St Germains Graveyard, Marske-by-Sea, County of Cleveland, United Kingdom 13.05 GMT Wednesday Even for the time of year the graveyard was bitterly cold, standing exposed as it did on the low sandstone cliffs facing the North Sea. A collection of gravestones assembled over three hundred years dotted the ground around, surrounding the site of the old church. Many of them were illegible, sandblasted by the bitter wind. In the very center of the graveyard stood the church tower, the only remaining part of the church, now boarded up and useful only as a navigational point for local fishermen and yachtsmen. Although no families earned a living from fishing off the beach theses days the descendants of those that had still kept cobbles on the beach, boats built to the traditional shape with high prows and broad waists. In concession to the march of technology however a line of rusty tractors waited to help in the launching of them. MacLeod had been surprised to find Liam's grave here in this bleak place. He'd known that the other had lived in the north of England at regular intervals but he had assumed that the other would be buried or cremated down in London. It had taken him nearly four days to actually locate this place and the best part of a fifth to actually get there. A second surprise had been its location, Liam's headstone still unweathered by the bitter north easterly winds stood out amongst the weathered stones around it. The bulk of the newer stones stood over fifty yards away in the newer, western half of the graveyard. Both the stones on either side of Liam's were too badly weathered for him to read their inscriptions but the one on the right had an old jam jar standing at an angle containing a few withered stems. MacLeod thought to himself, He felt it suddenly, a powerful Quickening that warned him that an old and powerful immortal of a strength he'd rarely felt approached. Turning he saw a man dressed in a thick old army greatcoat and carrying a small bunch of white flowers step through the gate and approach him down the path. He was a shortish man with pale, flaxen hair and he approached confidently, they were after all on holy ground. MacLeod courteous as ever introduced himself, "I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and I mean you no harm." The other looked at MacLeod with eyes of a blue so pale as to be almost gray in colour. "Liam pointed you out to me once Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, I am Athelstan, son of Edward, son of Alfred, son of Ethelwulf, son of Egbert, I am of the Cerdingas and I bid you welcome to this holy place." MacLeod inclined his head respectfully, the name given by the other indicated that this was indeed an old immortal. It was given in the ancient fashion when a man announced himself by a recital of his lineage. He also had a sneaking suspicion he should remember the name, it had a familiar ring to it. Athelstan came level with the right hand grave and bending down replaced the withered flowers with the fresh ones he carried. "Friend of yours?" MacLeod asked. "Yes," the other replied, "I was very fond of her, she meant more to Liam though, she was his wife." Wife! Liam had a wife, now that was a turn up for the books. "I can't read the name." " It originally read 'Mary Turner, born 1784, died 1831, beloved wife, mother and friend, at peace'." "Mother?" "She was a widow, her first husband, a fisherman drowned at sea." "So you buried him here next to her?" "It was what he always wanted, he was my friend and my gesith. Besides which he brought the plot over a hundred and eighty years ago." "Gesith?" "It's an ancient Saxon term, it means companion or retainer and was used to refer to members of a lord's retinue." Connor MacLeod stared at the two graves, one centuries older than the other, a stubborn memory resurfacing. "A mutual friend, one Hugh Fitzcain once told me that Liam had told him when drunk that he was the captain of a powerful lord's guard." Athelstan smiled, "he was the captain of my household, at least until I disbanded it. That was just after the Glorious Revolution of 1688 when Parliament replaced the catholic James the Second by offering the throne to his daughter Mary and her husband William of Orange. It seemed that the days for war bands and households was past. He was I believe the last of them." Recent events began to organize themselves in MacLeod's mind, facts that had previously been all jumbled together began to fall into line like well drilled soldiers. "Not quite the last," MacLeod began slowly, "the man who told me Liam was dead was his last apprentice, Tommo." "Tommo!" "Yes, I met him in Boulder Colorado where he'd ran into some friends of mine." "Thank the Lord," the other's exclamation sounded almost like a prayer of thanks, "I thought the tag team had got him when they killed Liam." "He jumped in the river when they tried to corner him, then fled to the States. He's been hiding out in the remote Rockies so I believe." Athelstan laughed, "Liam was a past master of escape and evasion, he taught the lad well. The others must have hoped he'd flee to me and that they could follow him. He might even have returned here, this is where he comes from you know." His face assumed a thoughtful cast, "have you ever seen a nesting bird fake a broken wing to lure a fox from its nest?" he asked. "The men who killed Liam were after me and thought he might lead them to me," he continued. "They can't have known Liam that well," MacLeod scoffed. "True," Athelstan admitted, " perhaps they planned to kill Liam all the time and hope Tommo being new to all this would panic and run to me." "Instead of which he runs to the States." "And leaves a trail good enough to draw them over the ocean but not so good that they can run him down." Athelstan smiled wryly, "I told you he was an apt pupil." "They're still after him," MacLeod said soberly, "he managed to take one of their heads in the high mountains but the other two are probably still after him." "Do you know where he is," the other asked intently. "I did almost a week ago." Athelstan turned and looked out towards the gray waters of the North Sea, cold and bleak even at this time of year. "I think you'd better tell me what you know," he said, "I can't let Tommo face them alone, the oaths we exchanged when he became my gesith cut both ways. Besides which I have a duty to avenge Liam. I thought if I waited here they would eventually come to me and I could fight them on home ground. I see now that I will have to instead find the last of my household and join with him against them." "Tommo's your gesith?" Athelstan smiled grimly, "until four months before Liam's death I had three gesith, Liam, Ceolric, and Ranulf. Then two of them lost their heads in quick succession. I in my folly believed it to be a 'statistical anomaly', oh how we delude ourselves. But Liam was warier than I am. He insisted that we needed new blood and he persuaded me to admit Tommo to the household." In a few short minutes MacLeod summarized what he knew, what he had heard from Tommo and what he'd learnt from other sources. Athelstan was silent for a minute, then he said, "you are returning to the States?" "Yes." "Would you mind having company, if I am to find Tommo I won't do on this side of the whale's track. I also think I'd better talk to your friends, the ones who met him in the Rockies. That would seem to be the logical place to start a search." MacLeod shrugged. "I don't see why not." Athelstan nodded and then turned towards the graves of Liam O'Shae and his long dead wife. "I'll see he's alright," he said quietly, speaking MacLeod noticed to both stones. Then he turned back towards the road. "Are you coming Highlander?" MacLeod hurried to catch up. "What is Tommo to Mary Turner?" he asked curiously feeling he already knew the answer. Athelstan didn't answer until he reached the road then he turned and said, "she was his ultimate great grand mother." Birch Memorial Hospital Chicago, Illinois 6:12 P.M. CDT Friday "Working late Dana?" Scully looked up to see her friend and colleague Doctor Greg Peters leaning against the door frame of her office. Straightening up she rubbed a sudden twinge in her back and became conscious of the time. "My mother always said never put till tomorrow what you can do today," she said with a tired smile, "why did I ever listen." Greg grinned, "you should follow Vic's system, let it pile up until you can't get the door open then borrow a flame thrower." Scully grimaced, Mulder's distinctly chaotic filing methods, she refused to dignify