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Flashback - An overcrowded naval military hospital in London. 1941:
"Excuse me, could you...?" Dr Michael Adams asked, in the direction of a busy nurse, for the third time.
"I'm sorry, you'll have to wait", came the rushed response before he could finish.
"But-"
"Sorry". She rushed off.
Methos looked around wearily. He'd just been transferred to this hospital, but after an hour had yet to find out where he was to report in. It was obvious that there was a severe shortage of staff and an overcrowding of patients. But, they were in the middle of a war, what else did he expect. This was the front line as far as London hospitals went, a naval hospital treating returning sailors and soldiers. His last post had been in the back of beyond in Scotland, but he had suddenly been gripped by the inane urge to help the war-effort. With more doctors being sent to the front line for more immediate and less serious injuries, any help here, where those possibly never to return to battle again got sent, was gratfully appreciated. Now, if only he could actually begin that help...
He distracted himself with more morbid thoughts of the war - why mortals felt the need to have another 'world war' so soon after the previous one when they had so little time as it was, was beyond him. However, he couldn't deny that the Nazi's needed to be stopped somehow.
He therefore didn't see the other person until he had knocked into them and he was staring down into the bluest eyes he had seen for, well, several centuries.
"Hi", he managed, noticing that the eyes were set in a rather attractive face, framed by wavy brown hair, and accompanied by a sweet-looking mouth.
"I-I'm sorry", he continued, noticing her dropped papers and beginning to pick them up.
"It's ok", the woman replied, smiling at him, maintaining the eye contact. Methos felt a jolt run through him.
"I'm Me - er, Michael. Doctor Michael Adams".
"Nurse Mary O'Neil" she responded, as he handed her the papers back, a distinct Irish accent coming through.
"Are you new here?"
He nodded, breaking the mesmerising connection. It had been a long, long time since a first meeting with a woman had affected him like that.
"Aye, I would have noticed if you'd been here before now", she commented, with a small grin.
"So, can you show me where I'm supposed to be? I can't seem to catch a member of staff long enough to find out. I finally had to resort to knocking one down!" he laughed. Mary joined in, Methos not helping but noticing her musical laugh. It was nice to know that the war didn't have everyone depressed all the time.
"Follow me", she replied. Methos gladly did.
(A month later):
"So, Doctor Adams, how are you finding it here?" Mary O'Neil asked, spying the new, handsome, young doctor in the lunch-room.
Methos turned and grinned at her. After passing each other occasionally in the corridors, he had hoped for a chance to talk to her properly again. He just hadn't been able to shake the memory of the strange connection between them at their first meeting. He was more than intrigued by this nurse. Unfortunately very busy and conflicting schedules had made it impossible to be alone together. Until now.
"Very busy", he shrugged in reply.
"But at least we're doing our bit", he continued. And it was true. He was finding the work incredibly rewarding, if also incredibly exhausting at times.
"I know what you mean", she replied, sitting down next to him.
"I only have a five minute break", she remarked.
"Hmm, so do I. But, I finish in an hour and a half".
"Me too, thank God. Today has been very bad. We nearly lost one. In fact, I'm very surprised he did make it. This war just keeps getting worse and worse. I sometimes wonder if it will ever by over".
Methos nodded in sympathy. It was true; the injuries inflicted were anything as bad as those he'd seen in wars in so-called less-civilised times. It was amazing that with all their civilisation and advanced discoveries and inventions, they'd just managed to discover and invent more affective and more painful ways to kill each other. Now civilians were being bombed as well.
"It will be over one day, hopefully not long now. The Americans are n our side, and they say their forces are strong."
Methos could think of nothing more encouraging to say than the news he had heard in the morning newspapers. He hoped it was true, and living for 5000 years had given him a somewhat cynical views of such things. He could tell her that even if they Americans succeeded against the Nazis, destroyed Hitler and his 'Master Race', there would soon be another dictator wanting to control, another ego-manic who wanted power, another self-rightous leader who believed he had all the answers and wanted to show the human race how to life - his way to life. It was human nature. Power, greed, coruption. He could tell her of good, kind leaders killed too young, of ordinary people only doing their duty; how he heard the same stories over and over again, lived the same stories over and over again; had seem civilisations come and go in an eyeblink. And not just mortals, either. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Hell, you only had to look at the horsemen, and that was 3000 years ago. After 5000 years of knowledge and wisdom, he sometimes felt that there was only one absolute truth - that the more things changed the more they stayed the same. Time was like a wheel, or maybe a spiral, with the same things coming around again and again, but with a slight difference, a twist. He could always hope that next time it would be different, but of course, deep down, it never was. In a couple of hundred years this war which was so important now, so horrifying, would have been all but forgotten, some other terror having taking it's place. Of course, it didn't make it any easier of the people here and now, any less relevant or painful. It just put a different perspective on things sometimes. But, he dragged himself back into the present. He could always still hope, couldn't he, just about.
He could have told her all this, and a lot more. But, she only had five minutes. So, he changed the subject.
"So," he asked, "what are your plans for when you finish this evening?"
"Oh, I don't know. Go home, try to eat something and go to bed, ready to face this place again tomorrow", she replied distractedly.
"Well, seeing as we're finishing at the same time, I wonder, would you like to have some dinner with me? We can try to forget about this awful mess for a little while", Methos asked, giving her an almost puppy-dog eyes look.
"Well, Ok. That sounds nice", she replied after a minute.
End Flashback
Methos blinked, tears having formed in his eyes unwittingly, as he suddenly re-noticed Duncan and Joe's presence.
"So, what happened?" Joe asked, gently.
