Shades and Echoes -- Ch. 12
Since you've all been waiting so very patiently, without any further ado, here it is.
Chapter Twelve
Adam Pierson's classes were the usual combination of boring and bemusing -- the history they were teaching these days was marginally more accurate than the stuff they had been teaching a few centuries ago, but only marginally -- and he shoveled his books into his bag at the end of his last lesson with a feeling of relief that was only slightly tempered by the knowledge that he had to be at the barge within the hour. The only positive there was that he hadn't the time to stop by Le Blues Bar and get his daily lecture on safety from a pair of old men a mere fraction of his age.
The past two weeks had been almost spectacularly uneventful. No Immortals had popped out of the woodwork; Kranzinsky's Watcher had been reassigned to an Immortal who never left Eastern Europe -- thanks in part to Dawson's string-pulling, Methos was sure. Even Fitzcairn and Amanda had been relatively well-behaved -- for a given value of 'well' -- so of course as as Methos made his way through Paris' foggy, rain-dark streets, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The metaphorical thud came in the form of Quickening-signature, trailing down the back of his neck and setting the hairs there on end. When the sensation faded a few seconds later, Methos was torn between suspicion and relief. Five seconds later the first emotion won out, as whoever it was came back into range. His eyes narrowed in irritation. He really wasn't in the mood for what was essentially the Immortal equivalent of ringing someone's doorbell and then running off before they opened it.
For a brief moment he gave thought to tracking down the irritant and removing them permanently from the scene. Caution, however, made itself heard, and Methos decided against doing anything but going straight to the barge. Whoever was doing this might well have a Watcher, and he'd been lucky once already where they were concerned. Shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets, Methos put his head down and kept walking.
The idiot stalking him was at least persistent; Methos could grant them that much. They kept slipping in and out of range the entire way to the barge, and by the time he got there, Methos was seriously annoyed. The other's presence faded away as his foot hit the gangplank, bringing MacLeod into range, and he allowed himself to hope that whoever it was had gotten spooked by the Highlander's reputation.
He knocked, tapping out a rhythm that had no particular meaning, but had once been part of the refrain of his favourite song, eight or nine hundred years ago. After a moment, MacLeod opened the door, sword in hand -- just as Methos' stalker decided to step back into range. Looking alarmed rather than murderous was one of the most difficult things Methos had ever done. He managed it -- barely -- and found himself being herded onto the barge by a Highlander who suddenly resembled nothing so much as a mother hen. The other's presence didn't fade away, not this time. Methos suddenly got the uneasy feeling that maybe he'd led whoever-it-was straight to MacLeod; that that had been their goal all along.
"Stay here," MacLeod told him firmly, and Methos bit down the urge to snap at the man. "I'll be right back." The Scot grabbed his coat and slid his sword into it, pulling the garment on as he ducked out the door into the wet, foggy streets. Methos managed not to stare after him open-mouthed, but it was a close-run thing. Had no one ever taught the man the meaning of prudence? Or caution?
Darius is right; the man definitely needs someone to help temper that overenthusiasm of his. When he realized what he'd just thought, Methos shook his head to clear it. Adam Pierson had no business trying to rein in his teacher, and Methos had no intention of so exposing himself to MacLeod, no matter what the priest was hoping. Bloody hell, but he hoped the man didn't get himself killed, running off like that after the Gods-know-who.
Fortunately for Methos' nerves, MacLeod came back without ever fully getting out of range himself. He was scowling, his handsome features dark with the same irritation that Methos was hiding so carefully. Adam would be rattled, not annoyed.
"I guess whoever it was got scared away," MacLeod said. Methos almost left it at that; wasn't entirely sure what prompted him to speak up.
"I don't think so." Adam shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot at MacLeod's raised eyebrow. "I think... I think they followed me here from school. I kept feeling someone off and on almost the entire way here."
"What?!" Adam shrank back from the anger in MacLeod's voice, while Methos fought to keep from wincing. If he'd thought himself smothered in cotton wool before... The anxiety in the Highlander's eyes was proof enough of that. "Did you get a look at him?"
Methos shook his head. "No such luck." Then, because Adam would have, "Do you think he's after me specifically, or just anyone who happened along?"
