Chapter 19 "What the hell happened back there?!" O'Neill demanded, crouching beside Carter beneath the leafy canopy of a tree. They'd avoided several search parties already thanks to a sudden downpour which had washed away any trace of their passing. Now it was getting dark and he needed to make some decisions -- quickly. "I don't know, sir," she responded, wiping the rain dripping from her hair out of her eyes. "Cassandra must have lost control of Kabra'kan at some point. But when exactly it happened and whether it was voice control or telepathic control I can't be certain." Jack grimaced, but didn't comment on the fact that what she'd just told him was rather obvious. Then again, as Methos would have said, if he already knew the answer to his question why bother asking? Damn it! he complained in silence. What had Methos been thinking going after Cassandra like that? It was going to take more than just a lucky break to get her out. And Kabra'kan knew what she was capable of. Knew by now what Methos was capable of if Jack was right and leaping through the shield had in fact killed the Immortal. The Goa'uld would want them both now. He was absolutely certain of that. All right, he decided, I'll worry about that later. He signaled for Teal'c and Daniel to join them. "We need to get some back up which means we need to get to the gate," he started. "What about Jacob?" Daniel asked. O'Neill frowned. "Kabra'kan knows about Jacob. Our best bet is for you and Carter to go back and bring some help. Lots of it. And fast." "Sir?" Carter asked. "He'll be taking them apart, Major," O'Neill looked her in the eye. "Piece by piece if he has to." She drew a deep breath and nodded. "What did you have in mind, Colonel?" *** Methos paced the confines of the tiny holding cell occasionally pausing to peer anxiously down the long empty corridor outside the shielded door. The view wasn't much, just a portion of Kabra'kan's sarcophagus and the edge of the bed chamber beyond, but it was enough to draw him back time after time. Once Cassandra had been gagged they'd been taken via the rings to the Goa'uld's laboratory only a short distance away from where Methos found himself imprisoned now. Her look had been one of desperate fear as he was dragged off. It tore at Methos, reminding him of the look on her face when Kronos had demanded possession of her. But he was even more helpless now than he had been then to do anything for her. And unlike Kronos, he didn't think Kabra'kan was interested in hurting her. Cassandra was far too valuable alive. He'd want to study her gift as the Tok'ra had and make use of her talents if he couldn't find a way to duplicate the process. More to the point, he didn't know she was Immortal and that might keep him from harming her at all. The heavy sound of boots marching up the corridor alerted him to company. A pity, he thought absently, that the holding cell was wide open, providing absolutely no cover. But you worked with what you had. Patience, Methos told himself as Kabra'kan appeared with a shell-shocked Cassandra and a pair of guards. They ordered him back, threatening him with their staffs as they quickly lowered the shield and shoved her inside. Methos caught her before she fell as the shield went up again, staring back at the smug Goa'uld, who merely smiled before turning to march back down the corridor with his guards. He hurriedly released Cassandra and went to the door, nodding to himself as he watched Kabra'kan stop at the sarcophagus and the Jaffa depart. The creature had been without its healing device for several days now. It would need to rest. He didn't know for how long, but it would give them time to talk before the real fun started. He turned to Cassandra, who sat with her legs drawn up and her back against the far wall. She'd lost her jacket and as he looked her over finally noticed the thin gold collar she now wore. He opened his mouth to ask if she was all right then felt his throat close up tight. Good god, he suddenly realized, in the three days they'd been together he hadn't spoken a single word to her. Jack's admonition not to interact with Cassandra at all must have been stronger than he thought. Methos swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say, anything to break the ice as she stared back at him. Quickly coming to the very same conclusion he had. Her eyes widened as she realized their predicament, absently rubbing the almost decorative plate at the center of her throat. And there he had it, Methos thought with relief, pulling his best physician's manner out and dusting it off. "Kabra'kan's gone for a little nap," he told her gently. "Let's see if we can get that collar off." *** The diversion had worked. A few small explosions along the ridgeline above the Stargate had offered confusion and drawn away nearly half the Jaffa, while Teal'c and O'Neill firing simultaneously from the forest offered cover and picked several more off. Carter and Daniel had clung to the shadows as much as possible as they made their way to the Stargate. Fortunately, Jaffa rarely considered the area to the rear of the gate to be of any strategic value in a fire fight. And the jungle, as jungles will, had crept fairly close to the wide stone platform on which the Stargate stood. That meant a run of perhaps fifty feet in the open to get to the DHD and another few yards to the gate itself. As Carter laid down more cover fire Daniel hurriedly slapped at the dialing panels, willing the gate glyphs to light more quickly than normal. The wormhole opened and