See Part One for Disclaimers and Author's Note.

Methos managed to put Ganewyn's warning out of his mind by the time Robin persuaded him to see "Don Giovanni" with her.  They called in Amber to look after Claire, dressed in their finest evening clothes, ate an expensive dinner at Borelli's, and had a lovely time at the theater.  Even Methos enjoyed himself.  Must be the company, he thought, stealing a glance at his wife as they left the concert hall.  She was radiant.  The black velvet off-the-shoulder evening dress she'd bought special for the occasion looked incredible on her, and she'd pinned her hair up, drawing attention to her graceful features.  She looked like a 1940's glamour girl.  How is it, he wondered, that men were stupid enough to overlook her until I came along?  Not that I'm complaining . . .

Their car was parked on the street rather than in one of the (very full) parking garages.  As they approached it, Methos suddenly felt the presence of another Immortal.  He cursed to himself as he saw that the street was basically deserted.

"In the car, Robin," he ordered tersely.  She, recognizing the look on his face, moved to obey . . .

A silenced shot.  Robin screamed as she fell.  Methos caught her.

"No," he whispered.  He realized, much to his relief, that the bullet had hit her in the thigh rather than anywhere vital, but she was losing blood so rapidly he thought it must have nicked an artery.

His thoughts were interrupted by the Immortal emerging from a nearby alleyway.

"Good evening, Methos," the man greeted.  Methos fixed him with a look of pure hatred.  In a moment, though, the hatred melted away to reveal . . . nothing.  A hard, masklike, non-expression took over his face.  Robin, already in pain, shrank away from her husband, suddenly not recognizing him.

The man, apparently Gaston de Merrieult, looked at Robin as if she mattered not a bit.  Then his eyes returned to his target.  He was disconcerted at what he saw.  Normally when he did this -- wounded the mortal love of his intended target -- the Immortal became enraged or upset enough to become sloppy.  This one, it seemed, wouldn't.

Methos lowered Robin gently to the ground, then reached into his coat to draw out his Ivanhoe broadsword.  Gone was doctoral student Matthew Adamson; in his place was Methos, the ultimate player in the Game.

"This what you want, de Merrieult?" he inquired almost pleasantly.

De Merrieult drew out his own saber.  "I've wanted this for a long time, Old Man."  He backed into the alleyway.  Methos followed.

Robin lay on the ground, bleeding.  She had known about Immortal challenges from what Methos had told her, but hearing the quiet exchange between the two men, seeing the coldness take over the man she loved, was something she was completely unprepared for.  Now she watched and listened as metal clashed against metal.  Even in the half-light, she could pick out Methos.  He moved like a cat, swift and deadly.  The other man was incredibly fast, too, and she suddenly realized she could lose her husband.  Then she, too, would die.  What would become of Claire?

She grew dizzy, but forced herself to focus on the fight.  Was the other man growing tired?  He seemed to be.  Maybe . . .

She saw it as it happened.  The other man drew something from his coat with lightning swiftness, and she wanted to cry a warning to her husband, but couldn't.  But it wasn't necessary.  Even as the other man drew his dagger, Methos drew his own and blocked the blow.

De Merrieult had counted on the dagger as his trump card.  When Methos blocked it, the end came swiftly.

Robin flinched as she witnessed the death-stroke.  Then she felt the charge in the air, saw the flashes of lightning, the vortex of energy that enfolded her husband.  The world seemed to be turned on its side now, and she'd lost all sensation of pain, but still she watched as Methos struggled away from the last of the Quickening, hauling himself to his wounded love's side.

The last thing that registered was joy as she realized that her husband, not the cold-eyed Immortal stranger who'd gone off to fight, was back at her side, holding her.

***

Methos sat in an incredibly uncomfortable hospital chair, waiting.  He'd broken every traffic law to get Robin to the hospital; now it was up to the surgeons to save her.  The wound itself wasn't the problem, he knew, but the fact that she'd lost so much blood.  He stood and paced.  Anger beat at his brain: anger at de Merrieult, for trying such a cheap trick, anger at the Game, for dragging Robin into it, but mostly anger at himself, for allowing her to be hurt.

"Matthew?"

Methos whirled to face the voice, and Talya Davidman flinched from the rage in his eyes.  Seeing her reaction, the ancient took a deep breath, closing his eyes until he was back under control.

"Talya," he finally managed.  "I . . . assume you heard."

The Jewish woman nodded.  "Yes.  Clarice from the ER called me, and I got down here as quickly as I could."  She approached Methos now.  "How is she?"

Methos shook his head.  "No word yet."

Talya nodded, taking this in.  Then she fixed him with her intense, dark eyes.  "How are you, Matthew?"

He sat down heavily in one of those uncomfortable chairs.  "I can't believe this happened to her," he breathed.

Talya sat beside him, gently taking his hand in one of hers.  The physical contact with someone who Methos knew cared deeply about Robin soothed him.

"May I ask you a favor, Talya?" he ventured after a moment.

"Anything," she promised.

