On May 13, 2001, a member of the Official Highlander Bulletin Board who goes by the handle "kostaki99" posted the following on the Highlander: The Series Forum of the Official Bulletin Board:

"I was actually thinking about Mythos [sic] knowing Jesus. You know how Mythos was a member of the horsemen, how he killed all those people and in present day he's a good man? Well maybe him knowing Jesus changed him into a good man. Just a thought."

This made me think and on June 5, I posted the first part of the following short fiction. The story sat as it was, then after brewing in me for a while, the second part was posted on June 14, 2001. So here it is, in its entirety, with the characters of Jesus and Methos in the ultimate Highlander and the Bible crossover story:
 
 

Mary of Magdala lit the candles and gently moved her hands over them, gathering them all in, beginning the Sabbath meal with a prayer. After it, she sat and Jesus started passing the matzo, first to John, the disciple he loved, then to the others. They were just getting into the meal when they were distracted by a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Jesus called. His mouth dropped in surprise when Methos walked in. "Methos, I'm so glad you made it! Come! Join us."

There was murmuring and several "Hi, Methos" as the apostles waved at the slender immortal. They all knew how close Jesus was with the pale stranger, but for some reason, none of them liked him.

Methos waved back, but stayed by the door. He beckoned to Jesus.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, god-man? Privately?"

Jesus frowned. It must be important. He hatedthat nickname and Methos knew it. The ancient immortal must be already trying to break through any barriers Jesus might put up. He got up from his seat.

"Sure."

Outside the closed door to the upper room, Methos leaned in toward the Son of God and said quietly, urgently. "I heard what you were going to do."

"How did you hear?"

"I hear a lot of things." His voice deepened with intensity. "Are you really going to go through with this?"

"I gotta, Methos, you know better than most why."

"But I haven't found all the pieces of the Stone. You mustgive me more time!"

"Can't, old man. The time is now. Passover is coming."

Methos sighed and ran a hand through self-cropped hair. "You could die, Jesus." It was a whisper.

"I willdie, Methos."

"I mean forever."

"You think I need the Stone to be immortal? You don't believe my Father will raise me from the dead?"

"You know how long I've been around and you know how much I've seen, but I've never seen anyone come back to life from the dead, unless they were immortal or pre-immortal. And you are neither."

Jesus smiled at the ancient one. It was such a gentle smile it almost broke Methos's heart.

"Why don't you think I'm immortal?" Jesus asked.

Methos frowned, puzzled. "Because you're not!"

"Not yet," Jesus replied, "but I will be, three days after."

"That's just prophecy," Methos argued, "and it's one that's hundreds of years old. How can you believe it?"

Jesus was silent, mulling over the question. "My Father told me," he finally answered.

"How can you believe it?" Methos whispered.

Jesus smiled that gentle smile again. "It's a matter of faith, my friend," he said, his words as gentle as his smile. "A matter of faith."

Jesus came back to where he had left Peter, James and John and once again found them asleep. The last time he had come back to them after praying for an hour, he had also found them asleep and had woken them up.

"Hey, guys," he had said, "can't you stay awake for just one hour?"

The three men had shrugged, sleepily contrite.

Now, Jesus shook his head, knowing that elsewhere in the garden, his other disciples were probably also fast asleep. "Go back to sleep," he said. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

He went back to where had been before and found someone waiting for him, sprawled on a boulder.

"Methos, what are you doing here?"

The old man shrugged. "Thought I'd wait with you."

Jesus smiled, hearing the volumes Methos left unspoken. "It's dangerous for you here. They're coming soon."

"Don't worry, Jesus. They won't see me."

Jesus sighed and threw himself onto the grass next to Methos's rock. "I suppose not. You've had a lot of experience with getting away from sticky situations."

Methos let the cutting statement pass. He couldn't miss the bitterness in Jesus's voice. "Did you talk to him?"

"Who?"

Methos lowered his voice. "Your Father."

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"No answer."

"He's gonna make you do this?"

Jesus shrugged. "I guess."

"Just like with Abraham," Methos muttered.

Jesus frowned. "Abraham?"

"Yeah. Yahweh told Abraham to kill his only son. And he almost did."

"That's right," Jesus replied slowly. "Just like Abraham. Who thought I'd be so famous?"

"Not me. Well, I knew you'd go far. You had all the answers in school. They didn't know what to do with you. Remember Rebbe Jacob? He was fit to be tied when you quoted those scriptures perfectly."

The two men laughed quietly at the shared memory, which, naturally, brought up other memories.

Methos looked down at the young man next to him. Jesus was so young! Well, just over thirty was middle age for this time and place. Methos remembered a time when thirty was almost old. Compared to him, however, Jesus was very young. "Do you think it will be almost for you?"

Jesus was quiet for a long time. "No," he finally answered. "We're going all the way with this one."

Methos sighed. "What a waste."

Jesus smiled. "It won't be wasted. You'll see."

Methos merely shook his head, the thought of what Jesus was going to go through on the morrow choking him into silence. Methos had seen the favored form of Roman execution up close and very personally. It had been unfortunate that the ancient immortal had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and it had led to his crucifixion. He had been fortunate, however, that the region where he was captured and sentenced to death erupted into rebellion just hours after he was hung on the cross. The rebels rescued all of Rome's enemies, those in jails and on the crosses, Methos among them. Of course, all the surviving rebels were crucified in their turn, but by then, Methos was long gone. He avoided Romans and their occupied territories after that.

