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Later, that afternoon:
"Remind me again why I’m doing this", Methos grumbled as Joe drove through the busy evening traffic.
"Because I have a feeling that this is the start of it all. There’s something very strange about this meeting. Besides Sam and Al could find no records of this meeting taking place. That’s suspicious in itself."
"So now I’m supposed to believe the word of a so-called time-traveller and his invisible friend. Now, I know living as long as I have may have made me a little cynical but…"
He was interrupted by a loud snort from his travelling companion. He ignored it.
"…but I’ve seen many, many things in my time, and time-travellers are not one of them!"
"Well, fine. Don’t help, then. I’ll just drop you here, shall I? Try and get into this convert meeting myself! But, just listen to me for one second! I know you don’t like the idea of there being things out there that even you’ve never come across, but it could happen. You’re 5000 years old, you’re not God. These things happen to the best of us. Besides, living so long, I thought you were the world’s best pragmatist. Next to Mac, you’re like Mr 20th Century! Hell, you had me believing in Adam Pierson for ten years!"
Joe stopped for breath. Methos could tell he’d touched a nerve. Of course he’d go to the bloody meeting, however much he thought it would be a boring waste of time.
"If you don’t want to do it cos of what these ‘so-called time travellers’ say, then do it for me. I believe in Sam. I believe he helped my mother, and I believe he can help now. Otherwise, I’m probably about to face the two worst events of my life since loosing my legs. And at least one will be considerably worse!"
Methos sighed.
"I’m sorry, Joe. You know I’ll go to the meeting. Now, come on, or I’ll be late".
With a shake of his head, and a small grin on his face, Joe gunned the engine.
PQL Headquarters:
Al wiped a hand over his face, trying to clear both his eyes and his mind, as he wandered along to the visitor room. It had been a very long day. Thanks to the time difference between him and Sam, while it had been 4.00am Al’s time, it had been 7pm already in Sam’s time. Whilst his friend had been sleeping, Al had been working, for – with the to-and-froing between time periods – getting on 20 hours. Where the Hell had they gone, he wondered. Even though they hadn’t made much progress in their research, he knew he really needed some sleep. He was worried about Sam. But, then, when wasn’t he?! At least he had some extra help this time. He would have one quick check on Duncan, then get some sleep.
When he entered the room, Duncan was pacing up and down, like some caged tiger, all contained strength and stealth. Trouble was, he had nowhere to go.
"What’s happening?" he growled.
"Joe found out about a secret
Watchers meeting and Methos is going to it…"
"Ok, good. And Richie?"
"Richie’s fine. Sam’s fine. Both frustrated at the lack of progress. I think Richie’s still scared, though."
"He’s stronger than he looks. He’s been through a lot."
"I know".
"Yeah, I guess you would…I just wish there was something I could do."
Al could see Duncan was trying not to keep pacing, not to lash out with frustration. He knew the feeling.
"I’m so used to being there, being able to help…"
"Well, actually you are there…" Duncan scowled.
"Ok, ok, sorry. I know it’s frustrating, but it will work out. If there is anything you can think of. Anyone who might be behind this, anyone after you…?"
Duncan gave a wry laugh.
"Way too many people. But, no-one I can think of who might pull something like this".
"Ok, we’ll keep working on this. Meanwhile, why don’t you try and get some sleep. I know I am".
Duncan nodded curtly, and Al wearily left the room.
Watcher Headquarters, Seacouver:
Despite receiving a few odd looks, Adam Pierson had had no trouble getting into the hush-hush meeting. He’d taken the further liberty of carrying a miniature recorder with him, just in case. As he sat in a far back corner, seats around quietly filling up, he was starting to believe that Joe may have been onto something. The atmosphere was thick and tense, the medium-sized conference room becoming filled to bursting point, the attendees a mixture of age and positions as far as he could see. There were a few people he recognised, a large number of what looked to fairly new recruits, looking around in anxiety and curiousity, and many others who looked as bored as he had felt not ten minutes earlier.
A sudden hush fell as a tall, non-descript looking man made his way out onto the stage.
"Welcome, friends", he greeted. Methos was reminded of cult-religion religion meetings he’d attended a couple of times in the seventies.
"I thank you for coming here today. I know this may seem sudden, covert, underhand, and it is true that certain Watchers in more higher-up positions were not invited here. But, I only have the best of intentions in bringing you here. So, why are you here? Why are we here? I’ll tell you, friends. It is to usher in a new age for the Watchers!"
A collective gasp rose up from the floor. Methos scowled, resisting the urge to temporarily kill himself there and then and spare himself the next couple of hours of nonsense. Instead, he lowered himself in his seat and double-checked his tape recorder was switched on. Just in case he fell asleep.
