"How long has he been like this?" General Hammond wanted to know.

O'Neill shook his head, staring in awe as Methos somehow hung suspended in mid-air, hands folded against his chest, eyes closed as if he were merely sleeping, surrounded by a nimbus of blue-white light. "He was like this when I got here." Jack swallowed hard and nodded to the clutch of people on the other side of the door. "Carter and Daniel were with him."

"Dr. Fraiser?" the general asked as he stepped over. "How are they?"

The petite woman shrugged. "A few cuts and bruises from when things exploded in here. And Carter's hands are a little singed -- apparently she tried to get him down after the fire works stopped. Other than that, they're fine."

"And Pierson?"

The doctor shook her head. "We can't get close enough to tell. Now that the back-up generators are running, we can set up some monitoring equipment and see what turns up. I'll keep you apprised."

"Very good," Hammond nodded and turned to O'Neill as she moved away. "Think he's still alive?" he asked quietly.

"Well, his head's still attached to his neck, sir. I think that's a good sign."

"Right," the general nodded uncertainly. "Find out what happened here, Colonel. Let me know if anything changes. I'll be in Operations."

As soon as Hammond was gone Jack went over to Samantha and Daniel, taking them out to the corridor to give the medical team room to work. "Everything okay you two?"

"Fine, sir," Carter responded as Daniel nodded.

"I take it you saw what went down?"

"I'm not really sure what I saw," Daniel admitted. "I mean, Adam came in and, uh, tripped over my crutches. I guess I didn't hear them fall," he babbled apologetically. "His hand came to rest on the tablets and there was this weird spark. But it went out of his fingers and into the tablets. Then it kind of got sucked back into his hand. After that, all hell broke loose and he was shouting for us to get out and get him a magloud, whatever that is."

"MacLeod?" Jack asked and looked at Sam. "He asked for MacLeod?"

"That's what it sounded like, sir. But I think Daniel just mentioned something important. I hadn't really thought about it, but the first day Pierson got here something happened in Daniel's office. Teal'c and I had just delivered some of the tablets. I left him looking at the first one and something about it literally made him jump. He said it was nothing. Just a little static shock from the carpet."

"Uh, Sam, I don't have any carpet in my office," Daniel pointed out.

"I know that," she rolled her eyes. "But it didn't register at the time. The air down here is pretty dry and with all the electrical equipment around I'm always getting shocked."

"And he always wore gloves whenever he handled them," Jack mused thoughtfully. "Said he didn't want to mess them up with his oils or something."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "He told me they gave him a rash."

"Jesus!" Jack shook his head. "So he knew something was wrong when he touched them. But why would he hide that from us?"

"Maybe he thought it had more to do with what he is than what we are?" Sam suggested. "Those electrical charges looked a lot like what General Hammond's friend described."

"But how could he have a Quickie? Only you two were around."

"What are you guys talking about?!" Jackson interrupted angrily. "Look, that's my friend in there and you're acting as if there's nothing wrong with him. Well, news flash! He's floating in the middle of the room and we don't even know if he's dead or alive!"

"It's a long story," Jack sighed. "Carter, fill him in. I'm going to do what Pierson wanted."

"And that would be?" Samantha asked.

"Get MacLeod. He's another one and he's right here in town. Oh, and Carter?" O'Neill turned back as he suddenly thought of something. "You said he fell against the tablets. Well, where the hell are they?"

"They're inside him, sir," she whispered, going a little pale.

Daniel nodded. "I think they're what's holding him up."

***

"MacLeod?"

Duncan turned at the sound of O'Neill's voice. From the expression on his face he could see there was something wrong.

"Where's Methos?" he asked quietly, hurriedly getting up from his stool at the bar.

"Oh, just hangin' around back at the base. In fact, I'm taking you to see him now," Jack said as he took his arm.

MacLeod pulled free. "I'm not going anywhere with you until I know what's wrong. Where's Methos?"

O'Neill sighed in frustration. "He's back at the base, hanging around. I mean literally, MacLeod. Right now, he's floating in mid-air. And the last thing he asked for before whatever happened to him nearly blew the base sky high, was you. So either you come quietly, or so help me, I will shoot your ass and drive back with your corpse."

"Look, if this is a joke you two have cooked up..."

O'Neill pulled out his side arm. "Get in the fucking car."

MacLeod preceded him outside, the other patrons pointedly ignoring them. With Cheyenne Mountain just down the road, no one questioned the fact that the military had the right to make an arrest when required.

"Aren't you going to cuff me?" MacLeod asked nastily as he climbed into the jeep.

"You aren't under arrest," O'Neill muttered as he slammed the door shut and raced around to the other side. "I wasn't joking," he said after he got in and pulled out of the lot.

With a start, MacLeod realized he'd never shut the engine off. "No," he finally said. "You're not." MacLeod turned in his seat as the car peeled onto the highway. "All right then, what's wrong?"

"Just what I said. Pierson was working on something for us and apparently it blew up in his face."

"I don't buy it. Methos is smarter than that."

"Whatever you say," O'Neill curtly responded. "Just tell me one thing. Would Pierson ever withhold information about something he considered dangerous to one of us? To non-Immortals, I mean."

"We call you mortals. And no, Methos would never do that. He might avoid the situation entirely after he gave it, but he'd definitely give you fair warning."

O'Neill looked relieved. "Okay. But would he keep quiet if he thought it might pose a danger to himself?"

"Yeah," MacLeod nodded thoughtfully. "He would. Especially, if he thought it could be used against him. But that's absurd, because there isn't anything on earth that could be a real danger to one of us, unless it's another Immortal with a sword."

"On Earth, you say?"

MacLeod opened his mouth to respond, suddenly looking around as he sensed another Immortal presence. "Methos? Stop the car, it's Methos!"

O'Neill barely glanced up from the road. "Pierson's back at the base, MacLeod."

"No! I just felt him. We have to go back. Stop the car!"

"What do you mean you just felt him?"

"His presence. I felt his presence! It's how we know when another Immortal is close. Now turn around and stop the car!"

"MacLeod," Jack insisted. "I swear to you, Pierson is at the base."

There was a long pause and finally MacLeod spoke. "You may be right," he responded slowly. "It's the strangest thing, but I can still feel him, and if he was back there," MacLeod looked down along the road they'd just traveled. "I shouldn't be able to." He shook his head which was still buzzing. "How far is the base from here?"

Jack looked to the side, noting the next marker. "About three miles out -- and one mile down."

MacLeod's eyes went wide. "That's impossible!"

"Is not!" O'Neill shot back, his tone filled with sarcasm.

"Okay," MacLeod rubbed his forehead, trying to overcome the growing noise in his head. "Now, just tell me from start to finish exactly what happened..."

***

O'Neill quickly navigated them through base security, while MacLeod looked around, seeing dozens more armed soldiers than there had been this morning. He still wasn't sure he believed O'Neill's version of events, but then he was in no position to argue.

"Nice set up," MacLeod commented as the elevator traveled down.

"Rehabbed missile silo." Jack shook his head. "Don't ask."

They came out into a corridor lined with guards, none of whom could have done a thing to stop the man whose presence had put them on alert.

"You might just as well let them stand down," MacLeod told the colonel. "If it comes to it, I'm probably the only one who can prevent him from doing any harm."

"How's that?" O'Neill asked as he led the way, clearly ignoring the suggestion.

MacLeod pulled his coat aside to show him the grip of his sword. "There's only one reason I can think of why Methos would have sent for me. To take his head if something's gone wrong."

At that, O'Neill stopped cold and flung him against the wall, shoving his gun under MacLeod's chin. "You lay a finger on him without authorization and I'll blow your fucking head off!"

"It's not my choice!" MacLeod growled angrily. "It's his! He's asked this of me before, O'Neill. And I've refused. I don't want his head, or his Quickening! But if he isn't Methos anymore then he has to be stopped. He knew that when he sent for me."

Jack let out a deep breath and eased up just a little. "Why would he ever ask you to do something like that?"

"Perhaps because he considers me honorable. There have been times when he's been more afraid of the wrong man taking his head and gaining his power than he has ever been of dying." MacLeod gave him an ironic half smile. "I've managed to avoid it thus far. And I swear on my life, Colonel, that I will do nothing unless it's absolutely called for."

"How will we know if it is or not?" O'Neill finally backed off.

"I'm not sure," MacLeod admitted cautiously. "But an educated guess says he wants us to find out."

O'Neill stared at him coldly. "Fine. But we make the call."

MacLeod stared thoughtfully at the man and finally nodded. "Agreed."

A moment later and they were standing outside the door. "Major Carter, this is Duncan MacLeod." Samantha nodded a brief greeting. "Any change?"

"About ten minutes ago his eyes opened and closed. Nothing since then, sir."

O'Neill looked at MacLeod. "That'd be about the time..."

"He felt me coming," MacLeod nodded.

"Right. Come on."

As MacLeod entered the room the sense of presence grew even stronger. It certainly felt like Methos, but more than that there was a subtle undercurrent of something different. He looked across the room and his stomach tightened in shock. Perfectly, utterly calm, Methos hung breathless and still above the floor.

