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Methos was exhausted. As he paused before entering the truck stop, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, or even eaten. Yet still he pressed on. Somewhere out there, tantalizingly near but never any closer, was Duncan MacLeod. Ever since MacLeod had been taken, no -- kidnapped three days ago in Seacouver, Methos had been one agonizing step behind. Hell, he'd seen it happen. But even now, after three days of his own thoughts, going over and over it, he couldn't see any way to have prevented it.

***

It had been a Tuesday morning, crisp and clear. MacLeod had been running his usual morning route. A reluctant Adam had been loping along beside the pesky Scot. One minute the Highlander had been laughing and taunting the older Immortal about being out of shape, the next, MacLeod's eyes had rolled up into his head and he'd fallen to the ground like a dead man. Checking quickly, Adam had come to the terrifying conclusion that MacLeod was a dead man.

Adam's features, his demeanor, seemed to shift and harden as concern, fear, then anger chased across his aquiline face. He had shed his mild mannered persona as easily as Superman stowed Clark Kent. Acutely conscious of their vulnerability, Methos gripped his fallen friend under the arms and drug him behind some concealing bushes. Further examination of the Scot revealed a small flechette, a dart, imbedded in the strong cords of his back. With a sharp tug, Methos pulled it out. That was so much for how, but it in no way explained why. Settling down in a protective crouch, Methos waited for MacLeod to revive and tried to think.

Damn the Boy Scout anyway! He'd been the one who cajoled Adam into leaving the swords behind. We won't need them he'd said. They'll just get in our way he'd said. Methos would never have left his sword anyway, but Adam Pierson had wanted to please MacLeod. Now look what had happened.

After 5000 years, he had learned a few tricks that were not exactly common knowledge, even to other Immortals. Now, he cast his senses out far beyond his usual range. It drained him, but he was able to determine that there were no Immortals anywhere within the extensive environs of the park. This was not some sort of underhanded scheme to take the Highlander's head. That was a relief. Not only was Methos fond of the youngster (all right, he was very fond of him), thanks to the double Quickening, he was continuously aware of him, and he wasn't at all sure what would happen to either one of them if the other lost his head. Methos' hand tangled in the soft black curls. Actually if MacLeod did lose his head, Methos had little doubt that his own would soon follow. He wouldn't care anymore. After wandering for hundreds of years, he had found a beacon in Duncan MacLeod, a touchstone for light and life. To lose him would be unthinkable.

Methos snapped out of his reverie and again scanned the area like a hawk protecting his domain. At first nothing stirred. But finally, a disturbance in the surrounding bushes signaled an approach. Methos' eyes widened as a figure stepped into the small clearing. "Robert Higley," he said flatly.

Higley was flanked by at least half a dozen others, complete with guns. They were a motley bunch, looking distinctly ill at ease with flush faces and shuffling feet. White knuckles and fingers crooked on triggers told Methos they were determined. As his eyes flicked over the almost familiar faces, Methos knew with a sinking feeling what'd he see if their wrists were visible: a trefoil tattoo. They were Watchers from the Research and Science Division, just as Robert Higley was.

Higley sneered, "So it is true. You've befriended one of them. You betrayed not only the Watchers but the entire human race."

Methos shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. What should he do? What could he do? He couldn't possibly take on seven of them before the bullets ripped through him. He wouldn't make a run for it and leave the Highlander to their dubious mercies. Desperately trying to find options, he searched each face in turn looking for an edge, a hint of uncertainty that could be used to his advantage. Except for Higley, none of them would even meet his eyes. He could feel a low, keening wail of fear and anger building inside as he turned like a cornered lion.

With a fanatical gleam in his eye, Higley spoke again. "MacLeod is the strongest Immortal currently being tracked in our files. He, or more accurately, his body, will be made to give up his secrets. Immortality should belong to those of us who deserve it -- not a bunch of bastard mongrels who don't even use it properly."

Clamping down the panic that rose with Higley's words, Methos clutched at the only words he could build on, "There is a stronger Immortal who would be more suited to your... research."

"You mean your pet project 'Methos'? My dear Adam, you never got within 500 years of him for all your digging. No, in the here and now, MacLeod is the best subject."

"You're wrong! I am -- unhh..." before he could finish the sentence that might've brought salvation for the one Immortal whose life meant more to him than his own, Methos crashed to the ground with a bullet through the heart.

Holding himself rigidly, disgust clearly written on his face, Higley stood over the man he knew as a fellow Watcher. "I don't have time for this, Adam. You'd be more trouble than you're worth."

Turning back to MacLeod, he pumped a round into the Immortal's chest then strode off. Carrying the lifeless Highlander between them, the others left as well

When Methos came gasping back to life, he knew he was alone. The thread that connected him to MacLeod was pulsing with renewed force as both he and Duncan apparently revived, but he could tell the Scot was a goodly distance away.

He had to get back to the dojo, alert Dawson, find MacLeod's car keys and attempt to follow the kidnappers before the pull of Duncan's Quickening became even more ephemeral than it was now. Rising to his feet, Methos began to run. Adam Pierson may have been a little out of shape, Methos was not. Built along the sleek lines of a runner, in no time he was bounding up the stairs to the loft.

Dawson picked up on the first ring. Without preamble Methos said, "MacLeod's been kidnapped."

*Silence* ..."Why? Why would anyone kidnap MacLeod?"

"Not anyone, Joe. Watchers."

"No way. Not again. Not after Horton."

"Do you know Robert Higley?"

"Higley! Yeah I know him. He's a slimy sonovabitch. He snatched MacLeod?"

"With help from his entire Research section."

"But why?"

"He's in Research, Joe. MacLeod's his next project."

"Oh my God! Higley would dissect his own mother if he thought it was worth his while. We've got to rescue Mac!"

"We will rescue him, Joe, but for now I need you here, my friend. You can start searching Higley's files for clues."

Dawson heaved a long sigh. "You're right, Methos. I can help more at my terminal. But I expect you to keep me up on what you're doing."

"Of course. I know you care about him too. I won't tell you not to worry, but I'll find him Joe. We'll find him. We have to."

