Chapter Twenty-Four

The little submarine held six, seven if everyone was on good terms and one was as tiny as Ghean. Methos had no idea how the University had been able to afford it. His best guess was that Ghean, via a sponsor, had fronted the money. Even in as little as sixty or seventy years, it was easy to build up a mass of cash, if you knew you would outlive any fluctuations in the stock market. There'd also been the account he'd opened in the eighteenth century, so he could get a safe deposit box. Ghean must have used that money as a nest egg. Methos wondered how much had accumulated in the two hundred years before she found it.

Unlike the Retribution, the sub's equipment was state of the art. Uncompartmentalized, it didn't seem to be more than fifteen feet from end to end. A significant portion of the walls were filled with computer screens. The pilot's seat and array covered most of the front end, tiny windows of information beeping quietly as they displayed and redisplayed data, updating it every few seconds. Immediately behind and to the left of the cockpit, an alarming-looking armed waldo was set up in front of the largest screen, which flickered grey. Opposite it was a camera, set at an angle to look out a porthole, and next to that, a seat. The back side of another terminal setup made a back for the seat, ending at exactly the wrong height to be able to lean against it comfortably or ignore it successfully.

The rest of the submarine's layout reflected the layout of the camera and seat, with two extraneous portholes at the tail end. In front of each of those, sturdy black metal boxes, one with 'electrical equipment' stenciled on the outside, had been stacked up to make haphazard chairs. There were also boxes shoved under the seats, protruding dangerously and making the floor difficult to nagivate. Considerably more room was dedicated to equipment than the ability to move.

Methos, too tall to stand comfortably in the compact tube, laughed as he climbed in. "I feel like I'm watching Titanic again," he said to Ghean.

She grinned. "Only ours isn't a set. Since you're here, let's put you to good use. Know anything about mapping software?" She lead him through the tangle of seats and terminals, stepping over boxes on the floor.

"I forgot to brush up," Methos said. "Too bad I missed the dinner on Saturday. Someone could have reminded me." He sat where instructed. It wasn't too uncomfortable. There was a porthole just behind his left shoulder that he could see thorugh if he twisted at the proper angle, and he had head room. To make up for it, there was no leg room. Methos decided wisdom was the better part of valor, and didn't complain.

Ghean shrugged deprecatingly. "I could always hope. Luckily for you, the computer does all the work. If this goes off," and she flicked a finger at an unlit light, "call him." Ghean pointed over her shoulder with her thumb as a long-haired young man, taller than Methos, crawled into the sub.

"What about me?" he asked, ducking towards the duo.

"Adam, this is Jerry. Jerry, Dr. Pierson, one of our sponsors and an old friend of mine. Jerry keeps the computer systems running."

"I'm the resident geek," Jerry agreed, sticking his hand out. "Mike mentioned you at the party Saturday, but said you couldn't make it. Too bad. Mary actually put on a party dress. It was worth seeing."

Methos grinned. "Hi, Jerry. I'm sorry I missed it. It's been a while since I've seen her dressed up."

Ghean leveled an icy stare at Methos. He widened his eyes innocently, saved from having to defend himself by Michael's arrival with two others. "Mary Jerry Adam," Michael said absently, without looking at any of the three as he addressed them. He had a video camera in one hand and a battery case in the other, and went to prod at the camera behind the pilot's seat.

Behind him came a man in his mid forties, with a stiff military haircut. "Afternoon," he said pleasantly, offering his hand to Methos. "Dan Frank. I'm the pilot. Presumably you're the honored guest. This is my wife, Anne." He stepped aside to present a blonde woman in her late thirties.

"Hi," she said, "no relation."

Methos' eyebrows shot up in startlement, and he laughed. "No, I don't imagine you are. You get that a lot? Adam Pierson. It's a pleasure." He shook hands as they were presented and watched curiously as Anne seated herself in front of the waldo. "I gather you drive the robot?"

Anne glanced over and nodded. "Yeah. His name's Handy. I volunteered for this job because I get to stare dreamily out the window and imagine life in Atlantis when I'm not working." She grinned. "It's quite the sight, Dr. Pierson. You're in for the experience of a lifetime."

Methos looked up momentarily to meet Ghean's eyes. "I'm sure I am."

