"A Sea of Fate".
Paula Stiles 


Summary: Joe and Methos find themselves chasing each 
other's dopplegangers on the streets of Paris. Part 
twelve of the "Armed Intervention" series.

Disclaimer: Don't own the universe. Not making any money 
off of it. Davis/Panzer Productions, Rysher 
Entertainment, and Gaumont Television do that. Don't 
bother to sue me. I'm poor. I don't own Bon Jovi's "Keep 
the Faith" or the title song from "Cabaret", either.

This, and my other stories, can be found at: 

http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch.html

Or, as part of the Armed Intervention series at:

http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch.html

Archive: Sure. Just ask first.

Many thanks to Judith Hill for betareading this for me.




A SEA OF FATE, PART TWO


Father, Father, please believe me.
I am laying down my guns.
I am broken like an arrow.
Forgive me; forgive your wayward son.


     I pulled up on the road near Headquarters, stopping 
a little too fast. It had been over a month since I'd had 
a chance to drive my own car, and I was still getting the 
hang of the handbrake again. "Are you okay?" I said. You 
had the Bastard out, set naked and point down between 
your knees with your hands gripping the quillions, the 
handle pressed to your forehead. Your eyes were closed. 
"Methos? Earth the Methos."

     Slowly, you opened your eyes and turned your head to 
look at me. "What?" You sounded as if you were talking 
underwater. I told myself that I wasn't scared, but that 
was bullshit. The way you were at the moment, I'd 
challenge Kronos himself not to be afraid of you, or for 
you.

     "I asked you if you were okay." You rubbed your 
cheek against the Bastard's pommel, eyes unfocused. 
"Methos, talk to me. I'm not going in there until we're 
on the same page."

     "Yeah...yeah, I'm with you." Well, it was some kind 
of answer, at least.

     "Okay. Then, the first thing you need to do is put 
that thing away. There is no way we are getting past the 
gate, let alone inside Headquarters, while you've got the 
Bastard out and swinging." I wasn't about to let you kill 
anybody on my watch. I fingered the gun in my coat and 
prayed silently that I wouldn't have to use it.

     You chuckled, my first sign that you were zeroing in 
on me finally. "Good point." You opened the door, got 
out, flipped the Bastard end over end with a graceful 
little twirl and slid it back into its scabbard inside 
your coat. I wish I could say I was reassured, but I 
wasn't. You got back in and shut the door. "Allons-y, mon 
ami." A shadow passed over your face, but you shook it 
off. "Think they'll let us in?"

     "Me? Yeah, probably. You? I guess there's only one 
way to find out. Don't think the sword will make much 
difference, as long as it stays in your coat." 
Unfortunately, your knee-length jacket, jeans, hiking 
boots and black sweatshirt screamed Immortal chic to any 
half-observant Watcher, but I couldn't see any way around 
that. I started up the car and pulled back onto the road. 
You were very quiet as we pulled into the long driveway 
and rolled up to the sentry gate.

     "Name and purpose for your visit?" the guard asked 
politely, leaning over to peer into the car. I couldn't 
tell if he recognised you, since his expression didn't 
change as he glanced around the interior. Probably not, 
unless they had some special Most Wanted poster series 
for Immortal renegade Watchers or Methos sightings. You 
burned off your tattoo years ago and you had never been 
high-profile when you were with us. And he looked just 
young enough to have joined after all that mess with 
Galati. As long as nobody asked to see your tattoo, we'd 
probably be okay.

     "Joe Dawson and Adam Pierson," I said. "We're here 
to see Director Gabrieli." I flashed my Watcher ID.

     "May I see your ID, M. Pierson?" the guard said, 
looking past me.

     "Mr. Pierson is my guest," I said. "Director 
Gabrieli is expecting us."

     The guard's expression didn't change, but he did go 
still. "Pardonnez-moi un moment, Monsieur." He stepped 
back into the guard house, picked up the phone and made 
the call. A moment later, he hung up and opened the gate. 
"You may proceed with your guest, M. Dawson." 

     "Thanks." I wondered what they'd told him, but the 
bland formality in his voice and face gave nothing away. 
I tried not to think too hard about what I was doing, 
driving a half-mad Immortal--an ex-Horseman of the 
Apocalypse, no less--right into Watcher Headquarters. If 
that wasn't a textbook example of Interference, then I 
needed to go back to Academy and hit the regulation 
manuals. At least with Mac, I'd always been able to 
maintain some sort of distance. With you, that was 
impossible. You were a Watcher and always would be. The 
way you'd quoted Watcher philosophy at me the whole time 
we were going after Walker to get Amy back made that 
obvious. I don't think you even noticed when you were 
doing it; we were that far into your system.

    "That was simple enough," you said as I drove up the 
gravel drive. "Why did you say we were going to see 
Gabrieli?"

     "Just a hunch," I said, pulling into the parking 
lot. "If Croft is sending you gifties in the mail like we 
got this morning, chances are he's not the kind of guy we 
want to be visiting officially."

    "Yeah, but now we have to talk to Gabrieli before we 
leave." You sounded almost okay now, but I didn't trust 
it. I'd only thought I knew you before. Four months of 
living cheek-by-jowl with you, watching your every move 
for a disaster, had taught me how to interpret every 
twitch. There was no way you could be okay right now; 
therefore, you weren't. But I still had to play along as 
if you were.

    "So what? We survived the last time; we can finesse 
this one, too. We're just dropping in for a chat." 
Granted, last time had been in the bar and Gabrieli's 
office was hardly neutral ground, but I was sure we could 
figure it out as we went along. I pulled into a space 
halfway down the parking lot from the door. I could have 
taken the pitifully small handicapped parking space next 
to the steps, but I was damned if I was going to take 
that sop. "What is it with you and that sword, anyway?"

     "What do you mean?" God dammit. You always picked 
the worst times to act coy.

     "You know what I mean. You've been clinging to the 
damned thing like a baby to its pacifier since we left 
your apartment. What's up with that? You fixing to whack 
Galbon with it, or something?" I couldn't bring myself to 
call the guy Rene at the moment, not after what I'd just 
seen.

     "It's a thought at that." I knew you weren't joking. 
You slipped a hand inside your coat, your eyes going 
faraway again. "Ever since we went to Scotland, the 
Bastard...hums. Like one of those vibrating baby chairs. 
It's very calming. Better than drugs."

    And less scary right at the moment, no doubt. I 
shivered. "Okay. This effect doesn't include any sudden 
urges to yank the thing out and start slicing and dicing 
at random, does it?"

     You smiled faintly. "I won't embarrass myself in 
there, Joe. I promise."

     "Embarrassment is not what I'm worried about. You 
sure you can manage my chair? I mean, two hours ago, you 
were on your knees worshipping the Porcelain God. You 
were looking pretty shaky. You okay now?"

     Your face went blank. "I am fine, Joe. Really." I 
didn't believe you, but I let you get out and grab the 
chair for me. Not like I could get it on my own, and as 
long as you had your hands full, maybe you wouldn't be 
thinking about filleting Galbon--or Croft, or Gabrieli. 
You got me out of the truck and into the chair and 
wheeled me up to the entrance. The wheel on the right 
side made an annoying, repetitive squeak. Another 
mobility glitch I needed to get fixed.

     The guy at the front office looked up as we rolled 
in. Not like he could miss us with that squeaky wheel. 
"M. Dawson, we've been expecting you." Great. If they'd 
been expecting us, they couldn't have met us down in the 
parking lot and helped with the damned wheelchair? "Do 
you need directions to Director Gabrieli's office?" 
Smarmy bastard. Hadn't been that long since I was up 
here.

