Chapter Nine: Miracle – Part Three

Life rushed back slowly as Nick woke with a gasp; it was like breaking the surface of the bitterly cold North Atlantic waters and gulping down that first lungful of air, an electric tingle that surged from his spine outward as life consumed what had been a dead body only an instant before. He hated it, yet at the same time, was exhilarated by the fact he was in fact still among the living.

Then his eyes refocused allowing him to take in his surroundings, and he cursed softly as the memories come flooding back. Pain, death, and more of the same. Not for the first time he wished he was mortal and could simply die and stay dead.

Thanks to Amanda that was never going to happen.

Not until somebody took his head.

A fact he was keeping from his captures. Despite everything he loved his life and wouldn't give it up. It was something he was just beginning to realize. Now all he had to do was live long enough to find Amanda and apologize to her.

Not that he still wasn't upset with her for killing him. He still felt she should have trusted him with the truth. Maybe not in the beginning, but once he proved that he could handle the fact that there were Immortals out there…

Who are you kidding Wolfe? His inner voice was filled with all different shades of sarcasm. You still can't handle what you are.

No matter how much he wanted to deny it; his inner voice was right. He couldn't handle what he was. He might have accepted it, but acceptance wasn't quite the same. He fought against it as much as he embraced it.

Still he knew he had to find Amanda. She didn't deserve how he had left things between them. He had lashed out simply because he could no longer judge her actions safe in his ivory tower; her and all the other Immortals out there.

The year he had been with her he had witnessed evil; worse than anything he ever encountered as a cop. Saw it up close and personal, like never before. In a flash he was no different then she was, no different than any of them. Without ever having taken a head he felt dirty inside.

Guilt by association.

Looking up he saw Creed making his way towards him. There was no hiding the fact he was alive from Victor Creed. Beyond him, sitting upon a divan that made the Royal Throne in Buckingham Palace look like a pauper's stool, was Glory.

She looked beyond bored.

Never a good thing in Nick's opinion. She had a way of making Creed seem like a placid brook compared to raging, white water rapids. He couldn't remember how many times in the past few hours he has been killed, but it had to be more then half a dozen.

"No more," Nick croaked. Every time he came back from the dead it was in perfect health, yet his throat was dry as dust as he spoke.

Creed grimaced at the comment, "but think of all the fun Nicky." If it was meant to be enticing it failed miserably.

At the same time Nick said, "Anything you want to know…" It had the sound of teeth being pulled.

"Blah, blah, blah," Glory whined tiredly. "You don't know anything," she informed him. She stood up the expression on her face was exasperation. "Oh, sure. You could rattle on and on about Immortals and their game like you have been…" She moved crossing the room in a blur that Nick wasn't able to follow. "…but it's so tired." She finished standing right in front of him. "On and on, can't die, can't die… fight to the death. Now see, there's a contradiction I'm just… how can you have a fight to the death if you can't die?"

Nick just looked at her, his expression hardened. There was no way he was going to tell her that he could be killed.

"I guess, like most humans, you Immortals only serve one purpose." She moved forward like a ravenous wolf. Her fingers sunk into his skull. It wasn't the usual sense of wholeness that washed over her, this was something completely different. It was as if a small fragment of the universe had opened up right before her eyes; truths once known were no longer hidden by those who banished her in this realm. For a brief moment she had glimpsed her home. It was all a flash, there and gone so quickly she thought it had been madness.

The world, the universe itself exploded through Nick's mind. Everything opened before him. There was nothing that he didn't see, that he didn't know; from one side of infinity to the other and everything in-between. It was all a contradiction; large and small, fast and slow, good and evil, light and dark, full and empty, wisdom and idiocy, ignorance and knowledge. He was one with everything; from the smallest microbe, to creatures that would dwarf a solar system and dwelt in the vast empty darkness between galaxies, to beings that were the embodiment of all; aspects of the universe itself. One glanced in his direction; Nick would have said it looked surprised at noticing him.

Suddenly everything rushed back in on itself and Nick found himself back inside his own head. He remembered everything only he didn't. It was at the forefront of his mind, but was gone. It was like trying to hold onto a wet bar of soap by gripping it as hard as possible. The more he tried to hold on to what had been there the quicker it fled.