Ghean smiled, more an expression of acknowledgement than humour. She dropped into her seat, just in front of Methos, and turned to look at the pale water outside.

"Finished the systems check fifteen minutes ago," Dan announced. "Unless anybody forgot to stop by the bathroom, we're ready to go." He waited ten seconds, then nodded with satisfaction. "Seal up the hatch, would you, Pierson? Anne, check it?"

Methos stood, ducking and grinning at his feet as he did as he was told. He and Anne did an awkward little dance around each other, as he tried to regain his seat while she went to check the seal. They ended up grinning broadly at each other, stuck in the middle of the sub. Methos backed up with exaggerated steps to get out of Anne's way. Fortune, more than skill, prevented him from setting his foot down on a box, and he wavered briefly, regaining his balance more solidly after Anne stepped back again. "Nice and tight," she reported. "You okay there, Adam?"

"Fine," he answered, finally managing to get back to his seat. "Just working through a life-long desire to be Charlie Chaplin. I just don't have his knack for physical schtick."

"Charlie Chaplin never had to work under these conditions, Jerry observed, looking up with a quick smile.

The sub broke loose from the Retribution, sinking into the Mediterranean waters. Methos looked out a porthole, watching bubbles rise rapidly by. "You're certainly right about that."

The light change was gradual as the submarine sank into the sea. Fifty feet down, the sub's internal lights became noticeable; by fifty meters the light from the water outside was of a peculiar, ethereal quality. Aside from the occasional school of startled fish, the outside scenery wasn't particularly captivating. The others bantered back and forth lightly, and Methos listened with half an ear for a few moments, watching as the submarine descended into darkness. Within minutes it was too dark to make out more than vague shapes in the water. Methos took his gaze from the porthole, glancing instead at Ghean, wondering suddenly how well she handled the submersions, considering her history.

She sat staring fixedly out a porthole. Methos could see tiny tense muscles along her jaw, though her shoulders appeared relaxed. Her breathing was deliberately even, long slow breaths through her nostrils. But for her shoulders, her posture was rigid; Methos imagined the stiff muscles along her spine. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. This is probably not a good idea.

Ghean didn't quite flinch, turning her head to look at Methos. Her eyes were black, expressionless in the off-colored lighting of the submarine. She watched him for several seconds, silent and stony-faced, before returning her attention to the darkness outside the porthole.

Michael finally succeeded in the arcane adjustments he was making to his cameras, and sat back, satisfied, just in time to see Methos' hand fall from Ghean's shoulder. The round archaeologist grinned broadly, gesturing at the pair with a tilt of his head and murmuring to Anne. The blonde woman looked over her shoulder to smile as well, and Methos lifted his eyebrows quizzically at the two. Anne pulled an innocent moue, and Michael averted his eyes, chuckling.

I'm surrounded by matchmakers. Methos grinned, despite knowing it would only add fuel to the fire. Leaning forward, he interrupted Ghean's reverie to ask quietly, "Didn't you tell them we were just friends?"

Ghean's gaze snapped back to him. "Yes," she replied. "I said we were very good fr . . . " Her voice faded away entirely, color draining from her face. "Very good friends," she repeated, barely more than a breath. Her chin moved fractionally, as if a blow had been taken and almost entirely absorbed. "Just like you said you and my mother were."

Oh, shit, Methos thought with perfect clarity.

"You utter bastard," Ghean said precisely, out loud, in a tongue dead for forty-six hundred years. Every head in the submarine jerked around to stare in open interest at the petite woman.

What happens if there's a Quickening underwater? A small portion of Methos' mind darted off on the tangent. We can't fight here. There's not enough room. And I don't know what else would happen, but it would be extremely unpleasant for the mortals on board. "Ghean," he said in the most reasonable tone he could muster, using the same language she'd spoken in, "you'd been dead a thousand years. I thought she'd been dead that long, for gods' sake."

"She was my mother!"

"By adoption," Methos hedged, and winced at the argument. "Ghean, after that long, what difference does that sort of relationship make? I was at a difficult place in my life and found an old friend when I needed one. It's not unusual for Immortals to become lovers -- "

Ghean erupted out of her seat, an explosion of movement startling and effective despite her diminutive size. Methos slammed the urge to react equally, to surge to his feet, down, not in the least because he'd crack his head on the low ceiling if he did. Muscles tense, he held his place, looking up at Ghean. "My mother, Methos! She was my mother! You were about to be my husband! 'You were at a difficult place', don't try that, you son of a bitch. She was my mother. You slept with my mother!"