     "No thanks. I think we can find our own way," I 
said. The guard nodded to us and let us go without trying 
to engage you in conversation. I wasn't sure whether to 
be relieved or insulted that he didn't even bother to 
search either of us for weapons, though I thought he gave 
you a funny look. Maybe he remembered you from when you 
were working in Archives. For once, you had no smart 
remarks of your own. If anything, you seemed subdued as 
you wheeled me into the elevator that took us to the next 
floor. God only knew what you were thinking; it had been 
years since you'd come here. Some homecoming.

     "Finance is on the third floor now," I said, once 
the elevator doors closed us in. "I think Croft has the 
big suite of offices down at the end. The one with the 
picture window."

     "I remember it," you said and pressed the button. We 
didn't say anything more. Neither of us was in the mood 
and the elevator was probably bugged. It had been bugged 
on and off, in the past. When the door opened, you rolled 
me out and into the open floor plan of Finance. I saw the 
main help desk, several cubicles and a hallway that went 
down the western side of the building.

     "It's down there," you said, pointing down the 
hallway.

     "Yeah, okay. Let's ask first. Just roll me up to the 
desk." You shrugged and pushed me up opposite a young, 
dark-haired woman that I didn't recognise. No big 
surprise there. I was a field Watcher, not support staff. 
She looked up as you squeaked me into position opposite 
her and leaned on the handles, looking over my shoulder.

    "May I help you, Messieurs?" she asked, looking 
puzzled. Her eyes passed over me, focused on you, then 
slid back to me as being 'safer' to deal with, in 
relative terms. I bit down a laugh.

     "Hi, we're here to see Harold Croft," I said. She 
still looked confused. Uh oh. Guess she was even newer 
than she looked--or maybe Croft had pulled a disappearing 
act, after all. That was an option we had only half-
discussed in the apartment. You still seemed to be 
clinging to the idea that Croft wouldn't have just 
dropped that kind of bomb in your lap before skipping off 
to Bora Bora.

     "The Assistant Head of Finance?" you supplied 
helpfully from over my head.

     "Alors, the Assistant Head of Finance is down that 
hallway." She pointed down the same hallway you had 
indicated before.

     "The office at the end?" you asked. She nodded. 
"See? I told you," you muttered to me, as you pulled me 
back and started turning me around.

     "Thank you," I called over my shoulder.

     "Let me do the talking, first," I said as we went 
down the hallway. "I know you know this guy, but we might 
get more out of him if I go first. You can always start 
in playing Good Friend if he gets uncooperative."

     "Yeah, whatever," you said. 

     To my surprise, the door at the end of the hallway 
was open. I knocked hesitantly on the door as you pushed 
me through the doorway and stopped the chair. "Uh, Mr. 
Croft? Can we talk to you for a few minutes?"

     The man standing at the window turned around at the 
knock. He was not Harold Croft. I swallowed, feeling 
sick. I was getting that sinking feeling a lot lately. 
"Good morning Mr. Dawson, Mr. Pierson," Director David 
Gabrieli said. "Please come in and have a seat."

     Above me, I heard you suck in a long breath. 
"Director Gabrieli," I said, jumping in before you could 
say or do something stupid. "We were just coming to see 
you, but we had to discuss some business with Harold 
Croft, first. We thought his office was in here." I held 
my breath, praying you would take my cue and let me do 
all the talking, or at least most of it.

     "Before I answer your questions, Mr. Dawson, I would 
strongly suggest that you and Mr. Pierson shut the door 
behind you and have a seat. Please."

     I glanced up at you. You were staring at Gabrieli. 
"Uh, Adam? You wanna get a seat?"

     You started, as if waking up from some reverie. 
"Yeah, okay." You pushed me up to the desk and took a 
chair next to me. Gabrieli waited until we had both 
settled before he sat down across from us.

     He leaned forward, his elbows propped on the desk. 
"Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that Mr. Croft no 
longer works for our organisation. Therefore, any 
business which you had with him you should now conduct 
with me."

     "How is that possible?" you said, before I could 
stop you. "The Assistant Head of Finance for the European 
Division would not just 'quit'."

     "No, that is quite true, Mr. Pierson." Gabrieli 
paused, as if unsure how to continue. "I am afraid that 
Mr. Croft is dead."

     "Dead?" I squeaked. Just because I had never liked 
the son of a bitch, didn't mean I wanted to see Croft 
dead. And I'd had Internal Security come for me with ill 
intent enough times to feel a little chill every time I 
heard about some fellow victim of theirs. I swallowed to 
get my voice under control. "How did that happen?" I 
glanced at you. You had gone pale. I put a hand on your 
shoulder, as much to steady you as to stop you from 
jumping up out of your chair and throttling Gabrieli. 
This day was rapidly going from bad to worse.

     "I don't want to get into the details at this time, 
but I am afraid that Mr. Croft was not the man that we 
all thought him to be." Now, that, I did believe; but 
then, that could be said of most of your friends--or 
mine.

     You swallowed, shifting under my grip. "How did he 
die? Are you telling us that he was murdered?"

      "Not exactly. In fact, Mr. Croft was killed after 
being apprehended in the process of attempting to murder 
a fellow Watcher. I think you know the man, Mr. Pierson. 
His name is Dr. Rene Galbon. I understand that you have 
been under his medical supervision for several months."

     "I don't understand," I said, fishing for 
information while I tightened my grip on your arm. You 
didn't seem to react right away, still digesting this new 
info, I guess. "They didn't have any connection to each 
other. Why would Croft want to murder Dr. Galbon?" 
Actually, I could think of one very good reason, but I 
was praying, for your sake, that it wasn't true.

     "Because Dr. Galbon had discovered incriminating 
evidence against Mr. Croft." Gabrieli rubbed his chin, 
staring at you. "It seems that Mr. Croft was a Hunter, 
and had been for many years." Fuck me. So much for the 
power of prayer, as you liked to say.

     You shivered. "That's not possible. Harold--Mr. 
Croft wasn't that kind of man." Yeah, right. And denial 
is a river in Egypt. Now that I thought about why I'd 
never liked Croft, it seemed to me that he was exactly 
that kind of man.

     "No, I don't suppose he was to you, Mr. Pierson." 
Was it my imagination, or was there a shadow of 
compassion in Gabrieli's voice? "He seems to have treated 
you very well. I suppose you must have regarded him as a 
friend of sorts, and he you. Immortals, and any Watchers 
who interfered with him, unfortunately, were a different 
story."

     "That's a pretty harsh accusation," I said, though 
my indignation was more for your benefit than mine. Me, I 
was having no trouble believing it. "I'm assuming you've 
got some proof?"

     "We do." Gabrieli rubbed the bridge of his nose. 
"Some of our material proof has disappeared--we suspect 
Mr. Croft's concierge of the theft, but since we can't 
find her right now, that doesn't matter. We do, however, 
have an eyewitness to the murder attempt. Your daughter, 
Mr. Dawson, was present when Mr. Croft took Dr. Galbon 
out into the woods and tried to shoot him in the head. 
While there, she heard Croft clearly state that he was 
deeply involved with the Hunters, possibly even 
controlled them, and that he intended to silence Dr. 
Galbon with a bullet. If she had not interfered, Dr. 
Galbon would be dead." Christ! *Amy* was involved in 
this? Could this possibly get any worse?

     "So, you're saying that Rene Galbon killed him?" I 
said, trying to stick to the issue at hand. That didn't 
mean that I didn't intend to have a long talk with my 
darling daughter about this whole incident as soon as we 
got out of here. I glanced at you. You had slumped back 
in your chair, but I still didn't let go of your arm.

