Chapter Eight
Denver, CO:

The worst of the storm had blown itself out in less than an hour. The power had come back about twenty minutes after that. Once it did, Amber had clicked the television on and had seen that a wave of tornadoes had descended on the area and were still creating problems east of here. Denver had escaped any major damage… but lines were down, and some roofs and awnings had blown off and created additional damage as they'd blown through the air.

"This unusual storm front is only the latest in a series of climatic events this year that has heralded unusual weather throughout the world." Amber had lowered the sound and scrunched down in the covers of the bed next to Derrick. Outside, rain still poured in a steady sheet and did so for the remainder of the day and most of the night.

By the next morning… the sun shown brightly and street crews could already be seen working on the cleanup from the hotel window were she stood, dressed and ready to hit the road once more. The door between their rooms was open and she could hear three male voices joking around. They didn't seem to be in any hurry. Derrick had ordered a room service breakfast and had it delivered next door. While Amber had been glad of hot food not cooked by one of them… she had no desire to remain here.

For one thing… during the night she'd felt an immortal in the hall. Whoever it was had hesitated on the other side of their door. Amber could swear she'd also heard a keycard click in the lock and the door open slightly. The bolt had been on… so the door had closed and eventually the presence had faded. Derrick had evidently sensed nothing. Nor, she felt, had Burke and Wingate. When she'd said something about it over breakfast… the three had looked at her strangely.

"You were likely dreaming," Derrick had said quietly.

"I was not dreamin'!" she'd replied. That's when she'd come back in here with her cup of coffee. She was ready to go. If someone had a keycard that worked… likely they worked in the hotel somehow… perhaps using it as a personal hunting ground. Or had it been one of the others? Would their card have worked? Despite the ease of the others… Amber had not lived so long by being careless. She was older than all three of them put together… and she knew that they would be wise to listen to her.

In the past few days, Wingate had told them of his youth in Ante-Bellum America… and his eventual death in the Civil War.

"I died at Gettysburg," he'd told them. "After that," he shrugged, "I headed west."

"Who was yar teacher?" Amber had wanted to know.

"I've had several. But the best one was a schoolteacher in some one-horse western town. He taught Latin and Greek and Classical History and was the best-damned swordsman I ever saw. Course… I only knew him about three days before he vanished on me. He was using the name Earl Madison at the time."

Derrick had chuckled.

Wingate sat up suddenly pointing at Derrick. "I knew it! You learned from him too!"

Derrick shrugged. "Well I knew him… although I never really learned swordsmanship from him… but from some of his friends."

"Ahh!" Wingate had waved at him. "I knew it that night! Madison once told me that he didn't really take students… but he would offer advice on form if someone were worthy of it. That move I put on you was one he showed me. It had never failed me… but you knew it!"

Derrick had shrugged with a sheepish grin. "What move? I just watched your eyes. Everything you were going to do was reflected in your eyes moments before you made it."

Wingate had leaned closer to Burke. "Next time I fight him… I'll have to remember to close my eyes!" Burke had nodded and laughed hysterically. Those two were becoming quite close. Wingate had started working with Burke… with sticks of course… as to how to really use a sword. He'd asked about retrieving his and was told "maybe later." He'd not asked again. Instead, he seemed to have settled into the pattern of their gypsy lifestyle. But he still made Amber uneasy.

Derrick entered their room. "Checkout's not until eleven. We can stay until then if you wish."

"What I wish is to know why we're even here?"

Derrick shrugged. "Did you want to spend the storm in the elements? I didn't. I didn't think you did either."

"But why Denver? Why a large city? Why downtown? Why the bank?"

Derrick reached back and closed the door between their rooms, crossing to stand before her, his voice low as he took her hands.

"I saw the storm was coming and that we needed better shelter than outdoors. For this I needed to withdraw a little extra money from my account. To do that… I needed a larger bank with international connections."

Amber raised one eyebrow. "Ya have a Swiss account?"

Derrick shrugged. "Some friends set it up for me years ago."

"Then why in heaven's name are we livin' hand-to-mouth?" Amber pulled her arms free and turned away angrily.

Derrick had laughed as he'd wrapped his arms around her from the back. "I've always lived this way. Besides… others need money more. I can always work for more… it's just… right now… it was nice to just travel and see things."

Amber began to chuckle lightly at the absurdity of his words. "Ya know… ya may be right. If ya live for centuries… ya need to always know ya have a nest egg." She sobered as she turned in his embrace to face him… their faces only inches apart. "Do ya plan on livin' for centuries, Derrick Foster?"

Derrick shrugged. "If the fates allow."

Amber heard a defeatist tone in his voice… as if what was important was today.

She smiled. "Aye… there is that. We have to be ready to face death each and every day… and you… Ya need a proper teacher… and I don't know if I should be it."

"Then be my friend."

