"A Sea of Fate". Paula Stiles Summary: Joe and Methos find themselves chasing each other's dopplegangers on the streets of Paris. Part twelve of the "Armed Intervention" series. Disclaimer: Don't own the universe. Not making any money off of it. Davis/Panzer Productions, Rysher Entertainment, and Gaumont Television do that. Don't bother to sue me. I'm poor. I don't own Bon Jovi's "Keep the Faith" or the title song from "Cabaret", either. This, and my other stories, can be found at: http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch.html Or, as part of the Armed Intervention series at: http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch.html Archive: Sure. Just ask first. Many thanks to Judith Hill for betareading this for me. A SEA OF FATE, PART TWO Father, Father, please believe me. I am laying down my guns. I am broken like an arrow. Forgive me; forgive your wayward son. I pulled up on the road near Headquarters, stopping a little too fast. It had been over a month since I'd had a chance to drive my own car, and I was still getting the hang of the handbrake again. "Are you okay?" I said. You had the Bastard out, set naked and point down between your knees with your hands gripping the quillions, the handle pressed to your forehead. Your eyes were closed. "Methos? Earth the Methos." Slowly, you opened your eyes and turned your head to look at me. "What?" You sounded as if you were talking underwater. I told myself that I wasn't scared, but that was bullshit. The way you were at the moment, I'd challenge Kronos himself not to be afraid of you, or for you. "I asked you if you were okay." You rubbed your cheek against the Bastard's pommel, eyes unfocused. "Methos, talk to me. I'm not going in there until we're on the same page." "Yeah...yeah, I'm with you." Well, it was some kind of answer, at least. "Okay. Then, the first thing you need to do is put that thing away. There is no way we are getting past the gate, let alone inside Headquarters, while you've got the Bastard out and swinging." I wasn't about to let you kill anybody on my watch. I fingered the gun in my coat and prayed silently that I wouldn't have to use it. You chuckled, my first sign that you were zeroing in on me finally. "Good point." You opened the door, got out, flipped the Bastard end over end with a graceful little twirl and slid it back into its scabbard inside your coat. I wish I could say I was reassured, but I wasn't. You got back in and shut the door. "Allons-y, mon ami." A shadow passed over your face, but you shook it off. "Think they'll let us in?" "Me? Yeah, probably. You? I guess there's only one way to find out. Don't think the sword will make much difference, as long as it stays in your coat." Unfortunately, your knee-length jacket, jeans, hiking boots and black sweatshirt screamed Immortal chic to any half-observant Watcher, but I couldn't see any way around that. I started up the car and pulled back onto the road. You were very quiet as we pulled into the long driveway and rolled up to the sentry gate. "Name and purpose for your visit?" the guard asked politely, leaning over to peer into the car. I couldn't tell if he recognised you, since his expression didn't change as he glanced around the interior. Probably not, unless they had some special Most Wanted poster series for Immortal renegade Watchers or Methos sightings. You burned off your tattoo years ago and you had never been high-profile when you were with us. And he looked just young enough to have joined after all that mess with Galati. As long as nobody asked to see your tattoo, we'd probably be okay. "Joe Dawson and Adam Pierson," I said. "We're here to see Director Gabrieli." I flashed my Watcher ID. "May I see your ID, M. Pierson?" the guard said, looking past me. "Mr. Pierson is my guest," I said. "Director Gabrieli is expecting us." The guard's expression didn't change, but he did go still. "Pardonnez-moi un moment, Monsieur." He stepped back into the guard house, picked up the phone and made the call. A moment later, he hung up and opened the gate. "You may proceed with your guest, M. Dawson." "Thanks." I wondered what they'd told him, but the bland formality in his voice and face gave nothing away. I tried not to think too hard about what I was doing, driving a half-mad Immortal--an ex-Horseman of the Apocalypse, no less--right into Watcher Headquarters. If that wasn't a textbook example of Interference, then I needed to go back to Academy and hit the regulation manuals. At least with Mac, I'd always been able to maintain some sort of distance. With you, that was impossible. You were a Watcher and always would be. The way you'd quoted Watcher philosophy at me the whole time we were going after Walker to get Amy back made that obvious. I don't think you even noticed when you were doing it; we were that far into your system. "That was simple enough," you said as I drove up the gravel drive. "Why did you say we were going to see Gabrieli?" "Just a hunch," I said, pulling into the parking lot. "If Croft is sending you gifties in the mail like we got this morning, chances are he's not the kind of guy we want to be visiting officially." "Yeah, but now we have to talk to Gabrieli before we leave." You sounded almost okay now, but I didn't trust it. I'd only thought I knew you before. Four months of living cheek-by-jowl with you, watching your every move for a disaster, had taught me how to interpret every twitch. There was no way you could be okay right now; therefore, you weren't. But I still had to play along as if you were. "So what? We survived the last time; we can finesse this one, too. We're just dropping in for a chat." Granted, last time had been in the bar and Gabrieli's office was hardly neutral ground, but I was sure we could figure it out as we went along. I pulled into a space halfway down the parking lot from the door. I could have taken the pitifully small handicapped parking space next to the steps, but I was damned if I was going to take that sop. "What is it with you and that sword, anyway?" "What do you mean?" God dammit. You always picked the worst times to act coy. "You know what I mean. You've been clinging to the damned thing like a baby to its pacifier since we left your apartment. What's up with that? You fixing to whack Galbon with it, or something?" I couldn't bring myself to call the guy Rene at the moment, not after what I'd just seen. "It's a thought at that." I knew you weren't joking. You slipped a hand inside your coat, your eyes going faraway again. "Ever since we went to Scotland, the Bastard...hums. Like one of those vibrating baby chairs. It's very calming. Better than drugs." And less scary right at the moment, no doubt. I shivered. "Okay. This effect doesn't include any sudden urges to yank the thing out and start slicing and dicing at random, does it?" You smiled faintly. "I won't embarrass myself in there, Joe. I promise." "Embarrassment is not what I'm worried about. You sure you can manage my chair? I mean, two hours ago, you were on your knees worshipping the Porcelain God. You were looking pretty shaky. You okay now?" Your face went blank. "I am fine, Joe. Really." I didn't believe you, but I let you get out and grab the chair for me. Not like I could get it on my own, and as long as you had your hands full, maybe you wouldn't be thinking about filleting Galbon--or Croft, or Gabrieli. You got me out of the truck and into the chair and wheeled me up to the entrance. The wheel on the right side made an annoying, repetitive squeak. Another mobility glitch I needed to get fixed. The guy at the front office looked up as we rolled in. Not like he could miss us with that squeaky wheel. "M. Dawson, we've been expecting you." Great. If they'd been expecting us, they couldn't have met us down in the parking lot and helped with the damned wheelchair? "Do you need directions to Director Gabrieli's office?" Smarmy bastard. Hadn't been that long since I was up here. "No thanks. I think we can find our own way," I said. The guard nodded to us and let us go without trying to engage you in conversation. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted that he didn't even bother to search either of us for weapons, though I thought he gave you a funny look. Maybe he remembered you from when you were working in Archives. For once, you had no smart remarks of your own. If anything, you seemed subdued as you wheeled me into the elevator that took us to the next floor. God only knew what you were thinking; it had been years since you'd come here. Some homecoming. "Finance is on the third floor now," I said, once the elevator doors closed us in. "I think Croft has the big suite of offices down at the end. The one with the picture window." "I remember it," you said and pressed the button. We didn't say anything more. Neither of us was in the mood and the elevator was probably bugged. It had been bugged on and off, in the past. When the door opened, you rolled me out and into the open floor plan of Finance. I saw the main help desk, several cubicles and a hallway that went down the western side of the building. "It's down there," you said, pointing down the hallway. "Yeah, okay. Let's ask first. Just roll me up to the desk." You shrugged and pushed me up opposite a young, dark-haired woman that I didn't recognise. No big surprise there. I was a field Watcher, not support staff. She looked up as you squeaked me into position opposite her and leaned on the handles, looking over my shoulder. "May I help you, Messieurs?" she asked, looking puzzled. Her eyes passed over me, focused on you, then slid back to me as being 'safer' to deal with, in relative terms. I bit down a laugh. "Hi, we're here to see Harold Croft," I said. She still looked confused. Uh oh. Guess she was even newer than she looked--or maybe Croft had pulled a disappearing act, after all. That was an option we had only half- discussed in the apartment. You still seemed to be clinging to the idea that Croft wouldn't have just dropped that kind of bomb in your lap before skipping off to Bora Bora. "The Assistant Head of Finance?" you supplied helpfully from over my head. "Alors, the Assistant Head of Finance is down that hallway." She pointed down the same hallway you had indicated before. "The office at the end?" you asked. She nodded. "See? I told you," you muttered to me, as you pulled me back and started turning me around. "Thank you," I called over my shoulder. "Let me do the talking, first," I said as we went down the hallway. "I know you know this guy, but we might get more out of him if I go first. You can always start in playing Good Friend if he gets uncooperative." "Yeah, whatever," you said. To my surprise, the door at the end of the hallway was open. I knocked hesitantly on the door as you pushed me through the doorway and stopped the chair. "Uh, Mr. Croft? Can we talk to you for a few minutes?" The man standing at the window turned around at the knock. He was not Harold Croft. I swallowed, feeling sick. I was getting that sinking feeling a lot lately. "Good morning Mr. Dawson, Mr. Pierson," Director David Gabrieli said. "Please come in and have a seat." Above me, I heard you suck in a long breath. "Director Gabrieli," I said, jumping in before you could say or do something stupid. "We were just coming to see you, but we had to discuss some business with Harold Croft, first. We thought his office was in here." I held my breath, praying you would take my cue and let me do all the talking, or at least most of it. "Before I answer your questions, Mr. Dawson, I would strongly suggest that you and Mr. Pierson shut the door behind you and have a seat. Please." I glanced up at you. You were staring at Gabrieli. "Uh, Adam? You wanna get a seat?" You started, as if waking up from some reverie. "Yeah, okay." You pushed me up to the desk and took a chair next to me. Gabrieli waited until we had both settled before he sat down across from us. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on the desk. "Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that Mr. Croft no longer works for our organisation. Therefore, any business which you had with him you should now conduct with me." "How is that possible?" you said, before I could stop you. "The Assistant Head of Finance for the European Division would not just 'quit'." "No, that is quite true, Mr. Pierson." Gabrieli paused, as if unsure how to continue. "I am afraid that Mr. Croft is dead." "Dead?" I squeaked. Just because I had never liked the son of a bitch, didn't mean I wanted to see Croft dead. And I'd had Internal Security come for me with ill intent enough times to feel a little chill every time I heard about some fellow victim of theirs. I swallowed to get my voice under control. "How did that happen?" I glanced at you. You had gone pale. I put a hand on your shoulder, as much to steady you as to stop you from jumping up out of your chair and throttling Gabrieli. This day was rapidly going from bad to worse. "I don't want to get into the details at this time, but I am afraid that Mr. Croft was not the man that we all thought him to be." Now, that, I did believe; but then, that could be said of most of your friends--or mine. You swallowed, shifting under my grip. "How did he die? Are you telling us that he was murdered?" "Not exactly. In fact, Mr. Croft was killed after being apprehended in the process of attempting to murder a fellow Watcher. I think you know the man, Mr. Pierson. His name is Dr. Rene Galbon. I understand that you have been under his medical supervision for several months." "I don't understand," I said, fishing for information while I tightened my grip on your arm. You didn't seem to react right away, still digesting this new info, I guess. "They didn't have any connection to each other. Why would Croft want to murder Dr. Galbon?" Actually, I could think of one very good reason, but I was praying, for your sake, that it wasn't true. "Because Dr. Galbon had discovered incriminating evidence against Mr. Croft." Gabrieli rubbed his chin, staring at you. "It seems that Mr. Croft was a Hunter, and had been for many years." Fuck me. So much for the power of prayer, as you liked to say. You shivered. "That's not possible. Harold--Mr. Croft wasn't that kind of man." Yeah, right. And denial is a river in Egypt. Now that I thought about why I'd never liked Croft, it seemed to me that he was exactly that kind of man. "No, I don't suppose he was to you, Mr. Pierson." Was it my imagination, or was there a shadow of compassion in Gabrieli's voice? "He seems to have treated you very well. I suppose you must have regarded him as a friend of sorts, and he you. Immortals, and any Watchers who interfered with him, unfortunately, were a different story." "That's a pretty harsh accusation," I said, though my indignation was more for your benefit than mine. Me, I was having no trouble believing it. "I'm assuming you've got some proof?" "We do." Gabrieli rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Some of our material proof has disappeared--we suspect Mr. Croft's concierge of the theft, but since we can't find her right now, that doesn't matter. We do, however, have an eyewitness to the murder attempt. Your daughter, Mr. Dawson, was present when Mr. Croft took Dr. Galbon out into the woods and tried to shoot him in the head. While there, she heard Croft clearly state that he was deeply involved with the Hunters, possibly even controlled them, and that he intended to silence Dr. Galbon with a bullet. If she had not interfered, Dr. Galbon would be dead." Christ! *Amy* was involved in this? Could this possibly get any worse? "So, you're saying that Rene Galbon killed him?" I said, trying to stick to the issue at hand. That didn't mean that I didn't intend to have a long talk with my darling daughter about this whole incident as soon as we got out of here. I glanced at you. You had slumped back in your chair, but I still didn't let go of your arm. "In self-defense, yes," Gabrieli said. "I understand that after Ms. Thomas distracted Croft, there was