The Immortal Witches' Chronicles - [Prophecies Fulfilled] 3

Original Fiction: The Immortal Witches' Chronicles

[Prophecies Fulfilled] 3 - Small Miracles

Small Miracles

By Wesa

AU: Immortal Witches’ Chronicles version of Highlander

Disclaimers: Highlander, the series, concepts and characters, are the property, copyright and trademark of Gregory Widen and Rysher - Panzer/Davis. No ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by the use in this work. This work constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment.

Inspiration and some of the phrasing for Wesa’s vow is taken from the song Since You Asked by Judy Collins, one of the most romantic songs I’ve ever heard. If you can find it, give it a listen.
Category: Angst/Romance

Rating: R, at least.

Pairings: Methos/OFC, slash Methos/OMC, Duncan/Amanda, unrequited slash OMC/Duncan, most of them just strongly suggested.

Many, many thanks to Jen and Marq for their patience and help getting this story ready to post.

[Prophecies Fulfilled] 3 - Small Miracles

By Wesa.

December 17, 2001

Seacouver

“What do I do?” Wesa asked.

The ultrasound technician laughed. “Nothing at all. Just lie back and relax. Now, Dr. Ramsey told me you had decided you didn’t want to know whether it was a boy or a girl, is that right?”

Wesa glanced nervously at Methos. “Yes, that’s what we decided. We only want to know for sure that the baby’s healthy.”

“You know, that he has all the requisite parts,” Methos added. Wesa nodded vigorous agreement.

The tech chuckled again as she turned the monitor away from the nervous parents. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll try to get a picture of the face for you, but I have to let you know, some kids are spectacularly uncooperative.”

“We can’t look?” Methos asked.

“Little boys can be … really obvious sometimes. If you don’t want to know, it’s better not to be watching the monitor.” She smiled at them. “It’s your first, isn’t it?”

Wesa gave a nervous little laugh. “It shows, huh?”

“Just a little.” She reached over and raised Wesa’s smock to just under her breasts and drew the drape down to her thighs.

Methos looked on, raising the drape just a little, trying to preserve some of Wesa’s dignity. She smiled up at him and caught at his hand. “It’s okay,” she told him. “Let her do what she needs to do.”

“Okay, this is going to be cold. Sorry, there’s nothing we can do about that.” The tech squeezed gel from a tube onto Wesa’s abdomen and spread it all over.

“It’s not too bad,” Wesa said. She made a face. “But I’m going to need a shower when we get home. It’s… slimy…”

Methos touched the gel with a fingertip. “Well, you’ve been covered in worse,” he told her softly, rubbing his finger and thumb together.

The tech picked up her probe, spreading more of the gel on the slightly-flaring end. “Ready?” she asked, and put the probe against Wesa’s abdomen. She made some adjustments, and then smiled. “Ah, I see.”

“What?” Methos and Wesa asked simultaneously.

“I thought you didn’t want to know.”

They looked at each other. “Well, no,” Methos agreed.

“It’s not bad, is it?” Wesa asked anxiously.

“Oh, no. No, it’s not bad at all.” She grinned. “Okay… fingers… toes… sucking a thumb…”

Methos and Wesa grinned at each other in relief.

She made some adjustments and moved the probe to the other side of Wesa’s abdomen. “Checking the spinal canal … Looks good… Of course we’ll have to wait for our radiologist to examine the videos, since I’m not qualified to make a diagnosis, but I see nothing here to be concerned about. You’re five months?”

“Twenty weeks,” Methos told her. Wesa nodded agreement.

The tech handed Methos a print off the machine. “There you go, Mr. Pierson.”

Methos looked at the picture, a goofy smile slowly creasing his face.

“Let me see,” Wesa complained, rising on her elbows.

“Oh.” Methos sat down on the chair that had been provided for him, holding the sonograph so that Wesa could see it, too. “You do good work.”

***************

“I’m not kidding,” MacLeod said into the phone. “Trust me; you want to spend New Year’s Eve at Joe’s this year… No, I won’t tell you, not over an open line. Just be here, Darius, and bring Sean Burns and Jim Coltec with you.” He hung up and looked at Amanda as she paced the room while talking on her cell phone.

“No, Rebecca, Joe’s Bar is not a mythical place. You remember Joe Dawson. Duncan and I rented his bar for a New Year’s Eve party. You have to come. Please? There’s something I really want to show you.” She smiled at Duncan. “Great! We’ll see you then.”

She disconnected, and Duncan made a mark on a list. “I think that’s everyone,” he said.

***************

With a clean bill of health for her baby, Wesa turned her attention to her Watcher, calling her on Methos’ cell phone on the way back to the island. “Maggie? It’s Wesa. I wanted to apologize for ditching you.”

“Where are you?” Maggie asked.

“I can’t tell you that, but I want you to get out of Sunnydale right away. It’s dangerous there, and Mulder would never forgive me if his almost-mother-in-law got bitten. There’s a ticket waiting for you at the airport. I want you to take it and go home. I’ll call you once in a while to keep you updated, but I can’t risk Paili tracking you to me.”

“At least tell me what happened.”

Wesa gave her an abbreviated account of what had happened in the cemetery, skimming over the involvement of the mortals and the vampire, and especially the slayer, and lying about Paili being on holy ground as the reason why Adam didn’t kill her. “We’re okay, and you have a new grandbaby at home. Go home and enjoy him. I’ll call you when something important happens.”

Eventually Wesa got Maggie to agree to return to Washington, disconnecting just as Methos put the nose of the canoe into the water. She stood a moment looking from the canoe to the water and across to the island. Then she swallowed hard, stepped into the canoe, and sat down.

Methos pushed the canoe into the water and jumped in, picking up a paddle as he settled himself. “Still nauseous?” he asked softly as he began to push the oar through the water, sending the canoe out into the inlet.

“Not too bad, but the water makes it worse,” Wesa admitted. “For the first time in my life, I get seasick.”

“I’ll try to keep it steady for you.”

Wesa laughed softly, grinning over her shoulder at him. “Who are you and what have you done with Methos?” she asked, chuckling.

“What? I can’t be considerate of the mother of my child?”

“Oh.” Wesa’s smile dimmed a little. “I guess.”

They were silent for several minutes while Methos paddled strongly toward the island where MacLeod had built his cabin. “What’s the matter?” he asked finally.

“Nothing. I’m an idiot.”

“You are not,” he disagreed. “You were so happy a little while ago, and now you’re down. What happened?”

She shook her head. “I hate losing people I love,” she explained finally.

He knew she wasn’t being completely honest, but decided not to call her on it. “Everyone does. What brought that on?”

“It’s just that… I’ve lost most of the people I ever loved: Valeg, Hillet… Luvik. And if they didn’t die, I had to leave them for one reason or another, or they left me. You’ll leave when the baby’s born. And what if our baby’s mortal? I’ve buried children before, but none I gave birth to, none I had carried within my own body. I’m afraid.”

Methos had stopped paddling the canoe in the middle of her explanation. Now he shipped the oar, laying it next to his thigh, and reached forward, gripping Wesa by her shoulders. “Lean back,” he murmured. She looked at him questioningly, but obeyed, and he shifted his grip and pulled her bodily back against him. “Who told you I was going to leave?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

“You always do,” she explained, tucking her head in under his jaw. She loved it when he held her this way, but today it didn’t do much to mitigate her melancholy. “I don’t know how much longer I can refrain from saying those three little words that scare you so much. One day they’re going to pop out of my mouth, and then you’ll be gone.”

He was silent a moment before replying, “I guess I deserved that.” He tightened his embrace. “Wesa… we’re Immortals. I can’t promise to stay with you forever. We both know we change with every quickening we take, and we both know that the very fact of our ages makes us targets. There are Immortals who would try to use you to get to me, and it probably would have worked before you were pregnant. Now it certainly would. After the baby comes? I can’t promise I’ll be around all the time, but I’m not going to ignore our child. I want to be here for the first smile, the first laugh, and all the firsts that come with a baby. Yes, I’ve seen them all before, but this is different. This is our baby, our miracle.

“Either of us could take a dark quickening, or we could be killed – I know how easy it is to make a fatal mistake. If that happens, one of us will have to raise our child alone. It would be tough on you, but you could do it. I could do it, but I don’t want to. I want to hold you, just like this, while we watch first steps, while we send him off to school, and on his first date.”

Wesa pulled her head out from under his chin and looked up at him with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I am an idiot,” she repeated.

He smiled and kissed away her tears. “Yes, you are,” he agreed.

***************

Methos lay awake long into the night, watching Wesa sleep. Moonlight spilled across their bed, highlighting the curve of her hip and her belly, and giving him enough light to study her face. One hand lay in a gentle curve across his chest, and she was smiling softly. For the first time since he’d known her, he understood why. She really loved him. All those times she’d said she did, he’d always thought she was trying to trap him, to lull him into a sense of complacency, maybe even to control him, but now he realized she had been offering him a gift.

