for Crossover100 prompt #79 -- desert.
1973, Outskirts of Brasilia
Methos revived already trying not to gasp audibly -- and realized that his arms were pinned. A moment's exertion showed him that he wasn't lying on his arms, or pinned by bags, rocks, or his own clothes, for that matter. Wherever he was, it was also moving; a diesel engine's rumbles shook the floor under his back. He remembered at the last moment not to use a local language and ended up muttering in Turkish, "Who the fuck ties up a corpse?"
"Someone who's wondering why the corpse didn't rot two decades ago."
The reply was in Portuguese, not Turkish; a female voice, deliberately husky and knowing, and he might have heard it before but it wasn't lately. Twenty years back gave him a rough range to hunt through for the memory.
He had a few seconds to look around and think; a quick look told him he was in the back of an old army transport which hadn't gained any padding over the last thirty years. The truck turned sharply off a passable road onto a much rougher surface. Methos rolled with the momentum, unconcerned by the inevitable bruises. He folded his legs back as the transport came to a stop, arching his spine to reach for his boot knife.
Like the knife in his belt, the boot knife was gone. Methos' eyes narrowed and he asked in Portuguese, "Who are you? And what do you want?"
"You wouldn't know the name." The truck moved more slowly now, cutting around obstacles for a few more seconds. When she turned the engine off and came over the top of the seat into the back compartment, he saw the red hair first -- long, corkscrew curls of it falling around her shoulders, darker than he remembered -- before he placed her. Bora Bora. Not that Leila was ever her name. Her eyes had changed even more: still sharp and missing very little, but also cool, considering, dispassionate. Dangerous as any Horseman's, but more controlled, too, and less prone to excesses than they had been.
Because that was her nature? Or because she was on a tighter leash?
Methos let Benigno Alfaro fall away and allowed a minute bit of Death into his eyes. "As I said: why did you bind me?"
She stayed on her knees in front of him, heedless of the damage the truck's bed was doing to her fashionably bright skirt. "I killed you in 1956 and I killed you this afternoon. How are you reviving?" She considered him very thoughtfully. "You're very fit, but you don't show signs of any extra endurance or stamina and your skin cuts easily enough."
Methos raised an eyebrow. "I also bleed red, piss yellow, shit brown. What did you think you had?"
Leila smiled faintly. "We both know that knowledge is power. Why should I tell you that?"
Methos smiled cynically, only one side of his mouth tilting up. "Because, like me, you're no fool."
"With enough time, I could find a way to kill even you past coming back." She watched him, competent hands waiting motionless on her thighs. "Give me two honest answers, or I'll start searching for one."
Methos lay propped on shoulder and hip, his wrists straining against his bonds until they bled; he wanted the blood, wanted the additional slick to help him get free. He wasn't about to break bones, however; he might need his hands in a hurry once he was loose. "And you'll know truth when you hear it?"
"And see it," she agreed, watching his face so steadily he knew she had to be periodically widening her field of vision. There was no way this professional wasn't watching for him to get free now that he was conscious. "I don't think torturing you would work, Dr. Marchand. You'd lie until I wasn't certain which parts were truth, or you'd keep changing languages and soaking up pain until I had a furious madman who didn't stay dead. Neither of those is in my best interests, Mr. Alfaro."
He ignored the names; it wasn't even close to time to worry about those. "I give you two honest answers and you set me free -- with my weapons back," Methos specified.
"I keep the ammunition," she countered, one eyebrow lifting while she waited for him to take the deal or not.
Methos considered her, the intractability in the level voice and those watchful eyes. "You're not lying -- quite. What part are you shading?"
She shifted back, going from kneeling on both legs to sitting on one leg, the other folded in front of her. She'd be able to stand quickly now; it also moved her out of his arms' reach. Neither was by chance. "I think I know the first answer -- but if I'm wrong, I'll have to bring you with me. One way or another."
His left hand was almost free; just his luck, he was lying on that side. Methos kept working on the right with deliberately minute motions. "I have to bet that you're right about a question you haven't even asked me yet? I can't say I like those odds."
"I'm very bright," she said casually, pushing her hair behind her shoulder with one hand. The nails were shorter than was fashionable and painted with clear polish. It didn't match her hair, skirt, or lipstick, but it undoubtedly went very well with the gun or guns behind that loose blouse. "They're better odds than you think."
Methos' instincts said danger was rolling closer with every word out of those full red lips. In a murmur as husky as her own, Death promised, "You don't want me for an enemy."
Her pistols were in her hands remarkably quickly, one aimed at his heart and the other ready to give him a third eye socket. "That's mutual, and I have both hands free. Two answers."
His lips curved up, pale as the horse he supposedly rode. "Ask."
