Challenges
She had a heartbeat and a half to make up her mind, but her heart had stopped and she already knew the answer without thinking. The instant she heard the shots and saw Methos fall-she knew. None of them deserved to take him. Knowing he was helpless, Cassandra drew her sword and raced towards him.
"Don't interfere, woman," the interloper snarled. He spoke with all the authority of the ignorant and was already tucking the pistol away, heedless of leaving his side unguarded by his sword, which he tilted, not defensively, but in Methos' direction.
"Interfere?" she questioned, eyes flashing. "I never heard a challenge, until now." She touched her blade to his and was pleased to see the shadow of uncertainty that crossed the man's face. The shame of it all-the boy had come to play the Game, but didn't seem to be very strong on the rules.
He would learn a few things, before he died.
"What is this? Tell me you aren't challenging me for his head," the punk went on. "You do know who this is, don't you?"
"Better than you think," she thought to herself, but simply answered, "You do know who I am, don't you?" He blinked, and then slowly nodded. To use Genevieve's term-Game hag. The Gauntlet had certainly made a study of as many of the older ones as they could find. She didn't know if she should be flattered that he knew who she was, or insulted that it took him so long to recognize her. "But the truth is-I'm challenging you for your head-whoever you are. You do have a name, don't you?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she could see Methos stir, but knew he couldn't be ready to stand, yet. Whatever those bullets contained, it was potent enough to retard healing considerably. She forced herself not to look at him, but to concentrate on her opponent.
"Your name," she demanded at length, the pause having become palpable.
"Artaud…Jean-Marie Artaud," he answered, giving his name as if unused to speaking it.
"And as you know, I am Cassandra." She took a quick step back, making him follow her. It was her intention to move the fight as far away from Methos' prone form as she could manage, and all the while seem vulnerable. Artaud did take the retreat for weakness, and advanced with insistence. Staying defensive, she continued dropping back, knowing full well he was already underestimating her.
It was hard not to feel sympathy for someone making so many youthful mistakes, but she managed, showing no more skill than she absolutely needed to, not revealing any trace of the amusement she felt at his overconfidence.
"How did you live so long?" Artaud ultimately asked, rhetorically to be sure, believing that he had the advantage. He never expected to get any answer, but his "killing" stroke was blocked with steel, and she smiled.
"How else? By winning these."
The Quickening was surprisingly strong enough to bring her down to one knee, and she trembled from the sudden force. But it did not last long-he had been young, and when the electricity ebbed, the emotions rose. She told herself that she had had no choice-Methos was simply too old, his head worth too much, for her to allow him to be taken by one of those headhunters-and that was all. Surely she felt no more than that.
She looked over at Methos. His eyes were open, and although he was motionless, she knew that he was aware. She rose to her feet, looking down at him, and debated what to say. Several unpleasant things crossed her mind, but she tossed them all aside.
"Don't get any ideas about what this means," she finally said, a soft tone of warning in her voice.
The warning was meant for both of them, and she felt relief at seeing Genevieve and Amanda pulling up in the distance. Anything to break that moment.
****
Methos moaned and struggled to raise himself. Cassandra couldn't be certain if she saw more than a little concern on his face, and wondered how much her presence had to do with that. Of course, he would be in pain-she had seen from Genevieve's wound what the poison would do. She was about to kneel to assist him, but then she heard the others' approach-the click of Amanda's heels and the rustle of Genevieve tearing through the pockets of her black trench coat.
"Don't," Genevieve said, her eyes acknowledging Cassandra, briefly. She felt a moment's guilt, and then stepped back from where he lay, uncertain as to what the girl had thought she was about to do. "Hey, how bad is it?" Genevieve then softly asked Methos, kneeling. Cassandra's eyes widened when she saw what was produced-a flask and a knife.
"What are you-" she began, but knew when she saw Genevieve put the flask down after opening it and take Methos' face in her hand so that he would have no choice but to look in her eyes. She could smell the oily perfume of the alcohol from the flask.
"Easy," Genevieve said. He flinched, but became still. "The bullets were hollow, and filled with a concentrated form of acid. I think you know what it's doing inside of you." Her voice was calm, almost without emotion. She began cutting open his shirt, exposing his chest. "Shh…you're healing already, but that's the worst thing-you do trust me, don't you?"
