PART 1: "I think she'd make a great immortal."

Chapter 8

Retired Police Chief Gill Martin frequently watched Jackie Sloane and Adam Pierson as they talked, as they walked and as they sat. Methos was very much aware of Gill's scrutiny, but said nothing of it to Jackie. He figured that Gill Martin would eventually bring things to a head, and he was right.

About three weeks after the battle with Kirkland, Methos was making his way to the Village alone to go to the grocery store. Jackie had wanted to go, but Methos made her stay home. They had been out and about quite a bit over the past few weeks, and she was still getting tired quickly and her hand was taking a long time to heal. She, herself, had made a couple of trips alone to the village. This time, he insisted that she stay in bed while he did the marketing run.

After parking the car, he was making his way toward the store when Gill Martin stepped out a side street in from of him.

"Mr. Pierson."

"Chief Martin. A pleasure, I'm sure." Methos's voice would have sounded genuine were it not for its hard edge.

"What brings you to town?"

Methos ignored the fact that the question was obviously rude and answered it. "Just a quick run to the grocery store."

"Where's Jackie?"

"At home."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's been getting tired quickly and her hand is not healing as quickly as I'd like, so I told her I'd do the shopping. You have a problem with that?"

Gill's mouth tightened. "No, I'm just worried about her."

Methos regarded the retired Police Chief for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Why don't you just ask me the question you want to?" he finally asked Gill.

Gill took a deep breath, relieved that it was finally out in the open. "I want to know what you want with Jackie Sloane."

Methos bared his teeth in a small, leering smile. "Isn't it obvious?"

Gill's face hardened with anger and frustration. "How dare you come here so soon after her partner dies and seduce her? Why pick her? There must be other women you can twist to your whim, even younger women."

"Perhaps. But it's Jacqueline that I want."

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean, why?"

"That's the question, Pierson. Answer it."

"You're not a cop anymore, Gill Martin. You can't interrogate me."

"Just watch me. I could make a lot of trouble for you."

Methos was quiet for a long moment. Gill Martin certainly could make trouble for him. Not the same kind of trouble that an immortal with a bare sword could, but trouble nevertheless. He decided that serious honesty might be helpful right about now.

"Look, Chief Martin, I understand that you want Jacqueline as well--"

"What the hell does that mean?" Gill interrupted.

"Come, come. If I'm going to be honest here, you'll have to be honest as well. I know you want her. You've always wanted her, even when she was not alone. Am I right?"

Gill's silence and averted gaze was all the answer the immortal needed. "You thought you had an open field once Andrea died," Methos continued. "You gave her time, which was good, because she and Andrea were together for more than fifty years. What you never knew was that she and I have a history and a past. There was no way that you ever had a chance with her. I'm sorry, but there it is."

"When the hell did you two have a past, when you were thirteen years old?"

Methos sighed. "I'm sure it's something that Jacqueline would want to keep private, especially since we're talking about a time when Andrea was still alive."

Gill stared at him with anger and hostility. He had never considered that Jackie might have had an affair before Andrea died, least of all with a man. He thought that Pierson was new, that he could get the young man away from Jackie and try for her himself. But if they had already been together, then Pierson was probably right, Chief Gill Martin never had a chance. Looking for a new way to wound Pierson, Gill said: "She changed her will, you know."

"No, I didn't," Methos said tightly. "That's a personal document. How would you know?"

"The lawyer she used is a friend of mine. He told me. It was very recent, just earlier this week. She's leaving everything to you, the house, the contents, the money they saved for maintaining the house, everything."

This new knowledge hit Methos deep in his gut. He knew how close he and Jacqueline had gotten, but he had no idea--.

"And with you living with her, she's completely at your mercy," Gill continued, but Methos could barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. "It worries me that she could be really hurt."

Methos looked up at Gill, the confusion in his eyes so obvious, even Gill could see it. The retired Chief stopped talking, puzzled at Methos's reaction.

Suddenly, Methos had an overwhelming urge to run, to just start running from where he was and to keep running until he hit the Pacific Ocean.

"Didn't you know?" Gill asked him.

