Chapter 2

Paris, July 2005

Joe Dawson fiddled with his collar and necktie. He was not by all accounts a formal man. Indeed… he rather liked his laid-back style. But Amy had said this was important, and Joe did want to make a good first impression.

Ever since Amy had moved back to Paris last year, Joe had enjoyed seeing her weekly as they would meet somewhere for dinner. They'd talk of the weather, sports, music, politics, but never the Watchers. That was a rule they'd set early on. Their dinners were to be their time to get to know one another better. They were not to be work-related… especially now.

Amy's being transferred to Paris out of London had initially pleased Joe… until he had learned the real reason.

"Surely they don't blame you for Methos vanishing! You never even saw him!" Joe had sputtered once Amy had explained she'd been removed from the project.

"But they do. At least they think my complicity in the Nestor affair… and yours… is something they will no longer tolerate." Amy and Joe had helped channel information about Nestor to MacLeod and his friends so that they might have the information the immortals had needed to end Nestor's reign of terror.

Joe had taken a long drink of scotch at that point. He'd already been called on the carpet upon his return to Paris, and informed that his passwords had been revoked and that while the Council was not going to censure him for his failure to let them know what was happening… he was now "officially" retired.

"The matter is closed. It had already been decided after you were shot that MacLeod's file would be turned over to someone else. You will have full benefits Dawson… no one will take your livelihood away or stand in the way of your friendship with Duncan MacLeod. But… you will no longer have access to the current database." And that had been that.

Then… as time passed and Methos did not re-surface… the Watcher Council had looked into Amy's involvement.

"I can either go back to field duty… or work as an historian in the Paris library. Or… I can leave."

"Amy…" Joe had looked at her from somewhere between guilt and embarrassment. "I'm so sorry but…"

"Oh… they won't run me out… I won't let them. And field duty, as you well know, is not my thing. So… the Paris library seems the best fit." Amy had grinned. "Besides… I'll get to visit with you and listen to you play live whenever I wish."

So Joe had let it be. Once a week they would meet for dinner in some cafe, or Amy would come to the bar and sit at a table in the corner watching him play. Or perhaps they'd go to the theatre or to the museum or… anything fathers and adult daughters have done for thousands of years. Mainly they'd just tried to make these evenings something for just them… as a way to mend the breaches of their relationship… as a way to make up for all the years they'd never had.

Amy had called this afternoon and asked for Joe to meet her here at this restaurant. She wanted him to meet someone… someone important. Joe had gotten here early. In the two years since he and Amy had worked together on the Nestor affair… she'd never introduced him to anyone. Joe wanted to look his best.

A movement near the door showed Amy and a young man being ushered to Joe's table. Joe smiled and made to get up.

"No… stay seated," Amy said as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Burt… this is my father Joseph Dawson. Joe… this is Burt Meyers."

Joe nodded his greetings with a toothy smile. The Watchers had taken away his database… but not his memories. Joe knew exactly who Burt Meyers was… and how Amy had met him. "You own that nightclub over on Rue Jardine… the one called Sanctuary. Have you been leading Amy away from great jazz?" he teased.

"Uh… no sir," Burt suddenly looked a little nervous. "Actually… she seldom comes in… She doesn't really care for the music… says it's a little loud for her taste, but it's what the young people want."

"Relax, Burt," Amy laughed as he held a chair for her to sit. "My father is just teasing you. He knows I only like the blues." Amy winked at Joe with a warm smile.

Burt extended a hand and Joe noticed his strong grip. "Have a seat," Joe said and motioned for the man to sit. "The food's great here…" He motioned for the waiter.

As dinner progressed and the two men found a great deal to talk about as they were both running nightclubs… Amy smiled and ate silently. She'd meant for them to meet much sooner… but somehow she'd thought it might be better to take this slowly… carefully. After all, Joe would know that Burt was a former friend of immortals Nick Wolfe and Amanda… neither of whom had been seen by Watchers since the Nestor affair. Amy wanted to talk to Joe about Burt… but thought the best thing to do was to have him meet his fellow club owner… let them get to know one another… and then Amy and Joe could talk.

As coffee was served with dessert, Joe had the feeling that this dinner was not about what he hoped it might be. He'd noticed the warm glances and friendly ease between Burt and Amy… but he had a sinking feeling this was not about a "personal" relationship. Sadly he decided they were just friends. Too bad… he'd found himself rather hoping that Amy had found a fellow, that wedding bells might be in her future. Already thirty-five… Amy did not seem to be settling into much of a personal life. Having had a daughter… Joe had found himself hoping one day for grandchildren. But a Watcher's life is never easy, and Amy, like Joe himself, was increasingly married to her job. Trouble was… now Joe was more or less divorced from the Watchers… and Amy no longer worked on the Chronicle she most wanted to be on.

Both of them had been effectively pigeon-holed, their wings clipped. Evidently the new Council wanted more control over their operatives… and had made examples of those who even bent the rules. At least they no longer wanted to take the lives of those who broke the rules outright… as the two of them had done. The Council had decided that they need not emulate the immortals themselves by killing their own members. They at least had decided there was another way.

