In the Right Company; Highlander, X-Men; R

[morgynleri]

Title: In the Right Company
Co-author: auberus
Fandom: Highlander, X-Men
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations
Characters: Victor Creed, James Logan, Methos, Kronos
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Word Count: 4180 (8747)

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5

In the Right Company
Chapter 2

As the afternoon wore on, and they got further from the base they'd been held at, Logan kept his attention divided between looking for what he considered a good camp site and keeping an eye on Victor. He knew his brother had found it more and more difficult to cope with society as it changed around them, and while right now, he was calm, the animal side of him was never far from the surface.

Victor knew Logan was keeping an eye on him, and he let a smirk spread across his face from time to time, amused and patient. Keeping far more of his attention on the jungle around them, the sounds and smells familiar enough after a couple years spent fighting in it. He tilted his head at one point, nostrils flaring as he caught a faint whiff of blood, possibly a predetor's kill, maybe dead soldiers. Hesitating a moment to track the direction it was coming from.

"Something interesting?" Methos asked, glancing back over his shoulder. Immortality didn't confer heightened senses, and he was more than willing to pay attention to anything his companions noticed. The last thing they wanted was to be picked up by any of the various forces roaming around this particular jungle -- although, ironically, they would probably have less trouble with the NVA than they would with the Americans, at least at this point. Methos' Russian was excellent.

"Something dead." Victor grinned, his fangs showing at the corners of his mouth. "Think it's human, too." Which meant the body wasn't edible, but it didn't mean there wasn't something edible nearby.

"Hardly unusual, for a war zone," Methos said dryly. The look in Victor's eyes brought back vivid memories. Hopefully, the man wouldn't prove to have a Caspian-like fascination with the dead to go along with his expression. A thousand years of that was enough for anyone. "They might have some ammunition, though; we could use more. Be careful."

Victor's smile spread, and he moved into the jungle with a cat-like stealth, following the scent to an empty village, staying on the edges as he watched for any sign of soldiers still there. It wasn't the village where he'd killed the officer, but one similar enough that it didn't take him much time to search it for any supplies they could use. Not much ammunition, but there was some food that wasn't slop in cans which he took, not caring if there were survivors who he was stealing from.

He made his way back to where he'd left Logan and Pierce with the same stealth he'd left, tossing the small bag he'd grabbed for what ammunition there was at Logan. "Found dinner, too," he said, holding up the pig he'd found shot behind one of the huts.

"I don't think so," Methos told him. "The smell of frying pork will carry for miles in these woods. I'm not in the mood to play nicely with any patrols that might come looking."

Chuckling, Victor shrugged. "It doesn't have to be cooked." It was just as edible for him either way, and he'd rather raw pork than whatever slop Pierce had packed for subsistance. Not that he'd mind a bit of bloodshed and mayhem if they cooked it, and a patrol showed up.

Methos stared at him for a long moment, then turned away, fighting back a grin. "At least it isn't people," he murmured. "Kronos, I could almost wish you were here." He'd fallen out of the habit of talking to his absent brother centuries ago, but at the moment, it seemed only natural to pick it up again. "Come on, then," he said, more loudly, and started off again.

Logan picked up the murmur, but didn't comment on it, filing the name away to ask Pierce about later. It wasn't the sort of name that sounded at all modern - actually, it sounded rather like something from Greek mythology, though he couldn't place it at the moment.

"People aren't much fun after they're dead." Victor had heard the murmur as well, and he grinned at Pierce's back as they started moving again, the pig draped over his shoulder for now. He'd eat later, once they'd found a place to camp for the night.

"Thank god," Methos said dryly. "I've eaten enough of Caspian's dubious stews for a dozen lifetimes."

