See Part One for Disclaimers and Author's Note.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  "All right.  Immortals live as mortals up until the time of first death.  At that point, we stop aging, our wounds heal with the speed you've just seen, and we can sense others of our kind.  It's like -- a buzz in the head."

Robin nodded, taking it all in.  He was encouraged by this, but knew that the next part of his explanation wouldn't be quite as well received.  "What we sense in each other is the Quickening.  It's much like electrical power.  It is what gives us our ability to heal, our strength, and it's been speculated that the Quickening holds our memories.  The older you are, the more powerful you are.

"The reason I bring this up is that upon final death -- losing one's head, in other words -- that power is released, and the Immortal nearest by receives the power of the Quickening."  He stood and walked back over to his coat.  This time, he produced, from within its folds, a broadsword.  He brought it back over to Robin.

She couldn't help but stare at it.  It was simple -- no ornamentation, no jewels, just three feet of polished, razor-sharp metal.  Matthew spoke again.

"We carry swords.  Whether to defend ourselves or hunt for others, we all have to know how to use them.  New Immortals are mentored by older ones."

The implications struck Robin.  "Have you . . ?"

"Taken heads?" he finished gently.  "Yes.  I'm old enough now that I don't have to actively hunt to gain power, but I do answer challenges when needed.  I don't like to fight, but I can -- when necessary.  I like being alive."

She looked away, stunned almost to the point of feeling nothing by what he'd just told her.  "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you.  Because I trust you.  Because I want our relationship to go further, and I know that you need to know this now in order to make that decision." He smiled.  "Besides, I think you can handle this secret.  Not everybody could.  But you can."

She wasn't so sure as he sounded.  Too many questions gnawed at her brain.  "How do you get this way?  I mean, will your children be Immortals too?"

"We don't have children, Robin.  We're sterile."

"So how do you come into the world?"

This was it.  Methos took a deep breath.  "No one knows that.  We're all of us foundlings."

It took a few seconds for that to sink in.  "Claire," Robin whispered, and ran from the room.

Methos found her leaning over Claire's sleeping form.  Robin's eyes connected with his, and all he could do is nod.  She breathed a mild curse, the first he'd heard from her.

"I knew when I found her, Robin," he told the nurse softly.  "She's going to be one of us someday."

Robin started crying.  This was too much.  In another moment, the man she knew as Matthew Adamson was holding her against his bare chest.  She continued to cry, all the time smelling the sharp scent of his blood.  A few minutes later, she pushed lightly away, and he released her.

"Listen," he murmured, "you've got a lot to think about.  We can talk tomorrow, or anytime, and I'll answer all of your questions."

Mutely, she nodded.  Seeing his half-naked body, she said the first thing that came to mind.  "Sorry about your shirt."

He laughed, and, after a moment, she did, too.  "Wait here a moment," she ordered, and went to her bedroom.  After a few minutes, she returned, bearing a seriously oversized sweatshirt.  When he pulled it on, it was too large, even for him.  There was something scratchy at the back of his neck.  He yanked it out.

"Let me have that," Robin said hastily, and made a sudden grab for the tag he was holding.  Methos, though, had found something interesting.

He read from the tag:  "Big Man Shirts: 'Lord in Heaven, hear my prayer, and help me if you can:  I've got the shirt, now fill it with a man.'"

Robin blushed deeply.  He laughed, then took her in his arms again.  His mouth connected with hers in a long, gentle kiss.  "Seems your prayers have been answered."

She followed him to the door, where he hid dagger and sword in his coat before putting it on.  He gave her one last kiss, then turned to leave.

"Matthew," she called suddenly.  He turned.  "What's your real name?"

He smiled.  "Methos."  He turned toward the door, then turned back.  "Oh, and incidentally, Robin -- you're far from the world's oldest virgin."  With that, he left.

Robin went back over to the couch and picked up the necklace he'd given her.  Her left hand felt something wet on the couch fabric, and she looked down to see several drops of his blood there.

***

"Robin?  Earth to Robin."

Talya Davidman's voice penetrated the thick fog of Robin's thoughts.  She suddenly realized she'd been staring at a report for five minutes without reading any of it.

