Capitulation
Nick shifted in his seat, uncomfortably, as both Amanda and Methos looked on him with curiosity. He wondered if it would be easier to explain anything without the presence of the older man there, but he was partially thankful that there was an outsider present-someone who existed outside of the little drama he and Amanda acted out two years ago. He was about to open his mouth in an attempt to explain when Methos stopped him.
"So, you're Nick Wolfe?" the old man began.
"Methos, don't start with him," Amanda said, quickly. Methos leaned back in his chair, with a fair amount of humor playing at his lips by her intrusion. Nick caught the look, but wasn't sure what it meant. Amanda went on. "Nick, what are you doing back? I'm happy to see you, but what is it?"
"I had reason to believe you were in danger," Nick answered, and then gave a more careful look at the older man. The oldest man, he corrected himself. He wondered just what her association with him was, and how much trouble she had been in for it.
"And exactly what gave you that impression?" Methos asked, slowly, with the faintest trace of belligerence. Amanda stared at him, unsure of what brought on his strange behavior.
"There's a group of rogue Immortals out there, for starters, and they're targeting the older…"
"That much, we know-but why do you?" Methos demanded.
"Methos!" Amanda exclaimed, exasperated. She looked from one to the other, and then caught Methos' eye. It twinkled. He was having the younger man for an early breakfast. She relaxed, realizing he wouldn't leave any lasting marks on the younger man. Nick, on the other hand, stood.
"Why is there a…Gray Panthers' meeting worth of older Immortals right here?" he asked in return, voice raising, just as Cassandra and Genevieve entered.
"Because we like the cozy atmosphere," Genevieve quipped, in an even tone.
"It's friendly," Cassandra added.
"And it's Holy Ground-sit down, Nick," Amanda said, softly, but firmly. He remained standing.
"I don't like being told what to do."
"Are you sure?" Cassandra asked, with a touch of interest in her voice. "There are more unpleasant things than being told what to do." She turned to Genevieve, who hid a smile. "You could have no choice."
"I've gotten used to that," Nick answered hotly, looking in Amanda's direction.
"Not like she wasn't warning you," Genevieve said, in a slightly singsong voice.
"Sit down, Nick. It's been a long night for everyone," Cassandra then said, voice slightly resonating. He took his seat, and then stared at her.
"Great.," he responded. "A witch, a thief, the oldest man…and…" He stared at Genevieve. She raised an eyebrow, slightly. "You?"
She nodded, without a word, and took a seat. She glanced at Methos, and shrugged, innocently, before crossing her legs. She then returned his gaze. Methos stood, and went back behind the bar, searching out another beer. He felt a need for one, or at least, he would enjoy this more with one.
"Eight thousand years old?"
"Give or take," she smiled. Cassandra rolled her eyes, and also found a chair.
"I can't even imagine it-tell me, what was it like, that long ago?" The younger man's eyes never left her face, which gave away absolutely nothing, until Methos spoke.
"Oh, yes, Anath-Sin, do tell everyone."
Genevieve gestured, spreading both hands. "What's to tell? Eight thousand years-life was short and nasty and brutal, it rained all the time, and everywhere you went, it was uphill both ways." She shrugged then, returning Methos' stare. He smiled, and brought her a beer.
"I didn't think you would."
"I didn't think I would either. Should I tell him?"
"I wouldn't," Methos answered.
"Tell me what?" Nick asked, looking at both of them.
"Nothing," Genevieve responded, regarding him, calmly. "I'm old enough to have my secrets." She held the cold beer up to her forehead, and sighed. Although she had every reason to believe that he was a good guy-after all, Amanda cared enough about him to save him from a certain death, she knew only too well that people could see and do a lot of things in just two years. He might even be one of the Gauntlet, by now.
"You don't have any secrets," he responded, making her eyes widen. "Does the name Genevieve Fowler mean anything to you?"
Trying to keep her composure, she sighed, as if bored. "I may have heard of the name. What's she to me?"
"She disappeared, just about the time you resurfaced."
"I don't know if I like the sound of that."
"She looked a lot like you."