it with the word system, had been her frequent despair all those years they'd worked for the Bureau. A recent visit to the office he shared with Bill Eisenberg, an even more notorious pack rat, had proved that some things never changed. "Did I tell you that?" "Last month when you were tut tutting about the state of my office," Greg answered. "Sorry Greg," Scully apologized, "but you have to admit it was getting pretty bad." "Yeah, well all my paperwork is squared away now," Greg smirked, "but yours looks good for a few hours yet." He ducked back into the corridor as a pencil whizzed past his ear. "Enjoy." Scully shook her head wryly as his footsteps died away down the corridor. She didn't grudge him his little bit of pay back, remembering as she did her ill-advised comments regarding the state of his office. Signing she looked at the pile on her desk. So much for the paper- less office she thought to herself. Removing her glasses she pinched her nose where it ached and picking up the phone she dialed Mulder's office at the University hoping he hadn't finished for the day. On hearing his voice she said, "hi, its me." "Hi yourself Dana," as usual when out of their apartment or not sure of who might be listening Mulder used her given name. It still felt strange to her, in the old x-files days he'd only used it on special occasions or when he wanted to reach her for some reason. Hearing his voice use it now sent a tingle up her spine. "Could you get something for dinner on your way home, I'm really snowed under here and the way things are going I might not get in until nine." "That's almost supper time," Mulder complained. "You won't starve," Scully replied heartlessly, "besides which you look like you're carrying some extra weight at the moment Victor." "Huff," Mulder grumbled at the other end of the phone, "perhaps we should take up jogging again." "We! Speak for yourself M....an," she stopped herself just in time. Mulder caught her recovery and she could almost see his amused smile, "alright Dana, I'll get something on my way in, don't work too hard." "Yeah, see you later Victor." It was approaching just after nine that Scully finally finished her paperwork. Avoiding the temptation to file it in the bin she collected her coat from the stand hardly noticing the weight of her katana in its secret pocket. Closing and locking her office door she realized that she was the last person in her wing of the hospital to finish work that night. Although the ER would still be working at full swing her part of the hospital was reserved for those working sensible hours and the offices and other rooms down her corridor were dark. A chill passed over her, Connor had always warned that immortals who were active in the game, rather than passive like them, would use deserted and empty places as traps to corner those who otherwise would be reluctant to fight. Walking quickly down the corridor Scully was aware of how loud her low heels sounded at this time of night. A deep tension seemed to come from nowhere, rising up through her body to catch at her throat. For the past few days she had become more and more convinced that somebody was following her. An instinct developed during her time in the Bureau warned her that she was been watched by unfriendly eyes and it had been growing worst. Over the years she had debated such sixth senses and premonitions with Mulder, usually on stakeouts when they'd run out of objects to play I-Spy with. She was prepared to concede that the sub conscious mind often picks up on clues that the conscious mind overlooks. She had almost put her feelings down to jumpiness gained from her holiday in Colorado, some holiday that had turned to be. Beside which her mysterious watcher might be just that, a Watcher, part of that mysterious organization responsible for keeping tabs on them. Still Watchers didn't always content themselves with just watching, Connor's cousin Duncan could testify to that. Reaching the lift doors she pressed the call button for the lift which quickly arrived. Selecting the basement garage Scully reflected again on how potentially dangerous such an area could be for an immortal, especially when so many beheadings had happened in just such an area. The bell sounded as the lift reached the basement garage, the doors sliding open. Scully stepped out into the garage, her heels sounding loud on the tarmac floor. As she crossed towards her car she happened to glance up at the camera which covered the door to the lift. The red active light was out. Even as she registered this she felt it, the buzz, there was another immortal in the garage and it wasn't Mulder! As she pulled her sword out she saw a man of medium height with fair sandy hair and a evil grin on his face step out from behind one of the pillars. He wore a green waist length coat and jeans. There was a basket hilted broadsword in his hand. "Paul Crane at your service Doctor Coury," the other bowed as he made his introduction although there was a mocking note in his voice. Scully discarded her trench coat placing it carefully on the top of a nearby car and keeping the point of her katana pointed towards the ornate belt around the other's waist moved out into the center of the garage to give herself enough room to maneuver. As he advanced towards Scully she saw his free hand disappear under his jacket only to pull out a large, heavy bladed dagger. She could have groaned, she'd been warned about the sword and main gauche combination, either weapon could be used to parry whilst the other would counter attack a hopefully exposed opponent. Realizing this she struck quickly, hoping to catch the other before he was fully ready. Her quick lunge at the other's chest was parried using the broadsword and Scully was almost cut by the wicked riposte from the heavy dagger as she evaded. Even as she jumped back Crane went over to the attack, making overhead slashes with his heavy sword all the while using the main gauche to parry any attempt ripostes from Scully. Relentlessly he forced Scully back across the garage, forcing her towards the wall where she would lose her advantage of mobility. Several times Scully tried to force her way past the other into an area where she would have more space, but each time she narrowly avoided taking a crippling blow. On her last attempt she was forced to interpose her left arm to block a wicked slash from the main gauche. The arm was now bloodied and useless from elbow to wrist, her blood leaving a trail across the floor. Because she was having to parry two weapons at once instead of just the one Scully found she was tiring quickly. Even as she realized this her back hit the wall and Crane's dagger swept through her defense to sink deep into her side. She screamed as the sheering agony of the wound flooded her nervous system. Looking up she saw Crane released his grip on the dagger and straighten up, his sword going back for a decapitation stroke. Her own sword heavy in her hand would not be able to block the blow. Two shots sounded, echoing through the empty garage. Distracted, Crane's head turned towards the sound. It was the chance she needed. Bringing the sword up with the speed of desperation she rammed it deep into Crane's stomach, the sudden shock and pain causing him to release his grip on his weapon. The man would have staggered back if it hadn't been for Scully's sword impaling him. She climbed unsteadily to her feet, supporting her weight on the sword impaling Crane, pushing him back several steps. Every movement was torture, the dagger still imbedded deep in her side, but still she got to her feet. Gripping the sword with both hands she twisted it in the wound causing additional trauma before she ripped it out of Crane's stomach effectively disembowelling him. As the other sank to his knees Scully staggered back a step raising her sword for the final cut. Across the garage she noticed another man stood watching her, the buzz she felt told her it was an immortal. He had a short barreled revolver in his hand. For a second their eyes locked and then he returned the revolver to under his coat and walked behind a pillar as if he didn't want to witness what was to come. Turning back to the kneeling man Scully brought down her sword in a beheading stroke, the effort of which drove her onto her knees. Staggering back to her feet and moving away from the body Scully fell to her knees, dropping her katana, the good hand plucking ineffectively at the dagger still impaling her side. Then the Quickening hit her, that strange combination of orgasm, electric shock