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"Something's wrong." Duncan MacLeod stood abruptly and hurried to the door of Joe's Bar.

"Mac? What is it? Mac!" It was futile. MacLeod had already rushed out into the night. Joe chewed his lip pensively, knowing it had something to do with the old man.

Methos was to have met Duncan at Joe's at six -- it was now six forty-five. But up until a few minutes ago, MacLeod hadn't seemed particularly worried about it.

"He's fine," he'd assured a concerned Joe. "Something must've held him up, but he's on his way now, I think."

Since Mac was in a singular position to know what he was talking about, Dawson let it go. If Mac said Methos was fine and on his way, Methos was fine and on his way. Hell, MacLeod was so deeply entwined in Methos' psyche -- and vice versa -- that he could probably trace him step by step with only a little effort.

That had been at six-thirty. MacLeod and Joe had continued to converse about everything from the weather to Methos' hair while they waited, not only for the old Immortal, but also for Amanda and Connor who were due at seven.

Amazing to think it had only been three days since this whole thing had started. But what a three days! Mac and Methos had shared another multiple quickening, discovered they were linked so tightly they could often 'hear' each other's thoughts, and... given in to the inevitable.

Joe had to smile at that. He was a bartender, for God's sake! And a Watcher. Two professions that should have equipped him to see what was apparently right under his nose for years. Mac and Methos loved each other. Being able to read each other's thoughts and feel each other's emotions had pretty well set the seal on that too.

Joe's brow darkened as he pulled from his revery to glance at his watch. Five more minutes. Connor and Amanda should be here in five more minutes. He hoped they were on time.

This was supposed to be a relaxed social evening for the four Immortals -- actually for him, too. Connor was just as willing to accept Joe onto the team as the other three were. The five of them had planned to talk -- simply talk, about a lot of things. Of course, Joe knew the main topic of conversation was bound to be Mac and Methos' link and the fact that Connor had been able to join them briefly.

With a whole new spin on the Gathering and 'there can be only one', Joe had been looking forward to planning a possible next step in the grand experiment that was suddenly unfolding. But now...

At exactly 7:00 p.m., Connor and Amanda entered the bar, together. From the smiles on their faces and Connor's hand resting casually just above the gentle flare of Amanda's hips, Joe surmised they'd been doing a little talking of their own. Interesting that, but not now.

"Are those two late again?" Connor asked as he and Amanda sat down.

"I wish. Methos was running late but Mac was here."

"So where is he?" asked Amanda.

"One minute Mac was assuring me that Methos was on his way, the next he stiffens, says 'Something's wrong' and goes rushing out."

Connor and Amanda looked at each other and stood back up. "How long has he been gone?"

"About fifteen minutes."

"Amanda, do you know the route Methos would probably use between here and the dojo?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Let's go then. Joe, we'll be back."

Joe opened his mouth to say... what? Wait for me. Hurry up. Be careful. All that and more, but instead he remained silent as they too hurried out, leaving him to do the hardest thing of all -- wait.

***

When Duncan felt Methos' unease through their link, he'd worried. Months ago, after that first link between Methos and himself had been forged, he hadn't known what to make of it. It was damn strange having someone in the back of your head all the time. Not all that much personality came through, but he knew it was Methos.

Although truthfully, the fact that it was the ancient Immortal had helped Mac accept it. It was kind of comforting knowing he was out there somewhere.

He could still remember a conversation he and Joe once had about the double Quickening, a couple of months after the Horsemen debacle. Joe wanted to know what it felt like.

"You know that low buzz fluorescent lights give off? You get so used to it you don't even notice it's there. Having the old man in the back of my head is kind of like that. He's just there. The only time I'm really conscious of him is when I deliberately try to focus in on our link or when he takes a head."

"You feel his Quickening?"

"Yeah, it kind of flares up along the link, and for those few minutes the connection is much stronger."

"In what way?"

"It's like his mind opens up to me. I can feel what he's feeling. I know if he's happy or sad -- that sort of thing. I assume it's the same with him."

Over time, the connection had gotten stronger. Every encounter with each other, every challenge one of them met, strengthened the bond. But it had still remained little more than a background murmur until the events of three days ago. Now, more than linked, the two Immortals were merged. They were in each other's thoughts, able to sense feelings with great accuracy and even able to use the link to communicate with a little concentration. Once that happened, the last barriers between the two men had fallen away. MacLeod had been given a glimpse of the deepest layers of Methos' soul, and in those layers he'd found love. A love that reached into his own soul and found an answer. After that, he and Methos had gotten very, very close, very, very fast.

Now as he raced through the darkness, unerringly zeroing in on the ancient Immortal's location, Duncan knew he had to hurry. Methos had run into another Immortal. Mac had known that as soon as it happened. He wasn't even particularly worried about it at first. With the exception of MacLeod himself, there probably wasn't a swordsman alive who was Methos' equal.

But suddenly, Methos wasn't involved in the usual one-on-one combat. The Old Man was the dirtiest player in the game when he needed to be, so it had taken something unusual to put him on the defensive. Another Immortal had joined the fight. Two against one.

Running up to an old warehouse, Mac knew Methos was inside. Darting through a door that swayed open on drunken hinges, Duncan suddenly stopped short and grabbed his chest. Pain shot through his heart like a lance -- Methos!

Blocking off the waves of agony that were rolling through the link, MacLeod rounded a pile of rubble and saw them. Methos had been backed into a corner where he'd fought a pitched battle to hold his pursuers at bay. It had worked for a time. Both attackers were slashed and bloody. Methos had made them work for their prize. But finally, as one engaged Methos' blade and attention, the other had slipped in and skewered the old man through his breast. Now Methos was impaled against the wall as the other Immortal slowly brought his sword up for the death stroke.

"No!" screamed MacLeod, launching himself at the tableau.

...knew you'd come... Methos whispered in Mac's mind as he slumped to the side. Then, everything seemed to happen at once. MacLeod's katana sliced through the air as it lopped the head off one of the attackers. But the forward impetus of the other man's downstroke was too great, and even as the headless body toppled forward, the man's sword bit deeply into the side of Methos' neck.

"Aaarrgghh..." MacLeod screamed again as he took out the other Immortal with a desperate downward stroke. As the second man fell, his sword slipped out of Methos and followed him to the ground.

As the Quickening energies began to stir around him, MacLeod waded through the bodies and the gore to reach his lover. Methos' head lolled back at an alarming angle, revealing the bone and cartilage that had just barely thwarted his decapitation.

Sitting on the floor, Mac gathered Methos into his arms. The familiar agony/ecstasy of the Quickenings began to surge through them both. Endless loops of almost electrical energy coruscated through the two men as MacLeod fought desperately to hold onto his lover, both with his arms and with his mind. In each case, his awareness was dulled, blunted, almost like a veil had descended between the two. It was as if Methos was suspended, caught somewhere between two states of being, pulled by the opposing forces of life and death.

