Disclaimer: If I owned Highlander, would I be writing this? Think, people.
Outside Wilkinson's hotel, Detective Frayne watched Wilkinson's van drive off. As it moved away, Ingrid walked down the steps.
"Gotcha." Frayne said, comparing her to the sketch.
He looked back up, but she was gone. He opened the door and stood up to look.
"Damn it." He muttered, sitting back down and grabbing the radio. "It's Frayne, patch me through to the inspector."
"Connecting." The dispatch officer replied. "It'll be just one minute, Detective."
He heard a click and felt the cold metal of a gun barrel next to his neck. He glanced over to see Ingrid calmly holding the gun.
"Okay, Ingrid, just relax." He told her. "Nobody's going to-"
"That's right." She interrupted. "Nobody's going to stop me."
"Patching through, Detective Frayne." Dispatch said.
"I'm sorry." Ingrid told him.
"Frayne, do you read? Over."
"No, no, no, no." Duncan said, pacing around his office.
Breslaw was leaning against the window and Sekhmet was sitting cross legged on the desk.
"Stefanovich, yes." Duncan continued. "Wilkinson, maybe. But there's no way she would kill a cop."
"Are you sure?" Breslaw asked.
"I'm positive." Duncan replied.
"I'm not." Sekhmet said.
Duncan glared at her.
"I'm sorry." She told him. "I looked into her eyes. She's losing control. I know what that looks like, cause I've seen it in my own eyes. Duncan, you know I'm not making this up. If she's killing cops, we don't have a choice. It's either her or Wilkinson. And we can't afford for it to be Wilikinson."
"You came back from it." Duncan said softly.
"I was forced to." Sekhmet shot back. "Are you willing to put her through what I went through? There aren't many places you can lock someone up for that amount of time left in the world."
"She didn't do this." Duncan insisted.
"Then I was right." Breslaw said. "You are a fool. Listen."
He took a tape player out of his pocket and hit play.
"It's Frayne. Patch me through to the Inspector…Okay, Ingrid, just relax. Nobody's going to-…That's right. Nobody's going to stop me. I'm sorry…I have a wife and children! No, please don't!.."
Sekhmet was the only one who didn't flinch at the sound of the gunshot.
"Cause I can't let anyone stop me…All cars, officer needs assistance. Calling all cars…"
Breslaw reached over and switched it off.
"I told you." She said softly. "She's lost control."
"That was a police station log tape." Breslaw told him. "Where is she?"
Duncan didn't speak, he didn't move.
"MacLeod, that woman will kill anyone who gets in her way." Breslaw said. "For the last time, where is she?"
"We don't know." Sekhmet answered for him. "That's the truth."
"I hope you have a dark suit." He told Duncan. "Because, soon, you will be going to the funeral of a friend." He turned to Sekhmet. "I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know. Convince him to help us stop her. Maybe he'll listen to you."
He strode out of the room and Duncan and Sekhmet sat in silence for a moment.
"We have to find her." Sekhmet said quietly. "This has gotten too far out of hand. If she's killed by the police and they see her come back, we're all screwed."
"What do you suggest I do?" he demanded angrily.
"I suggest you track her down and take her head before the police find her." Sekhmet replied. "This has gone beyond friendships. This is about all of us, the whole Immortal community, now. Kill her, Duncan, or Methos and I will."
"I thought you were supposed to be the compassionate one." Duncan told her, his voice shaking with anger.
"No, I'm the one who's survived for 5,000 years." She said, hoping off his desk. "You want compassion, go find a younger Immortal." She sighed. "Duncan, I'm your friend, and believe it or not, I really do wish there was another way, but you know there isn't. She has to die."
"Weren't you the one that told me to be careful who to judge worthy of death?" he demanded.
"Yes." She replied. "And now I'm telling you, she is an actual threat to us, not a perceived one. She could bring the world crashing down around us. Do you think you can bring her back under control? It took a century and a half to bring me back to a place where I could even feign control. Are you willing to watch her die hundreds of times, locked in a room with no way out? Because that is the only way to save her. And believe me; it's more humane to take her head."
Without waiting for his replied, she grabbed her jacket and strode out of the office. As she walked towards the dojo doors, she felt the aura of another.
"Heard that did you?" she asked, walking past her fiancée, who was leaning against the wall outside the door, without stopping.
"You said it was only 50 years." Methos said, jogging to catch up.