MacLeod moved forward slowly. "Clear the room," he told O'Neill. "If this goes badly I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

"We're soldiers, MacLeod. Just get on with it."

"No. You made him a promise. Get them out and turn off those monitors. Allow him some dignity, Colonel."

"Oh yeah, this is real dignified," O'Neill gestured toward the silent Immortal. "He looks like an ad for The Exorcist XX. Death takes a holiday -- ten feet off the floor!"

"Colonel, please!"

With a sigh, Jack ordered the monitors off and everyone out, then crossed his arms and stood staring at MacLeod.

Duncan took a deep breath and suppressed a shudder. One wrong move and O'Neill would kill him, of that he was certain. What had Methos done to engender such loyalty? Then again, did he really want to know?

Ignoring the psychic daggers stabbing him in the back, MacLeod moved forward. Ten feet, twenty. When he was an equal distance away from Methos he held out his arm and brushed it against the radiant nimbus of light. It sparked against his finger tips and he felt the pull of those Quickening energies inside him answering the call. This was amazing! He'd never even heard of anything like it before. And it was caused by some alien artifact?

He stepped within the corona and the buzzing within his head suddenly died. "Methos?" MacLeod whispered as if afraid to wake what lay within the sleeping man. "Methos?" he repeated more firmly.

"Hello again, Mac."

He nearly jumped out of his skin as the luminescent eyes opened.

"Am I late for dinner?"

Without warning, the light surrounding the ancient Immortal suddenly winked out and Methos dropped heavily to the ground. MacLeod rushed forward, halting just outside of grabbing distance.

"Methos?" MacLeod asked, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. From behind, Duncan heard the deliberate sound of a trigger cocking. If they got out of this, he decided, very much annoyed, he was going to have to seriously reconsider his position on Methos' continued existence. "Do you remember why you sent for me?"

The writhing Immortal groaned, clutching his broken ankle. "Of course I remember, you nit wit! To take my head in case something had gone horribly wrong."

"And what do you think about that now?"

"That if you don’t get your stupid, ignorant, blue painted arse over here and give me a hand, I'll be obliged to take your own stupid, ignorant, blue painted head off!"

He removed his hand from his coat and turned to Jack. "It's him," he sighed in disgust, walking away. The crisis was over. Let Methos' new friends deal with his whining. Whatever the hell that was, he thought as his empty belly grumbled loudly, he'd rather worry about it on a full stomach.

***

"And how is my favorite minion this fine morning?" O'Neill asked, altogether too cheerful as he sauntered into the infirmary.

"Hungry," Methos responded petulantly as he pushed aside a plateful of bland scrambled eggs. "And how did I suddenly get to be your minion?"

"Don't you read the papers?" Jack puffed up his chest. "I am the Great Satan!"

"For now," Methos smirked. "Just don't let it go to your head. I may want that title back in another millennium."

"Spoilsport!"

The conversation paused as Dr. Fraiser came over with a clip board.

"He ready to be sprung yet, Doc?"

Fraiser sighed and shook her head, extremely puzzled. "Well, I can't find anything wrong with him. All the test results came back negative. We've scanned for everything we know how to scan for -- and a few things our techs came up with on the spur of the moment. Even his limp is gone. He's completely, impossibly normal."

Methos smiled widely, hiding his relief as the doctor disconnected him from the monitors and returned to her duties. Whatever energies his Quickening was made up of apparently hadn't registered on their machines.

"You look like the cat that ate the canary," O'Neill commented as he waited for Methos to finish dressing.

"I always look like this after I've taken a 10,000 year old Quickening."

Jack's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You told Hammond you couldn't remember anything."

Methos nodded. "Last night I didn't. It sometimes takes a while for things to settle down in here," he tapped his forehead. "I very nearly lost myself in the midst of it. One of the things I hate most about Quickenings," he confided. "Everybody else's bits and pieces. Not to mention the flotsam and jetsam of everything they've picked up from others over the years. I was on my way back when Mac showed up. Thanks to you, by the way," he nodded and Jack waved it off. "Seeing him helped ground me -- literally and figuratively speaking. Otherwise, I might have still been up there."

"So that's not something that happens normally," Jack concluded.

"Not as far as I know," Methos agreed. "But then Tok'ra was an unusual being."

O'Neill stared at him for a long moment. "I think we'd better call a meeting."

Methos tied his last boot lace and sighed, looking forlornly back at his barely touched breakfast dishes. "Could I at least get something decent to eat? I was sort of hung up during dinner."

***

Methos was finishing up the last of his biscuits and gravy when Daniel carefully negotiated the conference room and sat next to him. Silence reigned for nearly a full minute until Methos turned to stare at his friend. "What?!" he finally asked in exasperation.

"You could have told me, Adam," Daniel responded, his tone filled with hurt.

"Told you what?" Methos calmly poured another cup of coffee. "Told you my name? My age? My entire life story? Something I've barely spoken of to anyone in nearly two thousand years. Who are you that I should put my life in your hands?"

Daniel flushed and shifted uncomfortably. "You're right. I'm sorry. It was presumptuous of me to think..."

"To think you were different?" Methos smiled kindly. "You are different, Daniel. You're my friend. And while I do appreciate that, let me remind you that I am not an icon. I'm just a guy trying to survive."

There was not much left to say as the general entered followed by O'Neill, Teal'c, Carter and MacLeod.

"Dr. Pierson," Hammond nodded in his direction as they took their seats. "I trust you're feeling better this morning?"

"Right as rain, feet firmly planted on the ground," Methos responded cheerily.

"Glad to hear it," the general smiled. "Now," he began, growing serious. "Can you tell us why you saw fit not to inform anyone that you were having a problem with the tablets?"

Methos took a deep breath and pushed his tray aside. "I wasn't exactly having any problems. The tablets seemed to be reactive to my Quickening. Why? I couldn't tell you. I've never seen anything like it before. Was I worried? Not really. I frankly didn't know what to be worried of. Did I think it concerned you as mortals? No. I did not. I was hired to do a job, so I put on a pair of gloves and got to work."

The general nodded and leaned forward. "You were afraid we'd use that information against you, weren't you?" When Methos remained silent the general went on. "You don't have to answer that, son. I know you were. I'd have been afraid too. But I want you to understand something. My people can and will protect you, but we need to know what to protect you from. We can't do that if you're not forthcoming with us. This whole mess could have been avoided if you'd simply trusted us."

"Those are fine sentiments, General Hammond. But what would you have done if I'd told you the tablets were feeding me power ten times my own?"

"They what?" Duncan blurted, stunned. "That can't happen!"

Methos just looked at him and shrugged. He really didn't understand it either.

Ignoring MacLeod's outburst the general answered Methos' question. "What would we have done? We'd have run more tests on the tablets. And, if you were willing, on your reaction to the tablets. In any case, everything would have been done in a controlled environment, with your safety very much in mind."

"My safety was never in doubt, General. My sanity was. And I would never have agreed to any sort of experimentation. I don't want power. And..." Methos struggled to find the words until he finally looked at MacLeod. "You tell them, Duncan."

MacLeod nodded and sighed. "Only once has a Quickening ever been recorded. Luckily, I destroyed the only copy."

"But why?" Samantha asked. "The amount of energy I observed... If it could be studied and quantified. One day even harnessed--"

"We're not some damned power plants!" MacLeod heatedly interrupted. "We're men and women! Some of us might be willing to make certain sacrifices for the sake of mortals, but to give up our lives to make your engine run faster is not an option!"

"He's correct, Major Carter," Hammond added. "And as I understand it, none of our equipment has been able to detect one iota of evidence that this energy even exists." Carter looked ready to rebut his argument, but he held up a hand. "I know, you think you can eventually figure it out. But at what cost? I will not authorize any undertaking in the pursuit of something that might end in death or derangement for those involved. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Carter nodded, clearly disappointed.

"All right then, let's move on."

What followed was a brief account from Daniel and Carter as to what had happened from their point of view and an even briefer one from Methos'. He was more surprised than they were to find out that the tablets had somehow metamorphosed and were even now inside him, but then that explained a lot.

"Would you like to elaborate on that?" Hammond asked.

Methos shrugged. "I believe it was as Daniel suspected. That the tablets were in fact Tok'ra's carapace."

"Ah, you've lost me," O'Neill suddenly interjected. "Are you saying the Ancients were bugs?"

Methos grinned. "No, I'm saying the Ancients were probably somehow related to Immortals. And somewhere along the line they learned to manipulate the energy of the Quickening. To use it in such a way that they could, for want of a better word, transmogrify."

Taking a deep breath Methos tried to explain. "To understand, you need to know a few things. First and foremost that when an Immortal takes a Quickening he gains not just the other party's power, but his or her knowledge and life experience. Not all of it, of course -- that would drive us insane. But a good portion of those memories that were considered important."

Methos smiled ruefully. "The bigger the Quickening the more information. And I learned a bloody lot from Tok'ra," he sighed. "Now, let me tell you a story...