Still able to sense the ancient Immortal, though he couldn't seem to communicate with him, MacLeod was aware of something vast swirling at the edge of his consciousness. Whatever it was, he could tell that Methos was terribly drawn to it. Peace... It was no more than a gentle sigh in his mind, but Duncan could feel the old Immortal begin to slip away.

Methos! No! Choose life! Choose me!

For an eternity, nothing changed, then, feeling as if he were moving through quicksand, Duncan managed to place a big palm over the gaping wound in his lover's neck. He could feel the energies seem to concentrate at the site as his link with Methos suddenly pulsed with renewed life.

At long last, the Quickenings began to abate. The storm had barely settled when Methos' mind began to stir, and the body in Duncan's arms began to convulse. Methos seemed to revive with astounding speed. The old man's eyes fluttered open and locked with the Highlander's as Mac cautiously rubbed his palm over Methos' neck. Wiping off the blood as best he could, Duncan blanched at the angry red scar.

As his thoughts caressed the Scot's, Methos raised his own shaking hand to his throat. Still staring at Duncan, Methos whispered, aloud this time, "I knew you'd come."

"Thank God you were able to hold them off as long as you did." Heedless of the blood, MacLeod bent to place gentle lips on the blemished column of white throat. Shuddering, Duncan tightened his arms convulsively. It had been so close. "Methos, I--"

"Duncan."

Connor and Amanda had arrived during the actual Quickening. Now they stood off to one side, grimly taking in the scene before them. His features pale and set, Connor had an arm protectively around Amanda who was silently struggling to staunch the tears that were tracing down her face.

"We need to get out of here," the elder MacLeod continued. "Methos, can you walk?"

Drawing a shaky breath, Methos nodded cautiously. "Yes." His voice sounded raspy, hoarse. He tried again, managing to be a little clearer this time. "Yes."

Duncan rose slowly to his feet, Methos rising in tandem. Drawing slightly away from the Highlander, the old man stood on his own.

Stifling the urge to stay right where he was, with his arms around Methos, Duncan tried to force his mind to more mundane matters. He hadn't even known when Connor and Amanda arrived. No, that wasn't exactly true. Duncan realized he'd been peripherally aware of them for some time now, he'd just been too busy to care. He was a little concerned at how he could've ignored the presence of two other Immortals -- that could be fatal.

Picking up on Mac's thoughts, Methos studied Connor for a moment. Then, he nodded his head and turned to Duncan.

"I didn't notice them either. Of course, I had a much better excuse than you, being dead at the time. But, even after -- I realize now I knew they were there, but... 'Feel' them now, Duncan. Tell me what you sense."

Knowing Methos was trying to ease them all past the intensity of the previous events, Mac firmly pushed his terror into a box in his mind and closed the lid. As Connor and Amanda looked askance at the pair, the younger Highlander frowned in concentration. Suddenly an exclamation burst from his lips. "I can tell it's Connor! I recognize his 'signature' in my head!"

"Exactly. So can I. It must've happened when we three were linked. Connor, you can probably do the same thing with us."

The elder MacLeod's eyes narrowed with speculation. "Perhaps," he growled. "But for now, we need to get out of here, no?"

Making an effort to smile, Amanda spoke up. "Duncan and Methos obviously can't go back to Joe's... Tell you what, guys. Connor and I will go back to the bar and tell Joe what happened."

"Good idea, my dear." Connor chucked Amanda gently under the chin. Continuing the thread of light banter determinedly, the elder MacLeod continued, "We'll give you two an hour or so to... clean up, and then we'll bring Joe and come over. Okay?"

Duncan's first impulse was to put off the meeting for another day. All he really wanted was to go home and wrap himself around Methos to keep him safe. He opened his mouth to point out that fighting and dying was a tiring business, but Methos spoke up, "That's perfect. We'll see you then."

Connor and Amanda turned and walked out, leaving Duncan and Methos to follow. Mac turned to his lover to protest, but Methos lay a hand over his lips and said, "I know what you're thinking Duncan, literally, but we don't have the luxury of putting this off. Circumstances seem to be catching up with us. Those two claimed to have been stalking me for a couple of days. Remember, according to Joe's sources, it's only going to get worse."

Drawing his lover toward the door, Methos continued, "We've established that we can 'attach' Connor, but we still need to try to bring Amanda in to the fold, so to speak."

That gave Mac pause. He loved Amanda. He couldn't bear to lose her to the Gathering if he didn't have to. "You don't play fair, Old Man."

"I don't, do I?" Methos smirked, then abruptly sobered. "Playing fair or foul didn't help me tonight. If you hadn't come..."

"Stop. I did come, and later we're going to talk about what we need to do to make sure it doesn't happen again." Duncan closed his eyes, swallowing convulsively. Then he pinned a shaky smile on his face and continued, "But now, if we're having company, we'd better go get cleaned up. You are a mess." Mac deliberately wriggled his eyebrows and pulled Methos to him in a fierce embrace.

Methos willingly opened his lips and pressed himself tightly to the other man. "You're not exactly haute couture yourself, unless the scent of the season is eau de blood. And, what have we here? Oh my. Someone's going to have a long evening," he murmured wickedly as his hand closed around MacLeod's straining crotch.

Responding in kind, the Highlander said, "Apparently, I'm not the only one." Breaking their embrace, MacLeod began tugging Methos along at a brisk pace. "Come on, let's go."

"Where's the fire? We've got an hour at least."

"Oh no. We're very short on time. In fact, we'll probably have to share the shower in order to be presentable for our guests."

"Well, in that case..." Methos suddenly took the lead, pulling the Highlander into a run.

***

The old man held the same frenetic pace all the way back to the loft. Surging up the outside stairs, pulling a grinning MacLeod in his wake, Methos unlocked the door and tugged his lover inside. Barely pausing to throw the lock, the ancient Immortal pressed the Highlander against a convenient wall and proceeded to devour the younger man's mouth.
Gasping for breath, Mac managed a half-hearted protest. "Methos! Wait. Slow down."

Trailing savage kisses down Mac's neck, the older man growled, "Why?"

It was incredibly difficult to concentrate with Methos' lips attached to the base of his throat. Thrusting the old Immortal back, MacLeod took a deep breath and said, "Because we're both covered in blood. And, we're still going to have that company in about forty-five minutes. Besides," he grinned wickedly, "you were dead. Aren't you tired?"

Stepping back himself, Methos shook his head as if to clear it. "Tired? No. I should be, shouldn't I? Instead I feel... totally invigorated." Whirling around, he headed across the room flinging back over his shoulder, "Come on, Mac. You're right. We do need a shower."