Methos shook his head blindly. "What about lawyers not being allowed to talk about their clients' business to anyone?"

"Well, he was worried about Jackie as well," Gill answered slowly. "She's well known around here, you know. People like and respect her." He paused. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

Methos shook his head sharply, trying to get rid of the cobwebs. "I'm going to do the shopping. It's her will. If she wishes to tell me about it, she will. If she doesn't, well, you know how headstrong and stubborn she is. She'll do what she wants, she always does. Now listen, Chief Martin, you tell your lawyer friend that he has nothing to worry about, and that he should be more ethical when it comes to his clients' affairs. And don't you worry, either, Gill Martin. I don't intend to hurt Jacqueline at all."

With that he abruptly left the Chief to go the market. Watching Pierson walk away, Chief Gill Martin frowned. He knew that he had scored with the news of the will. He had wanted to hit the young man in the gut, and hard, and he had, but Gill didn't expect the man to react so courteously. It left Gill with a very hollow victory, and wondering what the young man was going to do next.

Methos's reaction to the news did not take long. The very next day, he was on the road heading west, leaving a very bewildered Jacqueline in his wake. He had to see MacLeod; he had to talk to him. This news was a development that showed that his relationship with Jacqueline had gone beyond a simple affair, and he didn't know what to do.

Methos was glad he caught MacLeod back in the loft. In fact, he found that he was once again grateful that Duncan had bought the loft back. It had been hell not knowing where Duncan was at any given moment. The fact that Duncan was in negotiations to buy the barge back made Methos happy enough to offer any assistance Duncan might need to help the sale go through.

Now, Methos was pacing the familiar loft with a fairly unfamiliar problem, at least for this century.

"I don't know what to do, MacLeod."

"Do you want to stay with her?"

Methos gave himself a moment of silence before he answered. "Yes."

"So why are you asking me if you should stay?"

"Didn't you hear me? She's leaving me the house, everything. That's a commitment I'm not sure I want to make."

"Well, would you stay if you didn't know about the house?"

"Yes," Methos answered impatiently, "of course."

"I don't understand how knowing about that changes things."

"I don't know if I'm being fair to her, or if I'm just being selfish."

"Does she want you to stay?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure about that?"

Methos took a deep breath, nodding so definitely, it made Duncan smile. "Oh, yes," Methos answered. "I'm quite sure."

"Methos, I don't see a problem here. You want to stay, she wants you to stay, yet something seems to be pulling you away. What?"

Methos looked down in silence.

Suddenly, Duncan saw something in Methos's face he'd never seen before. "Methos, you're afraid!" Duncan's voice was stunned.

Methos looked up, stricken.

"Methos, why?" Duncan asked softly.

"She's 81 years old, Mac. She's going to die, and soon."

"You don't want to be there when she dies?"

Methos shrugged helplessly. "I don't know if I can take it, MacLeod."

"You took it with Alexa. In fact, you went after it with Alexa."

"Yes, but Alexa was so quick. I fell in love so quickly and then she was gone so quickly. It's different with Jacqueline. I didn't even know I loved her, not for years. We just got along so great, and she was there for me, and every time I needed her she was there. After that, I just--watched her, for years, not knowing why I needed to watch her, that it was because I loved her. And now--now she's as much mine as she was Andrea's, and she's leaving me everything, like Andrea left her everything. Mac, its such a responsibility."

Duncan didn't reply, he simply watched Methos debate with himself. The oldest immortal knew what to do, and he knew that it was the right thing to do. He just had to talk himself into realizing it. So Duncan watched, and waited.

Within two days, Methos was heading back east and Duncan knew that he wouldn't see Methos again until it was all over.

When Methos got back to Montauk, he was greeted by a very worried Jackie who told him that she accepted his disappearing in the past, and she could still accept it, but things were different now. Now she needed to know where he was going and she needed a vague idea of when he was coming back. Methos agreed and apologized for the absence.

Jackie need not have worried. Methos didn't go anywhere. He stayed with her, and the days melted into weeks and the weeks into months. They set up a home and a routine, and they lived like an old married couple, except Methos didn't look very old.