"I rounded." She replied.
"No." he said, grabbing her arm and making her stop and look at him. "You lied. Why?"
"You blame yourself for my rampage." She said, holding up her other hand to stop his protests. "Don't even try to deny it, I can see it in your eyes. You think that if you hadn't left my body, I wouldn't have lost it and slaughtered half of Africa. And maybe you're right, but I doubt it. The madness was already starting to show when we died. Even if we had remained mortal, I probably would've started killing indiscriminately. Do you remember the night of the party? The assassin?"
"Yes." He said softly.
"I tortured him." She said, her voice hard, not giving an inch. "I tortured him even after he had given me the information I needed. I did it because I enjoyed it."
"Sekhmet." He pleaded softly.
"I enjoyed his suffering." She pushed on. "What I must have looked like to the Visors when I came in, drenched in the boy's blood. I didn't have to torture him so much, I didn't have to kill him, but I did. And then, I began killing and couldn't stop. And I can see that you blame yourself for all of it, because you're a masochist."
Methos chuckled weakly and Sekhmet gently reached up and cupped his cheek.
"I didn't want you to suffer anymore." She told him. "You carry the weight of your own sins. You don't need mine too, and you don't need my suffering. That was my penance. It's my weight to bear. I spend every single day fighting against that part of me and I won't watch you fight it too. It's my battle, and your guilt just makes it worse, so please, don't try to take my pain with yours."
Methos nodded and she reached up to kiss him.
"Come on." She said. "We need to keep track of Duncan. This is going to be hard for him."
Methos nodded and let her lead him away.
Wilkinson's van pulled up to his hotel, where a bag lady was sitting. She got up and began walking towards it and as she approached the man who had gotten out, she pulled her gun. Ingrid prepared to shoot as the man turned and pointed a gun at her.
"It's not Wilkinson, Ingrid." Breslaw said, walking up behind her. "Drop it. Drop it, or you are dead. It's not him."
Ingrid stared at the man for a moment before turning to fire at Breslaw. Before she could pull the trigger, he fired and hit her. She fell to the ground and was still. Breslaw walked towards her and looked down at her.
"What a waste." He said sadly.
Breslaw and Duncan sat at Joe's Bar, drinking, while Methos and Sekhmet sat at a table behind them. Sekhmet was in Methos' lap and she had her head on his shoulder as he held her tightly.
"You're not driving, are you?" Duncan asked, pouring another drink.
"It never gets any easier." Breslaw said.
"What?" Duncan asked.
"The killing, I mean." He replied.
"Maybe it's not supposed to." Duncan told him.
Breslaw lit a cigarette and took a drag.
"Maybe, if I die a little tonight, it will even things out between me and God." He said.
"It won't." Methos told him.
Breslaw glanced at him and shrugged.
"Probably not." He agreed.
"I hear Wilkinson's speech is back on for tomorrow night." Duncan said.
"This time he is on his own." Breslaw said, smiling sadly at Duncan. "When I was a little boy, everything was black and white, good and evil, you see. Then I grew up and discovered that there was only gray." He put his arm around Duncan's shoulders. "I'm sorry I had to kill your friend."
"The Ingrid I knew I'll never forget." Duncan said. "But the one you killed? I don't even know who she was. You did what you had to do."
"But was I right?" Breslaw asked. "If this fascist scum, Wilkinson, becomes your President in the next five or ten years, how am I going to sleep at night?"
Duncan glanced back at Sekhmet and sighed.
"I would have made the same choice." He said, more to her than to Breslaw.
Sekhmet nodded at him before laying her head back down on Methos' shoulder.
"They call me a racist." Wilkinson said. "Why? Because I have the guts to tell the truth."
"That's right!" members of the crowd called.
"It's not my truth." Wilkinson continued. "It's not your truth. It's the truth. And the truth is, I can't support a government that is weak, corrupt, and taxes us to death! "
The crowd cheered.
"Never mind everything I've said in the last three days." Sekhmet said, walking with Methos and Duncan into the hall. "I don't want to stop Ingrid, I want to help her."
"Sekhmet." Methos sighed.
"Seriously." His fiancée said. "If I helped her, we'd never get caught."
Methos looked at her and she sighed.
"Of course, then you'd have to find two tombs to look us up in for the next several centuries." She agreed. "But it'd almost be worth it."
Methos sighed and turned to Duncan.
