Immortal Files - Gesith 2 - Sword Thane Send feedback to: - manbeast@talk21.com Rating - PG-13 (some violence plus profanity) Sequel to Gesith Keywords:(X-Over XFiles) Character listing: - Tommo Warren (OIC), Katherine Choi (OIC), Mulder, Scully, the MacLeods, Joe Dawson, Richie Ryan, Amanda, Methos plus assorted Immies and Watchers An upsurge in Renegade Watcher activity leaves Duncan and Mulder with matching blood stains, Scully with a new fragrance (not strawberry), Joe feeling nervous and Richie with a girl friend. Right lets get rid of the legal bit first. Copyright and Legal Information Highlander © 1986 Highlander Productions Ltd. All rights reserved. Highlander Television Series © 1993 Gaumont Television. All rights reserved. "Highlander" and its associated names and characters are the trademarks and property of Davis/Panzer Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. All the X-files stuff belong to Chris Carter et al and no infringement on their intellectual Copyright , etc is intended. Anything else is copyright D. K. Wilkinson and is available for personal appearances, opening supermarkets, shopping malls and church fetes, bar mitzas etc so long as they are returned reasonably intact. Many thanks to Daniel Butter for writing the excellent Immortal Files series which inspired me to fire this off. This is what you get for half finishing a story and putting the most hated expression in any language, "To Be Continued" at the end of it. Those of us with withdrawal symptoms go off and write our own. Because I still don't quite know what the US ratings for movies actually mean I'll rate this using the UK system as 12, suitable for those over that age (moderate violence and strong language). Feedback gracefully appreciated but keep it civil, I can't guarantee I'll be the only person to read it. Immortal Files - Gesith 2 - Sword Thane 3/3 Day 7 Logan Airport, Boston It hadn't really surprised the two ex-Feds when Louise insisted on coming with them to Seacouver. Her final argument was: "I'm going to Seacouver regardless of who I'm travelling with so it might as well be the same flight as you're catching." "After what you've......" Scully had attempted reason only to be interrupted. "I'm Tommo Warren's Watcher and although I have been compromised it is still my duty to monitor him until I can be relieved," the young woman stated forcefully. "My, my, possessive little thing are you," Mulder robbed his words of any sting by giving her one of his famous lopsided smiles. Louise managed a smile back, "occupational hazard I'm afraid." So it was that the three of them found them waiting in the queue to board the morning flight to Seacouver. What little baggage they had they were carrying on board with them. With one exception Louise had been interested in noting. A certain large, squ are suitcase which Mulder had checked through the baggage check personally. Unfortunately for the two Immortals Louise Allison was a Watcher, and although inexperienced a well trained one at that. There was something about these two that struck her as odd. At first she thought it was the sexual tension that seemed to hang in a cloud about the two of them. Then she began to reflect on her two companions in more depth, just like she'd been taught. An analysis of their banter and conversation carried out before she went to sleep the previous night had revealed a number of things . For the first part they were using false names. The initial introductions weren't quite as natural and spontaneous as they should have been. Neither of them, as far as she could see had a Watcher tattoo. When she'd first come through the front doo r they'd not only been surprised but also worried. And that worried her. As he pulled the large suitcase out of the taxi they'd caught to the airport 'Vic' or whatever his name was had caught her staring thoughtfully at the it and had remarked, "you wouldn't believe the amount of junk some people insist on packing." Dana seemed to sense a dig at her in that for she added, "restraint in packing as with most other things is an alien concept to Victor here." All this seemed to her to be contrived. Vic seemed determined to distract her away from the suitcase. An objective which his red headed partner collaborated wholeheartedly. she thought to herself. Suddenly in front of her 'Vic' stiffened slightly. It was only slightly and would have gone unnoticed except for the fact that Dana also moved abruptly her head turning as she seemed to make a quick scan of the crowded terminal. She'd seen similar reactions before. During her training they'd been shown videos of this kind of behaviour. It was that of one Immortal sensing another. she thought to herself a thrill coursing up her spine, She looked carefully around in a casual seeming manner. she thought as her eyes settled on a man whose face was placid but whose body language telegraphed his tension t o her well trained eyes. She let her eyes carry on their survey. She was reasonably certain that she'd located the other Immortal but she knew better than to place a bet on it. There were any number of reasons why the man might be looking nervous, afra id of flying perhaps? And even if she was right staring at the man would give her away as one who might know his secret. And that as she was starting to find out could be very dangerous indeed. Coming out of the toilet at 20,000 feet Mulder was not too surprised to find the man he knew as Adam Pierson waiting for him. "Did you have to bring her along?" Although Mulder knew full well who 'Pierson' was referring to there was something about the other's tone of voice he didn't care for. "I'm sorry Adam," he lied, "but Scully isn't one of the women from your days who'd do anything their lord and master sug gested." To his surprise 'Pierson' gave vent to a short harsh laugh, "you have no idea what the women were like in my days," he snorted, "but it's not that particular red head I'm talking about, 'Foxy' as well you know." Mulder stiffened, "has Dawson let you read his files?" he accused. "Don't be stupid," 'Pierson' said, "he'd sooner eat his Granny raw than do that." "Eat his Granny raw? Just how old are you Adam?" "Old enough." 'Pierson' stated. "I thought you two were watching Warren's apartment," he then went on changing the subject. "We were," Mulder admitted lowering his voice, "whilst we were watching the front we hadn't realised the sneaky bastard had a back door prepared." He went on to give a quick account of how Tommo had isolated a back window from the alarm system so he coul d gain entry without being seen from the front. "This raises two questions," Pierson stated. "I know," Mulder replied, "one, why didn't Katherine Choi warn us about this..." "And two," 'Pierson' cut in, "why isn't there any mention of a criminal past in Joe's files." As Joe Dawson came off the phone his eyes met those of the curly haired young man lounging in an armchair. "That was Mulder and Scully from the Airport, they've met Methos on the flight and are coming straight here." "They're back already," Richie asked uneasily. "They checked on his apartment last night only to find that Tommo Warren had already been home," he said. "He's collected his sword and a revolver." "How did he get in?" a worried Richie Ryan asked. "Last I heard they said he couldn't get in the back way and they had the front covered?" "Mulder says he had isolated one of the back windows from the alarm system. It looks like he wanted a way of getting into his apartment without been seen." Richie nodded, "that makes sense." A slight smile crossed Joe's face, "it looks like Amanda has a rival for unorthodox entrances." "Do they have any idea when it happened?" "Night before last they think. Apparently Mulder sensed an Immortal somewhere in the building they were staying in but he couldn't get a look at him." "I think I'd better call Mac." Although MacLeod was currently staying as Joe's house guest at this precise moment he was back at the dojo handling some business which was why Richie was currently filling in for him. Going to Joe's phone on the table in the hall he tapped in the number and got straight through to the dojo. "Hi Katherine, is MacLeod there?" With good reason MacLeod was keeping a careful eye on Tommo Warren's student and was avoiding leaving her alone with Joe. Warren was after all her mentor and MacLeod knew that for many immortals, especially new ones, th eir first loyalty would always be to their first mentor. It had, much to Richie's chagrin put a damper on his developing physical and emotional relationship with the Chinese girl. "Yeah, sure Richie, I'll put him on." After a short wait MacLeod came on the line. "Yeah Richie?" "Joe just had a call from Mulder and Scully. Apparently Tommo has been home without them seeing him. He's collected his sword and a pistol." "Damn!" MacLeod swore. Richie knew that Mac had hoped that the two ex feds would be able to catch the Englishman and talk him out of coming after Joe. "I'll be back in about half an hour." "OK Mac," Richie agreed. "Take care Richie," MacLeod said hanging up. Despite the seriousness of the situation Richie found himself grinning wryly. Despite every thing, including both their best efforts, in times of stress his old mentor couldn't help slipping back into old habits. Richie didn't mind them too much, he som etimes found it nostalgic, when he didn't he always knew it was time for him to get away. Almost forty minutes passed until much to both their relief they heard Duncan use his key in the lock and enter the apartment with Katherine in tow. "Where's Amanda?" Richie asked. "Shopping," MacLeod replied, "all this war back in the old country is making her depressed so I let her find my gold card." "Expensive therapy," Joe said, a wry smile on his face, "I thought Scots were supposed to be careful with money?" MacLeod shrugged, "I've got plenty, besides which I put a limit on how much she can spend." He glared at Joe, "how long have you known about this?" "Since last night," Joe replied guessing that the Highlander meant the news of Tommo Warren's nocturnal activities. "Why didn't you tell me?" "You had other things on your mind," Joe said indicating the TV. It was a lame excuse and he knew it. The only question was would the Highlander let it drop. He did. Duncan knew from his long association with the crippled Watcher that the other was up to something. He also knew just how stubborn the other could be. He could of course always push the issue but at the moment he knew his temper was shorter tha n normal and with Joe's life in danger neither of them could afford a damaging row. Giving Joe a dubious look Duncan crossed the living room and after switching on the TV slumped into a chair. "Don't get comfortable Mac," Joe warned, "I have to be at the bar in an hour or so." "I'll be ready," the Highlander grunted, his eyes glued to CNN. Looking at the Scotsman engrossed in the news reports from the Anglo-Scottish border the other three exchanged looks. It wasn't only Amanda who was depressed by the news from the other side of the world. An item covering a financial scandal in New York drew to a close and then the logo CNN had adopted to prefix its war reports from the Anglo-Scottish border appeared. "And now we return to the latest developments in the Anglo-Scottish border conflict with a live link up with our reporter Michael Donnelley currently with the Scottish militiamen in the outskirts of the border town of Berwick. Michael can you give us any more information regarding the reports of English Militiamen in the rear of the Scottish troops around Berwick?" The camera cut to a reporter smartly dressed in a civilian clothes and wearing a blue bullet proof vest. He seemed to be in a ruined house. Behind him men in camouflage jackets were passing to and fro. "Not really Alan, all I can say that the Scottish militiamen we are currently with have heard rumours of English Militiamen crossing the border into Scotland further inland, perhaps up in the Cheviots Hills to our west. But we have heard nothing here officially." "How are things where you are?" "In the past two to three days we've heard that a number of attacks have been made into Berwick by the besieging Scottish Militias. Unfortunately, for them, each of these attacks has stalled at the Elizabethan town walls and by my estimate the Scots are no nearer taking the town than they were last week. To the south things are still quiet with only sniping and the occasional mortar attack to report." "Thank you Michael," turning back to face the camera the anchorman continued, "we are given to understand that what terms itself the 'Fyrd High Command', apparently the headquarters of the English Militias will make a formal statement tomorrow at ten thir ty local, that is Greenwich Mean Time. We are also now receiving pictures from the English rear areas which two hours ago were suddenly opened to the international media. We are now going live to Paul De Witt somewhere in Northumberland, North East Engl and. Paul can you hear me?" "Yes Alan," a picture appeared behind the anchorman. The second reporter was dressed in a similar style to the first, the major difference was that he was out in the fresh air. Behind him in the darkness lines of men clad in identical camouflage jackets to the ones north of the border were plodding north. Many of them were wearing British helmets of world war two vintage. As they passed behind the reporter they could be seen to be giving the thumbs up and making victory signs, although some of them ha d the palms of their hands facing inwards as they jerked their fingers at the camera. Over the voice of the reporter came the defiant whistling of 'Colonel Bogey'. "Two hours ago the Fyrd High Command reversed its previous prohibition order restricting foreign media correspondents to the south side of the River Tyne. Since then we have been travelling north in the company of a large number of English Fyrdmen toward s a secret destination. As our maps have consfinskated I have no idea of where I am now, indeed if I were to attempt to repeat to you the names on the road signs behind Jerry, my cameraman, I have no doubt that our charming English guides would shoot us without hesitation." "They're doing a Schwartzkoff," Duncan said quietly, "whilst my countrymen try to take Berwick in the east the English are crossing the border in the central Cheviots and driving for the coast to cut them off." "Will it work?" Joe asked curiously. Although he had few links to the warring tribes of Britain like the rest of America he'd watched with sickened fascination the unfurling tapestry of war. Duncan shrugged, "that depends on how many reserves the Scots have and how many English are attacking." Katherine moved across to Richie, "Tommo was obsessed by this stupidity as well," she whispered into his ear. "Tell me about it," he muttered. "He'd spend most of the evening watching it, and the rest getting drunk. He never got violent but you really couldn't talk to him." "Mac's been like that. It's really tearing him apart all this stupidity." Katherine bent closer to him. "Richie," she breathed into his ear, her warm breath stimulating the sensitive skin there, "now that Mac's here we're not really needed are we?" "Nope," Richie agreed blood rushing to his face and a certain part of his anatomy. "So why don't we go back to your place and......" Richie swallowed, suddenly there seemed to be a lump in his throat. "Err Mac," he began, "if it's OK with you Katherine and me will take off." "Huh, oh yeah, it's OK Rich," the Highlander replied dragging his eyes from the TV screen. "Have fun," he added with a sly wink. "Right, thanks Mac," Richie said, painfully aware that his cheeks were probably flushing bright red. Collecting Katherine he headed out the door. MacLeod and Joe exchanged glances, "young love, " Joe commented with a grin. Pulling on the helmet tossed to her by Richie Katherine Choi swung her leg over the pillion seat on his bike. Slipping her arms tightly around his waist she placed her head on his shoulder blades. Preparing to