"And I…brutally murdered a young woman to steal her identity so I could go public again?" Genevieve offered.
"I don't think so."
"So, just what is it? I'd like to know what I'm being accused of so I can properly defend myself," she snapped, leaning forward.
"You're Genevieve."
"And you infiltrated the Gauntlet," Genevieve responded, not blinking. "And you're the smartest person I've met since this whole stupid thing started. Wow." She lapsed into a stoic silence, and pondered the notion of a person actually having some degree of problem-solving capacity, and using it. It was a new wrinkle.
"Anyone want a replay?" Amanda asked, raising a hand.
"I believe what just happened, is that our old lady has been busted-and so has Nick," Methos responded. "What has yet to be explained is, what were you doing in with the Gauntlet?"
"It should be self-explanatory-I was just getting information."
"Nick," Amanda began, with a worried look. The look she got in return stopped her heart.
"I thought they might hurt someone I care about. It turns out, I was wrong."
Amanda gasped and stared at him.
"They don't have any interest in you," he added. "I was surprised to find out that you aren't in the top twenty."
"Twenty. So that's how many they're targeting," Genevieve commented. "With any success, that you've heard of?"
"Not exactly."
"It figures," Methos said. Everyone turned, and then waited for him to elaborate. He simply shook his head. "Probably isn't a one of them over three hundred."
"There isn't," Nick admitted. "There's about nine of the group left-all under." At this, Genevieve laughed-a terrible, not entirely sane sound. She covered her mouth and looked around, a bit surprised at herself. "What's that about?" he demanded.
"Outnumbered. Not surprising, is it?" she said. "Twenty very old ones-nine young. You have to like those odds, right? I mean, if you were one of the twenty. With a few thousand years of experience apiece." Her eyes met Nick's. "How many of the Gauntlet were there to start with? More-had to have been. And they just kept…losing. And…nobody thought it was…a bad idea?" She had a catch in her voice that was semi-hysterical. She rose, and Methos took her arm. She barely noticed the touch of his hand on her. "It's suicide." She shook off Methos' hand, and went to a window.
The silence that followed that was broken by Nick's voice. "They're only interested in you three, now. You, Methos, and Cassandra," he said, nodding in the direction of the other two, but keeping his eye on her.
"We could wipe out nine standing on our heads," Genevieve answered, hollowly. "Damn." Her eyes filled with tears. "Damn," she repeated, with force.
"You aren't relieved," Cassandra stated, looking at her. "It could be over, soon enough."
"Screw that," Genevieve answered. "Tell me what part of that sounded like it would be over? What I heard was that we've got nine stupid idiots to kill…who are too freaking miserably into the Game to realize they're just…dying for no damn reason. Or else…they know they aren't going to win, and are doing it anyway." She wiped at her face. "For the hell of it."
"Who said anything about killing them?" Methos began, but that made her turn, eyes flashing with heat.
"What else are we going to do? Feel like inviting them for a peace talk? No-you know better."
"You're right. I do," Methos answered, very deliberately. Genevieve snorted, and turned back to the window.
"What do you know?"
She meant it rhetorically, but he had an answer for her. "I know you're tired of it. And you know why they're doing it…and why you can't stand it."
She nodded. "Sure. Sure, because you know everything. Tell me that it's the Game, huh? They are just…playing the Game…and you know I don't believe in it. And for that matter-you aren't five thousand years old because you particularly believe in it, yourself. And by the way-I know why they're doing it, and Nick knows why they're doing it-and none of the rest of you probably even remember. Why should you? It sucks."
"Remember what?" Amanda asked. "What is she talking about?"
"You don't know, Amanda?" Nick asked. "I'd have thought you would, since you've had the experience. But I think I do know what she's talking about. They have nothing to lose. They've already lost it. The way I lost it, two years ago."
"Nick, I tried to explain. You were the one who left. You were the one who ran away. It could have been easier if you just let me…"
"What part of it would have been easier? Would it have been better if you were there when I…cut myself shaving, and almost wished it would keep bleeding, just because that would be more normal? Would you have made me feel less like a freak to myself? Or would it have been worse, knowing it was you coming into a room without looking because I could sense you-the way you had a feeling about me for a year without saying anything?"