"Eons ago Tok'ra was given a choice. He could join the other Ancients on some kind of spiritual journey, or he could remain behind," Methos began quietly. "But Tok'ra had a friend. A man who had been taken over by a sentient parasite. Morgot, had been among a large group of colonists who, after landing on their brave new world, were systematically taken over. Now, it wasn't deliberate, mind you. At least not the first time. The symbiots didn't know they were parasites. It was an accident. One of the colonists was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But then, that's how these things happen.

"Of course, not all of the symbiots were evil. Like all beings everywhere there were both good and bad among them. The first to blend though was. It saw the benefits of not mucking about in the slime and decided it liked technology -- and perhaps more of its friends would like it too. So, it introduced a number of its brethren into hosts. That's how Morgot became joined.

"As it turned out, some of the symbiots weren't interested in the things the first Goa'uld was. Some actually liked their hosts. Wanted to experience life with them. Others wanted to take the colony ships and find bigger and better worlds with more technology to exploit. Naturally, they fought. Unfortunately, the good guys lost. Morgot and his companions fled through the Stargate they'd discovered on their world, which is how he ran into Tok'ra. They became friends and it was Tok'ra who helped broker the defensive alliance among the galactic powers once they realized the danger the Goa'uld represented. But the alliance wasn't the declaration of war Morgot had wanted. He was disappointed that anyone not of the five great powers would not be protected, so he convinced Tok'ra to help him stem the tide of invasion in those areas where the alliance's writ did not run. So, off they went on their mission of mercy.

"Now, as I said, Tok'ra was given a choice, and it was right around this time Morgot became ill. He was, in fact, dying. Not the symbiot, but the mortal body of the host. Since there was no other willing body around, Tok'ra decided to manipulate his own energy field, I suppose you'd call it, in order to save at least one of his friends. Otherwise, the Ancients, like Immortals, are immune. Apparently, Quickening energies tend to fry the poor buggers. And for some reason, taking Morgot into his body prevented Tok'ra from joining the other Ancients. He was content though. And, inspired by his new relationship with Morgot, headed off again to confront the Goa'uld. This time, instead of hit or miss guerrilla runs, they were going to build an army."

Methos' storytelling was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the klaxon alerting them that the Stargate was in use.

"That would be Jacob," General Hammond announced as he excused himself and went to greet his old friend.

Methos leaned across the table toward O'Neill. "Has MacLeod seen...?"

Jack shook his head and grinned. "Now's as good a time as any, I'd say."

"Come on, Mac. Time to see the elephant," Methos told him, getting to his feet.

"What's this about?"

"Well," Methos began, leading the way to the gate room. "You know there are aliens involved in this, right."

MacLeod snorted in disbelief. "So I've been told. But I haven't seen anything yet that would convince me. You floating in mid air from an unusually large Quickening sounds more like something Connor once told me about the Quickening he took from the Kurgan, rather than a visit from ET."

"Then hopefully what you are about to see will convince you. If not, I'll ask Teal'c to show you his tummy."

"The guy with the gold stamp on his forehead? Are you trying to tell me he's an alien?"

"No, he's perfectly human. It's the larval Goa'uld incubating inside him that's the alien."

"Right!" MacLeod rolled his eyes and followed him into the gate room just as the wormhole exploded outward.

"Mother of God!" MacLeod shouted as he flung up his arms and jumped back.

"Oh relax, Duncan, it's only an energy vortex," Methos smirked. "Happens every day around here."

At that instant, Jacob stepped through the Stargate.

"He's not an alien!" MacLeod whispered after getting a good look at the man.

Jacob turned in his direction and smiled as his eyes started to glow. "You're right," came the deep vibration of Selmak's voice. "Only one of us is from another planet. And she's a girl."

MacLeod muttered something in Gaelic and Methos chuckled.

Selmak raised one of Jacob's eyebrows. "What did he say?"

Methos grinned. "My friend here says he likes girls, but you'll forgive him if he doesn't ask you out. You seem to be missing certain equipment he considers crucial to the process."

Selmak laughed. "Tell him perhaps next time I won't be and we shall have to plan for that." Suddenly, Jacob came to the fore. "Hey, you! Stop hittin' on my girl! Get your own damn symbiot if you want one so bad."

At that MacLeod shut his mouth, obviously determined to keep it that way as Methos just stood there and laughed.

A few minutes later they were all back in the conference room, Methos enjoying the presence of a very subdued Duncan MacLeod.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Jacob said as he settled into a chair. "But we have what could be a serious problem and I wanted to wait until the last of our scout ships reported in. We've detected an unknown fleet massing in a sector just outside of Goa'uld space."

"That would be Inanna," Methos interjected, smiling sardonically at the shocked faces around the table. "I was trying to tell you, I just hadn't gotten to that bit yet."

"Well?" Hammond gestured for him to move it along.

"Right. To recap for our late comers... Tok'ra joined with Morgot, determined to build an army capable of attacking the major Goa'uld strongholds simultaneously. The problem turned out to be that while there was support for this endeavor from many systems, there was also no cohesive power base to bring them together. Each of them wanted Tok'ra to lead their forces and none was willing to compromise with any other."

"Yes," Selmak interjected. "This is what our legends tell us. But how Tok'ra overcame this, we do not know."

"I was about to tell you," Methos complained again at the interruption. "Anyway, Tok'ra had a wife. Or, he'd had a wife before he blended with Morgot and changed his name to Tok'ra. I'm not sure. But, in any event, his wife, Inanna, who'd infiltrated the Goa'uld here on Earth, suggested that they gather together all of Morgot's companions and as each one's host died, the symbiots could then be joined to others like she and Tok'ra, and therefore never die. Apparently, Tok'ra's example of remaining behind rubbed off on a number of others. They could each take charge of a group of allied forces which seemed like a great idea to everyone involved. And, just to prove they were on the up and up to the other Ancients, she volunteered to go first.

Methos paused and looked slowly around the table. "Problem was, Inanna already had a symbiot. And they were the best of friends. Like minds and what not. Her plan was to gather together all the good symbiots and set them to fighting the bad symbiots in the hope that they would destroy each other. Or, at the very least keep each other busy enough so that she'd be left alone to consolidate the little empire she was planning to establish. More importantly, she knew how to destroy Tok'ra and his friends. And they were her biggest problem."

Selmak leaned forward. "This is not in our archives."

"No," Methos agreed. "I'm sure it's not. But this is Tok'ra's story as he recalls the events."

Selmak sat back and simply nodded. "I am listening, Companion of Tok'ra."

"First of all, I wasn't his companion. I was his student."

"So you have lived for over 10,000 years," Carter nodded.

"Technically," Methos shrugged. "But I spent most of the first half of that under a couple of tons of rock. So, we can't really count that as living, now can we?"

"Ten thousand?" MacLeod murmured, awe struck.

"Five or ten, Mac, what's the difference? It's all just numbers. Now, can I get on with this story before Inanna shows up? She won't wait to start shooting while we finish having tea and biscuits."

"Please," General Hammond told him, eyes widened with shock.

"Thank you," Methos nodded politely. "Inanna's plan was to have Tok'ra's forces either crush, or at least severely damage the Goa'uld, then she would turn and destroy Tok'ra. Of course he trusted her. And when the battle was done, and Tok'ra had gathered together all his forces to celebrate, she killed them all. Only, she missed me, because I was still mortal and very dead after the first few shots."

"But what about the carapace?" Daniel asked. "Why didn't it protect Tok'ra?"

Methos sighed. "Because he loved and trusted Inanna. Somehow, she'd gotten close enough to strike from the inside. The carapace was an extension of Tok'ra, a sort of protective covering, and when it shattered a portion of his Quickening remained within the parts. Without knowing exactly what it was, Inanna took what she thought were the pieces of a very advanced fighter and brought them home as a trophy for her wall. Then you found them, and I touched them and what was left of Tok'ra's essence remembered me. The rest is as they say, history."

"But how do you know Inanna is coming here?"

"Because, my friends, she, and not her late husband, or his dead followers, established the Tok'ra."

***

"So what haven't you told them, Methos?" MacLeod asked as they stood outside the entrance to the SGC compound. They were waiting for a car to take Mac back to his hotel and this was as good a chance as any for them to talk in private.

Methos didn't even bother to hide his smile. "How Inanna managed to kill Tok'ra."

"Which was?"

"They exchanged tokens before they parted. Her own necklace blew his head off."

MacLeod flinched at the thought. "Good call. But," Duncan sighed. "I've never heard of a Quickening being that detailed. Let alone of something as odd as a partial Quickening. Images, yes. Even words sometimes. "

"Well, that's the other thing I didn't mention. I now have all of Tok'ra inside." MacLeod brows rose in disbelief, but the big Scot nodded for him to go on and Methos sighed.