a struggle between Croft and Galbon over the gun. It went off, as guns do in these situations. Croft died, Galbon lived, though he did end up in the hospital for several days after as a result of his injuries." "His injuries?" you said, sitting up, your voice sharp with suspicion. "When did this happen? I don't remember any--" You stopped, your eyes widening. You had mentioned that Rene (okay, I did still think of him as Rene, just not comfortably) looked like he'd been through a meat grinder when we first got back after our little Thanksgiving trip up north. Seems he laid down the law for you when you went to visit him at the hospital, but you'd laughed it off as no big deal. I think you just respected him more for it. At the time, I thought it seemed a pretty small price to pay for skipping town like that. Not wanting to push my luck, I'd avoided Rene since then. Obviously, he'd banked on that. I could fit the pieces together on my own, now. "This all happened last November, didn't it? While Adam and I were in Scotland?" Son of a bitch. No wonder both Rene and Amy had looked so shaky when we got back. Keane, too, come to think of it. Yeah, a father-daughter chat was definitely on the cards. Gabrieli nodded. "The situation came up very suddenly, a few days after you left. As I understand it, Dr. Galbon and Ms. Thomas were engaged in their own investigation of a suspected Hunter, who subsequently led them to Croft." Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. But whose load of cowpies was it? It was obvious that Rene had been a lot more personally involved in Croft's business than Gabrieli was saying, but did Gabrieli know that? Was he just telling us what Galbon had told him or lying to us on his own time? Did Gabrieli know that Rene was/had been a Hunter? Even if he wasn't sure, he had to suspect. Maybe Rene had cut some sort of deal, though with Gabrieli's hard-ass rep, that didn't seem likely. And to think the son of a bitch had gotten my daughter mixed up in it. If you didn't kill Rene, I just might. But Gabrieli wasn't done yet. "What I don't understand, Mr. Pierson, is why you chose to contact Mr. Croft now." "I hadn't heard from him in some time. I was concerned." Your voice sounded rusty, but your brain sure wasn't. "I usually hear from him at least around the New Year." "Yes, you only got out of the hospital yourself yesterday, didn't you?" You stiffened again. I tightened my grip. Now was not the time to flip out and prove Gabrieli's point for him. "Against your doctor's orders, from what I hear. But why come here? Why not visit him at his apartment if you were such close friends?" You glared back at him. "We weren't that kind of friends. It wouldn't have been appropriate." Yeah, no shit. That sure was the understatement of the century. Christ only knew what Croft would have done with that kind of encouragement. At least you'd had enough sense to draw a line. I could feel you getting tenser and tenser. Didn't matter how big a son of a bitch the guy had been or how not interested you'd been, you'd considered him a friend. Hell, you'd considered Rene a friend until this morning. This whole day had to hurt. I needed to break this off. "If that's all, I think we'd better be getting back," I said. "We've found out what we came to find out and I've got a bar to run. Come on, Adam." I tugged on your arm. You broke off your staring match with Gabrieli and glanced at me. "I can't get out of here on my own power." *Don't make me beg,* I pleaded silently. *Not here.* You relaxed, looking confused. "Yes, of course. We should get back." You started to get up, but Gabrieli stopped you. "Before you go, Mr. Pierson, I should tell you that you are currently on medical leave from the Watchers." *Oh, fuck. Here we go.* This did not look good. Your look hardened again. "'Medical leave'? Is that what they're calling it these days?" Gabrieli smiled coldly. "Granted, that wasn't how you were listed when you disappeared immediately after the Galati Affair. However, you were not the only Watcher to find that incident distressing, or react in the way that you did. Considering some of your past difficulties and your recent hospitalisation, it seems clear that your actions at the time reflected more your own mental and emotional distress than any intentional flouting of Watcher regulations or deliberate desertion of your duties." Your eyes narrowed. I felt sick. I didn't think either of us was going to like where this was going. Come to think, I knew we wouldn't. Gabrieli paused, as if inviting some comment, but neither of us was about to feed him any straight lines at this point. Why couldn't he just let this go and do it another day? Did he really think he'd never get another opportunity? When the silence stretched out, he shrugged and continued. "I understand that the manner of Mr. Croft's death may have raised some doubts in your mind about the fitness of Dr. Galbon to treat you. However, I would strongly advise that you and Mr. Dawson first consult with Ms. Thomas concerning what she saw that day before you make any drastic decisions about the continuation of your medical care under Dr. Galbon." "And if I choose not to continue with Dr. Galbon?" you asked softly. Shit. Did we really have to go there? Couldn't we just tug our forelocks and slink out the door without pissing a big line in the sand, first? Gabrieli folded his hands on the desk. "Then, we will help you find another psychiatrist to continue your treatment. And no, your leaving psychiatric care is not an option at the moment. If you force the issue, I'll have no other choice but to have you committed to a secure psychiatric ward, myself. I am sorry to be so harsh about this. But I am afraid that the flip side of putting you on medical leave and acknowledging that you are too ill to be held responsible for your actions is also acknowledging that you cannot make informed medical decisions about your care at this time. I have no intention of letting you get yourself killed on my watch." "And how long do you intend to keep me on 'medical leave'?" you said, your voice cold and dead. I could almost see the brain cells firing away as you planned your escape route. While you were at it, you could take me with you. That Guardian Advocate's paper we'd drawn up between us wasn't going to be worth shit if Gabrieli decided to play hardball on this issue. No way I could take on the Watchers *and* your shrink and hope to keep you out of whatever snakepit they decided to throw you in. "Why, until you finally get your head out of your ass, of course." Gabrieli smirked. "And after I have received notification of that blessed event." ********* I gotta hand it to you; you held it together all the way out to the car and until we drove out past the gate back onto the road. *Then*, you started screaming. "THAT BASTARD. THAT SICK, SMUG SON OF A BITCH!" You pounded on the dashboard, kicking up the mudguard under your seat. God only knew what the other drivers around us were thinking. I was having a hell of a time staying on the road. Having your best friend flip out right next to you is murder on the concentration. "Hey, calm down." You started punching the armrest, right below the closed window. "Look, at least put on your seatbelt." You ignored me, ranting on half-under your breath. I pulled the car over in a shower of gravel, trailed by the horns of several irritated Gallic motorists and hoping none of them would be a big enough asshole to call the cops on his cellphone. I didn't touch you. I didn't talk. After a minute or two, you calmed down enough to notice me again. "You okay, now?" I said. You were still breathing hard and looking everywhere but at me, but you nodded. "Good. Put your seatbelt on." That got your attention. "What?" "Your seatbelt. Put it on. If you're gonna do that in the car, I want you strapped in. I don't need you going through the windshield if I have to stop suddenly." "Yeah...yeah, okay." Looking dazed, you pulled down the shoulder harness and clicked it into