The sun was starting to slant low in the west, the darkness more pronounced under the trees. When the gathering shadows threatened to lower his visibility, Methos called a halt. There was a cluster of trees that looked as if it would do nicely for a shelter, and it was close enough to the river that water wouldn't be an issue. Except... "Can the two of you drink the local water?" Immortals could, but Jimmy and Victor weren't Immortals -- weren't even immortal, from what Methos could tell, despite being much more difficult to kill than the genuine article.

"Won't kill us." Victor set the pig down on the ground, sliding his pack off to drop next to it with less care. At least, he didn't think it would kill them, since he hadn't come across something that would get them even particularly sick, not since Logan had gotten his claws and they'd run. "Doubt it'll even make us sick."

"Probably won't." Logan shrugged off his own pack, letting it drop next to Victor's. "What about you?"

"It won't bother me." Methos dropped his pack a few feet from theirs and twisted, stretching his back. "Probably wouldn't even if I were mortal." He was old enough that his stomach was sure to be used to all sorts of things that would sicken a modern man, even without the protection of his Quickening. "Sometimes the younger ones will come down with something, if it's particularly virulent and they've never been exposed to it before, but the older we get, the less likely it is. I can't remember the last time I was actually ill." He looked at them narrow-eyed. "If it does make either of you sick, you'll still have to keep up. I'm not so fond of the wilderness that I want to lengthen the time we're going to spend wandering about in it."

"Even if does make us sick, it won't for long." Logan shrugged, watching Pierce stretch. Neither of them would fall behind - they made sure the other kept up if there was a concern they'd slow down. Not that they'd worried much about that.

"Good enough." Setting up a temporary camp was easy enough, even though it called on skills that Methos hadn't used in centuries. In a very short amount of time, he had a temporary shelter rigged up between two of the trees in case of rain, a fire-pit dug, and his bedroll spread out within a few feet of said pit. They'd need to keep the smoke tightly controlled, and to put the blaze out once true darkness fell, but a fire had been proof of shelter and civilization for longer than even Methos had been alive, and no campsite, however temporary, felt complete without one.

"Dry branches only," he told his pair of rescuees. "Too much smoke will attract attention, and I'm not in the mood for company."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the unmistakable chill of Presence trailed its way down his spine. His sword was in his hand even before the sensation had quite registered, and he was scanning the underbrush sharply when the voice, as familiar as Presence itself, broke the sudden stillness.

"No company, brother? What about a family reunion?"

The language itself was Hittite, though that didn't register in the wash of adrenalin that swept through Methos. If he had been somehow able to observe himself, he would have recognized his own expression as readily as he recognized Kronos' voice. No one who had gotten to know him in the past three hundred years would have, though. Distantly, the ease with which Death surfaced was reason for surprise, but the emotion floated over the surface of his mind without effect. Two months ago he would have been sick with fear. Three months ago he'd fled California due only to a glimpse of Kronos. In this place, though, and in this company, he could feel the anticipatory smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn't bother to hide it.

"That depends," he called back in the same language. "Are you planning to lurk in the bushes all night like Caspian in one of his sulks?"

Kronos laughed, stepping out of the brush he'd been using for concealment. He hadn't planned on making his appearance quite so soon, but he'd underestimated Methos' range and really, the timing was too good to resist. Methos himself was...unexpected, as much as a man he'd known for a thousand years could be. He'd thought his brother buried beneath the academics he'd been playing for the past few centuries. To see the man he'd ridden with so close to the surface made him want to shout with the old dark joy that Methos' presence had always brought him. He settled for giving the man his wildest grin. "I knew you weren't dead."

"Your faith in me is touching," Methos murmured. He didn't put away his sword, which only widened Kronos' grin.

Logan's claws had slid out when he heard the unfamiliar voice, and Victor rose from where he'd started to crouch next to the pig, both brothers tensing at the conversation they couldn't follow.

The arrival of the man Pierce was talking to didn't make Logan settle, not with Pierce's sword still out, and the odd exchange of words. Not as odd if he hadn't had a clue what Pierce was, but still odd enough.

