A/N: Darius dying did soooo have to be fixed, so here goes. End of season one. Thanks for the reviews, you rock.
When Fitz comes bearing news of immortals around the world slaughtered by mortal hand, the pieces click into place fast. Who is there who knows about them? Who that knows their weaknesses and how to exploit them? There has been a split among the watchers recently, Methos – or rather Adam – says. She might be blonde but she is not stupid.
And so she slips out of the room and off the barge while Mac and Fitz are still paralyzed by the knowledge that someone is breaking their most sacred, their few and only, rules. Fight one on one. Fight off holy ground. Use only blades.
Three rules. All of them broken. She can see how that might shake someone’s faith in the world. Personally, she has lived always expecting the worst of people and hoping for the best, for a long time. Occasionally, it even works out.
It’s not hard to figure out who they’ll go for first. Who is there in Paris that poses as tempting a target as Darius in his church, a sitting duck that doesn’t even know the hunting season has been declared?
First she will make sure he is safe. Then she’ll have a little heart to heart with watchers who forgot the meaning of their title.
She scares the holy man half to death when she suddenly appears behind him as if by magic, tapping him on the shoulder. He spins around, old reflexes only dulled, not forgotten, and she is forced to clamp a steely hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. He calms as soon as he recognizes her, a millennium of trust overriding any natural instincts he might have.
She cuts him off with a sharp shake of her head, hearing the great doors of the main entrance open. “We got to get out of here,” she tells him in a voice that lets him know that the choice is between death and leaving holy ground. He is a pacifist, not dumb.
Launching himself out of his chair he takes a moment to rid himself of her insistently pulling hand to kneel before a random piece of wall and extract an old book, the pages signed and stinking of ash and fire. He shoves it into a pocket and nods at Summer.
As they slip into a hidden passage way leading into the catacombs and from there into the sewers, the church above them is torn apart by rage and hate.
Hours later they have made it back to the barge safely, Darius undercover in civilian jeans and button up shirt, looking strange and alien after all these years in the brown garb of faith.
Fitz and Mac come pouring in the door like a thunderstorm, like grief and rage. Darius is gone, the church pulled to pieces. They probably killed or kidnapped him for information. They have no lead, no trace, no face to give the enemy. Nothing. Only helpless anger and hate.
She stands slowly, silently, ignoring their outrage and pain, stepping to the side to reveal the priest, still clutching the book he salvaged.
“Hello,” he says, not quite managing to keep the smile of his face. It is good to know that he would be missed if he were gone. Mac stands with his jaw on the floor, all the manic energy leaving him, while Fitz almost swallows his tongue.
Then he rounds on Summer and demands, “How?”
She shrugs. “What’s family for, if not this?”
Fitz nods and pulls out his pipe but Mac is less relaxed. He’s known Summer long enough to know that there is more to this than blind luck. “You know who’s killing these immortals,” he says.
She nods and sits back down, relaxed expression wiped off her face as she reaches for the book and Darius hands it to her without protest. “Let me tell you about a secret organization called the Watchers.”