Who Watches the Watcher?
A Highlander novel by Sisiutil
This story is fictional and does not contain any references to any actual persons living or dead. All characters contained in this story who appeared in the Highlander franchise are the property of Warner Media/Davis Panzer Productions, Inc.
Chapter 6: Methos
Theresa awoke to the murmur of male voices coming from the other side of her closed bedroom door. She got out of bed and crept up to the door, then pressed her ear against it, but couldn't make out the conversation. Whoever Marcellus was talking to, they were both keeping their voices low—probably intentionally, so she couldn't hear.
She quickly went over to the spare bedroom's closet. At the back, she found a blood-red, full-length silk robe. She quickly wrapped it around her body, wishing she'd bothered to find and put it on last night before that...incident with Marcellus. She slowly, silently pulled her door open and crept out into the hall. She pressed herself against the far wall and peeked around the corner into the dining room.
Seated at the dining table was a tall, somewhat gaunt but handsome man. He was clean-shaven, with angular features, close-cropped black hair, and piercing blue eyes. He spoke with a cultured British accent, and as if he had known Marcellus for some time. Marcellus was seated on the opposite side of the table from him. She could smell the scent of fresh coffee and saw both men sipping from steaming mugs, but resisted the overwhelming urge to get a cup for herself. Theresa immediately pegged Marcellus' guest as another Immortal, and the conversation she could now hear pretty much confirmed it.
"Why don't you get MacLeod to do it? Or at least help you?" the tall man was saying. "He lives for this sort of thing."
"I don't need a pup like MacLeod to fight my battles for me," Marcellus responded in a gruff, mildly offended voice.
The tall man sat back in his chair, threw up his hands, and sighed heavily. "I don't know why I'm even bothering. You haven't changed. You're as stubborn and pig-headed as you ever were."
"I prefer to think of myself as devoted to my principles," Marcellus retorted.
The tall man laughed. "You? Principles? That's new," he said through a cynical smile.
"I don't have many," Marcellus said, qualifying himself, "but what few I do have I am committed to. And avenging old friends and family is one of them."
The tall man leaned forward and focused his piercing blue eyes on the Roman. "We're old friends too, or so I'd like to think. And I don't have many of my old friends left," he said.
"Neither do I," Marcellus said gently, "which is why I'm doing this. And why you of all people should understand." He took a sip of his coffee while the tall man watched him. "Then again, some of your old friends, you're better off without. I can think of three in particular. So maybe that's why you're having trouble with this." Marcellus suddenly turned his head and looked over his right shoulder towards the hallway. "Good morning, Theresa," he called out. "Care for some coffee? It's fresh."
Theresa froze where she stood, then rolled her eyes and abashedly emerged from her ineffective hiding place. She glanced at both men and slowly approached the table.
"Coffee sounds good. Milk, no sugar," she said quietly.
Marcellus stood up and went into the kitchen. Theresa said nothing as she took a seat on one side of the table in between the chairs the two men had chosen. She glanced at the tall man and was taken aback when she saw his piercing blue eyes studying her intently. Before she could react, he reached over and gently but firmly grabbed her left wrist, eliciting a soft gasp from the young Watcher. He pulled back the sleeve of the silk robe to reveal her Watcher tattoo. The man exhaled audibly and turned to look at Marcellus, who had returned to the table with Theresa's coffee, which he set down in front of her. The tall man held up Theresa's wrist to him, displaying the tattoo.
"Yes, I know, I told you," Marcellus said impatiently with a frown and a wave of his hand as he sat down on Theresa's right. The tall man continue to gaze at him intently. Marcellus shrugged. "The Fates," he said.
The tall man released Theresa's wrist, laughed derisively, and rolled his blue eyes. "You don't still believe that ancient mumbo jumbo, do you?" he asked Marcellus.
"Better than believing in nothing," Marcellus responded pointedly.
"I believe in many things," the tall man responded, leaning forward. "I believe in life. I believe in seeing tomorrow's sunrise. I believe in enjoying the company of a beautiful woman," he said with a glance at Theresa. "And I believe that tonight, while you're risking your stupid head, I'll be enjoying a beer at Joe's."
"It's my stupid head to risk," Marcellus said gently, then sighed. "Besides, Ortega is the last. After him, I'm through."
"Yes, that's what I'm worried about," the tall man said.
The trio sat in silence for a moment. Whatever drama was being played out here, Theresa realized all too well that she was a newcomer to it. Emphasis on the word new. She said nothing, sitting silently, glancing from the one man to the other, gently swirling her coffee around in her cup.