A great wave of emotion swept through him. Despite his claim not to have felt it for a thousand years, Methos recognized it. Guilt. How many times had he hurt her? That had been the last thing he wanted to do; he had always bitten his tongue, resisting the impulse to reply in kind. His love was dangerous to Immortal women.

He had begun to love Wesa millennia before. Kronos had sabotaged that, and Methos had wondered even at the time if he had done so deliberately. When he learned of her betrayal, he had been so angry he had nearly killed her; only the threat of Kanetsidohi’s fury prevented him.

He had once begun to love Cassandra; Kronos took her from him and raped her. But now Kronos was dead. It was safe – okay, safer – for an Immortal woman to love him, to be loved by him.

And now Wesa was carrying his child. When he was young, everyone knew who fathered any particular child – except the foundlings, of course, rare though they were. That changed over time. Now the mother’s husband was assumed to be the child’s father. But he wasn’t Wesa’s husband, though he was filling that role in every way except legally. And what did legality have to do with Immortals anyway? In their dealings with the mortal world they had to follow mortal rules, but among themselves mortal rules didn’t seem to apply. Even if he was potentially Immortal, as they expected him to be, their child would still live in the mortal world for his first few years, and Methos wanted to lay claim to his offspring. In the mortal world, to give the baby his surname, the father would marry the mother. Methos didn’t have a surname of his own, but he had gone by Pierson for many years. It would do.

He turned onto his side and gathered Wesa close to his chest, causing her to murmur happily in her sleep and snuggle against him. He smiled. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair before he finally fell asleep, his decision made.

December 18, 2001

Seacouver

“What do you want for Christmas?” Methos asked casually the next morning as he washed their breakfast dishes.

Wesa looked around from the cupboard where she was putting away the plates she had just dried. “What?”

“I asked what you wanted for Christmas.”

“I heard you. I didn’t know you celebrated Christmas.”

“I thought maybe we should start – for the baby, you know,” he said off-handedly. If she resisted, this wouldn’t work out as he’d planned. “We don’t have to make it a religious holiday.”

She looked at him askance. “A commercial holiday is better?”

He laughed shortly. “That’s not what I meant. A family holiday, to give the baby some traditions to grow up with. It adds to his sense of stability.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that,” Wesa admitted. “I don’t know. What about you?”

“Me? Oh, I don’t know. I don’t need much.” He hadn’t thought about the fact that if they exchanged gifts she would want to go shopping without him. He let the water out of the sink and turned to wipe down the table, considering. “There’s only one person I’d trust to look after you while you’re shopping, and that’s MacLeod.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. He still looks at me like I’m the Virgin Mary or something. I haven’t been a virgin for a very long time.”

Methos dried his hands and turned to her as she put the last of the flatware away, taking her into his arms. “I know,” he told her softly, stroking her hair away from her face. He saw the haunted look that sometimes came into her eyes and knew she was thinking about her wedding day, unable to ever quite forget the vicious cruelty of her first husband’s assault. Or maybe she was thinking about his own first assault; he’d been less than gentle. He tightened his embrace protectively and pressed her head to his shoulder. “I’d give a lot to be able to change your past, Wesa, but I can’t even change mine. You’re here now. I’m here. And he’s been dead a long time.”

She nodded and sniffed. “And I’m grateful for all three. I -” She bit off her words, and Methos knew with certainty what she had almost said. Again the wave of guilt swept over him. It offered her such release from pent-up emotions, how could he ever have been so selfish as to think that it was only a silken snare?

“Why don’t you go start the shower? I’ll call MacLeod and make sure he can go shopping with you today, then join you.” He tilted her chin up and kissed her, then sent her off with a playful slap on the butt. He’d call MacLeod, but he needed to make another call, too.

***************

“You’re late.”

“You said to make sure Wesa wasn’t with you before I showed myself,” Amanda pouted. She came to stand close to him, picking at his collar and smoothing it flat. “So, what did you have in mind, Methos?” She turned her face up to him expectantly.

“Shopping.” Methos enjoyed the range of emotions that played across her face. “Another time, Amanda, and I might take you up on your assumption, but not today. Probably not this century. I need your expertise.”

“My expertise?” she repeated. “With what?”

“I know what I want to get, but I need you to make sure it’s tasteful; quality without over-ostentation.”

“Oh.” Amanda seemed unaccountably pleased with his trust in her taste. “So where are we going shopping?”

“You tell me. Where can I get the best-quality diamond ring?”

She frowned. “Oh, Methos! That’s so… so…”

“Uninspired? I know, but the culture sort of demands it. I can’t exactly give her father thirty horses anymore. If there’s time, we’ll look for something more imaginative after we get her ring, but I can manage her Christmas gift alone if need be.”

Amanda’s frown deepened. Then her brow smoothed, her eyes opened wide, and her mouth made a perfect o.

Methos’ eyes twinkled. “I understand Darius is coming to your party. Do you think he’d do the honors?” He walked around his car and opened the door for her.

“You’re not going to spring this on her at the party, are you? Methos!” Amanda followed him and got in.

“Well, we haven’t exactly got six months to plan it, and most of our friends are going to be there anyway.” He closed her door and went around to his side. “What better time?” He started the engine, then relented. “No, I’m going to ask her Christmas Day. Now, where am I going?”

December 21, 2001

Seacouver

Winter came to the island. After decorating their tree, Methos and Wesa held a quiet ceremony on Midwinter Day to welcome the return of the sun, and then made love on the old bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. They were still there late in the afternoon when they felt the approach of another Immortal.

Methos groaned, reaching for his jeans. “One day, I’m going to kill MacLeod, and I’m going to keep killing him over and over until he learns to announce his arrival.”

Wesa pulled on her maternity pants and dropped a smock over her head, laughing softly. “It’s not like we were never interrupted before. It could have been worse. Remind me to tell you about the last time I was arrested.” She picked up the remains of their lunch and carried the dishes to the kitchen.

Methos pulled on his sweater over his head as he went to the door. As he opened it, he complained, “Haven’t you ever heard of a telephone, Highla -”

Wesa heard him break off in mid-word, then a thump as a body hit the floor, and she caught her breath in worry. MacLeod would never hurt the Old Man, so who-? She gripped the knife they’d used to carve the roast goose and sidled over to the living room doorway, relaxing a little when she saw Methos sitting on the floor, unhurt and looking up in astonishment at someone standing in the front door.

“Aren’t you going to invite us in, Brother?” asked a familiar voice.

Methos stammered, “K-K-Kronos!” Disbelieving, Wesa stepped around the corner, and fainted.

***************

When she regained consciousness, Kronos was saying, “I often have that effect on women, Methos. Remember the first caravan we attacked?”

“Be quiet and keep her feet up,” Methos ordered sternly.

Methos? Giving orders to Kronos? Wesa smiled at the pleasant dream.

“Wake up,” he coaxed. “Wesa...”

A moment later there was a horrible smell under her nose and Wesa fought to retreat from it, gagging. “That would wake anyone up,” another familiar voice said from directly overhead. “What is that stuff?”

“Ammonia,” Methos replied.

Wesa opened her eyes and looked up at the man who held her head in his lap as he retorted, “Well, it smells like horse piss.”

She stared at the once-familiar face. “Luvik? Luvik!” She reached for him, and he embraced her tightly. “By all the gods, Luvik, is it you? It is you!” she sobbed, kissing him. “But how? We tried and tried, and we were never able to bring you back. I buried your skull at -” Her eyes widened. “I buried your skull at La Puntilla de la Mostaza nearly two thousand years ago.”

He nodded. “Kronos dug me up.”

Wesa looked at the man standing at the other end of the sofa. He’d dropped her feet when she woke up and now stood grinning wickedly at her. She pressed her lips together. “Kanetsidohi,” she said certainly. “I should have suspected. She wouldn’t have gone to that much trouble just to get Methos back, no matter how miserable I was. Where were you? The cave?”

His grin widened.

May 17, 2000

La Puntilla de la Mostaza

He woke with a small groan. That damned Highlander would ruin everything. And Methos – the traitor! Then he remembered the anger, the surprise, and the terror as the Highlander’s katana slid through his flesh. He should have died. He looked around the strange cave, gradually becoming aware of many quickenings nearby. Where was he, and how had he gotten here?

A small lantern glowed on a nearby rock shelf. A few inches away from it was some cold chicken, and beyond that lay some neatly folded clothes, all of them black, as he preferred, and exactly his size, right down to the bikers’ boots and leather jacket. Kronos dressed hurriedly, for it was cold in the cave, and at the bottom of the pile he found the note written in his native language. Only three people besides himself still knew that ancient tongue: Methos, Wesa, and Kanetsidohi. He couldn’t quite imagine either of the first two leaving him clothing, let alone somehow bringing him back from the dead, and he read the note from the old witch eagerly.