and all-round sensory overload. Around her car windows, headlights and the strip lighting which illuminated the garage all smashed and electrical fuses blew. It seemed to go on for an eternity, and then it was over. Scully pushed herself upright to find the stranger bent over her. "You want a hand with that," he asked speaking in a familiar North Country English accent, indicating the main gauche still impaling her. "Yes please Tommo," she answered identifying the other. Although he had dyed his hair a lighter colour he was still recognizable as the vagabond she and Mulder had given a lift to. "This is going to hurt," he warned her taking a grip on the hilt. "You never said you had a medical degr....," Scully had to grind her teeth together to stop herself screaming as the weapon was removed. Cleaning the weapon on Crane's jacket Tommo tucked it into his belt and then grabbing an arm and a leg he lifted the headless corpse and slung it over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Giving Scully a weak smile he said, "a crime's never complete until you've cleared away the evidence, that's one of Liam's favorite sayings." Nodding weakly, Scully gritted her teeth and bending over she collected Crane's head. His sword was nowhere in sight. Following Tommo she found him dumping the body in the trunk, alongside another body, this of a man in a leather jacket with two bullet wounds evident on him. She looked at Tommo questioningly. "Crane's ace in the hole," the other explained. "He was hiding behind the pillar here waiting in case Crane came off worst." Tommo indicated a large capacity nine millimeter automatic lying in the trunk, "he was there to put a few bullets in you if things went against Crane, a sort of insurance policy." Scully regarded the other curiously. "How did you come to be on hand so conveniently?" she asked. "Long story," the other replied, "too long to be told here, I'll get shot of the bodies then I'll meet you and your boy friend at your place." "OK," Scully agreed, she felt too tired to argue with the other immortal, "I think I can just about drive my own car." "Good," Tommo said as Scully turned towards her own vehicle, "err Dana." "Yes." "Where do you live?" Apartment of Victor Robbins and Dana Coury Outside Chicago, Illinois 9:45 P.M. CDT Friday Mulder knew something was wrong even as he felt Scully's presence as she approached the apartment door. Back in the Bureau their almost telepathic understanding of one another had been the second most popular topic of conversation about the two. Since their transition to immortality however he had spent so much time in Scully's company that he could not only identify her from the buzz but also her state of mind as well. His ex partner was seriously upset about something, in fact Mulder could tell what it was. She'd taken a head that night. Then the door opened and he got a look at her. Her face was deadly pale, her clear blue eyes standing out vivid below her shock of red hair. As she unbuttoned her trench coat Mulder noted almost in shock the blood stains which saturated the right side of her casual suit and that she seemed to be shivering. he thought to himself. The first thing Scully saw as she opened the door was Mulder's concerned face. His brown eyes met hers and then focused on the blood stained clothes beneath her trench coat. Although she had concealed the stains she had not been able to do anything about the smell of blood. It had been a minor miracle that she hadn't bumped into one of the neighbors tonight. "Mulder I need a shower," she said, "then I'll tell you everything." At first she thought he would raise an objection but then he nodded, "OK, I'll put dinner on to heat up again." "Thanks," she managed a tired smile. Heading on into the bathroom Scully dumped her clothes untidily on the floor and got straight into the shower. Setting the temperature for as hot as she could tolerate she stood there in the stream of near scalding water soaking up the warmth, feeling the chill leave her bones. Soaping down her body she examined the red mark on her flank where the dagger had penetrated her. Even as she watched it faded away leaving smooth skin behind. an errant thought ambushed her, . the errant thought's prim opponent shot back. In their small kitchen Mulder stood over the stove stirring the spaghetti. The hand not involved in stirring was clenched tight as he resisted the impulse to pound it into the wall. he also resisted the urge to scream the words into the ceiling. Nearly half an hour later after a hot shower Scully was sat at the table plowing her way through a surprisingly good spaghetti bolonaise. This to Mulder's eyes was further evidence of a recent fight, although wounds healed incredibly quickly for them a side effect was that it gave one a great appetite for food, almost as if the body was restoking a furnace and needed the extra fuel. "When I finished up in the office I went downstairs to the garage to get my car," Scully finally spoke. Although clean and well scrubbed her face was still too pale for the likes of Mulder. "There was an immortal waiting for me, Paul Crane." "Just him," Mulder asked pulling the name from memory, "I thought that Englishman, Tommo said he had a partner?" "There was no other immortals with him," Scully answered, "we fought one to one, he had a sword and dagger combination." She touched her side where the dagger had impaled her, even though the wound was well healed she could still feel the dagger penetrating her, could still remember waiting for the beheading that would destroy her future, and probably Mulder's as well. He wouldn't last long without her of that she was sure, just as she wouldn't last long without him. It was an effort to carry on but she knew she had to. "He almost had me, was going to finish it, but then Tommo shot his back up man distracting him so that I was able to turn the tables on him." "Tommo? Back up man?" The puzzlement in Mulder's voice was plain. "Crane had a hired shooter standing by with a gun in case I got on top," Scully explained, " Tommo knew that they were after us and came to warn us about it." "Where is he now?" "Getting rid of the bodies, he said he'd been cruising around Chicago trying to find us and had seen some good places to dump a body." "I'll bet he has." "Don't get snide Mulder, if it wasn't for him this wouldn't be supper, it'd be a wake." "Sorry Scully." The only good thing about the night's events as far as Mulder was concerned was Scully's reaction to it. Although she seemed to be in control, their closeness, their almost psychic understanding of each other told him that although a large part of the shock which had been there had been a reaction to the narrowness of her escape from death, some of it was a reaction to the brutality of a Quickening as well. The fact that Scully was still disturbed by what they had to do as immortals was something he found encouraging. A hard bitten Scully indifferent to death and relishing the Game was not something he was sure he'd like. Tommo arrived nearly two hours later. He looked almost as tired and as drawn as Scully had looked. "Would you like a drink?" Mulder asked, determined to be courteous. "Coffee if you've got it." "We've only got instant," Scully offered, "there's iced tea or root beer as well." Tommo shuddered, "instant 'll do." Mulder put the jug onto boil again and soon handed their guest a hot mug of coffee. As Tommo drank the scalding liquid his hands were shaking so bad he had to use both to keep the mug steady. Noticing Mulder's look he smiled grimly, "I guess I'm not used to killing people, or disposing of bodies for that matter." The Englishman sat perched on the edge of the couch with the other two in easy chairs turned towards it. Clearing his throat Tommo began his story. "When you left Boulder I was sat in a caf‚ at the other end of the street. I saw two faces I remembered from when Liam was killed following you. That night I returned to the Motel to find your address so I could warn you. They had the same idea only earlier. I ran into them, there was a gunfight and I .....killed them." Tommo almost stammered the words out. After a short pause he went on, "the only clue I had to your address was a word I'd heard them say over a cell phone, Chicago. I've spent the past week cruising the city looking for either you or them. A few hours ago I got lucky, I spotted a third face from Liam's murder. I followed him, I guess he must have been following you Dana because he was keeping close to the hospital. When he met Crane to report