A teaser for one of my favorite stories I’ve ever written, with one of my best friends. ^_^ A crossover of “Highlander: The Series” and “X-men”.
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Nadya came back into the room where Methos reclined on the couch, flicking on the TV on her way to the kitchen. Methos, grunting in disgust as the annoying marvel of the 20th century blared to life, propped himself up on one elbow and opened his mouth to call after Nadya…only to be interrupted by her.
“Yes, I know you want a beer, but, of course, I don’t like that stuff in my house.” She turned and placed a hand on her hip as she rounded the island in the middle of the kitchen. “I’ll brew you some coffee in a minute…or some tea?” she offered as she opened the refrigerator door.
Methos suppressed a smirk. The small figure was clad in a long denim skirt with a slit up the back so as not to slow her down. Covering the upper part of her frame was a violet colored sweater, worn more for looks than for the chill of the mild September thatPariswas having this year. Her feet were shod in her light-blue fuzzy house slippers…the ones with the little bows.
Methos’ smirk became a smile as he responded, “Actually, I am aware of that and was going to ask for the tea to begin with.”
Nadya poked her head around the door to look at him. The old man gave one of his boyish grins that annoyed the life out of her…except for the fact he looked so cute when he did that.
‘Must be feeling better if he is in the mood to play,’ she thought before saying, “It’s fromIndia—Princess Gita.” With that, she ducked her head back behind the fridge to hide her smile at the upcoming reaction.
“…can’t you have any decent tea?”
Nadya wasn’t sure what language he had slipped into but she remembered his rants about Indian tea – namely, the British obsession with it and, specifically, Byron’s obsession with it, among other things. She knew he hated the stuff.
“…..bloody nasty stuff!” Methos paused to get a breath, ending his tirade for a moment. “Could I have coffee instead?”
Nadya composed her face and peeked around the door again.
By then, Methos had remembered his manners, “Please.”
“Of course! I keep some just for you.” She moved toward the cupboard.
“I know.” Methos grinned and lay back down on the couch. Nadya was about to respond when the television drew her attention, followed by the old man’s.
The television portrayed a protest in the streets of WashingtonD.C.The crowds of people holding signs and yelling were lined up behind barricades along streets in front of Capitol Hill. Fists were raised in the air, along with signs proclaiming the country’s growing concern about what some were so bold as to call a world wide epidemic. Mutants.
“Today, the streets ofWashingtonbelie what the Congress voted just the day before: that theUnited Stateswill not require mutants to register nationally. Yet, apparently, the public has not had its concerns met by their representatives,” came an anchor’s voice over.
The camera panned away from the reporter to fan the angry crowds. Some were even chanting, “Death to mutants!” The newsfeed cut back to the newsroom and the anchors closed the story then as they looked to another camera, appearing to leave the turmoil that was gripping the world at large and focus on a public interest story.
“If only it were that easy,” Nadya said as she moved over and turned the television to the French version of A&E.
She and Methos shared a sympathetic look before she asked, almost in a whisper, “Aren’t you…?”
“Afraid they will come after us next?” Methos finished as he looked down at his wounds, almost healed by now.
“Yes.” Nadya clenched a small fist at her side. Her concern for her friend was evident; not just for him but Duncan as well. And all the others.
“I have seen far worse,” Methos replied, mostly to alleviate her fears. If only she knew what he had not only seen but had done. His mind flashed back to a year ago and his own involvement with the bunch of racist…‘no, speciest jerks’. He should have felt guiltier about being involved with Stryker, but well…
‘Well what, old man? You wanted that adamantium! You wanted to keep your own head! You are selfish…yes.’ Methos thought to himself. ‘But, when you have been Death, nothing is too hard. And morals…well, morals are fickle things.’
Methos didn’t regret his time spent playing the bad guy…only that it had proved useless in the end.
“You have?” Nadya asked.
Methos nodded. “The world has seen far worse than this…and I suspect even that will one day be surpassed. Humanity lacks no limits to the depths to which it is capable of descending,” he said as he sat up, his wounds finally closed.
“That…is an awfully pessimistic attitude,” Nadya answered, a somewhat sad tone to her voice.
“Well, what do you expect?! I just got attacked by a bloody big, powerful immortal, almost got apprehended by the authorities, walked several miles with a gaping hole in my side, AND, to top it all off, there is no beer in the place I sought refuge at!” He threw his hands up in a gesture of ‘why me’.
“I…I think some tea would calm you down,” Nadya murmured as she moved back to the kitchen. Her tone was flat and low; he could tell she was hurt by his outburst.
“Nadya…wait! No, I’m sorry. Please, no tea; I’ve suffered enough,” Methos staggered to his feet, cursing himself, and followed the small woman to the kitchen.