Methos lay sprawled on the bed, his arms flung out at his sides. He stared at the ceiling as he had numerous times before when sleep eluded him. He searched, as he had so many times, for cracks, stains or marks of any sort. He found none.
Since making the deal with Ballard, Methos had rested occasionally but never truly slept. Brief rests allowed him to remain alert without leaving him vulnerable. It also allowed him the benefit of not sleeping deeply enough to get nightmares. The stark reminders of his time with Stryker had brought everything to the surface. The nightmares would undoubtedly return as well.
Methos had estimated that it had been several days since he had last been visited and his patience was wearing thin. There was still too much that he did not know about Ballard's plan for him to counter. Now that he had found out a little he wanted, needed, to find out more. He knew what Ballard planned to do but just exactly how he planned to do so and his true motivations were still unknown. Methos loathed not knowing what was going on.
He was sure that the X-men were looking for him, but he was uncertain as to how successful they would be. He was not sure if any of the X-men were skilled enough at hacking to find out anything more than he already had. He had found that they tended to rely on their powers and brute force rather than in-depth research. This had, however, worked remarkably well for them so far.
Had he been a mutant he was positive that Xavier would be able to track him, but he had the feeling that Xavier had trouble getting a lock, for lack of a better word, on his mind. It would not surprise him if his mind was as slippery as he was. It was something he took great pains and pride in being. He had spent millennia perfecting the art of being evasive, of letting nothing slip to anyone. You could never be sure who your enemies were and who was willing to betray you. He had also found over the years that he was immune to the Voice, which, while not telepathy, was also an invasive mental talent. While he had appreciated this ability many times in the past, he was unsure how to stop being what and how he was so that Xavier could find him.
Methos wondered briefly what MacLeod was doing. It had been years since he had been to see MacLeod and of course the other man had no reliable way of tracking him. Young Immortal Adam Pierson may have warranted a Watcher, but only a novice. Methos had little trouble losing even veteran Watchers, the novices were only a minor nuisance.
He knew that MacLeod still owned the dojo, a rather foolish undertaking, but the Highlander did tend to get terribly attached to things. The only material things Methos had any emotional attachment to were his sword and his journals. He found it much easier to move on that way. It was the people he invariably became attached to that he found troublesome.
Joe had been the most recent example. He had been extremely reluctant to leave his Adam Pierson identity behind, especially when it meant that he would have been unable to see the old mortal again. He had even exposed himself to the Watchers as an Immortal, albeit a new one, in order to keep contact with his friend. He wondered what Joe had thought of his lack of contact again, if Joe thought he'd disappeared because he couldn't hack it, or if he thought he'd been taken again. There wasn't much Joe could do, either way.
...
Scott had been out of bed for several days now. The shot itself hadn't done too much damage and they had eventually let him leave the infirmary. Hank had only come back briefly, to operate on Scott and make sure there weren't any complications before he'd had to leave again. Things were heating up in Washington and as much as Hank had wanted to stick around and help them, he was more useful exploiting his sources in Washington. Scott wondered briefly if perhaps the position of doctor was cursed. First Jean, who had assumed the role of doctor, had sacrificed herself, and then her replacement had been kidnapped.
He knocked curtly on the door to Xavier's office, waiting for a reply before entering. Ororo, Bobby and Kurt all looked up when he entered. Their expressions were equally grave and he sighed dispiritedly.
"How are you doing, Scott?" Xavier asked from behind his desk.
"Fine," he replied tersely. He took the last seat and looked expectantly at the others.
"Ororo, what have you been able uncover?" Xavier asked. The other three mutants had been going through Adam's research, trying to see if he had uncovered anything that could lead them to him.
"His research is remarkably thorough," Ororo began. She hesitated uncharacteristically and Scott frowned.
"But?"
"It is thorough but also rather unhelpful."
"Adam researched a number of bases and we're not entirely sure at which one he ended up," Bobby told Scott. "There are several that he seemed to think were more likely than others to be Ballard's base of operations, but we can't narrow them down beyond that."
"So you have nothing?"