"What could I have said?" she demanded. "Just what was I supposed to have said? I wanted to protect you. I think you can remember that-I told you to keep out of Immortal business. It was too soon." She spread her hands in a gesture of exasperation. "I didn't want it to be this way. It was supposed to be gift."
"And I didn't want it this way, Amanda. I can't explain it. I was in an accident not long after I left you-a car crash, and I nearly expected that I would die. And as I was knitting together, all I could think was…"
"You should have," Genevieve finished. "That it should have been something that would kill you. It should be a pleasant surprise, but it isn't. When you live. When you aren't hurt. And you have to live with yourself, and look at yourself differently. I would…cut myself. Just trying to understand…almost wishing it wouldn't work, just once. I tried to tell myself I had some…scientific interest, but that wasn't it. It was just…horror."
"Nothing that has happened to me since has felt the same," he said, flatly. "Some gift."
Genevieve looked at Amanda, sadly. "I know you don't want to hear this…but I agree with him-it isn't always. Maybe it does get better…but where we are…it gets worse." Her eyes closed. "Like now…I forget. I'm forgetting what it used to be like, before. I don't want to forget, but I will. I'm going to forget what it was like not to heal. I'm going to forget…a time when I wasn't looking over my shoulder, or waiting for a challenge, or fighting all the time. And in the meanwhile…"
"It gets better," Amanda insisted. "Genevieve, you said you were glad you were never given the choice…"
She nodded. "Yeah. But I can think of nine people for whom it didn't get better. Hell, I can think of thousands…that's what the Game is. What am I supposed to think? That I'm challenged by people who don't think they can die? Maybe they do know they can."
"You think they're asking for it," Cassandra said, suddenly understanding. "That they just want it to end. It isn't that simple."
"Nothing's ever simple." She sighed. "I'm just throwing out ideas. Methos…you're right," she added. "I'm tired of it. And it is the Game. And I talk too much…I know you didn't say that, but I'd be thinking it if I were you. I'm…Amanda…is it okay if I go upstairs and just…rest?"
Amanda nodded. As she disappeared, Methos shrugged, put down his beer, and followed her.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"To keep an eye on her. There's a good reason why she hasn't slept…are your curtains flammable?" As Amanda looked on with a surprised face, he continued up the stairs. "Best we not find out."
****
Cassandra watched Methos disappear through the door and up the stairs, and then, realized that there was no better time than then to make her exit. The tension between Nick and Amanda was something she didn't even need to look into their faces to sense...it was palpable...another being in the room. She stood.
"We never did...Genevieve and I...decide where we were going to stay. I think she half-supposed..." She trailed off, almost as if implying that it was the younger woman who had made the decisions. "Of course, I know her place is probably under surveillance."
Of course..." Amanda said, "the both of you are welcome to stay..." and then she darted a look at Nick. He didn't catch the look; he seemed to be deep in thought...or possibly, simply deeply in need of sleep. She wondered where he had--where he had been, where he would go. Not that she had wondered before about him a thousand times before...or wondered every day since the last time she had seen him. "You might as well get your bags...I'll help..."
"No," Cassandra answered, quickly. "We packed in a hurry, and there isn't much. I'll take care of them." She then looked at Nick, turning her head just enough that Amanda would catch the implication. Making no further gesture, she left them alone. Nick acknowledged her leaving with a nod of his head, and felt almost pleased to note the he barely knew what to say in her presence--she wondered if--due to his acquaintance with her through the Gauntlet, he was simply too awed to speak.
Off and on, over the years, when she paused to count those years, she had also been awed. She thought...yes. She did understand, she did know, exactly what he and Genevieve had been saying. It was different being young...not knowing what the years would feel like, or what they would bring. She remembered, briefly, how it was for herself.
Not that either of them could ever have understood that. Things had been different before.
The cool morning air refreshed her...it was easier to be alone for a moment, to gather her thoughts. She glanced down the street, the opposite of the direction she and Genevieve had walked. Perhaps she would not go to the car at all. She highly doubted she'd be greeted on the way to get some breakfast...she felt the slightest need for food, and the deepest desire for a good cup of tea.
