A/N: Watcher fics have always fascinated me, so I decided to try my hand at writing one. If you have any recommendations for stories I might read that are watcher-centric, I'd be thankful for any suggestions.
Aiden sat in the car, breathing on his hands and rubbing them together. "Gloves," he muttered. "Bring gloves next time." Because being a Watcher, especially a Watcher on Immortals already aware of the existence of their society, meant that you couldn't sit in the dead of night for hours on end with the car on. No matter how much you wish you had heating. But really, it was worth it to be the first watcher on MacLeod for half a century. Ever since Joe Dawson's funeral, MacLeod had disappeared off the radar. The more trustworthy presumed he was meditating in a monastery, like he had done after the death of his last student Richie; the more suspicious presumed that he'd simply ditched the Watchers for a new life somewhere else. Whatever the reason, fifty years later he sauntered back into Paris and picked up the barge. For Aiden, who had been assigned to the presumably dead-end job of watching an Immortal's cache (and listing the Immortals who drop by in search of its owner), it was a dream come true. By rights, MacLeod was now his.
Which led to him shivering in a cold hunk of metal, wishing for a thermos of coffee. It was his month for the nighttime Watching, while his teammate got to stay warm and sleep. "Bastard," Aiden scoffed with only a little envy. Then, "I have to stop talking to myself." It's a common hazard of a long, lonely job that you can hardly ever talk about. That, and a lot of long-winded Chronicles that make your successors curse your loquacity. Except for Dawson, who somehow seemed to have avoided that inevitable pitfall. Maybe because he had an active part in his Immortal's life?
It's an interesting question, but not one that would be popular. While opinions might have been divided in Dawson's time whether he was right to reveal the presence of Immortals, time has led to the inevitable popular conclusion that it was a monstrously stupid thing to do. Secrecy is what saves them, and a certain distance keeps them from not interfering; keeps Hunters from forming. Aiden abandons his hands for rubbing his upper arms. Some scholars, of course, argued that it's not as black and white. But they are mostly older. One even remembers Dawson, talks about him as a friendly and principled man.
Almost like MacLeod.
Of course, MacLeod's friendly acquaintance with his last watcher made a lot of people at Headquarters nervous that he'd make overtures to his new team. QED, Aiden has a small recording device hidden in his pocket that he can turn on, just in case MacLeod comes looking. And what would his reaction be? Friendly? Hostile from a perceived replacement of a mortal friend? Even with decades of records, it was still tricky to predict which ways Immortals would jump. That had led to a trend to try and recruit psychologists to diagnose Immortals and predict patterns in behavior, but many that were approached were hostile to the idea of breaching doctor-patient confidentiality and were skipped over without ever knowing the truth.
Aiden's own father had been one of the few potential candidates that had been ambivalent on the idea, and once being informed of Immortals had dedicated his life to predicting Immortal movements. Aiden himself, however, turned out to be a computer guy. That's what had landed him the storage-sitting job in the first place. He could multitask, working on copying, storing, and archiving old Chronicles (40AD-1062AD) in the online database while noting the sparse activity in his locale. Then a more experienced Watcher was freed from this humdrum assignment to do something much more glorious, like being an actual field Watcher for an active Immortal.
Which apparently meant they got to freeze in dead, hulking cars, too. Ah, the glory of a Watcher. Luckily, this car would be picked up tomorrow and switched with another heap of trash, in the usual car rotations the Watcher network set up so paranoid Immortals wouldn't notice the same car always trailing them. Maybe the next one would be a jaguar. "Heh. Yeah ri – dammit. Shut up." Aiden shifted to a more comfortable position in the car, and dreamed about the new code he could write to streamline the cross-referencing system on the network as he watched MacLeod's barge with unfocused eyes.
"God damn it!" Aiden carefully prodded the 'delete' key with his right pinkie. He needed a new laptop. Preferably, one with glove-sized keys. Aiden mournfully eyed his fingers, before biting down on his left glove and tugging it off. It would be a lot slower to poke-type, but at least he wouldn't be deleting every other word and he'd still get to keep one hand warm.
He spared a glance at the barge – still quiet – and resumed typing up his report for the night. Lights on until 11.30, presumably a late dinner alone supplied by the groceries his partner had seen MacLeod buy that day. Usual bedtime ritual presumably, from the spare glimpses of MacLeod walking past windows. Completely uneventful, like so many of the Chronicles he'd had to convert to digital in his last job. It would probably be shaved down to a few sentences detailing MacLeod's off-Game habits, in the Official Chronicle of all things MacLeod, when they switched languages again.
