Rating: R for violence and non-consensual spanking
Fandom/Characters: Highlander  M/C/D
Disclaimers: Don’t own them, don’t make money off of them.
Author’s Note: This is a first time effort so please keep that in mind while you read it.
E-mail: [email protected]
Feedback: Always welcomed, flames used to make smores

When they were introduced Connor had thought Adam Pierson was Duncan’s new student as well as his lover. At the time it seemed a good idea to let the mistake ride. Initially Connor intrigued Methos. According to Watcher lore, Connor had a reputation for being a quiet, intense loner who would do anything for the few people he called friends. However Watcher lore didn’t mention Connor’s tendency to lecture, nag and boss around “young lads who need to listen to their elders”.  Methos shuddered as he remembered the unwanted advice (“move faster lad if you want to keep your head!”), criticism (“is that the only sweater you own?”) and downright orders (“no beer – you’ll eat porridge for breakfast like the rest of us.”) that had filled the loft these past weeks. When Methos appealed to his lover for help Mac had just kissed him and said he thought it was all rather cute … cute!

“I don’t do cute,” Methos muttered as he slammed the car door shut and gunned the engine.

Just when Methos thought it couldn’t get any worse Duncan had left on an unexpected buying trip last week and refused to take Methos with him.  “You’ll be fine here with Connor,” he assured his stunned lover. “It’s only for a few days and I’ll be happier knowing Connor is watching your back.”

“I don’t need a nursemaid MacLeod!”

Duncan had hugged him and nibbled gently on his earlobe.  Methos pulled away, “It won’t work Mac, I’m not staying here with him!”

“C’mon Methos.”

“You can pull that lip in MacLeod, the answer is still no.”

“As a favor then … please?”

Methos made the mistake of looking into big dark brown eyes and melted.

“All right, all right – you win,” Methos grumbled.  “But I refuse to eat haggis or get up at the crack of dawn or…”

Duncan stopped Methos litany with a quick kiss and a smile.  “I’ll be back before you know it,” he had promised.

Methos snorted as he tore down the dark back streets of Seacouver. Tonight Connor had greeted him with the news that Duncan had called and wouldn’t be back for another week, possibly two.

“It’ll give us time to whip you into shape,” Connor stated.  “You’ve wasted enough time at that library, you need to focus on your training. How do you expect to survive a challenge if you spend the day with your nose in a book?”

“I’ll practice when Duncan returns,” Methos grated out between clenched teeth as he headed for the refrigerator.

“You’ll practice after dinner.”

Methos yanked the refrigerator door open. “I SAID ‘I’ll practice…’” Methos froze as his eyes scanned the shelves in front of him. “Where’s my beer?”

“And that’s another thing. You drink far too much…”

“Where’s MY BEER?” Methos bellowed as he frantically searched the refrigerator as though the two six packs would magically appear behind the mustard jar.

“I poured it down the drain. You drink far too…”

“YOU WHAT!?!”

Connor scowled “Will you stop interrupting me with your caterwauling? Adam! Where do you…”

Methos never heard the rest as he spun on his heel and headed out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

<I’d do the Immortal community a service and behead the son of a bitch, but MacLeod would never forgive me, > Methos fumed pounding his fist on the steering wheel.

<I need a drink … several drinks ... I can’t go to Joe’s …  that Scottish sheep lover is probably calling him right now. >

 Methos came out of his reverie and realized he was in the seedier part of town, somewhere near the docks. Just then he spied a brightly lit “BEER” sign hanging over a windowless storefront down the block. He parked the car and headed for sanctuary. Methos stepped inside the crowded establishment and looked around. Santana blared from the jukebox, dim flyspeck lights barely cut through the smoky haze. Mismatched chairs and tables were scattered around the narrow room and cracked red plastic booths lined the far wall. Methos grinned. This was his kind of place. Connor would never think of looking for him here. Methos found a table in the back and ordered his first drink.

Several hours later Methos was completing another pyramid of empty shot glasses when the “buzz” hit him. Startled he peered through the smoke and packed bodies to see who had just entered the bar but the doorway was empty.

Methos staggered to his feet and scanned the room. <I gotta get out of here, > he thought hazily grabbing his coat <I couldn’t fight a toddler right now. >

Methos stumbled out the back door into the alley outside. <Gods, what was in those drinks? > Methos wondered as he shivered in the cold mist. <I must be getting old, it use to take more than that to get me drunk. >

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets and hunching his shoulders Methos headed for the street. He was halfway there when a car pulled into the alley and stopped. Methos stepped behind a dumpster and watched as several young men got out and unloaded a number of sports bags from the trunk. Just as they finished another car pulled up beside them and more men joined the group.

Frustration boiled through Methos. <This is just fucking perfect. Stuck in a blind alley with a drug buy blocking one exit and some bloody Immortal blocking the other … this is all Connor’s fault! >

Abruptly the “buzz” fizzed along his nerves again.

<Right on cue. > Methos thought bitterly. He couldn’t see anyone in the darkness but the “buzz” was getting stronger.  Choosing the lesser of two evils Methos slid around the dumpster and headed toward the group by the exit clearing his throat noisily as he walked.

“ Excuse me? Guys? Sorry, I need to get by.”

Methos tried to look harmless as he approached the group.  Two large hulking shadows stepped forward, blocking his way.  “Who the Hell are you?”

“Nobody,” Methos hastily assured the group surrounding him. “I came out to take a piss and the door locked behind me. I just want to get back inside before someone takes my drink.”

Methos held his breath and ignored the bags of money and drugs sitting at his feet. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as the group shifted and drew closer around him.

“Aw, its just some fucking drunk Lenny, let him … ”  A police siren cut off the rest of the sentence.

Everyone froze.

“Shit! Cops!”

Caught up in the sudden explosion of noise and movement Methos pushed through panicking gang members to reach the street just a few yards in front of him.  Feeling his feet slip on the rain slick pavement Methos automatically grabbed the arm of a young man who yelled and bashed Methos over the head with the bag he was carrying. Methos eyes watered and he began to choke as he frantically waved his hands in front of his face trying to dispel the cloud of white dust enveloping him. He looked up to find himself nose to muzzle with a very large handgun. Squawking in surprise Methos raised his hands as the gun went off. He felt the bullet slice through his chest and sever his spinal cord on its way out.

Methos fell to the ground in a boneless heap. All around him the gang members grabbed their property, scrambled into their cars and tore off, sirens wailing closer every second. Methos waited until the last car had gone by before he slowly propped himself against the wall.

Looking down he grimaced. <Another ruined sweater thanks to the MacLeod Clan. > Methos sighed and closed his eyes.  <Well this is a personal first – death by gunshot AND drug overdose. No one will ever believe it. > As he slipped into death his last memory was the sound of approaching footsteps.

 Methos awoke to the sound of his teeth chattering. The temperature was dropping and his mist-drenched clothes were cold and clammy. On the bright side he was still alive, which meant the other Immortal must have been scared off. Sighing in relief Methos opened his eyes and screamed.

A large purple sword-wielding dinosaur stood over him.  Methos tried to roll away, grab his sword, kick the dinosaur – something, anything – but he couldn’t move.  The dinosaur bent down, flicked Methos coat open and removed his Ivanhoe.

Fighting the panic welling up inside him, Methos took a deep breath and immediately began coughing as he inhaled more of the white powder. Methos tried to marshal his scattered thoughts but he could feel his cognitive powers slipping away. Suddenly the world tilted and began to twirl up and down in a kaleidoscope of color. Looking up Methos saw the stars dancing with each other in the moonlight. Somewhere in the back of his now clouded mind a panicked little voice gibbered at him  – but he didn’t pay attention … he felt so … so good …  relaxed.

Cold steel prodded his neck.  “I want information.”

Methos looked at the dinosaur and giggled.
 