And so she passed the car...and went.
****
"We need to talk," Nick found himself saying, just as Amanda was saying the same.
He paused. He had barely listened then, except in horror at what she had done. At what had happened, and what he was. He realized not long after how abrupt it had been, cursed himself for not having stayed, and wondered if it couldn't still be made right. Wondered, largely, because he found himself alone. She had introduced him to the rules of her world--but he had barely thought that he, himself, would ever be living by them.
Amanda also paused, wondering if she shouldn't have paused before...and yet here he was. Alive. The very thought that he could have been gone from her permanently had been something she never wanted to know. She looked at him almost in wonder--strange, that the very same thing should have brought them together again --her friends. Immortality...immortal business. The thing he was exposed to too soon--the thing he'd have to deal with.
"Amanda...I missed you," he said, then, simply.
She worked her lips, hoping that the words to say would manifest themselves by that simple act--but they didn't. Instead, she went to him...and embraced him.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, into his shoulder.
"Don't," he answered. And nothing more needed to be said then, as they held one another.
****
Methos paused at the door. He knew she had to have at least expected him to follow her, even if she hadn't still sensed his presence as he followed her up the stairs. And then...she seemed to be one of the handful who possessed that lucky acuity...as he occasionally did, of knowing what immortal approached by the sense alone. He realized she had to know, and so he opened the door.
She barely moved. She'd dropped herself on the sofa, promising herself no more than twenty minutes' rest...hoping she needed no more than that to recharge...to feel more acute...to feel more herself. But once she knew that Methos had followed her, her heart jumped at the very notion that he cared. And that in itself was something--she had long told herself they were together from mere circumstance alone and that she could expect nothing from him. And yet he was here.
"I don't need looking after," she began, turning on her side.
"I do recall there was an episode with...the fireplace," he began. She turned red, nearly charmingly. She had begun a fire, whether awake and loaded, or asleep, she couldn't quite be sure...but it helped itself onto an unfortunate area rug.
"I'm just trying to...rest. No fires. no sleep, no real dreaming...stay?" she asked then, surprising him. "Just...give me twenty minutes...because I need them..." And there her voice broke. He suspected she could do that deliberately, and sound on the verge of tears, but knew she was earnest at the moment.
"I know," he whispered. His hand caressed her face as she dropped her head back on a cushion...and then realized that she was still awake and looking at him, unable to rest and still biting back words.
"Genevieve...I know you have something to say..."
"Nothing, just...." she reached for him. He leaned down, to press his face against hers. They kissed. "Things have changed. I know what I have to do... you're right. But," she held him tighter. "What about you? Me?"
A pointless question. But then the troubling words hit him, and he whispered, wondering if she were still awake to hear his question, "You know what you have to do?"
She stirred, placing a soft kiss in his hair.
"It has to end, and that means what it always means--more killing. I have to remind myself, sometimes. Part of me just wants to believe I have a choice. Part of me just wants it over and done with, but without the blood. And then...it just isn't fair. Me taking any of them on."
"I know...they think you're...older, more experienced. It isn't fair...but life never is about being fair. You aren't a child, Genevieve."
She stroked one restless hand down his back, and replied, "You do know that isn't what I meant. It isn't fair, because...I still...I'm still...shit, I should be proud of this. I shouldn't be ashamed, but I'm still here. Damn it all. I am still here. How the hell did it happen?"
He lifted his head from her chest and took a look. Tears. He remembered there was a time when they had no importance to him--and then experience made him shed a few of his own. And what she was asking was a question he'd even asked himself--how? How does one survive? And the answer was always the same--because one did and one could. One either had the skills, or the opportunity, or the advantage of less ethics...and lived. Without those...any of those...
One ended up dead. Was that what she was objecting to--killing? Or was it the surviving itself--continuing to live when others didn't? There were moments when either became objectionable--but it was a feeling never meant to last.
"You're simply good, that's all. You've..." He searched for the words. "You were better." He touched her face. She pressed her cheek into his hand and closed her eyes.