     "In self-defense, yes," Gabrieli said. "I understand 
that after Ms. Thomas distracted Croft, there was a 
struggle between Croft and Galbon over the gun. It went 
off, as guns do in these situations. Croft died, Galbon 
lived, though he did end up in the hospital for several 
days after as a result of his injuries."

     "His injuries?" you said, sitting up, your voice 
sharp with suspicion. "When did this happen? I don't 
remember any--" You stopped, your eyes widening. You had 
mentioned that Rene (okay, I did still think of him as 
Rene, just not comfortably) looked like he'd been through 
a meat grinder when we first got back after our little 
Thanksgiving trip up north. Seems he laid down the law 
for you when you went to visit him at the hospital, but 
you'd laughed it off as no big deal. I think you just 
respected him more for it. At the time, I thought it 
seemed a pretty small price to pay for skipping town like 
that. Not wanting to push my luck, I'd avoided Rene since 
then. Obviously, he'd banked on that.

     I could fit the pieces together on my own, now. 
"This all happened last November, didn't it? While Adam 
and I were in Scotland?" Son of a bitch. No wonder both 
Rene and Amy had looked so shaky when we got back. Keane, 
too, come to think of it. Yeah, a father-daughter chat 
was definitely on the cards.

     Gabrieli nodded. "The situation came up very 
suddenly, a few days after you left. As I understand it, 
Dr. Galbon and Ms. Thomas were engaged in their own 
investigation of a suspected Hunter, who subsequently led 
them to Croft."

     Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. But whose load of 
cowpies was it? It was obvious that Rene had been a lot 
more personally involved in Croft's business than 
Gabrieli was saying, but did Gabrieli know that? Was he 
just telling us what Galbon had told him or lying to us 
on his own time? Did Gabrieli know that Rene was/had been 
a Hunter? Even if he wasn't sure, he had to suspect. 
Maybe Rene had cut some sort of deal, though with 
Gabrieli's hard-ass rep, that didn't seem likely. And to 
think the son of a bitch had gotten my daughter mixed up 
in it. If you didn't kill Rene, I just might.

     But Gabrieli wasn't done yet. "What I don't 
understand, Mr. Pierson, is why you chose to contact Mr. 
Croft now."

     "I hadn't heard from him in some time. I was 
concerned." Your voice sounded rusty, but your brain sure 
wasn't. "I usually hear from him at least around the New 
Year."

     "Yes, you only got out of the hospital yourself 
yesterday, didn't you?" You stiffened again. I tightened 
my grip. Now was not the time to flip out and prove 
Gabrieli's point for him. "Against your doctor's orders, 
from what I hear. But why come here? Why not visit him at 
his apartment if you were such close friends?"

     You glared back at him. "We weren't that kind of 
friends. It wouldn't have been appropriate." Yeah, no 
shit. That sure was the understatement of the century. 
Christ only knew what Croft would have done with that 
kind of encouragement. At least you'd had enough sense to 
draw a line. I could feel you getting tenser and tenser. 
Didn't matter how big a son of a bitch the guy had been 
or how not interested you'd been, you'd considered him a 
friend. Hell, you'd considered Rene a friend until this 
morning. This whole day had to hurt. I needed to break 
this off.

     "If that's all, I think we'd better be getting 
back," I said. "We've found out what we came to find out 
and I've got a bar to run. Come on, Adam." I tugged on 
your arm. You broke off your staring match with Gabrieli 
and glanced at me. "I can't get out of here on my own 
power." *Don't make me beg,* I pleaded silently. *Not 
here.*

     You relaxed, looking confused. "Yes, of course. We 
should get back." You started to get up, but Gabrieli 
stopped you.

     "Before you go, Mr. Pierson, I should tell you that 
you are currently on medical leave from the Watchers."

     *Oh, fuck. Here we go.* This did not look good.

     Your look hardened again. "'Medical leave'? Is that 
what they're calling it these days?"

     Gabrieli smiled coldly. "Granted, that wasn't how 
you were listed when you disappeared immediately after 
the Galati Affair. However, you were not the only Watcher 
to find that incident distressing, or react in the way 
that you did. Considering some of your past difficulties 
and your recent hospitalisation, it seems clear that your 
actions at the time reflected more your own mental and 
emotional distress than any intentional flouting of 
Watcher regulations or deliberate desertion of your 
duties."

     Your eyes narrowed. I felt sick. I didn't think 
either of us was going to like where this was going. Come 
to think, I knew we wouldn't. Gabrieli paused, as if 
inviting some comment, but neither of us was about to 
feed him any straight lines at this point. Why couldn't 
he just let this go and do it another day? Did he really 
think he'd never get another opportunity? When the 
silence stretched out, he shrugged and continued. "I 
understand that the manner of Mr. Croft's death may have 
raised some doubts in your mind about the fitness of Dr. 
Galbon to treat you. However, I would strongly advise 
that you and Mr. Dawson first consult with Ms. Thomas 
concerning what she saw that day before you make any 
drastic decisions about the continuation of your medical 
care under Dr. Galbon."

     "And if I choose not to continue with Dr. Galbon?" 
you asked softly. Shit. Did we really have to go there? 
Couldn't we just tug our forelocks and slink out the door 
without pissing a big line in the sand, first?

     Gabrieli folded his hands on the desk. "Then, we 
will help you find another psychiatrist to continue your 
treatment. And no, your leaving psychiatric care is not 
an option at the moment. If you force the issue, I'll 
have no other choice but to have you committed to a 
secure psychiatric ward, myself. I am sorry to be so 
harsh about this. But I am afraid that the flip side of 
putting you on medical leave and acknowledging that you 
are too ill to be held responsible for your actions is 
also acknowledging that you cannot make informed medical 
decisions about your care at this time. I have no 
intention of letting you get yourself killed on my 
watch."

     "And how long do you intend to keep me on 'medical 
leave'?" you said, your voice cold and dead. I could 
almost see the brain cells firing away as you planned 
your escape route. While you were at it, you could take 
me with you. That Guardian Advocate's paper we'd drawn up 
between us wasn't going to be worth shit if Gabrieli 
decided to play hardball on this issue. No way I could 
take on the Watchers *and* your shrink and hope to keep 
you out of whatever snakepit they decided to throw you 
in.

     "Why, until you finally get your head out of your 
ass, of course." Gabrieli smirked. "And after I have 
received notification of that blessed event."

*********

     I gotta hand it to you; you held it together all the 
way out to the car and until we drove out past the gate 
back onto the road. *Then*, you started screaming.

    "THAT BASTARD. THAT SICK, SMUG SON OF A BITCH!" You 
pounded on the dashboard, kicking up the mudguard under 
your seat. God only knew what the other drivers around us 
were thinking. I was having a hell of a time staying on 
the road. Having your best friend flip out right next to 
you is murder on the concentration.

     "Hey, calm down." You started punching the armrest, 
right below the closed window. "Look, at least put on 
your seatbelt." You ignored me, ranting on half-under 
your breath. I pulled the car over in a shower of gravel, 
trailed by the horns of several irritated Gallic 
motorists and hoping none of them would be a big enough 
asshole to call the cops on his cellphone. I didn't touch 
you. I didn't talk. After a minute or two, you calmed 
down enough to notice me again.

     "You okay, now?" I said. You were still breathing 
hard and looking everywhere but at me, but you nodded. 
"Good. Put your seatbelt on."

     That got your attention. "What?"

     "Your seatbelt. Put it on. If you're gonna do that 
in the car, I want you strapped in. I don't need you 
going through the windshield if I have to stop suddenly."