The sword pressed deeper, drawing blood. “I want information,” the reptile said in a louder voice.

“Pretty colors!” Methos exclaimed, focused on the brilliant lights in the sky. The dinosaur glared nonplussed at the man below him. Reaching down he ran a finger across Methos powdered face. Methos sneezed and giggled again.

The dinosaur rubbed his fingers together, sniffed the powder and carefully tasted it. He then stood and secured his and Methos’ swords under his coat. Bending down he hauled Methos up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, walked out of the alley and crossed the street.

“Whee!” Methos squealed.

“Quiet!” growled the dinosaur swatting Methos on the butt.

“Ow!”

When the dinosaur dumped him into the back of a van and was handcuffing him to an interior support beam Methos took a closer look at the purple face looming over him.

“Don’t I know you?”

The dinosaur ignored him as he tied Methos feet together with duct tape.

“I do! I do know you! You’re Barney!”

Methos giggled.  What fun! He was going on a trip with Barney!

The dinosaur stared open mouthed. “How did you know my name was Barnabas?”

Methos scowled. “No! No! Not Barnabas. Barney! You know … I love you, you love…”

The dinosaur clipped him on the side of the head, knocking Methos out cold.

Methos woke up to find himself being dragged feet first across a cold concrete floor.  <What the…? >

Methos lifted his hands and discovered that he was handcuffed. <What the HELL? > Looking around Methos groaned as the movement sent bolts of pain through his head.

The man dragging him stopped and turned around. “So, you’re awake.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Methos mumbled rubbing his eyes.

“I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you, Pierson.”

Methos froze. “How do you know … “

The man held up Methos wallet. “You got a lot of cash and credit cards for a graduate student.”

The man continued to drag Methos.

“Do you mind?” Methos snarled, his aching head bouncing off the floor. “My head’s going to split open!”

“Shut up.”

Methos could feel the rough concrete scraping the skin off the back of his head and neck.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Does it matter?” the man replied as he stopped and looped a chain through and around the handcuffs. Smirking he poked a couple of fingers through the gaping bullet hole in Methos sweater “You’d be back soon enough,” he jeered, gently caressing the healed skin.

Shocked Methos was silent as the man began hauling on the chain, forcing Methos up until his feet barely touched the ground.  Licking dry lips Methos cleared his throat. “I don’t know what…”

“Oh, come off it, Pierson!” the man scoffed, “ I felt you the minute I walked into the bar. You must have felt me too cause you bolted like a scared rabbit.”

Methos slowly shook his head in denial, this couldn’t be happening … he didn’t “ feel” anything.

“You … you’re lying” he stuttered “you can’t be…”

“Sure” the other man interrupted holding his coat open so Methos could see the sword strapped to the lining. “I only carry this because guns are so awkward and bulky.”

Methos began to tremble as the truth sank in.  Frantically he thought back. He remembered the argument with Conner … the bar … getting drunk.  Methos squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate. Things were so damn hazy after that point. Vaguely he remembered feeling a buzz …  an alley … and there were others there and they had swords … no! That was wrong! Methos wanted to scream in frustration. What happened?

A hard slap brought him back to the present. “Pay attention Pierson.  Where’s MacLeod?”

Methos was so surprised he answered truthfully. “He’s out of town.”

“Wrong answer.”  Methos head snapped back from the force of the blow.

“ Where’s MacLeod?”

“He’s out of town!”  Methos tried to anticipate the next blow, but his tormentor surprised him by punching him in the gut. As Methos wheezed and gasped the other man took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

“Pierson, you don’t owe him any loyalty. Tell me where he is and I’ll let you live.”

Methos started to shake his head but thought better of it when stars exploded behind his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he pleaded. “I swear he’s out of town.”

Slap. “Stop lying. Where is he hiding?”

“I don’t know … I don’t know” Methos muttered, his mind still struggling with the latest events. “Why are you looking for him?” he asked, hoping the information would help him piece together this puzzle.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to ask questions” his tormentor snarled as he backhanded Methos again.

Methos closed his eyes as he waited for the world to stop spinning. Hard fingers dug into his jaw, wrenching his face up until he was eye to eye with his captor.

“Don’t act like such a dumb fuck, Pierson. You recognized me in the alley; you know why we’re here. Make it easier on yourself and...”

Methos interrupted.  “I know you? You were in the alley?”

The man stepped back and sniggered as his eyes raked up and down his captive. “Yeah, I saw what happened. That must have been some potent shit you inhaled … you were wasted man.”

A memory flashed through Methos mind of a large, purple … dinosaur (?) bending over him.

“Barney?” he whispered.

“It’s Barnabas you stupid fuck!”

Methos flinched as his head was jerked back and a hot mouth pressed up against his ear. “Now that you have your memory back,” Barnabas twisted his fingers painfully in Methos hair, “Where’s MacLeod?”

“He’s still out town!” Methos braced himself for a blow, but none came. Warily he watched as Barnabas walked over to a bank of electrical switches and began flipping on the overhead lights. Glancing around Methos saw they were in a large windowless room. Rows of drains were set in the floor. When he looked up he saw that he was hanging from one of several dozen hooks imbedded in the ceiling. Methos had a sick feeling he was being held prisoner in one of the abandoned meat processing plants outside Seacouver.

“I just don’t understand it,” Barnabas mused as he pulled a hunting knife from his boot. “Don’t you want to live? Just tell me what I want to know and you’re a free man.”

Methos said nothing as Barnabas held the knife up in the light, slowly running his finger along the edge, testing it’s sharpness. Barnabas grinned as he gently wiped the flat side of the blade back and forth against Methos cheek. “Last chance Pierson.”

Methos returned the grin. “He’s out of town.”

Methos couldn’t help flinching when Barnabas lowered the knife and began slicing through his sweater until it lay in pieces on the floor around them – he had really liked that sweater.

When he finished Barnabas put the knife away and pulled a covered cart over. Putting on industrial rubber gauntlets he picked up a brown glass bottle and removed the cap.

“My first teacher was an alchemist. He taught me many things including his recipe for truth serum. Actually, it’s a corrosive acid but its amazing how truthful people become after I apply only a drop or two.”

Barnabas filled an eyedropper with the clear fluid and walked behind Methos. “For every wrong answer I’m going to place one drop somewhere on your body Pierson, so make it easier on yourself … where’s MacLeod?”

Methos forced the words past numb lips “He’s out of town.” For one brief second a cool drop of liquid touched Methos shoulder. Then every sense and feeling was engulfed in a tidal wave of pure white-hot pain as the drop slowly meandered down his back. Methos screamed as he jerked back and forth against his bonds desperate to escape the agony flowing through him.

“Where’s MacLeod?”

Methos wordlessly shook his head and then went rigid as another drop landed on his other shoulder and began its destructive journey.

“Where’s MacLeod?”

“Please,” Methos whimpered, tears streaming down his face.

“Wrong answer.”

“No!” Methos screamed as he felt the third drop join the others.

“You should see your back Pierson. Looks real painful – did I forget to mention that it takes a good fifteen to twenty minutes for each drop of acid to dissipate?”

Methos sobbed and thrashed weakly as Barnabas slid the tip of the eyedropper up and down his spinal column spreading the corrosive liquid across his already abused skin. “You’re good, Pierson … most immortals don’t last this long. But I’m afraid that was the easy part, now the real pain starts.”

Methos stared mesmerized as Barnabas refilled the eyedropper and held it up between them. “So, where shall we begin, hm? How about the eyes?”

Methos whimpered and jerked his head back, squeezing his eyes shut.

Barnabas laughed and drew back. “Oops! Shame on me, I almost forgot … where’s MacLeod?”

Methos survivor’s instinct was shrieking at him  … Mac is a big boy … he can take care of himself … just submit and this agony will end … Mac won’t blame you…<Yeah, but I’ll blame myself if anything happened to him, > Methos sighed. <I can’t send this madman after Mac … I have to protect him. >

“Time’s up Pierson … where is he?”