"I might," he answered, through gritted teeth.
"Yeah, yeah, Cassandra and me-the two people you really want rescuing your antique behind," she responded, smiling, just disarmingly enough that he didn't notice at first that she was cutting into him. He swore, weakly, looking up. His eyes met Cassandra's, and then he closed them. She ignored him, going on with the operation with the bedside manner of a benign sadist. "Bleeding-there's the state of modern Immortal medicine. I went to school five years to become a leech."
Realizing what Genevieve was about to do from having seen the girl do it to herself to make the toxin flow out, Cassandra turned away from the scene. She felt Amanda's hand on her shoulder.
"Come on, we should leave them," Amanda began, but Cassandra thought she could detect something urgent in her voice. She turned back, taking note of the young woman, who continued her patter even as she went about her unpleasant task. What were they to each other? "Come on," Amanda urged again. "This won't take her long. Not with him."
"What happened to delay you?" Cassandra asked, then, changing the subject. She hadn't expected them to be so long in following her.
"What do you think happened?" Amanda responded. "The same thing that happened here."
"These little pests are everywhere-but?"
The question died on her lips as she watched Genevieve helping Methos to his feet. She had used the remnants of his shirt for a rag, but then tossed them aside, leaving him shirtless. Under Cassandra's eye, he seemed almost a bit…abashed? And so she made a point of giving him a good hard look.
"Is there any particular reason why my clothes always get ruined when I'm around you?" he groused to Genevieve, trying hard not to let his eye meet Cassandra's.
"Uh…yes," Genevieve answered, picking up the flask. "Just get in the car."
"And I smell like alcohol."
"It's only a little grain alcohol-and there was a point to using it. It numbs, and…"
"As…I'm…aware," he grated.
"Nice seeing you alive," she then said, cheerfully, shooting a look at Cassandra, who did all she could to resist shooting any kind of look back. "I've a bag in the trunk-there should be a sweater in there for you."
"Dressing me again?"
"Again?" Cassandra asked. "Don't tell me you let her pick your clothes." He stared at her and she stared back. He used to tell her what to wear, and dress her in the finery stolen from corpses. She was about to say more, when Genevieve interjected.
"Aw, it was nothing like that. He just had to wear some of my clothes once before. Come on, we should get moving."
"Her clothes?" Cassandra commented with amusement.
"I think I carried them off well," Methos answered, trying to maintain a tone of only slight irritation.
"Are we just leaving the stiff?" Genevieve then asked.
"We wasted too much time already," Amanda began, opening the trunk and beginning to rummage through one of Genevieve's bags. "The brown?"
"Heck no-that's a summer weight, and it's a little short-waisted. The navy."
"You're right. Extra large?"
"Well, you know," Genevieve said with a gesture towards her front. Amanda bunched the sweater up and tossed it to Methos, who donned it in a hurry.
"Wasted too much time?" Cassandra asked, repeating Amanda's words before they got lost in the flow of conversation. Amanda simply sighed and closed the trunk. Genevieve opened the door on the passenger side, reached for the button to unlock the back, and then motioned to Methos to get in the car before responding with deliberate nonchalance.
"Disposing of mine."
"Oh, really?" Cassandra answered, but she noticed how Methos leaned forward and his face darkened as Genevieve made the admission. Guiltily, the young woman looked at them both.
"What can I say? Mistaken identity strikes again…I've got a reputation to uphold," she started, and then quenched the thought. "Whatever. It happened. Let's just go."
"Your reputation-or hers?" Cassandra demanded. "You aren't a part of this." Genevieve shrugged, and followed Methos into the backseat. He continued looking at her, also very curious.
"Tell them that," she answered hollowly. "The next time they come looking for the old lady-you tell them I'm not big enough to come out and play. See where it gets me."
****
Once all were inside, Amanda started the car. "Sanctuary?" she asked, trying to gauge the looks on the faces of Genevieve and Methos in the rearview mirror, and then turning to Cassandra.
"Sure, neutral territory," Genevieve quipped. "Unless Methos wants the party at his place. You, me, Cass, him…it'll be fun." Methos' stony glare in her direction cut her off, and she chuckled. "Or not." She attempted to look innocent. The look failed utterly.