"I was mortal and acting as his aide. Tok'ra usually kept me close. Except for that time, when he went in alone. Of course, I was waiting there to meet him after the battle. Inanna's ships came in low as if to land and started firing. Like I said, I was killed in the very first strike." Methos shrugged and looked away. "I'm not sure how long it took for me to revive, but almost as soon as I did his Quickening hit me. You can imagine what that was like. The next thing I knew the entire world seemed to be falling in on me. I think the magnitude of that Quickening, even split as it was, shook the planet. When I woke up -- I think an earthquake must have moved the rock -- I didn't know who I was, or where I came from. Just the name had stuck. When I touched the tablets the rest of Tok'ra pretty much dashed inside and some of those memories came back. Don't ask me to explain it, Mac. That's just the way it was."

"So, these Ancients were Immortals?"

Again Methos shrugged. "More like super Immortals if you ask me. Or maybe, Immortals who grew old without the Game and learned to use their Quickenings for something other than a light show. I can't honestly say, Mac. I really don't know. "

MacLeod shook his head and sighed as the car finally pulled up. "It's certainly given me something to think about."

"You're not alone."

MacLeod smiled. "By the way," he said as he began to climb inside. "Tell your friend O'Neill he needs to ease up on that trigger happy finger of his."

"Jack? Why? What happened?"

"I don't know how or why you've conned him into thinking you're god's gift to this green earth, but next time you send for me, make sure the cavalry knows I'm on your side."

"He threatened you?"

MacLeod nodded. "Big time."

As the car pulled away Methos stared after it, thoughtfully considering the possibilities. He'd planned to go it alone, or to at least try. But if he could count on O'Neill to back him up... With a smile of pure pleasure he turned on his heel and headed back inside.

***

Methos knocked on the door of Jack's real office, entering as he was invited.

"MacLeod gone off to rally the Immortal masses?"

"What he can of them. I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you. Immortals don't tend to congregate in groups."

"What, no reunions? No weddings? Nada?"

Methos shrugged. "Reunions tend to be held at the point of a sword. Weddings now, those occasionally do occur." Methos looked thoughtful for a moment then deliberately changed the subject. "Jacob gone?"

Jack took the hint and nodded. "Yeah. Selmak wasn't happy, but she agreed to say nothing about what you told us."

Methos nodded and sauntered into the room to take a seat on the big leather couch across from O'Neill's desk. Now this was an office, he thought, complete with TV, mini bar and microwave oven. Homey right down to the pictures of family and friends littering the credenza and the hockey memorabilia on the walls. For a long time Methos just sat absorbing the ambiance of the room, until Jack finally stood up and took a seat on the other end of the couch.

"All right, Pierson, give. Something's on your mind. What is it?"

Methos snorted. "There's always something on my mind. Right now I'm considering the possibilities."

"Which are?"

He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Alone or with company."

"Company, of course. Now, where are we going and what do I need?"

Methos smiled. "Just your passport."

"And why would I need a passport?"

"Because one generally requires one to get through customs."

"I don't." Methos raised an eyebrow and Jack smiled. "I've got the plane, you've got the plan, let's go."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, come on. Just let me make a couple of calls and we're out of here."

"Just like that?" Methos repeated.

"Just like what?" O'Neill asked, obviously amused.

"Aren't you going to ask me where we're going and why?"

"You'll tell me when you're ready."

"Isn't that rather trusting of you?"

"That's the point," he grinned and went back to his desk.

With a shake of his head, because he wouldn't trust himself if he were him, Methos waited while Jack notified Hammond they would be off base, called the hanger to requisition his personal plane and dashed out a quick set of orders. In moments they were gone and on their way.

Four appalling hours and in Methos' mind, at least a thousand stomach churning loop the loops later, they landed at a nameless base in London which even he hadn't known existed. And apparently, at least for this mission, neither did they, thanks to Jack's preparations. All of which gave Methos a mean case of visa envy. With one set of orders in lieu of a passport O'Neill could go anywhere he pleased, be anyone he pleased and never have to worry about anyone questioning his identity. And as Methos knew very well, no matter how superb the quality of the forgery, there was no Immortal immune to that instant of terror when the customs agent approached. Maybe there was more to this modern military than he'd previously considered?

A car was waiting at the exit and Jack deferred to Methos as he tossed him the keys.

"I hate driving on the wrong side of the road."

"It's the right side."

"No, it's the wrong side."

"No, it the right side." As Jack frowned Methos smiled and added, "As compared to the left side, of course."

"Whatever!" Jack slammed the door. "Just drive! We've got maybe 24 hours before the shit hits the fan. So go!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" Methos laughed. "Relax. We'll be there in twenty minutes."

"And where is there by the way?"

"Home. I need to get something."

"I see," Jack responded dryly. A moment later he turned in his seat and exploded. "What do you mean we're going to your house?! What'd you do? Forget your favorite CD?"

"Now that you mention it..." He relented as Jack began to turn a little too red. "Okay. We're going to get something that should get us into Inanna's stronghold."

"Oh." Jack sat back, looking mollified. "That's a good thing."

"Just remind me to pick up those CD's on the way out." O'Neill groaned in disgust. "As long as we're here mind you."

A short while later they pulled up in front of Methos' old manor house.

"You live here?" Jack asked, astounded as they trotted up the front stairs.

"No," Methos responded sarcastically. "We're breaking in."

"Cool!"

Methos rolled his eyes as he unlocked the front door and turned on the lights. Everything had been under drop clothes since he'd decided to join the Watchers and a light layer of dust shrouded the room.

"I think you need to fire your housekeeper," Jack commented sardonically as he followed the other man inside.

"That dear sweet lady? Never! Although," Methos added thoughtfully. "I've been gone so long she might be dead. Oh, well," he went on with a shrug. "She'll have left the position to her daughter, or maybe her granddaughter by now."

Jack stared at him in disbelief, refusing to dignify the idea of hereditary maid work with a comment. Especially, maids that apparently didn't have to clean anything.

"This way," Methos smiled. "It's in the museum wing."

"You have a museum in your house?"

"No, I have a wing where I keep old things. My things."

"That's too strange for words," Jack shook his head staring at the eclectically decorated rooms.

"Well, I'd keep them in the attic but there's not enough space."

"Try the garage."

"I have six cars in there. No room."

Jack just shook his head and followed. "The rich are weird."

Methos chuckled, leading the way through a gallery filled with art works by the great masters, known and unknown, which he'd collected over the centuries. As they passed through a series of corridors, Methos pointed out which era each room contained.

"The room to your left was my Renaissance period."

Jack looked in to see a hall crammed with every bit of paraphernalia from horse riggings to clothing and shook his head. And He thought he was a pack rat!

After a couple more rooms on the same order, he threw up his hands in exasperation. "Ah jeez, its Super Daniel!"

"Hey!" Methos complained. "This is my stuff. Okay? You have your stuff and I have my stuff. No one's stuff is better than anyone else's. Besides," he added, slightly aggrieved. "This is just a small fraction of what I did have. Most of it was lost. Although, every now and then, something turns up at an auction or estate sale and I get lucky and bring it home."

Jack was about to make a smart ass remark when he recalled what Hammond had told him. Immortals couldn't have children. And the wistful expression in Methos' eyes when he'd spoken about weddings meant they had little hope of a normal life with friends and family. This, he looked around more understanding of it's purpose, was essentially a poor man's substitute. No wonder he treasured his bits and pieces.

"Kidding aside," Jack told him kindly. "Someday you'll have to let me come back here and explore."

Methos turned to look at the other man, surprised at the warmth in his voice. "Of course. Just don't bring Danny. He'll walk into the Egyptian room and we wouldn't see him again until he was old."

"He'd die in there," Jack insisted. "And then we'd have to stick him in one of those mummy cases."

"Now there's an idea," Methos grinned. "I have several to choose from."

They finally reached the Roman exhibition hall and Jack hung back in awe. Room after room of shields, swords, chariots, and even furniture.

"How'd you manage to save all this stuff?" he asked as he followed deeper.

"Stored it in the wine cellars, of course. I lived here once, right before the Christians took it over. See that little beauty?" Methos pointed to one of the smaller chariots. "I drove her for the Greens before Tiberius at the Coliseum and won. Had my pick of any man or woman in Rome that night," he added proudly. Methos looked back over his shoulder and smiled. "Look, this may take a few minutes. I have to find the damned thing. So, why don't you have a look around."

He left Jack to his wanderings and headed for the far side of the hall where he'd neatly stacked several dozen trunks. Methos scratched his head as he examined the boxes. He knew it was in one of them, but which? He'd packed it away so long ago and never gotten it out again, even when the need to hide it had ended that the only clear memory he had was of laying it up with his clothing. "Best just get started," he sighed and grabbed the first of them.

It was just as hard as ever, he realized after a time of shifting and sorting, to go through these old, dear things without pausing every now and again to relive the memories. There was the fine, white cloak he'd worn to Publius' party and the wine stain the fuller had never managed to get clean. And here the leather sandals with gold embroidery he'd received as a wedding present from Clodia three months before she'd died of the fever, while beneath it lay his gift to her. A scarlet gown of rare silk from Chin, hemmed in silver fringe and stitched with fanciful winged creatures. He could never bear to part with any of it. Each little trinket, even the old clay thimble he'd used to keep his kit in good repair held a meaning and a memory for Methos. Until, at last, he took a deep breath and just got through it.