I was far enough off not to feel the buzz. When they went into the garage I followed at a safe distance. I only closed in when I felt the Quickening flare like it does during a fight." "Why did you take the risk?" Mulder asked, "its not that we're not grateful, according to Scully your shooting the back up man distracted Crane long enough to allow her to win the fight. But back in the mountains I got the impression you were preparing to run and hide again." Tommo looked down at his feet. "I won't bullshit you with any false feelings of gratitude," he said quietly, "I don't owe you owt aside from a lift. I came because I'm tired of hiding out, I need to take the initiative. The tag team out number me and they're organized. I need friends and allies of my own when any confrontation comes and with you two been tracked by them I thought I might presume on the 'enemy of my enemy' principle." "I've worked it out see," he went on, "they've already managed to track me down twice, and I've bin lucky twice to get away from them. My luck won't hold forever. If I hide from them it merely allows them to pick a time and place to their advantage. If I go after them however I get some control over the where and the when." "It looks like I saved you a job then," Scully said quietly her face pale and drawn. "Yeah, thanks," Tommo replied, "but it ain't over yet, Gallagher still out there and he's the worst of the lot." "Where are you staying?" Mulder asked, "I hope it's close by because you look like death warmed over". Although the question was directed to Tommo his eyes were on Scully, his concern evident even to Tommo. Before Tommo could answer the spoken question Scully answered the unspoken one. "I'm alright Mulder," she insisted. "You don't look alright," he replied. The two locked eyes for a moment then a slight smile came to Scully's face, "OK Mammy Mulder I give in, an early night for me." "Good night Scully, sweet dreams." "Yeah, you too, good night Tommo and thanks again." Scully disappeared in the direction of her room. Mulder waited until the door shut then turning to Tommo he said, "why was Gallagher so keen to find you, I mean searching for seventeen years is a bit excessive even for one of us." Tommo shrugged, "he probably thought he had reason enough." Mulder glared at him, "his reason enough has brought me and Scully into this." The other shrugged, "I know, I'm sorry about that." Mulder stared at the Englishman nursing his empty coffee mug in both hands, trying in some way to influence him. Tommo on the other hand seemed content just to sit there staring back. Finally Mulder spoke again, "you know something that Gallagher wants?" "Could be, then again I could be the grandson of someone who sold him a dodgy horse a hundred odd years ago." Mulder signed and ran his hands through his hair, "look you got us into this, the least you owe us is an explanation," he pleaded. Tommo frowned, at first he seemed ready to give another flippant answer then he said, "Alright then, it won't do any harm for you to know that I am a custodian of a great secret which Gallagher wishes to learn. If he finds it out he'll use it for ill purposes. I'm sorry Fox or Mulder or whatever you prefer to be called but that's as much as you need to know." "Wonderful," Mulder muttered to himself, "you take me back to my days at the Bureau." "Pardon?" "Sorry, just reliving part of my past." "Oh." Tommo finished his coffee and, as he got up to leave the phone rang. With a frown Mulder answered it, The voice on the other end of the phone wasted no time on pleasantries. "Put Tommo on the phone." "What?" Mulder stuttered "Just put him on, Victor Robbins or whatever your real name is, " the tone of voice was definitely unfriendly. Glaring at the phone Mulder said, "it's for you." Tommo gave Mulder a long look but instead of stating the obvious he took the hand set from Mulder. "It's me," he said. "And so it is Tommy boy," the mocking voice came over the wire, "let me introduce myself, Padraig Gallagher is me name Bunny lad n' you n' I have a long overdue appointment." "How did you know that name," Tommo was shocked, the other's use of two names he cordially despised was ringing all sorts of alarm bells. "Oh, I know all about you Mr. Thomas Warren," the evil chuckle sent a chill down his spine, "I know where you grew up, who you played with, I've even seen your family, close knit bunch aren't you." Tommo felt a despair building up inside of him even as Gallagher continued, "if I can't get you Bunny boy then I'll have to get them, I've got a fearsome head of steam built up lad n' I have to let it out some how." "Where and when you Irish shit," Tommo ground the words out through tight clenched teeth. "Now as good a time as any and the where is a little disused garage I've found down town," Gallagher went on to give an address, "can you find it Bunny lad?" Tommo snarled back down the phone, "I can find it you bog trotting heap of shit." "See you there boy," came the mocking reply as the other hung up. Tommo replaced the phone in the rest conscious that he was breathing heavily. Mulder's voice drew him back to reality. "You're not seriously going to meet him are you?" "Yes," the word was ground out as Tommo headed for the door. Moving quickly Mulder managed to prevent the other from opening the door, "it's a trap you know," he said, "you've just warned us that Gallagher doesn't play by the rules, now you're letting him call the shots." "I don't have a choice," Tommo seemed almost to be pleading with the other, "the bastard knows where my family lives, I have to meet him or else he'll go after them." For a long moment they locked eyes then with a sudden burst of surprising strength Tommo wrenched the door open throwing Mulder back into the wall and left. For a short moment Mulder considered pursuing him down the corridor but then he had an inspiration. At the academy they'd always said 'think with your brains not your feet'. Walking back to the window he watch as Tommo exited the building and walked across towards where a blue car was parked. Returning to the phone he hit one of the extra buttons to display the number which last called it. Good, Tommo hadn't thought to wipe it. He then went across to his desktop PC and loaded a certain data base program. Although Scully hadn't commented directly it was clear to him that she thought a program which gave you the address of every phone number in the Greater Chicago area a waste of money, even if it did list all the payphones. "Wrong again Scully," he murmured to himself as the database gave him an address for the number dialed. It was a downtown pay phone, in one of the rougher parts of town, interesting. Now he had a problem. He wanted to go after Tommo, the man he was going to meet was one of a group that had tried to take Scully's head and Mulder very much felt he had a personal stake in that. Yet knowing Scully's emotional state he didn't want to leave her alone here in the apartment, not to mention the fact that the latest attempt on her life had made him reluctant to leave her alone. At times like this he wanted to wrap her in cotton wool and surround her with stone walls, razor wire, alligators....anything that would protect her and keep her from harm. He knew she didn't like it but that was the way he was. He could not conceive of life without her, it hurt even to think about it. Looking up he sensed the approach of another immortal, more than one. he groaned to himself assuming that the phone call had been a ruse to draw Tommo away to allow the tag team to get him and Scully. Pulling his sword from the cupboard he almost went to wake Scully when he heard the knock on the door. Head hunting immortals weren't normally that polite. Sidling up to the door he peered through the peephole. "MacLeod, thank God," he muttered to himself fumbling with the locks. "Mulder, sorry to bother you this time of night but I saw your light was still on...." MacLeod began to say as he and another immortal rather shorter in height entered the apartment. "Glad to see you Connor," Mulder gasped out, grabbing his coat and sword, passing behind them and out of the door, "keep an eye on Scully will you and tell her that I've gone after Tommo." And then he was gone. MacLeod stood there staring after the disappearing Mulder. "Is he always in that kind of a rush?" his companion asked dryly. "You wouldn't believe it." "I thought you said he wasn't a head hunter," Athelstan asked looking around the apartment. "He isn't, not unless Dana's threatened then all bets are off." "Mmm," Athelstan