There were too many of the others, and she wouldn’t be able to protect him from those who would do him harm. They wouldn’t stay long, she assured him, and directed him to the nearby house where he would find more clothes in a case she had packed for him, enough food to keep him for a couple of days, his passport, some money, and the keys to a car she had hidden in a nearby village.

He lit the fire she had thoughtfully laid and sat back to wait.

Eventually cars started leaving the house. Kronos watched Kanetsidohi, Wesa, and Tsila leave with Rayen and Ada-Lisa, and a luscious young blonde he didn’t know, but intended to as soon as possible. Other Immortals left, including Cassandra, and several he knew only vaguely. There was that do-gooder Sean Burns. Hadn’t the Highlander killed him years ago? And Darius! What was he doing here? Kronos was certain the Watchers had killed him.

So, Kanetsidohi had brought others back from the dead, too. He would demand an explanation when he saw her. He smiled, imagining pinning her beneath him and refusing to move until she explained. Since the old witch never explained herself to anyone but her sisters, they might be in that position a long time. He shifted uncomfortably as his black jeans grew tight. Perhaps he would pin her down naked and impale her, then refuse to move until she explained. Or maybe he’d move just a little bit.

He kept himself occupied with sexual fantasies the rest of the afternoon.

After the last car drove away, the familiar prickle at the back of his mind remained. Somewhere, a single Immortal was still around. A good quickening would be warming. He slipped down the hill to the house, finding everything exactly where Kanetsidohi had promised it would be, including a sword. It wasn’t the one he had carried for centuries, but felt light and strong. Kanetsidohi wouldn’t have brought him back to life and then provided him with an inferior blade, so Kronos confidently went in search of the Immortal who lagged behind.

He spent most of the night crossing and re-crossing the area, finally finding the source of the vibration at the top of the hill, under the olive tree that hung over the altar. Under the ground.

The others must have really hated this Immortal, to leave him buried alive that way. Maybe it was Silas, whom Kronos had last seen fighting Methos, or even Caspian. The grave gave no appearance of being recent, however. But then, Kronos didn’t know how long he himself had been dead. He thrust his new sword into the scabbard sewn into his new jacket and went back to the house to find a shovel. He would make the decision about his possible ally when he saw who it was.

December 21, 2001

Seacouver

“I was never so glad to see anyone in my life,” Luvik said, leaning his elbows on the table and picking at his teeth with a fork.

Wesa nodded as Kronos poured more wine for himself. “Been there, done that,” she said.

Methos covered Wesa’s glass with his fingers as Kronos started to pour for her. “She’s not drinking right now, Kronos. And getting her drunk wouldn’t work anyway. I won’t let you hurt her.”

“Hurt her?” Kronos repeated innocently. “Methos, I’m wounded.”

“He wouldn’t hurt her,” Luvik said, frowning in puzzlement.

“You have a lot of catching up to do,” Wesa murmured unhelpfully. She eyed Kronos. “How long will you be in town? And what kind of mischief are you planning?”

Kronos shook his head. “First Methos, now you? What have I ever done to make you think I’d harm you, Wesa?”

“You have a short memory, Kronos,” she retorted. “December 1938? August 1964?”

“You betrayed me in ’64. I was annoyed, but I let you keep your head. You owe me for that. And I rather thought you enjoyed yourself in ’38.” He looked at Methos. “She was the one who told me you were still alive, you know.”

Methos gazed back with an exterior calm that belied his rage. “She talks in her sleep when she’s unhappy,” he retorted. “She always has. And you know perfectly well that Kanetsidohi would kill you herself if you caused Wesa any harm.”

Kronos gave a sigh of exasperation, much exaggerated. “I wouldn’t harm Wesa, even if she wasn’t on holy ground, even if she wasn’t pregnant. You should know that, kitten,” he added to her, reaching to touch her cheek.

Wesa drew back, avoiding his fingers, and her chair slid across the floor with an angry screech. “Don’t call me that!” she snapped. “And don’t touch me.” She stood and started clearing the table.

Luvik frowned. He’d understood for a couple of hours that Kronos wasn’t one of Wesa’s favorite people, but he hadn’t realized the depth of her dislike. He didn’t know everything that had gone on between them in nearly 4000 years, obviously, but he’d thought he’d understood from the conversation that they’d slept together.

He’d been traveling with Kronos almost since he had freed Luvik from his entombment nearly two years earlier, and had spent many nights in taverns, seducing beautiful young women they met there. Luvik had yet to hear any of them complain about his companion. But Wesa definitely wasn’t happy.

Methos was frowning too, looking questioningly at Wesa as he rose to help her. She shook her head at him. “I’ll explain later.”

Kronos wasn’t through, though. “Has the witch finally gelded you, Methos?” he asked with a grin. “You seem positively … domesticated.”

Wesa scowled at him. “Get out.”

“Wesa,” Methos tried to soothe her.

“No. I won’t listen to him insult you.”

“He’s just jealous. I know you’re no threat to my manhood,” Methos said, gathering her into his arms. “I have you; we have our baby on the way. He can’t touch that, and he hates it. He always has, from the first moment you refused to spread your legs for him.” He tipped her chin up and ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “Okay now?”

Wesa gazed at him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “If I had it to do over, I wouldn’t help him, not at such a price. I’d find another way to appease Kanetsidohi.”

Luvik put his feet up on the corner of the table with a thunk. “Would somebody like to enlighten the walking corpse?”

Methos looked around at him. “We’re all walking corpses, you, me, and Kronos.”

“I know about that,” Luvik replied. “I mean, what’s this about appeasing Kanetsidohi and helping Kronos? What price?”

From the shelter of Methos’ arms, Wesa looked at her former lover. “I did a terrible thing,” she admitted.

843 BCE

The Horsemen’s Camp

Methos stood in the center of his tent, his eyes narrowed as he glared at Wesa. “What did you do,” he asked, “cast a spell on Kronos as well?”

She stood just inside the tent flap, her eyes downcast. “No,” she said softly. “I made a bargain with him.”

“You’re a woman!” Methos laughed derisively. “What bargain could you possibly make with him?”

Wesa looked up sharply, then back down. “I’m making weapons,” she said. “We call up storms for you and fight beside you. And I promised to help him take over the leadership of the Horsemen -”

“You what?” Methos shouted in outrage. “Why?”

“Because if I don’t, he’ll take your head. This way you aren’t such a threat to him,” she replied in a low voice. She raised her eyes to his. “I don’t want you to die.”

He frowned at her quizzically, curious at the moisture pooling in her eyes. “Kronos?” he repeated. “No, you’re wrong. He’d never harm me. We’re brothers. He wouldn’t even let you and your sister cast your spell on Caspian.”

“He wants to be leader, the only leader. If you challenge him, he will kill you,” Wesa told him, a tear spilling down her cheek. “Then I’d have to kill him, and that would make Kanetsidohi unhappy with me again.”

Methos crossed to stand in front of her, putting out a finger to wipe away the tear that slowly traced its way down her face. “You…don’t want me to die,” he repeated, genuinely puzzled.

December 21, 2001

Seacouver

“It took me centuries to forgive her,” Methos said, looking at the glittering star on top of the tree he and Wesa had put up earlier that day. “Of course that didn’t keep me from making her my woman; didn’t keep me from using her physically. But the spell the witches cast eventually made it possible for me to change. I can still call upon what I was.” He glanced at Kronos, now comfortably sprawled in an armchair. “You were right about that, Kronos. It is still inside me, but it’s buried deep and that’s where it’s going to stay. I have a child coming soon.”

Kronos rolled his eyes. “Let his mother take care of him until he’s old enough to join us,” he argued. “Methos, Luvik is alive again! Together the three of us can rule the world! Come with us, Brother.”

“I told you before, I’m not like that anymore. I don’t want to be like that anymore,” Methos said firmly, looking at Wesa where she sat looking up at him.

“Not even for Luvik?” Kronos tempted him.

“He said no, Kronos,” Luvik said softly. “If he doesn’t want to come with us, then he doesn’t. Let’s go.”

Methos and Wesa looked at each other questioningly, then Methos reached out to grasp Luvik’s arm as he rose. “Do you remember what I said to you the last time we saw each other?” he asked softly. “It’s still true.”

Luvik glanced at Wesa, who smiled and nodded. “Come back and visit us often, Luvik,” she said.

“What about me?” Kronos wondered.

Methos shook his head. “For millennia we were like brothers, Kronos. But four men, or three, or two, cannot rule the world, and why would you want to? There are other things in the world besides power, and they’re far more satisfying than killing and terrifying people. Until you learn that, we cannot welcome you; and even then, if MacLeod finds out you’re alive, he’ll come after you.”

“And what about you?” The only reaction Kronos got was a puzzled expression. “Why are you hiding on holy ground?”

“That’s me, not Methos,” Wesa said. “I can’t fight while I’m pregnant. We don’t know what a quickening would do to the baby.”

