"Internment" chapter 7
Warnings: language, angst
******
The conversation had not gone smoothly. In fact there had been a moment when MacLeod was sure Cassandra was going to pull out her sword and challenge him.
He stood on the shore of Loch Shiel looking out at St. Finan’s Isle while Cassandra paced around him, ranting about Methos. A corner of his brain replayed childhood memories of this place, while listening to her shout. It was easier to remain calm if part of his brain was off in a tranquil setting. A good survival tactic. Methos’ voice whispered in his memory.
“Are you listening to me!” Cassandra demanded, rounding on him to halt her pacing and confront him toe to toe on the loch shore.
No, neither of us are listening. But MacLeod nodded, and ground out, “You hate Methos. You have every right to hate him for what he did to you 3000 years ago. But my friend Methos, the man that has several times risked his life to help me, has been missing for over a year now, and seven of the immortals who were helping me search have now been kidnapped. You don’t have to like Methos - or any of my friends, but please hear me. Has the thought ever occurred to you that the Gathering would be started by a group of mortals collecting us together?”
Cassandra’s face changed, the anger was replace by a thoughtful visage. She was listening.
“When I was a new immortal learning about our kind from Connor I was superstitious enough to believe in a mystical Gathering. But now, after having my fellow immortals ‘disappeared’ by uniformed troops I have a modern vision. I foresee a Gathering created by mortals who know about us. Think concentration camp!” MacLeod stopped when he realized he was shouting at her. In a calmer voice he continued, “We need your help, Cassandra, all of us. Good, bad, run-of-the-mill immortals.”
“I’m not a soldier,” she replied.
“Yes, and I don’t mean to drag you into the search, but I’m trying to think ahead. I will find the people responsible, or they will find me. But beyond finding the kidnapped immortals, we need to stop those in power who are giving the orders. Joe is trying to get the watchers in line, and I have a contact in the FBI. It won’t be solders like me that prevent this happening again. It will be persuasive people like you who find the golden men.”
Cassandra nodded, and MacLeod immediately realized this would be the only sign of her consent he would get. They walked back to the parking lot of the Highlander memorial in silence. When they reached her car she said, “Perhaps I should go to Seacouver with you.”
MacLeod was quite surprised at her offer, after so much protesting.
“I don’t want to get you too close to the action - ” MacLeod fell silent as he sensed stealth movement nearby. An instant later a swarm of troops emerged form behind the tourist center and surrounded them.
“Too late.” Cassandra sighed and put up her hands. MacLeod had to be convinced with a rifle butt upside the head.
******
Sam and Michelle were making love under a tree when they heard the helicopter approaching the island. They had gone off in the early morning to hunt for food when they became distracted with each other, again. The forest provided the privacy lacking in a cave living with six other immortals. They ignored the helicopter.
Not so Methos and Robert who were cruising timber on the west side of the island, choosing another cedar of the perfect size for the vessel they were building. They dashed back to the construction site as fast as possible, leaping over rotting logs and moss covered rocks, around berry briars and watery crevices, and through waist high ferns.
“Why the hell are they back so soon?” Robert shouted.
“We should have covered the boat. Fuck!”
“I thought you said we had three months!”
“That’s been the pattern.”
“Hey!” Robert protested getting slapped in the face with a cedar bough.
“Sorry!”
“Wait, listen! It’s taking back off.”
“Crap! What do you want to bet our population just increased again.? We need to take a detour.”
Methos lead Robert to his sword cache, somewhat against his better judgement, but still the idea of facing new internees without a sword overrode his reluctance to having Robert know about his sword. At a rocky cairn east of the helipad Robert watched Methos dig out an old broadsword wrapped in cedar bark.
“Oh, I remember that blade.” Robert rubbed his chest at the memory of Adam’s sharp blade.
“Damn, look at the rust!”
“Why hide it - we could be using it on the boat.”
“One sword, eight immortals, you do the math, Robert.”
“You’re a cynical old bastard.”
“Oh yes.”
They made their way west, cautiously now, to the helipad, and were surprised to find it empty.
“Maybe they were just taking a peak at us.” Robert suggested.
“We better check the cave.”