was looking at the computer screen, "your friend really should clear his screen after he finished with it." He then turned towards the door. "Where are you going?" "Off to find my gesith, do keep an eye on Scully will you old chap," Athelstan said imitating Mulder as he vanished through the door. For a moment MacLeod considered following the enigmatic Englishman but then conscious of his duty he signed and took a seat. he thought to himself although he knew that Scully wouldn't appreciate the term. Down Town Chicago 1.03AM Saturday The address Gallagher had given him was an old garage located in one of the roughest parts of town. As Tommo parked his car he couldn't help wondering if regardless of outcome he'd ever see it again, at least here no one was likely to call the cops over a mere pyrotechnic display. Scouting around the outside of the garage he determined there was two main entrances, the large articulated door used to admit cars into a workshop area and a smaller door which would lead to some offices. The big door was metal, would be noisy opening and was probably jammed shut. Since all the ground floor windows were boarded shut this only left him the smaller door to try. And as expected it was unlocked. Indeed Tommo's experienced eye told him that the door had been forced only recently. Sighing softly to himself Tommo carefully pushed the door open stepping into the darkened room. The only light came from a half ajar door, which would probably lead into the main workshop area. And he could now feel the presence of another immortal waiting within. Removing his coat he drew his heavy bastard sword, taking comfort from the weight of the ancient battle brand in his hands he drew a deep breath and moved on into the garage. Once it had been an automobile workshop, indeed there were still oil stains on the floor but now there was only one car in the place, a new looking saloon on whose hood a tall red haired man had perched himself, a cavalry saber held nonchalantly in his right hand. "Ah Bunny boy," came the mocking welcome, "I'm glad you could come this time." Tommo moved crab wise away from the door checking out the area looking for a third party. There were no other immortals present but in the past Gallagher had used mortals and he was by no means sure he'd accounted for them all. "It's about time we got this sorted out once and for all," he growled. "Aye lad, lets get it sorted," Gallagher said a wide grin on his face, "and this time no running away boy." "There'll be none of that, this has gone far enough." "I hope you don't mind if I take precautions boy," Gallagher slipped off the hood as behind a man dressed in dark clothing came upright behind the car. Even as Tommo grabbed belatedly for his revolver the AK47 the stranger was holding spat fire and he was flung backwards into the greasy wall behind him as four rounds impacted in his torso. For a moment he stood there, back to the wall, then his legs gave way and he slid down the wall to lie in a heap on the floor. In a world of pain he was dimly aware that Gallagher had come up to him and thrown the revolver away in the direction of the office door. Behind him stood the man with the AK. "Now Tommy boy," Gallagher almost purred the word, "we'll have a little chat before I do the necessary." "Fffffuck off," Tommo managed to grind out through the pain. "Tut, tut, tut, such language Tommy boy, Liam would not approve," Gallagher laughed. He inserted his thumbs deep into two of the bullet holes in Tommo's chest and gouged causing the other to scream in agony and convulse desperately. Weakened as he was he couldn't remove the Irishman's thumbs from his wound and was forced instead to flip around on the dirty floor of the garage. Gallagher removed his thumbs, "now Tommo boy, I can spare you that pain if you'll tell me where to find the King of the English." Tommo gasping for breath muttered something, causing Gallagher to bend down. With his last remaining strength Tommo lunged forward and sunk his teeth in the others ear. It was Gallagher's turn to roar with pain as he tried to dislodge the desperately hanging on Englishman, swing him round like a rag doll. A low punch finally forced the desperately injured man to release his grip and collapse moaning to the floor. Grabbing his sword a cursing, bloody Gallagher raised his sword above his head and prepared to deliver the decapitation strike. The man with the assault rifle watched Gallagher in action with his usual combination of fascination and repugnance. Fascination for what he was, repugnance for what he was doing. At times like this Craig Scott wondered why he'd ever got involved with him. Suddenly he became aware of a strange presence, looking up he saw a tall, dark haired man standing in the office doorway, Tommo's discarded revolver held in a professional looking double handed stance. Even as he brought the AK47 up he knew it was too late, the sharp retort of the revolver and the peculiar whap of a passing bullet caused his finger to tighten prematurely on the trigger causing a burst of fire to narrowly miss the other. He didn't get a second chance, the second and third bullets impacted his chest like blows from a hammer causing him to stagger backward, his legs going from under him like they were suddenly transformed to rubber. Gallagher was frozen in the decapitation stance, only now becoming aware of the buzz coming from the door, he saw the dark haired man control the revolver's recoil and turn it's short barrel towards him. At his feet Tommo suddenly came to life rolling out from under the shadow of Gallagher's up lifted sword to safety. "Well," he snarled, the light Irish brogue he'd used earlier slipping, "go on then, use it!" Mulder stood framed in the doorway, the revolver aimed at the figure of the last of the men tracking him and Scully. It would be oh so easy to empty the revolver's remaining chambers into him and then take his head whilst he was down. It was after all what he'd tried to do with Tommo. It was that thought which decided him. Keeping the revolver lined up on Gallagher he reached under his coat and pulled out his katana. Once he had it safely in his hand he transferred the revolver to the back of his waistband. "If we're going to do this stupidity," he said moving into the garage removing his coat, "lets do it properly." Gallagher backed away from him moving into the center of the garage to give himself more room. He made a number of theatrical swipes with his saber. "Ah so you'd be the one calling himself Victor Robbins would you?" the light Irish brogue was back in his voice, "well I'm Padraig Gallagher." Mulder didn't answer, instead choosing this point to launch a quick jab with the point of his katana towards Gallagher, followed by a feint to the stomach which concealed a slash at the leg. Gallagher was able to parry these blows all the while moving in a circle from left to right. Not content to sit on the defensive he suddenly riposted by driving forward off his left leg to deliver a series of vicious slashes aimed at the other's head, steadily driving Mulder towards an outside wall. As soon as Mulder realized this he took the offensive instead, delivering a number of beat attacks on the other's blade trying to knock it far enough out of the way to allow him a strike at the other's body. Believing he had deflected the others blade far enough Mulder directed a blow at Gallagher head. Moving with speed born of desperation Gallagher managed to catch Mulder's blade on his own bringing them close together. Guessing at what was coming Mulder twisted his hips so that the low blow directed there by the other's left fist was caught on his thigh instead of the original target area. Despite this however the blow still caused him to stagger backwards although he was still able to maintain the on guard position. Gallagher followed up carefully. "Whoops Victor lad," he goaded, "almost spoiled your victory celebration with the lovely doctor Dana did I." Face flushed Mulder returned to the attack forcing Gallagher to parry desperately a series of stinging attacks to the head. Finally managing to dance clear the Irishman said, "I've got plans for doctor Dana me self ye know, it's amazing what you can do with someone who can't die under the abuse like a mortal can." Mulder felt the red rag rising in him. Gallagher had shrewdly hit at one of his most vulnerable points. Instead of rushing to the attack however he intently stalked his opponent across the dimly lit garage floor as a cold anger grew within him. The point of the saber