After perhaps the tenth such walk down memory lane Methos finally found it. "Here you are!" he exclaimed as he reached the bottom of the trunk. It was wrapped in a piece of medium quality dyed leather. Deliberately made to look worthless, although it was in fact the most valuable of all his possessions. He took out the pendant and held it up to the light. Such a dull looking thing with it's plain, unpolished exterior. Yet, it held such meaning for him. It should have born an inscription, he knew, like the images of others he now held in his memories thanks to Tok'ra. And had he come of age, become an Immortal while the Ancient had lived, it would have. Now, thanks to Inanna's betrayal, it never would.

Methos put the trunks back where he'd found them and went to find Jack. It wasn't that difficult, and when he did he slapped a hand over his mouth, biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud. The good colonel had on one of his favorite dress helmets, worn only in procession, swishing the great plumes around like a drunken ostrich. With it he wore a centurion's cloak, while having at the air with a cavalry blade. He looked completely ridiculous and utterly charming.

"Having fun?" Methos finally asked, enjoying the sight of O'Neill playing dress up.

"Oh yeah!" He whirled about and nearly fell over as he tried to properly balance the weight of the helmet.

Methos laughed as Jack looked thoroughly chagrined. "No," he grinned when the colonel removed the helm and started to put it back. "Keep it. It suits you. But here," he came forward and searched through the pile of clothes. "This is the proper tunic and here's the breast plate and cloak. And take that short sword by the bust of Apollo instead. We'll find you the rest of the gear later."

It amused Methos no end to see the colonel both flabbergasted and deeply touched by his gift.

"Are you sure?" O'Neill asked tentatively, obviously shocked to be given the priceless treasures he just happened to be caught playing with.

"Yes. I'm sure."

Jack nodded. "Thank you," he said gravely. "I promise to look after them well."

Methos simply smiled, understanding the unsaid words O'Neill could not express. That not only had he been given something of great monetary value for the excellent condition they were in, but of great personal value as well, which was far more important to both of them. Jack now had a piece of Methos' own history to remember their friendship and to know that no matter what happened something of the ancient Immortal would always be with him.

"So, did you find what you were looking for?" Jack finally asked as they left the room and started back.

"Right here," Methos held it up for inspection.

"Ah... Nice necklace. What's it got to do with Inanna?"

Methos grimaced. "It's not a necklace, it's like a bulla."

"Well, bulla for you, but it looks like a necklace to me."

With a sigh Methos handed it over. "A bulla was the Roman equivalent of an ID bracelet. Children wore them until they came of age and were initiated into whatever sacred rites their parents decreed. Then the bulla would be symbolically sacrificed to the gods."

"So what makes this one so special?"

"It was the only thing I was wearing when I woke up in that pile of rubble five thousand years ago. And," he reached out and scratched the surface until the cheap silver dip he'd put on some 1500 years earlier flaked away. "I think it's made of the same stuff as the Stargate."

"Your point being?"

"Really, Colonel," Methos drawled, taking it back and tucking it into his pocket. "You don't imagine you're the only ones to ever come up with the idea of transmitting an identification signal when passing through the Stargate, do you?"

***

Methos gave a last tweak to the detonator and stood back, admiring his handiwork. Inanna had always liked pretty things as he recalled. Fitting the thin filigree sheath of gold and tiny gemstones around the pendant and chain of naqueda had been easy. Setting and connecting the tiny charges within the hasps which held the jewels in place had been hard. Harder yet, he frowned as he critically examined the work, would be wearing the damn thing until he could exchange it with Inanna.

With a sigh he placed the bulla in the small bomb proof case O'Neill had provided, clipping the detonator, made to look like an innocuous cell phone, to his belt. Behind him, the door to his work room opened and he turned to find Jack waiting patiently.

"Teal'c on board?"

O'Neill nodded. "He wasn't pleased about leaving Hammond and Carter out of the loop, but I think he understands."

"And you have no problem with this?" Methos asked, already knowing the response.

"I'm a soldier," Jack replied. "I do what I have to for the sake of my country."

Methos shook his head. "This isn't a soldier's mission. It's an assassin's."

"We make the hard choices here," O'Neill smiled grimly. "This is one of them. If we can stop Inanna before the fleet launches I'm willing to accept the consequences."

Methos nodded. What they were about to do would never be sanctioned, but the powers that be might look the other way after the fact as long as they succeeded. If not... Well, Methos didn't really think that would be a problem. Either they'd be dead and the world along with them, or Inanna would be no more.

"You have the stuff?" Methos asked quietly as he picked up the case and they left the work room, heading down to operations.

"Already planted," Jack grinned. "I'll signal Teal'c just before we hit the gate room. He'll set off the gas bomb and move into position. Once it's locked down we'll have about three minutes while they reconfigure the codes."

"And Teal'c?"

"The destination will automatically wipe once we're through. I know enough to do that," he added wryly. "But Teal'c will tell them the truth. Hammond will understand. So will the others."

Methos nodded. Teal'c would be all right. There was not much they could do to him anyway. Not with what he carried inside him and his knowledge of the Goa'uld.

"All right then," Methos agreed. "Let's get this show on the road."

***

It was a simple plan and it worked with simple beauty. Since the invasion alert all the SG teams currently off world had either been recalled or ordered to stay put. With only a skeleton crew left in operations they were easily rendered unconscious by the colorless, odorless ether Jack had managed to procure. Now they waited anxiously, ignoring the alarms as Teal'c activated the gate.

Methos opened the case and removed the bulla, closing his eyes as he slipped the deadly device around his neck.

"Now you're sure that thing will get us through?" O'Neill asked as the gateway finally opened.

"Reasonably sure," Methos grinned as he stepped up to the wormhole.

"Reasonably?!" Jack growled. "You said it would!"

Methos shrugged. "Well, there's always plan B."

"Which is?"

"We walk in the door and I shout, 'Hi, Mom! I'm home!'"

At that, Methos stepped through, leaving Jack to stare after him in horror.

"Jesus!" he hissed. He hadn't even guessed, though he should have known. Methos had all but told them truth. She was Tok'ra's wife and he the man's mortal student. And Immortals couldn't have children. Which meant...

Jack suddenly felt ill. Methos had known all along and still he'd chosen to do this. Jack shuddered at the thought of being forced to make such a choice. A choice that took more than simple courage. The moral implications alone would have left most individuals unable to function.

O'Neill looked back at Teal'c and saluted then stepped through the gate, vowing silently that no matter what happened, no one else would ever know.

*

"Looks like it worked," Methos grinned as Jack exited the wormhole.

The colonel glanced around the rather plain reception area, noting the lack of guards then stared calmly at Methos, who wordlessly accepted the other man's regard. He knew what O'Neill was thinking which was why he hadn't said anything before. But morality aside, Inanna had killed him once and would do it again if she believed for an instant that he was a threat. The trick was to make her certain he wasn't.

Jack nodded once and stepped up beside him. "Let's move out," he ordered. "And remember, I want that thing off your neck as soon as you can manage it."

"I assure you, that's at the top of my list. And you remember, too," he added. "We set it off when we're back at the gate. Not before."

O'Neill shrugged, obviously not understanding. "Sure. Not before we're clear. Got it."

"First things first," Methos grimaced as he turned toward the door. "The throne room is this way.

"You've been here before," Jack surmised as Methos easily led them through corridor after nearly identical corridor.

"No," the Immortal responded. "But Tok'ra's memories record Inanna as being a creature of habit. Disorder is uncertainty to someone like her. She'll have copied the old ways as closely as possible and Tok'ra knew the layout of her palace."

"So, what are you going to tell her about me? I mean, isn't she going to wonder why you didn't come alone?"

"Well, I'd planned on saying you were my servant, but I don't think that will fly anymore," he looked pointedly at Jack's gun, though he'd deliberately come lightly armed with only a dagger for show. The point was to appear harmless and naive. Just a boy and his mom.

"How about your bodyguard?"

"Why would I need one?" Methos grinned. "No," he sighed regretfully. "You'll just have to be my lover."

O'Neill glared at him then shook his head in disgust. "Fine. But if we have to spend the night, no stealing the covers."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Methos laughed, then his face went still as he sensed her.

They rounded another corner and came face to face with Inanna's guards. Methos lifted his chin and said something in a guttural language and they parted, allowing both men to pass. A moment later they were through the antechamber and into the throne room proper. At the far end, Inanna waited, seated on a mound of giant pillows surrounded by her retinue.

"Remain here," Methos murmured. "And no matter what I do don't react." With that he moved away, giving O'Neill no chance to argue.

He approached Inanna's throne with his eyes respectfully downcast. At the foot of the dais he knelt, leaning forward in the crouch to lightly kiss the hem of her dress.

"Welcome, Methos."

A cool response, but he'd expected as much. This should warm things up. "Greetings, my lady mother."

"My son." A hand reached down and rested gently on his head, indicating that he had permission to look at her.

"It is good to see you, Mother," he smiled, noting that she was just as beautiful as he recalled. Pale and slim with hair the color of midnight. "I feared you were dead. Killed in the final attack which the Goa'uld launched against my father's forces."