Finally, Marcellus sighed and the corners of his lips curled into a gentle smile. "I appreciate your concern, my friend. But I'm an old campaigner. You really shouldn't underestimate me. Many have done so before, and they've not around to repeat their mistake."
The tall man sighed and stared into his coffee mug. Then his piercing gaze returned to Theresa. "And her?" he asked, as if she wasn't sitting there and capable of responding on her own.
Marcellus cast his gray eyes in Theresa's direction. "She and I will talk after you've gone."
"Talk?" the tall man exclaimed. "What the hell is there to talk about? You can't go where he's going," he said, finally addressing Theresa directly. "You try to follow him into Ortega's den, it'll just get you killed." Theresa returned his gaze, then glanced at Marcellus.
"I'm his Watcher," she said simply.
The tall man pushed his torso back into his chair and slapped his hands against the table in exasperation.
"You're both insane. You deserve one another." He glanced at Marcellus, then his eyes wandered over Theresa's lovely face and the curve of her breasts beneath her robe. One of his dark brows rose, and he shook his head. "And I thought Dawson stepped over the line..." he muttered into his coffee mug.
Before Theresa could respond to his remark, Marcellus loudly slammed his empty coffee mug onto the table, making his two guests look at him in surprise.
"I don't like what you're insinuating, old friend," he said sharply. "Not that it's any of your business, but she slept in the spare bedroom and I slept in mine. Now apologize to the lady," he ordered.
The tall man, frowning, blinked in surprise at Marcellus' indignation. His blue eyes glanced at Theresa, then back to Marcellus, then back to Theresa again. His eyebrows raised slightly, and Theresa thought some sort of understanding she couldn't fathom appeared in the man's face at that point.
"I'm sorry," he said to her. He looked back at Marcellus. "I was the one who stepped over the line there. No offense."
Marcellus smiled softly. "None taken," he said with a gentle shake of his head, then looked to Theresa, and saw her nod in agreement. "Now, I hate to shove you out the door..."
"...but that's exactly what you're going to do," the tall man said, finishing his friend's sentence. They both pushed back their chairs and rose from the table. Marcellus motioned to Theresa not to get up. "I suppose you have a busy day ahead, planning your almost certain death. I wouldn't want to interfere."
"Or observe and record?" Marcellus said with a smile. Both men chuckled softly as they walked towards the door.
Theresa turned in her chair and rolled her eyes. "Jesus, do all of you know everything about the Watchers?" she called after them. The two Immortals stopped and turned to look at her. They looked sideways at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing, which only annoyed Theresa even more. She glared at them while they laughed so hard they had to wipe tears from their eyes. "I don't see what's so funny!" she said angrily.
"I'm sorry, my dear," Marcellus said, struggling to gain control of himself. "It's a, um, private joke. Trust me, your organization is only known to a select few." That remark made the tall man snort, and Marcellus had to once again suppress his laughter. Theresa waved an annoyed hand at the two men; she turned back to her coffee and away from them.
"Well," the tall man said as they reached the door, an amused smile still on his lips, "I know it's a cliché, but...be careful, will you, Lucius?" He glanced at Theresa's back. "Both of you."
"I will," Marcellus reassured him. "Save a seat for me at Joe's," he said with a smile. His tall friend smiled and walked out the door, which Marcellus slid closed and locked behind him. He then walked back to the kitchen. "Care for some breakfast?" he asked Theresa.
"Sure," she said, watching him carefully, the gears obviously turning behind her hazel eyes. "You didn't introduce us," she pointed out.
"No, I didn't, did I?" Marcellus agreed ambiguously as he opened the fridge. He pulled out some eggs. "Omelet?"
Theresa nodded. She paused a moment and frowned; suddenly, several things about the two Immortals' conversation clicked for her. The fact that their acquaintanceship went back a very long time. The reference to the three friends the other man could do without. His attitude towards living and fighting.
"Was that Methos?" she asked.
Marcellus stopped, stood still, and looked at her. He held her gaze for a moment. Then he smiled.
"His name's Adam," he said smoothly. Theresa blinked, then her eyes opened wide in disbelief. "Oh, not that Adam, he's not that old!" Marcellus said, chuckling.
"Oh," Theresa said, with some disappointment. "Well, how old is he?"
Marcellus shrugged as he cracked four eggs into a mixing bowl, then added a little water. "He's got a few years on me," he said.
Theresa sighed. "You're not exactly straight answer guy, are you?"
"Nope," Marcellus agreed, beating the eggs with a fork.
"So, Ortega," Theresa said, changing the subject. "You said we'd talk about him when your friend left. What's the plan?"
