Epilogue

One Month Later...

The locker room was empty, but for the members of SG-1. They'd taken the leave they'd been given, which had been done separately - agreed upon by all in silent consensus. Two years living in too close quarters might have made them friends, but even good friends needed a break from each other. And now they were back. Together again and, after their mandatory physical, ready to go back to work in the morning.

Methos hid a smile as he watched the others dressing, once again at ease in their surroundings. Those first few days back had been difficult even for him. Reacquainting himself with all the modern conveniences he'd missed had been an almost reverential experience. He could only imagine what it must have been like for the rest of the team.

From what he knew, Carter, who like the others had stripped her hair back to its natural color and cut short again, had spent some time visiting with her father then returned to the SGC to work on her beloved science projects. Teal'c had also gone to visit family. He'd never said anything during the mission, but he must have missed his son terribly. Daniel didn't have much family, but he'd made the rounds of those he did have, spending the rest of his time writing up the notes he'd made in Egypt and publishing what was considered a new and groundbreaking monograph on the lost treasures of King Solomon.

He glanced at Jack and had to grin. By all accounts, the good colonel had spent his month traveling. New York, LA, Chicago, even Las Vegas had been on his itinerary. The most modern cities with the most modern conveniences - bright lights, hotels with 24 hour room service, satellite TV and fast food deliveries. He'd finished off his grand tour by spending almost every penny of the two years back pay they'd all received on gadgets and high end electronics. A truly admirable revel in Methos' opinion.

For himself, he'd gone first to London, recuperating alone in his house while his hair grew back. Once he'd deemed it long enough, he'd had it cut high and tight. A little too short for his liking, but it seemed to amuse Jack. More importantly, it had horrified MacLeod once he'd made his way to Paris. The poor Highlander seemed to think he'd be sent to Basic Training - as he assumed Methos had been - once he came up with enough names for that strike force he was still working on. Of course, Methos had done nothing to disabuse him of this notion. It was just too funny watching MacLeod watch him - all the while nervously fingering the silver clasp that held his long hair back.

Methos looked at his watch and sighed softly, recalling the other thing he'd done while in Paris. According to the Watchers, Ramirez had died in Scotland by the hand of the Kurgan. Connor MacLeod had possession of his teacher's sword and the world went on the same as it had before.

A great loss, Methos thought sadly as he put on his long coat. Tonight should have been the night he was to meet his old friend. He would still go to Bellinni's to celebrate the life of a good man, but it would not be the same. Of course, if he had company...

"You guys hungry?" he suddenly asked as the others rose to leave.

"I could eat," O'Neill shrugged.

"What do say we all go to Bellinni's? Have that dinner we never got. My treat."

"Sounds great," Carter grinned along with the others.

"Good," Methos smiled, feeling relieved.

"Why don't you guys go find Teal'c," O'Neill suggested. "We'll meet you up top."

An hour later, they were being seated in the romantically lit if slightly overdone art deco confines of the restaurant. A discreet exchange of gratuities had gotten them a table on the balcony above the main dining room - usually reserved for couples, but the maitre d' was willing to overlook that along with their lack of a reservation.

"Nice," O'Neill nodded, opening his menu.

"Hey, guys," Daniel grinned. "They've got a pesto pasta with goat cheese topping. Yum!"

Methos grimaced. "Did I ever mention that I loathe goat cheese?"

"More to the point," O'Neill commented sardonically. "It loathes you."

Methos cocked his head, looking confused. "What does that mean?"

Samantha looked uncomfortable, while O'Neill grinned and pulled a small package from his jacket pocket. "I keep these handy for emergencies," he said, tossing the item to Methos. "I think your inability to get along with anything remotely resembling milk fat qualifies."

He looked at the box and discovered it's contents, startled as he realized O'Neill was correct. Great gods, Methos thought, flushing with embarrassment. No wonder yak butter does me in every time. I'm lactose intolerant!