"Cassandra…thank you… for taking that…jerk," Methos said, trying to ignore Genevieve.
"Don't take it personally. It was more about you not being taken by him, than about you not being taken. Don't start believing you're alive because I wish it."
"Oh…kay," Methos mouthed, and looked out the window, disconcerted. "So, how did this alliance between you and Genevieve come about?"
"Us old broads have to stick together," Genevieve commented. Cassandra could get a glimpse of the outline of the young woman's face in the passenger-side mirror, and could tell where her strange humor was coming from-tension. Not my student, she reminded herself. We agreed. If she wants to keep up this Game, it's entirely up to her.
"Old?" Methos asked, turning to look on her. She turned and gave him the hardest look she could.
"Yes. Or did you forget? Older than you, anyway. Or that's what they think."
He cursed, silently. "And of course…"
She laughed. "Hmmm…yeah. 'You've got the wrong girl' always works on people who want to kill you? I'm sure you've tried it before. Maybe I should have you follow me around-'Nope, she isn't the oldest, but I am, and I'd be happy to kill you.' I don't think so, babe."
"Just great," he commented. "You think it's funny."
"You know, irony might be good for the blood, but an injection of steel through the carotid artery isn't good for anybody, all right? There was a good reason why I left-I'm remembering it just about now."
Go get him, Cassandra thought. She almost envied the opportunity Genevieve was getting to unload. Almost-but not quite. She imagined she would be getting her chance at Methos' hide once he was properly softened up.
"You've had a rotten day…don't do this," Amanda pleaded.
"Oh, well. Rotten? There's a word. Amusing, funny. Those are words. Funny when I'm challenged. Funny when I don't have the option of walking away-you know, 'Live, grow stronger…' The 'other day' part isn't happening with me. Here's the thing…about me and Methos."
"Don't do this," Methos warned, in a threatening tone that Cassandra recognized immediately and Genevieve ignored entirely.
"He forgot what I was," she said, simply, and Cassandra took in a sharp breath. Encouraged, Genevieve went on. "See, he doesn't know what it's like…being my age. I only know one trick, you see-it's called, 'killing people who challenge me.' I can't just drop everything and move on, or whatever. Oh, and Cass? You'll appreciate this-it disturbs him."
"Oh, does it?" she inquired, finding the conversation fascinating. "Disturbs him?"
"Because it reminds him that we're killers. That I'm one. And he looks at me like I might take a run for him-where he got the idea that a woman would get sick of him and decide she should take his head-I'll never know!" she exclaimed, with maximum, dripping sarcasm. "If I were a mortal, we wouldn't have that, would we? But noooo. You told me yourself that you really weren't interested in a long-term relationship with one of us."
"The fight she was in made her a bit hyper," Amanda ventured. "I think she has stress."
"He doesn't like it when he knows I've just done it…know why?"
"I'm sure they'd be intrigued, Genevieve," Methos said, wearily. He knew there was no stopping her once she was on a roll. "By all means."
"I remind you of yourself, don't I? And you can't stand it-so what does that make you? What? A self-loathing Immortal?"
The response to that was a deafening silence. Genevieve threw up her hands. "I could be wrong. He might just think I'm nuts, which is what everyone else thinks. But really." She took a few deep, violent breaths, and then relaxed. The outburst was over. She seemed even to retreat into herself. "Sorry. I don't know what that was all about. I…" She looked puzzled for a moment. "I need sleep. I haven't, lately."
Cassandra smiled. A thought occurred to her-it seemed only right to try and smooth things over.
"Methos?"
"What?" he asked, unhappily.
"Don't hate yourself."
****
A vaguely-tolerable silence pervaded the remainder of the ride to Sanctuary. Amanda almost immediately excused herself to "Go over the books," which seemed a plausible enough excuse to make herself scarce, and then Genevieve, who had more to be excused for, offered up possibilities of what she would be doing with herself. She arrived at "drinking cognac, holding watch, and attempting not to get into trouble," which seemed reasonable. She informed them that Amanda knew she was "good for it" and took a bottle with her, after shooting both Methos and Cassandra desperate looks, as if she imagined either of them might ask her to stay, rather than be alone in a room together. And her parting look--he "watch" she was keeping involved them, not the ruleless Immortals of the Gauntlet. Methos shook his head once she parted.
