"A Sea of Fate".
Paula Stiles 
<thesnowleopardAhotmail.com>

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 THREE


     Rene felt a chill as soon as he pulled up and saw 
Amy waiting outside the bar. If she had to come out to 
meet him, the situation could not be good. He parked 
across the street, got out and went up to her. She was 
smoking. When she offered him a cigarette, he accepted, 
even though he had smoked several over his meal already.

     "Eh, bien. And what is the news from the front?" he 
half-joked. He felt very nervous. He did not want to 
think about what Leah would have to say to him about his 
gross incompetence at their next session. He had 
mistepped badly. If he lost Adam because of this, he did 
not know if he could forgive himself.

     "They're...thinking about it," she said, looking 
noncommittal.

     *Mon Dieu. I can live with their hating me, if only 
I can still keep Adam alive and safe.* But Rene knew that 
his ability to help Methos had been seriously 
compromised. "God damn that tape!" he burst out. "God 
damn Croft for sending it to Adam, and God damn Horton 
for making it in the first place! What kind of friend did 
Croft think he was, doing such a thing? I cannot believe 
he would hurt Adam so badly just to get at me." Ah, but 
Croft had been a most jealous lover, even if it was all 
from a distance.

     So, it was the tape they found?" Amy asked. "You're 
sure?"

     "No, I am not sure, but Gabrieli thought so and I 
agree with him. It explains why they went to Headquarters 
looking for Croft in the first place, non? And now it has 
all fallen apart." He puffed nervously on his cigarette.

     Amy shook her head. "Croft was a twisted bastard, 
Doctor. No doubt about that. But you're going to have to 
tread lightly there. For some reason, Ben saw him as a 
good friend." She dropped her cigarette on the pavement 
and ground it out. "You ready?"

     "No." Rene ground out his own cigarette, took off 
his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Not that it matters."

     Amy patted him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Doctor. 
Think of it this way; if Ben can forgive Croft for being 
a Hunter, maybe he can forgive you, too." She grinned. 
"Then again, maybe he'll just shoot you first and forgive 
you later."

*********

     Rene is afraid of me; I can see it in his eyes as he 
trails behind Amy into the room. His shoulders are 
hunched, his head down--making himself small. I know that 
tactic well. He won't look at me or Joe. Guilty as sin.

     "Have a seat, Doc," Joe tells him. Amy sits on the 
couch next to me, so that leaves the office chair. Rene 
pulls it out from the desk and turns it around so that he 
can sit down between Joe and the couch. He rubs his face 
and scratches his beard. Joe says nothing. Nor do I. I 
fully intend to let him sweat. Bastard. Oh, you bastard.

     "So?" Joe starts it off and running since I won't. 
"You got anything to say for yourself?"

     "First, I would like to know what you have you 
discovered," Rene says, and I roll my eyes at the dodge. 
"So that I can answer your questions better," he adds. 
All right. Fair enough.

     "What do *you* think we've discovered?" I say, 
challenging him.

     He sighs, takes off his glasses and starts to polish 
them. Time was, I would have found that endearing. Now, 
the delaying tactic makes me impatient. Get on with it, 
you bastard. He puts the glasses back on, pushing them up 
on the bridge of his nose. "I am assuming from your 
reaction that it was a tape." I sit up. He knows about 
it? Was it filmed with his consent? "A tape of me 
murdering a man with a sword. From the manner of death, 
you may assume that man was an Immortal, and you would be 
correct. And from my actions and demeanour, you may 
assume that I was a Hunter at the time. The tape was, in 
fact, made for the purpose of blackmailing me into 
remaining a Hunter." He meets my eyes for the first time 
since he entered the office. "If it matters, that effort 
failed.  Rodrig was my last kill."

     I glance at Joe, but he just shakes his head, 
letting me take the lead. My ex-friend, my call. 
"Rodrig?" I say. "I am surprised you remember his name."

     "I remember all their names, even after so many 
years." His eyes are calm and sad. I swallow bile, 
remembering too well the feeling of having betrayed a 
friend with old sins.

     "How many years? How long have you been lying to 
me?" It shouldn't matter, but I need to know, to torture 
myself with how stupid I have been, holding not one, but 
two Hunters as friends. So much for my instincts. It is a 
wonder I have lived so long.

     "It was in 1987, shortly before I ended up in 
hospital." Shit. I was right after all. "One could say 
that killing Rodrig was the reason I ended up trying to 
shoot myself in a crowded bar that night."

     "Just couldn't take being blackmailed, eh?" I get up 
and start pacing back and forth in the small space 
between the wall and the table. My escape is blocked by 
Joe, Amy, Rene and the table, and that frightens me. Joe 
is watching me, eyes narrowed. My movement seems to be 
making Amy nervous. I don't want to make her nervous, but 
this is too important to let go. 

     Rene is too lost in his remembrances to notice our 
reactions. "No. I did not find out about the tape until 
the following year. You found me in an alleyway the night 
after I confronted Horton about it." He smiles sadly. 
"You were a very good friend to me. Sean took special 
note of it at the time."

     For some reason, the idea that Sean knew and I 
didn't really makes me angry. "You told *Sean*? I thought 
you were a Hunter."

      "And Darius was my confessor, from the time you 
suggested him to me until his death. I didn't hate all 
Immortals, even then. Horton only sent me after the worst 
cases. The Kurgans."

     Bastard. *Darius* knew, too? Was I the only Immortal 
in Paris who didn't know the man was a Hunter? "And the 
Kronoses, maybe? Death on a Horse?" I feel sick. I was so 
close to my own death and I never noticed.

     He sighs. "I don't know, Adam. I honestly did not 
suspect you were Immortal until after you sent me after 
your brothers. By then, I had been out of the Hunters a 
long time and I left those two as I found them. If I had 
simply known that you were Immortal when I was Hunting, 
you would still have been safe from me. If I had known 
about your Horseman past...I do not know."

     "Then, why lie to me?" Yes, that is what makes me 
angriest. The lie. "Why pretend to be my friend? Why pull 
the wool over my eyes, let me put myself at risk trying 
to get in between you and Horton? Why play me for the 
fool?"

     He looks at me and damn him, there are tears in his 
eyes. "You idiot! I was trying to *protect* you. I 
thought you were young and Mortal. And after, when I did 
find out you were Immortal, I feared you might try to 
track down his associates. Do you think, just because 
Horton is dead that the Hunters are no more? Don't be 
such a fool! They are only waiting for the chance to 
return. The affair with Jacob Galati should have taught 
you that." Joe growls quietly at that, but I stay silent. 
Rene is right. For all his self-righteousness, Jack 
Shapiro was as much a Hunter as James Horton. Daniel 
Stern, too. "You were a researcher, not even a field 
Watcher. Horton would have murdered you if he'd suspected 
you knew anything about us. He nearly got us both the day 
Darius was killed. I was trying to keep you out of it! 
Yet, there you were, right in the middle each time. You 
kept trying to save me from myself. I knew that if I told 
you how much trouble I was really in, you would try to 
fix it. I was terrified you would get killed."

     "Why?" I say, trying to make it sound casual, and 
failing. This hurts so much, but I have to know. "What 
was so special about me? Was I just unusually gullible? 
Good for a free pint? A good buddy to go whoring with? 
What?"
     Rene just shrugs. "You were my friend, a good friend 
when I was too sick to deserve one." Joe grunts in 
distress. Ow. I turn away. I can't stand that kind of 
honesty now.

     "Methos," Rene says hesitantly behind me. "You 
helped me when I was at my worst. You are my friend. You 
are like an uncle to my Mathilde. Whatever you may think 
of me, whatever you may think of the hospital and therapy 
and--and my profession, they helped me, too. All I want 
to do is help you in the same way, to repay you and 
because you are my friend. That is all. I hid my past, 
that tape, from you. That is true. But I did it because I 
could think of no way to tell you that would not hurt you 
so badly that I would wish you had never found out."

     I turn back and face him. "You must have known that 
Croft would expose you someday. Is that why you killed 
him?"