place. Well, Hallelujah. I'd just managed what Rene had needed Keane and a big syringe of Haldol to pull off--I'd got you strapped in and calm about it. You sat there, staring blankly ahead of you. I waited. I knew what was coming, but I wanted you to say it before I got back on the road. "They killed him, Joe," you said finally. "Just killed him as if he were so much trash, and then they made up this smear campaign to cover it all up." You shook your head, looking bewildered. "How could Harold, of all people, be a Hunter?" "Yeah. I know." Which was a lie, but you weren't ready to hear that. Truth was, I'd always wondered about Horton and Croft. James didn't like anybody, but he'd seemed to favour Croft with a special kind of hatred. It had always puzzled me, but now it was making sense. James hated being on anybody's chain, and it was beginning to look more and more like maybe Croft had been the one yanking it. "You saw his journal. Did you see anything in it that would indicate that he hated Immortals?" You seemed too exhausted for tears. All dried out. I'm sure you've been betrayed a thousand times in your lifetime, but that's the funny thing about betrayal--it never gets any easier. And each next time, you keep hoping it won't be what you think it is. "Uh...no. I thought he liked them fine." Or one Immortal, at any rate--namely, you. I didn't know what else to say. Some of sweet, old Harold's fantasies about you had been pretty explicit. I didn't think you needed to hear all the sweaty details right now. God knows, I would have preferred not to know them myself, but that's what comes of flipping through somebody else's diary while your buddy is sitting on a couch obsessively rewinding and watching a snuff flick starring his shrink. "You know what? We need to talk to Amy. Gabrieli said she saw the whole thing go down. She can tell us the truth." "I don't know...." You stared at your knees. "Hey, maybe Croft was a Hunter and maybe he wasn't but let me ask you one question--if he was such a nice guy, how come he sent you that tape?" We'd drop that diary out of the discussion for now. You looked skeptical. "Gabrieli seemed to imply that it was the concierge who did that." "Yeah, but what for? On whose instructions? She had no motive to do it for herself. She didn't even know you! You think Croft wouldn't have left behind a few landmines for anybody who caused his untimely demise? The guy wasn't stupid. He must have known he had enemies. He never would have gotten where he did otherwise. The way I see it, we've only got Croft's and the official version right now. Let's talk to Amy and if she backs up what Gabrieli said, we can talk to Rene. Calmly. Rationally. Keeping in mind that whatever he did in the past, he's been good to you over the years." You closed your eyes, shaking your head in denial. "Listen to me. He knows you're Methos; he knows you're Immortal. But he's still backed you up these past few months. Come on, you know this road better than anybody else. You used to be a Horseman of the Apocalypse, for Christ's sake! Are you saying you can't allow that maybe a Mortal could stop being a Hunter when you managed to stop being a raping, murdering son of a bitch?" "Yeah," you sighed. "I suppose. But how do we know he's changed? How can we believe him?" "Him? I don't know. But you believe Amy, don't you? You trust her, right?" You looked up and straight at me, and it took me aback. "Yes, I trust Amy," you said in a strange voice. "Fine. Let's go talk to her then and see what she says." And God help Rene Galbon if she couldn't back him up. ********* "Gentlemen, I am back early," Rene announced as he stepped into the apartment. He stopped at the sight of the darkened room. "Joe? Adam?" When he flicked on the light, he shuddered. The sight that greeted him did not reassure him at all. His clothes and other things were strewn all over the apartment. Someone had stamped on his toiletries until the toothpaste had burst from the tube and the shampoo bottle had popped open, squirting gel on the floor. Rene went around the empty apartment, slowly retrieving his things, one by one, and putting them in a pile. There were red smears on his clothing. They looked like ketchup. He hoped that the symbolism did not mean what he thought it meant. There was a light blinking on the answering machine. Rene, at a loss for any explanation for what was going on, hit Play on the machine. Perhaps the message was from Adam or Joe, explaining where they had gone. He tried not to consider the possibility that one of them had done this to his clothes. Surely, it must have been an intruder. "Rene." The voice was Gabrieli's. "Turn on your goddamned cellphone and call me. Now." The machine clicked off. *Merde. What now?* Rene fumbled in his coat for his mobile phone and pulled it out. He clicked it on and called Gabrieli on the personal mobile number Gabrieli had given him recently. "Gabrieli," the man responded immediately. "This is Dr. Galbon," Rene said. "I got your message." "Where are you?" So much for pleasantries. "Adam Pierson's apartment. Why?" "Get out of there. Now. Go get in your car, drive someplace quiet and call me again." Coldness washed over Rene and the ketchup on his clothes took on new significance. "Why?" "Just do it." Gabrieli hung up. Rene did as instructed, trying not to speculate as to what might have happened. Leaving his clothes in a heap on the couch, he turned off the light and locked the door behind him. He got out to the car and drove away without incident--which was to say, without Adam or Joe pulling up or something worse. As soon as he was out on the road, he lit a cigarette, his hands shaking. His head was spinning with so many possibilities that he drove badly, in complete distraction. Fortunately, there was little traffic. He found a small bar nearby, went in, sat in the back, and ordered coffee and a cognac. Then, he called Gabrieli. Gabrieli cut right to the chase, as the Americans liked to say. "I just talked to your patient and Joe Dawson," he said. "They came up to Headquarters looking for Harold Croft." Rene swore quietly and took a long drag on his cigarette. "What did you tell them?" "The truth, of course. With suitable edits. I know a fishing expedition when I see one. They weren't about to go away until they got themselves a catfish." "And what would 'the truth' be, Monsieur?" Rene felt sick. It was as he had feared; his youthful indiscretions had been discovered and now Gabrieli would stake him out as a scapegoat for his enemies. But who had told Adam? And what proof did they have? Surely, not that tape? *Mon Dieu.* He hoped not. And yet...it would explain the sight that had greeted him when he had come back to the apartment just now. If Adam and Joe have discovered that tape somehow, Rene was very fortunate that he had not been there when they did. "I told them that our friend Croft tried to take you out into the woods and blow your head off and that you fought back. I then suggested they talk to your young associate, since she saw the entire thing. I also mentioned Croft's less-than-savoury connections but did not mention yours. All things considered, I think I made you look rather heroic." The waitress came over with Rene's coffee and cognac. He waited until she left to lean his head back against the wall behind him, close his eyes and let out a slow sigh of relief. "Don't celebrate just yet, Doctor." Gabrieli's tone of warning chilled him. "I said that *I* made you look good. Unfortunately, I don't think those two came in here by chance. Your patient was just about bouncing off the walls for most of the interview." "What do you mean?" *Mother of God, I do not want to think about what seeing that tape could do to Adam's precarious mental state, my fears for my own personal safety aside.