Amber snorted. "Friend? Aye… friend I be." She snuggled closer and kissed him. Then she pulled back and glanced at her watch. "Ya say we don't have to check out for three more hours?"

Derrick swept her up into his arms with a wide grin as he carried her over to the unmade bed and tossed her onto it. "Whatever you wish?" Then he pounced.

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By eleven they'd checked out and hit the road… heading north. Derrick had not said where they were heading… Amber doubted if he knew. He just wanted to see the interior of the country… and help out people along the way if he could. And for some reason… he needed or wanted or at least felt more comfortable with other immortals around. Burke and Wingate followed behind them. Amber had settled into the pattern of their life… and seemed, if not at peace with it… at least resigned to the way of it… She still wondered about the unknown immortal at the hotel who'd tried their door last night… and whether or not they were truly safe… or were asking for trouble.

"Katie-girl," she mumbled under her breath, "Ya need to keep an eye on these three… none of them are really ready for the world out there but Wingate… and him, ya shouldn't trust… not yet. There's still somthin' about him." She tightened her grip on Derrick's lean form, and leaned closer.

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St. Louis, MO:

Methos slowed to eighty and then punched off the jets. He'd made great time so far, but he was hungry… and ready to stretch his legs. He'd considered flying out to California… but he didn't really think Derrick was there. Knowing the boy… no… make that man… as well as he did… Methos figured he was traveling. The ancient immortal knew he'd need reliable independent transportation… and speed. His Centaur was the way to go. Although technically, he was only supposed to engage the jetdrive in the speed lanes of the freeway… he knew in an emergency… it might prove welcome.

"Hungry?" he asked Jayne. He glanced over at her. She had her father's red hair and freckles… but was tall and nicely proportioned. At twenty-five… she'd been a little young to be tapped for his Watcher… but she was right… he still felt he owed Timothy Wyatt for what had happened to the young man. He'd nearly died because Peter Taylor had wanted "Adams" dead. Methos sighed. He had a great deal of baggage. He'd made enemies over the millennia… and while most of them were long dead… there were still a few lingering about. At least none of them now living knew his true name.

Besides the circle of immortals he now considered close friends, only the Watchers assigned to the project knew Methos was real rather than myth. Amy Meyers handpicked members of the project herself… and she was very thorough. Methos allowed a Watcher with the family for a period of two years… and then they moved on. Part of this was to protect the children's identities. After all, he'd not mentioned to any mortal that the children were biologically theirs. That was a secret he and the immortals who knew of it had agreed needed to be kept secret until, at least, they were grown. Jayne was nearing the end of her time with him. Professional and diligent, she worked very hard transcribing the memoirs he was willing to share with the Watchers… and generally filled her days transmitting them to Amy. Amy was the one who was putting it all together… and it was for her… and her sacrifice and dedication that he had allowed this. That and Joe.

"Hell, Methos," Joe had said. "You two are embarking on new territory with this bond of yours. You should let us chronicle it. So it's never lost."

"I like my privacy," Methos had grumbled sipping from his beer. They'd been at Le Blues Bar ten years ago, not long after J. D.'s first birthday and their return to Paris.

While Joe still owned the club… his hours there were way down. He came in to play with the house-band on Tuesdays and Thursdays… and usually was in for a while on Saturdays to visit with old patrons. His restriction to the wheelchair had still chaffed him a bit. Joe had also insisted on continuing to wear the prostheses… "Ya never know when I'll have to run for cover!" he'd blasted at the doctor who'd insisted it was not a good idea… it might prove too tempting. But Joe had proven the doctors wrong and was still alive and as cantankerous and ornery as ever… if not more so.

At any rate… they'd crafted a plan and an agreement: One Watcher as a member of the household for two years. Then they'd leave. No argument… no protestations. No loose-lips mentioning things to others.

So far it had worked. Most had been earnest middle-aged men. But when Methos had heard that Tim Wyatt's daughter was ready for a field assignment… he'd asked for her. Jayne Wyndham-Wyatt was smart, beautiful, and not a bit awe-struck. It was that quality that had helped Methos open up a bit to her about some of the events of his long past… at least the ones he could remember… and the ones he was ready to come clean about.

"As a matter of fact… I am!" Jayne flashed him a grin as she looked up from her enhanced PPC. She'd been working non-stop since they'd left the horse-farm on the notes he'd dictated yesterday… before Joe and Amy had called. "Where are we exactly?"

"Outskirts of St. Louis," Methos said, noting an exit ramp and slowing his speed to that of the ambient traffic patterns as he moved from the speed lanes to the slower ones and then off the freeway itself and into traffic. "I think there's a Masterson's ahead. That okay?"

"Fine, although I always find them a bit loud and awfully crowded."

"Exactly my point," Methos retorted. "Just keep quiet and say little."

"Oh? We're not to dance on the bar and sing drinking songs?" She grinned.

Methos gave her a hurt look. "I haven't done that for three hundred years. Besides… the war had ended… Everyone was dancing!"