kick start the machine Richie heard her say , "I'm hungry, what do say we go for a bite somewhere." "Sounds good to me," Richie said kick starting the bike, "I know a place five blocks from here, do you want to try there?" "Err, could we try a place down by the park instead," Katherine suggested, "Duncan said it's really good." "I hope they don't have a strict dress code," Richie grinned, "I'm not really dressed for it." Amanda knew that she'd been shopping too long. Not that it was her fault mind you. No for this she blamed the Highlander. If Duncan had been less careful with where he left his plastic she would have been able to get the impulse to shop out of her syst em in small lumps rather than go on the mammoth spree she just had. To make things worst the devious Scot had placed a limit of five hundred dollars on the card forcing her to scour the shops in a bid to make sure that what she'd bought was worth five hu ndred bucks exactly. As she made her way back to the car, her purchases dispersed between three different carrier bags she also reflected that she could have found a better place to park. Although parking around the back of the shopping precinct had allowed her to avoid park ing charges at this time of the day with the shops closing the street was deserted. And for an immortal, especially one out without her sword, deserted places could be dangerous, very dangerous. And now twenty yards from where she'd parked she felt the reason why deserted places are dangerous. As soon as the buzz hit her Amanda picked up the pace of her walking. Reaching the car she opened the door and flung her purchases into the passenger seat. As she climbed in she felt the sense of the other Immortal getting stronger. Fumbling for her ke ys she placed them in the ignition and turned them. Nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing. The engine did not so much as turn over. There was a rap on the window. Turning reluctantly she saw a unshaven man standing there. In one hand he held a short barrelled, heavy calibre revolver. In the other a set of leads and spark plugs. She didn't need to guess whose they were. The news report was continuing with earlier footage taken of English Fyrdmen travelling along a nameless road heading north. As the vehicles passed they could hear the sound of heavy rock music blearing out from car stereos. The reporter was providing a voice over, "the morale of the men in this convoy is high...." The phone by MacLeod's elbow went off. "Could you get that Mac," Joe shouted from the kitchen. It was his private line, no watcher would use it so he had no qualms about MacLeod picking it up. Without taking his eyes off the TV MacLeod picked up the handset. "Yeah," he muttered in into it. "Heyyyy Highlander, I've got your lady." The voice on the other end of the phone was lazy and accentless. It grabbed his attention immediately. "What lady?" he asked, a sudden knot of tension appearing in his stomach. "Realll fancy red panties she wears, they don't quite match the bra though." The TV was now forgotten, he'd watched Amanda dress that morning and the panties that went with the bra had suffered an 'accident' last night forcing her to use a pair that didn't quite match. He remembered she'd laughed about it and said something about the only person who was likely to see it wouldn't even notice, been busy with other things! "If you hurt her....." A laugh interrupted him, "heyyyy.... be cool man, she's safe for now." MacLeod sighed, "where and when." "The where is that coffee warehouse down Union Street, the when is like now man." "It'll take me over twenty minutes....." "Better run then," with an evil chuckle the connection was broken. "Who was that?" Joe was stood in the kitchen doorway, from the look on his face he'd obviously heard MacLeod's end of the conversation and was able to make a pretty accurate guess at the rest. "I don't know," MacLeod admitted, "he sounded like a hippy overdosing on weed but it was a performance about as accurate as a six dollar bill." "Tommo?" "I don't know," MacLeod admitted. He picked up the phone and dialled a number. "It could have been him but I haven't spoken to him enough to be sure." He glared at the phone, "come on Richie, pick it up," he muttered. "Try his mobile?" Joe suggested, "they may have stopped off to get dinner." Trying the mobile number MacLeod found he could only get a disconnected tone. "What the hell is up with his mobile," the Highlander cursed his unease and worry mounting. "Duncan," Joe interrupted the Immortal's cursing. "Your friend, I take it he didn't sound the patient kind then?" MacLeod nodded. "Then you've got to go, Amanda's head could depend on you." "But it could be a ruse, Tommo Warren could be trying to draw me away from you." "But it might not be. Look Duncan you get going. I'll keep trying to reach Richie. Besides which I have some pretty good home security." MacLeod did not look convinced. "Look Highlander I can look after myself. I don't always need an Immortal nursem aid!" Although Joe tried to look angry he failed miserably. The Highlander and his Watcher locked eyes. "Ok Joe, " MacLeod gave in reluctantly, "you lock the doors behind me and keep on after Richie, you hear me?" "I hear you Mac, now go!" Running down the stairs MacLeod piled into his black convertible. Pulling out he headed by the straightest route he knew to Union Street down by the docks. Despite his best efforts it still took him over a quarter of an hour before he was able to pull u p on the opposite side of the road to the faded sign announcing McKenna's Import and Export. Since the coffee merchants had gone bust over five years ago their warehouse had remained empty and forlorn, the perfect place for two immortals to settle their differences. Although the large front doors were still boarded up securely along with the doors to the loading bay out back, MacLeod soon found a side door which had been forced recently. Glancing around to make sure he wasn't been watched MacLeod pulled his katana o ut from under his coat and slipped in through the door. There was very little light in the passage beyond so MacLeod stood stock still for a couple of minutes allowing his eyes to adapt to the light. Even here there was a slight rich aroma of coffee coming from somewhere ahead of him. Along with the slight s ensation of an Immortal's Quickening. It was the only thing that served to indicate that there was anyone around, otherwise the warehouse was as quiet as the grave. When his eyes had adapted enough to the dim light that he could be sure he would be able to pass down the passage without tripping over any objects, he set off deeper into the warehouse towards the distant Quickening. His katana was resting easily in the crook of his arm, hilt to the front. Checking each side room as he passed deeper into the building MacLeod moved as silently and as sure-footedly as a cat. Although he could not sneak up on an Immortal the possibility that Amanda's captors might be renegade Watchers caused him to move as qu ietly as he could through the building. Soon he found himself before a heavy door, he could still sense just the one other Immortal in the building, either Amanda or else her abductor. Or her killer. The Immortal was just on the other side of the doo r Resting his hand on the door handle MacLeod turned it as gradually as he could and pushed it gently. Early on in life he tried kicking a door open only to find it securely bolted. Having to limp for the first part of a fight whilst his body mended the r esult of his brain's stupidity was not one of his favourite memories. The door creaked slightly as it opened a few inches under the pressure of his hand. Realising the creak would alert any non Immortal opponents waiting in the room MacLeod reared back, and gave the door a mighty kick in the sound tactic that a rapidly opening door might hit an opponent standing too close to it. Unfortunately in his eager ness MacLeod tried to pass through the door before it was fully open! After flying open for a distance of eighteen inches the door hit something solid and rebounded, straight into the following Highlander. Although he was able to instinctively avoid getting his katana caught by the recoiling door MacLeod was unable to avoi d taking a heavy blow on his nose. Cursing savagely and painfully aware of blood running freely from his nose MacLeod put his shoulder to the door and heaved it open causing a heavy object to scrape along the floor. Passing quickly through the door he scanned the room, katana held down by his leg ready for instant action. Aside from the crates scattered around the room, one of which had been moved, recently judging by the scrape marks, close to the door the only piece of furniture was a single wooden chair where Amanda was securely tied. Securely gagged by a fancy ladies scarf her eyes were fearful until with a perceptible sag of her shoulders she recognised MacLeod. After checking that there were no more unexpected surprises he crossed over to Amanda and after removing the gag set about her bonds. Amanda spat out a rag which had been obstructing her mouth. "It's about time Highlander," she grumbled. "Who did this," Duncan asked through gritted teeth. Although his nose had stopped bleeding the broken nose was still in the process of re-setting itself. An experience that was proving to be more painful than the original break in the first place. He h ad also acquired a colourful bloodstain down his cream turtle neck sweater. "Warren," Amanda replied. "He hasn't shaved in a week but I still recognised him from that photo Joe showed us." "Right," MacLeod growled. Once he'd freed Amanda he set off again for the door, heaving it open and heading down the passage. Amanda followed him at a stumbling run, her ankles still numb from the restricted circulation caused by the bonds. "Wait Duncan," she called as exiting the building she saw MacLeod climb swiftly into his black convertible. MacLeod turned the key in the ignition, but, although he gunned the engine, he made no attempt to drive off until Amanda dropped into the passenger seat. As soon as her backside hit the seat however MacLeod hit the pedal, the car heading off leaving a sp ray of scattered gravel and dirt behind it. As soon as the acceleration allowed her to fasten her seat belt Amanda looked at MacLeod a dreadful suspicion forming. "You did leave Richie with Joe didn't you?" They tore around a corner just narrowly missing a transit van. "Couldn't contact him," came the short reply. "What?" Accelerating down the road they came to a red light. Realising MacLeod wasn't going to stop Amanda closed her eyes. "No answer at home, disconnected tone on his mobile." There was a sudden screeching of brakes and a blare of car horns fading into the distance. "I just couldn't contact him!" MacLeod finished grinding out the words through clenched teeth. After MacLeod left Joe locked the door behind him and after a quick check to make sure all the windows were shut he set the alarm. Then he returned to the task of contacting Richie. He tried phoning his Watcher, Alec Carter only to find that the young I mmortal and his female friend had managed to give him the slip. As he listened to Carter's apologies over the phone he found he could imagine the other's face glowing bright red, so palatable was the air of embarassment coming over the telephone line. Hanging up he tried both of Richie's numbers again. The mobile number still returned the service disconnected signal whilst Richie's home number just rang and rang. He was getting worried. It was unlike Richie to be out of contact for so long. Especially when he knew that Tommo Warren could very likely already be in Seacouver casing out Joe's home and business. He tried again, shivering as a cold draught caught hi m. As he tried the phone again muttering, "where are you Richie," a sudden thought struck him; the draught, that cold draught, where had it come from. "Disconnected." The voice came from the passage leading to the rest of the apartment. Jumping in surprise Joe turned to face the unshaven man standing in the doorway. He wore a dark trench coat and a navy blue woolly hat and held in his hand a heavy medieval bastard sw ord, its blade a dull grey. "Hello Dawson," the other said, a nasty grin on his face, "don't tell me yer surprised. I did give you plenty of warning after all." "Hello Mr Warren," Joe found himself calm in the face of a man who'd vowed to kill him, "what have you done to Richie?" "Like I said, I disconnected him." "If you've harmed Richie...." "Concern Dawson? Concern for an abomination, you do surprise me." Tommo advanced into the room, "now if you'll oblige me I'll try to make this as painless as....." The Immortal suddenly came to a dead stop, his head turning quickly in the direction of the stairs. Taking advantage of the distraction Joe flung himself down behind the couch. Tommo cursed and headed for the passage pulling a revolver from under his trench coat. He arrived just in time to see the door shatter under the impact of two bodies and a young looking dark haired Immortal charge through, sword in hand. Firing instinc tively from waist high using skills acquired in part during the past year or so he managed to place three rounds in the torso of the charging Immortal, knocking him back into the arms of a following Immortal. Even as he ducked back into the living room h e recognised the second Immortal, Fox Mulder. That meant that the third one he could sense still outside must be Dana Scully. Running across the living room he launched himself straight at the window, pausing only to shout at the couch behind which Joe was hiding, "you'll keep." He hit the window moving at full tilt causing the glass and a part of the frame to topple outwards. Keeping himself upright Tommo hit the ground two stories below with his knees flexed like a paratrooper. Not having a parachute to slow the speed of his descent however he screamed with pain as he felt some bones in his left leg break. Thrusting the pain to the back of his mind he scrambled to his feet his shoulder catching and overturning a garbage can set out for the early collection. With a grunt of pain he set off along the back alley limping badly. At first it seemed that every step would send daggers of pain coursing through his leg. However thanks to his Immortal metabolism the break soon mended itself, although as per usual the nerve endings mended before the bones were fully back in position ca using him some extra pain as they grated across them. However as one problem healed itself another appeared. Behind him he found he could sense an Immortal tracking him. Behind the couch Joe heard Tommo curse and move towards the door into the passage. There was a sudden crash which was quickly followed by three rapid shots from a heavy calibre handgun. Then the sound of running feet could be heard followed by the sound of breaking glass. And a single shouted phrase. More feet entered the room. Risking a look over the edge of the couch he saw a blood stained Fox Mulder striding towards the broken window, his red headed partner two steps behind him. Gazing out the window Mulder shouted "Tommo!" Scully shook her head, "he's gone." "I'd better get after him." Grabbing the edge of the window Mulder stepped onto the window ledge and launched himself out into space. About to follow him Scully noticed Joe getting to his feet from behind the couch. "Are you OK?" she asked. "Yeah, I'm fine." "Adam took three rounds as he came through the door," Scully explained stepping up onto the window ledge. "I'll see to him," he avoided adding. "You get going." With a brief nod Scully dropped from the window ledge. Ahead of her Mulder ran through the dark back alleys of down town Seacouver. Although he could sense the Quickening of an Immortal ahead of him, his fix on it's general direction wasn't accurate enough for him to rely on it exclusively. Rather he found himself drawning on his years spent in the Bureau, chasing men, mutants and aliens through various murky landscapes. he thought wryly, At first