Methos took a shuddering breath. “He’s out of town.”  “Wait!” he added hastily as Barnabas pulled his eyelid open “Ask around! I swear to God he’s been gone for days!”

Barnabas paused, the dropper poised over Methos open eye.

“Pierson I have pictures of the two of you together taken less than forty eight hours ago.”

Methos desperately wanted to move but was terrified of the consequences. Locking eyes with Barnabas he forced as much sincerity as he could into his voice.

“You said it yourself, MacLeod’s not worth it. Why would I lie, especially about something so easy to check?” Methos held his breath while Barnabas mulled over his statement. Eventually he pulled back and recapped the bottle.

“If you’re not lying, then how do you explain this?”  Barnabas pulled out a Polaroid shot and held it up.

Methos mouth gaped open in surprise. There in living color was a picture of him walking down the street with … Connor.

“Connor?” he squeaked in disbelief  “You’re looking for CONNOR MacLeod?”

“Who else?” Barnabas asked impatiently

Methos couldn’t believe it. He was half dead from the cold, his head felt like a dozen jackhammers were trying to get out, his back was a living throbbing painful entity … and all this suffering was for CONNOR MacLeod. He started laughing … A look of concern crossed Barnabas face.

“Are you flashing on me Pierson?”

Methos shook his head, gulping air as he fought to control his laughter.

“No, no, you don’t understand … I thought, I thought you were looking for DUNCAN MacLeod.”

“Who?”

Barnabas recoiled as Methos went off into another round of hysteria. “Are you telling me there are TWO MacLeods? Two immortals named MacLeod?”

Methos chuckled. “Scary isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe you” Barnabas snapped.

Methos rolled his eyes. “You believe pictures, right? Look in my wallet.”

Methos had a hard time containing his laughter when Barnabas found the snapshot of him and Duncan standing in front of DiSalvo’s Gym. His stunned deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression was priceless.

“My God, there are two MacLeods” Barnabas muttered flipping the picture over to read the caption. “This changes everything…”  Barnabas looked sharply at Methos.

“This Duncan MacLeod – he’s a good fighter? He’s taken a lot of quickenings?”

Methos cautiously nodded his head, unsure where this line of questioning was going.

“He and Connor must be close if Connor came running to him,” Barnabas muttered, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

Methos laughter died as he felt his stomach knot up. “I told you he’s out of town.”

Barnabas started slightly.  “That’s right,” he grinned, the smile never reaching his eyes. “And now that we’ve cleared up that little misunderstanding perhaps you’ll tell me where Connor is.”

“Sure,” Methos agreed watching the other man finger Duncan’s picture. “Of course I think better when I not trussed up like a side of beef in a butcher shop.”

“Tough. Where’s Connor MacLeod?”

Methos lips twitched at the slight emphasis on the name.

“He’s…” Methos stopped abruptly as he slammed headfirst into the brick wall of his conscience. <I can’t turn Connor over, > Methos realized with dawning horror <Mac would be devastated if anything happened to him. >

<Connor did this to himself. > His survivor’s instinct yelled at him. <He brought immortal hunters here to Seacouver and put us all in danger. >

< Doesn’t matter > Methos responded numbly < He’s Mac’s kinsman … teacher … I can’t, I can’t be responsible for hurting Mac again. >

<Fuck Mac and his finer feelings! Survival comes first. >

<No! Duncan comes first … and Duncan needs Connor to survive. > Clamping down on the little voice screaming in the back of his mind Methos turned to the problem at hand – keeping Connor safe.  A punch to the stomach reminded Methos he wasn’t alone.

“Having second thoughts?”  Barnabas inquired politely.

“No, no,” Methos wheezed “But I …um … need some kind of guarantee that you’ll let me live.”

Barnabas glared at his prisoner. “Like what?”

“Like get me off this damn hook and cut me loose.”

“You’re funny, Pierson, but I’m loosing my patience and I have other resources.”

Barnabas glanced down at Duncan’s picture.

Warning bells went off in Methos head.

“At least let me off this hook,” Methos rattled the chain holding him up. “You can leave me tied up and locked in here. This place looks deserted, I could yell my head off and no one would ever find me  … c’mon, what do you say?”

Methos knew he was babbling but Barnabas kept looking at that damn picture and rubbing his thumb across Duncan’s face as though he had just had a revelation.

“Hey! Barney! I’m talking to you!” Methos yelled in desperation, rattling the chain again.

“Stop calling me that!”

Methos fought to stay alert as blows rained across his face and torso. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of loosing consciousness, not with Connor and Duncan still in danger.

“I am sick and fucking tired of these games, Pierson! The next words out of your mouth had better be directions on finding MacLeod or I swear to God I’ll take your head and leave your carcass for the crows.”

Methos gathered his wits and prayed to whoever would listen that his plan would work. “Connor’s hiding at my place. The address is on my driver’s license.”

<Believe me believe me.> He chanted mentally <Thank the gods I never gave up my lease. >

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Barnabas pulled his wallet back out and thumbed through the various items until he found Adam Pierson’s driver’s license. Throwing the rest down at Methos feet he tapped the plastic coated card against the tips of his fingers.

“Lying will buy you time, Pierson. But it will also buy you a shitload of pain and trouble if I come back empty handed.”

Methos slowly shook his head, biting down on his already bloodied lip to keep from moaning. “Wait!” he begged as Barnabas turned to leave. “Please, just get me down from here … it hurts so bad, please.”

Barnabas walked over and gently stroked Methos face. “Poor baby” he crooned. “It’s not easy being MacLeods friend is it?” “Of course,” he continued, his hands stroking down Methos torso “Maybe you’re more than friends? It’s hard to imagine that tight-ass, narrow-minded judgmental MacLeod letting go long enough to enjoy a fine looking fellow like yourself. But hey, stranger things happen.”

Methos gagged. He could smell the other man’s excitement and blood lust as Barnabas’ hands wandered down his shivering frame.

“Well?”  Barnabas asked, his hands between Methos legs. “You guys doing the nasty together? Or are you saving yourself for the handsome hunk?”

A brief humorless smile crossed Methos face. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he spat as Barnabas cupped his denim-clad genitals.

“You’re just a fucking comedian tonight aren’t you?” Barnabas whispered in his ear. “Remember that shitload of pain and trouble I promised? Well guess which tender body part we’ll focus on first.” Squeezing he smiled as Methos gasped and moaned.

“Maybe we should show MacLeod what he’s missing when I come back.” Barnabas leaned closer and took Methos mouth in a brutal parody of a kiss. “By the way don’t worry about being lonely,” he pulled back and licked Methos blood from his lips. “The others will be back soon and they’ll keep you company.”

<Others? What others?> Methos wondered as Barnabas locked the door behind him. Not that he was going to stick around and find out. He had to get free and go save Connor. Methos scrutinized the hook he was hanging from … it looked rusty … maybe one hard tug would  …  moments later a shower of plaster and paint chips descended on his head but the hook refused to budge. When the dust had settled Methos looked around and spotted the forgotten cart. He calculated the distance and grimaced. This was going to be painful
.
Groaning at the strain it put on his already damaged body Methos started to swing toward the cart. A minute later he was howling curses as pain rippled through his shoulders and back. He was on the edge of passing out when his foot finally caught the handle. Methos pulled the cart over and precariously balanced on top as he stretched up on tiptoes to unhook his chain. Once free Methos sank to his knees and slid off onto the floor.

For several minutes Methos lay motionless his various cuts, burns and bruises claiming all of his attention. He knew time was of the essence but so was being able to move. Eventually he forced himself to roll over until he faced the far corner where Barnabas had thrown his coat. Crawling slowly on his hands and knees Methos reached his coat and fumbled in the pockets until he found his cell phone.