dipped slightly and seeing an opening he attacked with a slash at the other's head. Too late he realized it was a feint as the other both ducked his blow and simultaneously stabbed with the point. This came as a surprise to him as it was the first time Gallagher had used a stabbing attack as opposed to a cutting one. He did not have time to react to it however as he felt a numbing pain as the saber went in under his rib cage slashing left to right. Staggering back, his hand clutched to his stomach to stop the vital organs tumbling he desperately raised his katana to blow a savage cut only to have it dashed from his hand. Standing there sick with pain he could do nothing but watch as Gallagher's sword lifted for the final stroke. "I'll send doctor Dana to join ye, eventually," Gallagher taunted as the sword prepared to drop. At the very instant of victory however something struck Gallagher violently in the back forcing him to stagger almost into Mulder. Recovering quickly the experienced Irishman ducked away moving in a tight circle to confront his new opponent. Mulder looked up to see Tommo, his face a ghastly pallid shade moving forward, his heavy sword held firmly. Their gazes met. "Tag?" Tommo asked, his lips twisted by a bitter smile. "Tag," Mulder agreed. Tommo moved forward stepping over Mulder's prone body, his pale face a stark contrast to the vivid red of his sweatshirt stained by blood from the bullet wounds. Gallagher rubbed his back, "you should have used the edge of that relic rather than the flat." Tommo's lips pulled back from his teeth in a wolfish grin. "Liam would want it done fair and square," he said. "Maybe boy but that's the only chance you'll get." Gallagher launched an all out attack trying to drive the other back into a wall. His reasoning was that his main advantage was that the other was still not fully healed and probably weak from the loss of blood. Attack hard and fast and kill him before he could recover any more of his strength. Although Tommo was still pale from the loss of blood he managed to resist the all out attack and at one point when Gallagher over reached himself cut the other along the right arm. With a lurid curse his opponent jumped back out of range of any further ripostes. "Not so easy doing it on yer todd is it?" Gallagher spat viciously, circling to the left, "I don't need help to take the likes of you, someone who ran when his friend needed him." Tommo's face was deadly pale, "maybe I did run, but at least I've never murdered a friend." "A friend, ha, he ceased to be that when he abandoned the cause." "And what cause was that? Planting bombs indiscriminately in shopping centers? Shooting men in the back from a distance?" "We're at war damn you," Gallagher hissed, "the Prots and the Brits killed plenty enough of us over the years." Both men were now circling each other across the filthy garage floor. Tommo watching his opponent's face intently sneered, "then why did Liam who was proud of fighting the good cause back in the twenties not willing to join in the seventies?" With a roar Gallagher returned to the attack, his right shirt sleeve slashed and bloodied. He attacked by launching a series of short lunges designed to drive the other back into the wall where with limited space for maneuver Tommo might prove to be easier meat. Tommo however was wise to this and on parrying the third instead of stepping back as previously he suddenly pushed forward locking the blades together and coming up shoulder to shoulder with his opponent. As they came together Gallagher folded his fist ready to make a low blow but was beaten to the punch by his opponent who head butted him viciously between the eyes. Blood streaming down his forehead Gallagher staggered backwards fending off Tommo's follow up attacks more by instinct than design. As the two exchanged blows Mulder had managed to drag himself, and his sword which he was loathe to abandon, towards the office door, despite the pain of his healing wounds almost causing him to pass out. Although Immortals are, as the word implies immune to death except by means of decapitation they feel pain with an intensity seldom experienced by their mortal brothers. Few mortals for example are aware of how painful it is to feel broken bones moving back into place within your own body, often scrapping across live nerve endings in the process. Propping himself up in the doorway he was pleased to notice the gradual lessening of pain as his wounds healed themselves. Gallagher shook the blood out of his eyes as he managed to open the distance between Tommo and himself although at the expense of leaving himself almost pinned at the wall behind him. "That was a dirty move Tommy boy." "Pity you won't have the chance to use it yourself," Tommo said watching the other intently, the point of his sword moving in small circles. "Don't worry boy, I'll be sure to credit it to you in me memoirs." Tommo laughed, "oh no Paddy me lad, no memoirs for you, you're going to die here." "That's yet to be decided!" There was another brief flurry of combat, to the watching Mulder it sounded like an energetic blacksmith at work, sparks flying from the clash of swords made him glad that the garage was derelict. Suddenly behind him Mulder felt a stirring in the Quickening as another immortal entered the office behind him. "I knew I should have sold tickets," he muttered to himself turning to face the stranger sword in hand. It was MacLeod's friend, the short, flaxen haired man. The newcomer had his empty hands held palm out wards towards him in token of peaceful intentions. Mulder remained tense as the other came up alongside him to view the two fighting immortals. After a brief flurry of attack and counterattack Tommo and Gallagher separated and began again to circle each other, the only noise being the sound of their labored breathing. The newcomer turned his head half way towards Mulder extending his hand as he did so. "I don't think we were formally introduced," he whispered in an accent which Mulder pegged as English, but was unable to pinpoint more accurately, "you been in such a rush n'll, I am Athelstan, son of Edward, son of Alfred, son of Ethelwulf, son of Egbert. I am of the Cerdingas." "I'm Fox Mulder, son of William," the formality in Athelstan's introduction left Mulder feeling he should respond in kind, "I'm of the Feds," he added getting in response an amused twist of the other's lips and a brief inclination of the head in acknowledgment. The other grinned, "if you're going to use that form of introduction you might at least get it right, you're Fox, son of William, of the Mulders." "What's your interest in this?" Mulder hissed at the other, not wishing to raise his voice in case he put Tommo off. Athelstan indicated the two men circling each other, "Tommo is the last of my Gesith, should he be defeated it falls to me to avenge him." Gesith? Mulder wondered where he'd heard that word before. He allowed himself a bleak smile, "join the queue, I've got first refusal where Gallagher's concerned." Athelstan weighed up the two fighters with experienced eyes, "I think that problem isn't likely to arise." "Do you know why you're going to die, Gallagher," Tommo's voice was pitched so low that the two spectators had trouble hearing it. Gallagher moving left to right didn't answer. "It's not because you killed Liam, he never expected to survive the game anyway. And it's not for hounding me to the far ends of the earth, that's all part of the game as well. It's not even for tag teaming to kill better men than you'll ever be." At this point with Gallagher's back closest to the wall Tommo launched a brace of savage slashes which his opponent had trouble blocking. A few feet from the wall the assault ended, only this time when Gallagher attempted to move away from it to his left Tommo attacked savagely driving him back closer to the wall. "Do you know what Liam did on his last night on earth," Tommo's voice was almost conversational. "Now what was that, Bunny boy," came the reply, the light almost indifferent delivery belying the desperate flicker of Gallagher's eyes as he sought an exit. "He held a wake for you Paddy lad," Tommo's voice was still pitched low, still conversational in tone. "Him, me and that bastard Evan, we all got absolutely rat arsed that night, Liam was almost in tears, well we both know how emotional he could get. He even called you a good lad, ironic that, he even told us yer true life story," Gallagher's teeth drew back from his lips in a silent snarl, "didn't Evan te...." Gallagher's attack was