Victor relaxed a little at the wild smile from the new arrival, watching him while his attention appeared fixed on Pierce. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, trying to identify the man's scent from the myriad ones already there, moving around to get downwind of him when he couldn't pick it up. Flicking a glance at Logan, amused that his brother hadn't yet retracted his claws, watching the newcomer intently.

"Who are your pets, Methos?" Kronos asked, ignoring the glare his brother sent his way. If he wanted the man back -- and he'd never wanted anything more -- it would mean reminding him, over and over, who he was. Besides, aliases were for use in the mortal world, and that was miles away. He gave the odd pair that Methos had picked up the sort of once-over designed to raise hackles, if only to distract Methos from his irritation over the use of his real name. "They look more interesting than the usual run of cattle."

Victor grinned lazily, his fangs showing clearly as he leaned against a tree, more comfortable this time, now that he didn't have shackles holding him back. "You want to try asking us who we are, little man?"

Logan let out a low growl at the once-over that was much like the one Pierce - Methos, the newcomer had called him - had given them when he visited them in the gaol, though he didn't move. Watching him steadily, while Victor spoke for them both. Wondering just how immortal this guy was, and how well he'd deal with claws in his gut.

"It speaks," Kronos said. His smile was, to a stranger's eyes, openly cheerful. Methos recognized it for the warning sign that it was.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," he snapped. "Kronos, if you can't be civil, I'm absolutely certain that I can find an appropriate substitute for that well I left you in." The look he aimed at the three of them was pure Death, "That goes for the two of you, also." He caught Victor's eyes with his own and held them, making no attempt to hide any of the weight in his gaze, until the other man looked away.

After that little display of temper on Methos' part, Kronos was more than willing to sit back and behave himself. The last time he saw Methos, his brother had been a shell of his former self, hiding behind his young face and slender build. Kronos wasn't sure what had made the difference, but he relished it. This version of Methos was the one he could trust at his back, and if he wasn't quite as thirsty for violence as he had been two thousand years earlier, he was certainly getting there.

"Victor, Jimmy, this is Kronos." No point in using aliases, not since Kronos had outed him five minutes after his arrival. "My brother. Kronos, Victor and James Logan." In Sumerian, he added, "They take a little more killing than we do, so I'd suggest being at least moderately polite."

"Manners are overrated," Kronos said in English. His pale blue eyes focused on Victor. "Although politeness to one's elders ought to be considered as more of a self-preservation technique."

Methos snorted. "I'm your elder; I've never noticed that you were particularly polite to me."

Kronos' grin was feral, and much less dangerous than his earlier false cheer. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "Did you enjoy spending three centuries in a well, Kronos? Because I'd be happy to arrange a longer sojurn to someplace similar." That comment sparked real anger, but -- disconcertingly -- it vanished from Kronos' face almost instantly. So. His little brother had learned some self-control over the intervening millenia.

"I did spend three centuries in a well," Kronos pointed out, and Methos had to bite back a groan when he realized that he'd said that last out loud.

Victor chuckled, his grin widening as he watched the back and forth between the two, crossing his arms over his chest casually. Utterly relaxed and not particularly concerned about the threat to strand him in a well.

"Victor Creed, actually, not Victor Logan." He didn't bother to mention why they had different surnames, just that they were different.

Logan finally relaxed with Methos' mention of Kronos as his brother, though he gave him a dark look for the threat about a well. Annoyed, but not any more worried about it than his brother. He gave Kronos a long, wary look before moving off to collect dry wood for a fire, which he'd intended to do before the man's unexpected arrival. Keeping his silence for now, more focused on getting things ready for dinner. He was hungry, and was fairly certain Victor was as well, despite his focus on Kronos and Methos at the moment.

"These are the two whose execution didn't stick?" Kronos asked after a moment. Methos nodded. "I was surprised to find you in the rescue business," the younger Immortal continued. One corner of his mouth twitched up. "Death to the rescue."

