It was a normal day for me for the most part, when Dawson's call came and ruined it all. I was working on my dissertation. All I had left to do was my oral defense and the actual writing of the damned thing. It was fun. My major is ancient linguistics. It got me into the watchers so stop grinning. I was actually doing absolutely nothing but rereading some old Watcher Chronicles and ignoring Don's pleas that I come to work at the store because he had new shipment coming in. So, basically, I was listening to Byron's newest album and reading. The phone startled me and I was thinking of letting the machine get it, but I wanted to hear Don pleading. I was thinking that he might jump into his blackmail scheme again, so I picked up the phone.
"Pierson."
"Adam, it's Joe Dawson."
"Hi, Joe! You coming over to Paris?" I knew MacLeod was just about ready for another European hop.
"No. Adam, I have some bad news." Joe's voice was gentle and gruff and my blood turned icy.
"What's wrong, Joe?" I had the horrible vision of Joe being ill. That was the only thing I could think of that would have him calling. We weren't the best of friends, but we were close enough.
"It's Don." I waited. "He's dead, Adam. Kalas killed him."
"Why on earth would Kalas go after Don? Don's not even a field worker."
"He killed his Watcher, Roger. Tortured him. He's looking for Methos we think. He… he hurt Don pretty badly first. He'll be coming for you next." My brain kicked into drive.
"So, will the Watchers clear out my apartment while I go on vacation?" I asked.
Joe sighed. "Adam, MacLeod's in Paris. I'm sending him to you. He'll protect you."
"So you've decided I'll be bait, yes? Thanks so much," I sneered into the phone. "What the hell are you thinking, Joe? MacLeod's an Immortal. Immortals and Watchers aren't supposed to be in contact. People look aside because of who you are. I can't meet an Immortal!"
"MacLeod's a good man, Adam. I can't see any more watchers get killed. He wants Kalas. They have history. And he just killed Fitz."
"Why would anyone want to kill Fitzcairn? It's not as if he's a threat."
"He was in the way. Listen, Adam, will you be there when Mac shows up?"
"How did he kill Don?"
"Adam, that's not important right now."
"Yes, damn it, it is! Just answer me."
"He cut out his tongue. He died from shock."
"Gods." I leaned my forehead against the cool white walls.
"MacLeod was with him when he died. He wrote two letters before he died. 'M. E.'"
"And from this you infer that he's looking for Methos?"
"He went after Don. He was looking for the Immortal Don officially watches. That is Methos." Joe's voice had turned to steel. A soldier's voice. Well, Adam Pierson's never been a pushover. A wallflower perhaps.
"Your brilliant plan is what, Dawson?"
"You meet with MacLeod. You're the bait. If Kalas keeps looking for you and finding MacLeod, eventually, Kalas will challenge MacLeod. That's what he's been leading up to for months now. I don't want you to get hurt, but I will not let anymore Watchers die trying to protect you."
"And your Immortal will just do your bidding."
"He'll be there in the morning."
"Joe…" The bastard hung up on me. My first instinct was to run as far and as fast as possible away from the place. I took a deep breath and did the next best thing. I called my best student.
"Yes?" he said simply on the other end of the call.
"Can you talk, Boy?" I asked in Aramaic. Unless we were being tapped by a theology student we were fairly safe.
"No. I'll call you tonight." We hung up. I roamed the apartment. I couldn't leave, but I didn't want to stay. I pulled out the boxes and started to pack my upstairs library away. My study was a mess, but it was nearly half packed by the time he called back. Years of practice at work, I continued to pack as I propped the phone between my chin and shoulder.
"Pierson."
"Hello, Teacher. What's wrong?"
"Who said anything was wrong?"
"You called me in the middle of the night for a little chat, is that it?"
"Did I wake you?" I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see me.
"No," he snorted. "Give."
"MacLeod's Watcher is sending him to protect Adam Pierson from someone hunting Methos."
"Shit."
"Exactly. What I have to decide is whether or not to meet the boy. You've always said he was a part of the plan, but…" I trailed off. The picture loomed large in my mind. "I don't know. He's such a bloody Boyscout. He'd never understand."