"She's not here." He told him.
"She will be." Duncan replied. "She has to be."
Wilkinson continued to stir the crowd into a frenzy and Sekhmet growled.
"This guy gives me a headache." Methos said, grabbing her arm so she would stay put. "Let's get out of here."
"There's something else." Duncan insisted, looking around.
He watched the man on the stage, something niggling in his brain.
"I'm telling you, Mac, she's a no show." Methos told him.
Duncan watched Wilkinson and everything clicked into place in his brain as he saw the suitcase at the man's feet.
"Are you sure the only way is a bomb?"
"That's it." He whispered. "That's it."
He turned and ran out of the room, leaving Methos and Sekhmet to follow.
Duncan ran out the back door and into an alley.
"Ingrid, don't do this." He called as he felt her presence. "Dozens of innocent people are going to die!"
"Innocence is relative." She replied, walking out of the shadows. "You've lived long enough to know that."
"What about the cop you killed?" Duncan demanded. "What was his crime? He was just doing his job. He didn't care about Wilkinson, and he didn't care about politics."
"Just like those German officers we killed with that bomb?" she shot back, tears in her eyes. "They were just soldiers. Ah, yes, but the price of killing Hitler. Except we didn't."
They walked towards each other.
"That was different." Duncan insisted. "That was war."
Ingrid raised her hand, showing him the detonator and he froze.
"Put it down." He pleaded.
"I can't." Ingrid replied.
Duncan pulled out his sword.
"Duncan." She said.
"I don't wanna do this." He told her.
"We're old friends." She insisted.
"This goes beyond friendship." He replied.
"You'll never be able to do it." She told him as they walked towards each other. "I know you. You're better than I am."
"Please." He begged.
"Imagine a world without tyrants." She said. "Without dictators."
"I can't let you kill everybody in that room." Duncan told her.
"Are you prepared to sacrifice all that?" Ingrid asked. "For what? For a group of arrogant, racist bastards who are no better than he is."
"It doesn't matter who they are." Duncan said, pulling his sword up. "Put it down, damn you. You have no right to do this!"
"But you have the right to stop me?" she demanded. "How is that different from my killing them?" She raised the detonator. "It's now or never, Duncan."
Ingrid moved her thumb to the button, and Duncan shook his head.
"No." he sobbed, swinging his sword.
As the detonator fell from her hand, the lightening began and the crowd inside began to cheer. As each strike hit him, Duncan saw the faces of Hitler and his Nazis interspersed with Wilkinson and his followers. Strike after strike, face after face, until it was over.
When he could stand again, Duncan lifted Ingrid's body and carried her away.
"When I was a little boy, everything was black and white, good and evil, you see. Then I grew up and discovered that there was only gray."
Methos and Sekhmet joined Duncan at his car as they watched Wilkinson's cars drive away. Sekhmet wrapped her arms around Duncan's waist and hugged him tightly. After a second, he returned the hug, leaning his cheek against her hair.
"I'm sorry, Duncan." She whispered.
He nodded and she pulled away, wrapping her arm around Methos.
"Are you okay?" the older Immortal asked as he and Sekhmet leaned against the car, next to Duncan.
"Ingrid asked me something before she died." Duncan said.
"They usually do." Methos responded.
"She said: what was the difference between her killing them, and me killing her." Duncan told them.
"Good question." Methos said. "Right up there with the chicken and the egg."
Sekhmet elbowed him in the side, shaking her head.
"So what are you saying, there is no answer?" Duncan demanded.
"No there is an answer." Methos replied, serious now. "But the real question is whether you're ready for it."
Duncan nodded and Methos sighed.
"Stefanovich killed, and Ingrid judged him." He told the younger man. "Wilkinson killed, and Ingrid judged him."
He hesitated to finish.
"Ingrid killed, and you judged her." Sekhmet said, finishing for him.
"So who judges me?" Duncan asked.
Neither Methos nor Sekhmet answered.
"You hungry?" Methos asked finally.
"Come on." Sekhmet said, linking her arm with Duncan's. "I'll make you dinner."
"And then we'll go have your stomach pumped." Methos added.
Sekhmet kicked out at Methos and he danced away. Duncan sighed, but he let his friends lead him away.
A/N: So what did you guys think? I tried to give Sekhmet more time here because I felt she would know where Ingrid was coming from. Did you guys like? Not like?