due to the ankle he'd twisted jumping down from the second storey room he found himself unable to close the distance on the fleeing Immortal. However as his ankle mended itself he began to find that he was steadily closing on the man he was chas ing. he thought as he headed around a corner, Because she hadn't rushed her leap from the window Scully was more fortunate than either of her two earlier leapers in that she landed easily without breaking any bones or spraining her ankle. Unfortunately however the momentum of her land staggered her forward a few steps causing her to trip over something and end up headfirst in a pile of garbage left by an overturned garbage can. Climbing out of the garbage she became aware of a ripe, rotten smell. Lifting the sleeve of her once smart suit to her nose she quickly found that it wasn't limited to the pile she'd just climbed out of. she thought disgustedly, Gazing around herself she realised that she couldn't feel the Quickenings of the two who had preceded her through the window. Wait, there it was, somewhere off to her left but very faint and getting fainter. Setting off she began to jog in the direction of the fading Quickening. Due to a couple of wrong turning she soon found that the sense of the other Immortal(s) faded away completely and she was forced to use her memory and sense of direction to continue the hunt. Indeed if it wasn't for the fact t hat Mulder was out here she would have given up and gone back to Joe's. Coming suddenly around a sharp corner she'd have tripped over the dark shape lying on the ground if she hadn't see the sword. Mulder's sword. Embedded in his chest. Bending down in the dark alley she pulled a small flashlight from her coat pocket. she thought as she quickly examined Mulder. Much to her relief she noted that her initial impression that Mulder still had his head was confirmed by her examination. She didn't fail to notice either that his nose seemed to be broken and that there were blood stains down the front of his coat. There were also, Scully noted bloodstains on a fist sized lump of concrete lying a co uple of feet away. With a sign she pulled the sword from his chest and switching off her torch squatted besides him to await his recovery. she thought to herself, Fox Mulder had never bothered to keep a count of the number of times he'd died since his first death so many years ago. Merely trying to do so he found was depressing as it reminded him forcibly that he was what some people would call (including himself pre-Immortal if he was honest) a freak. Once thing they all had in common though was that recovery from that state was invariably painful. Sometimes however there were compensations. Like now for example where the first thing he became aware of was the pressure of Scully's hand on his as she waited for him to recover. Thrusting himself onto his elbows he coughed violently to remove some bl ood from his lungs. Because of this he didn't hear Scully's quiet release of breath. Although the logical part of her knew that Mulder hadn't been permanently dead, another part of her locked well away was always afraid that Immortality would prove to be some con-trick or else the product of conscienceess altering drugs and that Mulder wo uld now be finally, permanently dead. She hoped that he hadn't heard her sign of relief. Then again perhaps hopefully he had........ Climbing shakily to his feet he peered around himself in the dark alley. "Well?" Scully asked meaningfully. "Didn't Joe Dawson mention that our friend has become a demon baseball pitcher," he replied. "I think I heard mention of it." "Well you'd better believe it Scully," Mulder replied fingering gingerly his still sore nose. "He certainly pitched one hell of a fast ball at me." "It weren't a fast ball," she objected, "it were a piece of concrete." She showed him the bloodstained evidence. "He went and stabbed you through the chest to stop you pursuing him." He rubbed the bloodstain on his shirt thoughtfully. "It weren't to stop me following him," he stated blandly, "it was to stop you. He knew you wouldn't leave me here with a sword in my chest so he stabbed me." "Very clever," Scully stated grimly, although it was unclear as whether she was referring to Mulder's deduction or Tommo's tactics. Mulder meanwhile was sniffing loudly, "Scully have you changed your perfume?" "Not a word Mulder, unless you want to die twice in one night." "Of course not Scully, it's just that you have a lettuce leaf on your shoulder." With a sudden violent cough the 'corpse' laid out on the bed came back to life. "Oh gods, I hate that," Methos moaned as he swung his legs off the bed reaching instinctively for his sword propped carefully against it. "I can well believe that," Louise Allison climbed out of the chair from where she'd been watching the Immortal. Methos glared at her balefully. During their journey from the airport after his 'accidental' meeting with Mulder, Scully and their Watcher hanger-on, he had shown her the Watcher 'tattoo' he was always careful to maintain and given her the whole 'mild ma nnered Adam Pierson' spiel. That, it now turned out, had proved to be a singular waste of time! Climbing gingerly to his feet Methos collected his sword and returned it to its 'pocket' in his overcoat. "You don't seem particularly bothered by this," he asked. The girl shrugged her shoulders, "I've known you were an immortal since Vic and Dana, those aren't their real names right, reacted to your quickening at Boston Airport." "And how long have you thought they were Immortals?" "Since I realised they were using false identities and carrying swords," she replied, adding, "I may be inexperienced Adam, or whatever your name is, but I've been well trained." "Obviously." "It's also obvious that you three weren't surprised to meet each other at Seacouver Airport, Vic Robins is a very capable investigator but he'll never be in any danger of winning an Oscar." Louise suddenly smiled at the Immortal, "oh look Dana it's Adam, what a pleasant surprise," she said pulling off a wickedly accurate imitation of Mulder's reaction on seeing him at the passenger terminal. Despite himself Methos laughed, "you really are a dangerous young woman Ms Allison, I think I'm beginning to like you." "Besides which," she added, "mortals don't usually leap out of second storey windows with barely a pause to say hello." "So Joe's still alive?" Methos asked. "He helped me put you on the bed." "And...." Methos found himself having to grope through his memory for the names Mulder and Scully were using, "Vic and Dana aren't back yet?" "Nope." The door to the room opened and Joe Dawson limped in. "Finally," he grunted. It had taken him the best part of twenty minutes to get rid of assorted police officers and nosy neighbours and as a result he was not in the best of moods. "Pardon?" "Do you know how much trouble you've caused me kicking in the door like that," Joe grumbled. "Well thank you Joe," Methos responded acidly, "the next time you're in danger and I rush over and sense a strange Immortal here I'll just politely ring the bell and wait half an hour, shall I." "How did you know it was Tommo and not someone else?" Louise interrupted quickly trying to head of the row that was building up. Besides which she fancied she could hazard a good guess as to who the 'someone else' was. "Elementary my dear Allison," Methos replied glaring at Joe, his tone of voice still acidic, "both Richie's bike and Mac's black heap are gone from outside. Now it could be Amanda inside with Joe but MacLeod's too much of a boy scout to leave her to face someone like Warren on her own, so......" "It could only be Tommo, brilliant Holmes, brilliant." Methos locked eyes with the young Watcher, "as your English assignment would say, are you taking the piss Ms Allison?" he asked, one side of his mouth twitching upwards. "Why Adam what a thing to say." Thanks to Louise's intervention Joe had now managed to get his irritation under control enough to ask Methos, "are you feeling any better?" "Just about, thank you very much," Methos admitted absently rubbing the place on his chest where he'd been shot. "Say been shot certainly gives you a thirst," he added hopefully. "You know where the refrigerator is," Joe commented tartly. "Roughly translated that means," Methos confided to Louise in a stage whisper, "go help yourself Adam." Methos had only managed to take a mouthful of the beer he'd found in Joe's refrigerator before he felt the approach of another immortal. His instinctive grab for his sword died stillborn as he realised there were two of them. He looked up to see the two Watchers, one very experienced and one inexperienced both staring at him. "It's two of them, probably Vic and Dana," he admitted. He was wrong. Something heavy thumped against Joe's door, pushing back several inches the chair that had been propped against it until the lock could be repaired. Both Watchers jumped. "MacLeod," Methos shouted, "it's only me!" There was a silence from the other side of the door. "Methos, is that you?" "That's right MacLeod, let the entire world in on the secret," Methos grumbled pulling the chair away from the door. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was a terrifying sight as he came through the door. In one hand he held a magnificent katana, its blade polished almost to a mirror brightness. His eyes were cold and pitiless in his anger. And on his cream pole neck sweater was a wide blood stain. "What happened to you?" Joe asked. "Don't ask," MacLeod's reply was distinctly surly. However, whilst MacLeod was unwilling to spread enlightenment Amanda was perfectly willing to make good his omission. "He ran headfirst into a door," she explained. "That Sassenach bastard kidnapped Amanda to draw me away from Joe," MacLeod put in hurriedly realising that he was going to have to get in quick before Amanda gave her version of events. "He left her in a building downtown along with a trap for me," he a dded. It was only now that he realised that Joe and Methos had company. Louise Allison was staring at the man who'd been introduced to her as Adam Pierson with an expression on her face that was one part fascination and two parts shock. Although Watchers aren't supposed to get friendly with their subjects, assignments, call them what you will, many of them will admit, if threats of sufficient violence are made that if there is one thing they could like in all the world it is the chance t o sit down for coffee, or a beer, with 'their' Immortal and just generally chew the fat with them. Of course not all Watchers feel this way. And for some of them revealing themselves to 'their' immortal would be an instant death sentence. But still thi s is one of the temptations that they are warned about in training. For Louise the world around her was changing at an unparalleled pace. Not only had she been caught by 'her' Immortal but she'd also found out that the regional head of the Watchers was not adverse to calling in Immortals when the need arose. And that no t only was he friendly with 'his own' Immortal but now also that he knew the legendary and supposedly mythical Methos. Who was not only not a myth but was now reclining on Joe's sofa and drinking beer with the ease born of long practice. She sat down suddenly. "Huh, err Methos," she began timidly, "you wouldn't have a spare beer would you?" For a long second Methos examined her face. . Deciding that perhaps the young woman really could do with a drink he produced the spare bottle he'd removed from Joe's refrigerator and handed it to her. With a grateful smile she raised the bottle to her lips and proceeded to swallow down half of it. Pulling the bottle away from her lips she looked carefully at the label then handed the bottle back to Methos. Face going greener by the second she climbed carefully to her feet and walked steadily to where she guessed Joe's bathroom was. Half way there she suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth and abandoning all dignity ran straight into the bathroom shutting the door behind her. Turning towards Joe Methos finally gave vent to his irritation. "What's the idea of letting that girl see me come round?" "I had no choice in the matter," Joe replied, "it was either that or else leave your body in the doorway for the first cop in to trip over. Even with the two of us we barely had you out of sight before the first of them arrived." Recognising however reluctantly that perhaps Joe had some justification for his actions Methos turned on the second source of his irritation. "And you MacLeod, who gave you licence to shout my name to all and sundry!" "Sorry old man," MacLeod apologised, "how the hell was I to know you'd have a Watcher present, aside from Joe that is." "She insisted on coming from Boston with....Vic and Dana," again Methos had to pummel his brain to remember Mulder and Scully's alias's. That damned tricky Watcher of Warren just might be listening at the bathroom door. "They're here?" Amanda managed to ask in front of MacLeod. "We met on the plane. When we got here we found you gone and Joe entertaining our friend Mr Warren. In all the confusion I got shot and Tommo exited through there," Methos indicated the broken window. "They went after him." "I hope they find him," MacLeod muttered fingering his katana through the material of his coat, "I want a nice long talk with him." "I want a nice long talk with Ryan," Methos growled. "Where the hell is he? The whole idea of bringing him into this was to prevent exactly what happened here!" "He'd been looking after Joe all afternoon," MacLeod said jumping to Richie's defence, "I let him and Katherine go to grab a bite to eat." "If Tommo Warren was able to get to Amanda," Joe said, "it's also possible he was able to get to Richie too." "And lets not forget that Katherine is Tommo's student," Amanda cut in. The three Immortals grew silent each of them contemplating the strength of the ties that can sometimes bind an Immortal and their mentor. The bathroom door opened and Louise Allison made a shamefaced entrance. Four pairs of eyes looked at her. "Sorry," she admitted buckling under their pressure, "it must have been something I ate." Then three pairs of eyes lost interest. "Two of them," Amanda breathed. "Vic and Dana," Methos put in giving Duncan a glare which said 'lets not blow their covers as well'. The first thing Mulder noticed when he came into the room was the bloodstain on Duncan's polo necked sweater. With a slight smile he opened his coat to reveal his own stain. "Snap." Duncan grimaced, "booby-trapped door." "Concrete baseball." "It looks like our friend has been busy today," Methos spoke lightly, his tone of voice in total contrast to his grim face. "Excuse me Dana, darling," Amanda said, "but your perfume......" "I fell into some garbage," Dana put in quickly. If she wasn't going to put up with smart comments from Mulder she'd be damned if she was going to accept them from this stranger. "Ah," Methos put in, he was unable to resist adding, "that explains the candy wrapper that's stuck to your trousers." With an angry glare at Methos Dana bent down and pulled off the offending wrapper. She cast a 'why didn't you tell me' look at Mulder who merely shrugged. Correctly interpreting Scully's glare Methos changed the subject sooner than he would have normally, "Well that just leaves us two short." By the edge of the park Katherine Choi was frowning in irritation. "I'm sure he said it was round here," she said. Richie shrugged, "why don't I ring him and ask," he suggested reaching for his mobile. "Oh, don't bother Richie," she said, "let him wallow in all that war news while he can. He's hardly said a word to me all day." Richie looked at her, his mobile half out of his pocket. "OK then," he said replacing it in his pocket. Then he pulled it out again. There was something not quite right about it, it seemed too light to him. Removing the carrying case he looked at the back to find that the battery had been removed. He looked up to see Katherine looking at him. "You wouldn't know why there is no