In the Right Company; Highlander, X-Men; R
Apr. 1st, 2010 12:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morgynleriTitle: In the Right Company
Co-author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
auberus
Fandom: Highlander, X-Men
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations
Characters: Victor Creed, James Logan, Methos, Kronos
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Word Count: 5617 (19,324)
Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5
In the Right Company
Chapter 4
The itch between Logan's shoulderblades that had persisted all through their trek north and west across Vietnam started to fade a bit as they entered Laos, avoiding border patrols and checkpoints where they could possibly be recognized and stopped.
It was something that Logan knew Victor wasn't entirely pleased about, but he was privately much happier with the idea of laying low for a while, maybe a few years, before doing something to attract attention again. Especially in the violent fashion that was Victor's favorite past-time, and was slowly becoming less enjoyable for him, or had been.
He was actually feeling more comfortable with the thought of that sort of casual and unrestrained violence than he had in years, and almost surprised at himself for it. Perhaps it was the company he was keeping, even if Kronos did rather remind him of Victor if his brother were more inclined to indulge his intelligence.
"No longer feel like there's a sniper's bead on your back, Jimmy?" Victor hadn't missed Logan relaxing, now that they were clear of the border and the patrols they'd had to creep past and avoid.
Logan shrugged. "Not an American sniper, anyway." More that they were where they'd intended to go, for now, than anything else. They wouldn't be out of danger, not really, until either they'd carved out a place for themselves beyond the reach of those who'd try to capture them, or the bureaucracy had buried their paper trail again.
"All bullets are inconvenient," Methos said dryly, "not just American ones."
"They're better than arrows," Kronos shrugged. "Easier to remove."
"For a given value of ea--" Methos didn't get a chance to finish his retort. Something punched him in the chest; then he was blinking up at Kronos, who was white-faced with fury. He tried to draw breath, and was rewarded with the all-too-familiar pain of lungs that were rapidly filling with blood. He coughed once, and had just enough time to taste iron and copper before darkness claimed him.
Victor had heard the faint pop of someone firing a moment before Methos dropped, rather like any human he'd met. He flicked a glance at Kronos as he started to move forward, his claws extending as he headed in the direction he'd heard the pop. Not waiting for someone to tell him to find the person who'd made the shot, or to tell him to stop. He intended to take out his surprise and simmering irritation at the decided lack of violence in the last several weeks out on whoever was unlucky enough to be in his way.
Logan didn't follow immediately, looking down at Methos with a frown on his face. He looked dead, something he hadn't experienced much before, and it confused him. Was this how all Immortals looked when they took what would be a fatal blow for a nomal human? Or was it just the extent of the damage the bullet caused?
"How long before he's back on his feet?" he asked, looking over at Kronos.
Kronos shrugged. "No idea. I've never seen him take a bullet before, and he's significantly older than he was the last time we were together." He raised his voice, pitching it so that the now-vanished Victor could hear him. "You take whoever it was alive, Creed, or you'll fucking well wish you had." Glancing back down at Methos' recumbent form, he smiled reminiscently. "He's always been able to take an incredible amount of damage, though."
Victor snarled silently at the order to bring the person back alive, but he hadn't heard an order to bring the person back unharmed. Or to bring back anyone alive other than the person who'd made the shot, if there were more than one. He grinned to himself, the expression almost gleeful, and he had no doubt it was frightening to whoever was out there, if they could see it.
Logan watched Methos curiously, keeping alert for other signs of someone more than the sniper Victor was after as he waited for Methos to wake up. Or perhaps revive was the better word, since he really looked dead. "So it's not that Immortals don't die, it's that they don't stay dead, if the wound would kill a human," he observed, thinking aloud more than anything.
"Basically," Kronos admitted, just as Methos gasped and opened his eyes, struggling to sit up and clear his lungs of blood. He hadn't expected Methos back that quickly -- he himself still took a good half an hour to recover from that kind of wound, and not for the first time he wondered just how long Methos had been Immortal before their first encounter, wondered what the age difference between them really was. "Welcome back, brother," he said, smirking. Methos gave him a truly vicious glare between coughs, and there was no way that the blood he spit onto Kronos' boots was an accident.
"Creed's out apprehending your assailant," Kronos continued. "I was going to deal with whoever it was, but I think I'll give him to you instead. It's been a long time since I gave you anyone to play with."
"How generous of you," Methos said, rubbing at his chest and wincing. "I think I'll have to decline, however. We don't really have that kind of time right now."
Victor dropped to all fours, bounding toward the man with the gun as soon as he'd spotted him, using the greater momentum that he could build up with bound like that to slam into the human before he could get off more than one shot. He heard the crunch of breaking bones, and grinned at the sudden huff of breath rushing out of his victim.
Standing, he chuckled as he reached for the gun the man still held in his hand, growling, and wrapping his hand around the man's wrist when he wouldn't let go, squeezing until he felt bones creaking, and the gun dropped from nerveless fingers. It didn't take much effort at that point to get the man back to the others, the gun tucked into Victor's belt for now.
Kronos lifted an eyebrow at Methos' blood-spattered form. "Since when do you not make the time?" Methos ignored him, flicking a glance at Logan's expression before turning to his own pack. He had no desire to wander around in the tropics in blood-soaked clothing. Insect bites would heal as fast as any other minor injury, but it didn't make them any less annoying. He stripped off jacket and shirt, and was in the process of pulling the new one back over his head when Victor pushed the shooter into their midst. He was mildly surprised to find that Creed had listened to Kronos, and genuinely shocked at his own positive reaction to the realization that the four of them would make a workable team, once the dynamics of power were clearly outlined.
Logan had almost taken a step back in surprise when Methos revived, but managed to keep still, even if he couldn't keep the surprise out of his expression. Victor's return with a still-living human sniper made it easier to hide the surprise, shoving it aside in favor of keeping an eye on the sniper - who looked like he was little more than a boy to Logan. Though he had been thinking that the soldiers looked more and more like boys with each passing war, even if they hadn't.
Shoving the man to the ground, Victor gave him a feral smile that was a warning not to get up, even if he were inclined to try, with ribs that were at least cracked, and one injured wrist. Injuries Victor would be happy to add to, if he were given the chance.
Methos' best intentions vanished at the look on the sniper's face. The disbelief and the terror the man clearly felt at seeing his victim alive and unhurt was a visceral echo of the fear the Horsemen had spread in their wake for a thousand years, and Kronos' vicious glee at Methos' shoulder served only to reinforce the dark enjoyment that welled up in his soul like blood from a wound.