Luvik frowned. “Who would want to harm your baby?”

Wesa sighed, and Methos explained. “Her name is Paili bat-Gedeon. She hates Wesa and called our baby an abomination. Given any opportunity, she’ll kill Wesa, pregnant or not.”

December 25, 2001

Seacouver

Wesa woke to Methos’ lips on hers. “Mmm,” she murmured, stretching luxuriously. “That’s a nice way to wake up.”

“Merry Christmas. I have a gift for you.” He moved so that his erection gently thumped against her hip.

Wesa giggled and turned onto her side, reaching for his boxers. “Oh goody, I love unwrapping packages.”

“So do I.” Methos let her take off his underwear and helped her out of the nightshirt she wore. Then he kissed her belly and apologized to the baby. “Things might get a little bumpy while Daddy shows Mommy a good time, Little One, but don’t worry. You’re safe.” He looked up at Wesa’s smile, grinned, and proceeded to drag his tongue from her belly up to her breasts and nipples.

Half an hour later Methos pressed his hands down on Wesa’s thighs as he strained up into her, groaning in a mixture of pleasure and stress. As if his ejaculation triggered her release, Wesa threw her head back and screamed, gripping his forearms painfully as her internal muscles pulsed around him. Her orgasm seemed to last forever as she ground her pubic bone against his, her clit caught between them. Finally she collapsed forward onto his chest, breathing hard.

“Wow,” she gasped after a moment. “That was a wonderful gift, Methos. Thank you.”

“That wasn’t your gift,” he told her, stroking her golden hair away from her face. He kissed her forehead, the only part of her face he could reach with his lips. “That was mine. Yours is under the tree.”

She pushed up slightly, curving her spine to look at where their bodies were still joined. “That’s not a tree,” she protested. “It’s not even really a bush.”

Methos chuckled. “The one in the living room,” he told her.

“You have another one of these in the living room? What, mine isn’t enough for you?”

This time he laughed aloud. “You’re feeling sassy this morning,” he told her.

“I feel wonderful!” she agreed, leaning down to kiss him; his flesh fell from hers. “Oops, lost you.”

“Never,” he denied, squeezing her breast gently. Then he slapped her butt. “Let’s get up and eat breakfast. Then we can exchange gifts.”

“I thought we were going to MacLeod’s.” Wesa reluctantly swung her leg over and stepped out onto the floor, looking around for her robe.

Methos sat up and swung his feet out onto the floor. “Later. I want to give you your gift in private.” He went to the dresser and pulled out underwear and socks.

“Again?” Wesa grinned at him and ducked into the bathroom before he could swat her ass again.

When the breakfast dishes were washed and put away, Methos led Wesa into the living room and sat her down on the sofa, then retrieved both packages from under the tree, one small, one large.

“You first,” Methos said.

Wesa shook her head. “No, you first.”

He smiled, tearing the paper away from his gift, but his mouth dropped open when he saw what it was. “How - ? Where -?”

“I didn’t know anything else you wanted,” Wesa murmured, watching happily as Methos opened the old book and began paging through it. “I called Tsila to cast a finding spell for me, and then I asked MacLeod to take me to the collector who had it.” She smiled; his joy at getting his Babylonian journal back was exactly what she’d hoped for.

Methos put his journal aside and carefully took Wesa’s gift off her lap and set it on the floor, then embraced her and kissed her thoroughly. “I’m glad you’re a witch,” he told her. Then he picked up her present and put it back in her lap. “Now you.”

She grinned shyly and began to open the package with little swift movements that focused on the places where tape held the paper closed, opening the package carefully and neatly while Methos looked on impatiently.

The carved jade box was embossed on the lid with a golden dragon. It had sapphires for eyes and held a ruby ball in one forepaw. Wesa stared at it.

“Is it okay?” Methos asked. “Luvik told me a long time ago that you liked dragons.”

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed in wonder. Her forehead creased briefly and she looked at him. “When did he tell you that?”

“A long time ago,” Methos repeated. “Before Kronos and I formed the Horsemen.”

“And you remembered it?”

“Aren’t you going to open it?” he urged.

“There’s more?” She lifted the lid and looked at the small velvet pouch inside.

Methos took the jade box off her lap and carefully set it aside, then took the pouch out and opened it. “This isn’t part of your Christmas gift,” he said softly. He wet his lips. “This is a promise.”

“A promise?” Wesa repeated, not understanding. She watched Methos take something out of the pouch and conceal it in his palm.

He took her hand in his. “Wesa.” He swallowed hard. “Wesa, I love you.” He slipped off the sofa and knelt on the floor in front of her while she stared in mute astonishment. He slipped the ring onto her finger. “Will you marry me?”

Methos was prepared for almost any other reaction, but he didn’t expect Wesa to burst into tears.

She slid off the sofa to the floor beside him, her hands sliding down his sweater, and she buried her face against his chest. “You don’t have to,” she sobbed. “I can’t – I know you don’t really want –”

He took her shoulders in his hands and pushed her back far enough that he could look into her eyes. “I do want to marry you.” His voice deepened with intensity. “I should have told you I loved you a long time ago, but I –” He shook his head. “I’m not afraid anymore. Say yes.”

She looked up at him, hesitating a moment as she realized how vulnerable to more pain it would make her. But she couldn’t say no, not when she wanted it so much. “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes!”

***************

Amanda had been on pins and needles for days. At first MacLeod had attributed her excitement to the holiday season, but now it was Christmas Day, dinner was nearly ready, and she was still antsy, looking out the window every minute or so. “What time are they supposed to be here?” she asked again.

MacLeod closed the oven door and looked at her. “Soon,” he repeated.

“Why so anxious?” Joe asked, setting the table.

“Anxious? Me?” She made a show of crossing the room to sit on the sofa.

MacLeod followed and stood looking down at her. “You’re hiding something,” he guessed shrewdly. “What did you do?”

“Why do you always assume I did something?” Amanda pouted, patting the sofa beside her.

“Because you always do,” MacLeod retorted, turning back to the kitchen.

“I just want to see if Wesa liked the gift Methos gave her, that’s all.”

“Why? What did he get for her?” Joe asked. MacLeod bent to baste the goose with herbed butter.

Amanda simpered. “I promised not to tell,” she teased, causing Mac to straighten up and look at her quizzically. “Really,” she insisted. “He said he’d kill me if I told, and I think he meant it.” Before the men could question her further, the elevator started up, and they felt the approach of Immortals.

Methos lifted the gate and stepped out of the elevator, his arm around Wesa’s thickened waist. He smiled broadly at Amanda but said only, “Sorry we’re late. Any beer left?”

“Methos!” Wesa gasped. He looked at her questioningly and she laughed. “You could at least wait for him to offer.”

“It’s okay, Wesa,” MacLeod intervened, taking a bottle from the refrigerator and handing it to Methos. “Cap in the wastebasket, please.”

Methos paid no attention to the request. He took an opener from a drawer and pried the bottle open, casually tossing the cap behind the refrigerator.

“Now that,” MacLeod shook a finger in the general direction of the refrigerator, “does annoy me.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Methos told Wesa. He pulled her close.

“You do it on purpose to irritate him? Methos, that’s mean.” Her tone gave no hint of disapproval. As she curved her hands around the back of his neck, Amanda craned her neck to look at her left ring finger. Joe, well-accustomed to observation, immediately saw the object of Amanda’s intense gaze, and grinned.

Methos seemed to know what they were looking at. “Yes, Amanda, I gave it to her this morning.”

MacLeod looked at Amanda, then at Methos as he let Wesa go and tilted up his bottle. “Would someone please explain what you’re talking about?”

Wesa blushed and looked at Methos, who nodded, and she held out her left hand, where the ring glittered on her third finger.

“Seems Methos finally figured out what the rest of us already knew,” Amanda said softly while MacLeod gaped.

December 29, 2001

Seacouver

The night of the party came. At Methos’ insistence, Wesa wore a white dress, though she grumbled that she hadn’t been a virgin for a very long time, and it showed. He grinned at her. “You look like you haven’t been a virgin for about six months – ”

“Five!” she exclaimed. “Dr. Ramsey said I’m not fat!”

He chuckled and pulled her close as they went up the steps to the bar. “You’re beautiful,” he said and paused to kiss her before they went in.

They could feel the presence of other Immortals inside the bar, but since they were expecting them, they ignored the sensation in favor of a lingering kiss. They weren’t aware that someone was approaching from inside until the door opened and Hugh Fitzcairn stood there, his pipe in his hand, and his face dropping from his usual wide grin to an expression of complete astonishment. “Wesa? But – but how?”

She didn’t move from Methos’ arms, just turning her head and smiling at him. “Hi, Fitz.”

“You’re – Are you pregnant?”

Wesa couldn’t resist pouting artfully. “You guessed.”

