*Author: Jeanne
*Title of the Story: A Chance for Change
*Send Feedback To: jeca_97@yahoo.com
*Rating: PG-13
*Keywords: Action/Drama
*Character listing: DM CM M (mentions of over thirty others)
*Short teaser/summary (3 lines max).
Size: 500+ kb
Chapters: Twelve
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Disclaimer: The characters and the concept of immortality belong to Davis and Panzer, Gregory Widen, and others who are not me. The merely mentioned characters 'ALF' and 'Mac' aren't mine either. Everything else does belong to me, however. No profit is made, no harm intended.
Notes:
-Timothy Wyatt and Dr. Amy Zoll maybe unfamiliar since they are from the Watcher CD. My knowledge about what is on the Watcher CD and in the novels comes solely from the Methos Timeline at www.methos.org. From what I can tell-- In "Comes a Horseman", Cassandra's watcher discovered Adam Pierson was Methos. She told Dr. Amy Zoll (Head Methos Researcher), Joe, and others. As a result, Methos' secret was out (though, in my mind, kept under watcher wraps. IE. only head people in Europe know who he is), and Timothy Wyatt became his watcher. After the Walker incident, Amy Thomas (Joe's daughter) left field work and went into research. Guess who she got to research? Methos, of course. Oh, and a novel says Marcus was killed so he doesn't really pop up in this story.
-If any character does something that goes against information presented in season one of the series, or in the second, and third movies, I plead ignorance. Though, I know I am ignoring everything shown in 'Highlander:Endgame.'
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Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End.
"I had friends, Lots of friends.
Now all my friends are gone,
And I'm doing
The best I can to carry on.
I had power (power).
I was respected (respected).
But not any more.
And I lost the love of the one whom I adore.
Let me tell you about
Strange things are happenin' to me."
--('Strange Things' Lyrics By: Randy Newman)
France, 2036 CE
Duncan MacLeod crouched behind the rusty dumpster as he heard voices approach the mouth of the alley. He thought he'd lost his pursuers a few streets back, but no one could be absolutely certain of anything anymore. The voices' owners walked past and Mac leaned his head against the wall, letting out a breath of relief. A quick glance around the damp alley to ensure he was alone, and the Scot was digging an apple out of his coat. It was small, overripe, and wouldn't satisfy his hunger, but it was all he'd managed to buy with what little money he had left in his pocket. And it was enough to allow someone to recognize him this morning and then chase him into this alley.
Exactly when things became this bad, MacLeod couldn't say. The moment when he realized all Hell had broken loose was slightly more certain, but he still couldn't pinpoint it with one hundred percent accuracy. However, when the gates of Hell were cracked open... that he could say. He could even say who did it, where, and how. It was 10:46pm on Friday August 9, 2032 in Austin, Texas, USA and Riley McMasterson woke up.
At the time, Mac was relaxing on the barge in Paris. Joe was visiting his daughter, Amy, and her husband Tim (Methos' former watcher) in London. Amanda was somewhere in Europe, and Methos was heading back to the French capital. And in Austin, Texas, there was an execution.
Riley McMasterson would go down in history as the worst serial killer the state ever had. He had brutally murdered over thirty-five blonde women and had smiled with pride when the details of their murders were announced in court. His sentence was an unrefuted death penalty that McMasterson seemed to like. He even agreed not to appeal the sentence if his death was broadcast. Methos had remarked that was odd. If the highlander had thought about it, he would have done something other than relax when Riley was put to death. If MacLeod had given the matter any definite consideration, he would have paid more attention to the man who had, half a world away, raised the oldest immortal's hackles. Unfortunately, he had not. Of course, in his defense, watcher files had stated the killer wasn't immortal. Riley was, however, vile, slick, arrogant, unremorseful, and four years ago at 10:46pm, courtesy of the lethal injection, he was the world's introduction to immortals.
Perhaps McMasterson had slipped through the cracks in the Watcher Organization. Perhaps his file had been one of the files destroyed in the fire at their headquarters. Perhaps he was just crazy, somehow knew about immortals, and turned out to be one himself due to a cruel twist of fate. Whatever the reason, Riley McMasterson, a man no one cared to save, was pronounced dead at 10:44pm and alive at 10:46pm.
The creep knew how to make a reappearance too. Not only did he encourage the doctors and guards to kill him again, but he explained immortality to the gathered media while they readied the second needle. Again he revived and, thoughtfully, informed the world of the Game and that there were others like him... such as Duncan MacLeod, and Kenneth.
This led to Mac's discovery of what was happening in the southern state. It started with a Molotov cocktail being thrown onto the barge and was quickly followed by police and vigilantes arriving to 'question' him. He had narrowly escaped in the Seine and had been running and hiding ever since.
The most recent refuge had been invaded two days ago and the highlander had yet to learn of any other surviours. He had helped the Hearsts escape, but they had run one way and he had run another, trying to draw the attacker's attention. Whether that had worked was still under debate.
But so were several other escapes in the past four years.
He had yet to run into Amanda or Methos. The knowledge was both a concern and a comfort. As loathe as he was to consider the possibility, MacLeod knew that the pair could have been killed already. They were slick, but not perfect and accidents did happen. The alternative, the option he preferred to believe, was that the duo were simply hiding themselves very well. After all, Amanda knew how to hide when she needed to, and no watcher had discussed the reformed thief. As for Methos, he had made hiding into an art form. Besides, no one, other than a selected few, knew what Methos looked like anymore.