It had been a year since Methos had revealed himself to Jackie, and it was early fall again. They were once again outside on the bench on the patio watching the sun set. It was hard not to remember a year before when Methos had asked Jackie about her dreams and they were both thinking about the long past as it was revealed and illuminated by the sharp, slanting rays of the setting fall sun. Jackie decided that now was the time to tell him.

"Methos," she said quietly.

Methos turned toward her sharply. If Jacqueline was calling him by his real name outside the confines of their bedroom, he knew it was important.

"What is it?"

"I have something to tell you."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Jackie smiled, "just fine. I just need to tell you a few things."

"Okay," Methos sighed. Here it was: the inevitable conversation. "What is it?"

"I'd like you to know that I'm leaving you the house."

"Jacqueline," he protested, "that's really not--"

"Please, Adam, hush up. This is important. You love the house, don't you?"

"Of course! You know how much I love it."

"Yes, I do. Imagine it, I have the opportunity to leave a home I love to someone I love and who loves it as much as I do. And the best part is, you'll get to love it a very long time. And, just wait a moment!" she said as Methos tried to interrupt. "If you find you don't want to live here, well that's fine. You can hire somebody, or a company, to look after the place and it can be your summer home, or your winter home, or some place to hide out in, or to run to, or to disappear to."

Methos was looking thoughtful. "I never thought about it that way."

"And I would just love that," Jackie continued archly.

"Love what?"

"I would love the thought of you disappearing to my home instead of disappearing from my home!"

Methos broke out in his rich full laugh, and Jackie beamed at the sound. "So?" she asked. "Will you accept it?"

Methos put his arm around her and kissed her temple. "Yes, my sweet," he answered, "I accept it. I accept it with all my heart." He turned toward the west, closing his eyes and lifting his face to the brightness of the sun.

Jackie looked up at the mysterious face bathed in the colors of the sunset and she gently touched his cheek. He looked down at her, his hazel eyes lighting up as the sun picked up the flecks of gold and green highlights in them. Jackie's heart melted.

They spent the day the way they used to, walking the bluff and talking. It had been a long time since they had been able to do that. In the more than four years since Jackie had told Methos about the house, they had gone on exactly as they had in the year before, loving, living and being together. Jackie was thrilled to have another love in her life, and what a love! Methos, for his part, was enjoying the full-fledged domesticity he found with Jacqueline and their life together. In the last few months, however, Jacqueline had been failing and because of her weakened condition, they had not been to the lighthouse or the Village, or many times, not even to the big tree in the clearing.

Methos tried to remind himself that she was 85 now, quite old for a mortal, but it didn't help. He could almost hear Duncan's voice in his head when he saw Jacqueline's weakened condition, and they, once again, had to stay close to home, and even going out to the patio was a strain for her.

He could hear himself saying to Duncan when he and Alexa were leaving on their world-traveling expedition: "It's not long enough." And Duncan's answer echoing through the years: "It never is."

He only had a few months with Alexa, and it wasn't enough. He'd had five years already with Jacqueline, even if he didn't count the time when they were together years before, but it still wasn't enough. He had started getting sad and depressed when Jacqueline began to fail. He knew that she could die soon, and he wasn't ready to lose her. The five years they had spent together in the cottage in Montauk was the first relationship in which he had indulged in many, many decades. He had fun with her, and he didn't want it to end just yet.

Then, today, Jacqueline had woken up feeling well, energetic and restless. She wanted, and was able, to go out and do things, so they went to the Village. Methos took her out to a light lunch, then they went up to the lighthouse. Jacqueline was back to her old self, and their conversation started up again. Methos found that he was happy, and relieved. He was telling her the stories she loved, the ones about past times that only he knew about, stories that would never find their way into the history books. Jacqueline was also talking. She was talking about the things that Methos loved hearing about, her own theories about life and death, reincarnation, philosophy and metaphysics. They walked the paths and talked, they stood on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic and pondered the imponderables, then they rested on a bench talking about the past, Methos's past, Jacqueline's past and their shared past. They talked about poetry and music, and it went on all day.