“So are you going to let her come in, or make her stand out here on the step?” Methos asked, one arm still around her back as they turned toward the door.

“Oh!” Fitz stood aside to let them in. “Yes of course, do come in. MacLeod! Did you know about this?”

“What’s the matter, Fitzcairn?” Joe asked. “You never saw a pregnant woman before?”

All over the bar, eyes turned first to Joe and then to the couple coming through the door. A hush fell over the room, until the soft, cheerful holiday music coming from the jukebox sounded loud in the silence.

While Amanda greeted Wesa, Methos hung both their coats on the coat tree, then followed the women to a table. “Didn’t I tell you you’d be surprised?” Amanda asked Rebecca.

“Mac?” Richie called. “You told me Immortals couldn’t have children!”

“That… seems to have changed,” MacLeod admitted.

“But it isn’t easy, and certainly not accidental,” Methos added. “It takes microsurgery and drugs.”

“What’s it like?” Rebecca asked Wesa.

She smiled wryly. “Miserable. But worth it.”

“Beer for Methos, I know,” MacLeod said as he put a tray on the bar in front of Joe.

“Champagne,” Methos said. “But later, and Wesa will have a small glass, too.”

“What? I can’t!” Wesa protested.

“Just a sip won’t hurt him,” Methos promised. “Is everyone here?”

“Luvik and my sisters –” Wesa began just as several strong quickenings hit them.

The front door opened, and a group of people came in, six women and three men: the other witches and their escorts, Skinner, Luvik and…

“Kronos!” MacLeod murmured, reaching for his sword, which he had left behind the bar.

“Hold!” Kanetsidohi stepped forward, her hazel eyes glittering. “We’re here to celebrate with our sister Wesa and our brother Methos. We are not here to fight, and you, Highlander, are not a murderer, however much you might wish at this moment that you could be.”

Beside her, Kronos’ eyes twinkled merrily at MacLeod’s discomfiture and Methos’ glare. “Relax, my brother,” he told Methos. “She made me promise not to kill anyone tonight – unless he swings at me first,” he added with a glance at MacLeod.

“Duncan.” Cassandra stepped forward from the group. “It’s all right. Araminta –” She used the name the others knew – “is probably the only person alive who can make him promise. And he wouldn’t dare break a promise to her.”

“You trust him.” MacLeod’s tone was completely flat.

“Not as far as I could comfortably spit out a rat,” Cassandra replied, “but I do trust Araminta. He’ll behave, at least for tonight.” Still dubious, MacLeod put his sword back, but continued to glare at Kronos.

“That’s good,” Methos said, “because Wesa and I couldn’t think of another time when all of you would be together.” He turned to Darius. “Are you still authorized to perform weddings?”

There was a collective gasp from the witches, who knew Methos’ history of abandoning Wesa as soon as she admitted loving him. Wesa looked at them and blushed. “That’s why I called,” she told them. “I wanted my sisters here for this.”

“In this state you need a marriage license,” Darius warned. Methos produced the piece of paper, and Darius raised his brows. “Well, then, it seems we’re going to have a wedding!”

There was a flurry of activity in preparation. MacLeod had agreed to stand with Methos as his Best Man, in the current tradition, and Kanetsidohi delightedly agreed to stand with Wesa. “And who will give you away?” Kronos asked. “Don’t ask it of me; I will not give up my claim on you.”

“You have no claim on me,” Wesa retorted, “except in your own mind. I belong to no man, and I give myself to Methos as a free woman. However, modern tradition demands I have an escort. Luvik, you were the first man to be gentle with me, and I thought you were lost forever. Would you do it?”

Luvik looked startled at the request. “What do I have to do?”

Wesa laughed. “Just walk with me. It’s a ceremonial transfer of ownership, a relic tradition from a time when every woman belonged to a man. It’s usually the bride’s father, but he’s sort of unavailable.” Her eyes twinkled; Wesa had long ago gotten over the loss of the father who had sold her to her cruel first husband.

“Must I give up all claim on you?” he asked.

She smiled. “Methos told you that you would always be welcome in his bed. Well, now it’s my bed, too – and you’re still welcome.”

“You know about Methos and Luvik?” Kronos asked, startled.

“I’ve always known. I carried Luvik’s quickening; it’s what first drew us together. Nearly got me killed, too,” she added in a low amused tone to Luvik. “He was pissed when he thought I’d killed you.”

Luvik grinned and placed a gentle hand on Wesa’s belly. “He seems to have gotten over it.”

“He knows now that I wouldn’t kill you unless I was protecting myself or our child. So will you be my escort?”

MacLeod watched from where he and Fitz were helping Richie and Joe clear the small stage of everything but the Christmas tree while Methos and Darius reviewed the vows the couple had written for their wedding. The hug and kiss Wesa shared with the red-haired stranger caught his attention, and he glanced at Methos, expecting almost any reaction except the fond smile he found there. “Are ye not the slightest bit jealous, Methos?” he asked.

“Luvik is … well, a free spirit, I guess you’d call him,” Methos only half explained. “There’s no danger to our relationship. In fact, I’m glad he and Wesa care for each other. If something happened to me, I know he’d look after her and the baby, just as I know you would.”

“And Kronos?”

Methos shook his head. “Don’t trust him; we don’t. But he won’t cross Araminta, and Wesa and Luvik are her oldest and dearest friends. She’d be pissed if anything untoward happened to them.” He turned to Darius. “Ready?”

Across the room, Kasey was laughing. “But white, Wesa? Don’t you think that’s a little, um, off?”

“Methos insisted,” Wesa explained. “I hate wearing unrelieved white. It makes me look dead.”

“No,” Kanetsidohi assured her. “You look beautiful, my sister.”

Wesa grinned at her. “You thought I was beautiful after battle when I was covered in blood and my clothes were cut to ribbons.”

“Because your eyes were bright and your cheeks were flushed, as they are now,” she explained.

“Trust us, sister,” Tsila chimed in. “Methos has never had a prettier bride.” Wesa grinned again, shaking her head disbelievingly, but said nothing, aware her sisters were prejudiced in the matter.

MacLeod joined them. “I believe we’re ready to begin,” he said.

Kasey tugged Kronos away, followed by the rest of the sisterhood. Skinner and Ada-Lisa joined Bret MacAdams and Paul Ironhorse. Kronos sat with Cassandra, Kasey, Rayen, and Tsila at an adjoining table. They were all near the stage where Darius and Methos stood waiting. The traditional strains of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March sounded strange coming from Joe’s guitar, and Kanetsidohi flashed a grin at MacLeod, ignoring Kronos’ quick scowl.

The Scot offered her his elbow. “Lady Araminta, may I escort you?” She dropped a quick courtesy and accepted, placing her hand lightly on his forearm.

As they moved away, Wesa whispered to Luvik, “Just like that.”

“He’s very nice to look at, isn’t he?” Luvik murmured.

Wesa nodded. “Eye candy,” she agreed, “but he’d drive me crazy. I don’t know how Methos puts up with him. When we get there, put my hand in Methos’, and then find a place to sit. Traditionally the left side of the room means you’re a friend of the bride and the right means you’re a friend of the groom – so you can sit anywhere.”

As MacLeod and Kanetsidohi reached the stage and stepped to either side, all eyes in the room turned to Wesa and Luvik. “Lady Wesa, may I escort you to your wedding?” Luvik asked, offering her his elbow.

A loving smile crinkled Wesa’s eyes. “Thank you, kind sir,” she replied in kind, placing her hand lightly on his forearm.

As they reached the stage, Luvik prepared to put Wesa’s hand in Methos’, but his friend didn’t reach for her. Disconcerted, Luvik stood still, not quite knowing what to do. Darius saw his confusion and came to his rescue. “Who gives this woman in marriage?” he asked.

Luvik glanced at Wesa; she nodded. “Her sisters and I do,” he answered, not knowing what else to say.

Finally Methos reached for Wesa, and Luvik put her hand into his, gently assisting her to step up onto the stage next to her groom before stepping back and turning away to join her sisters and Kronos, the only other person he really knew at the party.

Darius waited until Luvik was seated, then began. “My friends, love has drawn man and woman together almost since humankind evolved, and we as Immortals have never been immune to its lure. Marriage is the ultimate expression of that love, and so it is fitting that two of the world’s oldest Immortals, drawn together time and again over the centuries, should decide at last to formally declare their love.” He nodded to Methos.

“When we first met,” Methos said to Wesa, so softly that the Immortals witnessing the ceremony held their collective breath to listen, “you were young and shy, and I wanted you. Had you not been protected, I would certainly have forced you, and I probably would have taken your quickening afterwards. When we met again, you were stronger and sure of yourself, and I wanted you even more. I made you my slave, and my witch, and my woman. For more than three thousand years you have danced in and out of my life. Sometimes I drove you away, and other times I ran, afraid to admit my feelings, afraid of being tied down.”