As Methos turned to look at his assailant, Kronos kept his gaze firmly on Methos. He watched as the detachment his brother had been preserving so carefully struggled to maintain control before slipping away completely; saw the fire that kindled in the back of those green eyes. It was like watching the death of the stranger that had worn his brother's face, and the look that Methos directed at their hapless captive was, for the first time since they had reunited, Death unrestrained. Kronos didn't bother to hide the smile that sight brought unbidden to his lips.
"How long has it been since we flayed someone?" he asked. It was a struggle to keep the anticipation out of his voice, but he managed, not wanting to jar Methos out of the mood the bullet had put him in. The longer his brother kept it up, the harder it would be for him to walk away from it. All Kronos really had to do was to stand back and let Methos fall.
"Since we've flayed someone?" Methos asked. As he spoke, his voice deepened and slowed, the altered tones as familiar to Kronos as his own voice. "Two thousand years, give or take a century. I haven't flayed anyone since the fifteenth century." His smile was genuine, and it was Death's. "I'm willing to bet that it's like riding a bicycle, though -- something you never quite forget."
Victor chuckled quietly, his grin still in place as he looked down at the hapless man crouched on the ground. Surrounded, the human wasn't going anywhere, and certainly wasn't getting out of this alive. Not that he'd figured that out yet, still caught in the grip of his fear of Methos, but Victor almost hoped he tried to run when he did.
Logan wasn't as certain of the difference in Methos, not yet, but he wasn't going to complain if it meant they did something more than keep moving. Even he was starting to get antsy for something, if only watching someone else at work. He glanced at the human again, a flash of pity in his eyes for a brief moment before it was hidden by a curiosity as he wondered just how long it would take the human to die.
"Creed." This time, the detachment in Methos' voice was Death's. "Why don't you get our guest on his feet? I think I'd like to save him for the evening halt. Anticipation always makes things more interesting." Crouching down, he put an almost gentle hand on the sniper's face, forcing the man to look at him. The mortal was reluctant at first, but once their eyes met he seemed hypnotized, unable to look away. Kronos had seen this particular effect before, and more than once, and he glanced up at Logan and Creed, wondering if they'd realized yet what, exactly, they were looking at. When he felt like it, Methos was a killer without parallel.
"Do you speak English?" Methos was asking, in the gracious tones that marked him at his most dangerous. The sniper shook his head, never taking his eyes from Methos as the latter switched from English to a language that Kronos presumed was Laotian. His tone never changed, but the sniper's face paled, and he started to shake. Methos patted his cheek gently, almost paternally, before straightening.
"Get him up, and let's keep moving," he said, presumably to Creed, though his eyes went straight to Kronos. The latter shivered in anticipation.
Victor reached down, pulling the man to his feet with a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Following Methos's order without even the silent complaint he'd made earlier, instincts all telling him not to challenge the leader, not now. He wasn't, after all, nearly as stupid as some people assumed.
Logan waited for Victor to get the man to his feet, falling in at the rear once they started moving again, watching Methos with a thoughful expression in his eyes. This was not the sarcastic and irritated Captain Pierce who'd gotten them out of the prison earlier, even if he wasn't entirely different. Just something this modern world wasn't prepared to deal with, that hid and slept because Methos couldn't be this person in the world they'd left behind when they'd escaped the base.
"Finally," Kronos said in Hittite. "It seems you've made an impression on our subordinates." The look Methos shot in his direction was enough to make an impression on him as well. He'd forgotten how volatile Methos could be when he was like this. This was the man who could leave a brother in a well and never look back, and even though Kronos had been trying to get that man to resurface since they'd first re-encountered one another, the sudden fulfillment of his wishes still raised the hair on the back of his neck; made him wonder if the reappearance of Death was another of Methos' charades.
Listening to Kronos speak, Logan almost wished he had the opportunity to ask for language lessons, because not being able to understand what was being said was frustrating. Particularly when he had a suspicion that he or Victor or both were the subject of whatever remark it was Kronos made. He suppressed a snort, turning his attention more to the jungle around them, since it had proven to be a bit more dangerous than just the chance of an American sniper.
There wasn't anything else to cause them trouble the rest of the day, Victor keeping a close eye on their captive while they traveled, and as they made camp late in the afternoon. He had been almost disappointed when the man hadn't even tried to run, even though he was curious about just what Methos had in mind to do with him. It would have been satisfying to chase the human, even if he couldn't kill him.
Methos set up his own bedroll as usual, pulling out his journal and settling in to write. He could feel Kronos' impatience from across the campsite, and their prisoner's fear, and wanted trying to settle things in his own mind before taking a step he couldn't back down from; wanted to decide just how far he planned to descend -- if that decision was still his. Wrenching himself free of the Horsemen had been the most difficult thing he'd ever done, and now that his temper had cooled, he wasn't sure he wanted to step back into something that was even remotely similar.
Then again, he wasn't sure that he would be able to deny himself for much longer.
Logan set up the fire-pit and started on putting together dinner, using the activity to keep himself from asking questions, at least for now. He was picking up on the tension in the camp, and was beginning to wonder if there were any others like the sniper Victor was still guarding that he could kill, just to pass the time. They, after all, wouldn't be getting anything less than they expected, just not from whatever enemy they thought they were dealing with.
Leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, Victor watched the two Immortals out of the corner of his eyes while ostensibly watching the prisoner. Wondering just how long it would take them to figure out what they were planning to do, his impatience for something to happen beginning to build.
"Methos." His brother had been staring at nothing for five minutes, and the look on his face suggested that he was thinking things that Kronos didn't want him thinking. "Are you planning on dealing with the baggage before supper?"
He was almost certain that Methos' put-upon sigh was mostly feigned. His brother put his journal aside -- it looked like he'd been writing in Aramaic this time -- and looked up, his eyes glittering.
"Are you insisting, brother?"
"The last time I insisted, I ended up in a well," Kronos retorted, lifting an eyebrow. Insisting would do no good. Methos had to take this last step on his own.
Victor kept quiet, though a bit of a grin was tugging the corners of his mouth up, revealing a hint of fang as he listened to the conversation betweent the Immortals. He flicked a glance at Logan, and at the dinner he was putting together. It would be a bit before dinner was ready, which made the thought of a bit of violence before hand that much more appealing.
"It would profit you to remember that," Methos said. The even, casual tone was a warning in and of itself.