"Oh . . . hi, Talya.  I . . . uh . . ." she trailed off.  Talya sighed and pulled up a chair.

"That's the face of man troubles," the older nurse declared.  Robin slumped.  "Come on, Robin.  Out with it, or you'll be of no use at all today."

How to put it?  Robin decided on a gross oversimplification.  "Matthew . . . told me a little about his past last night.  I'm not sure what to make of it."

Talya smiled gently.  "You know, I had the same problem myself once upon a time with Sam."

Robin looked startled.  "The Rabbi Davidman?"

"Oh, yeah," Talya confirmed.  "He wasn't always a Rabbi, or even a good little Jewish boy.  I won't go into details, but he ran with a pretty bad crowd as a young man and a college frat boy.  Eventually, he straightened out, but not after doing some things he seriously regretted."

The older nurse sighed, looking away.  "One of those things was . . . he slept with a few of his girlfriends.  I didn't like hearing that, you know, because I'd been good.  I'd saved myself for marriage, and it hurt me to know that he hadn't."  She shook her head.  "But in the end, what mattered was that he loved me and I loved him.  We belong together, and I can't imagine my life without him."

Talya turned her full attention to her younger coworker.  "Robin, the past is the past.  Who is the man you know now?"

Robin nodded slowly, understanding.

"Do you love him?" prompted Talya.

The soft brown eyes looked away for a moment, then returned to Talya's steady gaze.  "You know, I think I just might."

"Good!"  Talya pulled Robin in for a quick, impulsive hug.  "Do we hear wedding bells in the near future?"

Robin pulled back and looked askance at her friend.  "Does the term 'yenta' mean anything to you, Talya?"

***

It had been three months since Robin had first taken Claire home.  Robin had told Matthew (Methos, her brain reminded her) that she was willing to give it a try, and had soon found herself on the receiving end of an old-fashioned courtship.  He sent her flowers at work (prompting no end of comments from Talya and Jayne, and sullen jealousy from Paige), bought her small gifts "just because I was thinking of you," and, best of all, exhibited the utmost respect for her.

It was so wonderful.  The few guys Robin had dated since high school had treated as unreasonable her demand that she had to get to know them before she'd sleep with them.  Eventually, she'd given up on men almost altogether.  Yet here was this wonderful man, apparently prepared to give her all the time she needed.  She felt almost perfectly comfortable around him, in spite of his sexiness.

One winter's afternoon, Methos was walking across campus when he felt the faint whisper of Claire's presence.  He "listened" for a moment, trying to decide where it was coming from, then pinpointed Robin sitting on a bench not far away, with Claire's stroller nearby.  He headed toward them.

As he approached, he realized something was wrong.  Robin's face was downcast, her shoulders slumped.  She didn't even look up as he sat beside her.

"What's wrong, Robin?" he inquired gently.

She looked up at him with red eyes and tearstained cheeks.  "I don't think I'm going to be able to keep her, Matthew."  As the words came out, a fresh sob welled up from within her, and Methos wrapped his arms around her.

"Why do you think that?"

Another soft sob.  "What have I got to offer her?  An apartment?  A menial salary in an uncertain job market?  A beat-up old Toyota?"

"Your love," Methos reminded her.  Robin raised her head from his shoulder.

"What good is that?  I'm tired all the time, and it'll only get worse as she becomes mobile.  I don't want her being raised by a day care and a barely-there mother.  I want her to have a real home and a family.  She deserves a mother and a father who are there for her all the time, like I had.  I can't offer her that, Matthew.  She deserves better than what I've got."  Robin angrily wiped away her tears.

This was it.  Methos could encourage her to let Claire go, find a nice adoptive family for her.  Then he wouldn't be responsible for raising a pre-Immortal, with all the questions that went with that.  It would be so simple to do so . . .

And watch Robin's heart break.

Methos took her hands gently.  "Robin, if it's a home and a family you want for her -- why not marry me?"

Absolute shock washed over Robin.  A part of her brain commented dryly that she should be getting used to the sensation by now.  "What?"