     Rene shakes his head. "I knew nothing about Croft's 
involvement until only a few days before he died." He 
glances at Amy, who nods, confirming it. "Even then, I 
thought he had only given Horton money for operations, 
that perhaps Horton was blackmailing him into helping 
him. I had no idea until Croft tried to kill me how 
deeply he was involved and...and why he really wanted to 
kill me."

     I fold my arms, trying (and probably failing) to 
look impressed. "Oh? And why is that?"

     Rene smiles wryly. "He was jealous of our 
friendship. He thought you were in love with me and he 
felt, most strongly, that I did not deserve you. Being in 
love himself, I suppose he could understand how 
irrational that would make you about me. Apparently, it 
was how he justified to himself your interventions with 
him on my behalf." He hesitates. "Did you know that he 
was in love with you?"

     There is no point in denying it. Sadness washes over 
me, drowning the anger. What happened to my moral high 
ground? I look at Joe and he seems as lost as I feel. 
"Yes. I knew. I didn't feel the same, though I liked him 
as a friend. He didn't seem to mind. I think he preferred 
it that way." A fragment of my dream from this morning 
comes back to me.

     "He probably did, but his feelings for you were 
quite genuine." Bless him, here he is, arguing for his 
very life and he still cannot resist turning it into a 
therapy session. "Croft was a dark man, but he did love 
you very much. He would never have harmed you."

     And yet, he sent me that tape, and tried to murder 
Rene. No matter how angry I may be with Rene, I cannot 
turn Harold into an innocent victim, not anymore. Hell, 
even in denial as I was about Harold's vicious streak of 
jealousy towards my friends, I knew enough to keep Joe 
far, far away from him. In fact, I cannot think of a 
single friend whom I dared keep in Harold's vicinity. He 
may have cherished me, but there was an exhausting 
quality to his love. Another one who wanted to keep me on 
a pedestal. I must confess, I continue to remain 
mystified by the attraction.

      Suddenly, I have to sit down again. This has been a 
long day, and all I want to do is go home, go to sleep 
and pray that tomorrow will be better--or at least 
mortal-shock-free. I have a longing to take out the 
Bastard and feel it hum. I can just sense it in my coat, 
but the effect is much stronger when it is out of its 
scabbard. Somehow, though, I do not think that Rene would 
find the sight of me with naked steel in my hand very 
reassuring.

     Joe stirs across from me. "What do you want to do 
now?" he asks me.

      I lift my head to see all three of them staring at 
me anxiously. God, talk about exhausting.... I sigh. "I 
do not even want to think about this right now. All I 
want is to go back to my apartment, watch a video, maybe 
eat something and sleep for the next twelve hours." I 
glare at Rene. "I might even be willing to take some of 
your nasty, little pills, if that will help. Hell, I'd 
even be willing to put your clothes through the washer, 
get out all that ketchup I ground into them." I laugh a 
little bitterly at that. I was pretty angry when I 
trashed Rene's things. One could say that I was not 
thinking straight at the time. Across from me, Joe smiles 
and shakes his head. Bet he's been thinking the same 
thing.

     "Adam--" Rene starts in again.

     "No." I raise my hands, making him stop. "Just 
don't. Not now. It's already too much today." Amy puts a 
hand on my shoulder and rubs it gently. I close my eyes 
and lean into it, towards her, and for a moment, I don't 
care how it looks to Joe and Rene. "Let it be, Rene. You 
can sleep on the couch tonight. Tomorrow, we can figure 
out something else, okay?" I open my eyes and look at 
him, pleading a little. He looks stricken, but doesn't 
argue with me. I look at Joe, who is staring at us. 
"Joe?"

     "I dunno," he says. "The bar--"

     "I can take of it," Amy says before he can make an 
excuse. "Don't worry about it, Joe. Just go home with 
Adam and Dr. Galbon. We can take care of business here. 
It will be fine."

*********

     Personally, I think that Amy is a perpetual 
optimist. Everything is not fine. I am just too tired to 
deal with it all tonight. I should have booted Rene into 
the street, and I am sure that Joe thinks I have lost my 
mind, letting him stay the night. But I don't trust Rene 
and I want to keep him in sight. If he really is as upset 
and worried about me as he says he is, I want to watch 
and see what he does about it. If the men in the white 
coats are coming for me, I will need fair warning--or at 
least a hostage.

     But that doesn't mean I have to be nice to him while 
I wait.    

     When we get home, I don't want to deal with food or 
entertainment anymore and go straight to bed. Well...not 
quite straight to bed. When Joe sees what I am doing, he 
shakes his head and rolls his chair into the kitchen. He 
makes no effort to stop me. He is probably hungry and he 
can make supper for himself easily enough. I keep some of 
my food in the lower cupboards so that he can reach it 
when in his wheelchair.  

    I take 'that' tape out of my backpack and put it in 
the machine. Joe and I took it with us when we went over 
to Watcher Headquarters, in case we needed evidence--of 
what, we didn't know. I still don't know, but I am going 
to use it anyway. I wait until I hear Rene's footsteps 
coming up the stairs, press Play on the VCR, and go to 
bed. I don't even get undressed, just lie down fully 
clothed, on top of the bed, in my jacket and under a 
blanket. Rene comes in, looking around. He spots me and 
comes over to the bed.

     "What are you doing?" he says.

     I cradle the Bastard in my arms. "Going to bed. It 
has been a long day."

     He raises his eyebrows. "With a naked sword?"

     "I'd prefer a naked woman, but since no one has 
offered recently, I will settle for the sword." I stroke 
the bare metal, comforted by the faint hum that settles 
in my head like falling silver leaves.

     Rene looks alarmed, of course, and makes noises 
about giving me more medication, but I ignore them. "I am 
not taking any more of your horse pills," I tell him. 
"I'm tired enough as it is."

     Before he can bother me further, the screaming 
starts on the TV. Rene stops, clearly recognising his own 
voice on the tape, even distorted with rage as it is. He 
goes still, his face turning pale. In the kitchen, Joe 
slams the refrigerator door. He is annoyed with me for 
playing with my food.

     "Oh," I say. "Did you catch the latest horror film 
Joe and I got? It came in the post this morning. You're 
the star."

     Rene does not turn around to watch it. I did not 
expect him to, yet respect him for that despite myself. 
He has the look of Lot leaving his wife behind as she 
turned to salt. He backs away from the bed, goes into the 
bathroom and yanks the door shut behind him. I listen, 
but can hear nothing obvious--perhaps some wailing and a 
thump or two as he pounds on the wall. The tape ends. I 
get out of bed, go to the VCR, eject the tape and go hide 
it in my bookcase. I'd prefer to destroy the filthy 
thing, but Joe and I may still need it as evidence. I am 
sure that Rene would love to burn it immediately. Maybe 
that is a good enough reason to keep it for now.

     Joe rolls out of the kitchen as I climb back onto 
the bed. "I made up some tuna salad. You want any?"

     "No, thank you. You eat it." I close my eyes and 
breathe, stroking the sword.

     "Okay. Mind if I use the TV now?"

     I chuckle, though I feel little humour in the 
situation. "Yes, I'm done for now. Go ahead." He puts on 
a movie, some adventure flick from the sounds of it. 

     A few minutes later, Rene comes out of the bathroom. 
I open my eyes as he approaches the bed again, a bit 
unsteady on his feet. He stops a few feet away. We watch 
each other--it is what we are trained to do, isn't it?

     "Adam, you cannot just stop taking medications like 
Zoloft," he says, looking anxious enough to need a pill 
himself. "The withdrawal symptoms are very unpleasant and 
destabilising. You must stay on that, at least, if not 
the sedative."

      Unimpressed, I pull the blanket up to my shoulders. 
Rene turns to Joe, who is watching us instead of his 
movie. "Joe," Rene says plaintively, "Do something."

     I look at Joe. He just looks back at me. "If you 
want to do that to yourself, I won't stop you," he tells 
me. "I think you'll probably end up back in the hospital 
a little faster if you do, but that's your call."