***

It had been three days on the road, always straining to keep the slender thread of connection clear in his mind. The eldest Immortal found it harder and harder to stay focused as lack of sleep began to catch up with him. Adding to his frustration he seemed to be driving around in circles as his connection to MacLeod led him first one way and then another. He couldn't stop, because the kidnappers had never stopped. MacLeod had died and revived countless times. And, every time it happened, Methos had felt it too. It played havoc with his concentration, but it had finally occurred to him that MacLeod was being handed from team to team. Six men could take turns sleeping... That was the only possible explanation for the continuous movement. Mac's 'deaths' were probably time to insure the hand-offs went smoothly.

Finally Methos formed a glimmer of an plan. The next time he felt MacLeod die, Methos was ready. Drawing his attention away from the inner world, he lifted his head and concentrated on the outer one. He was on a highway approaching a truck stop. Acting on impulse, he slowed and stopped.

Entering the shabby eatery, he found the break he'd been seeking. The man slumped in the back booth was a Watcher. He hadn't been present at the kidnapping, but the coincidence was too great. The man paled when Methos advanced purposely towards him. Knuckles white on the edge of the table, he bit his lip as Methos slid into the seat opposite.

Adam adopted a bland smile and flashed the wrist he had prepared for this eventuality. Looking the Watcher straight in the eye, Methos waited until the man was cowering back in his seat. "Hand-off go smoothly?"

"Er... fine. Do I know you?"

Methos was ahead of the game here also. "Salzer, Don Salzer. European Division. I've been sent to make sure our interests are served as well. About time we did something like this, don't you think?"

Finding a fellow conspirator, the man relaxed. "Past time. All that drivel about only watching, not interfering. Where has that gotten the human race? Of course it's taken a while to set it up. Until we had access to a state of the art laboratory, there wasn't much we could do. But now it's finished and outside of a select few no one even knows it's there. I can't wait to begin. I've got a whole series of experiments set up to monitor chemical levels in the brain at various stages of Immortal regeneration. When we get through slicing and dicing that Immortal, there won't be any secrets left. Immortality will be ours!"

Paler than ever, Methos had his fists clinched in his lap. "One Immortal lab rat against the good of humanity. A fair trade-off, huh?"

Catching the underlying menace in 'Salzer's' voice, the other man rose abruptly. "I, er, I've got to go."

"I'll come with you," Methos purred softly, clasping the other's elbow in a grip of steel. "There's something else I need to ask you."

The man tried to bolt as they cleared the doorway, but Methos forced him swiftly behind the building and flung him against the wall. The man's eyes widened in fear. "Who are you?"

In answer, Methos slammed his fist against the bricks beside the man's head. Blood gushed from the knuckles he shoved under the other man's nose, then stopped as the Immortal healing kicked in. Seeing this, the Watcher moaned softly.

"Where is the lab?" Methos gritted. The man said nothing. This time, fist impacted with flesh as Methos broke the Watcher's nose with one efficient jab. Blood streamed down the man's face, and he began to sob.

"Where is the lab?"

"I don't know! I don't know!"

"Wrong answer. Perhaps you didn't hear me." And, stiffening his forefinger, Methos jabbed it deep within the other man's ear. His scream was drowned in the roar of passing trucks as blood gushed down to join the rivulets still cascading from his nose.

Then Methos grabbed one of the hands plucking ineffectually at him and with a brutal snap, dropped it to dangle limply at the other man's side.

Stepping back, nostrils flaring like a wolf scenting prey, Methos said, "One more time -- where is the lab?"

The blood-smeared Watcher sank to the ground, attempting to curl himself into a ball. He felt his head jerked back and looked into the face of Death himself baring his fangs. "Seacouver. The lab is back in Seacouver," he sobbed. Death stared at him dispassionately for a moment, then reached both hands around his head. A swift snap, and the dead man fell back against the wall.

Methos rose. His eyes were like shards of green ice. "I don't have time for this. You would be more trouble than you're worth."

***

Methos turned and strode swiftly across the parking lot to MacLeod's T-Bird. Backing it into the alley, he jumped out and maneuvered the body into the trunk. Except for the blood, which was already darkening in the sun to blend with all the other unidentifiable detritus behind the truck stop, there was nothing to indicate what had occurred. He climbed into the car and roared back towards the Interstate.

As soon as he was headed in the right direction, he called Joe on the cellular phone.

"Joe's."

"Dawson. I have information."

"Methos, thank God. What have you found out?"

"MacLeod is somewhere in Seacouver. Probably on the outskirts. Check for recent purchases or construction."

"I'll do it right now. Hang on."

Methos' expression betrayed no emotion as he listened to Joe tap at his terminal. However, his fingers beat a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel as the seconds stretched into minutes.

"Got it! Oh boy -- this place sounds more like Hitler's private bunker than a lab, but it's the only one in the area. It's no gonna be easy. I see only two entrances, and aside from a reception area, it's almost entirely underground."

"Just give me the directions."

"Let's see. Go seven miles east of town on Route 14. You'll be in a wooded area. Look for a drive on your left. The facility is about two miles back. Looks like it's the only road around so it should be easy to spot."

"Got it... Thank you, Joe."

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten my first name, Methos. Are you holding up all right?"

Methos sighed as he forced himself to relax. "Sorry, Joe. Look, I'll let you know when I've got him out."

"Oh no, you don't. You need me, Buddy. I'll bring a print out of the floor plan and meet you in the woods near the drive. How far away are you?"

Methos hesitated before replying. He knew he was less than three hours out of Seacouver. He also knew he needed to do something about what was in the back of Mac's car. But there was really no question about what came first. The urgency he felt, the sense of dread was intensifying. Everything else was secondary. "Meet me in three hours."

When Dawson arrived, he found the old Immortal sitting on the ground against a tree with his head on his upraised knees. At first, Joe assumed his exhausted friend was asleep, but as he approached, Methos' head snapped up. Joe gasped. Methos' face was drawn and twisted as if he were in pain. Watching the Immortal rock back and forth, Joe could see Methos was fighting for control. "He's in agony, Joe. They are torturing him!"

"My God!" Dawson breathed, grabbing a tree for himself. "Why?"

"Oh, it's all in the name of science, no doubt," Methos snarled bitterly. "But, they don't seem to be giving him any anesthetic... the pain! I don't know if I can stand his pain!"

Reaching down, Joe closed an iron grip on the Old Man's shoulder. "You have to, Adam. I can't save him alone."

