Shakespeare and Company, the used bookstore that was Don Salzer's pride and joy, currently housed his research materials. He was hiding out from his wife. She was angry with him because he'd forgotten their anniversary again. He had been caught up in a journal. The same journal he was currently reading and grinning like a madman over. He looked at the little map on the page. Clever. Very clever. The watcher who had discovered Methos had been smart enough not to leave all the information in one place. The short entry hinted at an actual picture of Methos in the treasure trove. Don thought his jaw would split. Adam would never forgive him if he were left out of the hunt.
Adam Pierson, the 5000 year old Immortal named Methos, was cursing in fluent Akkaidian at the phone. It was seven o'clock in the morning, Methos couldn't remember English curses, or French for that matter. A hand instinctually grabbed for the phone. He cursed into it in Greek. His head hurt and he was tired. It didn't help when the person on the other end of the phone started laughing. The profanity changed to Middle French and Don Salzer was nearly on the floor. Christine looked at her husband critically. She was ready for work and was shocked that her husband had made breakfast for her.
"Adam's trying to curse at me, but he can't remember modern French yet," he informed her. Christine smiled. She liked Don's assistant. She ate the egg and ham omlette, remembering when they had first gotten married. "Really, Adam, such language, you should be ashamed of yourself," Salzer chided. "I've found something very interesting and I need your help."
"Couldn't it wait until a reasonable hour of the morning, Old Man?"
"Quiet, Young One. It's not my fault you were up all night."
"Ha. This better be good."
"It's a treasure hunt. I'll meet you at the bookstore."
"When?"
"Around 1. I'm taking Christine to lunch today." There was silence at the other end of the phone. "What was that?" Salzer asked hearing something in Phoenetian. Adam kindly translated: "May your balls rot off and be fed to the jackles," he said with mock sweetness and hung up. He put a pillow over his head and tried to gather the strands of his sanity back.
****
It was well after one when Don finally made it into the bookstore. He was whistling a happy tune. He grinned at the young academic who was glowering over the cash register at him. "This had better be good," Adam stated with a cold determination. Don knew he'd almost pushed too far, but the young man had never unsheathed his claws towards him. Don wondered idly what exactly had happened during the childhood Adam never actually discussed.
"It's better than you imagine. I've got a lead on your man." Adam perked up readily. He was smiling now.
"Really? Can I see it?"
"We have to find it first." Adam's eyes narrowed.
"Find it," he repeated in English as if he didn't trust his French.
"A treasure hunt," Don grinned. Adam sighed.
"Come on, Old Man, have pity. What did you find? Where did you find it? And why are you bribing Christine? Are we going somewhere?"
"Maybe."
"Don," Adam whined. Methos' brain was working overtime. What could the infuriating man have found?
"I'll let you look after you go get us some supplies. Here's a list." This was familiar territory. Adam was Don's assistant. He'd already saved the "older" man's marriage with timely flower arrangements and gifts. Supply shopping fell neatly into that part of his job description. Adam snatched the list and held out a hand for the Watcher supplied credit card. He took it and left the bookstore, slamming the door after himself. Don set about preparing some catnip for the finicky young researcher.
****
By the time Adam had returned with the supplies and a six-pack of beer that hadn't been on the list the books were waiting for him on the desk. Don was helping a customer so Adam peeked at the pages. He was quickly drawn into the flowing script and the memories of the Terror that they invoked. It had been a bad time to be in Paris for an Immortal. Luckily, at the time he'd been a student. He fondly remembered the old watcher who'd become his tutor. The old man had gone so far as to arrange passage for his favorite student to England. He'd died for it as well. The revolutionaries believed he was smuggling out noblemen. Maybe he had been.
The next page made Methos' heart skip a beat. As Adam, he couldn't be anything but enthusiastic about the discovery of his assignment. The Immortal in him, however, was calculating. If there was a picture in the cache he had to get to it first. He knew the old man's daughter's talent for drawing. He was struck by the irony of it all though. He was once again a student in Paris with an old Watcher as a mentor. That made it easy for him to drag up the smile Don expected. What was life without a little risk?
Don watched Adam out of the corner of his eye. He saw the rapturous amazement swiftly followed by a fond smile as he was drawn into the story and the shock when he came to the passage about the picture. The shock was finally replaced by the cocky grin that Adam always got during the hunt. That smile was the part of Adam that no one else in the Watchers ever really got to see. He was passionate during debates, but the young man was always shy and retiring around other people. He rarely if ever struck back against the taunts some of the field agents threw his way. He did seem to get his revenge. He'd gotten the Methos chair much younger than anyone thought possible. He had the sympathetic ear of all of the support crews. He had a travel budget and the freedom to come and go as he pleased -- with Don's blessing of course. Don suppressed a twinge of guilt. Adam would have told him if he resented having to be called an assistant for budgeting purposes.