Kronos kept his mouth shut. Methos put aside his journal, rolling his eyes expressively. "Fine. Get him tied up for me, would you?" His smile was grim. "I'm sure you remember how to do it." Kronos waited until he'd turned away to let the fierce, triumphant grin cross his face.
It was a matter of minutes before their prisoner was tied up, waiting. The last qualm that Methos felt while approaching the man felt as if it belonged to someone else. The hilt of his dagger was heavy in his hand. He'd never done this sort of work with this particular blade, though he'd had it for nearly seven centuries. Then there was only blood, and noise, and release, finally, after so very, very long. He came back to himself with the man limp in front of him and his arms red to the shoulder, and the smile he felt curving along his mouth was one that he'd lost almost two thousand years earlier.
Victor watched Methos work with a grin, the screams from the human soothing the snarling desire to hurt something the way a lullaby might calm a child. He sat with his back against a tree, a small plate with the food Logan had made in one hand as he watched the man die slowly under Methos's knife. Content to watch for now, knowing that he'd have the chance to indulge in his own violence later.
Sitting near his brother, Logan didn't bother to watch, wolfing down his food with an outwardly single-mindedness that hid at least some of his interest in what Methos was doing. Not in the violence itself, but in the expression he could see on the Immortal's face in his peripheral vision, and in the smile that came after. A familiar sort of smile that he'd see in the surface of water before washing up after a battle, or across the campfire when Victor'd had a particularly good day.
"Feeling better?" It said something about Methos' level of distraction that Kronos had been able to get so close behind him. He spun, the dagger coming up automatically. Kronos caught it on the downstroke, the point halting only a few inches from his chest. For the space of three shuddering breaths, Methos' expression was as blank and remote as it had ever been in the first years of their acquaintance; then recognition slid slowly back into his eyes and his arm relaxed, the dagger falling unnoticed to the ground. Kronos grabbed him hard by the back of the neck, bringing their foreheads together in a gesture of brotherhood that had been lost with his own tribe almost three thousand years ago, and Methos permitted the embrace without demur.
"Welcome home, brother," Kronos told him, and no power on earth could have kept the fierce joy out of his voice. "Welcome home."
Logan turned his head to look when Methos moved suddenly, leaving his dinner a moment to watch, and grinning when he heard Kronos speak. This was what Kronos had been hoping for when he'd told Victor to bring the human back alive, if the emotion in his voice was anything to judge by. He glanced over at Victor, who had a grin on his face to match Logan's.
"Either of you ready for dinner?" Logan leaned back a bit, relaxed as he watched the two Immortals. He didn't expect Methos would be ready until he cleaned up a bit, but he wasn't worried about it. The question was more a way to remind them that they weren't the only two here.
"Not just yet," Kronos answered, not taking his eyes from Methos' -- who, to judge by his expression, had been almost startled to remember that Creed and Logan were still present. He relaxed his grip on the back of his brother's neck, but didn't let go. "I think we'll get washed up first."
The sudden fire in Methos' eyes was answer enough. Kronos didn't so much as glance at Creed or Logan as he let go of Methos and headed into the trees towards the river they'd been following for most of the day. He'd only gone a few steps before he heard Methos move to follow.
Victor watched the Immortals vanish toward the river, keeping still until they'd left before he grinned broadly, looking over at Logan. "What are you thinking, Jimmy?" He knew something was brewing in the back of his brother's mind, had been during the journey, but Logan hadn't shared whatever it was yet. No time alone, without one or the other Immortal near enough to overhear conversation.
Logan shrugged, his gaze still on where Methos and Kronos had vanished, a thoughtful, almost calculating expression on his face. "That we found a better gig than another stint in the army," he said simply, quietly. "If we stick with them, and they don't decide to get rid of us."
The smirk that curled up one corner of his mouth after that made Victor suspect that Logan more had an unspoken 'try' in that last, and had something in mind that would make that a bad idea. Or perhaps not, and he was over-estimating his brother again, but it didn't really matter.
"Wash up?" Methos asked, as soon as they were alone. It was the first thing he'd said since he'd started on the sniper, and the calm, even tones of his voice were a relief. Kronos would have been more than happy to deal with the sort of chaos Methos had spread in his wake during their first few centuries together, but the controlled man who had become Death of the Horsemen was better at long term strategy -- and that was exactly what Kronos needed. "As if any of us ever minded being covered in blood."
"Whatever works," he answered, and shoved Methos up against a handy tree. "Besides, I like you covered in blood."
"Oh, I'm well aware of that," Methos breathed, and brought their mouths together.
Victor flicked a glance at the trees when his brother still didn't look away. "You going to tell me the rest of what's on your mind, or make me guess?" He picked over the remaining food on his plate as he waited for Logan to answer, listening for the sound of someone moving through the jungle.
"Don't know enough to share yet." Logan took another bite of his food, finally looking somewhere other than where the Immortals had gone off. "Thought we might ask if those two had any plans for something more concrete than just traveling, now that we're out of Vietnam."
It wasn't as if they had any plans, really. Just to keep moving on, and hopefully to the next war, the next battle to be fought. Though Victor wondered how much longer Logan would be satisfied with that sort of simple life, the way he was. His brother had always asked more, had been more curious about what drove the wars they fought.
Their final reunion had been just as Kronos had been hoping it would, though afterwards Methos wasn't the only one who needed to wash the blood off of himself. They bathed without speaking, because for the moment words were unnecessary, and returned to the camp in the same silence. Methos looked even younger than usual with his hair wet and clinging to his face, and not for the first time, Kronos wondered just how old his brother had been at first death. Younger than he had been, certainly, and neither of their mortal eras had been known for the longevity of those who had lived in those years.
"Is there anything left to eat, or did the pair of you finish it off?" he asked as they stepped back into the clearing in which they'd made camp. He could feel Methos at his shoulder, and couldn't quite keep the contented smile off of his face.
Victor chuckled, waving a hand at the fire and the pot still sitting next to it. "If you call that slop in a can edible, there's enough." He hadn't had the chance to really look for anything that day, watching over the human whose remains Logan had moved further from camp after he'd finished eating. Something about not wanting to deal with any sort of predator in the middle of the night.
"Better than some of the things I've eaten over the years," Kronos said dryly. "Ever lived through a famine?" He scooped up two bowls, one for himself and one for Methos, and they seated themselves near the fire.
"Not to mention the fact that we both spent a thousand years eating Caspian's cooking one day in four," Methos interjected.
"Oh, that wasn't so bad."