The look that Methos directed at him was distinctly unamused, and make Kronos very glad that he hadn't announced his presence by sticking a knife into Methos, as he'd planned on doing the entire way across the Pacific Ocean. Methos, unlike himself or Caspian or Silas, was infinitely more dangerous alone than he was as part of a group. Without the ties that had bound the four of them as brothers and comrades-in-arms, there was nothing to restrain Methos from doing anything he wanted. Even those bonds had done little to rein Death in once the killing had begun. Kronos couldn't help wondering what Methos could have become, all those years earlier, without the stabilizing influence of the Horsemen to keep him controlled.

"Death?" Victor raised an eyebrow curiously, giving Methos a look that held amusement along with the curiousity. "Why's he call you that?"

"It's a long story," Methos started to demur, only to be interrupted by Kronos.

"That's what the mortals called him when we last rode together." The smile on Kronos' face was one that Methos hadn't seen since the pair of them -- and Caspian and Silas as well -- had been on horseback and wearing facepaint. Unconsciously, he ran one finger down the line that had once been marked by that paint. He could almost feel the woad, so strong were the memories that Kronos was bringing back by his presence.

"So, not that long a story," Methos muttered. He was tempted to put a knife through Kronos and leave him that way until morning. If nothing else, it would put an end to the tension strung like wire between the four of them. Unfortunately, it would probably give Creed and Logan ideas.

"Huh." Victor looked thoughtful a moment before he shook it off, pushing away from the tree to move back to where he'd left the pig, crouching down to start skinning it, and preparing it for cooking. Or just eating as is, if Methos stuck by his earlier insistance that the smell of cooking pork would carry too far and attract too much attention.
 
Logan had kept an ear out for the conversation as he gathered wood, and started a fire. Intrigued by what Methos had once been called, and wondering what Kronos had been called, if anything at all. He didn't ask, though, until he had the fire going, carefully feeding it the driest wood he'd collected.

"What did they call you, then?" he asked, looking over at Kronos as he stood up again, not willing to look up at the other man, no matter how much older he was - and that was something else he wondered, though he kept that question to himself for now.

Kronos' smile was no less sharp for being genuine. "Pestilence. Though to my face, it was usually 'oh, gods, please no'. Or something along those lines.

"All right, Pestilence," Methos said, looking up from the fire he was starting. "Why don't you do a quick sweep around and make sure we're alone. Stay in range." It wasn't a suggestion, and after a moment, Kronos melted into the woods. Methos watched him until he was out of sight, then turned back to the two almost-mortals, waiting for the inevitable onslaught of questions.

"Pestilence, Death... You have a War and Famine to hang out with?" Logan gave Methos a sardonic look as he went over to help Victor with the pig, using a knife to slice meat away from bone as Victor seperated out the organs.

Victor just snorted in amusement at the names, even aware as he was of their significance. Well, in the sense that there were four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by that name, according to the one source he'd ever looked at. He hadn't actually entertained any serious thought on the matter before.

"And a pale horse to ride?" he added to Logan's question, chuckling as he scooped up the liver for himself, not about to share that.

"War and Famine are otherwise engaged at the moment," Methos said urbanely. "Silas is somewhere in Eastern Europe, and only the gods know what Caspian's doing." The false cheer slipped from his face, leaving his features as cold and remote as any ancient statue. "And yes. My horse was usually white." He wouldn't have made an issue out of it if Kronos hadn't decided to join them, but both Creed and Logan needed to know the sort of man they were dealing with. "All legends get their start somewhere, you know."

Logan nodded, digging in his pack for a plate to pile some of the meat on, watching Methos with a wary expression. The remoteness of expression was extreme enough to look almost alien to him, and it made him want to bristle and snarl. A reaction he barely held back, focusing on preparing the rest of the meat until he thought he could speak without snapping.

"You still worried about a patrol smelling this cooking, or would you rather a warm dinner?" He looked over at Victor to include him in the second part of the question, though he doubted his brother particularly cared either way.