He produced a ring, holding it in front of her as if it were something magical. “Recently I realized that being with you isn’t bondage; it’s sanctuary. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you. Will you accept this ring, this unending circle, as the symbol of my love?”

Wesa nodded, tears shining in her eyes. “I will.” Methos took her left hand and put the ring on the third finger.

Then it was Wesa’s turn. “In return I give you all my love, through sunny days, starry nights, and stormy weather. I offer you all the paths I’ve walked, always hoping tomorrow would bring us together. And our paths have converged for short times. We’ve seen a million stones on a hundred shores; we’ve climbed hills together and taken shelter in caves; we’ve listened to the songs of birds and the music of mountain streams. We’ve sung simple village tunes, chanted in Latin, and learned rock and roll. Now our paths become one, and as my life spills into yours, I give to you all the songs I never sang with anyone before.

“This is what I give. This is what I ask you for, nothing more.” She also produced a ring. “Will you accept this ring as the symbol of my unending love?”

Methos smiled. “I will,” he said, and Wesa slipped the ring onto his finger. He wiggled his fingers. “That’s going to take some getting used to,” he added with a grin. Those of their witnesses who knew of his unwillingness to make this commitment tried unsuccessfully to smother their laughter.

Grinning, though he had managed not to laugh, Darius announced, “In the sight of God and by the authority given me, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

Methos barely hesitated. He took Wesa into his arms and kissed her tenderly and lingeringly.

Eventually Duncan kicked his ankle. “Don’t be greedy,” the Highlander said softly. “It’s supposed to be good luck to kiss a bride. Let the rest of us have a turn.”

“If you think I’m going to let you kiss my wife, you’re out of your mind,” Methos told him. “You have a reputation, MacLeod.”

This time everyone laughed, including Wesa. “I expect all the ladies will want to kiss you,” she told him, “and as long as it goes no further than that, I guess I won’t be jealous. Come here, Duncan.”

A spontaneous receiving line formed to offer their best wishes to the newlyweds, and though most of the men simply shook Methos’ hand in congratulations, Luvik pulled him into an embrace. Fortunately for Methos, he chose to address him in a language that few of the Immortals there could understand. “I guess this means we won’t be sharing your bed – for a while at least.”

Methos replied in the same language, “Wesa and I discussed it, Luvik, and the offer stands, for both of us. You are always welcome.”

Wesa nodded and reached for Luvik as Methos released him. “We both love you. How could it be otherwise, when it was our love for you that brought us together?” She kissed him.

Meanwhile Methos was dealing with Kronos, who also embraced him, and spoke in another old language. “Do you invite all your old lovers to share your wife, Methos?”

“I think it would be wise for you to avoid this city, Kronos, now that the Highlander knows you’re alive. As for Wesa, she makes that decision, not I. And watch yourself; she’s wearing pointy shoes.”

“If he was going to be far enough away for pointy shoes to be a defense,” Wesa murmured as she released Luvik from their brief embrace, “I wouldn’t need to kick him.” She braced herself for Kronos’ kiss and was unsurprised when he thrust his tongue against her clenched teeth and cupped his hand over her breast. Methos struck his hand away as Wesa lifted her knee sharply.

“There was a time when we shared everything,” Methos told Kronos clearly, in English, as the other man bent over in pain. “That situation no longer exists.”

“Don’t burn your bridges,” Wesa murmured as Kronos, recovering with Immortal speed, straightened up. “You may need his help one day.” She met his eyes unflinchingly. “Never … touch me … again,” she told him in measured tones.

Cassandra and Kasey moved up next to Kronos and took hold of his elbows. “We’ll keep him out of trouble, Araminta,” Cassandra told the elder witch. “Stay and enjoy yourself.”

“It was a lovely wedding,” Kasey told Methos and Wesa. “May you have many years of happiness together.” Cassandra nodded in agreement before the two witches escorted Kronos out of the bar.

Joe turned the jukebox back on while the other guests offered their congratulations. He’d packed it with danceable jazz and big band cuts, mostly instrumentals, and set it on random autoplay. He grinned when Methos led Wesa into the space cleared for dancing. “You can dance?” he teased his friend.

“I invented dancing,” Methos shot back. Wesa laughed and put her hand on his shoulder as he swung her into a fast foxtrot.

Though she appeared to be nearing her last trimester, Wesa was still agile enough to spend most of the rest of the evening dancing. Methos didn’t appear to be jealous, just cautious as always, and only occasionally asserted his privileges by cutting in. He seemed not to like Wesa dancing with Fitz, though she assured him there was nothing but friendship between them.

“Fitzcairn doesn’t know how to be ‘just friends’ with a woman,” Methos murmured into her ear. “If there’s a minuet in Joe’s collection, you can dance that with him.” Wesa chuckled softly and tucked her face into the curve of his throat.

Over at the bar, the charming Englishman complained, “I’m beginning to think he doesn’t trust me. That’s the third time he’s cut in on me.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” MacLeod explained, opening a bottle of champagne as Joe brought a different bottle out of the cooler and set it on the counter. “I wouldn’t trust you with my wife, either.” He gave Joe an odd look, and his newest protégé shrugged.

“Why not?” Luvik wondered. He’d been fascinated by the dancing of the evening, but since he didn’t know the steps, he’d mostly sat on the sidelines and watched. The one time Rayen had pulled him out to the dance floor and tried to teach him to waltz, he had felt out of place and all feet. It wasn’t a sensation he was accustomed to, but he welcomed the opportunity to get to know Methos’ good-looking friend.

Wesa opened her eyes as the final coda sounded and saw Luvik leaning toward MacLeod, listening intently to something the Highlander was saying. “Should you warn Duncan that Luvik swings both ways?”

Methos chuckled, glancing toward the bar. “Maybe I should warn Luvik that Duncan doesn’t.”

“And you would know this how?”

He laughed at her question. “Our wedding night is a fine time to be questioning my sexuality.”

“I’m not questioning yours, or Luvik’s. I know exactly where both of you stand on the subject. I don’t care, but Duncan might.” She raised her hand to his cheek and slid it around the back of his neck as he leaned down to kiss her. Around the room, nearly everyone watched and smiled, while Joe, Richie, and Amanda went from table to table, passing out glasses and bottles of champagne.

As their lips parted, MacLeod stepped up onto the stage, already holding a glass, and called for everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends and friends of friends, thank you for coming tonight. When Amanda and I planned this party, we had no reason to suspect that you would be attending a wedding. In fact, a few years ago Methos told me that although he had been married 68 times, he had never married one of our kind, that it would be too much of a commitment.” He caught Methos’ wince and the expression of pain and fear that crossed Wesa’s features. “A small miracle seems to have changed his mind.”

Mac smiled at Methos’ bride. “Wesa has loved Methos for more than thirty centuries, and now she creates for him within her own body the greatest gift any woman has ever given any man. Wesa says it isn’t a miracle, but she’s wrong. A child is always a miracle, and doubly so when it’s the first child ever born to Immortal parents.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a toast to Methos and Wesa, Mr. and Mrs. Adam Pierson.” He raised his glass. “To small miracles.”

Cries of “Here, here!” and “To small miracles,” followed the toast, and everyone drank except Methos and Wesa, who stood holding their glasses and smiling at each other.

“To us,” Methos said softly. Wesa repeated the words, and they crossed their wrists and drank from the fluted glasses. Wesa’s eyes widened at the taste, and she glanced at Joe, who had brought her glass to her. He grinned, turning the bottle so that she could see the label on the sparkling cider.

March 13, 2002

Seacouver

Methos lent Wesa his arm as they entered the hospital. The receptionist took one look at her bulk and asked, “How far apart are the contractions?”

“What?” Methos asked, settling Wesa into a chair.

“I’m not in labor,” Wesa said, “unfortunately. I’m not due for another month.”

“We’re here to see Dr. Anne Ramsey,” Methos said. “Would you tell her it’s Wesa Pierson?”

“Dr. Ramsey doesn’t see private patients at the hospital.”

“I’m not here as a patient,” Wesa said quickly. “We need to make some kind of arrangements for her vacation – you know, just in case.”

“You can always come to the hospital. The doctor on duty will assist you.”

Methos and Wesa looked at each other. “Look, what do we have to do to talk to Dr. Ramsey?” Methos asked. “Tell you my wife fell?”

The receptionist looked up sharply. “How far?”

“Down four stairs,” Wesa said, a little abashed. “I can’t see my feet anymore.”

“I’ll page her. She may want to examine you.” The receptionist turned to her telephone.

“Nice save,” Methos said softly, squatting next to Wesa’s chair. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I feel fine,” she assured him, looking up as Anne Ramsey approached. Methos stood up.

“Adam, Wesa,” she greeted them. “Nancy said Wesa fell down some stairs?”