"I was lucky. Lucky in ways I can't explain. Lucky to know you. Lucky to have...just....the advantages I do. And I just have to hope it'll continue...my lucky streak. But I...can't depend on it. Tell me..." she began then, raising herself up on one elbow. "Do you think I've got a choice? That anyone does?"
"Choice? About..." Thoughts of others streamed into his mind--thoughts of people who had made choices. Darius, taking up a life on Holy Ground. Kronos, removing himself in ways from a normal human existence, becoming more inhuman just to remind himself that he was a killer. And then there was the woman who had tried both Holy Ground and the life of an outlaw, and still gave up her life to end making those choices. He shook his head.
"It's always a choice. You always can..." he started. She kissed him, then.
"Maybe after a while, I'll learn that one. But I think...I think I know that there are times, when the choice you have is hard, but you just...have to do it anyway. It's like no choice at all."
"That can happen, too," he allowed. "Sleep on it," he added. She laid back, smiling.
"Just make sure I don't...I mean, I almost bled all over the rug in here already, so I don't want to...you know... The fireplace incident."
"I'll stay." He rose, and took an adjacent chair.
No him and her...sure. And he hadn't convinced himself into loving other people time and time again, depending on them...caring for them. Like MacLeod. Like Joe. Like he almost convinced himself he cared for Cassandra, no matter how he'd used her. There was always that possibility of loss...of pain. And yet, he never could commit himself to being alone.
The old man leaned back and wondered if five thousand wasn't a terribly stupid age to be feeling his maturity.
Genevieve lay on the couch with her eyes squeezed shut, wondering if her mind would only just stop racing. But it always raced like this at the moment of lying down, and would never stop until either sleep overtook her or she rose. She tried to make herself calm, but the sadness still existed--sadness for them--the Gauntlet.
She once was sad for herself, but that was a long, long time ago. Or long by her own reckoning. But now the thought of others who would just die--die for nothing? Die for the Game? Or die because?
She knew what it was to want to die--she remembered that feeling only too well, because she still sometimes let her mind drift to the emptiness and endlessness of that. She associated "wanting to live" with her Immortality, though--it was something that felt far more normal to her than all that had gone before. Her life, as she was, with all the choices open and nothing set in stone, certainly made more sense to her than nine-to-five jobs, settling down, and paying into a pension plan.
And yet-there were these nine, whoever they were. However many there had been before...did they miss it? Did their Immortality take away something vital?
Oh, she knew it had. She had said so, herself--but it wasn't really true--not for her. Not really. At first it had been horrible, knowing she wasn't like other people, feeling almost inhuman, knowing she was more like Kronos than she was like the people who raised her. And it was still horrible, knowing she was a killer and that she'd never have a normal life. Knowing that the distance between herself and mortals was growing, that she had less in common.
But all the same, she wanted to live. And imagining giving up anything to the Game appalled her.
She thought, but soon became aware of the sound of Methos' breathing...growing slower, thicker, more regular, and she realized that he had fallen asleep. It surprised her that he could...but not terribly. She rose, silently. Standing, she looked him over. How did it happen that she found someone who made her feel so affectionate, protective, so everything...but be so wrong?
Maybe because she was prone to feeling that way, and everything was wrong.
"Methos," she whispered. "You tried. I know you did...but...I only know one way."
She resisted the temptation to touch him, knowing she would only wake him, and opened the door. Quietly, she closed it behind her.
****
Cassandra sat in the cafe and stared at the window fixedly, barely touching the croissant and tea that sat before her. She reminded herself of where she was in relation to Sanctuary (two blocks up, and a left, so that would be...a right, and then down), and tied to block out the reason why she was so worried about getting lost--not like she had never been in Paris before (there was that one very nice time in the 18th century...before the revolution, of course, but the salons...ah, it was good to have been there, and felt the changes, the passing of the old religion and the speech of educated women and men, the ideas that would shake the world)--but she had good reason to remember. And she did remember. Why. Why a lot of things were the way they were. Why she would feel lost at times.