As dinner drew to a close… and the three left the restaurant, Joe stood waiting for a taxi as Burt and Amy said goodnight.

After Burt had left, Amy slipped an arm into Joe's. "Why don't we have a nightcap at your place."

"I had a feeling you might want one." Joe laughed. He'd read her perfectly.

At Le Blues Bar… René was just closing up when they arrived. Joe waved the bartender off the clock and settled into a chair at a table with Amy to find out just what she had in mind.

"I want to recruit him," Amy said.

"Why come to me about this. My word wouldn't mean much." Joe poured each of them brandy.

"I wanted your perceptions about him before I went to my supervisor."

"He's an ex-CIA agent… or some sort of special operations. He believes in what's right… but he's not afraid to get his hands dirty. Somehow I don't see him just watching," Joe said with a sip of his brandy.

Amy's shoulders sagged. "He knew Nick Wolfe. He knew Amanda. He's always wondering about them… what happened to them? Why I wanted to meet them that day he last saw them? Did I see them? What do I tell him?" Tears brimmed in his daughter's eyes.

"Tell me this… Why did you get back in touch with him after it was over?" Joe leaned forward as if by close proximity he could somehow elicit the truth.

"I didn't."

Joe shook his head. "I don't understand."

"He found me. Two months after I went back to London… I walked out of a produce market and there he stood."

"He was stalking you?"

"No… he was curious. In fact he apologized… but… He'd heard nothing in two months and he wondered if I knew anything… so he… used his contacts to find me." Amy smiled. "We went to dinner… several times" Her face reddened a bit. "I really like him… but… if I can't tell him… if I can't explain what it is I do… how can we pursue a relationship."

Joe brightened. "Has he asked you to marry him?"

Amy nodded with a shy smile. "Several times. I keep putting him off. Finally he asked to meet you and I thought that maybe this might be a way I could get your thoughts on telling him the truth. He thinks I transferred to Paris to be with him."

"Amy… you can't put your life on hold. If you love him… marry him! Don't make the mistakes I made. Don't let the job become your life."

"Would you have given up the job… would you ever have given it up for a family?"

Joe sat back… thinking. Finally he nodded. "Yeah… there was a girl once… I'd have married her. I'd have given up everything I ever came to know about immortals for her." He chuckled at the irony of his having learned a few years ago that Ellie had been an immortal. Sometimes he thought about her and wondered just where she and Methos and the boy, Derrick, had vanished. That they were alive and well was all Mac had been able to tell him.

"Why Joe… you sound positively romantic!"

"Hell yes I'm a romantic! And damned proud to be one!"

"What happened to her… this girl from your past?" Amy inquired as she sipped her brandy.

Joe sighed as he fingered his drink. "She married someone else and lived happily ever after… at least I hope so." Joe took an abrupt swig. "Besides… if I'd married her… I wouldn't have you." Joe reached out to clasp Amy's hand. "Now then… if you love this guy Amy… say yes. Then talk to your supervisor. If the council say no to telling him… Well, then you make the decision to stay and keep the secret or to leave and keep the secret. But maybe they would like someone with his knowledge and contacts… someone who has already been touched by the immortals' world. Someone who may already be curious and have questions that only they can answer. Take a leap of faith Amy. Trust your heart!"

Amy nodded with a warm smile. "Trust… Tell me Joe… why does that put fear in my heart? Why do I worry about telling Burt… or about telling the Council."

***

Chicago, August 2005

Gregor "Greg" Powers chuckled at Johnny Paxton's joke and took a long swig of his beer. Hanging out with other medical students as he continued his slow and painstaking journey to build his resume' and resume his life as a doctor and healer could sometimes be an utter joy. Young people today had a real gift for seeing the absurdities of life and pointing out the shortcomings of those around them with a real zest and appreciation.

Greg sometimes wondered how it was he had so thought the world was descending into darkness a few years ago. How it was that he had been unable to see the beauty of life or the joy of living? He let out a long breath and a chuckle as he considered his old friend Duncan MacLeod… and how closely Greg had come to losing his head and his life at the hands of his old friend. How much he came to realize in that instant before Duncan's katana descended to Greg's neck… just how much he still wanted to live.

And living was what he was about these days! First he'd arranged to get himself admitted to medical school here in Chicago… that had been the easy part. The hard part had been in realizing how much medicine had moved beyond the days when he had practiced… and how hard he'd have to work to catch up. Greg smiled inwardly. Once he'd caught up… once he'd realized what he needed to do and how to do it… the hard part had been in not distinguishing himself too much. It was one thing to do well enough to make the grade and the cut… it was another to garner too much attention by over-achievement.