battery here." He was proud of the way he kept his voice level and matter of fact. She met his gaze. In the short time they'd been together Richie had learnt to read that inscrutable face of hers and he now fancied he could detect a trace of regret there. There again he might just be deluding himself. Turning his back on her he climbed back on his Harley. Seating himself he didn't look at her but rather waited to see if she'd climb on behind him. He was surprised at how relieved he was when he felt the bike lurch as she climbed on behind him and pla ced her arms around his waist. She was, he noticed, trembling. As they approached the door to Joe's apartment they could feel the sensation of a large number of Immortals waiting there. Richie suddenly stopped and took Katherine by the arm. "You don't have to go in there," he said, "if you go now they'll not come a fter you." He'd reason with them if he could and then block the door for as long as he could. Turning Katherine looked at Richie, her eyes looking for something which she must have seen for she bent forward and kissed him on the lips deeply and fully. "Thank you Richie, but I think we've kept them waiting long enough." As Richie reached for the door handle there was a scraping of wood as if a chair was been moved and the door opened to reveal the grim features of the Highlander. Taking Katherine's hand in his own Richie greeted his mentor. "Mac, what happened to your sweater?". "Richie, Katherine," Duncan responded moving out of the way so that they could enter the apartment. Walking into the main room they found five Immortals arranged in a semi-circle around the doorway. Joe on the other hand was seated on the couch alongside a young dark headed woman. "Well Ryan?" Methos said. He almost added, 'it'd better be good,' but age does bring wisdom. In reply Richie pulled out his mobile and slung it to Methos. "No batteries," he said. "I removed them," Katherine stated quietly meeting the gaze of the other Immortals calmly. Only the trembling of her hand told Richie how nervous she really was. "While Richie was talking to Duncan earlier I removed them." She looked directly at Joe, " I'm sorry Mr Dawson, it was nothing personal." With a sign she let her eyes fall until she was looking at the carpet. "I feel I owe you all an explanation," Katherine almost whispered. Although her eyes were downcast and she wasn't looking at him Richi e knew she was speaking to him mainly. "Yes, I think you do," Methos said. Personally he had no doubts. It was simply an instance of the young Chinese Immortal showing commendable, in his opinion, loyalty to her mentor. For a long moment she kept her eyes down as she searched for the words she needed. Then suddenly she looked Duncan square in the eye. "Duncan, you told me once that you had been in San Francisco during the eighteen nineties. During your time there did you ever hear of the Virgin Whore?" Duncan's face went thoughtful. "Yes I did," he admitted, "down near the waterfront there was reckoned to be a Asian prostitute who bled every time she went with a man." "That was me," Katherine sighed. "You see I haven't told you the truth about my origins. My real name is not Katherine Koi and I am not third generation American. I was born around the turn of the eighteenth century in the slums of Shanghai. I told Ri chie I was killed for the first time by a runaway truck, that's almost the truth. It was a runaway wagon instead." "When I revived for the first time my family were frightened, they thought I was some demon or else I'd been possessed by spirits. The man I'd been promised to wouldn't even look at me. I don't blame them, I pretty much thought that myself. My father s old me to a merchant near the docks, a man who owned a brothel. I spent five years there. At times I believed I was in hell or else had been cursed. No matter how hard I tried to kill myself I always revived." "Word got around about the whore in the docks who bled like a virgin every time she was taken. Word soon got to other ears as well. One day I was getting ready for the night's business when I felt a sudden dizziness. I had never felt like this before. Looking up I found myself looking at a man I'd never seen before. A man armed with a sword." "The man who called himself Khan purchased me from the merchant. For the following decades we traveled around China, never staying in one place for longer than ten years. At first my master used to work iron to support us but eventually he stopped doing that and instead lived off my earnings as a whore. I always knew when he was close, even if I couldn't see him. And like me he never grew a day older." "In about 1850 we caught a ship across the ocean to the States. During the building of the trans-continental railroads we followed the work camps, I plied my 'trade' whilst Khan gambled and drank our money away. In 1891 whilst we were traveling on a lon ely trail we met a white man armed with a sword. Khan fought him but lost and was beheaded. That was the first Quickening I ever saw, and my first hint that it was possible for me to die." "My new master, Gerhardt Balck, took me to San Francisco where I was put to work again." Katherine's face twisted with disgust. "He used to alternate between San Francisco, Hong Kong, Honolulu, and Shanghai. Like Khan he would live off my earnings." "During the fifties he got me a television set. It was a window onto the world for me. I already knew some English but by watching the TV I was able to improve it." She stopped speaking. There was obviously more to come but she seemed reluctant to go further. Reaching across Richie took hold of both her hands, they were as cold as ice and shaking violently. Taking a deep breath she went on, "a year ago Balck found himself a lucrative sideline, one for which an actress who can come back from the dead can be useful." Katherine stopped again, her eyes were shut and her breathing unnaturally loud. Slowly it began to dawn on them what she was alluding to. It was Mulder who filled the grim silence. "He began using you in snuff movies didn't he." His voice was gentle and sympathetic. She nodded, "I was gang raped to death on three occasions," she said quietly. "All caught in glorious technicolour," Mulder said softly. "Seven months ago I finally escaped," she went on, "he got careless and I was able to get away. Unfortunately he pursued and caught me. He was going to take my head when Tommo intervened." A weak smile crossed her lips, "it occurred to me at the time I should be angry with him. By killing me Balck would have given me the peace I yearned for, an escape from the hell I'd lived in for over two hundred years." "Tommo was the first man who was gentle towards me. You'd never believe it if you knew him but he is on the inside a very gentle man. He hated what he calls 'all this there can only be one malarkey' and once defined the prize to me as never having to lo ok over your shoulder again." Katherine suddenly blushed, "he was the first man to make me...." she frowned looking for the words, "enjoy sex as much as he did. He is very special to me, like a father." "Even though he's two centuries younger?" Methos asked. Katherine looked him straight in the eye. "Neither of my earlier 'owners' bothered to explain Immortality to me. Virtually everything I know about Immortals I learnt from him, what skill I have with a sword is due to him, what chance I have in the Game is due to him, the best six months of my life is due to him. I owe him everything." She turned her head meeting all their gazes in turn. Finally her eyes came to rest on Richie's troubled face. "I am sorry for what I did Richie, but I am not ashamed. If he asked it of me again I would do the same." "I'm sorry too Katherine," Duncan spoke suddenly, "I should have guessed you'd do something like this. I know I would for Connor who mentored me and I'm sure Richie would for me." "Damned right Mac," Richie said reaching over to take hold of her hands carefully. "We really shouldn't have given you the opportunity," he added pulling her gently towards him and enfolding her in his arms. Katherine's arms went about him and she hugge d him fiercely. There were tears in both their eyes. "Oh bloody hell," Methos swore, "somebody give me a hanky will you before I start blubing as well." "Wouldn't you rather have a beer," Joe asked slyly. Of all those present he was the only one to know the bare details of Katherine Koi's life, but even then however it wasn't down anywhere in anything like as much detail as she'd just revealed. Methos grinned at him, "now you're talking barkeep." "All right then," Methos said over the top of a newly opened beer, "what's our, or more accurately friend Warren's next step?" Everybody looked at Mulder. Scully thought sympathetically. Mulder took a long swig of beer thoughtfully. "The chances are that Tommo is still in the city somewhere. Knowing him like I do I suspect he'll get to what he believes is a safe distance then find a quiet bar somewhere where he'll work out what to do ne xt over a beer or three." "Victor certainly knows him," Scully put in, a slight smile coming to her face. "Really," Methos purred. He'd noticed Mulder throw Scully a pleading look obviously wanting her to keep the story to herself. "Yeah," Scully said, "they've been drinking on a couple of occasions...." "And you've had to bail them out of the local drunk tank," Duncan grinned. "That sounds like prior knowledge." Methos laughed, "we both knew his mentor. It looks like Mr Warren honours an ancient tradition of his." "Thanks Dana," Mulder's sarcastic tone of voice could be cut with a knife. "So," Methos said, "it looks like our best chance of finding him is to trawl through the local drinking establishments until we sense his quickening." "That is if he decided to stay in the city at all," Scully said. "Well why don't we ask the nearest thing we have to an expert," Methos drawled. "I'm sure Ms Allison could tell us more about the enigmatic Mr Thomas Warren. She is after all his Watcher." With the exception of Richie and Katherine who were still talking on the other side of the room all the assembled Immortals plus Joe Dawson turned to look at the young Watcher. Suddenly she felt very nervous. "Was I asked..." "You are," Methos said. "I'd say," she went on ignoring the interruption, "that Tommo's next move would be to find a quiet bar so that he could do some thinking. Victor is right, he'll suspect we'll have the airport, the railroad station and major roads watched so he'll probabl y find a bar just far enough away to be safe from a search but close enough to Mr Dawson's bar and home for him to attack again if he decides to." "So what do we do next?" Duncan asked. "Simple Highlander," Methos spoke up. "You go with Joe to his bar and open up. It should be safe enough in public so long as Joe stays out in the open. In the meantime myself and Amanda, and Vic and Dana will check out all the local hostelries on the l ookout for friend Warren. We'll work in pairs and keep in touch using mobile phones." "What do we do if we find him?" Mulder asked. "You talk to him," Methos replied, "you and Dana are friends of his, I'm sure he'll listen to you." Mulder glanced at Scully, the memory of a piece of concrete smashing into his face coming vividly from his memory. "If we find him," Methos continued, "Amanda and I will call you and tail him until you arrive." Scully thought exchanging glances with Mulder. "So what do we do then?" Methos turned to look at Richie and Katherine. They'd been so engrossed in their own private conversation that he'd overlooked them. "You two can go with MacLeod," he said. One hour later Delaney Street "I think Adam is keeping secrets from us." Exiting the tenth bar they'd been in the last three quarters of an hour Mulder glanced across at Scully. "I was wondering how long it would take you to bring that up," he observed. "I could tell by those looks you were giving me back at Dawson's apartment that it was on your mind too," she observed. "Yeah," Mulder gave her a wry grin, "it's funny isn't it the way MacLeod and Ryan allow him to boss them around. It's almost as if they respect him." "And Adam Pierson the newly made Immortal has a Quickening far too powerful for one of his supposed youth," Scully cut in. "So why should he be so cagey about his age?" "No reason I can think of," Mulder put in, "unless...." "Unless he's a very old Immortal." They exchanged glances. Both of them knew that 'older' Immortals due to the strength of their Quickening were favourite targets of head-hunters. "Like for example Methos." "Mulder you can't be serious, Methos is just a legend. No one has heard of him for hundreds of years." "So are Immortals, yet we exist. So are vampires, the Jersey Devil, liver eating mutants,...." "Enough Mulder, enough," Scully broke into what she suspected would turn out to be a long list of all the weird and legendary creatures they'd run across in their time working in the FBI's infamous X-files section. "Ok Scully," Mulder grinned at his former partner, "besides which it's more likely he's just one of your standard thousand year old Immortals anyway." "Yeah, still......" "...... it would be interesting to talk to someone his age," Mulder concluded for her. They turned the corner onto Brice Street. Mulder frowned, "I make out at least five bars on both sides of the street. If we don't find Tommo quickly he'll have decided his next move and will have disappeared again." Scully agreed adding, "we're doing this the slow way. What we should do is split up and take one side of the street each." Mulder frowned. Whilst he didn't believe Tommo Warren was any great danger to either of them, the incident in the alley where he could easily have his head been a case in point, there were other Immortals out there who would not be quite so friendly. On the other hand he well knew how Scully would react if she thought he was coddling her again. "OK," he said, his slight hesitation indicating to Scully his reluctance, "you take this side and I'll take the other." As Mulder set off across the street Scully watched him go. her inner self actually sounded amused. She admitted to herself that whilst she didn't really mind Mulder worrying about her the blips in their relationship usually occurred when Mulder tried to do something about it. She was far too independent, or at least had had to assert her independence far too many times against well meaning others to give in now. It was whilst en-route to the fourth bar on her side of the road that Scully felt the Quickening of another Immortal. Coming to a halt she looked at the well lit front to the building she was passing. she thought to herself . She looked across the road, there was no sign of Mulder. she frowned, . . Scully took at deep breath and pushed the door open. At the back of the coffee bar the solitary customer sat facing the door across a small booth, alone except for a bored looking waitress reading an evening paper. In his left hand he held a cup of coffee close to his lips. When he was sure he had Scully's attention he slowly lowered the cup across his body until it rested on the table where his right hand should have been. A hand that was concealed beneath the table! For a second Scully hesitated. Although she knew that Tommo had not the slightest interest in taking her head, the incident with Mulder in the back alley was proof of that, she also knew, from the same incident that he would have no compunction against s hooting her. A shooting in a public place would after all be a good way of removing both her and Mulder from whatever Warren had planned for long enough to allow him a second chance at Dawson. Crossing the coffee bar she took the seat across the table from Tommo. He smiled wryly at her as she sat down. "Well Dana," he said quietly, "this is a most unexpected surprise." Scully treated him to one of her Ice Queen stares, "bullshit Warren," she stated coldly. "Yes it is, isn't Doctor Courey," the smile didn't leave his lips as the waitress came across to take Scully's order. "The lady will