"Well, she was a window. Her husband had been killed a year and a half ago. She had a two year old son. Soon, we...we got married. Well, no-one waited around then, who knew what was going to happen. And I had a great little family. Patrick was adorable...I was happy, despite the war. I felt like I belonged, and I felt like I was doing something right, something that may have helped somehow in some small way to...Well, you know", he continued, alluding to his Horseman days.
"Until, one day in July 1944..."
Flashback. London, 1944. The Adams' house:
As the siren went off, Methos quickly pulled the thick black curtains together, and instructed his family to take shelter. The bombing had moved more into civilian areas recently and it seemed no-one was safe, especially in London. It was awful, and he knew Patrick was frightened. He had had a great sense of foreboding recently, somehow sensing that the bombs would come closer, threaten to destroy his long-awaited fragile peace. Tonight they sounded so much nearer than ever before. An ear-shattering bang interrupted his thoughts. Taking a tiny peak through the curtains he saw the end of their road ablaze and people running into the street, making for their neighbours' homes. He shook his head in despair. Patrick started crying, and Mary held him closer, looking to Methos for guidance. He smiled at her, a thin attempt at reassurance. She looked tired and scared. He sometimes forgot how young she really was, she was so brave and strong. So much braver than him. At least he knew that whatever happened he would survive this, somehow. The Nazis hadn't quite resorted to random beheadings yet. Mary, however, had no such garrenntee. Yet she still clung to hope. Most of time, anyway. He hadn't told her about his Immortality, and he wasn't planning to. Perhaps one day, when they had gotten through this and she finally noticed that he wasn't ageing. But, now...Well, now it just seemed cruel. He had what she was in danger of loosing at almost any minute of every day.
He snapped out of his wandering thoughts as he rushed to help Mary with Patrick. The boy was growing more and more scared, visibly shaken by the last bomb hit. Methos realised that they had forgotten to bring the boy's favourite toy, a teddy bear that his real father had given him when he was only a week old. Patrick began pulling away from his mother, wanting to go back and get the bear, as Methos looked on in horror.
"I'll get it!" he shouted, over the sudden noise, as another bomb landed obviously just a few feet away from their house. In the confusion Methos noticed too late that Patrick had slipped away, back into the less protected part of the house.
"Patrick, come back here!" Mary cried. But the boy ignored her. Methos ran. If he let anything happen to the boy, he knew he would never forgive himself. The boy had found the bear, discarded under a chair in the kitchen. Methos sighed in relief, and made to grab the boy and bring him back to the relative safety of the cellar. It would be alright.
Suddenly, though, he thought that time had stood still, as he watched, unable to move, as another bomb landed. The impact destroyed the side of the house, and Patrick was caught in the blast. Rubble fell everywhere, windows crashing in on themselves. Some fell on Patrick, as he screamed, too frightened to try and move. Methos watched, helpless, as the son he would never have vanished under the debry.
He then rushed over to the pile of rubble under which he had last seen Patrick disappear. Searching frantically, he found the boy's shoe, and pulled him out. Sadly, it was late. He was dead, just another casualty of the war. Crying softly, he picked up the boy's body, and went to break the awful news to Mary. He didn't know that this wasn't the only heart-break that fate had in store for him that day.
Reaching the cellar, he was stopped by one last explosion. The force of the blast threw him backwards, and Patrick's body slipped from his hands. He was too close. As he felt himself die once more he thought about the fact that he, at least, would come back.
When he awoke, there was nothing but darkness. After a moment, he made out faint pinpricks of light. Methos suddenly realised that they were stars. The house was completely destroyed, a pile of rubble and glass, and he was left looking up at the open sky, now deathly silent and empty. In fact, it was an almost eerie silence, a deep contrast to the previous chaos and confusion. In some ways it was more deafening than the bombs were; and Methos was scared as to what it heralded. Was anyone else even alive? Was Mary alive?
Slowly standing up, he glanced around. The place seemed deserted. After just a moment though, Methos' well-trained eye made out what he dreaded most - bodies. Too many bodies. And none moving one inch. He stepped closer, wanting to delay the inevitable but also morbidly drawn towards finding her body as quickly as possible, for he was now convinced that Mary was dead. Then, a metre or so away from what used to be their back door, he saw her. Her neck was obviously broken and her legs where twisted at a strange angle. She had to dead. It would have been a miracle if she survived. Methos gave a strangle cry, too heart-broken and shocked even for more tears. Then, as the truth finally got past the numbness he felt in his heart - another life destroyed, another love dead and gone - he turned tail and ran. There was absolutely nothing left here for him anymore. It was all gone. Why did he even think for a second that this time would have been any different? Why had he even dared to hope, and love, and live again, he wondered as he started to put as much distance between himself and Michael Adams' family as possible.
End Flashback
"And I didn't stop running until I was killing every Nazi bastard in my path!" Methos concluded, finally glancing back up at Joe and Duncan.
Duncan put a comforting arm on the elder man's shoulder, unable to find any words. He was amazed, as always, at the layers to his ancient friend. How, after 5000 years he still managed to cling to that invunerable spark of hope, of the possibility of happiness. He knew himself how hard it was to carry on, to cope with mortal deaths. However, as part of the underground resistance in France during World War two, although he was in danger, he had not been in a position to see how the war affected everyday lives, affected families and homes. Methos had seen some of the worst of it, and yet still dared to survive. Not just survive, but life, as much as he often tried to hide it. He couldn't imagine 5000 years, but he imagined you had to have to have great strength not to just go insane, to run off screaming somewhere. Of course Methos was only human as well, and had done some unforgivable things. But, he was a true friend. Even if Duncan still didn't fully understand the Horsemen, he had long ago decided to accept it, and knew that his friend had changed, even if he himself sometimes refused to believe that. Now it looked as though it was his turn to help his ancient friend. Go To part Three