"No, but you don't have to tell him anything about it. It's not an issue right now. He will look after you though, won't he? Harmless little Adam. Wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Laugh it up G-man." I shoved more books into a box. "What should I do? Should I meet him, or disappear?"
"Why not both? You tempt him, then leave him alone for a little while. Then, come back."
"Oh, that'll win him over."
"You never can tell. He might like mysteries."
"The man is a magnet. His chronicles read like a bloody pulp serial."
"Are you worried he'll expose you?"
"He may. He may not. It depends on whether he figures out I'm Methos or not."
"He'll know. Just as I knew. He's part of the plan. He needs to know you for this to work. He needs to trust in your plans."
"If he finds out about my past he'll never trust me."
"He knows Darius."
"Knew Darius. Darius is dead."
"You get such a gloating little glow in your voice when you say that."
"I'm sorry." I wasn't sure why I was apologizing. Darius and I made our peace centuries ago, but to outlive a master is satisfying, no matter if he's mended his ways or not. "Well, I suppose I'd best be ready when he gets here. I can always bunk later."
"Are you packing?" I taped up a box.
"What gives you that idea?"
"I can hear you moving things. You never move anything."
"I keep a spotless house."
"I know, so you keep telling me. I haven't seen it yet."
"It's the student's responsibility to clean up." The boy laughed at me. "Goodbye. I'll call when I'm settled." I spent the entire night packing. When I glanced at the clock it was four in the morning. I decided to catch a quick nap. That was a mistake. I have nightmares when I get overtired and that night was no different.
I dreamt of the plan. I dreamt of the past. I heard the Voice. There was water and mud, rocks and pain. The beating of the sun against my skin and the sting of a sound slap across the mouth. My dreams are rarely coherent. In fact they scare me more when they are. The ringing of a bell woke me. It was the morning service at the Cathedral. In the early morning, you can hear the bells from my rooms. Sweat soaked my forehead and the covers were tangled around me. I was clutching my dagger with a subconscious fear. I forced myself to relax, staring at the ceiling. Since I was awake anyway I decided to get some more packing done. I didn't want the Highlander to think I was a slob. However, as a grad student I tend to keep my research handy as a reminder to actually write the damned paper.
The flat was spotless by the time I settled down to wait out the Highlander. I had out one of my old journals, reading about Darius. I was listening to Byron again. I kept the headphones a little forward, so that I could hear above the din. My sword was beneath the bed, a pile of beer cans on the other side. I felt a thrill of adrenaline as the boy entered my range. I was tensed to grab my weapon, when I heard his voice, "Adam? Adam Pierson?" Not Kalas, then. Every Watcher studies the Kalas/MacLeod duel. It is the best example of imperfect Immortal healing, next to the Kurgan. He swept into the room katana out. "You Adam Pierson?" I spun slowly to face him, pulling off the headset.
"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," I announced. "Have a beer." He caught the beer reflexively as he stared at me. "Mi casa es su casa." He gaped like a stunned fish, though he'll never admit it.
"Methos?" I inclined my head and looked up at him.
"Bright boy." I got up. "Either use that or put it away," I said pointing to the sword. I retrieved my weapon and my coat as he put it away. "Let's go for a walk." We walked by the river. He started with the usual questions. You know, "Are you really 5000?" Blah, blah, blah. I went through the conversation on auto-pilot. Then, the little bear cub decided he needed to protect me. Just because I hadn't taken a head in two centuries. "You cannot fight my battles for me, Highlander," I informed him. The last thing I needed was another overprotective, dominant personality in my life. Do I wear some sign on my forehead or something? I seem to attract strong personalities. I headed back to my apartment.
I was in the middle of the street when I felt the buzz. I looked up and saw the blond idiot. Kalas. "Adam Pierson, I presume."
"At the moment."
"I read the records. A pity I couldn't read the hieroglyphics, but the Ancient Greek was most enlightening." The fight was joined. I moved back. I didn't want to kill him. MacLeod would be disappointed. I hadn't realized that I was getting so rusty. When we made it to the bridge, I let him trap me and then tipped us both into the river. I secured my sword and took a deep breath of water, letting myself drown. I awoke on the embankment near MacLeod's barge.
I was wet and cold, my least favorite sensations. Darkness had fallen and fog was beginning to creep into the streets. MacLeod was reading when he passed me. I let him feel my Quickening and moved to meet him. I dragged my wet-rat self into the light. "Methos?" he said. "You met Kalas? Is he dead?"