"The plan, my dear," Marcellus said as he poured half of the egg mixture into a frying pan, where it sizzled and popped, "is that I go and take his head while you wait here for me to come home." He turned and saw Theresa's lovely features contorting into an enraged frown. He held up his hand. "But, seeing as how you won't stand for that unless I do something kinky involving chains and a bedpost—not that I'm opposed—I'm going to have to come up with another plan." He turned back to the stove top and poured some grated cheese and chopped peppers into the middle of the omelet.
"That smells incredible," Theresa, her anger dissipating, said as she heard her stomach rumble. "So the new plan will involve me, right?"
"I suppose you're not going to leave me any choice," Marcellus answered as he used a spatula to fold the omelet, then a moment later, lift it out of the pan and onto a plate. He turned and held the plate towards her, but paused. His gray eyes gazed into hers intently.
"You could die," he said flatly. "I'd really rather you didn't. There are better things to do in this world than following vengeful Immortals into life-threatening situations. You should find a different job. Get married to some nice fellow who will never know anything about us. Have children, and grand-children. Hell, throw in a dog and a picket fence, if you want them."
Theresa paused before she answered. "Walter Simons—he's the Watcher who trained me in the field—gave me a similar speech once," she said evenly.
"What was your answer?" Marcellus asked, still holding the plate before her.
"I said, 'Real lives are for wimps'." Theresa reached out and took the plate from Marcellus. He handed her a fork and knife, and she greedily dug in to her breakfast. "This is incredible. After you finish with Ortega, you should open a restaurant."
Marcellus turned to make his own omelet. "Are you prepared to die, Theresa MacNeil?" he asked, then turned to look at her.
Theresa swallowed a mouthful of food and looked back at him. "Are you, Lucius Gaius Marcellus?"
Marcellus turned back to the stove top and worked on his omelet. "I've been prepared to die for over eighty years," he said in a tired voice.
"Then you will," she said to him. Marcellus turned to glare at her. "If you want to die, if you're going in there feeling sorry for yourself and how lonely you are, you may as well just serve your head to Ortega on a platter. He obviously has something to live for, or else he wouldn't have bothered hiding from you all those years. What about you? Are you living for anything other than vengeance? Your friend Adam had a point. Maybe you don't have something grand to live for anymore, like Rome or love, but you have to have something. Even if it's as simple as a beer at the end of the day."
"Or enjoying the company of a beautiful woman?" Marcellus asked with a slight smile.
Theresa shifted a little in her chair, but quickly recovered her momentum.
"Whatever floats your boat, old-timer. What your friend was saying, and what I'm saying, is there has to be something waiting for you when the fighting's done, no matter how mundane. Otherwise…what the hell is it for?"
Marcellus placed his omelet on a plate and joined her at the table. He sat down, began to cut into his breakfast with a knife and fork, then stopped and looked at his Watcher.
"Tell you what," the Immortal said, "if I get through this, if we both get through this, will you promise to let me buy you a drink at Joe's?"
Theresa blinked. Her training made her resist the idea of being seen in public with an Immortal. Then she realized that she'd pretty much blown her assignment anyway, so what did it matter? The ironic thing is that she had inadvertently been handed her dream assignment, but now it and her entire career as a Watcher were about to vanish. Even if she hadn't messed up and been made, once the Watchers learned of Lucas Marshall's true identity, they would assign a whole team to him, led by a much more senior Watcher. She'd be lucky to be a junior member of that team, but she was probably going to be out on her ass for gross incompetence. So he wanted to buy her a drink. Why the hell not? She had a feeling she'd need it.
"Okay," she agreed.
Marcellus smiled and took a sip of his coffee. "There. Now I have something to live for. If you watch the sun come up with me tomorrow as well, I'll have attained all three of Adam's recommended pleasures."
Theresa smiled and looked down at her plate. She wasn't sure how comfortable she felt flirting with a two-thousand, five-hundred year old man. Of course she'd fallen a little in love with him when she'd read his Chronicles all those years ago. Of course she'd had fantasies about him. But having fantasies—especially about a man you thought was unattainable, not to mention dead—was one thing. Living them out was quite another.
"So how do we get Ortega?" she asked, feeling a very strong urge to change the topic. She took another mouthful of food, then looked up to meet his gaze. The look on his face told her he wasn't fooled by her conversational gambit, but that he would allow it.
"I assume you've had training in martial arts, weapons, and combat tactics?" Marcellus asked her, becoming serious and professional.
"Extensive," Theresa responded. "Not that they did me any good last night, but…"
"Have you ever killed a man?" Marcellus asked. Theresa blinked, then her eyes widened. She shook her head. "I'm hoping it won't come to that, but it might. Do you think you're capable of it?"
