Deadly Allies
A Vampire Chronicles/Highlander spec
by Theresa Isilwath


	It was early afternoon, still an hour before opening 
time.  Joe was seeing to the last minute preparations for the 
evening's entertainment and dinner specials while Duncan 
and Methos sat at a table, drinking beer.  It always amazed 
the mortal exactly how much two Immortals could drink; 
both the Highlander and the old timer could pack away 
several beers in a sitting and not blink an eye.  Joe shook his 
head in envy.  He remembered a time when he could hold 
his liquor as well, but those years were long since past.  He 
had commented on Duncan and Methos' tolerance for 
alcohol once, and received one of Methos' enigmatic smiles.
	"Back then, it was either beer or water, Joe, and 
5000 years ago the Nile was already a sewer.  If you had a 
choice, what would _you_ drink?" the ancient man had 
remarked.
	Joe had looked to Duncan who copped an innocent 
expression and shrugged at him, then he laughed and didn't 
bring up the subject again. Now he glanced over at them as 
he wiped down the bar.  Methos was in his usual sprawl, 
taking up much more room than Joe thought humanly 
possible, his long, spindly legs stretched out from the chair 
in a semblance of physical ease.  He and Duncan were 
chatting about something, he'd caught bits and pieces of it.  
He thought Methos was telling Duncan that the modern 
Arabic alphabet rose from the Sumerians trying to keep nosy 
Hebrews from snooping in their trading records.
	"Look at the modern 'A.'  Round off the point and 
turn it around 180 degrees, you've got a symbol that looks 
like a cows head, right?" Methos was saying.
	Duncan drew the letter as asked on the wooden table 
surface using his finger and the sweat off the beer mug he 
had in front of him.
	"Yeah, so?"
	"So?  So, that was their symbol for cattle, and it's 
evolved into the first letter of the modern alphabet.  It was a 
code, MacLeod.  The Sumerians were very secretive about 
their business transactions."
	The 5000 year old Immortal took another sip of his 
beer while Duncan pondered the thought.  Joe took the 
opportunity to saunter over and take a seat, bringing his own 
beer with him.
	"So, exactly how many forms of written language do 
you know anyway?" Joe asked lightly.
	"Including the ones no longer used?" Methos 
answered, putting his mug down.
	"Yeah."
	"I forget," he quipped with a grin.
	"You are impossible, you know that?" Joe chided.
	"I try," Methos replied wryly.
	Duncan just laughed softly, a deep rumble in his 
throat.  "You should know better by now, Joe.  Trying to 
get a straight answer out of him is a lost cause."
	"Yeah," Joe agreed.
	"But it's part of my charm," Methos commented, 
taking a swig of his beer.
	"So you ready for tonight's set?" Duncan inquired, 
changing the subject.
	"Not quite.  Hank still has to bring in some sound 
equipment, but after that we should be ready to go," Joe 
answered.
	"You're gonna have a packed house tonight, Joe," 
Methos predicted.
	"I'm hoping."
	They heard the sound of the front door opening and 
someone enter the bar.  Joe turned his head to see if it was 
Hank with the equipment, but saw only the silhouette of a 
woman as she stood in the doorway.
	"I'm sorry, the bar's closed," Joe called.  "Come 
back in an hour."
	"I didn't come here for a drink, Joe Dawson," the 
woman answered, walking towards them.  "I came here for 
you."
	Joe thought his jaw would hit the floor as he 
recognized the newcomer.
	"Miranda, is that you?"
	The woman smiled, her brown eyes soft and warm.  
"Hello, Joe."
	"Well, I'll be damned!  How the Hell are you?  Pull 
up a chair!  Mac, Adam, this is Miranda.  She and I go way 
back."
	The woman pulled a chair from an adjoining table 
and sat her small frame down into it.  She looked less than 
comfortable, her expression weary and her posture reserved.
	"Can I get you a drink?  Want a beer?" Joe offered, 
still smiling.
	"Coffee if you've got it, please. I've been traveling 
for a long time."
	"Sure!"  He looked over his shoulder and shouted to 
one of the men in the kitchen.  "Hey Mike, could you bring 
out a coffee for me please?"
	"Get right to it," Mike yelled back.
	"No problem," Joe said, returning his gaze to 
Miranda.  "So, what brings you here?"
	Miranda looked down at her hands, small hands, 
built like the rest of her, and Joe's smile faded.
	"Why do I get the impression that this is not a social 
call?" he noted gravely.
	Mike brought the coffee along with cream and sugar, 
and she gripped the mug tightly in both hands, sighing.
	"Because it's not," she answered finally.
	"What's wrong? You in some kind of trouble?" Joe 
inquired.
	Miranda cast glances at the other two men at the 
table, but Joe waved his hand dismissively.
	"It's OK, I trust them.  It probably concerns them 
anyway."
	She lowered her gaze again, nodding and took a sip 
of her coffee. They could see her hands were trembling.
	"It concerns all of us, and those we watch."
	"So?  You gonna tell me what's up, or are you just 
gonna sit there looking terrified?" Joe said.
	"How much do they know?" she questioned 
cryptically.
	"About what?  About the Talamasca?  About you?"
	"Yes."
	"Talamasca.  That's Latin.  It means animal mask," 
Methos commented absently.
	"Yes.  The Talamasca.  It's an organization I am a 
part of," Miranda answered.
	"Yeah, so?" Methos pressed, blinking at her.
	She sighed.  "We're a sister group to the Watchers.  
We have the same basic goals: we watch, we record, we 
observe.  Only the subjects we watch are very different from 
those the Watchers watch, and in some cases infinitely more 
deadly."
	Methos raised an eyebrow.  "How do you mean?"
	She looked askance at Joe who moved to reassure 
her.  "It's OK.  You can tell them.  This has to do with the 
ones you watch, doesn't it? You've come from New 
Orleans."
	Miranda closed her eyes and nodded, her face 
falling, betraying her exhaustion.
	"Our specialty is the paranormal: spirits, magic, 
telepathy, witches and the like."
	"And vampires," Joe added.
	"And vampires.  Yes."  She looked at him, her eyes 
intense.  "And that is what brings me here.  Louis de Pointe 
du Lac has been taken... by one of your own.  They left 
your calling card."
	"What?!" Joe shrieked.
	"It happened yesterday.  Six of your Watchers 
stormed the townhouse on the Rue Royale just before dawn.  
Louis strangled one of them and they left the body.  He had 
your tattoos on his wrists, Joe."
	Joe turned several shades of pale.  "That means his 
buddies will be coming after the Watchers."
	"No, coming after you, Joe.  I tapped the phone line 
to see if they would call.  About an hour after they took him, 
a man called the townhouse and left a message telling Lestat 
that if he ever wanted to see Louis again, he'd come here.  
Have you made any enemies in the Watchers, Joe?  Do you 
know of anyone who would want to do this kind of thing to 
you?  Has your organization branched into our territory?"
	Joe was speechless for several seconds.  "We have 
_not_ branched into your territory.  We have enough on our 
hands just watching the Immortals.  And as for someone in 
my organization out to get me..."
	Methos cleared his throat.  "Jack Shapiro?"
	Joe thought a moment, then shook his head.  "No... 
Jack wouldn't be that stupid."
	"Are you so sure about that?  Grief can make a 
person do things they normally wouldn't, and the last I 
heard Jack wasn't really thinking all that clearly.  He did 
have followers, Joe.  People who believed in his cause," the 
ancient immortal reminded gently, he knew Joe disliked 
thinking about Jack and all the trouble he caused, especially 
since he and Mac had only recently patched up their 
friendship.
	"Would someone please explain to me what is going 
on here?" Duncan broke in.
	Miranda set her eyes upon the Highlander.  "Joe is in 
grave danger.  The Vampire Louis has been kidnapped and 
his lover, Lestat is going to be hunting Joe down to get him 
back."
	Duncan laughed out loud.  "This is a joke, right?  
Vampires?  Come on now, we all know vampires are a 
myth!  Right?"  He looked at his companions.  "Right, 
Adam?"
	Methos bowed his head.  "I'm afraid not, MacLeod."
	"You can't be serious!" the Highlander insisted.
	She gave him a measured look.  "I am deadly 
serious, and you had better take this seriously or you are 
going to have an immortal killer ripping his way through the 
throats of the Watchers until he finds his lover."
	Duncan laughed again.  "This is crazy."
	"It's not crazy, MacLeod.  Vampires exist.  I've even 
met one of them," Methos said sternly.
	"You have?  Which one?  Where?  When?" Miranda 
asked.
	"An Egyptian out of Kemet about 4000 years ago.  
He was running from his Queen."
	"You met Khayman.  He is one of the oldest.  Of the 
First Brood."
	"I figured as much."
	Duncan stood up.  "This is insane.  You all have 
gone off your rockers.  Vampires.  You're talking about 
myths coming to life.  It's... it's impossible."
	"So are Immortals who go around lopping each 
other's heads off," Miranda deadpanned.
	"Touchˇ," Methos countered, raising his glass to 
Duncan and taking another drink.
	"She does have a point, Mac," Joe added, 
shrugging.
	"You're telling me that you buy into this vampire 
stuff too, Joe?"
	"Absolutely.  I've known Miranda for 15 years, and 
I've even seen the ones she watches.  They're real all right, 
my friend, as real as you are."
	"And deadly," Miranda said.
	"So, what do we do?" Joe questioned.
	"Simple, just drape the bar in garlic and crucifixes," 
Duncan retorted sarcastically.
	Miranda gave him a weary look.  "Garlic doesn't 
work and vampires were around 4000 years before 
Christianity.  Do you really think a crucifix would have any 
effect upon a vampire?" she spat back.  She really was too 
tired for this.
	Duncan shrugged.  "All right, so it was a bad joke," 
he admitted, pacing.
	"I am assuming you have some ideas as to what 
course of action we should take," Methos said quietly.
	Miranda nodded.  "We're lucky.  Lestat hasn't been 
home in three weeks.  It looks like he is off hunting another 
of his serial killers, so we may have a bit of time.  We need 
to find Louis and set him free before Lestat discovers he is 
missing."
	"How much time do you think we have?" Joe asked.
	"I don't know.  He likes to stalk his victim for a 
while before he finally kills.  Sometimes he waits an entire 
year, sometimes only a week. He's not exactly predictable."
	"So what makes you think he'll come here?" Duncan 
questioned.
	"Oh, he'll come all right.  This is his lover we are 
talking about.  Lestat may be a bit neglectful of Louis, but 
you can bet he is going to come after the person who took 
him with a vengeance, and he isn't one to stop and ask 
questions before he bites."
	"Then he won't find out where his lover is if he kills 
all his leads, now will he," MacLeod replied, putting his 
hands on his hips.
	"Not exactly..." Methos interrupted.
	Miranda turned her head to him, surprised.  "What 
do you know about the vampire bite?"
	"I know they meld with their victim, they can read 
the person's mind before he or she dies," the 5000 year old 
man answered.
	"You're right.  Lestat knows everything about his 
victim, right up until the point of death.  There are no secrets 
in the swoon.  How did you know this?"
	Methos smiled wryly.  "You never asked me how I 
met Khayman."
	She blinked at him, then nodded in understanding.  
"He fed on you."
	"Let's just say I was in the wrong place at the wrong 
time."
	"And did he figure out what you were?" she pressed 
politely.
	"Yes.  We had a very interesting conversation after I 
revived."
	"I can imagine," she muttered.
	"But..." Methos said suddenly, finishing off his 
beer. "That is in the past.  Our problem is in the present."
	"That is very true," Miranda agreed.
	"Okay, so we need to find out if Jack is behind this 
insanity and figure out where they've taken Louis.  Adam, 
you up to a trip to Paris?" Joe broke-in.
	"Me??  Oh no no no," Methos answered, showing 
his wrist.  "I left the Watchers, remember?"
	"I remember.  I also didn't tell the Head Office, just 
in case you wanted back in."
	"What?!" Methos shouted, his eyes bulging.
	Joe shrugged.  "You have to admit it was a good 
cover for you for over a decade."
	"But I gave it up after your trial, after I helped set up 
Jacob."
	"Oh come on, Pierson, neither of us knew Jack was 
going to kill him," Joe insisted.
	Methos tempered his anger.  "I knew, and you 
should have known.  I know what a father is willing to do to 
avenge his son's death, I've seen it too many times."
	"Look, I don't want to hear about this!" Duncan 
snapped, pacing more heavily.  "What happened with Jacob 
is in the past, and I don't want it dredged up again!  The fact 
of the matter is, technically you're still a Watcher, so you 
can go snooping around and find out if Jack's behind this."
	Methos snorted.  "And how do you intend for me to 
do that?"
	"You think of something.  You're the one with the 
Plan, remember?" Duncan shot back.
	Methos winced visibly as the barb struck home, and 
moved to stand.
	"I'm outta here..."
	"Adam..." Joe tried.
	Methos didn't answer as he shrugged on his coat and 
began to walk out.
	"M... Adam," Duncan said, grabbing Methos' arm.
	"Let go of me, Highlander," Methos ordered calmly, 
but his voice was raw and strained.
	"Adam, I'm sorry.  That was a low blow and I 
shouldn't have said it."
	Methos looked at Duncan.  "An apology, from you 
MacLeod?  That's a first."
	Duncan flushed slightly.  "Yeah, I know, but I owed 
it to you.  You didn't deserve that."
	Methos sighed and lowered his gaze guiltily.  "Yes, I 
did."
	The Highlander shook his head.  "No, you didn't," 
he corrected, and impulsively took the 5000 year old 
Immortal into his arms, hugging him.  "I'm sorry."
	Methos stiffened in the embrace then relaxed, his 
forehead resting on Duncan's shoulder.
	"I'm sorry too," he whispered softly after a few 
moments.
	"I know," Duncan admitted into his friend's ear.
	One strong, callused hand rubbed lightly at the back 
of Methos' short hair, and he ventured to place an arm 
around the Highlander.  He trembled slightly and fought to 
maintain his composure, and Duncan felt the tremors 
running through the thin frame in his arms and tightened his 
grip.
	"We've both done things we regret," Duncan 
murmured.
	Methos nodded.  "Some of us more than others."
	"Yeah."
	They fell silent, just holding each other, letting their 
bodies say all the things their mouths couldn't, then finally 
pulled away.  Duncan stroked the side of Methos' face 
gently, and Methos squeezed MacLeod's shoulders in his 
long hands.  They smiled slightly, prolonging the 
comfortable moment, then faced Joe and Miranda again.
	Joe smiled approvingly.  "It's about time you two 
did that," he said.
	"Yeah, well maybe you're right about some things," 
MacLeod answered.
	"Every now and then, right?" Joe replied.
	"Right."
	"I will go to Paris and see what I can dig up without 
being too obtrusive," Methos announced.
	"That would be a good start," Joe concurred.
	"And I'll stay here and do what I can to protect you," 
Duncan added.
	"You're no match for Lestat," Miranda reminded.
	"Well, we'll see about that."
	She gave him a sardonic smile.  "You have 
absolutely no idea what you are dealing with."
	"I'll just have to learn then, won't I."
	"You're greatest defense is that Lestat won't know 
the only way to kill you is to take your head," she told him.  
"Keep it that way."
	"You are taking this all very calmly, aren't you Joe?" 
Duncan commented.
	"It's daylight.  You can guarantee that I'll get 
considerably more edgy as the sun goes down."
	"So sunlight can kill them," MacLeod said.
	"Oh yes, and fire."
	"Not always.  Lestat exposed himself to the sunlight.  
It burned him badly, but didn't kill him," Miranda corrected.  
"Sunlight renders them unconscious.  Even Lestat can't fight 
the sleep."
	"So as long as the sun is up, I'm safe," Joe 
informed.
	"And if you stick with a mortal crowd, that will be 
good as well. More protection.  Although, Lestat has killed 
in public before.  It's not his preferred method of killing, but 
he has done it in the past," Miranda offered.
	"Oh great.  You're such a comfort," Joe snorted.
	She shrugged.  "I am only trying to give you all the 
facts."
	"Fine, anything else I should know?"
	Miranda looked at her now cold coffee.  "Yes.  We 
have someone watching the townhouse.  He'll call me as 
soon as Lestat shows up.  But, Lestat may not be the only 
vampire we have to be concerned with.  Louis is very well 
loved.  When word of his kidnapping gets out, others will 
likely come as well.  Depending on who shows up, we may 
have an even bigger problem on our hands."
	"Brilliant."
	Miranda turned her attention to Methos.  "Work fast.  
We don't know how much time we have.  Lestat could take 
weeks to return to New Orleans, or he could show up here 
tonight."
	"I'll be on the next flight to Paris.  Take care of it, 
Joe.  I'll go back to my flat and pack a few things," Methos 
answered, heading for the door.
	"Adam," Duncan called and threw a set of keys at the 
taller man.
	Methos caught them easily.  "What's this?"
	"Keys to the barge.  That way you won't have to 
stay in a hotel Adam can afford."
	Methos grinned.  "Thanks, MacLeod."
	"Check in with us as soon as you get there," Joe 
said.
	"I will.  And leave a message on my voice mail if 
anything changes."
	"Will do."
	Methos walked out, the bar door swinging behind 
him.
	"He's a good man," Miranda noted.  "And he cares a 
lot about you."
	"Yeah, he's been there for me a few times," Joe 
admitted.
	"He is desperately lonely."
	"How do you know that?" Joe questioned, then 
stopped when she gave him a measured look.  "Ah.  I 
forgot.  Sorry I asked."
	"What?" Duncan broke in, seeing the cryptic 
exchange.
	"There's a reason Miranda's in the Talamasca and 
not the Watchers, Mac.  All of their members have some 
form of Gift."
	"In my case, I am an empath and a telepath.  It's one 
of the reasons I was assigned to the vampires.  I can feel and 
hear them coming."
	"And you felt loneliness off Adam," Duncan said 
dubiously.
	"Oh yes.  A deep and binding loneliness.  And I 
know Adam isn't his real name.  Neither of you shield very 
well.  It's how I knew you were both Immortals the moment 
I walked in the room."
	MacLeod sneered at her.  "And what else did you 
feel?"
	"Love.  He loves you, both of you.  That hug you 
gave him meant more than you realize.  And you love him, 
and Joe, and Joe loves the two of you."
	Duncan sobered and nodded, refusing to comment.
	"Love is a many gendered thing..." she sang softly, 
smiling and making Joe chuckle.
	"You haven't changed a bit," the mortal jibed.
	Duncan sat back down, his arms on the small table.
	"So, tell me what you know about this Lestat."
	Miranda sighed.  "He's young, only 200 years old, 
and impulsive.  But he is also one of the strongest vampires 
ever.  He's stronger than all but the oldest of them and 
maybe even stronger than some of those.  He isn't the kind 
of person you want to get on the wrong side of.  Like I said, 
he tends to kill first and ask questions later."
	"Wonderful personality trait," Duncan bemoaned.
	"You really can't fight him.  All we can hope to do is 
get him to listen to us that Joe had nothing to do with Louis' 
kidnapping."
	"From what you've just told us, I think that will be 
easier said than done."
	"I think that is an understatement."
	Just then Hank arrived with the new sound 
equipment and Joe lifted himself to his feet.
	"Well, I am not going to dwell on it too much.  I 
have things I
need to do," the mortal said.
	"I'll stay here.  If I feel or hear anything, I'll tell you 
right away."
	"Yeah, thanks," Joe replied as he turned away.
	"You think someone is going to show up tonight?" 
Duncan questioned Miranda.
	"We'll know when the sun goes down."
	His burns hurt.  They hadn't been careful to cover 
him from the dawn when they took him from the flat, not 
that he should have expected them to.  If they'd waited 
another hour to take him, he would have been ashes; as it 
was all of the skin that had been exposed to the pale yellow 
light was singed and raw.  He heard the moan in his throat, 
but didn't really connect it to himself.  He was in pain and 
terribly hungry, the thirst raging inside him.  He whimpered, 
and this time he knew it was his own voice he was hearing.
	His eyes opened and adjusted immediately to the dim 
light, peering out from beneath the mass of black hair that 
fell across his face.  He was on a stone floor, cold and 
uncomfortable, and he tried to remember what happened, 
then realized he couldn't.  He only had the barest recollection 
of his lair being ripped open just before he lost 
consciousness.  Damn the morning.  If he'd been stronger, 
he would have been able to withstand the rising sun longer 
and been fully conscious when they arrived.  Then he would 
not be here in this strange place.
	He heard heartbeats, four of them, and raised his 
head, scanning with his green eyes.  The sound teased his 
thirst even more.  Mortal hearts, mortal blood.  Food.  He 
ached for it, even as he took in his surroundings.  He was in 
a basement cell made of Plexiglas, about eight inches thick, 
with a sliding door and steel locks.  He frowned.  Whoever 
had him, they had put a lot of thought into the design of his 
prison.  Lestat could easily have broken out, but him?  He 
had little hope, especially not in his weakened state.  The 
healing of his burns was draining him of his strength.  He 
needed to feed.  He watched with predatory eyes as four 
men came into view.
	"I see our guest has awakened," one said, an older 
man, small of stature and of Spanish or Italian descent.
	Louis could hear him only through an intercom built 
into the ceiling of his cell.
	"Who are you?  Why have you brought me here?" 
the vampire demanded.
	"Ahh, so the monster has a voice.  I didn't think 
you'd be speaking to us so soon."
	"You haven't answered my questions."
	"And why should he?" said another man, a younger 
man with challenge and hatred in his eyes.  "You are our 
prisoner.  We'll do with you what we like."
	"Then you had better be prepared to lose many, for I 
will outright kill anyone who enters this cell while I am 
conscious and strangle those who try to disturb my sleep."
	"Brave words from someone who is at our mercy," 
the second man retorted.
	"If you think I fear death, you are wrong.  I welcome 
it."
	"Oh no, M. Pointe du Lac.  We aren't going to kill 
you," the first man said.  "You are worth much more to us 
alive than dead.  You will however, soon wish we had killed 
you."
	"What do you intend to do with me?  Study me?  Try 
to discover and unravel the threads of my existence?"
	"While we wait, yes," the first man replied.
	"Wait?"
	"Wait for your lover, Lestat, to kill a man."
	Louis snorted, his nostrils flaring.  "You kidnap me 
and imprison me here just so Lestat will kill a man?  Why 
not have done this deed yourself?"
	The man smiled cruelly.  "That would be too easy, 
and could be traced.  Besides he is protected by those as 
immortal as yourself."
	"You would have Lestat kill someone who is claimed 
by another of my kind?  You are a fool."
	"Who says he is protected by vampires?  I just said 
'immortal.' There are others who live forever besides 
yourself."
	With that the man turned away and moved to leave.
	"Your plan will not be so easily achieved.  Lestat will 
find me, and so will others of my kind."
	The man turned back to him for a brief moment.  
"My dear Louis, that is exactly what I am counting on.  I 
intend for your lover to kill as many people as there are a 
threat to me.  Then and only then, will I consider letting you 
go."
	The men walked out, leaving Louis alone.  The 
vampire snarled and scratched a deep gouge in the wall of 
his cell with his sharp nails.
	Miranda felt him before she saw him, that warning 
chill that ran up her spine every time a vampire came within 
fifty feet of her, and she had just enough time to veil her 
thoughts before he entered the bar.  She sighed with relief.  
It wasn't Lestat.  It was his newest fledgling, David, the one 
who used to be the Superior General of the Talamasca, but 
only a handful of people knew that.  To the rest of the world 
David Talbot was dead, and rightfully so.  His aged body 
had perished in a Miami hospital in 1991, and only she and 
three others knew David had not been in the body when the 
mortal coil expired.  And if she hadn't been the one to take 
Lestat's frantic call when he phoned the London 
Motherhouse to tell them David's body was dying, she 
would not even have known that.  Still, she was glad it was 
David who had arrived first.  David would listen to reason, 
but could he control Lestat?
	"You see one?" Duncan MacLeod asked from beside 
her, speaking close to her ear so she would hear him over 
the music of the blues band.
	She nodded.  "Yes."
	She saw the Highlander instinctively reached for his 
sword.  "Where?"
	"He just came in, but it's not Lestat.  We're in luck.  
It's his fledgling, David Talbot."
	"Fledgling?"
	"Yes, that is what a newly made vampire is called.  
Lestat made him some six years ago."
	"What should we do?"
	"We wait and see what he does.  He's a thinker.  I 
doubt he'll do anything rash."
	They watched, holding their breath as the vampire 
scanned the room, then slowly approached the bar where Joe 
was filling drink orders.
	"Sally!  I've got those four drafts for you," Joe said, 
placing four mugs of beer on the counter, then turned his 
attention to the figure which had just come to the bar.  "What 
can I get for you, pal?"
	The figure did not answer and Joe paused to get a 
better look at the guy... and found himself staring to a pair 
of intense amber-gold eyes. The man was very tall, over six 
feet, and thin.  His skin was pale, pale white, and 
unnaturally smooth, and his hair was a thick mass of brown 
locks with gold streaks.  He was clothed in loose, well-made 
sweater with a stiff, white collared shirt underneath and a 
long broad coat.  He had his thin, delicate hands on the 
counter and Joe looked down at them, taking in the sharp, 
glassy nails.  He swallowed hard, his heart catching in his 
throat.
	"Ummm..."
	"You had no part in the taking of my friend," the 
man said simply.
	His voice was soft, yet very clear and light.  Joe 
thought he caught a glimpse of the white teeth.
	"Ahh, no.  But thanks for asking first and biting 
second," Joe kidded weakly, trying not to let his fear show.
	"I am not Lestat.  But you know what I am and why 
I am here."
	Joe nodded.  "Yeah.  Some guys set me up to take 
the fall for the kidnap of one of you."
	"My brother and my friend," the vampire answered.  
"But how do you know all of this?"
	Joe cast a glance at the two figures approaching the 
bar and the vampire looked in the same direction as Miranda 
and Duncan came close.  Duncan could feel the power 
emanating off the figure as it watched them, but its ire was 
focused not at him, but at Miranda.
	"Miranda," the vampire said.
	"David," she answered.
	"You should not be here."
	"I am trying to save two friends."
	David sighed.  "You always did walk the line."
	"Look, let's go into my office.  We can talk freely 
there and it'll be easier to hear," Joe suggested.
	"Agreed," David replied.
	"Mike, take over for me, will ya.  I'll be right back."
	"Sure thing, Joe."
	Joe moved out from behind the bar and led the way 
to his office, leaning heavily on his cane.
	The four of them entered the office and Joe closed 
the door behind them.  Then he sat in his chair behind his 
desk while Miranda sat down as well.  Duncan and David 
remained standing, eyeing each other warily.
	"You want a drink?" Joe asked.  "Ah, stupid 
question."
	"No, thank you."
	"You mind if I have one?"
	"Not at all."
	"Mac, want one?" Joe questioned, pulling a bottle of 
scotch and a couple of glasses from the cabinet behind him.
	"Nah, thanks."
	"Suit yourself," the mortal noted, pouring himself a 
double.
	David breathed in the scent of the alcohol and sighed.  
"Scotch.  That used to be my favorite when I was alive."
	Joe downed the whisky.  "Ahh, Laphroaig.  I love 
this stuff."
	"You have good taste in Scotch."
	"Expensive taste.  Not even the customers get a crack 
at this bottle," Joe corrected, pouring himself another.
	"Oh, pour me one too, Joe," Duncan gave in, 
slumping down into the chair beside Miranda.
	Joe quickly obliged.
	"So, you tracked me here pretty fast," Joe 
commented to the vampire.
	"It wasn't hard. The address was on the answering 
machine."
	"We know," Duncan said, drinking his scotch.
	"So you came here to find out where Louis is," Joe 
said.
	David shook his head.  "I know a set-up when I see 
one.  I knew immediately you had nothing to do with Louis' 
disappearance.  I would have known that even if I wasn't 
familiar with you or your organization."
	"But Lestat might not," Miranda warned.  "Where is 
he?"
	"Lestat?  Last I heard he was in Columbia tracking 
another one of his grubby little drug cartels.  I know the 
world is better off without them, I just wish he wasn't so 
blatant about it.  Even when I was alive, I could spot one of 
his kills immediately."
	"Why do you keep saying that?  When you were 
alive?" Duncan questioned.
	"Because I'm dead, and have been for the past six 
years."
	"Funny, you look pretty alive to me."
	"I assure you I am not.  I am a ghastly imitation of 
the living.  You on the other hand, are quite alive, but your 
scent has a faint tinge to it.  Not quite human.  You are one 
of them, aren't you.  One of the Immortals."
	Duncan stretched out his hand in greeting.  "Duncan 
MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
	The vampire took the offered hand, ignoring the 
blanch the Highlander made when he felt the icy coldness of 
vampire skin.
	"David Talbot."
	Joe seconded the motion and shook the vampire's 
hand.  "Joe Dawson, at yer service."
	"I know who you are.  The Talamasca and the 
Watchers have been crossing paths for centuries."
	"Ye olde Knights of Templar, eh?" Joe said with a 
wicked grin.  "What did you guys really do with all that 
money?"
	David returned the smile.  "Wouldn't you like to 
know."
	Joe laughed.
	"So, back to the matter at hand.  Have you any idea 
who would take Louis and frame you for it?"
	"We have a few ideas.  A disgruntled ex-Watcher 
and his pals.  We think.  I have a guy working on it now.  
He left for the Paris headquarters earlier today.  We should 
be hearing from him in a few hours."
	"I gather then, you haven't been able to find him 
yourself," Miranda said.
	David shook his head.  "My telepathic powers are 
strong, yes, but they cannot span continents and Louis is the 
weakest of us all.  I would have to be within a few miles of 
him before I would sense him."
	"And have you contacted any others?"
	"I have sent queries and warnings along the vampire 
mind links, but have yet to receive any answers."
	"So now all we can do is wait until one of you or one 
of us finds him," Joe commented.
	"And what do we do if Lestat shows up?" Duncan 
inquired.
	"We hope he doesn't show up."
	"Can you talk some sense into him, David?" Miranda 
asked.
	David gave her a dangerous look.  "It depends on 
how guilty he feels about being away from Louis for so long 
and how badly he is itching to kill.  My guess would be no, 
I won't be able to talk any sense into him."
	"Wonderful."
	"Would you be able to stop him from killing Joe?" 
Duncan continued.
	"Maybe."
	"That's a comfort," Joe scoffed, and poured himself 
a third drink, humming 'Comfortably Numb' under his 
breath.
	"I have asked for help.  Who will answer my call, I 
don't know.  Maybe no one," David admitted.
	"Oh I know of at least one who will, if he gets the 
message in time," Miranda broke-in.
	David looked at her, then nodded gravely.  
"Armand."
	"Armand," she concurred.
	"Who's Armand?" Duncan asked.
	"Another vampire.  Five hundred years old, right?" 
Joe answered.
	"Correct.  You know entirely too much about us, Joe 
Dawson.  That could be very dangerous for you."