After going out to dinner, they went back to the house and the conversation went on. Finally, as darkness fell, the conversation eased and Jackie asked Methos if he wanted to have some tea. He volunteered to make it.

In the kitchen, Methos looked out the window into the fading light as he waited for the kettle to boil. He suddenly realized that it was early fall again, and it had been five years this month since he had come back to Jacqueline. It was in the early fall and he had come hunting for Roland Kirkland, and he and Jacqueline had become lovers again, five years ago.

Methos had not seen or felt any immortals in those five years, except for Duncan that one time he had gone to see him early on in his time at Montauk. It was a long peaceful time of rest and love and contentment for him. He smiled to himself as he got the tea things together. How often had he done just this over the past 5 years? A home, normal, domestic tasks, a life like he had not lived in so long he had no idea how much he had missed it.

He bought the tea tray into the parlor and found that Jacqueline had fallen asleep in her chair. His face softened with affection. He put the tray down and watched her for a moment. Knowing Jacqueline, he knew that she would be annoyed with herself for falling asleep and that she would want him to wake her up so she could have tea with him, but he didn't want to do that.

Gently and carefully, he lifted her up from the chair and brought her to their bed. Settling her on the edge, he had started removing her shoes when she woke up.

"Methos?"

"Shhh, my sweet."

"Oh, Methos, did I fall asleep?"

"It's okay, my love."

"But the tea?"

"No bother. Don't give it a single thought. Come, help me with your clothes. We'll get you into your nightgown and get you into bed."

"Will you come to bed, too?"

"Of course."

After he got her under the covers, he went and put the tea things away and closed up the house. Then he changed out of his own clothes and got under the covers next to her. His movements woke her up again and she kissed him good night before she turned onto her side, her back to him. He curled against her back, wrapping his arms around her and they quickly fell asleep.

It was sometime later when he felt Jackie touching him. At first, he thought it was a dream, but the touch was definite and real enough to pull him out of the deepest part of his sleep, though not very quickly. He lay there, his eyes closed, as Jackie cupped his face, running her hand down his jaw. Then she brushed her fingers along his cheekbones, first one then the other. He smiled into the darkness of his closed lids as she stroked a finger down the side of his nose. She ran her hand through his hair and he opened his eyes, expecting to see her smiling face above his.

With a cold, sudden shock, he saw nothing. Jacqueline was still on her side, her back to him. He closed his eyes again, squeezing them shut. He could still feel her fingers in his hair, the residual aura of her touch along his face. He opened his eyes again and, lifting himself up on one elbow, looked down at the back of Jacqueline's head, still and quiet. He knew that she was gone. He didn't have to touch her to feel that her body was empty and cooling, the spirit no longer with it.

Falling back onto the pillow, Methos understood what had just happened. Jacqueline had said goodbye to him in the only way left to her, and he found that he was extraordinarily grateful that he had awakened enough to feel the goodbye. In fact, he could still feel it, though it was fading as the last note of a song fades into silence after lingering for a moment.

Turning away from her body, Methos picked up the phone and dialed Duncan's number. He didn't know what time it was, and wouldn't care if he did.

Duncan voice, when he answered, sounded sleep-clogged and annoyed. "Hello?"

"MacLeod? It's me."

"Methos? What's wrong?"

"She's gone, Mac."

There was a long silence on the other end. "I'm sorry, Methos. When?"

"Just now. She said goodbye, and it woke me."

"She said goodbye and then just died?"

"No, she died and then said goodbye."

"I don't understand."

"It's okay. I'll tell you about it later. I just needed--." He fell silent.

"I understand, Methos. I'm glad you called."

Methos sighed and was quiet a long time. Duncan was quiet as well, staying on the line, the only way he could be there for his friend. Methos took what comfort he could from Duncan's silent presence. When he felt that he could deal with the inevitable tasks ahead, he said: "Thanks, MacLeod. I should go."

"Would you like me to come?"

"If you like, but it's not necessary."

"I'll see you soon."

"Thanks, Mac."