     That is all I need to hear. I nod and close my eyes, 
pretending to go to sleep. "That was very helpful, Joe. 
Thank you," I hear Rene say in disgust.

     "Not like he was listening to you, anyway," Joe 
says. "At least I was being honest about his options." 
Good. It looks as though he is not cutting Rene any 
slack, either. He really should get that squeaky wheel 
fixed. Maybe I will do something about it later in the 
week, as a favour to him. Rene, at least, has finally 
decided to leave me alone. I lie here, listening to his 
small sounds as he moves around inside my space, just as 
he tries to fill the inside of my head with his 
psychiatric lies.

     I don't start weeping until Kronos and I are well 
away from my house. "Where was your sword?" he says, ever 
practical, slowing to a more sedate speed now that he is 
certain we have not been followed. His watch, glowing 
green inside the dark car, says twenty minutes to twelve.

     "I kept it behind the couch," I say. It was instinct 
that made me put it there, a just-in-case gesture of 
residual paranoia from the Game. I still cannot believe 
they came for me. I still cannot believe that Jilly 
brought them down on my head. The little fool. So, if I 
despise her so much, why I am grieving? Is it for her, 
what we had or only what I thought we had?

     Kronos nods, smiling. "Of course. I thought there 
might be more than one reason you ducked behind that 
particular piece of furniture. You were always clever, 
Brother."

     "And now what? You've come to kill me?" I should 
feel fear, but my emotions are shutting down as my tears 
dry up. Fear, anger, grief...love. I feel my old mask 
slipping back over me and for once, I welcome it. The 
woman I loved, all of my friends, have betrayed me. I do 
not want to feel anything anymore.

     Kronos chuckles. "Of course not, Brother. I need 
you. You are one of a kind." He glances at me, his eyes 
glinting in the passing street lights. "And I don't think 
you will want to run now. Not from me."

     "One thing only, and you have me," I say, my voice 
calm and flat. "I want Horton." I wipe off the last of my 
tears with my jacket sleeve. Automatically, my mind 
starts detailing what I intend to do to him. I have 
always been imaginative.

     He nods. "How do you propose to get him?"

    "I don't know, but I do know one thing. Jilly 
wouldn't have gone directly to Horton. She had to have 
arranged the meeting through someone else, an 
intermediary." "The meeting". It sounds so cold, so 
reasonable. Dammit, I *told* her not to try to negotiate 
with him. She thought that Horton would accept an 
Immortal Watcher, see me as somehow more Human than the 
others when of course, he just hated me all the more. No 
matter what I did, no matter how loyal or friendly I was, 
my mere existence made me an enemy. Being Methos just 
made me the bigger coup.  

     "Who is the intermediary?" Kronos is only half-
interested. As long as the plan works and gives him what 
he so desires--chaos and power--he's satisfied. It is all 
he cares about. How I get him what he wants doesn't 
matter to him in the least. Oh, yes, Brother, I remember 
you and your needs all too well.

     "Dawson, maybe." I am talking half to myself, since 
I am the only one in the car who cares. "He wouldn't deal 
with Horton directly, but he could get a message to him. 
Jilly must have gone through him. She wouldn't have done 
it behind his back." On the other hand, I never would 
have believed that she would have gone behind my back, 
either. Surely, she didn't hate me that much? No. She 
must have loved me and it got her killed. You don't do 
something that stupid unless you are doing it for love. 
After all, how stupid was I when I told her who I was, 
bought her an engagement ring? I just assumed that if she 
loved me she would never hurt me. Fool. You are such a 
fool, Old Man.

     "Pull over here," I say when I spot a phone booth. 
Kronos pulls over without argument. He can see the wheels 
turning inside my head and will not disturb me. I am 
giving him what he wants. I get out and make the call.

     "Dawson." The voice is sleepy. I woke him up. Across 
the river, a church clock rings midnight in early, out of 
sync with its brethren and the rest of Paris. Yes, it is 
rather late in the day, isn't it? And in more ways than 
one. Oh, Jilly. How could you betray me like that? Well, 
never mind. She has paid already.

     "It's Adam Pierson," I say. "We need to meet."

     He wakes right up at that. "Where are you?"

     "Never mind that. Meet me outside of Darius' old 
church." I can almost hear him wince at that. Darius was 
one of the more prominent of Horton's victims, murdered 
inside his own chapel two years ago. I hang up before Joe 
can say anymore. I don't want anyone to trace the call.

     When I get back in the truck, I tell Kronos where we 
are going and give him the instructions. He is suspicious 
at first, of course. "Why are we doing this? We can be 
out of the city and out of this problem inside of an 
hour." He is not afraid, just indifferent. The Watchers, 
as opponents, do not really interest him--yet.

     I shake my head. "The renegade Watchers who came 
after me are everywhere. We can either fight them now or 
wait for them take us down. I won't leave Paris with an 
enemy like James Horton at my back, not if I can help 
it."

     "Was that the silver-haired one that I missed?" 
Kronos asks indulgently.

     "Yes," I reply through my teeth, thinking of Jilly 
tossed backwards like a rag doll by the gunshot that 
killed her. "That was the one that you missed."

     When we get to the church, I tell Kronos to park 
around the corner and wait. "I can't take my sword. I 
need something small," I say. "It's likely that Dawson 
doesn't know what I am yet and I would like it to stay 
that way."

     Kronos nods and hands me a small dagger, which I 
hide inside my jacket. I get out, looking around for 
Dawson. Even at night, he is not easy to miss. I spot him 
waiting on the sidewalk in front of the church and cross 
the street, scanning the area for hostiles. So far, I see 
nothing.

     "Jillian is dead," I say, as I approach him. "Horton 
killed her."

     He looks skeptical. "Oh, yeah? You want to tell me 
where you heard that?"

     "I was there, Dawson. I saw him do it. He tried to 
kill me, too."

     "Looks like he did more than try." Dawson points at 
my jacket. I look down. I'm covered with blood, hers and 
mine. Stupid of me to try to revive her when I knew she 
was gone, but sometimes I cannot help trying a lost 
cause. I flash on the pain, the noise of the guns, 
Jilly's face as she died, and suppress it with an effort. 
No time for that now.

     "Joe," I say quietly. "I know you set up the meet. 
You know where Horton is. I need your help to find him."

     "You need my help? *My* help?!" His voice rises, his 
face contorted. "You son of a bitch. You're one of them!" 
I fall back before his vehemence, alarmed.

     "Joe, what are you talking about--"

     "I'll bet you're with that bastard who killed Amy." 
He advances on me, leaning on his cane. "The one in the 
black leather jacket, the one who was looking for you. 
He's a friend of yours, isn't he? Some friend!"

      I go cold. That sounds like Kronos, and almost 
certainly is. So, Horton's men weren't the first Watchers 
Kronos killed? Somehow, I am not surprised to hear it. 
"Joe, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't 
even know who 'Amy' is."

     "She was my *daughter* you son of a bitch! She was 
too young to join the Watchers, but we were running so 
low on personnel that her mother recruited her. Your 
*friend* murdered my daughter just because she was a 
Watcher!" I back away from him a few steps, unable to 
follow his leaps of hate-filled logic any further than to 
understand that he has gone over to the other side.

     "You're one of them now," I whisper. "You've become 
a Hunter."

     "And you're one of *them*!" He pulls out a gun, his 
face twisted with hate. "You self-righteous, murdering 
son of a bitch, the only reason I didn't call Horton was 
because I wanted to finish you myself!"

     "You killed Jilly." Now, I am seeing red, and I am 
no longer retreating. "You set her up, didn't you? You 
set *me* up." I reach into my coat and pull out the 
knife. Joe lifts the gun, but he does not look as certain 
as he says he is and it wavers. I advance on him, angrier 
and angrier. "You might as well have pulled the trigger 
yourself. *I'm* a murderer? I loved her! I was going to 
marry her! A Watcher! How dare you call me a murderer 
with that kind of blood on your hands?" I rush forward, 
pushing his gun aside and putting Kronos' knife to his 
throat.

