Title:  The Chilmark Project - Part IIIb - Foxhunt   
   Authors:  Wylfcynne & Ravenwald   
      
   For Authors' notes and Disclaimers, see Part I -   
   Demonology   
      
    +++   
      
   the dojo Seacouver, Washington August 22, 2002   
      
   "Come at me, Adam," Duncan urged him.  "Hard!"   
      
   Methos held his katana two-handed, his elbows on   
   one side of his balance line, and the blade on the   
   other at a forty-five degree angle to the floor.  With   
   a happy smile, he charged. Duncan beat him back,   
   but Methos was good, and gave little ground.  He   
   actually pinked Duncan on his sword arm, and   
   Duncan laughed.   
      
   "Very good!"  Then he tapped Methos twice, once   
   on each shoulder. Their blades clashed in another   
   exchange.  Duncan was fighting one- handed,   
   fencing epee-style with a weapon not suited to it at   
   all, and holding Methos at bay with ease.  Duncan   
   saw the opening he wanted, and closed in.  He   
   grabbed at Methos's hair with his free hand.  One   
   good yank brought Methos to his knees, and   
   Duncan's blade came flat against his throat.  "Never   
   forget your opponent has two hands."   
      
   "And a sword," Methos panted as he hit Duncan   
   with the back of his blade on the inside of his thigh,   
   where the edge would have severed the femoral   
   artery and dropped even an Immortal in only   
   seconds.   
      
   Duncan smiled and let go of Methos's hair; Methos   
   lowered the point of his sword to the floor so   
   Duncan could step back.  "Very good. You did pay   
   attention.  You're improving every day, Adam."   
      
   "You're not even breathing hard--!"  Methos   
   mourned as he panted, his hands on his knees.   
      
   "I've been in training for four hundred years," he   
   reminded him, "and you just took a couple of   
   centuries off. You've improved with just the couple   
   of months' work we've done.  You know that   
   swordplay is like chess; you can always get better."   
      
   When Methos had his breath back, Duncan told him   
   to do his kata.  He had had to explain the word   
   when they started this training; Methos had never   
   trained in Japan, and did not use the language with   
   the ease and facility that Duncan did.   
      
   Methos began it a little hesitantly, unsure of what   
   Duncan would do or say.  Four beats into the   
   pattern, Duncan stepped carefully inside Methos's   
   lunge radius and walked around him. He tried to be   
   critical, but he could find little to  fault.  Methos was   
   light on his feet, strong and confident with his   
   blade, and he knew it to the veriest tip: one of his   
   lunges reached out and tapped Duncan on his   
   chest as he stood studying Methos's form.  Methos   
   did not hesitate to judge his reaction; Duncan did   
   not flinch, having confidence in his lover's ability to   
   control his blade.   
      
   "Good job," he said as Methos finished with a   
   samurai salute.  Duncan lifted his own katana.   
   "Now, do it again." He ignored the expression on   
   Methos's face.  When they began, Duncan   
   countered Methos's every move lightly, their   
   swords just kissing one another.  The routine was   
   ten minutes long, and when it was done, Methos   
   knew that he had not seen such expertise with a   
   blade as Duncan had just so casually displayed, in   
   a long time.  Duncan had been Methos's reflection,   
   mirroring his every movement, almost close   
   enough to touch, but never touching anything but   
   steel.   
      
   Methos sheathed and racked his sword, and then   
   dropped to sit against the wall beneath the daisho   
   rack, his head back against the cool bricks, his   
   eyes closed, trying to calm himself down.  He had   
   never, in his entire life, been so excited by just the   
   proximity of a male body.   
      
   (*Almost touching, yet never touched... *)   
      
   He shuddered, trying to keep control as Duncan   
   slid down the wall to sit beside him, laying his own   
   sword on the floor.   
      
   "You're good, Adam," Duncan smiled at him.   
   "Getting better all the time."   
      
   Methos just smiled, not trusting his voice or his   
   choice of words.   
      
   "Good?"  Amanda was standing in the doorway,   
   wearing sweats and carrying her own sword. "You   
   two dance like you've been lovers for decades.   
   Would you like to be alone?"   
      
   Duncan was saved from having to frame a reply by   
   Methos, who grabbed at the opportunity to escape.   
      
   "No, I'm going to take a shower.  Duncan, beat her   
   to death for me, will you?" he said with a forced   
   grin. He pushed himself to his feet using the wall,   
   and headed for the elevator.   
      
   "Sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose,"   
   Duncan grinned as he stood, taking up his sword as   
   he rose. He faced Amanda, and they smiled at one   
   another.   
      
   When the door closed, and they were alone,   
   Amanda spoke.  "He's getting a lot better, isn't he?"   
      
   "Yep."  Duncan nodded.  "Are you?"   
      
   "Come and find out," she invited, falling into her   
   stance, lifting her blade between them.   
      
   "En garde!"   
      
   +++   
      
   An empty factory building near the waterfront   
   Cascade, Washington The same day   
      
   A coldness settled over Jim as he faced the other   
   man.  He recognized the body language: It was that   
   of a trained killer.  He had been one himself in a   
   long-gone life and  he felt as if he was looking in a   
   mirror into that past when he gazed at the set   
   features and the cold, emotionless gaze.   
      
   This man would kill him without a second thought or   
   a moment's remorse.  Jim knew that he was the   
   only thing between Blair and the killer.   
      
   Jim had left Blair in the truck but, as usual, his lover   
   had not listened. Instead, he had followed Ellison   
   inside, and had managed to release the hostages.   
   But in the process, he had been captured, himself.   
      
   One of the women had children who had already   
   lost their father today.  Blair had made sure they did   
   not lose their mother as well.  To Blair, this was an   
   acceptable exchange, but to Jim, it was not   
   acceptable at all.   
      
   These thoughts flashed through his mind and then   
   were left behind. All that mattered was removing   
   the killer that threatened Blair, his Guide, his friend,   
   his lover, from the live grenade that Danvers had   
   placed in Blair's bound hands.   
      
   Blair sat in the corner where Danvers had left him,   
   staring down at the grenade in his hand. The man   
   was arrogant.  He had not bothered to tie Blair to   
   anything; he was just handcuffed. After having   
   watched him for over an hour, Blair knew that the   
   other man was as deadly as Jim could be.  He just   
   hoped he was not deadlier.   
      
   He sighed in relief when Jim finally came into the   
   room, but was repentant at the look of horror and   
   agony that flashed in Jim's eyes when he saw him   
   sitting there.   
      
   (*I'll never learn, Big Guy.  No matter how many   
   times you tell me.*)   
      
   Blair thought sadly of the kids who would be crying   
   tonight as he tried, without success, to ignore the   
   body of their father that lay butchered next to him.   
   It reminded him what would happen to both of them   
   if Jim lost this fight.   
      
   Danvers and Jim circled, while Blair watched with a   
   perverted fascination.  (*It's a dance. They're   
   performing a dance of death.*)   
      
   The anthropologist in Blair could not help but be   
   enthralled by the dynamics of the movements   
   playing out before him.  The lover in Blair   
   shuddered for his mate.  He began to search for   
   something to take the place of the pin that Danvers   
   had removed from the grenade. Anything he could   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)