After hanging up the phone, Methos turned back to Jackie, and this time, he did touch her. He gently turned her over onto her back. Her face was peaceful, gentle in its repose, her eyes closed. She looked as if she was still in the sleep she was in when death claimed her. Methos felt honored and privileged that she had taken the time to say farewell to him at the start of her incredible journey. He leaned forward and softly kissed her lips, his own way of saying goodbye.

Then he got out of bed and, picking up the phone again, dialed the only number he knew in Montauk--Gill Martin.

They stood outside together by Gill's old Ford, watching the coroner take the body out of the house. Every so often, Gill Martin looked over at Pierson, watching the play of emotions across the sharp-featured face. First there was calm, then pain, then his face went impassive, then it was stricken with grief.

Needing to say something, Gill asked Adam: "Why did you call me?"

"Only number I knew," Adam said. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. I'm glad you felt you could call me."

Adam turned and looked at Gill. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softening around the eyes. Then he looked away.

While they were loading the body into the ambulance, Pierson turned and walked away, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his coat.

"'What's gone and what's past help should be past grief,'" he murmured.

"What's that?" Gill asked.

Adam glanced back at him, looking, for the first time in Gill's experience, lost and vulnerable and so young.

"That was Shakespeare," Adam said. "'What's gone and what's past help should be past grief.' It's from 'Two Gentlemen of Verona.'"

"So he said that you shouldn't feel grief?"

"Not if you can't help the situation. But it's just a rationalization and he knew that." Watching the departing ambulance with enormous sorrow, he continued, "It doesn't help. Even I can't make it help."

For the first time, Gill Martin felt kinship with this strange young man. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," the strange young man answered. "I never thought past this point. She left the house to me, you know. I intend to keep it. I need to--to--"

As he broke off and turned away, Gill caught only a glimpse of Adam's stricken face, but for some reason, Gill was comforted by Pierson's pain. Gill never had a chance with Jackie. When he thought he might, the possibility was usurped by a very strange young man who seemed to be genuinely in love with a woman more than fifty years his senior. Gill was able to deal with losing the possibility of Jackie's love once he understood that it was a real love match. He could deal with her death knowing that Jackie had been happy her whole life. One of the reasons she had been happy was this sad, lost young man, and the fact that this lost young man mourned her somehow helped Gill Martin with his own loss.

The sun was setting, sending its rays laterally across the land, lighting up the cobalt , early fall sky with its bright yellows and reds. It was colder than it was supposed to be, but it felt right that it should be so cold. Methos stood over Jacqueline's grave. It had been a year since she had died, and the tombstone had finally been placed.

He looked at Jacqueline's name, her full name, carved on the stone, followed by her life dates, her birth date and her death date. An odd custom, Methos always thought. For many decades, about three hundred years before, people only put the birth date and how old the person was when they died. He preferred that, for some odd reason.

He had gotten the message about the tombstone being done a few days before and had gotten here as soon as he could get away. Standing here brought back memories of that time a year ago when Jacqueline had died.

Duncan had come to be with Methos. Methos had thought that it would be unnecessary, but found that he had needed Duncan there, to help him deal with the final burial issues, and to help him clear out the house.

Duncan was a great help with the house. Methos was not thinking too clearly, so Duncan took charge, telling him what they should do and giving advice on how to dispose of things.

They were working on a closet in the bedroom. Duncan was on a ladder dealing with stuff on the top shelf while Methos, sitting on the bed, was going through a box of pictures. He was taking a quick glance at each photo before throwing them into a garbage bag. Duncan knew that Methos was looking for pictures of himself or of anyone who might know him. Those would be burned separately. Suddenly, he heard a small gasp from Methos. Getting down from the ladder, he came over to look at the picture in Methos's hand.

It was a picture of a very young Jackie, maybe in her early to mid thirties. She was sitting with her side to the camera and had her head turned, looking directly into the lens. Her red hair was loose down her back and the flash emphasized her hazel eyes. She was smiling at the camera, a bright, beaming smile that lit up her entire face and made her look very young and filled with the joy of life. Methos stared at it for a long time then looked up at Duncan.

"Jackie?" Duncan asked.

