Chapter 11

London

A relieved Methos finally arrived in London. There had been foul weather in New York... so instead of a fifteen-minute layover... it had been several hours. Now he stood slouched at the Heathrow baggage claim... worrying about just where the hell his luggage was. He was in a bad mood that was getting worse. It wasn't helped when he saw Timothy Wyatt waiting for him.

He had known that by buying his tickets using his Adam Pierson persona and passport... that the Watchers would pick up on him here in London... but this guy was an idiot. Red-haired, thin as a rail, glasses, freckles... Timothy Wyatt had a serious case of hero worship. Or at least Methos worship! He seemed to think he was in some sort of special position and always made certain that the object he was watching knew he was there. He seemed to keep hoping that Methos would deign to actually talk to him... fat chance!

Finally Methos' bag with his sword came through customs. He breathed a sigh of relief when he picked up the bag and felt the comforting presence of his sword once more. Memories of Phillip's comments about lost luggage had resurfaced during the wait. Maybe he should look into buying his own Lear jet!

Methos shouldered his bag and brushed past Wyatt on his way out of the terminal.

"My car is waiting... I... I... I could drive you." Wyatt stammered as Methos came to a stop outside and glanced around looking for a taxi. He groaned. None available! And it was starting to rain! Could this night get any worse!

"Really... sir... its no problem... I'd just drive you..." Wyatt moved to stand in front of Methos with a hangdog expression on his face.

"This guy definitely needs re-assignment," thought the immortal. He growled at Wyatt. "So where's the car?"

"Over here, sir..." Wyatt broke into a grin and led the way to a small Audi in short term parking.

He opened the trunk, but Methos tossed his bag into the back seat and climbed into the front.. Wyatt shut the trunk and came around to the driver's side, then climbed in.

"Thank you, sir..." he started the ignition.

"Wyatt... don't call me sir and don't talk... just drive!" Methos slouched down in the seat praying the young man would get the message.

"Yes sir... err... sure... I... I... mean," suddenly at a loss for words, he shut up and drove.

The silence lasted for all of ten minutes. Finally Methos knew Wyatt was ready to start again when the young man cleared his throat at a red light. "Sir... I mean... what should I call you?"

Methos took a deep breath and sighed, shaking his head, already regretting his haste that had led him to take the Watcher up on the drive. He had known him slightly when he had been inside. Tim Wyatt was honest and earnest and just a royal pain. He'd thought so even then. Evidently the Watcher Council had thought if Methos had known his Watcher from before... he might open up to him. Either that... or this was some new form of Watcher torture.

"Just call me Adam or Pierson like you did before. I haven't changed... I'm still who I was."

The light turned green, Wyatt stepped on the gas, "But now you're so much more than just..."

"Wyatt... just drive... I'm tired... I've had a long flight and I'm not really sociable."

"But you talk to Dawson... everyone knows it..." Wyatt insisted. "Why not me... there's so much you could tell me... tell us."

Methos sighed once more. "Maybe I'll think about it if you just shut up and drive." Tim flashed him a smile and concentrated on the road ahead.

If it hadn't been for the three-car pile up... and the hour-long wait on the side of the road... that ploy might have worked. As it was... Tim had started in on the questions once more... and then again... and then again... until Methos had threatened to walk home... even if it were pouring down raining!

Finally they were on the move again and Wyatt had simply shut up! He had seemed so subdued that once they reached the immortal's house... Methos had considered throwing his Watcher a bone. Then he thought better of it.

He pulled the bag out of the back seat. "Thanks for the lift," he mumbled and slammed the door. Walking away, he did not even venture a glance back to the Watcher. After all, he did not want to encourage him.

At the door, Methos punched in the alarm code and unlocked the front door, carefully and quickly slipping inside. Even before he reached to turn on a light... he felt the presence of an immortal. Quickly he slung the bag to the ground and pulled the broadsword out. He slipped out of his coat, then slowly made his way through the darkened house. Once he made it to what had once been used as a ballroom but was now his workout room... he could vaguely make out a figure in the darkness. He swung his sword around and readied himself for the attack!