Bowing his head, Methos shuddered. "I know. It's just so hard to feel him and not be able to help." His voice broke as he rose slowly to his feet then held himself perfectly still for a long moment. When he raised his head and moved away from Joe, his control was once again absolute. He had turned off every bit of humanity during his centuries as a Horseman. He'd had to in order to survive. Now, he drew on that ability again.

Seeing the transformation, Joe felt an icy finger of fear trailing down his spine. It would be easy to be afraid of this man. He was very glad not to be his enemy. But suddenly Joe felt confident that no matter how bad it got, Methos would manage to pull all three of them out.

Pulling the lab's floor plan from his jacket, Joe spread it against a tree. "It's pretty much like I said, Methos. Front entrance here. Service entrance here. To access the lab from the front you have to get past reception then take the elevator here. The service entrance actually ramps up from the sub-level but I'd bet it's guarded."

"Oh I'm sure it's guarded. Where do you think they have Mac?"

"I can't tell. As you can see there are six areas that say 'lab'. It could be any one of them."

"That's too many to check without attracting attention... Ok, here's what we do..."

***

To Joe's amazement, the plan actually worked. He drove right up to the front door and walked inside. Approaching the frowning man at the reception desk, Joe flashed his wrist tattoo, grinned, and said, "Take me to your leader!"

The receptionist immediately punched the intercom. Almost before he finished speaking, Robert Higley rushed out of the elevator. He looked wary. "Joe Dawson. What are you doing here?"

"I came to offer my services. After all, I am MacLeod's Watcher. I thought you might need my help with him."

"You think he's here?"

"I know he's here. I'm his Watcher. I can also make a pretty good guess as to why. You are Robert Higley after all. Your fame as a scientist precedes you."

Higley puffed with pleasure. "Why thank you, Mr. Dawson. You are obviously a man of discernment... MacLeod's being here really doesn't bother you?"

"Hardly. I just hope you succeed. You are searching for the key to Immortality, aren't you?"

"Yes we are. We are going to find it. In fact, I was just about to see how the work is progressing, Mr. Dawson. I would be honored if you would accompany me."

"My pleasure. And call me Joe."

***

At the same time Joe was 'joining up', Methos was penetrating the interior by less straightforward means. There were two armed men pacing in front of the service entrance. As one of them passed near Methos' place of concealment, he leapt out and smashed the flat of his palm up and in against the man's nose. With a wet crunch the bones splintered up into the guard's skull and penetrated the brain casing.

Even as the first man crumpled, Methos was reaching into his coat. He pulled out the extra dagger he always carried 'just in case' and sent it hurdling towards the other guard. The dagger buried itself to the hilt over the heart. The man struck the ground with a thud.

Retrieving his weapon, Methos wiped the blade on the dead man's clothes before returning it to its sheath. Then he hoisted first one and then the other up over the lip of the large garbage dumpster standing nearby.

Glancing down at his sweater, he realized the front of it was soaked with blood. Touching the warm stain with his fingertips, Methos felt a nearly overpowering urge to rub the sticky wetness over his face. He stopped himself with an effort as he pictured MacLeod's and even Joe's reaction if he did.

Turning back to the service entrance, he slid the door open a crack and peered inside. Nothing. Just an ill-lit downward slopping corridor. He slipped inside and began his descent.

***

When Higley led him into the lab, Joe thought that he was prepared for what lay waiting. He was wrong. With the exception of losing his legs, it was probably the most horrific moment of his life.

Joe found himself in the middle of a huge array of equipment. He was transfixed by MacLeod's nude form strapped to a stainless steel trough, like those used in autopsies. Every orifice on the man's formerly beautiful body was violated with tubes and wires and... things too painful-looking to stare at for long. There was a hole -- a two inch square hole cut into the side of the Highlander's chest with more wires and tubes passing into it.

Stumbling to a halt, Joe fought the urge to turn and escape -- to leave this to Methos. Mentally squaring his shoulders, he kept his expression bland and continued to approach.

A scientist at a nearby console twisted a dial. There was a hum of energy, and MacLeod's body twisted upwards against the restraints. A thin line of smoke and then the smell of burning flesh rose from the vicinity of MacLeod's chest. Joe's stomach convulsed and sweat began to bead across his upper lip.

The dial was twisted again. The body fell back onto the table, and the scientist busily peered at gauges and scribbled notes. As far as Joe could tell, MacLeod was dead, or at least unconscious. He hoped so. He wasn't sure he could maintain his façade if Duncan saw him.

As if on cue, the long lashes fluttered and the Highlander opened his eyes. It was then that Joe knew if rescuing Mac wasn't possible, they'd have to kill him. Permanently.

One of MacLeod's eyes was... blown. That was the most accurate word Joe could find. The pupil had been violated and the surrounding ocular matter was a bloody mess. The fact that it had not yet healed was mute testimony to its severity. But the other eye -- the other eye was intact, and Joe knew the instant that Duncan recognized him.

Praying frantically that MacLeod was still at himself enough not to somehow give everything away, Dawson deliberately stepped closer to the bound man. Forcing a wolf-like leer onto his face, he proclaimed to the room at large, "I hope he hurts half as much as it looks like he does."

"Oh, I assure you, Mr. MacLeod feels everything that is being done to him. It's necessary to obtain the best data."

"Good. I've had to watch him cut down, murder scores of men and women without a second thought, like he was some kind of damn Horseman of the Apocalypse or something. He deserves everything he gets."

Joe knew Duncan had caught the reference to Methos. He could only hope it helped the Scot to endure, to hang on a little longer.

When the next 'experiment' drew a gagging scream from MacLeod's constricted throat, Joe could watch no more. He felt sure, he prayed, that his friend was again unconscious, perhaps even dead. "I think I've seen enough for now. I'll want to come back later though." Just in case somewhere deep down, MacLeod was cognizant, Joe wanted him to know he'd be back.

Another scientist called Higley to a computer station, but Joe couldn't wait. Deathly pale, with bile rising in his throat, Joe exited the lab area and tried to locate a men's room. None of the other doors along the corridor were marked and he couldn't exactly whip out his trusty floor plan.