He took another deep breath.  "We need someone to look after Claire tonight.  Amber's still there, but she's got school tomorrow . . ."

"Of course."  Talya's voice was firm.  "I can either stay at your place or take Claire back to my house tonight -- we've already got a car seat and a spare crib for our grandson, so it's no problem."

"Thank you, Talya.  I . . ." he was cut off by the door of the waiting room opening.  Surgeon Stan Gray stepped through.

"Mr. Adamson?" he asked.

Methos stood.  The surgeon walked in and shook his hand, wearing the serious-but-glad expression Methos had hoped to see.

"Your wife's out of danger, Mr. Adamson," Gray told him.  "The flesh wound wasn't serious -- the bullet missed the bone, fortunately -- but she'll be in recovery for awhile because of the amount of blood she lost.  Still, I anticipate a full recovery."

"Thank God," Talya murmured.  Methos silently seconded the sentiment.

"Thank you, Doctor."  The ancient man's voice was husky.  "More than I can say, thank you.  May I see her?"

The surgeon nodded.  "Not very long -- she's going to be groggy if she's even awake, but a short visit shouldn't harm anything."

Methos turned to Talya.  "I'm going to stay here.  Take Claire back to your place, and I'll come get her tomorrow, all right?"

Talya wrapped her arms around the man she knew as Matthew Adamson.  "Of course.  Don't worry about a thing -- just take care of yourself and Robin."

"I will," he promised, returning her hug.  Then he let her go and followed the surgeon into the recovery room.

Robin lay on the bed, incredibly pale.  Methos' mind flashed back to Alexa, and he forced the thought away with some effort.  Robin wasn't dying; he'd have her for a long, long time, as mortals reckoned things.

Or would he?  She'd just witnessed the barbaric ritual known as "the Game."  Would it be too much for her?  What if it had scared her so much she wanted him out of her life -- and Claire's?

Methos knelt by the bed, taking her cold hand in his warm ones.  Her eyelids fluttered.  Her brown eyes looked bottomless in her pale face.  For a moment, they were confused, afraid, but then she locked onto her husband's face.

"Y-you're here?"  The whisper was almost too faint to hear.

"Always," he whispered back.

"So glad . . ."  A ghost of a smile touched her mouth for a moment, and then she slipped back into unconsciousness.

***

"So what happens now?"

Robin bit her lip, then squatted and occupied herself with straightening Claire's blanket inside the stroller.  As she did so, her leg protested.  The twinge of pain brought with it unwelcome anxieties.

It had been a month since the shooting.  During that time, Robin had been released from the hospital and gone into physical therapy, with the doctor's expectations of her making a full recovery.  She'd gone home to Claire and Methos.  Her expectations that everything would return to normal, however, had not been fulfilled.  Her husband had seemed to back away from her, retreating within himself.  Worse yet, Robin found that her image of him had been shattered beyond repair.  She still loved him, but found herself wondering if love was really enough.

It had finally come to the point that Robin had made him take a walk with her not only so she could stretch her abused muscles, but so she could air her feelings, and perhaps understand his.  They'd ended up at the college.  And Robin realized she had no idea what to say to her husband's first words.

Methos leaned quietly against an ancient oak tree, watching his wife.  He hated the thought of losing her, but sometimes . . . sometimes these things happened.  He would survive.  Just like always . . .

Robin still wasn't answering, and he decided to make his offer explicit, rather than oblique.  "Robin, if you want to leave, I'll understand."

"No!"  The word seemed to slip free of Robin's mouth before she could even think.  She stood and looked at her husband.  "No," she repeated, more softly, "I don't want to leave you."  She looked away.

"Robin, I want you to think about this carefully," Methos said softly.  "The Game is only a part of what you'll face in the coming years.  I can only stay in one place for so long; ten years is my maximum.  You'll have to leave behind everything -- everything -- if you want to stay with me.  You'll never be able to bear a child of your own.  These are the sacrifices you'll have to make if you stay."

"I know."  Her voice was soft, but firm, and she looked him straight in the eye.  "I understood all that when we were married.  I didn't make my commitment lightly, Methos.  I want to stay, and I'll take the consequences of that."

Even the surge of relief Methos felt at her words couldn't blind him to the fact that there was much left unsaid.  "But?" he prompted.

Robin sighed softly, looking at the ground, at the tree, at a set of young lovers walking hand-in-hand across the campus, at anything except her husband.  Finally, she forced herself to look into his eyes.

"Who are you, Methos?" she asked.

It was his turn to look away.  "There is no easy answer to your question."  He raised his eyebrows, looking at Robin.  "I'm the oldest of the Immortals, Robin.  Even Ganewyn is a full millennium younger than me.  It would be easier to tell you what I am  not --what I have never been."

Robin shook her head.  "I can't comprehend that.  That kind of age . . . I have no idea where to even begin."

"Then don't try."  Methos' eyes flickered away, then found hers again.  "Robin, Methos is a conniving, manipulative bastard who's out for his own survival.  That's what he is, and that's what he's always been.  I'd almost be happier if you didn't know him."