     "If you loved your daughter so much," I snarl, "then 
maybe I should send you to her right now!"

*********

     Rene was not happy with the way things were going, 
but he was willing to go along with the situation until 
Adam calmed down. Adam and Joe had allowed Rene to follow 
them back to Adam's apartment in his own car, a few 
minutes behind. It had given him a chance to get his gun 
out of his glove compartment and hide it in his belt 
under his coat before he went up to the apartment. He was 
not sure why he risked bringing it with him, but with 
both of them so angry and Adam so clearly unstable, Rene 
felt that he could use any edge he could get. 

     When Rene came in, the TV was on and Joe was in the 
kitchen. Adam had already gone to bed--fully-clothed, 
with his sword unsheathed. How very phallic. He lay on 
his side, arms and legs loosely clasping the naked blade. 
When he opened his eyes, he smirked at Rene's approach. 
To no one's surprise, the conversation was short, hostile 
and unproductive. Adam was not about to take any more 
medication from Rene's hand, withdrawal symptoms or no 
withdrawal symptoms. In the middle of the argument, a 
voice coming from the TV distracted Rene. A chill oozed 
down his spine. He knew that voice--it was his. But he 
had only heard it like that once before. It was Horton's 
blackmail tape.

     He made it into the bathroom before he could be 
sick. But when he knelt by the toilet, nothing happened. 
He hung in a nauseous middle state for an uneasy time, 
wishing he could be sick yet dreading it. Eventually, the 
nausea faded. He slumped to the floor next to the toilet, 
exhausted. A not-so-faint smell of vomit told him that 
Methos' probable reaction earlier in the day had been 
similar to Rene's, though the toilet was clean enough. 
Rene banged his head back against the wall and emitted a 
strangled wail of frustration. This was going from bad to 
worse to catastrophic at warp speed. He tried, and 
failed, to blame Adam for his hostile reaction. As he 
recalled, he had vomited after Horton had shown it to 
him, too. Had it been Adam or would it have been Joe who 
had gotten sick? Adam, most probably. Joe would not have 
made it in here in time, even though the wheelchair fit 
through the door. Rene wondered idly whether Adam had 
checked that a wheelchair could fit in the bathroom, 
before moving in.

     He tried several times to get up before he managed 
it. He felt lightheaded, and the walls pulsated around 
him. He tried to remember when he had last taken his own 
medication. This morning, as far as he could recall. He 
could surely use something now.

     *Get a hold of yourself, Rene,* he chided himself. 
*You are the professional here. And Joseph cannot take 
care of both of you at once, not from a wheelchair.* 
Breathing deeply to control his shaking, he opened the 
bathroom door.

     When Rene came out, Adam appeared to have drifted 
off, lying on the bed, eyes closed, his breathing 
regular. Rene had no doubt that the Old Man was sleeping 
with one eye open, if only figuratively, but he still 
sighed to himself in relief. A manic Methos, even an 
awake Methos, was more than he could handle right now. 
Leah had been right to take him off duty for the moment. 
He was not up to the job. Pity that Adam would trust no 
others. It made Rene's position so much more difficult, 
since he could not transfer Adam to another psychiatrist, 
even because of his own illness.

     Joe was watching TV, ignoring Rene. Adam's cat was 
nowhere to be seen--out all night hunting, like most 
cats, no doubt. Rene could see the attraction of a cat 
for an Immortal. Their moral systems were rather similar. 
Fortunately, Joe was too tired out by the day's trials to 
stay up long and went to bed. Without acknowledging 
Rene's presence, he rolled into the toilet to clean up 
for bedtime. If he noticed the smell, he did not remark 
on it. After he came back out, he went over to the far 
side of the bed. Rene watched him struggle to get onto 
the bed while cursing quietly, then went to help him.

     "I can do it," Joe groused, batting him away.

     "No, Joseph, you cannot." Rene helped him into bed 
and helped him with the humiliation of getting his pants 
and shirt off. Adam, on the near side of the bed, never 
moved. Rene wondered how dependent Joe was on the Old 
Man. He had always assumed that the dependence went one 
way, but of course, for Joe to be so loyal, it had to be 
mutual. When Joe was settled, he pushed Rene away. 
Chuckling to himself, Rene moved over to the near side of 
the bed and stood next to Adam, who lay on his side, eyes 
closed, snoring very quietly. Dared he hope...? He 
hesitated, then put a hand on Adam's shoulder and shook 
him gently. Adam did not respond. Rene, mindful that the 
Immortal was sleeping with a naked sword and had surely 
been faking unconsciousness earlier, leaned over, touched 
Adam's still head and pushed up one eyelid. The pupil of 
the eye was dilated. Rene tried the other. Dilated as 
well. At least they were equal. He decided to let it be.

     As he straightened up, Joe said, "Dead to the world, 
huh?"

     Rene ran a hand through his hair and blew out a 
breath. "Yes, finally. Dieu merci."

     "He's had a big day," Joe said, turning over to look 
at Rene, "And you slipped him something a little extra 
this morning before you left, didn't you? Guess he didn't 
barf it all up, after all."

     "Not exactly." Rene smiled wryly. "I have been 
giving him three times the usual doses of Zoloft and 
sleep aids that we give our Mortal patients, which is the 
dose that we give to all the older Immortals. Sean 
created the formula years ago, through trial and error. I 
wanted to give Adam more, but I was afraid that his 
immune system would kick in and expel it all."

     "He was bright as a bunny all day, though." Joe 
looked puzzled.

     Rene patted Methos on the head, a liberty that would 
have gotten his hand bitten off at any other time. "It 
can have a delayed effect, especially with the old ones. 
They go on for a day or two in high gear, seemingly 
unaffected, and then they just collapse." He backed away. 
"It is mostly exhaustion. Everything comes with a price. 
I have noticed that many Immortals sleep a great deal 
when they have been hurt. Their immune systems require 
more energy to maintain than ours do. They can fight off 
things like drugs and bullets, but not forever."

     Joe watched Adam with concern. "Will he be okay?"

     Rene nodded, touched by Joe's concern, even though 
he had expected it. "For the moment, yes. The sleep will 
do him good." He started to turn, then paused. "You 
should sleep, too, Joseph. It has been...a long day, 
n'est-ce pas? For all of us."

     "Sleep?" Joe's eyes narrowed. "With you in the room? 
I don't know about that, Rene. Seems kinda unwise."

     Rene spread his hands. "Joseph, what is there that I 
could do to you in your sleep that I have not already 
done to your face in daylight?" He turned away and went 
back to the couch where he sat down, feeling suddenly as 
ancient as Methos. He waited until Joe lay back down and 
turned off the light before he moved. He could not see 
the tape anywhere. Joe, or more likely Adam, must have 
hidden it while he was in the bathroom. To keep as 
evidence in case Rene tried to hurt one of them, no 
doubt. And who could blame them? As far as they knew, he 
might well do it.

     It was as he feared. Or perhaps it was worse, just 
for knowing what Methos and Joe had watched earlier. No 
wonder Adam had been sick afterwards. Rene had had to 
swallow down the bile himself. He closed his eyes, trying 
to block out the memories that the mere sound of the tape 
had evoked. When Horton first showed it him, Rene had 
scarcely recognised the crazed figure on the TV screen. 
They shared the same features, the same body--and there 
the resemblance ended. But that was only denial. It was 
him, had been him, and the consequences were his to own. 
He hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. No 
matter how much he wished it, he could not take this 
back--nor any of the other deaths he had caused. God help 
him, he would take even Croft's death back if he could 
and still live. There was too much blood on his soul 
already.

     Sighing, he rubbed his face. Dear God, Adam was not 
the only one ready to sleep for three days. It surprised 
him. Two hours ago, Rene would have sworn that he'd be up 
all this night, unable to sleep from the tension. Now, he 
could scarcely keep his eyes open. Perhaps it was best. 
The less he slept, the more he risked a flashback, or 
worse. He could not afford to be less than alert now. His 
patient was much too edgy; a faint smell of mental decay 
emanated from Adam, putting Rene's nerves on edge.

