Changing of the Guard 3: Be All That You Can Be 16/22 [PG13] xover
Ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Tue, 25 Sep 2001 19:57:33 GMT
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."