There, Methos thought smugly, that should give her something to think about.

"And I you, my beloved son." She reached out a hand and he took it, allowing himself to be drawn up to kneel beside Inanna. "But how did you find me, little one? And after so long? Could you not have come sooner?"

"The gate was lost and when I awoke from my long sleep of the first death I could not find it. Recently, I discovered the humans had not only recovered it, but learned how to open it. I came as soon as I could, Mother."

"But how did you know where to find me?" she asked again, squeezing his fingers a little too hard in her eagerness for a response.

She was so predictable, Methos thought with disgust. "I did only as my father bid me," he gave a tentative smile. "He spoke of this place as one you and he had found during your wanderings, long before I was fortunate enough to receive the generosity of your home. He said that if all were lost it would be to here, the place where you were once happiest, that you would come."

Tok'ra had never said anything of the sort, but his memories held this place to be located close to the fleet she'd amassed and it seemed a logical conclusion. In any case, the death grip on his fingers loosened and Inanna relaxed, laying back against her pillows.

"Who is the human?" she asked casually, signaling for Jack to come forward.

Methos nodded imperceptibly for O'Neill to do so. "This is my friend, mother."

She laughed at his delicate use of the term friend in her language, which might mean either playmate or lover.

"Greetings," she said in perfect English, startling both men into stunned silence. Still, it confirmed something Methos had only suspected. Inanna did not just have spies among the Tok'ra, but doubtless had the ability to move among them at will. Or, at least to send her symbiot into their midst with no one the wiser. "And does the friend of my son have a name?"

"Jim Dandy," O'Neill announced, bowing more gracefully than Methos would ever have given him credit for. "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"It pleases me also," she smiled sweetly, but Methos could see the calculation in her eyes. She might never have seen a gun, but she knew a warrior when she laid eyes on one. But then, what else would the son of a warrior choose as his companion?

"Come, let us dine together. Then we shall make plans for our future."

"I'm afraid we can't, Mother," Methos announced sadly. "We must return to Earth. The Goa'uld are about to launch their forces against our friends there." The expression on her face was priceless. "I came only to see that you were well and to let you know that I lived, maintaining our fight against the common foe."

"Of course you are, dearest. I only wish I were able to help. But my ships are scattered and not very powerful."

Methos gently touched her hand. "I have missed you, Mother," he said, suddenly feeling the weight of the bulla against his throat. "Would you...?" He rested the fingers of his other hand against the pendant.

Inanna smiled. It was an ancient custom among her people, done only before battle. Which was how she had managed to overcome Tok'ra.

"Yes," she agreed as she removed her own. "I will keep your name safe. And if you should fall, I shall open my throat and speak it daily."

Methos carefully removed the bulla, stilling the trembling in his hands by force of will as he held it out and she lowered her neck to receive the gift. He did the same, trying desperately not to telegraph his sudden fear. Once the chain was firmly clasped he rose.

"I will return soon. I promise, Mother. And then we will visit for longer."

She nodded, fingering the pretty filigree. It was not customary to decorate the bulla, but Inanna seemed pleased. "I shall look forward to your return then, my son. Go," she added as Methos turned to leave. "Bring back memories to me of your father."

He nodded, his throat suddenly closing up and he needed Jack's arm around his shoulder to guide him from the room. As soon as they were out of sight of the guards, O'Neill suddenly yanked the chain from his throat.

"No!" Methos screamed, even as Jack set off the detonator, tossing Inanna's bulla back toward the throne room.

The double explosion knocked them off their feet, but Methos desperately scrambled up. "Run!"

"What!" O'Neill yelled as he chased after the terrified Immortal. "She's dead!"

But Methos didn't dare look back. "We're too close, damn you! I don't want her inside me! Now run!"

"Oh fuck!" he heard Jack shout, but still he wouldn't stop. He didn't know how far away he needed to be, but he knew he was still too damn close. Her memories, her life. He didn't want any of it. But they were nearly at the gate, maybe there would be time enough. Maybe...

"Oh god!" he whispered as he felt the first tiny tendrils of power seeking him out as the hot wind of her Quickening howled up the corridor. "Hurry, Jack! Hurry!" Methos cried as O'Neill reached the DHD and started punching in the address home.

But it was too late, and Methos knew it even as the gate opened and the first bolt of energy raced along the walls and surged into the gate room. He flung out his arms to steady himself and in the instant it struck felt his own Quickening arise within him and burst outward in response. It flowed through him and toward Inanna, burning his senses as it passed, leaving him lying in a heap at the base of the DHD with O'Neill crouched above.

"What the hell?" Methos asked, shielding his eyes against the whirling maelstrom overhead.

"You're asking me?!" Jack exclaimed, hauling him to his feet and dragging him toward the gate as the ground shook with the energies exploding around the room. "Let's just get the hell out!"

They practically fell through the gate, breathlessly tumbling down the ramp to the floor as they emerged on the other side. Behind them, the iris sealed itself and General Hammond stalked forward. Around the room a dozen armed soldiers stood at the ready, the klaxon still blaring an alert.

"Is there any reason," Hammond asked curtly. "Why I shouldn't have the pair of you immediately arrested?"

"Well, Inanna's dead," Jack gasped, staggering to his feet.

"She is, is she?"

"Permanently so," Methos nodded reassuringly.

"Then why did we just receive word from the Tok'ra that her forces are on their way and will be here any time?"

Methos and Jack looked at each other.

"She is dead, General." Methos insisted. "She has to be. I just outran her Quickening."

"Then who's leading her forces?!"

"Good question," Jack admitted. "Maybe when they find out they'll just turn around and go home," he suggested optimistically.

"Let's hope so, Colonel. For both your sakes, let's hope so."

O'Neill nodded and grabbed Methos' arm pulling him toward the exit. Angrily, Hammond turned to stop them.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going now?"

Jack paused to stare in disbelief. "To scramble, sir. We're going to need every plane in the air if they get here and decide to fight anyway."

"With him?" the general asked, pointing at Methos, who looked equally baffled.

O'Neill nodded. "He's qualified," was all the colonel had to say as he tugged Methos from the room.

"Qualified?! What do mean I'm qualified?" Methos demanded trying to break free of Jack's grip as he was pulled down the corridor.

"I just qualified you."

"You're not serious?! I puke in your plane and now I'm qualified to co-pilot?!"

"I fly," O'Neill explained as if he were a five year old. "You shoot the weapons."

"But that’s not--"

"This isn't the movies!" O'Neill shouted as he shoved him into the elevator.

"Why me?" Methos asked, bewildered. "Why not Teal'c or Carter?"

Jack grimaced in annoyance. "Teal'c can fly his own plane. And Carter isn't a pilot. She's not even a gunner. And unless it's in space she probably can't even navigate. You on the other hand..."

"I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag, honest!" Methos insisted.

"Look, I went with you, now you go with me. Get it?"

"I knew this loyalty thing sucked!" Methos complained.

The elevator arrived at the surface and O'Neill commandeered a nearby jeep to drive them the mile or so to the air field. At the hanger, O'Neill ran them to the lockers and tossed Methos a flight suit. With a grimace of distaste Methos stripped as Jack ordered and slid into the uniform. He really didn't want to do this. Going out in a blaze of glory had never been his idea of a good time. But if he ran Jack would probably shoot him and drag his dead body along anyway.

"What now?" Methos sighed disgustedly as he followed O'Neill down the hall and into the men's room.

"Pee now, fly friendly," was all O'Neill had to say as he whipped it out and aimed.

Methos curled a lip and nodded, doing the same. Pissing into an ice cold relief tube had been a singular experience during his first flight. One he wasn't eager to repeat.

"You know," he muttered as he zipped up after and went to wash his hands. "The Romans would never have stood for this."

"Guys in skirts don't have to worry about metal teeth catching anything when they need to take a leak. Shall we?"

Methos glared, but followed anyway. Out on the tarmac, empty now that they were the last ones to leave, Methos raced alongside Jack to the far end where his plane stood waiting. As O'Neill hurriedly removed the blocks which kept the plane from rolling in the high winds, Methos glanced back at the mountain as he felt the ground begin vibrate and every hair on his body stand on end.

"What the--?" Jack looked up and his mouth dropped open as the top of the mountain was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of boiling light.

Methos began to backpedal away from the plane. "Get out of here, Jack," he ordered. "Take off. Do it now!"

"What the hell is that?" he asked.

Methos shook his head desperately, knowing there was no where to run. If it could find him here... "Not what. Who!" he gaped in horror. "That's Tok'ra! Now move!"

"I'm not leaving you!" Jack insisted. "Get in the plane!"

"Don't you get it?!" Methos shouted as the monstrous Quickening rounded in their direction as it pin pointed his position. "It had to have come through gate! You wouldn't be safe with me in there. Now go!"

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Then stay back!" Methos snarled and began to run. Distancing himself not from the impossibly large, apparently sentient Quickening, but away from Jack's proximity. He might survive, but the fool hardy mortal wouldn't stand a chance against the power of Tok'ra's energies.