Turning north they trekked back to the largest cave on the island where the eight immortals had sheltered together for the past couple weeks. There were smaller caves scattered around the rough terrain of the cliff-top island, but this one was the most comfortable and best for food storage.
Near the mouth of the cave they paused briefly and listened for new voices amongst the cacophony of excitement broadcast from inside the cave.
Methos weighed the strength of the quickenings buzzing in his mind. “What a headache.” Heaven and Hell.
Robert nodded his agreement. “We have company. They don’t sound hostile at least.”
That depends on who you are. Methos followed Robert inside the cavern keeping his broadsword down, but clutched tightly in his right hand.
Walter, Claudia, Gina, and Kyra all seemed to be speaking at once to the new arrivals.
“Methos!” Duncan MacLeod blurted out, rising to his feet, reaching out a hand, then amended, “Adam,” realizing his mistake in using the old name.
Methos approached no further into the cave. MacLeod dropped his hand. Methos was staring beyond him at the other new arrival still seated on the sandy floor of the cave, her eyes locked with his.
“You were right with the first name, Duncan. Methos!”
Cassandra whispered to Claudia and Gina who sat nearest her. They glanced at Methos, eyes wide, then looked away.
Methos stopped breathing. Yes. This was the moment. This is why you made sure Cassandra lived. To be known and shunned by your own kind. Ah yes, this is the moment. Do you feel that old man?
Silently he backed out of the cave. Gasped for a breath, then retreated. Walking one moment, then running, then back to walking until he had made his way into the dense forest to a smaller cave he sometimes used. He crawled inside and pulled the tattered bits of his soul around him.
Stupid old fool.
No one followed him to his secondary cave. He had half expected MacLeod to come after him; demand that he stand and defend himself, or at least explain to his - Duncan’s - friends what he had been thousands of years ago and how he had changed. But he would not, and MacLeod probably realized that. He was a bright boy. There was no defense anyway. “I was a murdering bastard for a thousand years, but I’ve changed,” just doesn’t cut it. Not for Cassandra. Not for me.
He had no right to feel sorry for yourself, so he clamped down on his emotions entirely, refusing to feel. He sat lotus under the low ceiling of the small cave. The wheel of time would turn without him, as he stepped outside himself and stood still.
******
The conversation had not gone smoothly. In fact there had been a moment when MacLeod was sure Cassandra was going to pull out her sword and challenge him.
He stood on the shore of Loch Shiel looking out at St. Finan’s Isle while Cassandra paced around him, ranting about Methos. A corner of his brain replayed childhood memories of this place, while listening to her shout. It was easier to remain calm if part of his brain was off in a tranquil setting. A good survival tactic. Methos’ voice whispered in his memory.
“Are you listening to me!” Cassandra demanded, rounding on him to halt her pacing and confront him toe to toe on the loch shore.
No, neither of us are listening. But MacLeod nodded, and ground out, “You hate Methos. You have every right to hate him for what he did to you 3000 years ago. But my friend Methos, the man that has several times risked his life to help me, has been missing for over a year now, and seven of the immortals who were helping me search have now been kidnapped. You don’t have to like Methos - or any of my friends, but please hear me. Has the thought ever occurred to you that the Gathering would be started by a group of mortals collecting us together?”
Cassandra’s face changed, the anger was replace by a thoughtful visage. She was listening.
“When I was a new immortal learning about our kind from Connor I was superstitious enough to believe in a mystical Gathering. But now, after having my fellow immortals ‘disappeared’ by uniformed troops I have a modern vision. I foresee a Gathering created by mortals who know about us. Think concentration camp!” MacLeod stopped when he realized he was shouting at her. In a calmer voice he continued, “We need your help, Cassandra, all of us. Good, bad, run-of-the-mill immortals.”
“I’m not a soldier,” she replied.
“Yes, and I don’t mean to drag you into the search, but I’m trying to think ahead. I will find the people responsible, or they will find me. But beyond finding the kidnapped immortals, we need to stop those in power who are giving the orders. Joe is trying to get the watchers in line, and I have a contact in the FBI. It won’t be solders like me that prevent this happening again. It will be persuasive people like you who find the golden men.”
Cassandra nodded, and MacLeod immediately realized this would be the only sign of her consent he would get. They walked back to the parking lot of the Highlander memorial in silence. When they reached her car she said, “Perhaps I should go to Seacouver with you.”
