Chapter Thirteen

The double surge of Presence that assailed me when I set foot on the gangplank of Duncan's barge wasn't entirely unexpected. My young cousin had always had more than his fair share of Immortal friends, and when I knocked, I was expecting to encounter Amanda, or maybe Hugh Fitzcairn. What I wasn't expecting - after being soundly embraced by Duncan - was to be introduced to the latter's newest student.

"Adam Pierson," said the skinny, dark-haired Englishman ensconced on Duncan's couch. He didn't offer to shake hands, and when I offered mine along with my name, a moment's concern flashed across Pierson's face before he reached out to take it. He had got an acceptably strong grip, and his palm and fingers were already sword-callused, but he still seemed appallingly young. It was easy to tell that he hero-worshipped my cousin; his eyes followed Duncan around the room with the faithfulness of a lost puppy.

"He's living here for the moment," Duncan said casually. "Someone's been following him - and me - around for the past week."

"Slan Quince." My heart sank. I'd been hoping to get to Duncan quickly enough to be able to get him out of town before Quince started stalking him. My cousin had been out of the Game for a while now, and I'd hoped to spare him from having to go back into it - but from the sound of things, it was too late. The most troubling part was that Pierson had been followed as well. Quince liked to start with the weaker members of a group, and out of the three of us, that was Pierson. I'd have bet almost anything that Quince would try to challenge him first - and I wouldn't have wanted to bet on his chances of surviving it.

"I don't think I know him." Duncan glanced at Pierson, an oddly questioning look on his face. "Adam?" Pierson fidgeted in his seat and glanced at me.

"You can trust Connor," Duncan said earnestly, sitting down in the chair next to the couch. Pierson studied him for a long moment before turning his head to look at me - to look *through* me. That's what it felt like, anyway; like those green-hazel eyes were weighing and measuring me down to the last hair. Then he looked back at Duncan, and I was left wondering.

"I've heard of him," he said after a moment. "He likes to play mind-games."

"Adam's a Watcher," Duncan explained, before I could demand to know where, exactly, Pierson had 'heard of' Quince. I was surprised and not a little skeptical, and I suppose it showed in my face when I looked at the lad, because he flushed a little bit and wouldn't meet my eyes. Frankly, I was a little impressed. Whether he infiltrated them after becoming Immortal or met his first death while in their employ, staying there took nerves of steel, or perhaps no nerves at all. I'd known about the Watchers for more than a century, and they could be ruthless when it came to keeping their secrets.

"How did you manage that?" I asked. "The last I heard, they weren't hiring Immortals."

"I wasn't Immortal when they hired me." Pierson slid a few more inches down the couch. "How did you find out about them, anyway?"

"One of them got me out of a tight spot during the Civil War." Literally. Andrew had saved me from being buried in a mass grave, an experience I'd never enjoyed. Insisting on explanations had, perhaps, been a bit rude, but I hadn't cared then, and I still didn't. "Who's your assignment?"

"I'm not in the field." Pierson shrugged. "I'm in research."

"He's trying to find Methos," Duncan put in. The glare Pierson aimed his way should by rights have incinerated him where he sat.

"Good luck with that. Ramirez always said he was the hardest Immortal on the planet to find when you were looking for him." He'd also said that when you *weren't* looking for him, Methos had a tendency to turn up and drink all the beer in the house.

"Ramirez knew Methos?" My cousin sounded skeptical. Pierson was smiling faintly, but something about his expression looked almost sad.

"He said he did, and I believe him." It was the way he'd spoken about the man - with fond irritation, and no small measure of rueful laughter - that had kept me convinced that my teacher was telling the truth, even after learning that Methos was believed to be mythical.

"He did," Pierson agreed. "It's in both of their Chronicles."

"Do you think he's still alive?" I asked idly.

Pierson tilted his head to the side a moment, considering the question. "I do," he said after a moment. "If someone had killed him, I think the Watchers would have heard about it. The older the Immortal, the more spectacular the Quickening, after all." Looking away, he colored faintly. "But you knew that, of course."

"Connor, would you like a drink?" Duncan asked, standing up. The look Pierson threw him was visibly grateful.

"Scotch, thank you."

"Adam, beer?"

"You know me too well." Pierson's smile was almost shy, and he watched my cousin through his lashes while Duncan went to the refrigerator. I watched Pierson.

"How long have you been Immortal?" I asked.

"I thought that was supposed to be a rude question." Apparently Pierson's hero-worship of Duncan didn't extend to me.

"Humor me," I suggested.

"About two months." He smiled ruefully. "It's not something I ever expected."

"Nor did the rest of us. At least you knew what you were getting into."

"True." From Pierson's expression, that knowledge hadn't been worth much. Nevertheless, he seemed to be handling it well enough so far. His idolization of my cousin really wasn't anything to worry about. Most students idolized their teachers to some extent. I know I did Ramirez. Still, there was something about Pierson that niggled at me, even if I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Here you go, Connor. Adam." Duncan returned with scotch for both of us and a beer for Pierson and handed them out before sitting down at the other end of the couch. He waved me into a chair and I sat. A little of the tension faded out of Pierson's expression. I couldn't blame him. I didn't like other Immortals hovering over me, either.

"Slainte," Duncan said. The three of us clinked glasses - and beer bottle - before settling back into our seats.

"How sure are you that it's Quince?" Duncan asked me, taking a sip of his scotch.

"Certain. I got a look at him when he was following me around New York."

"That doesn't necessarily mean the same person is following us now."

"He left me a note, Duncan," I said impatiently. "He told me he was coming here."

"Oh." Duncan sent a worried glance Pierson's way. For his part, Pierson looked nervous.

"Why is he following me around?" he asked.

"That's the way he operates. He goes after younger, less experienced Immortals first, before moving on to their teachers. He came here for Duncan, but when he found you here..." I shrugged.

"So he'll come after me first," Pierson said flatly.

"I won't let that happen, Adam," Duncan promised.

"Even you can't stay with me twenty-four hours a day, MacLeod," Pierson said. "If he wants to get me alone badly enough, no one can stop him."

"I will," Duncan said. "I promise you, Adam, he won't get close enough to hurt you." For a split second, Pierson looked deeply skeptical. Then he nodded, his expression fading into acceptance.

"All right."

"That means you can't go sneaking off on your own," Duncan continued. "I can't keep you safe if you won't let me."

"All right," Pierson said again. "But you can't follow me to class, or to work. Someone will notice, and this is not a good time for me to get caught by the Watchers. If it will make you happy, I'll carry a gun." Duncan watched him for a long moment then, surprisingly, nodded.

"I'll get you one before class on Monday," he said grimly.

Author's Notes:

Thanks to lferion, who beta-read for me. I'm so sorry it took me this long to continue this - life has been seriously hectic for the last couple years. Better late than never, though - and chapter 14 should be up either tonight or tomorrow. Feedback is always appreciated.