"I don't know." Anyone else would have lied, tried to comfort him. MacLeod was too honest for that, and it made something in Methos' gut twist painfully. "It doesn't matter, though," the Highlander continued. "I'm not going to let him anywhere near you." That made Methos' stomach feel as if he were in freefall, and it only got worse when MacLeod told him, "We'll go back to your flat and pack after we're finished for the day."
"Pack?" Adam's near-panic was audible in the high-pitched tones of his voice. It did a good job of covering Methos' suspicion and reluctance. "Why?"
"You're going to stay here with me for a day or two," MacLeod explained. "Just until I deal with whoever that was, or until he moves on."
"I can't do that!" It was Adam's protest, but Methos agreed with it wholeheartedly, albeit for slightly different reasons. "The Watchers will find out! I'll be toast!" Not to mention the effort that Methos would have to put forth in order to avoid slipping up -- and to avoid succumbing to the very real temptation that was Duncan MacLeod. Taking daily lessons from the man was bad enough. Sharing living quarters with him would take the slow-smouldering desire that nagged at the corners of his mind and put it front and center -- and Methos hated having to resist temptation.
"It'll only be for a couple of days," MacLeod said, clearly doing his best to sound reassuring and immovable all at the same time. "We'll let Dawson know; he can cover for you. He's been doing it for weeks."
"This is different!" Adam protested. MacLeod remained intractable.
"It's for your own protection," he said, in the flat tone that meant that there were no arguments that Adam could employ that would change his mind.
"Wonderful," Methos muttered. The Highlander ignored him.
"Come on, then," he said, standing back up. "We still need to get your lesson in before it gets too dark."
***
"...so I'll be staying at the barge for the foreseeable future," Adam said, throwing an irritated glance over his shoulder at MacLeod, who was standing just out of earshot, pretending to be absorbed by the various decorations Joe had hung on the walls of Le Blues Bar over the years.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Joe asked, though he already knew the answer. Adam had always been fairly easygoing, and Methos was, if possible, even more difficult to faze -- but this time, the man was fairly radiating tension. Adam gave him a scathing glance by way of reply, then relented and shook his head.
"It's a bad idea for any number of reasons," he admitted, lowering his voice even further, "not least of which is that even I find it difficult to be someone else each and every minute of the day. But that's my lookout. I just need you to keep Fitzcairn and Amanda's Watchers away, should either of them decide to pay us a visit."
"I'll do my best," Joe promised. "You still might want to stay inside as much as you can, though."
"Understood." Adam tipped his head to one side. "You haven't heard anything about anyone new in town, have you?"
For a moment, the dissonance was jarring. This was Adam Pierson, Watcher, who had every right to the information -- but it was also Methos, oldest Immortal and -- Joe was beginning to realize -- master manipulator. It was one thing to answer Adam; another thing entirely to answer Methos -- who had spotted his dilemma almost as quickly as had Joe himself, and was now smiling ruefully at him, expression closer to good humour than it had been since he'd arrived.
"Never mind," he said, standing up and sliding his hands into his pockets. "I didn't even think about it before I asked. I'm sorry; that wasn't fair of me."
Perhaps it was deliberate; perhaps Methos had apologised with manipulation aforethought, but Joe didn't think so. He sighed.
"I may be able to find out a few things. I'll call the barge tonight and let you know what I've learned."
The smile he got in return was pure Adam, save for the knowing look in Methos' eyes. "Thanks, Joe."
"Yeah, yeah. Get out of here and go pack, would ya? Get him out of my bar before James decides to stop by." That made Adam wince visibly.
"Good idea." He corralled MacLeod with a tilt of his head, saying his goodbyes en route to the exit; then, in a swirl of coats, the two Immortals were gone. Joe leaned back in his chair and sighed. He'd been breaking his oath for friendship's sake for weeks; it would be hypocritical in the extreme to balk at helping now, when actual lives were at stake.
****
Notes
First, thank you to everyone who's read and/or commented so far. Thanks especially for waiting so patiently for this update -- which was far too long in coming. I apologize for that.
Thanks go also to my two wonderful betas, marauderswolf and lferion, without whom this story would not have been updated tonight. You gals are the best.