"No," I snarled. The decision had been made quickly. I had to test the little brat. Jude, I knew, would have me brought back to life just so he could kill me himself.
"Why?" he asked dropping his book.
"Because there can be only one," I snapped. The opening made I stood still as his sword stopped breaths away from my throat. "Come on, MacLeod. I'd've killed you."
"No," he knocked my sword away, "you'd have made a mistake and let me take your head."
"Because I cannot beat Kalas. I have tried. And if he beats me, he will have the strength to beat you. He can't beat both of us."
"Then why don't you take my head?"
"It's not just about who's the best fighter. It's about passion. I don't have the fire anymore. You do. You want Kalas." I lifted the katana to my throat. "Live, Highlander, Grow Stronger, Fight Another Day." I closed my eyes and waited for it. The blow never came. He turned away and in that instant I left.
****
I couldn't go back to my flat. I couldn't go to the bookstore. I reluctantly retreated to Watcher headquarters to regroup. I got myself a cup of coffee from the breakroom and ignored the stares from the other researchers. Paula, a frumpy little thing I'd gone through training with frowned at my clothes. She came over to me. "What happened, Adam?"
"I jumped in the river to get away from Kalas," I told her quietly. I knew that as soon as I'd left everyone in the building would know. The Watchers have a better gossip section than most small towns.
"Kalas came after you? Why?"
"He's looking for Methos. If he'd caught me inside, I'd probably be dead right now." It must have sounded harsh because Paula jumped back. She seemed to have become more of a mouse or I seemed more like a cat. She was never that jumpy in school. Then again, she was never meant for field-work either. If my mentors hadn't been Don Salzer and Joe Dawson, I'd have been forced into fieldwork. As it was I was escaping merely because of my proficiency as a researcher. My mind was not focused on anything except figuring out how to keep MacLeod from dying at Kalas' blade. It was nearly one in the morning, but researchers don't ever seem to care about hours of the day or night. Headquarters is always buzzing. When I felt the hand fall on my shoulder, I jumped and ended in a protective stance.
"It's Jacques, Adam. Relax. I hear you had a run in with an Immortal today. Come, tell me about it." The smile was gentle, but I was wary. The man was not well known for his compassion. He tried to put an arm around me, but I shied away from it. He rested his hand on my forearm and I frowned at his hand. He refused to move it, but rather steered me into his private office. I didn't sit down. I had too much pent up energy for that. I stalked around the room, until the little chintz cat that haunts the halls rubbed up against me. With her in my hands I had something to do and settled down in the chair in front of his desk. "Tell me about this Immortal."
"Which one?"
"There was more than one?"
"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod came to offer his protection. I declined and was going back to my apartment when Kalas intercepted me outside of it. I ran to the bridge and jumped into the river. I've been wandering around the city since then. I'm still not dry." I scratched behind the cat's ears and she purred at me. Jacques was looking at me as if I were a rare specimen in a museum. I focused on the cat's head.
"And what did you think of the Highlander?" He steepled his fingers and sat back in his chair.
"He's a nosy Boyscout brat. We've nothing in common," I snorted. That got a laugh.
"I am pleased to see that you've kept your sense of humor Adam, but I am interested in your reactions to him."
"What reactions?" I blinked. I had no clue as to what the man was talking about.
"Were you frightened?"
"Of MacLeod? The man with the strictest moral code in the world? He never hurts mortals unless they try to kill something he cares about. 'Sides, he was with Don when he died." I heard my voice crack on that. I hadn't realized that the man's death had hit me so hard. The tears were suddenly there. Jacques looked stunned, then he was on his feet and kneeling next to me offering me a hug. I couldn't let him do that. I still had my sword in my coat. I shook my head and curled up on myself. It wasn’t unusual. I don't like to be restrained, even in friendly terms. I forced the tears away. I needed to think.
"But Kalas frightened you."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he bloody well tried to kill me!" I snapped. "He wanted to know where Methos was."
"And have you located Methos?" I blinked at the man.
"No one's seen him in years."
"Don gave me the impression that the two of you had found him."