A bird called and they both waited a moment to be sure no other call answered. Both nodded before the spy asked him, "Have you ever been part of any Super Soldier project -- German, American, Russian, British, independent?"
Death raised an eyebrow, facts slotting neatly into place and new possibilities rising up out of them. "Now your questions make sense. No. I haven't." He tilted his head very thoughtfully, mirroring her motion and studying her as closely as she had studied him... and didn't comment further.
Her mouth tightened, a tendon tightening and releasing along her throat and jaw, but she finally nodded. "Your ability to revive from death: can you teach it, or in any way, shape, or form share it or give it to another?"
Death bared his teeth, deliberately drawing skin down against bone. "No. You can't come back if you die, and I can't give you any way to do it. No one can," he said flatly.
She studied him for a long moment, head tilting a little, then straightened and nodded. "So it's not just fast healing," she murmured. "Were you brain dead as well as heart and lungs dead?"
"You've had your two questions," Death said softly. "What now?"
"There's no safe way for me to cut you loose. I'd either give you a weapon or be in arm's reach. Right now, you still want to kill me," she said calmly. "By tomorrow, you won't."
He was still 'smiling' at her, but she was holding steady under it. If he'd wanted to revive the Horsemen, she'd have done superbly. She was right, however; Methos or Death, he didn't want the Horsemen back. But she shouldn’t know that part. "Really. Why won't I?"
Her gaze held as level as her pistols. "Because I haven't burnt your identity here yet, I haven't tortured you, and because you like the idea of having a female counterpart in the world." She smiled at that, lips curving and eyes lighting.
"You might be right," he murmured, distracted by that as she no doubt intended. Annoyingly, she wasn't wrong. "Perhaps."
She smiled a little. "About which? That I'm like you? Or that by tomorrow you'll have decided I owe you and I know it and that might be useful? I'd say it's both."
Methos smirked at her. "Bright girl."
"And you're settled again," she murmured. "How do you do that so quickly?"
"Practice," Death answered and watched her pulse pick up just that little bit in the blue vein under her jaw. He could bite it out... she backed away almost as soon as he thought it. He smiled when she did, letting his eyes track danger points for and from him before he went back to watching her eyes again.
She nodded slowly, calming herself as he settled. "Practice," she agreed softly. "Yes. And yes, I owe you. Which of you is older?"
"I'm sure you'd like to know," Methos replied. "If you haven't destroyed this life, where's my wallet?"
She indicated a bag next to him with chin and eyes, watching him much more closely now that his right hand was free, too. Since she knew, he let the ropes fall from his belt to hit the truck bed. "Right there. Weapons, wallet, clean shirt and all."
Now he studied her thoughtfully... and smiled, amused and almost impressed. "Well, well. You always meant to bargain for that."
"Your ability to heal alone would be a valuable secret. The ability to actually revive from death without medical assistance? That's priceless." She shrugged a little. "It's also something I would not want my... employers to have."
Methos cocked his head. "Nicely deliberate pause, but are you sure that's the right word?"
"It'll do," she said, moving a little farther back as he shifted onto his back, one arm reaching for his bag. She watched both arms, but then he'd known she was no fool.
Methos nodded and started checking by touch to be sure his belongings really were in there. He also warned her: "When I want the favor, you owe it."
"Agreed."
He couldn't detect any lies or shadings in her assent. "What name do I look for you under, then?" Methos asked as he sat up at last.
The curve of her mouth warned him he'd like it; her voice was all business -- one of the world's oldest businesses, anyway. "Black Widow."
Methos was still laughing softly when she cut his legs loose -- from a safe distance, with a machete she'd had very well hidden -- and let him leave with the bag. Her soubriquet was appropriate, certainly, and it wasn't as if he cared what secrets she'd stolen from the government.
Let the bureaucrats worry about it. He was busy making sure Death slid back onto watch, not into command.
}{ }{ }{ }{
Miscellanea:
The comment about 'pale as the horse he rode' is also from Revelations: "I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death..."
For the Highlander fans who may not be familiar with the Super Soldier program or serum, they're what led to the creation of Captain America when the serum worked and Red Skull when it didn't. There seems to be a suspicion that both HYDRA and the Red Room were trying to recreate it (among others!). Both Black Widow and Winter Soldier may be results of that.
'one of the world's oldest businesses' -- I went looking to see if whoring was the oldest or second oldest professions and found it trades back and forth with spying in that listing. The phrasing then became a moral imperative.
Go on to part 3.
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.
Part 1 on Dreamwidth.
Rated: R most likely. Some spoilers for several of the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies, particularly Iron Man. The Highlander elements come in via Killa and Lapilus' amazing Alternate Universe vid, "Opportunities." Written for an art prompt from Pentapus' Reverse Bigbang, and for Crossover100 prompt #79 -- desert.