They should have just kept on writing in Latin. It would certainly make the compilation of Chronicles easier, with the elimination of a constant translation program that more than not messed up all colloquialisms and figurative language it came across. And it would cut down on the number of people that would be able to read a misplaced journal. Even the Immortals were beginning to forget Latin, as the ones who were around when it was a common language inevitably died out. Which made Immortal a funny name. They weren't Immortal as much as very long-lived. But of course, as generations of watchers had found out, nothing quite had that same ring to it.
Aiden shook himself out of his musings, finished his report, saved it, and returned his frozen hand to its glove. Then he checked on the barge. Still quiet. He yawned widely.
How long would MacLeod survive? He was too well-known to have any chance at becoming one of the oldest, like his lovers Cassandra or Amanda. But he had enough friends and skill with a blade to stay alive for a good long while. Joe Dawson had even made frequent references in his earlier Chronicles about how many Watchers considered MacLeod to be a good contestant for the Prize – especially when there was that spate of high activity in the 80s that kept the possibility of the Gathering fresh in everyone's minds.
The more interesting anecdotes in any Chronicle were inevitably the notes about what Watchers thought of Immortals. It's easy to identify ideologies, philosophies, and political beliefs that reigned during the time period through who the Watchers name for the decade's favorite contestant. Maybe he should add to his own opinions to the entry tonight – but it's such a boring, non-eventful one that hardly anybody would read it. And he'd have to take off a glove, again.
Aiden sat back and wished longingly for summer.
Coffee is a gift from God.
Aiden sips his ambrosia from an extra-large travel mug as he watches MacLeod's barge, savoring the heat that seeps into his gloves, and hums appreciatively. He needs to stay awake, because there had been some unusual activity reports from his partner. MacLeod had paused multiple times today, in that inevitable pointer-dog stance that most Immortals get when they sense a foreign Immortal. Dawson had recorded in his Chronicle that the Immortals referred to whatever internal radar system they possessed as a 'Buzz;' confirmed it was a literal sensation, and not just good instincts, that alerted Immortals to the presence of their own kind.
It's intriguing, because it hints that the Immortal essences can interact with each other, and that it has a tangible effect on its carrier other than the accelerated healing. It implies that maybe one day, with the proper equipment, it could be picked up by scanners and defined.
But whatever the root of Immortality was, it had alerted MacLeod that there was another Immortal inside his 'territory.' And most Immortals made sure they knew the faces of all the other Immortals existing in close proximity. Especially MacLeod, who had a reputation for finding trouble by being curious about the newest face in town. Whoever the other Immortal was hadn't identified itself – but MacLeod had reacted to the Buzz at least three times throughout the course of the day, and there weren't enough Immortals in Paris currently to call that coincidence.
But contact had not been made, especially not in such busy public places as MacLeod had been traversing; which meant that friend, foe, or neutral, MacLeod would be contacted later tonight. It inevitably happened with Immortals.
So Aiden had been called into work early by his partner, and instructed to try and plant a bug in MacLeod's rooms. The phones had already been tapped for ages, and they had a hacker on standby to check all of MacLeod's incoming and outgoing mail. And now, thanks to Aiden, they were covered even if the Immortal walked straight up to the barge and knocked.
Hopefully, it wasn't anything as mundane as a social visit, though. MacLeod had yet to take a Challenge, It wasn't unusual for non-headhunting Immortals to go for lifetimes without fighting – but after reading so many conflicting descriptions of Quickenings, Aiden was eager to experience one for himself.
Either way, he'd hopefully get the prestige of identifying a previously unknown Immortal. Aiden took another sip of coffee and attentively scanned the barge. Still no movement. It always reflected well when a Watcher took the time to scan through unrelated Chronicles, or searching for a matching description in the databases. In addition to taking up a slow night of Watching, it also sent the message to Headquarters that he was dedicated to his work, hopefully brought him enough attention (if the Immortal was important enough) to get a step in to the higher branches of Watcher hierarchy. Maybe one day he'd be regional director, or Tribunal member. Some job that didn't require him to freeze his ass off, one where the best thing wasn't an extra-large mug of instant coffee.
