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Disclaimers: Duncan MacLeod, Kronos, Methos, Horton, and Immortality, among other people and other themes, are all copyright by Panzer, Davis, Rysher Entertainment, and Gaumont Television. Nothing in this story is intended to infringe any of their rights and the story was certainly not written for profit.

Apology: For the fact that this is more in the nature of a "missing scene" to an episode (Archangel) than an actual story. It seemed to me that it was a waste to bring Kronos on-screen and not let him actually do anything, you know?

Also for the fact that this story was started on June 22, 1997. It's been rather long in the making for such a slight result.

Author: annezo @ fastmail . fm

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Fallen Angel

There was no notice. No warning. MacLeod looked up from the chessboard, glanced around, and saw the figure lurking in the corner. Smiling at him, from the other side of the room.

From descriptions, he recognized the garb of the Four Horsemen. The face he would never forget.

"Kronos." So much had happened so quickly in the past few hours that he was dizzy, but even the reappearance of Horton had not prepared him for this. The phantom stepped away from the wall and surveyed him scornfully.

"Well, Highlander. Did you really think you could kill me?" The...ghost? Whatever it was, it was calm. Prepared.

"You're not real. I took your head, you can't be real." MacLeod raised his sword, prepared to fight the demon or whatever it was. "Come on."

Kronos stepped toward him, sword in hand. As he approached, his figure disappeared into a red light. As if he had never been there. MacLeod was alone.

A few seconds later, a faintly threatening presence on the wharf. Sword in hand, MacLeod chased after the demon. It couldn't run forever. All he had to do was to get close enough to fight it.

"Mac, it's me. It's me."

Duncan froze for an instant and the face before him resolved into another familiar one. Methos. There was no sign of the Kronos-specter.

"Did you see him?" Duncan stepped past him to search the deck.

"See who?" there was something uneasy in the watchful stare.

"Kronos," MacLeod said stubbornly. He knew what he had seen, even as he saw the doubt in his friend's eyes.

"Really?" Sarcastic. Disbelieving.

No one believes me. They think I'm going crazy. MacLeod was sure...almost positive...that he wasn't losing his mind.

But he couldn't prove any of the things that had been happening. He couldn't prove he'd been visited by the ghost of Methos' dead, evil Brother.

"Mac? Mac, where are you going?"

The call followed him as he stepped off the barge and headed toward the bridge. He couldn't force them to trust him. To accept that he was seeing and hearing things no one else could.

He could waste time trying to convince them, or he could move on, alone. It would be harder without their help, but he didn't have a choice. Everything told him there was no time to waste.

His next stop was the old man's house. Nothing he found in the diary Alison freely lent him was of any use. It spoke of an ancient evil, of prophecy, and of the hero, MacLeod. Nothing told him what the battle was, or how to win. Or why he had been chosen.

Late that night, he sat alone in the barge. Wondering.

Was it an elaborate plot? Another Immortal enemy, creative with deceptive modern technology, plotting to separate him from the support of his friends? Or someone possessed of some odd power, like Cassandra's inexplicable gift?

Or were the demons real this time?

There was a faint chill in the air, full of some bitter scent. From across the room, Kronos stood laughing at him again.

Jumping to his feet, MacLeod grabbed his sword. Whatever this power was, it had killed Alison's grandfather. That, or some human agency assisting it. He wasn't taking any chances.

"What are you doing here?"

"I have unfinished business."

"What kind of business? You're dead. I killed you!" If he...it...wanted to fight, MacLeod was ready.

"You took something from me," the specter said. "I want it back."

"What? Your life?"

"Don't overestimate yourself, you aren't that powerful. No, but something almost as important?"

"What?"

"Methos."

A single name, dropped casually into the nightmare conversation, but it added volumes to the turmoil in MacLeod's mind. Methos? What was his part in this?

"I didn't take him from you!" MacLeod struggled to find a clue in the painted face confronting him. How was this connected to Horton's earlier visitation? It had to be the same spirit.

"Didn't you? I think you did."

"How long have you known him? A year? Five years? No time at all." Kronos glared at him. "Do you know how long we were together?"