	"Where was Armand last seen?" Miranda queried.
	"Southern California.  He has an affinity for warm 
places."
	"And was Daniel with him?"
	"As far as I know."
	"So that makes two who will answer your call."
	"Yes, but do we want them involved?  Armand can 
be more ruthless than Lestat when he wants to be, and this is 
Louis who has been taken. Armand still loves him."
	"Who doesn't love Louis?"
	"Good point.  Your disgruntled ex-Watcher could 
not have chosen a better victim.  They took the one beloved 
to us all."
	Joe sighed and shook his head.  "What I don't 
understand is why Jack would be stupid enough to kidnap 
any vampire.  We know about your kind and we know how 
dangerous you can be.  I know he hates me and he's out to 
get me, but I don't know why he'd go this far over the edge.  
This could bring the vampires down on the whole 
organization."
	"Maybe that's what he wants," Duncan said.  
"Maybe he wants to destroy the
Watchers."
	"But there are other ways to do that, Mac."
	"But none so thorough or insidious.  Think of it Joe, 
immortal killers picking off the Watchers one by one," 
Miranda said.
	"And vampires always cover up their kills.  People 
would disappear without a trace, and what bodies were 
found would be attributed to death by natural causes," David 
pointed out.  "No witnesses, and no evidence to trace the 
deaths back to your ex-Watcher."
	"And they would be almost impossible to fight."
	"But surely someone would notice something," Joe 
insisted.
	"Would they?  We are very good at what we do, Joe 
Dawson.  We have perfected the art of killing."
	David moved close, coming around to Joe's side of 
the desk.  He sat down gently and bent his head towards 
Joe's.  Joe sat perfectly still as the cool lips brushed across 
his earlobe and gasped as he felt the prick of the fang teeth.  
In an instant Duncan was on his feet, reaching for his 
sword, but the vampire had already pulled away.
	"See?  That looked like I was whispering in his ear, 
did it not?  If he hadn't gasped, you would never have 
known I'd bitten him.  I can kill in the middle of a busy cafe 
and no one would be the wiser."
	A cold reality settled upon them and Duncan finally 
realized the danger of their situation.  Joe rubbed his neck.  
"That didn't feel all that painful."
	"Nor should it have.  The vampire kiss is very 
pleasurable.  Most of our victims don't realize they are being 
killed until it is too late."
	"I can see why," Joe said.
	There was a knock on the office door and Mike 
peered in.  "Hey, Joe, it's getting pretty busy out here.  I 
sure could use some help."
	"I'll be right out, Mike.  Well, gentlemen, lady, I 
have a bar to run, and keeping busy will help me not think 
about vampires coming to kill me, okay?"
	"Okay," Duncan said.  "We'll stick around.  Take in 
the tunes.  Watch for undead assassins."
	David smiled slightly.  "I will stay until dawn, but I 
will be back again after sundown."
	"And we have someone watching the townhouse.  If 
Lestat comes home, we'll know right away," Miranda 
informed.
	The vampire nodded as Joe stood.
	"You like the Blues, David?"
	David grinned, and followed Joe out of the room 
with Miranda and Duncan behind him.
	Breaking out of the cell was no longer an option.  
The Plexiglas was too thick, and he had already ripped open 
his fingers trying to scratch his way out.  He had been able 
to dig deep gouges in the surface, but could not get further 
than an inch or two, and the walls and the floor were stained 
red with his blood.  After three hours, he finally conceded 
defeat, and, hurting and bleeding, sunk to a boneless heap 
on the concrete.  He was cold.  He was always cold when he 
hadn't fed.  It was a cold that came from inside him, his 
dead body being unable to heat itself.  He shivered and 
prayed that someone, anyone, would find him.
	"Lestat..." he whispered to himself.
	He tried to conjure up images of his maker: Lestat, 
resplendent in black leather and silk, standing on stage in 
San Francisco in 1985, challenging the whole world to 
believe in vampires.  It hadn't worked, but it had awakened 
the Queen, and she had decimated the entire vampire 
population.  Lestat had gotten his war, but it wasn't the war 
he wanted.
	Louis hugged himself, trying not to shake so much.  
The thirst burned trails of fire and agony through him, and 
he licked at his bleeding fingers to try to assuage it.  It 
brought no comfort, and he wondered if his captors knew 
enough about his kind to know that a starving vampire is the 
most dangerous vampire of all.  What had Lestat said about 
starving Claudia?  They would hear her screams all the way 
in Paris.  He doubted anyone would hear him if he 
screamed, but he might break the walls.  It was a thought.  
He might try it later, when he had gathered his strength.  But 
right now he was tired.  The dawn was coming. He could 
feel the heaviness seeping over his limbs.  Sleep.  There was 
no pain when he slept, but he knew that the pain would 
return many times stronger with the coming of night.  His 
body would scream for blood, and maybe he would scream 
too, but he would try not to, try not to give them that 
satisfaction.  His will was the strongest gift he had.  He 
could use it. Use it not to scream in pain when he woke.  He 
closed his eyes, feeling the world slipping away from him.  
For a brief moment, he could see the faces of the ones he 
loved: Lestat, Armand, David.  David was reaching for him.  
I am here, he tried to say, but the face faded, and then it was 
too late.  Morning had come.
	Methos arrived in Paris at dawn, exhausted and 
hungry.  He managed to find an open cafe that served him 
coffee and sandwiches, which he wolfed down quickly, and 
called to leave a message on Joe's machine, then he made his 
way to the barge.  Everything was still covered and locked 
away in storage, but he didn't care.  He ripped the white 
sheet off the bed and collapsed upon it, not caring about the 
dust or lack of blankets.  He was asleep before his head hit 
the bare mattress.
	Sunlight streaming through the stained glass woke 
him some seven hours later and he groaned in protest, trying 
to cover his eyes.  Then his cellular phone rang, shrill in the 
silent room, shrieking into his sensitive ears like a siren.  He 
cursed and fumbled for it.
	"What?" he barked into the phone, still shaking off 
sleep.
	"Adam!"
	It was Duncan's voice.  Trust the Highlander to be 
up early in the morning in Seacouver.
	"Oh what do you want?  I haven't had a chance to do 
any snooping for you."
	Duncan was quiet for a moment, then he said softly, 
"I'm sorry I woke you, Methos."
	Methos sighed.  "It's okay, Highlander.  What did 
you want?"
	"One of them was here, last night."
	That woke him up.  "Oh?  What happened?  Is 
Joe..."
	"Joe is fine.  It wasn't Lestat.  It was a young one 
named David.  He knows Joe wasn't involved in the 
kidnapping, and he is trying to help us."
	Now that was an unexpected twist.  "Help us?  
Why?"
	"I don't really know.  Except maybe he doesn't want 
to see an innocent man get killed."
	A killer with a conscience.  How ironic.
	"Anyway, apparently these vampires can feel each 
other," Duncan went on.  "If you get any lead on where 
Louis might be, you are to call us right away and David will 
go to find him.  David is afraid that who ever has Louis 
might be starving him, and supposedly that isn't a very wise 
thing to do.  He wants one of them to get to Louis first, just 
in case."
	"Acknowledged."
	Duncan chuckled.  "You've been watching Star Trek 
again."
	"What else do I have to do with my time aside from 
watch TV?" Methos deadpanned.
	Silence on the line for about five seconds.  "Well... 
we'll see what we can do about that."
	Methos wasn't certain what Duncan was getting at.  
Was he offering to renew their friendship?  Things had been 
very tense and cool since they returned from Bordeaux and 
the death of the Horsemen.  He and Duncan had tolerated 
each other and even had some conversations at *Joe's*, 
hence the Sumerian alphabet talk they had been having when 
Miranda came in, but nothing had suggested that the 
Highlander was reaching out.  Except for the hug.  Was that 
really only yesterday?  It seemed like ages.  Duncan had 
barely spoken three words to him since they returned, and 
then suddenly he shows up at *Joe's* chatty and 
personable, saying something about Amanda leaving again 
and Richie going off on another 'long ride.'  Methos had 
been shocked when Duncan sat down at his table, but not 
about to refuse the company.  Miranda had come in not half 
an hour later with her news.  And then, just when he was 
certain everything was hopeless, and he'd never have the 
Highlander as his friend again, Duncan had chosen to hug 
him.  He could still feel the strong arms around him, the 
heat, the scent of MacLeod, and the deep voice whispering 
"I'm sorry." in his ear.  The memory made him shudder and 
tears came to his eyes.  He hadn't realized how much he had 
missed Duncan, how much he needed him until that 
moment.  He wanted to hold on and never let go.
	In 5000 years, Methos had learned that loneliness 
was his lot in life.  Everyone he had ever loved had either 
died or left him in some other way, leaving him abandoned 
and alone.  Good friends had come to mean so much to him 
in the recent years, and he was feeling their loss so keenly 
these days.  Don's death had shaken him to his very core.  
Don died protecting him, and he had wanted to die, but the 
Highlander had refused to kill him.  Now he was thinking 
that Duncan should have, it would have saved him the pain 
of seeing Duncan's hate and hurt.  Another friend gone.  
And Joe, struggling to understand and dealing with his own 
demons, was still a friend, but mortal and dying by inches 
every day.  He didn't know if he had the strength to bear it 
any longer.
	"Methos?  You still there?" came Duncan's worried 
voice.
	Methos came out of his thoughts, realizing he'd been 
silent too long.  "Yeah, I'm here."
	"You, OK?"
	"Yeah, I'm fine.  Just tired."  In more ways than 
one.
	"You should go back to sleep.  Get some more rest 
before you head out to Watcher Headquarters."
	"That's probably a good idea."
	"Okay.  I'll let you go then."
	"Okay."
	"And Methos..."
	"Yeah?"
	"Be safe, OK?"
	A small smile came to his lips.  "I will Highlander.  
I'm a survivor remember?  It's what I do best."
	"Yeah."
	"I'll talk to you later, MacLeod."
	"Okay.  Later, bye."
	"Bye."
	The line went dead and Methos turned off the phone, 
rolling onto his side and burying his face in the mattress.  
Gods that boy could wreak havoc with him.  We're friends, 
we're not friends.  We're through, we're not through.
	"Oh, make up your mind MacLeod and stop turning 
my insides into knots."
	Maybe this was Duncan's way of torturing him for 
what he did to Cassandra.
	He tossed and turned for another hour, unable to get 
back to sleep, and finally gave up.  He yanked a fresh set of 
clothes out of his duffel bag and moved to go into the 
bathroom, belatedly realizing that he never turned on the 
barge's water.
	"Wonderful, Pierson.  Oh well, the HQ has 
showers.  But... first things first..."
	He rummaged around for a blue pen and set to the 
task of carefully re-creating his Watcher tattoo, thankful for 
his small measure of artistic ability.  He'd have to be careful 
not to wash it off in the shower.  Hmm, maybe he'd just 
sponge himself down and wash his hair.  He wondered 
when he became a cleanliness buff.  Back in the Dark Ages, 
he went months without a bath or change of clothes.  
Nowadays, he felt grimy if he went three days without a 
shower.
	Ahh, Kronos had been right.  He had gone soft.  He 
liked his comforts, he liked to smell clean and have fresh 
clothes on.  He liked the warmth of the water, the sweet 
scents of perfume, the feel of soap gliding over his flesh, the 
rough softness of a thick terry-cloth towel rubbing his damp 
skin dry.  He liked the feel of new linen and silk and 
brushed cotton, and the brilliant dyes, showing shades of 
color his people would never have dreamed possible.  He 
smiled wryly to himself.  And the Minoans had thought 
themselves so clever when they discovered how to make the 
cerulean blue that decorated the Queen's bedchamber mural.  
What would those ancient, long-dead people think now?
	When he left the barge it was late afternoon, and 
even later when he finally managed to get to the Watcher 
Headquarters.  They let him in without blinking.  Apparently 
Joe had already told them he was coming.
	"So, is it true that we may have finally found 
Methos?" one of the newest researchers asked him as he 
entered the library.
	"Oh I dunno about that.  He's very elusive," Methos 
answered.  "And I don't blame him.  It's been centuries 
since he's taken a head.  If I were him, I wouldn't want to 
be found either."
	"But you do have a lead, right?" the newbie insisted, 
her eyes alight with excitement.
	"There are always leads, my dear, but not all of them 
take us where we want to go."
	He gave her an indulgent smile and whisked past 
her, going for the Chronicles.  He had to make things look 
good if he was to figure out what was going on.
	"You were right.  Dawson sent Pierson," the man 
whispered huskily into the phone.  "He got here today.  
Hasn't asked any questions yet though."
	"Dawson is so predictable.  I wonder how he found 
out so quickly," said the voice on the other end.  "Doesn't 
matter.  Pierson's here now."
	"What should I do?"
	"Watch him. Find out where he is staying.  When the 
time is right, we'll take him.  I think he'd make a nice snack 
for our guest."
	"Gotchya."
	The man hung up the phone and turned his head, 
watching warily as Adam Pierson made his way up to the 
showers.
	The water felt so good pouring down over his back 
and shoulders.  He kept his arm outstretched, keeping his 
wrist from getting wet as he soaped up and rinsed.  He 
sighed as the spray washed away all the travel grime from 
his face and skin, then shampooed his short hair.  
Afterwards, he dried himself thoroughly with a thick towel 
and sat down on the bathroom bench to pull on his clothes.
	He was thinking about calling Joe and checking in.  
He knew that they must be worried about him and he wanted 
to talk to Joe about the vampire.  He hadn't had much luck in 
finding anything out.  No one seemed to have any idea what 
happened to Jack Shapiro, or at least they didn't want to talk 
about it, and he wasn't pushing.  He already had the sense 
that someone was watching him and he didn't like it.  He 
was beginning to think this whole trip was a mistake.
	"Hey Adam," came a voice as he pulled on his jeans.
	"Brian?  Is that you?" Methos greeted as the man 
came into the room.
	Brian was another researcher.  Methos had always 
been somewhat fond of him.  He had an easy, casual manner 
and a warm smile.  Methos was pretty sure he was of mixed 
Celtic and Roman descent.  He had dark brown hair but grey 
eyes, a classic effect of the mixed blood.
	"Yeah.  I heard you were back in Paris.  How was 
America?  I never got the chance to ask you before."
	Methos pulled his sweater over his head.  "It was a 
lot of fun while it lasted."
	"So, are you here to stay for a while?"
	There was something in the voice.  Maybe he asked 
it a little too innocently.  A warning light went off in Methos' 
mind.  Oh no, not you Brian.
	"No," he replied, yanking on his boots.  "I'll be 
leaving Sunday.  I'm just following up on a lead.  If it goes 
nowhere, I'm back helping Dawson."
	"Ah... what kind of lead?  Have you found Methos?"
	Methos flashed him a grin.  "Maybe.  Not sure yet."
	Brian seemed genuinely pleased and Methos thought 
he may have been mistaken earlier.
	"That is great, Adam.  If you were to find Methos..."
	Methos put up his hands.  "If I find Methos, *I* am 
going to request that I be his Watcher.  I should have dibs 
because I've been slogging through his Chronicles for the 
past decade."
	Brian laughed.  "And you'd have the right of it."
	"And the paper cuts," Methos added with a smile, 
standing and tossing his towel into the laundry bin.
	"How come you took a shower here?"
	"Oh, the place where I am staying ran out of hot 
water."
	Brian grimaced.  "Oh I hate when that happens."
	"I hate being a poor grad student.  Think if I find 
Methos, the Watchers will give me a raise?"
	"If you find Methos, Adam, I'll bet the Watchers will 
give you anything you want."
	Methos gave Brian a wicked grin as they walked out 
of the bathing room.  "Anything?"
	Brian laughed.  "Blonde or brunette?"
	"Why not both?"
	"Adam, you dog!"
	"Well you know that old line from Revenge of the 
Nerds: All jocks do is think about sports, all little nerdy 
researchers like us do is think about sex."
	Brian laughed even more and Methos laughed with 
him.
	"Only one thing I am concerned about though..."
	"What's that, Adam?"
	"Well, the Watchers have been going through some 
really rough times lately and I'm worried that it may be a 
very bad time for me to find Methos."
	"What do you mean?"
	Methos led the way down the stairs.  "Well, after the 
whole business with Kalas, then Jack and Joe Dawson.  A 
lot of Immortals know about us now.  What if one of them 
were to find out where Methos is from one of our 
Chronicles?  What if we got him killed?"
	"Jack was a good man.  So were the Watchers that 
Immortal gunned down," Brian defended.
	Methos' heart sank.
	"Well, yeah, no arguing that.  But that's not my 
point.  My point is it might be dangerous for Methos if we 
were to find him.  We aren't faceless mortals in a crowd 
anymore, Brian."
	"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that.  Things will 
change soon.  They'll be back to the way they used to be.  
You'll see."
	Methos paused and looked at Brian.  "Really?  How 
can you be so sure?"
	Something flashed behind Brian's eyes.  "Oh they 
will.  Things are gonna change, Adam.  The Immortals 
won't know about us anymore and no one will break the 
Oath ever again."
	The way Brian said it made chills run down Methos' 
spine and he frowned, putting up his shields and trying to 
think a way out of this.
	"If you say so," he answered, continuing down the 
stairs.
	"You don't sound all that enthused."
	Methos stopped at the bottom of the staircase and 
faced Brian.  "Brian... to do what you are saying, you will 
have to get rid of a third of the Watchers and half a dozen 
Immortals."
	Brian shrugged. "Whatever it takes."
	Why was I afraid you'd say that, my friend?  Your 
loyalty always did make you blind.
	"Yeah... well, right.  Look, Brian, I have to get back 
to work.  You wanna catch dinner with me later?"
	Brian looked crestfallen.  Perhaps he had some 
hopes about Methos that Methos hadn't lived up to.
	"Nah.  You go on.  I'll catch you later."
	"Okay, Brian, take it easy."
	"You too, Adam."
	Methos walked away, hoping he had just bought 
himself enough time to get out of there with his skin intact.
	"What did you find out?" Chris asked him as he 
watched Adam head back to the library.
	"You were right.  He's in with Dawson.  He won't 
listen to me."
	"You were surprised?"
	Brian sighed.  "He... he's my friend."
	"He is our enemy now."
	"What does Jack want us to do?"
	"Watch him and take him when we're told."
	Brian shuddered at the unspoken implications.  
"What does Jack plan to do with him?"
	Chris smiled knowingly.  "Oh, Jack has something 
very special planned for him.  We're supposed to find out 
where he is staying and see where he goes.  Can you do 
that?"
	Brian nodded sadly.  "Yeah."
	Chris tapped his arm and showed his wrist.  "Hey, 
for the cause."
	Brian repeated the gesture.  "For the cause."
	Chris seemed satisfied with his sincerity and left him 
alone.  He watched with a heavy heart, and when Adam left 
the Headquarters, he reluctantly followed.
	Duncan was at the bar before sundown.  The 
Highlander's presence was an odd comfort to him, although 
he knew MacLeod had little chance of fighting Lestat should 
the vampire show up.  Still, it was a mental thing, something 
about Duncan's protective stance, the way he watched the 
door as the sky got darker and darker, hand ready to whip 
out his sword should a vampire show his face, although 
even in the sparsely populated bar that may not be the best 
idea.  The dinner crowd was just starting to trickle in. Joe 
felt protected, or at least, not alone.
	Not an hour after sundown, the door to the bar 
opened, and a slight figure came in followed by a much taller 
one.  Joe and Duncan watched them carefully.  The little one 
was a baby, barely eighteen if he was a day older, with short 
auburn hair that curled slightly at the ends.  His head came 
up to his companion's shoulder, and he had his hands 
shoved deep into the pockets of his short denim jacket, as if 
he were suffering from cold.  The companion had short, ash 
blond hair and strong bones.  He looked a little disheveled in 
a oversized sweater and blue jeans, but comfortable, if not 
slightly arrogant in his posture.  Both figures paused by the 
doorway, looking around slowly before the smaller one 
walked towards the bar.
	Joe threw his rag down and leaned his elbows on the 
bar, waiting for the boy to come to him.
	"Out.  I don't serve minors, and I won't believe any 
I.D. you show me," he said.
	The boy looked at him, his big brown eyes shining 
forth from a flawless face, and smiled, the lower, bee-stung 
lip curling wryly.  The taller man just laughed, rankling 
Duncan who slid his hand into his coat warily and took a 
step forward.  The boy shot out a hand towards the 
Highlander, never taking his eyes off Joe.  Then he slowly 
and deliberately pulled back his upper lip.  Two tiny, razor 
sharp, fang teeth glinted back at Joe in the bar's yellowy 
light, making his blood turn cold.
	"Would you care to repeat that, Senore?" the boy 
said softly, his voice accented with an Italian lilt.
	The taller man now turned his face towards Joe, 
revealing two burning, violet eyes and a similar, deadly 
smile.  They were showing the fangs on purpose, whether to 
be identified or to threaten, Joe wasn't sure, but they didn't 
seem to be angry or upset, and he was relatively certain that 
if they had intended to kill him, he would already be dead.
	"Holy shit," Joe breathed.
	"Joe?" Duncan asked, moving very close.
	The vampires looked at the Immortal and MacLeod's 
face filled with  understanding, then with indignation.  The 
Highlander cursed in Gaelic.
	"Do not be angry with yourself, Highlander.  You 
are no match for us.  Your skill and your sword are no 
defenses against our speed and strength," the boy informed 
gently.
	"How did you know who I am?" Duncan demanded.
	The boy gave another secretive smile.
	"Because he is a mind reader, and a very powerful 
one at that," came David's voice as he walked into the bar.
	Miranda was with him.
	"David!" the blond vampire greeted with a warm 
smile.
	"Hello, Daniel."
	David approached the boy and stood before him.  
"Armand.  I'm glad you're here."
	Armand looked past the brown-haired vampire to the 
mortal woman behind him and hissed.
	"Talamasca!"
	David put a hand out to stop Armand.  "She is a 
friend.  She is here to help us."
	Armand did not seem comforted.  "You are still 
associating with your former brotherhood.  Where do your 
loyalties lie, Talamascan?"
	"With you, and with Lestat.  You know I left the 
Talamasca when Aaron was murdered, and have not had 
relations with them since.  Miranda was already here when I 
arrived.  She was in New Orleans when Louis was taken.  
She and Joe Dawson are friends," David assured.  "She is 
on our side, Armand."
	"You are a fool to trust a mortal, David."
	"And I would not, had I the choice."
	Armand fixed a predatory gaze upon Miranda and 
she shivered.  "I can fix that for you."
	David grabbed Armand's shoulder.  "No.  That is 
not necessary.  She has already proven her sincerity to me.  
She is not our enemy."
	"Then you are naive."
	"Maybe so, but I gave my life to the Talamasca, and 
I know their ways.  She would not be here to do us harm."
	"Umm, would you two please stop talking about 
killing me as if I wasn't here," Miranda requested.
	Armand snorted in her direction, his eyes flashing 
angrily, and she decided that maybe it was best to keep her 
mouth shut from now on unless directly spoken to.
	"Wise choice," Daniel commented, looking at her.
	Armand pulled out a stool from the bar and sat on it.  
"So, she is here to help.  What help has she given?  Has she 
found Louis for us?"
	"Ah, no," Miranda admitted.
	"Not much help then, are you."
	"Armand, please.  We are going to have enough 
problems do deal with if Lestat discovers Louis missing and 
decides to come here," David said.
	"When is Lestat not a problem?  Or have you 
forgotten how he earned the title Brat Prince?"
	David sighed.  "No, I haven't forgotten at all, 
Armand."
	"Good.  So.  Do we have any ideas on who our 
misguided kidnappers are and where they have taken 
Louis?" Armand questioned.
	"We think a renegade group of Watchers has him, 
led by a man named Jack Shapiro," Duncan answered, tired 
of being left out of the conversation.  He just wasn't used to 
not being the center of attention.
	"We've got a man in Paris trying to find some things 
out for us, but so far he's come up with nothing," Joe 
continued.  "I expect to hear from him soon.  He's supposed 
to check in every 12 hours."
	"Ahhh, gay Parie.  I remember it well," Armand 
breathed with a sentimental softness in his eyes.  "Not the 
city it used to be back in the 1800's, but it still has its 
charms."
	Daniel moved close and brushed Armand's arm 
intimately.  "You keep promising me that we'll go back 
there, but we never do."
	"Perhaps in the spring, cara."
	The endearment was spoken like a lover, and Duncan 
quickly realized that these two were very much a pair in 
every sense of the word.  As he thought it, Armand's brown 
eyes met his with an intensity that bordered on challenge, 
and he remembered that Armand could read minds.  Quickly, 
he lowered his gaze.  In 400 years of life, he had learned that 
what was on the inside of a person meant much more than 
what was on the outside.
	"Well, we may be going to Paris very soon if Adam 
finds out where Louis is," Joe said.
	"This is very true," Armand agreed.
	"You'll be going with us then, if we find Louis?" 
Miranda asked.
	"I go wherever Louis needs me," Armand replied.
	"We both do," David added.
	Joe looked at Armand and David.  "What is so 
special about this guy that he has three of his own kind 
willing to fight, kill and travel half way around the world for 
him?"
	"Four," Daniel piped in, seeming somewhat 
distracted.  "I love him too.  And if you count Marius, 
Khayman, and Jesse, that makes seven."
	"Louis is the Beautiful One," Armand explained.  "A 
vampire with a human soul.  He never lost the compassion 
or ability to empathize with suffering that so many of us find 
alien.  He is incapable of detachment. He dies when he kills.  
He thinks he deserves to die.  He is the weakest of us all, 
and yet I think he is the strongest.  His very weaknesses 
allow him to pass through the world and all its passing ages 
unscathed."
	"Lestat fell fatally in love with him at first sight," 
David said.  "So did I."
	Joe shook his head.  "I can only hope to be so 
loved."
	"You are," Miranda informed softly.
	They heard Daniel sigh heavily and turned their 
attention to him.  He was staring at a lovely young lady 
sitting by herself at one of the tables.  His eyes were bright 
and focused intently on her bare throat.  She seemed to 
notice his attention and looked his way, smiling shyly.  He 
groaned lowly.
	David sneered.
	"Don't tell me you haven't fed him yet," he scolded 
hoarsely at Armand.
	"Of course we've fed, but you know the young."
	Daniel began to move towards the woman.
	"Be discrete," Armand reminded.
	"Yeah yeah."
	Joe and Duncan exchanged nervous glances, and it 
looked like MacLeod would interfere, but Miranda quickly 
grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard.
	"He won't kill her, at least not here," Armand told 
him reasonably.  "He'll just take a little drink."
	They watched, Duncan and Joe in silent horror, 
David and Armand in anticipation, as Daniel joined the 
woman at her table.  He smiled, hiding the fang teeth, and 
they began to talk.  Time seemed to move in slow motion for 
the watching mortals as they saw Daniel work his subtle 
seduction.
	"You've taught him well," David remarked with 
quiet envy.
	Armand smiled.  "He takes a lot of teaching, but 
what he learns, he does not forget."
	Daniel leaned in close to the woman and Duncan's 
heart quickened, realizing what the vampire was about to do.  
His hand flexed, his breath became shallow as he saw the 
woman's face go slack in ecstasy, her eyes closing in 
pleasure, her mouth turned into a sweet smile.  It looked like 
Daniel was whispering sweet nothings in her ear, and she 
leaned towards him, her hand gripping his shoulder.  When 
he pulled away, she looked crushed and he brushed her face 
with the back of his hand lovingly.  She smiled, her eyes 
misty and kissed him as he lifted himself from the chair.
	The Highlander tried to hide his hate as Daniel 
returned to them, his face full of satisfied pleasure, flashing 
a happy grin to his lover. Behind him, he heard Armand 
growl, and this time he answered the challenge.
	"How many people has he killed tonight?  How 
many people did you kill?"
	"Daniel is young.  He will feed two, sometimes three 
times a night.  All of them may die," Armand answered.  
"Some may live."
	"And that's the way it is," Duncan snapped back.
	The boy vampire flashed his fangs.  "That is the way 
it is.  We kill to survive.  So do you, Duncan MacLeod of 
the Clan MacLeod."
	"That's different."
	"Is it?"
	Duncan gasped in disbelief, shaking his head.  "Yes. 
It is."
	"Tell that to the ones you've killed."
	Just then, Miranda's cell-phone rang and she 
answered it.
	"Hello, this is Miranda.  Oh, hi Steven.  I see.  Yes, 
thank you. Yes, I'll let them know.  Thanks.  Bye."
	She hung up the phone and looked at them.
	"Lestat came home and left again.  We can assume, 
gentlemen, that he is on his way."
	Lestat breathed in the humid air of New Orleans and 
smiled.  Home.  He embraced the moist heat with the relish 
of a man returning from exile, and skipped his way down 
the Decatur Street, stopping for a moment to buy flowers 
from a vendor in the shadow of the magnificent St. Louis 
Cathedral. His eyes misted up at the sight of it.  He was so 
happy to be back.  His hunt had been successful, and the 
drug cartel's blood pulsed in his preternatural veins.  Now 
he had to see Louis.  Louis would be angry of course, and 
he would scold, and maybe David would be there to scold 
him too, and he'd have both his dearest and most beloved 
fledglings to kiss and hold.  The thought thrilled him.  He 
could see Louis standing in the parlor of their flat, dressed in 
his usual worn, dark clothing, droning on about Lestat's 
recklessness and lack of restraint, until Lestat wearied of it 
and took Louis in his arms to kiss him until he stopped 
talking.  Oh, the sheer joy of seeing him again, his green 
eyes, his soft black hair, the way his face changed when he 
spoke, the sweet, melodic cadence of his voice... Lestat 
hurried from the riverside, leaping up to fly over the French 
Quarter, moving too fast for mortals to see.  He had to see 
Louis now, he was nearly dizzy with the need for it.  Louis, 
his beautiful Louis.
	He entered their flat to find it quiet.  No sound of a 
beating vampire heart, no scent of preternatural flesh.
	"Louis?" he called.
	No answer.  The flat was utterly silent.  He could 
even hear the dust falling.  He creased his brow and 
petulantly dropped the bouquet on the floor.  How dare 
Louis not be there to greet the hero when he came home?  
The nerve!  Well, he would just wait in Louis' room and be 
there when his wandering child and lover returned.
	He was halfway down the hall when he caught the 
scent of strange mortals.  It was an old smell, stale, but still 
faintly there, and he creased his brow.  Louis never 
entertained victims in the flat, that was much more Lestat's 
style.  In fact, Lestat could not remember a time when Louis 
invited any mortals into their home in the past twenty years.  
Back in the eighteen hundreds, they had employed mortal 
servants, but since the time such domestic help went out of 
style, their abode had been essentially mortal-free.  That 
could only mean one thing, the mortals had not been invited.