The oldest immortal's identity had, luckily, been lost during the fire at Watcher Headquarters six years ago. Though, at the time, it seemed the most unfortunate turn of events. It happened late one night when the head of the tribunal was meeting with everyone connected to the Methos
Project. The old man had, once again, given Timothy, his watcher, the slip. The meeting was to discuss what should be done to keep Methos safe, but consistently observed. Their timing for the meeting was terrible, of course. An electrical storm was raging outside, when a bolt of lightning hit a transformer. It exploded. Subsequent explosions from spare generators and another powerful lightning bolt destroyed the watcher database. Later,
Methos had offered to help rebuild it ("Considering I'm the one who created it in the first place, I should do it again. Though this time even the prototype will have a password, and maybe I'll actually get some credit!"). Joe refused the offer on the basis that some watchers might have remembered 'young' Adam Pierson. But the night watchers were discussing 'Adam Pierson', sparks flew through broken windows, and open doors. Curtains and carpets soon caught fire. The flames spread quickly, too quickly. In fact, in minutes it became a gigantic blaze that claimed the lives of nearly everyone inside, and hundreds of files and reports. There were only four human survivours: Dr. Amy Zoll (Head Methos Researcher), Russell White (Tribunal President), Amy Wyatt (formerly Amy Thomas) and Timothy Wyatt. Most of the medical bills were paid by the Watchers. The remainder was handled by an anonymous donor (Methos) who insisted he only did it to make sure no
one talked about him. He didn't have to worry, though. Zoll, Russell, and Tim were in a coma for weeks. Dr. Zoll later died before she had regained consciousness. The former Watcher president died shortly thereafter, but his sanity was in question at the time so his frantic ramblings were considered nonsense. Amy and Tim, by then good friends with the oldest man, agreed to keep his identity a secret. In return, Methos had given them a new home in London ("It's just taken me awhile to get the right wedding present. You don't have to act like it's bloody bribery!"). The couple recovered in that luxurious house and researched Methos at home ("Every time I visit, they don't ask 'what's new?' They ask questions about what's old."). Perverted fortune smiled on everyone again years later. When the news that "The Texas Devil Returns from the Dead and Announces Names of Fellow Demons" reached Paris, no watcher mentioned Adam Pierson or suggested who
Methos might be.
That didn't mean some of them didn't reveal the true names of several other immortals, though. Half of the watchers were naming names, showing pictures, and encouraging society to hunt immortals. The other half, led primarily by Joe, argued against the practice, naming honourable immortals, and describing events where mortals were assisted and/or saved by immortals. Joe had been taken to jail, charged with treason for aiding immortals, and, last Mac heard, was still in prison for his 'crimes.' He still spoke out, as best he could considering, but good ol' Riley McMasterson had convinced more than enough mortals that immortals were evil demons, destined to kill them all. Names used by either side of the watchers merely led to more hunting and more killing.
It was mortals who were the main killers. The game was, unofficially, postponed. Most immortals hadn't cared for taking heads in the first place. And with the majority of the mortal world after their heads, they were more inclined to trust one another. Granted, there were still headhunters, but their numbers were low now. The young ones killed by immortals, and the older ones killed by the task forces' designed to 'protect society from the undesirables'. Task forces like the one that had charged into the old newspaper factory near Bordeaux and forced the over four hundred year old to be alone once again.
Mac looked around the alley, searching for a discarded paper. It could tell him what happened to his friends and, with any luck, suggest a place where he could run to and not have to run from later. But a paper wasn't in sight.
He could guess what happened to Susan and Gerald, anyway. And he knew there was nowhere he'd be welcome. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was just too famous to know. The task force hadn't even bothered asking for the others. They'd just asked for him and then stormed the building.
His sinking into the depressing memory was interrupted by the buzz of an immortal and Mac was quickly running to the entrance of the alley, staying in the shadows. He eagerly scanned the surrounding area, hoping to see a friend. Maybe it was Methos looking for him to explain some great plan that would solve all their problems. Or perhaps it was Amanda just passing through on her way to a secret hideaway. Or... it was a guy in his late twenties he'd never seen before.
MacLeod considered going to the young man, introducing himself, asking for a place to stay, or offering his protection. But he'd done that with Susan and Gerald, and now they were most likely dead. So he watched instead. The stranger was lanky, with blonde hair, and was eyeing a car someone had thoughtlessly left running infront of a grocery store. He'd never get that car though, Mac realized. Not when those men with the rifles were heading right for him. The boy wasn't even looking.
Cursing the boy's inattentiveness, Mac ran across the street. The man was momentarily confused by a charging stranger yelling something about getting down. But, noticing the sudden action to his right as the would-be killers began running toward him, the man raced into the grocery store with the Scot hot on his heels. They wove their way through the crowded aisles and backroom, ignoring the protests of customers and staff. Out the back door, down another alley, and round a corner, Mac and the young man ran while hearing guns being fired behind them.
"Friends of yours?" the highlander shouted, feeling a bullet breeze past his hand.
"More like strangers who didn't appreciate a known immortal helping their fair Emile home when she twisted her ankle," the man replied as they ran across a street, dodging cars and the continued spray of bullets.
Chancing a look back, MacLeod saw drivers getting out of their cars to complain to his pursuers. The men didn't stop to trade curses, but they did slow down. The black-haired man could only hope the delay would last until they found a place to hide.
"Which way am I headed?" the stranger in front of him yelled, obviously expecting his saviour to know a safehouse.
"Uh--" MacLeod's answer (a definite "I'm not sure") was cut off by a bullet grazing his shoulder. Their pursuers were healthier, faster, and knew the territory. The buzz of another immortal brushed against Duncan's senses. He didn't have a good feeling about this.
"You know that guy?" the young man asked, pointing at a jeep speeding towards them on the wrong side of the street. Its driver was a slim bald man, with a long face and an aristocrat's nose. Not someone MacLeod had ever seen before.
"Need a ride, fellas?" the new arrival called out with a New York accent.
