See Part One for Disclaimers and Author's Note.

Nina's visit the following Friday, with her husband and one-year-old son in tow, was everything Robin had dreaded and then some.  The first thing she said to Robin when they were out of earshot of their husbands was, "That color makes you look wide, dear."  Grant, Nina's husband, immediately latched onto Methos' accent and started giving the Immortal an exaggerated travelogue of Europe.  Robin had to admire her husband's response.  Methos sat quietly listening for awhile, then started interjecting small corrections into the conversation:

"Oh, you must mean Sacre Coeur, not Notre Dame -- you've got the wrong part of Paris."  "Actually, that's in Wales, not England."  "I'm not sure what cathedral you're talking about -- Stefansdom is in Vienna, but that doesn't sound like what you're describing."  "You're probably thinking of the Rhine, not the Seine."  "Yes, that's along the Thames, but it's not in London."

He made all these statements in a pleasant, conversational manner, not as if he was trying to out-snob Grant (which would've been tough in any case).  Grant, for his part, wrapped up his travelogue with surprising haste.  Actually, everything Methos said to his new sister-in-law and her husband was pleasant -- which only frustrated Nina because, unconsciously, she was seeking a reason to dislike him.  At the end of the day, she could find nothing wrong with him.  She therefore decided to stay another day.

"Why don't we spend some time together tomorrow, Robin?  We can take the babies out for a stroll and talk," she suggested.  Robin, of course, dreaded the prospect, but gritted her teeth and said, "Sure."

The walk they took would, in Robin's words, "live forever in infamy."  Nina started by asking whether Robin had been dyeing her hair and didn't stop until she'd commented that the toenail polish Robin was wearing wasn't really her color.  Head to toe, Robin thought.

Then she thought, "Why am I taking this?"

Nina stopped abruptly.  "What did you say?"

Robin realized she'd spoken her thought aloud.  Well, fine, she thought.  I've always wanted to say it, and now I have.  Time to get some things out in the open.  She turned to her sister.

"Nina, you've managed to find fault with practically everything about me, my life, my child, my husband, and the town I live in," she stated flatly.  "Of course, that's nothing new.  You've been doing it all my life.  'Robin, why don't you lose some weight?' 'Robin, you know that nursing's not a very high-class occupation.' 'Why do you hang out with her, Robin?  She's such a loser.'  Frankly, I'm beginning to wonder why I have to take it.  Can you give me an answer?"

Nina's shocked/hurt look was a piece of artwork.  "Look, Robin, just because I care what's going on in your life . . ."

Robin cut her off.  "Do you?  Well, here's how things are going: I've met a wonderful, handsome, exciting, sexy, intelligent man and married him, we're adopting a beautiful little girl, living in a terrific old house -- did I tell you we've got plans for an addition?--I've lost ten pounds, quit my job to become a full-time mother, have terrific friends, and I'm trading in my old Toyota and buying a sleek new Saturn.  That's how I'm doing, Nina.  I think my life's going great."

Her sister shifted her stance.  "Well, it certainly sounds good, Robin, but how long can it last?"

"Forever," Robin shot back.  "Or at least until I'm old and gray.  Whichever comes first."

"Don't get snippy with me, Robin."  Nina's cheeks were flushed now.  "All I'm saying is, you meet this guy and three months later, you're married with a child.  How long can that last?"

Robin almost laughed.  "Look, Nina, if you're really concerned, I can tell you that Matthew's not going to run off after a few years because he's bored.  People who know the two of us a lot better than you think we're meant for each other.  So do I.  Besides, I'm not going to leave; why should he?"

"A great-looking guy like him?  Like he can't get a better offer!"  The words were out before Nina really considered how insulting they were.  Robin felt like she'd been punched in the gut.  Even after all this time, her sister's disdain hurt.

Nina instantly recognized the mistake she'd made.  She liked being in charge of other people's lives and tended to take that charge any way she could.  In Robin's case, it had been by harping on her weight ever since adolescence.  For all that, though, she didn't really want to alienate her sister.

As for Robin, she recoiled from the pain, pulling back within herself.  But it wasn't like the other times she'd had to do so.  Now, deep inside her was her husband's voice telling her how beautiful he thought she was.  She felt his hands on her body, touching her and murmuring into her ear how lovely her neck and shoulders were, how perfect her breasts, how her legs could have made Betty Grable weep with envy.  Those assurances felt like the ground under her feet, supporting her and steadying her.  Robin looked into her sister's eyes.

"Matthew loves me," she said very calmly.  "He thinks I'm beautiful.  I don't think he does; I know he does.  He's shown me in a million, million ways that I am the only woman he wants or needs.  I don't have to pretend with him.  I don't have to hide.  Best of all, I don't have to conform to someone else's standards, especially not yours.  As for my life, well, it's good enough for me, even if it's not good enough for you.  It may be a bit messy for your tastes, but at least I don't have to deal with the burden of perfection."