But first, he had to see the mysterious Immortal. So far it was a no-go. Maybe it truly had just been passing by; maybe it got wind of MacLeod's formidable reputation and decided to go for smaller fish. It was at least fifty years since the Highlander's last battle, but to Immortals that was peanuts. Maybe it got arrested for shoplifting that day and would have to come back later.
All the Immortals Aiden had ever read about seemed to have committed at least one crime or another; MacLeod was friends with more than a few of the worse cases. Namely, Amanda Devereaux and Corey Raines. It wasn't entirely inconceivable.
Perhaps Immortals committed so many crimes because they didn't understand the societal rules. Most of them came from harsher times, when it was more acceptable to wallop someone you took offense to. It was much more common to die from a violent cause. Compared to that, what was a little nonviolent crime to anybody? Especially if they could still afford food and basic shelter, afterwards (like most worthwhile targets inevitably would be able to). A few supplementary entries from Amanda Devereaux's Chronicles by Joe Dawson certainly seemed to imply that was Amanda's justification.
It's strange how much Joe Dawson appears in other's chronicles. For an Oath-Breaker, he was one of the best Watchers of the century. His close relationship with his subject meant that while there were suspicious blank spots in his reports, there were also entries of enormous detail, and unprecedented insights into MacLeod's personality. He got face-to-face with dozens of Immortals, and was able to fill in blank spots in numerous Chronicles from gossip obtained through them. Hell, he'd even corrected the embarrassing cover-up in Titus Marconus' Chronicle that had gone unnoticed for almost two millennia.
Maybe that's why the Watcher's Council had ultimately done nothing to censor Joe's interaction. Because while it was uncommon and expressly forbidden by Watcher rules, befriending such a popular Immortal filled important gaps in Watcher knowledge. And since it came from such a relatively nonlethal Immortal like MacLeod, who would rather die himself that harm any human that wasn't a direct threat to his or his friends' lives, the Watchers turned their noses up but allowed Dawson to scribble snippets of his legacy in a dozen Immortals' Chronicles.
It was due to Dawson they learned many common Immortal courtesies and gained a greater insight into Immortal-Immortal interactions. He was the one who found out the Immortal name for the 'Buzz,' and he was the first one to ever discover that mortals destined to return from death sometimes gave out their own "Pre-Immortal Buzz" – a fact that had finally put to rest the theory that Immortals were able to 'awaken' others simply due to their presence at the time of a violent death. It was not the Immortal that drew Pre-Immortals, but Pre-Immortals that drew their soon-to-be brethren.
It was Joe who, more than any other Watcher, documented the emotional and psychological history of his Immortal, rather than a sparse laundry list of accomplishments and adventures and physical habits. His part of the Chronicles was filled with the struggle of MacLeod to try and hold on to a motley collection of Immortal allies whilst avoiding the inevitable conclusion of the Game. And they were fascinating.
Sometimes, Aiden seriously considered engineering a chance encounter with MacLeod, as to further Dawson's comprehensive Chronicles. But sense, and a healthy fear of the Watcher's Code, inevitably won out against any fantasy. Still…
Aiden slurped his coffee and scanned the barge once more – nothing. He checked the bug – silent. MacLeod had gone to sleep two hours ago. Whoever he had encountered that day was not coming tonight, and MacLeod was not going looking.
Aiden fidgeted in the car, tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. Active Watching was boring. Especially when an Immortal has been giving off signs of sensing another Immortal for a week, but hasn't been contacted, and any attempts to by MacLeod to initiate contact had been deftly avoided by the mystery Immortal. The only good part being that Aiden's partner had been unable to catch a glimpse of the Immortal, so Aiden still had the potential to claim discovery-rights.
If the Immortal ever showed its face, that is. But next week began Aiden's turn for the daytime half of Watching. After sitting in a cold car for a month straight, it would be a fucking delight to watch MacLeod buy groceries. Maybe he'd even get a glimpse of this day-time only stalker.
It probably wasn't a headhunter. MacLeod wasn't shy to initiate a fight in defense of kith and kin, and would definitely not sit quietly for over a week while his opponent waited for the right moment to strike. If it was a stranger, MacLeod might have mistaken it for a headhunter. So most probably, it was an old acquaintance. Maybe someone MacLeod had some bad blood with, and kept on chickening out whenever the moment to approach MacLeod presented itself. And MacLeod, always loath to off an old friend no matter the history, probably retreated, fearing to provoke a fight.