"If you could identify it."
Victor raised an eyebrow, amused and remembering what Methos had said about Caspian's dubious stews the first day they'd been traveling. "What he do, cook someone you knew?" he asked, a sly grin of amusement curling the corners of his mouth.
Logan came back in time to hear the question, and gave Victor a questioning look, wondering what that was about, though he didn't actually ask, settling back near the fire without giving Methos and Kronos more than a brief glance.
"More like whoever was unfortunate enough to encounter him on the days when it was his turn to cook," Methos said. "Still, even Caspian's cooking beats bark."
"Cockroaches," Kronos countered.
"Grass."
"Locusts."
"Mm, you and John the Baptist." Methos rolled his eyes. "I ate part of my own leg once." Can you top that? went unspoken, but was clearly audible nevertheless.
Victor's gaze flicked back and forth between them, his smirk becoming a grin as he listened. The worst he could say he'd eaten was probably whatever he'd been able to find during the time after running from home until he and Logan had been able to find someplace to work.
Logan shook his head, though he gave Methos a startled look. "Never been hungry enough to want to gnaw on myself." Half-frozen carrion, perhaps, but not himself.
"Neither have I." Kronos lifted an eyebrow. "This happened after you dropped me in that well, I assume?"
Methos shrugged. It had actually happened some fifteen hundred years before he'd ever met Kronos. "There was a cave-in. I was trapped for months, and decided it was better to auto-cannibalise than to starve to death over and over again." He shrugged. "There hasn't been any real famine in the West lately -- not during your lifetime, anyway. Live long enough, though, and you'll probably see it." He accepted the bowl Kronos handed him, but ignored it for the moment. "Whole cities, and the countryside around them, all of them dying, too weak to move even to get water." He shrugged. "It's unpleasant, and an Immortal constitution is no protection."
A frown crossed Logan's face at the description of a famine, and he was silent for a long moment before he said, "Don't know what that would do to me or Victor." He hadn't run into anything they didn't heal from yet, but there was always a chance something out there could kill them.
"Hopefully, we won't have to find out," Methos said, spooning up the last of the dinner-in-a-can.
"Oh, I don't know," Kronos said. "It might be fun to conduct some experiments." The sardonic smile on his face said that he was probably joking, but Methos didn't think that either Creed or Logan would appreciate the humour behind it.
"Only if I get to use you as the control," he retorted.
Victor sat up straighter, his earlier grin fading to something less amused and more a feral baring of teeth. Not yet a threat, just more attentive to the conversation. Trusting, at the moment, that they could figure out how to get away from the two Immortals if Kronos carried through on the idea. No way was he letting himself or Logan end up on anyone's lab table.
Kronos made a rude gesture that was somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand years old. The amusement in Methos' eyes said that he recognized it.
"Spend much time with the Vikings?" Methos asked. Kronos grinned.
"I liked their attitude."
"You would." Methos glanced over at Victor. "Calm down. Caspian was always the one for that sort of experiment. Kronos isn't interested in science that can't be persuaded to explode."
Chuckling, Victor shrugged, relaxing just as quickly as he'd sat up. "Explosives aren't as much fun as getting in close for the kill." Blood on his hands, the screams of pain and fear.
"But useful when you need to even up the odds in a fight," Logan pointed out, happier himself with the change of subject. Even if he wasn't as concerned about the idea of Kronos trying to starve them. It would be difficult in this jungle to do so, anyway.
"Actually, I'm more interested in biologicals, these days," Kronos said. The look in his eyes wasn't exactly comforting. "I prefer toys that don't affect me." He lifted an eyebrow at Methos. "Where were you in the 1340's?"
"England," Methos said, wincing. "A nuclear explosion might have been kinder."
"But it would have taken you, too," Kronos pointed out.
Logan frowned a moment, looking over at Victor as he tried to place what Methos and Kronos were talking about. He'd been interested in history before he and Victor had fled his childhood home, but he hadn't read anything about that time period. Looking back at Methos, he asked curiously, "What happened in the 1340s?"
He wasn't sure what Kronos meant by biologicals, though from the context, he suspected something contagious. Which he doubted would effect him or Victor any more than it would the other two, and was rather more comfortable with the risk of getting loose than he had expected he would be.
"The Black Death," Methos answered. "Bubonic plague. It killed better than a third of Europe in a very short time, and almost half of England."
"Interesting times," Kronos said, grinning.
"Nightmares are interesting," Methos told him. "I wouldn't necessarily want to go through one."
Watching half - or possibly more, he doubted the distribution of death was all that even - of the people around him die would be a nightmare, in Logan's estimation. Particularly if he knew any of them well enough to care. It made him glad he'd never seen anything like that.
Victor snorted softly, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position against the tree he was using as a back rest. Death on that scale would be interesting, but not any more fun than explosives, in his opinion.
"Besides," Methos pointed out, "using that sort of thing as a weapon in this age would almost certainly lead to finding one's self at the center of a nuclear explosion. Even we might have a problem surviving that."
"Like you couldn't figure out a way to keep anyone from realizing we'd done it," Kronos snorted.
"I like modern conveniences, brother mine. Having lived through several thousand years without them, I'm in no particular hurry to return to that state of affairs."
"It only leads back to you if you take the credit for it. Release it where someone else will want to take credit for an attack." Logan knew he was only encouraging the idea, but for the moment, it was an abstract puzzle, something a little more than mere survival. And if it caused further warfare, there was something to keep Victor happy.
"There are certainly enough hot-heads in the world who would be only too glad to take the blame," Methos mused. "Not the Red Brigades -- the Soviets keep too close an eye on them for that -- but some of the Arab factions, maybe. Or one of those absurd eco-terrorist groups." The idea had appeal. Not the deaths that would result; not those, but the puzzle itself, figuring out how to accomplish the task. He caught the gleam in Kronos' eye and changed the subject quickly, before he could give the man any ideas. "Remember that war we started -- oh, about five hundred years in?" He no longer remembered the names of the different factions, but he remembered the resultant chaos, and the advantage that the Horsemen had taken of it.
Kronos grinned. "I remember that Caspian kept getting killed. And that horse you took, what was his name again?"
Methos shrugged. He'd forgotten, probably centuries ago. It had been at least that long since he'd even thought of the incident. He'd buried his time with the Horsemen deep in his memory, and only rarely allowed himself to look at it, letting the details blur together.
Logan didn't comment on the change of subject, listening instead, curious enough about the shared history of the two Immortals to let the puzzle go for now. He could always come back to it later.