Finally -- feedback is a wonderful thing. It makes excellent food for the plot-bunnies.
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Twelve
Adam Pierson's classes were the usual combination of boring and bemusing -- the history they were teaching these days was marginally more accurate than the stuff they had been teaching a few centuries ago, but only marginally -- and he shoveled his books into his bag at the end of his last lesson with a feeling of relief that was only slightly tempered by the knowledge that he had to be at the barge within the hour. The only positive there was that he hadn't the time to stop by Le Blues Bar and get his daily lecture on safety from a pair of old men a mere fraction of his age.
The past two weeks had been almost spectacularly uneventful. No Immortals had popped out of the woodwork; Kranzinsky's Watcher had been reassigned to an Immortal who never left Eastern Europe -- thanks in part to Dawson's string-pulling, Methos was sure. Even Fitzcairn and Amanda had been relatively well-behaved -- for a given value of 'well' -- so of course as as Methos made his way through Paris' foggy, rain-dark streets, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The metaphorical thud came in the form of Quickening-signature, trailing down the back of his neck and setting the hairs there on end. When the sensation faded a few seconds later, Methos was torn between suspicion and relief. Five seconds later the first emotion won out, as whoever it was came back into range. His eyes narrowed in irritation. He really wasn't in the mood for what was essentially the Immortal equivalent of ringing someone's doorbell and then running off before they opened it.
For a brief moment he gave thought to tracking down the irritant and removing them permanently from the scene. Caution, however, made itself heard, and Methos decided against doing anything but going straight to the barge. Whoever was doing this might well have a Watcher, and he'd been lucky once already where they were concerned. Shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets, Methos put his head down and kept walking.
The idiot stalking him was at least persistent; Methos could grant them that much. They kept slipping in and out of range the entire way to the barge, and by the time he got there, Methos was seriously annoyed. The other's presence faded away as his foot hit the gangplank, bringing MacLeod into range, and he allowed himself to hope that whoever it was had gotten spooked by the Highlander's reputation.
He knocked, tapping out a rhythm that had no particular meaning, but had once been part of the refrain of his favourite song, eight or nine hundred years ago. After a moment, MacLeod opened the door, sword in hand -- just as Methos' stalker decided to step back into range. Looking alarmed rather than murderous was one of the most difficult things Methos had ever done. He managed it -- barely -- and found himself being herded onto the barge by a Highlander who suddenly resembled nothing so much as a mother hen. The other's presence didn't fade away, not this time. Methos suddenly got the uneasy feeling that maybe he'd led whoever-it-was straight to MacLeod; that that had been their goal all along.
"Stay here," MacLeod told him firmly, and Methos bit down the urge to snap at the man. "I'll be right back." The Scot grabbed his coat and slid his sword into it, pulling the garment on as he ducked out the door into the wet, foggy streets. Methos managed not to stare after him open-mouthed, but it was a close-run thing. Had no one ever taught the man the meaning of prudence? Or caution?
Darius is right; the man definitely needs someone to help temper that overenthusiasm of his. When he realized what he'd just thought, Methos shook his head to clear it. Adam Pierson had no business trying to rein in his teacher, and Methos had no intention of so exposing himself to MacLeod, no matter what the priest was hoping. Bloody hell, but he hoped the man didn't get himself killed, running off like that after the Gods-know-who.
Fortunately for Methos' nerves, MacLeod came back without ever fully getting out of range himself. He was scowling, his handsome features dark with the same irritation that Methos was hiding so carefully. Adam would be rattled, not annoyed.
"I guess whoever it was got scared away," MacLeod said. Methos almost left it at that; wasn't entirely sure what prompted him to speak up.
"I don't think so." Adam shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot at MacLeod's raised eyebrow. "I think... I think they followed me here from school. I kept feeling someone off and on almost the entire way here."
"What?!" Adam shrank back from the anger in MacLeod's voice, while Methos fought to keep from wincing. If he'd thought himself smothered in cotton wool before... The anxiety in the Highlander's eyes was proof enough of that. "Did you get a look at him?"
Methos shook his head. "No such luck." Then, because Adam would have, "Do you think he's after me specifically, or just anyone who happened along?"