Grinning insouciantly, the ancient Immortal peeled his shredded, blood-caked sweater over his head and dropped it on the floor. Jeans followed suit as the now nude man vanished into the bathroom. A moment later, water began to cascade out of the shower nozzle and Methos stepped under the hot spray.

The Highlander's smile had faded as soon as Methos' back was turned. Now he sank back against the wall, eyes closed as he struggled to contain the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Methos had almost died. His lover, the single most important person in his life had almost been...

"Mac!" Methos called. "Are you coming or not?"

Bestirring himself, Duncan quickly divested his own clothing, then joined his lover. Letting the pulsating jets of hot water stream over his head, Mac gave a loud sigh as some of the tension at last began to drain away. After a few moments, he reached out to take the shampoo from his partner's hands and began applying it to Methos' head.

Now it was the Old Man's turn to moan with pleasure as those long nimble fingers massaged his scalp then began to trail deliciously down his neck.

Turning to face the younger man, Methos slid his arms around the Highlander's trim waist and pressed him back against the tiled wall. In the time since Mac had rescued him, their linked Quickenings had been pulsing and active. Methos knew that the Highlander wasn't nearly as serene as he pretended. Neither was he for that matter. Dying, permanently at least, was not currently on his agenda. Not now, and not for a very long time to come.

Taking a deep breath, Methos said the only thing he could, "I know, Duncan. I know."

Released from his facade of bland accord, Mac drew a shuddering breath and let his head fall forward to rest on Methos' strong shoulder. "I don't know what I would've done. I couldn't... I can't lose you, Methos. I can't."

Again, Methos let his instincts guide his response as he caught Duncan's head in his hand and turned it to meet his questing lips. As the familiar heat of passion rose between them, so too did the unique energies of their shared link. Their Quickening flared between them, charging the air and dancing along their flesh.

Duncan MacLeod slowly trailed his lips across his lover's face and down his jaw. He knew the fear, the uncertainty would never be totally erased. His tongue flicked out as he slowly nuzzled the angry red line that traced its jagged way across Methos' neck.

"Methos, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to keep you safe." The warrior's voice was an anguished moan.

"Duncan, look at me. Duncan! I have managed to stay alive for five thousand years, and before you say it, yes, I have been hunted before. In large part, tonight was my fault. I was careless. It won't happen again."

"Promise?" Even knowing how ludicrous the question was couldn't stop MacLeod from asking. Methos had to grin, just a little. "I promise. No more wandering through dark alleys on my own -- at least not when I leave my revolver at home."

That brought a reluctant smile to the Highlander's mouth as well. The old man was usually a walking arsenal. "Okay then. I'll hold you to it."

Letting his eyes drift downward over MacLeod's wet, brown chest, Methos chuckled. "Fine, you hold what you want and I..." Reaching down, he engulfed Mac's straining shaft in one long fingered hand. "I will hold what I want." With his free hand, Methos reached out and turned the Highlander so that he was facing the tiled wall. Pressing his own burgeoning erection into the crevasse between Duncan's ass cheeks, the old man began stroking the younger man's engorged cock.

Moaning with pleasure, MacLeod shifted his weight and spread his legs to allow his ancient lover fuller access. Wasting no time, Methos grabbed the bath oil that sat near the back of the tub and, releasing Duncan's erection, fumbled open the cap. Before Mac could protest the loss, the hand was back and the pumping began anew as a finger slid inside the tight bud of his anus.

The finger was quickly joined by another, and then a third as the opening was stretched and stimulated. Suddenly, the fingers were gone and the tip of Methos' penis was pressing against the hole. Stimulated almost to the point of climax already, MacLeod thrust his hips back strongly against the other man and impaled himself on the throbbing shaft. Methos tightened his grip on Duncan's cock as Mac began to rock in response to those talented hands.

Already aroused from the Quickenings they had shared earlier, the two men were helpless as the golden heat that was uniquely their own rose to engulf them both. One deep thrust, two, and it was over. Methos came shuddering inside MacLeod's willing body, while the Highlander gave a guttural growl and pulsed his essence over Methos' fist.

As they sagged against each other, still lost in the warmth and glow of shared emotions, neither could resist the thought that hung between them. Sent by one, received by the other -- it didn't matter, because, in that instant at least, it was true. We are one.

***

Exactly forty-five minutes later, Mac and Methos were greeting their guests. Joe quickly claimed a chair from the dining room table, while Connor looked around with a shake of his head then settled on a cushion against the wall. Amanda stepped close to Methos then grabbed him in a tight hug. "You scared me today. When I saw your neck..." Her voice trailed away as she ran her fingers over the seamed trail on his throat. "Not really much of a scar. Thank God. But, um, shouldn't there be? I mean Kalas..."

Taking Amanda's fingers in a firm grip, Methos kissed them once before releasing them and stepping back. "You don't have to say that just to make me feel better, sweetheart. I know it's bad. Luckily, I have a lot of turtlenecks."

"But, Methos! Really. It's barely noticeable."

Duncan, having overheard her remarks, scowled at the beautiful Immortal and said, "Amanda! That's a terrible thing to say. He's not a child, and neither are we. It's..." The Highlander's voice trailed off as he got a good look at his lover's neck.

Eyes wide with injured innocence, the lady in question moved swiftly to sit next to Connor. "That's not remotely what I meant Duncan, and you know it."

Stammering a bit, the younger MacLeod apologized. "I'm sorry. It's just... It looked a lot worse an hour ago."

Joe spoke up. "Well, maybe it wasn't finished healing an hour ago."

"No," Methos shook his head. "It was finished." Reaching up, he rubbed at the raised line of skin. "Hmmm... it doesn't feel the same either." Shaking his head, he gave up on the puzzle for the moment.

Snorting, the younger MacLeod busied himself playing host. After seeing that everyone was armed with a favorite beverage, he grabbed a couple of beers and flung himself down next to Methos.

Grinning his thanks, the old Immortal took a long swallow of his brew then picked up the thread of conversation. "Actually you know, Amanda's got a point. I dare say my neck was... hacked just as badly as Kalas' , so why didn't I scar as badly?"

Everyone was silent, mulling the possibilities and implications. Finally, Joe spoke hesitantly. "Okay, how about this? It's gotta be the shared Quickenings. Maybe Methos was able to draw more energy from Mac and, er, repair it better?"

"That fits." Duncan spoke up. "That would also explain--" The Highlander broke off suddenly, a deep red flush slowly climbing up his neck.

Eyes full of mischief, Amanda leaned forward expectantly. "Explain what, Duncan?" She nudged Connor in the side with her elbow.

Picking up his cue, he pulled her gently back against the wall and twined her arm with his. Flashing a smile of pure devilment, he joined in, "Yes, Duncan. That explains what?"

