Archive of Our Own

When the door opens the point of a sword greets him, and it takes all his focus not to immediately jump out of the way and draw his own sword.

"It's me," he murmurs, soft enough not to be overheard by her neighbours, but loud enough that Samantha would hear it and not take his head.

Not today, anyway.

The door opened further and the sword was withdrawn, and Samantha stepped forward out of the shadows. "Sorry. Can't be too careful these days." She motioned for him to enter. "You look well, Adam."

Stepping through the doorway into the box-like room that Samantha had turned into a home, Methos was careful to ensure that there was no one watching even as he shut the door behind him. The candlelight in the room cast eerie shadows on the walls and his host stood in the door frame leading to a second room watching him carefully.

"You look like you could use some sleep," he pointed out archly, taking a seat on a small cushioned chair in the corner of the room.

A smile tugged at her lips. "You certainly know how to make a lady feel special," she replied sarcastically. More seriously she added, "We're in the middle of a war; sleeping through it isn't really an option."

Methos looked at her as though she was kidding. "Actually, sleeping through this war sounds like a very good idea. Trust me, I've seen my fair share of wars. Sit this one out and you'll see another one in a few years."

Samantha shook her head silently, although the small smile she was wearing didn't fade. With the shadows playing across her face she looked even more enigmatic than she did in full light. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"I thought you should know that James is here."

Her brow creased. "In Paris?"

Methos nodded. "He's looking rather fetching in his SS uniform, I might add."

He'd half-expected her frown to deepen, but he received quite the opposite reaction when the muscles in her face relaxed. For a moment she looked almost devious; obviously a trick of the light. "Maybe you should have told him," she replied quietly.

"What makes you think I didn't?"

She doesn't take his bait; he never expected her to. Samantha had been working in this city for too long, tending to too many injuries, and saving as many as she could. Her ability to respond to jokes had taken a serious blow. He accepted her smile as response and waved for her to sit. "He asked after you."

"And what did you tell him?"

He shrugged, slouching lazily in the oversoft chair. "That you were safe."

She nodded her head once, a silent confirmation that she was pleased with the reply. "I suppose he's well, then?"

Methos shook his head, a feeling of deja vu washing over him, as this conversation started to mimic his earlier one with James Norrington. He wondered who had rubbed off on the other more - the student, or the teacher - for them to follow such close patterns of thinking.

"Yes," Methos confirmed, glancing out between the curtains to the dark street outside. "Well, and plotting to make a difference in this whole mess."

She smiled; this time it was warm and genuine. "He's still something of an idealist then?"

Methos snorted in an undignified manner. "Your influence, no doubt. The centuries, and his own experiences, should have taught him to be far more cynical than he is."

"You can hardly blame me," she pointed out. "I haven't seen him in over two-hundred years. He's a military man - a military leader. Watching people being slaughtered for being different is going to provoke him. You've known him long enough to understand that."

He conceded her point with a sharp nod of his head. Reaching into the folds of his overcoat - old and worn - he pulled out the sheet of paper that James had given him earlier that day.

Samantha raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"His grand plan," Methos explained, holding it out to her until she took it from him.

There was the soft sound of paper unfolding before silence returned as her eyes skimmed the contents. "A list of names?"
Methos noted the smile that crossed her face and wondered what she was thinking. Personally he thought James was unwise to engage in his plan for a network of Immortals; there was a reason why they very rarely gathered in groups. Even for such a cause, some would find it a very convenient opportunity to gain strength at the expense of their supposed 'allies.'

She refolded the paper and handed it back. "So you're one of his sources? Hasn't convinced you to jump in with him just yet? Or did he send you here to convince me to hide out the storm?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Come now, Samantha. No, on all counts. Particularly on the third; no one would dare tell you what to do - that's far too dangerous."

"Oh, hush."

Methos waved her response away with a lazy hand. "No, I'm here to find out if you'll join his merry band of Immortal rebels and take on the Nazis."

She smiled sadly. "You know what my answer will be."

"And so does he. I'm still asking."

Samantha shook her head. "I'll give what help I can, but my place is here, working at the hospital."

Methos nodded, almost imperceptibly. He really wasn't surprised with her response - it had been her stock standard for the last few years, ever since she'd arrived in Paris, determined to heal as many of the injured as she could. He'd known her for a long time, but this was perhaps the most dedicated to her chosen profession that he'd ever seen her, and it was both startling and unsettling, and he wasn't surprised that she refused to seek James out while he was in the same city. James, unlike himself, would drag her away here, concerned for her well-being. He, on the other hand, knew better.

The annoying sense of wisdom that came with age, apparently.

"If you need a place to stay tonight..." Her voice broke the tentative silence but she didn't finish her sentence. Her offer wasn't conditional - it never had been - and with another nod, he accepted.

Before the dawn he was gone; James' list and his instructions with him.