"He did?" I was thoroughly confused. Don had promised to keep my secret. "I don't know why."
"You tell me, young Adam. You tell me."
"He thought we were on the trail of a manuscript with a picture of the man, but we haven't found it. It is supposedly in Paris, but the location is still a mystery."
"A picture would be helpful." Damn the man to hell and back. I wasn't interested in Methos. I wanted to save my own skin. Jude would have my head for separating Pierson from Methos, but that's his problem. He'll understand in a few years. He's probably beginning to understand it now. "Adam, I'll arrange a safe house for the night. We'll get you some food and some clothes."
"Thank you. I'll arrange for movers in the morning." I kissed the cat's head and placed her on the floor. She mewed at me and I picked her up again. Pushy little thing. Jacques picked up the phone and spoke to the security department. I'd be locked away for awhile no doubt if they'd known that I'd had warning of MacLeod's arrival. Then again, Dawson might have told them. I nearly giggled at that thought, as undignified as that may be. Dawson doesn't tell the Watchers most of what he does. If I weren't friends with the man, I'd never have known how close he and MacLeod had come. His entries in the chronicles haven't changed much. If anything, they've become more clinical and reserved, still infused with Dawson humor.
"All set. I'll take you over now." Jacques smiled at me. "Take the cat with you if you like. She's more trouble than she's worth. We still have rats in the downstairs library."
"Those aren't rats," I protested. "They're mutant mice. They escaped from the research lab in the sub-basement." An old story, told to get the laugh I knew it would. I put down the cat, ignoring her protests. I slipped out of the loose hold the man put around my shoulders.
"Adam, we do have a very good referral service through our employee assistance program," he informed me. I shuddered.
"I know."
"Have you used it?"
"No, and I don't plan to. It's not a problem. I just don't like being touched. Perhaps I should go work in the American bureau. They don't seem to have a problem with it," I snapped. The man grimaced.
"True. I forget that you aren't French. You have a perfect accent."
"I'm good with languages." I shrugged self-consciously. I made sure I kept my shoulders slumped, not that it was much of a stretch. I was exhausted. There was still something I had to do and I couldn't be trapped in a safe house to do it. I just needed someplace to catch a cat-nap. Jacques didn't need to know that I was about to interfere in Immortal combat.
Once I was alone, I called the private security firm I use to monitor my flats. They told me the a blonde man was sitting in my home. It was Kalas. I told them I wanted immediate notification on my pager when a dark haired man with a pony tail showed up. By the time the page came in I had sweet-talked the police detective investigating Don's death into believing that I had witnessed the murder and had been running from the murderer all day and night. He took in my bedraggled appearance and asked if I had some place safe to stay. I told him that my company had offered me emergency shelter. I directed them to the bridge near my home, knowing that's where the fight would have to end up. The sun was down when I identified Kalas. Both he and MacLeod shot daggers at me for interfering, but I ignored them. I walked towards my flat.
"Why?" MacLeod growled.
"Because I wasn't sure you would win. Live, Grow stronger, Fight another day," I told the irritating child. I went on my way and he followed me like a puppy.
"Would you like dinner?" he asked me. I declined.
"What I want is my bed, Highlander," I stated. "I'll see you around, MacLeod." He let me walk away with that.
"Call me?" I nodded absently and went into the apartment. There was still a lot of packing to do. I changed my clothes and checked in with HQ to tell them where I was and that I'd appreciate them locating me a new place. My journals were the first thing to be packed. I dialed Jude's number by memory. He wasn't in. I called Dawson to let him know that I was moving and my number wouldn't work any longer. He told me to e-mail him. I promised I would and continued to pack. By the time the night was up, I had arranged for a moving company to come and pick up everything. I paid dearly for the service, but the truck was there by seven in the morning and I was packed out of the place by ten. I settled into my new flat with a frown. I'd gotten used to having space. There were so many things to do, not the least of which was talk to Christine, Don's wife.
The first thing I unpacked was my phone, followed swiftly by my computer.
"Christine, it's Adam." She was in no condition to talk to me, she said. She asked me to call her in a few days. I agreed and went to the bookstore. I had to clean out the Watcher files. They were mine now, as was the store, though Christine would be fighting mad about that. Don wanted me to take care of his books the way she never could.
FINIS