* "Is he all right?" "Let us just say that his reaction to the news about Croft's death was not good. I think he couldn't decide whether to call me a liar to my face or accuse me of having arranged it myself. I suggest you call Ms. Thomas right away and get your stories straight." "Yes, yes of course." Rene hung up, feeling sick. He sat with his head in his hands for several minutes. Then, he lit another cigarette, smoking it down to his fingers before he did anything else. He fortified himself with a few sips of cognac and a large swallow of lukewarm coffee before he called Amy. "Hullo?" she sounded distracted. Rene could not hear any distinguishable background noises. She ought to have been at the bar, but perhaps she had stepped out for a lunch break. "Ms. Thomas. It is Dr. Galbon. We need to meet." "I can't talk right now." Her voice sounded constrained. "Come to the bar. Can you do that? Where are you?" They must have been with her--Joseph and Adam. Rene felt a stab of pity for her; she was right in the middle of the warzone. "I am in a bar near Adam's apartment. I can be there within an hour. Is that time enough?" "Yes, but don't make it any longer. I'll see you then." She hung up before he could say anything else. Though he could think of nothing else, anyway. He did not think she would hate him, even if she saw that tape. They had been through too much together. However, her love for her father and Adam, and their inevitable rage once that tape did surface, might force her to choose sides. In that case, she would not choose Rene's. She would not abandon those she loved, any more than Mathilde would abandon her own father in the same situation. Rene ordered another cup of coffee. The first one had gone cold and he would need the caffeine to keep his wits about him. He sat in the gloom at the back of the bar, sipping cognac and smoking steadily. As he waited for his coffee, he hoped, for the thousandth time, that he was doing the right thing. ********* Sometimes, you're the windshield; sometimes, you're the bug. Sometimes, it all falls together, baby; sometimes, you're a fool in love. Sometimes, you're the Louisville Slugger, baby; sometimes, you're the ball. Sometimes, it all comes together, baby; sometimes, you're gonna lose it all. Amy was cleaning her bathroom and singing along to Mary Chapin Carpenter. She never seemed to listen to this particular singer, except when she was feeling a bit hard done by. Then again, she never cleaned her bathroom unless she could possibly help it, either. For some odd reason, she had developed an obsession with picking up her small apartment in the past few weeks. It was a fair distraction and beat crying herself to sleep, which she had done for a solid week after her mother's and Keane's Watcher's funeral. What a production! Fifty Watchers, including several top brass, had shown up. She had no doubt that even more had been discouraged from coming, to keep the affair reasonably discreet. It had been over a year since the organisation had buried any Watchers. Director Gabrieli had made all the arrangements, even given a speech, so she never needed to do a thing. At least Joe had been there to lean on, though it had been more a matter of the two of them leaning on each other and both of them leaning on Azar, Dr. Galbon and Keane. Thank God Keane had been willing to drive. Keane had drawn dark looks from some Watchers, but a few sharp words from Gabrieli took care of that, at least on the surface. *Got things on your mind today, girl? Maybe the return of a certain tall, dark and barking mad Immortal to town?* She shook her head, trying to concentrate on scrubbing. The smell of bleach made her cough; she must have overdone it. She fled the bathroom, going to rinse off her hands in the kitchen sink, then sat down on the couch to watch some TV. Her cleaning buzz was finally wearing off, it seemed. At this rate, it would take her all day just to clean the shower. She lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag on it and sinking into the couch. She'd been a good girl for months about her smoking, but with all that had happened recently, she had fallen off the Nicotine Patch wagon in a big way. Dr. Galbon hadn't let her visit Ben in hospital. She was a bad influence on him, or something. Galbon hadn't been very clear about why. She had tried, once, to get in behind his back, but the staff had turned her down flat. No visitors. Never mind that she was driving Joe up there twice a week. Apparently, her father did not count when it came to that ban. So, she had to sit in the waiting room, read magazines and smoke, while he visited with Ben. The least Galbon could have done was tell her that Ben was out of hospital, now. She had to find out by calling Joe at the bar the day before to find out when she needed to come in to help out. Ben had picked up the phone. He seemed happy to hear her voice, cheerful as a puppy escaped from the pound. After ten minutes of in- depth discussion about the historical influences of the film "Asterix & Obelix: Mission Cleopatra", he finally gave her over to Joe. For a moment, she'd thought he was going to admit to having known Cleopatra, but it seemed he wasn't that far gone. Perhaps he was just winding her up. Truth be told, she didn't know what to think. Less than a month ago, she had murdered four men for the man, and she didn't even know why. *Oh, you know why," said her still, small inner voice. "Stop denying it.* She finished her cigarette, sighed and let her head fall back on the couch. "I am *not* in love with Ben. That is ridiculous." *You keep telling yourself that, Amy Thomas. Maybe you'll start to believe it.* And damned if this time, her inner voice didn't sound like Ben. No, not Ben. Methos. She was a fool to think she was even in with a chance with a man like that, an Immortal as old as that. Christ, he must have been with thousands, more like tens of thousands of women during his Horseman millennium alone. And how about those 68 wives? *You want to be number 69, little girl?* She closed her eyes. "Well...I just might." And why was she beginning to think that Alexa Bond, his last one, had been a lucky woman? Dead at 30 of cancer and still a lucky woman? And yet, Joe seemed to think so, too. *You're a fool. There is no way that man loves you. He barely notices you.* And yet, he had noticed her the day she killed for him. He had thanked her. And when Rene and Keane had tried to get him to leave with them, he wouldn't let go of her. It had taken half an hour of fast-talking by all three of them before he had let Rene and Keane take him back to the car so that she could call the clean-up crew. Ah, bugger it. She still had a tub to clean. She went back into the bathroom. She was almost done when her mobile rang. Naturally, she had left it on the other side of the apartment, on top of the refrigerator, so she had to sprint to catch it on the fourth ring. "Hullo?" she said, a bit breathlessly. "Amy?" It was Joe...Dad...whatever her mind was calling him today. "Hi, Joe. What's up?" "Honey, we need to see you. Right away." "You and Ben, you mean?" Of course it was the two of them. Amy had dropped Joe off at Ben's place last night, after Galbon took Ben home. Ben...Adam...Methos. God, one was as bad as the other when it came to the Name Game. "What's wrong?" "Not over the phone. Can you meet us at the bar? We're on our way there." He sounded odd. She felt a flash of irritation. She'd seen him every day since Christmas. Couldn't he leave her be for one day? "I'm kind of in the middle of cleaning my bathroom. Can't it wait a bit?" Joe didn't laugh, which cued her immediately that this was very serious, not just him being clingey. "Christ, Amy. Clean it some other time. It's not a national crisis if you wait a few days." "It is when I haven't done it in a year," Amy muttered, half to herself. "Even the spiders won't live in there anymore. Never mind. I'm also done. I'll be right over." "Thanks, honey. I appreciate it." She heard cars whooshing by in the background. They must be parked by the side of the road. She hoped that meant that Joe was driving and not Ben. Paris was not yet ready for the Immortal Methos' triumphant return to the road. "Joe, what is this about?" she asked, feeling