Knowing the importance of having as many facts as possible about their unique situation, the younger MacLeod plowed gamely ahead. "Well, it explains why he revived so quickly after such a severe injury, and it would also explain why Methos wasn't, um, tired afterwards. You know how draining it is to die. Methos wasn't drained at all. Just the opposite, in fact. He ran all the way back here."

Connor's lips twitched again. "Is that right?"

Methos decided he didn't particularly appreciate being the main topic of conversation. "Ahem. At any rate. All this isn't getting us any closer to adding Amanda to our little gestalt."

Joe shook his head slowly. "I just don't know how you're going to do it. I mean, short of cutting off another Immortal's head -- you can't just 'call' her Quickening out to play, can you?"

Both MacLeods frowned as a palpable silence descended over the loft. Finally, Duncan spoke, "There must be another way. If we can only link up through another's death then we're defeating the purpose of the merger in the first place."

"Duncan is right." The elder MacLeod growled. "But, if it turns out to be the only way to keep Amanda alive, then that is what we will have to do. I do not consider her expendable."

Placing an impulsive kiss on Connor's cheek, Amanda leaned into him. "Thank you, Connor. It's nice to know I'm important to someone."

"Now Amanda. You know how much you mean to me. I just hate to think that we would be exchanging one form of the Game for another."

Methos rose and walked over to the kitchen area. "So, in other words, no one has any new ideas about how to add Amanda." He sighed dramatically. "Whatever did you people do before I came along? Amanda, come over here, please."

The elfin beauty rose readily and joined Methos at the bar. When she saw what he held in his hands however, she gave an involuntary gasp and backed up towards the others.

"Amanda," Methos said softly, "do you trust me?"

Coming up behind her, Duncan asked, "Why does she need..." then trailed off as he noticed the knife in Methos' fist. "Methos, what are you going to do?"

Methos' eyes narrowed a bit as Connor stepped forward to shield Amanda. Patiently, he tried to explain. "Joe is basically right. It no doubt will take another Immortal's Quickening to give Amanda's the impetus to merge with ours. However, I don't see why it needs to be stimulated by a beheading. Our Quickenings manifest every time we are injured. So..."

Taking the knife from the ancient Immortal, Connor nodded gravely then stepped up to Amanda. Smiling into her eyes, he raised his free hand to caress her cheek as he plunged the knife in her breast, expertly sliding it between the ribs and into her heart.

Amanda's eyes widened, and she gave a soft little gasp as she sagged against Connor. Lifting her body carefully, he strode to the bed and lowered her onto it. Sitting beside the still form, Connor turned back to the others.

"You'd better be right about this, old man," he growled. Flicking his eyes to Duncan, then to Joe, he raised a brow and said, "Be back in a few minutes," then plunged the knife into his own breast as well.

As he toppled back to rest beside Amanda, Methos swept forward cursing. "Why did I know he was going to do that? Bloody, grandstanding, melodramatic Scot. Just what the world needs, another bullheaded Highlander."

Reaching down, he began pushing Connor's corpse across the bed. "Oomph. He's heavy, too. Don't just stand there gaping, Duncan. Help me get him into position. Since he insisted on doing it this way..."

Coming up beside the old Immortal, Duncan grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute. Are you saying Connor didn't have to kill Amanda? Why didn't you stop him?"

"You're kidding, right? Could you have stopped him? Besides, Amanda did need to die. It's the only way I can think of to do this since you nixed another beheading."

MacLeod just shook his head as Methos continued, "No, it's Connor who didn't need to die." So saying he motioned to Duncan and together they tugged at the elder Highlander's lifeless body until it was draped over Amanda's, wound to wound.

Joe spoke up, "But doesn't his Quickening need to manifest so it can latch on to Amanda's?"

"Well, yes, Joe... but I think all it will need is a tiny spark, so to speak. I was just going to slice my palm." He held his hand out with a shrug. "Leave it to a MacLeod to take the high road when the low road would do."

"If you're finished insulting me and mine, Old Man, would you mind telling us what we're supposed to do now?"

Methos started to reply just as a vague crackling filled the air. "Well, I was going to say 'we wait', but on second thought..." Another crackle, more audible this time. "I'd say it's show time."

Joe made a production of rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Oh boy! Guess I'd better stand back, huh?"

"Watch and record, Joe. You've got that little tape recorder don't' you?" At Joe's nod, Methos hurried on. "Use it. Remember every detail. There's no telling what may be important later on."

Methos turned to the man standing at his side and held his hand out to him. "Ready, Duncan?"

The Highlander's strong hand closed warmly over Methos' as he looked deeply into the ancient Immortal's eyes and murmured, "Always."

Methos barely had time for an answering smile as their merged Quickening surged ever more strongly between them. Securely linked in mind and body, they turned as one towards the two on the bed. Both of the other Immortals were beginning to revive, their Quickenings dancing over the wounds in their breasts. Connor's was the more active of the two as, spurred on with a little 'push' from Duncan and Methos, his seemed to cast out tendrils to twine with Amanda's.

Long moments passed as the last vestiges of their wounds vanished under the healing power of their Quickenings, but still the display continued. To Joe, observing from across the room, it seemed that no matter how much Connor's energies tried to entice Amanda's, her Quickening just wasn't responding.

Reaching the same conclusion, Duncan whispered to Methos through their link, "It's not working. What do we do now?"

Methos spoke aloud, "We make it work. First, we hook back up with Connor." As if waiting for this summons, the elder MacLeod stirred and awakened. Fitting actions to words, the combined Quickenings of two of the world's strongest Immortals reached out and merged with the immense strength of the third. Connor's Quickening responded eagerly, as if recognizing an old friend. With no apparent difficulties, the three were linked.

"Now," Methos spoke through the connection. "Let's try this again."

Swift as a bullet, or a thought, Connor led their combined might against the last feeble sparks of Amanda's Quickening.

For a moment, Joe thought Amanda's energies would vanish completely as they seemed to shrink in upon themselves when the other three approached. But then a mighty shudder, almost a convulsion, wracked Amanda's slender form and her Quickening blazed as it leapt upward in an arc to meet the entwined pulsations of the others.

There was a pause, then with an almost audible whoosh, Amanda was in. One moment Joe was watching at least two distinct and separate signatures, then suddenly there was only one. Actually, close examination could still reveal three diverse threads, but in a very real way, there was only one coherent mass of energy. The merger was a success.

Even as the three men turned beaming faces on each other, the individual Quickenings began to separate. As usual, the burgeoning unit that was Mac and Methos settled back into them both, while the distinctive strands that embodied Connor and Amanda settled back toward their respective hosts. Moving slowly forward, Joe wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but he fancied that Connor's Quickening parted from Amanda's reluctantly, as if loath to totally separate. Indeed, it almost seemed as if a gossamer thread glowed briefly between the two Immortals before vanishing completely as Amanda at last awoke.