"And what war would that be?"

"I don't remember," he admitted. "I was drunk at the time." Jayne laughed.

In the restaurant, they had about a ten-minute wait and then were seated. After ordering Methos pulled out his PPC and began checking emails. As expected… he saw one from MacLeod indicating he'd heard from Joe and did "ROG" need any help. Methos smirked. At some point in the last thirty odd years, since the Watchers had learned who he was, those that knew of him called him ROG in all their communications. Even those who knew his identity did so… and somewhere MacLeod had picked up on it. Methos couldn't ever recall using Roger or Rogers in any of his identities… but perhaps it was just as well. At least they weren't using his real name or any of his identities in their correspondence.

He tapped out a "No!" and moved on. One from Phillip indicated Eleanor and the children had arrived safely. Methos smiled. He'd already known that. Even from half a world away… he'd sensed her safe arrival in Athens and her glee at returning to Niebos. Her mind was filled with visions of the last time they'd been there… Methos shifted in his seat… aware that Eleanor was responding to his thoughts with warm thoughts of her own. Then she laughed and withdrew.

"Is she all right?" Jayne asked from the far side of the table. A knowing smile played across her lips. She could always tell when the two of them were communicating.

"Fine," Methos said closing his PPC and slipping it into his shirt pocket, patting it once he did so. The newest ones were so small and light… he sometimes feared to lose his. Of course he'd made certain not to keep anything on his that could create problems if it fell into the wrong hands. It was mainly a silent and swift means of communication with MacLeod, Phillip, and a few others. They'd learned over the years to stay in daily contact… and keep abreast of what was happening to each other in the distant parts of the world. Never again would they be so isolated that they'd be unaware of things happening which might impact all of them. Henry Rawlins had cemented relationships between immortals in ways he might never have expected. At least he and his "bastard immortals" were all dead as were most of the scientists who'd created them.

Methos reached for his beer and was sipping it thirstily when he felt the tingle of an immortal presence enter the restaurant. Surreptitiously, he let his gaze travel to the hostess stand and to the woman standing there looking about. He looked away with a groan.

"Who is it?" asked Jayne.

"Someone I'd rather not have a conversation with," groused Methos setting his beer down. But it was not a meeting that would be avoided.

Sarah Manning crossed the restaurant and made a beeline for his table. "Ben? I haven't seen you in… years?"

"I've been busy… and you?"

"Oh… here and there…" She turned and gave Jayne the once-over with a knowing smile. "Ben and I are old friends… or… do you go by Ben these days?"

Jayne smiled slightly. She was, Methos could tell, in full Watcher mode, attempting to memorize for the Chronicle… every word spoken.

"Ben's fine," Methos said reluctantly.

"Oh… " Sarah sounded almost disappointed that she hadn't created a problem with the use of the only name she probably knew.

Just then she flagged a passing waitress and indicated she would join her "friends" for dinner. With that she pulled another chair up to the table and settled in. Methos groaned inwardly as she ordered.

Sarah Manning had been a hostess at a San Francisco Men's club early this century. He'd gotten to know her shortly after Eleanor had left him. While Methos hadn't remained long in San Francisco once Eleanor left… he'd remained long enough to finish tying up the threads of his identity there… financier and wealthy businessman Benjamin Adams… and setting up the blind trusts to look after the properties he wanted to retain. Sarah had helped fill some lonely evenings. She'd been pre-immortal at the time… and he hadn't said anything to her about immortals or the game. Until he'd been in Watchers back in the early nineties, and run across her file, he hadn't even known if her immortality had been triggered and if she'd entered the game. She had… oh yes… she most definitely had. He'd read through it with a touch of sadness.

Her chestnut hair was no longer long or swept up in the style she'd worn one hundred twelve years ago. She'd sheared most of it off and wore it short. Her hazel eyes twinkled merrily and he knew she was enjoying the moment in having found him and making him uncomfortable. Her Chinese influenced red silk top had small black dragons embroidered on it. She wore a long black silk coat over it… long enough to hide her sword, he reasoned. Her black skirt was split high on the side. When she crossed her legs… he was aware how high the slit came and what it revealed. Then one booted foot rubbed up and down the inside of his leg. Evidently… Sarah expected them to take up where they'd left off… or at the least… she was expecting to make him even more uncomfortable.

Leaning one arm on the table she rested her chin on the back of her hand and regarded Jayne. "Girlfriend? Wife? Date?" Sarah's foot continued to rub and probe against his leg.

Methos ground his teeth, flushed slightly, and quickly grabbed again for his beer as he shifted to avoid her foot, already regretting that he'd insisted on a crowded and very public restaurant.

Jayne smiled knowingly. "Friends," she finally said. She knew enough to say as little as possible. She certainly wasn't going to let on that she knew about immortals… about "Ben's" current name… or the fact that he was married. She was a Watcher… and she was determined to just Watch. Besides… this could become interesting.

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