Aiden sighed and slid lower in his seat. The tapping turned into a pensive, monotonous beat. Reconciliation between Immortals constituted some of the most boring Chronicle entries. Intensely paranoid as Immortals were, it usually consisted of a series of brushing encounters that could last for decades (or in some cases, centuries). It always led to a lot of false alarms for Watchers.
But then that raised another question – because it didn't appear as if MacLeod had acknowledged any strangers in the street. So had he seen the Immortal and his watchers just overlooked it? Or was there some sort of personalization for every Buzz? Nobody knew how specific the Buzz was – it's possible that Immortals could identify each other on sense alone, but it was also possible that some sort of logic was used to simply figure out the most likely candidate.
Either way, Aiden wondered if he would ever get close enough to the unknown Immortal. Perhaps it would be generations of Watchers until this dance was completed.
Hopefully not.
Aiden yawned and snuffled slightly, wiping his nose on the crackling nylon cover of his gloves. He'd need to bring tissues tomorrow, to mop up the snot from this damned cold. He gave the barge a cursory glance – no movement, lights out, like every other night. Nothing more expected, especially due to the copious amounts of beer MacLeod had bought that day. Not just mortals needed to let loose sometimes, it seemed. Aiden absentmindedly clicked through a few more pages of MacLeod's Chronicle – the full, in painful depth one.
The mysterious Immortal that was doubtlessly still lurking around somewhere had to be an old acquaintance. It's the only thing that made sense. Hopefully, though, this wasn't the start of the reconciliation. Hopefully it had started years ago and was finally coming to a close. Which meant that the Immortal had to be in MacLeod's chronicles somewhere. If Aiden could dig through all the vague references to people bored daytime Watchers had written into the Chronicle, maybe he could get a more exciting assignment. It was a long, arduous project, but the potential reward was worth spending the last three days of his mandatory hours on night duty doing something productive.
All of a sudden, there was a sharp rap on the passenger side door. Aiden flinched, then quickly slammed the book he was holding shut. Again, someone knocked on the window. Heart racing, Aiden swung his flashlight up to illuminate a pale smiling face outside the car. The man waved apologetically and mouthed, can I ask you a question? Aiden nodded, trying to calm his racing heart. He fumbled for the car keys, turned on the engine, and rolled the window down.
"Hi," the man said in a strong Brooklyn-American accent. "I'm kinda lost, and then I saw you in the car with that flashlight, so I was wondering if you could show me where I am?" He dug into the messenger-style bag as he rambled. "It's just, the roads are so confusing here. Nothing's straight and it's all in French. I'm trying to learn, but, well, it's obvious I'm not good at languages." He finally extracted a rumpled map from the bag. "Oh, here. Do you speak English?"
Aiden sighed, carefully set down the book on his lap, and reached for the map. He'd dealt with lost tourists before, and the most painless way to get rid of him would be to help. "Yes, I speak English. You simply caught me by surprise. I was immersed in my reading."
"Oh, wow. Are you studying at the coll- university too? I'm in the engineering program."
Not tourist, but student. Most likely a new one, if he was lost this far away from the university. "Pardon?" Aiden asked as he searched the map. There was the river, and if you followed that bend…
"The book in your lap. It looks pretty old. Are you in archaeology?"
"Ah, no." Aiden turned the map towards the student, using the flashlight to emphasize. "You're right here. See where the river creases like that?"
The young man leaned into the car, peering closely at the map. He took the flashlight with a, "Do you mind?" and used it to trace a route to wherever he wanted to go. "Yes, I see it now! Thank you so much, Aiden."
Aiden glanced toward MacLeod's darkened barge, trying to clearly signal the conversation was over. "It was no problem," he reassured politely.
The student didn't seem to understand the hint. "My name's Sam. Sam Adams, like the beer." He switched the flashlight to his left hand and extended his right to shake, leaning further into Aiden's car.
"I'm –" It finally dawned that Sam had thanked him by name. How –
"Yes," Sam said. "I already know who you are. No, don't get out of the car. You don't want to cause a scene or MacLeod might wake up." Sam opened the door from the inside and slid onto the passenger's seat while Aiden tried to figure out just who exactly he was. Another Watcher? Unlikely, given he was university age. Definitely not a civilian. Which only left another Immortal, except why didn't – oh right. He was parked further away from MacLeod's barge than procedure dictated so he could read or use the computer in peace without the glare of the flashlight giving him away. Protocol said Watchers were supposed to remain within their Immortal's presence-sensing area so to use their own subject as a warning system. But that was too close for Aiden to stay hidden with the lights from his car. So he had staked out further away than recommended, and as a consequence he was at the mercy of an unknown Immortal.
