Write a letter - for charloft

[no_bedof_roses]

[OOC: Written in the future, and found by Mark after her death. Methos/Adam is oldguywithbeer.]

The letter, written by hand on soft linen stationary, is tucked into his leather carry on bag that he always throws things into when he takes off quickly, and tied to a small brown leather pouch.

My Cassius,

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[oldguywithbeer]

Methos frowned, knowing that Carter could very well be right. Still, he could practically feel her jabbing him in the ribs. "Look, there's always an answer to every question. If we find an Immortal, maybe one who was of that time and that race, we might be able to get it out of them." He thought about Joe, and the discs that he had gotten from his long dead friend. That was stored, on new tech, and maybe he could locate a Druid in the bunch. "I have friends, I have a lot of Immortals I can keep questioning. I'm over five thousand years old, Mark. I know a few things."

He drew out a card, from his wallet, and jotted a number down on the back. "The first number is mine. The second is my service. The number on the back is an old friend. His name is MacLeod. He knew Alexa, and he'll find me if you can't reach me. Stay in touch. You never can tell what might come up." When the other man became emotional, Methos looked away, and leaned back in his seat. Bloody Druids, cursing a man who can't even pick a fight and have his head lopped off to escape. "She does know it. Alexa told me once that she wished I had found the stone, so that she could stay with you, forever. She said that she would take your curse, do anything, if she could stay with you." Methos considered telling Mark about the technology being developed, but decided that in his current mental state, it wouldn't be wise. "Never say never, Carter. The world changes every day. Just don't wallow in this. She wouldn't want you to."

[oldguywithbeer]

"Darker than ever. Right." Methos shook his head, and looked down at the man on the floor. Poor bastard. Oh, well, he tried. Alexa couldn't fault him, not really. He finished his beer, because, really, why waste perfectly good beer? Then he got up and paid a couple of the men in the bar to carry Carter over to one of the cheaper hotels in town, just down the block. After they dumped him on a bed, Methos stuck a wad of hundreds deep in Mark's jacket pocket, next to Alexa's pouch, and paid for the room for a few days, in case he needed to sleep for quite a while.

Before he left, he set the dustbin next to the head of the bed, and rolled his eyes heavenward, as if to justify leaving the man. Methos wasn't anyone's babysitter. He had done what he could, the rest was up to Carter.