Sitting up slowly, she shook her head in bemusement. "Wow. That was the most incredible moment of my entire life." She smiled slowly as she looked deeply into the eyes of the three Immortals who had shared the experience with her. A tear coursed down her cheek as she swung her feet off the bed and stood. "I feel... blessed. Duncan, I can feel you, in here." She placed her hand over her heart. "And Methos, and..." her smile widened, "...Connor, is that you?"

Lifting her hand from her heart, the elder MacLeod gallantly raised it to his lips. "Yes, lovely lady, just as you are in here." Slowly, Connor placed Amanda's hand against his own breast and pressed it there.

Methos suddenly spoke up. "Amanda, are you tired?"

With a last fleeting caress, Amanda dropped her hand from Connor's chest and turned to the old Immortal. "Tired? No. Should I be?"

As the group adjourned slowly back into the living area, Methos shrugged. "Well, I don't know. You died, just as I did earlier. How about you, MacLeod?"

Connor shook his head slowly. "Not at all. In fact, I believe I now know why you ran all the way home earlier." He grinned incorrigibly.

Joe spoke up. "Well, I have to tell you this is the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed in a life filled with incredible things. I have to find a way to get the word out on this. It changes everything!"

"No!" Methos said sharply. As all eyes turned to him, the ancient Immortal absently rubbed his neck as he tried to explain. "We have to think about this -- long and hard. Every time we use the link, I believe we are growing stronger. The addition of Amanda's power will make us stronger still. As a group, I believe there will come a time when we will be very hard to stop."

"And that's not good because..." Amanda looked puzzled.

"Well, it's great for us, but what if Kronos were still alive? He would have stopped at nothing to have the Horsemen bound as we are. If this knowledge should fall into the wrong hands... well, there is no reason to think that it is exclusive to 'good guys' only. If indeed, we are any such thing."

A long silence descended as the group thought about the implications of Methos' comments. Finally, Duncan spoke, "Methos is right. I don't like it. Contrary to popular belief, I've never wanted to be my brother's keeper, but at the very least we need to think about this before we tell anyone else. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Methos answered quickly, then turned to the elder MacLeod.

"I don't like it either, but... agreed."

Amanda was next. "Agreed. I don't even know how I feel about it for myself yet." Joe was last. He looked supremely unhappy. He squirmed, he scowled, he sighed. Finally he said, "Arguably the most important occurrence in the history of the Immortal race and, naturally, I can't tell anybody about it. Agreed."

That settled, everyone seemed eager to go their separate ways to absorb the evening's revelations. Again agreeing to meet the next day, Connor and Amanda prepared to take their leave with Joe in tow.

Grabbing Duncan in a fierce embrace, Amanda whispered in his ear, "Thank you, my love."

Hugging her tightly, the younger MacLeod kissed her cheek. "Amanda, my sweet, you and I have been a team for 300 years, you don't think I would change it now, do you?"

Laughing, her eyes shifted to Methos as she replied, "Oh no, MacLeod, but it seems you're not adverse to bringing in a new player."

Chuckling, Duncan kissed her cheek again before releasing her.

As she stepped up to Methos, her eyes were drawn back to his neck. He could see she was struggling with herself, needing to speak, so he asked gently, "What is it, Amanda?"

"Ohhh... I'm sorry Methos, but it's your neck! You won't believe this, but the scar is almost gone!"

Reaching up, he fingered the area in question. "Actually, I do believe it. When all of our Quickenings were surging about earlier, I could feel it tingling. Take a note of that, Joseph. Another possible benefit of the link: much stronger healing capabilities, even after the fact."

Joe Dawson threw his hands up into the air as he made his way to the elevator. "Not another word, Methos. I've absorbed way past my quota for tonight. I'm going home."

As Connor ushered his two companions into the elevator, he raised two fingers to his forehead in a jaunty salute. "Duncan, Methos, have a pleasant evening." He grinned as he placed a strong arm around Amanda's supple waist.

Mirroring his kinsman, the younger Highlander slipped his arm casually around the man beside him and responded in kind, "Oh, we will, we will." Deliberately letting his eyes wander to Amanda then back to Connor, Duncan continued, "Dare I say, same to you?"

With a hearty laugh, Connor slammed the grate shut on the elevator and whisked his charges off into the night.

***

Déjà vu. That's it. Déjà vu. Even though he had to chuckle, Joe Dawson shifted uncomfortably as he considered how much his current situation reminded him of the last time he and Duncan MacLeod had sat like this. The two of them were relaxing in the bar over a few drinks.

Kicked back in his chair, MacLeod was as contented and happy as Joe had seen him in years. The past week, with the notable exception of Methos' close call, had been full of easy comraderie as the linked Immortals had begun to explore the parameters of their connection.

Almost like the children Joe knew they had once been, the four had spent a large part of the week gleefully tweaking each other with their new-found abilities. Part sincere experimentation, part pure mischief, the 'tests' they'd devised had yielded some astonishing results.

For instance, after a protracted Immortal version of hide-n-seek, it was now obvious that the connections had very little to do with distance. No matter where one of the four went in Seacouver, the other three could track him down. Granted, if the hider was Mac or Methos, the seekers got to him a lot faster, but even if Amanda, the last one added and arguably the most tenuously connected, was the target, it didn't take long. Somehow, by concentrating on the link, the other three were able to 'home' in on her. And, after an offhand remark from Joe about how small Seacouver really was, a couple of quick plane rides to Spokane had put to rest any worry about the link's power decreasing with distance.

Now, as the afternoon shadows lengthened outside, the bar was temporarily empty. Enjoying the quiet before the usual influx of the after-dinner crowd, MacLeod was amusing himself and Joe with a running commentary of Methos' moment by moment actions. To do this, MacLeod had opened the link completely between himself and the old man, and Methos knew it, too.

Joe could just picture the exasperated old Immortal on the other end of the connection as the Highlander continued his play by play. "Now he's sitting on the corner of the bed... oh good, he's noticed that it isn't made... he's going to... he's going to... nope, somehow I knew that wasn't going to happen." MacLeod chortled as Methos' pretended outrage at Mac's spying poured through their link.

"Ah, now he's getting up... hmmm, he's got an itch, just a minute... yes, that's better... now he's walking slowly around the room, staring into the fridge... oh no, he's getting very upset... he's down to his last 12 beers... however will he last until I do the marketing... hold on, here comes another one of those big ideas he's so famous for... nope, lost that one too, guess he doesn't think he looks good pushing a grocery cart... okay, he's heading for the bathroom... that's good, he looks kinda scruffy... yep, he's turning on the shower and, um, he's... taking off his sweater..."