<Modern technology to the rescue. > Methos grinned in relief as he turned it on.

A call to the loft was picked up by the message machine, as was a call to his place. A very frustrated Methos dialed Joe’s only to discover that Joe had left with Connor earlier that evening and hadn’t been seen since.

<That’s just fucking great! > Methos glared at his phone, <Those two idiots are out looking for me, Barnabas is out looking for Connor, and “others” are out looking for God knows who! All we need are the fucking Keystone Cops!” Methos slammed the phone shut and jammed it back into his coat pocket.  <So much for modern technology saving the day. >

Sighing he leaned against the block wall. <Well I guess I better rescue my own ass so I can save Connor’s. Not that I ever expect that anal-retentive, entrails eating, skirt wearing son-of-a-sheep dog to thank me,> Methos thought bitterly as he searched his coat pockets again. <Probably thinks this entire evening is my fault,> he grumbled pulling out his Swiss Army knife.

A few minutes later the handcuffs were off, the tape around his feet cut and the door jimmied open. <All I really needed to know in life I learned from McGyver, > Methos thought smugly.

Keeping his ears open Methos quietly walked through a series of rooms, some showing recent signs of occupation, others ankle deep in leaves and debris. He counted at least four sleeping bags in one room. <How many ‘others’ are looking for Connor? >

After several wrong turns Methos stood by the front door. A sense of déjà vu came over him as he watched two cars pull up and several men get out.  Methos melted back into one of the moonlit rooms opening off the hallway.

“Hey Barnabas! Where are you man?”

Methos held his breath as he heard footsteps approach.

“Barnabas! Stop fucking around man, we need to talk.”

Methos moved closer to the broken windows.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s Barnabas man, I can feel him but he won’t answer.”

Methos heart slammed into overdrive as he belatedly recalled his “condition”.  The soft rasp of swords being drawn galvanized him into action.   Methos crawled out the nearest window and peeked around the bushes. The front looked deserted.

<Yeah, right> Methos thought morosely as he steeled himself for the next part. <The damn shadows are probably crawling with bloody immortals waiting for me to show myself. >

Swallowing hard he stepped out into the moonlight and ran for the closest car. The spot between his shoulder blades twitched the whole time in anticipation of a bullet or sword thrust stopping him. Methos sighed in relief when he made it to the first car and was amazed to find the car keys still in the ignition.

<Sloppiest bunch of immortal hunters I’ve ever run into,> he sniffed, getting out his Swiss Army knife and slashing the tires of the other car. <They give the rest of us a bad name. >

As Methos gunned the motor and tore out he saw the other immortals pour out of the building and into the other car. He grinned as he glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the car jerked forward several times before wobbling to a stop.

When Methos pulled up to DiSalvo’s later he tried his cell phone, but once again there was no answer at the loft, or his place, and Joe was still MIA. Methos shut the engine off and sat staring at the dark building. His survivor’s instinct was having a conniption fit, screaming at Methos to run – go to ground – wait this out, anything but go up those stairs. But he needed access to the Watcher’s data base, he needed information on Barnabas and his friends, he needed to know why Connor was in trouble – he also needed a hot bath and some dry clothing.

What he needed was up in the loft. Reluctantly he got out of the car and climbed up the back stairs. Feeling slightly foolish Methos checked every room and found – nothing. No immortals hiding under the bed or in the closets and more importantly – no Connor. <God Damn MacLeods! > Methos stood in the living area, arms akimbo. <Never here when you need them! Not even a damn note! >

Methos continued to mutter under his breath as he sat down and pulled up the Watchers database on his laptop.   Eventually he stopped jumping at every little noise and relaxed as he was drawn further into his research.  The eastern skyline was turning a pale golden yellow when Methos yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. He was close … so close … he could feel it, a tingly sensation … just out of reach.

Irritated Methos rubbed the back of his neck again. A tingly sensation … a tingly … SHIT!  Frantically Methos looked for a weapon as the elevator came to life and started grinding it’s way up to the loft. He finally grabbed the kitchen broom and stood by the gate.  The elevator stopped -- Methos lifted the broom above his head -- the gate opened -- Methos slashed down – and barely missed Connor’s head as he walked out into the loft.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?” both men yelled, glaring daggers at each other.

“Where have I been? Where in …”

“Do you know what time …”

Both men stopped; glares still at full strength.

“You first,” Connor gritted out.

Methos took a deep breath.

“I spent last night being entertained by a man named Barnabas, ring any bells?”

Connor went completely still.

“What did he want?”

“At first I thought he wanted Mac. Imagine my surprise when it turned out he wanted you!”

“Was he alone or did he have back-up?”

“At least five or six other immortals, possibly more.”

Connor abruptly turned and went into the kitchen area where he began preparations for tea.

Methos followed. “Connor what’s going on?”

Connor ignored Methos as he filled the kettle with water and turned the stove on.

“Dammit Connor talk to me!”

“It’s none of your business.”

Methos briefly acknowledged the irony of the situation. Usually it was a MacLeod trying to pry information out of him, not the other way around.

“Mac would be devastated if anything happened to you, Connor. Let me help.”

Connor looked up from measuring tea into the teapot.

“And what if I let you help and something happens to you? Do you really think I’d hurt Duncan like that?”

Methos brushed the questions aside.

“I’m already involved. We’ve been seen together and sooner or later Barnabas will figure out this address and come looking.”

Connor poured milk into his mug.

“You better leave town for a few days then, just until this blows over. You can join Duncan.”

Methos was speechless.  “Yeah, sure” he finally managed to get out. “I can just see it now. ‘Surprise Duncan! Connor’s being chased by a bunch of immortal headhunters so I thought I’d come up here and stay with you where it’s safe.” Methos glared at the dour Scotsman. “I’m trying to do the right thing here you pigheaded barbarian. You can’t take them all on your own.”

Connor sighed and leaned against the counter-top. “I don’t need your help.” Connor held up his hand to forestall Methos next argument. “Go clean up, we can discuss this later. Right now you look like you were mugged by a bunch of demented clowns.”

Methos glanced in the hall mirror. Connor had a point – his hair and face were streaked with white powder, what was left of his clothes were bloodstained and smeared with mud, plus he reeked of stale cigarette smoke and cheap liquor.

As he walked toward the bathroom Connor called out. “When you done in there, it’ll be your turn to answer a few questions.”

“Why?” Methos muttered slamming the door, “You still haven’t answered mine.”

When Methos came out of the bathroom Connor was just hanging up the phone.

“Good, you’re finally out” Connor stated, “There’s just enough time to pack before your flight leaves.”

Methos sat on the edge of the bed and finished toweling his hair.

“Where am I going?” he asked mildly.

“Cascade. I left a message for Duncan at his hotel, he’ll pick you up at the airport.”

Connor pulled a suitcase out and began packing Methos’ things.

“No.”

“You’ll do as you’re told.”

Methos held onto his temper with both hands.

“Stop ordering me around. I’m not Richie Ryan, I can take care of myself and I can help you keep that wooden block you call a head attached to your shoulders.”

Connor closed the suitcase and picked it up.

“I’ll get the car while you get dressed. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

“God Dammit, NO!”

Connor dropped the suitcase and stalked over to the bed.

“I am trying to keep you safe, you fool.” He shouted, grabbing Methos by the arm and shaking him. “Now get dressed and get downstairs right now before I lose my temper!”

“Oooh, you’re scaring me!” Methos replied sarcastically. “What are you going to do? Send me to bed without any supper? Spank me?”

“Fine! You asked for it.”

 Connor sat on the bed, pulled Methos over his lap and flipped up his bathrobe.

“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me.”

Methos fought against Connor’s grip but he couldn’t break it.  Either Connor was stronger than he looked or last night’s adventure had really drained him.

The stinging impact of Connor’s hand against his bare bottom abruptly shattered his thoughts. Methos began to kick and yell as the hard blows fell with unerring accuracy.