uneasy. Joe hesitated. "I'll tell you when we get there, honey." "Tell her it's about that fucking bastard Galbon," Ben said in the background. She felt herself go cold. They had found out. Somehow, they had found out. "I'll be right over," she said. "Don't go anywhere. Stay at the bar." As soon as she hung up, she tried to call Dr. Galbon, but of course, his phone was turned off. Typical. After what he'd already gone through because of that stupid habit, one would hope the man had learned by now. She'd have to try him later, if she got the chance. She rubbed her forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache, and went back to the bathroom to finish up with a good spritz down with the showerhead. There was still some mold here and there, but it would just have to do. When she was done, she changed her clothes and got the folder out from under the bed. She let the photos spill out onto the bed, photos of her father doing his damnedest to murder her uncle, and apparently succeeding. When Galbon first gave them to her, she had resolved to destroy them. But in the excitement about Croft and Eddie, she had nearly forgotten about them, only getting them out of Joe's safe a few hours before Joe and Ben got back from Scotland. Oh, what a disaster that could have been.... Once she got them back to her apartment, she'd reconsidered destroying them right away. They might come in useful someday, though she couldn't imagine why. Now, she could imagine. If she was going to save poor Rene's sorry ass, she'd need to show Joe and Ben just how serious that confrontation out in the woods had been. She had no other proof of Croft's vicious streak save her own word. From the way Ben had sounded, she didn't think that was going to be enough. She'd just have to hope that the photos would be. She loved Joe. All right. It was honesty time. She loved them both. And they could be amazingly tolerant. But when pushed too far, she had no doubt that they could each be profoundly vindictive. The Watcher database made that all too clear. And together? Well, just ask Jacob Galati. Or Morgan Walker. She couldn't help a small smile at that. Walker had deserved his fate. But Galbon wouldn't. He deserved better, whatever he'd done in the past. She knew that much about him. For once, she made good time in the traffic and arrived at the bar about an hour after Joe's call. She got out of the car, squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and walked up to the bar with far more confidence than she felt, the envelope under one arm. She tried to peer through the door before she came in, but the glare from the sun defeated her. She pushed open the door and went in. That weedy, Sorbonne student she'd hired last week was in the bar. She nodded to him. He smiled back, but he looked nervous. Ah, that would be from having met Ben. Ben could be seriously intimidating when he was angry. And she already knew that he was angry. "They are out back, Miss Thomas. They said to ask you to go out there when you came. Do you want something to drink?" "Oui, merci, Jacques. I'll have a pint of Coke, please. With ice." She watched as Jacques drew the pint. "Met, um, Adam, did you?" The kid cringed. Yep. Got it in one, as Joe liked to say. "Don't worry," she said as he handed her the pint. "He's not usually like that. Really. He's just having a very bad day." He didn't look reassured. She didn't feel very reassured, herself. She considered bumming a cigarette off him for a quick fag before she faced the music, then decided she'd procrastinated enough already. She went out through the curtain. They were in the office, the small endtable pulled up between Joe's wheelchair and the couch. Ben was sitting there, leaning forward, arms on his knees, playing unenthusiastically with a soft drink glass. Joe sat across from him, sipping coffee. They both looked up as she walked in. "Hullo," she said, smiling nervously, unsure of her reception. Fortunately, her father smiled back. So did Ben, though his smile was twitchier. He moved over so she could sit down. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of being in such close proximity to him, but did so anyway, setting her Coke down next to Ben's lemonade. "What's that?" Joe said. Damn, he would notice the envelope right off. "Something that I think may be relevant to the discussion at hand." She set the envelope down next to her, on the other side from Ben so he wouldn't be tempted to take a peek. "But first, could you please tell me what is going on?" Joe glanced at Ben. She glanced at Ben, too, but he would not make eye contact with either of them. Instead, he continued to fiddle with his glass. She could feel the anger coming off him, like heat lightning. She looked back at Joe, who sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't look so much angry as tired. Old. She felt a wave of fear and compassion for him, and she had to bite back her tears. Aside from an aunt and a cousin on his side of the tree, he was the only family she had left. She wasn't ready to lose him. She probably wouldn't be ready for a long time. "Methos...Ben, got a package this morning," her father said, watching Ben, "from a guy named Harold Croft. You heard of him?" "Assistant Director of Finance for the European Division, yes," she said, then ventured, "Didn't he go on an extended vacation last month?" "Something like that. Harold Croft is dead. According to Director Gabrieli, Ben's shrink, Rene Galbon, killed him." Now, Joe was watching her. What did he suspect about her? "You know Rene?" "We've met," she said, feeling her way. Suddenly, she felt herself in the middle of a quagmire. There were other ways to lose her father than death. She'd lied to him, gone behind his back. How much would he be willing to forgive? "The week you were gone over Thansgiving. I had to cover for you when he came to the bar looking for Ben. I told you, you remember?" Joe grimaced in what looked like unwilling admiration. Oh, *that* conversation, indeed. She wondered if these two would be so angry if they both hadn't spent the past month and a half scrambling for a way to get out from under Galbon's perfectly justified anger about that abandonment. No one had any high moral ground in this room. Then, Ben shifted next to her, huffing out a breath, Joe's face went grim and she lost whatever sense of minor triumph she'd had. "Gabrieli also said you were there, honey," Joe said. "When Croft was killed." "Ah." She let her shoulders sag. "I see. Well, as a matter of fact...I was." "What were you doing there?" Ben said, so suddenly that she jumped. She was surprised when he put a hand on her wrist. It was a gentle gesture, no doubt meant to reassure, but the implications of it didn't reassure her at all. It fed too much into her recent thoughts about him. Rubbing her sweating palms on her jeans and staring at the floor, she groped to remember his question. "What was I doing there. Yes. Well, if you must know, I was saving Dr. Rene Galbon's ass." She looked up. They both looked stunned. "Why?" Joe said finally. The tape. It had to have been the tape. There was too much rage in the room for anything less. "Because Croft caught him in his apartment, and I followed them both when Croft took him out to the Bois-la-Ville to murder him." "Murder him?" Ben should have looked shocked, but didn't. "What for? Not just for finding him in his home, surely?" "And why take him all the way out there?" Joe sounded ill. She didn't blame him, considering that he and Ben had been held prisoner a few miles away only weeks later. "Croft was a Hunter." She paused, rubbing her face. "No, that's not exactly it. Croft financed the Hunters. He controlled Horton. At least that's what he said. Though I must say, he came off very convincingly from what I heard. *I* believed him." "Ben thinks Gabrieli was lying about Croft's involvement," Joe said. "No, I can see that now." Ben sounded as though he had already hit his yearly quota for betrayal in a single day. "About fifteen years ago, I asked