As it barreled down on him, Methos found himself in the middle of the field not knowing what to do. Stand and take it, or huddle and hope it didn't kill him too many times before it was over? Suddenly it was there, swooping down over his head and Methos fell to the ground, throwing his arms up in a vain effort to defend against it. Then... Nothing. Methos opened his eyes, shaking with a terror so profound a small voice inside his head told him he should be grateful he'd already emptied his bladder.

Quiet laughter suddenly filled his mind. "This time, Methos," the voice rumbled gently through his senses. "I have a moment to ask."

"Tok'ra?" he whispered, trying unsuccessfully to swallow his fear as the Quickening surrounded him in a thick roiling cloud of sparkling fog. A small finger of vapor reached out to tickle him. "Hey!" Methos slapped at it, feeling the static discharge warmly enfolding his hand.

"I said I had a moment, son. Not all the time in the universe to answer your questions. We have a fleet to stop, don't we?"

"But..."

"I need your body, Methos. I cannot fully manifest on this plain without a physical form. Inanna's symbiot still lives and seeks vengeance for her murder. Now, will you allow our Quickenings to join?"

Not again! he thought desperately. But what choice did he have at the moment? "Just do it!" Methos squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself against the onslaught.

Yet, instead of the intense pain he'd expected, Methos felt a gentle, comforting warmth filling places he'd never known existed with a peace as profound as his terror moments earlier. There were no gut wrenching memories and no colossal blasts of energy to make him scream in agony. He felt safe and loved even as he knew he was rising up again, but this time he didn't care.

His lack of fear lasted only as long as his eyes were closed. The instant he opened them and looked down to see Jack O'Neill a tiny figure, growing more indistinct with every second, Methos had to fight the urge to grab hold of something.

"Father? What's happening?!"

"I won't drop you," Tok'ra promised, his tone filled with amusement.

"That's comforting!" Methos snapped, annoyed.

There was more gentle laughter. "Don't be afraid, son. I've gotten you safely this far, do you think I'd let anything happen to you now?"

"You what?" Methos asked, confused, trying not to think about the stars quickly drawing closer above.

"I couldn't leave you alone and unprotected. Not with Inanna still alive."

Methos felt something inside him start to squirm with what felt like embarrassment. "You were there? With me for everything? You saw?"

The warmth seemed to spread more deeply into his limbs, offering comfort. "Yes, son. I saw."

"Death. The Horsemen. The centuries where I..." Methos choked on the words. He'd lived so selfishly, so utterly without morals or conscience in light of what Tok'ra had taught. "And you said nothing? Did nothing to stop me?"

"I am your father, not a god, Methos. It is your life. It was your choice."

That was true, he admitted sadly. "Now what?" Methos asked nervously as the nimbus surrounding him began to solidify.

"Now we build our armor and finally end this fight."

With a gasp of surprise Methos felt the energies flowing through him. A part of his mind watched in awe as Tok'ra manipulated their joined Quickening, sloughing off cells from Methos' body and weaving the hard outer casing until it was glowing with life. Completed, the shell was a neat square, virtually indestructible and transparent.

"Impressive," Methos commented, reaching out to gently touch the inner carapace as he floated down to sit on the floor.

"Thank you. And if you can avoid that ridiculous Game of yours, you too may one day be able to do this on your own."

"I did not start that," Methos insisted.

"No, but you played it all the same," Tok'ra pointed out as they flew past the moon. "One does not acquire power from other Immortals, son. That is a lie."

"But..."

"What did I teach you?"

Methos hung his head. "Live. Grow stronger," he whispered.

"Our energies increase with every moment of life, not with the death of another."

"Then why the Quickening?" Methos asked, raising his head. "Why does it enter us?"

Tok'ra sighed. "We are not born into mortal bodies, child. Our parents, the beings that give us life, are made up of energy -- and we are but a small fraction of their power spun off into mortal corpses. They give life where there was none and leave the new child in a place where it will be cared for. In the course of time the Ancients leave this offspring to develop on its own, knowing that the energy within cannot die, but will eventually evolve. Every Quickening you've taken is a separate entity which cannot face the fact that it has been deprived of its home. So, it seeks out what it knows. Resides within you until it decides to move on."

The whole idea of hundreds of people currently living inside him gave Methos reason for pause. "Can they...?"

"Band together?" Tok'ra finished. "Feed on your energy and eventually take you over?"

Methos nodded.

"Not the ones you hold. They are far too young to even be aware of the others. And as I said, one Quickening does not feed upon another. In time they will leave of their own accord. Many taken long ago already have."

Well, that was a relief! "And if they were older than me?"

There was a long pause as Methos waited, catching sight of the first of many ships as they came through some kind of vortex. Finally, Tok'ra spoke.

"Inanna could have taken you. She was powerful enough to cast you out and force you to find a new home. Or trap you there with the others."

"You prevented that," Methos sighed.

"Indeed," Tok'ra's voice smiled. "I forced her to evolve."

"But how does one--"

"No more questions," Tok'ra suddenly ordered. "Now, watch carefully. It is time to fight."

There was really nothing to watch, Methos would think later. It was simply a matter of focusing his thoughts. Pointing helped, but as Tok'ra showed him, his Quickening did not reside in the tips of his fingers. It was true enough, Methos realized, that one Quickening could not devour another. But it was also true that the energies could be willingly combined. Still, that required an effort of concentration which left Methos exhausted. Worse was the knowledge of the deaths he was causing. For even as he sent out his energies, the touch of which destroyed the ships, some of it surged back into him, carrying the weight of those lives in a brief flash of shared understanding before their souls moved on.

When the last of the ships had either exploded or retreated, Methos collapsed, holding his head in his arms.

"It is not easy to be a weapon, my son," the voice of Tok'ra offered kindly.

"It does seem to have its drawbacks," Methos whispered painfully.

"As you discovered on your own," Tok'ra pointed out.

No matter how many times he'd heard mortals say it, he knew now that he'd never quite understood. You were always a child to your parents and they could, with a few well chosen words, make you feel just that small. Methos felt himself flush with shame. "I did learn."

"Yes, and I am proud of you for that. It was not easy for you to give up your anger."

"But what was I angry at? I can't even remember now."

"Me," Tok'ra sighed. "For dying, for bringing that mountain down on you to shield you from Inanna, for feeling abandoned and lost. For more things than I can recount, child."

"About Inanna," Methos began, feeling his chest tighten at the words. "Was that your idea or mine?"

"You came to that unfortunate, but necessary conclusion on your own."

"Wonderful. Haven't seen the woman in 10,000 years and the first thing I do is kill her," Methos murmured, disgusted with himself. Suddenly, it hit him. "I murdered my mother!" he realized with a ghastly start. And for the first time in 5,000 years Methos truly began to weep. For himself. For Inanna. For Tok'ra. And for the inconceivable nature of his own corrupted heart. What was he that he could logically deduce and carry out such a heinous act?

Death, came the quiet whisper of his own mind. Methos cringed at the thought. What a fool he'd been to think he had so easily conquered the bastard. The fear and anger induced horror that had once been the most inhuman scourge to ever walk the Earth. He'd beat out his three companions for sheer brilliance in planning the kill and seeing it through. But Death was more insidious than that, he suddenly realized. He had learned new ways to make his presence felt. How subtly, how rationally he'd planned it all and done the deed with little care for anything else. In spite of all his hard won humanity, Death was still just below the surface, waiting for him to slip up.

"Sneaky little shit," Methos muttered, wiping his eyes.

"Don't, Methos," Tok'ra's voice was stern now. "Don't compartmentalize this aspect of yourself. He is not a stranger, but a part of who you are. Think of what the world was like 3500 years ago when every major civilization in your part of the world was collapsing in on itself. In an insane world you acted insanely and that is how you survived. And when the world was again safe and sane you put all that aside."

"Oh, that's sweet!" Methos laughed derisively. "Been there, said that, took the easy philosophical out. I murdered my mother, you son of a bitch! Not to help you, not to save the world, but to keep my own worthless neck intact!"

"Inanna forced your hand and you reacted in the only way you knew how," Tok'ra admitted calmly. "As ruthlessly and as without compassion as she had acted towards you. You are the child of us both and you have always behaved accordingly, for good or ill. You were raised to survive. Regret the necessity, but never the many years of your life."

"And the innocents I killed. Should I not regret that?" Methos asked angrily.

"Yes. Regret that. But accept and move on. Death is not who you are, it is what you sometimes must become. And even as Death you have often shown compassion."

"Compassionate Death?!" Methos snorted. "What I did I did for myself. If I chose to spare a life it was to use it for my own purposes."

"As do we all, my son. Even the best of motives are never entirely selfless. I have watched with interest the rise of the Christ. He wished to save mortals because he believed they were all a part of his God. In effect, saving a part of himself that otherwise might have been lost."

"You're calling God selfish?!" Methos laughter verged on hysteria.

"I would be if I were him and they were mine." Tok'ra's voice held a smile. "But in this case, we are speaking of you. And I taught you to survive for my own selfish reasons. Because like the god of Christ views his own children, you are mine and I love you."