“Do you know why I’m doing this?” Connor asked, his hand leaving bright red imprints on Methos’ backside.

“Ouch! Because you’re a sadistic son-of-a-bitch who enjoys … OW!”

“No. Because you’re a brat,” Connor corrected him, moving his hand down to focus on Methos’ upper thighs.

“You’re spoiled and selfish but Duncan loves you more than life itself.” <God alone knows why,> Connor thought to himself. “And I refuse to let him suffer because of your childish behavior.”

“Me?” Methos sputtered. “Me? Ow! I’m not the one … Ow! … trying to commit suicide. Stop it!” He partially twisted around and glared at Connor through tear filled eyes. “If Duncan was here you’d let him help.”

“That’s different” Connor replied, his hand never missing a beat as he smacked Methos on the sensitive skin between his buttocks and thighs. “Duncan is a seasoned warrior not some wet behind the ears undisciplined kid.”

“I am NOT wet behind … Ow! Dammit, Connor! Stop it!” Methos fought vainly to wiggle off Connor’s lap but the other man just tightened his grip.

“Don’t contradict me, boy, you’re in no position to argue.”

Connor spanked Methos repeatedly for emphasis. After the tenth smack Connor asked Methos again.

“Will you do what I told you to do?”

Methos sniffled a few times as an idea took form in the back of his mind.

“Ok,” he sulked. “I won’t interfere.”

“Ow! Shit!” he yelled as Connor’s hand landed again on his already inflamed flesh.

“That’s not what I asked,” Connor said sternly, peppering Methos bottom with several more blows.

“All right, all right” Methos cried out, “I’ll go, I’ll go today.”

Connor stopped and lightly rubbed the back of Methos head. “It’s for the best, Adam, you’ll see.”

Methos gingerly stood up and blew his nose on his sleeve. “I’ll tell you what I see,” he snarled, glaring at Connor through watery eyes as he carefully rubbed his throbbing bum. “I see a blow-hard know-it-all ass-hole! And if you think I’m going to put up with your shit you’ve…”

Methos yelped as Connor pulled him back down over his knee.

“I thought that had gone too smoothly.” Connor sighed as he leaned over and rummaged around in the bedside table. “Where’s my hairbrush?”

“Connor you bastard! What the fuck…”

Methos breath caught as the heavy smooth back of Connor’s wooden hairbrush landed with a loud smack against his already burning hot flesh. He went rigid as waves of undiluted agony radiated up and down his body. He desperately wanted to scream but couldn’t get any air into his lungs. Connor’s hand had been painful but this, this was off the scale. Then the brush landed again, this time on the back of his thighs and Methos found his voice.

Thrashing wildly Methos screamed and rose two inches off of Connor’s lap before landing again in the same uncomfortable horizontal position. With machine like precision Connor covered every square inch of skin from buttocks to knees over and over again. Methos sobbed uncontrollably, tears dripping down his nose onto the floor below. He begged, pleaded, promised Connor anything if he would just stop but Connor ignored him. The pain overwhelmed Methos, he couldn’t think … he couldn’t breathe … nothing existed but the pain. The room was starting to whirl around him when Connor finally stopped.

“I don’t enjoy doing this, Adam,” he said quietly smoothing his hand down Methos sweat-stained hair. “But you have to understand I am serious about this.”

Methos was beyond plans and manipulations, he was beyond good deeds and thinking of others … he just wanted this to end.

“I’ll go, Connor I swear” he cried “Please, no more … I’ll go.”

He felt Connor knees shift underneath him and Methos panicked.

“No!” he babbled “I’ve had enough, please … I’ve learned my lesson … I’ll do what you say … please,” he whispered tensing as Connor tightened his grip.

“It’s okay,” Connor soothed as he shifted Methos over until he was lying face down on the bed. “It’s been a rough night for you hasn’t it?”

Methos relaxed as he sank down into the soft coverlet.

“Poor, Adam, you’re exhausted. Go to sleep now, when you wake up I’ll take you to the airport, Okay?”

Sleepily Methos nodded as Connor covered him with a blanket. His aches and pains gradually subsided as Methos was lulled to sleep by the soothing rhythm of Connor gently rubbing his neck and shoulders.

Methos awoke to the smell of coffee and hot soup. Sitting up and stretching cautiously he smiled, for the first time in twenty-four hours he was completely pain free.

“So you’re finally awake! I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

Connor placed a tray in his lap and turned on the bedside lamp. “If you hurry, you’ll just have enough time for another shower. The taxi won’t be here for another thirty minutes.”

Methos glanced over to the elevator where his coat and suitcases were waiting.

Deliberately not looking at the man standing over him Methos began eating.

“You are going Adam, make no mistake about it.” Connor promised in a soft voice, “Do I need to get my hairbrush back out?”

Methos stopped eating and gripped his spoon tighter. “No, I said I’ll go and I will. It’s just…” Methos paused and raised his eyes. “Connor, if you won’t accept my help, for God’s sake please call Duncan! You can’t face these men alone!”

A corner of Connor’s mouth kicked up briefly. “Why Adam, if I didn’t know better I’d think you cared.”

Methos snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I care about Duncan, I care about how Duncan is going to feel about this when he…”

“Stop it,” Connor interrupted moving away from the bed. “I’m staying, you’re going, Duncan is not getting involved, end of discussion. Now hurry up.”

Methos watched Connor clean up the kitchen through narrowed eyes.

<Like Hell, Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. > He vowed silently. <You’re not getting rid of me that easily. >  Quietly Methos finished his meal and got ready. The silence lasted until they arrived at the airport. While Connor bought his ticket and his bags disappeared into the bowels of the terminal Methos began to fidget. Walking toward the departure gates, the closer they got the more agitated Methos became. By the time they reached the check-in counter Connor had lost his patience. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he hissed dragging Methos over to an empty corner of the waiting area.

Methos noticed out of the corner of his eye that the boarding personnel were watching them. <Good. >

“Aw come on, I told you I hated flying,” Methos whined, pitching his voice alittle louder than necessary.  “Don’t make me get on that plane, please.”

Connor gripped his arm tighter and started pulling him over to the line of people waiting to board. “I may have left my hairbrush at home,“ he hissed scowling at Methos “but I can still find a secluded spot and turn you over my knee.”

Methos pasted his best lost-puppy-dog-look on his face and let his lower lip tremble slightly.

“Okay, Okay, you don’t have to pull so hard. I’ll get on the plane.”

Connor dropped his arm like a hot potato as several people turned to stare at them.

Methos silently stood in line, rubbed his newly released arm and plotted his next move. “How about one more day, Okay? I’ll fly tomorrow, I promise,” Methos begged loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.

Connor stiffened as he heard whispered comments about the “poor boy” and “afraid to fly”.   “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish with this little act, Adam,” he said softly, his face flush with anger and embarrassment. “But keep it up and I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Before Methos could reply the loudspeaker announced that business class passengers could now board.

Connor grabbed his arm and propelled him forward through the crowd.

“Why do I have to fly?” Methos whined, dragging his feet as much as he dared. “Why can’t I drive? Or take the bus?”

“Shut up and get on the damn plane,” Connor gritted out between clenched teeth as he thrust the ticket at the startled attendant and pushed Methos toward the open gate.

“Go on” he said, waving Methos down the gangway.

Heaving a deep sigh Methos slowly turned and headed for the jet’s open door. As he stepped through the doorway Methos stopped and clutched his stomach. Groaning loudly he leaned against the bulkhead.

“Sir? Are you all right? Do you need help?”

Methos bit back a smile as a couple of flight attendants converged on him. “No, no, thank you … I’ll be fine,” he choked out. “Just an attack of nerves … I, I’ll be all right in a minute or two.”