Glory stepped back a look of pure astonishment glazing his face. "It's been here the entire time," she murmured.

"What?" Creed growled looking cross-way at Nick. "You trying to tell me he's the key you've been worrying your pretty little head about?"

"Don't be an idiot," she hissed. "The Key's pure, that meat pie is anything but… Only he's got the tiniest little sliver of it in him?" She added with a speculative frown. "What if all these Immortals have these little pieces of my key? It would be just like those damnable Monks… spread the Key out amongst all these Immortals. It'll take me forever to find them all."

"If you don't mind a suggestion," Carol said.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

The air itself was heavy. Leaden with the pent up, unreleased frustration that seemed to sap everyone's strength without favor or discrimination; making most listless or irritable or sullen or short tempered or some combination of sour temperaments. Inside the slow moving RV, that lacked even the most rudimentary air conditioning, they had still been able to roll down window and capture the semblance of breeze if nothing else.

Inside an RV filled with people that barely got along with each other under prime conditions was like being stuck in a war zone. With the life and death pressure they have been living under for the past couple of days; Buffy thought they were fortunate nobody was dead.

Or deader?

The motor lodge they had pulled up in front of; a small, miserable looking, single story structure, whose hay day had come and gone shortly after construction was completed nearly a quarter century ago was located far off the beaten path. It was a good hour long back to what passed for the main highway in these parts; a partially paved, two lane, black top. The only reason they had even stumbled upon the place was because of several wrong turns that led to several more. Despite its isolation, not to mention dilapidation, a half dozen cars sat in its parking lot; a mixture of cracked pavement, loose gravel, and sun baked dirt.

Stout beams, of weathered wood, cracked and crumbling with age and neglect supported a drooped awning of miss matched shingles. The main building, the only building, was in desperate need of a good paint job; a paint job that would surly cause it to collapse in upon itself.

As Spike had pointed out when he caught his first glimpse of the low rent motel, the only thing that could save it was putting it to the torch and building fresh. Like a phoenix it could rise from its own ashes.

"It doesn't look so bad," Dawn said as she took a few steps away from the RV - as far as she could go without causing undo stress in Buffy and Spike. Her innocent blue eyes trying to see the good in everything; it was a serious challenge with this building.

From the front of the RV Spike snorted. Dawn glanced toward the Vampire as he leaned, with casual indifference, against the front fender; between the bumper and the wheel. His cigarette's orange amber glowed briefly as he inhaled. Feeling, rather then seeing, Dawn's eyes on him he muttered, "suppose you right 'bit. It ain't that bad." He looked the motel over once again. "Sides, I've lived in worse cesspits."

"We've all seen your crypt Spike." Xander's voice drifted out of the front passenger window. "You don't have to brag about it."

A wane smile creased Spike's lips. He flicked the spent but across the parking lot. "That was fairly clever Harris. You think it up yourself… or does demon girl spoon feed you your lines?"

"Spike. Xander." The sharp edge of warning in the tiny blonde's voice from where she sat on the RV's bottom step was clear to the vampire's sensitive ears. "I thought we all agreed to leave the past in the past and try to be civil to each other?"

With an impudent glower Spike smirked at Buffy. "That was civil." With a shrug he added, "Whelp's still breathing ain't he?"

"If he's not…"

Buffy stood as soon as she saw Giles exit the office. The screen door swung shut behind him with a sharp screech, like nails being dragged across a chalk board. Her abrupt, almost violent rise brought Xander to a stop before he could finish his comment. "Work it out yourselves." After taking a couple of steps she stopped and turned back to face the RV. "Just be sure not to kill each other."

She doesn't know why she thought if they all agreed to get along that they would, especially Xander and Spike. The two of them were like a pair of Pit Bulls with a big meaty bone that neither was willing to share.

The fact that she happened to be that bone did nothing to endear either one of them to her. She had hoped Xander's relationship with Anya would, in someway, curb his over protective impulses towards her. That however didn't appear to be the case. One day, very soon, she was going to have to remind him that he was a friend. That's all he has ever been, all he was ever going to be to her was a friend.