Finally, just as he thought he would pass out from the strain of holding himself in check, he found it. Once inside, he hurled himself into a stall and began retching violently. He nearly jumped out of his skin when cool hands reached forward and helped steady him until the heaves stopped. "Methos!" He sagged heavily against the Immortal then straightened abruptly as the sweet smell of blood threatened to overwhelm him again. His eyes riveted on the vermilion drenched sweater. "How?"

Glancing down, Methos dismissed the blood with a shrug. "Just a couple of minor obstacles, Joe, then I was in. I watched you come down the corridor. I'm guessing from your reaction and from what I just 'felt', that Duncan's in pretty bad shape."

Joe nearly gagged again. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Methos, promise me! If we can't get him out, we have to kill him. Permanently. They're treating him like a lab animal -- worse than an animal. He won't be able to endure -- his mind won't be able to endure much longer."

Methos stood silently. "Promise me, Methos!" Joe grabbed at the other man. "Promise!"

The blood-drenched Immortal spoke with deadly certainty. "I'll do better than that Joe. I promise you we will get Duncan out and they will pay. Every last one of them will regret they ever heard of Immortals." His eyes blazed with cold green fire. "Vengeance, Joe! I promise you vengeance!" Methos clasped Joe's arm, warrior to soldier, and Dawson returned the gesture without reservations.

"So what's the plan?"

"Now we wait."

Joe blanched but before he could speak, Methos cut him off. "Think Joe. It's early evening -- not even dark yet. If this is as big a secret as I think it is, they won't have enough staff to work through the night. But, we're going to have to wait until everything settles down."

"But MacLeod -- what they're doing to him!"

Methos snarled and shoved Joe against the wall. "You think I don't know exactly what they're doing to him? We're linked, remember? I know everything he's going through! I feel everything he feels!"

Abruptly Methos stepped back leaving Joe dumbfounded. Brushing a weary hand over his face, Dawson began, "I guess I didn't realize. Methos, I'm sorry..."

Methos sighed as a fraction of the tension left his body. "No, I'm sorry, Joe. Leaving him in there isn't easy for me either. But he's... ok. Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod is a lot stronger than you might think. The part that makes MacLeod MacLeod is untouched and untouchable."

"You know this? You totally know it?"

"I know it."

Joe believed him. He clasped Methos' shoulder and nodded once. Then he asked wryly, "Now what was that plan again?"

"We wait until midnight. Until then I check out what's behind as many of these other doors as possible while you..."

"While I?"

"You go back out there and make nice with Higley. Try to find out if all the conspirators are here now. I'm betting they sleep on site. Get a room assignment for yourself and try to relax for a few hours."

"Relax." Joe snorted.

"Yes. Relax. It's imperative you don't rouse their suspicions. We've only got one shot at this. I'll meet you back here in five hours. Now go."

Joe exited the men's room to find himself almost nose to nose with Robert Higley.

"Ah Dawson! There you are. I wondered where you'd gotten off to."

Returning to his role as bitter co-conspirator, Joe tapped at his lower legs with the tip of his cane. "Damn legs make everything twice as difficult. Was there something else you wanted to tell me?"

The two men began to retrace their steps down the corridor. "Just that I'll be introducing you to the entire team in the morning."

"What time should I be back?"

Higley stopped and turned to face Joe. "Actually, I'd prefer for you to stay here. We've all agreed that given the nature of our work it would be best to keep close."

"This place doesn't look big enough for a lot of living quarters. How many of us are there?"

"You make ten."

Joe nodded. "Ten. That sounds about right."

Higley looked puzzled, maybe a little suspicious. "About right?"

"Uh yeah. No use letting too many people in on this till we get some results."

Higley nodded sagely. "Quite so."

With an exaggerated grimace Joe flexed his back. "Hell. I've got to get off these legs. About that room?"

"Of course. Just through here."

Opening another door, Higley proceeded through some sort of a communal living area complete with dining facilities. The bedrooms were ranged in a rough circle like spokes around this central hub.

Entering the room Higley indicated, Joe breathed a sigh of relief when he'd closed the door. He sat on the edge of the single bed and covered his face with his hands. What was he doing here? He'd been practically arm in arm with the man who was overseeing the torture of his friend.

Joe's hands balled into fists and he pounded them against his thighs. He couldn't do this. Methos may have ice water in his veins but he didn't. MacLeod was out there suffering and he was just sitting here.

Groaning Joe levered himself back to his feet. He wanted to do something -- right now! But the throbbing pain where his prosthetics attached to his thighs brought clarity. He heard Methos say again, 'We've only got one shot at this.'

Damn the man! He was right. There had been no sign of the other men in the common area -- apparently normal work hours didn't apply here. They needed to wait until the others were asleep and yes, Joe needed to relax. To be of any help at all to Methos, Joe couldn't be distracted by something as trivial as pain in his legs. He slowly returned to the bed.

Lying down on top of the bedspread, Joe decided to spend the next few hours thinking about the big party he would throw for Mac as soon as he was up to it. As soon as those terrible wounds healed. Not the physical ones -- the mental ones. Joe remembered buddies in Vietnam...

In spite of himself, Joe Dawson drifted into an uneasy doze. He woke near midnight prompted by some internal alarm clock and crept out of his assigned sleeping quarters.

He met Methos, sword in hand, just outside the door of the men's room. Passing Dawson a revolver, Methos led the way back down the corridor.

The lab seemed to be deserted except for the still form clamped to the table. Methos rushed to MacLeod's side. His jaw clenched as he saw the raw wounds still marring the Highlander's flesh. The skin around the wires and tubes was being held open with clamps, preventing the usual healing. "MacLeod," he whispered.

He looked at the Scot a moment longer then lay his sword aside as he set to work. All expression sloughed off his face and his eyes became dispassionate as he reached for the wires and tubes leading down MacLeod's throat.

"You can't just rip them out!"

"We don't have time to do it any other way. He will heal." With a quick yank and a spattering of blood, MacLeod's mouth was freed. Agonizing minutes later, the last tube had been removed. MacLeod and the table were covered in fresh blood but at last the Highlander was beginning to heal.

Joe released the restraints. In unspoken accord, both men anted MacLeod off the autopsy table as quickly as possible. Methos gathered the Highlander into his arms and lowered him carefully to the floor.

Picking up his sword, Methos rose just as the lab door slammed back and Robert Higley rushed in brandishing a gun.