Co-author:
auberusFandom: Highlander, X-Men
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations
Characters: Victor Creed, James Logan, Methos, Kronos
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Word Count: 5617 (19,324)
Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5
Chapter 4
The itch between Logan's shoulderblades that had persisted all through their trek north and west across Vietnam started to fade a bit as they entered Laos, avoiding border patrols and checkpoints where they could possibly be recognized and stopped.
It was something that Logan knew Victor wasn't entirely pleased about, but he was privately much happier with the idea of laying low for a while, maybe a few years, before doing something to attract attention again. Especially in the violent fashion that was Victor's favorite past-time, and was slowly becoming less enjoyable for him, or had been.
He was actually feeling more comfortable with the thought of that sort of casual and unrestrained violence than he had in years, and almost surprised at himself for it. Perhaps it was the company he was keeping, even if Kronos did rather remind him of Victor if his brother were more inclined to indulge his intelligence.
"No longer feel like there's a sniper's bead on your back, Jimmy?" Victor hadn't missed Logan relaxing, now that they were clear of the border and the patrols they'd had to creep past and avoid.
Logan shrugged. "Not an American sniper, anyway." More that they were where they'd intended to go, for now, than anything else. They wouldn't be out of danger, not really, until either they'd carved out a place for themselves beyond the reach of those who'd try to capture them, or the bureaucracy had buried their paper trail again.
"All bullets are inconvenient," Methos said dryly, "not just American ones."
"They're better than arrows," Kronos shrugged. "Easier to remove."
"For a given value of ea--" Methos didn't get a chance to finish his retort. Something punched him in the chest; then he was blinking up at Kronos, who was white-faced with fury. He tried to draw breath, and was rewarded with the all-too-familiar pain of lungs that were rapidly filling with blood. He coughed once, and had just enough time to taste iron and copper before darkness claimed him.
Victor had heard the faint pop of someone firing a moment before Methos dropped, rather like any human he'd met. He flicked a glance at Kronos as he started to move forward, his claws extending as he headed in the direction he'd heard the pop. Not waiting for someone to tell him to find the person who'd made the shot, or to tell him to stop. He intended to take out his surprise and simmering irritation at the decided lack of violence in the last several weeks out on whoever was unlucky enough to be in his way.
Logan didn't follow immediately, looking down at Methos with a frown on his face. He looked dead, something he hadn't experienced much before, and it confused him. Was this how all Immortals looked when they took what would be a fatal blow for a nomal human? Or was it just the extent of the damage the bullet caused?
"How long before he's back on his feet?" he asked, looking over at Kronos.
Kronos shrugged. "No idea. I've never seen him take a bullet before, and he's significantly older than he was the last time we were together." He raised his voice, pitching it so that the now-vanished Victor could hear him. "You take whoever it was alive, Creed, or you'll fucking well wish you had." Glancing back down at Methos' recumbent form, he smiled reminiscently. "He's always been able to take an incredible amount of damage, though."
Victor snarled silently at the order to bring the person back alive, but he hadn't heard an order to bring the person back unharmed. Or to bring back anyone alive other than the person who'd made the shot, if there were more than one. He grinned to himself, the expression almost gleeful, and he had no doubt it was frightening to whoever was out there, if they could see it.
Logan watched Methos curiously, keeping alert for other signs of someone more than the sniper Victor was after as he waited for Methos to wake up. Or perhaps revive was the better word, since he really looked dead. "So it's not that Immortals don't die, it's that they don't stay dead, if the wound would kill a human," he observed, thinking aloud more than anything.
"Basically," Kronos admitted, just as Methos gasped and opened his eyes, struggling to sit up and clear his lungs of blood. He hadn't expected Methos back that quickly -- he himself still took a good half an hour to recover from that kind of wound, and not for the first time he wondered just how long Methos had been Immortal before their first encounter, wondered what the age difference between them really was. "Welcome back, brother," he said, smirking. Methos gave him a truly vicious glare between coughs, and there was no way that the blood he spit onto Kronos' boots was an accident.
"Creed's out apprehending your assailant," Kronos continued. "I was going to deal with whoever it was, but I think I'll give him to you instead. It's been a long time since I gave you anyone to play with."
"How generous of you," Methos said, rubbing at his chest and wincing. "I think I'll have to decline, however. We don't really have that kind of time right now."
Victor dropped to all fours, bounding toward the man with the gun as soon as he'd spotted him, using the greater momentum that he could build up with bound like that to slam into the human before he could get off more than one shot. He heard the crunch of breaking bones, and grinned at the sudden huff of breath rushing out of his victim.
Standing, he chuckled as he reached for the gun the man still held in his hand, growling, and wrapping his hand around the man's wrist when he wouldn't let go, squeezing until he felt bones creaking, and the gun dropped from nerveless fingers. It didn't take much effort at that point to get the man back to the others, the gun tucked into Victor's belt for now.
Kronos lifted an eyebrow at Methos' blood-spattered form. "Since when do you not make the time?" Methos ignored him, flicking a glance at Logan's expression before turning to his own pack. He had no desire to wander around in the tropics in blood-soaked clothing. Insect bites would heal as fast as any other minor injury, but it didn't make them any less annoying. He stripped off jacket and shirt, and was in the process of pulling the new one back over his head when Victor pushed the shooter into their midst. He was mildly surprised to find that Creed had listened to Kronos, and genuinely shocked at his own positive reaction to the realization that the four of them would make a workable team, once the dynamics of power were clearly outlined.
Logan had almost taken a step back in surprise when Methos revived, but managed to keep still, even if he couldn't keep the surprise out of his expression. Victor's return with a still-living human sniper made it easier to hide the surprise, shoving it aside in favor of keeping an eye on the sniper - who looked like he was little more than a boy to Logan. Though he had been thinking that the soldiers looked more and more like boys with each passing war, even if they hadn't.
Shoving the man to the ground, Victor gave him a feral smile that was a warning not to get up, even if he were inclined to try, with ribs that were at least cracked, and one injured wrist. Injuries Victor would be happy to add to, if he were given the chance.
Methos' best intentions vanished at the look on the sniper's face. The disbelief and the terror the man clearly felt at seeing his victim alive and unhurt was a visceral echo of the fear the Horsemen had spread in their wake for a thousand years, and Kronos' vicious glee at Methos' shoulder served only to reinforce the dark enjoyment that welled up in his soul like blood from a wound.