Nothing more.

Spike was more problematic. She knew the vampire had fallen in love with her, or claimed to fallen in love with her. She couldn't put aside her doubts, that it might be nothing more then an elaborate ruse on the vampire's part. If it was, it was a plan far subtler than anything she has seen from Spike before.

Plus there was Glory.

If he wanted the chip out, to get back at her, to hurt her, than he had the opportunity to do that when Glory had him. She was sure Spike could have made a deal with the deranged Hell God that would have given him everything he wanted.

Only he hadn't taken it. He had been beaten, tortured, nearly killed and still kept her secret. That she didn't know the why of it kept nagging at her. He was more than capable of taking that kind of punishment for reasons all his own.

She had to wonder if maybe, what he told her all those years ago wasn't the truth. That he liked the world just the world just the way it was. At the time she had thought the only reason he was helping her was his hatred of Angelus. That or he wanted Drusilla back and saw Buffy as a means to an end.

She hoped beyond hope that he had realized what he felt for her wasn't love. Not that he couldn't love. After all he had loved Drusilla for more than a hundred years. Loved her more then he wanted to kill her, and everybody knew how much Spike loved to fight slayers, loved to kill them. But when it came to the choice between keeping Drusilla alive and fighting her, he had chosen Drusilla and let her escape.

Love won out.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Giles studied Buffy as she crossed the parking lot. The tiny blonde was wearing a stony expression making her mood rather easy to read; angry, annoyed, irritated, any one or all of the above would fit. What she was thinking was a mystery to him, as was often the case when she was in one of her darker moods. This was why he always found it easier to work with her when she was in a good mood.

This time it wasn't very difficult to learn what was bothering her. Not when she came right out and said, "What made me think…" A quick glance back at the RV finished her statement.

"Because you insist in believing the best about everyone."

Buffy looked back at Giles with a slight quirk to her right eyebrow. "What about you? Don't you believe that given a choice everyone would want to do the right thing?"

"I'm British Buffy. Pessimism is our national heritage." He deadpanned with a completely straight face. Buffy stared at him with a baffled expression. She couldn't tell if he was serious or joking. His face hadn't change yet; he simply continued to gaze at her with that stoic British reserve. Finally he continued by saying, "I managed to procure us a pair of rooms with an adjoining door. One just for Spike, while the rest of us will have to make do with the other. Perhaps if we barricade ourselves in we might enjoy a few hours peace and quite."

This time Buffy smiled clearly sensing the humor. "Only if you chain and gag him."

Giles shuddered, a barely perceptible movement. "That seems a tad forward considering our relationship."

This time Buffy frowned. She knew Giles was joking but she wasn't getting the British humor. She thought it was a little too subtle for her. The important thing though was that Giles was joking. In her mind that meant things couldn't be as bad as she believed they were. Suddenly her face scrunched up in disgust as she said, "ahh Giles… so not an image I need to see."

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Faith watched Logan with a glint of wonder in her eyes. The small man knelt on the rented sedan's deep ocean blue hood; his right hand was secured under the back of the hood on the passenger side, right in front of her. He positioned himself there before they started off on the trail after Buffy and her marry little band of idiots - that was how Faith saw them - just shy of seven hours ago, and hadn't moved; to any noticeable degree, yet. Sixty, maybe seventy miles an hour - Faith wasn't sure having not been allowed behind the wheel - and the man hardly budged. He would point every so often to indicate a direction, but other than that he was still as any statue she had ever seen.

"Ever see anything like that before?" She asked the man sitting next to her. Duncan Macleod, his dark hair pulled back into a ponytail that hung between his shoulder blades. It was obvious to her that he thought there was trouble in the very near future; his face was a stony mask of determination, and his deep brown eyes stern with intensity. She was surprised to find herself in a car with him so soon after their first stint together, and rather glad he had taken a shower after his excursion into Sunnydale's subterranean world. Just as glad Logan was on the outside of the car.

It really was the last place she expected to be.

Who would have thought the great Buffy Summers would run; not that she never has before? "Because, you know… got a few years on me and all that." She was still having a hard time accepting the fact that the man was immortal. It was one of those little details her brain just couldn't wrap itself around. "Just figure you might have seen something like it before," she added when he didn't answer her right away.