He studied the young man. Adam was dispossessed, but not poor, Don knew. For all he played at being the poor graduate student he had seen the Byron George sculptures and the piece of Tessa Noel's work in the young man's apartment. Not to mention the apartment itself. Adam tried very hard to fit in. Don shook off the brooding mood.
He locked the front door and flipped over the closed sign. "So, what do you think?"
"When do we start?"
"Right now."
"Does Christine know you're going to be late tonight?"
"I think she figured it out at breakfast time. One of the cadets will take care of the shop for a couple of days. We'll be camping out in the catacombs." Adam blinked at him and quite carefully bit down on his automatic protests.
"After dinner?" he asked hopefully.
"No. I want to get started while we still have some light. No beer either." Adam seemed crushed. Don wondered, not for the first time, if the young man was actually an alcoholic.
"Fine. What entrance are we using to the sewers? I have the maps here."
"The one in the basement." Adam looked startled. Don grinned. It was rare that he could manage to pull one on the young man who seemed preternaturally aware of his surroundings. They went to the basement and Adam watched in undisguised awe as Don opened up the side wall and let them into the old section of the sewers.
Adam stepped warily into the darkness. The musty, moldy smell of the air made his lungs ache. He accepted the torch from Don and turned it on. The walls of the sewer were faintly slimy and Adam scowled at them. There was no water on the ground for which he thanked the Gods of his half-remembered youth. Methos didn't like getting wet if he could help it.
Don followed his cat… assistant into the opening. The young man peered at the maps determining which direction they should head. Don was willing to let the younger man's sense of direction guide them. They paced through the sewers carefully.
****
Adam set up their bedrolls in a dry area of the catacombs and started a small dinner for them. Adam seemed at home in the "primitive" conditions of their impromptu camp. They settled down for the night. Adam curled up in his bedroll. It was odd, Don thought, watching the younger man in the light of their lantern. Adam always sprawled out. It heightened the illusion of his feline ancestry. The young man peered out at the light. "Are you going to sleep or what, Old Man?"
"Just thinking, Young One." Don shut the lantern.
At some point in the night Adam woke to the touch of an Immortal presence. It moved away quickly and Methos was relieved. He wasn't carrying his sword and, even though he was armed, he didn't relish a conflict in the middle of the night under the watchful eyes of a Watcher researcher. He instinctively moved closer to the seemingly older man. It gave him the illusion of safety and let him fall asleep.
Don woke first in the morning and lit the lantern. Adam was curled up less than a hand-span away from him. The young man must have moved closer during the night. The squeak of a rat awakened the young man. Adam didn't bolt awake. His breathing seemed to still and his hand was reaching automatically for something that wasn't there. When he couldn't find it, he came completely awake.
"Don?" he asked warily.
"Yes. Would you like some breakfast?" The young man stared at him and then shuddered.
"No, thank you. Where do you want to start working?" Methos was wide awake now. Don probably though it was due to excitement. Methos just wanted it over with. He wanted to destroy the pictures if they still existed.
First, they worked through the pile of bones that covered the low crypt-work of the tunnel. "I hate catacombs," Don heard his assistant mutter. "Bloody mass graves and we're supposed to be pleased with them." He seemed to be grumbling to himself, so he didn't respond. They finally were able to see the back of the tunnel wall. Adam was covered in cobwebs and dust. "Are you sure the authorities aren't going to shut us down, Old Man?"
"The Watchers have taken care of it. As long as everything gets put back into place by the end of the week, they'll be satisfied. You worry to much, Young One."
"I'm dusty, I'm tired, and I want a beer. Can't we…? Just for a couple of hours?" There's a nice cold beer in the refrigerator at the shop, Methos thought to himself. Don's sour expression made him sigh.
"Adam," the Watcher began seriously, "Have you considered that you might have a drinking problem?" Don could almost see the younger man bristle. He struck first, "Even Christine has mentioned it to me. We're just worried about you."
"I'm fine. Leave it alone, Don. Are we done for the day?"
"The space is supposed to be just here. It contains further directions." Adam muttered something unintelligible as Don reached into the slender space. He withdrew a fragile cylinder of leather and opened it to reveal a piece of parchment. Adam automatically held up the piece of hard plastic to preserve it on. Don spread the paper open and grinned. Adam carefully placed a second piece of plastic over it. He scanned the map.
"Damn, further into the tunnels. The man was obsessive."
"Justified during the times," Don responded absently. "It wasn't called the Terror for nothing." Adam rolled his eyes. He packed up the camp and was ready to go. Don was secretly pleased with his assistant's alacrity. The young man was never one to work when he didn't want to.
TBC