	He quickened his step, hurrying to Louis' room and 
stopped dead in the doorway when he beheld the sight in 
front of him.  Louis' lair in the floor was ripped open, the 
wooden lid rendered asunder in five different pieces, as if it 
had been broken with a crowbar or other metal lever. There 
had been a struggle as well, and someone had died.  The 
blood and scent of death was on the carpet.  He could see 
where the body had fallen.  He could also see where they 
had dragged something from the room and into the hall, 
presumably the body of his lover.
	He stood numb for several moments, then a scream 
ripped through him, shattering the lamps in the room and 
hall.
	"LOUIS!!!"
	Lestat tore through the flat looking for any clue, any 
sign of who had taken his Louis.  He could make out the 
distinct smell of at least five mortals, and two vampires: 
David and Louis.  David had been there only recently, and 
he followed the scent out to the old brick external kitchen 
that stood across the courtyard.  Once in the garden, he 
caught the stench of decaying flesh and he threw open the 
old door of the kitchen.  The flagstones on the floor of the 
hearth had been disturbed: David must have buried the body 
there.  He immediately set to digging it up.
	The body was about three days dead, strangled.  He 
recognized the imprints of Louis' hands.  It was a man in his 
mid thirties, burly and dressed in a bad tweed suit.  Maybe 
Louis had killed him for his bad taste, but then Louis had no 
taste so that wasn't an option.  He possessed no. 
identification upon his person save for a strange tattoo on his 
wrist, and his pockets were empty except for a hotel receipt 
from the Fairmont Hotel.
	Snarling with rage, Lestat shoved the body back into 
its shallow grave and covered it back up.  Then he stormed 
back into the flat to wash his hands of the dirt and change his 
clothes.  That was when he noticed the blinking message 
light on the answering machine.  Reluctantly, he pressed 
'play.'
	"If you ever want to see your lover again, you will 
go to Joe's Bar in Seacouver.  Talk to the owner," came a 
gruff, mortal man's voice on the tape.
	It was followed by a pleading message from David, 
"Lestat, it's David.  I'm in Seacouver.  I know what 
happened and it's not what it seems. Come here.  I'm 
waiting for you.  And please, please, try not to lose your 
temper."
	Where angst and worry had once been, fury now 
reigned.  Lestat tore down an atlas from one of the library 
bookshelves, and looked up Seacouver in the index, 
mapping the way and memorizing the location.
	"Pacific Northwest, eh?  Washington.  I've been to 
Seattle.  It always rains in Seattle.  Fine, that suits my dour 
mood."
	He could get there within two hours if he hurried, 
and once in Seacouver, he would find this *Joe's* and kill 
his way through it until they told him where to find Louis.  
Frankly, he was relishing the idea.  A little spilled blood 
would help to ease his guilty conscience.  If you'd been here 
to protect him, Lestat, they wouldn't have gotten him in the 
first place.  That thought made him angry and he gritted his 
teeth, preparing to fly.
	"Ready or not, here I come."
	Methos knew he was being followed so he didn't go 
back to the barge; rather he kept to public places, refusing to 
allow his followers to catch him alone.  He managed to grab 
an hour's sleep huddled in a booth at bar not far from Notre 
Dame, and downed more coffee in one night than he had in 
the past thirty years.  How did he allow himself to get talked 
into these things?  He should be back in his apartment 
drinking beer and listening to Tom Leherer sing about the 
New Math.  Instead he was in pre-dawn Paris, sleep-
deprived and on the run.  Hmmm, a good sum up of his life 
since he met the Highlander.  Well, at least some things 
hadn't changed.
	He should call Joe, let him know what was going 
on, and find out if his friend had been turned into vampire 
chow.  He slipped into the lobby of a hotel to make the call 
from his cell-phone.
	"Joe's," Joe answered.
	"Dawson."
	"Adam!  Where are you?"
	"On the run in Paris, where else?  Look, I don't have 
much time, I'm being followed."
	"Followed?  By who?"
	"Who!  I don't know.  I didn't stop to exchange 
business cards with the guy."
	"Well, excuse me for asking.  What's gotten into 
you?"
	"You try running all night on an hour's sleep and a 
caffeine high."
	"Well at least you aren't here.  I've got three 
vampires here and Lestat is on his way."
	"Three?  MacLeod told me just one had showed up."
	"Two more came in tonight.  And we got the call 
about Lestat an hour ago.  Have you got anything for us?"
	Damn.  Things were going from bad to worse very 
quickly.
	"Not yet, Joe, but I think I'll know more soon.  Or 
rather someone who knows something will find me."
	"So you think Jack is behind this?"
	"Yes, I do."
	"Damn."
	"Look, Dawson, I will try to call you again in two or 
three hours.  If I don't call, you know whoever is following 
me, has caught me."
	"What do you want us to do?"
	"If I don't call by ten o'clock your time, be on the 
next flight to Paris.  My disappearance may be the biggest 
clue you get."
	He heard Joe sigh heavily.  "I hope it doesn't come 
to that."
	"So do I.  Gotta go, Joe."
	"Take care of yourself, Adam."
	"I'll try.  You too, Joe.  Bye."
	"Bye."
	Methos hung up the phone and slumped against the 
wall of the hotel lobby.  Gods, he was tired.  Maybe he 
could lose his trailer long enough to grab another couple 
hours of sleep.  Either that or it was more coffee.  No, no 
more coffee, he already had the shakes from so much 
caffeine, any more would start clouding his judgment, and 
he needed to keep his wits about him.  Hmmm, maybe he 
could get to Shakespeare & Co.  He could probably sleep in 
the secret room.  It had been safe the last time Jack had been 
hunting Watchers and Immortals, no reason to think it 
wasn't safe now; all he had to do was get there unseen.
	He walked out of the hotel and hailed a cab.  As he 
waited for the driver to pull up, he looked at the lightening 
sky thoughtfully.  If Louis was in Paris he'd be going to 
sleep within the next hour or so.  Had they fed him?  And if 
they did, what, or who, did they give him?  He reached 
forward to open the cab door and a hand grabbed his arm, 
shoving him forward.
	"What the?"
	He was forcefully pushed into the back seat as 
another body slid in beside him.  He swiveled his head 
around to see Christopher Mackley, one of the Watchers he 
knew from headquarters.  He scowled.
	"I believe the phrase is, may I share your taxi," he 
retorted.
	"Shut up."
	The passenger side door opened and another man sat 
down.  Methos looked at him and his heart caught in his 
throat.
	"Brian.  Why?"
	"You didn't give us any choice," Brian answered 
sadly.
	The driver turned his head and Methos recognized 
him too.  He sighed.
	"All right, where are we going?"
	"You'll find out soon enough," Chris replied sternly.
	"Oh great, a surprise.  I love surprises."
	Chris smiled wickedly.  "Then you'll love the one 
we have planned for you.  Let's get going.  Jack is expecting 
us."
	Methos let his head rest against the back of the seat 
as the car drove forward, his tense muscles relaxing.  He 
was caught, no sense in fighting.  Better to save his strength 
for trying to think his way out of this.  He let his eyes close.  
There wasn't any reason to stay awake, he may as well get 
some sleep while he could.  He hoped it would be a long 
drive.
	Even though it was only 9 PM, Joe had closed the 
bar, and the last of the patrons had straggled out about a half 
hour ago.  Now all who was left were himself, Duncan, 
Miranda and the three vampires.  It was safer that way.  The 
room was tense, and only Armand seemed to be perfectly 
calm.  It appeared that he had no fear of Lestat, or if he did, 
he wasn't letting anyone know it.  His fledgling, Daniel, 
was a different story altogether. He was pacing like a caged 
animal, making them all more nervous than they already 
were.
	"Would you mind not pacing?" Joe asked.  "You're 
making me as jittery as you are."
	"If you knew how strong Lestat is, you'd be pacing 
with me," Daniel answered.
	"Sorry, pacing isn't one of my strong points."
	"So, what are we going to do when he gets here?  
Are we going to try to talk some sense into him?  Are we 
going to try to restrain him?" David questioned.
	"He will never allow us to restrain him if he sees us 
coming," Armand pointed out.
	"Look, why don't we just head South?  Tahiti.  
Borneo.  Rio de Janeiro.  David, you've been to Rio.  Louis 
told me about Carnival there. Why don't we all go to Rio?" 
Daniel suggested.
	"We're not running, Daniel.  Lestat would only find 
us," David replied.
	"Why was I afraid you'd say that?"
	"Why are you so afraid of this guy?" Duncan 
inquired.
	"Oh I dunno.  Could it be because he can blow 
things up from forty paces away, crush internal organs with 
a thought, snap titanium I-beams in two with his bare hands, 
and drain any one of us of all our blood in three seconds 
flat?" Miranda said innocently.
	Duncan scowled.  "Well if that is how you feel, why 
are you here?"
	"Because Joe is my friend."
	"How touching," Armand sneered.
	"You're Mr. Congeniality," she snapped.
	"I try."
	"So basically you're telling us that this guy is 
invincible, and he is gonna kill me no matter what anyone 
does," Joe summed-up.
	"I didn't say that," Armand corrected.
	"You have a plan then," MacLeod noted.
	Armand gave the Highlander a wry smile.  "I have a 
few ideas."
	Duncan waited a few moments, hoping the vampire 
would elaborate. "Care to share them?"
	"I have a question for you, Duncan MacLeod of the 
Clan MacLeod.  How brave are you?" the vampire replied.
	He arrived in Seacouver within two hours, and 
wasted no time in finding out where *Joe's* was.  As it 
happened, the bar was a popular blues club.  Ironic because 
he liked the blues quite a lot, and if he weren't so ragingly 
angry about Louis, he might actually have considered a 
social call.  But as it was, the owner, Joe Dawson... Joe 
called his bar *Joe's*.  How original...  The owner knew 
where Louis was, and he was going to tell him where his 
lover had been taken, even if he had to drain every last drop 
of Joe's blood out of him.  He chuckled to himself, letting 
the thrill of the hunt take him.  He would bring a new 
meaning to the phrase 'Eat at Joe's.'
	The bar itself was up a short flight of stairs, and 
through an exterior door.  The inner front doors were shut, 
with a "closed" sign hanging in one of the windows.  Lestat 
smiled to himself; it would seem he was expected.  Well, he 
hated to keep anyone waiting on his behalf.  So with a 
mental pulse, he shattered the wooden doors into 
smithereens, sending the shards and splinters projecting 
inward.  Then he paused in the destroyed doorway, letting 
the ambient light from the hall silhouette his tall frame just 
for dramatic effect.  He knew he must appear a positive 
horror with his blond hair in disarray from the flight and his 
tight clothes.  He stepped in, the heel of his boots making 
loud clicks on the wooden floor.
	Three figures were before him:  An older man with 
peppered hair who stood behind the bar, his hands gripping 
the edge of it in fear.  A mortal woman with brown hair 
seated on a stool next to the bar.  And thirdly, and possibly 
the most interesting, a tall man with long, black hair and 
dark eyes, standing between him and the other two, 
threateningly holding a Japanese sword.  He seemed devoid 
of fear, poised for battle, his hands upon the carved dragon-
head hilt, ready to strike.  If the scene hadn't been so utterly 
serious, Lestat would have broken into a laughing fit right 
then and there.  This puny mortal actually thought he could 
defend himself against the most powerful vampire in the 
world.  Absurd, of course, but he had to give the guy credit 
for his courage, either that or his sublime stupidity.
	Time stopped and they stared at each other, each 
issuing a silent challenge.  Lestat did his best to look 
menacing.  It was working on the other two, but the other 
stood his ground and did not flinch or back down.  He 
smiled, this was going to be fun.
	"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," the 
man said, as if it should mean something to the vampire.
	"That's nice.  I'm Gentleman Death.  Meet your 
maker."
	Moving too swiftly for the man to see, he closed the 
distance between them and grabbed him by the throat.  With 
a flick of his wrist, he snapped the neck in two and tossed 
the lifeless body aside, making it slide haphazardly across 
the hardwood floor and crash into several tables.  Then he 
stood with his hands upon his hips, glaring at the remaining 
two figures.
	"I assume I need no introduction."
	The older man opened his mouth to speak, and Lestat 
was upon him in a heartbeat, his long fingers twisted into the 
collar of the man's shirt, lifting him up with ease.
	"Where is my lover?" he hissed.
	The mortal did not have a chance to answer as two 
sets of hands grabbed him from behind and yanked him 
back.  Briefly he saw Daniel rip the mortal from his grasp, 
tearing the shirt in two and set him back behind the bar, right 
before his back hit the floor and someone pressed heavily on 
his chest.  Rage surged through him, and he prepared to 
blast the fools who grabbed him into fire balls, when he saw 
the face of at least one of his attackers.
	"DAVID!" he snarled.
	And if Daniel was behind the bar, that meant the 
other one holding him down must be...
	"Yes, Lestat.  It is I," Armand's voice said as the 
auburn-haired vampire held tightly onto his legs.
	Already he could feel Armand's mind wrapping 
around him, dampening his mental abilities like a wet towel.  
Damn, he had allowed himself to be caught unawares with 
his shields down.  Once Armand was in, it was very hard to 
kick him out.
	"I will blast you all into HELL!" he screamed.
	"No, you won't.  You would never do such a 
cowardly thing," David said calmly, still using all his 
strength to hold Lestat's upper body to the floor.
	He fumed, glaring at his fledgling and damning the 
fact that David was so strong.  But you made him that way, 
didn't you, Lestat?  You gave him everything you had when 
you made him.  If he is strong enough to hold you down, 
you have only yourself to blame.
	"Let me up," he ordered.
	"Not until you agree to listen to us," David answered 
sternly.
	"What is there to listen to?  That man took Louis!"
	"No, he didn't.  Damn it, Lestat, would you think 
for a moment?  I knew this was a set-up the moment I heard 
the message!  If he really knew where Louis was, do you 
think he would have someone leave you message directing 
you here?"
	He paused for a moment.  The thought did sound 
rather suspect.
	"But what if he didn't have someone call?  What if 
the caller was ratting on him?  Did you think of that?" he 
shot-back smugly.
	"Yes, Lestat, I did.  Which is why I came here to 
_talk_ to the man and discover which it was.  I discovered 
that it was a set-up, and so would you if you'd just calm 
down and assess the situation rationally."
	Armand barked a laugh.  "Lestat?  Rational??"
	"Shut up, you little urchin.  I'll wring your neck 
once I'm free!"
	"No, you won't.  You'll be nice and listen to what 
we have to say, or we won't let you free," David replied 
angrily.
	"You can't hold me all night, and I can withstand the 
dawn the longest.  Eventually, you will have to let me go.  
You won't have a choice."
	"That's true, but do you really want to spend the 
entire night flat on your back?"
	Lestat scowled petulantly.  "No."
	"Good, we're in agreement then."
	"I agree to nothing."
	"Fine, then we'll just stay this way for a few hours.  
Joe, put on some Blues."
	"No, wait.  I'll give you two minutes.  That's all, 
take it or fight me the entire night."
	David smiled at him and he flushed.  David knew his 
game, he knew he had to be the one in control.  The Vampire 
Lestat never admitted defeat.
	"All right.  I accept your conditions, but you must 
give me the full two minutes."
	Lestat nodded.  "Agreed."
	David eased his grip and Lestat sat up, roughly 
yanking his legs out from underneath Armand.
	"I'll get you for this," he threatened.
	Armand merely gave him one of his little knowing 
smiles.  "But of course."
	David stood and offered his hand.  Sighing, Lestat 
grabbed it and let his fledgling give him a yank to his feet.
	"All right, your two minutes are counting."
	David put his hand against Lestat's back and pushed 
him towards the mortal man.
	"Read his thoughts," David ordered.
	Lestat shot him a dangerous glance, but David did 
not flinch.
	"Read his thoughts," he repeated.
	Snorting, Lestat focused his mind on the mortal and 
pressed inward.  The mortal seized up, his eyes opening 
wide as he felt Lestat enter his thoughts, but Lestat saw 
Daniel lean towards his ear and whisper a reassurance.  
Gradually, the man relaxed and let Lestat rummage through 
his memories.  After a moment, he withdrew, somewhat 
chagrined.
	"So you see, Lestat, he is as much a victim in this as 
Louis is, 
David explained.
	Lestat looked more closely at Joe and spied the tattoo 
on his wrist.  He lunged forward and grabbed the hand, 
lifting up the wrist.  Joe let out a gasp and yelp of pain.
	"This!  This tattoo was on the body I found in the 
brick kitchen.  What is the meaning of this?"
	"It's a symbol for an organization called the 
Watchers," David explained.
	"The what?"
	David carefully pried Lestat's fingers from Joe's 
wrist, forcing Lestat to let him go.
	"The Watchers.  They are a sister organization to the 
Talamasca.  They watch Immortals, keep records on them 
the way the Talamasca does for those like you."
	"What does that have to do with Louis being 
kidnapped?"
	"Perhaps I can explain that," Joe said, speaking for 
the first time since Lestat arrived.
	Lestat locked his blue-gray eyes on the mortal.  
"Start explaining."
	"About a year ago there was some trouble in the 
Watchers.  Some of our people were being killed by the 
Immortals.  One of them was the son of our director, Jack 
Shapiro.  Shapiro tried to start a war between us and the 
Immortals to get revenge for his son's death.  It didn't work, 
but not before more Watchers and an Immortal were dead.  
Jack was thrown out of the  Watchers, but he still has pull.  
We think he is behind the taking of your Louis."
	"And if he is, where can I find him?" Lestat asked 
coldly.
	"France, we think.  That is where Jack last was.  We 
have someone there already. He called earlier to tell us he 
was being followed.  If we don't hear from him by ten, 
we'll know he got caught."
	A groan came from across the room, and they turned 
to watch the figure lying amid the toppled tables slowly rise 
to his feet.  Lestat's eyes opened wide as the man readjusted 
his head, cracking some vertebrae back into place, and came 
towards them, picking up his sword and slipping it inside 
his long coat in the process.
	"I killed you!" Lestat blurted.
	The man stopped and stared at him angrily.
	"I'm an Immortal."
	"Oh goody!  Does that mean if you piss me off, I get 
to kill you again?"
	The Immortal scowled.  "You can try," he answered.
	"I'd love to.  What did you say your name was 
again?"
	"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
	"Duncan.  Any relation to Dunkin' Donuts?"
	Duncan let out a growl.  "No."
	"Hmm, that's too bad.  You strike me as the type that 
would make a good dough-boy."
	"Lestat!" David scolded.
	The Scot, for he was obviously a Scot, reached into 
his coat again, his eyes blazing with tempered rage.
	"Lighten up, Kilt-boy.  I can rip your little Immortal 
body into six pieces, and reattach your head to your knee 
before you even got one swing in," Lestat deadpanned with 
complete sincerity.
	"I don't like you," Duncan snapped.
	"That's fine.  I don't like you."
	Joe clapped his hands together.  "Well, since we're 
all having so much fun not liking each other, I think I will 
remove myself up to my apartment so I can change my 
shirt."
	"I'll come with you, Joe," Miranda offered.
	Joe shrugged.  "Suit yourself."
	Joe picked up his cane and shuffled out from behind 
the bar.  He and Miranda left Duncan and Lestat trying to 
stare each other down under the watchful eyes of the other 
three vampires.  Climbing the stairs to his apartment above 
the bar, Joe shook his head.
	"It's gonna be a long night."
	Methos woke up when someone slammed a door 
next to him, and he jolted awake, sitting up and looking 
around nervously.  
	"We're here," Brian said softly.
	"Where are we?  How long was I asleep?"
	"About four hours.  It took us a while to get out of 
Paris, there was a traffic jam.  And I'm not allowed to tell 
you where we are."
	Methos scowled. "S.O.P."
	Brian shrugged, but his expression was apologetic.  
"You're supposed to come with us."
	"No actually I just assumed you'd have me stay in 
the car.  Would save you the trouble if having to load my 
body back into it."
	Brian blanched.  "Jack just wants to talk."
	"Oh, like he just wanted to _talk_ to Jacob Galatti." 
	Brian shook his head.  "It's not like that this time, 
Adam."
	"Yeah, right."
	Methos pulled himself out of the car, feeling 
somewhat more rested, only now he was hungry.  He 
sighed.  Who's bright idea was this again?  He did have one 
small comfort.  He'd never called.  That meant Joe and 
MacLeod would be on the next flight to Paris.  All he had to 
do was stay alive and get a message out telling them where 
he was, once he figured out where he was.  
	Chris grabbed his arm and yanked him forward.  He 
set his heels and used one of his self-defense moves to send 
the brash young man crashing to the grass.
	"You got me once.  Never again," Methos said 
sternly, looking at the bewildered man.  "This isn't a bad 
spy movie, and I do not take kindly to being man-handled."
	Then he gestured to Brian to lead on, ignoring the 
surprised look Brian had on his face.  Brian gave him a 
blank stare before leading him to the large brick house.  
Methos studied it in detail, memorizing any distinguishing 
characteristics about the house and the lands.  There was a 
lot of lush foliage and large trees, that suggested the close 
proximity of a large water source.  That didn't help him 
much.  France was full of rivers; he could be anywhere.
	Brian led the way into the house and down a long 
corridor.  Near the end, he turned right and walked into a 
large study furnished in dark wood and pastels.  There was a 
large desk, several chairs and a Queen Anne sofa.  Behind 
the desk sat Jack Shapiro.  He smiled as Methos entered.
	"Mr. Pierson, so glad you could join us."
	Methos looked around the room, casting a disdainful 
glance at Chris as he came in.
	"Well, it wasn't like you gave me the choice."
	Jack folded his hands.  "No, not exactly.  Please, 
have a seat, and some breakfast."  He indicated a table upon 
which sat a tray with a coffee service and a variety of 
pastries.  "You must be hungry.  Chris told me we had you 
running all night."
	Methos didn't answer, but he poured himself a cup 
of coffee and picked up a croissant.  No sense in not eating; 
not that he couldn't think on an empty stomach, it just made 
things easier.  He sat down gracefully on the sofa, crossing 
one slender leg over the other, and balancing the coffee cup 
and his breakfast in each hand.  He looked perfectly at ease, 
taking in his surroundings and sipping his coffee.  Now was 
not the time to fight.  For the moment he'd just go with the 
flow.  Take the path of least resistance.  Who had said that?  
Wise words.  Right up there with "Diplomacy is the art of 
saying 'Nice doggie' until you can find a big stick."  Only 
question was, where was he going to get the stick?  He 
smiled.  How often had the 'nice doggie' given it to him?  
Patience.  Wait, watch for your opportunity, and grab it 
when it comes.  He ate the croissant and took a cheese 
Danish.  Not bad.
	"So, what brings you to France, Mr. Pierson?" Jack 
asked.
	"The Methos Chronicle, what else?"
	Jack frowned.  "Liar.  We both know why you're 
really here."
	"Oh really, and why is that?"
	"Don't play games with me, Pierson."
	Methos put the coffee cup down and wiped his hands 
on his jeans.  "I wouldn't dream of it."
	"Dawson sent you," Jack accused.
	"If you say so," he replied.  
It was always good to be vague.  It infuriated the 
interrogator and often gave valuable insights into his 
personality.  But Jack was easy to figure out.  He was still 
Hell-bent on revenge.
	"I know what you're up to, and there is no way you 
can stop me.  You are in way over your head."
	Methos didn't reply, he just took another sip of his 
coffee.  Jack clenched his fists angrily.
	"The Watchers have become corrupt.  We must rid 
ourselves of the traitors and return to the old ways.  We 
must eliminate all those who would oppose us and destroy 
the Immortals who know of our existence.  Dawson's 
mistake must be corrected."
	Methos looked at him, keeping his face purposefully 
blank so as not to reveal anything going on behind his hazel 
eyes.  
	"What are you planning to do?" he asked calmly.
	Jack laughed.  "As if I would tell you.  Not that it 
matters.  In a little while, you won't be able to tell anyone 
anything, ever."
	Ah, so they were planning to kill him, but how?  
Maybe... maybe they would give him to Louis.  If he could 
manage that...  Then he would be able find out where they 
were keeping Louis and talk to him.  But how to make Jack 
think it was his idea to feed him to the vampire?
	"You're going to kill me then, because I am friends 
with Dawson," he stated coolly.
	"You helped him before.  You spoke on his behalf.  
You're here now because he sent you.  You can't be saved.  
You must be gotten rid of," Chris answered.
	"Whoa... I don't understand," Brian stammered, 
stunned.
	Methos looked at his friend and felt a pang of 
sympathy.  "You really have no idea what is going on here, 
do you, Brian?  You've just been following along because 
you thought it was the right thing to do."
	"Shut up, Pierson," Jack snapped.
	"No, wait!  You didn't say anything about killing 
him!"
	"Did you think we'd just let him go, Brian?  He's 
one of them!  If we do, he'll go running back to Dawson," 
Chris scoffed.
	"But..."
	"You're not having second thoughts about our cause, 
are you, Brian?  I hope not.  You've always been so loyal.  
I'd hate to lose you as a partner," Jack said with an edge in 
his voice.
	Brian heard the thinly veiled threat and paled, his 
eyes opening wide.
	"N... no, of course not."
	"Good."
	"What are you planning to do with me?" Methos 
questioned.
	He had to know.  Did they have Louis here or 
somewhere else?  
	Jack looked at him.  "Something very special and 
unique.  You'll be serving our cause, in a round about way."
	"What do you mean?"
	The dangerous look in Jack's eyes told him more 
than his words.  Perhaps he wouldn't have to try to convince 
them to feed him to Louis.  It looked like that had been their 
plan all along.
	"You see, Pierson, there are things more deadly and 
gruesome than the Immortals," Jack commented.
	Time to play his card.  Okay, Methos, showtime.  
Look scared.
	"It's true then." 
	"What's true?" Jack countered.
	Methos lowered his gaze and tried to look worried.  
"That you have a vampire."
	"Who told you that?" Chris snapped.
	"Joe knows people in the Talamasca.  One was at the 
bar several days ago.  She told Joe that several Watchers had 
taken a vampire from his home.  She was afraid that his 
lover would come looking for Joe," he admitted, laying the 
worry on thick.
	Jack seemed surprised.  "Well, it would seem that 
Dawson has friends we hadn't anticipated."
	"It doesn't matter if he knows the other is coming or 
not.  Not him or the Highlander will be able to fight Lestat," 
Chris countered.
	"You can't be serious," Brian blurted suddenly.  
"Vampires??"  He looked pleadingly at Methos.  "Adam??"
	Methos refused to meet his gaze.
	"Jack?"
	Jack gritted his teeth.  "The Watchers are full of 
traitors.  We needed a way to identify who was with us and 
who was against us.  Vampires can read minds.  They can 
tell us who is loyal and who is not."
	"They kill without remorse or trace.  Nothing could 
be tracked back to us," Chris went on.  "We could roust out 
the Watchers and take over in a fraction of the time it would 
take us without them."
	"I don't believe what I am hearing!"
	"Shut up, or we'll feed you to him as well!" Chris 
threatened.
	"Feed me to him as well?" Brian repeated, then 
realization filled his face and he gasped.  "You're going to 
feed Adam to that thing?!"
	"It's all right, Brian," Methos comforted softly.
	"He needs to eat.  We haven't fed him for three 
nights.  He's getting very thin and desperate, and more 
dangerous by the moment.  If we don't give him something, 
he might muster the strength to break out," Chris insisted.
	"I won't have any part of this!"
	"You will or you'll end up in the cell with him!" 
Chris seethed.
	Brian blanched again and looked stricken.
	"Don't sacrifice yourself for me, Brian," Methos told 
him gently.
	Brian gave him a panicked look, then backed out of 
the room, his eyes full of unspoken horror.  The others let 
him go.
	"Take him down to the cellar.  It's still several hours 
until sundown," Jack ordered.
	Chris grabbed him by the arm and roughly yanked 
him to his feet.
	"Can I go to the men's room before you shove me 
into the lion's den?"
	Chris looked at Jack, who nodded slowly.
	"Come on," Chris snarled and pulled him out of the 
room.
	Brian was nowhere in sight.  Good.  Maybe he'd run 
and get the hell out of here.  Methos hoped so.  At the core, 
he was still a good guy.
	Chris watched over him while he took care of his 
business in the bathroom.  The lack of privacy didn't bother 
Methos.  Privacy was a relatively modern convention.  No 
one ever had space to themselves in the old days, unless they 
were royalty, and Methos had never been counted among 
those ranks.  When he was finished, he was taken down into 
the cellar and through a long series of underground tunnels.  
It looked like an old W.W.II bastion.
	At the end of a long hall, Chris yanked him into a 
large room that had once been used for some kind of 
storage.  No windows, only thick stone walls made to 
withstand heavy artillery.  And against the far corner stood a 
Plexiglas cell, about 12 feet square, and in it was a 
motionless figure.  Jackpot.  He had to keep himself from 
smiling.
	"It's asleep right now.  But it'll wake up as soon as 
it's dark," Chris informed, dragging him to the cell.
	Chris punched in a series of numbers on the security 
keypad and the steel door slid open with a creak.  Then he 
shoved his captive in and closed the door. 
	Methos turned and looked out of the Plexiglas as 
Chris gloated over him.
	"I'd keep to this side of the cell if I were you.  He 
strangles anyone who gets too close."
	With a final leering grin, Chris walked out, leaving 
Methos alone in the cell with Louis.  He faced Louis, settling 
himself down on the stone floor with his back against the 
steel door.  The vampire was emaciated from lack of blood, 
his clothes hanging loosely on him.  He was dressed semi-
casually: a large knit sweater, black jeans, collared shirt.  
The eyes were closed, but Methos could still study the face, 
although it was half covered by a mass of black hair.  The 
vampire's hands were a musician's dream; even from across 
the room, Methos could see that.  He was beautiful.
	He watched him for several minutes.  The body 
seemed dead, but he knew that was an illusion.  If he got too 
close, it would come at him with incredible speed and 
strength.  No, it was best if he stayed right where he was.  
He looked at his wrist.  No watch.  It had been midmorning 
when they dragged him down here, so there were still at 
least ten hours until sundown.  He should probably get more 
sleep.  Not much else he could do anyway.  Besides, he 
needed to work on his plan.  He curled up, getting as 
comfortable as he could, and closed his eyes.
	
	After changing his shirt, Joe and Miranda returned to 
the bar, mostly to make sure that Duncan and Lestat weren't 
trying to kill each other.  They found the Highlander with his 
back against the bar, watching Lestat, while the four 
vampires sat around a table.  Someone had made coffee.  
Four full mugs were on the table.
	"It warms their hands," Miranda explained before he 
could ask.
	"Oh."
	"Welcome back, Joe," MacLeod greeted.
	Joe smiled and shuffled over to the Highlander.
	"When was your friend supposed to call?" David 
asked.
	Joe looked at the clock behind the bar, and scowled.  
"By ten, and he didn't call. That means they got him.  
Damn!"
	"What do we do?" Duncan asked as the vampires 
stood.
	"We book ourselves on the next flight to Paris," Joe 
answered, picking up the phone.