"I know. And I know that he chose to leave that behind." Duncan held onto the one, solid fact. Methos had made his own choices. Both times. Once to leave the man the ghost represented and again to fight him and what he stood for.

"But do you know why?" Kronos laughed, mocking him. "You don't, do you?"

"I suppose you're going to tell me."

"Maybe. Eventually. Before you die." Kronos' face was a mask of hate.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"He was mine, and I want him back. I searched the earth until I found him." Kronos circled the room. MacLeod followed his progress with his eyes watchfully, ready for a physical attack, if it came. "But I found you standing between us."

"He made his choice," MacLeod repeated.

"You still don't understand, do you MacLeod?"

"He isn't mine to give, or yours to take. He's a human being."

"He was mine! Kronos screamed. "You came between us, destroyed what we were. I would have killed you for that, if for no other reason."

"That is the reason, isn't it?" Duncan thought he was beginning to understand. "That's why you wanted him to kill me? Jealousy?"

"He needed to prove himself to me."

"Why?"

"So that I could trust him once again. So that I could believe."

"Believe what?"

"I needed him." Kronos avoided a direct answer. "You should not have separated us."

"I didn't. It was his choice."

"Which you helped him make! You! The great Duncan MacLeod!" The ghost image flickered a baleful red.

"What do you know of him, of us, of what we had? You're so steeped in your virtue and your honor," Kronos spat, "That you can't see half of what passes in front of your eyes! You're a blind fool!"

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

"I will." The Kronos-figure was suddenly, frighteningly calm, but still as mad as the man whose form it wore. "For a price."

"What?"

"Bring him here," the figure ordered.

"No." The refusal was instinctive. Immediate. He couldn't sacrifice Methos to...whatever this thing was.

"Call him," the figure coaxed. "He'll come. You know he will. I need to see him."

"Why?" Did the specter see Methos as a tool he could use against MacLeod in the upcoming battle? How?

"Because I say so! Bring him here." Kronos smiled. "I have much to offer, Highlander. Things that will help you in the battle ahead."

"What things?"

"I have the weapon you need to defeat your enemy. I'll give it to you. Call him."

"I won't do it." MacLeod refused the offer without even thinking. No weapon bought at such a price would be worth it. Whatever the spirit wanted of Methos, it couldn't be something MacLeod would approve of.

"Do you like riddles MacLeod?"

"What?"

"Here's one for you. You're an educated man," and Kronos' voice made the word into a curse. "The traditional three challenges. Or...let us say...temptations. You'll be made three offers. One of them, you should accept. That one will give you the victory you want. The other two... well, let's just say that we're not all as trustworthy as a MacLeod, and my new friends and I are looking forward to having you with us for the next thousand years." The look on his face wasn't pleasant.

"Make the wrong choice, and you're ours. And we're free."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's simple, MacLeod. The first one was your old friend Horton. He wants your life. In exchange, he promises that we'll leave your precious planet alone, for another thousand years. Now me, I want Methos. Give him to me, and I'll guarantee that you and the rest of your peace-loving friends get to keep playing your futile little games. The boy, on the other hand..."

"What boy?"

"What boy? Oh yes, you don't know yet, do you? It's so hard to keep track of time." The smug laugh told MacLeod that Kronos knew exactly what he was saying. "Well, you'll know him when you see him."

Whatever 'clue' Kronos seemed to be giving MacLeod, he was giving deliberately. MacLeod wondered how much the ghost was willing to tell him. And how far he could trust the information.

"What will he want?"

Kronos laughed softly.

"Do you know, I think I'll let him tell you himself. Now, remember. Only one of us is telling the truth. Accept the wrong offer, and you lose your life. Along with everyone else."

A red fog began to swirl around him and his solid-seeming body shimmered inside of it.

"On the other hand, I could be lying. Maybe there's no escape at all. In which case, you'll sacrifice yourself or one of your friends for nothing. Don't wait too long to choose. The longer you wait, the more it's going to cost you."

MacLeod spent the rest of the night poring over the old man's journal. The answer was here, if he could only understand the clues, and he was going to find it.

He had...options. That much was clear. There was an answer that would keep Methos safe and MacLeod was going to find it.

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The end