The jeep came to an abrupt halt beside them, and Mac and his new companion climbed in the back. The gun-toting good citizens were shooting again and the previously complaining drivers were coming to help. As a bullet went through the windshield, their rescuer laughed. "Hang on!"
And hang on they did as the jeep jumped to action again. It was seemingly heading straight for the shooters before making an unbelievably sharp U-turn and was then racing in the opposite direction, on the wrong side of the street again. Cars swerved out of the way as the vehicle sped toward them in a twisted game of chicken, and Mac had the creeping suspicion that he'd been safer with the men with guns. A few more sharp turns, through a field, with the Scot clutching the door until his knuckles were white, back onto a paved road, and the jeep slowed down, as did the beating of Mac's heart.
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Chapter 2: The Road To Friendship.
"Everyday is a winding road
I get a little bit closer
Everyday is a faded sign
I get a bit closer to feeling fine."
--('Everyday is a winding road' Performed By: Sheryl Crow)
"So, where to?" the driver asked conversationally.
"I, uh, I..." Duncan ran a hand over his face, trying to remember if there were any friends living near... wherever he currently was. "I don't know."
"I don't have anywhere either," admitted the young man beside him.
"Well, you're in luck then. Not only have ya been saved from that oh-so ugly mob, but you're about to get a place to stay. It's safe. It's sweet. It's even kinda cozy at times."
"Thank-you." Mac closed his eyes for a second, savouring the feeling of peace that came with that promise of safety. "I swear my services to you and yours in return."
"That's good, but we'd have taken them anyway," their rescuer laughed. "So who's your quiet buddy?"
"I don't know," Mac confessed with a sheepish grin. "I met him just before you did."
"The name's BJ and I'm over fifty. You don't have to talk like I'm not here," said the young man indignantly. "I didn't even ask for your help."
"But you needed it," the driver calmly pointed out. "And you look like you needed food two days ago. If you reach under your seat, there's some fruits and vegetables. You can have a pear and some grapes, but don't go overboard, 'kay? That's gotta feed a lot of people at the Shelter."
"Thanks."
"As ALF used to say, No problem."
"ALF?" BJ raised his eyebrows.
"Alien Life Form, kid, and obviously from a show before your time. No offense."
Mac watched BJ shrug before introducing himself. "I'm Duncan --"
"MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Yeah. I'm Arthur of the Clan Wellington. But you can call me Artie. And I know all about you," the bald man informed him. "Don't worry, though. Your cousin has had everyone scouring Europe for you ever since we found him. Connor's single-handedly burnt your face into my memory on the off-chance I might see you one day. I hate it when he's right."
"You know where Connor is? Is he all right?"
"He's just fine, Duncan," Artie assured him. "So are Amanda, and Gina, and Robert, and Cory, and a dozen others who've asked about you the moment they were found."
"And they're all at this shelter?" Mac couldn't believe his ears. They were all okay and safe?
"'Fraid not. Just Connor, but the shelter's connected to, like, twenty other sanctuaries. Gina and Robert and most of the others, you can talk to, but Amanda... hers isn't as secure and she ain't always in. You could probably get a message to her. I can guarantee she'll call back."
The highlander was having trouble absorbing all of the information. "Who else do you have? Did you find a Susan or Gerald Hearst? They escaped from a newspaper factory two days ago."
"Hearst? Hearst? Nope. Sorry. But hey, there's a lot of independent shelters in this world. They might just be in one of those." Artie reached down for something, a microphone, and then fiddled with the radio until the jeep was filled with the sound of static. And then began speaking in a language Mac had never heard before. When he stopped, a voice came from the radio. Unfortunately, the speaker was using the same language as Artie. By the end of the conversation, the only word MacLeod had understood was 'Jimbulaya.'
The radio was turned off and the jeep was speeding up. "Okay, anyone here not speak 'Shelter-ese'?" Artie asked.
"If that's whatever the Hell you were speaking just now, no," BJ replied. "How about you, Duncan?"
"I think I heard Jimbulaya," the Scot admitted.
"Alright then. Jimbulaya is a code name for the guy we're about to meet in about four to five minutes. And the rest of it was pretty much telling him where I am and who I have with me," he explained. "The language we use is sort of a mixture of a lot of other languages, mostly dead or lesser known ones. It takes only a day or so to get it."
"Yeah, it's a day or so IF you know some dead languages to begin with," BJ complained. "I'm gonna be lost for months."
"Oh, now that's Sweet Pea's genius. The vocabulary is unbelievably small and simple. It just seems like we're saying a lot because we get to throw in new words from time to time."
"That way if someone is listening in, they won't be able to figure out your code," Mac thought aloud. "That is a good system."
"I'll tell Sweet Pea you said that," Artie commented as a gas station came into view.
Soon, the jeep was pulling inside the garage where a van was already running with its doors wide open so that the goods could be transferred quickly. A burly man hopped off a stack of tires as Artie turned the engine off. The man, presumably Jimbulaya, had dark skin, a pearly white smile, and looked like he could plow anyone down if the mood hit him right. His rough voice with just a hint of a southern accent definitely suited him. "Greetings everyone."
Introductions were brief handshakes sandwiched between carrying bags from the jeep and statching them in the van. That job complete, Artie and BJ climbed in the back of the vehicle. Mac and Jimbulaya worked on disabling the jeep. The highlander took out its distributor cap while Jim removed the radio and hid it under a trap door beneath a stack of tires. If any task force found the jeep, they wouldn't think that it was being used.
Jimbulaya claimed the driver's seat while Mac accepted shotgun. "Everybody ready?" After three heads nodded, the van moved out of the garage and back onto the road. "We arrive in an hour and a half."