"The reason why many haven’t been invited is because they value the old ways too much. Out-dated ways. We have become weak, my friends! We sit idely by and let these Immortals do whatever they like. Let them assert their so-called superiority over us mortals. They abuse their power. But we have more power! We can control them. We tried once before, but too many of the old ways were enforced and we failed. It resorted in the death of my cousin, James Horton. He was killed in cold blood by one of the most dangerous Immortals of them all. Duncan MacLeod."
Another gasp came from the assembled crowd. Methos groaned. Not another bloody Horton. His cousin?! Where did they all come from?! At least they knew now why Joe wasn’t invited!
"When James was killed, I was banished from the Watchers. But, now our time has come, and I have returned to lead us against the Immortals. This time we will succeed! Are you with me, my friends? It is our time now, and it will be great!"
A slow, slightly-confused and scared cheer began in response, soon growing as his listeners considered what they’d just been told and decided that yes, they wanted greatness, and they could fight the Immortals. They all knew the recent rumours of the increasing evil of the Immortals had been true. Now, there seemed to be something they could do about it!
Ben Horton smiled at his new recruits. Those he’d picked, already suspicious of Immortals thanks to certain selective e-mails doing the rounds, were keen and enthusiastic. It wouldn’t take long for them to be ready to follow him to their destiny. The numbers were good. More than he hoped, and they would soon grow even further. Soon, Duncan MacLeod and all those around him would pay!
As the afternoon wore on, there was more of the same. Methos wondered just how many ways you could say ‘kill all Immortals’. He wondered whether he really as the only one bored and unconvinced. He wasn’t really worried about this new splinter group of Watchers. At the moment they were all talk, no action. But they would need watching, of course, and he knew that Duncan and Joe would want to do something about this before they started to get even an ioto dangerous. And, if he was honest with himself, he would have to agree with them. Then he remembered about Duncan. Or rather, Sam. Maybe this was more serious than he thought. If this Sam was right, then this Ben Horton and his followers could well be the ones responsible for his own death, and that of Mac, Richie and Joe.
He managed to hold out until the end of the meeting, although he really didn’t know how much help it had been. Still, who knew what might Horton might try. Some information on him was better than none, and he’d get Joe to dig up his Watcher file as soon as he got back to the bar. Hoping to make a swift and unseen get-away, he headed quickly but quietly for the door. But it was too late. As he got within ten feet of it, blending unconspiciously into the background, he felt eyes watching him from behind. He turned and met the cruel, cool smile of a young man he vaguely remembered from the Watcher Academy. He had a bad feeling about this.
"Why, if it isn’t Adam Pierson. Still Joe Dawson’s little lapdog, are you, Adam?" the man asked, his voice raising dangerously high towards the end, clearly heard despite the number of people in the room. He carried on towards the door, knowing that this wasn’t the time for a confrontation.
"That’s right, Pierson, run back to Dawson. Then you’ll both get charged with treason…"
Methos continued ignoring the man; didn’t even give him the satisfaction of looking at him.
"Hey, are you deaf as well as stupid, Pierson?"
Methos cursed under his breath, and told himself it just wasn’t worth it.
"I said, what are you, deaf? Stupid? Maybe you’re just a coward. Like Dawson. Both of you going to that freak MacLeod for protection…"
Methos was seething. The moron could insult him but when he started on Joe and Mac, that was it! He twirled around.
"I don’t know what your problem is, and frankly I don’t care, but you leave my friends out of this", he said quietly, letting the ice drip from each word.
"Or what? You wanna piece of me Pierson? Or aren’t you so big without your Immortal sidekick. Getting a little too friendly, aren’t we? Did we forget our oath as well?"
"Ok, you want to take this outside. Come on then!"
By now they were the centre of attention, and Methos was beyond caring. So much for a low profile. But if he was going to get killed next week anyway…
The crowd gathered around suddenly shifted as they let Horton through to watch the proceedings.
"Trouble, boys?"
"No. Just a little…disagreement" Methos’ opponent answered.
"Just be careful, Gibbs"
Gibbs, thought Methos so that was his name. It didn’t help much though.
"What have you got against me, anyway, Gibbs" he asked as he approached the other man. Horton had stepped back and Methos could see him out the corner of his eye. He had a strange smile playing around the edge of his mouth, and Methos realised that he was probably greatly enjoying this.
"You don’t remember? Why aren’t I surprised? Besides the fact that you are a pathetic excuse for a Watcher and a traitor to the organisation, there’s the little matter of Methos".
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Pierson, that the Head of the Methos Project should have been mine! Ever since I learnt about the Watchers, I’ve been fascinated by Methos. I knew I could prove his existence! Then you came along, got all buddy-buddy with Dawson and Salzer, and were suddenly flavour of the month."
"Well, Gibbs, I guess that’s just the way the cookie crumbles. It’s too bad they choose the right man for the job", Methos drawled. The man was now way beyond irritating.