His hazel gaze was steady.  "Marry me.  You and Claire can move into my house -- there's certainly enough room.  You can even quit your job, if you want.  I do have savings, you know."

She gave him a hard look.  "You're proposing?  Just like that?"

He shrugged.  "I'll admit that I expected us to take about a year to get to this point, but yes, I'm proposing.  And yes, I'm completely serious."

Her brow wrinkled.  "Is this because of Claire?"

"No."  His tone was firm.  "Normally, I do my best to keep away from pre-Immortals.  Let them live their lives.  In this case, though . . ."  He looked away from the nurse's astonished eyes.  "I want to be with you, Robin.  If that means raising Claire, I will."

"But you don't want to."

He paused.  "It's not as simple as that, Robin.  I do love Claire, and I have raised children before.  Just never a pre-Immortal.  To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what to do."

She smiled softly.  "That makes two of us."  Her eyes locked on his face again.  "Are you sure you won't regret marrying me?"  She couldn't believe she was even considering a proposal like this, but she was.

He looked directly into her eyes.  "Robin, you know what I am.  I've lived a long life and I intend for it to be much longer.  I can tell you right now that I will never regret spending fifty or sixty years with you.  But it's the rest of your life we're talking about.  The decision is yours."

Tears welled up in Robin's eyes.  She reached over to the stroller and gently lifted Claire, muffled under a half-dozen layers, into her arms.

"What do you say, little one?" Robin murmured.

The baby smiled.

***

Friday was a busy day.  Robin gave her two weeks notice at work, Methos picked up adoption papers for Claire, Robin and Methos got married in a small civil ceremony, and she moved the bulk of her stuff to his house.  Adding all that on top of a full day's work and the tail end of a virus put Robin's lights out by nine o'clock.  As Methos would later comment, "Not a very romantic wedding night."

Robin had the following day off, and the new family spent it together.  It had decided to snow rather heavily outside, which made staying in all the more cozy.  They made cocoa and played with Claire in between her naps, and while she was napping, Robin and Methos played a sort of game that had evolved during Robin's previous visits to his house.  Robin would select an item from Methos' collection, and he would tell her the story behind where he got it.  The notable exception to this was a huge bronze ax Methos kept in his spare room.  He refused to discuss that, and she didn't press him on it.

Claire finally went down for the night.  Robin, after putting the baby to bed, rejoined her husband in the living room.  He was sitting up against the couch and beckoned her to join him.  She thought to just sit beside him, but he had other ideas.  Almost without knowing how, Robin found herself cradled close in his arms.  His mouth met hers in a slow, soft kiss.

She kissed him back.  For a time -- Robin would never know how long -- they just shared kisses.  There was something indescribably right about it, and while they kissed, neither wanted more.  It was only when Methos raised his head that Robin realized how much more her body was demanding.

Methos caressed the hair back from her face.  "So, Robin, what happens now?"

Robin flushed deeply.  She knew exactly what she wanted, but . . . how could he feel the same way?  Her voice wouldn't work.

He misinterpreted her silence.  "If it's too soon, Robin, it's all right.  Making love can wait until you're sure."

"No," she blurted suddenly.  "I-I mean . . ."  Deeply embarrassed, she looked away from the amusement in his eyes.

His amusement became compassion when he realized how confused she was.  This is all very new to her, he told himself.  Try and restrain your baser urges, you old deviant.

"Robin," he asked softly, "would you like me to make love to you?"

Her eyes met his very shyly.  "Yes.  Very much.  But . . ."  She swallowed, trying desperately to believe this was really happening.  "Do you want me?"

"Oh, yes, Robin.  Very much," he answered without hesitation.  "I have for a long time.  And believe it or not, I married you in the understanding that we would eventually share a bed."

She actually managed a weak laugh at that.  "I . . . just find it so hard to believe that you . . ."

He interrupted her gently.  "Robin, will you let me show you how beautiful I think you are?"

His wife's eyes looked at him, full of wonder.  "Beautiful?"

There was something almost unbearably poignant about the way she said the word, as if it was a precious gift being offered her.  Methos kissed her softly.

"Beautiful.  You are beautiful, Robin.  Let me show you."