1973, Outskirts of Brasilia
Methos revived already trying not to gasp audibly -- and realized that his arms were pinned. A moment's exertion showed him that he wasn't lying on his arms, or pinned by bags, rocks, or his own clothes, for that matter. Wherever he was, it was also moving; a diesel engine's rumbles shook the floor under his back. He remembered at the last moment not to use a local language and ended up muttering in Turkish, "Who the fuck ties up a corpse?"
"Someone who's wondering why the corpse didn't rot two decades ago."
The reply was in Portuguese, not Turkish; a female voice, deliberately husky and knowing, and he might have heard it before but it wasn't lately. Twenty years back gave him a rough range to hunt through for the memory.
He had a few seconds to look around and think; a quick look told him he was in the back of an old army transport which hadn't gained any padding over the last thirty years. The truck turned sharply off a passable road onto a much rougher surface. Methos rolled with the momentum, unconcerned by the inevitable bruises. He folded his legs back as the transport came to a stop, arching his spine to reach for his boot knife.
Like the knife in his belt, the boot knife was gone. Methos' eyes narrowed and he asked in Portuguese, "Who are you? And what do you want?"
"You wouldn't know the name." The truck moved more slowly now, cutting around obstacles for a few more seconds. When she turned the engine off and came over the top of the seat into the back compartment, he saw the red hair first -- long, corkscrew curls of it falling around her shoulders, darker than he remembered -- before he placed her. Bora Bora. Not that Leila was ever her name. Her eyes had changed even more: still sharp and missing very little, but also cool, considering, dispassionate. Dangerous as any Horseman's, but more controlled, too, and less prone to excesses than they had been.
Because that was her nature? Or because she was on a tighter leash?
Methos let Benigno Alfaro fall away and allowed a minute bit of Death into his eyes. "As I said: why did you bind me?"
She stayed on her knees in front of him, heedless of the damage the truck's bed was doing to her fashionably bright skirt. "I killed you in 1956 and I killed you this afternoon. How are you reviving?" She considered him very thoughtfully. "You're very fit, but you don't show signs of any extra endurance or stamina and your skin cuts easily enough."
Methos raised an eyebrow. "I also bleed red, piss yellow, shit brown. What did you think you had?"
Leila smiled faintly. "We both know that knowledge is power. Why should I tell you that?"
Methos smiled cynically, only one side of his mouth tilting up. "Because, like me, you're no fool."
"With enough time, I could find a way to kill even you past coming back." She watched him, competent hands waiting motionless on her thighs. "Give me two honest answers, or I'll start searching for one."
Methos lay propped on shoulder and hip, his wrists straining against his bonds until they bled; he wanted the blood, wanted the additional slick to help him get free. He wasn't about to break bones, however; he might need his hands in a hurry once he was loose. "And you'll know truth when you hear it?"
"And see it," she agreed, watching his face so steadily he knew she had to be periodically widening her field of vision. There was no way this professional wasn't watching for him to get free now that he was conscious. "I don't think torturing you would work, Dr. Marchand. You'd lie until I wasn't certain which parts were truth, or you'd keep changing languages and soaking up pain until I had a furious madman who didn't stay dead. Neither of those is in my best interests, Mr. Alfaro."
He ignored the names; it wasn't even close to time to worry about those. "I give you two honest answers and you set me free -- with my weapons back," Methos specified.
"I keep the ammunition," she countered, one eyebrow lifting while she waited for him to take the deal or not.
Methos considered her, the intractability in the level voice and those watchful eyes. "You're not lying -- quite. What part are you shading?"
She shifted back, going from kneeling on both legs to sitting on one leg, the other folded in front of her. She'd be able to stand quickly now; it also moved her out of his arms' reach. Neither was by chance. "I think I know the first answer -- but if I'm wrong, I'll have to bring you with me. One way or another."
His left hand was almost free; just his luck, he was lying on that side. Methos kept working on the right with deliberately minute motions. "I have to bet that you're right about a question you haven't even asked me yet? I can't say I like those odds."
"I'm very bright," she said casually, pushing her hair behind her shoulder with one hand. The nails were shorter than was fashionable and painted with clear polish. It didn't match her hair, skirt, or lipstick, but it undoubtedly went very well with the gun or guns behind that loose blouse. "They're better odds than you think."
Methos' instincts said danger was rolling closer with every word out of those full red lips. In a murmur as husky as her own, Death promised, "You don't want me for an enemy."
Her pistols were in her hands remarkably quickly, one aimed at his heart and the other ready to give him a third eye socket. "That's mutual, and I have both hands free. Two answers."
