To annP: how funny that you are that annP - I really love that particular fic of yours (read it more than 4 times at least) :-)

Two days later, Methos's flat

A loud ring sounded through the room that was already illuminated by the yellow rays of the morning-sun. Another ring wakened the Ancient, who was curled under the warm blanket in his bed, brought him to open his eyes. Still half asleep, he glanced at his radio-clock that only stood a few meters away from him: 7 o'clock.

Damn, he thought a bit angry as his mind finally realized the early time, what idiot is up at this unholy time! Hoping that whoever disturbed his sleep might go away when ignored long enough, Methos grabbed his pillow and pressed it on his head, shutting his eyes while he silently cursed the other for disturbing his sleep.

Another ring echoed through the room - this time it was longer and also accompanied by an impatient voice. "ADAM!!! Open the damn door! I know that you are in there! It's about Mac; he has vanished!"

Joe, Methos thought but remained in his bed, unimpressed by Joe's words. Typical! Damn boy scout… Not my problem when he again has gotten himself into big problems. I'm not his nanny… I'm not going to lose my head because Mac wants to play hero to whoever accidentally crosses his path. Shutting his ears with his hands, he tried to ignore Joe. Not my fault if he gets himself killed this time, he tried to reassure himself.

M.E.T.H.O.S!!!!

The loud scream of his name immediately brought the Ancient out of his bed and to the door. "Damn, Joe," he snorted angrily as he flung the door open, letting the old watcher into the room. "I don't think they heard you three blocks away. Maybe you can shout my name once again a bit louder, so nobody will miss it this time," he then said mockingly before he eyed the other a bit closer: Joe's face was pale and full of concern; his hairs stood in all direction from his head; and Methos noticed that Joe's eyes not only looked red and a bit tired, but also seemed a bit swollen – apparently his night hadn't been very long.

"So, what's up with Mac, Joe?" Methos finally asked as he grabbed one of the shirts that was lying on the floor and put it over his head.

"Mac is missing," Joe said, his voice a bit rougher than normal. "I got a call from HQ this morning; his watcher lost him, and he can't find him anywhere… They already checked if there was a quickening, but no single one is reported in that area. They al…"

"He is not dead," Methos interrupted Joe.

"How could you te…"

"Trust me with this Joe, he is alive. I would know if he lost his head."

"Bordeaux?" Joe asked, relief now appearing on his face as he let himself sack on a chair.

"Yep. I can feel him since then… He is still alive, Joe." Methos sighed while he, too, sat down on a chair. "So, why don't you explain the whole story from the beginning to me? As far as I know, Mac was in Strasbourg, France."

"Yes," Joe confirmed, "he was personally invited by Jacques Galliome, a French artist who owns an art gallery there. He planned to make an exhibition showing works of French artists; he asked Mac if he couldn't lend him some sculptures of Tessa Noel. As far as I was told it has opened 4 days ago, one day before Mac has gone missing."

"So Mac has attended the exhibition?"

"Yes," Joe nodded, "according to his watcher, he has. The watcher says that he saw Mac in conversion with Louis de Monet, a French multi-millionaire who is also one of the sponsors of the exhibition. He apparently was interested in one of Tessa's works."

"And you think there is a connection?" Methos asked, not very convinced about it.

"I know that there's a connection. Mac's watcher observed Mac being given a ride in a big Mercedes limousine the next night. He was able to follow it… and where do you think it headed?"

"To Louis de Monet's estate, " Methos guessed.

"Exactly! And the watcher never saw Mac leave it again."

"So, what's the problem, Joe? Call the police, they can search the house through."

Joe shook his head. "It's not that easy, Methos. Louis de Monet is a very healthy and very powerful man. He is not only the owner of a very expensive nightclub but also owns a big factory that gives work to thousands of people there – he is a very influential man. Police isn't going to invade his house and search for a vanished foreigner because you say it. And even if they do, I'm not sure if Mac is still there; de Monet is not stupid, he surly has Mac being brought somewhere else."

"Ok," Methos sighed, "but why should he be interested in Mac? Is he an Immortal?"

"No, as far as we know is he a mortal." Joe, too, sighed, leaning back on his chair. "I don't know why de Monet is interested in Mac… I only know that we have to do something, Methos."

"We?" Methos echoed, while he, too, leaned back on his chair, his face blank now.

"Yes, WE" Joe confirmed, "YOU and ME."

"Oh, I'm not a boy scout… I don't do the hero-thing, Joe. And besides, I have other important things to do."

Joe stared in disbelieve at the Ancient in front of him. "Mac is your friend, Methos." Seeing that his words had no affection on the Ancient because Methos's face remained blank, Joe continued, "he would do the same for you."

"I'm not MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod… Ask Amanda, she is surly willing to help." With that, Methos got up and went to the refrigerator, helping himself to a beer.