	"That will not be necessary," Armand said smoothly, 
pulling a cell-phone out of his pocket.
	Joe paused with the receiver in his hand, and 
watched as the vampire flipped the hand-set open and dialed 
a number.
	"Hello, Etienne.  We're ready to go.  Call Martin and 
tell him to have the plane ready.  We'll be leaving for Paris 
within the hour."
	He hung up.
	"You have your own plane?" Joe stammered, 
returning the receiver to its holder.
	"We have two," Daniel quipped.
	"Absolutely.  You don't think I would subject my 
fledgling to a plane full of mortal bodies, do you?  That 
would be unwise.  Discretion in such an enclosed area is 
problematic at best," Armand replied coldly.  "Come along, 
Senores, Senorita, the plane will be ready by the time we get 
to the airport.  We will travel West and wait for the world to 
turn, we should be safely landed in Paris after sundown."
	"I am not getting into any plane with you," Lestat 
sneered.
	"Fine.  We'll meet you there, then," Armand replied, 
unruffled.
	They prepared to leave, and David moved to stand 
beside Armand.
	"David?  You're going with them?" Lestat asked.
	David faced his maker.  "Of course.  Lestat, you may 
not mind freezing up in the stratosphere, but I most certainly 
do.  I will fly to Paris in the relative comfort of an airplane, 
thank you."
	"Besides, he finds my company more enjoyable.  
I'm much more attentive," Armand jibed.
	"Armand, you always were a slut," Lestat snapped 
back.
	"Don't blame me because you neglect your lovers.  I 
never let mine out of my sight."
	"That's because you're the Co-dependent Queen."
	"I'll ignore that in the interest of furthering our 
cause."
	"How noble of you."
	"Enough Lestat, Armand, we're wasting time," 
David sighed.
	"Do they always carry on like this?" Joe asked 
Daniel.
	Daniel looked at Armand who was walking out the 
door.  "Yes.  They've been at each other's throats for 200 
years.  I figure one of these days, they'll end up in bed and 
just get it over with so the rest of us can have some peace."
	"And that doesn't bother you," Duncan said.
	Daniel looked at him and shrugged.  "No."
	The young vampire stood by as Joe and Duncan filed 
out of the bar.  David and Armand were in the lead, then 
Lestat and Miranda.  Daniel brought up the rear, being very 
attentive to Joe's handicapped condition, making Duncan 
wonder if Daniel saw Joe as weakened prey.
	"No," Daniel said, answering MacLeod's thoughts.  
"I knew someone... very much like Joe, when I was alive.  
Haven't seen him in twenty years."
	"Why?" Duncan asked.
	Daniel shrugged.  "You know how it is.  You 
become immortal and your whole life changes.  You have to 
say good-bye to friends, family, the life you knew."
	"Yeah, but you chose your immortality.  You chose 
to be the way you are," Duncan replied, a hardness in his 
voice.
	"Absolutely," Daniel said, nonplused.  "I begged for 
12 years before Armand finally gave it to me, and even then, 
he only did it because I was dying and he loved me too much 
to let me go."
	"So?  No regrets?" Miranda asked over her shoulder.
	"Why?  Are you gonna put that in my file?"
	She smiled at him.  "Maybe."
	"Then, no.  No regrets.  I'm still as much in love 
with this life and with Armand as I was in 1973.  Nothing 
has changed, except that I am deliriously happy."
	"But you are a killer," Duncan insisted.
	"Yes.  I am a killer.  I knew I would be a killer 
before I chose this life, but I chose it anyway.  I wanted to 
live forever."
	"But at what price?  How many people have you 
killed?" the Highlander pressed.
	"Not nearly as many as have been slaughtered by 
warlords, or starved by famine, or wasted by disease.  There 
have always been things which kill humans.  I am merely 
one of them."
	"But humanity strives to over come those things!  To 
end war and hunger and disease."
	"Oh really?  What about Rwanda, or Bosnia, or 
Northern Ireland? How about Ethiopia or North Korea?  
What about AIDS and Ebola?" Daniel snarled back, getting 
angry.  "Ask any of your old ones, the world changes, but it 
stays the same.  The underlying causes and effects remain 
for all time, and history repeats itself in an endless loop, and 
each generation thinks it is facing these problems for the first 
time, when in reality they are the same things humanity has 
faced since the very beginning.  No.  No, nothing changes.  
And love is the only thing that lasts forever."
	He stopped talking as he saw Armand waiting for 
them at the bottom of the stairs.  The immortal teenager was 
looking up at them with a warm, happy light in his eyes.  
Daniel smiled and leaped over them, to land lightly next to 
Armand.  They kissed, having eyes only for each other in 
that moment, and held hands, moving to walk together.
	"You know, Mac, you really ought to grow out of 
the judgmental phase," Joe chided gently.
	MacLeod gave him an incredulous look.  "Yeah, 
right."
	Joe shrugged and watched as a huge, black stretch 
limousine pulled up in front of the building.  Armand and 
Daniel slid into it, followed by David, Lestat and Miranda.
	"Jesus, this guy doesn't go half way, does he?" Joe 
breathed.
	Daniel's ash blond head peeped out the door.
	"You guys can come too," he said.
	Joe and Duncan exchanged dubious glances, then got 
into the limo.
	The plane Armand owned turned out to be the newest 
Lear Jet made.  Top of the line with every amenity one could 
dream of stuffed into its compact frame.  Joe had seen the 
rich living like royalty, but Armand lived like a God.  No 
sooner had they settled themselves into the plush leather 
seats, when they were taxiing down the runway and taking 
off.
	"Would any of you care for a drink?" Armand asked 
once they had reached cruising altitude.  "I make it a point to 
keep a fully stocked bar."
	"Got any scotch?" Joe answered.
	"But of course.  Laphroaig?"
	"Ah, the good stuff.  I'll take a double."
	With unconscious grace, the vampire opened the bar 
and removed the bottle along with a glass.  Effortlessly, he 
opened the scotch and poured the drink.  Then he handed the 
glass and the bottle to Joe.
	"Thanks."
	"You're welcome.  I pride myself on my hospitality.  
One should never forget one's manners.  Louis taught me 
that," Armand replied, ignoring Lestat's baleful glare.
	Joe sipped his drink and looked around.  Daniel was 
splayed across two leather seats, headphones on his ears, his 
eyes closed as one leg moved to the beat of the music he was 
listening to.  Miranda was curled up on her seat, apparently 
asleep, while Duncan examined a hand carved chess set 
sitting in its protective case.  And way at the rear of the 
plane, Lestat and David sat talking quietly.  Was it his 
imagination or did Lestat look less confident than he had in 
the bar?  Perhaps even a little worried.  The expression on 
David's face was one of compassion and quiet 
understanding.  It made Joe wonder how much of Lestat's 
bravado was for show.
	Armand moved next to him, giving him a secretive 
smile.
	"How long will it take for us to get to Paris?" the 
mortal asked.
	"About fourteen hours.  We are traveling West with 
the night, and the world turns underneath us," the vampire 
answered.  "We will have to make a few stops.  We're 
planning to land in the Aleutian Islands to refuel and pick up 
supplies for you and the other mortals.  We'll land again in 
Aldan, Russia; I have business contacts there with a private 
airfield.  And then lastly in Moscow.  From there we will fly 
on to Paris and land there only a couple of hours after 
sunset."
	"Seems like you have it all figured out."
	Armand looked pleased.  "It is an unfortunate side-
effect of our condition that sunlight causes us to fall into the 
Death-sleep.  But, if you have the savvy and the means, it is 
always night somewhere.  We can use that to our advantage.  
If we had traveled East, it would have taken us two days to 
get to Paris.  In this way, we will be arriving much sooner."
	He gave Joe another small smile, then moved to join 
Duncan, who was still examining the chess set.
	"Do you play?" Armand asked.
	MacLeod gave him a cursory glance.  "Some.  This 
is an original."
	"Yes.  It once belonged to King Charles the First."
	"The craftsmanship is exquisite.  You have good 
taste."
	"Thank you.  Would you care for a game?  Daniel 
has no head for strategy and I        find myself often longing 
for a challenge."
	The Highlander gave Armand a measuring look, then 
nodded.  "I'd love to."
	"Excellent."
	Armand pulled a table down from a hidden cabinet in 
the wall and set up the board.
	"You take the white and I shall be black," the 
immortal teenager said smoothly, setting the pieces in their 
proper place.
	"Whatever you like," the Scot replied, sitting down 
opposite the vampire with the board between them.
	Joe watched them begin the game, smiling to 
himself.  The entire scene was surreal, and getting more so 
the more Scotch he drank.  Finally, after two more shots and 
Mac losing both bishops, three pawns and a rook, Joe got 
up and walked over to where Lestat and David were still 
talking.  The two vampires watched him approach, their 
faces somewhat curious, and David gestured for him to sit 
when he got close enough.
	Lestat's eyes met his and they studied each other.  It 
was the first time Joe really looked at the vampire.  He had 
thick, wavy blond hair that looked white in the right light, 
and blue-gray eyes that changed colors constantly with his 
mood.  He had a strong jaw, and a small nose, and a wide, 
generous mouth.  He was thin but robust, and he wore 
clothes made to show off his physical attributes to their best 
favor: a tight black T-shirt with a rock logo on it under a 
short black leather jacket, tight black jeans and studded 
boots.  Power emanated off him, that feeling of 'other' that 
struck when you got too close.
	"Look, I know how much Louis means to you, and 
believe me, we'll find him," he assured.
	Lestat lowered his eyes and glanced side long at 
David.
	"Thank you," he whispered softly, almost sadly, 
then continued, "It is good to hear that you are so sure."
	Joe shrugged.  "I know my people.  They're good, 
and loyal, and very resourceful."
	Lestat nodded, then his eyes clouded with thought.  
"You know.  Maker and child, they cannot hear each other.  
Once the dark magic is worked, their minds are forever cut 
off.  The silence is deafening," he said unexpectedly, his 
expression somber.
	"So you're telling me that you can't hear Louis' 
thoughts."
	"Or David's.  And Armand can't hear Daniel."
	"And vice versa," David added.
	"I didn't know that."
	Lestat waved his hand lightly.  "I could find him, if 
not for that.  There is no where they could keep him where I 
would not be able to hear him or sense him."
	"Your power of telepathy is that strong?"
	Lestat played absently with the tassel on his boot.  
"As are all my powers.  But they do me no good here."
	"We'll just have to find him another way then," Joe 
offered.
	Lestat looked at the ceiling of the jet, blinking his 
eyes rapidly.  Were those tears Joe saw for a brief moment?  
The vampire craned his head down, shaking it slightly.
	"What is it?" Joe asked.
	"It's been three days.  They could hurt him.  He is so 
much weaker than I.  If they have not fed him, he will be 
starving by now.  Louis cannot go more than a night without 
blood before he starts to feel the pain."
	"But he'll be all right, Lestat," David soothed.  
"Even if they have starved him, he'll still be alive when we 
find him."
	"But starvation alters us completely.  Nikki never 
recovered when Armand starved him."
	"Nikki never recovered because he was mad to begin 
with," David corrected.  "You will not have to worry about 
Louis being permanently damaged."
	"And if they have killed him?"
	"He isn't dead, Lestat.  I would know if they killed 
him.  His blood and my blood are the same.  We were both 
made by you, that in itself ties us together.  Believe me, 
wherever he is, he is still alive.  And if they do kill him 
before we find him, we will hunt them down and kill every 
last one who is responsible."
	Lestat did not look comforted.  "I should not have 
left him alone.  I have too many enemies and he is so 
weak..."
	"Please, Lestat, don't start that again.  Louis 
wouldn't want you to be his nursemaid.
	"But I should have _been_ there.  If I had, none of 
this would have happened."
	"Lestat, they were determined to get him.  It 
wouldn't have mattered if you'd been home or not.  They 
would just have waited for the right opportunity," David 
insisted.
	"He's right.  Jack would've just had his guys wait 
until you _did_ leave.  He's obsessed, and he thinks he's 
doing the right thing," Joe agreed.
	"The convictions of the righteous," David sighed.
	Instinctively, Joe put a hand on Lestat's, ignoring the 
icy coldness of the vampire's skin.  "I have a lot of faith in 
Adam.  He'll find a way to let us know where he is.  We 
will find your Louis and he will be returned to you 
unharmed, I promise."
	Lestat looked at him, his eyes more blue than gray in 
that moment, and smiled.
	"You are a good man, Joe Dawson.  I fear I have 
misjudged you.  I am glad that they did not let me kill you."
	Joe smiled.  "Well, I'm glad they didn't let you kill 
me either."
	Lestat returned the smile, his eyes warm.  "Perhaps 
when this is all over, Louis and I will come to your bar and 
listen to your Blues.  I think I would like that."
	"The door's always open."
	"Thank you."
	David smiled at both of them and patted Lestat's leg 
affectionately.  Lestat sighed.
	"I'm tired.  We should probably sleep."
	"I agree," David said.
	Joe took his cue and moved to stand.  "I'll go see 
how badly MacLeod is losing to your friend."
	The two vampires chuckled and made motions to 
stretch out on the seats as Joe walked over to where Duncan 
and Armand were still playing.
	"How bad is it?" he asked, sitting down next to the 
Scot.
	Duncan was studying the board intently.  Both 
players had quite a collection of each other's pieces.  It 
would seem they were equally matched.  Armand made a 
move and Mac smiled, countering.
	"Check."
	The 500 year old vampire grinned, and made his last 
move.  "And check mate."
	Duncan stared at the board in mild shock, then he 
looked at Joe.  "That answer your question?"
	"Care for another?" Armand questioned pleasantly.
	"Errr... no, thanks."
	Armand began putting the pieces away.  "Pity.  You 
were a worthy adversary."
	"I'm still trying to figure out how you managed to 
pull that one on me."
	Armand gave another of his wry smiles.  "I learned 
from a Roman."
	"That explains it."
	The vampire giggled.  "And how fare Lestat and 
David?"
	"They said they were going to sleep a while," Joe 
answered.
	"Ah, a wise choice, I think.  During the night we do 
not have to sleep, but we do need to sleep.  These all night 
flights can wreak havoc on our systems as much as it does 
on yours."
	"Vampire jet-lag.  Who would have known," 
MacLeod kidded.
	Armand gave him a fond look and stood, putting the 
chess set away and moving to join Daniel.  Duncan and Joe 
watched as Daniel made room for him and they stretched out 
together across the leather seats, snuggling.
	"Amazing, isn't it?" Joe mused.
	MacLeod nodded.  "Yeah, I suppose it is."
	"Everyone needs love.  Everyone needs 
companionship, acceptance."
	The Highlander looked at his hands.  "Yeah."
	Joe looked curiously at his friend.  "What's on your 
mind?"
	"Methos."	
	"Wanna talk about it?"
	MacLeod shook his head.  "Not yet."
	Joe patted his friend's shoulder.  "Well, I'm here 
when you're ready."
	"Thanks, Joe."
	Joe pushed himself to his feet.  "In the meantime, I 
think I'll take a nap too."
	MacLeod looked softly at Dawson as he moved 
down two rows and settled himself into a reclining leather 
seat.  Then, with a pensive expression on his face, he turned 
his attention out the tiny window of the Lear jet, and looked 
up at the endless field of stars.
	
	"Adam?"
	The word drifted down to him, rousing him from his 
sleep.
	"Hm?"
	"Adam."
	He lifted his head from where it was resting on his 
arm and looked around to see who was calling his name.  It 
was Brian, outside the cell, looking at him with his heart on 
his sleeve.
	"You were so still.  I thought you were dead."
	"It's not sundown yet."
	"It will be soon.  Sun's fading now."
	Methos nodded.  His own internal body clock was 
telling him that night was falling.  In 5000 years of life, he 
was still sensitive to the biorhythms of the planet.  It was 
something most modern humans lacked, a lost skill 
sacrificed to technology and science.  He sat up, rubbing the 
sleep from his eyes and yawning.  Brian crouched down and 
put his hands to the Plexiglas. 
	"Is... is that it?" he asked timidly.
	Methos looked at the still figure on the other side of 
the cell.
	"Yes."
	"It... it looks just like a man."
	"It's supposed to.  He once was human, before he 
was turned into a vampire."
	Brian seemed very uncomfortable.  He shifted his 
weight back and forth nervously, then stood, pacing.  
Methos could see he was being torn apart inside.
	"Adam, why?  You were such a good guy.  You 
believed in our mission."
	"I still do, just not the way you wanted me to."
	"But you were one of us!"
	"I still am.  I believe in the Watchers.  But I also 
know that the Watchers wouldn't exist if MacLeod and 
Dawson hadn't collaborated.  It wasn't Dawson, it was 
Horton.  Horton killing Immortals that brought Jacob Galati 
down on us.  It was Jacob that killed Jack's son, and Jacob 
that gunned down the Regional Directors.  And now Jack's 
idea of the Brave New Watchers is to kill off all the 
Immortals that know about us, and kill all the Watchers that 
sided with Dawson.  Is that what you want?  More dead 
Watchers and more dead Immortals?"
	Brian shook his head.  "No!  No, I just want things 
to be the way they were..."
	"Then go back to the Headquarters, and leave Jack 
and his troupe."
	"I can't..."
	"Yes, you can," Methos insisted.
	He could save Brian.  He couldn't save Silas, but he 
could save this one.  He wanted to save this one.
	"Brian, listen to me.  Leave Shapiro and go back to 
the Watchers.  They'll take care of you, they always have."
	Brian started to sob.  "Not without you. Adam."
	"You can't save me, Brian.  It's too late.  You'll 
never get the door open in time."
	Brian glanced at his watch, it was almost sundown.  
"Oh God..."  He looked at the control panel on the door, 
fumbling at it.  "Adam, I don't know the code!"
	"It's OK, Brian."
	"But it's gonna kill you!"
	"I know."
	Brian began pounding on the control panel.  "Open, 
damnit!  Open!"
	Methos rose to his feet and placed his hands against 
the Plexiglas.  "Brian.  Brian, listen to me.  It's OK."
	"No..."
	"Brian, promise me something.  Promise me you'll 
call Joe and tell him what happened to me."
	Tears were streaming down Brian's face.  "I will.  
Adam, I'm sorry!  I didn't know!  I didn't know they were 
going to do this!"
	"I know you didn't.  It's OK.  And Brian, promise 
me you'll take my body out as soon as it's dawn.  Don't 
leave me in here longer than I have to be.  Take me out right 
away," he said, trying to sound like he was scared and 
begging.
	It worked.  Brian nodded vigorously.  "I will.  I'll 
do it myself.  As soon as the sun comes up."
	"No, he'll be asleep before then.  About a half hour 
before dawn.  Come in at six.  Promise, Brian, please!"
	"I promise, Adam, I promise."
	He sighed, closing his eyes.  "Thank you."
	Brian looked at the time again.  "Oh God..."
	In the corner of the cell, Louis began to groan.  The 
sound made both men shiver.
	"Oh God... Adam... Adam, I can't watch this!"
	"Then you had better get out of here now, Brian."
	"I'm sorry, Adam."
	"So am I.  Be careful when you get away from Jack 
and Chris... have something planned to fool them.  And 
remember me.  Remember your promise."
	"I will."
	With a final sob, Brian fled the basement, slamming 
the heavy door behind him.  Methos turned to face the rising 
vampire and sat down on the concrete, his back against the 
wall, his knees up to his chest.  The stage was set, Brian 
would come for his 'body' at six.  He only hoped he could 
get Louis to go along with his plan.  The next few moments 
were a study in suspense.  The vampire moved, his long 
fingers scratching at the stone floor, and his body lifted up.  
The mass of black hair shifted, falling over the thin 
shoulders as the head turned in his direction, and Methos felt 
a moment of pure terror as the vampire locked burning green 
eyes upon him.  There was no sanity there, no coherence, 
only hunger and need.  He swallowed hard, waiting.  He did 
not have to wait long.
	He woke with the thirst clawing at his insides.  He 
nearly screamed from the agony.  Then he heard the 
heartbeat and caught the scent of warm blood.  He turned his 
head towards the intoxicating smell and saw the mortal 
huddled against the wall.  The poor thing looked terrified, 
and rightfully so.  He felt a brief moment of guilt before his 
need took over.  He lunged and grabbed, yanking the body 
to him and crushing it in his embrace.  His victim let out a 
strangled gasp as he ripped his teeth into the soft throat.  Hot 
blood hit the back of his mouth and he moaned with relief, 
sucking and sucking as his thirst drove him on.  The 
mortal's heart beat fast against his, his fingers tangled into 
the lapel of Louis' tattered sweater, and he rocked the body 
in his arms, giving in to the swoon.  Only dimly was he 
aware that the blood tasted different, that the visions he was 
seeing were unusual.  His need encompassed all coherent 
thought until the mortal shuddered violently, his heart letting 
go, and died.
	Afterward, his thirst slacked for the moment, he 
released the body and laid it gently down on the stone.
	"I'm sorry," he whispered to the still form.
	It wasn't enough.  This poor mortal's blood wasn't 
enough to ease the hunger that had built up over three days, 
but it did help.  Already he was feeling better, and he was 
warm.  He sighed, holding his head in his hands.  Who had 
the poor man been?  Why had his captors put him in the cell?  
He didn't like to be given his victims, he liked to choose.  
He liked to take those who wanted death, or at least seemed 
to.  This one hadn't wanted death at all.
	Louis looked at the body.  The man was young and 
thin, possessing the body of an acrobat with strong hands.  
His soft brown hair was cropped close to the skull, revealing 
his ears and long neck.  The face was finely made, the long 
nose being the most distinctive feature, and the eyes were 
lined with long, soft lashes.  He was actually quite 
handsome in a rough-cut sort of way, dressed in jeans and a 
loose knit sweater.  He looked like one of those adventurers 
who come hiking out of the wilderness on the Discovery 
Channel, or the pages of National Geographic.
	Guilt ridden, he pulled himself away from the corpse 
and huddled as far away from it as he could.  He wondered 
if he would have to stare at it all night long before his captors 
came to remove it after he went to sleep, or if they'd have the 
decency to take it out while he was still conscious.  He 
laughed bitterly.  He hadn't seen his captors for more than 
two minutes since that first night.  Cowards.
	"Lestat, where are you?  David?  Armand?  Marius?  
Please, anyone."
	He'd tried calling with his mind, but he knew his 
mental powers were minimal at best.  Unless Armand or 
David happened to be right above him, he had little hope of 
reaching them.  He sighed.  Couldn't they at least have given 
him a book?  Anything to pass the time rather than have to 
stare at these four walls.  He would have read Harlequin 
Romance novels if that was all they had to give.  
Dissertations on fungus, Stan Rice's poetry, anything.  
What he wouldn't give for a boring biography on Thoreau.  
But no one ever came in for more than a brief peek.  Here, 
come look at the monster who imitates a man.  His questions 
went unanswered, and the only person that had stayed was 
now lying dead a few feet away.  
He drew his knees up close to his chest and rested his 
forehead atop them.  Another night of misery and despair.  
He tried to think of good things, of David and Lestat, of 
Carnival and the moist heat of New Orleans in summer.  So 
many people found it oppressing, but, oh! he loved it.  It 
wrapped around him like a thick blanket, holding the heat 
inside him.  And the warm summer rains that fell in light 
sheets over the French Quarter, bathing the bougainvillea 
and lush spider ferns in a silvery mist.  And over the streets 
the faint sounds of Jazz coming over from the Rue Bourbon, 
and the occasional clop-clop of a passing mule-drawn 
carriage.  His little slice of paradise.
	He remembered the lazy days of the late ninetieth 
century, when Beethoven reigned and Mozart's Magic Flute 
could still be seen in common theatres.  And he and Lestat 
had kept a team of horses at a nearby stable, to take out 
when they went to the famous Quadroon Balls.  He could 
still hear the laugher, the happy music, see the bright, 
glittering lights...
	He lost himself to his memories, bringing up as 
many as he could to fill the time and empty silence.  He 
imagined Paris in 1863, and Claudia with her dolls, and 
Lestat standing in the light of a gas lamp, smiling, singing, 
tapping the cobblestones with his walking stick.  'Tomorrow 
and tomorrow and tomorrow, Louis!'  That was his favorite 
line.  Lestat always had a soft spot for Shakespeare.  
	The sudden thrumming of a heartbeat startled him out 
of his reminiscing, and he lifted his head to see who it was.  
No one was in sight, and the heartbeat was very close.  The 
aroma of mortal blood wafted around him, and his gaze fell 
upon the body near the center of the cell.  Before his very 
eyes, it was reviving, the skin becoming flushed, the heart 
pounding its defiance against death.  He crawled over to the 
corpse, and looked down at its face just as the body lurched, 
drawing a deep breath, and the eyes flew open.
	"Gods!  What a rush!"
	Louis thought he would die from fright right there.
	Methos rose from death with a great surge.  How 
many times had he done this?  His body still tingled from the 
bite, the pure ecstasy of it...  He opened his eyes, voicing 
his return to life, and looked straight into a pair of terrified, 
green eyes.
	"Hello."
	The lovely face above him was blank with shock, 
and it zipped away when he moved to sit up.  It reappeared 
on the other side of the cell, attached to a body that was 
trying to plaster itself to the Plexiglas wall.
	"You were dead.  I killed you," the vampire blurted.
	"And what a pleasant way to die.  Beats burning at 
the stake any day, but did you have to crush my ribs?" he 
answered with a twinge of pain, then offered his hand.  
"Adam Pierson at your service."
	"Are you angel or demon?"
	Methos smiled.  "Neither actually, but thanks for 
asking."
	"What _are_ you?"
	"I'm an Immortal, and I'm here to help you."
	"Help me?" Louis repeated.
	Methos got up and moved closer to the vampire.  
"You don't have to be afraid.  I'm not your enemy.  I was 
sent to find you."
	"By whom?"
	Methos crouched down in front of Louis.  "By my 
friend Joe Dawson.  He is the one Jack framed for your 
kidnapping."
	"The one my captors wanted Lestat to kill," Louis 
breathed thoughtfully.
	"Exactly."
	Louis gave him a stricken look.  "Did Lestat kill 
him?"
	Methos shook his head.  "As of last night, no.  And 
David was with him."
	"David?  You know David?"
	"I know of him.  He came looking for answers as to 
where you'd been taken."
	The vampire looked at him hopefully.  "Do you 
know where we are?"
	Methos shook his head.  "Unfortunately, no, not yet, 
but I will soon.  If you will help me."
	"How can I help you?"
	The 5000 year old man smiled.  "By killing me 
again."
	"What?!" the vampire gasped.
	Methos raised a hand.  "Not right now.  Closer to 
dawn.  I have to be dead when they come to get my body.  If 
I'm not, it'll blow my cover." 
	Louis just stared at him, stunned, then the green eyes 
traveled down to his wrist and saw the tattoo.
	"That.  You have the same mark as the others.  What 
does it mean?"
	Methos looked at the drawn symbol, it was holding 
up rather well, all things considered.  "It's a symbol for an 
organization that I am a part of.  We're called the Watchers.  
We watch Immortals."
	Louis' eyes narrowed.  "Like the Talamasca?"
	"Exactly, only we watch only one kind of Immortal."
	"Your kind."
	Methos smiled wryly.  Louis was highly intelligent.  
This was wonderful.  "Yes, my kind, but they don't know 
I'm an Immortal.  I'm... incognito."
	"Why?"
	"Because I'm in hiding from the Game."
	"The Game?"
	Methos settled into a more comfortable position.  
Louis was relaxing by the moment and he was relatively 
certain he'd just gained an ally.
	"Yes, it's how we Immortals live."
	He went on to explain the nature of his Immortality, 
and the Game, and why he had used the Watchers as a 
refuge from other Immortals.  He also told him about Jack 
Shapiro and the war between the Watchers and the 
Immortals, and why Jack had kidnapped him and wanted 
Lestat to kill Joe Dawson.  Louis listened carefully, asking 
only a precursory question or two, until he was finished his 
tale.
	"Such a gift you have," the vampire mused.  "To live 
forever, and still have the sun and all the pleasures of mortal 
life."
	"But we don't have the bite, the ecstasy of the kill, 
and we're always on the lookout for others of our kind who 
would take our heads.  We don't have any of the vampire 
powers, the speed, the strength, the ability to fly..."
	"Only the old ones can do that.  Fly, I mean.  Lestat 
can fly and he can make things move with his thoughts," 
Louis commented.  At the mention of his lover's name, 
Louis' face softened.
	"You love him very much."
	Louis nodded.  "Yes, but it was not always so.  I 
spent the better part of a century trying to convince myself I 
hated him."
	"And why is that?"
	"Because he wasn't the teacher I wanted him to be.  
Because he pushed me into things I wasn't ready for."
	"What changed your mind about him?"
	Louis gave him a tender smile.  "You've lived a long 
time."
	Methos nodded.  "Yes."
	"How long?"
	"Long."
	"Our oldest is 6000.  Are you as old as that?"
	"No, but I am not all that much younger."
	"Then you know the loneliness which plagues the 
immortals, of the despair of never changing while all you 
know fades into the obscurity of time.  Of the overwhelming 
need to be with another of your own kind, even if he is your 
enemy.  And the desire to be understood, to not be alone, to 
not sink into the sea of pain, but sail your tiny craft across 
it."
	The words hit him with a truth that was physically 
painful.  This one, so young, yet so wise.  He knew.  He 
had looked into the same gaping maw of despair Methos had 
stared into so many times, and had seen the same endless 
emptiness.  The tears stung his eyes even as he fought them 
back, and when his vision cleared, he saw Louis looking at 
him kindly.  One white finger reached up to brush the 
wetness from his cheek.
	"And then you must know, that love is our only 
salvation.  For who will love the monsters, if they do not 
love each other?  It is our lifeline, our tenuous hold in an 
uncertain existence.  It is the only thing that lives as long as 
we do."
	Methos didn't feel himself trembling.  This 
youngster, this _baby_ was so right.  He knew the salvation 
of love, of the love of one of his own.  How it purified the 
soul, and provided a rock to cling to in the tempests of time.
	"Yes," he heard himself say.  "Oh, yes."
	A hand closed on his shoulder and he met the 
emerald gaze through misty eyes.
	"You ask me what made me change my mind about 
Lestat?  Nothing.  I chose love.  I chose to love him and be 
loved in return.  It has been my only comfort."  
	The vampire paused and brushed his face again.  
"But I see that you understand all too well what I am saying, 
yes?" he whispered.  "Can it be that you are denying love, or 
that someone you love is denying that they love you?"
	Methos had only one thought: MacLeod.  But 
MacLeod hated what Methos had been, and their friendship 
was damaged, perhaps permanently.  It would take years, 
perhaps centuries, for the Highlander to trust him again, if 
he ever did, and by then Methos may have given up on life 
again.  The sea of pain was beneath him and his 'tiny craft' 
was taking on water.  He took a deep breath, mentally 
bailing and sealing the leaks, and pulled himself together.  