"I don't understand her."
"That she drinks? Or that she pushed you away?"
"Either."
"You could have fooled me. And it's a shame, too, given that by now, you should have learned…something about women," Cassandra said. She had been thinking about retiring for the night, but realized that she had an opportunity that might almost be more refreshing-finding out just what did happen inside of his head. If he wasn't a monster, what was he? Stupid?
"Well, since you've apparently spent some time with her-what do you think the problem is?"
She let out a derisive snort of laughter. "The problem? You mean with her? Okay, since you seem to understand problems-try, survivor's guilt."
"Surviv-how?"
"She's alive, isn't she? Not having expected it-not having wanted to be. She can't go back to her family-he's dead to them and they might as well be dead to her-and the person who helped her to her death-the person who was supposed to end it for her-is also dead. And every fight she survives, expecting to lose-she survives. Not wins. Survives. Because she doesn't even know what she's fighting for."
"Surviving," Methos repeated, thinking.
"She has no idea why Kronos killed her, but never took her head. Only that it might have been that her face pleased him. Or something else about her. Pleased him." He looked away, but she twisted to get a better look at his face. His eye met hers, and he drawled,
"Just who are we talking about, now?"
"I think you know."
He had little interest in that part of the conversation. He found his way behind the vacant bar and checked the refrigerator, locating a beer. If anything, it might cool the rush of heat that rose to his face. He held it as she went on.
"You never learn-do you? Why wouldn't she resent you-you're all she has! Even if you were…far better to her than you ever were…"
"Shit," he said, suddenly, having attempted to twist off a cap that was not a twist-off. Cassandra reached over the bar for a church key.
"I live to serve," she commented, handing it to him. He looked at her, first appreciating the quip, and then, suddenly feeling much less than appreciative.
"I'm not going to come off well at this one, am I?"
"It isn't likely."
"I'm different, now. You don't know me," he explained, setting the bottle on the bar. "I don't…even pretend to control her. You can see that. The best I could do is-aim her." He attempted to smile at his own comment, but couldn't, quite.
"What happens when you aim her away from you? And she gets hurt? The way…"
"You can't forgive me for that?"
"I can't forget that." The remembrance of Kronos touching her-the cruelty he could show, just from knowing that she was Methos' prize. It was impossible that he couldn't know that Kronos would be beyond sadistic, just for that. Just because it would hurt Methos. Or just because.
"You let it happen then, because you were a coward, then. And you still are."
"No."
"You weren't a coward then." She waited. He looked at her. The look on her face broke him.
"After I did what I needed, you never seemed to mind me…" He sighed. That was a long time ago-who even knew what his thoughts had been? The truth was that they had shared everything. That women were only another spoil of war. That it wouldn't have been forever-Kronos would have tired, eventually. At least he wouldn't have taken her head. And of course, she had known that treatment, before-he thought of several things, but all of it seemed empty. He was either a fool or a child-some child, just short of two thousand? Empty. He bit back his next words, and tried to change what he was saying-too late.
"You never change!" she cried, and then left to join Genevieve outside, knowing that, if that line made him feel as horrible as she intended, he may well have.
And it did.
****
Cassandra paused upon seeing the young woman sitting on the ground with the bottle sitting between her legs. The very sight of her was outlandish, but she realized why the girl cast the appearance that she did-she deliberately chose hair, make-up, and jewelry to appear over-the-top; in her own way, the girl was in warpaint and armor to appear more threatening than she was. At the moment, though, she simply appeared to be a very young person in a goth get-up.
"You let him rattle your cage?" the girl asked, barely batting an eyelash. In fact, her eyes were closed. Her choice of words was unfortunate, but Cassandra let them pass.
"No, not exactly."
"I hear a little something in your voice-it's not like he has to do anything, does he?" She opened both eyes in curiosity. "Are you shaking?"
"I'm not afraid of him?"
"I never said you were. Infuriated, maybe." She lifted the bottle to her lips, and then offered it. "Take the edge off?"
"I like to keep my edge, thanks. What are you doing out here, anyway?"