Like that night, running. No, several nights, running, it had been more than a few...no...her whole life. Escaping. And there were times when she didn't know where she was. There were no signs to mark her way--nothing but memory.
And she had known, or thought she had known, why that was--it was him. Methos. She had thought of him more than once along the way. She knew what his life had to have been--simple. He had his brothers, he knew who and what he was. The direction for him had to have been clear. He was a man, and older. He was what he was, a monster, without conscience or fear--wasn't he? And she remembered that much. Why else would she need to get away from there--not be in the same building with him?
But that wasn't really it. The worst thing the years could do had finally been done--they had made them the same. He was no better off than herself at such things--dealing with the present. Being himself, when who he was...
She smiled when the waiter passed her, giving her a certain look. He was perhaps in his early twenties, a blond boy--and, she had learned, an American studying abroad. She wondered if the look he gave her was genuine appreciation, or...she decided, rapidly, that he was appreciating her. Would he if he had any idea she could have known his great-great grandfather? There it was...or his great...great...
She herself was a monster, she noted with amusement and some horror. She thought it, and knew it was crazy, and knew it was true. Old, ageless...a killer...all the things...
She picked up the croissant between her fingers, and picked at it...lifting a piece to her lips and chewing, absently. Could it be? That the difference was really so slight? That the man who had been her captor and tormentor all those years ago...was now not that much different from herself? That time made people what they were...who they became? And Methos and herself were only a part of time's plan...
She shook that thought off. Genevieve's influence, perhaps, a lack of sleep, and too much time on the run, lately. But no, in heart, she did know the difference between Methos and herself. She had to.
She had to know...but she also had to admit the degree to which they were in the same boat, right now, and she could almost make out the name--"Titanic". Under the circumstances, maybe it would be for the best if she at least try to put the past aside--or so she wanted to tell herself, as she fished out the franc notes (still crisp from making the exchange) from her purse. She knew she had better head back there before anyone noticed that she had disappeared, but imagined they would understand.
She knew Genevieve...patron of the sudden impulse, would, certainly, and Amanda seemed easy-going. And Methos would never question what she did, knowing what he had done. And who cared about the youngster? (Nick, that was it, she reminded herself.) He would certainly know better than to ask.
Only twenty minutes or so, by her watch.
****
Genevieve leaned by the door and knew that the couple nearby had to know she was approaching--that was how it worked. But she also knew there was certain levels of etiquette that had to be followed--she needed to enter gingerly, and they needed to pretend as if they hadn't quite noticed hat someone was thoroughly invading their privacy. Such was the way one learned to behave as an Immortal.
She nudged open the door, and they both turned in her direction, looking as if a good talk had occurred, and Genevieve was happy about that. She knew how Amanda had suffered over the decision she had made, and she hoped Nick told her it was right--since she herself felt it had to be.
"Gen...we were saying..." Amanda began.
"Whatever...I couldn't sleep...but Methos could, go figure," she said with a grin. "I guess he's got more to sleep on than me."
"Or he minds it less," Nick answered, grimly. Genevieve looked at him, and then Amanda, who bore a disapproving face for a split second before recovering. She cocked her head, inquisitively, waiting for him to go on. When he didn't, she grinned.
"He's a lot older and more experienced then we are. He's been through worse, but to his credit, he takes the now very seriously. You could learn something from that."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick demanded.
"Okay-here's where we left off. There's a little thing called the Game, and some parts of it are worse than others. Like this Gauntlet business. Yet you decided to be here-where us 'old folks' are holed up-should be ground zero for the shit-storm, right? You could take it more seriously, yourself."
"What are you trying to say-that I have no business being involved-why? I'm…" Nick stopped himself. But she had already picked up on what he nearly said, and went off.
"Yeah, you happen to be…older than me. I am totally not eight thousand. But think about it-I killed somebody who was over four thou-and he killed that old lady I pass for. You ask yourself-what does that tell you about me? Did I suck that up? It's a lot of power if all that Game crap is right. And all of that power is in the hands of someone who-you're right, has no business being here, either."
He stared, and then was about to speak, but she cut in.