     "Yeah...yeah, okay." Looking dazed, you pulled down 
the shoulder harness and clicked it into place. Well, 
Hallelujah. I'd just managed what Rene had needed Keane 
and a big syringe of Haldol to pull off--I'd got you 
strapped in and calm about it. You sat there, staring 
blankly ahead of you. I waited. I knew what was coming, 
but I wanted you to say it before I got back on the road.

     "They killed him, Joe," you said finally. "Just 
killed him as if he were so much trash, and then they 
made up this smear campaign to cover it all up." You 
shook your head, looking bewildered. "How could Harold, 
of all people, be a Hunter?"

     "Yeah. I know." Which was a lie, but you weren't 
ready to hear that. Truth was, I'd always wondered about 
Horton and Croft. James didn't like anybody, but he'd 
seemed to favour Croft with a special kind of hatred. It 
had always puzzled me, but now it was making sense. James 
hated being on anybody's chain, and it was beginning to 
look more and more like maybe Croft had been the one 
yanking it.

     "You saw his journal. Did you see anything in it 
that would indicate that he hated Immortals?" You seemed 
too exhausted for tears. All dried out. I'm sure you've 
been betrayed a thousand times in your lifetime, but 
that's the funny thing about betrayal--it never gets any 
easier. And each next time, you keep hoping it won't be 
what you think it is.

     "Uh...no. I thought he liked them fine." Or one 
Immortal, at any rate--namely, you. I didn't know what 
else to say. Some of sweet, old Harold's fantasies about 
you had been pretty explicit. I didn't think you needed 
to hear all the sweaty details right now. God knows, I 
would have preferred not to know them myself, but that's 
what comes of flipping through somebody else's diary 
while your buddy is sitting on a couch obsessively 
rewinding and watching a snuff flick starring his shrink. 
"You know what? We need to talk to Amy. Gabrieli said she 
saw the whole thing go down. She can tell us the truth."

     "I don't know...." You stared at your knees.

     "Hey, maybe Croft was a Hunter and maybe he wasn't 
but let me ask you one question--if he was such a nice 
guy, how come he sent you that tape?" We'd drop that 
diary out of the discussion for now.

     You looked skeptical. "Gabrieli seemed to imply that 
it was the concierge who did that."

     "Yeah, but what for? On whose instructions? She had 
no motive to do it for herself. She didn't even know you! 
You think Croft wouldn't have left behind a few landmines 
for anybody who caused his untimely demise? The guy 
wasn't stupid. He must have known he had enemies. He 
never would have gotten where he did otherwise. The way I 
see it, we've only got Croft's and the official version 
right now. Let's talk to Amy and if she backs up what 
Gabrieli said, we can talk to Rene. Calmly. Rationally. 
Keeping in mind that whatever he did in the past, he's 
been good to you over the years." You closed your eyes, 
shaking your head in denial. "Listen to me. He knows 
you're Methos; he knows you're Immortal. But he's still 
backed you up these past few months. Come on, you know 
this road better than anybody else. You used to be a 
Horseman of the Apocalypse, for Christ's sake! Are you 
saying you can't allow that maybe a Mortal could stop 
being a Hunter when you managed to stop being a raping, 
murdering son of a bitch?"

     "Yeah," you sighed. "I suppose. But how do we know 
he's changed? How can we believe him?"

     "Him? I don't know. But you believe Amy, don't you? 
You trust her, right?" You looked up and straight at me, 
and it took me aback.

     "Yes, I trust Amy," you said in a strange voice.

     "Fine. Let's go talk to her then and see what she 
says." And God help Rene Galbon if she couldn't back him 
up.


*********


     "Gentlemen, I am back early," Rene announced as he 
stepped into the apartment. He stopped at the sight of 
the darkened room. "Joe? Adam?" When he flicked on the 
light, he shuddered. The sight that greeted him did not 
reassure him at all. His clothes and other things were 
strewn all over the apartment. Someone had stamped on his 
toiletries until the toothpaste had burst from the tube 
and the shampoo bottle had popped open, squirting gel on 
the floor. Rene went around the empty apartment, slowly 
retrieving his things, one by one, and putting them in a 
pile. There were red smears on his clothing. They looked 
like ketchup. He hoped that the symbolism did not mean 
what he thought it meant.

     There was a light blinking on the answering machine. 
Rene, at a loss for any explanation for what was going 
on, hit Play on the machine. Perhaps the message was from 
Adam or Joe, explaining where they had gone. He tried not 
to consider the possibility that one of them had done 
this to his clothes. Surely, it must have been an 
intruder.

     "Rene." The voice was Gabrieli's. "Turn on your 
goddamned cellphone and call me. Now." The machine 
clicked off.

     *Merde. What now?* Rene fumbled in his coat for his 
mobile phone and pulled it out. He clicked it on and 
called Gabrieli on the personal mobile number Gabrieli 
had given him recently.

     "Gabrieli," the man responded immediately.

     "This is Dr. Galbon," Rene said. "I got your 
message."

     "Where are you?" So much for pleasantries.

     "Adam Pierson's apartment. Why?"

     "Get out of there. Now. Go get in your car, drive 
someplace quiet and call me again."

    Coldness washed over Rene and the ketchup on his 
clothes took on new significance. "Why?"

     "Just do it." Gabrieli hung up.

     Rene did as instructed, trying not to speculate as 
to what might have happened. Leaving his clothes in a 
heap on the couch, he turned off the light and locked the 
door behind him. He got out to the car and drove away 
without incident--which was to say, without Adam or Joe 
pulling up or something worse. As soon as he was out on 
the road, he lit a cigarette, his hands shaking. His head 
was spinning with so many possibilities that he drove 
badly, in complete distraction. Fortunately, there was 
little traffic. He found a small bar nearby, went in, sat 
in the back, and ordered coffee and a cognac. Then, he 
called Gabrieli. Gabrieli cut right to the chase, as the 
Americans liked to say.

     "I just talked to your patient and Joe Dawson," he 
said. "They came up to Headquarters looking for Harold 
Croft."

     Rene swore quietly and took a long drag on his 
cigarette. "What did you tell them?"

     "The truth, of course. With suitable edits. I know a 
fishing expedition when I see one. They weren't about to 
go away until they got themselves a catfish."

     "And what would 'the truth' be, Monsieur?" Rene felt 
sick. It was as he had feared; his youthful indiscretions 
had been discovered and now Gabrieli would stake him out 
as a scapegoat for his enemies. But who had told Adam? 
And what proof did they have? Surely, not that tape? *Mon 
Dieu.* He hoped not. And yet...it would explain the sight 
that had greeted him when he had come back to the 
apartment just now. If Adam and Joe have discovered that 
tape somehow, Rene was very fortunate that he had not 
been there when they did.

     "I told them that our friend Croft tried to take you 
out into the woods and blow your head off and that you 
fought back. I then suggested they talk to your young 
associate, since she saw the entire thing. I also 
mentioned Croft's less-than-savoury connections but did 
not mention yours. All things considered, I think I made 
you look rather heroic."

     The waitress came over with Rene's coffee and 
cognac. He waited until she left to lean his head back 
against the wall behind him, close his eyes and let out a 
slow sigh of relief.

     "Don't celebrate just yet, Doctor." Gabrieli's tone 
of warning chilled him. "I said that *I* made you look 
good. Unfortunately, I don't think those two came in here 
by chance. Your patient was just about bouncing off the 
walls for most of the interview."

     "What do you mean?" *Mother of God, I do not want to 
think about what seeing that tape could do to Adam's 
precarious mental state, my fears for my own personal 
safety aside.* "Is he all right?"

     "Let us just say that his reaction to the news about 
Croft's death was not good. I think he couldn't decide 
whether to call me a liar to my face or accuse me of 
having arranged it myself. I suggest you call Ms. Thomas 
right away and get your stories straight."