As Methos turned to look at his assailant, Kronos kept his gaze firmly on Methos. He watched as the detachment his brother had been preserving so carefully struggled to maintain control before slipping away completely; saw the fire that kindled in the back of those green eyes. It was like watching the death of the stranger that had worn his brother's face, and the look that Methos directed at their hapless captive was, for the first time since they had reunited, Death unrestrained. Kronos didn't bother to hide the smile that sight brought unbidden to his lips.
"How long has it been since we flayed someone?" he asked. It was a struggle to keep the anticipation out of his voice, but he managed, not wanting to jar Methos out of the mood the bullet had put him in. The longer his brother kept it up, the harder it would be for him to walk away from it. All Kronos really had to do was to stand back and let Methos fall.
"Since we've flayed someone?" Methos asked. As he spoke, his voice deepened and slowed, the altered tones as familiar to Kronos as his own voice. "Two thousand years, give or take a century. I haven't flayed anyone since the fifteenth century." His smile was genuine, and it was Death's. "I'm willing to bet that it's like riding a bicycle, though -- something you never quite forget."
Victor chuckled quietly, his grin still in place as he looked down at the hapless man crouched on the ground. Surrounded, the human wasn't going anywhere, and certainly wasn't getting out of this alive. Not that he'd figured that out yet, still caught in the grip of his fear of Methos, but Victor almost hoped he tried to run when he did.
Logan wasn't as certain of the difference in Methos, not yet, but he wasn't going to complain if it meant they did something more than keep moving. Even he was starting to get antsy for something, if only watching someone else at work. He glanced at the human again, a flash of pity in his eyes for a brief moment before it was hidden by a curiosity as he wondered just how long it would take the human to die.
"Creed." This time, the detachment in Methos' voice was Death's. "Why don't you get our guest on his feet? I think I'd like to save him for the evening halt. Anticipation always makes things more interesting." Crouching down, he put an almost gentle hand on the sniper's face, forcing the man to look at him. The mortal was reluctant at first, but once their eyes met he seemed hypnotized, unable to look away. Kronos had seen this particular effect before, and more than once, and he glanced up at Logan and Creed, wondering if they'd realized yet what, exactly, they were looking at. When he felt like it, Methos was a killer without parallel.
"Do you speak English?" Methos was asking, in the gracious tones that marked him at his most dangerous. The sniper shook his head, never taking his eyes from Methos as the latter switched from English to a language that Kronos presumed was Laotian. His tone never changed, but the sniper's face paled, and he started to shake. Methos patted his cheek gently, almost paternally, before straightening.
"Get him up, and let's keep moving," he said, presumably to Creed, though his eyes went straight to Kronos. The latter shivered in anticipation.
Victor reached down, pulling the man to his feet with a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Following Methos's order without even the silent complaint he'd made earlier, instincts all telling him not to challenge the leader, not now. He wasn't, after all, nearly as stupid as some people assumed.
Logan waited for Victor to get the man to his feet, falling in at the rear once they started moving again, watching Methos with a thoughful expression in his eyes. This was not the sarcastic and irritated Captain Pierce who'd gotten them out of the prison earlier, even if he wasn't entirely different. Just something this modern world wasn't prepared to deal with, that hid and slept because Methos couldn't be this person in the world they'd left behind when they'd escaped the base.
"Finally," Kronos said in Hittite. "It seems you've made an impression on our subordinates." The look Methos shot in his direction was enough to make an impression on him as well. He'd forgotten how volatile Methos could be when he was like this. This was the man who could leave a brother in a well and never look back, and even though Kronos had been trying to get that man to resurface since they'd first re-encountered one another, the sudden fulfillment of his wishes still raised the hair on the back of his neck; made him wonder if the reappearance of Death was another of Methos' charades.
Listening to Kronos speak, Logan almost wished he had the opportunity to ask for language lessons, because not being able to understand what was being said was frustrating. Particularly when he had a suspicion that he or Victor or both were the subject of whatever remark it was Kronos made. He suppressed a snort, turning his attention more to the jungle around them, since it had proven to be a bit more dangerous than just the chance of an American sniper.
There wasn't anything else to cause them trouble the rest of the day, Victor keeping a close eye on their captive while they traveled, and as they made camp late in the afternoon. He had been almost disappointed when the man hadn't even tried to run, even though he was curious about just what Methos had in mind to do with him. It would have been satisfying to chase the human, even if he couldn't kill him.
Methos set up his own bedroll as usual, pulling out his journal and settling in to write. He could feel Kronos' impatience from across the campsite, and their prisoner's fear, and wanted trying to settle things in his own mind before taking a step he couldn't back down from; wanted to decide just how far he planned to descend -- if that decision was still his. Wrenching himself free of the Horsemen had been the most difficult thing he'd ever done, and now that his temper had cooled, he wasn't sure he wanted to step back into something that was even remotely similar.
Then again, he wasn't sure that he would be able to deny himself for much longer.
Logan set up the fire-pit and started on putting together dinner, using the activity to keep himself from asking questions, at least for now. He was picking up on the tension in the camp, and was beginning to wonder if there were any others like the sniper Victor was still guarding that he could kill, just to pass the time. They, after all, wouldn't be getting anything less than they expected, just not from whatever enemy they thought they were dealing with.
Leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, Victor watched the two Immortals out of the corner of his eyes while ostensibly watching the prisoner. Wondering just how long it would take them to figure out what they were planning to do, his impatience for something to happen beginning to build.
"Methos." His brother had been staring at nothing for five minutes, and the look on his face suggested that he was thinking things that Kronos didn't want him thinking. "Are you planning on dealing with the baggage before supper?"
He was almost certain that Methos' put-upon sigh was mostly feigned. His brother put his journal aside -- it looked like he'd been writing in Aramaic this time -- and looked up, his eyes glittering.
"Are you insisting, brother?"
"The last time I insisted, I ended up in a well," Kronos retorted, lifting an eyebrow. Insisting would do no good. Methos had to take this last step on his own.
Victor kept quiet, though a bit of a grin was tugging the corners of his mouth up, revealing a hint of fang as he listened to the conversation betweent the Immortals. He flicked a glance at Logan, and at the dinner he was putting together. It would be a bit before dinner was ready, which made the thought of a bit of violence before hand that much more appealing.
"It would profit you to remember that," Methos said. The even, casual tone was a warning in and of itself.