MacLeod was quite surprised at her offer, after so much protesting.
“I don’t want to get you too close to the action - ” MacLeod fell silent as he sensed stealth movement nearby. An instant later a swarm of troops emerged form behind the tourist center and surrounded them.
“Too late.” Cassandra sighed and put up her hands. MacLeod had to be convinced with a rifle butt upside the head.
******
Sam and Michelle were making love under a tree when they heard the helicopter approaching the island. They had gone off in the early morning to hunt for food when they became distracted with each other, again. The forest provided the privacy lacking in a cave living with six other immortals. They ignored the helicopter.
Not so Methos and Robert who were cruising timber on the west side of the island, choosing another cedar of the perfect size for the vessel they were building. They dashed back to the construction site as fast as possible, leaping over rotting logs and moss covered rocks, around berry briars and watery crevices, and through waist high ferns.
“Why the hell are they back so soon?” Robert shouted.
“We should have covered the boat. Fuck!”
“I thought you said we had three months!”
“That’s been the pattern.”
“Hey!” Robert protested getting slapped in the face with a cedar bough.
“Sorry!”
“Wait, listen! It’s taking back off.”
“Crap! What do you want to bet our population just increased again.? We need to take a detour.”
Methos lead Robert to his sword cache, somewhat against his better judgement, but still the idea of facing new internees without a sword overrode his reluctance to having Robert know about his sword. At a rocky cairn east of the helipad Robert watched Methos dig out an old broadsword wrapped in cedar bark.
“Oh, I remember that blade.” Robert rubbed his chest at the memory of Adam’s sharp blade.
“Damn, look at the rust!”
“Why hide it - we could be using it on the boat.”
“One sword, eight immortals, you do the math, Robert.”
“You’re a cynical old bastard.”
“Oh yes.”
They made their way west, cautiously now, to the helipad, and were surprised to find it empty.
“Maybe they were just taking a peak at us.” Robert suggested.
“We better check the cave.”
Turning north they trekked back to the largest cave on the island where the eight immortals had sheltered together for the past couple weeks. There were smaller caves scattered around the rough terrain of the cliff-top island, but this one was the most comfortable and best for food storage.
Near the mouth of the cave they paused briefly and listened for new voices amongst the cacophony of excitement broadcast from inside the cave.
Methos weighed the strength of the quickenings buzzing in his mind. “What a headache.” Heaven and Hell.
Robert nodded his agreement. “We have company. They don’t sound hostile at least.”
That depends on who you are. Methos followed Robert inside the cavern keeping his broadsword down, but clutched tightly in his right hand.
Walter, Claudia, Gina, and Kyra all seemed to be speaking at once to the new arrivals.
“Methos!” Duncan MacLeod blurted out, rising to his feet, reaching out a hand, then amended, “Adam,” realizing his mistake in using the old name.
Methos approached no further into the cave. MacLeod dropped his hand. Methos was staring beyond him at the other new arrival still seated on the sandy floor of the cave, her eyes locked with his.
“You were right with the first name, Duncan. Methos!”
Cassandra whispered to Claudia and Gina who sat nearest her. They glanced at Methos, eyes wide, then looked away.
Methos stopped breathing. Yes. This was the moment. This is why you made sure Cassandra lived. To be known and shunned by your own kind. Ah yes, this is the moment. Do you feel that old man?
Silently he backed out of the cave. Gasped for a breath, then retreated. Walking one moment, then running, then back to walking until he had made his way into the dense forest to a smaller cave he sometimes used. He crawled inside and pulled the tattered bits of his soul around him.
Stupid old fool.
No one followed him to his secondary cave. He had half expected MacLeod to come after him; demand that he stand and defend himself, or at least explain to his - Duncan’s - friends what he had been thousands of years ago and how he had changed. But he would not, and MacLeod probably realized that. He was a bright boy. There was no defense anyway. “I was a murdering bastard for a thousand years, but I’ve changed,” just doesn’t cut it. Not for Cassandra. Not for me.
He had no right to feel sorry for yourself, so he clamped down on his emotions entirely, refusing to feel. He sat lotus under the low ceiling of the small cave. The wheel of time would turn without him, as he stepped outside himself and stood still.