And in his downtime… he still had his photography. In fact… that was why he was ostensibly here tonight. He was several years ahead of this group, already a resident at Chicago Memorial, but he supposedly supplemented his meagre income by taking photography assignments. John was throwing a bachelor party for a friend and had asked Dr. Powers to memorialize the evening for them. Greg had agreed and had truly enjoyed himself.

"Now," he said setting his unfinished beer on the bar. "I have to be going." To the chorus of nay-sayers he shook his head. "No guys… really… I have rounds at seven a.m. with Dr. "Kill'em" Prescott," he said using the students' nickname for the doctor whose harsh treatment of interns and residents alike was legendary. "I best be on my way." He waved at them as he donned his long black leather coat and placed the bag with his photography equipment in it on his shoulder. "See ya!" and he left the bar.

The heat and humidity of the July night made his coat seem ridiculous. But Greg knew it was a necessary part of his wardrobe. A means by which to hide his sword from the eyes of mortals and keep it close at hand. In the hospital environment… he had to trust to other means… but he adjusted.

He was just unlocking his car when he felt the other.

Greg looked around… his glance falling on a tall figure whose sword was already gleaming in the streetlights.

Greg backed up and then tossed his bag of equipment onto the hood of his car as he did so. "Hey man… we don't have to do this. We can pass by and meet another time."

"Not likely," the other said evenly.

By this time, Greg had his sword in his hands and was shrugging out of his heavy coat as he backed into a darkened alley. "Greg Powers," he offered by way of introduction.

"I know who you are," the other hissed as he advanced, likewise shrugging off his own long coat.

"Who are you?" Greg's eyes darted over the alley as he judged what was here that might help him and what might hinder him in the fight to come. If he could get this immortal to talk to him… maybe this fight didn't have to happen.

"Your death!" the other replied and lunged as Greg shifted and deflected the blow before it landed. Twice more their swords met as they traded strokes… then the other backed up. "You seem to have recovered your desire to live. Good… that makes this all the more sweet."

"Do I know you?" Greg's breathing was labored as he continued to circle… let the other think he was not ready… too tired to continue. It was a tactic he'd once learned from MacLeod. He flexed his sword and shifted it in his hand.

"Oh… we've never met… but I have heard of you. Nihilist! Destroyer of young men!"

Greg paused… confused. "I'm a resident at a local hospital. I don't know what you mean."

"Now… but a dozen years ago you were someone else. And you toyed with mortals as if they were yours to do with as you please."

Greg nodded and licked his lips. "It was a phase I went through… tired of living… tired of merely continuing. I've moved on from that."

"Too bad Gary couldn't move on." The other's face was hidden in shadow.

"Gary?" Suddenly Greg had an inkling of what this might be about. "Gary Weller."

"Friend of mine. I grew up with him. After that motorcycle accident he was crippled for life… spinal cord injury. Do you know about spinal cord injuries doctor?" he hissed. "Gary's spent twelve years in a wheelchair."

Greg nodded and glanced around once more noting the pile of lumber and crates to his left. "That was an accident."

"Accident… oh yeah… I believed that right up until the moment I died and was reborn. I decided to find you. Imagine my surprise to discover you were like me… Condemned to eternal life."

Greg lunged out attempting to draw his opponent in and circle around him so that the alley exit would be to his back instead of his opponent's. That way… he'd have an avenue of escape. It almost worked… he did manage to land a solid blow to the man's arm. The man flinched and grabbed his arm in pain but backed away… still preventing Greg's escape.

"I took care of his medical bills… I was cleared by the inquest," Greg spit out. "I truly didn't mean for him to be injured."

"But he admired your devil-may-care attitude. He wanted to be as fearless as you were. But you knew something he didn't. You… couldn't… be… hurt." The other lunged in once more… his arm evidently healed and slammed blow after blow on Greg's swordarm.

Greg managed to duck and turn… lashing out with his sword to pierce the other's back. His opponent grabbed his back, dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

Greg stood over him with his sword raised. "We still don't have to continue. Leave me alone and I will let you live."

"If you leave me to walk away… I will come for you again and again. It is the way we live. It is the way we die."

Greg nodded sadly. "Then so be it." He sliced down and to one side feeling that momentary hesitation as his sword passed across his opponent's neck. The head fell to one side and the body collapsed. Greg backed up sadly and then stood ramrod straight to receive the quickening of… Michael Grant… so young… so very young… still in his first life… his kills could be numbered on a single hand. His life… so very short and unremarkable. His immortality focused on one thing… kill Greg Powers… who had crippled his friend.

Lightning flashed through the alley and out into the street. Streetlights exploded. Car alarms sounded. The pile of wood to Greg's left caught fire. Greg held his arms across his chest and sagged onto his knees sobbing. It was all so useless! What was the purpose of living forever if immortals have to kill one another in order to survive? He leaned forward so that his hands supported him on the pavement and turned up his head to scream his frustration into the darkness.

At the alley's entrance he heard the sound of footsteps. Greg Powers leaned back on his knees and stared at the approaching figure. He tried to rise as he clutched futilely at his sword. Something hit him… and darkness took him.