The bag held a full camelbak and a few pounds of concentrated rations. A four inch knife, a compass, a space blanket, and a few other odds and ends. It should be enough to get him to civilization, of course a map or a road would have helped.

He had lived in the desert for centuries. Made it his home for almost a thousand years. Still, he hated the fucking desert. He could live there indefinitely but he wasn't pleased about it, besides there was a man he was meant to be hunting.

It took him two days of walking to find a road and another half day of hitchhiking to get a ride. Once he hit civilization he started tracking down his friends. Joe had retired early from the Watchers. Sick of the politics and infighting he had decided to walk away and keep his sanity and friendship with his immortals intact. None of the numbers Methos had for Joe worked most just rang. He frowned and tried to contact Amanda, and finally Macleod. Nothing. He left coded messages at their shared voicemail and hoped for the best.

He needed information and time. He had a year, which was great if he knew for sure when he'd been dumped into the desert. At least it was the U.S. He had been mildly concerned that he was somewhere in South America, maybe even the Atacama desert. The plant life looked wrong for anywhere but North America though so he wasn't too shocked to see a sign in English announcing his entry into the local widespot in the road. He again checked the phone he'd been given for a signal. Nothing, although the battery was apparently unlimited.

"Disapearing underground lairs and immortal cell phone batteries, nice bunch of villains." He sighed as he hung up the payphone again.

The phone was in the parking lot of a gas station. He studied the station's layout and casually sauntered in. Well as casually as he could. He looked like a dude who'd just walked out of a desert with a sword, 'cause he was.

"Hi." He greeted the clerk. His sword was strapped to his back under the camelbak. It was less obvious but it was after all a 4' sword and he was a six footish man so it was hard to be entirely stealthy.

"Nice sword." The kid at the counter said. He sounded tense.

"Ah thanks, that's kind of you to notice. Say do you have a motel around here?"

"Uh about twenty miles down the road."

"Great great, uhm do they happen to have internet access?"

"I don't know."

"Hmm, any place around here that does?"

"Uh not really."

"How 'bout your phone? Got the 'net on your phone?"

"Maybe."

"Okay I'll make you a deal, you let me use your phone for say twenty minutes, I give you a hundred bucks."

"Deal."

Methos took the phone from the kid and started scrolling through and doing searches. He had bank accounts all over the world and dozens of aliases. Within fifteen minutes he had a rental car on the way, and a motel room in the nearest moderately sized city that was hosting a large convention. He gave the kid his phone back and waited for the car.

It took him two weeks to get the basic things he needed to search for and kill Alexander Harris. 'Course now he just needed to find the kid and put a bullet in the back of his head. It took him two weeks because at first he tried to find where his taskmasters had taken his friends. No luck, he'd tried to find out who or what had taken him, tried to contact Helen and John, even Will and Ashley. Nothing.

So he had reluctantly started collecting gear and sending out feelers for Harris. The kid didn't have much of a record and what was available was patchy. Apparently a lot of information had been lost when the entire fucking town had been eaten by a sinkhole. Something about this whole thing reeked to high heaven. He could just bolt and head for the hills but he suspected the idiots who had involved him in this mess would find him again, then there was the whole 'I'm gonna kill your friends so there' factor.

He bent over his laptop and glared at his email. Alexander Harris' wasn't in Sunnydale anymore, obviously, apparently he had briefly relocated to Cleveland along with most of the survivors of Sunnydale and then gone to Africa. Awesome. It wasn't so much that he hated Africa as much as he hated being in modern Africa. Then again, a random killing could be hidden, depending on the country and the victim. Sadly a one-eyed handsome American would be noticed and his sudden disappearance or death would likewise be noticed. Ideally he could lure Harris back to the U.S. Somehow.

Question was, what did Harris care about enough to drop everything and come back for? He logged out of his email and into a travel site. He needed tickets to Cleveland.

He spent a week and a half in Cleveland studying his quarry. Harris worked for something called the Watchers, which in spite of their similar name to the Watchers Methos was familiar with seemed to be unrelated. Which was annoying. Methos had spent nearly a decade in the Watchers meddling with his own chronicle (what little of it there was) and avoiding his kind. During that time he'd never heard of any other branch or any other organization with that nomenclature.

So, he worked for the Watchers and lived in their building. Aside from Harris and what appeared to be the day-to-day workers in the building a massive number of young women moved in and out of the building. He didn't think it was a brothel or they were engaged in the sex trade but he was hard pressed to think of another reason for dozens of young women to be gathered in one building. It was weird.

He watched the girls and various employees for a few days without seeing anything of particular use. The security was solid and wouldn't be easy to crack.

Methos was crouched on the flat roof of a building opposite his target. Binoculars in hand he studied the main entrance to the Watcher's building again. He needed to get in and either find out more about Harris or figure out a way to lure him back to the U.S.