born of desperation, a savage blow directed at Tommo's head. The other parried the stroke pushing it to his left then lunging forward suddenly in riposte. The change from a slashing attack using the edge of the blade to a lunging attack using the point caught his opponent off guard. With no space to maneuver in Gallagher was almost pinned to the wall by the ancient sword, the blade entering his rib cage so far to the left to be almost under his armpit. Without even pausing Tommo ripped the sword brutally out of Gallagher's chest, stepping back as he did so, the sword dropping slightly and then swinging up and across in a decapitation stroke. When one immortal takes another's head there is a traditional form of words which many feeling required to quote. Tommo's words however were tailored to the occasion; "I drank to your memory you lying cheating bastard!" he howled as Gallagher's head hit the ground with a hollow thud seconds before the rest of him. Panting like he run a marathon Tommo stood there watching the brilliant tracery of the Quickening reach out before him. Just before the arch of incandescent white light hit him the two watching immortals heard him shout, "I don't need this shit!" After the fireworks were complete Mulder entered the garage through the door followed by Athelstan. As they crossed the floor to where the kneeling Tommo was trying to come to terms with his third Quickening they became conscious of a faint sound. All throughout the fight the body of Gallagher's mortal accomplice had lain on the ground at the side close to the wall unneeded by the battling immortals. Now in the eirie silence which usually followed a Quickening he could be heard whimpering in pain. Athelstan hesitated for a moment and then turned and walked towards the injured, possibly dying man. Kneeling down he placed his hands on the two bullet wounds. Both the other immortals became aware of a subtle change in the buzz of the Quickening they could sense coming from him. There was no lightening or any visual evidence that Mulder could see but there was definitely something happening. After a moment the kneeling man moved his hands to lay them on the other's heart, the buzz remaining ....different and then suddenly it was back to normal. Athelstan climbed to his feet and turned to the other two his face weary. Behind him Gallagher's accomplice suddenly sat up almost doubling himself over as he spat out blood in a coughing fit. He coughed again only this time not so badly and this time no blood came up. When he'd finished the gunman climbed shakily to his feet staring in awe at where his wounds were. Athelstan extended his hands showing him what he held in each. After a moment's hesitation he accepted two small objects, one from each hand and looked at Athelstan with a puzzled expression. There was a mutter of words as Athelstan spoke to him, keeping the words pitched so low that the other two could hardly hear it. Athelstan and the gunman stood for a long moment then the Englishman nodded and walked toward the other two immortals. Tommo turned to face him. The two men stood there silently, each seeming to weight the other up. Tommo spoke first using a formal manner of address which surprised the watching Mulder. "It is over my lord," he stated, "the deaths of your gesith have been avenged." Athelstan answered him with the same formality, "your duty is done and done well, Thomas, son of Thomas." He signed, saying quietly, "and yet for all this I would sooner have my friends live again than my enemies dead." Tommo nodded his head in agreement, "I've missed Liam myself over the years," he said softly. "Sometimes vengeance is truly hollow," Athelstan agreed, "now I must return to my homeland." The grim look left his face as he added, "look me up next you are over Tommo, I don't know as many good pubs as Liam but I 'm sure we can find some decent watering holes." Tommo grinned, "I will my lord," he said. Athelstan turned and walked towards the office door pausing only to exchange a cordial nod with Mulder on his way out. And then he was gone. The gunman followed him out. "Who was that masked man?" "Didn't he tell you?" Tommo asked as Mulder realized he'd spoken out loud. "He said he was Athelstan, son of Edward, son of Alfred, ecetra, I'm afraid it didn't mean much to me." Tommo laughed, "you're an ex fed, I'm sure you'll work it out in the end. I wouldn't dream of spoiling your fun by telling you." "Thanks." Mulder continued to stare at the office door, "Tommo." "Yeah." "How did he do that, I mean...." Tommo allowed a smile to reach his lips, "have you ever read the Lord of the Rings?" At Mulder's nod he said, "'the hands of a king are the hands of a healer', do you think old J R R just picked that out the air, back in Athelstan's day they truly believed that." "Athelstan's a king?" "So I've been told." A long pause followed as Mulder stared thoughtfully at the empty doorway. "Could we..." "I don't think so, as it was explained to me Athelstan's always believed that he could do that, because he doesn't believe he can fail he doesn't. Not only that but I haven't got the first idea of how to do it. Neither I suspect does he, he just does it." Mulder sighed, "lets not tell Scully about this huh, I don't think she'd care for the idea somehow. Having the power to heal but not being able to use it would drive her nuts." Tommo grinned, "I can understand that." He walked across to where Gallagher's body lay and with a grunt of effort he picked up the headless corpse. "Do you know what the ultimate irony is?" "No." "Paddy here used to tell how the evil English landlords drove him from his home during the potato famine. A good story, believable too because it did happen to a lot of Irishmen at that time. But not to Paddy, no." Tommo propped the body up against the car as he fumbled with the boot catch. Mulder gingerly collected Gallagher's head. "He had to flee Ireland when he killed a neighbor in a drunken fight," Tommo continued the story opening the boot as he did so and removing a full jerry can, "a man with less land and more hungry mouths than Paddy had. That's the story he first told Liam all those years ago. It changed over the years, deep down Paddy was always ashamed of what he'd done so he altered the story, a bit at a time, year by year. Not deliberately according to Liam but gradually. The poorer neighbor became a richer farmer, the Irish peasant became an English Grandee, the drunken brawl became a vicious eviction and so on. In the end Paddy believed every word of it. Only Liam who'd heard it at the start knew the original version." Tommo heaved the body into the boot, "I sometimes think that's why he had to die, to preserve Gallagher's secret. The rest of it was just smoke screen, to bring Crane and Tudor on board." Mulder placed the head carefully in the boot alongside the rest of Paddy Gallagher's mortal remains. Opening the jerry can he soaked the body and the car saving enough to run a trail of gas from the car back to the office door. Tommo pulled a box of matches from his pocket, "do you want to do the honors or shall I?" "Feel free," Mulder said passing into the office and towards the external door. "A crime's never complete until you've cleared up afterwards," Tommo said as he lit the match, "sleep well Padraig Gallagher you poor sad bastard." They left the garage by the way they'd come in and walked back to where they'd parked. In the light coming from the burning building behind them they could see only one vehicle remained. "Some thieving git pinched me bloody motor!" Tommo cursed luridly. Mulder gave him a sympathetic look, "they've left mine," he said congratulating himself on his state of the art alarm system. Up closer however he gave vent to some lurid curses of his own when he saw the foot long scratch left behind by the thwarted car thief. "Can I give you a ride?" Tommo looked at the mean streets around him, "thanks, I don't fancy walking after the night I've had." As the two immortals climbed into Mulder's vehicle further down the street two men in a dark colored, inconspicuous sedan watched them do so. "Well it's over," John Nicholson observed, not without a certain degree of satisfaction. Robert Wise regarded his fellow watcher carefully. "That's not exactly what I'd call professional attachment John." The other shrugged, "I watched Liam for over fifteen years, he was a pretty decent chap despite a tendency to get himself arrested when one over the eight. When you get involved with someone even if it's only from a distance you do find a degree