     "Yes, yes of course." Rene hung up, feeling sick. He 
sat with his head in his hands for several minutes. Then, 
he lit another cigarette, smoking it down to his fingers 
before he did anything else. He fortified himself with a 
few sips of cognac and a large swallow of lukewarm coffee 
before he called Amy.

     "Hullo?" she sounded distracted. Rene could not hear 
any distinguishable background noises. She ought to have 
been at the bar, but perhaps she had stepped out for a 
lunch break.

    "Ms. Thomas. It is Dr. Galbon. We need to meet."

     "I can't talk right now." Her voice sounded 
constrained. "Come to the bar. Can you do that? Where are 
you?"

     They must have been with her--Joseph and Adam. Rene 
felt a stab of pity for her; she was right in the middle 
of the warzone. "I am in a bar near Adam's apartment. I 
can be there within an hour. Is that time enough?"

     "Yes, but don't make it any longer. I'll see you 
then." She hung up before he could say anything else. 
Though he could think of nothing else, anyway. He did not 
think she would hate him, even if she saw that tape. They 
had been through too much together. However, her love for 
her father and Adam, and their inevitable rage once that 
tape did surface, might force her to choose sides. In 
that case, she would not choose Rene's. She would not 
abandon those she loved, any more than Mathilde would 
abandon her own father in the same situation.

     Rene ordered another cup of coffee. The first one 
had gone cold and he would need the caffeine to keep his 
wits about him. He sat in the gloom at the back of the 
bar, sipping cognac and smoking steadily. As he waited 
for his coffee, he hoped, for the thousandth time, that 
he was doing the right thing.

*********

Sometimes, you're the windshield; sometimes, you're the 
bug.
Sometimes, it all falls together, baby; sometimes, you're 
a fool in love.
Sometimes, you're the Louisville Slugger, baby; 
sometimes, you're the ball.
Sometimes, it all comes together, baby; sometimes, you're 
gonna lose it all.


     Amy was cleaning her bathroom and singing along to 
Mary Chapin Carpenter. She never seemed to listen to this 
particular singer, except when she was feeling a bit hard 
done by. Then again, she never cleaned her bathroom 
unless she could possibly help it, either. For some odd 
reason, she had developed an obsession with picking up 
her small apartment in the past few weeks. It was a fair 
distraction and beat crying herself to sleep, which she 
had done for a solid week after her mother's and Keane's 
Watcher's funeral. What a production! Fifty Watchers, 
including several top brass, had shown up. She had no 
doubt that even more had been discouraged from coming, to 
keep the affair reasonably discreet. It had been over a 
year since the organisation had buried any Watchers. 
Director Gabrieli had made all the arrangements, even 
given a speech, so she never needed to do a thing. At 
least Joe had been there to lean on, though it had been 
more a matter of the two of them leaning on each other 
and both of them leaning on Azar, Dr. Galbon and Keane. 
Thank God Keane had been willing to drive. Keane had 
drawn dark looks from some Watchers, but a few sharp 
words from Gabrieli took care of that, at least on the 
surface.

     *Got things on your mind today, girl? Maybe the 
return of a certain tall, dark and barking mad Immortal 
to town?* She shook her head, trying to concentrate on 
scrubbing. The smell of bleach made her cough; she must 
have overdone it. She fled the bathroom, going to rinse 
off her hands in the kitchen sink, then sat down on the 
couch to watch some TV. Her cleaning buzz was finally 
wearing off, it seemed. At this rate, it would take her 
all day just to clean the shower. She lit a cigarette, 
taking a deep drag on it and sinking into the couch. 
She'd been a good girl for months about her smoking, but 
with all that had happened recently, she had fallen off 
the Nicotine Patch wagon in a big way.

     Dr. Galbon hadn't let her visit Ben in hospital. She 
was a bad influence on him, or something. Galbon hadn't 
been very clear about why. She had tried, once, to get in 
behind his back, but the staff had turned her down flat. 
No visitors. Never mind that she was driving Joe up there 
twice a week. Apparently, her father did not count when 
it came to that ban. So, she had to sit in the waiting 
room, read magazines and smoke, while he visited with 
Ben. 

     The least Galbon could have done was tell her that 
Ben was out of hospital, now. She had to find out by 
calling Joe at the bar the day before to find out when 
she needed to come in to help out. Ben had picked up the 
phone. He seemed happy to hear her voice, cheerful as a 
puppy escaped from the pound. After ten minutes of in-
depth discussion about the historical influences of the 
film "Asterix & Obelix: Mission Cleopatra", he finally 
gave her over to Joe. For a moment, she'd thought he was 
going to admit to having known Cleopatra, but it seemed 
he wasn't that far gone. Perhaps he was just winding her 
up.

     Truth be told, she didn't know what to think. Less 
than a month ago, she had murdered four men for the man, 
and she didn't even know why. *Oh, you know why," said 
her still, small inner voice. "Stop denying it.*

     She finished her cigarette, sighed and let her head 
fall back on the couch. "I am *not* in love with Ben. 
That is ridiculous."

     *You keep telling yourself that, Amy Thomas. Maybe 
you'll start to believe it.* And damned if this time, her 
inner voice didn't sound like Ben.

     No, not Ben. Methos. She was a fool to think she was 
even in with a chance with a man like that, an Immortal 
as old as that. Christ, he must have been with thousands, 
more like tens of thousands of women during his Horseman 
millennium alone. And how about those 68 wives? *You want 
to be number 69, little girl?*

     She closed her eyes. "Well...I just might." And why 
was she beginning to think that Alexa Bond, his last one, 
had been a lucky woman? Dead at 30 of cancer and still a 
lucky woman? And yet, Joe seemed to think so, too.

     *You're a fool. There is no way that man loves you. 
He barely notices you.* And yet, he had noticed her the 
day she killed for him. He had thanked her. And when Rene 
and Keane had tried to get him to leave with them, he 
wouldn't let go of her. It had taken half an hour of 
fast-talking by all three of them before he had let Rene 
and Keane take him back to the car so that she could call 
the clean-up crew.

     Ah, bugger it. She still had a tub to clean. She 
went back into the bathroom. She was almost done when her 
mobile rang. Naturally, she had left it on the other side 
of the apartment, on top of the refrigerator, so she had 
to sprint to catch it on the fourth ring.

     "Hullo?" she said, a bit breathlessly.

    "Amy?" It was Joe...Dad...whatever her mind was 
calling him today.

     "Hi, Joe. What's up?"

     "Honey, we need to see you. Right away."

     "You and Ben, you mean?" Of course it was the two of 
them. Amy had dropped Joe off at Ben's place last night, 
after Galbon took Ben home. Ben...Adam...Methos. God, one 
was as bad as the other when it came to the Name Game. 
"What's wrong?"

     "Not over the phone. Can you meet us at the bar? 
We're on our way there." He sounded odd. 

     She felt a flash of irritation. She'd seen him every 
day since Christmas. Couldn't he leave her be for one 
day? "I'm kind of in the middle of cleaning my bathroom. 
Can't it wait a bit?"

     Joe didn't laugh, which cued her immediately that 
this was very serious, not just him being clingey. 
"Christ, Amy. Clean it some other time. It's not a 
national crisis if you wait a few days."

     "It is when I haven't done it in a year," Amy 
muttered, half to herself. "Even the spiders won't live 
in there anymore. Never mind. I'm also done. I'll be 
right over."

     "Thanks, honey. I appreciate it." She heard cars 
whooshing by in the background. They must be parked by 
the side of the road. She  hoped that meant that Joe was 
driving and not Ben. Paris was not yet ready for the 
Immortal Methos' triumphant return to the road.