"Burn the bloody building to the ground." He grumbled as a petite blond exited the building. She looked upset and moved with martial confidence. She was a regular and several times Methos had witnessed other girls approach the blond with an air of deference and respect. Several others usually accompanied the woman. Today she was solo. He lowered the binoculars and thought.

If this woman was someone important perhaps a threat or assault against her would be enough to drag Harris out of his hole. Or not, he didn't want to hurt an innocent person but he needed to take action. Sure he'd been given a year but his friends were being held against their will. He picked up a small messenger bag and slipped the binoculars into it. It was made to resemble a leather attache case and he was dressed in a neat midrange suit. He would blend with the neighborhood lunch traffic of office workers.

Methos made his way to the street and started to shadow the blond. She was small but well muscled, she moved with the grace and strength of a predator. Utterly confident and aware, she wouldn't be an easy target. He wanted to take the time to plan this but in the days he'd been watching this was the first time he'd seen her alone.

He drifted after her for two blocks, in and out of the lunch crowds and shoppers. She went into a fashionable boutique once for a few minutes and a cafe to pick up a to-go order. She started to head back to the building. Methos frowned and hurried up, he would have to act within the next five minutes or he would lose her again.

She paused to look at another boutique and he took the opportunity to cross to her side of the street. There was a shallow alley a half block ahead that he hoped to use. She approached the alley and he rushed her aiming to catch her by the shoulders and hustled her further into the alley - and was kicked in the gut by a mule. Well, that was what it felt like anyway. The tiny girl dropped him to his knees with a kick to his gut and then lashed out with inhuman speed to punch him in the face. He managed (barely) to avoid the blow and grab her forearm. What followed was fast, painful, and uncertain. Somehow he ended up on his ass with a broken nose and a surprisingly large knife against his throat.

"Took you long enough, why the hell are you eyeballing me?" She demanded.

Now, normally in this situation he would have the strength and leverage of a fit, combat hardened, tested warrior and male of his size on his side. To be fair, he did have these qualities and assets, however, his 'victim' appeared to have at least twice his strength and speed on her side.

"What are you?" He asked. The blade on his throat made him nervous but it would make anyone nervous so he tried not to sweat it. Until she pressed harder on the knife and a bead of blood ran along the surface of the blade and dripped on to his shirt.

"Why. Are. You. Watching. Me?" She snarled.

"I need to get to Harris." He admitted. What the hell at least it would get the kid back in the country. Maybe. She broke his jaw with a backhanded slap. He tried not to let the fact that it was starting to heal as soon as it was broken too obvious. Hopefully she hadn't felt the bone break. His nose had healed already. Still the blow hurt and rattled him.

"Why? What do you want with Xander?" She demanded. His head lolled as she gripped his shirt front and lapels and dragged him upright – which meant hauling him over her head a bit - and throwing him against the alley wall.

"F-f-uck you." He managed to gasp with his nearly healed jaw blood from his cut gums and still bleeding nose peppered her face and clothes. She released him and he slid to the ground. She pulled a cell out of her pocket.

"Hey yeah it's Buffy, I've got him we'll need to take him back he's not talking and I don't trust him, he said he's after Xander."

Who the hell was Xander? His brain clicked, AleXANDER Harris. Huh, odd nickname. His head was foggy, he probably had a concussion or was healing from a subdural hematoma. Great. Wait, did she say her name was Buffy?

"Buffy?" He asked incredulously. She cold cocked him.

Water, especially cold water, is not recommended for waking people up, unless of course you do not like the sleeper. He gasped and writhed under the impact of the frigid water and let out a noise that was surprisingly similar to a scalded cat. He shook his head and glared around. The blond was sitting in front of him. He was bound to a chair which was bolted to the concrete floor. Nice, these folks were prepared for these things. Awesome, more creepy friends to play with.

"Why are you spying on us?" She demanded. There was a bright light above her, it cast dark shadows beyond his line of sight. He listened hard and thought he could hear at least one other person breathing.

"I'm not talking to you until you untie me and let me clean up." He sighed. She was beautiful, tough, and carried a sadness and maturity that belied her apparent years. He didn't sense her the way he did other immortals, but then he hadn't felt any other immortals since his jaunt to Easter Island. So what was she?

"No deal." She growled. She was protective of Harris, like a lioness. Why? What was he to her? Friend? Lover?

"You gonna hit me some more?"

"There doesn't seem to be much point to that." The voice was tired, British and stern. A man dressed in an impeccable tweed suit stepped out of the shadows. He was handsome, fiftyish, dark hair, good build, he was polishing a pair of glasses with a crisp white handkerchief as he approached Methos. Methos didn't rise to the bait.

"You just received a rather severe beating from a Slayer and are apparently no worse for wear." The man said and put his glasses on. Again Methos stayed silent.

"What are you?" The man asked.

"What's a Slayer?" Methos countered.

"We've researched you, or tried to. There is no record of anything with your apparent abilities that is not some kind of demon. So, what are you?" The man asked again. Steel had crept into his voice. Methos watched how he moved and decided the man was probably a legitimate threat. If nothing else he would slow the immortal down.

