Sorry, it took me so long to update. I wanted to edit this part of the story but I can't seem to find the time. So, I'm not completely happy with how it turned out...and because I'm evil, this part ends with a cliffhanger. ;)

Thanks for your comments as well as the astonishingly positive and helpful feedback.

Joe tensed as Mac stopped in mid-sentence, put down his glas and looked up wide-eyed. Joe turned to the door because this behavior could only mean that another immortal was coming in.

And who could that possibly be, he asked himself wryly.

They both watched the dark tall figure enter the bar. Of course it was Methos, but, oh god...

Joe sucked in his breath. This didn't look too good. One could get the impression that the man who had just entered the bar only bore a slight resemblance to Adam Pierson, but could in no possible way be the soft, young and often clumsy scholar.

The eyes they were looking into were those of a killer, two green seas with centers of feral darkness and Methos himself had the feel, not of a man, but of a force of nature to him.

To make things worse, he seemed to be pissed.

Dawson could not help but feel reminded of what he had learned in his biology lessons when he was a kid. Some insects used mimicry to fool their prey. Taking on the guise of a harmless animal or an inanimate object, or in Methos' case, the appearance of a young fledgling watcher, just to lash out at the unsuspecting victim.

Now he could imagine how people in former times had seen Methos when he still had been one of the horsemen and mothers had warned their children of a pale rider called death, meaning no one else but the man now standing in front of them. He felt his muscles tense but tried to act normal.

"Adam," Joe cried out, his voice just a little hoarse, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that had ensued after Methos' entrance. "Sit down, will you? I'll go and get you some beer." He had to try and ease the built up tension or someone would surely be hurt tonight. Joe quickly busied himself to fetch the promised beer, when Methos' voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"That won't be necessary, Joe." Dawson felt the slight tremor in his limbs more than he saw it. This could not be happening. Not here. Not in his bar...Joe's bar had always been the closest thing to hallowed ground you could find and Duncan and Methos had been its guradians. This was his "neutral zone", goddammit. This had to stop.

"What? You do not want beer? What's next? You saying that you stopped breathing voluntarily?" Did his voice sound a little bit squeaky?

Methos' lips didn't even so much as twitch because of the lame joke. "It won't take long, Joe," he said, his eyes fixed on the Highlander. All this time he had been staring at Duncan who had soon started to fidget with his coaster, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"So, Highlander," he began deceptively calm, "I believe you've got something to say. Go ahead. Speak your mind." No blinking. No shifting his weight. He just stood there like solidified darkness waiting for an answer. MacLeod seemed to be petrified for about ten seconds before his rage got the better of him.

"Of course I've got something to say and you know exactly what it is! You had no right to interfere, you know that!" he ground out, "It's against the rules and they exist for a reason!"

Methos' cold and cynical laughter shocked both of them.

"The rules? Are you serious?" His eyes seemed to be sparkling with fury and amusement at the same time.

"Fuck the rules. I made them," he hissed and with this he drew his sword.