Kronos kept his mouth shut. Methos put aside his journal, rolling his eyes expressively. "Fine. Get him tied up for me, would you?" His smile was grim. "I'm sure you remember how to do it." Kronos waited until he'd turned away to let the fierce, triumphant grin cross his face.
It was a matter of minutes before their prisoner was tied up, waiting. The last qualm that Methos felt while approaching the man felt as if it belonged to someone else. The hilt of his dagger was heavy in his hand. He'd never done this sort of work with this particular blade, though he'd had it for nearly seven centuries. Then there was only blood, and noise, and release, finally, after so very, very long. He came back to himself with the man limp in front of him and his arms red to the shoulder, and the smile he felt curving along his mouth was one that he'd lost almost two thousand years earlier.
Victor watched Methos work with a grin, the screams from the human soothing the snarling desire to hurt something the way a lullaby might calm a child. He sat with his back against a tree, a small plate with the food Logan had made in one hand as he watched the man die slowly under Methos's knife. Content to watch for now, knowing that he'd have the chance to indulge in his own violence later.
Sitting near his brother, Logan didn't bother to watch, wolfing down his food with an outwardly single-mindedness that hid at least some of his interest in what Methos was doing. Not in the violence itself, but in the expression he could see on the Immortal's face in his peripheral vision, and in the smile that came after. A familiar sort of smile that he'd see in the surface of water before washing up after a battle, or across the campfire when Victor'd had a particularly good day.
"Feeling better?" It said something about Methos' level of distraction that Kronos had been able to get so close behind him. He spun, the dagger coming up automatically. Kronos caught it on the downstroke, the point halting only a few inches from his chest. For the space of three shuddering breaths, Methos' expression was as blank and remote as it had ever been in the first years of their acquaintance; then recognition slid slowly back into his eyes and his arm relaxed, the dagger falling unnoticed to the ground. Kronos grabbed him hard by the back of the neck, bringing their foreheads together in a gesture of brotherhood that had been lost with his own tribe almost three thousand years ago, and Methos permitted the embrace without demur.
"Welcome home, brother," Kronos told him, and no power on earth could have kept the fierce joy out of his voice. "Welcome home."
Logan turned his head to look when Methos moved suddenly, leaving his dinner a moment to watch, and grinning when he heard Kronos speak. This was what Kronos had been hoping for when he'd told Victor to bring the human back alive, if the emotion in his voice was anything to judge by. He glanced over at Victor, who had a grin on his face to match Logan's.
"Either of you ready for dinner?" Logan leaned back a bit, relaxed as he watched the two Immortals. He didn't expect Methos would be ready until he cleaned up a bit, but he wasn't worried about it. The question was more a way to remind them that they weren't the only two here.
"Not just yet," Kronos answered, not taking his eyes from Methos' -- who, to judge by his expression, had been almost startled to remember that Creed and Logan were still present. He relaxed his grip on the back of his brother's neck, but didn't let go. "I think we'll get washed up first."
The sudden fire in Methos' eyes was answer enough. Kronos didn't so much as glance at Creed or Logan as he let go of Methos and headed into the trees towards the river they'd been following for most of the day. He'd only gone a few steps before he heard Methos move to follow.
Victor watched the Immortals vanish toward the river, keeping still until they'd left before he grinned broadly, looking over at Logan. "What are you thinking, Jimmy?" He knew something was brewing in the back of his brother's mind, had been during the journey, but Logan hadn't shared whatever it was yet. No time alone, without one or the other Immortal near enough to overhear conversation.
Logan shrugged, his gaze still on where Methos and Kronos had vanished, a thoughtful, almost calculating expression on his face. "That we found a better gig than another stint in the army," he said simply, quietly. "If we stick with them, and they don't decide to get rid of us."
The smirk that curled up one corner of his mouth after that made Victor suspect that Logan more had an unspoken 'try' in that last, and had something in mind that would make that a bad idea. Or perhaps not, and he was over-estimating his brother again, but it didn't really matter.
"Wash up?" Methos asked, as soon as they were alone. It was the first thing he'd said since he'd started on the sniper, and the calm, even tones of his voice were a relief. Kronos would have been more than happy to deal with the sort of chaos Methos had spread in his wake during their first few centuries together, but the controlled man who had become Death of the Horsemen was better at long term strategy -- and that was exactly what Kronos needed. "As if any of us ever minded being covered in blood."
"Whatever works," he answered, and shoved Methos up against a handy tree. "Besides, I like you covered in blood."
"Oh, I'm well aware of that," Methos breathed, and brought their mouths together.
Victor flicked a glance at the trees when his brother still didn't look away. "You going to tell me the rest of what's on your mind, or make me guess?" He picked over the remaining food on his plate as he waited for Logan to answer, listening for the sound of someone moving through the jungle.
"Don't know enough to share yet." Logan took another bite of his food, finally looking somewhere other than where the Immortals had gone off. "Thought we might ask if those two had any plans for something more concrete than just traveling, now that we're out of Vietnam."
It wasn't as if they had any plans, really. Just to keep moving on, and hopefully to the next war, the next battle to be fought. Though Victor wondered how much longer Logan would be satisfied with that sort of simple life, the way he was. His brother had always asked more, had been more curious about what drove the wars they fought.
Their final reunion had been just as Kronos had been hoping it would, though afterwards Methos wasn't the only one who needed to wash the blood off of himself. They bathed without speaking, because for the moment words were unnecessary, and returned to the camp in the same silence. Methos looked even younger than usual with his hair wet and clinging to his face, and not for the first time, Kronos wondered just how old his brother had been at first death. Younger than he had been, certainly, and neither of their mortal eras had been known for the longevity of those who had lived in those years.
"Is there anything left to eat, or did the pair of you finish it off?" he asked as they stepped back into the clearing in which they'd made camp. He could feel Methos at his shoulder, and couldn't quite keep the contented smile off of his face.
Victor chuckled, waving a hand at the fire and the pot still sitting next to it. "If you call that slop in a can edible, there's enough." He hadn't had the chance to really look for anything that day, watching over the human whose remains Logan had moved further from camp after he'd finished eating. Something about not wanting to deal with any sort of predator in the middle of the night.
"Better than some of the things I've eaten over the years," Kronos said dryly. "Ever lived through a famine?" He scooped up two bowls, one for himself and one for Methos, and they seated themselves near the fire.
"Not to mention the fact that we both spent a thousand years eating Caspian's cooking one day in four," Methos interjected.
"Oh, that wasn't so bad."
"If you could identify it."