"Thank you," he murmured, squinting to read the directions on the back of the box in the dim light. He was just tearing open the package when the sudden sense of a strong Immortal presence intruded on his thoughts. His face went blank as he glanced down at the dining room below and focused on the door. Then a second presence announced itself and he leaned back, allowing the shadows to hide his pale reflection.

"What is it?" Jack asked tersely, seeing the tension in Methos' body.

The ancient Immortal suddenly leaned forward, hardly daring to believe his eyes. "Ramirez!" he shouted, startling the other diners. And...

"Isn't that Ptahsennes?" Daniel asked excitedly.

Methos glanced at the boy and nodded then turned back to stare in wonder at his old friends. "How in the world...?" he whispered, shaking his head as the two Immortals waved, ignoring the Maitre d' to make their own way to the upper level.

Methos rose as they reached their table, eagerly shaking hands with Ramirez, who pulled him into a gentle hug. It was the same with Ptahsennes, who augmented his greeting with a fine insult and a light slap to the eldest Immortal's cheek.

"Why so surprised?" Ramirez asked quietly as a waitress fetched an extra pair of chairs. "Did you not invite me?"

Behind them, O'Neill cleared his throat and Methos turned to see the colonel's eyes staring daggers at him. Shit! he realized. I never did mention that part of our conversation to Jack. Still, when in doubt, he thought, play the gentleman and be a good host - then hope like hell for the best, Methos decided.

He turned to Ramirez to begin the introductions. "I'd like you to meet-"

"I know these people," Ramirez murmured in amazement. "You," he pointed to O'Neill. "You're the man who wouldn't let me take out the trash."

"I'm beginning to rethink that issue," Jack's voice was icy with fury.

The Immortal smiled. "Juan Ramirez," he said, offering his hand, which O'Neill briefly shook. "My companion," he gestured to the other Egyptian, "is Peter Sennes." O'Neill nodded and, remembering his manners, since only one Immortal was at fault here, introduced himself and the rest of the team.

"I am truly astonished," Ramirez admitted, looking at their faces as he and Ptahsennes joined Methos in taking their seats. "And most interested to finally hear this explanation."

"First," Methos insisted as the rest of SG-1 stared at him coldly. "I want to know how you survived the Kurgan. You're supposed to be dead, you know!"

Ramirez and Ptahsennes looked at the mortals then at each other and shrugged. "He seems to be safe enough with them," Ramirez commented, nodding to Methos. "I see no harm in their knowing."

"Agreed," Ptahsennes sighed.

"The Kurgan," Methos insisted.

"Yes, the Kurgan." Ramirez waved to the waitress and ordered wine. "We fought as Heather MacLeod surely told her husband. And yes, I remembered your warning, my friend. But I could not run and leave the girl to that one's tender mercies. Not by choice, at any rate," he amended sadly. "It was just as the beast swung to take my head that we were both suddenly engulfed in the most amazing Quickening. It came from neither of us, but was there all the same."

"Tok'ra!" Daniel exclaimed and Ramirez nodded affably.

"Indeed, that is what this great being called itself. To the Kurgan, and anyone watching, I expect, it appeared to be a normal Quickening. But, of course, all things are in the eye of the beholder and we see and believe what we wish. I lost my sword, but not my head as this great mass of energy carried me off to Ptahsennes' home in Egypt. And there I have remained until now at Tok'ra's request."

"He spoke to you?" Methos looked startled.

"I had a word with your father, yes," Ramirez smiled wickedly.

"Explained a few things, did he?" Methos grimaced wryly.

"A few," the Egyptian admitted. "By way of thanks for taking you in hand."

Methos rolled his eyes disgustedly. "I do not need a baby sitter," he muttered in annoyance.

"Which reminds me," O'Neill smiled with feigned pleasantness. "I think it's time Captain Pierson and I had a little talk. Would you excuse us? Gentlemen," he nodded to the Immortals as he rose, laying one heavy hand on Methos shoulder as he led them toward the exit.

"Before you get all hot under the collar," Methos said hurriedly once they were alone in one of the empty banquet halls attached to the restaurant. "Just let me explain."