"Failing to sleep. You know he's harmless. I don't even know why I blew up at him, other than to…set things straight. He's all right, you know? It's just…I blame the 'generations and generations gap'." She made quotation marks with her fingers as she spoke the last, and smiled, weakly.
"If you need help sleeping, I can help you with that." Cassandra leaned over her. Genevieve shook her head.
"I'd rather not, thanks. I'd like to keep a little control, if you don't mind."
"You go under easily," Cassandra offered. "I've noticed that, when I used the Voice on you." The girl chose not to take that personally.
"Means anything?"
"It could. Some people do. People of low intelligence. People who have experienced trauma. People who have some empathic abilities."
"Want to teach me how to use it?"
"No. I don't want to show it to anyone who might be unstable. I've learned that the hard way."
"Okay by me. I don't think I want the responsibility that would go with it." The girl stood, a swirl of black trench and denim. She shook her hair out, fluffing it with her fingers until it flared out like a cobra's hood. "I've got enough talents I'm wasting." Raising her head up, she grinned again. "Wasted talent is like wasted opportunities. I'm glad you didn't waste yours."
"Waste?" Cassandra's face went stony, wondering what she meant.
"Killing that guy, for Methos. To protect him."
She could feel the color rising to her face.
"It was nothing like that!"
Cassandra was surprised at the vehemence in her own voice, and Genevieve took a step backwards and gave her a careful look.
"You don't have any interest in his being alive?"
Cassandra simply crossed her arms and sighed, looking away. The younger woman raised the bottle to her lips, but kept an eye on her. The woman didn't move. Encouraged by the warmth of the alcohol, Genevieve went on.
"Not even because of the unfinished business between you?"
"There is nothing between us."
"How long ago was it you would have taken his head?" Genevieve persisted. "Is it just because of Duncan that you didn't? Is he the reason you don't try it, now?"
"He isn't worth it."
The image of Methos on his knees at Bordeaux-a shattered man-appeared in Cassandra's mind's eye. She felt something black and unpleasant nearly take her over when she had stood over him-and it had dissolved when she pulled back. There was no way she could explain to this child what it was like to have thought about something that long-to think it could almost be revenged, and then realize that what was broken could never be repaired-especially not by taking his head. Especially not by his Quickening.
"Revenge never is," the girl responded. Her eyes closed. "More or less. But there's something else." She shook her head, not quite able to articulate what kind of unfinished business she meant. "I mean…you could try not hating him-I caught the tag end of what you said to him, about him not changing."
"Do you think he really cares…"
Genevieve caught her breath. "Not that I flatter myself. I can't do this. It isn't my place to tell you anything. I'm going to mind my own damn business and go inside."
"Wait-why do you care?" Cassandra stood there, and Genevieve was uncertain as to how to answer. Everything had been so confused lately-the dreams when she slept, and the sleeplessness brought on by anxiety. The memories from a strong Quickening that made her wonder if she was losing her mind, and the way both of them seemed almost young to her, in some way. She finally found a response.
"I'm a natural-born yenta."
"What?"
Genevieve shrugged. "I'm going to go bother Methos, now. I've some apologizing to do. I was harsh, and I should know better. He does have a heart, you know."
"Really." A statement, not a question.
"Sure. Touched it with my bare hands when I carved him open-don't you wish it were you?" She grinned, evilly, and then went inside, leaving Cassandra with the opinion that the woman was mad.
****
"Oh, great. I suppose you're going to start in on me, now. I've already been…"
"Whatever. You know, I worry about that woman."
Methos looked at her with a puzzled look. She smiled.
"Not everything is about you, Methos."
"Really? So what you were saying in the car…"
Genevieve waved her hand, dismissing the thought even as he said it. "Sorry about that. But it wasn't just for your benefit-I don't think you know how she sees you-I'm only just beginning to get a picture."
"Did it ever occur to you that it isn't any of your business how she sees me?"
"If she still sees you as a monster who should be killed, it does. It definitely does. Or if there's unfinished business between the two of you need to clear up…before? Well, who knows where we stand, anyway?"
"You're the one who snuck out in the middle of the night and headed back to Seacouver."