They insisted on escorting him to his seat where he promptly collapsed. While they fussed over him with pillows and blankets Methos felt Connor’s “buzz” fade away.<Yes! Now to get off this tin can. >

Methos unbuckled his seatbelt and started to rise when a hand pushed him back down.

 “Try sipping this sir. It’ll help you feel better.”

Methos smiled weakly at the attendant offering him a glass of ginger ale. “You’re very kind to help me,” he said taking a small sip. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble, but I hate flying. Maybe I should try this again another time,” he added trying to stand up again.

The attendant smiled and gently pushed him back into his seat. “We’re ready for take-off sir. Just relax and we’ll be there before you know it.”

“It’s not the actual flying part that disturbs me so much,” Methos chattered on. “It’s being over large bodies of water like the ocean. But I guess that won’t be a problem on this flight, right?” he asked with wide-eyed innocence. The attendant stared blankly at him.

“Um…”

“I mean, it’s not like the plane’s going to Hawaii or Japan. We won’t be anywhere near the ocean, right?”

“Um actually…” she stopped and her mouth opened and closed several times as though she couldn’t quite get the words out.

“We’re flying over the ocean?” Methos demanded his panic stricken voice loud enough to be heard throughout the cabin.

“After take off the plane will circle out over the ocean for a few…”

“Oh my God!” Methos shouted. “He promised me this wouldn’t happen! Oh, I can’t, I can’t…” Methos began to hyperventilate. Throwing off the blanket he scrambled to his feet. “Let me off! Let me off!”

“Sir! We’re ready to leave, please sit…”

“No, no, no!”

“What’s going on here?”

Methos glanced over his shoulder and saw one of the flight crew coming toward them. He continued wailing.

“Carl this passenger wants to disembark now.” The attendant answered shooting Methos a harried look. “It seems no one told him we fly over the ocean.” Carl glanced at his watch and frowned.

“Sir the door is sealed and we’re ready for take off.”

Methos whimpered.

“Oh come on! Let him off the plane!” A voice called out. “Can’t you see the guy’s terrified?”

“Poor boy, he’s shaking like a leaf,” an elderly woman across the aisle chimed in. “That older man practically forced him on this plane.”

Carl’s eyes darted between Methos and the growing crowd of spectators around them. Sighing he looked at his watch again.

“All right let him out. I’ll tell the captain there’s a slight delay.”

Methos stood by the terminal window and grinned as his flight took off into the evening twilight. <I hope they remember to send my luggage back. > Within a short period of time Methos was in a rental car and heading back to Seacouver. After a detour to a self-storage facility Methos pulled up in front of the dojo.  “Great he’s gone.”  Methos glared at the dark building and at the empty spot where Connor usually parked his car. A sense of urgency washed over him as he sat in the growing darkness. Five thousand years of instinct assured him that whatever was going to happen would happen tonight and he’d better hurry if he wanted to save Duncan’s stubborn kinsman. Methos headed for the outskirts of Seacouver. If he couldn’t find the hunted then he’d find the hunters.

The moon had risen by the time Methos parked next to the abandoned plant. Easing silently into the building Methos made his way through the wing where he had been held prisoner.  The distant clang of swords guided his footsteps to the now gutted central processing area. Standing quietly in the shadows Methos watched the battle waged at the other end of the room. Kerosene lanterns on the floor hissed and cast flickering shadows across the two combatants as they darted back and forth. Although Connor was bleeding from several cuts he seemed to be holding his own.

Methos could sense the presence of other Immortals around him but he couldn’t see them. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a few coins and threw them into the opposite corner. Two shapes detached themselves from the darkness and closed in upon the noise. Slipping up behind them Methos slit both men’s throats, careful not to sever their heads. Before gliding back into the shadows Methos plunged a knife into each immortal’s heart and left it there.

 A sudden silence drew his attention back to the circle of light. Connor was on his knees, the other man’s sword at his throat. Methos was going for his gun when a blade slithered around his neck and a familiar voice hissed in his ear.
“Well if it isn’t boy toy to the rescue.”

Rough hands relieved Methos of his coat and weapons then shoved him into the circle.

“Hey MacLeod, you got company.”

Connor twisted around, a scowl on his face as Methos was pushed to his knees.
“What the Hell are you doing here?”

Methos glared back. “What do you think?”

“I think boy toy missed me” Barnabas leered, ruffling Methos hair.

Methos grimaced as the fingers tightened and he was jerked back up. His hands were tied behind his back, a noose looped about his neck and tied off around his wrists. Pushed back down onto his knees again Methos looked over and saw that Connor was now also bound and kneeling on the floor across from him.

Barnabas rested his hand on top of Methos head.  “Have you reconsidered our offer, MacLeod?” Barnabas asked, running his fingers through Methos hair.

Connor’s eyes flickered from Methos to Barnabas.

“The answer is still no.”

Barnabas smiled. “I’m feeling generous tonight, MacLeod, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do – you and boy toy here can discuss your options while I go fetch my, um … equipment from the other wing.  If he hasn’t convinced you to change your mind by the time I get back, well then I’ll give you a demonstration of my persuasive skills and boy toy can help me.” Barnabas wrenched Methos head back and smiled down at him. “You remember my promise, don’t you?”

Letting go abruptly he and the others walked off into the darkness. “Oh, by the way – don’t move. You pull on those ropes, the noose tightens and – POP -- you break your neck. Very unpleasant way to die – I don’t recommend it.”

Quiet descended on the room as their footsteps faded away. Methos could feel Connor’s gaze boring a hole through him. Risking a brief glance at the Scotsman, Methos quickly looked away. <Geeze, if looks could kill. >

Methos cleared his throat. “We need an escape plan. Any ideas?”

The silence stretched out. Methos rolled his eyes upward in a wordless plea for strength. “Come on Connor, giving me the silent treatment is very childish. We need to work together here.”

“What did he mean?” Connor asked abruptly.

“I don’t understand…”

“When he called you boy toy,” Connor interrupted impatiently. “What did he mean?”

“Oh, that,” Methos tried to shrug but the movement tightened the rope around his neck. “He thinks we’re lovers. Hey, he didn’t get the idea from me!” Methos added hastily as Connor glared at him.

“What promise is he talking about?”

Methos sighed loudly and rolled his eyes again. “As much as I’d love to sit here and examine in detail everything that psycho has said and done over the past twenty-four hours I really think we need to concentrate on getting out of here, Okay?”

“What promise?”

“Oh for …fine,” Methos snarled. “Gods above and below save me from the Scots! If I tell you can we drop it and focus on more important matters like getting the fuck out of here?”

Methos barely waited for Connor’s nod before launching into a description of last night’s events. When he finished Connor stared at him in horrified amazement.

“Are you telling me that you deliberately broke your word and followed me here even though this psychopath sexually assaulted you and then threatened you with, what was it? … ‘a shit load of pain and trouble.’” Connor shook his head is disbelief. “You are a real piece of work, Adam Pierson.”

“I wasn’t planning on getting caught again,” Methos muttered defensively.

“You weren’t planning! You weren’t…” Connor sputtered to a stop and started breathing heavily. “You just wait,” he promised. “When I get you back to the dojo I will skin your butt and nail it to the wall for this piece of idiocy! And then I’m going to beat what’s left so hard you won’t sit for a week! And after that…”

“I get the point!” Methos yelled, “ If you aren’t going to help then shut the fuck up and let me concentrate!”

“I already have a plan,” Connor bit out icily.

“What…”

Both men stiffened as they felt the other Immortals return. Methos stomach sank when Barnabas and his cart rolled into view.

“So, what’s it to be MacLeod?”

Connor somehow managed to look down his nose at the man towering over him.

“You know as well as I do that diary won’t help you.”

Methos ears pricked up. <Diary? Whose diary? >

“Let me be the judge of that. Just hand it over.”

“ Methos never existed – he’s a myth. The book is useless, a forgery.”