Duncan gave his head a small shake in mild irritation. "The world's a big place… More to it then one person can ever hope to see, even if they happen to live a few hundred years?" Maybe Methos has seen people like Logan before. There seemed to be some sort of shared history between them, but neither was talking. This, as far as Duncan was concerned, was never a good sign. Both men seemed to play things as close to the vest as possible.

Everything had been so hectic after their encounter with Creed that Duncan had never gotten the chance to ask Methos what had brought him to Sunnydale in the first place. They had just gotten back from the sewers and he managed to grab a thirty second shower - enough time to soap up, rinse off, and not much else - before Amanda popped in to tell him Logan was getting restless and wanted to be on the road.

Not knowing was gnawing on him a little. Since first encountering Methos half a decade ago one of the few things he had learnt about the oldest Immortal was that he did things for his own reason; reasons most would never know or understand - to meet some end only he could see. He considered Methos a friend, but couldn't forget that his blade had taken the heads of quite a few friends over the years when left with no other choice. He always searched - desperately so at times - for reasons not to be drawn into such conflicts; usually until he was backed into a corner and left with no other recourse, and regretted each and every such occurrence.

It happened more and more often of late; as good, honest, morally grounded Immortals seemed to be crushed under the weight of time and their own existence on its fringe; the years slipping between their fingers like grains of sand. So caught up in their belief that they were somehow beyond the laws of men, nature, or God that they failed to see the truth of it; that they were all created equal with every other person on the planet with no special privilege or exceptions.

What he detested most however; was that he seemed to have been chosen Judge, Jury, and Executioner. He often wondered what gave him the right to decide if somebody deserved to live or die; why old friends seemingly threw themselves at him, forced him to make that decision. Not that it was a very hard decision to make, human nature being what it is - self-preservation won out in the end more often then not.

Logan's hand came up and Duncan brought the car to an immediate stop. Despite its suddenness Faith noted that feral mutant didn't budge in the slightest from his hunkered down position on the hood; reminding her that man was stronger then she would have thought just looking at him. Not as strong as Creed and definitely not as strong as her or Buffy, but still stronger then the average man.

With the car almost at a dead stop Logan hopped off the hood. By the time her and Duncan got out of the vehicle he was already five yards past the rear bumper, squatting down at the shoulder of the road, and studying something in the soft earth; something she couldn't make out. Faith thought it was a track, but didn't have an eye for it.

Las Vegas was still a good eight hour drive ahead of them, maybe more considering that they had been sticking exclusively to back roads and avoiding anything that even remotely resembled an actual highway. The ground here was still solid earth and not the ever changing sands that surround Sin City, or the hard packed rocky terrain of the semi-mountainous country they had just emerged from.

Duncan knelt down next to him, his right index finger tracing a horseshoe shape in the brown dirt. "Horse," he proclaimed softly; as if there were some weighty mystery contained in his word. Logan nodded at his single word, and the Immortal's head swiveled back and forth as he searched the roadside in the soft, subtle darkness of predawn; the red taillights bathing the area in its unnatural light.

He seemed to have spotted something and moved off the shoulder a little way. He picked up what Faith took to be a rock, only revised her opinion when he crumpled it his hands and sniffed it. A distinctive fragrance reached her nose and she nearly gagged. "That's just fucked up," she grumbled lowly.

"They passed this way about six hours ago," Duncan said letting the droppings fall back to the ground.

"Who really cares when some horse shit in the woods?" Faith questioned still feeling the bile rise in her throat.

Again Logan nodded his assent. "They're getting closer, only three hours behind them now… Cutting cross country like they've been." He pointed out the direction they were going; their tracks heading out at almost a thirty degree angle to the road.

"Other then old guys wanting to prove how disgusting they can be," she answered herself even though nobody else seemed to listening to her.

"You've spotted them before?" Duncan asked a little concerned he had been left out of something important. He hated it when vital information was kept from him.