MacLeod's voice got slower and slower. Joe studied his slack expression and the goofy smile on his face for a moment, then rose to grab another round. He snagged a newspaper from the corner of the bar and brought it back to the table, since it seemed obvious that Mac's shower was going to take a while.

He'd just located the sports section when MacLeod suddenly rose from his seat like a marionette on strings. His eyes were vacant, and it was very apparent that his mind was still elsewhere, even as he turned toward the front door. A woman was standing just inside. It was Cassandra.

Joe rose as well as she strode slowly toward them. She stopped dead in front of MacLeod and just... looked at him. Still without uttering a sound, Duncan's eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed, hitting his head against the edge of the table on his way down.

As Cassandra stood over the downed Immortal, Joe scrambled to get the gun always concealed behind the bar. His fingers closing over it at last, he leveled at the woman. Turning her attention away from the Highland warrior, she smiled. "You know that won't stop me, Joe Dawson. In fact, you want to put it down."

She stepped closer to the bar. "You're so tired. Put it down, Joe." Her voice had taken on a peculiar resonating quality, and Joe knew she was using the Voice.

The gun never wavering, he sneered. "You know, I know you're talkin' but you're not making much sense, so you can cut the crap. It won't work on me."

Seeing her hand make an abortive move toward her coat, Joe continued. "I don't know what you did to him, but if you move your hand one inch closer to your sword, I will shoot you dead. And, I will keep shooting you dead, until someone gets here to deal with you permanently."

Cassandra stood for long moments, her jaw working convulsively as she looked between Joe, his gun, and the man on the floor. Finally, her hands rose, and she pressed her fingertips to her temples as she seemed to concentrate, then she shrugged, "All right, I'll leave. I daresay there will be others to take care of MacLeod sooner or later."

Knowing it was useless, Joe still had to try. "Why can't you just let it be over? It's been thousands of years! Even if you did succeed in killing Methos, what would it get you? And what about MacLeod? I thought he was your friend. Do you have any idea what he's been through lately? He fought Ahriman, for God's sake! Ahriman made him kill his own student! Cassandra, please, for MacLeod's sake, let this end."

For the briefest of instants, Cassandra seemed to be wavering. "I know all about Ahriman. I always knew it was Duncan's destiny to be the Champion. As for his student..." her brow creased in a puzzled frown, "...the prophecy says the Champion will slay many demons and shades in his quest, and that only life can defeat it. The shedding of human blood would nullify..."

Her gaze grew hard as she wrenched herself back from the speculations. "Enough! I will not be deterred in this. He has already given me what I need to insure my victory." She gestured to the unconscious Highlander. "When he awakens, tell him... no, it won't matter. When he awakens, he will know." She turned sharply and was gone.

Cassandra had barely cleared the doorway when Joe grabbed the phone and carried it back over to the fallen Scot. Dragging a chair to the unconscious Immortal, he quickly sat down then leaned over at a precarious angle to examine his friend. Other than a fairly minor bump on the head, there was no discernible reason for MacLeod's current condition. Joe shook him, slapped at his face, and generally tried everything he could think of to rouse the Immortal, but with no success.

Sitting back up, he quickly dialed the loft. No answer. As he continued to let it ring, Joe felt an icy dread clutching at his heart. Methos had been in the shower. Where was he? Of course, he would have sensed that something was wrong with Mac -- that was a given these days. But still, the entire encounter with Cassandra had probably taken less than five minutes. Even if Methos had plunged out of the shower dripping wet, he still would've had to dress... Oh God, no... the link between Methos and MacLeod had been open, wide open. What if Mac's current condition was reflected in the old man? Worse, suppose Methos had been Cassandra's target all along, and the Highlander's mind had merely been her most convenient access point?

Forcing himself to think rationally, Joe tried to remember the name of the hotel where Amanda and Connor were lodged. He still clutched the phone in his hand, the muted metallic rings echoing out of the receiver. Reluctantly severing the connection with the loft, Joe took a steadying breath. He had to get help, fast.

Before he could begin to dial the hotel's number, however, the phone in his hand emitted a shrill ring of its own. Hoping against odds, he activated it and all but begged, "Adam?"

"Joe, it's Amanda. Something doesn't feel right. Are Duncan and Methos there?"

"Amanda. Thank God. You and Connor have to get to the loft. Cassandra was here, she did something to MacLeod."

"Joe, wait! You aren't making any sense. Duncan is there? What did she do to him?"

"I don't know!" He shouted as panic threatened to get the better of his calm intentions. "I only know that Duncan MacLeod is stretched out in the middle of my floor, oblivious to the world. Cassandra walked in and he just... collapsed. But, Amanda, that's not the worst of it. The link between him and Methos was totally open at the time. I can't be sure, but I believe Methos may be in even worse shape than Mac is. You have got to get over to the loft before Cassandra does. The old man's life depends on it!"

The only answer Joe got was a low buzz of dead air when Amanda dropped the phone as she and Connor rushed out of their suite.

***

A few minutes earlier, Methos had been all set to teach Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod a little lesson in privacy. The Highlander had been mentally poking and prodding at him all day, and nothing, no matter how mundane, had shook him off. Methos didn't mind, really, but it was a little exasperating, especially when Mac started narrating his movements for Joe.

Deciding that enough was enough, the ancient Immortal decided to give Duncan something worth eavesdropping on. He strolled casually into the shower and turned on the nozzle, taking great care to adjust the spray to the perfect temperature. Then, slowly and sensually, he'd peeled his sweater off over his head, allowing his hands to skim back down his chest to settle on his waistband.

He could tell the instant MacLeod stopped filling Joe in on every little detail, as a warm arousal began to flow from the big Scot, and his lover focused totally on their link. It was incredible. Every touch, every perception that Methos had was shared by Duncan. Pulling his sweatpants off in one great swoop, Methos shivered a bit as the rough fabric rasped over the head of his achingly erect cock. He smiled as he felt an answering shiver from his lover. This was going to be interesting.

Methos climbed into the shower and let the warm water cascade over his head. Leaning into it, he took a bar of soap and began to slide it over his body. He chuckled aloud. He and Duncan were entwined so completely that he could feel MacLeod's hands ghosting over his own.

Suddenly, the smile froze on Methos' face as his hands stilled their meandering course over his body. The soap slipped unheeded to the bottom of the tub as the world seemed to dim around him. Duncan!

Struggling to remain coherent, to even remain conscious, Methos literally crawled out of the shower, determined to reach Duncan. He made it to the middle of the main room before he collapsed. He felt as if he were caught in a blizzard with layers and layers of snow settling into his mind, trying to blank out his senses. When Cassandra's face swam into focus, Methos moaned. Dimly, he was aware of MacLeod falling to the floor. The brief spike of pain as Mac struck the table was the last sensation he clearly received from the other man. They were still linked, but the Highlander's psyche was totally obscured by the snow.

