((I think I've gotten the flow back, last two chapters I felt where difficult due to the amount of time that passed due to real life and that I hadn't thought about the story. Ed McMahon and Publishers Sweepstakes belong to…well themselves… don't worry it'll make sense when you read. Again thank you for the reviews, more are welcome.))

Colorado Springs, Colorado
Stargate Command -- Level 16 Secondary Command Center – 8:03pm

As the reporter finished her update from the Emergency Room, Jack leaned over and muted the TV monitor before turning his attention back to the Major's status report.

The room was dimly lit, with only the light from the monitors and a simple desk lamp located next to the door. As she spoke he studied his 2IC's features in the muted light, O'Neill could see the effects of this crisis upon her. "So the satellites have detected nothing out of the ordinary in the last 5 days?" He said quietly, his attention refocused on what his 2IC.

"Nothing… for the past 5 days there has been normal orbital traffic, Sir" Carter said, as she studied the expression on her superiors face. Tilting her head she glanced back toward the monitor, where the credits for the news broadcast scrolled quietly across the screen framed in a background shot of the incident at the park.

"You don't think that the incident in the park has anything to do with Janet?" turning back to look him in the eyes.

Jack stood there, his arms crossed over his chest. Quietly he thought to himself as he took in the displays from each monitor in turn. His eyes constantly darted to the TV monitor; its coverage of the local news now replaced by regular syndicated broadcasts.

"Hmm, Major? Oh that, well that's pretty strange to hear on the news; that a mugging would end in a decapitation, now isn't it?" Jack said, as he stroked his chin slowly.

With a sigh, O'Neill turned toward the door the small command center. He paused and turned back, "Carter, I want you to call over to Area 51 and make arrangements for security around the X-302's to be doubled for the time being. I don't want this snake hitching a ride in one of our birds."

"Understood, sir," she said, moving toward the secure phone.

Opening the door, he paused, "Oh and Major, I want you to grab at least 8 hours sleep and by sleep I mean a bed, not that chair. I'll have Teal'c come relieve you at 2300 hours" he walked out into the corridor, shutting the door.

Strolling down the hall toward the elevator, the niggling little voice in the back of his head returned to the event in the park tonight. Pressing the button, he stood there rocking back and forth upon his feet waiting for the elevator; all the while the little voice kept drawing his attention back to the mugging.

When the doors finally opened, his little voice would not be assuaged; sighing Jack jabbed the button.

…

Denver
Palace Hotel Room # 317 – 8:10pm

The bathroom was misted in a damp fog from the shower. As she washed the last scents of the fight, and what she could only assume was very old Kung Pao Chicken from the back of her neck; the hot water did little to soothe the turmoil that was slowly consuming her.

A mortal… and he knew my name…

Shutting off the water, Kallisto stepped from the shower stall. Moving to the sink she picked up a soft white towel and wrapped it securely around her waist; bending down to pick up a garbage bag that was now stuffed with the tattered remains of her clothing, she slowly into the living room.

With the small black garbage bag in hand, she stopped and stared at the lone television set. As she moved to the nightstand for the remote control, she glanced at the time. Setting the bag at the foot of her bed she thumbed the power button; as the sounds of some mindless sitcom filled the room she started to flip through the range of channels finally finding a local channel's news coverage.

'… police are keeping a tight lid on the details behind today's brutal incident in the park. The victim, Jonathan Winters, is said to be in surgery at the moment. A spokesperson for the hospital said that his condition is considered critical but they believe that he will make a full recovery. Live from St. Joseph's Medical Center in Downtown Denver, This is Allison Flad. Action 5 News.'

As she stood from the bed, the remote dropped to the floor. The words from the reporter barely filtered through her mind, there where only two things that where able to permeate her chaotic mind… Jonathan Winters and St. Josephs Medical Center.

…

Le Blues Bar
Paris, France – 3:45am

"14… 15…16… 17… 18 … and these two make it an even 20" Joe quietly spoke to himself as he finished up the inventory on the latest delivery from his distributor. Carefully he closed the cardboard box and leaned against his cane, silently reviewing the clipboard resting on top of a nearby case of vodka.

As he checked off each item a soft creak caught his attention. His head slightly turned, he listened again… 'squeak'. Joe set the pen down upon the clipboard and with a skill that would have surprised all that first met the disabled man, silently made his way across the storage room; stopping at the door, he peered down the small hallway connected to his office to the storage room.

With a touch to the small of his back he felt the reassuring presence of his Beretta, granted the Police would frown on his possession of the sleek black firearm, but his mama didn't raise no fool. Besides, being a Watcher was a dangerous way of life.

Once through the doorway, he silently traveled down the hall. With a pause, Joe gently pushed open the half closed door. Glancing inside the source of the disturbance comes into view the slim form of his friend, and former co-worker, seated at his desk silently scrolling through his computer.

"Methos…"

"Good Morning Joe… wonderful set tonight."