<Uh oh. >

“Even if it’s a forgery the author had to be an immortal. Who else knows about Methos? The other immortals named in it might still be alive – it’s worth investigating.”

“I am not going to hand you a shopping list of ancient immortals. Find your quickenings the same way the rest of us do – one on one until there is only one.”

“I’m not going to debate ethics with you, MacLeod. Where is the damn book?”

Connor just glared at the other man, daring Barnabas to make him talk.

“Fine,” Barnabas stated flatly, his face reflecting his frustration. “Be that way.”

He pointed to Methos. “Bring him here.”

Three other immortals dragged a resisting Methos closer to Barnabas. “You hold him down. You two spread his legs and don’t let him move.”

 Methos watched wide-eyed as Barnabas pulled out his knife and knelt between his legs.  He braced himself as Barnabas slid the blade under the hem of his sweater, snaring his belt buckle.

With a flick of his wrist Barnabas unbuckled the belt. Methos gasped and jerked as the point grazed his abdomen. Barnabas grinned and stroked Methos through his jeans with the flat of his knife.

“Damn fellas, boy toy’s getting all excited. Maybe I’m doing something wrong here.”

Sniggers broke out from the other men as Methos tried to pull away.

Chuckling Barnabas pressed the knifepoint under the top jean button.

“Dammit Barnabas leave him alone! He’s not involved in this!”

Barnabas popped the button with another flick of his wrist, the sound of it hitting the floor unnaturally loud in Methos’ ears.

“Forget it, MacLeod, We’re having way too much fun.” Barnabas grinned down at Methos as he popped the rest of the buttons. “Isn’t that right sweetums?”

“N – No!” Methos croaked, wishing his mouth wasn’t so dry. Spitting into those faces leering at him would make him feel better – help suppress the fear and panic raging through him. Right now it took every ounce of willpower not to scream mindlessly.

Sheathing the knife back in his boot Barnabas curled his fingers in the belt loops and looked over at Connor.

“Ready to talk or should I keep going?” he asked tugging the jeans down a few inches. “Personally, I think boy toy here is getting turned on.”

Methos managed to move his head enough to see an enraged Connor struggling against his captors.

“Let him go,” Connor demanded. “Let him leave and then I’ll tell you where it is.”

Instead of answering Barnabas slid his hands under Methos sweater, pushing it up until it was bunched under his arms.

“Look at this guys, have you ever seen such smooth, unmarked skin before?” he asked, ignoring Connor. “It feels just like satin doesn’t it?”

Methos shuddered as more hands explored his exposed flesh.

“You sick bastard!” Connor yelled, surging forward against the hands holding him “Stop it and I’ll tell you!”

“No! Tell me now!”

“It’s …it’s at Adam’s ... ”

“Liar! We tossed boy toy’s place, it’s not there!”

“Yes it is! I … ”

Barnabas abruptly stood up and grabbed Connor’s shirt, hauling the man up until they were face to face.

“I’m sick of your fucking lies, MacLeod,” he snarled, shaking Connor like a rag doll before dropping him back to his knees. “Tell the truth or playtime resumes – and trust me after we’re done with sweet cheeks, you won’t recognize what’s left.”

Methos felt his blood congeal as he stared into Connor’s face. < Oh no, no dammit -- I know that ‘look’ – that shit-for-brains patented I’m-going-to-be-noble-and-get-myself-killed-for-nothing MacLeod look. >

“Wait!” he called out as Connor opened his mouth. “I know where it is.”

Barnabas turned and raised one eyebrow.

“You? I don’t think so sweetums.”

Barnabas turned back to Connor. “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Yes I do!” Methos replied, cutting Connor off again. “It’s out back, in my car. I’m telling the truth,” he added desperately as Barnabas just stared at him. “It’s in my backpack.”

Barnabas beckoned to the one of the men holding Connor. “Go get it.”

Methos shivered in the cold air as they waited and tried to block out the whispered comments and caresses from the men holding him down. He strove to catch Connor’s eye but Connor stared at the floor until the sound of footsteps drew everyone’s attention to the open doorway.

Methos licked dry lips as the man tossed the backpack to Barnabas. A collected sigh went up when Barnabas pulled out the leather bound book. Dumping the backpack on the floor he quickly leafed through the pages. Stopping he glared at Methos.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded. “It’s gibberish!”

Methos snorted. “What did you expect? The King James Version? Methos is five thousand years old – he knows hundreds of languages and dialects, why pick only one? Especially if you want to keep prying eyes from reading what you wrote.” Methos suddenly realized he was the center of attention.  “It makes sense,” he added defensively.

Barnabas slammed the book shut.

“Dammit!” He scowled at Connor and Methos. “Dump those two in the cage downstairs. It’s going to take me awhile to translate this.”

“Wait!” Connor called out as Barnabas started to leave. “At least untie us first. You got what you wanted.”

Barnabas motioned to his men. “Fine, do it.”

Methos could feel Connor’s eyes on him as they walked out of the room but he was too busy avoiding the hands around him to pay much attention.

<What am I, the human psycho magnet? > Methos wondered, as a hand brushed across his ass. <Why am I always the special of the day? > He flinched away as someone else tugged on his loose jeans. <This isn’t fair! Why don’t they pick on Connor? > Methos glared at his fellow prisoner.

Connor glared back. “Stop it” he hissed.

 <Uh? >

Conner paused and faced Methos.

“I said stop it” he snarled, his eyes glittering in the moonlight as he bunched his hands into fists. “Touch him again ass-hole and you’ll pull back a bloody stump.”

Methos heard the man behind him snicker.

“Pretty tough talk for a dead man.”

Connor stepped closer. “I may die,” he replied never taking his eyes off the other immortal. “But at least I won’t die singing soprano.”

Connor pulled a stunned Methos closer and scowled at the whole group. “And that goes double for the rest of you” he growled. Connor continued down the hall leaving his hand on Methos back, glaring daggers at anyone who came too close.

“Why did you do that?” Methos asked as soon as the cage door was locked and the others had left. “They could’ve killed you.”

Connor shot him a look as he started testing the cage for weaknesses. “Whatever was I thinking? Next time I’ll offer to take pictures or hold their coats.”

Methos flushed. “I can take care of myself.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth kicked up briefly. “Oh yeah, I could tell you had everything under control.”

Methos seriously considered clobbering the irritating Scotsman but took his frustration out on the cage bars instead.

“I don’t suppose you have a lockpick on you,” Connor inquired from the opposite corner.

“Would I be rattling this cage like a monkey in the zoo if I did?” Methos retorted. “Wait a minute,” he added, quickly checking his pockets and pulling out his key ring. Taking the keys off Methos carefully straightened the wire loop and inserted one end into the lock.
Connor peered over his shoulder.

“You know what you’re doing?”

Methos rolled his eyes as he twisted and turned the piece of metal.

“No, but I saw MacGyver do this once so how hard can it be?”

“Who’s MacGyver?”

Methos rolled his eyes again, “ You have got to be kidding. You’ve never heard of the Phoenix Foundation or their most talented agent?”

Connor shook his head no.

Methos grinned and slapped him on the back. “I’ll introduce you when we get back to the dojo. I have all the episodes on tape.”

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Once they were upstairs Connor turned to the right.

“Where are you going?” Methos pointed to the left. “The car’s this way”.

“I’m getting that damn diary back”.

“Forget the diary, it’s not important.”

“How would you know?”

“The diary won’t help them,” Methos insisted, grabbing Connor’s sleeve and forcing him to slow down. “I, um translated some of it earlier and it’s an obvious fake.”

 “I’m not surprised.”

Connor kept walking down the hall.

“Now what?” Methos grumbled, reluctantly tagging along.

“That bastard also has my sword, I want it back.”

“So what? He has two of my swords and you don’t see me racing after them!”