Now was not the time to fall apart.
	"Maybe," Methos answered stiffly, moving so the 
strong hand slipped off his shoulder.
	Louis allowed it and shrugged slowly, smiling.  
They understood each other very well.
	"So, you have a plan?" the vampire asked, changing 
the subject to a more neutral topic.
	"Ah, yeah.  You kill me.  They dump my body 
somewhere.  They think I'm dead so I am free to figure out 
where we are and get help."
	"Sounds rather simple."
	"It is."
	"What if they bury you or burn your body?"
	"I dig myself out or wake up with burns."
	Louis was shocked.  "So not even cremation will kill 
you?"
	"No, it's just really really painful when I wake up.  
But they're not likely to burn me.  They'll probably just toss 
me into a river or the woods or something."
	Louis chuckled.  "You're very laissez-fare about this 
whole thing."
	Methos stood and stretched.  "When you've died as 
many times as I have, things lose their mystery."
	Louis shook his head, smiling, then he perked up 
staring at the door to the room.
	"What is it?" Methos asked, seeing the vampire's 
intent expression.
	"Someone is coming.  I can hear a heartbeat."
	"Through the Plexiglas?"
	"Yes.  It is the only thing I can really hear outside of 
this cell, but that is because my body is tuned to it."
	Methos knelt down on the stone.  "Okay, quick, kill 
me."
	"What?"
	"Kill me.  If I'm alive when he comes in, the jig is 
up.  Come on, do it, we're wasting time."
	Louis nodded in understanding, and Methos found 
himself pushed flat on his back before he could draw another 
breath.
	"I'll be gentler this time," the vampire assured.
	Methos gave a nod and a furtive glance at the door.  
Then he felt Louis' lips on the sensitive skin of his throat, 
and he closed his eyes, relaxing.  This could be a very 
pleasurable experience if he let it.  He drew a deep breath, 
letting it out slowly as the tiny fangs pricked his flesh.  
There was a brief moment of pain, but then the pleasure 
began: waves of rapture that flooded through his body, 
surging around him and over him.  He moaned, letting it 
take him.
	"Shhhh," he heard the vampire warn.
	He bit his lip, trying to comply, but it felt so good.  
There was nothing like this, not even the best sex he ever 
had could hold a candle to this all-encompassing pleasure.  
Then the pleasure abruptly stopped as Louis ripped his 
mouth away.  He had to fight himself to keep from groaning 
with despair, but he held his tongue.  Louis was snarling. 
Someone had entered the room.  He hadn't even heard them 
come in.
	"My kill!" Louis seethed, covering him with his 
body.
	There was a gasp and a strangled cry, then the sound 
of quickly running footsteps. A moment later, Louis' weight 
lifted, and Methos forced his eyes open to look at him.  His 
perfect face was watching him, the soft lips stained red with 
blood, a thin droplet peeking out from the one corner of the 
mouth.
	"I scared him off," the vampire said gently.  "They 
think me a monster, so I played the part."
	Methos managed a small smile.  He felt like he was 
floating, the pleasure still tingling in his limbs.
	"You're good," he croaked, then arched his neck.  
"Finish it."
	"Why?  He's gone and he won't be back."
	Because it feels so good, you idiot.  But that wasn't 
good enough.  He needed a better reason.
	"Because we need to know how long it takes for me 
to rise.  We need to know how much time I have after I die.  
Drain me as far as you can, and then time my recovery." 
	That a good enough reason for you?  Come on, do it 
for the cause.
	A strong hand gripped his shoulder and the long, 
lean body stretched out next to his, one knee coming to press 
between his legs.  He knows! Methos thought dimly.  An 
arm came around him, pulling him close, even as the knee 
pressed upward.  He arched his back, moaning, letting his 
head loll to one side as Louis's mouth touched his throat.  
	The teeth drove into him, making his body jerk as the 
pleasure hit, and he tangled his fingers into Louis' sweater.  
He was soaring, filled with delight and joy.  Colors flashed 
on the insides of his eyelids, sparks of fire and electricity, 
and he felt his Quickening respond to the onslaught.  Louis' 
moans joined his own as they rose together, clinging to each 
other in ecstasy, until they could climb no further.  Methos 
cried out as he reached the top, his life ripping from him in a 
great climactic rush.  Gods!  What a way to die!
	Louis was watching over him when he came to.
	"Forty minutes," the vampire told him as he looked 
up.
	"Great.  Thanks."
	"For what?" Louis asked innocently, a twinkle in his 
green eyes.
	Methos smiled.  "You know.  You're not oblivious 
to your own charms, are you?  I'd hate to find out what 
you're like in bed, I might not survive it."
	"Vampires can't have sex."
	Methos blinked.  "They can't?"
	Louis shook his head, still smiling.  "No.  What I 
did to you is the extent of our lovemaking.  Only when it is 
between two vampires, they feed on each other."
	"I can imagine that being a very profound 
experience."
	Louis shrugged and helped him sit up.  "It can be, 
but as always, it's better when you're in love."
	Methos sighed.  "How well I know that.  After five 
thousand years, I've learned the difference between sex and 
love, and if it's all the same, I'll wait for love.  After the first 
two thousand years, sex loses a lot of its luster anyway."
	Louis set his back against a Plexiglas wall and smiled 
dreamily.  His face was fully flushed now, his cheeks ruddy 
with blood, and his hands warm.
	"Ah, but love.  Love never loses its charm does it?"
	"Nope.  When it happens, no matter how many times 
it's happened before, it's still wonderful."
	Louis grinned.  "Good."
	"But you know what's even better than love?" 
Methos offered suddenly in the companionable silence.
	"What's that?"
	"Friendship.  The love between close friends can be 
better than that of lovers.  Friends share so much; they _do_ 
things together, they laugh, they talk, they understand."
	"And sometimes lovers get too close and they forget 
to understand," Louis noted.
	"Yeah.  And the best is when your lover is your best 
friend too."
	The vampire agreed.  "Pure heaven."
	Methos looked away, suddenly sad.  "But it makes 
losing them all the more painful."
	"You lost someone recently?" Louis asked tenderly.
	Methos nodded.  "She was dying when I met her.  
We only had a year together before she finally went."
	"But at least you had that," Louis comforted.
	Methos gazed down at his hands.  "Yeah.  And after 
she was gone, I fell back on a friend, but it looks like I've 
lost him too."
	"Why?"
	"Because of something I did.  Because of something 
I was."
	"Something in your past?"
	Methos nodded.  "Yes."
	"Would you like to talk about it?"  The vampire 
waved his hand at the cell.  "We've got all night."
	The Immortal shook his head.  "No.  No, I don't 
want to dredge it up again.  The wounds have been opened 
too recently."
	"Old wounds.  Old wounds are always the worst."
	"Yeah," Methos concurred, then sighed heavily, 
continuing.  "I know what I did.  I know what I was.  No 
one knows better than I, and no one has to live with it the 
way I do.  But it's _my_ guilt and I have to face it.  No one 
else.  I tried to put it all behind me.  I'd changed, I'd started 
over.  I was a new man."
	"But the past came back to haunt you," Louis 
inferred.
	"Yes.  And the worst of it was that I knew I couldn't 
tell him about it."
	"You knew he would reject you, and you didn't want 
that."
	"No."
	"Because you love him."
	"Yes."  It hurt to admit it.  "In the end someone else 
told him, and he rejected me anyway."
	"Then he is a fool."
	"No.  He is only what he is.  No more, no less."
	A pale hand cupped his chin and lifted it, making him 
look into the vampire's emerald eyes.
	"I have fed upon you twice.  There is nothing about 
you I do not know.  I have seen all that you were and all that 
you are.  And I tell you he is a fool, Methos."
	He shuddered when the vampire said his real name, 
and mustered the courage to ask the question he had never 
been able to ask anyone before.
	"Then you know?  You know for certain that the 
monster I was, is not waiting to take over again?"
	Louis stroked his hair gently.  "I know it will not, 
because you will not let it.  Your will is as great as mine.  
You will overcome.  You will survive."
	Hearing the words from someone else relieved him 
greatly, and he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from 
his shoulders.  He believed Louis, believed that the vampire 
had looked into his soul and seen the truth.  Tears began to 
form in the corners of his eyes, and he saw the vampire open 
his arms.
	"I know I am not your friend, but I am here and I 
understand.  Will you accept the comfort I offer?"
	"Yes," he managed to say as he slid forward, leaning 
into the vampire's embrace.
	Strong arms folded around him, pulling him close, 
and he heard the steady thrum of Louis' heart beneath his 
ear, felt the silky, black hair caressing his cheek as he buried 
his face into the knit sweater.  He let his tears fall 
unchecked, sobbing softly, giving in to the grief, and Louis 
said nothing, for nothing needed to be said.  He gripped the 
vampire tightly, feeling the gentle hands that stroked his 
soft, short hair, and pretended Louis was MacLeod.  If he 
tried hard enough, he could almost smell the Highlander's 
unique scent.  It wasn't really MacLeod and he knew that, 
but it was solace, and safety, and comfort.  For now, it was 
enough.
	
	Armand's jet landed at Charles de Gaulle airport two 
hours after sunset, and another black stretch limousine was 
waiting to take them to the Hotel Alexander, where Armand 
had booked three suites for them under the alias Vincent 
DuPont.  MacLeod and Dawson thought it best that they not 
go to MacLeod's barge for fear that Jack was having the boat 
watched, so they and Miranda remained with their deadly 
allies.  By the time they finally arrived at the hotel, all seven 
of them were showing signs of wear.  Lestat, who had been 
remarkably pleasant, even to Duncan, for most of the trip, 
was starting to show his bratty side again, and he and 
Armand were reentering the battle of words and thinly veiled 
insults.  It was decreed, before blood was spilled, that they 
would separate for a while and meet again after the mortals 
(and eating Immortal) had fed and shopped for the necessary 
items they were forced to leave behind due to their abrupt 
departure.  
	Shortly after they checked in, Armand came into the 
two bedroom suite Joe shared with Mac and Miranda, and 
shoved a wad-full of bills in his hand.
	"Here.  A token of my regret that we did not give 
you time to pack.  Use it to eat a good meal and buy some 
nice new clothes," the vampire said apologetically.
	Flipping through the numerous bills, Joe gasped.  "I 
could buy the entire Left Bank with this much!" he declared.
	Armand gave him a dour look.  "I doubt that."
	"Armand, we can't take all this money," Joe insisted.
	"Of course you can.  It's only money, Joe, and I 
have plenty to spare.  Now I must go.  Daniel is hungry, and 
he gets sloppy when he hasn't fed in a while.  We will meet 
again here at midnight, yes?"
	Joe sighed, shaking his head.  "Yes."
	"Good.  See you then."
	Armand whisked out, leaving Joe staring at the bill 
fold.  He was still marveling at it when Duncan came out of 
one of the suite's two bathrooms.
	"I thought I heard voices," the Highlander said, 
buttoning up his cuffs.
	Joe indicated the money.  "Yeah, our benefactor was 
here to give us money for dinner and clothes.  Said he was 
sorry he didn't give us time to pack."
	"My God Joe, there must be close to a million francs 
there!"
	"I know.  Think we can get dinner, few new sets of 
clothes and couple of toothbrushes for the three of us with 
it?" he answered sarcastically.
	Duncan shook his head.  "I dunno, Joe, we may 
have to ask for more.  I mean, we can't buy Christian Dior's 
entire spring collection with it."
	Joe laughed.  "And the sad part is, he'd probably 
give it to us without batting an eye.  Jesus, where does he 
get all this money?  And I thought _you_ were rich."
	"I don't think we want to know where he gets his 
money."
	"He owns a cruise line, several hotels, two software 
companies, and four nightclubs, and those are just the 
business ventures we know of.  He did own the famous 
Night Island.  Hunting drug dealers is very profitable," 
Miranda answered, coming out of her room.  "I'm hungry.  
Anyone else hungry?"
	"Starved," Joe replied.
	"Good.  Suggestions?"
	"Why look at me?  He lived here, ask him," Joe said, 
pointing to MacLeod.
	Two sets of eyes fell on the Highlander, who 
shrugged.
	"I have a few ideas."
	"Lets go then," Miranda enthused.
	They headed out of the suite and took the elevator 
down to the lobby where Duncan went to Bell Services to 
call a cab.
	"And your name, sir?" the young man asked.
	"Duncan MacLeod."
	"Oh... Mr. MacLeod..." the man said, looking at a 
list of names.
	"What?  Is there a problem?"
	"Not at all, sir.  Mr. DuPont left instructions that you 
were to have use of a private vehicle tonight."
	"Private vehicle?"
	"Yes, sir.  I'll have Paul bring it around front."
	Duncan blinked as the young man went off, and 
returned to Joe and Miranda with a confused look on his 
face.
	"What's wrong?" Joe asked.
	"Armand left us the use of a 'private vehicle.'"
	"Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Joe 
questioned.
	"That," Miranda said as a black limousine pulled up 
in front of the hotel.
	Joe cursed.  "What is it with this man and his black 
limousines!"
	"Well, this time he's slacking," Duncan commented, 
sauntering over to the car and nodding to the chauffeur who 
held the door open for them.
	"What do you mean, Mac?" Joe inquired as they got 
in.
	"This one isn't stretch."
	Joe pulled out the wad of bills as the driver shut the 
door.  "Okay, how much will it take to get you to shut up?"
	He flipped through the money, counting it as 
MacLeod and Miranda laughed.  Then Duncan tapped on the 
privacy screen, and told he driver the address of the 
restaurant he wanted to go to.
	After dinner, they went shopping.  Most stores were 
closed, but a few were open to those who had the money.  
By the time it was time to head back to the hotel, all three of 
them had found and purchased enough clothes and supplies 
to last them four days.  They arrived back at their suite about 
a quarter to midnight, and settled in to wait for the vampires 
to return.
	Armand and Daniel were the first to knock on the 
door of the suite.  Both had fed, their cheeks ruddy and 
flushed, and in good spirits.
	"Did you have a pleasant supper?" the immortal 
teenager asked them.
	"Wonderful supper," Joe replied.  "And thank you 
for the use of the car.  That was very convenient."
	Armand waved his hand.  "It was nothing.  An 
afterthought, really.  Did you purchase all you needed?'
	"Yes, and then some.  There is change.  Would you 
like it?"
	"Absolutely not.  Use it for breakfast tomorrow."
	Joe didn't mention that there was enough left over to 
buy most of the hotel staff breakfast, and maybe half the 
guests as well.
	"I have arrived," came Lestat's cheerful voice.
	They turned their heads to see him standing in the 
doorway of Miranda's room.
	"How'd you get in here?" Joe questioned, surprised.
	"The balcony, where else?" the vampire replied with 
a grin.  "I just used a little mental razzle-dazzle on the lock 
and came right in."
	"Next time don't bother to knock," Duncan 
remarked.
	Lestat made himself comfortable on the couch.  
"Don't worry.  I won't."
	"Now please let's not start the arguing again," Joe 
complained.
	"But it's so much fun.  I love the battle of words.  I 
feed on it like blood," Lestat answered, putting a heavy lilt 
on the word blood.	
Duncan did well and refused to take Lestat's bait, opting to 
merely scowl in silence from his seat on the settee.	 
	"I trust I am not late?" David said as he joined them, 
coming in through the front door.
	"No, you're just on time," Daniel replied, looking at 
his Rolex.
	"Excellent.  It looks like we are all here.  Do we have 
a plan?"
	They all looked at each other, waiting to see if any of 
them would speak.
	"We have to find Adam.  I mean Methos.  We have 
to find Methos," Joe finally announced.
	"Do you know this man well?" Armand asked.
	A few months ago, neither Joe nor Duncan would 
have hesitated to answer, but now they both gave each other 
furtive glances.  Armand felt the need to explain himself.
	"That is not what I meant.  I meant, do you know his 
face well, his feel, his unique energy?"
	Duncan and Joe looked at each other again.
	"Yes, I guess you could say we do."
	"Good, we can use that," Armand replied.
	"We can combine our strength with your skill, 
Armand.  With the three of us working together, we should 
be able to scan the entire country without having to leave this 
room," David mused.
	The auburn-haired vampire nodded. "That is exactly 
what I was thinking.  You and Lestat have great range, but I 
have the finesse to pick out individuals.  If we merge our 
power, we should be able to find this mortal."
	"Immortal," Duncan corrected. "Methos is an 
Immortal."
	"An Immortal, in the Watchers," Armand mused.  
"How very interesting.  But that makes our task all the more 
easier.  Immortals have a much different feel than mortals."
	"I just love it how it was assumed that I'd go along 
with this little plan," Lestat pointed out.
	"Lestat..." David began, but Armand dismissed it.
	"But of course you will help us.  You want to find 
Louis."
	Lestat frowned, his eyes flashing anger, then sighed.  
"You are right.  Wherever this Methos is, he knows where 
Louis is.  I'll help."
	"I knew you'd see reason," Armand said pleasantly.
	"What do you want us to do?" Miranda asked.
	"Nothing.  We will be going into a trance of sorts as 
we merge our powers," David answered.  "Do not disturb 
us, but at the same time do not worry about having to keep 
quiet."
	Armand came to stand before MacLeod and Joe.  
	"I want you to think about your friend.  Show him to 
me, let me see who he is through you," he instructed gently.
	"How do you mean?" Duncan answered.
	"Merely pull up your strongest memories of him.  
Relive the moments, hear his voice, see his face.  I will take 
these things and use them to know your friend.  It will be 
what helps me to recognize him." 
	For Joe, the task was easy.  He envisioned the first 
time he ever saw Methos at the Watcher Headquarters in 
Paris, and then later, after discovering he was the oldest 
Immortal, in Paris again to deal with Christine Saltzer.  He 
remembered his dry wit, and teasing smile, the cynicism he 
used to hide his feelings, and the wistful look he got when 
he thought no one could see.  He painted as clear a picture of 
Methos as he could for Armand, and Armand closed his eyes 
and drew the images into himself, integrating them into his 
mind.  He had a secret smile on his white face, as if he liked 
what he was seeing, and was enjoying himself.
	Thinking about Methos was harder for MacLeod.  So 
many conflicting emotions were associated with the old 
Immortal, the feelings of betrayal so close to the surface.  
The first images that came to mind were the most painful: 
Bordeaux, and the Horsemen, Methos fighting and killing 
Silas, and the Quickening they shared.  Armand's brows 
creased as he witnessed the fight, the hurt, the shock of all 
the things MacLeod had learned about his friend.  As the 
memories passed through him, Duncan's heartbeat rose 
sharply, his emotions running high.  He dug deeper, trying 
to remember happier times, and found the image of Methos 
standing in the doorway of the loft, duffel bag slung over 
one shoulder.  'Candygram,' Methos had said.  Then he saw 
Methos in his kitchen, babbling about Alexa; Methos with 
his arm around the slight woman, joy in both their eyes; and 
Methos grieving her death.  He saw the hazel eyes, the 
lopsided smile, the thin, malleable face, heard the soft voice 
speaking his name.  He remembered the nights in the loft, 
and the barge, and the bar, the drinks shared, the 
conversations, the warm familiarity they had come to enjoy, 
the thrill he got every time he saw the Old Man.  There was 
so much there, so much just under the surface.  Still waters 
run deep.
	He poured everything into Armand, dredging up 
every memory he could and projecting it at the vampire.  
Methos in the tunnels by the barge, Methos at the house 
helping him paint, Methos swinging his sword, Methos 
laughing, Methos crying, Methos staring at him with those 
ancient eyes, Methos' gentle touch.  He sent the wonder, the 
joy, the hate, the sorrow, the confusion, and yes, the love.  
He bombarded Armand with it, ripping it out of himself until 
he couldn't stop it anymore.  Then he heard a noise that 
sounded like a strangled sob, and realized it was himself.
	"Enough!" Armand commanded, breathing hard.
	"Mac!" Joe called, shaking him, jolting him out of 
his memories.
	Abruptly, he stopped, looking dazedly around the 
suite.  The vampires were staring at him, and he realized that 
they had all shared what he had sent to Armand.  Daniel was 
looking rather shocked, while Lestat met his gaze with a 
calm, almost guarded respect.  Even Miranda looked a little 
pale.  Looking away, he put a hand to his head, gathering 
his wits abut him
	"You OK, Mac?" Joe asked worriedly.
	Duncan nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine."
	It wasn't entirely true.  Outwardly, he was fine, but 
inwardly he felt raw and exposed, as if he'd been flayed.  
His heart was still pounding wildly in his chest, and it took 
him several seconds to calm it down.
	"You have given me more than enough to find your 
friend," Armand told him, his voice strained.  "Perhaps 
more than you meant to."
	MacLeod nodded.  "Yeah, I think you're right."
	Armand nodded gravely at him, then gave a 
meaningful look to his compatriots.  Without a word, Lestat 
rose and he and David joined Armand as they went to the 
suite's dining table.  The three of them sat down, linking 
hands and closing their eyes.  No one spoke as they entered 
the trance, opening their minds and joining forces.  Armand 
acted as the link between David and Lestat, and maker and 
fledgling pooled their strength as Armand piggy-backed on 
their power.
	*Which way first?* David asked to the meld.
	*North, then east.  We go clockwise, scanning each 
region as we pass over it,* Armand answered.
	Lestat agreed and projected out, reaching to the limits 
of his mental eye.  Soon they were scanning across northern 
France, stretching across the English Channel and 'seeing' 
as far as Liverpool, England.
	Duncan, Miranda and Joe were afraid to talk as they 
watched the three vampires become absorbed in their task.  
Then Daniel sat near them, drawing their attention away 
from the table.
	"Why aren't you in the meld?" MacLeod asked.
	"I'm young and my power isn't as strong.  Besides, 
I don't have the patience to sit still for as long as they are 
going to be.  It's not easy work they're doing.  It takes a lot 
of concentration, especially for Armand.  He is trying to find 
one person in millions."
	"Like a needle in a haystack," Joe commented.
	"Exactly."
	"And he can do that?" MacLeod questioned.
	"Oh yes.  Armand has spent the past five centuries 
perfecting his mental abilities.  He may not be able to project 
as far as Lestat, but he can identify individuals from great 
distances.  With everything you gave him about your friend, 
he shouldn't have any trouble recognizing him at all."
	Duncan looked embarrassed.  "Yeah, well, I wasn't 
planning on getting so caught up in things."
	Daniel gave him a gentle look.  "I know.  He means 
a lot to you, this Methos.  Once you let yourself think about 
him, it was like opening a pair of floodgates.  You couldn't 
stop them."
	"No, I couldn't."
	"It's always that way with the people you care most 
about.  Especially someone you're so worried about."
	MacLeod blinked at the young vampire.  "Who says 
I'm worried about him?"
	Daniel smiled and shrugged.  "You did.  You can't 
hide it.  You know he's put himself in danger to help you.  
If he is discovered, they will know how to kill him."
	Duncan looked away, but said nothing.
	"Look, far be it from me to give you advice.  I'm 
only in my forties and you're in your four hundreds... but 
what I told you before is true.  Love is the only thing that 
lasts forever," Daniel said honestly.  "It is obvious that there 
are some major unresolved issues between the two of you, 
and I think you ought to work them out, or at least try to.  
You've been through a lot together, and you mean a lot to 
each other.  It's gotta count for something."
	MacLeod looked at Joe, who merely smiled and gave 
him a shrug.
	"Yeah, well, maybe you're right."
	Daniel smiled, then changed the subject.  "They're 
gonna be like that for hours.  Anyone here up for a game of 
poker?  I've got two decks in my valise."
	"Sure.  Five card stud," Joe answered.
	"Great.  I'll go get the cards, and I'll bring the 
Scotch too."
	Daniel got up and skipped out as MacLeod cast a 
curious look at Dawson.
	"Hey, maybe we'll win enough money for lunch 
tomorrow."
	Methos lay in Louis' embrace, dozing lightly while 
the vampire kept an ear out to hear if anyone was coming.  
Both deaths had taken their toll on him; he was hungry, 
parched with thirst and exhausted, and he would have to die 
one more time before this would all be over.  He and Louis 
talked for hours, mostly about MacLeod, until Methos was 
too tired to talk anymore.  Which was fine by him because 
he was sick of arguing about MacLeod.  Louis was of the 
opinion that he should sit down and talk to the Highlander.
	"You must find the courage in yourself to face him," 
Louis had said, with his hand on Methos' chest.  "If you do 
not, then you will never know."
	"But he hates me," he had moaned.
	"I doubt that.  He is trying to run from his feelings 
because he has been hurt."
	"He's been hurt?  What about me?  I almost lost my 
head trying to save him!  Twice!  I have gone to the wire for 
him more times in the past two years than I have for anyone 
in five thousand," he'd argued.  "And it meant nothing to 
him.  That tart Cassandra showed up, and told him 
everything about my past before I had the chance to tell him 
about Kronos finding me.  From that moment on, he was 
against me.  He sat in judgment of me and he will never 
forgive me.  And still, I helped him as best I could.  I did 
whatever I could to make sure he won.  I even killed my 
brother."
	He'd paused, bowing his head.  "He's barely spoken 
to me since.  When he does, we're civil, but it's nothing like 
it used to be.  And yet I stay, I still hope to regain even a 
small part of what we had.  And he keeps me hanging on by 
doing things that feed my hopes just a little bit, so I don't 
give up entirely and take off for good."
	Louis had listened carefully as always, then said, "I 
think the very fact that he does do small things says that he 
still cares a great deal.  He is just fighting himself.  Be 
patient, and talk to him.  You have the strength inside you to 
talk to him, and tell him how you feel."
	They'd ended the conversation shortly after that.  
Louis wasn't one to push an issue, and he was also sensitive 
enough to know when Methos couldn't take anymore.  They 
had changed the subject, talking about history, and the 
places they'd lived and the people they knew.  Louis had 
been surprised to hear that Methos had met Khayman.
	"Khayman?  You met Khayman?"
	"He used me as his meal one night.  It gave him quite 
a shock when he figured out what I was."
	"I can imagine."
	"Have you seen him lately?"
	"Hmmm, twelve years ago on the Night Island.  I've 
heard he's been in Rangoon with Maharet and Jesse for the 
past few years.  David visited them."
	Methos had chuckled.  "It would be nice to see the 
old guy.  Hard to imagine someone older than me."
	"I think it would give him pleasure to know that you 
still live."
	"Next time I'm in India, I'll have to look him up."
	Louis had laughed softly, a deep throaty laugh, and 
he'd yawned .
	"You should sleep.  This night has not been easy on 
you," Louis had told him.
	"No, dying is never easy, no matter how pleasant the 
means."
	"Then rest, I'll watch over you and wake you when 
it is time for me to kill you again."
	"Okay," he had agreed, using Louis as a pillow and 
falling asleep.
	That had been three hours ago.  Now Louis was 
waking him gently.
	"Methos."
	"Hm?"
	"It is time."
	Methos roused himself from sleep.  "What?"
	"It is time.  Dawn is coming.  I can feel it.  I have 
only a few minutes left before I will get sluggish and fall into 
the Death-sleep."
	Methos blinked, remembering where he was and 
what he was doing there.
	"Oh yeah, right," he said, shaking off the last 
cobwebs from his mind.
	"You are certain your friend will come get you right 
after I fall asleep?"
	"Yes.  Brian may be misguided, but he is a man of 
his word."
	Louis smiled sadly.  "Then let us begin.  And I will 
hope to see you again when the night falls."
	"It's a date."
	Methos stretched himself out, leaning in the 
vampire's embrace.
	"You are a very brave man, Methos.  I am beginning 
to wonder if your Scotsman is not worthy of you.  While he 
may have chivalry and honor, you possess a very rare type 
of courage.  Thank you for risking your life to help a 
monster such as myself."
	Methos smiled at him, his eyes misting over as he 
looked into the emerald eyes.  "You're welcome.  Now get 
to it.  We're running out of time."
	Louis gave him a tender look and smoothed back his 
hair, cradling his head in his strong hands.
	"You know, I love all my victims."
	"And they love you," Methos whispered, getting 
caught up in the vampire's seduction.
	"Yes," Louis breathed, his lips just hairs-breadths 
from Methos' face.
	Methos shuddered and arched to Louis as the 
vampire flicked his tongue over the sensitive spot just behind 
his left ear, and a small groan escaped him.  His hands 
gripped the thin shoulders as Louis pulled him close, lips 
locked to his throat, eager, wanton.  He didn't even feel the 
prick of the fangs as Louis bit down.
	For the third time that night, Methos was thrown into 
the ocean of pleasure, moaning, sobbing with ecstasy as the 
vampire rocked him.  Louis pushed his leg between Methos' 
thighs, positioning his knee right _there_, and sliding him 
down along it.  He writhed in rapture, gasping, surrendering 
himself over to the vampire completely, and felt himself join 
with Louis in the velvet darkness of their minds.
	*Love you.* he heard clearly.
	*Yes.*
	His heart was pounding, straining, as his body lost 
all control, convulsing with pleasure.  Coherent thought was 
leaving him, life was leaving him, and the soft warmth of 
death was reaching up to accept him.  He welcomed it with 
open arms.  Higher and higher he rose, until at last he broke 
free, throwing himself into the waiting embrace of death.
	Louis had only moments before he lost 
consciousness.  Gasping, struggling to stay awake for just a 
minute longer, he released Methos and put his body by the 
door.  Then, already feeling his limbs weighted like lead, 
crawled away, slumping down in the far corner of the cell.  
He was fully gone ten minutes later when Chris and Brian 
arrived to take Methos' body and dump it in the river.
	*There.  I have him,* Armand said to the meld.
	*Where?* Lestat asked eagerly.
	Armand took Lestat's 'eye' and guided it to the 
singular bright spot he had finally found.  *There.*
	Lestat immediately 'pounced', seizing the mind and 
discerning its location.
	*Got him!* Lestat enthused.
	*Good.  Dawn coming,* David warned.
	*He's with Louis!* Lestat announced.  *Louis is... 
FEEDING on him!*
	They all felt the backlash of pleasure and Methos' 
death along the links.
	*Oh my...* David thought.
	They broke the meld, coming out of the trance with 
gasps.
	"Have you found him?" Miranda asked immediately.
	"Yes," Armand answered, catching his breath.  
"Daniel, David, go!  We will take care of the rest."
	The young ones needed no coaxing, and quickly left 
the suite to seek shelter from the coming sun.
	"Where is he?" MacLeod demanded.
	"South east of here, about 150 miles," Lestat replied.
	"That's near Lyon," Duncan informed.
	"He was with Louis.  Louis killed him," Armand 
told them.
	"Probably part of his plan," Joe mused.
	"I will go.  I still have at least an hour before I have 
to hide from the sun.  I can get there and find him before 
then," Lestat said.
	"There is a hotel, the Park Plaza International, in 
Lyon.  I will make reservations for all of us under Vincent 
DuPont," Armand decided.  "Take him there.  Joe, Duncan, 
Miranda, pack your things and take the limousine down to 
Lyon.  Daniel, David and I will join you after sundown.  