Victor raised an eyebrow, amused and remembering what Methos had said about Caspian's dubious stews the first day they'd been traveling. "What he do, cook someone you knew?" he asked, a sly grin of amusement curling the corners of his mouth.
Logan came back in time to hear the question, and gave Victor a questioning look, wondering what that was about, though he didn't actually ask, settling back near the fire without giving Methos and Kronos more than a brief glance.
"More like whoever was unfortunate enough to encounter him on the days when it was his turn to cook," Methos said. "Still, even Caspian's cooking beats bark."
"Cockroaches," Kronos countered.
"Grass."
"Locusts."
"Mm, you and John the Baptist." Methos rolled his eyes. "I ate part of my own leg once." Can you top that? went unspoken, but was clearly audible nevertheless.
Victor's gaze flicked back and forth between them, his smirk becoming a grin as he listened. The worst he could say he'd eaten was probably whatever he'd been able to find during the time after running from home until he and Logan had been able to find someplace to work.
Logan shook his head, though he gave Methos a startled look. "Never been hungry enough to want to gnaw on myself." Half-frozen carrion, perhaps, but not himself.
"Neither have I." Kronos lifted an eyebrow. "This happened after you dropped me in that well, I assume?"
Methos shrugged. It had actually happened some fifteen hundred years before he'd ever met Kronos. "There was a cave-in. I was trapped for months, and decided it was better to auto-cannibalise than to starve to death over and over again." He shrugged. "There hasn't been any real famine in the West lately -- not during your lifetime, anyway. Live long enough, though, and you'll probably see it." He accepted the bowl Kronos handed him, but ignored it for the moment. "Whole cities, and the countryside around them, all of them dying, too weak to move even to get water." He shrugged. "It's unpleasant, and an Immortal constitution is no protection."
A frown crossed Logan's face at the description of a famine, and he was silent for a long moment before he said, "Don't know what that would do to me or Victor." He hadn't run into anything they didn't heal from yet, but there was always a chance something out there could kill them.
"Hopefully, we won't have to find out," Methos said, spooning up the last of the dinner-in-a-can.
"Oh, I don't know," Kronos said. "It might be fun to conduct some experiments." The sardonic smile on his face said that he was probably joking, but Methos didn't think that either Creed or Logan would appreciate the humour behind it.
"Only if I get to use you as the control," he retorted.
Victor sat up straighter, his earlier grin fading to something less amused and more a feral baring of teeth. Not yet a threat, just more attentive to the conversation. Trusting, at the moment, that they could figure out how to get away from the two Immortals if Kronos carried through on the idea. No way was he letting himself or Logan end up on anyone's lab table.
Kronos made a rude gesture that was somewhere in the neighborhood of a thousand years old. The amusement in Methos' eyes said that he recognized it.
"Spend much time with the Vikings?" Methos asked. Kronos grinned.
"I liked their attitude."
"You would." Methos glanced over at Victor. "Calm down. Caspian was always the one for that sort of experiment. Kronos isn't interested in science that can't be persuaded to explode."
Chuckling, Victor shrugged, relaxing just as quickly as he'd sat up. "Explosives aren't as much fun as getting in close for the kill." Blood on his hands, the screams of pain and fear.
"But useful when you need to even up the odds in a fight," Logan pointed out, happier himself with the change of subject. Even if he wasn't as concerned about the idea of Kronos trying to starve them. It would be difficult in this jungle to do so, anyway.
"Actually, I'm more interested in biologicals, these days," Kronos said. The look in his eyes wasn't exactly comforting. "I prefer toys that don't affect me." He lifted an eyebrow at Methos. "Where were you in the 1340's?"
"England," Methos said, wincing. "A nuclear explosion might have been kinder."
"But it would have taken you, too," Kronos pointed out.
Logan frowned a moment, looking over at Victor as he tried to place what Methos and Kronos were talking about. He'd been interested in history before he and Victor had fled his childhood home, but he hadn't read anything about that time period. Looking back at Methos, he asked curiously, "What happened in the 1340s?"
He wasn't sure what Kronos meant by biologicals, though from the context, he suspected something contagious. Which he doubted would effect him or Victor any more than it would the other two, and was rather more comfortable with the risk of getting loose than he had expected he would be.
"The Black Death," Methos answered. "Bubonic plague. It killed better than a third of Europe in a very short time, and almost half of England."
"Interesting times," Kronos said, grinning.
"Nightmares are interesting," Methos told him. "I wouldn't necessarily want to go through one."
Watching half - or possibly more, he doubted the distribution of death was all that even - of the people around him die would be a nightmare, in Logan's estimation. Particularly if he knew any of them well enough to care. It made him glad he'd never seen anything like that.
Victor snorted softly, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position against the tree he was using as a back rest. Death on that scale would be interesting, but not any more fun than explosives, in his opinion.
"Besides," Methos pointed out, "using that sort of thing as a weapon in this age would almost certainly lead to finding one's self at the center of a nuclear explosion. Even we might have a problem surviving that."
"Like you couldn't figure out a way to keep anyone from realizing we'd done it," Kronos snorted.
"I like modern conveniences, brother mine. Having lived through several thousand years without them, I'm in no particular hurry to return to that state of affairs."
"It only leads back to you if you take the credit for it. Release it where someone else will want to take credit for an attack." Logan knew he was only encouraging the idea, but for the moment, it was an abstract puzzle, something a little more than mere survival. And if it caused further warfare, there was something to keep Victor happy.
"There are certainly enough hot-heads in the world who would be only too glad to take the blame," Methos mused. "Not the Red Brigades -- the Soviets keep too close an eye on them for that -- but some of the Arab factions, maybe. Or one of those absurd eco-terrorist groups." The idea had appeal. Not the deaths that would result; not those, but the puzzle itself, figuring out how to accomplish the task. He caught the gleam in Kronos' eye and changed the subject quickly, before he could give the man any ideas. "Remember that war we started -- oh, about five hundred years in?" He no longer remembered the names of the different factions, but he remembered the resultant chaos, and the advantage that the Horsemen had taken of it.
Kronos grinned. "I remember that Caspian kept getting killed. And that horse you took, what was his name again?"
Methos shrugged. He'd forgotten, probably centuries ago. It had been at least that long since he'd even thought of the incident. He'd buried his time with the Horsemen deep in his memory, and only rarely allowed himself to look at it, letting the details blur together.
Logan didn't comment on the change of subject, listening instead, curious enough about the shared history of the two Immortals to let the puzzle go for now. He could always come back to it later.