have a coffee," Tommo stated, "my treat." As the thirty something waitress moved towards the coffee pot Tommo placed his empty right hand on the table, "it's the least I could do after that little incident in the alley." "I don't think you're Mulder's favourite person at the moment," Scully replied. Tommo just shrugged waiting for the waitress to bring Scully her coffee and return to her paper before saying, "Well if you two are going into the bodyguard business you should be more particular about who you baby-sit!" "It's not like that, Dawson and his organisation aren't the way they were depicted to you." "Really?" "Yes really," Scully went on, "Mulder and I have been watched since we first became Immortals. Both the MacLeods are on records going back hundred of years. In all that time the Watchers have never tried to interfere with Immortals or the Game." She tr ied to project all the certainty she could into that last sentence. Now was not the time to tell the Englishman about James Horton's lunacy or the occasional incident of Watchers been, to use spy fiction terminology, turned by their assignments. "So why'd that bugger in the graveyard spin me such a pack of lies?" Tommo's face was intense, his eyes studying her face intently. Even as she opened her mouth she felt it, an approaching Quickening, Mulder's. Tommo came quickly to his feet, the chair going over backwards. "It's worse than Kings Cross bloody Station here," he swore his right hand dropping into his trench-coat pocket. "Ah, ah, Dana," he said, the tone of his voice checking her attempt to rise, "I'd rather not hurt you but....." He backed quickly towards a door marked Kitchen. "I'll have to find a quieter place to drink," he said as he ducked through the door. As Scully made it to her feet almost simultaneously Fox Mulder charged in through the front door. Behind the kitchen door Scully could hear shouting as a cook or cooks objected to a stranger appearing unwanted in his or their domain. "Mulder, the kitchen," Scully shouted heading for the door herself. As she reached it a gun shot sounded from the other side and as she flung open the door she was met by a large fat man clothed in grubby white clothes travelling determinedly in the oppo site direction. Colliding with the other the slightly built woman was thrown back and into a table knocking both it, a couple of chairs and herself onto the floor. By the time Scully had picked herself up Mulder had gone past her and into the kitchen. Even as she made her second attempt on the door she could hear Mulder's shout of "Tommo!" drowned out by a door slamming. Entering the kitchen Scully was relieved to see that despite the greasy and none too clean appearance of the room that there were no bodies anywhere and no sign of any blood. The crafty Warren she realised must have fired a shot to spook the rotund cook into obstructing any pursuit. Across the kitchen Mulder was pounding furiously upon a solid looking door. "He's dragged something against it," he said giving the door one last thump. "What now?" she asked. Mulder sighed. "By the time we get outside he'll be long gone," he admitted, an assertion which due to the rapidly fading sense of Tommo's Quickening Scully did not feel she could question. "We'd better let the others know then." It had been a stroke of luck finding the coffee shop so close to where they'd lost Tommo. Whilst Mulder had bought them a couple of coffees, Scully had used her mobile to try to contact first Joe Dawson and then the enigmatic Adam Pierson. Because Dawso n's phone was engaged the first report was delivered to Pierson. She came off the line to him as Mulder brought over their coffees. "Problems?" he asked recognising from experience the fuming glare Scully was directing at the innocent mobile. "No, no problems Mulder," Scully replied showing an iron control of her emotions learnt back in her academy days. "Just Mr Adam god almighty Pierson's sarcasm about our FBI training." Scully paused then assuming a face that made her look like she was s ucking on a lemon went on, "'so with all your much vaunted Bureau training, friend Warren still manages to slip between your fingers, again.'" Mulder grimaced, "not impressed was he?" "No, not impressed at all." They sat there for a while in a companionable silence drinking their coffees. It took Scully four more attempts before someone came off the phone at Joe's Bar so as to allow her to report to Dawson the results of their search. During all this Mulder was staring out the window, his brow heavily furrowed in thought. Scully recognising the signs left him to it. The silence continued all the way back to their motel, Scully driving as Mulder seemed to be on another planet. When they stopped outside the motel Scully got out but as she turned to lock the car door she realised that Mulder was still seated, still sta ring out into space. "Earth to Mulder," she said leaning back into the rental, "the eagle has landed , over." Mulder blinked his eyes back into focus and slid over into the driver's seat. "Get in Scully," he said urgently, "we're not finished for tonight." Such was Mulder's tone of voice that Scully found herself in the passenger's seat before she could even frame a question. "What's up Mulder?" she asked as the car burned rubber out of the motel's car park. "Warren's suckered us," Mulder cursed. "We've all assumed that he's just after Dawson's head for revenge for that attack on him. Or else out to make an example of him." Scully frowned as they took a corner on three wheels, "I don't blame him for that, if it were my mother's gravestone shot to pieces I think I'd be pretty upset. And it must have ruined any chance of him ever seeing his family again." "True enough Scully. But suppose that that is not his main motivation," Mulder jumped a red light narrowly missing a camper van. "Lets suppose that beheading or killing Dawson is just a diversion from his real purpose." "Which is?" Scully asked hanging desperately onto her seat. "What does Joe have that might be of value to one of us?" Scully thought about this. "His database I suppose," she said slowly. "Exactly. His records giving the current identities and addresses of every known Immortal in the U.S." "But Tommo's not a head hunter. Even blasting his mother's gravestone wouldn't turn him that way." "That's not why he'd want them." Scully gave him her best puzzled look which fortunately for her peace of mind he didn't see as he kept his eyes on the road. "Suppose," he continued, "that tomorrow morning an Immortal, any Immortal received in the post a letter giving brief details of their personal history and the name and address of the person responsible for watching them. What would they do?" Risking a quick glance to the side Mulder could see by the look on his red headed former partner's face that she could see where he was going with this. "It would depend on the Immortal," she said slowly, "some would simply slip their Watchers and disapp ear, others would try to kill them or else torture them for further information." "Now imagine that happening to fifty, a hundred Immortals all at once. It would be chaos, Immortals disappearing, Watchers turning up dead, innocent passer-by's killed by paranoid Immortals......" "And it would spread," Scully said speaking slowly, "even the worst of us usually has at least one acquaintance or friend who they'd call to warn about this threat to our existence. It would spread aboard, to Europe and Asia and South America." She look ed worriedly at Mulder, "the Watchers would take decades to restore their network, if they ever could." "And during all this confusion," Mulder said softly, "Tommo slips quietly away to start a new life." "It's all pretty persuasive Mulder," Scully replied, "but I've got one question for you. Why did he ring up Dawson and threaten him? All that achieved was to alert Dawson to the danger he was in." Mulder shrugged, "perhaps shooting the shit out of his mother's headstone really pissed him off. Since then I'm willing to bet he's cooled down and, well, going for Dawson's database is the only option that makes sense." "I'd better call him," Scully pulled her mobile out and quickly dialled the number. "Mulder, I'm getting a disconnected tone," Scully cursed after the third attempt. "That's not our only problem," Mulder indicated the flashing blue lights in the mirror. Even above the roar of the engine they could hear the wail of the siren coming from the police vehicle behind them. Joe's Bar There was a simple reason for Dana Scully taking five attempts to get through to Joe at his bar; he was busy making a call he'd put off for some time. Although he guessed it must be early in the morning on the other side of the pond John Harrison sounded quite chipper over the phone. "The local constabulary have put out what your cop shows would call an APB for Tommo Warren," the elderly English Watche r said. "They've identified him as the one who shot our renegades by asking around all the local flower shops and from the damage done to his mother's gravestone." "John," Joe took a deep breath and began. He'd known the other Watcher for over twenty years. He didn't like having to ask this question. Shit, just thinking about it was upsetting enough for him. "Yes Joe," the response came clearly down the telephone. "Why did you leave gaps in your reports?" A pause, "what gaps?" "The ones specifically mentioning the use of firearms by Warren. The gaps I had to fill by consulting other Watchers final reports." "Ah," a long pause followed. Then, "did I ever tell you about the first immortal I ever watched Joe?" "No." "He was called Giles Thackary, he was living in Dublin at the time, running a small bookshop down one of those quiet streets they have there. I watched him for four years. Pretty boring it was, he was never even challenged the entire four years. I came to like him, he was a quiet man, good to his mortal wife and well thought of by those who knew him. Years later whilst I was watching Liam the Horton scandal blew up. And Giles Thackary, the harmless bookshop owner was one of their first murders." "Since then I resolved that if it were at all possible I would make sure that any Immortal I watched would have an edge against any of us gone bad. I wouldn't interfere directly, that would make me as bad as them, but I would make sure that my reports w ould be incomplete so as to allow the Immortal a sporting chance. I'll be damned if I'll just sit quietly by and allow renegades to pervert my life's work, bugger them!" Joe sighed softly, James Horton again. There were times when he wished he could shoot the traitorous bastard all over again, preferably somewhere painful. The thing that had hurt most about the entire sorry episode had been that they had been colleagues , friends, family. It had hurt for one so close to him to strike so directly, with such devastation, at the central principles around which he'd lived for so many years. It had forced him to compromise so many of them; befriending MacLeod was far from b een the worst of them. And John Harrison's admission raised a number of spectres he had tried to avoid ever since. Just how accurate were the reports coming in from the field Watchers, how many of them massaged their reports to protect their charges from lunatic renegades, how many of them had revealed themselves to their Immortal in order to warm them of the threat to their lives? James Horton had a lot to answer for. A few streets away Mulder was reflecting that if there was one thing he disliked about no longer working for the Bureau it was the necessity these days for them to have to accede to the authority of local law enforcement bodies. In what he always tried t o resist remembering as the good old days, he and Scully would simply flash their badges, identify themselves as Federal Agents racing to stop a crime and be allowed on their way. Not that they were always directly truthful about their need to go at eigh ty in a fifty mile zone. After all most traffic cops are not equipped to take seriously two FBI Special Agents rushing to prevent a taxpayer being abducted by a UFO or killed by a liver eating mutant or stalked by an alien bounty hunter or .......... In the not so good old days Mulder had always classified the ordinary cop as one of two types, co-operative or un. And had noted that the higher the rank, the greater the likelihood of them been the latter. He was now forced to add to the un category yo ung police officers so new out of police academy that their ears still glistened. Although there was an older officer present, it was obvious that he was letting the younger man take the lead in the process of writing them a ticket. Mulder thought to himself sourly. As the young officer pounced almost gleefully on a defective tail light Mulder glanced across at Scully. She was trying the cell phone again. There was still no answer from Joe Dawson's place. Pausing only to flash a brief, exasperated frown at Mulder she tried another number. After the phone rang until she was on the point of trying that damned Adam Pierson Richie Ryan answered. "Yeah?" Behind him Scully could hear street noises. "Hi Richie, its Dana," Scully said putting on for the sake of the nearby police officers an entirely false cheer. "Could you tell Joe we're going to be a little late for his party." "Err, yeah sure thing Dana," from the tone of Richie's voice Scully could tell that the other immediately realised something was wrong. "Thanks Richie, Tom has gone on ahead of us to get things started." "Thanks Dana," Richie didn't bother to disguise the grimness in his voice, "I'll see you there." Ringing off Scully glanced across at Mulder who nodded to indicate that he'd heard the conversation. he communicated in their silent language of nods and frowns, Turning away from Mulder and the over efficient rookie who was now checking the tyre pressures Scully tapped in Pierson's cell phone number. she thought to herself, Joes Bar He'd had, Joe reflected better nights. In a way he was at a loss to explain, his tension over the ongoing Tommo Warren situation had seemed to be transmitted not only to his staff but also to his customers. The entire bar had been subdued with an underc urrent of tension which had dampened down any feelings of joy and frivolity. It had not been helped by the brooding atmosphere that seemed to hang around Duncan MacLeod. The highlander had spent most of the evening seated at the bar, staring into nothing, pausing only to take a very occasional sip from a glass of single malt in f ront of him. He hadn't drunk much either, all night Joe had only had to refill his glass twice. Richie and Katherine were no help either. They'd spent most of the night sat at a table in a far corner, heads close together talking. On the few instances he'd had reason to go past them Joe had heard enough to tell him that on one part Katherine was g iving Richie more details about her past whilst on the other Richie was engaged in reassuring her that none of them held anything against her for interfering with his mobile. All in all he was relieved when he could finally shut the door on the last of the bar's regular patrons. Mindful of the situation he also sent all of the bar and kitchen staff home early leaving only himself and his three Immortal companions to clear up. "I had a call earlier on from Vic and Dana," Joe had announced as soon as the last bar staff had gone. "Dana found Mr Warren drowning his sorrows, in a coffee bar." A look of apprehension sole across Katherine Choi's face. "Unfortunately she was unable to convince him that I'm not into ethnic cleansing and genocide and he got away before Viccould turn up. From what he said they figure he'll go to ground for a while whilst he decides what to do next." "Damn!" Duncan swore. "It would have made things a lot easier if they'd been able to convince him or else been able to bring him here." "Well anyway I don't think we'll see him here tonight, he must know that there''ll be some of you baby-sitting me and I'll bet he won't fancy the odds." Joe paused and added, "I