O'Neill crossed his arms as he found an empty barstool and took a seat. "I'm already hot under the collar," he said flatly. "And I can pretty much figure it out for myself, Pierson. You didn't think he'd believe you without offering to someday explain."

"Well, yes," Methos answered reasonably. "He wouldn't have."

"Of course," Jack went on, deceptively mild. "That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me the truth. All of it."

No, it didn't, but then Methos never was one for sharing information he didn't think he had to. "I didn't see that it concerned you. I mean, you wouldn't have even been here tonight if I'd thought Ramirez was alive."

"I see," O'Neill nodded slowly. "So, you weren't thinking about what you could do for the team by inviting us to dinner, but what you could do to ease your conscience."

Methos winced a little, not liking the way O'Neill made that sound. Still, brazen was always better, wasn't it?

"I don't have a conscience," he responded airily. "Gave it up for Lent about a thousand years ago and haven't missed it since."

Jack smiled grimly. "You know, Pierson. I was gonna let you slide on that last fuck up. I figured, 'Hey, he's been through enough. He's learned his lesson.' Hell, you even apologized and told me I was right. It needed five. But no, you would rather have suffered alone than watch us die in agony. A deeply considerate gesture," O'Neill nodded slowly. "Got me right," he touched his fist to his chest, "here. And it almost worked."

"Look, Jack-"

"No, no, no," O'Neill waved a finger. "Don't interrupt, Captain. This isn't a democracy, remember?"

Methos frowned, but held his silence.

"As I was saying, Captain," he went on, stressing the title. "You seem to think you're a law unto yourself. That as long as it doesn't involve us mortals, we don't have a right to know about it. And that's all well and good. Keep your damn secrets," O'Neill said coolly. "But this does involve us. More importantly, it involves matters of national security which, if we hadn't been here, you would have, by your own admission, had no qualms in discussing. Isn't that right?"

"They won't say anything," Methos insisted. "And as you've pointed out, Immortals are good at keeping secrets. Besides, who would believe them anyhow?"

O'Neill shook his head and sighed. "That's not the point - and you know it. Now, drop and give me fifty," he ordered coldly.

"What?!" Methos' eyes went wide.

"Your first fifty push ups," O'Neill explained as he stood, slowly backing Methos against the bar.

"First fifty?" Methos asked, stalling for time since he had no intention of doing any. "How many do you want?"

"Ten thousand seems about right."

"Ten thousand?!" Methos laughed. "Are you out of your mind?!"

O'Neill sighed and stepped away, nodding slowly. "Figured you'd say that. Okay, Methos. You can go."

"Go?" Methos asked, confused.

"Yeah," O'Neill responded. "Go on. Go home. Go back to Nepal. Wherever. In a couple of weeks Adam Pierson will get his release papers."

Methos stared at O'Neill, not quite sure what was happening here, except... "You're kicking me out?" he asked, quietly stunned. "Over this? After all I've done?"

"You want more medals?" Jack inquired archly.

"No!" Methos shook his head angrily. "I want to know why!"

"You want to know why?" Jack asked, laughing softly. "Look, Methos. I've tried everything with you. Protocol. Shouting. Little personal chats - which I hate, by the way. Nothing works. You still seem to think that the world revolves around you and your Immortal buddies. Well, here's a wake up call for y' pal. It doesn't! The only difference between us is that you get lots older and you're tougher to kill. I separate your head from your neck and you are just as dead as I am."

"But I thought that's why you wanted me on the team," Methos said. "Because I am Immortal."

"No," O'Neill shook his head. "I wanted you there because what I saw were the makings of a damn fine soldier. A tough, brilliant, capable man who knew how to fight. Knew how to kill and walk away without needing anyone to hold his hand before or after. And yeah, a man who knew how to keep a secret. I liked that. I needed that. But somewhere between that temple and Delphi that man took a hike. Now, don't get me wrong," O'Neill went on. "I like you, Methos. You're a good man. But Adam Pierson knew how to follow orders - mostly. Sure, he was insubordinate. But he never once made me have to worry about the consequences of his actions. You do. And I'm sorry, Methos, but I have to draw the line somewhere. And I draw it at treason."

