See Part Four A
Title of Series: The Web - Borne Of The Fall
Part Four, Interlude Two
"And I Fear, My Fear Is Greater Than My Faith"
METHOS
I really hate Paris. And no, this isn't a new development. It's always been a cesspool covered in pretty lights.
'Ooh, aah. The theatre!' I'll go to Italy, thank you very much.
'But the Eiffel Tower!' Oh, yay. A really big mass a twisted, tourist-attracting steel. Although, I will admit that the quickening that danced along that steel when MacLeod took Kalas' head was very impressive.
MacLeod. The reason behind my being here.
I slouch down on the barstool as Joe Dawson's newest Watcher-in-training/bartender slides a beer in front of me. He then grins, a bright flash of teeth against dark skin, as I ever-so-casually bare my left wrist to him when I reach for the beer.
*Dude, what's with the tattoo?* Jubilee's eating a late lunch back in the states. Mm, grilled cheese sandwich with bacon from the taste of it.
*It's not a tattoo, I heal those out fairly quickly. It's actually how the Watchers, an organization that records the movements and dealings of the Immortals, identify themselves.* I pause before telling her, *I'm the Watcher assigned to the Methos Chronicles.*
Victor sends a snort of amusement through the link. *Lemme guess: it's yer job to find you and you make sure that never happens. It's a good way to keep yerself hidden.*
I almost copy Jubilee's blink of surprise. *Ya know Vic, you definitely aren't a stupid man. It's probably one of the reasons why the X-ers keep loosin' ya.*
*I'm jus' good at survivin', Jae. Lotsa practice.*
I raise an eyebrow in the State's general direction. *That's funny, it's something of a hobby for me as well.*
Kora giggles at me and I return it with a mental wink.
"Adam!"
I turn on the stool to see Joe Dawson, long time friend, fellow watcher, and proprietor of 'Joe's place', a blues bar. He's an older man with more salt than pepper is his hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a wide smile that always touches his eyes. He's got a lot of character in his face, deep grooves from smiles and frowns and a sense of dignity that never wavers. His personality is so brilliant that it outshines the cane and limp he walks with, his souvenirs of war.
*"Hello, Joe."* I smile at him, genuinely glad that he's here even though his presence means that MacLeod won't be far behind. Joe is Duncan MacLeod's Watcher and, much to the organization's chagrin, friend. They consider it to be a conflict of interest.
"After you blew out of town, I didn't think I'd see you again." He comes in closer and tells me more quietly, "I figured you'd gone underground again."
I drain my beer and order another, then chuckle at Joe's patent 'Oh god, he's going to put me out of business' look. *"I had a few loose ends to tie up before disappearing."*
He grins a not-so-happy smile. "That's not the old man I know. You usually disappear so you don't have to deal with those loose ends." His face folds into more somber lines. "Mac'll be around shortly. You sure you're up to this?"
I feel the buzz and reach for the refilled beer. *"No, but it's too late now."*
*What on earth was that?* Whoops. Woke up Asher.
*Kind of felt like a pager going off against your spine? That's the buzz. It's the early warning system I was telling you about.*
*Are ya in trouble, Adam?* Jubilee's worried about me. It's nice to feel cared for.
*Nah, I'm expecting this one.*
*MacLeod?* How does Victor manage to make one word sound so vile and perverted? Must take a lot of practice.
*The Asshole?* If I thought I could get away with it, I'd wash Jubilee's mouth out with soap.
*Yes, MacLeod the Asshole.* On second thought, that has a better ring to it than 'Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.' As if he were Duncan MacLeod of the Clan McTaggart. Sheesh.
"Adam." I swear, the man couldn't sound more uptight and unbending if he had a steel pole rammed up his-
*"Duncan! Have a seat."* I smile my most condescending smile, just to piss him off of course. *"Joe's casa es su casa."*
When I turn to actually look at him, I take in the tightness around his eyes, the unhappy turn of his lips, and the dramatically shortened black locks. Jubilee lets out a long, low whistle. *Damn, all the hot guys live in different states, act like assholes, or both. No wonder I'm not dating.*
*Hey, if you want to date the guy, just pout and act completely incapable of protecting yourself. The fact that you have breasts automatically puts you in the running, but the helpless attitude makes you a shoo-in.* I hope the wry expression isn't actually on my face.
*One of those guys, huh? The runt's the same way.* Victor neatly ignores Jubilee's squeal of indignation.
"What are you doing here Adam?" MacLeod has a single shot of whiskey in front of him, placed there by Joe. He's eyeing us as though he expects swords to be drawn in the crowded bar.
'Not likely, Joe. I'd probably smack my elbow into some drunk frat boy and lose my balance.' I relax against the bar and tell MacLeod, in my most obnoxious manner, *"Why, enjoying the fine beer and aged music, of course."*
Joe's lip quirks but he quickly schools the blank Watcher expression. MacLeod downs his whiskey and gestures for another. "Why must you be so difficult?"
*"Why is your head so firmly lodged in you arse?"* I blink and hope I don't look as shocked as I feel. Those were not my words. *Jubilee!*
She's laughing from her end. *I didn't know that would happen. Sorry!* Of course, she doesn't sound very apologetic.
MacLeod looks like he's going to explode. "You're the one who left without a word. You're the one who lied to me about Cassandra. You're the one who spent a thousand years slaughtering innocent people!" Each of his words is bitten out and hissed. He's aware of the people around us and is trying to keep his voice down.
I turn to him, finally giving him my full attention. *"First of all, you made it very clear that I was no longer welcome here. Second, after your first death, no one is innocent. Cassandra contrives so-called prophesies and orders bloody noble idiots like you to act out parts in her little dramas. You, MacLeod? I seem to recall a time when you went all evil on me and Richie and Joe and actually killed one of your old friends. Third, I never lied to you. I may not have told you everything, but I never lied."*
He'd very determined to not look at me, but his jaw is clenched so tightly that a tick pulses in his cheek. "You told me you didn't know Cassandra."
*"The Cassandra I knew, I loved. I lived in a world where I wasn't allowed to love, MacLeod. Kronos would have seen it as a weakness and killed me for it, so I let her escape. The woman she is today isn't the woman I loved anymore than I'm the Death who organized the slaughter of her people. People change, MacLeod. It's the way of life."*
He watches his whiskey, still keeping his eyes off me. "No' ev'rybody changes." His accent is thickening, the Scottish burr a sure sign that I've hit a nerve.
*"Everyone. Caspian loved animals before Kronos beat hatred into him. Conner was an uneducated ex-chieftain's son before he learned to read and fight. Darius was a warlord before he was a monk. We were both once innocent, MacLeod, before we had to dance with the darkness, so don't give me that crap."*
MacLeod downs his second shot and gestures for a third. "I... Will you be in town long?"
I sigh and watch Joe refill the glass. It was as close to an apology as I'll get from the stubborn Scot. *"No, actually. I'll be leaving tomorrow afternoon for the states."*
"Oh." He actually sounds disheartened by the news. "I'll be in Seacouver in a month. Just so you know."
I nod as though I didn't know how he always goes to Seacouver this time of year. *"Okay. I don't know if I'll be in that area around then, but I'll keep it in mind."*
He nods back.
Joe lets go of a breath he seems to have been holding since the beginning of the conversation. He must have expected a little more blood-letting. To be honest, so did I. Apparently satisfied that we weren't going to tear his bar up, he goes to the small stage in the middle of the bar floor. He pulls out his guitar, tunes it up, and pours his, MacLeod's, the other patron's, and my own regrets from the strumming strings.