think I can lock up here on my own so if you want to go....." Duncan looked shrewdly at the Watcher. "OK," he said thoughtfully, "Richie, Katherine, you can be getting off now, I'll help Joe lock up and see him home." Seeing Joe open his mouth he quickly added, "we don't want you to run into a mugger now do we Joe ?" There was a note in the Highlander's voice that warned Joe that his old friend had every intention of seeing him home and that protesting would be distinctly futile. Richie was also giving him a funny look. "OK Mac," he said eventually, "we'll see you in the morning." "Good night Rich, good night Katherine," Duncan said pointedly. After the two younger Immortals had left Duncan turned to Joe as he replaced a couple of glasses on the shelves below the bar. "All right Joe," he stated bluntly, "now that those two have gone why don't you tell me why you want to get rid of us all?" Joe looked up from behind the bar. "Surely you don't believe all that shit those renegades spoon fed Warren do you?" he replied deliberately misunderstanding the question. "That's not what I was asking and well you know it!" Duncan stated as he used a tray to collect some glasses from a table, "why are you so keen to get rid of us tonight?" "Because I'm sick of you and the others baby sitting me, because I've taken up far too much of your time already for what is essentially a Watcher problem." "Bull shit," Duncan retorted balancing five half empty glasses plus beer bottles effortlessly on the tray, "what happened to Tommo Warren is as much my affair as it is yours. He is after all an Immortal, he is a friend of Connor's, he's a student of an o ld friend of mine, he's the teacher of a student who sleeps under my roof, normally, and," he concluded, " what is as important he's made threats to an friend of mine. That's you Joe by the way." Joe signed and scratched his breaded cheeks, "look Duncan, it's not that I don't appreciate what you and the others are doing but......." The Highlander's head suddenly jerked upwards and turned suddenly in a manner that was familiar to the man who'd watched him for so many years. He suddenly placed the tray on a nearby table. "Mac?" "He's here Joe," the Highlander barked pulling his katana out from under his coat in an impossibly quick motion. "Get out of here now!" "Too late." The voice came from the entrance to the short passage leading to the rest rooms. A tall unshaven man stood there dressed in what Joe had always thought of as the standard issue Immortal trench coat. In one hand he held a heavy broadsword wi th an elongated hilt, in the other currently pointed at the floor, there was a short barrelled revolver. Duncan reacted instantly. Slipping his fingers under the tray full of glasses on the table beside him he heaved it into the air towards Tommo sending a shower of glasses, bottles and their contents towards him. At the same instance he forward dived to h is left heading towards the newcomer who was dodging to his own left to avoid the glasses hurtling towards him. The gun roared loud in the empty bar, a bullet just narrowly missing Duncan as he rolled across the floor and shattering a nearly full beer bottle. Coming to within range of his opponent he came up onto one knee, his katana blurring through the air to co nnect with the hand gun knocking it cleanly out of Tommo's hand. The Englishman reacted instantly, still on one knee Duncan had to parry two slashes before riposting with a lunge which forced back Tommo far enough to allow him to gain his feet. Going over to the offensive the Highlander attacked quickly using short ec onomical slashes interspersed with the occasional lunge. Tommo on the other hand seemed content to stay on the defensive, parrying Duncan's attacks and seemingly allowing himself to be driven back into the short passage leading to the toilets. Half way down the passage Tommo suddenly changed gear, going from the defensive to the offensive almost in the blink of an eye. The narrowness of the passage had forced Duncan into using the point of his katana and now Tommo indicated that he too knew ho w to use the point of a weapon which, after all, had been designed primarily for edge work. Being careful not to over extend himself he directed a series of short savage jabs and lunges at Duncan, alternating between targeting the head and the lower body . Despite the relative difference in experience the Highlander found himself up against a strong, skilful but above all fast opponent. He'd felt the weight of medieval broadswords before and he found himself feeling a measure of respect for an opponent who could wield one like it were a fencing sabre. Forced to retreat back down the passage Duncan found that due to the speed and precision of the attacks coupled with the narrowness of the surroundings he could only parry and otherwise defend himself. In order to break the rhythm his opponent was buildi ng up he'd needed space. With this in mind he retreated towards the main bar room. At its very door their blades locked as Duncan parried a savage lunge aimed at his head. In a smooth continuation of the move Tommo stepped forward and drove the heavy p ommel of his medieval bastard sword into his opponent's face with brutal force sending the Highlander stumbling back into the room. As Duncan fought to retain his balance his back foot suddenly slipped on a piece of glass broken when he'd flung the tray at Tommo. To make matters worse the polished hard wood floor was slippery from spilt beer. Off balance he was unable to dodge a mas sive blow delivered by his opponent, managing only at the last minute to desperately parry it whilst forced down onto one knee. There was broken glass all over the floor so he shouldn't have been surprised by the pain that came up through his knee when it touched the floor. Unfortunately the shock of the broken glass lacerating his knee combined with a follow up slash from Tommo which ripped his katana out of his hand and sent it skidding across the floor. Kneeling there numbly, Duncan was suddenly oblivious of the pain from his knee. All he could see was his prized katana well out of reach and his opponent standing there, sword raised in the classic Immortal beheading position but unmoving, almost seeing to wait for a cue from some unseen film director. "Warren," the voice came from behind the bar, "a trade, my head for his." Looking up Duncan saw Joe still standing behind the bar, he hadn't moved since the fight started. He tried to come to his feet oblivious of the raised bastard sword and the pain from his lacerated knee and the broken bones in his face. "No! Joe...." Tommo answered the old Watcher, "deal!" His sword descended and Duncan halfway to his feet returned to the floor to stretch out unmoving. There was a long pause, then. "For a second there I thought you killed him." Picking his walking cane up carefully Joe limped around the bar into the main part of the room. "I just walloped him with the flat of the blade. Probably cracked his skull," Tommo shrugged, "he'll recover." He watched as Joe limped into the main part of the room. "What happened to your legs?" Joe shrugged, "I mislaid them some place." "Careless of you." "Very." Finding a chair Joe sat down in it. "I hope you don't mind me sitting down for this, as you can imagine kneeling doesn't come naturally to me anymore." The Immortal walked across to the table. "No problem," he said, "just keep your neck straight for me and we'll be done in a jiffy." Setting himself up for the blow he suddenly paused, "do you want a blindfold?" he asked. Joe gave a sign, "no, shutting my eyes will be good enough." "Fair enough," Tommo replied lifting his sword again, "Liam allus reckoned they were more for the executioner than the victim anyway." Joe closed his eyes. He readied himself for the hiss of displaced air and bitter bite of the heavy blade. There was a long pause then Tommo asked, "how did you know?" Opening his eyes Joe was relieved to notice that although the Immortal was still carrying his sword the point was now resting on the floor. "Know that you'd come here tonight?" "Or that I'd want to talk to you rather than kill you?" "I'm a Watcher," Joe replied with a casualness he was far from feeling. "It's my job to know. We've not been watching you for as long as others I could mention but from what your Watchers have recorded about you I was fairly certain that you're not a wa nton butcher. Every man you've killed, Immortal or not was trying to kill you. You've never killed, or even harmed an unarmed man." "What about Balck? I challenged him." "Balck was trying to kill an unarmed girl," Joe gave the other a wry grin. "In that way you're almost as bad as Duncan there." "You still took a chance there, both you and him," Tommo returned his sword to its pocket in his coat. Crossing to the bar he only paused to retrieve his pistol before easing himself onto a stool. Joe grimaced, "sometimes the only decisions you have are chances. Besides which your chronicles state that you have a certain degree of curiosity and in my experience curiosity is a lot more reliable than altruism." "Yes I am curious. About why six Immortals, including two I count as friends are protecting you, the head of an organisation supposedly dedicated to hunting Immortals down and imposing a Hitler-style final solution on us." Joe shrugged his shoulders, "I make friends easy." "I'll say you do!" "You said six Immortals?" Tommo shook his head in wonderment, "Katie is quite taken by you, I really had to punch below the belt to get her to pull the battery on Ryan's mobile. I don't think she likes me very much right now," he added, a regretful tone in his voice. "I'm sorry about that." Joe sincerely was. "The last thing a Watcher, a real Watcher wants is to interfere with the life of his Immortal." "His Immortal!" Tommo laughed grimly, "you make it sound like you own us." Joe laughed as well, "one of the hazards of Watching is that some of us become possessive or partisan about our assignments." "While others come to hate us psychotically." Joe sighed deeply, "that's why we need to sit down and talk. Over a beer." Tommo grinned, "you have been reading my chronicle!" "Of course I have. I've got some bottles from a small brewery up state. Those who know tell me its a very good brew." "Well they do say the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Lets sit down somewhere and you can try to convince me of the errors of my beliefs over a few beers." The two men moved to a nearby table. Whilst seating himself Joe asked, "one thing we don't have in your chronicle is your ability to scale tall building and go through locked doors." Tommo shrugged, "if the cops back home are on the job you'll find out soon enough. During my teenage years I went off the rails, became a dab hand at second storey entrance work." "You were a burglar." "A good one too until one night I made the mistake of entering a building from the back whilst the drug squad was going in through the front. The end result was I spent sixteen months as a guest of her majesty. For part of my time I shared a cell with a n apprentice locksmith. To pass the time I taught him the theory of second storey entry whilst he taught me locks and alarms." "I see." "It almost broke me mums heart, when I saw her crying in the public gallery as they sent me down I swore I'd never put her through that again." Tommo sighed and raised his beer to his lips, "come on Dawson," he said changing the subject, "say whats on yo ur mind, I know you must have some kind of proposition for me." The thing MacLeod really hated about coming back to life was that it was invariably accompanied by a splitting headache. It was one of those ones that started behind the eyes but had democratically decided to include the rest of his skull. It was hell o n the clothes as well. Rolling onto his stomach he raised himself from the floor and glared blearily at the two men sat at a nearby table drinking beer. "You, you, bastard," he moaned pulling himself to his feet by use of a chair. "Is it you or me he's referring to?" Joe asked his drinking companion. "Probably me," Tommo admitted, "although in my case it could be called descriptive seeing that I was adopted." MacLeod glared angrily at the two men; "the least you could do is offer me a drink." "Sorry Mac," Joe apologised, "I've got a single malt somewhere behind the bar. I'll just go and get it." As Joe went to the bar MacLeod sat down heavily in a spare seat at the table. "What is it with you two anyway?" he asked. "I'd have thought Joe'd be a head shorter and you running for the border by now." Tommo shrugged, "I've decided to call off the war, at least for now. As I've told Dawson here he seems to have an awful lot of Immortals willing to risk their necks for him. It seemed a bit like Hitler having Jewish bodyguards. So I thought that perhap s I should talk to the man." "Thank god for that," MacLeod sighed adding, "although why you had to kill me in order to do that escapes me." Tommo smiled slightly, "that's what tipped the scales in Dawson's favour, the fact that you were willing to risk your neck for his." Joe returned to the table carrying a shot glass and a half empty bottle of whisky. Tommo looked carefully at the Watcher ; "the fact that he was willing to risk his to protect you also had a bearing on events." MacLeod took the glass and bottle from Joe and poured himself a drink. "You took one hell of a risk," he told the Watcher. Joe smiled, "it was worth it," he told him, "Mr Warren and I have come to an agreement." Tommo grinned, "neither of us like it much so it's probably a fair one." "And?" MacLeod prompted. "Mr Warren has agreed not to kill any Watchers," Joe began. "So long as they don't try to kill me or else interfere with the 'Game'," Tommo said putting a contemptuous emphasis on the word 'Game' to emphasis his dislike of the whole thing. "And has agreed to allow a Watcher to chronicle his life," Joe continued. "But," Tommo cut in, "I want to know them and for them to know me. I want them to know me as an individual rather than as a label, or a research subject. Furthermore my Watcher is only going to report in when I move address; all the Watchers need to ful fil their supposed purpose is a chronicle of my deeds, not an up-to-date situation report." "Mr Warren is not to see the contents of these reports and to have no editorial control," Joe added. MacLeod considered it. It seemed that the English Immortal had come to terms with the concept of the Watchers and had managed to get Joe to agree to his terms. MacLeod had long recognised that a large part of his relationship with Joe was based on the r ealisation that if they were going to watch him regardless, he might as well be watched by a friend. He finished his whisky and poured himself another. "Can you sell it to the rest of the Watchers?" he asked Joe. Joe frowned, "they won't like it but they'll have to accept it. All this shit started when three of our own, or at least those for whom we have responsibility went off the rails. Mr Warren here is hardly to be blamed for acting the way he did. When the y consider the issues my colleagues will realise that our agreement makes the best of a bad deal." Both Immortals suddenly stiffened and stared at the door. It was an action Joe was all too familiar with. Richie Ryan entered the bar room cautiously, his sword out and pointed in the direction of the two Immortals he'd sensed. Behind him, her hands empty was Katherine Koi. Both Immortals were considerably relieved at the sight in front of them. And surprised. "Well this is nice," Richie observed sardonically as he returned his sword to its normal place of concealment. "I ran three red lights getting over here, I almost lost Katherine doing that last corner. And what do I find here, you three having a drink." "Rich," Duncan decided to cut to the chase, "I don't believe you've met Tommo Warren." "No I haven't," he said with iron control, "nice to meet you Mr Warren." "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr Ryan," Tommo returned formally, "Katherine