"I've...been trained to do it. I know how," she answered, her voice tight.
"That will have to do. It should allow you to at least decide if it's necessary or not. If it is, don't hesitate. These men are killers, and they're...how did you put it? Selling poison to mortal children? An apt description." He paused. "You're going to be right in the thick of things. If you're going to insist on tagging along, the best way to keep you safe will be to keep you close," Marcellus told her. "You saw last night what hanging around at a distance will get you."
"Sorry about that," Theresa said. "I assumed you were meeting another Immortal. I should have read the situation better, but the information we had on Lucas Marshall was pretty Goddamned sparse. I had no idea I'd be heading into a drug deal. Like I said, if I had, I would have approached the situation very differently." Her eyes widened with concern. "You don't think Ortega got spooked, do you? That he'll disappear again?"
"I doubt it," Marcellus said, shaking his head as he cleared the table and took the plates back to the kitchen. "In fact, that whole incident with you may have helped in that regard. It may have convinced him he just had a couple of narcotics officers after him rather than an Immortal. Besides, he has quite an investment here. I don't think he'll be abandoning it after a relatively minor incident like that." He finished loading the dishwasher and sat down at the table. "Can you obey my orders? To the letter?"
Theresa looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Provided you don't order me to stay away, yes."
"All right, then," Marcellus said, and leaned forward. "Here's the plan."
For the next quarter hour, he explained the intended sequence of events while Theresa listened attentively. Periodically, she interrupted him with questions, and he patiently provided her with the answers she needed. When he had finished, Theresa sat back in her chair and blew a long breath out through her pursed lips.
"It's risky," she said.
"I prefer the term 'audacious'," Marcellus said with a confident smile. Theresa laughed. Then Marcellus grew serious. "You don't have to come along, you know," he said.
"I thought we covered that," Theresa said flatly. "Where you go, I go. Besides, doing this without me changes the plan from 'audacious' to 'moronic'."
Marcellus smiled. "No chains and bedposts, eh?" he asked with one eyebrow cocked.
Theresa narrowed her eyes. "Ask me again in ten to twelve hours," she said in a low, suggestive voice.
Both of Marcellus' thick brows rose at that, and his eyes widened. "Wouldn't that be a gross violation of Watcher protocol?"
"Just being here is a violation of protocol!" Theresa exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "Talking to you is a violation of protocol! And helping you take out another Immortal..." She paused and shook her head. "Screw it. I'm going to get kicked out of the Watchers anyway," she said in a resigned voice, one corner of her mouth curled into a rueful half-smile. "I may as well break every rule in the book while I'm at it."
"I don't see why you have to leave the Watchers," Marcellus commented. She looked at him, surprised. "Who watches the Watcher, remember? They never knew about Porter and I, they don't have to know about you and I. We're the only two people who know that we've had any contact. I'm certainly not going to tell anyone. Oh, and, uh, Adam, but he's no blabbermouth either, trust me." Theresa stared at him, the expression on her face incredulous but hopeful. "I hate to see a dream die," he said, his eyes locked onto hers. "Of course, you and I would likely have to forgo all further contact after today," he concluded, and she thought she detected just a hint of regret in his voice.
"Why don't we...talk about it when this is all over," Theresa said quietly, after a moment of silence as she considered what he'd said.
Her emotions were in a whirl. Could she really stay with the Watchers after all? If Marcellus cooperated as he'd just indicated he would, it was possible. But that part about no further contact bothered her. Once the genie was out of the bottle, it was damn hard to put it back in; MacLeod and Dawson had discovered that. And there was a part of herself, a part she'd buried long ago, that felt miserable about the idea of never being in this man's presence ever again, never talking to him, never... Whoa, one thing at a time, girl, she told herself. We've got a dangerous task to accomplish first.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Eventually, though, Theresa couldn't contain herself. She was a Watcher, and here was a 2500-year-old Immortal sitting right at her elbow. If she stayed with the Watchers as he was suggesting, she realized she may never get this opportunity again. She had so many questions for him she didn't know where to begin. So she glanced at the portrait of his late wife and picked one.
"Can I...ask you a question?" she asked, turning to look at him.
"You may ask," Marcellus answered with slight smile.
"I always wanted to know...how you met her," Theresa said quietly. "What happened. The Chronicles are extremely sketchy regarding that part of your story. And we have some time to kill."
For a moment, Marcellus sat and stared at her, not moving, and Theresa felt sure he was going to refuse her request. Then he sighed, took a breath, and began to tell his story.