Logan gazed out over the landscape towards the east. He wanted to go after the horsemen, but knew he would never be able to reach them before they reached Buffy and Dawn if he did that. His only choice was keeping on the way he had been; hoping that Buffy would be able to stay ahead of them long enough him to catch up. "Twice," he finally answered without taking his eyes off the wilderness. "Once could be nothing," he said seeming to sense Duncan's ire, "twice could just be coincident…" he shrugged showing he didn't really believe it.

Duncan sighed softly as he ran his right hand over his scalp; his hand coming to rest on the back of his head. He understood the reasoning, he just disliked being in the dark. "I don't suppose Buffy gave you detailed information about anybody else after her head?"

"Buffy'd try to live without oxygen before admitting she'd need help," Faith scoffed. As she said that she couldn't help but think the same thing about herself. Must be a slayer thing. "What's the big with a couple of horses chasing after her?"

Logan grunted as he headed back to the car.

Duncan however motioned her over. He pointed down to the ground and asked, "See those?"

Her night vision easily picked out the impressions in the ground as she mumbled, "what about 'em?"

"Pay attention and you just might learn something," Logan said as he lit a cigar. He didn't like the delay, but knew it wouldn't matter much.

"Horse, even carrying a man wouldn't leave that deep of an impression on this ground… Not unless they were a very large man or carrying a few hundred pounds of gear."

Faith shrugged her shoulders not getting the point of what he was trying to say. "So what, you saying we should be on the lookout for Santa with a big bag of his toys?"

Duncan shook his head; a wane smile had creased his lips. His patience seemed inexhaustible to the dark slayer. "If I had to venture a guess, I'd say chain-mail barding. The men… probably are wearing the same."

"Men?"

"Thirty at least," Duncan informed her. "The grounds been churned up pretty good. Could easily be twice that number."

Faith felt her blood freeze. Demons she could face; the same for vampires and hell gods. She thought she could anyway. But men; warm body, living, breathing men. The last man she had contact with - outside of small six by ten room with bars on three sides - was Wesley. The image of him; strapped to a chair, blood oozing from the dozens of shallow cuts she had inflicting on him for no reason other than she could while she whittled away the time – and him – as she waited for Angel, was still stark in her mind. So were Allan Finch, Professor Worth, and several other people. She didn't know if she could face a man in combat…

But she wasn't about to let anyone else know that.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

The android was useless; just a heap of scrape metal, loose wires, plastic, and silicon that felt too much like human skin for Methos' taste. He had tried to get the contraption working again, but had failed miserably. In seven hours of intense work – the last five here at the Summers' house and the first two at the Gallery - he hasn't gotten the slightest squawk out of the machine. It was going to take somebody with a far greater knowledge of electronic engineering to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

A soft peal of Amanda's laughter caused Methos to glance in her direction. He didn't need to look in order to know what was going on, but he did just the same. Amanda was sitting on the sofa, her body having sunk into the plush cushions. A soft, almost flirtatious smile graced her lips. Once again, she looked immaculate in her soft cream colored assemble; her encounter with Sabertooth at the gallery seemed to have left no lasting mark on her.

None on the surface at any rate.

Methos though knew it wasn't that easy to shrug off an encounter with something more unkillable then you are; especially when you've spent so long being on top of the food chain. His original encounter with Aust, had taken years for him to fully accept. It just wasn't something Immortals dealt with very well.

Chronos had never really gotten over it, insisted it never happened; though he was reluctant to go back into Afghanistan after that, even a century later. And Silas, well Silas was crazy as a loon to begin with. Caspian seemed to be the only one to fully accept the battle for the axe kicking it was, than shrugged and moved on.

Kurt was hunkered down on the sofa's far arm; his odd two toed feet gripping the cushioned arm as adroitly as fingers would. The thick dark brown duster, a little worse for wear, hung to the carpeted floor. His arms were wrapped around his knees as he leaned forward intently. What he was so intent on was what took Methos by surprise.

Joe was busy regaling Kurt with some quaint little anecdotes about Amanda, Duncan, and Adam Pierson. Methos has never seen Joe take to somebody so quickly before, it was normally more then a month before the watcher would cracked a smile around somebody he has just meant, never mind actually open up a little and expose his soft, vulnerable side.