Rome's reach was long, however, and Jesus was a compelling man and a wise teacher, for one so young. So here he was, back in Roman-occupied territory with a man who was going be killed the next day for--for what? Methos still didn't understand.

Methos struggled with Jesus's belief that he was the Son of God, destined to die for the sins of all humanity and to be raised from the dead to continue his work in other ways. Methos knew that Jesus was good and wise and had so much to offer, but he didn't believe that Jesus's death was necessary.

"Yes, it is," Jesus had said. "And even if it were not, it would be inevitable."

"Why is it inevitable?"

Jesus opened his eyes. He was listening to the insects singing in the garden's undergrowth and feeling the soft grass beneath his head and the cool night breezes on his brow. He didn't look at Methos. He studied the stars instead.

"Why is what inevitable?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Your death."

"They can't leave me alive. What I'm telling people is too dangerous. You know that. We've been through this before. What I tell people make them look beyond the status quo, beyond rules and regulations that are old and dead. We should not be stoning raped women to death. Whores areredeemable, and are mostly victims of circumstance, and a man is not evil if he simply comes from a certain country. They don't want to hear that."

"So don't tell them that."

Jesus finally looked at Methos. "I have to. It's the truth."

Methos shrugged. "I know it's the truth. But you don't have to tell them."

"Yes, I do," Jesus said softly, "and you know it."

"Yeah, I know," Methos said, just as softly. "But it's so dangerous."

"I know that. I knew it from the start. This had to end this way, Methos, it's inevitable, and we both knew it."

Methos lay back on the boulder without answering. He stared at the stars. A part of him was already listening for the soldiers that were coming to arrest his friend.

"Why are you here, Methos?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Just what I said. Everything you just said is moot, and you knew that before you came here. You knew I wouldn't be changing my mind, so why come? It's dangerous for you here. Why risk it?"

Methos watched the stars twinkle, unable, or unwilling, to answer. "I told you," he finally said. "I'm waiting with you."

"You cannot stop them, old friend."

Methos looked at the young man staring up at him from the grass. The words were cordial, but the tone was a warning. "What d'you mean?" he asked again, his face a study in innocence.

"You cannot interfere with what's going to happen. I know that you are a great warrior and can probably best anyone they send to arrest me, but you cannot interfere."

Methos sat up abruptly. "How can I not? How can I just let them--crucify you." Just saying that word made Methos go cold all over. "How can I just let--"

Jesus sat up and put a restraining hand on Methos's arm. "Where is your sword?"

Methos shook his head.

"Where?"

"Damn you, Jesus!" Methos choked the words out, his throat closing in anguish. "How can I not?"

Jesus got up and sat on the rock next to Methos. "You must not, my friend, you must not."

Methos closed his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair then pointed to a nearby thicket.

Jesus went to the thicket and saw the old broadsword propped against a tree, out of sight and easily reached. He picked it up. It was warm to the touch, and very heavy. Hefting it to feel the weight, he turned back toward Methos. The Old One was not looking at him. Slumped on the boulder, he looked defeated. Jesus looked at the sword, briefly wondering how such a slender man had the strength to wield such a weapon effectively. The proof that Methos could was there in front of him. Methos was over three thousand years old. One could not live so long in such a life without the strength, courage and ruthlessness that Methos obviously possessed.

Tucking the weapon under a bush so that it was difficult to get to, Jesus went back to Methos.

"Tell me," he said gently.

After a long pause, Methos said: "You don't understand, Jesus. You've been good all your life. You've had a destiny and you've been--blessed, for want of a better word. I saw--possibilities with you. A chance for me to do something good, a chance for me to give back, a chance for--" Methos stopped himself.

"A chance for redemption?"

Methos looked at Jesus, the burden of old pain lurking in the depths of his ancient eyes.

"Perhaps a chance for forgiveness?" When Methos looked away without answering, Jesus continued: "You are forgiven, Methos. At least God and I have forgiven you. Now what's left is for you to forgive yourself. That's where your redemption lies, Methos. You must forgive yourself."

The old friends shared a long look, their past and their memories passing between them unspoken.

Birds started to sing around them as the darkness in the east slowly eased, making way for the sun and a new day.

"Jesus--"

"Shhhh, my friend. Look, the dawn comes."

Methos followed Jesus's gaze and watched as the eastern sky lightened. The wind freshened in front of the sun's rays, and in the distance, the chink and clang of metal against metal came faintly to their waiting ears.

"Will you be there?" Jesus's words were as soft as a whisper.

"Every step of the way." Methos paused as his throat closed. His mouth tightened and he took a deep breath through his nose. He stared at the rising sun. "I will follow you and I will be there. Know that. Know that whatever happens, even if you cannot see me, I will be there."

Also staring at the dawn, Jesus nodded. "And in three days?"

Methos listened as the soldiers got closer. "I'll be waiting. I promised I'd wait." He finally turned to Jesus. Deep brown eyes met hazel. "I promised I'd wait. You promised you'd return. I expect you to keep your promise."

Jesus nodded again. "I promise," he whispered.

Without another word, Jesus got off the boulder and went back to his sleeping disciples.

The clash and clang of metal invaded the peaceful garden. The cries of waking men and arresting soldiers carried clearly back to the ancient immortal who watched the sunrise and listened as his friend was dragged away to certain death.

He did not move.
 

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