With a snarl, Gibbs rushed at him, slamming into him and punching at him left, right and centre. Methos, taken slightly by surprise, felt a rib crack before he managed to start dodging the blows. Gibbs was fast but unskilled, and Methos was able to get a couple of good blows in himself. The other man was strong, though, and keep coming. Finally managing to wind him with a direct hit to the stomach, Methos paused to regain his breath. He therefore took his attention away from his opponent, therefore missed Gibbs launch himself at him once more. Even with 500 years of experience it was too late by the time Methos saw the flash of silver in the other man’s hand. He gasped as the knife bit deeply into his chest. Shit! He would die for sure! The last thing he saw before he clacked out was Gibbs’ smug grin.
Methos gasped for breath as he came back to life. Looking up he saw he was still on the floor in the meeting hall. The ‘body’ had been moved to one side. The place was practically empty. Only Horton and six other fairly senior Watcher remained, clearing up. Gibbs was no-where to be seen. He wondered whether it was too much to hope that he hadn’t been heard awakening. It was. Horton and the others were approaching him. He wondered how to play this, and decided after a minute that the new-immortal-in-denial way was probably best.
"Pierson?" Andrew Browning, a senior researcher who he knew only by reputation, was bending down to him. Not surprisingly, he looked very pale.
"What happened?! Where’s Gibbs! He had a knife, the bastard!"
"Adam, Gibbs is gone. You’ve been…out…for some time".
"He knifed me in the chest! The man’s crazy! How could you let him go?" he cried, sitting up.
"He could have killed me!! Hell, that wound must have felt worse than it was. Why aren’t I in a hospital yet?" He added a slight shake – from shock – into his voice, as he felt at his ‘wound’. He paled as he searched for the knife entry point.
"Adam…", Browning began gently. By now he had been joined by two of the other men still in the room. Methos knew neither of them. Horton was watching them but was at the back of the group. The remaining three watchers were standing between him and Horton, as if unsure how close to ‘the Immortal’ to get.
"What…what’s going on?" he whispered.
"Adam…Adam, stop".
"My chest…"
"Adam…Gibbs did kill you…" one of the other men told him gently, a shake in his own voice.
"What, no!!"
"I’m sorry, Adam". This from Browning again.
"No!!"
"Adam! There’s no wound, because you’re…"
"Don’t say it! It’s not possible!"
"Adam, you stopped breathing! We saw you die. And, just now, we saw you awake".
"No, please, no".
"Adam, it will be ok…" began the third man,looking at Browning for help.
"It’s not your fault. You didn’t know you were Immortal…"
"Oh, God…"
Browning put an arm around Methos’ shoulder, throwing worried glances at his friends.
"I can’t…I can’t do this! I can’t be an Immortal! They’re monsters. I don’t want to be like them". Their was a catch in Methos’ voice that surprised even him.
The Watchers exchanged surprised looks. Maybe Horton speech had affected Adam Pierson more than anyone had thought. They all knew about his tentative friendship with Duncan MacLeod, through Joe Dawson, but had seen fit to turn a blind eye to at as Adam was young and native and also one of the best researchers and language experts they had. But, still, there had to be a world of difference between having the odd drink with your boss and his Immortal friend and becoming one yourself – hell, Dawson had probably intimidated Adam into breaking his own oath just so that he himself wouldn’t be caught. He knew the Immortals were supposed to be their enemy now, but he couldn’t help feeling sorry for Pierson.
"Adam, I’m truly sorry…"
" ‘Sorry’?! Huh, well, you’re not the one who suddenly became one of the one you’ve studied. You won’t have people after your head at all hours of the day and night. You won’t have to learn to sword fight! Oh, God, do you know the funny thing? I can’t stand violence!" His voice rose steadily, becoming almost hysterical. He stood up, now, tearing himself away from Browning and pacing up and down doing his best Duncan MacLeod impression.
"Surely MacLeod…"
"Mac? Oh, God, I couldn’t go to him! I’d be too scared. He’s 400 years old. 400! I’m a new Immortal. What if he tries to take my head."
Browning and the others nodded gravely. After all, MacLeod had turned on friends in the past. It was in his chronicle.
"Oh, God, what am I going to do?!" Adam whispered to himself.
"Adam, it will be alright. Look, it’s not your fault. You didn’t ask to be immortal…"
Methos almost laughed at that one. The man was so full of irony it was unbelievable. If only he believe his own words long enough to realise that no immortal asked to be immortal, that it wasn’t any immortal’s fault and that punishing them for something decided at birth was as bad as killing people for the colour of their skin.
"No! It won’t be alright…I need-I need to go". Glancing down at his blood-stained shift and muttering ‘oh God, oh my God’, he grabbed his coat which had been placed on a nearby chair, flung it on to cover the blood and rushed out of the door, ignoring Browning’s frantic calls.
"Leave him", he heard Horton comment. "With any luck he’ll be be-headed before night-fall".
He grinned to himself. ‘And the oscar for best new-immortal performance goes to…’ Thank goodness they’d bought it. Still, why wouldn’t they? He was the best, after all.