they bounded up the steps leading to it, disappearing ahead of several blasts of staff fire. Behind them, O'Neill and Teal'c beat a hasty retreat into the forest, meeting up at a prearranged location only after they'd each lost their pursuers. Filthy, exhausted and very wet they made their way back to the ridge, hoping like hell to see Daniel and Carter back with reinforcements by morning. Chapter 20 The gate opened to a beautiful sunset vista and Carter pulled up short, staring at the familiar landscape of P3W184. "Daniel! You were supposed to take us to the SGC!" "Uh, technically, no I wasn't," he responded, waving to the Marines guarding the gate as he headed for a jeep. "Jack said to get help and get it fast. The only ones who can make it through that energy field and survive are right here. Not back at the SGC. You coming?" he called as he climbed in and started the engine. "No!" Carter insisted. "The general has to be informed. Now, Daniel!" "Good idea," he nodded, completely oblivious to her ire as he put the jeep in gear. "We split up and get twice as much done in half the time. You tell Hammond and I'll get the ball rolling here. See ya!" Samantha stood openmouthed shaking her head as Jackson drove off. With a sigh of disgust she went to the DHD and started the dialing process again. General Hammond was definitely not going to like this. *** "What do you mean you lost Methos!" Joe Dawson shouted. Daniel backed up a pace. "He was trying to help Cassandra. But that's not important right now." "What do you mean it's not important?!" the irate bartender demanded. "You let the world's oldest Immortal be captured by aliens and you're telling me that's not important? What the hell is wrong with you?!" "What indeed?" a soft voice questioned and the two men turned towards the door. A half dozen Immortals stood there staring at them with the rest filing quickly in behind. Alexander stared questioningly at Dawson. "Are you claiming Adam Pierson is Methos?" "Not claiming," MacLeod answered quietly from somewhere to the rear of the group. "He is Methos." Alexander turned on the Highlander. "You knew?!" "Relax, Alex," Amanda breezed passed him into the canteen. "That's just Methos' way. Trust no one. It's how he survives. What's in a name anyway? I've had dozens of them." "Easy for you to say, but he was my teacher." "And he was very nearly my best man," Robert sounded offended then suddenly looked shocked. "Good lord, I passed over Methos for a major stockholder, I must have been out of my mind!" "What does it matter who he is?" Gina insisted. "He's our friend and he's in trouble." "It's about time," Daniel muttered. "Could we all just focus on the problem?" "Dr. Jackson is correct," Ramirez added, moving deeper into the room to join Amanda. "Methos may be the world's oldest pain in the arse, but he is our pain in the arse. More to the point," he added as the others gathered around to find seats and push together tables. "He is with Cassandra. Those two imprisoned together," he shuddered dramatically. "One or both might already be dead." *** Methos sat with his back to the wall, keeping well away from Cassandra. He'd tried, he really had -- and so had she for that matter, but the reality... Cassandra had nodded permission for him to examine the collar then flinched so hard the instant he'd touched her that he'd quickly backed off. And it wasn't her fault, he knew that. He'd been a doctor long enough to recognize the reaction for what it was. Normally, he'd have spoken calmly and comfortingly to the traumatized patient, waiting for them to find the place within themselves where they would allow his touch, or at least suffer it long enough in order to be treated. But that presupposed he hadn't caused the problem to start. Methos heard her take a long shuddering breath and glanced up. She was still wrapped in on herself, head bowed, long dark hair falling forward to hide her face, but she seemed to be getting her emotions back under control. Ridiculously enough, he felt inordinately proud of Cassandra. She'd obviously worked very hard these past few years to undo the damage he'd done. Of course that wasn't the whole story, he reminded himself. Sometime after she'd runaway, probably within weeks, something in her life had forced her to repress her anger and emotions in order to survive. A defense mechanism he knew far too much about. That would have exacerbated the problem. Given her an unnamed and unrelieved albatross to carry around, much the way he'd carried Ku'ahktar's training until blood, violence and finally Ramirez had helped to purge the last of the anger out. She took another more relaxed breath and Methos lowered his eyes. Cassandra didn't need to be stared at, least of all by him. And Methos refused to delude himself that kind words and a gentle demeanor would somehow help either of them past this. He didn't need another bout of mental anguish courtesy of the Horsemen. But until he and Cassandra were somehow quit of each other neither of them could ever completely put the past behind them. Something Methos wanted that more than anything. It was sometime later when he heard Cassandra stirring and looked up, seeing the calm but cautious expression she'd worn for most of this mission. "Try again," she said quietly and Methos nodded, moving slowly back to her side. He waited patiently until she took his hand, moved her heavy hair aside and laid his fingertips along the collar. He was careful not to move too quickly, but after a moment Cassandra seemed to relax and he took