     Yawning, Rene turned off all the lights in the 
apartment except for the lamp next to the couch. He 
pulled the gun out of his belt (after glancing over at 
the bed to make sure he was not being watched) and 
slipped it under the couch. It would not do for someone 
to discover it the next morning if he overslept. He 
plopped a couple of the cushions on the arm for pillows, 
lay down, feet pointed at the bed so that he could see 
it, and pulled the comforter on the couch down over him. 
He turned off the lamp and settled in. After a few 
moments, he drifted off.

     His hands were shaking and he badly needed a drink, 
but he would not give in. He had sworn to greet his young 
daughter sober, and sober she would see him. Instead, he 
smoked cigarette after cigarette, lighting a new one 
before the last one was finished. He could only hope that 
Madeleine would let him see Mathilde. She should do, the 
bitch, with all the money he paid her to raise her own 
child.

     He checked his watch--twenty before the hour, a 
little early even. He dropped his latest butt on the 
pavement and ground it out before going up the steps. He 
raised his fist to knock boldly on the door, but the 
knock came out weak and hesitant. Begging. Who would ever 
have thought he would be reduced to that?

     "I'd rather you kept close, Rene," Horton had told 
him in the morning. "The Horsemen have been on a rampage 
since you took out that nutter Caspian last month."

     "I am going to visit my daughter," Rene replied. "It 
is her birthday and I will not miss it."

     Horton had smiled. "Are you sure that's wise, old 
friend? If Methos finds out you killed his brother, he 
will come after you and all you hold dear."

     "I am not your friend," Rene told him coldly. "I can 
protect my own."

     And here he was, keeping his promise to his 
daughter. At his first knock, there was no immediate 
response. As he raised his hand to try again, the door 
opened. Nikki, Mathilde's nurse, stood in the doorway.

     "Come in, M. Galbon." She ducked her head as he 
stepped in and past her. "M. Galbon", not "Doctor 
Galbon". Horton had seen to that, destroying Rene's 
medical career the day he had blackmailed Rene into 
murdering his own mentor, Sean Burns.

     "Where is she?" Rene said in French.

     "Mathilde is in the kitchen, Monsieur." Rene went 
down the hallway and into the kitchen. Mathilde was 
sitting on a chair, eating a piece of birthday cake. So. 
They had started the party without him. 

     "Papa!" she squealed happily when she saw him and 
slipped off the chair. He knelt down so that she ran 
right into his arms. He hugged her tight.

     "How is my angel today?" he said, pulling away to 
look at her. To think that she was already four. How the 
time went by. "It is your birthday, non? Bonne fete, ma 
grande." He handed her the present, savouring her 
happiness as she tore off the wrapping and pulled out the 
doll. He chuckled indulgently when she assured him that 
it was a very nice doll.

     Leaving Mathilde to play with her new present, he 
drew Nikki aside. "Where is Madeleine?" he asked her 
quietly. "She should be here."

     Nikki shrugged. "Mademoiselle Leclerq has gone out 
for the evening," she said. "She told me she would be 
back late. We had a small party this morning for Mathilde 
to accomodate her mother's schedule."

     That bitch. To go out to some night  club on her own 
daughter's birthday--and to have the birthday party 
without him? How could she? But should he be surprised? 
He could stand Madeleine no more than she him. But unlike 
Madeleine, he did love their daughter very much. Perhaps 
someday....

     *Oh, yes. Someday, Rene,* he thought sourly. *When 
all Immortals are dead, or you have ransomed your soul 
back from Horton, you will be able to live with Mathilde 
like a real father and daughter.*

     As he opened his mouth to ask Nikki when Madeleine 
had said she would be back, there was a knock on the 
door. "Who could that be?" Nikki tisked as she went to 
the door. "I was only expecting you, Monsieur." Outside, 
across the city, a distant church bell tolled.

     A sudden premonition washed over Rene, like the 
sensation that he imagined an Immortal must get when he 
felt a rival Immortal nearby. He turned and opened his 
mouth to warn Nikki not to open the door, but no noise 
came out. It was as if he had been struck dumb and must 
sit and watch the disaster play out before him. Nikki 
turned the knob to let the door open a few centimeters. 
"I am sorry, Monsieur, but it is very late. Whatever your 
business is, could you come back tomo--"

     The Immortal punched the door open. Rene heard the 
muffled noise of a silencer gunshot and Nikki fell back. 
Rene shoved Mathilde behind him and fumbled for his gun. 
He felt paralysed. His reckoning was here and now his 
daughter would pay. He had to move! The Immortal was 
here! He was coming down the hallway; he was entering the 
kitchen! *Get up, you fool!* Rene screamed to himself and 
yet, he remained on his knees, still fumbling for his 
gun, when the Immortal stepped into the light, raising 
his silenced pistol. As Rene looked up, the face of the 
other was revealed, and it was the face of Rene's best 
friend, the man he had once unknowingly betrayed along 
with Sean, Darius and so many others, whose brother he 
had just murdered--Adam Pierson. Methos.
    
    Rene sat up with a gasp, still reaching for his gun. 
In the light shining through the window from the 
streetlights, he saw a dark shape, kneeling upright on 
the bed. The Immortal! He was here! The shape leaned down 
and Rene realised that he was straddling Joe. In the 
unnatural stillness of the room, Joe's wheezing seemed as 
loud as a police siren.

     "Methos...stop," Joe squeaked. "Wake up." He 
stopped, as if cut off. Though he couldn't see the blade, 
Rene suspected that the Immortal had it to Joe's throat. 
He reached under the couch, scrabbling for his gun. He 
had to kill the bastard before the Immortal could cut 
Joe's throat. Where was Mathilde?

     The Immortal lifted his sword. Suspicion turned to 
cold certainty. He was going to kill Joe before Rene 
could get untangled, off the couch and over to the bed. 
At that moment, Rene snagged the gun and pulled it out 
from under the couch. His heart was banging away and his 
head ached so badly he felt dizzy. The sword paused in 
midair as Rene took aim. Then, it fell. Rene pulled the 
trigger three times. The first two bullets went into the 
wall over the Immortal's head, the third caught him and 
flung him off the bed. The sword spun and dropped with 
him.

     Shaking, Rene yanked the blanket free of his feet, 
got up and went over to the bed, still holding his gun. 
The Immortal lay on the floor, choking. Rene kicked the 
sword away from his hand. He checked Joe, first.

     "Joe? Are you all right?" he said, patting his 
fellow Watcher down for any wounds.

     Joe was shivering. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. He was 
gonna kill me. I kept trying to talk to him...woke up 
with him on top of me...he didn't even hear me...oh, 
Jesus."

    "It's all right, Joe. ca va. ca va maintenant." Rene 
patted Joe's shoulder, shaking himself. Lightheaded, he 
bent down to pick up the sword and turned to the 
Immortal. The Immortal wasn't dead yet. He lay face up, 
face contorted, eyes staring. He was clawing at his back, 
where at least one of the bullets had gone in. Rene 
watched him as the Immortal's breathing evened out. So, 
he wasn't going to die after all. Must be an old one. 
Tough bastard. Rene would have to do this quick, before 
the Immortal recovered. He stepped forward, raising the 
sword.

     "Rene, NO!" Joe's frantic call cut through the 
buzzing in Rene's head. He froze, the sword still raised, 
staring down at the Immortal in shock. The 
Immortal...Methos stared back, zeroing in on Rene with a 
terrible intensity. *What am I doing?* Rene swayed, 
lightheaded and confused. He thought that Methos would 
get up and attack him in the moment of weakness, but 
instead, Methos scrambled away from the Hunter, not 
taking his eyes off Rene. Before Rene could say anything, 
Methos rolled over, stood up and broke for the door. Joe 
shouted at him but Methos did not pause. He clawed at the 
locks, got the door open and bolted out onto the landing. 
As Methos' footsteps faded, Rene lowered the sword, and 
slumped to the floor next to Joe. He knew that he had to 
follow Methos, to explain, to reassure him, but he had no 
energy left to do it. In the heat of the moment, he had 
turned Hunter again, after so long. He had tried to kill 
Methos his patient, Adam Pierson his friend. Joe was 
speaking to him but it didn't seem to matter. He had 
failed every oath he had ever sworn, and he could see no 
way to fix that now.