Lestat, go!"
	For once, the blond vampire did not argue with 
Armand.  He vanished almost immediately.  Armand quickly 
grabbed the phone and made the necessary reservations as 
the two mortals and Immortal scrambled to get their things 
ready.  Five minutes later, Armand was heading for the 
safety of his suite while Duncan, Miranda and Joe went 
down to the lobby.
	
	Lestat arrived in Lyon about a half hour after he left 
Paris.  He still couldn't feel Methos, which meant the 
Immortal was still dead.  Fine, he wasn't all that pressed for 
time.  Yet.  He decided to do the practical thing, and check 
them all into the hotel, and have keys waiting for Joe, 
Miranda and the Scot to pick up when they arrived.  He told 
the concierge that three people would be arriving from Paris 
in about three hours, and to expect them. 
	He was just finishing signing the rental papers for 
the three suites when he felt Methos surge back to life.  He 
instantly set a feeler to locate the Immortal, and found him 
about twenty miles south, in the Saone River.
	"Gotchya," Lestat said to himself and went off to 
fish him out.
	When he came to he was soaked, freezing and under 
water.  He gasped, quickly realizing that they'd stuffed him 
in a sack and tossed him in a river.  The water was filling his 
mouth and he fought, clawing at the cloth that surrounded 
him.  His nails scraped along the coarse material and he tried 
not to panic.  He hated drowning, it wasn't a very pleasant 
way to die at all.  He tried to reach his little pocket knife, to 
rip open the sack and swim free, but his lungs were already 
bursting for air, his mind going cloudy from lack of oxygen.  
Oh, damn! he thought, knowing he was going to lose 
consciousness very soon.  Then he heard a loud rushing 
sound and the sack was seized roughly.  He felt himself 
being jerked upward with alarming speed, and then slammed 
bodily onto dry ground.  He grunted as the breath was 
forced out of his body from the impact, and tried to twist 
around.
	The burlap was ripped away from him and a hand 
yanked him out.  He came up, breathing hard, filling his 
lungs with the cold, pre-dawn air and coughing violently, 
and looked into the face of his rescuer.  The man, no... the 
vampire was blond, his skin was bone white, his eyes were 
blazing pale blue, and he was just as soaked as he was.
	"Lestat, I presume," he managed through coughs.
	The vampire took hold of him again and lifted him as 
if he weighed nothing.
	"We'll save the introductions for later.  I'm almost 
out of time."
	He was crushed to the vampire's chest as they rose 
into the sky.  It was a terrifying experience and he held on 
for dear life.  Falling to one's death was also not a very 
pleasant way to die.  
	"Don't worry, I won't drop you."
	From above, he could see the yellow light of the sun 
getting ready to peek over the horizon,
	"Cutting it close, aren't you?" he asked.
	The vampire scowled.  "You didn't give me any 
choice."
	"Sorry."
	"We're going to Lyon, to a hotel there, the Park 
Plaza.  Your friends are driving down from Paris; they will 
be here in a while," the vampire explained.
	"Friends?"
	"Yes, Joe Dawson, the Talamasca girl, and that bull-
headed Scot."
	Methos laughed at that.
	"The room is registered under the name of Vincent 
DuPont, just in case anyone asks you.  Everything is already 
paid for.  You're to make yourself at home," the vampire 
continued, landing on the roof of the hotel.
	He was taken down the stairway in one leap, and 
thrust through a fire door into a corridor.  Then a key was 
shoved into his hand.
	"Suite 304.  And don't worry about running up a big 
bill," the vampire told him with a wicked grin.  "I have to 
go.  See you later."
	In the blink of an eye, the vampire was gone, leaving 
Methos standing there quite a bit stunned.  For a moment, he 
wasn't certain exactly what had happened, or if he had been 
dreaming everything.  Then he realized that he was standing 
in a hotel hallway with a key in his hand, dripping dirty 
water all over the carpet, and the maid was staring at him.  
What a way to start the day.
	Joe, Miranda and MacLeod arrived in Lyon shortly 
after nine in the morning, and checked into the hotel.  They 
were surprised to find that the papers had already been 
signed and keys made ready for their arrival.
	"Suite 304, one of our finest two-bedroom 
apartments," the receptionist said handing MacLeod two 
keys.  "Take the elevator to the third floor, it's the second 
door on the right."
	"Thanks.  Has anyone else checked into the rooms 
under Mr. DuPont's name?" Duncan asked.
	The woman looked through her register.  "Yes.  A 
Mr. Lestan Gregor checked into Suite 302 at 6:30, and a Mr. 
Adam Pierson is currently in Suite 304."
	MacLeod's pulse quickened at the sound of Methos' 
alias.
	"Thanks," he said again and left the desk.
	"So, Lestat got him in time," Joe commented as they 
rode the elevator up.
	"So it would seem," MacLeod answered, rocking on 
his heels impatiently.
	They entered the palatial suite to the sound of the 
stereo system playing Springsteen somewhat loudly.  
Duncan immediately went and turned it off, feeling the buzz 
in his head signaling Methos was indeed nearby.
	"Hey!" Methos shouted from the cracked open door 
of the bathroom.  "What did you do that for?!  Who's there?  
MacLeod, is that you?  Dawson?  Come on, guys I've had a 
really rough morning, and I'm not in the mood to play."
	"I'll be right in," MacLeod announced, then turned to 
his companions and gave them a meaningful look.
	"Uh, come on, Miranda, lets go spend more of 
Armand's money on breakfast," Joe said, taking the hint.
	"Okay, just let me put my bag in the bedroom," she 
answered.
	"We'll see you later, Mac," Joe told him as they were 
leaving.
	"Yeah, thanks.  Later Dawson."
	When they were gone, MacLeod walked to the 
bathroom to see Methos.  He found the oldest Immortal 
lounging in a spa bath, scented bubbles up to his neck, beer 
in hand, and a tray of hors d'oeuvres on a table next to the 
huge stand-alone tub. 
	"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.  Have a 
beer.  Have a snail," Methos greeted dryly.
	Duncan paused in the doorway, taking in the sight.
	"Comfy?"
	"Nah.  I wanted to hire someone to wash my back 
and feed me grapes, but apparently that's been illegal since 
the 18th century," he bemoaned.
	While MacLeod watched, he snagged another morsel 
from the silver tray and consumed it.  "Mmmm, yummy."
	Duncan entered the room fully and examined the 
food-laden tray.  "Quite an assortment."
	"Yeah.  I couldn't decide what to get so I ordered a 
sample of everything."
	"My aren't we the little glutton."
	"Hey, I just died three times and woke up in a river, 
MacLeod.  I deserve a little pampering."
	"Oh well, pardon me, your highness.  Do you need 
anything?  Can I get you another beer?  A cherry cordial?"
	"Hmmm, forget the cordial, but I'll take the beer."
	"Get it yourself."
	"I would, but my clothes aren't back from the 
laundry yet.  Unless of course, you don't mind seeing my 
naked bum."
	"I'll get the beer."
	"Thank you.  It's in the fridge next to the 
entertainment center.  They chilled it for me.  Nice place, this 
hotel.  This Vincent DuPont has excellent taste."
	Duncan walked casually out of the bathroom, and 
returned shortly carrying the beer and a complimentary 
bathrobe.  He handed Methos the beer and draped the robe 
over the back of the tub.
	"This Vincent DuPont is a 500 year old vampire with 
more money than Midas himself."
	Methos popped open the beer and took a swig.  
"Even better."
	Duncan sat down on the edge of the tub.  "So?  How 
are you feeling?"
	"Pretty good actually."
	"And did you find Louis?"	
	"Yes."
	"And is Shapiro behind all this?"
	"Yes."
	"And do you know where to find him?"
	"No."
	"What?!"
	Methos looked up at him indignantly.  "I fell asleep 
on the way there.  I didn't see where they took me."
	"You fell asleep?!!"
	"Hey!  I'd been out all night, MacLeod.  I was tired.  
I thought I'd take a nap after they shoved me into the car and 
wound up sleeping the entire trip," he snapped, then went on 
more calmly.  "But relax, it's not all bad.  Lestat pulled me 
out of the Saone just north of St. Vallier.  I couldn't have 
floated far, so that leaves where they have Louis somewhere 
around Vienne.  There, we have a location within a 40 
kilometer radius."
	"Well, that's better than nothing.  Armand and David 
should be able to find him."
	"See?  And they won't be awake for several hours, 
and neither will Louis.  So just calm down, put your feet up 
and enjoy the amenities of this luxurious hotel at someone 
else's expense."
	"Yeah, that is what you'd tell me to do," MacLeod 
snipped.
	"Have you got a better idea?"
	Duncan brooded for a moment, then reluctantly 
admitted, "No."
	"Well, then, as they say in these days, chill."
	Methos stretched in the tub, lazily plucking a truffle 
from the tray and popping it in his mouth with a satisfied 
sigh.  "Mmmmm, I could get used to this."
	Duncan scowled.  "Yeah, well, don't okay."
	"Why not?"
	"Because there's nothing like this in Seacouver."
	Methos raised an eyebrow.  "Who says I'll be going 
back to Seacouver?"
	The Highlander looked shocked, then hurt, and then 
he flushed, refusing to meet Methos' gaze.  "You mean 
you're not?"
	Sadness and regret in the voice.
	"Is there anything for me there?" Methos asked 
carefully, trying not to make the question sound too loaded.  
What's your game, MacLeod?
	Duncan shrugged.  "Joe would miss you."
	Methos snorted.  "Joe can live without me.  He's a 
big boy."  Then he spoke more gently, probing.  "Would 
you miss me, Highlander?"
	MacLeod didn't answer, and a hard lump formed in 
Methos' throat.  That wasn't good, but yet he could see the 
tenseness in Duncan's shoulders.  He was fighting himself.  
Okay, one more little prod and hope it's not too much.
	"Do you want me to come back to Seacouver, 
MacLeod?"
	There was a long silence.  Duncan's face was grim 
and drawn, but he finally answered in a thick voice, "Yes."
	Methos let out the breath he was holding and relaxed.  
	"Are we friends then?"
	"I don't know."
	"If not friends, MacLeod, then what?  What are we 
to each other?"
	He knew he was pushing, but he'd been through a 
lot in the past 24 hours, and he was raw and tired of playing 
games.
	"Look, don't ask me questions I can't answer."
	"Can't or aren't ready to?"
	"Same difference."
	He sighed heavily, not caring if MacLeod heard him.  
"Very well, MacLeod, I will think about it."
	Duncan nodded stiffly.  "Good.  Thanks."
	"Yeah, whatever."
	MacLeod gave him a pained glance, then looked 
away, his shoulders slumped.  Without another word, he 
rose and walked out of the bathroom.  
	Methos watched him go, his emotions roiling.  It 
was so good to see MacLeod, even if it felt like someone had 
just impaled him.  Still, he was here, he'd come in, and all 
but asked Methos to come back to Seacouver.  That 
suggested there was some small hope for a future with the 
Highlander.  Emphasis on small.  Damn, the man was so 
bull-headed!  Just like you, eh Old Man?  He felt the tears 
rising, unbidden, and he fought them back.  He didn't want 
to cry.  He'd cried enough, and besides, he didn't want 
MacLeod to see.  Getting himself back together, mentally 
bailing out his tiny craft again, he let himself sink into the 
warm water of the bath, submerging his entire body, head 
and all, under the bubbles.
	Duncan stood in the doorway of the bathroom, 
holding Methos' newly washed clothes.  Housekeeping had 
just brought them back, pressed and spotless.  He couldn't 
see Methos anymore, the old man had gone under the water.  
It spoke volumes about how they both were feeling.  There 
was something between them, something raw and hurting.  
He knew that now, he'd seen it in Methos' eyes.  What 
would he do if Methos didn't come back to Seacouver?  
Would he stay in France just to be near him?  Would he 
follow if the old man went wandering?  What if Methos 
didn't want a companion?  No, Methos wanted MacLeod 
near him, he'd seen that much in Methos' expression, that 
almost desperate hope.  'What are we to each other?' he had 
asked, but Duncan couldn't answer.  What are you to me?  I 
don't know.  I just know I don't want you walking out of 
my life, Old Man.  Beyond that, it's all a jumble.
	He walked over to the tub, knowing Methos would 
feel his Presence, but the water didn't move.  Curious, 
Duncan swept away the bubbles carefully to peer into the 
cloudy water.  Methos lay with his head to the side, his eyes 
closed and his face serene.  One hand was resting lightly 
against his chest.  Hmm, almost no chest hair.  How old had 
he been when he first died?  He looked so young.  As he 
watched, Methos' head moved and one hazel eye opened to 
look up at Duncan looking down at him.  Air bubbled out of 
his nose and the water surged as he lifted himself up, 
thrusting his head and shoulders out of the bath and drawing 
breath.
	"What is it now, Highlander?"
	The tone of voice was not what MacLeod was 
hoping to hear and he felt cowed.  He indicated the pile of 
clothes under his arm.
	"Housekeeping brought your clothes back."
	"Good.  Put them on the shelf."
	He moved to comply, feeling dejected and oddly 
guilty, as if he'd just been caught peeping.  He could feel 
those ancient eyes watching his every move, and tried not to 
blush.  Behind him, he could hear Methos moving, draining 
the tub.
	"I'm gonna rinse off," the older Immortal 
announced, and MacLeod kept his back turned as he heard 
Methos step out of the tub and walk over to the shower stall.
	The shower door clicked closed and the water turned 
on.  MacLeod took it as his cue to leave the bathroom and 
give Methos his privacy.  He was sitting at the suite's table, 
flipping through the day's paper when the old Immortal 
emerged from the bath.
	A fully dressed Methos plopped down next to him, 
sliding the tray of food on top of the page he was reading.  
Duncan looked up and met the unwavering hazel gaze as the 
oldest Immortal dipped a cracker into the pate and ate it.  It 
was a silent challenge and it rankled him a bit, but Methos 
didn't flinch away and after several moments, he looked 
down at his paper again, demurring the battle to Methos.  In 
an act of defiance, however, he yanked the paper out from 
under the tray and continued reading.
	Methos watched the Highlander for a few moments, 
wondering what move he should make next.  Louis had told 
him he should talk to MacLeod, but that was easier said than 
done, and Duncan did not seem to be in a talking mood.  
Still, if not now, when?  He was getting tired of the games, 
tired of the uncertainty.  Maybe it was time to move on.  
Time to give up on this lost cause and go on to better 
prospects.  Louis was right, he needed companionship; he 
lost touch with himself if he didn't have it.  He remembered 
years spent in isolation, living off the land, avoiding all 
contact with humans and his own kind.  Sixty years he had 
lived like that, in complete solitude, and when someone 
finally invaded his little sanctuary, he discovered that he had 
forgotten how to speak.  It frightened him, and he realized 
that he didn't know who he was any longer, and that 
frightened him even more.  From that day forward, he never 
slipped from humanity for more than a decade, and he 
always tried to take someone with him when he did.
	Over the centuries he had learned what Louis seemed 
to have known all along; that immortals needed each other.  
While he treasured each and every one of his mortal friends, 
it was the Immortal ones he prized.  Unfortunately, they 
were few and far between, and almost all of them ended up 
dead.  Myrrah had been the last Immortal he had trusted with 
his secret, and she, like Don Saltzer, had died protecting 
him.  At night he could still see her face right before she 
went into battle, warning him, telling him to run, that she 
would join him at the rendezvous later.  She had never 
come.  He'd waited for days.  In the end, he had hunted 
down her killer and taken his head.  He swore then he would 
never tell another living soul his true identity.  That was 
nearly four centuries ago.  When did he forget his promise to 
himself?
	But Duncan didn't need to be afraid of knowing 
Methos.  He was the best swordsman Methos had ever seen, 
and was perfectly capable of defending himself.  He also had 
the biggest heart of any of them, and the nobility to go with 
it.  All the things he hated most in MacLeod were also the 
things he loved: the code he lived by, how he cared, how he 
still felt things so keenly, how he had never forgotten what 
compassion felt like, or sympathy, or love.  He remembered 
when Duncan's heart had been open to him, and felt a 
tightness in his chest.  Sometimes just looking at MacLeod 
was painful.  He'd had it all in the palm of his hand, and 
Kronos had ripped it away.  And now he felt like the 
misused mule, kept moving by dangling a carrot in front of 
its face, the treat always just slightly out of reach.  Duncan 
kept him hanging on with little tidbits, mere crumbs that 
Methos snatched and consumed like a starving man, begging 
for more.  Please, let me touch you.  Let me be part of your 
world.  Let me see through your eyes.  Accept me.  Love 
me.  Be my friend.  I need you desperately.  Let me in again.  
Look at me.  Smile at me.  Talk to me.  Yell, scream, 
accuse.  Anything.  Anything but this nothing; anything but 
this limbo.
	Louis said he had to find the courage.  Louis had 
found it somewhere inside of himself: the courage to love 
Lestat.  Could he find the same courage to speak to 
MacLeod?  After fifty centuries of life, could he find that 
strength somewhere inside?  Was it even there?  Louis said it 
was.  He looked at the paper MacLeod held in front of his 
face, reading the French neatly typed on the flimsy surface.  
His heart pounded wildly in his chest, his breath caught, but 
he pushed against the incomprehensible fear, and opened his 
mouth to speak.
	"Duncan?"
	"Hm?  Yeah, whaddya want now?" the Highlander 
answered gruffly, not even bothering to look up from his 
paper.
	The courage Methos had mustered was gone 
instantly, and replaced by disappointment and despair.  He 
lowered his gaze, trying not to scream, or burst into tears.  
He suddenly felt like he was being suffocated, and he had to 
get out of there, had to get away.
	MacLeod heard Methos make a soft sound, then 
stand and walk away.  He thought he was going to get 
another beer until he heard the front door of the suite open.
	"Methos?" he asked, raising his head, but he was too 
late, the door had already closed.
	"What the?" he stammered, trying to figure out why 
Methos had left, then he realized something.  
Methos had called him by his first name.  How often had the 
old Immortal done that?  He almost always used MacLeod or 
his full name, but rarely just Duncan.  And now he heard the 
voice in his head, small and uncertain.  Methos had been 
reaching out, he had been trying to talk.  And Duncan had 
ignored him.
	MacLeod warred with himself.  Should he just let 
Methos go?  But what if he was leaving and not just going 
for a walk?  No, he wouldn't leave.  They hadn't found 
Louis yet.  But Methos didn't know where Louis was, and 
he'd already said that David and Armand could find him.  
Was there any reason for him to stick around?  Had Duncan 
given him a reason to stay?  To leave?  
	Hastily folding the paper and dropping it next to the 
tray, he rose and hurried out the door.  He found Methos 
waiting for the elevator, his hands shoved deep into the 
pockets of his well worn jeans, frowning down at his feet.
	"Methos?"
	"My boots are still wet.  Damnit, I hate that," Methos 
replied, but his voice was unsteady.
	Duncan put a hand on Methos' shoulder, but the old 
man jerked away as if burned.
	"Methos."
	"Leave me alone, MacLeod."
	"I canno'," the Highlander answered, his accent 
deepening with his anxiety.
	"Well, do it anyway," Methos snapped, turning 
away, his arms hugging himself.
	"Where are ye goin'?"
	"Out."
	"An' will y' be comin' back?"
	"I don't know.  What are you, my babysitter?"
	MacLeod winced and backed down.  "No.  No, I'm 
no' ye babysitter.  Go where ye like.  Y' dunna owe me an 
explanation."
	Methos turned on him, eyes blazing rage.  "That's 
right.  I don't owe you _anything_!"
	"I never said y' did."
	"Didn't you?  Didn't you?!  Make up your mind, 
MacLeod before I make it for you!"
	Duncan was stunned speechless and the elevator 
arrived.  Methos looked at it, then back at MacLeod, and 
Duncan saw it as the point of no return.  If Methos crossed 
that threshold, he'd never see him again.  Methos scowled 
and stepped into the elevator, pushing a button.  Leaping 
into action, MacLeod rushed into the elevator just as the 
doors closed.  Then he pivoted in the car and flipped the 
'stop' switch, making the elevator come to halt between 
floors.
	"MacLeod!  What the hell are you doing?"
	"You're not going anywhere," Duncan ordered, 
facing Methos.
	"Oh I'm not, am I?  And who is going to stop me?"
	"I am."
	Methos tried to get past Duncan to flip the switch 
again, but Duncan grabbed him and shoved him bodily 
against the back of the car, hands gripping his thin 
shoulders.  The last time they had been in this position, he 
had been pinned against the side of his Jimmy, and Duncan 
had been enraged with hurt and betrayal.  He stared at 
MacLeod, frightened, breathing heavily.
	"You wanted me to make up my mind, didn't you.  
Well, I've made it."
	Methos wasn't sure if he wanted to know what 
choice Duncan had made, but in heartbeats it was a moot 
point because the Highlander yanked him forward into a 
crushing embrace.  One arm was around his shoulder, the 
large hand cradling his head, while the other was pressed 
into the small of his back, holding him close.  His face was 
squashed into the broad shoulder, his cheek rubbing against 
MacLeod's unshaven jaw, the rough stubble scratching his 
tender skin.  MacLeod's hair fell around his nose, his 
mouth, filling his senses with the deep, musky odor of 
shampoo and Duncan's own singular scent.
	"You're not going anywhere without me," the 
Highlander's voice spoke firmly into his ear.
	The words brought everything to the surface and 
Methos trembled violently.  His hands flexed out then up, 
daring to touch the wide back, the strong shoulders of the 
man that held him.  His touch was light, tentative at first, but 
grew more certain as MacLeod did not let go.
	"Duncan..." he choked, trying to put everything he 
wanted to say into that one word.
	"Forgive me, Methos."
	"I forgive you, Highlander."
	A deep sigh escaped Duncan's lips and he eased his 
grip, pulling away only enough to look into his friend's 
eyes.  He smiled shyly, touching his forehead to Methos', 
and was encouraged as Methos smiled back.  He stroked the 
cropped hair as they stared at each other, making small 
sounds of reassurance and comfort.  Methos was leaning 
into his touch, his face an odd mixture of fear and bliss, his 
long fingers curled into the collar of his shirt.
	"I've been an idiot," the Highlander confessed.
	"I won't argue with you on that."
	Duncan chuckled.  "I should have known you'd 
agree with me."
	"I'm nothing if I'm not predictable."
	"Predictable?  You?  Never."
	"Yes, but you wouldn't want me any other way."
	"Absolutely."
	Just then they heard concerned voices somewhere 
below them.
	"They're wondering about the elevator," Methos 
said.
	"I guess we ought to turn it back on."
	"When they see us, you know what they are going to 
think."
	MacLeod smiled.  "Let them."
	Keeping one arm around his friend, MacLeod 
reached over and flipped the switch back on.
	"Up or down?"
	"Up," Methos replied.  "I have to get out of these 
soggy boots."
	Duncan laughed softly, pushing the button for their 
floor.  "Serves you right for running out on me."
	"Besides, I'm tired.  All that rich food.  I think I'll 
take a nap."
	"Sounds like a good idea to me."
	The elevator went down, not up, obeying the last 
command it was given before it was turned off, and the two 
Immortals found themselves looking out at the lobby, and an 
elderly couple who were waiting for the elevator.  Upon 
seeing the two men, arms wrapped loosely around each 
other, clothes rumpled, and silly expressions on their faces, 
the couple gasped in shock.
	"Sorry, this car's taken," Duncan smoothed with a 
grin, pushing the button for their floor again.
	The doors slid closed as the senior citizens still stared 
at them.
	"You, MacLeod, are a tease," Methos scolded 
jokingly as they exited the elevator and walked back to the 
room.
	"I'm nothing if I'm not predictable."
	Two hours later, Joe and Miranda returned to the 
suite.  Finding everything very quiet, Joe peeked into one of 
the bedrooms to see if anyone was there.  He found Methos 
and Duncan, fully clothed, but spooned against each other, 
fast asleep on one of the queen-sized beds.  Duncan's arm 
was around the older Immortal protectively, and Methos had 
positioned himself so that the maximum amount of his body 
was against the Highlander.  Joe smiled.
	"What is it, Joe?" Miranda asked as he came out of 
the room and closed the door behind him.
	"It looks like Mac and Methos have finally worked 
out their differences."
	Methos awakened sometime in the late afternoon and 
found himself in bed with Duncan.  It took him a moment to 
remember exactly how and why he was sharing a mattress 
with the Highlander, but when he did, he smiled.  They'd 
both climbed into bed together by some unspoken 
agreement, and MacLeod had held him close as they fell 
asleep.  Apparently, Duncan was as tired as he was, he'd 
mentioned something about being up all night playing poker, 
and wanted to nap as well.  Methos hadn't argued when the 
Highlander snuggled up.
	Now he was lying in the Scot's arms, wistful in the 
dark room.  They'd pulled  shut the drapes before getting 
into bed, and the afternoon sunlight was beating down upon 
the heavy material, creating a muted glow throughout the 
room.  Sometime during their nap, Methos had turned 
around, and now he was facing MacLeod, his nose just 
centimeters from Duncan's throat.  The Highlander's 
powerful arm was still wrapped around him, holding onto 
his back.  He sighed, for the moment it was bliss, but he 
knew it couldn't last.
	It felt so good just to lie there and be held.  It was 
such a simple pleasure; too many people made it complicated 
by assuming sex had to be involved, and while sex was nice 
in its proper place, sometimes simple cuddling could be just 
as good.  Especially when it was with someone you cared a 
great deal about.  He and Alexa had cuddled a lot, a great 
deal more than they'd had sex.  He could count on both 
hands the number of times they had made love in the year 
they were together.  He still remembered pulling off into a 
rest area when they were both too tired to drive any more, 
and cuddling in the back of the van together to rest.  It was 
heaven.  She made him feel safe, loved, as if he belonged in 
her arms.  He missed that feeling like someone missed a 
limb.  Now he found it again in MacLeod's arms, but did the 
Highlander feel the same way?
	A knock on the door roused Duncan, and the 
Highlander's eyes opened to look sleepily at Methos.  For a 
moment, he looked rather surprised, but then he grinned, 
letting Methos breathe again.
	"I was wondering who was keeping me warm," 
MacLeod commented.
	"Just me."
	"Yeah, though you're not nearly as soft as my usual 
bedmates," Duncan admitted, stretching, then turned to his 
friend again.  "But just as nice," he assured, squeezing 
Methos' shoulder.
	Methos was about to answer when the knock came 
again, and Joe's voice boomed through the closed door.
	"Hey!  Are you two gonna get up sometime today?  
Or will Miranda and I have to eat dinner without you?"
	The two Immortals looked at each other and smiled.
	"Dinner?" Methos asked.
	Duncan looked at his watch.  It was after five.  Then 
both their stomachs grumbled loudly.
	"Food," they both said in unison and scrambled out 
of bed.
	"Oh Hell, Miranda, they're not coming out.  Let's 
just go," Joe was saying as the bedroom door swung open 
and the two Immortals stepped out.
	"You were going to go eat without us?" Duncan said, 
feigning hurt.
	"Damn straight we'd go eat without you!  We even 
took a nap after getting back, and were still up an hour 
before the two of you.  So much for Immortal recuperative 
powers," Joe shot back, his mouth turning up at the corners.
	"Hey, I have an excuse.  Louis killed me three times 
last night.  I was feeling rather... drained."
	Joe groaned at the bad joke.  "Oh, please spare me 
this man's humor.  Are you coming or not?"
	"Let me see if my boots are dry," Methos answered, 
picking up the hiking shoes and feeling the insides.
	"Well, are they?" MacLeod asked.
	"Yeah."
	Methos slipped the boots on and smoothed his 
clothes.  "Ready."
	"Good, let's go."
	They went down to the hotel restaurant and ordered 
dinner.
	"You know," Methos commented between bites of 
his food.  "I really ought to get some new clothes.  All my 
stuff is back at the barge and I've been wearing these same 
jeans and sweater for three days."
	Joe looked at Miranda and Duncan, then shrugged.  
"We have plenty of cash.  Armand gave us quite a wad, and 
we won another few hundred francs from Daniel last night."
	"I still say he let us win," Miranda said.
	"Maybe he did.  I'm not asking.  It was probably just 
his pocket change anyway."
	"Well," Methos said, swallowing.  "That suits me 
fine.  Lestat told me not to worry about spending Armand's 
money, so I won't."
	"From what we've seen, he doesn't seem to be 
hurting for cash.  So yeah, we'll go shopping after we're 
done here," Joe agreed.
	"Sounds like a plan," Methos concurred, sipping his 
wine.  "Mmmm, good meal.  This place really is 
exceptional."
	He looked up and cast a wry glance at Duncan.  
"Don't worry, I'm not getting used to it."
	MacLeod smiled back and gently rubbed his foot 
along Methos' ankle.  Methos didn't move away and said 
nothing, but the gesture was understood.
	After dinner, they took the limo into the main 
shopping district, and let Methos shop for clothes.  He was a 
very selective and particular shopper, choosing clothes for 
their comfort and durability rather than their tailored look.  In 
the end, he bought two new pairs of Levi's, three sweaters, 
and four T-shirts, one of which he'd bought just for fun.  It 
was a variation on the overused yellow smiley face.  Only 
this smiley had fangs and the caption read 'Bite Me.'  Seeing 
the ironic humor in the shirt, he'd bought it immediately and 
wore it out of the store.
	"Advertising?" Duncan asked with a smile.
	Methos grinned.  "Maybe."
	"You're a glutton for punishment."
	"Don't knock it until you've tried it, MacLeod."
	"We should be getting back to the hotel," Joe said, 
looking meaningfully at the sunset.
	"Hmm, maybe," Methos agreed half-heartedly.
	"Not to worry.  Lestat will find us," Miranda noted.
	"Then I won't be concerned about getting back to the 
hotel to greet him," Methos answered, looking at a new 
backpack in a shop window.  "Hmm, I wonder if they have 
that in brown."
	They went into the store and Methos got lost among 
the various survival gear displays and camping equipment.  
A half hour later, they were leaving, Methos carrying his 
new duffel bag and a fancy Swiss Army knife.  They were 
met just outside the door by Lestat.
	"I assume you remember me," Lestat said to Methos.
	"How could I forget?  It's not often someone comes 
along and takes off with you, literally," the 5000 year old 
Immortal answered.
	"Good, then you won't mind if I do it again."
	Before Methos could get another word out, Lestat 
grabbed him and flew off.
	"Methos!" Duncan called, then cursed loudly and 
picked up the bags Methos had dropped when Lestat 
snatched him.
	"That was to be expected," Miranda informed.  "You 
didn't think Lestat would wait for Armand and the others to 
get here, did you?"
	MacLeod scowled.  "No.  But it means that we need 
to figure out where they are going and get there."
	"But Methos told us that he didn't know where Louis 
was," Joe argued.
