Methos wandered slowly along the wooden planks that made up the walkways of the harbor. Even though it was still early in the evening, the sun was gone, hidden by gathering gray storm clouds. The temperature had dropped as well, making him grateful for his long, heavy coat. The entire scene looked bleached out, like an old photograph in shades of gray.

How fitting.

An stumbling break in the quiet footfalls, and a muttered curse snapped the ancient Immortal out of his brooding. He glanced to his left in time to watch his companion kick free of the piece of sodden rope that had tangled with her feet. One last vicious shake, and the offending line went off the edge into the calm, dark water.

"Graceful as ever," Methos said, voice barely above a whisper. There was something about the atmosphere before a storm, something subdued, almost sacred, and he found he didn't want to break the spell.

The girl responded with another mutter that sounded no more polite than the first. She fell into step with him again. "You haven't told me what you're doing here," she said after a moment. "So I suppose I don't need to ask."

Methos looked at her out of the corner of his eye. A pale figure dressed all in black, lowered face hidden by an impenetrable curtain of dark hair. He directed his attention forward again. "I just wanted to spend some time with an old friend," he said simply. *One that doesn't ask too many questions.* He added silently to himself.

The woman snorted gently. "And after you realized you didn't have any, you settled on me, huh?"

Methos shot her a quick glare, but said nothing. No, Kacy Maddox wasn't a friend exactly, or a lover, their personalities were a bit too similar for that. But she was an ally, something which was in short supply since Kronos had resurfaced.

MacLeod needed time to accept his friend's violent past, and visiting Joe would only strain the mortal Watcher's own friendship with the Highlander. And just 'hanging out' in Paris or Seacouver didn't seem like much of a plan, so Methos had decided to do a bit of traveling. It hadn't taken him long to reach the conclusion that even Kacy's questionable and grudgingly offered support was better than wallowing in his own negative emotions. *Any port in a storm.* And what had happened with his three 'brothers' bordered on a hurricane.

"'Unholy battered old thing you were...'" Kacy murmured.

Methos started, and looked over at her. The woman had stopped walking, tilting her head back to look up at gray, ominous sky.

"'The grime was no man's grime but death,'" Methos said, recalling another line from the poem Kacy was evidently contemplating. His lips quirked in what might have been considered a smile if the judge were lenient. The incident at Bordeaux had pretty much blasted his life apart, and he knew that no matter how much time he gave them, his friends would never see him the same way again. It was nice to know that Kacy at least had remained unchanged...still coldly steady and darkly philosophical.

Kacy nodded her head once as if coming to some conclusion. She turned slowly to face her companion. "Methos," she said quietly, voice expressionless. She held up her hands, fingers curled into loose fists, slowly she opened them, empty fingers splayed. "Let it go," she advised.

Then she turned and began to walk back the way they'd come, leaving Methos standing by himself, near the water's edge.

THE END



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