    "Joe, what is this about?" she asked, feeling uneasy.

     Joe hesitated. "I'll tell you when we get there, 
honey."

     "Tell her it's about that fucking bastard Galbon," 
Ben said in the background. She felt herself go cold. 
They had found out. Somehow, they had found out.

     "I'll be right over," she said. "Don't go anywhere. 
Stay at the bar."

     As soon as she hung up, she tried to call Dr. 
Galbon, but of course, his phone was turned off. Typical. 
After what he'd already gone through because of that 
stupid habit, one would hope the man had learned by now.

     She'd have to try him later, if she got the chance. 
She rubbed her forehead, feeling the beginning of a 
headache, and went back to the bathroom to finish up with 
a good spritz down with the showerhead. There was still 
some mold here and there, but it would just have to do. 
When she was done, she changed her clothes and got the 
folder out from under the bed. She let the photos spill 
out onto the bed, photos of her father doing his 
damnedest to murder her uncle, and apparently succeeding. 
When Galbon first gave them to her, she had resolved to 
destroy them. But in the excitement about Croft and 
Eddie, she had nearly forgotten about them, only getting 
them out of Joe's safe a few hours before Joe and Ben got 
back from Scotland. Oh, what a disaster that could have 
been....

     Once she got them back to her apartment, she'd 
reconsidered destroying them right away. They might come 
in useful someday, though she couldn't imagine why. Now, 
she could imagine. If she was going to save poor Rene's 
sorry ass, she'd need to show Joe and Ben just how 
serious that confrontation out in the woods had been. She 
had no other proof of Croft's vicious streak save her own 
word. From the way Ben had sounded, she didn't think that 
was going to be enough. She'd just have to hope that the 
photos would be. She loved Joe. All right. It was honesty 
time. She loved them both. And they could be amazingly 
tolerant. But when pushed too far, she had no doubt that 
they could each be profoundly vindictive. The Watcher 
database made that all too clear. And together? Well, 
just ask Jacob Galati. Or Morgan Walker. She couldn't 
help a small smile at that. Walker had deserved his fate.

     But Galbon wouldn't. He deserved better, whatever 
he'd done in the past. She knew that much about him.

     For once, she made good time in the traffic and 
arrived at the bar about an hour after Joe's call. She 
got out of the car, squared her shoulders, took a deep 
breath and walked up to the bar with far more confidence 
than she felt, the envelope under one arm. She tried to 
peer through the door before she came in, but the glare 
from the sun defeated her. She pushed open the door and 
went in.

    That weedy, Sorbonne student she'd hired last week 
was in the bar. She nodded to him. He smiled back, but he 
looked nervous. Ah, that would be from having met Ben. 
Ben could be seriously intimidating when he was angry. 
And she already knew that he was angry.

     "They are out back, Miss Thomas. They said to ask 
you to go out there when you came. Do you want something 
to drink?"

     "Oui, merci, Jacques. I'll have a pint of Coke, 
please. With ice." She watched as Jacques drew the pint. 
"Met, um, Adam, did you?" The kid cringed. Yep. Got it in 
one, as Joe liked to say.

     "Don't worry," she said as he handed her the pint. 
"He's not usually like that. Really. He's just having a 
very bad day." He didn't look reassured. She didn't feel 
very reassured, herself. She considered bumming a 
cigarette off him for a quick fag before she faced the 
music, then decided she'd procrastinated enough already. 
She went out through the curtain.

     They were in the office, the small endtable pulled 
up between Joe's wheelchair and the couch. Ben was 
sitting there, leaning forward, arms on his knees, 
playing unenthusiastically with a soft drink glass. Joe 
sat across from him, sipping coffee. They both looked up 
as she walked in.

     "Hullo," she said, smiling nervously, unsure of her 
reception. Fortunately, her father smiled back. So did 
Ben, though his smile was twitchier. He moved over so she 
could sit down. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of 
being in such close proximity to him, but did so anyway, 
setting her Coke down next to Ben's lemonade.

     "What's that?" Joe said. Damn, he would notice the 
envelope right off.

     "Something that I think may be relevant to the 
discussion at hand." She set the envelope down next to 
her, on the other side from Ben so he wouldn't be tempted 
to take a peek. "But first, could you please tell me what 
is going on?"

     Joe glanced at Ben. She glanced at Ben, too, but he 
would not make eye contact with either of them. Instead, 
he continued to fiddle with his glass. She could feel the 
anger coming off him, like heat lightning. She looked 
back at Joe, who sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. 
He didn't look so much angry as tired. Old. She felt a 
wave of fear and compassion for him, and she had to bite 
back her tears. Aside from an aunt and a cousin on his 
side of the tree, he was the only family she had left. 
She wasn't ready to lose him. She probably wouldn't be 
ready for a long time.

     "Methos...Ben, got a package this morning," her 
father said, watching Ben, "from a guy named Harold 
Croft. You heard of him?"

     "Assistant Director of Finance for the European 
Division, yes," she said, then ventured, "Didn't he go on 
an extended vacation last month?"

     "Something like that. Harold Croft is dead. 
According to Director Gabrieli, Ben's shrink, Rene 
Galbon, killed him." Now, Joe was watching her. What did 
he suspect about her? "You know Rene?"

    "We've met," she said, feeling her way. Suddenly, she 
felt herself in the middle of a quagmire. There were 
other ways to lose her father than death. She'd lied to 
him, gone behind his back. How much would he be willing 
to forgive? "The week you were gone over Thansgiving. I 
had to cover for you when he came to the bar looking for 
Ben. I told you, you remember?"

     Joe grimaced in what looked like unwilling 
admiration. Oh, *that* conversation, indeed.  She 
wondered if these two would be so angry if they both 
hadn't spent the past month and a half scrambling for a 
way to get out from under Galbon's perfectly justified 
anger about that abandonment. No one had any high moral 
ground in this room. Then, Ben shifted next to her, 
huffing out a breath, Joe's face went grim and she lost 
whatever sense of minor triumph she'd had.

     "Gabrieli also said you were there, honey," Joe 
said. "When Croft was killed."

     "Ah." She let her shoulders sag. "I see. Well, as a 
matter of fact...I was."

     "What were you doing there?" Ben said, so suddenly 
that she jumped. She was surprised when he put a hand on 
her wrist. It was a gentle gesture, no doubt meant to 
reassure, but the implications of it didn't reassure her 
at all. It fed too much into her recent thoughts about 
him. Rubbing her sweating palms on her jeans and staring 
at the floor, she groped to remember his question.

     "What was I doing there. Yes. Well, if you must 
know, I was saving Dr. Rene Galbon's ass."

     She looked up. They both looked stunned. "Why?" Joe 
said finally.

     The tape. It had to have been the tape. There was 
too much rage in the room for anything less. "Because 
Croft caught him in his apartment, and I followed them 
both when Croft took him out to the Bois-la-Ville to 
murder him."

     "Murder him?" Ben should have looked shocked, but 
didn't. "What for? Not just for finding him in his home, 
surely?"

     "And why take him all the way out there?" Joe 
sounded ill. She didn't blame him, considering that he 
and Ben had been held prisoner a few miles away only 
weeks later.

    "Croft was a Hunter." She paused, rubbing her face. 
"No, that's not exactly it. Croft financed the Hunters. 
He controlled Horton. At least that's what he said. 
Though I must say, he came off very convincingly from 
what I heard. *I* believed him."

     "Ben thinks Gabrieli was lying about Croft's 
involvement," Joe said.