Methos nodded. "This is a perfect picture of her." He looked back down at it. "It really captures the core of her, her essence. She was always filled with joy and life and love." He placed it gently on the bed next to him in a gesture that surprised Duncan. Methos kept very little from the lives he led. Well, live and learn, and with someone as mysterious and unfathomable as Methos, one is always learning.

By the time they were done, all of Jacqueline's personal clothes and belongings, except for that one photo, had been thrown away, donated or sold. The money and donations went to the charities that Jacqueline had once named in her will before she had changed it to make Methos the primary beneficiary.

In less than a month, Methos had finished clearing out the house and had hired a property maintenance company to deal with the house. It was still in probate, but everyone, including Gill Martin, assured him that though it was a lengthy process, it was fairly routine and the house would be his in a few months. So Methos left Montauk, giving the important people an address, a post box on the West Coast, where they could sent him progress reports.

It was to this box that the probate lawyers told him when the house was his free and clear, and that the property maintenance people sent his information on taxes and how they were dealing with them. It was also to this box that the monument company told him that Jackie's tombstone was ready and when it would be placed.

So now, Methos was back in Montauk, standing under the huge, blue, fall sky, in the tiny Village graveyard. He had tried to have Jacqueline buried on the rise near her cottage in the woods, but was forbidden because of state laws. Methos didn't push it.

He had called to let the property company know when he would be in town, and was not surprised when he found evidence that more than a cleaning crew was told about his return.

He was barely in the house an hour when he heard a car on the road. He looked out the window, but put his sword away when he saw Gill Martin's beaten-up old Ford. He opened the door.

Gill looked considerably older, and Methos knew that one day he would be getting some kind of notification in his post box about Gill's passing. It would be sad, he admitted, but not enough to bring Methos back to Montauk.

"Chief Martin, what a surprise!"

"Mr. Pierson, welcome back."

Stepping back, Methos let the retired chief into the house, pretending not to notice as Gill looked around to see what was different.

"It's very much the same!" Gill said, his surprise quite evident.

"I left the furnishings alone," Methos said quietly. "I find that they're quite nice, and comfortable. I only got rid of the very personal things I couldn't use."

Gill nodded. "Wise decision. It's still very cozy here."

"I intend to keep it that way."

Gill nodded again, obviously working up to something that he was finding difficult to say. Methos just waited for him.

"Listen, Mr. Pierson, I know that we got off on the wrong foot, but it was because we both had Jackie's best interest at heart. I'll say what I have to say and get out of your hair. I just want to apologize about not being more trusting."

"No need, Chief," Methos interjected. "You had your reasons, and I understood them. There's no need to apologize for being cautious. In fact, I admire a cautious man."

Gill smiled, the first one, Methos believed, that Gill Martin had ever sent his way. "Well, I'm glad we're seeing eye to eye now. I heard about you coming back, the tombstone and all, and I saw you drive through town. I only came to give you something." He paused, his hand going to his breast pocket. "I actually wanted to give this to you before, after she died, but it was such a hard time, and then you left so quickly, so I'd like to give it to you right away, in case I don't have another opportunity."

With that, Gill reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, handing it to Methos.

It was a photograph of Methos and Jackie walking by the Montauk Lighthouse, in animated conversation. Methos looked up at Gill, his expression unreadable.

"You know I was watching the two of you, a lot." Methos nodded. "Well," Gill continued hesitantly, "I thought--I thought you should have that. It was the best of the lot."

"Where are the others?"

"I burned most of them." Methos's eyes narrowed. "Honest, I did. Here are the negatives of the others." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he gave Methos a few rolls of exposed negatives and a packet of positive prints. "You should have these as well. You can look through the others, but I think that one I gave you is the best. They're all from that first month before we talked, before she changed the will. I stopped watching you after that and didn't take any more pictures."

Methos nodded and looked back down at the photograph. The two of them were walking, Methos was talking, gesturing expressively, his face lifted and looking off into the distance, probably into the distant past. Jacqueline was looking up at him, listening avidly. Methos sighed at the onrushing memories. It could have easily been the other way around, Jacqueline talking expressively while he listened avidly.

