So far, just Kronos, but I have a couple other ideas for this.
...
Kronos was in Paris, working on cementing Damien Moreau's come back, when the temptation struck him and he simply couldn't resist. Le Blues Bar was dimly lit and the music was tolerable, though nothing Kronos recognised off-hand.
MacLeod wasn't anywhere in sight, but the Watcher, Dawson, was at the bar, pouring drinks and chatting amiably with the few customers there. Kronos had never had cause to seek him out before but found himself curious about another mortal for whom Methos had developed affection.
Kronos settled himself at the bar and watched the mortal as he served drinks. He seemed old and frail, especially when he tried to walk. But then all mortals did. It took surprisingly little effort to do them irreparable injury. Unless, of course, they were Winchester or McDonald, and then death seemed only slightly more of an obstacle than it would to an Immortal.
"What can I get you?"
"Wine," Kronos told him. "Whatever you recommend."
"New in town?" Dawson asked, pouring a glass and putting it in front of Kronos.
"Yes, I suppose," Kronos said. "I've been in Paris before, but it seems like centuries ago."
Dawson's eyes widened before he got his expression under control. Kronos could concede that the mortal had a fairly good poker face.
"Travel a lot?" Joe asked a little cautiously. Kronos didn't get a chance to answer when MacLeod settled down at the bar beside him. He still hadn't decided if the lack of forewarning when an Immortal approached was a blessing or a curse.
"Hey, Joe," MacLeod greeted with a smile
"MacLeod."
"Quiet night," MacLeod said, glancing at Kronos curiously.
Dawson and MacLeod exchanged a significant, if not very subtle, look as they tried to determine who Kronos was. Dawson clearly suspected he was an Immortal and MacLeod hadn't realised there was anything to be worried about.
Perhaps Methos was right and there were more satisfying forms of revenge than simply taking heads. Besides, Kronos was in Hell for over 1000 years, even he got bored of torture after a while, at least the physical kind.
"You were telling me about your travels?" Joe prompted. Kronos shrugged.
"Oh, I've been all over," Kronos said. "Dallas, London, New York, Paris, Seacouver, wherever my fancy takes me, really."
Kronos diligently kept a straight face as MacLeod looked more and more concerned at the places Kronos listed. MacLeod's gaze flicked down to Kronos' wrist, but it was covered by the cuff of his shirt, then to Joe who shrugged. MacLeod remained tense.
"What is it that you do?" MacLeod asked.
With deliberate slowness Kronos took a sip of wine before undoing his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, revealing bare forearms before answering.
"Shipping and transport, mostly," Kronos said, almost honestly. "But I dabble in antiques. There's nothing quite like the weight of a good sword in your hand."
Dawson and MacLeod shared another look and MacLeod gave a small shake of his head. Kronos downed the last of his drink.
"Well, this has been fun. I'll have to come back next time I'm in Paris," Kronos said, tossing a note on the table.
As he left the bar, Kronos wondered how many tense days and anxious nights MacLeod would spend worrying if he was a threat and what that would mean for MacLeod's life. Maybe he should get some of his newly established network to stir things up occasionally. It wouldn't do for MacLeod to let down his guard, after all.