“I lost my balance. I’m okay,” Wesa murmured, “but it scared me. What if I hadn’t been able to catch myself on my hands and knees?” She lowered her voice still further. “I broke my arm and a kneecap,” she said. “I can’t risk something happening to the baby. We’re so close now. How do mortal women deal with – with the awkwardness?”

“We wear flat shoes for one thing,” Anne replied. “Your center of gravity has shifted, Wesa. You need to make other adjustments to compensate.”

“That’s all? I can do that.”

“Okay. Since you’re here, let me have a quick listen to make sure the heart sounds are normal.” Anne brought out her stethoscope, and when Wesa nodded, she pressed the disc to her belly while Methos hovered anxiously. Anne moved the disc several times, then smiled, and Methos relaxed. “New shoes,” Anne repeated. “Flat ones.”

April 8, 2002

Seacouver

Two weeks passed, and Wesa’s pregnancy neared its natural end.

Luvik visited again, as he had done frequently since their wedding, though he never stayed long; an afternoon, or overnight at most. He was a distraction, and he knew it, though the newlyweds went out of their way to welcome him.

He’d wakened them that morning, bringing beer for Methos and flowers for Wesa. Methos slid into his jeans and the two men went to the kitchen, leaving Wesa alone to dress. Methos had just started to make coffee – even he didn’t much care for beer for breakfast – when they heard Wesa cry out in despair.

Luvik looked up from the flowers he’d brought Wesa that morning, nearly toppling the vase as he rushed after Methos, both of them expecting to find her in labor. Instead they found Wesa sitting on the edge of the bed almost in tears. “What’s wrong?” Methos asked, bewildered.

She looked at him helplessly. “I can’t reach my shoes.” She gestured toward her feet, half in and half out of the sensibly flat sneakers she had taken to wearing on advice from Dr. Ramsey.

The two men stared at her, then burst into laughter. Luvik sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders, and Methos knelt, pushed her shoes onto her feet, and tied the laces. Still chuckling, he ran his hands gently up her calves.

“Stop it,” she protested. “I feel like a cow.”

“You don’t look like one,” Luvik assured her.

“You look beautiful,” Methos added. He stood and took her hands to help her rise, then pulled her close. “It’s not much longer now, Wesa. If I didn’t know exactly when he was conceived, I’d think you were going to give birth any day. And you could, and he’d be fine.” He curved his hand over her swollen belly. “We could ask Dr. Ramsey to induce labor.”

She gazed into his eyes longingly, but shook her head. “No,” she replied regretfully. “I can’t do that to our child just for my comfort. But I hate being so fat I can’t reach my own feet.”

“You’re not fat, you’re pregnant,” Luvik said, looking up from his comfortable sprawl on the bed.

Methos hugged her again. “It’s only another week or so. Maybe less.”

“Or maybe more,” Wesa retorted. “Babies come when they will, not according to the calendar.” She belched and made a face, then looked up at him. “We’d better raise this kid right, Methos, because I am never doing this again. I’ve had heartburn for a solid month now. I don’t like it.”

April 11, 2002

Seacouver

Duncan MacLeod tried to ignore the ringing telephone, but finally gave in to the persistent summons. He groaned as he rolled over to reach for the bedside extension. Beside him, Amanda cursed softly and straightened her lingerie. Finally getting his fingers wrapped around the handset, MacLeod picked it up. “What?” he demanded angrily. The response didn’t penetrate at first, but in a completely different voice he said, “Methos, calm down. What’s wrong?”

Amanda’s head swiveled around, and she paid close attention to MacLeod and his conversation.

“Now? No, calm down, old man. We’ll get Anne and be right there.” He disconnected and turned to find Amanda already getting dressed. “That was Methos.”

“I gathered. It’s time?”

MacLeod got up and started dressing, too. “He said we either had to get Anne out to the island, or we had to get out there and help him get Wesa to the hospital.”

***************

Methos paced as he eyed the watch dial on his wrist; Luvik watched him in amusement. “All that walking and he’s getting nowhere,” he murmured to Wesa as he gently rubbed her lower back.

“Some of his wives have borne children,” she replied, “but he was never so involved, to my knowledge. And of course, he was never the father before. This is as new to him as it is to me. Unnnh.” She grunted softly, involuntarily.

Methos looked at her. “Was that another contraction?” he asked.

“No, I thought I’d try out piggy noises, see how you liked them,” she retorted. “Of course it was a contraction. It caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“As well it might. It was a full thirty seconds shorter interval. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I don’t know why they make such a big deal about this. Sure, it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not that painful.” Wesa leaned into Luvik’s hands and murmured appreciatively. “Were you able to contact Kanetsidohi?”

“She’ll be here by morning,” he assured her.

“Oh, she’ll miss it!” Wesa protested. “I wanted her to be here.”

Methos shook his head. His wife was no young innocent, but she seemed to have no idea what was in store for her this coming night. “She might make it. When Kyran was born, Noirin was in labor for a full day.” His mouth quirked at the expression on Luvik’s face. “Ireland … uh, 523, I think. Noirin was the daughter of friends – some neighbors of mine. When she was raped, she got pregnant, so I married her –” He laughed shortly. “– To keep her father from being dishonored, strange as that sounds today. I wasn’t allowed to be with her while she gave birth. I had to wait outside.”

Luvik shook his head. “It’s still so strange. The world has changed, but more importantly you’ve been having adventures while I was … gone.”

Wesa grinned. “Even I didn’t know about that one. I was at Sessrumnir, waiting for Kanetsidohi and Tsila. Or at least it was sometime about then.” Her smile disappeared, and she gasped in pain, grabbing for Luvik’s hands. “Unh! Unh! Great Lady, help me!” she cried out.

“What did she say?” Methos asked; he had never bothered to learn Wesa’s native language.

“Calling out to her goddess,” Luvik explained. He winced as she gripped his hands even more tightly, cursing. Then a grin briefly crossed his face. “Why Wesa, I didn’t know you knew those sorts of words!”

“You were gone a long time,” she told him, finally relaxing back against his chest. “Methos, is MacLeod bringing Anne?”

“She’ll be here soon,” he promised.

“I’ll go check to see if they’re crossing yet,” Luvik volunteered, rising.

Methos slipped into place behind Wesa, holding up her shoulders. “You know, I’ve delivered a few babies myself. It’ll be easier if you get up and walk around.”

She was still breathing hard from the last contraction. “Anything to make it easier. I take back everything I said before. That hurts!”

Luvik spent the next half-hour hurrying back and forth from the cabin to the shore, until he finally spotted the canoe crossing to the island. He stood on the shore and waited, and when they reached the boat-landing, he helped Anne step out of MacLeod’s canoe. “Did her water break yet?” she asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled, taking her bag. “She was washing the floor. It needs to be washed again, and she soaked her shoes. She wasn’t happy.”

“Is she cussing yet?”

He nodded. “I didn’t know she knew those words. Methos has her up walking around – he says that makes it a little easier – but she’s been asking for you.”

Anne chuckled softly. “I expect she’ll be calling me nasty names before we get through, but let’s go say hello to those babies.” She led the way up the slope toward the cabin, with MacLeod and Amanda following.

“Babies?” Luvik repeated, stopping so abruptly that MacLeod nearly ran into him. He began laughing heartily as he resumed following Anne and Amanda. “You’re right. I don’t think she’s going to be happy with you. How many? And why didn’t you tell them?”

“They said they didn’t want to know anything except if their baby was healthy. Well, they both are, so –”

“Both,” Luvik repeated, grinning.

“Amanda caught on first,” MacLeod said, hurrying ahead to open the door.

“I did, didn’t I?” Amanda agreed with a sweet smile as she followed Anne through the door. Luvik and MacLeod followed her in.

Methos supported Wesa out of the back hallway. “Dr. Ramsey, I’m glad you’re here,” he greeted Anne, just as another contraction gripped his wife. Wesa screamed and tried to draw her feet up off the floor, forcing Methos to hold her up. Grunting a little with the effort, and raising his voice to be heard over Wesa’s complaints, he added, “Her contractions are coming faster.”

Anne heard him, but was already busy with the laboring woman. “Breathe, Wesa. Pant, don’t push yet. If you push too soon, you could hurt the baby.” She pushed the blonde hair back off her sweaty face. “I know it hurts, but you’ve been hurt worse. Concentrate. Pant, control your breathing.”

Wesa ignored her, continuing to scream in pain.

“Wesa!” Anne said sharply, to get her attention. “Listen to me. You have to control your breathing. It’ll help, I promise.”

Wesa groaned twice, whimpered, and then began to blow rhythmically. “Oh. Oh, it hurts!”

“Keep breathing,” Anne instructed. She looked up Methos. “I need to examine her,” she told him.

“Bedroom?” he asked as Wesa finally relaxed and went limp in his arms.

That roused her. “I don’t want to mess up MacLeod’s mattress.”

“I’ll buy him a new one,” Methos told her. He shifted, slipping one arm behind her knees, and picked her up, turning around and carrying her back toward the bedroom.

