The clock on the night stand read 0230 and Methos sighed, turning over to try and get at least a few hours of sleep. At 0300 he finally gave up and threw off the covers to sit on the edge of his bed.
"I must be completely insane," he muttered disgustedly. Still, this wasn't simply a matter of conscience, or even, god save him from all MacLeods, loyalty, friendship and honor. This was truly a fight from which he couldn't just walk away. This was his home, too. And that hideous creature residing inside Teal'c was one of thousands who wanted to take it away from him just because they could. It was too like centuries past when there was no place he thought of as truly safe for any Immortal. If the soldiers didn't get you the peasants surely would. And with nowhere left to hide, this time the alternative truly was unthinkable.
The phone suddenly rang and Methos stared at the thing as if it were a foreign object. Who could be calling him at this hour? The only person who might know where he was...
Methos smiled and picked up the phone. "Hello, Joe."
"Adam? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Joe."
"You're not pissed at me for talking to George are you?"
"No," Methos sighed. "He knew enough to qualify for a first approach as far as our friends are concerned anyway. The rest... Well, that was unavoidable. And in a way I'm glad it happened."
"You are?" Joe asked, his astonishment plain even across the line.
"Yes. And I'll be staying on for a while."
"You will?"
"Why so surprised, Joe? Surely you know me well enough to know I look after my own best interests first."
"Uh, yeah. That's what's so scary. I'm having a hard time imagining anything that could get you to pull your head out of your ass."
Methos chuckled and phrased his words carefully, knowing the line would be monitored. "Let's just say I'm having a Mac attack and leave it at that, shall we?"
"Speaking of our friend, he was in here this morning and wanted to know if you wanted your book back. You know, the one on seventeenth century arms and armor. Said you might need it at some point."
Bless his do-gooder heart, MacLeod was offering to launch a rescue mission. "No, I don't think I'll need that one anytime soon. Although he might find the sequel on Culloden to be of interest."
There was silence from the other end of the phone and he knew that Joe understood. Something was going down that affected the world. From Mac's point of view that had been the final defeat of the Highland clans by the invading English troops. It had effectively destroyed everything he would have known and understood at the time. And the allusion to it would tell Joe as much as he needed to comprehend Methos' reasons for remaining.
"Ill let him know," Joe said quietly.
"You do that," Methos responded. "And if there's another book he has I might need, I'll certainly let him know when the time comes."
"Right. And if there's anything in my collection you want, all you have to do is ask."
"Thanks, Joe. I appreciate the offer, but hopefully it won't come to that. They've got a pretty extensive library here and I know how precious those particular books are."
Again there was silence as he let Joe know just how high the stakes actually were.
"Well, I've got to go open the bar," the other man finally offered, his voice a little shaky. "The lunch crowd will be here soon."
"It was good to hear from you, Joe. Give Mac my regards."
After he hung up the phone Methos frowned. He was well and truly awake now. He stood and stretched, pacing the room as he tried to think of something to do. He could go to his work room, but he was still too wound up to concentrate on that. He'd tried earlier after speaking with General Hammond again, but the words on the tablets had taken on a more sinister aspect now that he understood what it all meant. He knew he needed time to absorb everything he'd learned before once again trying to unravel that puzzle.
What you need is to stop thinking and do something! he told himself sternly as his eyes casually fell on the Ivanhoe in its display rack. Of course! A good solid workout was just what he needed to focus himself inward and allow the events of the last day or so to assimilate on their own.
He dressed himself in a pair of loose fitting trousers he'd picked up in Tibet, a plain black tee shirt and soft soled shoes, then tossed a change of clothes in his gym bag. After taking down his sword, he placed it in its case and headed for the gymnasium. Moving through the corridors, Methos was not surprised by the amount of activity around him. In any military establishment there was always something going on day or night, and the SGC was no exception.
In the gym he found others, both male and female, working out and chose a place for himself at the far end away from all the equipment and mats. Putting his case on one of the benches along the wall he mentally paced off an area for himself and began his kata. It was a form so old he didn't even recall where he'd learned it. But he'd done it nearly every day of his life for as long as he could remember and the moves were so ingrained he rarely thought about them. He couldn't even explain them to Mac the one time he'd asked. The few students he'd had he'd taught other forms of meditation. Whatever seemed to suit them best. For himself, this simply felt right. And despite everything he'd learned in places like China, Japan and Tibet he'd never been able to achieve the degree of centering or depth of focus he could with his normal routine.