*********

    It was half an hour or so past midnight and the bar 
was quieting down when Ben walked in--stumbled in would 
have been more like it. He took a table in the corner. 
Marie pointed his progress to the table out to Amy as Amy 
came out from the back room with a case of Bacardi 
Breezers. "What is Adam doing here?" Marie said. "I 
thought he went home with Joe."

     "He did," Amy said. "Here, can you take care of 
these? He looks pretty upset." Marie nodded. It was a 
relatively slow night and the new guy was working out 
well. Amy was only on in case he couldn't handle it, so 
they were overstaffed for this shift. She could afford to 
nurse Methos through whatever tiff he must have had with 
Rene.

     As she walked over to him, the first thing Amy 
noticed was that Methos seemed to have just got out of 
bed. His jacket was rumpled and his eyes bloodshot. He 
hunched over the table, shaking as if he were cold. There 
was something odd about his coat.

     "Ben? Where is your sword?" she asked, finally 
putting her finger on the oddness.

    He looked up, as if startled. "Hi," he said.

     "Your sword." She sat down next to him and lowered 
her voice. "Where did you leave it? What's going on?"

     "It's back at the apartment." A strange look crossed 
his face. Clearly, he did not want to tell her what had 
happened, so it must have involved Joe. A spat with Joe; 
well, that was hardly novel. Ben had probably argued with 
Rene about his treatment and Joe had sided with Rene. 
"I'd rather not talk about it."

     "If I call the apartment, will Joe and Rene still be 
breathing?" she asked, suppressing the bubble of black 
humour that always danced at the top her head like the 
air bubble in a water compass when Ben was around. "Able 
to answer the phone, and all that?"

     That got her a funny look and an uncertain giggle 
out of him. "Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Everybody's 
fine...physically, anyway."

     His response chilled her. She hadn't thought it was 
that serious. Masking her worry, she folded her arms, 
giving him a skeptical look. "Define 'fine'. What 
happened?"

     He squirmed. This was going to be fun. "I, um, had a 
nightmare and scared the hell out of Joe. And I...woke up 
Rene, who came after me with my sword before *I* woke up, 
and I scarpered and came over here...." He ran a shaking 
hand through his hair. "Can we talk about something else 
now?"

    "All right." She relaxed again. Good. Nobody had been 
hurt, then--not permanently, at any rate. She noticed 
blood on his hand. "Did Joe shoot you?"

     He went blank. "What? No, it was Rene."

     "I see." She decided not to pursue that for the 
moment, sticking to practicalities. It wouldn't do to 
panic him. "You have blood on your hand." Since she 
couldn't see any place where he might have been bleeding 
in front, she half-stood to get a look at his back. "And 
there's a big hole in your back. I think you're going to 
need a new jacket."

     "Really? Damn." He craned his own neck to try to 
see, but it was so far down, she doubted he could spot 
it, himself.

     "Can you feel it?" she said.

     He shrugged the affected shoulder, as if he could 
loosen it. "The entry wound was itching like hell while I 
was running over here. It's dying down." He scratched his 
ribs on the other side. "The bloody thing bounced, 
though, and I can feel it coming out. It is driving me 
*barking*."

     "The bullet didn't go straight through? I wondered." 
She suppressed another bubble of inappropriate humour. It 
wasn't every day that even a field Watcher got to have a 
discussion about bloody, bouncing bullets with a five-
thousand-year-old, ex-biblical bad guy. "What happens 
with that? I've always wondered. Does your body expel the 
bullet or what?"

     He nodded, still twisting and scratching. "If it's 
near the skin, it usually just pops out, but if it is 
internal, it will often come out through the digestion 
system. Anyway, that's how it works for me."

     "Does it hurt?" she asked, resting her chin on one 
hand, intrigued by both the information and his sudden 
candour. Then again, he was frequently "candid" with Joe 
and Joe didn't believe half of what Ben told him.

     "Sometimes." Ben winced. "I got a bullet in the 
lower back once--you ever have kidney stones?"

     "Never had the pleasure, I'm afraid."

     "Yeah, well neither have I, but from what I have 
heard, passing a kidney stone might just about 
approximate the pain of pissing out a bullet." He 
scratched his side, grimacing down at the table. 
Something dropped on the floor behind him. He leaned over 
and came back up with a bullet. "Ah, there it is. Must 
have come out past a rib."

     "Ow," she said, wishing she hadn't just got an image 
of that.

     He nodded. "Oh, yes. Exactly." He gave her a puppy 
dog look and she knew he was about to ask her a big 
favour. Considering the mutual horribleness of their day 
so far, she was willing to hear him out, if not to grant 
it.

     "Can I ask you a favour?" he asked. Ahh, good. She 
was learning Methos psychology. "Do you know any hotels 
where I could check in this late and could you possibly 
make a reservation for me? I just...it's been a very long 
day."

     "I thought you'd know all about hotel accomodations 
here," she said, amused.

     He looked embarrassed. "In Nepal or Barcelona, yes. 
Here...well, I haven't had to switch apartments in a few 
years. I just kept coming back to the same one. In fact, 
the last time I was genuinely homeless here, I just 
stayed with Mac at the barge. I haven't had to use a 
hotel in a long time."

     "And with Mac in Seacouver and the barge all closed 
up, you can't go there now."

    "Exactly." He smiled hopefully. "Would you mind 
making a call or two? I'd pay for it, of course, and I'd 
make it up to you, really. I know Joe grumps about my 
lack of gratitude, but I am not all that bad, really."

     "Joe doesn't really say that, you know. Or, if he 
does, I'm sure he doesn't mean it." She shook her head, 
amused and touched in spite of herself. *He is getting to 
you, girl.*  "I'll tell you what--you can stay with me." 
He looked taken aback. "I have a perfectly comfortable 
futon couch. And I don't snore. I even have a sword or 
two that you can use until you can get your own back. 
What do you say?" It was forward of her, but it would 
keep him in sight.

    "I don't want to impose," he said in a small voice, 
but he was clearly tempted.

     "You won't be. It will be fine. You can get a good 
night's sleep. Then, you can talk to Joe and Rene 
tomorrow and work all of this out." She tried not to 
sound like Eve handing Adam the apple. That wouldn't do. 
"What do you say?"

     "I dunno." He shivered. She watched him with growing 
concern. He really was not well, if he was showing so 
much vulnerability to her. "I'm not sure I want to talk 
to either of them right away. I am not looking forward to 
all the explanations and psychoanalysis. I would just 
like some time and space alone to get my head together."

     Oh, God. He was going to disappear again. She 
reached out and patted his shoulder. He jumped, but 
didn't move away. "Ben, isolating yourself in some hotel 
room is a bad idea. What do you plan to do? Get drunk? 
Sit around in your boxer shorts scratching yourself and 
watching TV all day? How will that make you feel better?"

     He favoured her with a crooked smile and leaned 
toward her. "How did you know I wear boxer shorts?" he 
asked in a conspiratorial tone.

     "Call it a lucky guess." He chuckled. She took that 
for a good sign and plowed on. "Look, just stay with me 
for awhile. I won't tell Joe and Rene and you can hang 
around all you want until you are ready to talk to them 
again--as long as you don't watch TV in your boxer shorts 
or scratch yourself. It is so Homer Simpson."

    He giggled and she giggled back. "Silly girl," he 
said. "Homer wears briefs."

     "Whatever. Is it a deal?" *The things I do for 
Watcher historiography.*

     He nodded. "Yeah, okay." He yawned. "Are you staying 
here long?"

     "I still have to close up at two." She wondered if 
his exhaustion was a delayed reaction to having been shot 
in the back. "Why don't you go lie down in the back 
office? I think you have a passing acquaintance with our 
couch."