The welcome news was quickly followed by the radio being turned on, and soft music flooding the van. Mac had never heard the song before, but it had a good rhythm and the voice was low and soothing. For the first time in weeks, the highlander's body was truly relaxing. And everyone in the van seemed to know it because they were keeping quiet. They all simply savoured the tune. And the two that followed it before the news came on. That's when Mac's body tensed again. Reality returned.
"This is the quick 'Headlines Around the World'." Announced the DJ in French. "At home, Duncan MacLeod and two cohorts eluded the task force again. If you see him, call the police but do not approach. He is considered armed and dangerous. Yeah right, friends. From what I can tell, the perfect trap would be making an old woman cross the street alone. He should be there in two minutes to help her. Moving along, the vigil outside the hospital hosting Joseph Dawson continues. Dawson, convicted of treason nearly three years ago, was admitted last week complaining of shortness of breath and other ailments. He was diagnosed with pneumonia and is expected to be fully recovered in a few more days. Authorities insist that his illness is not due to any mistreatment. Police have yet to be called in to monitor the daily vigils. Jumping over to Tibet, the Dalai Lama has publicly denied reports that the oldest living man is hiding in one of the monasteries. Though he admits Methos may have visited Katmandu before. This statement comes just two days after the massive riot by protesters which resulted in twenty-three injured and three dead monks and abbots. Armed peace-keepers have now been called in to keep anti-immortal protesters out of the peaceful nation. In lovely China, two scientists have confirmed that the decapitated man reported to be the Legendary Methos is actually Yan Sing Ling. If that name doesn't any bells, don't worry. Apparently, Ling isn't even a hundred years old. Sorry, Yan, you must have looked really old. Over in the Western World, Canada and the United States are joining forces to demand that the International Task Force release reports about their immortal testing. Remember that rumours have been circulating for months that the ITF is performing 'inhumane' tests on the immortals it has taken prisoner since its formation in early '33. The ITF continues to deny the allegations, stating that they do not harm humans." The DJ snorted, "Comforting thought considering the ITF has already stated its belief that immortals are not humans. Coming back onto this side of the ocean, London scientists have released new evidence proving, yet again, that Methos is the oldest immortal. Previous stories have suggested that Methos was not the oldest, but that immortals were merely using the entirely fictitious myth to hide the true identity of oldest immortal. However, according to a three year study of Watcher and Archeological records conducted by Doctors Norman White and Francis Cappella that is not the case at all. They contend their findings not only prove that Methos is from the tail end of the stone age and that no other immortal has survived as long, but that he is, in fact, fact. This means the official five Most Wanted Immortals are (drum-roll please): Methos, Cassandra (who is well over a thousand years his junior), Marcus Constantine, Hans Siegard, and Ceirdwyn. It also means the prize for Methos' head is up to three million francs. If you ever wondered what a life was worth, there's your answer. And that concludes 'Headlines Around the World'. Next up, some 'Ice Melters', Rogers, and the sweet guitar sounds from my friend Brines. First, though, we have the voice of the Rose singing her newest hit, 'The Passion', on Paris' favourite station, River."
Duncan MacLeod didn't listen to the music though. He didn't even hear it. For a moment, he had felt peace. For a moment, he could believe that things would work out. But that news cast had ended that moment. It had obliterated the moment, in fact. Joe was sick in a hospital Mac couldn't visit. Mortals were closing in on Methos. The place the old man had often referred to as his "eternal sanctuary" was now off limits; perhaps forever. Immortals were being used as experiments and political red tape would keep those unfortunate human beings locked up in their cages for who-knew how long. The world was as ugly as he remembered it.
But the Shelter still held promise. It had friends who would welcome him. It had people who could help him save Joe and Methos. It had a sense of safety. It contained hope.
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Chapter 3: Home Is Where The Heart Is
"Hey, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?
When people can be so cold.
They'll hurt you and desert you.
Well they'll take your soul if you let them.
Oh yeah, but don't you let them."
--('You've Got A Friend' Lyrics by: Carole King.)
The trek to the Shelter wasn't easy. First, one had to enter a large forest without, according to Artie, using the same route too often so that a path wasn't worn into the ground. Second, one had to maneuver through the lush forest until he/she spotted a nearly hidden entrance to a cave. Third, after covering the van with a heavy camouflage blanket, one had to cautiously enter said cave, making sure not to trip any alarms. Fourth, one had to slowly find his/her way through dizzying tunnels. Finally, if one was lucky, he/she would come to a large steel wall and door which separated the damp, dingy cave from the welcoming Shelter.
Before Artie entred the secret code into the keypad on the metal door, he turned to the other immortals. "Maybe you ought to give those bags to Jim and me. The shock of, uh, presence can be kinda overwhelmin'. It isn't so bad after awhile. And you'll get used to it when you're inside."
"Yeah, to the point you can't sense us from the mortals," Jimbulaya put in.
Conceding to the voices of experience, Duncan and BJ handed their bags to the other immortals and prepared for the worse. The worse, it turned out, was a powerful gust of force pushing against their bodies and plowing through their souls. It was a sudden headache, attacking their bodies with a ferocity unlike anything they'd thought possible. Slowly, after a series of deep breathes, the gust became a light breeze until finally the storm was over and they could stand straight again.
"Ready, fellas?" Artie asked, edging toward the open doorway. BJ and Mac shared a glance and then nodded their mutual agreement. "All right. Away we go."
At first glance, the Shelter was neither sweet nor cozy. The room they were in, a mess hall, looked rather plain. The large room was littered with ordinary tables and chairs. The flat white walls were mostly bare. There were a few square holes covered by grates in those dull walls, probably for ventilation. In addition, the floor was hard. It looked even more plain than a school's cafeteria.