Bobby sighed and shook his head.
"I have also been unable to pinpoint his location," Xavier informed them. When Xavier had first encountered John White, he had been surprised for the first time in a very long time. White intrigued him, much as Jean had, but in an entirely different way.
Xavier had been unable to sense Adam's mind unless he actively sought him. In some ways, it was even more frustrating than trying to get around Eric's helmet, because he should have been able to read Adam. That was not even the most unusual aspect though. What truly surprised Xavier was the fact that even when he did manage to reach Adam's mind he found what he could only describe as static. Occasionally, he would be able to read a surface thought, an intent, or a particularly strong emotion, but little beyond that. Usually it was only telepaths that could block other telepaths, but Adam seemed to have amazing natural shields.
"His mind is a curious thing and his thoughts remarkably slippery. I won't be able to find him unless he lets down his shields, but I do not think he will do so."
Scott frowned.
"Surely he would, if only so that we could find him. He must know that he would need to for us to find him," Scott argued. Xavier shook his head.
"You misunderstand me. It's not a matter of him wanting to, I don't think it's possible for him to. I'm not even sure if he's aware of his shields."
"Then there is no way for us to find him?" Kurt asked. He looked at each of the X-men members, hoping that they would disagree.
"Not unless Scott has found something of worth," Xavier said, his voice measured but hopeful. They had not needed another person to help go through the research, which left Scott with nothing much to do and he hated feeling useless. He had taken to monitoring the news from all over the country for any developments that might refer to Ballard, Adam, or what Ballard was planning. Scott shook his head sharply.
"Nothing." His tone betrayed his frustration. He sprang impatiently from the chair all of a sudden and began pacing. "There's nothing but the usual news."
"We will find something soon," Xavier assured him. Scott sighed, knowing it to be a false assurance, but even so, he appreciated it.
"We had better," Scott said, leaving the 'or it might be too late' unspoken. It was unnecessary, as everyone picked up on it none-the-less.
...
The door to Methos' cell slid open and he glanced to the side to see Ballard, accompanied by only one soldier this time. Obviously, now that they had come to a sort of agreement, Ballard felt that he was safer. Methos pulled himself into a sitting position. All of his previous lethargy vanished completely.
"We're just about ready to begin the process," Ballard informed him happily. Ben Adams's eyes narrowed. This was the first time that he had heard of having to undergo any process. Well, it was the first time he had heard much of anything really. His mind ran over several 'processes' that he thought Ballard could be referring to. None of them were particularly pleasant.
"What process?"
"To get you ready for the Game. To make you invincible," Ballard said, excitement etched in his every jittery movement. Methos realised that this was his opportunity to learn the rest of Ballard's plan. He had a feeling he would not like what he discovered, however.
"Just how do you plan to do that?" Methos looked at Ballard warily, a feeling of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. He resisted the urge to reach for his sword, which he knew would not be there. Ballard frowned slightly.
"You want to win the Prize don't you?" Ballard asked. Methos hesitantly nodded his head, keeping to his original story. "Then you should be willing to do anything to get it."
"That's beside the point." Even if he had been willing to do anything to get the Prize, he felt that he had a right to know just what Ballard planned to do to him. It was his body, after all. Ballard's frown deepened significantly.
"William passed on a secret of his before his untimely demise. I have to admit I did not appreciate its full potential until I heard about you," Ballard told him. Methos thought over the few secrets of Stryker's that he had been privy to. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to fit the scenario.
"What secret was this?" Before Ballard could continue his explanation, if indeed he had been about to, another soldier entered the room and crisply saluted the general.
"The adamantium is ready, sir," the soldier told him. Methos stared at Ballard incredulously.
"You've got to be kidding me. You're insane. There's no way that my Quickening will accept adamantium enhancements," he objected. Ballard waved off his protestations with a dismissive gesture. Death rankled at being so easily dismissed, especially by this man. He had ruled continents. He would not be disregarded like a petulant child.
"It will. I'm certain of it," Ballard stated confidently. Ben Adams gave a disdainful snort.