Methos' eyes widened in shock as the word reverberated in his mind. He swallowed hard, realizing O'Neill was right. He hadn't even thought of it that way. Telling Ramirez about the gate, about how they'd traveled back in time was just... What? A little friendly explanation between friends? Some amusing bit of anecdotal apocrypha to be brought up over a glass of beer a few centuries later?

Methos bowed his head, sighing softly. "I'm sorry, Jack. I do understand though," he nodded. "This isn't just about Immortals or mortals. It's about both. It's about everything. And that makes it more important than either."

"Yes, it does."

"And you're right about me," Methos agreed sadly. "I don't fit in. I'm not sure I ever can. I'm an arrogant, self-centered bastard, who's seen too much and done too little that would ever be considered good. It makes me a poor candidate for Soldier of the Year if that's what you're after. So," he sighed. "I'll go quietly. And I'll keep your secrets. You tell Ramirez and Ptahsennes whatever you want. I can disappear for a couple of centuries. Hopefully, by then, it won't matter anymore."

"So that's it?" O'Neill asked. "You think you can just saunter out of here and leave me to clean up your mess?"

Methos looked baffled. "But you want me to leave. You just kicked me out!"

"No!" he insisted. "What I want is for you to start taking responsibility for yourself. To start thinking of yourself as a human being instead of just an Immortal. To join the rest of us in picking up after ourselves. We make a mistake, we have to clean it up. Immortals cause havoc for mortals and they run away. Sit it out for a couple of centuries until it all blows over. Well, you can't. Because whether you think you fit in, or whether you want to or not, you need to start learning how. And I want you learn how to trust. Because even if you don't trust me, at least trust that I have your best interests in mind. More importantly, I want you to DROP AND GIVE ME FIFTY!"

Somewhere during O'Neill's lecture Methos felt his mouth fall open. Maybe it was the accusation of cowardice, or maybe it was the bit about trust. He didn't know and right now, as he stared in shock at the carpet, he didn't think he'd ever figure it out.

Damn he's good! Methos thought, not quite remembering just how he'd gotten from a standing position to one of lying prone on the floor. And he sure as hell didn't want to know why some part of him started doing push ups as soon O'Neill started counting. Thoughtless obedience? From him? The master manipulator following orders? What had O'Neill done to him?! The thought left him feeling vaguely frightened, because this wasn't ever the way Methos behaved. And yet, it was also oddly comforting, because it seemed that after all this time some part of him was still capable of trusting.

As the count came to a finish Methos heard the order to recover and he rose, staring hard at O'Neill. This one bore watching, he thought soberly. If one so young could manage to teach him this many lessons in so brief a time then it was obvious he'd become too complacent in his life. And he hadn't survived this long without paying attention. O'Neill had demanded his trust and his loyalty. Not because he felt superior to Immortals, but because he accepted them as equals with an equal stake in the fate of humanity. Just as he offered his trust and his loyalty to everyone he chose to work with and expected the same in return. An offer sincerely made. No strings attached. The only question left was whether Methos was capable of accepting it.

O'Neill nodded slowly. "You're a good man, Pierson. I don't want to lose you. And certainly not because you never learned to have faith in anyone but yourself. I've cut you more slack than I've ever cut anyone in my life. But there are some things I won't tolerate. Those two men out there can screw the whole ball of wax. Whether they do or not is immaterial. The fact that they could is what's important here."

Methos swallowed hard. What a tangled mess he'd gone and made here! Say one word and he'd have to tell it all. Say nothing and they still knew too much. And knowing Ramirez, the Egyptian would keep digging for answers until he found them.

"Well, sir," he finally responded. "Perhaps we'll just have to recruit them to the cause."

Jack's brows rose at the suggestion.

"Now, that's my minion!" O'Neill sighed with pleasure and a hint of relief, throwing an arm around Methos' shoulder as he led the way back into the crowded restaurant. "Always has a plan I can count on!"


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