"I am, in all honesty, seven years in the Game. No more, but no less. You are two years in. That's why I'm busting your stones. Screw what you've heard. I am Genevieve, like you said. And I'm stuck being who I am-but the price on my head just went up exponentially not long ago. Give that a little thought. Or don't. But when you deal with me, or with Methos, you better recognize who we are and what we are."
"Just because you're more…powerful…" Nick sputtered.
"Human, Nick, she means, remember that they are just human," Amanda pointed out. "Only with more to think about." Genevieve nodded, angrily.
"I didn't suddenly get all of this…ability to cope when I took Akkasur's head. Far from it-I'm wrecked. If anything, I feel younger, and more out of place because of all of this. Part of me would just like to go home, take up where I was…figure out what I want to be when I grow up. What do you think really changes? Physically, we don't change. I don't think we change that much emotionally, either. I still feel like…" She swallowed, and softly finished. "A kid. Sometimes. Maybe that's how it is for any of us-I don't know. Maybe Methos is still thirty somewhere in his mind. What does five thousand feel like? I bet he couldn't tell you. Amanda…what does it feel like being over a thousand?"
Amanda considered it. Was she someone other than the thief she'd been when she died? Was there so much she'd gained in emotional maturity or insight? Of course, she still made mistakes.
"Nothing changes," Amanda finally admitted. "You won't feel older. You won't feel more mature, or like you're changing. Or like you see... things differently. I'm who I am. And you...are so good, so wonderful. Why?" She bit her lip, on the verge of tears. "Why don't you see that it's a good thing? To be alive? To know you don't change...it's just that your choices are different…"
"It's not the same! I'm not the same man, Amanda! I'm..."
"You killed your first," Genevieve said, softly. "How was it? Was there only one?"
"I killed two," he said, bitterly.
"You did it as a mortal, too," Amanda commented.
"It wasn't the same."
"Why-because you got a Quickening out of it?" Genevieve demanded. He didn't answer. "I could tell you what my first Quickening was like-I never knew what it was. It almost felt like a punishment. It nailed it home to me that it was wrong to take a life…but guess what? I'm glad I killed my first. I'm thrilled that I killed my second. I'm god-awful pleased as punch I knocked off my third. Because it means I'm still alive. If you don't like being alive-hey, here's a thought. I can fix that."
"Genevieve!" Amanda gasped.
"Let me think…he'll be number…twenty-two, I think. Unless you'd rather let Amanda undo her mistake," she went on, almost cheerfully. "Let me just pop upstairs for my coat. Do you want to bring your sword and die fighting, or would you rather just…give it up? Makes no difference to me."
"You've been spending too much time with Methos. You're getting just as bad as he is," Amanda chided.
A figure showed up in the doorway, accompanied by the familiar "buzz". "Hardly," Cassandra's voice responded.
"What?" Genevieve asked, puzzled.
"Never mind. Did I miss anything?" Cassandra asked, self-conscious about breaking into the conversation. Genevieve smiled. They turned as Methos also entered the room. She paused dramatically, and then answered.
"I was about to kill Nick."
Nick glowered at the way she said it. Changing the subject, he turned to Cassandra. "We were having a conversation about who we are. I think that becoming Immortal has changed who I am…but these two," he said nodding at Amanda and Genevieve, "say we don't change. Only our choices do. What do you think? Over three thousand years-what changes?"
Her eyes swept over them as she thought-how does one answer that? She arrived at an answer.
"Everything."
Nick leaned back, satisfied at the answer, while Amanda averted her eyes. Genevieve only smiled.
"So, even people change, Cassandra?" Methos asked. "Given enough time?"
She glared at him, choosing her words carefully. "I am not the same woman you knew three thousand years ago, if that's what you were wondering."
"You certainly aren't," Methos responded. "Anymore than I'm the same…life happens. Things change."
Amanda sighed. She turned to Nick, who had no idea what was going on, but then shrugged. There really wasn't any good way to sum that up.
"Things changed?" he asked.
"Something seems to have."
Genevieve took a reading of the tension, and it reminded her of a time-bomb. Which reminded her of the Gauntlet. Which led her to wonder where she could get her hands on some quality C-4.