"I don't know." Anyone else would have lied, tried to comfort him. MacLeod was too honest for that, and it made something in Methos' gut twist painfully. "It doesn't matter, though," the Highlander continued. "I'm not going to let him anywhere near you." That made Methos' stomach feel as if he were in freefall, and it only got worse when MacLeod told him, "We'll go back to your flat and pack after we're finished for the day."
"Pack?" Adam's near-panic was audible in the high-pitched tones of his voice. It did a good job of covering Methos' suspicion and reluctance. "Why?"
"You're going to stay here with me for a day or two," MacLeod explained. "Just until I deal with whoever that was, or until he moves on."
"I can't do that!" It was Adam's protest, but Methos agreed with it wholeheartedly, albeit for slightly different reasons. "The Watchers will find out! I'll be toast!" Not to mention the effort that Methos would have to put forth in order to avoid slipping up -- and to avoid succumbing to the very real temptation that was Duncan MacLeod. Taking daily lessons from the man was bad enough. Sharing living quarters with him would take the slow-smouldering desire that nagged at the corners of his mind and put it front and center -- and Methos hated having to resist temptation.
"It'll only be for a couple of days," MacLeod said, clearly doing his best to sound reassuring and immovable all at the same time. "We'll let Dawson know; he can cover for you. He's been doing it for weeks."
"This is different!" Adam protested. MacLeod remained intractable.
"It's for your own protection," he said, in the flat tone that meant that there were no arguments that Adam could employ that would change his mind.
"Wonderful," Methos muttered. The Highlander ignored him.
"Come on, then," he said, standing back up. "We still need to get your lesson in before it gets too dark."
***
"...so I'll be staying at the barge for the foreseeable future," Adam said, throwing an irritated glance over his shoulder at MacLeod, who was standing just out of earshot, pretending to be absorbed by the various decorations Joe had hung on the walls of Le Blues Bar over the years.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Joe asked, though he already knew the answer. Adam had always been fairly easygoing, and Methos was, if possible, even more difficult to faze -- but this time, the man was fairly radiating tension. Adam gave him a scathing glance by way of reply, then relented and shook his head.
"It's a bad idea for any number of reasons," he admitted, lowering his voice even further, "not least of which is that even I find it difficult to be someone else each and every minute of the day. But that's my lookout. I just need you to keep Fitzcairn and Amanda's Watchers away, should either of them decide to pay us a visit."
"I'll do my best," Joe promised. "You still might want to stay inside as much as you can, though."
"Understood." Adam tipped his head to one side. "You haven't heard anything about anyone new in town, have you?"
For a moment, the dissonance was jarring. This was Adam Pierson, Watcher, who had every right to the information -- but it was also Methos, oldest Immortal and -- Joe was beginning to realize -- master manipulator. It was one thing to answer Adam; another thing entirely to answer Methos -- who had spotted his dilemma almost as quickly as had Joe himself, and was now smiling ruefully at him, expression closer to good humour than it had been since he'd arrived.
"Never mind," he said, standing up and sliding his hands into his pockets. "I didn't even think about it before I asked. I'm sorry; that wasn't fair of me."
Perhaps it was deliberate; perhaps Methos had apologised with manipulation aforethought, but Joe didn't think so. He sighed.
"I may be able to find out a few things. I'll call the barge tonight and let you know what I've learned."
The smile he got in return was pure Adam, save for the knowing look in Methos' eyes. "Thanks, Joe."
"Yeah, yeah. Get out of here and go pack, would ya? Get him out of my bar before James decides to stop by." That made Adam wince visibly.
"Good idea." He corralled MacLeod with a tilt of his head, saying his goodbyes en route to the exit; then, in a swirl of coats, the two Immortals were gone. Joe leaned back in his chair and sighed. He'd been breaking his oath for friendship's sake for weeks; it would be hypocritical in the extreme to balk at helping now, when actual lives were at stake.
****
Notes
First, thank you to everyone who's read and/or commented so far. Thanks especially for waiting so patiently for this update -- which was far too long in coming. I apologize for that.
Thanks go also to my two wonderful betas, marauderswolf and lferion, without whom this story would not have been updated tonight. You gals are the best.
Finally -- feedback is a wonderful thing. It makes excellent food for the plot-bunnies.
Chapter Thirteen