"Pierson! You're dead! I saw you die... I saw... you're one of them! An Immortal!" His face twisted into a rigor of hatred as he sneered, "I should have known -- Fine. It turns out we have more experiments than MacLeod can accommodate. We'll strap you into a trough right next to his."

"Think again, Higley," Dawson growled as he leveled his revolver at the other Watcher. "Your only chance is to give up right now. You have no idea what, who you're dealing with here. None of you ever have. Adam Pierson can kill you. He can kill all of you in ways you can't even begin to imagine."

"Funny, you look like the one with the gun."

"This little thing? I'm just holding it to have something to do. Believe me, he doesn't need my help. Do you, Methos?"

Locking eyes with Higley, Methos said, "No, I don't."

His right hand still held his own familiar Ivanhoe. Now MacLeod's katana appeared in his left.

Suddenly Methos tossed his sword at Higley. Startled, Higley dropped his revolver as his hand reached out to close around the sword's hilt. Shifting Mac's katana to his right hand, Methos smiled and said, "You want to be an Immortal, Higley? Very well. This is what it means to be an Immortal. Welcome to the Game."

Robert Higley gaped at the sword in his hand for a moment then he laughed. "You're not Methos. A 5000 year old man would not have made the mistake of giving me a sword. I've been fencing for three decades. You're dead again, Pierson. This time I'll make it permanent."

Methos only reply was to press the attack. Joe watched grimly as Higley was beat down to the ground in a matter of moments. Against the cold fury of five thousand years, he never stood a chance. But then, Joe thought, he didn't deserve one.

Bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, Higley would have bowed his head in submission, but Methos said, "Look at me! No, look at MacLeod. You owe him payment in kind. Be grateful I don't have time to hook you up to these machines, Higley. Justice demands blood for blood, but I just don't have the time." MacLeod's katana swooped down as Death drank of vengeance.

Not bothering to wipe the crimson ochre from the blade, Methos turned raging eyes toward Dawson and ask, "How many others are there?"

"Depends. How many besides Higley have you killed?"

"Three."

Joe blinked. "Then according to what I found out earlier, there are five more. Why?"

"I'm going to kill them."

Justified though it would be, Joe couldn't let Methos lose himself to the blood lust. He gripped Methos' arm hard, willing the Old Immortal to listen. "They're asleep in their beds. It would be a slaughter."

Methos shook off the restraining arm as he struggled to focus on the Watcher and his words. But the ancient Immortal's rage was stronger than his friend's plea, and he began to advance again.

Before Methos could reach the door, the link he shared with Duncan began to pulse with renewed force. Moments later a low groan signaled the Highlander's return to life. Stiffening, he looked down at the Immortal stretched on the floor at his feet. MacLeod was still unconscious even though his wounds were almost healed.

"Look at him, Joe! Look at him and tell me they don't deserve to die. Of all humanity, mortal and Immortal alike, Duncan MacLeod is one of the best, most innately good men I've ever known. They tortured him! They would do it again. It has to end here. An example must be made here! If you loved him, as I love him, you would understand that."

Joe Dawson took a long moment as he looked from Methos to MacLeod and back again. Sighing, he agreed, "You're right, Methos. It sickens me to admit it, but they do deserve to die. In fact, they must, or this will only begin again."

It was Joe's turn to don a mask as he gestured toward the door and said, "You want me to do it?"

"No, vengeance or not, you're right about bloody slaughter. We both know our honorable friend here wouldn't approve. There's no need for you to worry about it, Joe. I'll take care of it."

Joe walked over and put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I know you love him, my friend. I love him too, but it's not the same as you do, is it?"

Briefly considering lying, Methos shrugged and said with a shaky grin, "Not unless you'd sell what's left of your soul for him to feel that way in return."

With a muffled exclamation, Methos jumped straight up as a sticky hand clamped around his ankle. Methos looked down a little wildly, and saw two dazed brown eyes looking back at him. As MacLeod became more alert, his eyes cleared but the steady gaze never wavered. Methos was relieved. Obviously Mac hadn't heard the conversation.

Joe closed his eyes as he breathed a silent prayer of thanks for Immortal resiliency. Then he moved to stand guard at the door, gesturing for Methos to see to Mac. Falling to his knees, Methos reached out to Duncan. "It's all right, MacLeod," he said quietly. "Everything is going to be fine." He couldn't resist caressing the golden brow. "Can you get up?" At Mac's shaky nod, Methos pulled and levered until MacLeod was swaying on his feet.

After steadying the Highlander for a few moments, Methos stepped back and ask briskly, "Can you walk?" Taking a couple of shaky steps, MacLeod nodded again. "Good." Methos quickly draped his long coat around the Scot and placed the katana in his hand. "Joe, take Duncan and get out."

Without a word, Dawson held the door as Methos guided Mac to him. Too weak to protest, Duncan allowed himself to be led to freedom.

Moving quickly now, Methos picked up his Ivanhoe and headed for the sleeping quarters...

***

Fifteen minutes later, he was back at the lab sitting at a terminal. Snatching up a disk, he downloaded all data about MacLeod from the computer system. Mac had gone through hell for it -- only Mac could decide what to do with it.

Next, Methos began typing in the commands that would erase the hard drive. In no time, the drive was clean.

Walking over to the autopsy table, Methos at last allowed himself to relax. A myriad of emotions played across his expressive features: anger, relief, love, hatred. Raising his leg, he placed his foot along the edge of the table and shoved. It went over on its side with a crash. A smile flitting across his face, Methos ran out.

Somehow, Dawson had managed to get both MacLeod and his car near the entrance. Both men were leaning against a fender when Methos burst out into the fresh air. Joe had gotten MacLeod into a pair of sweats, and was busily trying to wipe blood off the other man. Trust Joe. Methos smiled at the sight. Always prepared for just about anything. And I call MacLeod a boy scout.

Lifting his eyes, MacLeod raked them over the Old Immortal as Methos stopped in front of him. Methos wondered what MacLeod saw: a merciless Horseman drenched in fresh blood or... . Before he could complete his thought Duncan closed the distance between them.

"Thank you, my friend."

Methos shook his head. "It shouldn't have taken so long. I should have found you, found some way to stop them sooner."