***

A long time later, Robin lay cradled against her husband.  She felt limp, completely relaxed, divinely happy, and deeply in love.  Methos' lips ran across her forehead before finding her mouth for a long, gentle kiss.  This is heaven, she thought.

How often in her life had she been beautiful to someone?  How often had she heard voices -- voices of friends, relatives, and even her own slim sister -- that criticized her, told her she was unattractive because of her weight?

"Robin, you have such a pretty face.  If only . . ." "Robin, I'm only telling you this for your own good . . ." "You know, if you lost a little weight . . ." "I just want to be honest with you, Robin . . ."

Worse yet, how often had that voice come from within?  "I can't wear that until I lose weight . . ." "Who am I trying to kid?  He'd never notice me . . ." "I can't believe I let myself get this fat . . ." "I look so awful today; I feel like wearing a sack . . ."

And now they were silenced by her husband's voice, saying, "You are beautiful, Robin."  He thought she was beautiful, no matter what size jeans she wore.  And he'd just proven it.  This man who could have any woman he set his sights on had just made love to her.  She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a deep kiss to his mouth.

When the kiss ended, she whispered, "I love you."

One of his wonderful hands came up to stroke her hair softly.  "And I love you, my Robin.  I have ever since I saw you for the first time, holding Claire."

Tears pricked her eyes, and she buried her face against his neck.  "So happy . . ."

His arms wrapped even more tightly around her and he sighed, as if deeply contented.  "Making love to you, Robin . . . it was like coming home."  He kissed her forehead, then relaxed back into the pillows, drawing her to lay against his chest.  "Sleep, beloved," he murmured, and she did.

***

Robin watched her husband from the kitchen entrance.  He was feeding Claire strained peaches while the baby tried her best to get him as gooey and sticky as she was.  Robin took advantage of the moment to contemplate his form again.  He was wearing a tee shirt as well as his boxers, but that hardly obscured his physical beauty.  What stood out to her about him was how at ease he was inside his own skin.  He'd have to be, she mused, after five thousand years.

She envied him that comfort.  Robin had been plus-sized from the time she was young, and had never been fully at ease with her own body.  Last night, though . . . last night had gone a long way toward making her feel beautiful.  At last.

"No, in the mouth, not all over Daddy," he was muttering.  Claire chortled and banged the tray with her little fists.  Robin chuckled.  Methos turned to meet her gaze of absolute love.

"Well if it isn't my blushing bride."  He stood, and Claire bleated to get his attention back.  Methos turned to the baby.  "Hold that thought."

Robin moved gladly into his embrace, and the two shared a long, languorous kiss.  There are some definite advantages to being married to a 5,000 year-old, she thought through a haze.  He raised his head.

"How do you feel this morning?" he murmured.

"Beautiful," she whispered.  It was the truth.  She pressed close to him, reveling in his embrace.  "However," she amended, blushing, "I am sore in some . . . odd places."

He chuckled lightly.  "Just means we need more practice, my love."  They kissed again, deeply and thoroughly, only to discover that one kiss wasn't enough.  Both were well on their way to absolute senselessness when the phone rang.  Robin pulled away with a groan of disappointment to answer the phone.

"Hello?  Oh, hi, Nina."  Pause.  Expression of dismay.  "Oh, really.  Well, that's just wonderful, Nina.  Matthew and I look forward to seeing you next week."  Another pause.  More false enthusiasm.  "Great.  Glad to hear it.  Next Friday, then.  I'll check Matthew's plans.  'Bye, Nina."  Robin hung up and groaned.

"Something wrong?" Methos queried.

Robin walked back over to him.  "My busybody big sister is going to be in town next week."

"Special occasion?"

Robin nodded, grimacing.  "Special occasion, all right.  She wants to scope you out top to bottom."

That got a laugh.  "I promise to be on my best behavior."  He pulled her into his arms.

"You don't understand," Robin moaned.  "She plays mind games."

"Really?"  He grinned wolfishly.  "She's about to meet the master.  Now -- where were we?"

Robin gave him a sly glance.  "I think I was about to explain Jayne Butler's theory on handshakes to you . . ."

Continued

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