Nina looked like someone had splashed cold water in her face.  Robin didn't give her time to recover.  She turned her stroller around and headed back for the house, suddenly admiring what a beautiful day it had turned out to be.  Sure, it was chilly, but the sky was clear and the recent snow had melted.  Robin breathed in, anticipating spring and the smell of flowers in the air.  For the first time in her life, she felt completely free.

The walk back to the Adamson house was silent.  Claire fell asleep, as did Robin's nephew, Grant Jr.  Upon arrival, Robin put Claire to bed and Nina announced to her husband (who was looking dazed and confused after another experience with "The Methos Technique") that it was time to be heading out.  They packed themselves in their fully-equipped minivan, Nina said a somewhat stunned goodbye, and they were off.

"Pleasant chap, Grant," Methos commented as he and his wife watched their in-laws drive off.  "Looked a bit peaked toward the end, though."

"Get back in the house," Robin ordered.

Methos obeyed, looking confused.  "Why?"

"Because I suddenly want to have sex worse than I ever have in my life, and since I was, until recently, a twenty-seven year-old virgin, that's saying quite a bit.  Now move!"

The world's oldest man eagerly complied.  "Your wish is my command, my lady."

***

Winter deepened, then faded into spring.  Robin and Methos slowly settled into married life.  Claire grew like a weed.  Methos met Robin's father (who rather approved of what had happened with Nina, having been subjected to his older daughter's "concern" for some years himself), and she met his few Immortal friends.  Robin and Amanda, much to Methos' chagrin, quickly became friends.

The first really warm day of spring, Robin received some good news from her social worker friend: the adoption of Claire was going to come through.  Robin decided to meet Methos at the university with the good news, and she set out walking with Claire in a stroller.

As she approached his building, Robin nearly ran into a tall, slim figure who turned out to be the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen in her life.  In fact, she was gorgeous.  She had to be near six feet tall, Robin thought.  The woman's deep red hair hung in silky waves halfway down her back, her face was heart-shaped, her eyes an amazing shade of green, her skin perfect, and her body was enough to cause cases of whiplash among the male population of the campus.

Now this gorgeous creature smiled at Robin and Claire and pulled open the door.  "Please, you first," the woman insisted.  Her voice was flavored with a distinct Welsh lilt a little stronger than Methos'.

Robin thanked her and went inside, turning automatically to head toward her husband's office.  To her surprise, the woman followed.  Even more to her surprise, Methos stepped out into the hall outside his office as if he'd known Robin was coming.  Robin smiled, confused.  Then she saw the total astonishment on his face.  His mouth seemed to be working to say something as he stared at the new woman over Robin's shoulder.

"Matthew?" Robin asked, worried.

"Ganewyn?" he whispered.  Robin looked back at the woman, who was wearing a perfectly dazzling smile.

"Hello, dear brother," she greeted softly.

"Brother?" Robin wondered out loud, looking back at her husband, who suddenly broke into a smile of his own.

"I don't believe it," he declared.  "Robin, sweetheart, have you already met . . ?" he trailed off, staring, beaming, at the tall woman behind his wife.

Robin felt lost.  "Matthew, will you please tell me what's going on?"

Methos seemed to shake off the spell.  He strode forward, gently turning his wife to face the newcomer.  "Robin, this is Ganewyn."

"Old friend?" Robin questioned.

"My oldest friend still living."  Now Ganewyn looked a little worried.  "Don't worry, she knows," Methos reassured her.  "Ganewyn, may I present my wife, Robin Wecks Adamson, and our daughter, Claire."  Hastily, Robin turned the stroller around, and the Immortal woman hunched down and smiled at the baby.

"She's beautiful, Methos," Ganewyn admired.  "You have a lovely family.  I'm . . . happy for you."  Suddenly, the beauty seemed sad.

"What is it?" Methos asked.

Ganewyn gave him a softly melancholy smile as she stood.  "Galen died a month ago."

Methos walked over to the woman he'd just described as his oldest friend and embraced her.  "I'm so sorry, Ganewyn.  It was about sixty years for you two, wasn't it?"

"Yes."  The word came out slightly choked, and as the two moved out of their embrace, Robin could see tears glistening in the woman's eyes.  "I-I thought I'd like to see an old friend."

"Why don't you come to our house tonight for dinner?"  Methos suddenly looked over at his wife.  "If that's okay with you, Robin."

Robin really wasn't sure of what to think.  The Immortal woman's beauty was enough to intimidate practically any woman, let alone one with Robin's insecurities, however much they'd been eased.  And for all Robin knew, this was an old lover of Methos'.

"It's fine," was all she said.

Dinner, fortunately, was far nicer with the woman Methos called "sister" than it had been with Robin's sister.  Ganewyn, in spite of having known Methos for four thousand years longer than Robin, made a special effort to include Robin in all conversation, or at least to explain when she and Methos got off on "old times."  Robin learned that Ganewyn was a Celt of ancient Albion, and she'd known Methos for basically her entire life.

"He came to my father's lands as a warrior," Ganewyn explained.  "The first thing he did was to defeat my father's champion in single combat.  After that, he took command of our war band, which meant that I was under his command."

"You were a warrior?"  Robin asked.