Placing both hands on Methos' shoulders, Mac took a step forward to look into his eyes. "I knew you were out there. Even before I saw Joe, I knew. I could feel your strength reaching out to me through the link. Methos, you saved my sanity long before you saved my body. Thank you."

Before Methos could speak, Duncan leaned forward and pressed his warm, full lips to the Old Man's. Methos felt like he was drowning as emotions too nebulous to name swirled around him. For a moment out of time, the kiss continued. But even as MacLeod tried to deepen their contact, his tongue beginning a first tentative foray, Methos wrenched his mouth away. Duncan's weakness and vulnerability had no doubt overwhelmed his usual codes of behavior, and Methos had no intention of beginning something that Duncan would regret later.

Far from being upset at Methos' apparent rejection, MacLeod cocked a quizzical brow over at Joe who shook his head in amusement.

Methos frowned in confusion at the by-play between his two friends then said, "It's time to get you home, Mac. You've been through a lot." As if to prove his point, MacLeod staggered and would have fallen if Methos' arms hadn't wrapped around his waist. The Scot leaned heavily against him as Methos helped him to Joe's car.

Disengaging himself from the Highlander Methos looked at Joe. "Try to keep him propped, Joe. I'm going to bring the other car up here."

Hiking down the long drive, Methos quickly located the Thunderbird and climbed in. Instead of stopping in the parking lot near Joe's vehicle though, he drove around to the back entrance. Opening the trunk, he made one last trip to the dumpster. He then pulled back alongside the others and got out.

Shadowing MacLeod, Methos saw him safely seated then turned to Joe. At a loss for words, Methos settled for a quick hug and a clap on the back for the man who had been instrumental in helping him save MacLeod.

"You two get going, Methos. I can take care of all the rest of it. Don't worry about anything. I'll see to it personally."

Methos nodded thanks. "Oh Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"When the clean-up team gets here make sure they empty the dumpster. It's pretty full."

Now that it was over Joe felt funny talking about all the deaths so calmly. Nevertheless he said firmly, "We'll take care of it."

***

Starting the T-bird Methos drove back down the drive and pointed it towards home. He glanced at MacLeod then said, "Maybe we can call Amanda. I bet she'd just love to have you bedridden while she played nurse."

"I don't want you to call Amanda -- I don't need a nurse."

"Mac, you can't stay alone till you get your strength back. Immortal or no, you're weak as a cat."

"Fine. Why can't you stay with me, Methos?"

"Me?"

"Why not? You stay with me half the time anyway! Besides, it'll give us time to talk."

Methos felt a little desperate, but decided he'd best not get in the middle of whatever MacLeod had in mind right now. Fortunately they were already back at the loft. Mac managed to climb out of the car on his own and walk quite steadily to the dojo.

Following the Highlander, Methos found him leaning against a wall by the door. Fumbling through the keys, he managed to get it unlocked then half-carried the younger Immortal inside.

Nearly dragging him across the dojo, Methos wrestled the elevator gate up and pulled Mac inside. MacLeod stumbled and fell heavily against Methos as the elevator lurched upward. The Old Man found himself pinned against the wall with the Highlander's face centimeters from his. MacLeod's eyes seemed to bore into his own. Methos couldn't think, couldn't move. He felt like he was falling into a dark warm abyss.

The elevator ground to a halt and the spell was broken. Hastily pushing MacLeod back and out, Methos guided him over to the bed.

"Now just lie back and relax, MacLeod. I'm sure you need a long rest."

"Oh no. Not yet." MacLeod surged to his feet. "I can't do anything until I take a shower. Joe's paper towels could only do so much." Grinning, he pulled the sweatshirt over his head. "Then I'm gonna ask my personal chef to make me a sandwich and we're going to have a little talk."

Studiously ignoring Methos' ferocious frown, MacLeod chucked the sweatpants in one smooth movement and padded nude across the floor. He strolled slowly past Methos, pausing at the bathroom door to look back over his shoulder. The Old Man's face was flushed and his mouth was hanging open. "How about it, Methos?"

The ancient Immortal's mouth snapped closed and he forced his eyes to focus on MacLeod's face. "Wh-what?"

"I was going to ask you to make me a sandwich but on second thought you're more covered with blood than I am. Come wash up."

Methos slowly shook his head and backed away a couple of steps. "That's all right. I can wait."

MacLeod considered a moment. Turning back toward the bed he said, "You know, you're right. That can." He climbed back on the bed then scooted up until he was leaning against the headboard. Metros rushed to cover him with a comforter which Mac promptly settled around his waist. His nose wrinkled as Methos leaned near. "At least get rid of that bloody sweater -- it stinks."

In exasperation Methos jerked the sweater up and off and threw it into the trash. Before he could find another shirt to put on MacLeod said, "Have a seat, Methos." He patted the bed beside him.

"I have to find you something to eat."

"Come on, Old Man. I want to talk."

"I'll just be in the kitchen."

MacLeod allowed a little hint of melancholia into his voice. "I'd really like to talk."

Holding himself stiffly, Methos sat on the edge of the bed. Grabbing his arm, MacLeod's surprisingly strong grip hauled the other man up until his back was against the headboard next to his. "Now, let's talk!"

"Talk about what, MacLeod?"

"Well... how about we start with that interesting little conversation you and Joe had back in the lab?"

Methos didn't even try to pretend he didn't know what Mac was referring to. "You were unconscious. How do you know we had a conversation? Did Joe tell you?"

All humor vanished as Mac leaned over and placed one hand over Methos' heart and the other over his own. "You've held on to me in here, for four days now. I don't think I lost touch with you even when I 'died'. I heard the conversation."

"The link is even stronger than I thought."

"That's beside the point right now. Did you mean it?"

Methos tried to scramble off the bed, but again, Mac hauled him back. "Duncan, your defenses are low. You're still in shock! You don't want to talk about this now."

"Uh uh, I'm Immortal, remember? And, yes, I do want to talk about this now."

"Mac, it might change everything -- forever."

"This whole experience has already changed things. My whole awareness of you through the link, the knowledge that you were there holding on to me in the darkness. You were my life line, Methos."