However, at second glance, the room had a splash of life in it. Sitting at some of those tables were people; smiling people, laughing people. Hanging on a few walls were pictures; some professional, others obviously the creations of children. The air held a sweet aroma- someone was cooking a stew, and there was the sound of laughter coming from a connecting room. The floor still wasn't as soft as carpeting, but it did have a shine; a sparkle caused by the hanging lights on the ceiling. More people were walking on the floor, as well. Somehow, buried deep within a cave, life was flowing freely.
Once again, Duncan's heart was filled with gladness and hope.
"Not exactly home, sweet, home," Artie admitted, drawing the highlander's attention. "But it comes amazingly close at times. Mostly thanks to Sweet Pea."
"Sweet Pea?" BJ asked, amused surprise playing upon his features.
"Don't knock the name," the New Yorker warned him. "Or the man. He's the guy running this place and he gets to say if you stay here or not."
"Oh, Artie." Jimbulaya glared at him. "Sweet Pea wouldn't throw these two out and you know it. So don't try scaring them."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the bald man said dismissively. "Look, why don't you and BJ take these supplies into the kitchen? Duncan and me can meet with Sweet and authorize everyone's stay."
The blonde of the group didn't look enthusiastic with the option, but grabbed the bags Artie was carrying anyway. "Fine. I'll go and do work while the great MacLeod gets to see Sweetie Pie. But if anything funny happens, I wanna hear about it."
"Deal. Now, let's get a move on," the largest of the quartet said, already walking away.
"Don't get him wrong, Duncan," Artie said, watching as BJ hurried to catch the southerner. "Jimbulaya isn't really so serious. Only when it comes to food. He's been a chef a few times over, you know. I swear, the moment he came here he became the unofficial head cook."
"That good?"
"Well... he knows how to organize a kitchen... just not how to use it to perfection. 'Course, the ingredients aren't really here." The American shrugged. "At least that's the excuse he uses."
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the famous Duncan MacLeod!" a stranger shouted as he walked in the room. He was a short man with a full beard. His brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He would have looked like a decent man in this thirties, if it weren't for his arrogant strut.
"Duncan, this is Liver. Liver, Duncan," Artie said as an unenthusiastic introduction. Liver didn't seem to mind. "Unfortunately, Liver is leaving to do rounds now."
"I'm not doing rounds when we've got a livin' legend in our presence." Somehow it sounded more like an insult than a compliment.
"Excuse me?" Something had clearly erked Artie.
"I said I'm not doin' rounds, Art." Turning his attention to the highlander, 'Liver' smiled again. "So, seen Connor yet?"
MacLeod's response was cut off by Artie before it crossed his lips. "What do you mean you're not doing rounds? The schedule said tonight was your night. You can't just brush off security like that. You--"
"Look, this place is sealed up tighter than your butt. No one's going to attack us tonight or tomorrow night or even fifty thousand nights after that. Now I want to meet the guy Connor's had us lookin' for."
"You can't shrug off your chores, Larry!" For the first time since Mac had met the bald man, Artie looked absolutely irate. "This place won't be attacked tonight because we have patrols. That is, IF you get rid of that attitude. Now get out there before Sweet Pea finds out. He'll give you a graveyard shift for months for sure. You wanna play poker with Peaches again?"
"No." Liver rolled his eyes. To MacLeod, the act generated a mental image of a teenager being reprimanded by a parent. He squashed a laugh. "It's just for tonight, Art. One night won't make that big a difference. You know that."
"Yeah, and I know Methos could be visitin' us one day. And if today's that day, he ain't gonna appreciate you not guarding his place."
MacLeod was no longer entertained by this exchange, but incredibly interested. Methos was around? He knew of this place? His place??
"Methos isn't coming tonight." Liver sighed, "BUT... I suppose talkin' to Mac could wait. If it means you'll get off my back."
"Hey, I'm off. I'm off." Artie raised his hands in mock surrender, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.
"Sure" Liver.. or Larry, whatever his name was, didn't buy the act of course. However, he didn't force the issue. Instead he waved a brief goodbye and then exited the way they had entered. "See ya."
His departure barely registered with MacLeod, though. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the information he'd just heard. "Methos, he's alive?"
"Alive and well. He set this whole place up too." Artie gave a grand gesture encompassing the entire room. "Not all that impressive right now, I know. But once you've seen all it has to offer... geez, it's a miracle any of this is possible. I mean, directly to your right is the kitchen. Two ovens, a grill, tonnes of dishes. Next to that, we've got Joe's. That's the name of our rec room," he clarified at Mac's shocked expression. "That's the marvel here. You're talkin' instruments, carpeting, music system, pool table, the whole nine yards. I don't know how he did it. No one does."
"But he did it? Methos, THEE Methos, did this? All of this?" The man who preferred lounging in a bar to discussing a serious topic had created this haven? It was clearly meant for more than just a few people. That didn't sound like the "I didn't last five thousand years by worrying about anyone but myself" Methos who'd stolen his beer ("I don't steal beer. I borrow beer. It's not my fault no one asks for it back.") and laughed at the Scot's "moral dilemmas". Perhaps it was another impostor. "Are you sure?"
"Yep. He furnished this place himself. Put in the ventilation pipes and generators, chairs, tables, you name it, he brought in. That's the story the De Valincourts gave anyway. But they aren't liars and the legend himself has kept updated on this place since the beginning. I know it's hard to imagine. Methos doing all this when I was so sure he was just a myth," Artie responded. "I was told he was just a myth since I became immortal, but this all says that's not true. If my teacher was still alive, he'd probably die of shock."
"But he did this? You've seen him, talked to him?" MacLeod's head suddenly hurt. If Artie would just focus on what Duncan was desperately trying to say, on what he meant to ask, maybe the pain would go away.
"Who? Methos?" Who the heck did the darn yank think he was talking about?