told me so many nice things about you." Behind Richie's back both Joe and Duncan saw Katherine flush a bright red. To cover her embarrassment the girl asked, "is it over now Tommo?" Tommo met her gaze, "yes it is, Katie," he replied, "thanks for your help." For a second the two, teacher and student locked eyes, then Katherine bowed from the waist and went back out of the room. With a quick glance at the others Richie followed her. Tommo sighed, "I've just lost my first student," he commented. At the inquiring glances from the other two he said, "when I talked her into pulling the batteries on Ryan's mobile I was forced to remind her of what she owed me." He looked at Dawson, "for some reason she couldn't believe you were what I said you were. Anyway when she agreed she said that that was it for us, what ever she owed me for killing Balck was gone." There was a note of sadness and regret in his voice. "She's not gone forever," Duncan said gently, "she told us her life story, said how much she owed you. Rescuing her from Balck was only part of it." "I know," the sad faced man replied, "but I still feel like I've lost something precious." He sighed and took a swig from his beer bottle, "I never had somebody who'd trust me like she did," he concluded, "and I don't think I will again." A long silence followed, which was only broken by the two Immortals again making that distinctive, instinctive movement. Although Fox Mulder and Dana Scully came through the door empty handed their body language suggested that if needs be they could be fully armed very quickly. To say that they were surprised to see the three men sat drinking at the table would be a consid erable understatement. "Foxy, Dana, join us," Tommo said. From the looks Mulder was giving him he guessed that he was far from the other's favourite Immortal at this moment and he hoped to head off a nasty scene by getting the other drunk. It was a good idea, unfortunately he chose the wrong target. Taking a seat opposite Tommo Scully spoke first."Well thank you Tommo." "What for?" the Englishman asked cautiously. "A speeding ticket," Mulder placed the offending article in front of the other, "not to mention fines for a defective tail light, bald tyre, oh and a caution for use of threatening and abusive language." Tommo couldn't help grinning, "you or Scully?" "Me actually," Mulder said. "But it would have been the both of us," Scully cut in, "if that damned snot nosed rookie hadn't been called off by his partner." "Ahh, look guys," Tommo said holding his hands up in a gesture of peace, "I'm awfully sorry about you getting into bother with the police. Since I'm partly to blame...." "Partly!" Scully snorted in disbelief at the other's choice of words. "...I'll pay the fines for you," Tommo continued without pausing, "you can't say fairer than that now can you?" "It'll take more than that to make up for me putting up with that damned cop," Mulder grumbled. "Not to mention me being covered in garbage," Scully added. "Or been stabbed in the chest and having my nose broken," Mulder continued. "Or having my best turtleneck sweater ruined by a nose bleed you caused," Duncan joined in, enjoying watching Tommo squirm. "All right, all right," Tommo raised his hands in surrender. He glared at Joe, "you had to pick these buggers to protect you, didn't you." "Only the very best," Joe managed to keep a straight face. "Thanks," Tommo grunted sourly. "Ok guys," he continued, "the drinks are on me, all right?" Day 8 - The Following Morning Louise Allison arrived early at Joe's bar to find that despite the hour the door was open. Walking cautiously inside she found the proprietor busy sweeping the floor. Even in the dimly lit room she could tell that the other was suffering, there were bag s under his eyes, he was unshaven and he seemed sensitive to bright lights. "Are you all right Mr Dawson?" Joe glanced up at her blearily, "do I look all right?" he demanded of her testily. "You look like shit," she replied bluntly have determined that an outright lie would cause offence and a more diplomatic answer would just waste time. Joe sighed and leant against the bar, "your friend Tommo turned up last night." "And?" Tommo Warren's Watcher leaned forward expectantly. "We resolved our differences," Joe replied, "over a few beers." "More than a few judging from your breath and general appearance," Louise observed tartly. "There's times I believe we train our people too well, observation wise," Joe grumbled. "We had quite an after hours party here," he continued, "we finished so late that I didn't bother going home." "We?" "Oh me, Methos, Duncan, Amanda, Vic and Dana," fortunately Joe remembered in time to use Mulder and Scully's aliases, "not to mention your friend Warren." The party had been fairly tense at first, Methos in particular had been quite wary around Tommo due possibly to the other's association with the King of the English. Amanda's attitude on the other hand had been formed by spending a couple of hours tied u p in a dirty, damp and above all cold warehouse and it took a few drinks before she'd lighten up enough to accept Tommo's apology. It wasn't helped by Methos making snide remarks about bondage which almost provoked a fight with a decidedly tipsy Duncan. As if on cue Methos strode into the bar. Unlike Joe he was washed and shaved and showed little sign of the previous night's excesses, unless you exclude a tendency to squint at bright lights. "You open yet Joe?" the other enquired. "After what we drank last night?" Joe was quite frankly surprised to see the other. When he'd left last night, supported by Tommo, to whom he'd offered his couch, the oldest living man had seemed even worse than he was. "Ain't you ever heard of the hair of the dog?" "I've heard of it and it's bull shit!" Joe exclaimed vermently "You won't like our friend Warren's remedy then," Methos grinned evilly at Joe. "He takes the greasiest bacon he can find, cooks it in its own fat along with sausages and eggs then eats them all at once," Joe's face, even in the dimly lit bar was taking on a faint greenish tinge. "He then takes slices of bread to the frying pan and uses them to mop up the grease," Methos continued "Excuse me, Louise," Joe turned suddenly, his brush falling to the floor with a loud clatter as he headed for the toilets. "And then he eats them," Methos shouted after Joe as he disappeared into the passage leading to the toilets. "With friends like you.....," Louise observed. Methos grinned at her, "if you think hearing about it's bad, you should try smelling him cooking it, on my stomach!" After a short interval Joe returned looking paler but also less greenish. Walking behind the bar he poured himself a glass of water from the taps. "Thanks," he growled at an unrepentant Methos before downing it in one. "Glad to help." "So what exactly have you agreed with Tommo," Louise asked coming back to the main subject of interest to her. Joe went through his agreement with Tommo Warren before concluding, "so now I'll have to find another Watcher to assign to watch him." "Wait a minute Mr Dawson," Lousie cut in forcefully, "on just what grounds are you relieving me of my assignment?" "Well," Joe said carefully studying the young woman in front of him, "after been bundled into the boot of his car and dumped in the middle of the moors I thought you would want re assigning." "Well you thought wrong Joe," Methos was smiling slyly at the old Watcher, "I think Miss Allison has ideas of her own." Epilogue Day 12 Close to the English Border, Cheviot Hills, Scotland Three men kneeled on the wet grass beside the dry stone wall. They had their hands on their heads and one of them still bled from a nasty cut on the head. Around them eight men either stood or sat. They were armed with a miscellany of weapons includin g assault rifles of both Eastern European and Western manufacture as well as a pair of World War Two vintage Lee Enfields. "I tell yer, Sarge, it's all I could find," a red haired man clad in camouflage jacket and jeans protested. "It's bloody washing line," a bigger man with acne scars on his face and wearing the three stripes of a sergeant stated bluntly, "I told yer to get us a rope, not a bloody washing line!" "I don't know why you want to hang the bastards anyway," a lanky private of West Indian descent protested, "there ain't a bloody tree worth the name for miles." "Shut yer bloody trap Chalky," the sergeant snarled back, his voice holding the tone of a man approaching the end of his rope. "A bullet's too good for these fuckers, a bullet's a soldier death and these ain't that!" "Vehicle coming Nobby," a man wearing a red England 66 football shirt under his camo jacket who'd been watching the road to the south warned. "Right, Chalky, you take Smudger and Bombardier to the left, Mickey take Tich and Macca to the right," Nobby ordered quickly, "no shooting unless I sez so, there's supposed to be a cease-fire, remember." The men named headed to their assigned positions. Tich, all six foot three of him carrying a World War Two vintage curved magazine Bren gun like it were a child's toy in his huge hands. The land rover coming up the road was painted inexpertly in a camouflage pattern and had a red and white pennant fluttering from a radio aerial. Despite this the waiting men didn't relax, pennants were after all easy to fake. The land rover pulled up smoothly to where Nobby and a shorter man armed with a pump action shotgun was waiting. A medium sized, fair haired man dressed in the ubiquitous camo jacket and jeans jumped out the passenger side. Seeing the three pips sewn on the shoulders of the jacket Nobby saluted. "At ease Sergeant," the newcomer replied returning the salute, "I'm Captain Edison, Yorkshire Volunteers and you are?" "Sergeant Clark sir, London Rifles," came the reply. "And who the hell are they Clark?" Captain Edison asked indicating the three prisoners, "all prisoners held by front line units were to be sent back to their own lines before withdrawal." "Paddy mercenaries sir," Nobby Clark replied, "we caught 'em about an hour ago sir." He took a breath and then added defiantly, "we're going to hang them sir." Edison regarded the man in front of him carefully. "What for?" he asked. "I'd have thought we'd all seen too much of death these past few days to want to see any more." "For war crimes and murder, sir," Clark replied. "That's right sir," his shotgun armed companion agreed, "at the very best they're either racists, come over here to bag themselves an Englishman, or else mercenaries fighting for pay." From his voice and choice of words Edison guessed he'd had more forma l schooling than his sergeant. "Tone's got a point sir," Clark backed his friend up, "what business have Paddys got in a punch up between us n the Jocks?" "In that case," Edison said, "you should take them down the road, there's some regulars three miles back, turn them over to them." "No sir," Clark disagreed apparently going out of his way to be polite yet firm. "Why not?" "Did you hear about Tommy Keane?" Clark asked, an angry murmur coming from his men concealed at the roadside. Edison nodded. It seemed that every Englishman fighting along the border had heard of Tommy Keane. A member of the Chelsea Volunteer Ambulance Brigade, a small group of doctors, nurses and paramedic trained ambulance men, he had become almost legendary for rescuing the wounded of both sides whilst under fire. Two hours before the cease-fire had come into effect he'd been shot dead, from the range of almost a mile, by a 50 calibre American made sniper rifle. "You see that bastard at the end," Tone put in, "he sounds like a Paddy but he's got a touch of Brooklyn in his voice. I should know, I taught English there for three years." Chalky stood up behind the dry stone wall, "and that other bastard there," he said indicating the middle prisoner, "had these in his possession." He threw down onto the road a black beret, pair of leather gloves and some sunglasses. Clark spoke quietly, "I did a tour in Ulster some years back, I think I can recognise PIRA crap when I sees it." Edison frowned, since before the fighting had started there had been some rumours going about that men who'd been, or were members of the Provisional IRA had come over the water to join the Scots. And that they'd brought with them certain items from thei r armouries. Such as American made 50 calibre sniper rifles. "These bastards had come over to bag themselves an Englishman," the Sergeant put all the contempt he could muster into his voice, "and with time running short all they could bag was a medic!" He stalked over to the Irishmen, "who never hurt anyone." The y cowered away from him, all except the one in the middle who remained almost proudly upright during the tirade, "who had more balls in his little finger than these shits have together." Clark walked behind the prisoners then turned suddenly kicking the middle man with such force in the back that he went over onto his face. Leaping forward he pulled the Irishman's face out of the tarmac by his hair, "am I boring you Paddy," he snarled. Amidst the pain on the other's face Edison could now see fear. "Sergeant," Edison spoke quietly and quickly to prevent thing getting anymore out of hand than they already were, "these men are without doubt guilty of been mercenaries at the very least. A nd they should be punished. But by a properly constituted court and publicly, so that all can see they get the fate they deserve." Taking a deep breath he continued aware that all the soldier were watching him. "Kill them here and you're no better than they are. It would be vengeance but it certainly wouldn't be justice." "Prison's too good for them," Chalky by now leaning his elbows on the wall protested. "Keany was a good lad, he pulled a couple of our mates to safety, he even went out after wounded Jocks." "Aye," Tich agreed cradling the Bren gun in his arms, "even if our assembly or parliament brought back hanging especially like, the bloody European court would only over turn it." "Either that or they'd have so many appeals they'd die of old age first," another agreed. Drawing himself up to his full height Edison said softly, "I'm sorry to have do this but, Sergeant," here his voice took on a tone that the ex-regular in front of him could recognise. "I'm ordering you to take these three prisoners and turn them over to the first regular soldiers you meet. Take all your evidence with you and make sure you get an itemised receipt." There was a grim silence. "Do you understand me Sergeant?" For a long moment the two men locked eyes. It happened so briefly that Edison was not even sure he saw it but he could have sworn that the side of the NCO's mouth twitched slightly, almost as if the other suppressed a sm ile. "All right lads," Clark signed, "get yer gear and lets take these Paddy bastards to the regulars." As the others collected their packs and fell in Clark must have heard a grumble for Edison heard him say, "I don't like it any more than you do but an or der is an order. Besides which the sooner we unload these fuckers on the regulars the sooner we can get home." One of the prisoners caught Edison's eyes and when he was sure he had the other's attention mouthed quietly, "thanks Mister." Edison took two steps towards the kneeling men. "I knew James Thomas Keane," Edison ground the words out from between tight clenched teeth, "n' he was all they say he was. If you did kill him I hope you rot on the end of a rope!" He straightened up, "I shared a four pack with him one night before he was murdered, he told me he had an Irish gran, said it qualified him to play for the republic." Chalky who'd been an interested spectator to this gave a bitter grunt. "Now don't that beat all," he said putting on a mocking American accent learnt from the telly. The semi-soldiers formed up into a ragged formation, the three prisoners in the middle and set off down the road at a good pace. As they passed around a corner the sound of a heavy metal track came from a ghetto blaster one of them was carrying. As the sound faded away down the