"Well that makes everything alright then," Methos said, his tone mocking. His expression was glacial and his eyes glinted darkly.
"Greatness always requires a sacrifice and this is yours." Ballard looked contemplative for a moment. "It could be worse actually. If anything, an adamantium skeleton is a gift."
Methos snarled and lunged at Ballard, his anger and hatred for the man coming to the fore. He could not believe the man's impudence. The soldier grabbed him before he could reach the general.
"Deal with him," Ballard told the soldier, who held Methos' arms firmly. "I want the process started as quickly as possible."
"Yes sir," the soldier said, though his voice wavered ever so slightly. Death smiled pitilessly. The man reached to handcuff him but Methos spun quickly, slamming the heel of his hand into the man's nose. The soldier collapsed to the ground. It seemed that the quality of men was steadily decreasing. Ballard made a disappointed noise and shook his head. Methos turned to see that Ballard had a gun aimed at the centre of his chest.
Ballard stared directly into Methos' hazel eyes, his own eyes alight with amusement and delight. Amusement at the futility of the Immortal's struggles, but delight at the continued resistance. He knew from the first moment that he had seen Death fight that he was the perfect one for his plans. He admired the man's ferocity, if nothing else. He could not expect anything different from a man born before the rules of civilised combat and, indeed, he did not want any other man.
He knew that this man had been, and was still, Death, but he was also just a man. Ballard was confident that he could control the other at least until he had achieved his aims. His friend, William Stryker, had shown that the man could be controlled even though he had not known what he was controlling. Ballard was also sure that Death wanted what he had to offer, such a man always longed for what he had lost. For the moment, this man was at his mercy, and that meant that he had the advantage.
"I will kill you," Death snarled a promise, his eyes smouldering with hatred. Ballard chuckled.
"No, I rather think you'll thank me," Ballard replied as he calmly shot Methos.
...
MacLeod lifted the grate of the loft elevator and stepped into the apartment. He had been out of town for the last three months on business. Returning to the loft always felt like coming home, something he knew to be dangerous. He would have to sell it in a few years, at the most, but he was reluctant to part with it.
He had half-expected to feel Methos' presence on the way up. To see the irascible Immortal sprawled out on his couch, beer in one hand, book or remote in the other and his feet up on the coffee table. Just because he knew it would annoy MacLeod. But he had sensed no Immortal.
It had disappointed him to realise that it had been several years since he had last heard from Methos. MacLeod had briefly seen Methos at Joe's a few years ago, but the older Immortal had made himself scarce since then. He had been surprised to realise just how much he missed the infernal Old Man.
"'I don't know who or what you are'," he muttered to himself. "Good going with that one MacLeod."
It had been some time after Methos had disappeared before he realised just how that must have sounded to the Old Man. He had meant that Methos was a man so full of complexities that MacLeod would never be able to fathom him. In fact, the longer he knew the man, the less he understood him and his motivations. He had not meant to be disrespectful or insulting. As usual, it had not come out as he had intended. Methos had risked his neck for his friends, and MacLeod had insulted him. Again.
MacLeod sighed as he walked further into the loft. He threw his keys onto the kitchen counter and absently went to check his messages. He eased out of his coat as the first message began to play and with a weary sigh he hung it on a rack by the door. The absence of the weight of his blade left him feeling vulnerable, as always. The first message was from the bank regarding one of his accounts. He paid only cursory attention until the machine switched to the second message and he heard a familiar voice. It lacked the British accent, but it was unmistakeable none-the-less. It took him a moment to realise that the British accent had to be a relatively recent acquisition, what with Methos being born long before modern day Britain even existed.
"MacLeod. I know it's been a while, though I'm sure you've had your share of damsels to fill your time." There was a brief pause as though Methos was measuring what to say. "Just… be on the lookout, and not only for Immortals."
The machine switched to the next message and MacLeod frowned worriedly. Methos had sounded concerned and he was clearly in some sort of danger. The last time Methos had sounded that troubled the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had ridden again. And Methos had not even bothered to call to warn him about that one. Not that he had had much opportunity. MacLeod was jolted from his thoughts at the sound of another familiar voice.