“What do you want us to do?” MacLeod asked as Anne followed him.

“Boil some water,” Amanda suggested, following Anne.

Luvik looked at MacLeod. “Why?” he asked.

The Highlander chuckled. “I think it was a joke,” he said. “Still, they’ll need warm water to bathe the babies after they’re born.” He grinned. “It’s been hard not to tell them.”

“‘Both,’ she said,” Luvik mused. “Twins.” His mouth quirked. “I hope they’re girls.”

“Boys or girls, they’ll have Methos wrapped around their tiny fingers before dawn,” MacLeod judged. He winked at Luvik. “This is going to be fun.”

Luvik’s heart skipped a beat and his knees went weak when MacLeod flashed his dimples, but Methos was convinced MacLeod wouldn’t react the way Luvik wanted, and so he hesitated to make his attraction known. He nodded, trying to repress his own grin, then flinched when Wesa screamed again. “I wish –”

“What?” MacLeod asked.

“Fainche wanted children so badly,” Luvik explained softly, “and I couldn’t give them to her. Now, with Ada-Lisa’s help, I could, but Fainche –” He shook his head, fighting his tears, and was startled when a strong arm slipped around his shoulders.

“Aye,” MacLeod agreed. “Tessa wanted a child, too.” He sighed and rubbed Luvik’s shoulders. “It’s hard to lose them, and being able to have children isn’t going to change that. Come on, let’s at least pretend to heat the water.”

In the bedroom, Anne finished her examination and straightened up, looking down at her patient. “You’re completely dilated, Wesa,” she said. “No more walking. When your next contraction comes, you can start pushing.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Wesa breathed. “It was getting hard to walk.”

Anne laughed. “I imagine so. The baby’s head is fully engaged.” She turned to Methos as another contraction gripped Wesa, who whimpered, then held her breath and strained to expel the baby from her body. Anne gestured. “Sit behind her,” she continued. “Support her shoulders and give her something to push against.”

Methos obeyed, holding Wesa in his arms so that she could rest her head on his chest whenever her contractions eased. “You can do it, baby,” he told her. “You can do it.”

“I don’t want to!” Wesa screamed.

“Yes, you do,” Anne promised her. “Don’t waste your breath with talking. Whenever you have a contraction, take a deep breath, hold it and push as hard and as long as you can.”

“You don’t want to be pregnant forever, do you?” Amanda asked as the contraction eased.

“Piss off,” Wesa gasped, collapsing back on Methos’ shoulder. He reached under her and tried to rub her back.

As Amanda huffily turned to leave, Anne interceded. “She doesn’t mean it,” she told the offended woman. “She’ll say that again and much worse before we’re through.”

She was right. An hour later, Methos sat behind Wesa, supporting her shoulders and helping her hold her knees close to her chest. Wesa was sweating with the effort of her by now nearly continuous contractions, and Anne tried to encourage her. “I see the head,” she told her patient.

Standing by to assist Anne, Amanda grinned. “Look at all that hair!”

“Amanda!” Methos objected.

“She meant the baby,” Anne said, cleaning the baby’s nose and mouth in preparation for the first breath. Grateful for even the brief respite, Wesa leaned back on Methos’ thighs, breathing hard. “Okay, Wesa, just another couple of pushes and you’ll have this baby out,” Anne told her. Amanda snickered, realizing that Anne was still guarding her words.

“Push, sweetheart,” Methos encouraged Wesa for the umpteenth time as she began to strain again. “Come on, push, push, push…”

She reached up and grabbed his hair, pulling his head down so she could look him in the eyes. “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” she ground out.

“Save your breath for pushing,” Anne advised. “I just need to get the other shoulder –” Wesa gave another growling scream, followed by a deep, sobbing breath of relief as Anne took the baby and laid her on Wesa’s chest. “This one’s a girl,” she announced. “Two-forty-one a.m.”

Methos looked up, startled. “This one?” he repeated.

“There was a reason Wesa got so big with her pregnancy,” Amanda told him as Anne tied off the umbilical cord.

“Want to do the honors?” the doctor asked, handing him a large pair of scissors and holding the cord up, clamped on either side of the proper place to cut. She watched approvingly as he sawed through the tough, membranous tissue. “Like a pro,” she said. “Let me guess, you were a doctor once.

“Six times, actually,” Methos said absently, as he gave her back her scissors, too busy looking at the child Wesa cuddled to really notice Anne’s sudden expression of dismay or the way Wesa’s face went pale.

“Is it supposed to gush like that?” Amanda asked.

“Wesa?” Methos asked anxiously when her head rolled limply against his chest. “Amanda, take the baby!” Amanda took the infant from her semi-conscious mother’s chest and held her protectively while Methos scrambled off the bed to help Anne. “Gods, no. Please, no…”

“She’s torn an artery,” Anne told Methos as he joined her. She had her head down and both hands inside the birth canal, urgently searching for the bleeder. “If I can’t find it, if I can’t stop the bleeding, they’ll both die.”

“Save the baby,” he said hoarsely. “You said there was another one. You have to go in after it.”

“The artery is still pulsing; her heart’s still beating,” Anne told him, reaching into her open medical bag and pulling out some surgical sponges. She used them to soak up the blood that was obscuring her view. “Amanda, get him out of my light. I need to be able to see!”

“Methos, come on,” Amanda said, tugging at his elbow. “Anne can handle it.”

He shook her off. “Get the baby!”

“I can’t. Wesa’s still alive,” Anne repeated. “The shock and the loss of blood would kill her.”

Methos took two steps to the closet, pulled out his Ivanhoe, and stabbed his wife through the heart. “She’s dead! Save the baby!” he roared.

Anne looked at his face, and blanched. If he was willing to sacrifice his wife, what might he do to her doctor? But there was no doubt that Wesa’s heart had stopped now. She had no choice, and she set to work, swiftly cutting Wesa’s abdomen open to get to the infant that was still inside her womb, before it died of oxygen starvation.

Luvik and MacLeod had heard Methos yell at Anne, and they rushed in just as he lifted the blood-covered baby and wrapped her in the soft blanket he’d had Amanda fetch from the nursery earlier that night, realizing as he did that she had brought two.

Anne stared at Methos in horror while Amanda softly commanded MacLeod and Luvik to bring the warmed water. “These little ladies need baths,” she explained.

“Your mother’s going to be so happy to see you,” Methos softly told the babies that he and Amanda held. “We’ve been waiting and waiting for you to come.”

Realization dawned, and Anne began to laugh in relief. “Of course.” She collapsed into a chair, stripping off her gloves. “She’s an Immortal. She’ll come back, but the baby –” She looked up at Methos. “Are the babies immortal, too?”

“You thought I’d killed her?” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. As for the babies, we don’t know for sure, not yet at any rate. But I couldn’t have dealt with it if she became Immortal now, so young.” He continued to gaze at the baby in his arms. “Beautiful as she is, I wouldn’t have wanted her to remain an infant forever.”

“Do you have names picked out?” Amanda asked.

He smiled wryly. “Yes, but one of them is going to have to be changed. I don’t think she wants to be called David.”

“Why not?” Luvik wondered as he returned with a pan of warm water, entering right behind MacLeod, who brought soft white terry washcloths.

Both babies were just washed and being re-wrapped in clean, soft blankets when Wesa gasped suddenly, then moaned. Anne was instantly at her side, examining her. “She hasn’t healed yet,” she worried.

“She will. Sometimes it takes a little while,” MacLeod told her.

Methos still held his younger daughter, and he motioned to Amanda to bring the firstborn over. “Welcome back, Mommy,” he said softly as they held the twins in front of her. “Look what you did.”

“Oh… Two?” Wesa cried softly, smiling as Amanda gave her the baby she held. “Oh, my beautiful babies!” She fought to sit upright.

“You’ve got Mireille,” Methos told her, “and I guess we have to pull the name book out again for this one.”

“For some reason, he thinks she wouldn’t like being named David,” Luvik added. Wesa glanced up and grinned, but couldn’t spare him much of her attention. She looked back down and cooed softly to Mireille.

“It’s a boy’s name,” Anne told him. “Wesa, how are you feeling?”

“My stomach hurts,” Wesa replied. “You had to cut me open? The last thing I remember is when you put Mireille on my chest.”

“You bled out,” Methos told her. “We had to get the baby out, and you weren’t in any shape to help.” He put his arm around her shoulders.

Wesa leaned into his embrace, looking at the baby he held and gently stroking her tiny cheek. “Mirari,” she said. “We should name her Mirari.”

Methos smiled. “Perfect.” He kissed the side of her forehead and they returned to admiring their daughters. “Mireille and Mirari. Our miracles. Our small perfect miracles.”

Anne straightened the sheet covering Wesa, paused a moment to smile at the new parents, then gently but firmly ushered everyone else out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

The End

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