"Well, consider it drawing fire. And as for Cassandra…"
"I don't see what it is with the two of you-"
"She is, despite what those idiots think-the oldest woman…as far as I know. Can you think of another one? And, instinct led her to me-after all, this is basically my fault. I killed Akkasur-and it must have been something he did to release the information of who the top-who knows how many of us are targeted?"
She got a blank stare in answer to that. She elaborated.
"There was only one psychopath out there with the notion that I was old. Where else do you suppose this heat came from? So I've been responsible for her, too."
"And while you and Cassandra have been enjoying each other's company-she's been saying an awful lot about me…"
Genevieve rolled her eyes. "Exactly what didn't I already know, Methos? Don't forget, I knew who you were before I ever saw you in the flesh. All she can do is provide me with the details. Very graphic, very painful, very nasty details." She could see what effect this admission had on him; he breathed heavily, almost shaken. "But it doesn't affect me. I mean, not directly. I could tell you details of things I've done. What does the past have to do with anything? It's about who you are, now." She shrugged. "So I snapped on you. But she needs to see you as you are."
"And how would that affect her-it doesn't erase the past."
"She doesn't see you as a person. I want her to. Flawed, but not…well, not without your positive side."
"I have one of those?" he asked with interest. She smiled. The conversation having led back to him had his complete interest.
"I think so, but allegedly, I taught you, so I might be biased." She sighed. "So that puts you and her on the same team. May the gods help you. With me." And then, hearing the clink of metal on metal, she cocked her head expectantly, and after a bit, Methos did the same.
"Sword fight?" they said, almost at once, and both rose to see what was happening outside.
****
The two bolted out the door to see Cassandra with sword drawn, advancing towards a very green Immortal who seemed more or less off-guard. Genevieve sized him up, taking note of his height (tall), build (quite good), and general appearance (light brown hair, light-colored eyes, and she also noted stubble, all of which had nothing to do with swordplay, but she did notice such things).
"Such a waste," she commented.
"I didn't know the Gauntlet would take them so young-he seems only into this…a few years," Methos agreed.
"Well, yeah, that too. I almost want to call out advice," Genevieve added.
The man was taking backward steps, partially because of Cassandra's advancing steps, and also from having noticed that he was being observed. He glanced over in their direction, and tried to explain his presence.
"Look, I don't know what this is all about. I'm here to see Amanda."
"Really? And just who is asking?" Cassandra demanded.
His eyes widened as she thrust forward. He blocked the blade, but with a move stronger than was necessary, making her stagger, slightly. Methos watched, shaking his head.
"Wonderful. He'll beat her by accident."
"I don't think so. She's better than she gets credit for. Besides, he needs to choke up on the grip," Genevieve pointed out.
"Do you mind?" Cassandra asked, hearing the commentary. "Well?"
The younger Immortal stared around, almost as if unwilling to mention who he was. Cassandra continued advancing, and Genevieve recognized the look on her face-the kind of blankness that meant "focus". It was something she did herself at times, to make it feel less like she was about to injure a human being-only an enemy-go blank.
"Nick?" came a voice from behind Methos and Genevieve.
"Amanda?" he began, but Cassandra was in the zone. She made another thrust, which he dodged, bringing up his sword. It was a standoff. She stood, face still blank, focused. Nick swallowed hard.
"Look, we've all been facing trouble lately," Amanda said.
"Cass?" Genevieve asked. "He's cool, all right? Amanda knows him."
She lowered the sword and looked around, as if awakening from a dream. She took a step back, allowing Amanda to walk past her and into Nick's arms. Her heart pounded-she had come that close to killing him. Genevieve saw that much, and put her hand on her shoulder.
"Walk with me."
"But?" Cassandra responded, casting an eye towards Amanda and Nick's reunion, and Methos' cryptic expression. Genevieve cast a look at the same, but shrugged.
"He probably doesn't need to be introduced to us, if this past week's been any indication. Come on."
Cassandra followed Genevieve as she headed down the street, but quickly caught up to her with long strides.
"Just thought…their moment, you know?" Genevieve mumbled. It wasn't her primary intention for taking Cassandra aside, but it sounded reasonable.
"Right. I guess…it seemed like, 'Here it goes again; another fool trying his luck.' It's senseless." She looked up at the lightening sky. "It's been a long night. It's morning, already."