Harold to make James Horton disappear for awhile and he did. I just assumed he was a man who knew where all the bodies were buried. I never thought he was actually involved with Horton. I guess I just didn't want to." Joe gave Ben a look as if to say, "What the hell is *that* supposed to mean?" Amy jumped in before he could. "As it so happens, he did know where all the bodies were buried, because it seems he put a lot of them there." Might as well get this over with and get to that tape. "That was why he forced Re--Dr. Galbon to drive out to the Bois-la-Ville. He'd killed before-- other Watchers who had found him out or crossed him in some way. I'm not even sure he made a distinction between one category and the other. Anyone who got in his way was an enemy, I think." She looked sideways at Ben, who was looking everywhere but at her. "If it matters, I don't think Galbon wanted to kill Croft, even at the end. He was sick about it after it was all over, literally. I had a hell of a time getting him out of there; Croft had just about bashed his head in and he kept muttering 'forgive me, forgive me' over and over again in French. I don't think Croft gave him any other option, though. The man was in a rage. Even after Galbon broke his arm, he kept coming. Not that Galbon was in any position to show mercy. Frankly, I'd have shot the bastard myself if I could have got a clear shot." "But what was Rene doing in Croft's apartment in the first place?" Joe sounded puzzled. She couldn't blame him. It had been a stupid move. Galbon had been a desperate man that week. She still remembered him sitting in the bar, offering her a cigarette, telling her about his daughter Mathilde. And in the woods after Croft's death, weeping and covered with blood. She couldn't hate him for what he had done in the past. She knew that Croft's death would haunt him for the rest of his life, as those four men in the woods would haunt her. Strangely enough, though, she did not feel any guilt whatsoever about killing Eddie Brill. And if she went to Hell for that, she would do so cheerfully. Brill, like Walker, had fully deserved his coup de grace. "Rene was looking for the tape you saw this morning," she said. That got their attention. Ben's head came up and Joe's eyes widened. "That's what was in the package, wasn't it? A tape showing Rene Galbon murdering another man with a sword?" Joe swore quietly. Ben hunched his shoulders and lowered his head, as if she had struck him. "How did you find out about the tape?" Joe asked her. "Did Rene tell you? Amy?" She nodded, distracted, watching Ben. He tightened his grip on her wrist a little. Poor bastard. This couldn't be pleasant for him. She turned her hand palm-up and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze of her own. He stared back at her, startled. "Are you okay?" Joe's voice broke into the moment. She wasn't sure whom he meant. "Sure," Ben said, though he sounded shaky. He looked at her. "You've seen it?" She shook her head. "No. Galbon told me about it," she admitted. "I was helping him find it." Ben relaxed, but not completely. She glanced at Joe. Her father was looking back and forth between her and Ben as if he didn't know them. He looked suspicious and upset. She'd deal with that later. Right now, she had to finish what she had come to do. "A Hunter named Eddie Brill showed up, blackmailing Galbon with the tape a day or two after you left for Scotland. Galbon came to me for help. We followed the trail to Croft after Galbon found evidence that Croft had the tape, but not the tape itself." "What kind of evidence?" Joe said, his voice hard. "And why would you help him, anyway?" She ticked off the pertinent bits of evidence. "Among other things, a tape of Galbon confronting Horton in his office and being struck from behind by Brill, a tape of Ben confronting Horton, also in his office, apparently over a Methos chronicle, a tape of former Director Jason Anders having sex with his mistress in *his* office...and this. The reason why I helped Galbon." Upending the folder, she dumped the photos out onto the endtable. At first, her father merely sat there, staring down at the pictures as if he didn't know what they could be. Ben moved first, leaning forward and piecing out the pictures so that they all lay, face up and uncovered. He arranged them in order. It wasn't hard. Croft, or whatever stooge he had used, had made a point of catching all the pertinent moments of action--Joe challenging Horton, Joe reaching for his gun, Joe shooting Horton, Horton falling into the river, the look on Joe's face. And the most damning photo of all--Joe and Duncan MacLeod meeting afterwards. It was all there. "I take it this is from the fall after Darius died," Ben said quietly. "When you and Mac tried to kill Horton the first time. After Mac got you involved." Joe swallowed and nodded. "I never thought...when no witnesses or evidence turned up, I guess I just assumed I was home free. And when James turned up again, I didn't think anybody would come after me. Not like the Watchers would believe a renegade like Horton if he tried to denounce me for shooting him." He looked at Ben and grimaced. "No offense." Ben shook his head. "None taken." He smiled crookedly. "No, you're right. It was regulations. You were supposed to kill Horton as soon as you found out he was interfering. Only problem was, Croft caught you on film interfering at pretty much the same time." He reached out again and started rubbing Amy's wrist gently, absently. She didn't think he knew he was doing it, but Joe noticed. Her father watched them both, frowning. Friendship between a Mortal and an Immortal was bad enough, but love? She knew Joe had personally executed a Watcher once for helping her Immortal lover try to kill MacLeod. She didn't think he'd approve. No. She had to stop this now. Even if it hurt Ben. She tried not to think about how much it might hurt her. Gently, she pulled her arm away from Ben, gathered up the photos and put them back in the folder. She kept her face averted, to avoid seeing his reaction. Standing up, she went and got the wastebin. She brought it back, sat down, fished out her lighter and held the envelope over the bin. She looked at her father first, then Ben. "Any objections?" Joe raised his eyebrows at the lighter, then shook his head. Ben shrugged, his face expressionless. She hoped he wasn't angry with her, though perhaps anger would be a good thing for him right now. It certainly beat suicidal depression any day of the week. She should know. She flicked the lighter under one corner of the folder, holding it there until her fingers started to scorch. The corner scorched and curled, turning black. When it caught fire, she dropped it in the wastebin. The conflagration was impressive but brief, the photos adding colours to the flames as they went up. When the fire had died down to ashes, she started to take off her shoe to grind them out. Ben put a hand on her arm to stop her. "No," he said, his eyes crinkled with bitter amusement. "Allow me." She looked at Joe. He shrugged. "I would, but I don't have my cane with me." He chuckled, looking almost as bitter as Ben. Amy handed Ben the wastebin, which was still warm but not hot. He took it from her, set it on the floor and stomped on the ashes inside for close to a minute. She had a feeling that those burning photos were not the only fire he was trying to stamp out. She hoped, for his sake, that it was working. ********* I didn't like what I was seeing, not at all. Look, don't get me wrong, Old Man. I love you both. In theory, I don't have any objections to you dating my daughter. I'm sure that would shock the Hell out of you to hear it, but I saw how you treated Alexa. I loved her like a daughter and let's face it, you treated her like a goddess on earth. Hell, yes, I'd say that Amy deserves that kind of treatment, and I have no doubt that's how you would treat her. I could see the way you were looking at her, like she was the next "one woman in ten lifetimes". I recognised those