"Damn, Methos!" Joe angrily snarled while he got up and then stepped directly in front of the Immortal, so that they now were face-to-face. "You are his friend. And you owe him, you know that you owe him." Joe starred into Methos's eyes until the Ancient finally looked away, sighing in defeat.

"Ok, Joe," he then finally said, a slight undertone of anger in his voice. "And what do you think I can do?… Shall I walk into de Monet's house and search for MacLeod there? I'm sure that de Monet doesn't mind," he added mockingly before he took a sip of his beer.

"You are the bloody strategist, Methos. You made plans for Kronos for about – what? – 1000 years? So rack your brains, it can't be that difficult!" Joe then took something out of his coat; Methos realized after a few seconds that he held two fly-tickets in his hand. " Our flight to Strasbourg goes in 3 hours; I'll be waiting for you at the airport. Before that, I have to get more information on de Monet. I suggest you pack you things, Methos… And it wouldn't harm to pack also a suit or two, you'll surly need them." Not waiting for the Ancient to complain, Joe hurried to the door, concern still burning in him.

After Joe had left, Methos sighed deeply before he took a bag from under his bed and opened it. Pack a suit, he repeated Joe's words in his mind. Mac is going to pay for this, he whispered. Suddenly a slight sardonic smile appeared on his face, oh, yes, Mac definitely will pay.

4 hours later, on flight 223 to Strasbourg

About 4 hours later, Joe sat in the airplane to Strasbourg on the seat next to Methos, reading the report on de Monet the watchers had provided him with. And the Ancient, too, had found out several interesting information about de Monet, Joe remembered as he looked at the sleeping form of Methos, who was curled on the seat next to him. Joe still was surprised how the Ancient had achieved the information on de Monet, though he guessed that money had to do a lot with it. Yeah, with money you can buy everything, he thought before he then refocused his attention to the report.

According to it, de Monet was 40 years old; was born and had lived his whole life in Strasbourg. There were no living relatives reported, no wife, and no children. The man was described as very intelligent and very sophisticated; allegedly he was speaking more than 10 languages. And he was also said to have a very delicious – and very expensive - taste.

Joe turned the page over, noticing now the almost inaudible snorting that was coming from Methos. He smiled and glanced at the Ancient. He looks so young, almost like a kid, Joe thought, the smile on his face widened as he noticed the bottle of beer the Ancient was holding in his right hand. Not wanting it to fell down, Joe took it away from Methos before he then once again focussed his attention back on the report.

Suddenly he stopped. Then he read the paragraph once again. According to it, de Monet was a collector, a collector of paintings, sculptures and other art. That alone would have been nothing extraordinary, but the works had one thing in common: they all dealt with Death. Joe hesitated for a moment and glanced again at Methos. Death, he thought, but what does de Monet want from Mac? Does he know that Mac is Immortal? But what could he then possibly want from Mac?

Not seeing the dark-haired man who watched him from the seat two rows behind, Joe sighed in frustration as he continued to read.

Onlytworows behind

Only two rows behind Joe Dawson and Adam Pierson, but on the other side of the hallway, sat Alexandre Lafiette, and watched the two unobtrusively. Holding a sport magazine in front of him and pretending to read it, Lafiette never let the two out of sight, although it proved to be more difficult than he had expected, because his seat-neighbour, a blonde over-weighted man of about 40 apparently felt boring, and so had decided to start a conversion with Lafiette.

"So, you are interested in sports," he said to Lafiette, pointing at the magazine, "I tried it, too, to lose some weight," he then added while he looked at his belly, "but I was not very successful… So what do you do?"

"I don't do sports," Lafiette answered very short-tied, not wanting to continue with the conversation. Ignoring the man next to him, he once again looked to Dawson and Pierson. He watched Dawson read in a report while Pierson slept next to him. What to hell were the two up to? he asked himself at least the 1000th time.

He remembered how he had followed Dawson to Pierson's house, what a stupid accident that there hadn't been a parking space, so he had been forced to wait in his car for Dawson to leave the house and then follow him back to watcher HO. He would give his right hand to know what the two of them had talked about in Pierson's flat. But one the other hand he probably already knew: could only have been about MacLeod's disappearance – Lafiette had been informed by Dr.Zoll about this latest incident last night. She hadn't been able to tell him much about it, but apparently MacLeod had gone missing in Strasbourg. And now Pierson and Dawson were flying exactly to that particular city…

Probably a resurrection-team for MacLeod… And what a great one, he thought a bit amused, a handicapped and a bookworm - if that isn't going to make it…

"Handball is said to be the best sport if you want to lose weight," the man next to him interrupted his thoughts, obviously not having understood the hint that Lafiette was not interested in a conversation.

Lafiette rolled his eyes and sighed. This flight is going to be long – very, very long! he thought as he once again pretended to read his magazine, still ignoring his neighbour very hard.