Methos closed his eyes, hard. "Dammit, Ghean. That relationship, Minyah being your mother, was a thousand years dead. She was a friend when I needed one. Old friends become lovers -- "

"Oh, clearly. 'The things we do for old lovers.' You didn't do any of that for me, the notes, the papers -- you did it for her! You bastard! You did it all for her!"

Methos pulled in a breath to defend himself. Ghean's jaw set, eyes flashing rage. "Don't. Don't even try. Old friends become lovers. What do old lovers become, Methos? Yesterday's news? You slept with my mother and you haven't even got a second glance for me?"

Methos stared at her. Is that all it takes? "When have I had time?" he demanded. "I was angry and confused when you showed up again, Ghean, and I said all the wrong things on Saturday! Do you think you're not still beautiful? Do you think I don't want you? Gods above, Ghean, I loved you. I mourned for a thousand years. I became someone else entirely, to walk away from the pain. It took a thousand years, Ghean, a thousand years, to put away the grief. And then you show up out of the deep blue sea," Methos flinched mentally at the unfortunately accurate phrase, "and I find out that loving you didn't go away with the pain. What do you think I'm doing here?"

Ghean's eyes and mouth vied for a winning position in roundness. Methos didn't dare look at the rest of the sub's crew to see their expressions. The absolute silence was more than enough to suggest what was on their faces.

"The . . . Book . . . ." Ghean faltered. Methos let weariness settle into his face.

"What was I supposed to say?" he asked. "Especially after the story you told us about your captivity. Forgive me if I couldn't come up with a delicate way to say, 'I still love you, give me another chance'. A book isn't worth seven . . . " His knowledge of Atlantean deserted him. If he'd ever know the Atlantean word for million, he'd forgotten it, and he floundered, searching for the right word. After several seconds he let out an explosive sigh. "That much money," he tried again. "No book is worth that much money, Ghean. I thought if we spent time together . . . ."

Ghean dropped back into her seat, still staring at Methos. "You said . . . on Saturday. You weren't sorry."

Methos spread his hands, helplessly. "I'm not sorry I survived. I can't be sorry for the choices I've made, Ghean. They're what make me who I am. I can regret the consequences of those choices." A sad smile played over his features, and fell away. "You're the only Immortal woman I ever wanted to marry, Ghean."

"Oh," Ghean said faintly, and turned away abruptly to resume watching the water outside the porthole. Methos let out a long, slow breath, eyes closing. When he opened them again a moment later, it was to find the four other crew members gaping at him.

"What," Michael, the first to regain his voice, said, "the hell was that?"

"A language we made up as children," Methos picked randomly, addressing the question he thought most needed answering first, "and a lover's quarrel. I apologize for subjecting you to that." He closed his eyes again, against audibly restrained silence. After several seconds, he heard Dan turn his chair back around to begin piloting again. A few minutes later, conversation resumed, giving Methos the privacy he needed to sort through what he'd said.

How much of it did she buy? More to the point, how much of it was true? Enough of it, he decided reluctantly. Enough of it for the rest to sound true. At the least, that his relationship with Minyah had grown out of friendship, and that he had indeed become someone else for a thousand years after Ghean's death was true. Riding with the Horsemen hadn't been a time for healing, though. The pain of Ghean's death had faded in time, as it always did, but being Death had been about bloodlust and power, not mourning loss. Only the first choice, to join Kronos, had been spurred by bitterness at death -- and, Methos reminded himself, by keeping my head. Don't flatter yourself, old man.

Still, it made a good dramatic statement, a thousand years of mourning, and Ghean seemed to have been taken by it. It was unlikely that mere seduction would be enough to calm her fury, but it had obviously been a step in the right direction.