As he moved deeper into the various stages of his meditation Methos became peripherally aware that he had drawn an audience. But this often happened when he practiced in public and he paid it no mind at all. It was with some surprise then as he neared the final stages that he sensed someone nearby echoing his movements. This had also happened before. A monk or aficionado of the art would begin to copy the moves, but never to his recollection with such accuracy. The thought disappeared almost before he'd realized he'd had it and he passed into the final stage where nothing, save the presence of another Immortal could have broken his concentration. A long time later, as he stepped back for the final time and at last laid his arms at his side, Methos turned to his shadow and bowed. Teal'c did likewise.
"I offer my humble thanks and gratitude," the larger man rumbled.
Methos smiled. "You're welcome always," he responded formally then went to retrieve his sword in order to properly finish his workout. It would have been better with a partner, but... He suddenly remembered Teal'c's earlier offer to spar.
"Would you join me?" he asked, seeing the soft leather case at the other end of the bench.
"I would be honored."
As Methos set the practice guards around the edges of his blade he couldn't help but notice the increased movement on the barbican above the gym floor. The place, of course, was a model of modern engineering. Designed not only for holding sporting events, but providing room for an audience. He didn't mind at all as long as they stayed off the floor. But given the profession of his audience he doubted there was any need to worry on that score. He didn't bother with wrist guards or any of the other paraphernalia associated with the sport. In real life he knew he'd rarely get the chance to be that ready, unless he was preparing for battle or called the challenge himself. So when he did practice it was with the greatest impediment to success possible. Bare hands and bare feet, let the sweat run where it may. If he sprained a wrist so much the better, since it would teach him not to make the same mistake next time.
As he slipped off his shoes and moved back out onto the floor he smiled to himself as he recalled his first conversation with MacLeod. He hadn't lied when he'd said he was out of practice, but after a few thousand years the moves had become second nature. If he slacked off for a century or two, it didn't seem to matter in the long run. A couple of weeks of regular sessions and he was back in top form - exactly where he'd been since he'd first begun to orbit the MacLeod pantheon. And even out of practice he could probably take on most any Immortal and win. He might not have the anger and the passion, but survival was a hell of a strong motivating factor when you came right down to it.
He began another series of stretches, this time using the Ivanhoe as a balancing point. Unlike the katana, or other light weight cavalry style swords most Immortals preferred, the Ivanhoe was a substantial piece to wield in battle. Not only meant for slicing and stabbing, but for doing solid impact damage. Finally, it became merely an extension of his arms and Methos turned to face his opponent.
"Colonel, what's going on?"
"Not now, Carter," Jack hissed above the clash and clang of steel as he pulled her through the crowd. "Out of the way. Excuse us." Rank had certain privileges and O'Neill used every one of them until he and Samantha were standing at the edge of the walkway overlooking the gym. It seemed that half the base had turned out for this.
"How long have they been at it?" he quietly asked the guy next to him. He'd gone to get Sam as soon as Methos had started his warm up. Not because he was worried, but because he'd thought she'd appreciate the insight into Pierson's character. He'd been supposed to work out with Teal'c as they did nearly every morning, but when he'd found them in the final stage of that strange kata he'd hung back in the crowd to watch.
"Just got started," the other man murmured.
O'Neill nodded and leaned his elbows against the edge as he watched the mock fight unfold. They were still in the opening rounds, testing each others defenses and getting a feel for each other's style.
"You thinking what I'm thinking, Carter?"
"He's been at this a very long time," she responded quietly.
Jack nodded slowly. What they'd thought to be a lanky, but decent physique beneath those loose fitting sweaters and jeans had suddenly turned out to be in better shape than their own. Not an ounce of spare fat existed on that sinewy frame. And the elongated muscles of his arms seemed to have been carved out of stone. He moved like a warrior. Not with the fancy dance-like moves some practitioners tried. Pierson was all business and clever cunning as he sought for weak points in Teal'c's defenses. More often than not he breached them and moved back for another round.
"So much for the librarian," O'Neill smiled.
"You're not serious?" Sam asked, her voice tinged with shock.
"I want him on the team, Carter, not sitting on his ass in the SGC."
"But, sir," she began as Methos suddenly disarmed Teal'c in another quick parry.
"No buts, Major. This is not open to discussion. We started out as five and I've always had the option to replace Ferretti. I'm simply going to exercise it. Don't worry," he grinned. "I'll take care of the paper work. You just schedule us some training time."
"Yes, sir," she nodded dubiously.
"He's just playing with him," Jack suddenly murmured, shaking his head, but Sam had gone. Too bad, he thought as Teal'c tried something new and took the offensive. She and Daniel would just have to live with it. Ferretti had been his best friend and he hadn't needed to either guide or guard the other man as he felt he had to with the others. Part of him had always desperately wanted those sureties back. More importantly, Methos couldn't be taken over by the enemy, or easily killed in a fight. Well, he could be, but he'd come back - and that Immortality thing meant he'd have one less worry to keep him awake at night.
Go to next part.