of emotional empathy with them. Besides which you've had problems like that yourself." "How did you know that?" "Dear chap," the older man said smiling slightly, "watchers gossip worse than immortals when they get together." "Do we follow them?" Wise asked deciding to ignore his companion's last statement. "Nice and slowly Bob," John said, "we know where they're going and we don't want to be noticed." The two immortals didn't talk much on the way back to the apartment, Mulder was worrying about whether or not Scully would know he'd gone out whilst Tommo was sunk deep in thoughts of his own. Eventually as they passed the half way mark of their journey Tommo spoke. "Mulder." "Yes." "Do you believe in all this gathering malarkey?" "MacLeod does." "So did Liam. He reckoned there was no way we could avoid it." "Do you believe in it?" Mulder asked. Some of his worst nightmares involved the Gathering and a certain pretty red haired immortal and himself being the last two. All of them ended with the two of them being compelled by forces they tried vainly to resist to fight to the death. If the cost of gaining the Prize was hurting or losing Scully then they could stuff it where the sun doesn't shine. And he was pretty sure she felt the same. "Liam was a great believer in fate," Tommo replied, "I on the other hand believe in free will. Come that awful day would yer be too displeased if I sent my apologies." Mulder laughed harshly, "we may never get that far." Tommo grinned, his teeth gleaming in the darkness, "now me I intend to be present at the heat death of the Universe." Apartment of Victor Robbins and Dana Coury Outside Chicago, Illinois 1:13 A.M. CDT Saturday MacLeod had not been really too surprised when he looked up from one of Mulder's tabloids a bare ten minutes after Athelstan had left to find himself looking down the barrel of Scully's automatic. "Hello Dana," he said politely in greeting. "Hello Connor," Scully replied lowering her gun, "where's Mulder at?" Her clear blue eyes seemed to MacLeod to be no less deadly than the now discarded automatic. Her hair was trousled from sleep and she had thrown a toweling robe on over her nightclothes. "He had to pop out," MacLeod answered deciding to tell as little of the truth as he thought he could get away with. It didn't work, the gun barrel swung back towards him, "nice try Connor, now try telling me the whole story." Macleod signed, "he took off as soon as we arrived after Tommo, said he might be in danger." "He is," although Scully didn't mention a name MacLeod had a good idea which he she meant. "Some things never change, he used to do this to me back in the Bureau." "Don't worry Dana," MacLeod tired to reassure her, "a friend of mine is riding shotgun on him." "Which friend?" The next two or so hours passed slowly. MacLeod's attempts at conversation fell on stony ground. Every time a car passed in the road outside Scully tensed, only to relax slowly and reluctantly as it passed. Finally they both felt a double buzz coming up the stairs towards them. The hiss of breath escaping Scully's lips warned MacLeod it was her errant partner returning home to face the music. As had Mulder earlier Scully had first became first aware of her partner shortly before he reached the apartment door. His mood which she was finding herself able to read from his quickening was apprehensive. Nothing more, just apprehensive. She felt a certain satisfaction in her knowledge of this, Mulder knew what was coming and was probably sure he deserved it. She could also tell he was accompanied by one other immortal, either Tommo or else MacLeod's mysterious friend Mulder entered the room first followed closely by Tommo. Both men had their coats unbuttoned to reveal bloodstained clothes. Scully's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Ah, hi there Scully," Mulder's greeting sounded to his own ears despite careful preparation on the drive home particularly lame. All the carefully thought out stratagems concocted on the way went out the window under Scully's flinty gaze. "Tommo here had a phone call from the tag team whilst you were asleep and went to meet them. I went after him because it looked like a set up." "Which it was," Tommo put in helpfully only to promptly regret his generous impulse as the Scully gaze threatened to burn off his eyebrow. He flashed Mulder a sorry mate look as he removed himself from the line of fire. MacLeod, sat safely behind Scully was hard put to suppress a smile at the squirming Mulder's discomfort. Still as good as the cabaret promised to be he decided to give them some privacy. Besides which it might prove to be dangerous even for spectators. "Well, Mulder, Scully, thanks for the hospitality, but it's time I was off," MacLeod said as he collected his coat and sword and headed towards the door. "Always nice seeing you Connor," Scully said although this seemed to the watching men to be more for the sake of politeness that out of any real meaning. "You coming Tommo?" MacLeod asked as he reached the safety of the exit, "I know a bar with imported beer that should be open this time of night." Tommo licked his lips and after a quick glance at the still boiling Scully made a quick get away. "I'll be seeing you two around, Foxy, Dana," he said as he dived through the exit. "Hey wait for me Mac," his voice came trailing back as the door shut behind him, "did you say imported beer?" "Thanks guys," Mulder muttered as the door shut after his deserting friends. Squaring his shoulders he turned to face the music. For a long moment Scully glared at him, forcing him to fall back on his whipped puppy look, the one he knew from long experience was so effective on her. Finally Scully conceded defeat and broke the silence, "I thought we'd had this conversation some years ago," she stated flatly her blue eyes as hard as sapphire. When in doubt Mulder thought go onto the offensive, besides her willingness to talk rather than treat him to an angry silence raised possibilities. "Look Scully when the call came you'd just gone to bed. If you were half as exhausted as you looked then it was my judgment that you needed a week in bed." "Since when have you been a doctor?" "It wasn't your physical health I was worried about, it was your mental and emotional and that I am qualified to pronounce on, remember. Face it Dana you're not a born killer, I've seen the agonies you put yourself through when you've killed someone before. The fact of our usual state of bodily health and the peculiar rituals that go with it hasn't changed that. It was my professional opinion Scully that you were in no fit state to confront the tag team." Scully's face had now become unreadable. Her silence forced Mulder to continue. "When Tommo went off after them I couldn't let him go on his own into a trap. If you weren't so mentally and emotionally exhausted then I would have woke you, there's no one else I trust like you in a tight spot." A bit of flattery never went amiss Mulder decided. "I knew that there was only one immortal left plus what ever mortal auxiliaries he'd been able to gather so I judged that it really only needed one of us to go." "And that had to be you?" Scully asked her voice brittle, "why not Connor, or his friend?" Mulder took a deep breath, "because it was personal, they'd targeted you, came within an inch of taking you if Tommo hadn't intervened, I had a chance of ending it once and for all and I took it." Scully reached out and moved aside the edges of his coat, "it almost ended you," she said softly her eyes drawn to the blood stained sweatshirt. Mulder looked down into her eyes to see that the anger had gone and that they were moist with some other emotion. the contrite thought came to him from deep within. Stepping forward he enfolded her in his arms, for a moment he thought she'd resist then he felt her own arms slip around him. Her face was pressed into his coat but he knew she was crying from the way her shoulders were shaking. he thought remembering the more detailed account Tommo had given him on the way back. That confirmed to him that he'd been right to leave her here when he'd gone after Tommo. And he knew that she was smart enough to see that for herself. "Come on Red," he said when he felt the torrent had ceased, "it's well past your bedtime." "I suppose it is," she said wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robe and turning towards her room, "good night......Foxy." The End Well there it is, my first attempt at fanfic, I hope it's a good un. All feedback to dwilkinson@cleveland.ac.uk That's all Folks!