Methos and Connor

"Connor, you can't do this." The old man walked around the 400 - year - old, high-backed chair, running his fingertips along the intricate carvings. He had commissioned the making of the chair so long ago. There were still indentations in the arms and back from a scuffle with an immortal who would not take no for an answer. He studied these markings, losing focus on anything but the chair. A loud, gutteral cough returned his attention to his guest.

"And why not?" Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod raised his eyes, without raising his head, his arms resting against his thighs.

"You've been around a long time, Connor." Hadn't he had this conversation with Duncan? "We still need you."

"We?"

"Duncan, Amanda, me. The good guys."

"What are you talking about? None of us needs anyone else. We do this alone. There can be only one, remember?" His hands were quite animated, as was his body; he now stood halfway across the room from his host.

Exasperated, the old man fell into his treasured chair, one leg draped, casually, over the arm. "Right, there can be only one, that doesn't mean you have to die today."

"I'm not going to die today. I'll do it tomorrow."

"Oh, that makes me feel much better." He rose from the chair and approached Connor. "Why do you want to die? To save the world? Wouldn't it be easier to do that while you're still alive?"

"Look, Methos, I don't care what you think you know, this is the only way."

"No. You're wrong."

"What would you suggest? Not that I'm going to take your advice, but you can make suggestions."

"You live."

"It's not that simple. This is a power beyond us. One of us alone cannot eliminate this foe, but together we can."

"Wait a minute, you want me to take your head?" Methos shook his head violently. "No. Connor, I will never kill you."

"We don't have a choice."

"No. Sorry. Can't. I can't kill my friends."

"You have before." Connor looked over his shoulder, knowing he had struck a nerve.

"No. Different situation. Silas was part of a plot to destroy the human race. He would have killed me given the chance. I just didn't give him the chance." Methos returned to his chair.

"I'm sure we can arrange something." Connor lifted an expensive vase from a cracked pedestal, molded into the form of a Doric column.

"Go ahead. It's just a vase."

Connor replaced the antique and turned to the old man. He had no more to say. This force was too powerful for any to face alone, but if enough of them merged together, maybe it would fall.

"Connor there are many other immortals we can take out to gain power and strength."

"That may be, but Duncan has the skill and the only way for him to gain both your power and mine is for you to kill me. He will surely come for you then."

"No. I won't kill you, and neither will he."

"One day he will have to. A force is coming. It will take more power than the three of us together to defeat."

"You're crazy."

"I still need a good quickening."

"For what?"

Connor smirked. "There's some little pip-squeak chasing me around, and I'd like a little energy before I take his head."

"So, who's it gonna be?" Methos knew he was not the target, but knowing who was might be comforting.

"I was hoping you could help me with that."

"You want me to find you someone to kill?"

"Why not? There must be someone out there you want dead and haven't gotten around to yet."

"I can't do that. I can't use the Watcher database to find you a meal."

"Who said anything about the database? I just wanted to know if you had any enemies you needed out of the way."

Adamantly, Methos rose from his chair. "No." He made a nervous turn. "There is no way I'm going to help you die."

"I don't want you to help me die. I want you to help me live... for now."

**End**