"Of course, Methos! Have you seen him? When does he come by?"
"Sorry, Duncan." Artie's grin faded a little. "He doesn't call or visit. He writes, though. We have his letters tacked up in Joe's. They aren't much, mind you. Just notes really; mostly filled with orders disguised as friendly advice, and some comments about the outside world thrown in here and there. The old guy's got a sharp sense of humour and knows his alcohol." Or maybe it wasn't an impostor. "You should read his take on his banishment from Tibet. How he was ever allowed in one of those monasteries in the first place is beyond me. He said--"
"But have you seen him?" Mac interrupted Artie's babbling, finally honing in on his question. "Does he.. he call you from one of the shelters connected to this place? Can I talk to him?"
"No... to, well, all of the above." Artie grimaced. "Sorry, pal. Like I said, he never visits and never calls. He just writes. The letters get sort of telegraphed over. I don't know all the particulars. But that's as close as any of us has gotten to the man. Probably as close as we're gonna get until this war's over. We've got no pictures, no voice recordings, no return addresses, no videos, no handwritten words of wisdom or of any real hope. We've just got his place, his jokes in those typed letters, and the simple belief that one day he'll stop by and shoot the breeze for a bit. Not great and irrational as Hell, but the kids seem to like it. On really bad days, I think all of us like it too."
"If Methos managed to make this place, I'm sure he'll find a way to see it again." MacLeod tried to sound comforting and certain, but his heart wasn't in it. "He's probably just waiting for it to be safe. No point in making this place a fortress if one visit will destroy it, right?"
"Oh, you don't have to tell me. I've recited that line to many people who've passed through, gets less believable each time." Artie shook his head, losing the pessimistic thoughts swarming his mind. "We're supposed to be seeing Sweet Pea right now, and you need to get a tour of this place. Shall we?"
Conceding to the change of topic, MacLeod gratefully followed the slimmer man down a bending corridor to their left.
"All right, the first door on your right: gym. First door on your left: storage closet for clothes, blankets, soap, brooms, everything but the kitchen sink, pretty much. Second door on the right: dojo which sounds like a gym clone, but it's not. The gym is more of an exercise and weight room. The dojo is for sparing, practicing moves, katas, etc, etc, etc," the shorter man sang. "You still have your sword?"
"Surprizingly, yes." MacLeod automatically brushed his hand against the concealed sword's carved hilt. "Why?"
"'Cause this door here on your right is the weapons locker. All the guns, knives, swords, and other lethal objects that could possibly fit in a room that small have been shoved into a room that small. When you're comfortable, you can leave your sword in there. If it looks like someone else's, there's some masking tape and a pen hanging by the door to mark your blade. The next door here on the left leads to the Comm. room. That's where we get Methos' letters, reports from other shelters as far away as Vancouver--"
"You mean the shelters connected here aren't connected *here*?" Mac asked, slowing down.
"They're connected by radio transmissions. The equipment is as old as Methos, but that's why it works. While the rest of the world is using video phones, we resort to CBs, old satellite phone connections, and, on occasion, even morose code. The messages are as clear as a bell... well, almost. But they're untraceable and the ITF has yet to break the encryption code. That's why we're all allowed to use the equipment to call family and friends at least once a month. I mean, you've got to schedule your time and it's no more than thirty minutes a week. But it lessens the risk of one day thinking someone died without knowing you cared about 'em. That's another reason why we like Sweet Pea. When Gina and Robert ran the joint, this place felt like a guarded castle. The first day Sweet came here, he had us make up that schedule, cut back patrolling hours, set up story time for the kids, and actually ordered everyone into Joe's for a celebration." Artie stopped at the fourth door on the right. "And that brings us to this door. Appropriately, Sweet's office. Don't worry, he likes to act tough in front of the newbies, but the guy's like a pussy cat. No matter how superior he acts when laying down the law, just remember he's played "Hokey-Pokey" with the kids more than twice." With that warning said, the New Yorker opened the door and ushered the anxious Scot inside.
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Chapter Four: Remember all the important questions.
"In good times,
And bad times,
And all the other times, forever more
That's what friends are for."
--('What friends are for'. Performed By: Dionne Warwick.)
The office was, in a word, cramped. The back wall was lined with two crowded bookcases. A few feet before those wooden structures was a chair and a small desk cluttered with stationary, an intercom radio, pens, and an extremely outdated laptop. Another few feet away stood two large arm chairs, duct tape repairing tears in their backs. A couple of feet infront of them stood Mac and Artie. The walls on either side of them were decorated with maps and possibly reports. In the corner to Mac's left, there was a short table with a pitcher of water. At the opposite corner was another short table. This one hosting a chess board MacLeod would have recognized in a second if his attention wasn't focused solely on Sweet Pea.
Both men were momentarily speechless. Pure surprize etched upon their faces until realization that they weren't dreaming finally hit. Then that shock was replaced by smiles which threatened to split their beaming faces. Mac's mind was racing to find something intelligent to say, find something that was an appropriate greeting. But his friend was getting closer and his brain wasn't doing anything besides telling him how unbelievable the moment was to see Methos/Adam Pierson/Stephen LaSapien/... the aliases continued to flow. Finally, he just gave up and resorted to saying whatever could make it to his lips. "Adam." He took hold of Methos' hand and gave it a firm shake, trying to discreetly prove to himself that this wasn't a dream.
"Mac!" His oldest friend (in terms of age) wasn't content with a mere handshake. Instead he used Mac's hand to pull the Scot into a bearhug. "It's good to see you!"