His lips curved up, pale as the horse he supposedly rode. "Ask."
A bird called and they both waited a moment to be sure no other call answered. Both nodded before the spy asked him, "Have you ever been part of any Super Soldier project -- German, American, Russian, British, independent?"
Death raised an eyebrow, facts slotting neatly into place and new possibilities rising up out of them. "Now your questions make sense. No. I haven't." He tilted his head very thoughtfully, mirroring her motion and studying her as closely as she had studied him... and didn't comment further.
Her mouth tightened, a tendon tightening and releasing along her throat and jaw, but she finally nodded. "Your ability to revive from death: can you teach it, or in any way, shape, or form share it or give it to another?"
Death bared his teeth, deliberately drawing skin down against bone. "No. You can't come back if you die, and I can't give you any way to do it. No one can," he said flatly.
She studied him for a long moment, head tilting a little, then straightened and nodded. "So it's not just fast healing," she murmured. "Were you brain dead as well as heart and lungs dead?"
"You've had your two questions," Death said softly. "What now?"
"There's no safe way for me to cut you loose. I'd either give you a weapon or be in arm's reach. Right now, you still want to kill me," she said calmly. "By tomorrow, you won't."
He was still 'smiling' at her, but she was holding steady under it. If he'd wanted to revive the Horsemen, she'd have done superbly. She was right, however; Methos or Death, he didn't want the Horsemen back. But she shouldn’t know that part. "Really. Why won't I?"
Her gaze held as level as her pistols. "Because I haven't burnt your identity here yet, I haven't tortured you, and because you like the idea of having a female counterpart in the world." She smiled at that, lips curving and eyes lighting.
"You might be right," he murmured, distracted by that as she no doubt intended. Annoyingly, she wasn't wrong. "Perhaps."
She smiled a little. "About which? That I'm like you? Or that by tomorrow you'll have decided I owe you and I know it and that might be useful? I'd say it's both."
Methos smirked at her. "Bright girl."
"And you're settled again," she murmured. "How do you do that so quickly?"
"Practice," Death answered and watched her pulse pick up just that little bit in the blue vein under her jaw. He could bite it out... she backed away almost as soon as he thought it. He smiled when she did, letting his eyes track danger points for and from him before he went back to watching her eyes again.
She nodded slowly, calming herself as he settled. "Practice," she agreed softly. "Yes. And yes, I owe you. Which of you is older?"
"I'm sure you'd like to know," Methos replied. "If you haven't destroyed this life, where's my wallet?"
She indicated a bag next to him with chin and eyes, watching him much more closely now that his right hand was free, too. Since she knew, he let the ropes fall from his belt to hit the truck bed. "Right there. Weapons, wallet, clean shirt and all."
Now he studied her thoughtfully... and smiled, amused and almost impressed. "Well, well. You always meant to bargain for that."
"Your ability to heal alone would be a valuable secret. The ability to actually revive from death without medical assistance? That's priceless." She shrugged a little. "It's also something I would not want my... employers to have."
Methos cocked his head. "Nicely deliberate pause, but are you sure that's the right word?"
"It'll do," she said, moving a little farther back as he shifted onto his back, one arm reaching for his bag. She watched both arms, but then he'd known she was no fool.
Methos nodded and started checking by touch to be sure his belongings really were in there. He also warned her: "When I want the favor, you owe it."
"Agreed."
He couldn't detect any lies or shadings in her assent. "What name do I look for you under, then?" Methos asked as he sat up at last.
The curve of her mouth warned him he'd like it; her voice was all business -- one of the world's oldest businesses, anyway. "Black Widow."
Methos was still laughing softly when she cut his legs loose -- from a safe distance, with a machete she'd had very well hidden -- and let him leave with the bag. Her soubriquet was appropriate, certainly, and it wasn't as if he cared what secrets she'd stolen from the government.
Let the bureaucrats worry about it. He was busy making sure Death slid back onto watch, not into command.
}{ }{ }{ }{
Miscellanea:
The comment about 'pale as the horse he rode' is also from Revelations: "I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death..."
For the Highlander fans who may not be familiar with the Super Soldier program or serum, they're what led to the creation of Captain America when the serum worked and Red Skull when it didn't. There seems to be a suspicion that both HYDRA and the Red Room were trying to recreate it (among others!). Both Black Widow and Winter Soldier may be results of that.
'one of the world's oldest businesses' -- I went looking to see if whoring was the oldest or second oldest professions and found it trades back and forth with spying in that listing. The phrasing then became a moral imperative.
Go on to part 3.
Original post on Dreamwidth | Leave a comment on DW | Read
comments on DW
Given the new LJ 'design' decisions, please comment on DW if you can.