It wasn't entirely untrue, Methos temporized. There were still strong feelings for the Atlantean woman in him. It had taken a few days after the initial shock of her reapparance to sort out what he did feel. Love was a part of it, an abiding love for the young woman he'd known four and a half millennia ago. Knowing that time had changed her didn't tarnish the memory, but it made it easier to remember he wasn't sure he could trust the emotions he still felt. Her re-emergence in his life inevitably sparked a curiousity about a potential relationship, but that had nothing to do with his decision to bribe the University into allowing him passage on the ship to Atlantis. Never-the-less, the idea apparently could be used to appeal to Ghean's more romantic nature.

Ghean's a romantic. Methos' eyes popped open suddenly, and he caught Anne staring across the sub at him. Caught, she blushed and looked away. By the time she looked back, his eyes were closed again. You're judging Ghean by your own standards, dammit, and she's not as old as your memory tells you she has to be, Methos reminded himself forcefully. She's been the princess locked in the tower for eoons, and she didn't escape into the world until very recently. She's certainly still young enough, as far as experience is concerned, to be a romantic. Maybe that kind of hope is the only way to deal with eternal captivity.

I would make a lousy princess in a tower, Methos concluded wryly.

Ghean had, in fact, been the only Immortal woman Methos had ever wanted to marry. The disaster surrounding that experience was more than enough to put him off the idea permenantly. He noticed he was holding his breath, and let it out in a long exhalation. The goal, ultimately, was possession of the Book, preferably to hide it away as inaccessably as it had been hidden the last five millennia. If romance was the easiest way to reach that goal, so be it. Methos half smiled. I've had more unpleasant tasks. Just as long as I don't get carried away.

Ghean scowled at the blackness beyond the porthole, barely hearing Methos as he explained the outburst to the other crew members. His words were still ringing in her ears.

It is possible, the patient one said, very cautiously, that we misjudged his motives. We shouldn't believe him too readily.

I want to, she answered. He was so careful, describing his relationship with Minyah. If I hadn't used the same expression to characterize my relationship with him, I wouldn't have hit on it at all. He needs to be in control, but he couldn't have anticipated that I'd use the same phrase, that I'd figure it out. I think he was trying to avoid hurting me.

Maybe, the patient one said, still testing the possibility warily. He argued in Atlantean. We still think in it, but he wouldn't have spoken it for thousands of years. It would be harder to lie in a language you haven't spoken in millennia. That lends credence to his words.

He forgot words, the frightened one whispered.

Ghean seized on that, nodding fractionally. He did. If he'd prepared lies like that in advance he'd have remembered all the words he needed.

He may still be in love with us, the patient one admitted grudgingly. How do we feel about him?

Ghean reached up to tap her thumb against her lips, trying to examine her feelings towards Methos. Betrayal, she thought tentatively.

Betrayal! the frightened one shrieked. Betrayal, he'll betray us again, down below the sea in the darkness where we're going!

Shut up, the patient one said. Betrayal, made worse by his tryst with Minyah.

But it makes sense, Ghean said. Minyah was the only access he had to me, after all the years. Being with her wasn't so much seeking comfort in the arms of an old friend, but looking for what he'd lost. Looking for me, in my mother. Ghean shivered. Using Mother that way was reprehensible, she thought severely.

And pathetic, the patient one agreed.

I could almost feel sorry for him.

We may pity him, as long as it doesn't make us weak. Anger is better, and we have more anger than we do pity, the patient one said.

Anger and betrayal, the frightened one whispered. Betray him, leave him under the ocean forever and ever.

Not yet, Ghean answered. He's still attractive, and he obviously still loves me.

We'll let him in our bed, the patient one said, if that's what he wants. That way we'll have physical pleasure, at least, and in the end taking hs head will be that much more satisfying.

Ghean glanced over her shoulder quickly, to smile at Methos. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his own lips. Imagining us together, Ghean guessed, and her smile turned to a grin. The elaborate plans of revenge she'd built over the years to occupy herself were crumbling beneath the vastly more gratifying reality that was playing out. I hadn't imagined I'd still have so much power over him. With one hand I'll give him the world, and with the other take his head when he least expects it.

Everything will be ours, the patient one crowed. His power, our revenge, and the memories that he made over thousands of years. Years that should have been ours to live. Everything will finally be ours.

And then we'll go home to Atlantis, Ghean promised the frightened voice, and closed her eyes, sleeping as the submarine continued its way to the ocean bottom.