that as a signal to start working. "What do you think happened?" Cassandra suddenly asked, surprising Methos. "To your gift?" He saw her head nod abruptly and shrugged. "Sub-harmonics," he answered succinctly, trying for normalcy. "That security shield must vibrate on a level outside of normal hearing. As soon as we got close enough it interfered and broke the connection. Sort of like our Quickenings. I'm sure you've noticed that older Immortals tend to be immune to your voice. We vibrate too, so to speak, but not so's anyone would notice." She seemed to consider his words and he got back to work. "I've only had that happen a few times," Cassandra finally admitted. "But I hadn't considered that age was a factor. The strength of the Quickening..." "Is solely dependent upon age," he interrupted. She looked back, obviously surprised by the certainty in his voice and Methos took the opportunity to shift his examination to the front of the collar. "I'm sure there are other reasons for it to fail since I'm guessing that part of it is telepathic projection. But the Goa'uld have that ability, at least to some degree, which probably allows them to counteract that aspect of the technique. So in this case I think we need to assume an aural causality. Hence, the collar." He tapped the center plate lightly and sighed. "I can't do anything with this," he finally admitted with a shake of his head. "Maybe if I'd seen it being put on," he shrugged. "Sorry, Cassandra, but for now we're just going to have to rely on our wits." "You don't think O'Neill will come?" she asked nervously as Methos shifted to make himself more comfortable on the floor. "Oh, he'll come," Methos smiled reassuringly. "It'll just take some time for him to gather his forces and mount a rescue mission." "Unless he and his people are dead or captured." Methos glared at her. "Don't even think that!" he hissed. "Jack isn't dead. And neither is the rest of the team. They'll come for us when they're able, so just leave it be." The force of his anger surprised Cassandra and she drew back a little, stunned by Methos' vehemence. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall stretching his legs out in front of him. "You really care about these mortals, don't you?" she asked quietly. "People, Cassandra. I care about these people. They're my friends," he added more gently. "And I'd like them to be around for more than just a handful of years." They lapsed into silence as Cassandra considered his words. This was not the carefully controlled therapist mediated session she'd originally had in mind, but Fate was often capricious. There was nothing else to do at the moment so why not utilize the time wisely? "What do you think they'll do to us?" she finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "They?" Methos huffed a laugh as he glanced toward the door. "You mean Kabra'kan. I doubt he's told Zipak'na any of this. The Goa'uld don't share technology or give up personal advantages if they can avoid it. Zipak'na was pretty highly ranked in Heru-ur's service which probably means he had markers from other Goa'uld he could call in. Reason enough for Kabra'kan, a mere scientist, to find it in his heart to rescue him. But I doubt there's any love lost between them. As for what he'll do," Methos shrugged. "He's done what he needs with you for the moment, though I'm sure he'll want to try and find a way to use the Voice on his own. Failing that, he'll want to keep you close. In his mind, you're a veritable fount of power. Think of all System Lords you can bend to his will. As for me," Methos spread his arms and gave her a little bow. "I am the perfect host." Cassandra couldn't help laughing just a little at the irony of that. "Of course," Methos went on, trying his best to maintain the sociable balance they had somehow achieved. "He might want to run a few experiments first. Make sure he's getting a good deal before he trades in the old clunker. It won't be pleasant, but at least I know he can never hope to win." "Is that how you survived?" "Survived what?" he asked curiously. "Ku'ahktar." Methos froze, a look of absolute horror on his face. He forced himself to stay calm, though the idea that Cassandra knew about Ku'ahktar frightened the hell out of him. There was ammunition there if she only knew how to use it. Still, he thought, swallowing hard as he strove to breathe normally, she did not sound as though she was searching for ways to hurt him. She only sounded curious. He opened his mouth to ask how she knew, then closed it as he realized the information could only have come from one source. O'Neill would never tell, of that he was certain. Which meant Ramirez had spoken of it. Methos felt the tension slowly drain from his body at the thought. Ramirez wouldn't have said anything had it not been required. And Methos himself had, in effect, given him permission to do whatever was necessary -- short of using force to bring Cassandra to the SGC. "No," he finally whispered. "With...him...I learned that the only hope was in absolute obedience. Ku'ahktar would always win." "I'm sorry," she said, her eyes filled with of all things pity. "This is painful for you." "Don't be," he told her as he suddenly understood what Cassandra was doing. "If answering a few difficult questions is the price of your forbearance then I will pay it." And he would, Methos realized. Because Cassandra, more than anyone, was entitled to ask him anything. She, alone, had the right to know his reasons. Not to hear excuses or useless apologies, but to comprehend the simple fact of his existence. And when all was said and done, he owed her this. Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. "When--" she suddenly paused, appearing to search for the right words. Finally Cassandra took a deep breath and started again. "How did you come to leave the Horsemen? Ramesses mentioned Socrates." "He would," Methos smiled fondly. "But that would be too facile an explanation even for me. Vicious killer meets wise philosopher and is led to embrace peace. Nice work, if you can get it, but it wasn't me. The truth is a lot more anticlimactic," he grinned ruefully. "I found out Ku'ahktar was dead and the very fact that I wasn't being hunted by him made me start to think. Or think again, I should say. I'd stopped doing a lot of that -- except for plotting strategies." "But you read. Constantly," Cassandra objected. "I remember you coming back from raids with scrolls hidden in your tunic. Then you'd hide them under your bed when you thought I wasn't watching." "Oh, that," Methos waved a hand. "I had to hide them or Kronos would have burned the lot. In those days he found literacy amusing. He generally liked to indulge me, but for some reason decided reading in the field was too much of a distraction. I kept a few treatises on war around just for show, but the good stuff was well hidden." "He burned your books?" she asked, not sure why she felt sorry for him, but she did. "Sometimes," Methos nodded. "Other times he let Silas feed them to the goats. Kronos wasn't interested in learning. He knew everything he needed -- or thought he did. Not a lot of study necessary to murder innocent civilians, at least in those days. And contrary to popular opinion figuring out that the sun really ought to be at your back when you charge headlong into a defenseless village doesn't require a whole lot of planning. As long as I made it sound incredibly dangerous and exciting," he shrugged, "Kronos was happy." Cassandra shook her head in amazement. Methos' self-deprecating tone as he belittled his so-called leadership abilities surprised her. She only remembered him as sure and strong, sitting at the fire with the other Horsemen plotting the next raid. It had all seemed so terribly complex in those days. Had he really been making it seem difficult just to keep Kronos entertained? She asked as much and Methos responded thoughtfully. "If Ku'ahktar taught me Immortals were to be viewed only as adversaries and mortals as objects needing to be removed from my path before eating or sleeping, then Kronos showed me how a glib tongue and fast thinking were the safest ways to keeping my head. But," he added seriously. "Make no mistake. I may have been running from Ku'ahktar when I met up with the others, but I chose to do what I did, Cassandra. I manipulated the Horsemen into existence for my own reasons and no matter how screwed up I was, I still bear that responsibility. "And, God help me," he sighed. "I liked it. Liked having the power and the freedom. Never having to run, never having to hide, always knowing the others were there to hack that bastard down if he found me. And the violence was soothing," he shuddered. "I had hurt for so long and without really understanding why that I wanted the whole world to hurt with me. You know that painting? The one by Edvard Munch. The Scream?" Cassandra nodded almost imperceptibly. "Well, inside, that was me. I screamed. You screamed. The world screamed because I screamed. Not fair," he whispered sadly. "But that's the truth of it." Cassandra stared at him for several long moments then, "You never did finish saying how you left the Horsemen." Methos nodded, pulling up his knees to keep warm as he realized the room was growing chilly. "I changed," he murmured wearily. "Not all at once and not just because of Socrates, but because I finally started seeing mortals as people. It took longer with Immortals, but the people," he smiled a little wistfully. "How could I admit that they had anything to teach me if I didn't admit first that they were people? Beings who deserved to live just as I wanted to live. And I finally started to see myself as they saw me. Or would have seen me if they'd known who I was. And my scream stared back at me. Looked me in the eye and went on shrieking until I ripped off the bandage of the Horsemen and let the canker heal properly. I left Kronos imprisoned on holy ground and tried to forget about him." "You deny the Horseman?" "No," he whispered sorrowfully. "He's here, because he's part of me. But he's been unseated and he'll never ride again, because I won't be ridden. He's just a shadow now, though sometimes he comes back to haunt me." Cassandra shivered and Methos stared at her. "You're cold," he stated simply, seeing the gooseflesh on her bare arms and started to remove his jacket. "Wait," Cassandra told him, scooting closer until she'd tucked herself into his side. "It's better if we stick together in this." Surprised, but strangely comforted, Methos wrapped the edge of his jacket around Cassandra's shoulders holding her carefully -- ready to release her immediately if she should seem displeased. She snuggled a little closer and rested her head against his chest. "We should try and sleep," she told him gently. "Not a chance," Methos said dryly. "I make it a point never to nap before a torture session. Makes the passing out bit easier." She glanced up at him, frowning just a little. "You always did have the oddest sense of humor." Methos gave her a wry smile. "Makes the living forever bit easier."