DISCLAIMER: Highlander and its familiar characters are the property of Davis-Panzer Productions; no copyright infringement is intended. Please archive at 7th Dimension. Info for archiving: Rating: PG Characters: Methos, Morgan Walker, Charlotte Summary: A somewhat younger Methos reflects on a "game" that turned out badly. *Not part of my main universe, just an idea I couldn't resist.* ************************************************** I did it for the challenge, of course. I always do that sort of thing for the challenge. How close can I cut it without getting caught, forcing an unwanted end to my little game? What happened last week was not at all what I wanted. *** Morgan Walker and I were the only Immortals in New Orleans--when he was in port. I hadn't known about the absent sea captain when I settled there. When we passed on the street for the first time, he sized me up very openly. That told me a lot about him. I, for my part, disguised my awareness of him so well that a shadow of doubt crossed his face. I knew he was wondering if he could have been mistaken, if I was just an oblivious pre-Immortal. Later, we met often enough that he had to know what I was. But I played the part of the humble doctor to perfection. Walker undoubtedly dismissed me as a weakling whose Quickening wouldn't be worth the bother of taking it. And I had no desire to befoul myself with his. I never saw Walker's slave concubine with him in public. But an acquaintance pointed her out to me as she did her marketing, and told me who she was. After that I spied the beautiful Charlotte fairly often, on the street and in church. I knew Walker was a brute, but he seemed to treat his woman well. She held her head high. Her clothes and jewels outshone those of most of the town's free white women. And she sometimes wore simpler, stranger ornaments--mementos, I heard, of a mother who'd practiced voodoo. Walker had no problem with that. So he was a secure, arrogant man. Not fearful or superstitious. He probably knew very little about voodoo. Everything I saw told me that Charlotte, slave or no, was a woman content with her station. It also told me she was a woman I had to seduce. *** I didn't formally meet her till I had occasion to visit Walker's home and treat one of his slaves. I shot admiring glances at the lovely concubine...and she ignored me. But that was what I'd been hoping for, at that point. It showed that all my guesses about her had been correct. Walker's ship put out to sea, and he was gone for months. While he was away, Charlotte warmed to me because of my compassion for the slaves. The compassion was real enough, though I could hardly tell her I'd *been* a slave thousands of years before. But I didn't begin tempting her--ever so subtly--till shortly before her master was due home. It was the element of risk that appealed to me. Where was the challenge, the thrill, when he was off rounding the Cape of Good Hope? No, I had to bed her when he was nearby. Within sight of port. *In* port! We didn't wait that long...or thought we didn't. The decision to share a night of passion when we did was as much Charlotte's as mine. I never said the words she must have dreamed of hearing, someday. The three words that could have induced her to risk everything, run away from Walker, follow the man who'd said them to the ends of the earth. But I'm sure she never really expected to hear those words. Certainly not from me. *** It turned out Walker had returned ahead of schedule. When I felt him approaching, I left Charlotte in bed and escaped via the attic and a neighbor's roof. By the time my feet were on solid ground I'd resolved to leave New Orleans. I was congratulating myself--no harm had been done. Why stay and cause an outcome I didn't want? But I'd only taken a few steps when I heard a crash from Walker's upstairs bedroom. My head jerked up just as a mass that had to be Charlotte's body came plummeting through the shattered window. She bounced and rolled down the sloping porch roof, took another hard fall, and landed in a broken, bloodied heap. I froze in shock, as stunned as if I'd never seen a murder. Then, somehow, I got to her. She was alive, if only for a few moments, alive and in agony. And I still didn't say those words she would have given anything to hear. The suddenness of what had happened, the viciousness...I couldn't think. And then it was too late. *** I grappled with the enormity, the insanity of what Walker had done. After a few deep breaths I was calmer. He didn't know, I reminded myself. Didn't know who he was dealing with, what repercussions could have resulted from his killing that particular young woman with me somewhere nearby. And in fact, there were none. Walker found me as I was preparing to leave town. I think he was surprised--he held me in such low esteem that he'd imagined Charlotte's paramour might be a newcomer, another seaman. He was spoiling for a fight. But slaves lined the street, despite the predawn hour. That was no place for a Quickening. And he was so furious I knew I couldn't get him to go elsewhere. If I fought and defeated him, as I had no doubt I could, I would have had to leave him only temporarily "dead." And I myself was so angry that I didn't trust myself to do it. So I took the only other course of action open to me. I melted into the night. *** If the game had played out differently, it might have ended with my killing Charlotte. But I would have given her a quick, easy death. My medical bag contains a poison that's ideal for the purpose. Requires only a pin-prick, kills swiftly and without pain. You see, I know a good deal about voodoo. Not least of which is the difference between a voodoo charm and a pendant bearing the age-old insignia of the Watchers. It's a bad habit I have, this compulsion to dally with other Immortals' Watchers and try not to get caught. I need the challenge, the thrill, the risk! I cut it as close as I can. If the Watcher catches me in the act of taking a Quickening, or learns I'm Immortal in some other way, he or she has to die. Their Society is riddled with leaks, and there's no way I'd let one of them track me-- even without knowing my real identity. But I always explain, gently and reasonably. I always give my victims an easy death. And the last words they hear are the ones every Watcher cherishes a lifelong dream of hearing. *"I am Methos."* The End