"What have I told you about using my computer?" Joe stated in an exasperated tone, slowly entering his office.

"Something about it not being a rolodex. I promise you, I'm not looking for anything to use to my advantage with 'The Game' Joe. Just curious to see where our overgrown Scottish boy scout has run off to," said the elder Immortal with a dismissive sigh.

"Well, you could have skipped the James Bond routine and just asked," replied Joe as he leaned both of his hands on his cane, a bemused look upon his face.

As Joe slowly meandered closer to his desk, he noticed one of the files that Methos had opened and was browsing through. "That's not Duncan's chronicle you're going through," he said leaning over to tap the escape key, the opened file vanishing from the screen leaving only the desktop in view.

"Oh that, well it just sort of popped open by mistake Joseph," he replied with a slight smile upon his lips, his demeanor neither repentant nor ashamed at being caught in the act.

Joe's stony gaze let him know just how much his charity was welcomed.

"Truly, I didn't want to bother you over something so trivial… I was thinking of you having to run this club and such."

"There is such a thing as privacy Methos," Joe sighed; rubbing his hand thorough his short grey hair.

"Privacy, Joe? You're a Watcher… Pot… Kettle… I think you can see my point, you really aren't one to lecture me in this regard," replied the Immortal with a rather smug grin on his face.

"You said you where looking for Duncan… the whole point behind your little 'act of charity'," he said with an annoyed sigh and a wave of his hand as he glared at his friend.

"Yes… I need to ask Duncan something, he's not at the Barge and the Manager at the Dojo hasn't seen him in months so…" he decided to further irk Joe by giving too much attention to a trivial Watcher report on his desk.

As Joe leaned over, he roughly slapped close the open folder; Methos, with a childish grin, grabbed up a random memo and made a dramatic show of reading it.

Before he could utter a very choice litany of swear words, Joe's cell phone interrupted with a shrill ring. While fishing the slim black phone from his pocket with one hand; Joe managed to balance on his prosthetics for a moment, while swapping his cane from one hand to the other, allowing him to grab the memo from Methos's hand.

"Dawson!" he barked into the phone, as he glared at the smug smirk on his unexpected guests face. The voice on the other end of the line cooled his ire slightly.

"Hey Ben, No… no everything's fine, just dealing with a pest," he said with smirk directed toward the elder Immortal; shifting into a slightly more comfortable standing position, "How's everything at Regional?"

As he listened, an uncomfortable ball of lead settled in his stomach "What happened, any idea how bad he is?" Joe asked.

"Uh huh…that's good, where is he?" Joe asked as he leant over the table to grab up a pen, quickly writing on an errant scrap of paper.

"Yea got it…what else can you tell me…?" The smooth flow of his writing came to an abrupt halt, letting the pen drop from his fingers he stared toward Methos for just a moment before turning around.

"Christ… no Ben, she's has been out of circulation, as it where, for some time," he said so engrossed he didn't take notice of Methos slipping out of the desk chair and coming to stand off to his side.

"Keep me in the loop Ben; we need to get a new watcher on her as soon as possible and we need to talk to John as soon as he's stable. Ok? Alright, bye," he sighed and flipped the phone closed with more force then necessary, followed by a haphazard toss onto the wooden desk.

Adjusting his cane, Joe slowly made his way out of the office and toward the bar.

"Joe… I might be wrong but I doubt that call was Ed McMahon you of winning the Publisher Sweepstakes," he said trailing behind his mortal friend.

Walking further into the dark and quiet room, Joe made his way around the bar and fetched up two glasses and a lone bottle from the myriad that adorned the back wall. Without a word, he poured two generous shots of bourbon. Pushing one glass before Methos he hefted his glass and, with a quick silent toast toward Methos, downed the fiery liquid in one smooth swallow.

Methos's stood there, confusing and concern warring for dominance inside him. Taking a seat at the bar, he cradled the small glass of amber liquid in his hands.

As Joe poured a second shot for himself, the bottle was set roughly down upon the dark stained wood of the bar. The glass held in one hand, Joe silently contemplated the liquid; hoping that, like Nostradamus, the secrets and mysteries of what was about to unfold would be revealed in the mahogany depths.

"Trouble, Joe?" Methos asked softly, taking a small draught from his glass and letting the smooth liquor work its way down his throat.

Joe paused for a moment, "That was Ben, from the North American Regional Office," staring deeply into the half full glass, "It was about John Winters. Seems he was mugged while in the park, whoever did it stabbed him,"

"Is he…?"

"No," he sighed, "they have him listed as critical. They're sure he'll make a recovery…" He spoke, his gaze still upon the contents of his glass.

"I sense that there is a 'But' to this little tale?" he asked, taking another small sip of his drink.

"One of the Muggers," glancing up from the amber liquid toward the elder Immortal, "had his head cut off."

Sighing softly, "Do they think…?"

"At the moment, we don't know what to think or where she is," he whispered softly, then tossed back the second shot.

…

((More to come.))