The highlander thumped his friend on the back twice before releasing him, and taking a step back to observe the man he hadn't seen in over four years. Methos was wearing a deep blue shirt buttoned up to the collar and tucked into his black slacks, not his old sweater and jeans outfit from the old days. There were other changes too. The hair was a bit shorter, the voice had been constricted (either by sudden joy or ingrained sorrow), the eyes were slightly more tired, and a grin that big had rarely ever graced his face. He was leaning on the edge of his desk too. His usual relaxed sprawls momentarily forgotten. Yet, despite all the changes, MacLeod knew he was still looking at the man who taught him to accept life and change. The man watching him right now with those perceptive hazel eyes, was still Methos.
MacLeod felt like he was going to burst with joy. If only his mind would process something else and allow him to say something again... anything. But his mouth kept moving up and down without any words escaping. Luckily Methos wasn't similarly handicapped. "Well, this is a splendid surprize." Perhaps realizing what little help Mac could provide at the moment, the oldest immortal turned his attention to the other man in the office. "How'd you find him?"
"True to his reputation, he was helping a kid named BJ escape some rather nasty fellas. I thought they could use a lift," Artie explained, slowly edging his way out the door. "I didn't know you knew 'im, though, or else we would've got here sooner."
"Forget it, Artie. Why don't you find that, uh, BJ kid and show him around while I talk to Mac." His smile was shrinking, becoming his usual grin again. "We have a bit of catching up to do."
"Sure thing, Sweet. I'll have Mac's room and new clothes readied. And I'll keep him under wraps until supper. If he gets this reaction out of you, I've gotta see what ol' steel face does." Chuckling softly, the bald man closed the door behind him and Methos looked at Duncan.
"He told me you built this place, that you were alive and operating this intricate system of shelters." The highlander shook his head slightly. "I couldn't believe it. I thought you'd be alive, but... never all of this. I mean... how? Why? When? How?"
"You said 'how' twice and forgot 'who' and 'what'." Methos gestured for Mac to sit in one of the arm chairs before he folded his arms across his chest. "The best place to begin this explanation would probably be the beginning which goes back over two hundred years. About 1813 or '14, I won this land in a friendly game of cards. It never hit me as being anything important, just nice scenery with a minable cave. But it was a lousy mine, Mac. I had to close it down before I... well, before my identity at the time, went broke. I swear I sunk more money into it than I've ever gotten out of it. Didn't end up looking at the cave again until after I'd left Byron. I came back to see what I could do with this crummy chunk of property and found out that it could make a great hide-out." Methos glanced around his surroundings. "Not the best, but I'd had worse and the miners had gone so deep no one in their right mind would find me. So I worked on the place for years, setting up wooden walls against the stone ones, putting down a floor--"
"But how did *your* hide-out turn into 'The Shelter'?" Duncan asked, trying to keep the explanation focused.
"You've never been patient in your entire life, have you?" The lean man shook his head in mock disgust. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, I worked for many years. I was sort of forced to take a break from World War One until after World War Two. Slowly got back to work, trying to perfect my sanctuary. But, this place was just for me and when I started losing interest in... well, losing interest in life, in general... I just forgot about the Shelter. Then I joined the Watchers and suddenly I didn't really need a hide-out. Then Horton came along, and Darius was killed, and... Ian, Darius' watcher, needed something to focus on for awhile. So I brought him here, under the pretense that my father had left the property to me and I needed someone very experienced to accompany me when I inspected the place. We followed the rigging and tracks from the old miners and myself, 'discovered' this haven, and decided we could use it in case another Horton ever popped up. That's when a lot of the finer details were added. Ian told Don and his brother, Luke. Every weekend until Ian got reassigned, we came here and worked. Those were great weekends. We'd be yelling questions about this immortal or that chronicle while easing the pool table down the tunnels with the rigs, or taking turns translating an old letter while arranging the kitchen for proper ventilation. While organizing chairs and tables, we'd debate about who else we should tell. Joe was considered, but Luke had heard rumours that our friend might have gotten close to his subject. None of us wanted to risk an immortal knowing about this place so we never asked him. Of course, we couldn't think of anyone else we knew we could trust with the secret. Then Luke had a fatal heart attack and less than a year later Ian died. Don and I were still trying to finish the library down here when Kalas killed him. After that, this place was just a tad too haunted for me."
"So you just left it until McMasterson came along?" Duncan inquired, wondering how his friend could consider staying here when the place probably saddened his heart.
"No, I left it until I realized my friends might need a safe haven. I mean, I didn't tell Joe or Amanda where I went, but I tried to get rid of all the rigging and tracks while you were off in Malaysia."
"What?!" Mac was out of his seat the moment the admission registered in his mind. "You thought I'd gone crazy so you left Joe all alone to work here?"
The elder of the pair gently pushed his junior back into the chair. "I thought I could have been wrong about your hallucinations. If I was, we'd need a place away from the rest of society to defeat your demon. If I was right, we'd still need this place to hide you until we could help you."
"You were gone for nearly two years." The statement was tinged with frustration and anger, not a combination the oldest immortal preferred.
"Mac, it's not like I abandoned Joe, buried myself here and didn't know what was happening in the world. I stayed with Joe until long after the funeral that, might I add, I paid for. When I was sure he was going to be okay, I said I needed to do something and that I'd be gone for a while."
"Two years," MacLeod repeated.
Methos trudged forward. "The comm. room was fully functional by then. I knew where you were, how Joe was dealing with things, even what Amanda was stealing at the time. If I'd found something useful or saw that I could help, I would have. But you weren't hurting anyone and there wasn't any definite proof that there was a demon. And then, when there was possible proof... believe it or not, you didn't look like you needed me. You know, if it wasn't for Walker I don't know that I would have ever come back. I didn't think you or Joe would want me around."
"Of course, we wanted you back!" MacLeod started. "Do you know how many times I asked Joe if he had heard anything about Methos or Adam Pierson? How many times Amanda asked about you? The De Valincourts sent a postcard from Tahiti for you; not for me, for you. Everyone who knew you wanted you back, you old goat!"