It was pointless to continue the argument Methos realized and their dialogue ended as he lapsed into silence, watching as they neared the Earth and passed easily through the outer layers of the planet's atmosphere. Now, he was not only physically exhausted, but emotionally drained as well.

They landed in a meadow a few hundred feet below the snow line near the air base, the carapace slowly fading away and returning to its place inside him.

"It is time, son."

Methos nodded. He'd be leaving soon too if he could manage it. He'd had quite enough of this Stargate business. Let Mac and the others take point if Hammond was so hot to have Immortals working for the SGC.

"Any last words of wisdom," Methos drawled, distancing himself from the moment as he got to his feet.

Tok'ra sighed. "I think I've said enough, don't you?"

Methos winced inwardly. He was being a prick and he knew it, but 5,000 years of bitterness was hard to shake off in less than an hour.

"I'm sorry I'm not what you wanted," Methos mocked him. "But as you said. It's my life."

"Indeed it is. But watch and learn, young one. Teach the truth if you can."

Methos held out his arms as he felt the energies within him begin to slide gently through his pores to coalesce above him.

"This is your Prize!" The mass of energy laughed as if discovering a whole new universe filled with delight. "Evolution to a higher form! That is the great journey of the Ancients!"

He watched in awe as the power of Tok'ra's Quickening seemed to grow and expand then contract until it was a mere pinpoint of light. Then, just before it winked out, Methos came to his senses.

"Father! Wait! I... I'm sorry. I... Thank you."

The whispered response was almost inaudible and Methos wasn't quite certain he'd heard it correctly.

"The ninth symbol is Time..."

Bereft, Methos sat in the grass waiting as a handful of jeeps raced up the mountain. There'd be the long debriefing and the obvious questions to which he must respond, but in the end he too would go. Maybe for a time, maybe for good. Right now he didn't want to think about any of it. A moment later, he was surrounded and O'Neill was coming forward, followed by Carter and MacLeod.

"You okay?" Jack asked as he knelt beside Methos.

The older man nodded. "He's gone."

"Our satellites picked up some pretty weird images about an hour ago," Samantha commented as Methos slowly got to his feet.

"Wasn't me." He gave a rueful grin and sighed. "Was Tok'ra. I was just along for the ride."

"Nice ride," MacLeod smiled. "Care to educate the rest of us."

Methos shrugged. "Live. Grow stronger. Evolve."

At that, Methos turned away and climbed into the nearest transport. O'Neill quieted the others when they would have pressed him for more, getting in beside the eldest Immortal and giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder to let him know he understood.

"How 'bout dinner?" Jack asked as they drove away, deliberately changing the subject in order to give Methos time to adjust and unwind.

Methos smiled. Normalcy was just what he needed, and he appreciated that more than anything. "I hear O'Malley's in town is pretty good."

"Uh... Yeah, it's great. But we're banned from going there anymore."

"You're banned?" Methos asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, Danny-boy got into a bar fight and well, Carter and I kinda helped it along."

"Daniel? In a bar fight?" Methos laughed long and hard at the idea. Finally, he wiped his eyes and sighed. "Well, I'm open to suggestions."

"Barbecue? My place?"

Methos nodded and it was decided. As they hit the highway Jack shifted into high gear, speeding past the base in obvious violation of his orders. There would be no debriefing tonight. No questions Methos felt unable or unwilling to answer. Just a quiet night of sharing food and friendship with someone who at least knew when to be silent.

***

Epilogue

Three months later...

Of all the places for Adam Pierson to go to ground Jack O'Neill had never considered Nepal to be one of them. Maybe he should have, he thought wryly as he very carefully landed the small Harrier jet on the side of a grassy slope not far from where the transmission signal emanated. Methos had been fairly terse, even abrupt during his debriefing before being given compassionate leave. Hammond hadn't asked, and no one else had said a word, but it was clearly understood that Pierson had been very quietly hurting. Whether he'd come back, of course, was the obvious question.

There wasn't much to see around here, O'Neill thought as he looked around, and maybe that was the point. The Himalayas of course were spectacular, and Methos' hiding place was just as spectacularly hidden within the upper foot hills of the mountains. But it had taken just one pass of a satellite to determine that the ancient Immortal was very much in residence.

He found the entrance with very little trouble, although unless you knew what you were looking for it was neatly hidden by an optical illusion of perspective, appearing to be nothing more than a small bump in the side of the mountain. Inside, it was as dark and dank as one might expect. Further back it narrowed so that one thin man with a hand truck might easily pass through. On the other side of that narrow opening Jack found the first signs of habitation. Maybe ten tons of stored goods dating back to the turn of the century if the labels were anything to judge by, and several thousand propane tanks stacked neatly against the walls.

"Nice. A little paranoid, but nice," Jack murmured as he moved through the storage cave, coming across a small door about half way through. He opened it cautiously and smiled. Now this was a hideout, he thought as he stepped outside. The cave led to a small sheltered valley within the peaks. A miniature Shangri-La of sorts and he wondered if that was where Pierson had gotten the idea.

Behind him, he heard a gun cocking and Jack lifted his arms. "I come in peace."

"Next time," Methos responded testily, putting up his weapon as O'Neill turned around. "Call first." He held up his cell phone and pointed to the camouflaged satellite dish and microwave tower on the hill above them. "Don't you know there's a war going on here?"

O'Neill shrugged and lowered his hands. "Didn’t think you'd answer and it might have made you leave."

Methos scowled. "Just how did you find me, anyway?" he asked, heading toward the house he'd built about half a mile away.

"You took your transmitter with you. Little known fact, Pierson," Jack confided as he followed down the steep hillside.

"They can act as homing beacons," Methos concluded with a sigh. "Shit!" They reached the house and he opened the door, stepping aside to allow his somewhat welcome guest inside. Placing both hands together, Methos bowed and gave the typical Nepalese greeting. "Namaste."

"Huh?"

"Make yourself at home," Methos rolled his eyes.

"No can do, Pierson. Get your stuff and let's go." He looked at his watch. "Another six hours and thirty-seven minutes and you're AWOL."

"Don't be ridiculous," Methos scoffed. "You have MacLeod and his friends to back you up now. And Daniel should have returned to work already. What do you need me for?"

"Let's just say, I like your style, Captain Pierson."

"Captain?" Methos laughed.

"Yup. Hammond thought it was appropriate, since you were no longer a captain of industry. Oh, and," he fished a flat velvet display box out of his jacket. "If you hadn't lit out so quick you'd have gotten this from the man himself."

He tossed the box to Methos, who opened it gingerly. "The Presidential Medal of Honor?!" he gasped. "Don't you have to be dead or something to get this?"

"Yeah. So? You've been dead and your...something. I left the others back at the base," he added. "There are at least a dozen. The Iron Cross, the Victoria Cross, the Croix de Guerre. A Gold Star from the Russians. Not to mention a bunch of other distinguished service medals from our guys -- and the Purple Heart."

"The Purple Heart?" Methos asked, dumbfounded. "The only thing wounded was my dignity."

"My idea," Jack grinned. "Knew you'd like it."

For a long moment Methos stood speechless until finally he closed the box and laid it aside. "How nice. More pretty baubles."

Jack grimaced. "That reminds me. This," he pulled a silver box out of his pocket, "is from the Tok'ra. Glows whether it's in the dark or not."

Methos raised his hands, demurring. "You keep it. It's probably a homing device."

"That's why it's in a lead lined box," Jack grinned.

"So all this," Methos cocked his head in amazement, "is to convince me to come back?"

"No," Jack smiled. "That's to say thank you. This," he pulled out his gun, trying not to laugh at Methos' affronted expression, "is to convince you to get your ass packed and in that jet. Don't you know the punishment for going AWOL is more time in the service -- with no furloughs. And," he added cheerfully. "We also dock your pay for six months."

"But--"

"Aw, come on, Pierson! Don't make me do the corpse thing. I don't need any more of your bodily fluids messing up my cockpit."

Methos frowned and started looking for his duffel bag as Jack tossed him clothes, a CD player, a few discs and some personal items, never lowering the gun.

"This is so typically American," Methos sniped as he hurriedly filled the bag.

"You should know, Mr. Revolutionary War plaque."

"Ingrate," Methos sneered, hiding a smile. He hadn't really thought they'd want him back, not after what he'd done to Inanna. But it felt good to be wanted. And after taking some time to think about it, he truly had wanted to explore the other side of that Stargate. Still, he could get a lot of mileage out of playing the unwilling victim.

"All right," he growled, yanking the duffel shut and slinging it over his shoulder. "Let's go."

Jack followed, finally putting away his weapon as he closed the door. "Did I mention this was a nice little vacation spot? You'll really have to invite me back sometime."

Not having invited him in the first place, Methos rolled his eyes. "Use it anytime you want," he grated.

"Gee, thanks! How's the fishing?"

Methos twisted his lips in disgust. "It's wonderful, Jack. Help yourself."

As they reached the jet and climbed in O'Neill turned and smiled happily.