     "No, I can see that now." Ben sounded as though he 
had already hit his yearly quota for betrayal in a single 
day. "About fifteen years ago, I asked Harold to make 
James Horton disappear for awhile and he did. I just 
assumed he was a man who knew where all the bodies were 
buried. I never thought he was actually involved with 
Horton. I guess I just didn't want to."

     Joe gave Ben a look as if to say, "What the hell is 
*that* supposed to mean?" Amy jumped in before he could.

     "As it so happens, he did know where all the bodies 
were buried, because it seems he put a lot of them 
there." Might as well get this over with and get to that 
tape. "That was why he forced Re--Dr. Galbon to drive out 
to the Bois-la-Ville. He'd killed before-- other Watchers 
who had found him out or crossed him in some way. I'm not 
even sure he made a distinction between one category and 
the other. Anyone who got in his way was an enemy, I 
think." She looked sideways at Ben, who was looking 
everywhere but at her. "If it matters, I don't think 
Galbon wanted to kill Croft, even at the end. He was sick 
about it after it was all over, literally. I had a hell 
of a time getting him out of there; Croft had just about 
bashed his head in and he kept muttering 'forgive me, 
forgive me' over and over again in French. I don't think 
Croft gave him any other option, though. The man was in a 
rage. Even after Galbon broke his arm, he kept coming. 
Not that Galbon was in any position to show mercy. 
Frankly, I'd have shot the bastard myself if I could have 
got a clear shot."

    "But what was Rene doing in Croft's apartment in the 
first place?" Joe sounded puzzled. She couldn't blame 
him. It had been a stupid move. Galbon had been a 
desperate man that week. She still remembered him sitting 
in the bar, offering her a cigarette, telling her about 
his daughter Mathilde. And in the woods after Croft's 
death, weeping and covered with blood. She couldn't hate 
him for what he had done in the past. She knew that 
Croft's death would haunt him for the rest of his life, 
as those four men in the woods would haunt her. Strangely 
enough, though, she did not feel any guilt whatsoever 
about killing Eddie Brill. And if she went to Hell for 
that, she would do so cheerfully. Brill, like Walker, had 
fully deserved his coup de grace.

     "Rene was looking for the tape you saw this 
morning," she said. That got their attention. Ben's head 
came up and Joe's eyes widened. "That's what was in the 
package, wasn't it? A tape showing Rene Galbon murdering 
another man with a sword?"

     Joe swore quietly. Ben hunched his shoulders and 
lowered his head, as if she had struck him. 

     "How did you find out about the tape?" Joe asked 
her. "Did Rene tell you? Amy?"

     She nodded, distracted, watching Ben. He tightened 
his grip on her wrist a little. Poor bastard. This 
couldn't be pleasant for him. She turned her hand palm-up 
and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze of her own. He 
stared back at her, startled.

     "Are you okay?" Joe's voice broke into the moment. 
She wasn't sure whom he meant.

    "Sure," Ben said, though he sounded shaky. He looked 
at her. "You've seen it?" She shook her head.

     "No. Galbon told me about it," she admitted. "I was 
helping him find it." Ben relaxed, but not completely. 
She glanced at Joe. Her father was looking back and forth 
between her and Ben as if he didn't know them. He looked 
suspicious and upset. She'd deal with that later. Right 
now, she had to finish what she had come to do. "A Hunter 
named Eddie Brill showed up, blackmailing Galbon with the 
tape a day or two after you left for Scotland. Galbon 
came to me for help. We followed the trail to Croft after 
Galbon found evidence that Croft had the tape, but not 
the tape itself."

    "What kind of evidence?" Joe said, his voice hard. 
"And why would you help him, anyway?"

     She ticked off the pertinent bits of evidence. 
"Among other things, a tape of Galbon confronting Horton 
in his office and being struck from behind by Brill, a 
tape of Ben confronting Horton, also in his office, 
apparently over a Methos chronicle, a tape of former 
Director Jason Anders having sex with his mistress in 
*his* office...and this. The reason why I helped Galbon." 
Upending the folder, she dumped the photos out onto the 
endtable.

     At first, her father merely sat there, staring down 
at the pictures as if he didn't know what they could be. 
Ben moved first, leaning forward and piecing out the 
pictures so that they all lay, face up and uncovered. He 
arranged them in order. It wasn't hard. Croft, or 
whatever stooge he had used, had made a point of catching 
all the pertinent moments of action--Joe challenging 
Horton, Joe reaching for his gun, Joe shooting Horton, 
Horton falling into the river, the look on Joe's face. 
And the most damning photo of all--Joe and Duncan MacLeod 
meeting afterwards. It was all there.

     "I take it this is from the fall after Darius died," 
Ben said quietly. "When you and Mac tried to kill Horton 
the first time. After Mac got you involved."

     Joe swallowed and nodded. "I never thought...when no 
witnesses or evidence turned up, I guess I just assumed I 
was home free. And when James turned up again, I didn't 
think anybody would come after me. Not like the Watchers 
would believe a renegade like Horton if he tried to 
denounce me for shooting him." He looked at Ben and 
grimaced. "No offense."

     Ben shook his head. "None taken." He smiled 
crookedly. "No, you're right. It was regulations. You 
were supposed to kill Horton as soon as you found out he 
was interfering. Only problem was, Croft caught you on 
film interfering at pretty much the same time." He 
reached out again and started rubbing Amy's wrist gently, 
absently. She didn't think he knew he was doing it, but 
Joe noticed. Her father watched them both, frowning. 
Friendship between a Mortal and an Immortal was bad 
enough, but love? She knew Joe had personally executed a 
Watcher once for helping her Immortal lover try to kill 
MacLeod. She didn't think he'd approve.

     No. She had to stop this now. Even if it hurt Ben. 
She tried not to think about how much it might hurt her. 
Gently, she pulled her arm away from Ben, gathered up the 
photos and put them back in the folder. She kept her face 
averted, to avoid seeing his reaction. Standing up, she 
went and got the wastebin. She brought it back, sat down, 
fished out her lighter and held the envelope over the 
bin. She looked at her father first, then Ben. "Any 
objections?"

     Joe raised his eyebrows at the lighter, then shook 
his head. Ben shrugged, his face expressionless. She 
hoped he wasn't angry with her, though perhaps anger 
would be a good thing for him right now. It certainly 
beat suicidal depression any day of the week. She should 
know. She flicked the lighter under one corner of the 
folder, holding it there until her fingers started to 
scorch. The corner scorched and curled, turning black. 
When it caught fire, she dropped it in the wastebin. The 
conflagration was impressive but brief, the photos adding 
colours to the flames as they went up. When the fire had 
died down to ashes, she started to take off her shoe to 
grind them out. Ben put a hand on her arm to stop her.

     "No," he said, his eyes crinkled with bitter 
amusement. "Allow me." 

     She looked at Joe. He shrugged. "I would, but I 
don't have my cane with me." He chuckled, looking almost 
as bitter as Ben. Amy handed Ben the wastebin, which was 
still warm but not hot. He took it from her, set it on 
the floor and stomped on the ashes inside for close to a 
minute. She had a feeling that those burning photos were 
not the only fire he was trying to stamp out. She hoped, 
for his sake, that it was working.

*********

     I didn't like what I was seeing, not at all. Look, 
don't get me wrong, Old Man. I love you both. In theory, 
I don't have any objections to you dating my daughter. 
I'm sure that would shock the Hell out of you to hear it, 
but I saw how you treated Alexa. I loved her like a 
daughter and let's face it, you treated her like a 
goddess on earth. Hell, yes, I'd say that Amy deserves 
that kind of treatment, and I have no doubt that's how 
you would treat her. I could see the way you were looking 
at her, like she was the next "one woman in ten 
lifetimes". I recognised those puppy-dog eyes and the 
shy, goofy grad student body language. That was no act, 
either. I thought it was, at first, when you were chasing 
after Alexa, but nope, you really are a fool for love. 
You throw your whole heart on the table on the first bet, 
and if you lose, well, that's life.