Occasionally Kurt would sneak a look at Methos, curiosity lighting his face. Methos automatically dismissed the thought that Kurt would recognize him. The last time the immortal had seen Kurt was when he foisted him off on a group of Gypsies in central Europe when he was a new born infant. There was no way Kurt could remember him.

The doorbell rang, which at three a.m. in Sunnydale was never a good sign. With everything Methos knew; vampires didn't usually go door to door, but everything being equal, and this being Sunnydale, he wasn't willing to discount anything.

The last time he had been in the area, four hundred and fifty years ago, Sunnydale hadn't even been a dull glimmer in anyone's eye. The Native Americans told him tales of the haunted woods, and being the curious creature that he was, just had to investigate. The land was beautiful, pristine, just as all of North America had been at the time; but there seemed to be something extra in this little piece of the world.

During the daytime.

At night it was a different story. The nightmares he had in this town had been the worst he has ever experienced in his life. It was as if everyone he had ever killed, wronged in the slightest way, were haunting him. He was losing so much sleep that at one point; he had begun to see people that he killed centuries, millennium earlier while he was awake. He would actually hold conversations with them; sometimes for hours on end. It didn't end until he was halfway across the continent.

It was an experience he wasn't likely to forget.

Ever since then he has kept tabs on the area, never coming back personally, but sending agents to scout out the land. When the Spanish started settling the region, it became known as "La Boca de Infierno" "The Mouth of Hell" and was avoided with a religious fervor. It wasn't until a hundred years ago that he heard of a town, Sunnydale, being founded here. The person responsible was a man by the name Richard Wilkins. The only reason Methos remembered that was because the same man was still Mayor a hundred years later; he tried being clever going with Mayor Richard Wilkins the second and the third, but it was really laughable to someone who has been alive for five thousand years. He had disappeared, supposedly killed, when the local high school exploded during graduation just shy of two years ago.

He stood up, motioning everyone to stay quiet. Picking up Joe's gun, Methos used his body to shield the weapon from sight as he moved to the door. Reaching out with his other senses, the vague anxiety he felt lessened only slightly. Methos wondered if Rossi had finally been ordered to pick him up, or if Lt. Col. was just going to shoot him and be done with it. That scenario was far down the realm of possibilities though; Rossi was too much, by the book type of a soldier.

One thing Methos found odd was the lack of Wolfe's presence. If this was a S.H.I.E.L.D. operation Methos figured all the agents in the area would be outside the door, but as far as he can tell Rossi is the only member of the unit outside. Of course the rest of the unit was made up of humans, and they were rather hard to differentiate from one another. With this being the town's suburb there were a lot of humans around so it made picking out individuals all but impossible; not that he knew any members personally.

Methos pulled the door open, a too pleasant smile on his face as he looked out. "Special Agent Rossi… what an unexpected surprise?" He said insincerely. "I'd invite you in, but I think I'd prefer to see a search warrant first."

"Shove it," Rossi snapped as he reached out and shoved the door open. He started forward and stopped feeling the muzzle of a gun planted in his ribs. At this distance small arms fire wouldn't penetrate the body armor he wore, still there was no need to give away a potential advantage.

"Until I know exactly what it is you want here Rossi. You don't put one foot across that threshold." Kurt was inside and it hadn't been that long since Stryker's Mutant Extinction Agenda. S.H.I.E.L.D. might not have been directly involved with Stryker, but they were a branch of the government that had conveniently looked the other way. If he wasn't mistaken - and he normally wasn't - Kurt was still wanted for an attempted presidential assassination. Not something a government goon squad was going to overlook.

A red dot appeared on Methos' chest. "I really think we should talk inside," he suggested levelly looking at the immortal's chest.

Methos followed Rossi's gaze; easily spotting the little red dot. With vague disinterest Methos brushed his shirt off; only it didn't dislodge the speck of red light. "In that case, come on in," he said stepping aside. He thumbed the gun's safety and ejected the clip; then he dropped the gun into the bamboo umbrella holder.

Entering the house Rossi surveyed the interior. Aside from a few pieces of tribal art that caught his eye nothing stood out. The furnishings were rather mundane, the sort you would find at one of those discount hardware superstores; such as Lowes and Home Depot. It all had that pre-fabrication feel to it.