Robin gave a snort of exasperation.  "Ask me if I can make heads or tails out of that one," she commented sourly.  She heard her husband's soft chuckle.  "Listen, whoever you are, I may not understand all you've been in five stinking thousand years, but I do know . . ." she swallowed softly.  "I do know that you've made me feel something I never dreamt of feeling.  You've given me a love like none I've ever known, and I've loved you in a way I never knew was possible.  I don't want to lose that, but I'm confused by you.  And I'm frightened -- not only for myself, but for Claire.  I hate the idea of someone like him--"  and they both know who 'he' was  "--using Claire against you."

"No one will."  The iron-hard note in Methos' voice was almost a shock to Robin.  "I promise you, Robin -- I will do everything in my power to protect you and Claire."

"I believe you."  The words, softly spoken, seemed to anchor both of them.

Methos looked away again, sighing.  "As for the Methos thing -- Robin, just call me Matthew.  Please."  He reached up and touched her face.  "Methos is too much for a mortal to understand.  Too much for most Immortals to understand.  Sometimes, he's too much for me to understand.  You fell in love with Matthew Adamson.  That's who I am for one lifetime -- yours."

Robin shook her head, a slight grin forming on her face.  "It's really freaky, hearing you talk about yourself like that, you know."

Methos smiled, too.  "We ancients are confusing that way.  What I'm not confused about, and what you should not be confused about, is this:  I love you, Robin.  You will always be in my heart."

Her eyes glistened softly.  "I love you, too . . . Matthew."  She nodded.  "You're right, it's simpler this way."

"Then we'll leave Methos behind, my love.  All that matters is us, in the here and now."  He reached out one arm, and Robin willingly walked into his embrace.  They kissed, bodies flush against each other, leaning against the oak tree.

"Way to go, Adamson!" yelled a voice.  It was quickly followed by several catcalls.

Methos and Robin looked up.  A few of his students were walking on a pathway nearby.  One of them, a young man with unruly orange hair, gave Methos the double thumbs-up.  Delia Cullen and Gina Cardones, also with the group, giggled.

Methos looked back down at his wife, who was blushing deep red.  "Kids these days," he sighed.  Robin dissolved into giggles, then leaned up to kiss him again.

***

Methos' sharp ears brought him back to full consciousness.  He could hear a light sound coming from the baby monitor.  Gently, he eased himself away from his wife, who was boneless from lovemaking and soundly asleep.  He grabbed and pulled on the set of boxers that had fallen to the floor at some point and made his way into Claire's room.

The baby was wide awake, but seemed perfectly happy, playing with her mobile and talking to herself.  She smiled at her father.  He smiled back.

"Got no idea of what the world's like, do you?" he asked softly.  "You're just content to have a home and a mom and dad at your beck and call, aren't you?"

Claire grabbed her pink stuffed elephant that she wouldn't go to sleep without and cooed up at Methos.  He grinned, picking her up.

"Yeah, you know I can't refuse you anything."

She chewed industriously at the elephant's ear and reached up to grab Methos' nose.

"It's all right, you know," he told her.  "Being innocent.  It's all right.  There was a time I thought it wasn't, that it would just get you into trouble.  It's more than just being naïve, though, being innocent.  Want to hear what I think?"  Claire seemed riveted, so Methos continued.  "It's believing you can really make a difference.  It's believing that no matter what happens, somehow, it will come out all right in the end.  I've lived too long, I think, to ever truly believe that again, but you know what I've noticed?  The truly innocent, the ones who really believe all that, all too often actually do make a difference.  Things turn out all right for them.  Somehow, they manage all that.  Duncan MacLeod comes to mind."  He cuddled Claire, who was looking progressively less interested in his eloquence and more interested in sleep, close to him.  "Your mother, too.  And you know what's really interesting about these people?"

Claire's eyes were closed, her breathing regular.  Methos whispered, "They end up making other people better for having known them."  He kissed his child.  "Good night, little one."

As he replaced Claire in her crib, he sensed someone behind him.  He turned to face his wife.

She looked beautiful in the moonlight, with her softly rumpled hair and comfortable old bathrobe.  She smiled, a look of pure love.

He returned her smile.  "I thought I'd well and truly exhausted you."

Even in the dim light, her blush was visible.  "I heard you talking on the baby monitor and wondered what was going on," she explained.  "Do you really believe all that?"

"Oddly enough, yes.  But I'll deny everything if you tell MacLeod."

Robin laughed.  Methos watched her, still amazed that she had never seen her own beauty before he came along.  She held out a hand.

"Come back to bed," was her soft invitation.

He took her hand, coming close, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her gently.  For a long moment, he just savored the softness and sweetness of her, enjoying the rich curves of her body against his.  By the time he raised his head, both of them had decided to stay awake awhile longer.

Methos gave one last glance toward the sleeping Claire before leaving the room with his wife.

Family, he thought, almost as if he was trying the word on for size.  Family.

It sounded nice.

The End

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