"Any friend would've done the same, MacLeod." Methos' hand nervously picked at the pillows he was leaning against. Enclosing the long, slender fingers with his own, MacLeod said, "No! I'm only linked to you! Think about it. In all of history there must have been other Immortals who took Quickenings at the same time. Yet we are apparently the only ones who've ever merged. Don't you know why that is, Methos? I do. It's because we were already linked in another way, you and I -- I ask you again, did you mean what you said to Joe? Do you love me?"

Surrendering to the inevitable, Methos braced himself for Duncan's reaction. "I meant it, Highlander. But before you say anything, I want you to know, I expect nothing from you in return but what you've already given me -- your friendship. I value our friendship far too much..."

MacLeod could stand no more. With an exasperated roar, he grabbed the Old Man in a fierce embrace. For the second time that night, for the second time ever, the Highlander's lips crushed against Methos'. Pressing, questing until the five thousand year old man opened to him with a soft moan.

Making one last supreme effort of will, Methos wrenched himself away from the blatant invitation in Mac's lips, his eyes, his arms. "Duncan, you don't know what you're doing!"

"I know exactly what I'm doing and so do you! Now would you just SHUT UP and kiss me?!"

And Methos did. Placing a hand on either side of Mac's face, Methos slowly lowered his lips until the met the Highlander's in a tentative caress. Soft nibbling kisses teased the Scot's lush lower lip until Mac was panting for more.

Duncan surged forward, attempting to catch Methos' teasing mouth with his own, but Methos held him back with a little frown. "MacLeod, you're trembling."

"Um... I wonder why." Again Mac tried to capture Methos' lips.

"Mac wait. That's not why you're trembling." He grinned a little. "At least not entirely. You're exhausted. When was the last time you ate?"

MacLeod let his head fall to Methos' shoulder. "I can't remember. But I really want this to happen, Methos."

"Believe me, I really want this to happen, too -- but later." Methos scooted off the bed. "For now you're going to have a hot bath while I find you something to eat. Come along, youngster."

"Yes, Mother." Duncan quipped as Methos led him into the bathroom. After running the tub full of hot sudsy water, Methos watched as Mac lowered himself into it. The Highlander had to admit it felt wonderful. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and relaxed.

Methos stood a second longer looking down at the man he couldn't seem to stay away from. A myriad of emotions played across his face as he reflected on the last several days. He could have lost Mac twice. Once to Higley's mad scheme then again when the truth about his feelings was revealed. But he hadn't lost him, and now... Methos quietly stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

MacLeod sank deeper into the hot steamy water. It was soothing aches he hadn't realized were there. How long had it been since he'd felt this relaxed... this safe?... how long...

Duncan found himself in a dark featureless corridor. It seemed to stretch endlessly ahead into the dimness. While behind... He realized he had been running and now something was urging him to continue. He wanted to look back to see what he was running from but his head refused to pivot on his shoulders.

The feeling of urgency grew as he tried to run faster, to get farther away from... it. Suddenly a door appeared in front of him. Terror began to lick at his heels as his fingers scrabbled madly over its smooth surface. His fists pounded at it in despair and a scream threatened to burst from his throat.

The door vanished. Falling foward Mac found himself lying on a stainless steel table in a brilliantly lit room. His arms and legs were held fast by chains anchored to the sides of the table. Still unable to move his head, he could just sense something flitting along the edge of his vision. Whatever it was, it was coming closer.

Now he could hear footsteps scraping across the floor near his head. A dozen dark figures loomed. The harder he tried to bring them into focus, the more amorphous they became -- except for their hands. Their hands stood out in stark white relief as they moved closer.

Duncan's heart was racing painfully in his chest and his eyes were riveted on those colorless hands. Each had a knife clasped in impossibly long fingers.

The lights glinted off the razor sharp blades as they moved to his flesh. He tried to blink, tried to see so he could prepare himself for the pain, but he couldn't. He couldn't! There was something holding the lid of his eye! His whole world suddenly shrank to a sliver of silver as he watched the knife begin to descend...

In his dream and in real life, Duncan MacLeod began to scream.

Methos had changed into clean sweats and opened a can of soup. He was just setting up a tray when he felt panic surging along the link. As he rushed towards the bathroom he heard MacLeod cry out, "Methos! Methos!" as wild splashing came from behind the closed door.

Bursting inside, Methos almost slid down. The floor was covered with water. MacLeod was struggling to get out of the tub, blind terror still evident in the frenzied limbs.

Scrambling across the floor, Methos threw himself down beside the tub. "MacLeod! Duncan!" he said sharply. Catching the Highlander's face in his hands, Methos forced him to look into his eyes. Slowly Mac focused on the concerned face so near his own.

"Methos," he breathed, relaxing with an effort. "I thought I was back in the lab and they were... they were..." his words caught as a sob forced its way to the surface.

Quickly Methos urged the Highlander up and out of the tub. Wrapping a huge towel around him, Methos led Duncan out of the sodden room and back to the bed. Shudders were racking MacLeod's body as Methos pushed him back on the mattress then climbed up beside him.

Gathering the younger Immortal close, Methos held him. MacLeod had been holding himself rigidly in check for six days. Now that the danger was past, the dam had burst.

When MacLeod at last lay quietly in Methos' arms, the Old Immortal reached down to tip the Highlander's face up towards his own. "You ok?"

"I think so. I guess this whole thing affected me more than I thought."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. Yes. I don't know. I've never felt so helpless in my life. They wouldn't even talk to me. It was as if they considered me less than human." His voice trembled with memory. "I've felt pain before, Methos. A lot of it. But this... it never stopped. It just kept on and on. When it would overwhelm me, when I died -- I was grateful! I wanted to stay dead."

"I know."

"You're what got me through it. Not will power or physical strength on my part -- you. At the very worst of it when I wanted to give up, you wouldn't let me."

"You're stronger than you know, Duncan MacLeod. I did hold on to you but you held on to me just as tightly." Trying to lighten the moment, Methos grinned. "I couldn't have pried you loose if I'd wanted to. Of course, I didn't want to. I'll never want to." Methos ended with a murmur as he covered the Highlander's mouth with his own.

The kiss ended when a loud growl rumbled through the loft. MacLeod chuckled ruefully as Methos hopped off the bed once again.

"Sit up, youngster. We seem to have gotten side-tracked again. I believe item number two on our list of things to do was 'Feed Duncan'."