Turning his attention outward, Methos struggled to use Duncan's senses to comprehend what Cassandra and Joe were saying. Yes, Joe, yes. Shoot her. But no, he'd been around the boy scout too long. He was trying to reason with her. Talking about Ahriman, Richie... she was raising her hands. Incredible! He could almost feel her scratching at the link.

A white hot shaft of pure agony shot through his head and he screamed aloud. Suddenly, he was back in the snow, and this time it was piling up around him faster than he could dig out. The witch had known he was there somehow. She'd known all along, and now she was coming for him.

***

Cassandra crouched over the nude body of the man she'd hated for millennia. She had her sword in her hand and a smile on her face as she contemplated her nemesis. She'd won. The merest flick of her wrist and her razor-sharp blade would complete her victory.

Cassandra fancied she knew more about the workings of the mind than anyone else on the planet. Magic, she had once called it. Maybe it was. At any rate, when she realized that MacLeod's mind was a direct link into Methos', she'd acted. Methos and MacLeod had been fools to leave themselves wide open like that. Now, a part of her was easily suppressing the mental struggles of the two men, while she considered what to do.

She hesitated to end it. Methos wasn't even aware on a conscious level. He had to know that she had won, permanently. Laying her sword by her side, Cassandra brought her hands back up to her temple as she sought entrance to the merged Quickening she had manipulated earlier. Yes, there. She was still attuned enough to MacLeod to allow her to slip inside.

She found herself on a dark, snow-covered plain. The Highlander was nowhere to be found, but directly ahead there was a solid object in the snow. Gliding forward, she saw that it was Methos, buried up to his shoulders. The Horseman was struggling frantically to free himself, but all he was managing to do was bury himself deeper.

Seeing this, Cassandra had to laugh. How perfect! Why fight the inevitable, Methos? You were the one who always advocated taking the pragmatic approach to life. Now we shall see if you can die by it as well. What is, is. You, the part of you that makes you Methos, will die here, smothered in the snow. And when I take your head, there will be nothing to mark your passing. I will gain your power, but your essence will be utterly lost.

Methos had long since stopped struggling. Cassandra was right, he couldn't win his freedom. The snow climbed up to his chin. How ironic that it should end like this, at the hands of the woman who had awakened his first stirrings of conscience all those thousands of years ago. He desperately regretted leaving Duncan, and thought fleetingly that this was one time his own personal knight in shining armor wasn't going to ride to his rescue.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the snow immediately to his right exploded upward as a body heaved its way free of its thrall. Suddenly, Duncan MacLeod knelt beside Methos and began frantically digging him out of his icy prison.

An unearthly shriek pierced the white darkness. No! He must die! No! Cassandra rushed forward intent on dragging MacLeod away before he managed to free the old Immortal. But, she was too late, as Methos' arms were suddenly loosed from their snowy confines. He reached out and clasped Cassandra tightly when she approached.

Duncan brushed the last bit of snow from Methos' feet and rose to stare impassively at the woman he had known since his childhood. She struggled ineffectually in his lover's arms, but his grip was like steel, and his gaze was like the ice world that surrounded them.

Raking his eyes over the Highland warrior, a glimmer of warmth flitted across the ancient Immortal's features as he said, Go now, Duncan. I will finish this. Go.

Nodding once, his eyes locked with Methos'. Then, with the merest suggestion of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, he turned and immediately vanished into the snow.

***

When Amanda burst through the door to the loft, she knew immediately what she had to do. Running over to where Cassandra still knelt on the floor, Amanda grabbed a big handful of her hair and tugged her viciously away from Methos.

Cassandra responded to her presence, but sluggishly, as if her mind were occupied elsewhere. Looking from her to the twitching body of Methos, Amanda didn't hesitate. Leaning over to stare full into the other woman's face, Amanda demanded roughly, "Cassandra! Cassandra! Do you see me? Do you know who I am?"

As if from a great distance, Cassandra croaked, "Yessss..."

"Good!" Amanda hissed as her sword arched out and decapitated the witch woman in one fell swoop. "I'll enjoy it more that way."

What followed was the strangest Quickening of Amanda's long life. As she learned later, she absorbed Cassandra's considerable power, but none of her essence. Methos held Cassandra firmly entrapped in the netherworld of her own making. Long after her struggles had ceased and her Quickening had faded, he still held her until the snow had swallowed her up without a trace. A vague mound shimmered in the darkness for a moment, then it too was gone.

***

Still on the floor of Joe's bar, Duncan MacLeod began to moan as he regained consciousness and opened his eyes to find himself staring into the steely gray ones of his kinsman, Connor. With a helping hand from the elder MacLeod, Duncan sat up.

"Finally," Joe's concern was obvious. "I told you he would wake up eventually. You should have gone with Amanda."

"Amanda? Where is Amanda?" Duncan was still a little fuzzy.

"We split up. I came here to see about you, and she went to the loft to take care of Cassandra."

The younger MacLeod scrambled up and stood swaying on his feet. "Give me a minute, then we'll all go over there."

"Give you a minute?" Joe was incredulous. "Aren't you worried about Methos? And Amanda?"

"No," the Highlander shook his head slowly. "I'm not. Cassandra did try to trap Methos, but it didn't work. He is twice as old as Cassandra, and Amanda is twice as wily. I think they're both fine. In fact, I'm sure of it. But..." MacLeod staggered back suddenly and stood breathless for several long moments. "Someone just took a Quickening, and it wasn't Methos."

Connor nodded. "I felt it as well. Amanda."

Duncan looked into the agitated eyes of his Watcher, "You're right, Joe. Let's get over there. They are all right, but like you, I'd prefer to see for myself."

***

At the loft, all was quiet. Actually, considering the age of the two Immortals involved in the Quickening, there had been very little damage. Without Cassandra's personality to fight against it, the power of her Quickening had flowed without constraint into its new host. Only a few stray tendrils had escaped to wreak havoc with MacLeod's possessions. Aside from the odd vase here and there, there was nothing wrong that a good cleaning wouldn't rectify.

Amanda had struggled through the grizzly job of body disposal, while Methos lay on the bed, huddled under every comforter they had, still shivering with the after-effects of being buried in the snow. Amanda had pointed out to him that in reality it was fairly warm out, but the old Immortal had simply growled, "There's real, and then there's real, Amanda. I was there, old girl."

Shrugging, the 'old girl' had wisely resolved to argue the point with him later, along with his choice of nicknames. Overcome with a huge yawn, Amanda realized she could use a rest herself. A moment's wheedling and Methos had scooted over to make room for her on the bed. Snuggling closer to him under the covers, she yawned. She had to admit, the covers did feel pretty good. Now, if Methos would just quit shivering...

***

When Joe Dawson and the MacLeod clan rode up in the elevator a short time later, all eyes were drawn to the bed. Soft snores were issuing from the two dark heads that peaked out from under a mound of covers.

