(Untitled)

[deathonnahorse]

Following the meeting fiasco, Methos has been outside the wall more often. Not that he actually believes he'll pick up any sign of Harth's trail or whereabouts. Mainly, he just needs to be away. From everyone.

They'd been arguing about the best way to keep Harth from sending someone in to sabotage us, and the little shit had been there himself

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[perfectblue]

Illyria's come out here, too. Partially because if she actually felt like tracking the vampire, she could do so, easily. And partially because she'd seen a great deal of what had gone on at the meeting.

A very great deal.

Including whatever had been going on between Methos and the woman he'd been conversing with.

[deathonnahorse]

He's aware of her, but isn't making a move toward her. His own thoughts are too consuming right now. If she wants to catch up with him, she will. If she wants to go her own way tonight, she'll do that as well.

[perfectblue]

Faint traces of anger flare as she follows him, though she's not entirely sure why. The vampire was a mere annoyance to her. And Methos--

He'd barely acknowledged her presence at the meeting. Perhaps he had simply not seen her. She'd kept quiet, just listening, taking in all of her surroundings. She hadn't missed the vampire's presence.

But then, no one had asked her, and she had no particular quarrel with vampires. Nor should she have any particular quarrel with certain Immortals.

But she finds, as she moves faster in order to catch up with him, that she does have something she wishes to say. She just... isn't sure what.

"You will not catch the vampire."

She settles on talk of what she assumes is his purpose in being out here.

[deathonnahorse]

Methos shrugs.

"Wasn't planning on it. I just needed to get away from the mortals. Before I started killing them."

[xenacomplex]

Irene remembers this guy from his arguments with the Doctor, and at a time like this, she is curious about loners.

She saunters over, and tilts her head back to get a good look at him. Give her a break. She's small.

"Hi. I'm Irene."

[deathonnahorse]

"Adam. Adam Pierson," he replies, extending a hand. "You're the one who showed up naked in the middle of the Magog fight, aren't you?"

[xenacomplex]

". . . I had a loincloth on," Irene points out.

[deathonnahorse]

"Ah. Well, you have to remember, I heard the story second-hand from adolescent boys. They unsurprisingly left that part out."

[but_worth_it]

The Doctor leaned against one of the walls, arms crossed, looking at Methos scrutinizingly.

"So, how long is this going to go on?" he demanded, "This five-thousand year old grudge?"

[deathonnahorse]

Methos whirls around, instantly defensive from the condescending tone.

"You know, I don't give two shits about some moldy old temple that no one in my present even knows existed. I didn't fuck your girlfriend to get back at you for it, and I didn't confront you in the meeting because of it. I understand this is difficult for you to understand, but it simply isn't that important to me. What I'm far more concerned about is that for all your talk of wanting to help people and caring about their development, when you're presented with a chance to genuinely help, the only thing you really care about is leaving them as soon as possible and getting back to your life."

[but_worth_it]

"Oy, I'm not the only one who got ripped out of their time stream, there are people there with families and lives that they're missing," the Doctor snapped, "That's something no karaoke night once a week is going to give back. But I can give them that back, do you understand? I can take them back home, take them back to their lives, to their worlds.

"There's a man in there, Robert Langdon. He's supposed to write eight novels before he passes on, but he can't, because he's here. And there's a man from the 25th century who was supposed to die in a Reaver fire---his friends remember it, but he doesn't. Think about what that does to the time stream. The whole world could be being sterlized and we're here twiddling our thumbs, doing nothing about it. It isn't about me!"

Pause.

"And she's not my girlfriend."

[deathonnahorse]

"It's always about you!" Methos snaps back. "Listen to yourself. 'I can give them that,' 'I can take them home.' It's about the Doctor, swooping in and saving the day. The Doctor being the hero, showing the stupid humans the error of their ways and then swanning off in his magic TARDIS, secure in the knowledge that there will be songs sung of his mighty deeds this day."

He keeps his distance from the Time Lord, if only to reduce the temptation to punch him.

"Yes, maybe you can get them home. Someday. But you can't do it today, and tomorrow's not looking good either. So how about putting that magnificent ego of yours to work on the much more simple problem of keeping these people fed and safe and alive until you work out the combination to the lock keeping us here?"

[11th_countess]

It's very late by the time Lara returns. Her hair is mussed with strands flying free from the braid. She's barely favoring her leg at all, which she'd tied with a piece of cloth with characters on it. For looking like she's been in a firefight, covered in dirt and smelling of gunpowder, she's got a grin that will not quit and a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

And instead of guns in her shoulder holsters, she has stakes.

[deathonnahorse]

"You look like hell," he observes when she gets closer. "Must have had a good night."

[11th_countess]

"It was quite good, yes. How was your evening?"

She's trying so hard not to gloat. She had way more fun than guard duty.

[deathonnahorse]

He shrugs.

"Can't complain."