Crossing quickly to the kitchen area, Methos dished up two steaming bowls of soup, placed them on the tray and came back to the bed. Placing the tray across Mac's knees he laughed as Duncan attacked the soup with gusto.

"Well that should keep you occupied for a little while." He lifted his bowl to his knee and began to eat as well.

"Not bad, Old Man."

"I'm a man of many talents, MacLeod." Methos grinned.

"Yeah, with a can opener."

With an inelegant snort Methos made short work of the bowl before him then said, "I'm going to take a quick shower. I'll be right back."

"Mmm..." Mac grunted between bites.

***

Methos wound up cleaning himself and the bathroom. When he finished he went out to see if Mac needed anymore soup. The bowl was indeed empty but the Highlander wasn't waiting for seconds. He was fast asleep slumped over the tray that still rested precariously on his lap.

Removing the tray Methos maneuvered MacLeod down in the bed then pulled the comforter up around his shoulders. He stood and watched the younger man sleep. As if his own body had been waiting for a cue, Methos felt a wave of weariness. Gods he was tired. Turning to get the blankets he used on Mac's sofa, he was stopped by a hand gripping his wrist.

"Don't leave." MacLeod mumbled.

"I'm not leaving. Just heading over to my bed."

MacLeod shook his head. "Stay here. Plenty of room."

"Mac, I..."

Opening his eyes with an effort MacLeod said again, "Stay here."

MacLeod would never come right out and say so, but Methos realized Duncan needed him -- needed his physical presence. He said with feigned lightness, "Thank Heavens. No backache tonight." He quicly stripped his sweats and climbed into the bed. Lying back against the pillows, he slowly relaxed.

Mac rolled onto his side facing the Old Immortal. His face was a study of calm as he looked at Methos and said, "Those men -- the men at the lab. They're dead."

It wasn't really a question but Methos replied anyway, "Yes."

"All of them."

"Yes."

"You killed them."

"...Yes."

Still looking steadily into Methos' eyes, MacLeod pursed his lips and nodded. "Good."

Holding Duncan's gaze a moment longer, Methos reached out and pulled the Highlander to him. Mac curled against the slender strength of the man and lay his head on the Old Man's shoulder. Methos' arms closed around Duncan and they drifted off to sleep.

***

Several hours later Methos was drifting somewhere on the edge of wakefulness. He now lay on his side with MacLeod spooned against him from behind. Still unsure whether he was dreaming, Methos thought he could feel big strong hands roaming over his chest and abdomen. The press of an erection at the back juncture of his thighs made him squirm with pleasure but he was still unwilling to open his eyes in case it was a dream and waking would end it.

Suddenly a hot, wet tongue plunged deeply into his ear. "Ahhh!" he yelped as he threw himself shivering onto his back.

"So that's what will wake you up." The Highlander laughed as he raked eyes dark with desire over his bed mate.

Reaching up, Methos pulled Duncan's lips down to his, stopping the laughter with a kiss. Mac responded by enthusiastically sucking the Old Man's lower lip into his mouth and nipping it playfully.

Methos ran his hands up and down MacLeod's muscular back then gave a sharp tug. Duncan's arms folded underneath him and he landed on top of Methos with an "Oomph."

As their bodies settled against each other, heat to heat, erection to erection, Methos growled, "Randy little beast, aren't you?"

"And you're not?" MacLeod rolled his hips, pressing their shafts tightly together and wringing a moan from the old Immortal.

"Gods, yes!" Methos hissed, wrapping arms and legs tightly around the Scot then rolling so that the Highlander was pinned under him. Immediately he began to writhe and rub his body along the entire length of Duncan's. Mac's nipples were hard pebbles as Methos deliberately raked them again and again with his own.

Duncan shuddered as waves of sensation rippled through his body. Methos stilled and lifted his head to study the younger man. "Duncan, you're trembling."

"Now look, Methos..." MacLeod began hotly fearing another postponement.

"Covering MacLeod's mouth with his palm, Methos smiled. "You're not hungry, are you?"

In answer Mac bit Methos' palm -- hard.

"Ow! Well I guess that answers that question." Methos dropped his hand to MacLeod's throat, stroking the hollow at the base of his neck, smoothing a path for lips and tongue to follow.

Swiftly he dropped a trail of fire from throat to nipples to navel. Lapping hotly at the Highlander's golden flesh, Methos began to dip even lower encouraged by Duncan's moans and the first tentative thrustings of his hips.

Duncan felt as if he would burst into flames. Instead of cooling the heat, Methos mouth and tongue were just making it more intense. When the Old Man's lips finally closed over the tip of Duncan's penis, he nearly bucked off the bed.

Instead Mac curled his hands in Methos' short silky hair and braced for more. Methos began by running his tongue along the underside of Duncan's erection to the sensitive sac. Taking first one ball and then the other into his mouth he suckled until the Highlander was panting for more.

Unable to resist a quick stroke of his tongue around the rosebud of Mac's anus, Methos chuckled at Duncan's gasp of surprise then opened his lips and took Mac's rod into his mouth.

Methos began sucking rhythmically as Mac's fingers dug into his scalp. Opening his throat fully, he took the Highlander's entire shaft deep. Once, twice he rode the wave as MacLeod began to thrust blindly into the dark wet heat.

With a low cry, Duncan came to orgasm. Methos swallowed convulsively taking every bit of the ejaculate. When Mac had completely softened, Methos let him slip from his mouth. Planting one last kiss on the flaccid member, he raised to find the Highlander watching him intently.

Smiling, Methos asked, "What?"

Smiling in return, Mac said, "I just can't understand it."

"Can't understand what?"

"Why did we wait so long for this?"

"Well, you were pretty tired before."

"You know that's not what I mean. Why didn't we do this three years ago? It's not as if we weren't attracted to each other."

"Because we weren't ready for it then. Hell, I don't know. Maybe it just wasn't the right time."

"And now is?"

"I guess it'd better be."

Duncan laughed and rubbed his hand along the ancient Immortal's smooth back. "You're right. It had better be."

Suddenly Methos found himself pinned to the mattress by 200 pounds of Highland warrior. "In fact the time must be right. I don't think you could be any more ready." His hand stole around Methos' lean flank and closed on the erection jutting from the nest of curly black hair.

"Why Methos, you're trembling. You're not hungry, are you?"

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