     "No kidding." He stood up, swaying. She stood and 
grabbed his arm. "Whoa. I'm more tired that I thought," 
he said.

     "So I see." She held him steady as they headed for 
the back room. It required more work than she'd thought 
it would. "Well, as you say, you've had a big day."

*********

     Before the sound of your footsteps had faded, I sat 
up and turned on the light. I was shaking pretty badly. 
Rene was still slumped on the floor next to the bed, head 
down, your sword in his hand. For a minute, I wasn't sure 
if I should touch him or talk to him or what. The guy had 
turned Hunter right in front of me. Trusting him wasn't 
at the top of my To Do list right then.

     But I still needed somebody to help me get out there 
and look for you, and I didn't see any other volunteers. 
"Rene," I said. "You okay?" Silence. "Rene, talk to me. 
Look at me." I shook his shoulder. Slowly, he raised his 
head. He looked spacey, as if he'd been off in some world 
all his very own. "Stay with me," I said. "We gotta go 
after Methos."

     He squeezed his eyes shut and started deep 
breathing. When he opened them again, he looked better, 
less grey in the face. Good. I was gonna need him if I 
was gonna find you. "Can you think where he might have 
gone?" he said.

     "Well, wherever he went, it was on foot." I smiled 
to myself at my own cleverness, trying to ignore the 
worry. "I hid his car keys. If we hurry, we should be 
able to catch up with him pretty easily."

   "Yes...yes, of course." Rene got up, leaving the sword 
on the floor. I'm not even sure he noticed it at that 
point. He seemed pretty freaked out. Couldn't say I 
blamed him there. I really thought he'd turned Hunter, 
though he did stand down at the last minute...the very 
last minute. And only after I yelled at him.

     We got out to my car in good time, at least for me. 
You bet your ass I drove. Rene was in a daze, just 
following my instructions like a robot. Scared the hell 
out of me. This was your shrink, for Christ's sake! I 
knew there was some weird stuff in his past, but 
*damn*.... And you knew he'd been in the hospital. That 
kinda surprised me, to be honest. You'd never said a word 
about it.

     "Just keep an eye out for him," I told Rene, who 
nodded and scanned the streets as I drove through the 
neighbourhood. Now that we were out here, it occurred to 
me that we didn't have a prayer of finding you now. You 
may be a couch potato in mentality, but you can run like 
a rabbit. Wherever you were, you were long gone from 
here.

     "I guess we'd better go back," I admitted an hour 
later. "I don't think we're gonna find him tonight." Rene 
didn't fight me on it, just nodded. That worried me even 
more. He should have been bulldogging me into driving 
some more, or coming up with a new plan, or calling the 
hospital. Or something.

     "I guess I'd better call the hospital tomorrow," I 
sighed as I turned around and drove back. I was tired 
enough to be making some stupid driving mistakes. 
Fortunately, there weren't many cars out and the street 
lights around the area were nice and bright. You'd picked 
a good neighbourhood to live in.

     "Oui. I guess you'd better." Rene looked depressed. 
"Leah will be very angry with me."

     "Who?" I glanced at him. He was staring out the 
window, to avoid looking at me, I think.

     "My therapist."

     "You have a therapist?" A therapist in therapy? Man, 
how screwy was that?

     "We all have therapists, Joseph." He rubbed his 
face. "It helps us maintain our objectivity, for one 
thing."

     "Uh huh." Some objectivity. "Is she the one covering 
for you with your patients while you're down here 
babysitting Methos?"

     He just stared out at the street as I pulled back 
into your apartment block parking lot. "I have no other 
patients at the moment," he said. "I am on indefinite 
medical leave."

     I stopped in the middle of the parking lot with a 
crunch of gravel. "You're what?! Hey, no offense, Doc, 
but what the hell are you doing treating the Old Man when 
you've only got one foot out of the loony bin, yourself?"

     Rene rolled his eyes and snorted in bitter 
amusement. "You know him. You have to ask that? Right 
now, I am the only doctor he trusts." He paused. "Did 
trust, I mean. At the time, it seemed better for me to 
continue as his therapist. Leah and the others thought it 
might be better for both of us--and I agreed. So, I 
stayed on." He lifted his head and stared across the 
parking lot towards the river. "In retrospect, it was, 
perhaps, not such a good idea."

     "I'd call that the understatement of the year, 
Rene." I watched a sad smile cross his face. Oh, yeah. I 
was definitely gonna call the hospital in the morning--
and not just for you.

*********

     The office is completely dark, except for a clock 
radio with an LED display. I'm aware of it, drifting in 
and out of sleep, as if at sea, but I am too tired to let 
it bother me. I don't like the sea, but I do like this 
sensation of floating, as if I am slowly healing: "Sleep 
that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care...balm of hurt 
minds...." MacBeth, I think. Heaven knows that I could 
use some knitting tonight. The canned music coming 
through the walls is muffled but pervasive. Sounds like a 
tape of sixties and seventies classics. Isn't Joe doing a 
blues concert for Valentine's Day? It would be nice to be 
there...pity my shrink is a Hunter.

     No. No, I don't want to think about that right now. 
Byron is sitting across from me, drinking wine before the 
fire. The music of the party reaches through the walls. I 
came in here to escape it, but Byron found me anyway. He 
likes to bring the party with him wherever he goes. Mary 
perches on his knee, and they are both laughing at me. 
"Doc, I didn't realise you wanted to see us again so 
badly," Byron says. Mary smiles at me but says nothing. I 
so want to hear her voice again, even if she never loved 
me.

     "Ben?" Her voice echoes, as if she is calling me 
from a distance, and worries at hearing no answer. She is 
brushing the hair back from my forehead. It feels lovely. 
Her hand is warm and soft. I don't want her to stop.

     "Mary?" I say, trying to respond to her calls.

     "Shh, it's Amy," she says and the spell breaks. The 
dead and their laughter fade away. Amy is explaining 
something to me, but I cannot grasp what she says.

     "What?" I say, too loud in the dark room. I try to 
sit up. "Amy--"

     "It's all right," she replies, kneeling on the floor 
next to my head. "Joe called. I told him you'd come here 
and that I put you up in a hotel."

     "Oh." I pull free of her and sit up. Suddenly dizzy, 
I lean forward, my head in my hands and my elbows on my 
knees, trying to stop the spinning. "Thank you. 
I...wouldn't want him to worry about me."

     She chuckles and sits down next to me on the couch. 
"I'm afraid he's probably still doing that, but at least 
he knows that you're all right for tonight." She rubs my 
back. "How do you feel now? Better? You were sound 
asleep."

     "I don't know. Think I'd like to go back to sleep." 
Still dizzy, I lie back down. My head ends up in her lap. 
She starts, but doesn't push me off or snap at me. 
Instead, she leans back against the couch and begins to 
stroke my hair off my face again. The vertigo fades, 
thank Heaven. This is very pleasant, but I seem to be 
slowly falling off the couch in this position. I turn my 
body so that I am lying face up on her thighs, my ankles 
hanging over the arm of the couch. A much more secure 
position, but also...problematic.

     "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" I say, 
venturing into terra nova. If I were not so drowsy and 
the room were not so dark, so womb-like....but many 
things are possible under these conditions. Her hand 
pauses. I cannot see her expression, only the barest 
outline of her face. Have I insulted her? I can be an 
expert at that. Alexa shut me down the first time we met, 
for insulting all the ancient cities she'd dreamed of and 
would never get to see. And she never did see them all. 

     Yes, perhaps that is it. Amy is insulted. In a 
moment she will curse at me, shove me off her lap, get up 
and turn on the light bright as Hades as she stomps out 
the door. And I will end up finding a hotel room on my 
own. Heaven knows my instincts have played me false many 
times before. I am such a fool for love. Maybe I should 
get up now and save myself the humiliation. I tense, 
ready to sit up. But she begins to stroke my face again, 
humming tunelessly, like the purr of a cat. I relax back 
into her lap, reassured that I've not screwed up for the 
moment. As her hand moves down my face, I close my eyes, 
enjoying letting her do what she wants. She brushes her 
fingertips over my eyelids, down the bridge of my nose. I 
open my mouth, just enough to blow a breath onto her hand 
as she brushes the inside of my lips. I nuzzle her hand. 
She starts playing with the buttons on my shirt. I reach 
up and guide her hand to my belt to tug the fabric of my 
shirt loose. Even tired as I am, I rise to her hand. The 
world is in her touch.