Victor shrugged, pulling a plate out of his pack to put the liver on as his concession to manners along with using a knife to carve out chunks instead of his claws. He wasn't particularly feeling like pandering so much to humanity as to go so far as to cook his meal right now.

"Go ahead," Methos sighed, exasperation slipping back into his features. "Kronos is absolutely incapable of anything resembling subtlety, and I very much doubt the pair of you are any different. If he doesn't find us a fight before the sun comes up, I'll be more than surprised. That man could start a fight in a roomful of Quakers." He stopped, lowering his voice and catching Logan's eyes with his own. Creed wasn't the sort to listen to warnings, but Logan might, and he might be able to get it through his brother's thick head.

"Don't let Creed push Kronos too hard," he warned. "He's probably the most dangerous man either of you will ever meet, and if he gets irritated enough, he'll make you wish he'd killed you. I know that neither of you is used to being anything more than the deadliest thing in sight, but you need to believe me when I tell you that you're both badly outclassed when it comes to Kronos." Or to me, he doesn't say, because this isn't a challenge. "I'd tell you how many people he's killed, but I don't think you'd believe me." Especially once you found out that my count's even higher.

Logan held Methos's gaze for a moment, and nodded. "Being deadly isn't the same as being dangerous," he offered in aknowledgement, searching for a moment for a stick that he could strip of bark and use to spear some of the chunks of meat to roast them. He didn't make any promises he'd keep Victor under control, though he'd try to make sure he kept in mind that pushing someone they didn't know very well wasn't a good idea.

The prospect of a fight made Victor smile, his teeth stained with blood. He ignored the quieter conversation between Logan and Methos, turning his attention to the jungle around them instead.

"It is in his case," Methos said. "I rode with him for a thousand years; we're as close as any of my kind can be, and there's still always the chance that he'll decide to try for me tomorrow. Or even tonight." He frowned. "If that happens, you need to get as far away as you can. If he decides to go for one of you, I'll intervene, but don't expect me to die for you. Either of you." He shook his head. "This was a complication I really could have done without. Do me a favour, please. The name he's using for me? Forget you ever heard it, and get your brother to do the same. It could make you a target."

"Why?" Logan asked bluntly, raising an eyebrow at Methos. "What's so special about your name?"

He wasn't surprised that Methos wouldn't die for them, and he hadn't expected him to. He wanted to know why Methos told him to get away if Kronos went after Methos, but that question could remain unspoken for the moment, in favor of finding out what made a name so dangerous to know.

"The older an Immortal gets, the more interesting we become to other Immortals, and not in a good way. I'm old enough that most of my kind think I don't exist, but if they thought you knew where I was..." He shrugged. "You could end up in very unpleasant hands indeed, and so could Victor." He hadn't intended to tell them this much, but Kronos had put both of them in danger by opening his mouth.

Logan gave Methos a long look, almost disbelieving. "Right." He checked the meat on the stick, though he knew it wouldn't be cooked through yet. He would try to forget the name, and talk to Victor about doing the same. Or at least, not using it, out of a sense of self-preservation. Though he wasn't always sure how far Victor's sense of survival actually went sometimes. Not far enough, sometimes.

Well, he'd tried. If they couldn't be discreet, they could always be disposed of. Methos winced when he realized which particular lines of thought he'd fallen into. It was easier with real mortals; they were so fragile, so short-lived, that remembering to be careful was almost second-nature. Here, though, where caution meant weakness, the old patterns came back without the need to summon them. Kronos' presence would only make it worse. By the time Methos got out of this bloody jungle, he wouldn't be fit for human company.

He fished his latest journal and a pen out of his pack and lay down close enough to the fire to catch the light on its pages. His journals had been distractions and sounding boards for millenia, something familiar that he'd kept no matter where or how he was living. Beginning today's entry was almost a relief.