Holding the picture up, Methos smiled at Gill. "Thanks, Chief Martin, for this. I'm sure it is the best of the bunch, and I appreciate you giving it to me. Believe me, I know what it took for you to come here and give these to me."

Gill smiled again and nodded. "Well, best be off, Mr. Pierson." Gill put out a hand and Methos shook it. "All the best to you."

"And all the best to you, too, Chief Martin."

Gill left without another word. Methos wondered idly if he would ever see the old man again, but soon forgot about the retired police chief as he went through the pictures and negatives, burning all of them except for the one that Gill Martin saved as special.

Methos was about to leave for the cemetery when he heard another car on the road. This time, it was a florist's truck. Puzzled, Methos took the bouquet from the driver, signed for it and tipped the man.

It was a fall bouquet, filled with the reds and rusts, yellows and oranges so prevalent at the time of the dying year. It also reminded him of the fall sunsets he and Jacqueline used to watch from their patio.

One look at the card told him that he was supposed to remember those sunsets from the patio. The flowers were from Jacqueline. Methos fell into a chair, fighting the roaring in his ears and the encroaching darkness. Refusing to faint, he went to the phone instead.

When the owner of the florist shop got on the phone, he didn't sound surprised to hear the question Methos put to him.

"I've been expecting your call, Mr. Pierson. Ms. Sloane left this request with me about six months before she died. She specified what kind of bouquet she wanted to send to you and when. It was supposed to be sent at this time of year during the year following her death. It's not actually supposed to be sent for another couple of weeks, but I was afraid you were not going to be here, so when I heard you were coming back, I ordered the flowers and as soon as I heard you were in town, I got the arrangement together. I hope you don't mind, but Ms. Sloane was a very good long-time customer and I was happy to fill this last order for her."

Methos muttered something about it being okay and thanking him for telling him the story behind the flowers.

Hanging up the phone, he went back to the note. It was written in Jacqueline's own hand, a poem she had found somewhere that she wanted to share with him after she was gone. "Just a reminder," the note ended, "so you won't forget."

Methos smiled sadly as he slipped the note into the pocket with the photo from Gill. "As if," he murmured to himself.

Now, staring down at Jacqueline's tombstone, Methos re-read what the monument said:

Duncan had been flabbergasted when Methos had told him what inscription he was putting on the stone.

"What! Why are you putting that on the stone?"

"Well, you said it yourself, in the loft, when she was attacked and got herself out of it. I asked you what you thought and you said--"

"I remember, Methos, I remember. I just can't believe you'd put it on a tombstone!"

"Well, I did," Methos said quietly, half to himself, "because I agree with it. She would make a great immortal. I told you what she did with Kirkland. 81 years old and she's still saving her own life."

"Yes, but I can't believe you're quoting me on a tombstone!" Duncan protested.

"Well, it fit," Methos said, standing firm, "so I put it on. And it will be there forever," he mused. "Forever."

Duncan shook his head. "Oh, Methos."

Under the flaming fall sky, Methos stood with his head bowed, thinking about Duncan, remembering Jacqueline, and thinking of the times that were gone, remembering that "what's gone and what's past help should be past grief."

The quote from Shakespeare reminded him of the poem that Jacqueline sent. He took it out of his pocket to read it again in the light of the dying day, against a sky ablaze with the colors of sunset, of fall, of the flowers Jacqueline had sent him.

LET ME THINK

I visit you in memory,
as I would a past lover,
after years, for a night,
no longer restless with passion,
with no fear of regret.

Carefully refolding the note, Methos put it away. Then, thrusting his hands deep into the pocket of his long, black coat, he pulled the coat around himself. Leaning close to the stone, he reached a hand out and caressed it. Methos ran his forefinger over Jacqueline's name the way he used to run his fingers over her freckles. He caressed the dates bracketing her life the way she used to run her fingers over his cheek and down his nose. He traced the letters as the sunset faded around him and he could barely see them. And he could almost, almost, feel her gentle fingers running through his hair.

"Goodbye, my sweet," he whispered. "I'll be waiting for you."