	"Yes, but he did tell us about some very 
distinguishing characteristics of the place, and a general 
location.  We'll ask some of the locals, maybe they'll have 
some ideas.  An estate as large as the one Methos is talking 
about can't be a secret."
	Lestat landed on top of a tall building and set Methos 
down.
	"We have got to stop meeting like this," the Immortal 
quipped.
	"I want to know where my lover is."
	"I don't know," Methos answered honestly.  
	"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't.  I didn't see where it was.  I was asleep when 
we arrived."
	Lestat tapped a hard finger against Methos' forehead.  
"Yes.  You.  Do.  Now show me."
	Methos swallowed hard, nodding.  "I'll try."
	"Just think about it.  I'll see through your eyes."
	The Immortal obeyed, pulling up all his memories of 
the house, the lands, the underground barracks.  He saw 
Lestat wince when he remembered the cell and Louis, and 
heard the vampire curse in French.  
	"I'll kill them all.  Slowly.  They do not deserve the 
pleasure of my kiss."
	"We have to get back there first," Methos corrected.
	"We will.  You are thinking this estate is near 
Vienne?"
	Methos nodded.  "Yes.  It would make sense since 
they tossed me in the Saone and you pulled me out near St. 
Vallier."
	Lestat put an arm around him again, lifting him up.  
"Then we go to Vienne."
	Instantly they were rising, and Methos found himself 
getting a bird's eye view of the ground below.  He held on 
tightly, although he knew the vampire could support him 
with one finger, and looked down.  The lights of Lyon 
sparkled brilliantly under him, giving way to more sparsely 
lighted areas as they flew.
	"How long have you been able to do this?" Methos 
asked.
	"Do what?  Fly?  Since 1985."
	"Louis told me that only the strongest of you can."
	"He's right.  What else did he tell you?" Lestat 
asked, a suspicious lilt in his voice.
	"That he loves you," Methos answered with a smile.
	The vampire smiled back, then turned his attention to 
the ground below.  "We're just about to Vienne."
	Methos scanned the dark earth and shook his head.  
"I can't see very well."
	"I did not expect you to.  I, however, can see 
perfectly."
	"I know.  Vampire eyes can see in complete 
darkness."
	"Very true."
	"Do you see the manor house?"
	"Not yet, but I will."
	They searched for another hour, landing in different 
places that turned out to be very similar to the estate Methos 
had been taken to, but were not the one they wanted.  
Fortunately, Lestat was able to avoid killing the wrong 
people by scanning the minds of the inhabitants prior to 
making any hasty moves.  Finally, after four false alarms, 
they came upon another estate set back away from the river.  
Methos recognized the house immediately.
	"That's it."
	"Mm hmmm," Lestat agreed, getting a very 
dangerous look in his eyes.
	They set down on the grass and Methos looked 
around.  Yes, this was definitely the right place.
	"How do you want to do this?" the Immortal asked 
the vampire.
	"Louis comes first.  Once he is free, I will be free to 
exact my revenge."
	"Good choice.  They could just blow him up before 
you had a chance to get to him."
	"I am certain they have a contingency plan for just 
that occurrence.  They put a lot of thought into this whole 
scheme.  I cannot imagine them not having anticipated the 
possibility of my finding them," Lestat said, scanning the 
house.
	"How many?"
	"A dozen at least, and two perimeter guards, one of 
which is coming our way."
	Methos looked around but saw no one, then a dark 
clad figure came around the side of the house, machine gun 
in hand.
	"Oh great, now what?" Methos muttered.
	Lestat smiled ferally and Methos felt a chill run down 
his spine.  "Now you get to witness another of my gifts."
	The vampire took several steps forward, coming into 
the light of the security lamps illuminating the immediate 
perimeter of the house.  The guard saw him immediately and 
advanced upon him, gun drawn.
	"Halt!  Who goes there?"
	"Your worst nightmare," Lestat answered with a 
growl.
	It looked as if the guard was going to shoot, but he 
suddenly stiffened, and dropped the gun, letting out a 
strangled cry.  Lestat hadn't moved, yet the man was on his 
knees, his hands gripping his skull in agony.  Methos came 
forward to stand next to Lestat, and saw blood begin to pour 
from the orifices in the guard's head.  The ancient 
Immortal's eyes opened wide in shock as he realized that 
Lestat had crushed the man's brain with the power of his 
mind alone.
	The guard slumped over dead on the grass, and 
Lestat walked past him without a glance.  Methos was not 
quite as stoic, staring down at the growing pool of blood 
around the corpse's head as he walked by.  He'd been wary 
and fearful of Lestat before, but now he was terrified, and he 
suddenly understood the awesome destructive force Jack 
Shapiro had brought down on his organization.  May God 
help them all.
	Lestat snorted.  "You of all people should know that 
there is no god.  We are as close to God as there will ever 
be."
	Methos did not answer and he tried to keep his 
thoughts to himself as well as they approached the brick 
house.  Coming up the three steps to the entrance, Methos 
gasped as the door unlocked and swung open without a 
sound.  He cast a furtive glance at Lestat, who just looked at 
him and grinned.  Silently they entered the house, pausing in 
the hall as Lestat listened for the whereabouts of the 
inhabitants.
	"No one is near," he announced very softly.
	Methos moved to take the lead.  "This way..."
	Lestat's arm came out, blocking him.  "They will 
hear your footsteps."
	The Immortal nodded, understanding, and let the 
vampire pick him up.
	"Where?"
	"The end of the hall, then left through the kitchen."
	Lestat focused his mind on the other end of the long 
corridor and suddenly they were there.  Methos gasped.
	"How did you do that?" he hissed.
	"Shhh!  There are two mortals nearby."
	The Immortal instantly quieted as Lestat put him 
down.
	"Stay here," the vampire ordered, and slipped into 
the kitchen.
	Methos heard two tiny cries and two thumps, and 
then Lestat swung open the kitchen door with one arm.
	"Come on," the vampire said.
	Methos stepped from the hardwood of the hall onto 
the marble tile of the kitchen floor, trying to muffle his 
footsteps.  He saw both bodies lying with their heads at odd 
angles: Lestat had snapped their necks, and reached over to 
turn off the stove.  Lestat gave him a curious look.
	"No sense in burning food giving us away now is 
there?" Methos said.
	"Good point."
	Methos led the way swiftly through the kitchen, into 
the pantry and down the stairs to the basement.  Then he 
guided Lestat to the false wall that hid the corridor to the 
underground rooms.  The vampire used his mind to unlatch 
the lock and the wall slid open, then he cursed.
	"What is it?" Methos asked.
	"Silent alarm."
	"You can hear it?"
	"Yes.  We don't have much time.  Go get to Louis, 
I'll be right behind you."
	Methos needed no coaxing and ran at full speed 
down the dusty hall.  He found the room with Louis' cell 
and burst in.  The vampire was still there and looked up 
when he heard the door.
	"Methos!" Louis called, pressing his hands to the 
Plexiglas.  "I knew it was you!  There is an alarm going off.  
You have to get out of here."
	Methos went to work on the electronic lock.  "Not 
without you.  Damnit!  Lestat!  I need you to open this 
lock!!"
	"Lestat?  Lestat is here??"
	"Yes."
	They heard gunfire down the hall, and Methos 
cursed again.  "Damn, I wish I'd paid more attention to the 
code when Chris punched it in!"
	"No need," came Lestat's voice behind him.  "Step 
aside, Methos."
	"Lestat!" Louis cried, his eyes filling with joy.
	The Immortal gave Lestat plenty of room, and 
watched in amazement as he did not use his power to unlock 
the door, but instead grabbed the entire thing and ripped it 
out.  The door went flying, crashing into the masonry wall 
with a loud bang, and Louis ran into Lestat's arms.
	"Louis," Lestat breathed and kissed his lover full on 
the mouth, hugging him tight.  "You're safe now.  I'm 
here."
	Their reunion was brief as the room door flew open 
and four men wielding automatic weapons came dashing in.  
Lestat snarled and went for them, but not before they opened 
fire.  Louis ripped himself from Lestat's embrace and threw 
his body in front of Methos, but he was too late.  Methos 
took several hits in the chest and collapsed to the stone floor.
	"Methos!" Louis gasped, kneeling by him as Lestat 
dealt with their assailants.
	The Immortal wheezed, putting his hand on his 
chest.  "Gods, I hate dying like this!"
	"But you'll be all right?"
	Methos nodded, then grabbed Louis' wrist.  "Don't 
leave me here.  If they recognize me, they'll know how to 
kill me!  Stay here until I revive.  It'll only be a minute or 
two.  Gunshot wounds never take long."
	Louis held Methos' hand.  "I will.  I promise."
	The Immortal smiled, letting his head loll back 
against the wall as he died.
	"Louis, are you all right?" Lestat asked, coming to 
stand beside his lover's kneeling form.
	"Yes, but Methos was shot."
	"He'll live.  Were you hurt?"
	Louis looked up to see that Lestat had been shot 
several times himself, but the wounds had healed almost 
instantly.  The only evidence of his injuries were the blood 
stains on his white shirt.  The four gunmen were in various 
crumpled forms on the floor, the stone splashed liberally 
with their blood.
	"No, I am not hurt."
	"Good, let's go."
	"We have to wait until he wakes."
	"Just pick him up and bring him with us."
	In that moment, Methos surged back to life, doubling 
over with a groan.
	"Are you in terrible pain?" Louis asked gently, 
putting his hand on Methos' back.
	Methos choked, moaning.   "Yes, but it will pass."
	"We have to get out if here.  Let me carry you."
	The Immortal nodded between coughs, and lifted one 
arm for Louis to drape around his neck as the vampire slid 
his hands underneath him and picked him up, cradling him 
like a child.
	"This way," Lestat ordered, taking them out of the 
room.
	They were met by three more gunmen as they ran 
down the hall.  Lestat took care of them in short time, 
shielding Louis and Methos from harm and ushering them 
up the stairs.
	"There should be a back way out," Methos managed 
as they paused in the kitchen.
	Angry voices were shouting, they heard running 
footsteps, more gunmen were coming.  Lestat turned to the 
kitchen door.
	"You find the rear exit and get out.  Wait for me on 
the grounds, but keep out of sight.  I will stay and kill these 
fools."
	Louis protested.  "Lestat, please come with us."
	"No!" the blond vampire seethed, his eyes blazing 
rage and blood-lust.  "These mortals will pay for what they 
did to you!"
	"You should know better than to argue with him," 
Methos murmured, getting his strength back.
	"He's right, now get out!"
	The kitchen door burst open, and Lestat faced the 
new threat without fear.  Louis whirled and ran out the other 
entrance, taking them into a breakfast room that emptied into 
a stone patio.  Louis halted once they were out of the house, 
standing on the stone patio, listening.  Inside the house they 
heard more gunfire and screams.  Methos squirmed.
	"Here, put me down.  I'm all right."
	Louis obeyed, setting him down gently.  "You're 
sure?"
	"I'm sure."
	"I knew you'd come back," the black-haired vampire 
said fondly.  "Even without Lestat, I knew you'd come back 
for me."
	"Yeah, well, Lestat was the one who fished me out 
of the river this morning."
	Louis chuckled, then grew serious, his eyes 
glittering.
	"What?"
	"Someone is coming."
	Methos heard Louis growl as Chris came around the 
side of the house, gun drawn.  The mortal paused, staring at 
his quarry.
	"You!" he cried, recognizing Methos.  "You're one 
of Them!"
	Methos gave a sheepish laugh.  "Surprise."
	Chris howled in rage, and Louis was about to leap 
and rip the man's throat out when a shining blade came 
slicing down and neatly severed the mortal's head from his 
neck.  The body fell in a heap, revealing a sword-wielding 
man with all the demons of Hell in his eyes standing behind 
it.
	"Duncan!" Methos called.
	"Methos," the Scot answered, coming towards them.
	"I take it you know this man," Louis commented, his 
eyes on Methos.
	"Yes, he is... he is my friend," the ancient Immortal 
answered, a warm light in his eyes.  "Louis de Pointe du Lac 
meet Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
	Louis smiled knowingly.  "Your Scotsman."
	Methos flushed and smiled.  "Yes.  MacLeod, how 
did you find us?"
	"Simple.  I asked a real estate agent."
	"Methos!" came another voice, and they looked to 
see an man with a cane approaching unsteadily.
	"Joe!" Methos replied, watching as the man and 
Miranda came onto the patio, warily avoiding the body and 
spreading blood pooling on the stone.
	"Where's Lestat and Shapiro?" Duncan demanded.
	"Lestat is inside.  I haven't seen Shapiro," Methos 
said.
	Duncan made a sound then turned to Joe.  "Stay here 
with Methos.  I'll be right back."
	"Wait!  I'm coming with you," the five thousand 
year old Immortal insisted.
	"No."
	"Yes, they've got guns, and they know what you 
are," Methos argued, picking up Chris' machine gun and 
holding it like someone who knew how to use it.  Duncan's 
eyebrows raised a little.  "You need someone to watch your 
back."
	"Suit yourself."
	"Joe, you stay here with Miranda and Louis," 
Methos requested.
	Both Immortals ran back into the house, leaving 
Louis with the two mortals.  Joe waited for about thirty 
seconds, then cursed.
	"I'll be damned if I'm gonna wait out here.  I'm 
going in."
	"Joe, don't be stupid," Miranda gasped.
	Joe pulled aside his jacket to reveal a pistol.  "I'm not 
unarmed, and I wanna make damn sure that Jack doesn't get 
out of this one."	
	She moved to stop him, but Louis laid a hand on her 
shoulder.  "For him, it's personal.  You cannot keep him 
from it.  Just as I could not keep Lestat from it."
	She gave him a measuring look and let Joe go.
	Duncan and Methos ran through the halls, watching 
their backs, keeping an ear out for the gunfire and screams 
that told them where Lestat was.  They climbed the stairs, 
checking each bedroom, until they caught Jack trying to 
escape through the window.
	"Shapiro!" Duncan challenged.
	Shapiro halted and turned, pulling a gun from his 
coat.  
	"MacLeod, I should have known it was you!  You 
always show up at the worst time!"  Then his eyes fell on 
Methos.  "You?!  You were dead!"
	"The reports of my death have been greatly 
exaggerated," the old Immortal answered through gritted 
teeth.
	"You're one of Them!  You've been one all along!  
You infiltrated the Watchers!"
	Methos shrugged.  "You have to admit, it was a great 
cover."
	Jack's face twisted with rage, and he raised the gun.  
"Damn you to Hell!"
	"Methos!" Duncan warned.
	Jack fired, hitting Methos square in the chest.  
Methos fell back, gasping, collapsing to the carpet.
	"Methos?" Jack leered.
	"You won't live to tell anyone, old man," Duncan 
threatened.
	"Oh, I don't think so," Jack answered, leveling the 
gun at MacLeod.  "I will take both your heads!"
	"Jack!  Put the gun down, Jack!" Joe's voice 
ordered.
	The older man had come into the room through a side 
door, and was now aiming his pistol at Shapiro's head.
	"No, they both must die!"
	"I will kill you!  I didn't last time, but I will today!  
Now put the gun down!"
	Jack trembled with fury, his hand shaking, his finger 
twitching on the trigger.
	"Jack!" Joe warned again, cocking the trigger of his 
own gun.
	"No!  He is MINE!" Lestat roared, coming into the 
room in a flurry of blonde rage.
	Shapiro went white as a sheet when he saw the 
vampire, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.  His 
hand shook violently, his terror rising as he knew there 
would be no escape.
	"Get out of here," Lestat commanded to the others in 
the room, his eyes locked on Shapiro in a deadly stare.
	Jack let out a yelp of pain and dropped the gun as 
Lestat heated the metal with his mind, making it burn the 
mortal's flesh.
	"Lestat..." MacLeod began.
	"OUT!" 
	The Highlander moved to help Methos to his feet as 
Lestat closed the distance between him and Shapiro, pinning 
the mortal against the wall.  Jack had his hands on Lestat's, 
staring up at the vampire in pure horror.
	"Mercy..." Jack choked.
	"Mercy?  Did you show mercy to my lover?" Lestat 
snarled.
	"I had to do it..."
	"Let's get out of here.  We don't want to see this," 
Joe whispered to Methos and Duncan as Methos regained his 
balance.
	The Immortals reluctantly agreed and quietly left the 
room.  They were halfway down the stairs when they heard 
Jack begin to scream.  Joe faltered on the stairs and Duncan 
caught him, helping him down and supporting him as they 
walked out the front door.  They were met by Miranda and 
Louis just outside the entrance, on the small flagstone walk.  
Louis looked up to the second floor as they heard Jack 
scream again, his eyes glowing like green flames.  His face 
was grim, but showed no remorse.
	As they stood there, listening to the man's death cries 
and pleas for mercy, Joe quivered, tears streaming down his 
face.  The screams just went on and on.  My God, what was 
Lestat doing to his old compatriot?  Duncan held him up as 
Methos stood close, offering comfort.
	"Try not to listen.  Block it out," Methos said softly, 
shuddering as another series of cries erupted from the house.
	Joe nodded, sniffling, trying to do as Methos asked, 
but having little success.
	Finally, after what seemed like ages, the screams 
came to an abrupt halt and all was still.  Long moments later, 
Lestat appeared in the doorway.
	"It is done."
	They looked at the vampire, shivering as they saw 
his shirt, arms and hands were covered with blood, but said 
nothing.
	"Where is Armand?" Lestat asked.
	"He called earlier.  He, Daniel and David stayed in 
Paris to roust out Jack's supporters from Watcher 
Headquarters," Joe answered, finding his voice.  "He said 
they'd be here before dawn."
	Lestat nodded, then looked at himself.  "I will meet 
you back at the hotel.  Louis are you coming with me?"
	Louis indicated Lestat's bloody clothes and skin.  
"I'll go with them and meet you there."
	Lestat dipped his head in understanding then 
vanished.
	"I'll go down to the limo, open the gate, and have 
him come up the drive for us," Duncan said, remembering 
that they had left their car and driver at the end of the long 
driveway.
	Joe nodded.  "Okay, Mac.  We'll wait here."
	MacLeod ran off, and Miranda put a hand on Joe's 
arm.
	"You okay, Joe?"
	"Yeah.  I'll have to call headquarters and have them 
send a team to deal with the bodies."
	"I'll take care of it, Joe," Methos offered.
	"No, it's my job.  I'll do it."
	"As you wish," the old Immortal demurred.
	They stood in silence for a while, waiting for 
MacLeod to come back with the car.
	"Nice shirt," Louis remarked, seeing Methos' T-shirt 
peeking out from underneath his long coat.
	Methos smiled, then frowned.  "Yeah, I just bought 
it, but it's ruined now," he answered, looking at the blood 
stains.
	"I am sure you can purchase another."
	"Yeah."
	Louis stepped close.  "Thank you.  For everything."
	"You're welcome."
	The vampire turned to Joe.  "I am sorry my lover 
tortured your friend."
	Joe nodded, blinking away tears. "Yeah, well, we 
should have expected it.  And we all knew Jack had to die 
this time."
	"Still, I would have spared you the pain of hearing 
his death."
	"Yeah, thanks."
	Louis would have said more, but the car approached 
and Joe seemed to want quiet.  Without another word, they 
piled into the limo and headed back to Lyon.
Lestat had just stepped out of the shower when Louis arrived 
at their suite.  He came in, his eyes traveling lightly over his 
towel-clad lover and smiled softly.
	"Hmm, I could do with one of those."
	"What, a towel?" Lestat kidded with a grin.
	"No, a shower."
	Lestat made a gallant gesture towards the marble 
bath.  "Your shower awaits, mon amour.  And there is 
plenty of hot water as well."
	"Ahh, modern conveniences.  Remember copper 
boilers and coal stoves?"
	"Forget copper boilers.  I remember tubs you poured 
hot water into that were cold by the time you filled them.  
Tepid was our hottest bath."
	Louis smiled and kissed his lover gently.  "That is 
because you were a feudal lord who ate with your fingers, 
and threw the bones over your shoulder to the dogs."
	Lestat sniffed.  "Are you insulting my family honor 
and name?  I daresay if you are,  I shall have to challenge 
you to a duel."
	Louis laughed outright.  "You?  A duel?"
	"That's it!  You've wounded my honor.  Engarde, 
Monsieur!  Defend yourself or suffer the consequences!"
	Lestat whipped off the towel and snapped it at Louis 
who jumped.  Giggling uncontrollably, Louis dived for a 
pillow and used it to defend himself from Lestat's terry-cloth 
assault.  Lestat made a swipe and snagged Louis' sweater, 
tearing it off.
	"Ooops, sorry.  You weren't fond of that sweater, 
were you?"
	"I'm sure you don't care a whit if I was," Louis shot 
back, taking a swing with the pillow.
	"No, I don't!  It was a dusty, musty thing anyway."
	"Oh!  You are always criticizing my wardrobe!"
	"If you had any taste, I wouldn't criticize!" Lestat 
quipped, dodging the pillow.
	"Oooh!  Now who is insulting who's honor here?"
	"I believe you insulted mine first, so I get dibs!" he 
answered, ripping the pillow to shreds, and sending feathers 
flying everywhere, then grabbing his lover, and yanking him 
close.
	"Ah ha!  I have unarmed you.  You are defenseless 
and at my mercy.  You will have to do my bidding if you 
want to stay alive."
	Louis dropped to his knees, baring his neck.  "Death 
before dishonor!"
	Lestat put his hands on his hips and looked down 
disapprovingly.  "Oh, you always did know how to ruin a 
good debauching."
	Louis looked up at his lover, his green eyes dancing 
with mirth, then they both burst into laughter, laughing until 
their sides hurt and blood tears streamed down their faces.  
Lestat collapsed next to Louis and hugged him.  They ended 
up kissing feverishly, Lestat pushing Louis to the carpet and 
climbing on top of him.  Louis wrapped his arms and legs 
around Lestat, cleaving himself to the harder body, as their 
tongues wrestled.
	Lestat pulled back, looking down at the perfect face 
framed by silken ebony locks that fanned out to halo Louis' 
head, his heart aching with love.
	"Do you yield?"
	"Yes," Louis responded, breathless.  "I yield."
	"Are you mine?"
	"Yours forever."
	Lestat grinned his trademark smile and claimed 
Louis' mouth again.
	Later, much later, Louis lifted himself from Lestat's 
arms, and gave him a tender smile.
	"I'm going to take that shower now."
	"Mmm, want company?"
	"Hmm, only if you'll let me wash.  I want to get the 
smell of that horrible place completely off me."
	"They hurt you, didn't they?" Lestat whispered 
solemnly.
	"Not terribly.  And you saved me."
	"No, Methos saved you.  He was the one who found 
you and led me to you."
	Louis nodded.  "Yes.  That is true.  But you were the 
one who got us out of there."
	"What was he to you?"
	"Who?"
	"Methos.  There is something in your eyes when you 
speak of him."
	Louis sighed.  "It is hard to explain, Lestat."
	"Do you love him?"
	There was an edge in Lestat's voice, and Louis knew 
he had to phrase his answer carefully.
	"In a way, yes, I do love him.  He risked his life to 
help me, and he gave me everything he had to offer, multiple 
times."
	He saw quickly that his answer wasn't good enough, 
so he continued, trying to make Lestat understand.
	"Lestat, you know how I feel about killing.  Can you 
imagine what it was like for me to feed upon him until he 
died, knowing that he would come back?  To do that three 
times, and still have him return the following night?  To have 
someone who was my victim, look at me as anything, but a 
monster?  Do you know what that did for me?  How it made 
me feel?"
	Lestat was listening, and it shocked Louis.  Lestat 
rarely listened to anything he had to say, but right now he 
had his lover's undivided attention.  Lestat wanted to know, 
and he wasn't getting angry.
	"It... liberated me.  It exalted me.  I couldn't kill 
him!  No matter how many times I drained him, he wouldn't 
die.  We were joined in the kiss, in the swoon, three times 
and each time he surrendered to it with unrestrained abandon 
because he knew, he knew I couldn't kill him.  Lestat, it was 
one of the most profound experiences in my life.  Second 
only to my experiences with you."
	Lestat was quiet, taking in the words, then nodded 
once.  "I understand."
	Louis smiled.  "I'm glad."
	He sat up and moved to stand.  "And now, I am 
taking that shower.  Coming?"
	"I'll be along in a bit.  You wash.  I'll come in to 
rinse off."
	"I'll save some hot water for you."
	Lestat grinned.  "Thank you, you are too kind."
	He watched Louis walk to the bathroom, enjoying 
the way his lover moved with the graceful smoothness of a 
dancer, then got up himself and rummaged through his small 
valise to pull out a new outfit for Louis.  He laid the clothes 
on the bed, smoothing the soft silk of the shirt with his 
hand, and waited a few more moments before heading to 
join Louis in the shower.
	"Armand is here," Miranda announced to the quiet 
room.
	Methos and Duncan paused their chess game and Joe 
looked up from his journal.
	"How do you know?" MacLeod asked.
	Miranda tapped her head.  "He told me.  He'll be 
here in a few minutes.  He has someone he wants us to 
meet."
	"I wonder who that could be," Joe commented.
	"Probably another of his 'business associates,'" 
Duncan answered, moving his rook and claiming one of 
Methos' knights.
	Methos sighed.  "Please remind me why I agreed to 
this match."
	"Because you're a good friend and you knew I was 
bored stiff."
	"And you promised me dinner," Methos reminded.
	"And a six pack," Duncan finished.  "I didn't 
forget."
	"Good.  And speaking of beer..."
	The oldest Immortal got up and went to the fridge to 
pull out two cold bottles.
	"Want one, Joe?"
	"Nah, but thanks.  I still have the Scotch Armand 
gave me."
	"Fine, more for us."
	Methos took his time in returning to the table and 
handed MacLeod one of the bottles.
	"Thanks, but this won't mean I'll let you win," the 
Highlander grinned, opening the bottle.
	"Wouldn't dream of it.  I'll let you beat me fair and 
square," the old man answered, sitting down again.
	Duncan nearly choked on his beer.  "Let me beat 
you?!"
	Joe laughed softly, watching the exchange and glad 
for his journal.  So much went into it that couldn't go in the 
Chronicle.  It seemed a shame, but Duncan wanted it that 
way, and it was also to protect Methos.  He wouldn't be able 
to live with himself if something he wrote down caused 
Methos to be hurt, or worse.  The ancient Immortal had 
come to mean as much to him as MacLeod, and he would 
protect both until his dying breath.  Besides, he knew that he 
couldn't trust the Watchers anymore, not after all that had 
happened.  
So he Watched as he was supposed to do, but nothing about 
these two and their friendship ever made it into the 
Chronicle.  It was too private and too important.  Today he'd 
written about Mac and the old man's apparent reconciliation, 
and what he thought, and hoped, it meant.  Already some of 
the gloom that had settled over both Immortals since their 
return from Bordeaux had started to lift.  Duncan was 
smiling more easily, joking more readily, and Methos had 
the sparkle in his eyes again, that unmistakable twinkle of 
mischief.  Little imp.  He'd be pushing Mac's buttons for 
centuries and loving it.  After Joe was dead and gone, the 
Watchers would still record reports of these two at each 
other's throats, or at least he hoped so.  Now he was 
convinced even more than before, that these two needed each 
other if they were to survive.
	Joe was brought out of his thoughts by a knock on 
the door.
	"That would be Armand," Miranda said, going to 
answer.
	She was right, and the immortal teenager, his lover 
and David entered the suite.  Joe and Duncan almost didn't 
recognize the five hundred year old vampire because his hair 
was long and full, auburn curls falling to his shoulders.  
With them was a mortal Methos knew too well.
	"Good evening," Armand greeted pleasantly.
	Methos thought about running and hiding in the 
bedroom, but it was too late.  The mortal had already seen 
him.
	"Adam?" Brian gasped in disbelief, staring.
	In the heavy silence, exactly what had just happened 
settled upon them, and both Duncan and Armand gave 
Methos shocked looks, even as Brian came forward.
	"Adam?"
	"He didn't know?" Armand asked.
	The look on Methos' face answered that question.  
	Duncan shook his head. "No."
	The vampire looked contrite.  "I'm sorry."
	"Know what?" Brian said, his eyes still on Methos.  
"Adam, I saw you dead.  How?..."
	Then he trailed off as Methos gave him a guilty look, 
biting his lip.
	"You're...  You're an Immortal, aren't you."
	Methos nodded slowly.  "Yes."
	"But you're a Watcher!"
	"Not anymore.  But, yes, I was a Watcher.  I used 
the Watchers as a way to hide from the Game."
	Brian was flabbergasted, and Methos became angry.  
He had tried so hard to save Brian!  Why was he here?
	"Why did you bring him?" the ancient Immortal 
asked.
	"His loyalties were split.  He did not support Jack, 
yet he knew all that had happened and believed in the cause.  
And he knew you.  We did not know what to do with him, 
so we decided to let you decide," Armand answered calmly.
	Methos looked at Brian, heartbroken.  If he let the 
mortal live, Brian would know his secret, but he didn't want 
Brian to die either.  Two thousand, hell, two hundred years 
ago this would have been so much easier.  He'd have killed 
Brian himself to protect his own head, and not given it a 
second thought.  But somewhere along the line, Methos had 
grown tired of killing, and he hated killing friends.  No one, 
not even MacLeod knew how he grieved for Silas.  Now he 
shook his head, unable to make the choice.
	"What are you going to do with me?" Brian 
demanded, frightened, looking at each of them.
	"He is loyal to the Watchers, if not loyal to 
Dawson," Methos said softly, refusing to look at Brian.  
"But he knows my secret."
	"What do you want us to do?" Daniel asked.
	"I don't know."
	"You can't kill me!"
	"That is a matter of contention," Armand replied 
coldly.
	"Look, we know he is loyal to the Watchers.  Why 
not leave it at that?" Joe offered.
	"Because he knows about Adam's Immortality," 
Duncan answered, carefully using Methos' alias.
	"I won't tell anyone!  I promise.  Adam, we've 
known each other for years.  You can trust me."
	Methos looked at Brian with tears in his eyes.  "I 
wish I could believe you.  I don't want you to die, but I 
don't want to die either.  And that is what will happen if my 
secret gets out.  If another Immortal doesn't hunt me down, 
then an angry Watcher will."
	"I swear I will never tell anyone!"
	"Not even under duress?  Not even under pain of 
death?  Don Saltzer had his tongue cut out, and he let himself 
bleed to death before he would tell Kalas my secret.  Would 
you be that loyal?" Methos pressed.
	Brian's eyes widened.  "Don knew?"
	"Yes.  Don knew.  He was my closest and dearest 
friend.  And he died protecting me.  Would you die for me?"
	The horrified look on Brian's face told Methos all he 
needed to know, and his heart sank.  Brian was terrified of 
death, he could, and would, be broken if pressed.  Methos 
couldn't trust him.  Joe, he could trust.  Joe would not only 
die for him, but Joe would kill for him as well.  Brian would 
have to be sacrificed.  He hated the idea, he didn't want to 
do it, and he wept openly.  Brain saw and understood.
