Chapter Text
II.
Among his Parisian haunts which Duncan had pointedly not taken Cassandra to was
the French bar which, according to the reports the detectives she had hired had
given her, was now co-owned by his friend and Watcher Joe Dawson. She didn't
need second sight to guess the reason, and it wasn't that Dawson had quite
openly disliked her when they had last met. Careful Duncan simply didn't want to
risk another encounter between her and Methos, who, it seemed, was likely to be
there as well. Still, she wasn't even tempted to reassure him by telling him
about their truce, and not just because of Becky. Whatever happened between her
and Methos was their concern, not MacLeod's, and besides, without knowing Duncan
was even less likely to suspect what she would do.
Since a Jazz Bar needed customers, Joe Dawson advertised, and really was not
hard to find. The place was a bit brighter and, probably since it was new, less
atmospheric than his Seacouver establishment, but otherwise very similar. Of
course, in Seacouver Cassandra had had other things in mind than sampling the
atmosphere. Inwardly, she felt like smiling ruefully. Being driven by revenge
was not guaranteed to make the best first impression. No matter. If she didn't
find Methos here, she would have to ask Dawson, and he didn't have to like her
in order to answer. Unfortunately, this time she wasn't above using the Voice on
him, Duncan's friend or not. Not with her pressing need and Prokne screaming in
her head.
For Joe, it was something of a shock to see Cassandra entering his bar. His
daughter Amy when being assigned as one of the new Methos Watchers had asked him
about her and found him at a rare loss of words. Even before her connection with
Methos had been discovered, Joe had felt uneasy about Cassandra. Paranormally
gifted immortals made him nervous, at least when they were also old friends of
Mac. Look at Garrick. Look at Coltec. Both of whom had nearly caused Mac to lose
his mind, though Joe supposed Coltec wasn't really to blame, having undergone a
Dark Quickening himself. Still, their arrival had meant terrible trouble, and
there was no reason to assume Cassandra, intense, driven woman that she was,
would be different.
Then, after her confrontation with Methos, Joe's immediate reaction had been
disbelief. He still heard himself telling Mac, *Maybe she's delusional. Maybe
she is a liar.* Which was, now he thought about it, the depressingly typical
reaction when a woman accused a man of rape and murder. But then, it had been so
incredible, so absolutely impossible to believe this of Methos, of all people.
Joe's uneasiness about Cassandra had flared into open dislike. When it turned
out that Cassandra had spoken nothing but the truth, that Methos had really done
all those things and much more besides, his dislike turned into something like
deep resentment. Blaming the messenger for the message, in a way. It wasn't
logical, but somewhere in his mind he thought that if she had never come, they
would have gone on with their lives undisturbed and comfortable, secure in their
friendship with each other, never having to doubt it. It was only when Methos
had vanished after Richie's death that Joe realised that blaming Cassandra had
been the easy way out of blaming Methos. And only when Methos turned up again,
casually assuming they could return to what had been without as much as the
tiniest bit of an explanation, that Joe realised whom he was really furious
with, and it wasn't Cassandra.
For if Cassandra had never come to Seacouver, Kronos still would have. And
Methos undoubtedly would have vanished just as he had done later, in his typical
fashion. Joe's frustration, disappointment and feeling of desertion through
nearly two years had unloaded themselves on Methos' head on that occasion. All
of which had cleared the air, and, together with the Walker business and Methos
helping him to rescue Amy, had enabled them to take up their friendship again.
So here he was, basking in new-found normality, when Cassandra returned. Seeing
her, Joe understood how the Trojans had felt about her namesake. The woman was
in the right, to be sure, but why oh why couldn't she stay away?
He cleared his throat when she approached him. To give Cassandra her due, she
was stunning. Especially when not glaring at him. Her gaze was searching,
though, and Joe knew with a sinking feeling she was neither looking for him nor
for MacLeod.
Methos wasn't here, but he could be, any minute. Since MacLeod was in town,
there was no reason why the sensation of immortal presence in the bar should
warn him away.
"I... wasn't expecting to see you," Joe said lamely, in lieu of a better
opening.
"So I gather. You don't have to be quite so nervous. There will be no
challenges today, not on my account."
He wished he could believe her.
"He isn't here."
"I can see that," Cassandra returned, a bit sharply and more similar to the
woman who had silenced his sarcastic challenge of which horsemen to put her
money on, War, Famine, Pestilence or Death, with a single cold and furious
repeat of "Death".
He hadn't known then just who Death was.
"This is your bar," she went on, "and I don't want to put you in a quandary by
waiting for him here. Tell him to meet me in Sacre Coeur. As soon as possible,
it is urgent."
Sacre Coeur on Montmartre was not only holy ground but, with the possible
exception of Notre-Dame, the most tourist-ridden church in Paris. Certainly the
immediate surrounding was more crowded than any other Parisian quarter, day and
night. She could hardly have picked a place more in the public eye and less
likely to offer any chance for a duel. It was as good a proof of her non-violent
intentions as she could give, and Joe began to relax a bit. He nodded.
"Okay. I will tell him."
"I'd like you to promise me not to tell MacLeod as well," Cassandra said,
sounding surprisingly insecure, something she had never done in his hearing
before. "It is a private matter."
It could be trap, of course. If he only knew more about her. But not
inconveniencing him by waiting in his bar was really considerate of her, and Joe
felt he owed her at least some courtesy. Besides, when it came down to it, it
was neither his nor Mac's business but something Methos and Cassandra had to
settle among themselves. So he gave her his word, wondering at the depth of
relief in her eyes. He did not know he would have given it in any case. But
Cassandra much preferred not to bend people she respected to her will, and
besides, she would soon need all her powers, unexhausted if possible.
After she had gone, Joe made some phone calls. Courtesy and respect of privacy,
not to mention the undeniable fact that she was an immortal, and he was a
Watcher, and thus bound not to interfere in her affairs anyway, were one thing,
healthy precaution another. If one had a newly reconciled daughter who was also
a Methos Watcher, it couldn't hurt alerting her and her colleagues to the
meeting about to take place. If the worst happened and Cassandra had some mortal
allies waiting to ambush Methos, well, then Joe would learn about it at once.
If, on the contrary, she wanted nothing but a conversation, that would be
something for the Chronicles as well.