The unknown Immortal? That thought sent a shiver of excitement down Aiden's spine. But it quickly gave way to fear once more. Sam had to be armed and capable of murder if he was an Immortal. So it just came down to what business he have with Aiden, with any Watcher. Was he one of the Immortals who tortured Watchers for information? Was he looking for revenge on MacLeod by gathering his dirty secrets?
He had a theory, but maybe his theory was wrong. Sam and MacLeod hadn't been trying to reconcile at all, but MacLeod was willing to live and let live as long as Sam didn't provoke the situation. Would that still mean Sam wouldn't torture someone? What Immortals were mentioned in the Chronicles that had come into contact with MacLeod and currently had unknown locations? Aiden had known all of them a few days ago, but now they were difficult to recall. Were there any that matched Sam's description? It was hard to get a good look at the Immortal's face without shadows distorting it.
Sam settled into the passenger seat of the car, then reached into the foot well for Aiden's bag. He took out the computer and booted it up with familiarity. Not an old Immortal, or maybe one who adapted well with technology. "Nothing to fear, Aiden," he said. I just need to check up on a few things. You sit there quietly and I'll let you go free without a mark." Well, that answered one question, then. Violent, but not without provocation. But that described a lot of Immortals. Aiden tried to pin down an impression of Sam's face, as he typed, but it was hard. The combination of the awkward angle and the continually changing light left his appearance fluid, seemingly shifting with the flickering of the screen.
Sam paused in his typing and twisted the laptop towards Aiden. "Password?" On the screen was the blue logo of the Watchers. His login ID had already been entered. How had the Immortal known? Maybe some sort of backtracking system. He had to be good at computers, and he'd claimed to be an engineering student. Was that the truth? There weren't many friends of MacLeod who were engineers. Then there was also the question of physical harm. Would he refusing result in a violent response? Sam had told him to just sit there. Aiden ran hid dry tongue over dryer lips nervously. He could be harmed, but if he willingly gave up Watcher secrets he'd be shot. Which one could he risk? The last a Watcher had revealed information, they'd been brought to the brink of an all-our war. He purposefully tucked his hands underneath his thighs and hoped MacLeod was right about not thinking Sam was a threat.
"No?" The Immortal sounded amused. "Very well, then." He turned the laptop back towards himself and began typing again. The easygoing amusement wasn't something young Immortals learned easily. He had to be at least in his fourth lifetime. If each of them lasted twenty or thirty years, that would mean an age range of eighty to a hundred and twenty years. But he couldn't be MacLeod's student or else they'd have records. Perhaps a student of an ex-friend? It would explain how he knew of Watchers, and also why he and MacLeod might be dancing around each other. If his teacher and MacLeod had fought, the student might carry on the grudge. Maybe MacLeod hadn't sought him out because he'd felt guilty.
Sam's success in bypassing all of Watcher security was announced by the three-tone welcome sound and a small smile from the Immortal. Aiden blanched. He was doomed when he reported in next. The breach in Watcher security, to an unknown Immortal especially, would never be forgiven. He'd be running unimportant papers for the rest of his life. He had to do something.
Aiden surreptitiously tried to drawn his hands out from under his thighs and grasp the Chronicle in his lap. If he could swing hard enough he might be able to stun the Immortal, grab the laptop and run towards MacLeod's barge. If Sam didn't want to let MacLeod know he was there, he wouldn't chase. And if he did, Aiden could dump the laptop in the Seine and run for all he was worth, hopefully leaving Sam behind to deal with MacLeod. If he was very lucky, MacLeod might view a dead-of-night visit as a challenge. If MacLeod let Sam go Aiden might be caught, but if he survived the Tribunal would have to acknowledge he did the best he could in the circumstances.