"Yes, I was," Ganewyn confirmed.  "There were several woman-warriors in our war band.  I was simply the tallest."

"And the most difficult" Methos put in.

"And you were a . . . commander?"  This news clashed with her mental image of her husband.  She couldn't imagine him as a warrior.

Methos shifted a little uncomfortably.  "Well, I couldn't exactly be a history professor back then.  The stuff hadn't even been written."

Ganewyn caught on to the slight tension.  "Robin, all kings had war bands back then.  They were needed to protect the king's lands from invasion or even from roving bands of brigands.  Methos was exceptionally good at what he did, and my father's lands were peaceful.  Word tended to get around quickly to the worse elements of Albion that to attack my father's lands or people was unwise, to say the least."

"I'm just having a hard time imagining it is all," Robin said, furrowing her brow in thought.

Ganewyn got a mischievous glint in her eye.  "Just imagine your husband with long hair stiffened with lime, mostly naked, and painted blue, and you'll get the picture."

Robin couldn't stop giggling for almost five minutes.  Methos gave his oldest friend a baleful look.

"Couldn't you have just stuck with telling her about the time I got falling down drunk and proposed to Queen Elizabeth in front of Sir Walter Raleigh?" he pleaded.  Getting a fresh round of giggles from this, he decided it was time to use the bathroom.

Ganewyn turned her smile back to Robin.  "I hope you're not feeling threatened by me anymore, Robin."

Robin flushed.  "Was I that obvious?"

The Immortal shook her head.  "No.  It's just that I've been around a long time, and I know how to read reactions pretty well.  Truly, you have nothing to fear from me.  Methos and I were . . . a long, long time ago, even as we reckon things.  I came here to talk to an old friend -- nothing more."

A little tension released inside Robin.  She felt ashamed it had been there in the first place.  "I'm sorry . . ." she began.

Ganewyn held up her hand.  "No need.  I share a long history with your husband; of course you wondered what that history was.  Methos, though, eventually married my sister, not me."  The Immortal cocked her head.  "Actually, you quite remind me of her."

Robin lifted her eyebrows.  Then she remembered that Ganewyn's sister couldn't have been genetically related to her.  The Immortal woman had a faraway look on her face as she went on.

"She was a caring, generous young woman who wasn't afraid to call Methos on what she thought were bad decisions.  He admired that about her, and they came to love each other.  Just as he loves you.  You're good for him, you know."

"You think so?"  Robin suddenly wanted this woman's approval.

"Absolutely," Ganewyn said firmly.  "He's relaxed around you.  With so many others, he puts up a mask.  He feels safe with you, and I'm glad.  We may not have worked out as lovers, but I have always -- and will always -- love him."  She seemed sad again.  "We both of us need mortal loves in our lives.  Otherwise, we tend to drift, not really engaging in the life around us."

Robin leaned forward.  "I'm just worried -- I'm going to die long before he does.  How will that affect him?"  The mortal woman saw the tears in Ganewyn's eyes.  "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean . . ."

"No.  It's all right," Ganewyn assured her gently.  "Neither Methos nor I would trade anything -- not even freedom from pain -- for the joys of loving.  When you're gone, he'll remember and treasure that love, and he'll be better for it.  Just as I am better for having loved Galen."

Methos came back to the table, and there was more talk.  Robin found herself enjoying Ganewyn's company.  Eventually, the Immortal woman excused herself.  Robin purposely stayed behind to clear the dishes while Methos walked Ganewyn to her car.

"I wish you could stay longer, old friend," Methos told the ancient woman.

She smiled.  "You've a wife now, Methos.  It wouldn't be appropriate for me to stay longer.  You and I both know that."  Ganewyn looked back at the house, then leaned in closer to Methos, a worried frown creasing her forehead.  "There is something I need to warn you about."

"Something, or someone?" Methos asked.

"Someone."  Ganewyn looked back into Methos' eyes.  "There's a headhunter named Gaston de Merrieult  who seeks out ancient Immortals.  He came after me awhile back.  Fortunately, I was able to avoid him."

Methos nodded.  Ganewyn was no more fond of the Game than he himself was.  "I can lay low with the best of them."

"I hope so," she responded.  "The most insidious thing he does, Methos, is use Immortals' loved ones against them.  He killed Damaris after shooting her husband and her student.  Apparently, he's done or tried the same thing with others; he killed Yoshio Shimuda, and Charzhia has sworn blood vengeance against him, as has Anja Thorsdotter."

Methos lifted his eyebrows.  "With those two after his head, I doubt I'll ever have to worry about him.  I think I'll root for Charzhia; Anja has a nasty set of scruples that would prevent her from giving him the sort of death he's earned."

Ganewyn laughed.  "That sounds like the man I met four thousand years ago."  She sobered, reaching up to touch her friend's face.  "Goodbye, Methos," she said in her ancient tongue.  "Take good care of your family, and be happy."

Her friend kissed her cheek gently.  "Be well, Ganewyn."

The ancient woman smiled at him one last time before getting in her car and driving away.

Conclusion

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