     But there was no way that you and Amy were gonna 
work out as a couple right now. It wasn't just that she's 
a Watcher and you're an Immortal. You're a Watcher, too, 
no matter how much you may have screwed the pooch with 
us. It was just possible that you could squeak by with 
dating somebody within the organisation--but not when you 
were so far out in la-la land that you didn't even know 
what century you were in half the time. Your head was so 
far up your ass, it could take years before you extracted 
it. Not that Amy was doing too well, either. She was so 
busy pretending that everything was fine that she wasn't 
coping with her mother's death at all. Poor Eleanor. Poor 
Amy and poor you. No matter what you felt for each other, 
I sure knew one thing--Amy deserved better than a 
headcase and you deserved better than a nurse.

     But whether either of you were gonna pay any 
attention to anything I said--well, that was a whole 
different story.

     As you were finishing up stomping out those photos, 
Amy's cellphone rang. She pulled it out and stepped 
outside the office into the back room to take the call--
you were making one Hell of a racket. "Feel better?" I 
said, as you finished up.

     You grinned. It was a little too manic. You look 
desperately in need of a nap. I know I felt like one 
myself. "Oh, yeah," you said. "How about you? Glad to be 
rid of them?"

    "Yeah, I guess." I stared at the wastebasket, chewing 
on my lip. Truth be told, it made me sad. I didn't regret 
shooting James rather than letting him escape (even if he 
did escape anyway, that time), but I sure did regret the 
necessity of it. It sucks to find out that your brother-
in-law is a fanatic with no feelings for you at all when 
it comes right down to it. I didn't bother to tell you 
that. There was never any love lost between you two. You 
weren't about to start mourning him at this late date, 
anymore than I was about to start mourning Kronos.

     Amy came back inside as you were putting the 
wastebasket back next to the desk and sitting back down. 
She eyed you. "Feel better?"

     "Absolutely," you said, the manic edge showing a 
little more. I'd better get you home before you fell 
apart. It was only mid-afternoon but we'd both had a big 
day. I was thinking chinese food and a video, and maybe a 
long, winter's nap if I could persuade you to take one of 
the sleeping pills Rene had left behind. Actually, I had 
a few myself I could give you. I haven't slept well since 
'Nam. I could always talk you into taking something I 
used on occasion myself. I'd just have to hope it 
wouldn't clash with your Zoloft. I winced inside. Damn. 
The Zoloft. No way you'd take it now, but after Rene's 
lecture to me late last night about the nasty side 
effects of sudden withdrawal from anti-depressants, I 
wasn't looking forward to seeing you go through that. 
Christ, what a mess.

     "Who was on the phone?" you asked as she sat down 
next to you.

     "Actually, it was Rene Galbon," she said, watching 
us both.

     "Guess he found his stuff," you said, smiling with 
no pity at all. The ketchup had been all your idea. You'd 
really enjoyed the symbolism.

     I sighed. "Figures. Did you tell him what's going 
on?"

     She shook her head. "No. I didn't want to get into 
it on the phone. But I rather got the impression that 
Gabrieli had contacted him." You snorted in disgust. She 
regarded you sadly. "Gabrieli wouldn't let him go on in 
ignorance. I learned that much when I helped Rene. 
Gabrieli may be a cold bastard, but he backs his people 
up." She looked back and forth between us. "Rene is 
coming here. I'm going to meet him outside and bring him 
in so we can all talk this out. Please tell me you won't 
try to kill him."

     I didn't say anything. You sprawled on the couch, 
arms spread out on the top of it. "All right. We won't 
kill him," you said, with no conviction whatsoever. I 
snorted and shook my head.

     She frowned at you. "Not funny, Ben. I won't lead 
him into a trap." She held your gaze. After a moment you 
looked down.

    "Okay," you said. "We'll listen to what he has to 
say." You looked up at me. "We can always kill him 
afterwards; right, Joe?"

    She looked at me. "Yeah, okay," I said. "Right now, 
I'd settle for some solid evidence that he's quit the 
Hunters for good."

     She looked as unhappy as I felt. "I don't know if 
even he knows that, Joe." She stood up. "I'll bring him 
in when he gets here." She left the office and went back 
out through the curtain into the bar.

    The silence after that got real uncomfortable before 
I decided I'd better break it. "So, are you gonna forgive 
him, or what?"

     You scowled at me. "He was a Hunter, Joe."

     "And you used to be a Horseman. And I've broken my 
Watcher oath more times than I can count. And yeah I've 
killed and gotten both Immortals and other Watchers 
killed. So what?" You wouldn't look at me. Now that I had 
some time and breath to think, I could see why. Yeah, 
Rene had been a very bad boy in the past, but what really 
scared us both was what he was doing now, and might do 
from now on, to us. I'm not gonna blow smoke up anybody's 
butt; I'm not a very nice man. Neither are you. We are 
survivors, both of us, and we live by a survivor's code. 
They leave us and ours alone and we'll leave them alone, 
too--whoever "they" might be. Much as I admire the moral 
heroism of guys like Darius or Mac, the truth is, I just 
don't see the world that way. I see it like you do.

     I chewed it all over. "If he can convince us that 
he's not doing it now.... Methos, we don't have any 
evidence that he hurt either one of us, or anyone we 
knew. You've been his friend for fifteen years, for 
Christ's sake. Almost as long as you've known me. Doesn't 
that count for something?"

     "I think they must have made that tape back in '87," 
you said, half to yourself. "Rene ended up in hospital 
for a month. Tried to top himself in a bar and got 
arrested for it. Sean bailed him out of jail and straight 
into a padded cell." Ah. So, maybe this had to do with 
more than your growing some abstract morality. "Sean 
wouldn't tell me much, and Rene told me even less. But it 
must have been pretty bad. Rene was a mess for months 
afterwards."

     "And then?" I prompted you. You knew Rene a lot 
better than I did.

     "And then...and then he got tangled up with Horton, 
somehow. I found him cold-cocked in an alleyway and he 
said Horton had done it. I got Croft to transfer Horton 
out and away from Rene. It must have been then. He must 
have trying to get out and they set him up, tried to 
blackmail him." You closed your eyes and rubbed them. "I 
don't know, Joe. I just don't know. This is serious shit. 
I must say, I am having trouble with it. Rene wasn't a 
safe guy to be around back then."

     "Kind of like you are now, don't you think?" You 
glowered at me. "Don't give me that look. I sold you out 
to Walker and you still forgave me. Rene's known you're 
Immortal long enough to try to kill you if he wanted to 
and he never has. Seems to me what's really bothering you 
is that he went through what you're going through now. 
And maybe, just maybe, when he tells you his judgements' 
better than yours and you'll thank him later, he means 
it. And maybe he's right."

     "Since when did you suddenly turn into Rene Galbon's 
buddy?" you snapped. Oooh. You were pissed off, now. You 
didn't like that. God forbid Rene might actually be right 
about you being hazardous to your own health and the 
health of everybody around you.

     "I didn't. I've just had some time to think, that's 
all. I want to know what you're gonna do. Seems to me, if 
you're gonna raise Harold Croft to sainthood, the least 
you can do is let Rene off the hook while you're at it." 
I watched you, as you slumped back onto the couch, trying 
to figure out your mood. "So, what are you going to do?"

     You sighed and grimaced. "I don't know, Joe. I just 
don't know."

Continued in part three

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