     Aside from her humming and my deepening breaths, the 
room is silent. I tilt my head back against her thighs, 
enjoying the feel of her skirt against my hair. The air 
is thick with musk, but I cannot tell how much of it is 
her perfume, how much is her and how much is me needing 
her. Nor does it really matter. I turn my face against 
her coat, breathing in her smoky scent. Hooking one arm 
over the back of the couch and pushing myself up with the 
other, I move up her belly and through her cleavage, my 
face buried in her shirt. She brings her hand around my 
back and up my spine, making me shiver, until she reaches 
the back of my neck. She kneads it gently as I reach her 
breastbone, then tilts her head when I brush my lips up 
the side of her neck. I nuzzle across her cheek to her 
mouth and into a kiss deep and sweet. She brings her 
other hand around my back, pulling me against her. I 
don't need any further invitation. Growling into her 
mouth, I push her down onto the couch.

    "Amy?" Marie's voice comes from just outside the 
curtain. If she walks through and turns on the light, she 
will certainly see us. However will we explain *that*? I 
raise my head and we both freeze, caught like two kids on 
a couch when the parents come home early.

     "Shit," mutters Amy. "Yes?" she says, louder. I let 
my head drop against her shoulder, unable to otherwise 
suppress my sudden levity at her irritation. She slaps me 
on the shoulder. "Stop," she whispers, choking down her 
own mirth.

     "It's one-thirty and no one is here. Jacques and I 
are going to start closing up." Marie sounds like she is 
dying to know what Amy is up to in here, but is too 
polite to ask. I certainly have no intention of telling 
her.

     "All right. I'll be right out to help you," Amy 
calls back. 

     "Okay." I hear Marie move away from the curtain, 
back into the bar. I lift my head again, sagging against 
Amy in relief.

     Amy blows out a large breath. "That was close!" she 
says. "You didn't help, making me laugh." She sounds 
annoyed, but is laughing at the same time. I see I amuse 
her. This is a good sign for the future.

     "I couldn't help it," I say. My sincerity is marred 
by an unplanned snicker.

     "Neither could I, with you giggling into my 
shoulder!" But there is no sting in it; she is laughing 
too hard. We lie there, warm and safe, still wrapped 
around each other. I am reluctant to pull away, knowing I 
will have to wait to get this close to her again. Then, 
she says, "I take it you're not sleeping on the futon 
tonight, after all. Thank God I don't have to work 
tomorrow morning."

     I smile, even though she cannot see it. A long night 
in bed, followed by a cuddle and long lie-in in the 
morning? That is well worth waiting for. "Not unless you 
want to try out the futon before the bed for some 
reason," I say, rubbing my head against her cheek and 
shoulder as I pull away. Certain parts of my anatomy 
protest at this withdrawal. Down, boy; you will get your 
chance soon enough.

     She sits up. I can hear and feel her adjusting 
clothing, just as I am. She chuckles. "I think we'll go 
the traditional route, first, if you don't mind. The bed 
is a lot bigger, for a start." She stands up. I feel her 
hand on my shoulder. "Come on. The sooner we put the bar 
to bed, the sooner we can get to bed ourselves," she 
purrs in a voice that almost inspires me to pull her back 
down and finish what we started right there. But instead, 
I take her hand, stand up and follow her back out into 
the bar.

*********

     Amy was touched. Even though he was so tired he was 
swaying on his feet, Ben was helping them close up the 
bar without a murmur of complaint. Jacques, being new, 
was still getting up to speed, so Ben helped him for the 
most part. As she recalled, Ben had helped Joe with the 
bar many times, both here and back in Seacouver. He knew 
the routine.

     Nor did he try to rush Jacques, even though she knew 
he probably wanted to get her home and rip her clothes 
off about as badly as he needed to drop into bed and 
sleep for the next twenty hours. Despite their recent 
make-out session on the couch in the office, she wasn't 
sure which way he would go. Even though she wanted to get 
him home as badly as he did, a part of her hoped, for his 
sake, that he would just fall asleep. God, he needed it.

     Ben came out and swept behind her while she wiped 
tables and put up the chairs. He was stumbling in 
exhaustion, cursing himself under his breath. When he 
finished, he dropped into a chair propped against a 
table, letting the broom drop next to him. Marie and 
Jacques came out from the back, pulling on their coats. 
Marie handed Amy's to her. "Can you take it from here?" 
she asked.

     "Of course," Amy assured her. "We'll lock up. Don't 
worry."

     "The back is all finished. You only need to lock the 
front door." Marie smirked over at Ben, who was nodding 
off. "I'm sure you'll manage. Have a good night."

     Amy saw them out and locked the door behind them. 
She put on her coat, adjusting the gun and the Coustille 
in its sheath, then came back over to Ben, who had never 
taken his jacket off. It was a measure of either his 
exhaustion or the trust he already had in her that he did 
not stir at her approach. She leaned against him and 
caressed his face. He opened his eyes and looked up at 
her.

     "Is that a shortsword in your pocket or are you just 
happy to see me?" he said, taking her hand and pulling 
her down on top of him. She laughed and let him do it. 
When she straddled him he groaned, but didn't push her 
off.

     "If you're a good boy, I might let you play with it 
tomorrow," she told him, startled by her own boldness. 
She had always been rather quiet with previous 
boyfriends. Men didn't like women with ideas of their 
own.
     
     He smiled crookedly up at her and undid the lower 
buttons on her shirt, stroking her belly with both hands, 
up under her breasts. It was very distracting. "Promise?"

     She growled, enjoying the distraction a bit too 
much. While she still had some self-control, she grabbed 
his wrists and pulled his hands down to his sides. "What 
am I going to do with you?"

     "Anything specific in mind?" Bloody, incorrigible 
old man. She leaned down and shut him up with a kiss. She 
barely noticed when he worked his hands free and ran them 
up the inside of her skirt. She hoped he didn't mind the 
Bridget Jones knickers he was tugging off her bum. She 
had never been one for lacy, black lingerie. She undid 
his belt and got to work on his jeans, then paused.

     "By God," she said, half in awe. "You *are* wearing 
boxers."

     He chuckled, stroking the inside of her thigh. 
"You're getting too cynical, little girl."

     "It's genetic." She shifted, flesh-to-flesh, and he 
groaned quietly--in frustration, she thought. She closed 
her eyes, biting back her own frustration. "Maybe we 
should wait--at least go back out to the couch first."

     "Oh, Amy." He cupped his hands under her bum and 
lifted her up. Giving in to the inevitable, she reached 
down and helped him enter her as he eased her back down 
onto him. He looked up at her, his grass-green eyes 
hooded. "If you had wanted to wait, we wouldn't be 
sitting in the same chair."

     "But right out here in the middle of the bar?" *My 
father's bar?* She leaned forward, gripping the table 
behind him. "Anybody could come through that door and see 
us."

     He pulled her against him, making them both whimper. 
"Doesn't matter where you are when they come through the 
door for you."

     "I see." She hooked her feet under the legs of the 
chair and moved against him. "Then, I suppose...we'll 
just...hold on...as long as we can."

     He tilted his head back, eyes closed. "There you go. 
Now, you're getting it." He didn't speak after that, 
guiding her hips in a slow, gentle rhythm that increased 
as their breathing grew harsh. She leaned her head 
against his, his short, spikey hair tickling her cheek. 
When she came, she bit into the fabric on his shoulder. A 
moment later, he pulled her hips hard against his and 
cried out, head flung back. They both relaxed. She had to 
grab hold of him to keep from sliding off onto the floor 
when he let go of her and slumped in the chair, arms 
hanging down.

     "Do I have to get up now?" he sighed, and she 
laughed.


Continued in part four