puppy-dog eyes and the shy, goofy grad student body language. That was no act, either. I thought it was, at first, when you were chasing after Alexa, but nope, you really are a fool for love. You throw your whole heart on the table on the first bet, and if you lose, well, that's life. But there was no way that you and Amy were gonna work out as a couple right now. It wasn't just that she's a Watcher and you're an Immortal. You're a Watcher, too, no matter how much you may have screwed the pooch with us. It was just possible that you could squeak by with dating somebody within the organisation--but not when you were so far out in la-la land that you didn't even know what century you were in half the time. Your head was so far up your ass, it could take years before you extracted it. Not that Amy was doing too well, either. She was so busy pretending that everything was fine that she wasn't coping with her mother's death at all. Poor Eleanor. Poor Amy and poor you. No matter what you felt for each other, I sure knew one thing--Amy deserved better than a headcase and you deserved better than a nurse. But whether either of you were gonna pay any attention to anything I said--well, that was a whole different story. As you were finishing up stomping out those photos, Amy's cellphone rang. She pulled it out and stepped outside the office into the back room to take the call-- you were making one Hell of a racket. "Feel better?" I said, as you finished up. You grinned. It was a little too manic. You look desperately in need of a nap. I know I felt like one myself. "Oh, yeah," you said. "How about you? Glad to be rid of them?" "Yeah, I guess." I stared at the wastebasket, chewing on my lip. Truth be told, it made me sad. I didn't regret shooting James rather than letting him escape (even if he did escape anyway, that time), but I sure did regret the necessity of it. It sucks to find out that your brother- in-law is a fanatic with no feelings for you at all when it comes right down to it. I didn't bother to tell you that. There was never any love lost between you two. You weren't about to start mourning him at this late date, anymore than I was about to start mourning Kronos. Amy came back inside as you were putting the wastebasket back next to the desk and sitting back down. She eyed you. "Feel better?" "Absolutely," you said, the manic edge showing a little more. I'd better get you home before you fell apart. It was only mid-afternoon but we'd both had a big day. I was thinking chinese food and a video, and maybe a long, winter's nap if I could persuade you to take one of the sleeping pills Rene had left behind. Actually, I had a few myself I could give you. I haven't slept well since 'Nam. I could always talk you into taking something I used on occasion myself. I'd just have to hope it wouldn't clash with your Zoloft. I winced inside. Damn. The Zoloft. No way you'd take it now, but after Rene's lecture to me late last night about the nasty side effects of sudden withdrawal from anti-depressants, I wasn't looking forward to seeing you go through that. Christ, what a mess. "Who was on the phone?" you asked as she sat down next to you. "Actually, it was Rene Galbon," she said, watching us both. "Guess he found his stuff," you said, smiling with no pity at all. The ketchup had been all your idea. You'd really enjoyed the symbolism. I sighed. "Figures. Did you tell him what's going on?" She shook her head. "No. I didn't want to get into it on the phone. But I rather got the impression that Gabrieli had contacted him." You snorted in disgust. She regarded you sadly. "Gabrieli wouldn't let him go on in ignorance. I learned that much when I helped Rene. Gabrieli may be a cold bastard, but he backs his people up." She looked back and forth between us. "Rene is coming here. I'm going to meet him outside and bring him in so we can all talk this out. Please tell me you won't try to kill him." I didn't say anything. You sprawled on the couch, arms spread out on the top of it. "All right. We won't kill him," you said, with no conviction whatsoever. I snorted and shook my head. She frowned at you. "Not funny, Ben. I won't lead him into a trap." She held your gaze. After a moment you looked down. "Okay," you said. "We'll listen to what he has to say." You looked up at me. "We can always kill him afterwards; right, Joe?" She looked at me. "Yeah, okay," I said. "Right now, I'd settle for some solid evidence that he's quit the Hunters for good." She looked as unhappy as I felt. "I don't know if even he knows that, Joe." She stood up. "I'll bring him in when he gets here." She left the office and went back out through the curtain into the bar. The silence after that got real uncomfortable before I decided I'd better break it. "So, are you gonna forgive him, or what?" You scowled at me. "He was a Hunter, Joe." "And you used to be a Horseman. And I've broken my Watcher oath more times than I can count. And yeah I've killed and gotten both Immortals and other Watchers killed. So what?" You wouldn't look at me. Now that I had some time and breath to think, I could see why. Yeah, Rene had been a very bad boy in the past, but what really scared us both was what he was doing now, and might do from now on, to us. I'm not gonna blow smoke up anybody's butt; I'm not a very nice man. Neither are you. We are survivors, both of us, and we live by a survivor's code. They leave us and ours alone and we'll leave them alone, too--whoever "they" might be. Much as I admire the moral heroism of guys like Darius or Mac, the truth is, I just don't see the world that way. I see it like you do. I chewed it all over. "If he can convince us that he's not doing it now.... Methos, we don't have any evidence that he hurt either one of us, or anyone we knew. You've been his friend for fifteen years, for Christ's sake. Almost as long as you've known me. Doesn't that count for something?" "I think they must have made that tape back in '87," you said, half to yourself. "Rene ended up in hospital for a month. Tried to top himself in a bar and got arrested for it. Sean bailed him out of jail and straight into a padded cell." Ah. So, maybe this had to do with more than your growing some abstract morality. "Sean wouldn't tell me much, and Rene told me even less. But it must have been pretty bad. Rene was a mess for months afterwards." "And then?" I prompted you. You knew Rene a lot better than I did. "And then...and then he got tangled up with Horton, somehow. I found him cold-cocked in an alleyway and he said Horton had done it. I got Croft to transfer Horton out and away from Rene. It must have been then. He must have trying to get out and they set him up, tried to blackmail him." You closed your eyes and rubbed them. "I don't know, Joe. I just don't know. This is serious shit. I must say, I am having trouble with it. Rene wasn't a safe guy to be around back then." "Kind of like you are now, don't you think?" You glowered at me. "Don't give me that look. I sold you out to Walker and you still forgave me. Rene's known you're Immortal long enough to try to kill you if he wanted to and he never has. Seems to me what's really bothering you is that he went through what you're going through now. And maybe, just maybe, when he tells you his judgements' better than yours and you'll thank him later, he means it. And maybe he's right." "Since when did you suddenly turn into Rene Galbon's buddy?" you snapped. Oooh. You were pissed off, now. You didn't like that. God forbid Rene might actually be right about you being hazardous to your own health and the health of everybody around you. "I didn't. I've just had some time to think, that's all. I want to know what you're gonna do. Seems to me, if you're gonna raise Harold Croft to sainthood, the least you can do is let Rene off the hook while you're at it." I watched you, as you slumped back onto the couch, trying to figure out your mood. "So, what are you going to do?" You sighed and grimaced. "I don't know, Joe. I just don't know." Continued in part three