Moving quietly, Joe sat down in his usual chair with a muffled sigh. He rubbed his face wearily as he felt the tension drain out of him. God, I'm getting too old for this. But then, he looked at the two men still hovering over the bed, and he had to grin. Duncan had an indulgent smile on his face as he looked at two of his favorite people in the world, safe and whole once more.

Connor, on the other hand, didn't seem to know quite what to do. Finally, he turned to his younger kinsman and asked, "Well, what do you make of that?" He gestured broadly at the two in the bed. "I mean, aren't you a little worried about what might have happened?"

"No, I'm not. And you shouldn't be either, Connor. Knowing Methos, he probably whined until Amanda got in to warm him up. Of course," he had to tease as he noticed how Connor's eyes kept straying back to the beautiful woman in front of him, "Amanda did take a Quickening. Now it was only a few minutes ago, and she does look tired now, but you know what will happen when she wakes up..." His voice trailed off suggestively as he let Connor's imagination supply the rest.

Suddenly, the older MacLeod was leaning over the bed shaking Amanda gently by the shoulder. "Amanda. Amanda. Wake up. It's Connor."

Smiling and stretching, Amanda reached over and poked the man next to her. "Methos, they're here." Then she sat up in the bed and reached up to draw Connor down beside her.

Engulfing her in a big hug, he quickly disentangled himself when she tried to kiss him. Still smiling, he pulled her to her feet and whispered in her ear, "Not here, my sweet. Later."

"Soon?"

"Soon."

With an engaging grin, Amanda said brightly, "Well, guys, gotta go! See you later. Come on, Connor."

With a helpless shrug and a knowing leer at his kinsman, the elder MacLeod allowed himself to be dragged, laughing and protesting, to the elevator. As the grate clanged shut, he shouted, "We'll call you... tomorrow."

Unable to contain his smile, Joe turned back to his two friends. Methos was sitting up in the bed with MacLeod beside him, an arm curved protectively over the slender shoulders. "Well, now that I've seen you for myself, Methos, I guess I'll be shoving off too. Just wanted to make sure, you know."

"I know, Joe. Thank you. It made a big difference to me, knowing you were there protecting Duncan. For a minute there, when you told Cassandra about Ahriman, I thought you'd gotten through to her."

"Yeah, so did I... wait a second. You heard me telling her about Ahriman?"

"Yes, I did. I also heard you threaten to shoot her if she touched one hair on Mac's head." Methos ruffled the Highlander's hair playfully, trying to ease the seriousness of the moment.

"Joe, I had no idea. She could have killed you! What if she had used the Voice?" Duncan was horrified. He couldn't remember anything that had happened from the time he passed out until he found himself digging Methos out of the snow.

"Oh, she did use the Voice," Joe said smugly. "It just didn't work on me."

"Yeah, I remember that," Methos agreed. "I wonder why it didn't work?"

"My professions. Both current and former. Too much loud music, and too many mortar shells. My eardrums are crisscrossed with scars."

"Ah. Yes, that would explain it."

"Well, it doesn't explain it to me," Duncan complained.

Methos elaborated. "The best theories about the Voice that we have, postulate that it somehow causes a very specific vibratory response in a tiny area of the inner ear. Joe's scar tissue probably acted as an effective barricade to protect that specific area. That's why the Voice is not the best choice of weapon. Any mortals with scar tissue like Joe's, even any Immortals who sustained ear damage before their first death -- well, like I said, that would explain a lot."

Duncan nodded. "I see. Still though, Joe, you took an awfully big risk."

"Not really. I had the gun, and I would have used it. When she started talking about Ahriman and the prophecy..." Joe's voice trailed off as an odd expression crossed his face.

"What about the prophecy? Joe? What about the prophecy?" Mac's voice was beginning to sound a little strained. "It's over, right? I'm not going to have to do it again. Right?"

Smiling reassurance, Joe levered himself up and headed for the elevator. "It was nothing, Mac. No way are you going to have to do that again." Entering the elevator, Joe paused, one hand on the side of the opening. "Oh, by the way, I'm going to have to make a quick trip back to Paris. Little business crisis at the bar. I'll probably see you two in about a week."

Both men looked surprised. This was the first they'd heard about any problem at the bar. Still, "Sure, Joe. We'll see you when you get back."

MacLeod added, "Have a good trip."

Joe waved an acknowledgment, then, with a distracted expression again stealing over his features, he was gone. "Alone at last," Methos stretched luxuriously as he lay back in the bed and tugged the Highlander down with him. Settling Mac's head tightly against the curve of his neck, the old man continued, "Mac, you do understand... I mean, about Cassandra... I'm sorry."

Duncan raised his head just enough to meet the other man's hazel eyes. "Don't be. Everyone chooses his own destiny. It all comes down to whose vision is stronger, I guess. What happened thousands of years ago has no bearing on the here and now. If people were never allowed to change and progress, I don't think the human race would even be around anymore."

Methos shook his head gently then kissed the bronzed forehead before him. "Your depth constantly amazes me, Duncan." Leaning down to nip at the Highlander's nose, the old Immortal continued, "That, and your prowess with your swords."

"Swords? Plural? I only use the katana these days, Methos."

The old man's hand swept down the muscular body next to him, stopping to press meaningfully against the blue jean covered crotch. "Oh I don't know about that, Mac. I think you're forgetting one."

"Oh, that sword! You're right, I had forgotten about it." Wrapping the other man in his powerful arms, he rolled until Methos was firmly trapped beneath him. "And, you know how I keep up my battle prowess, don't you?" He asked between brief darting kisses that left the old man breathless.

Ancient gold green eyes blazed into deep warm brown ones as Mac and Methos opened their linked Quickenings.

With a brilliant smile, Methos answered his lover. Of course I know how you keep up your prowess, Duncan. Practice. Practice. Practice.

***

Epilogue

Joe Dawson shivered as the rain continued to weep from the sullen gray sky. His mouth was set in a grim line, as he looked at the one place in Paris that he hated and yet was drawn to above all others.

What am I doing here? Like this. She was insane. And yet...

He couldn't get Cassandra's words out of his mind. Every day, every hour they echoed over and over again until he believed he would go mad. As for his student... the shedding of human blood would nullify...

What had she meant? What had she meant? As soon as the danger was past, Joe had known what he had to do. Alone. He wouldn't put Mac through it, and telling one of the others just didn't seem right either.

Staring at the engraved stone in front of him, he wondered for the millionth time if he was doing the right thing. It had been over a year. Surely, if Richie Ryan was still alive, they would have known about it by now. Surely. But still...

Hitching the collar of his rain coat more tightly about his neck, Joe Dawson stood and watched as the men he'd hired began to dig.

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