Methos seemed unimpressed. "Mac, you were trying to move on with your life; everyone was. No one wanted me coming back, bringing all those bad memories."
"They weren't all bad memories!" The Scot was out of the chair again, but his friend wasn't pushing him down this time. "I could have used your insight and I know Joe would have loved your company. And if you really didn't want to come back, you wouldn't have been in Paris to see Walker."
"The question wasn't whether or not *I* wanted to come back. It was whether you or Joe wanted me back. Besides, I knew I could still work down here and I did want to see the world again. I figured everything worked out."
"So, you, what?, wandered around, and worked on a place for friends you didn't think wanted to see you again?"
"I never said logic was my forté." Methos was moving away from the highlander, putting the desk between them.
"Methos--"
"Just let it be."
"Methos!"
"You know you should start calling me Adam Pierson again. That's the name I'm going by these days since Robert had to tell everyone that I was Pierson."
"Don't change the subject!"
"I'm not changing it. I'm returning to it. Remember: who, when, why, and how." He said the words with such innocence, MacLeod wondered if he'd actually been happy to see this man. "The DeValincourts, your pal Keane, Cara, Cochrane, and Ceirdwyn finish the original who's. I was watching McMasterson on the Internet. The second I realized what he was doing, I contacted them and had them start up shelters. Keane runs the basement of my fitness centre, your former dojo, in Seacouver. Cara took an old villa I had near Italy. After your friend Cochrane took over the reins, she started one near Bordeaux. Ceirdwyn and Nick run her place in Dublin. You know, I hear it was love at first sight for those two. Just like Gina and Robert, who are now running the basement of the Watcher's former headquarters in Paris. That fortress was my best buy of '96. Of course, until I telegraphed the happy couple as myself, they were supervising this place."
"So you did all that?" MacLeod's anger had settled somewhat; now curiosity was driving his thoughts, "But h--"
"How?" Methos' grin had returned in full force. "I just sent them all emails or faxes with information only they would know, or a friend of their teacher's, or, unbeknownst to them at the time, a watcher. I told them what was going on, where they were needed, what to do, and then signed my name. From that, other bases were set up all over the world, linked by the radio systems and codes I suggested. That's why everyone knows I set up the network. I didn't know how well it would work, or even if it would. Of course, to hear Keane tell it, Methos knew all along." The elder man rolled his eyes. "If he only knew how long it took me to send the first letter by Methos. I have another computer in my desk that lets me send the messages. It worked pretty well at the old HQ, but it's much easier here. I mean, I'm closer and don't have to bounce the signal anymore. Anyone traces the letter and, like always, they're led right back to the Shelter where Methos hasn't visited since before Riley woke up. This place is great for privacy too. I've been able to send short get-well messages to Joe. I would have organized a party to get him out, but the security around him is too intense. Just to let you know, the best scenario has a forty-percent survival rating and Joe isn't included." Methos released a slow breath. "Well, that's the who, when and how."
"That leaves the why."
"The 'why'," Methos repeated thoughtfully. After a moment he pointed to the chessboard behind MacLeod. "I paid a kid to sneak into your barge and take that. I didn't know where you were, or if you were alive. I didn't know if I'd have anyone to play with. Nevertheless, I asked that brat to steal Darius' chess set for seventy francs I could have used. I didn't even question why. I--"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Duncan interrupted, sensing yet another evasive answer.
"Patience, Mac, patience. It's not just a word," Methos chided. "You see, I didn't have to question why. I knew I wouldn't be happy without it so I took it. It was as simple as that, as simple as this is. Thirty years ago, I remembered how to 'live, grow stronger, and fight another day'. Ever since then, I've been working to make sure I never forget that again. Why did I do all this, Mac? The better question is why wouldn't I do this. If I didn't, I wouldn't truly be living. I'd be hiding from people and life again. And, as a good friend once pointed out, that just makes me weak." Methos was leaning against the side of his desk, no longer needing a barrier between him and MacLeod. "See? Simple reasoning. I wouldn't be happy without friends so I keep shelters running and bribe Joe's doctors and guards to make sure he's okay and that he knows everyone's fine. I wouldn't want to tell Joe that Amy and Timothy are hurt so I gave Matt-- you don't know him-- strict orders to guard them. I wouldn't be happy if Darius' treasured chess set was lost so I took it. That's the 'why', Mac, in all its glory."
Duncan could only stare at the man before him. It always amazed him how as strange and twisted as Methos' logic could be, it constantly managed to make sense. "Methos, I think you are the only person in history who could, selflessly, take the proverbial bullet for someone and act like you did it just because you wanted the lead."
"And on that note, I think it's time you left. I have some reports to read over and you need clothes that aren't torn and dirty." Turning to the radio on his desk, Methos held down its red button. "Is anyone free in there?"
There was a pause after he let go of the button. Then, "I can be there in a minute, Sweet Pea." 'Sweet Pea' again. MacLeod made a mental note to ask Methos about that.
"Good. I need you to give a tour to a friend of mine while I deal with the schedule and the reports you were supposed to deliver ten minutes ago, Pear."
Another pause. "They were late coming in. We're still waiting for Cara's, and Gina's just started transmitting a minute ago. I'll bring what we've got and Kiwi says he'll bring Cara's whenever she transmits it. Out, Scout."
"Don't think you've weaseled your way out of telling me what else you've been doing," Duncan teased.
"Wouldn't dream of it." A mischievous glint was in Methos' eyes. "But right now, I do have work to do. All part of the glamorous role as Commander. I'll see you at dinner with Connor and you'll have plenty of time to get the story out of me. Or at least, plenty of time for you to try."