"What do you want?" Methos asked once the door was closed.

"Aside from a decent home cooked meal every now and then?" Rossi said looking into the living room. Amanda and Joe were still sitting in the same seats as when Methos went to answer the door. Kurt and the android of Buffy were both gone. "Is putting scum like you in a cell… Or in the ground."

Amanda stood up, her body relaxed and tense at the same time, as she inched towards archway between the pallor from the foyer. Rossi instantly categorized her as a threat. Of course that was where he categorized most people; even someone like Joe Dawson.

It was all a matter of degrees. The most dangerous person wasn't even in the room, but Rossi was sure Nightcrawler was nearby. The man wasn't known for abandoning his friends.

"So much hostility…" Methos observed noting the look of disappointment the flashed in Rossi's eyes. "You should really think about reducing your stress level. Take the kids to Disney Land Europe, or something?"

"Where's Nightcrawler?"

A confused furrow creased Methos' brow. "Wish I could help you Rossi, but I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Rossi moved quickly, like a well oiled machine, grabbed Methos by the arm and easily forced the immortal around to slam him into the wall. He twisted his arm savagely while pressing his face into the drywall. "I don't have time to play games with you Pierson. One of my men is missing… If he isn't dead already I mean to get him back."

"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Methos gritted out shallowly. He could get out of the hold easily enough. Only there was no point. He wanted Rossi to believe he had the advantage; so he stayed his hand.

Amanda closed the distance between them, but didn't intercede. She knew Methos could handle the situation, but she was curious to find out why he would allow it in the first place. Methos always micromanaged; the oldest man alive didn't seem happy unless he controlled - as much as possible - every situation he was in.

"I'll do what I can to help you find your friend," Kurt's words drifted down from the ceiling.

Rossi looked up, his face too blank. The blue skin mutant had almost completely vanished in the shadows and the Lt. Col. had completely missed him when his gaze swept the room less than a minute ago. The only parts visible now were his yellow eyes. With them as guide post, Rossi was easily able to glimpse the rest of his body.

With ease Kurt swung himself around and dropped lightly to the floor below. "I don't know how much help I'll be… Logan's the tracker not me."

Releasing Pierson with a slight shove, Rossi took a small step away from him. Keeping one eye on him, another on Wagner, and a third on Amanda and Joe he said, "We've already got a fix on his location. We just need someone who can get in and got out before…"

Kurt's slight headshake brought Rossi to a stop. "I'm sorry, but I need to see where I'm going in order to teleport there. 'Porting in blind… I could end up inside a wall, the floor, underneath a lamp shade."

"You don't have to worry about that, we can get you close enough… Provide surveillance photos. Whatever it takes to get you in," Rossi guaranteed.

A wane smile - at least Rossi thought it was wane – spread slowly across his lips. "In that case… how can I refuse?"

"If it's not a breach of national security, just which member of your flock did you misplace?" Methos inquired a little too friendly.

A quick, not too friendly, look at Pierson and Rossi said a single word. "Wolfe."

Amanda felt her blood freeze. Her entire body seemed to be floating in some frozen tabula waiting for the moment to break. A wave crashing into the shore. She had never forgiven herself for what she had done, but put in that same situation, with those same choices to be made, and she knew she would make the same choices; life was too precious a gift to waste. She knew that as long as her and Nick were alive there was always the chance he would forgive her.

"Nick Wolfe?" She finally asked.

Rossi shifted his gaze more fully to Amanda. The woman was beautiful; exotic and exquisite and alluring. Her clothes, while made of fine silk, looked to be worn more for comfort than for fashion. "Nick certainly seems to know some rather interesting people?"

"I'm going with you," Amanda informed him taking his answer for conformation.

His glare intensified on her. "I'm not going into an operation with a single person I can't trust," he replied stiffly.

Amanda stepped forward. Tall for a woman, she was nearly able to look Rossi in the eye. She brought the full force of her will to bear, directing it at Rossi. She didn't take another step towards him, but the Lt. Col. suddenly felt as if he were standing alone; small and naked before a charging elephant. "I don't recall giving you a choice."