Genevieve smiled, grimly. "I've seen more sunrises than I can stand, lately. You don't sleep for awhile, and, it's funny-it stays night. Day is just a very bright night. But it's still kind of…dark."
Cassandra nodded, and they continued on in silence, coming to an underpass in view of the Seine. Genevieve looked around, and then laughed, a short, hollow sound.
"Did one here. Want to know what it was?"
The older woman shook her head, but the younger continued, anyway. "Bar fight. Went badly." Her eyes seemed to glaze over. "It's stupid. I remember all of them-do you?"
Cassandra tilted her head, looking at her. It was a challenge. Not to a fight, but to remember. But the truth was, she could. She could remember-all of them. It wasn't as if there were so many; there had been far more that she had avoided over the years than pursued. She looked at the younger woman for some time, and then realized that she might as well answer.
"Yes. All of them."
Genevieve glanced away, searching the river. The body hardly made a sound when she dropped it in. What made a sound was the sirens in the distance, and the sound of her own heart pounding.
"I wonder if I always will be able to remember. I know Methos doesn't. Can't. There've been too many. But you've…you have been around for a good…" She couldn't finish what she was asking. It was just too personal. She began walking along the side of the river.
"There weren't many. It was different, back then. We didn't…women didn't…have the opportunity. It's easier to carry a sword, now. And then…"
She became lost in thought. She couldn't even begin-what it had been like, being challenged and not knowing why. Never having been told. Holding a sword for the first time, feeling an unnatural weight in her hands, and praying the moment would never come to use it. She had been taught to heal, not kill. Learning everything in secret. Male teachers who wanted something in return. And insults…insults to her pride. Being told women were weak when never given the chance to show her strength, by those who had never seen her at her strongest.
But she did remember those moments, horrible. Even though was happened today was a victory, it was horrible, now that she had time to think about it. Sometimes it was easier not to think.
"There have been more than I want to remember."
Genevieve nodded. "But it's different, now? It got easier?"
"Perhaps." Cassandra wasn't certain of that. The answer just as easily could have been, "Never." And then she took a look at Genevieve, and could see that she hadn't yet asked the question that she wanted to. And so she asked, "Why?"
"It doesn't come naturally, and it shouldn't, right? Even back there…" She gestured in the direction from whence they had come.
"I simply thought it was more of the same."
Genevieve looked at her, quizzically, and felt old inside. Not for the first time, either. "There comes a point, when you're angry. When you've seen too much…action, you know? You're worn down, and then…it does get easier. You could just…do it. Hurt someone. Kill. The rage just carries you along."
"No," Cassandra responded, quickly.
"You don't see a person, and you don't think. You react, because you just have to. You just do. It isn't a question of right or wrong. It's…a push. It happens."
Cassandra's face darkened as she looked the younger woman up and down. "No. It isn't like that. No."
They looked into each other's eyes. Genevieve wondered if Cassandra had killed her rage, wondered if it was still there, wondered what would happen if she let it go, and hoped like hell she wasn't there when it happened. And then, she changed the subject.
"Well, now I guess it's just manners to go back."
"Who is he? Do you know?"
"Nick?" Cassandra nodded. "He's a…kind of a friend of Amanda's. She knew him…before," Genevieve said, putting an emphasis on the word "before" to imply exactly "before what."
"I knew he wasn't old."
They turned, and headed back up the street, and Genevieve kicked at some debris. "There's a story, there. He was dying…the hard way. Poison. And she was there. She…helped it along," she said in a whisper, feeling like a gossip.
Cassandra turned to her with a surprised look. "We never…"
"Yeah. Never happened to me. And no one guessed what you were when it happened to you. Anyway. When she told him how it was, he split. I guess he resented it."
"I don't know if I blame him."
Genevieve rubbed her eyes. "Yeah. But he's back, so I guess he's over it. For now." She sighed. "Unless it comes up. But she had reasons. At least she gets a chance to explain."
"Explanations? Sounds like it could be a challenge."
"What isn't?"
They stopped and stood in silence for a while, until the sounds of the morning deliveries, passing cars, and anything else intruded. And then they went back inside Sanctuary to join Amanda, Nick, and Methos.