"I'm immortal." Methos sighed and pulled against whatever was securing him to the chair.

"Immortal?" The man asked intrigued. All menace and threat of violence fell away from him, replaced with raw curiosity.

"Hey hi nice to meet you, my name is Adam and you are?" Methos sneered.

"My name is Rupert Giles." The man sighed. The little blond stepped closer to Methos, unconsciously protecting the man – Rupert.

"Fabulous Rupert, look, I'm hungry, I'm wet, and I'm pretty worn out. So, you let me talk to you two like a human being and maybe throw in a beer and sandwich and let's see if we can get to the bottom of this."

"You tried to attack me-"

"Yes and that worked out super well for me didn't it? Look I have questions, you have questions and the apparent ability to kick the crap out of me. Let me loose give me a sandwhich and let's y'know chat."

"Chat?" Rupert asked.

"I think he wants to be your BFF Giles, look tall and stupid you screwed with the wrong people. Xander is family and you don't-"

"Oh for fuck's sake fine! Leave me tied up but can I have a sandwhich? Seriously it's been hours since you beat me up right?" He interjected frustrated and ravenous.

"It's good Giles I'll cuff him, if he gets all feisty I can handle him."

"Okay seriously lady what are you?" He asked as she approached him.

"I'm the Slayer." She said with a grin.

"My head hurts." Methos whined.

"You're probably fine Xander but Buffy thought you should know this guy was asking about you." Dawn said, she was video chatting with Xander over skype.

"Thanks Dawnie, so he's like a non-demony demon?"

"He said he's immortal, Buffy totally kicked his ass and he was fine like an hour later."

"Well that's just neat."

"Yeah, unless he wants to kill you." Dawn smirked.

"Hush, I'll be back in a couple days." Xander grinned and logged off.

Methos devoured his second sandwich and tried to talk with an overfull mouth.

"You're immortal?"

"Yeah no death unless I get blowed up or something." He muttered bits of dry bread puffing from his mouth with every hard syllable.

"But you aren't a demon?" Giles asked. Methos was cuffed and shackled and still soggy but he'd been moved to a more comfortable room and fed. Giles was sitting across from him while Buffy lurked menacingly in the corner.

"Nope, met a demon once, Ahriman Zoroastrian prick. Son of a bitch cost me a good friend, friends nearly." Methos mused and picked up a third sandwich.

"Ahriman?" Buffy mouthed.

"He's a myth." Giles muttered. His expression was pensive, pensive and intrigued.

"Hey pensive boy what's going on?" Buffy asked Giles. Giles smiled very very slightly and cleared his throat.

"I'm not from here am I?" Methos asked finishing his third sandwich and reaching for a provided glass of water.

"Er, no Mr uh Adam I don't believe you are." Giles admitted.

"Giles? Spill." Buffy insisted.

"I believe he's from an alternate dimension."

"Yeah me too." Methos agreed.

He'd been mulling it over for awhile and it was the only thing that explained the inconsistencies. Why John would betray him so easily, why the infirmary at the Sanctuary had seemed slightly different, why Will hadn't noticed the exchange between he and Methos, why he hadn't felt any other immortals even though he had crossed through a good chunk of the U.S. Etc etc. It explained everything, except how the hell he'd gotten there. As he finished his water and his review of his own conclusions Giles was likewise finishing his explanation to Buffy.

"He's what a Slider?" She asked.

"Nope, look I don't know how I got here but someone engineered it. They have my friends either in this place or in my..uh place -"

"We need nouns Giles, it is nouns we need right?" Buffy asked frowning slightly.

"Erm yes, uh well this is our reality perhaps Mr – uh Adam here can refer to his as well his reality."

"Clever." Methos sighed.

"So why did someone bring you here?" Buffy demanded. Methos smirked.

"Apparently to kill your friend." This time she broke his jaw and knocked him out at the same time.

He came to a few seconds later as Giles was examining his jaw.

"Ow." Methos grumbled pulling away from Giles' hands. He reached up and gripped his jaw, there was a soft cracking grinding noise as he set it in place. Giles and Buffy winced at the sound.

"Oh my god that was so gross." Buffy breathed wide eyed.

"Oh come on you're some kinda Xena Warrior Princess and you're grossed out by that?" Methos scoffed and rubbed his jaw.

"Uh yes I think Buffy was right in that the uh noise was...disturbing." Giles muttered. He was scrutinizing Methos' healed face.

"So... this is kinda awkward but I've got a year to kill your friend" he ducked to avoid another blow - "and keep my friends alive, so that gives us like nine months to plot a counter move." He said leaning away from Buffy and glaring at her. Giles sighed and reached for his handkerchief.

"Look lady back the fuck off I don't actually want to help these people okay? I don't want to kill your friend he sounds like a good guy all right? Gods I don't want to be here. I should have shot John when he showed up in Paris." He ended with a sigh.

"Okay who is John?" Buffy asked.

Methos sighed and dropped his head to the table. Today was not his day.