road Edison spoke out load, "you can come now." Further up the road a muddy and dishevelled figure pulled himself out of the roadside ditch. He brushed himself down and approached the stationary land rover. For a long moment he locked eyes with the man who called himself Captain Edison. "It's good to see you again Athelstan," he offered his hand to the other. Athelstan, King of the English accepted the other's hand, "you're a wee bit muddier than the last time we met, Connor." Connor MacLeod smiled wryly, "aye, I am that. I had to dive into the ditch when those lads of yours came by." "You were lucky they never saw you, unlike those lads they caught." "They were lucky in that sergeant of yours, he's some piece of work him," Connor stated almost admiringly. "How do you mean?" "I was hiding in the ditch when they grabbed those three Irishmen. When they found that beret and gloves they almost shot them on the spot, it was only the sergeant's determination that they should hang that kept them alive. Since then he's been inventi ng all kinds of excuses to keep them alive." "Quite a man for a delaying action then." "I think you turning up like that were an answer to his prayers." The two men exchanged wry smiles. Turning to the real reason for their meeting Connor asked, "did you have any problems keeping your lads out of it?" Athelstan shrugged, "there were a couple acting as privates or junior leaders but I was able to keep them out of trouble, you?" Connor sighed, "there was one hot head I had to handle but aside from that the only Scottish Immortals involved were like your lads, minor roles only." "You didn't have to take his head did you?" "Naw, I just killed him long enough to get him buried a few miles up the road. Once things have quietened down some I'll dig him up and send him on his way." "If he lets you." "Oh, he'll let me all right," Connor stated grimly, "or I'll just have to bury him again!" "Oh, by the way," Athelstan remarked casually, "our mutual friend has patched up his differences with the snoopers." "You really don't like them don't you Athelstan." "Tommo says that they can't help being professional peeping toms," the King of the English observed, "but he's considerably more charitable than I am." Catching a puzzled look from Connor he went on to say, "chronicling the deeds of the Immortals will be the duty of the one, whoever he is, not some self important group of mortals. The one will have access to the memories of all of us, what ever else results from the Gathering I am certain that the final record of us all will be compiled by the One." Berwick Northumberland England Straightening his jacket the CNN reporter received the nod from the sound recordist telling him they were live. "Here in the border town of Berwick we are now witnessing the final moments of this tragic war. Those Scottish troops encircled by the English drive to the coast north of here are as we speak destroying their weapons and other equipment and preparing to march north. To the north west of us those English troops occupying the towns of Hawick, Selkirk, Galashiels and Jedburgh are reported to be pulling out and heading south." Back in the studio the anchorman asked, "what is the mood of the Scottish militiamen Michael?" "Mixed," came back the reply, "on one hand they're glad to be getting out alive of what turned out to be a giant trap, on the other hand they've been well beaten and they know it. The mood back in Edinburgh is said to be hardly much better Alan." "Indeed," agreed the anchorman, "we're now going live to Alex Skoras in the Scottish capital. Alex we are getting reports of considerable dissension both in the Scottish Assembly and in the Militia High Command. Can you elaborate further on these." The scene shifted to a more smartly dressed reporter positioned so that the floodlit bulk of Edinburgh Castle was visible behind him. "Yes indeed Alan," Skouras said speaking with a mid- west accent, "what we now know to be the English feint through the Cheviot Hills towards Edinburgh caused considerable panic in the Assembly and High Command. The attack on Berwick always a gamble, had caused the committal of nearly all the reserves available to the Scottish Militias. The prospect of an attack on Edin burgh caused them to deploy what men they had left to defend the capital. By the time it was realised that this was a feint designed to distract them away from the English encirclement of the Scots besieging Berwick it was too late. Despite the surge in recruitment caused by the English invasion they proved unable to break the English lines around Eyemouth, ten miles inside the Scottish border." "How was the Prince Charles's order to stand down received?" "Officially very angrily. Since the abolition of the monarchy the Windsor family as they are called here has no authority on either side of the border which has been the main thrust of official statements here. Charles Windsor's order to the regular arm y to disarm the militias has been widely condemned by elements within the assembly." "And also by parties within the English Assembly and Parliament too, we are hearing," the anchorman cut in. Skouras allowed a slight smile to crease his face, "what is alarming politicians on both sides of the border is that the army, both in England and Scotland moved immediately to implement his orders!" "Hence the speed of the cease-fire agreement." Although in theory supposed to be neutral the CNN anchorman couldn't help but echo the smile of his reporter. Boston Watching the TV in a bar in Boston Tommo Warren lifted a pint glass to the screen, "it's about bloody time you put a stop to it Charlie boy," he addressed the TV solemnly before draining the glass. "Ain't that the truth," agreed the bartender, "another?" "Too bloody right mate." Tommo thought wryly to himself as he moved back to his table. During the drinking session a few nights ago which had marked the end of Tommo Warren's feud with the Watchers, it had been decided that the first meeting between Tommo and his watcher should be on neutral ground. Joe Dawson had suggested a bar he appare ntly knew uptown from where Tommo usually drank. The bar turned out to be an English style pub, complete with imported beer. Most importantly not only was the beer English, it was Northern English; there was none of what Tommo would call, if he had an a udience, "that southern gnats piss." It was served at a proper temperature and in pint glasses. He was finding it difficult to avoid the twin perils of nostalgia and home sicknesses. He had only been there twenty minutes but he was already on his second pint. His mind went back to the drinking session that in an informal way had sealed his deal with Dawson, the head Watcher. He'd seemed nice enough and he certainly knew some interesting people. He'd got pleasantly drunk with Duncan MacLeod and Adam Pierson, who was almost definitely older than he made out to be. That particular revelation that come via Duncan who, as his level of intoxication increased had several times during the evening called Pierson, "old man". This from a man who was a contemporary of the Tudor kings was something worth thinking about. There had been an air of tension at the drinking session. For some reason Mulder, and most especially Scully had been distinctly cool and distant about Pierson. Although both of them had appeared to hold a grudge against him relating to the incident wi th what Mulder referred to as the "concrete baseball," a few drinks had mellowed them enough for their early exit to be cordial enough. Collecting his coat Mulder had said, "I'm glad you made it up with Dawson, I'd hate to think of the confusion stealing his database would have caused." Tommo asked, "when did you work that out?" "Too late to make much difference," Scully said wryly. "About two days too late." Catching Mulder's inquiring look Tommo went on, "I'll admit that was what brought me back to the States initially. But then whilst I was twisting Katherine's arm to pull Ryan's cell phone battery I finally got to thinking thro ugh the full consequences of my actions." "The innocents and passer-by's killed by paranoid Immortals?" Scully asked. "That and the chance that all of it might bring us to the attention of those who we're better of not knowing about us," Mulder stated. "Eee Foxy," Tommo grinned wickedly, "you must have been a shit hot profiler in your time." "Oh I had my moments," Mulder admitted modestly all the while ignoring the F word. "That he did, Tommo, that he did," Scully smiled at him, "say good night Mulder." "Yeah well, good night Tommo," Mulder agreed, "I hope next time we meet you can avoid killing me." "Me too mate." He also found himself reflecting on his last meeting with Katherine. It had not been a pleasant meeting. To say that Katherine had not been pleased to meet her mentor again was something of an understatement. In all fairness he couldn't blame her eithe r. It had been his experience that if you were ever stupid enough to use the old 'are you for me or against me' argument with friend or family that you deserved all you got. That wasn't to say it got nasty. No it was just that the warmth that had always been between them was missing. And he missed that. Despite their unusual longevity Immortals are still affected by the standard human needs for social interaction. The very nature of their existence makes large scale social contact with others of their kind rare and dangerous, after all it's difficult to relax totally in the presense of people who could be after your head. The result is our average Immortal tends to be a very lonely individual. What relationships they have are with people who they know that, the Game willing, they will outlive. As Imm ortals get older the constant burials of people they care about causes them to develop a hard outer shell. They become affraid to allow mortals close to them because they know of the pain the other's eventual death will cause them. Even if they make a practice to leave before their friend or lover dies the knowledge of the mortality of all the people around them is something all of them have to cope with. The result is that the rare relationships they have with other Immortals are highly prized and any blips in them are painful. Tommo's recollection of that night was interrupted by someone sliding into the seat opposite. "Hello Mr. Warren," the newcomer stated, "I'm Louise Allison, your Watcher." Tommo stared at the dark haired young woman for a long moment the memory of a certain day and night on the North York Moors causing him a certain twinge of guilt. This was not the only reason for his staring for the guilt was warring with another emotion felt at that time, but carefully suppressed until now. "Well Ms Allison," Tommo finally spoke, "I see you didn't fall into any of the bottomless bogs." "No I didn't," Louise agreed, "not even I get that lost." "Ah," Tommo replied a slight smile crossing his lips. The nearest bogs to where he'd dropped Louise off were many miles away. "Yes," the young watcher said, "thanks to you I had a four mile tramp along the roads when I was only a mile and a half away from the village cross-country." "Can be dangerous," the Immortal replied, "blundering around the countryside in the dark." Taking a quick swig from his beer glass he changed the subject, "can I get you a drink?" "I'll have a beer." When Tommo returned from the bar with a half pint glass of beer Louise asked a question that had been puzzling her. "Tommo?" "Yes?" "I've noticed that since you got back to this side of the Atlantic your voice has changed." "Oh?" "Yes, in England you talk with a more pronounced accent, whilst here you sound a bit more like, well, Hugh Grant." Tommo laughed sourly, "the Yorkshire accent is all part of being Tommo Warren, labourer and the son of labourers. The more refined accent belongs to William Aiden, teacher of History and university graduate. Whatever accent he once had has had the edges worn off it by four years at Uni." The Englishman took a long swallow from his glass, "Tommo Warren, at least in the form expected by my family back home, has become just another role like Bill Aiden." He fell silent and for a long moment stared into his glass before finishing it with a long swallow. "Come on then," he said, "sup up. We've got a long night ahead of us and I'm sure you've got plenty more questions to ask." Four Weeks Later Joe's Bar Seacouver One of the down sides to promotion, Joe had found, was the paperwork. He had found over the years that the only way to stay on top of it was to develop a routine then stick to it rigidly. The first part of Joe's routine was to go through the mail, separ ate bar correspondence from Watcher mail and then open the obvious bills first. Although he had a comfortable office he preferred to go through his mail seated by the bar whilst finishing his first coffee of the day. This morning he had an early visitor , Methos partaking of the hair of the dog, a common habit of his. Halfway through the pile he suddenly came to a stop, "five hundred and thirty two bucks!" he swore violently. "What's up?" Methos looked up in surprise. "I have in front of me Louise Allison's cell phone bill," Joe ground out showing iron control, "five hundred and thirty two bucks!" Methos started laughing. "Care to let me in on the joke?" Joe sounded distinctly unamused. "Tommo Warren warned me about this," the grinning Immortal informed him, "when he abandoned the girl's mobile on the Moors he rang the Boston speaking clock." "I suppose I'm lucky the battery ran down," Joe grumbled. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that," Methos observed wryly. With a final glare at the sniggering Immortal Joe continued through his mail. Almost at the bottom of the pile he found a postcard. From Las Vegas. With a sudden premonition of disaster he forced himself to read it. The groan from Joe's general direction drew Methos's attention, "I take it you've had another bad letter," he asked. "I've got this from your friend Mr Warren," Joe growled waving a brightly coloured postcard. "Dear Joe," he read, "Hit the town two days ago. Got well fleeced by the casinos and one armed bandits. Got married this afternoon in a dreadfully tacky weddin g chapel. Glad you weren't here as we couldn't afford the medical insurance. And it is signed William and Louise Aiden!" "Ooops," Methos managed to keep his face straight. "I thought her dedication to her assignment was a little too fervent to be solely professionally motivated." "Thanks for warning me," Joe growled, "now I've got to tell the Council about this. And to think I thought selling them that Warren should have access to his watcher was hard!" "Never mind Joe," Methos said smugly, "I'm sure you'll think of something." "Thanks." Last Word It's been a long time since the first installment. The first half of this was easily written, it was the conclusion that proved harder than expected. Daniel Butter if you read this I apologise for any impatience with you re your original bits, I now kno w what's it like. re the Anglo Scottish border war. Those bits were written during the inauguration of the Scottish Assembly and represent my deep pessimism over the entire affair. When people think of the more violent side of Anglo Scottish relations they tend to look a t it from the Scottish angle (sympathy for the underdog and all that). My view of the entire affair is that of a North Country Englishman (a Yorkshire Tyke if you're interested) conscious that Scottish expressions of national virility historically usuall y involved burning our huts. At least during the Union of Parliaments they restricted themselves to demolishing goal posts, football pitches and London pubs! And like my main protagonist I have Scottish ancestors which I am proud of. As nations I hope we are well away from repeating the mistakes of the past but recent events in the former Yugoslavia give me cause for pessimism. I have two nephews, toddlers now. I hope that if they do have to go to war they will be fighting along sid e Scotsmen rather than against them.