"I'd stop trying to do that if I were you," Sam commented as he quickly scanned whatever information he'd called up. "I have a rather delightful little steel serrated blade that can cut through a human finger like paper. Laser-cut. Cutting-edge technology with a lifetime guarantee." He was matter-of-fact, politely disinterested except the slight quirk of the lips at his ending comment, and mostly focused on reading. Nevertheless, Aiden froze. It was the lack of bravado, that very matter-of-fact tone that convinced him Sam wasn't bluffing. "There's a good boy," Sam murmured condescendingly. "Now sit back on your hands." Aiden did so, raising the unknown Immortal's potential age a few hundred years. Probably born in an era accustomed to blatant violence. Maybe he'd even broke a thousand. If his teacher theory was right, then that meant it would have to be an older Immortal that MacLeod had killed. Something to note in the report.
Aiden shifted uncomfortably as his hands went numb, but Sam was thankfully quick at finishing up his illegal trawl through the Watcher network. He typed rapidly once more for a few moments, then turned off the laptop and place it back in the bag. "Now, you have two options, Aiden. You can tell the Watchers about our little tête-à-tête –" It didn't escape notice that the supposedly language-challenged Sam pronounced the French phrase perfectly – "in your next report. They'll send an investigator from the Tribunal over, who will at the very least condemn you for reckless Watching practices. You'll be demoted, transferred to some little outpost nobody else wants to man, and inevitably become one of the examples in the Academy of how not to Watch. Worst case scenario, the investigator will find you guilty of assisting an Immortal to gain access to the Watcher's most guarded secrets. That's treason, by the way. They'll take you out behind the Tribunal courthouse and shoot you in the back of the head, and then make you disappear using their not inconsiderable experience."
All of it was true, but how Sam knew the inner workings of the Watchers was something to be considered when Aiden wasn't listening for option two.
"You can do that, which as a lawyer I strongly advise against. Or you can keep our exchange quiet. I haven't left any footprints in the database. Nobody will know I was ever here, except you. You can simply ignore this little meeting, continue Watching MacLeod and transcribing Chronicles. It'll be our little secret. But in exchange for keeping quiet, whenever I need to check up on the Watchers, I'll come to you."
Neither option sounded appealing any more. Aiden worked his dry throat a few times before finally speaking. "Why should I let you blackmail me? I can simply shoot you the next time I see you, find an Immortal to take your head." He felt like he was committing suicide by saying something as blatantly aggressive as that, but what other option did he have?
In response, Sam leaned in towards Aiden. "You'll let me come back," he murmured, "because you want information. I'll let you keep a Chronicle on me in exchange for information. I'm old, Aiden. Older than MacLeod, older than Amanda. Older than Darius the priest. You're MacLeod's Watcher; you must know how old Darius was." Aiden felt hopelessly trapped by that magnetic stare, the hypnotic voice promising such prestige that would come from watching one of the ancient ones. Sam had talked in an American accent before, but slowly it bled into something Aiden couldn't place. British? Welsh? Some accent so old it wasn't even around any more. Darius the priest was over two thousand years old. How old was he? "I haven't had a chronicle for centuries, Aiden. You'll let me come back because you want to know who I am, who I was, what stories I have. You want fame and glory, and by dealing with me you can get it. I let you record everything you can. In exchange, you allow me access to your computer. I'm not using the information for hunting, Aiden. Just checking in on things."
Aiden licked his lips and forced himself to blink, breaking the hypnotic gaze. Could he do it? Secrecy was the Watcher's greatest tool. To break it like this would be highest treason. But nobody knew. And Sam had already demonstrated he could hack into a Watcher's laptop. It would be better if Aiden didn't endanger other Watchers by refusing the Immortal's offer. And if he didn't do anything with the information, what harm could it do? Certainly not as much as letting an ancient Immortal loose in the world, with no reading on his mental state or morality. One Immortal could do a lot of damage.
"Yes," Aiden whispered back before he lost his nerve. "Yes. I'll do it."
Sam smiled. Not the university student grin he'd had before, but something smaller and more contented. "I'll see you around, then." He opened the door and left, trench coat swirling out behind him.
Aiden sat still for a couple seconds, then threw his head back in relief and let out a huge gusty sigh. He extracted numbed hands from under his thighs and shook them out hesitantly, ignoring the way they trembled. That had been… intense. He glanced towards the barge; MacLeod's lights were still out. Then Aiden realized – "shit!" Quickly, he opened the door and got out, looking in all directions for Sam. He was nowhere to be found, vanished in a few short moments. "Samuel Adams," he murmured to himself. "Like the beer." It's a name, for now. Aiden got back in the car, wiped at the running nose he'd forgotten to notice, and took out his laptop. He had a new Chronicle to write.