"Hey, Mac, I think something's happened to Adam. He contacted me a few weeks ago and it sounded like something bad had happened, but he wouldn't tell me what, now he's dropped out of contact again," Joe told him. MacLeod frowned again.
MacLeod wondered what Methos had gotten himself into this time. If the Old Man was worried about something then it was definitely something worth worrying about. He wondered in what way the world was going to end this time.
MacLeod's mind turned to events earlier in the year when quite suddenly everyone had been afflicted with the same debilitating pain. He had been in Paris at the time and authorities had passed it off as mass carbon monoxide poisoning. MacLeod had heard whispers of mutants, however, and that did concern him. He found the idea of mutants that powerful distressing and he could understand why many governments wanted mutant registration. He did not necessarily agree, he had lived through World War 2 after all, but he could understand where they were coming from. He knew that the mutants that posed a threat to humanity needed to be policed, but there were even more that probably just wanted to live a normal life, like many Immortals. It did not bear consideration if Methos was involved with the mutant that had almost killed the entire population.
MacLeod pulled the dust cover off the couch and sat down. He pulled out his cell phone and rang Amy Thomas's number. She'd taken over most of Joe's Watcher work the last few years when it became increasingly difficult for Joe to keep up with it. It was also a chance for her to get to know her father better.
MacLeod had, once more, broken Watcher rules and gotten to know her. It seemed that they had ceased to care about, or at least given up trying to change, his involvement with the Watchers. After all, he had been friends with his previous Watcher and with a Watcher turned Immortal, as they believed Methos to be.
It had been quite a shock to many of the Watchers to find that Adam Pierson, a quiet and largely overlooked researcher, had turned out to be Immortal. It had shocked them even more when he had survived his first few years. Most incompetent Immortals were quickly weeded out. Of course, the Watchers put his survival down to the magnanimous protection of Duncan MacLeod. They seemed to forget that Richie had been targeted simply for being his student.
The phone rang several times before it was picked up.
"Hello. How can I help you?" Amy said, without identifying herself. It was always better to wait for one's caller to identify themselves first.
"Amy, it's Duncan. How have you been?"
"You want something, don't you?" she asked, her tone exasperated. It surprised MacLeod sometimes just how much like her father she could be. He smiled.
"What makes you think I want something?" Not for the first time MacLeod wished he was as practiced at playing innocent as Methos.
"Out with it, MacLeod."
"I just want some information, nothing big."
"I can't help you Hunt another Immortal, you know that."
"I'm looking for Adam, I think he's in trouble."
Amy knew that Methos was older than the fifty his Adam Pierson Watcher's Chronicle claimed, even if she did not know precisely who he was. She had encountered him when his past, in the form of an Immortal named Walker, had caught up with him. Walker had brought to light Methos' previous identity of Benjamin Adams, a doctor in the early 19th century. She had yet to tell the Watchers, though she kept threatening to. She refrained from revealing the information half because of her father, who had kept the Immortal's secret, and would likely be put before a Tribunal again if they found out. The fact that Methos had saved her life had not hurt either.
"I'll see what I can find," Amy said, her tone resigned. MacLeod heard the clicking of keys for several moments. "It seems that Adam disappeared for about a year but showed up several months ago in New York. He disappeared again a few weeks ago from outside a museum. He was in the company of a group that the Watchers thought be mutants."
"Dammit," MacLeod muttered. "I just knew it."
"He was shot and killed before being abducted by what looked like a trained military team," Amy told him. MacLeod cursed softly. It was typical of Methos to get involved in something like this. For someone who preached so often about survival, he seemed to have an astonishing penchant for finding his way into the middle of events that were undoubtedly dangerous, if not life-threatening.
"I'm going to New York," Duncan informed her. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"Just that the Watchers thought he might have been staying at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters." She gave him the address then said her goodbyes after wishing him luck. MacLeod then dialled the number for the airport, deciding that it was a good thing he was still packed, and booked the first flight to New York.