	"No, Adam.  Please, Adam, just let me go."
	"I can't."
	"But I won't tell anyone."
	"I can't be certain of that."
	Brian was starting to panic.  "Adam, please..."
	"You're not giving me any choice."
	Daniel moved to close his hand on Brian's shoulder, 
and the man jerked, petrified.
	"No!  Please, no!  I don't want to die!"
	Methos squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out 
the pleas.
	"Wait," Armand's voice whispered quietly.  "There 
is another way."
	Methos opened his eyes and looked hopefully at the 
vampire.
	"I can make him forget.  Wipe his memories of 
everything that has happened these last few days.  In that 
way, we will not have to kill him."
	The ancient Immortal turned his attention to Brian.  
"Do you agree to this?"
	Brian nodded his head vigorously.
	"Do it," Methos told Armand.	
	The vampire agreed, and gently took the mortal on 
hand.  "Come with me.  You will not be harmed.  You are 
going to go to sleep for a while, and when you wake, you 
will remember nothing of what has happened."
	"Okay," Brian breathed as if in a trance.
	Armand glanced at Methos. "I will put him on a 
plane back to Paris, send someone with him to make sure he 
gets there safely."
	"I'll call Headquarters once you have the flight 
information and arrange to have someone meet him at the 
gate," Joe said.
	Armand nodded that he understood, and escorted 
Brian out of the suite.  Daniel and David stayed behind, 
knowing Armand would want to work this craft alone.  
Methos sighed with relief and sank to the sofa.
	"Gods, I am so glad we didn't have to kill him.  He 
really was an innocent in all this," the old man admitted.
	"I remember him as being a good man," Joe added.
	"Yeah, he is."
	Methos put his hand to his forehead, feeling the 
weight of all that had happened over the past four days settle 
over him.
	"Gods, I'm tired."
	"Has anyone seeen Lestat and Louis?" Daniel asked.
	"No.  Louis went to join Lestat in their suite, and no 
one's seen them since," Miranda replied.
	"We shouldn't expect to see them until tomorrow 
night.  But I'll check on them before I retire for the day," 
David noted.
	"Speaking of retiring.  I think I am going to call it a 
night," Methos announced.
	"What?  You don't want to finish our game?" 
Duncan said with a mock pout.
	Methos gave him a weary look, and Duncan's pout 
faded as he realized how tired, mentally and emotionally, his 
friend really was.
	"Ach, we'll finish it tomorrow," he brushed off.
	Methos smiled softly.  "Thanks."
	"Go on then.  I'll try not to wake you when I come 
in."
	For a moment, Methos felt a pang of regret when he 
realized MacLeod wasn't going to come cuddle with him, 
but then he pushed it aside.
	"Okay, thanks," he murmured, standing and moving 
for the bedroom he shared with the Highlander.  "Nite, 
guys."
	"Nite, Methos," Joe said, and was echoed by the 
others.
	Methos gave a half-hearted wave and slipped into the 
bedroom.  He took the bed closest to the window, avoiding 
the one he had shared with MacLeod earlier, and stripped 
down to his underwear, climbing under the bedclothes and 
trying to sleep.  His body protested with aches and pains as 
it relaxed against the mattress, and he sighed, closing his 
eyes.  He brought up the memory of snuggling with 
MacLeod, feeling the warmth of the hard body, smelling the 
musky scent.  A smile came to his lips, and he was asleep 
within minutes.
	Methos awakened to a dark room.  He was on his 
side, tangled in the blankets, facing the bed MacLeod slept 
on.  The Highlander was also on his side, with his back to 
Methos, the broad bulk of his body covered by the thin 
sheet.  For a moment, Methos stared at the body wistfully, 
listening to the steady breathing of the man in the other bed.  
He wanted to go there, to crawl into the bed with MacLeod 
and feel those strong arms enfold him, but he was relatively 
certain MacLeod would not be happy if he did.  Earlier 
today, they had shared the bed through mutual consent and 
the need to reassure each other of what happened between 
them.  MacLeod needed to know that Methos wasn't going 
to leave, and he had needed to feel the Scotsman's 
acceptance.  But now it was different.  They were both in 
separate beds and if he went to cuddle with MacLeod, 
MacLeod might see it as a violation.  He sighed heavily.  As 
much as he wanted to follow his heart, he didn't want to risk 
his newfound reconciliation with the Scot.  It was better to 
just stay where he was and try to go back to sleep.  Dimly, 
he wondered what time it was.
	"It's four in the morning," came a soft voice.
	Startled, Methos rolled to face the source of the 
voice, and found Lestat sitting in the chair by the window, 
dressed in a tailored suit, one leg crossed over the other, his 
eyes glittering in the dark.  Immediately, he gave a thought 
to MacLeod sleeping in the room with him.
	"Oh, he won't wake up.  I'm making sure of that," 
the vampire answered, tapping his forehead.
	"Why are you here?"
	"Lots of reasons.  Curiosity, impulsiveness, 
jealously."
	"Jealousy?" Methos repeated, shocked.  "What for?"
	Lestat uncrossed his legs and sat forward in the 
chair.  "Louis is very fond of you.  You shared something 
very special with him."
	"And you think I'd be suicidal enough to try to take 
him from you."
	Lestat laughed.  "Take him from me?  I doubt you 
could do that even if you wanted to."
	Methos sat up.  "If that is so, why are you jealous?"
	"Because I can't figure you out, and I hate 
mysteries."
	Methos shrugged.  "Maybe there is nothing to figure 
out."
	"Oh, but there always is, and discovering it is half 
the fun," Lestat smoothed, then cocked his head 
thoughtfully.  "What makes you tick, old man?  What drove 
you to risk everything to help my lover and save your 
friend?"
	"And if told you I didn't know?"
	The vampire moved so fast Methos didn't even see 
him leave the chair.  He was suddenly just there, sitting on 
the bed with him, his face just inches from his own.
	"I might just believe you.  Self knowledge is a rare 
thing.  Even I do not know my own motivations for many of 
the things I do."  Lestat touched him, letting his finger trace 
his cheek.  "Still.  There is something about you.  
Something Louis holds dear, and I don't think it is the fact 
that you were his all-he-could-eat bar."
	Methos smiled.  "It could always be my ineffable 
charm and stinging wit."
	Now it was Lestat's turn to smile.  "I don't doubt 
that is part of it.  But you see, I am at an impasse.  You were 
intimate with my Louis.  That in itself could warrant you a 
death sentence.  And he holds you dear.  By all rights, I 
should be in a jealous rage by now.  But yet you helped him 
at the risk of your own life, and for that I owe you a boon."
	Methos chuckled nervously, not liking the feral light 
in Lestat's eyes.  "Umm, okay.  You buy me a year's worth 
of beer and we'll call it even."
	Lestat smiled and let out a short laugh.  "It's not that 
simple.  In order for me not to be angry with you, I need to 
understand you.  And in order to understand you, I must see 
what lives behind your eyes.  It is the only way I can 
reconcile the conflicting sides of myself."
	Methos' heart quickened as he realized what Lestat 
meant, and he took a deep breath, trying to find words to 
speak, but Lestat made it moot as the vampire's lips closed 
upon his in a demanding kiss.  He let out a sigh, opening his 
mouth for Lestat's tongue to explore, and shut his eyes, 
giving himself over to the sensations.
	Louis had been right.  This one gave himself 
completely, fearlessly, and he cradled the Immortal's head in 
his hands, feeling the soft hair, the mortal warmth as he 
kissed him thoroughly, thrilled as Methos surrendered.  The 
hot mouth opened, the jaw dropping as he thrust his hard 
tongue inside, tasting the sweetness within.
	"Yes," Lestat whispered huskily, kissing the lips and 
nibbling at them.  "Yield.  Yield to me."
	The Immortal caressed his sides, feeling the silk of 
his shirt, the fine cotton of his suit, exploring, discovering.  
It was exquisite.  Lestat nipped at his chin, his ear, feeling 
him arch up as his mouth closed on the soft flesh of his 
throat.  He smiled as he rubbed his fingers over the 
Immortal's bare nipples, feeling the body shudder, and the 
neck extend, offering, begging.  What a prize!  So utterly 
without reservation, without pause, and Lestat was soon 
caught up in his own seduction.  He snaked his hand down 
to the hot thighs, cupping the growing bulge in the 
Immortal's crotch, hearing the thin moan that escaped his 
prey.  
	Licking the salty skin of Methos' neck, he pulled the 
Immortal into his lap, spreading the thighs around his hips, 
and bringing their pelvises firmly together.  His victim 
gasped, groaning as he wrapped one arm around the hot 
body, keeping his other hand loosely holding the clothed 
erection.
	"Oh Gods..." he heard Methos murmur, as the 
Immortal tangled his hands in his blond locks, and pushed 
against him.	
	Mmmm, so eager, so wanton.  Lestat loved it.  He 
breathed in Methos' scent, rocking him gently, teasing him 
with little nips and licks along his neck and collarbone, 
squeezing the bulge, until Methos was practically sobbing 
with need.
	"Please..." the Immortal pleaded.
	Lestat snickered against the throbbing vein on 
Methos' throat, enjoying the feeling of complete power and 
supremacy.  This man was at his mercy, and that was almost 
as intoxicating as the smell of his blood and the beat of his 
heart.  With a low growl, he took him, sinking his teeth deep 
into the fount, delighting in the strangled cry and jerk of the 
body in his embrace.  The hot blood struck the back of his 
throat, tingling with the man's Immortality, and he moaned, 
losing himself in it.  Methos moved with him as he drank, 
both of them voicing their pleasure, hands clutching at each 
other.  They writhed, Lestat lifting up to meet Methos' 
bucking hips, his hand firmly working the hardness beneath 
his palm.  It was wild, uninhibited, and Lestat had to really 
try hard to remember to keep the restraining field on 
MacLeod so the other man would not awaken.  
	Methos cried out in several different languages, most 
of which the vampire wouldn't recognize, and gripped 
Lestat's hair in his long fingers as Lestat drained him.  All 
his walls came crashing down in the storm of ecstasy, and 
he felt Lestat delve deep into his soul, melding with him, 
knowing him.  He died just as he reached completion, his 
body convulsing with release and his death throes, his world 
going black in one incredible explosion of color, light and 
sensation.
	Lestat swallowed the death, letting it spread 
throughout his body, radiating pleasure into his loins and 
limbs, holding the body as it shuddered one last time.  Then 
he tenderly let it go, cradling it, and gently laid it down on 
the mattress.  He untangled himself from the legs and kissed 
the silky lips, brushing a bead of sweat from the pale 
forehead.  It had been good.  It had been better than good, 
and now he understood what had happened between this 
man and his Louis.  He smiled.
	When he came back to life, he found that he had been 
cleaned up and dressed in a fresh pair of underwear.  He laid 
on the bed, still weak and a bit dizzy, but oddly, very 
content.  He sighed, licking his lips.  He was thirsty.
	"I know.  I expected as much and came prepared," 
Lestat's voice whispered.
	He cracked open his eyes to see the vampire coming 
towards him, holding a glass of something.  Beer?  The 
vampire smiled and shook his head as he sat down on the 
edge of the mattress, and helped the Immortal sit up, 
positioning himself partially behind him and acting as a 
quasi-backrest.
	"No.  Orange juice," he said, pressing the rim of the 
glass to Methos' lips.
	It was cold.  It was wet.  It would do.  Methos drank 
greedily, ignoring the vampire's amused chuckles, and 
downed the glass in one breath.
	"More?" Lestat asked, taking the glass away.
	Methos wiped his mouth on his wrist. "No."
	Lestat placed the glass on the night stand between the 
two beds, and let Methos relax against his chest, absently 
running his fingers through the short hair.
	"Why?" Methos finally asked.
	He felt the vampire smile, and then the lips bent 
down to kiss his forehead tenderly.
	"Now I love you too."
	Methos didn't answer.  He knew Lestat was 
complex, and that the vampire had somehow used their 
experience together to reconcile his conflicting feelings.  He 
closed his eyes, resting, feeling, and just enjoying the 
moment because he doubted it would come again.
	"You are probably right," Lestat mused, reading his 
thoughts again.  "But I must go.  Louis will be wondering 
what I have done to you."
	"Will you tell him?"
	"Maybe."
	Lestat shifted and slid his arms underneath the 
Immortal, lifting him up.
	"What?  What are you doing?"
	"Putting you where you belong."	
	"Huh?"
	Lestat held him up and swung him around so he was 
over MacLeod's bed.
	"Lestat..." Methos began, wondering how he would 
explain.
	"Shhh, it's all right," the vampire assured.
	Just then, Duncan made a sound and rolled to his 
back, waking up.  He opened his eyes and looked up at 
Lestat holding Methos.
	"What's going on?"
	"I have someone for you," Lestat answered, 
indicating his burden.
	Much to Methos' amazement, MacLeod smiled and 
pulled aside the blankets in invitation.  Then he watched 
benevolently as the vampire placed the Immortal onto the bed 
with him.
	"Hi, want someone to keep you warm?' Methos 
greeted nervously.
	The Highlander grinned and put his am around his 
friend, pulling him close.	
	"Sounds good to me."
	Methos smiled shyly and ran a hand up Duncan's 
shoulder, moving into a more comfortable position as they 
snuggled up.  Lestat considerately draped the blankets over 
them both, tucking them in, and moved to leave.
	 "Well, I guess you do have some redeeming 
qualities after all," the Scot said to the vampire as he was 
going.
	Lestat gave him a mischievous look and smiled.  "As 
do you, and very well hidden I might add."
	Duncan laughed.  "Good night, Lestat.  We'll see 
you after sundown."
	"Good night, MacLeod.  Methos.  Sleep well."
	"Oh, I think we will," Duncan assured, giving 
Methos a tender look that made the ancient Immortal's heart 
flutter.
	Lestat gave them a final fond glance, then left them 
curled together on the bed.
Epilogue-
	One year later, Seacouver, WA.
	"See, I told you I would make it to the final round 
this time!" Methos enthused as they left the Wheel of History 
studio.
	"I still wanna know who gave you the damn ticket 
again," MacLeod grumbled as they walked down the stairs, 
past several members of the audience.
	"You were brilliant," a young woman gushed, 
coming forward to shake Methos' hand.
	"Thank you," the ancient Immortal demurred, batting 
his hazel eyes at her.  
She grinned and tittered at him.  MacLeod grabbed Methos' 
arm and yanked him away before he made the poor thing 
faint just by smiling at her.
	"MacLeod!" his friend complained, rubbing his 
bicep.
	"Oh come on, you were about to give her a 
coronary."
	"I was not!  Was I?"
	Duncan just grinned.  Methos moved to turn back.
	"Hey, maybe I could get her number..."
	MacLeod grabbed him again.  "You're having dinner 
with me, remember?"
	Methos smiled, his eyes dancing with mirth.  "Just 
kidding!  Geeze, you're so touchy when you're jealous."
	"I'm not jealous."
	"Yes, you are," the old man insisted with a 
mischievous grin.
	"I am not."
	"All right then, if you're not jealous, you won't mind 
if I go get her number."
	"Why?  So she can fawn over you in the privacy of 
your own home?"
	Methos stopped, his hands on hips.  "Maybe," he 
answered haughtily.
	"Oh, please, spare me."
	"Spare you what?" he replied with a teasing smile.
	Duncan looked back at him, laughter in his brown 
eyes, then changed the subject entirely,  "You never did 
answer my riddle." 
	"Riddle?  What riddle?" the old Immortal asked as 
they continued on their way.
	"Animal, four legs, carries heavy weights.  Three 
letters."
	Methos pondered for a moment, then stopped in his 
tracks, his face indignant.  "MacLeod are you calling me an 
ass?"
	The Highlander grinned wickedly.  "If the shoe 
fits..."
	Methos snorted.  "I have these friends.  Only come 
out at night.  They've got sharp teeth."
	Duncan gave him a sly look.  "Are you threatening 
me?"
	"If the shoe fits," Methos retorted.
	"Ah, but you were the one who said don't knock it 
until I've tried it."
	"I meant in a mutual exchange given by two 
consenting individuals, not a vendetta.  It doesn't have to 
hurt, but they can make it hurt."
	"Any more than you dragging me to this show?"
	"Hey, it's pay-back for the 'cultural experiences' you 
took me to in Paris."
	"They were supposed to be nice evenings spent out 
with friends," Duncan shot back, sneering.
	"And they weren't?"
	"Oh yeah, you, me, Lestat and Louis at the Paris 
Opera.  Louis and I avidly watching Swan Lake, while you 
and Lestat played 'let's bean the lady with the bad hair-do on 
the head with hard candy,' and Lestat yelling, "Oh, just die 
already!" in the middle of the final act.  My idea of a 
wonderful night out," MacLeod scowled.
	Methos grinned.  "Yeah, but you have to admit, his 
timing was perfect.  Got it right in on that lull in the music 
for maximum effect," he commented, emphasizing his 
words by making a surfing gesture with his hands.
	Duncan giggled in spite of himself.  
	"Come on, MacLeod, you can't tell me the look on 
the stage manager's face wasn't priceless."
	The Highlander refused to give his friend the 
satisfaction of knowing he thought it was funny.  Instead, he 
stifled his chuckles and frowned.  "You are impossible.  
Both you and Lestat.  Armand and Daniel were right when 
they requested a box as far away from us as possible.  Louis 
and I should have sat with them and David."
	"But then you would've missed all the fun."
	"Fun?  I'll show you fun," the Highlander answered, 
seizing Methos by the waist and swinging him around.  "The 
next time you get Game Show Fever, I'm calling in the 
entire line-up from Carl's Singing Telegrams, and having 
them heckle you during the show.  You try answering a 
question on ancient Mesopotamia when you've got two 
clowns and a belly-dancer in drag leering at you from the 
front row."
	The old man grinned from ear to ear, wrapping his 
arms loosely around MacLeod's neck.  "Oh, I love a 
challenge.  Maybe you'll do that when they call me back for 
the championships.  And add a stripping gorilla to the 
entourage as well." 
	"Oh, I don't believe you."
	Methos giggled.  "Why not, MacLeod?  Did you 
think you could phase me?  I assure you, after fifty centuries 
of life, very little phases me."
	The wicked smile returned to Duncan's face, and he 
whispered in Methos' ear, "Oh, I know a couple of 
things..."
	Methos jumped, slapping MacLeod's roving hands 
away.  "Not _here._"
	"Awww, why not?  You were the one who told me 
privacy was a relatively modern convenience."
	"Yes, but nowadays we'd be arrested for public 
nudity."
	"Then let's go somewhere private."
	"We were supposed to go to dinner.  Remember?  
Dinner?  Food?  Then *Joe's*?"
	MacLeod pouted.  "You're ruining all my fun."
	"Well, there is another little warehouse just over 
there..."
	MacLeod looked down the road and frowned, his 
mood shifting.  "No.  I don't want to go there."
	Methos, always sensitive to the Highlander's moods, 
drew back a little.  "Why not?"
	MacLeod's eyes were brooding and serious.  
"Because that's where I ran into Kronos last year."
	Methos winced. "Oh.  I'm sorry MacLeod."
	Duncan smiled softly, sliding his body around so 
they were side by side, his arm nestled into the small of 
Methos' back.  "Don't be.  It's all past now."
	Methos searched Duncan's eyes hopefully.  "Is it 
really?"
	"Yeah.  Let's go home.  I'll cook dinner at the loft, 
and then we'll go to *Joe's*... later."
	"Later?  I like later.  I can do later," the five thousand 
year old man purred, boldly giving Duncan an intimate 
caress.
	MacLeod smirked, a knowing look in his eyes.  
"You're impossible."
	"I try."
	"Let's go."
	"Yes, let's."
	Much, much later, they made it to *Joe's,* entering 
side by side, but barely touching.  In private they had no 
qualms about anything, but out in public, they tended to be 
more reserved.  Even the scene they had engaged in walking 
back from the game show had been a little more friendly than 
usual, but they both had been feeling happy, and a bit on the 
raunchy side of things.  And no one saw, so no harm was 
done.  Now at *Joe's,* amid the dozens of patrons who had 
shown up for the Blues show, they kept a comfortable 
distance from each other, allowing only their hands and arms 
to occasionally brush against one another.  They smiled as 
they saw that their table had been reserved and saved, and 
that their other guests had already arrived.  They had turned 
their heads the moment the two Immortals entered, and one 
smiled and waved them over.
	Duncan's eyes opened a little wider.  Both Lestat and 
Louis were dressed to kill.  If they had been going out to the 
theatre or symphony, he could understand their impeccable 
clothes and flawless appearance, but for a blues concert at 
*Joe's*?  Lestat grinned hugely at him, and gave a little vain 
shake of his head, preening, as was the vampire's wont.  
Then MacLeod saw Louis slap Lestat on the arm and give 
him a reproachful glare.  He heard Methos laugh.
	"Come on, it isn't good to keep them waiting."
	"For longer than we already have?" the Scot asked 
innocently, his eyes sparkling.
	Methos flushed ever so delicately as he remembered 
why they were so late, and resisted the urge to kiss the 
Highlander.  
	"Ah, ha!  Got you.  Thought you said nothing 
phases you anymore."
	"I said very little phases me.  You certainly do."
	The Highlander paused and gave his friend a sweet 
and loving smile, then shook his head.
	"Come on, let's join them before I take you out of 
here, and make us even later," he teased.
	"Oh, the eagerness of youth," Methos bemoaned.
	MacLeod didn't buy it for an instant.  "Yeah, but you 
beat me on stamina every time."
	"Practice makes perfect," the older Immortal 
smoothed, licking his lips sensuously, making the Scot 
shiver.
	"I'm going to go sit down.  Now," Duncan said, his 
voice as tight as his pants.
	Methos grinned.  Got him again.  Oh, how he loved 
to make MacLeod squirm.  He followed along behind, 
enjoying the view, as they walked to the table where the two 
vampires sat.
	"Bon soir, mes amis!" Lestat greeted warmly, rising 
from his chair to embrace both of them.
	"Bon soir, Lestat, Louis," Methos replied, kissing 
both vampires on both cheeks as he sat down on the other 
side of Louis.
	"So glad you could join us.  We were starting to 
worry," the blonde vampire said.
	MacLeod gave a little wry smile.  "We were 
unexpectedly detained."
	"I knew you'd be here," Louis told Methos, a small 
smile on his lips.
	"I know how dangerous it is to stand-up a vampire."
	"Oh, we wouldn't hurt you.  Much," the black haired 
vampire kidded with a broader smile.
	"Well, I am going up to the bar for refills.  Want 
anything while I am there?" Lestat asked, picking up the two 
mugs of cold coffee.
	"Two draft beers," Duncan answered, taking a seat 
next to Methos.
	Lestat nodded and walked up to the bar where Joe 
was waiting for him.
	"I see they finally made it," the bartender 
commented.
	"Yep.  We knew they would," Lestat noted, 
plunking down the two mugs.  "Two refills and two draft 
beers."
	Joe took the mugs and dumped the cold coffee, 
pouring hot liquid in.  "I tell you, it's a waste of good 
coffee."
	"Feel privileged.  Normally we just dump the cold 
liquid on the floor when we want a refill."
	"Oh, well, thank you for your consideration," Joe 
replied incredulously.
	"I'm only showing respect for this lovely wood 
floor," Lestat drolled back as Joe poured the beers.  "So, 
have they picked out china patterns yet?"
	"Who?"
	"The two immortal lovebirds.  I want to know where 
to send the matching his and his edible underwear as I am 
certain we won't be invited to the wedding."
	Joe laughed.  "You've got to be joking.  They 
haven't even admitted that they love each other yet, not even 
to themselves.  Right now, they're working under the 
pretext of friendship "close enough" to allow them to boff 
each other senseless on a regular basis, with no strings 
attached.  No, my friend, china patterns aren't even in the 
picture."
	Lestat snickered.  "That oblivious are they?"
	"In this case, not only is love blind, but it's deaf and 
dumb as well."
	The vampire glanced over his shoulder.  "Well, 
Louis has told me the same thing about us, on several 
occasions."
	"Was it as infuriating for your friends as it is for 
me?"
	Lestat shrugged.  "I don't know.  I never asked 
them."
	Joe shook his head.  "Well, if it was anything like 
those two, you had them tearing their hair out.  It's obvious 
they're head over heels for each other, and half the time I go 
over to the loft, I find them in some state of undress.  I 
mean, we both know why they were an hour and half late.  
But if you even hint at the word love, they both run like 
scared rabbits."
	"Love is a scary thing, Joe, especially for those of us 
who have forever," Lestat commented, uncharacteristically 
serious as he picked up the drinks.  "Give them time.  
They'll come around."
	With a parting smile, Lestat turned from the bar, and 
carried the drinks back to the table just as the band started 
another set.
	"You're just in time," Louis said as his lover 
returned.
	"In time for what?" Lestat asked, putting the drinks 
down.
	"For the new set."
	"Ah," the blonde vampire mused, sitting down and 
holding the hot mug in his hands.
	Methos reached for the beers and gave one to 
Duncan.
	"Thanks," the Highlander acknowledged, taking a 
sip.
	"You're welcome."
	They sat back and enjoyed the music, bobbing and 
tapping along with the beat.  Methos looked over to see 
Lestat and Louis sitting arm against arm, completely 
ignoring any stares they were receiving.  Louis' face was 
one of quiet peace, listening, absorbing the music with his 
aesthetic's taste.  He had his perfect hands on the table, 
lightly holding the mug in front of him, his pinkie finger 
curled around Lestat's.  It was such a simple gesture, yet it 
conveyed so much.
	Methos remembered his night in the cell with the 
vampire.  He remembered their conversation and all that 
passed between them.  In many ways, Louis was the wise 
man he would never be, possessing the ability to see into 
people's hearts and understand things far beyond his tender 
age.  He really was perfect for Lestat.  No one but Louis 
would have the same tender patience and perseverance 
needed to stay with such an impulsive and vibrant creature.
	Lestat cast him a knowing glance, raising his 
eyebrows and curling his lips up at the edges.  Methos 
smiled back, letting the vampire read all his thoughts.  
Lestat's smile broadened, and he grasped Louis' hand more 
firmly.  Louis started, mildly surprised, and looked askance 
at his lover.  Lestat said nothing, merely kissed him on the 
cheek and nudged him with his nose.  He turned his head to 
look at Methos, his green eyes warm and soft, taking his 
other hand and placing it over the Immortal's.  Methos 
accepted it and relaxed, sitting back in his chair, then he felt 
Duncan's hand discreetly come to rest on his thigh.  Smiling 
to himself, he let his hand slip down under the table and took 
MacLeod's palm in his own.
	The concert ended at one in the morning, and the 
four of them stayed behind to help close the bar.  They left 
Joe tallying up the evening's receipts as they walked out into 
the crisp night air.
	"So?  April in New Orleans?  Jazz on Bourbon 
Street?" Lestat suggested, clapping his hands together 
eagerly.
	"I thought we were going to meet Armand and Daniel 
in San Francisco.  David was going to bring Marius," Louis 
commented.
	"Oh that's right, I forgot.  Armand wanted us there 
to celebrate his buying a Bang & Olefsen."
	"Hey.  We'll never have to worry about getting good 
stereo equipment," Methos noted.
	"Oh yeah, so you can have an even nicer system to 
blast your rock music on," Duncan deadpanned.
	"Well, if you're really nice to me, maybe I'll let you 
play some opera on it."
	"Oh please, don't mention opera!" Louis begged.
	"What?  Are you still angry about the Swan Lake 
thing?" Lestat complained.  "That, mon amour, was a 
_ballet_ not an opera."
	"Still, it was the Paris Opera House!  And you were 
throwing candy off our balcony and heckling the dancers," 
Louis reminded.
	Lestat looked sullen.  "I only heckled one," he 
admitted petulantly.  "At the very end.  And you have to 
admit, I was awfully good when you took me to see Miss 
Saigon."
	Louis sighed while Methos and MacLeod stifled 
giggles.  
	"You are a perfect devil, Lestat, truly you are," the 
black-haired vampire moaned.
	"Yes, but I'm your devil.  You should feel 
privileged.  Not everyone has their own personal devil."
	"No, but I have an imp.  Does that count?" MacLeod 
broke-in, pinching Methos' side, making the 5000 year old 
man yelp.
	"Imp, am I?" Methos sniffed, rubbing the sore spot.  
"Well, if I'm an imp, you're a... mmmph!"
	"Ahh, just kidding," Duncan grinned, clasping his 
hand over Methos' mouth.
	Now it was the vampires' turn to giggle.  MacLeod 
started to laugh too, but then he yowled and yanked his hand 
off Methos' mouth.
	"You bit me!"
	"Oh, stop whining.  I didn't bite you that hard."
	"Why I oughta..."
	"Ought to what?" Methos pressed back, challenge in 
his hazel eyes. 
	"Ought to take you home and punish you in private," 
Lestat interrupted, a twinkle in his eyes.
	"Punish me, eh?"
	"It's what I'd do if Louis bit me."
	"No, it's not," Louis shot-back.
	"I meant in the figurative sense.  If you'd done 
something I didn't like."
	"I've done lots of things you haven't liked."
	Lestat paused for a moment, thinking.  "You're 
right.  You have.  And I haven't killed you yet."
	Louis shook his head, smiling.  "No.  And you even 
manage to love me."
	"This is true.  I must be a saint."
	Louis rolled his eyes.
	"Oh, that's enough.  We're leaving," Duncan 
announced.
	"What?  So soon?" Lestat bemoaned.  "The night is 
young."
	"For you.  I have a class to teach tomorrow, and I 
still have to get my materials ready," MacLeod answered.
	"Besides, we both need our beauty sleep."
	"Oh, I doubt that," Lestat smirked.
	"Good night, Lestat.  Louis.  We'll see you in April 
in San Francisco," the Scot said firmly.
	"Oh, all right.  Good night," Lestat conceded 
glumly.
	Methos hugged both vampires and kissed them good 
night.  "Safe trip home.  We'll see you soon."
	"We'll keep in touch," Louis assured.
	"Yeah, thanks.  And take care of yourself.  And 
him."
	"You too.  Good night."
	"Good night."
	MacLeod took his arm and gently ushered him 
towards the parking lot.  They stopped to wave as they got 
into the T-bird, then drove off.
	"Think they'll ever be like us?" Louis mused, 
watching the two Immortals drive away.
	"Given time, I think they will."
	"If someone doesn't kill them first."
	"Oh, rest assured, Beautiful One, they are safe.  
Miranda is staying on here in Seacouver at my request.  If 
another Immortal sets foot in this town, she'll know about it 
and call me."
	Louis smiled, his eyes glittering.  "Sometimes you 
surprise me, Lestat."
	"Good, that means I'm not losing my touch."
	Louis grinned.  "Home then?"
	Lestat put his arm around his lover and kissed him.  
"Home."