Connor threw him a look of disgust over his shoulder. “It’s the MacLeod family sword.”

“Oh well that makes all the difference. By all means get yourself killed over a hunk of ancient metal.”

“Why don’t you wait in the car?”

“Why don’t you shut up?”

Connor abruptly motioned for Methos to stop and be quiet. Ahead on the right a light spilled out into the hallway through a partially closed door. A fizzle of energy across their skin meant an immortal was inside.  Methos brushed by Connor, flung the door open and called out, “Candygram!” Startled Barnabas stood up just as Methos fist slammed into his temple, killing him instantly.

Kicking the body to one side Methos picked up the diary and threw it over to Connor.
“Okay, let’s find the swords and get out of here.”

Connor stood in the doorway. “Candygram? What the hell is that suppose to mean?”

Methos started tossing things around the room. “You definitely need to watch more TV.”

Connor stepped inside and closed the door. “Sweet Jesus, Adam, why don’t you make some more noise? I’m not sure they can hear you in Seacouver.”

“Ha ha, Connor, and here I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Adam…”

Methos scrambled out from under the bed. “Found them!” he said holding all three swords. He gave Connor his and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving, I suggest you do the same.”

“Wait a minute” Connor protested, pointing to Barnabas. “We can’t leave him here like this.”

“What else can we do? If one of us takes his head the light show is going to bring the rest of them running.”

 “And if we don’t do something,” Connor argued. “They’re going to keep looking until they find us again, which means Duncan…”

“…Duncan will be caught in the middle.” Methos plopped down on the bed and kicked Barnabas. “Damn and double damn, what are we going to do?”

“We could tie them up and take their heads one at a time…”

“No that’s not going to work,” Methos interrupted. “There is no way we can absorb that many quickenings in such a short period of time, not without going stark raving mad.”

“Well what do you…”

Methos suddenly jumped up and drove his sword through Barnabas, pinning him to the floor.

“Sorry. He was beginning to wake up.”

Connor stared at Methos. “That’s it!” he crowed. “You’re brilliant!”

“Uh?”

“We’ll drive stakes through their hearts and bury them!”

“Um, Connor they’re not vampires…”

“I know that Adam but the principle is still the same. They can’t revive and come after us with a chunk of metal in their heart and six feet of dirt over their heads.”

A wicked grin lit up Methos face. “You’re right, I’m brilliant. I’ll lure them here and you take them out.”

Once the plan was set in motion everything went smoothly and within a short period of time Methos and Connor were dragging the bodies to an old sewer drain located behind the plant. After dropping several loads of rusted equipment and debris on top of the ‘dead’ immortals they decided it was time to go home.

“Wait a minute!” Methos called out as they passed one of the rooms the hunters had used. “I need another pair of jeans, mine are useless thanks to Sadists R Us.”

Methos quickly found a usable pair. He had shucked his ruined ones, <damn, I really like them> and was standing in his briefs when he was grabbed from behind. Before Methos could even protest he found himself bent over Connor’s lap, bare ass up.
“Connor! What the…OW!”

“That’s for embarrassing me (SMACK, SMACK) at the airport (SMACK).”

“I’m going to kill… OW! Connor, stop…OW! CONNOR!”

“Forget it, Adam. You break your word you pay the price. Be grateful I don’t have my hairbrush…Fucking Hell I haven’t been so scared in centuries!”

Methos winced as Connor’s voice reverberated around the room. “ I thought I was going to have a heart attack back there! How the Hell does Duncan put up with you?”

Connor stopped yelling and took a deep breath.

“You need another lesson and I’m going to see that you get it.” Tightening his grip Connor began to methodically paddle Methos from buttocks to knees. “You never (SMACK), NEVER (SMACK, SMACK) disregard (SMACK) your own (SMACK) safety (SMACK) like that (SMACK) again (SMACK, SMACK)! Do you (SMACK) hear me (SMACK, SMACK)?  Don’t you (SMACK) know (SMACK) how important (SMACK) you are (SMACK, SMACK)? Answer (SMACK) me (SMACK)!”

Methos howled at the top of his voice. His butt was on fire; pain coursed through his body with each blow. But what made it worse was that Methos had no idea why he was being punished. Yeah, he “promised” to leave town but Connor should have known better, Okay, he did his best to embarrass the Scotsman at the airport, but he had a good reason! Besides didn’t he just save Connor’s sorry ass?

Methos gasped in relief when Connor finally stopped. He knew Connor was talking to him but the blood roaring in his ears made it difficult to hear. “I asked you a question! Answer me!”

“What?” Methos sobbed, completely bewildered. “I don’t…I don’t understand…”
Connor let Adam slip off his lap until the other man was resting on the floor, his head against Connor’s knee.

“Do you have any idea how important you are to the people in your life? Do you know how devastated we would be if you died?” Connor felt the other man shake his head.

“Doesn’t matter…family…important,” Methos mumbled into Connor’s leg, his breath hitching slightly.

Connor sighed, “Look at me.”

Methos shook his head again. Connor’s fingers hooked under his chin and gently forced his head up.

“You are family,” Connor declared, mopping up Methos tears before giving him the handkerchief.

“No I’m not,” Methos replied thickly, blowing his nose. “You’re family.”

“And you’re what? Chopped liver?” Connor pulled a wobbly Methos to his feet. “For such a smart, well-educated man you are truly clueless.”

Picking up the jeans Connor helped Methos change. He ignored Methos yelp as the fabric was pulled over the chastised and tender immortal posterior. “You know we’re not done,” he stated a few minutes later as he put an exhausted Methos into the car.

“Huh? What, what do you mean?”

“There’s still the little matter of you breaking your word.”

“Oh.”

Connor frowned. “Don’t even think it,” he warned as Methos fingered the door handle.

“Connor…”

“Not now. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? You look ready to drop.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Just close your eyes and relax.”

“Not sleepy…bossy…know-it-all…barbarian.”

A corner of Connor’s mouth curled up as gentle snores filled the car.

Methos hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew they were parked in front of the dojo and Connor was waking him up.

Methos was looking forward to a cold beer and a hot shower when he started to climb out of the car only to pause as his sore backside reminded him that the evening wasn’t over yet. Methos flicked a covert glance over at Connor. It was going to take a lot of fast-talking to get out of whatever Connor had planned for him.

<He’s so unpredictable…yelling at you one minute…defending you the next…then beating the crap out of you and calling it discipline. > As he followed Connor up the backstairs Methos rubbed his sore bum and remembered the times Kronos had disciplined him. <No, that’s not right…Connor’s different...he doesn’t get off on my pain … he doesn’t enjoy humiliating me … I think. >Methos frowned at the dark figure ahead of him. <I could just cut and run now…but the son of a bitch would probably chase me down and spank me twice as hard…I just can’t figure out why he does it. ><Because he cares about you. > Methos froze as the thought echoed through his mind.

<No, that can’t be true…Connor only cares about his ‘family’ and that can’t include me…can it? > Methos remembered their numerous clashes over the past few weeks – Connor’s constant nagging -- his anger when Methos refused to stay out of harm’s way. <Is this his way of showing that he cares? >

Methos recalled an argument he had overheard. Duncan was upset that a neighbor had spanked his youngster and Connor had defended the man stating that discipline was sometimes necessary.

Methos was confused. His memories of being part of a “family” were different – and he wasn’t just thinking of Kronos and his merry little band of brothers. He had learned the hard way to avoid groups offering a safe haven to loners like himself – especially when those groups included other immortals. Invariably he was used, abused and dumped with the rest of the trash – if he was lucky. But he lived with Duncan now and Duncan considered him family – could Connor feel the same way?

This was all too strange, too unusual. Methos ruthlessly shoved it back into the recesses of his mind – he’d sort it out later. Right now it sounded like a large balloon was deflating above him. Looking up Methos saw Connor hissing at him from the top landing. “There’s an immortal inside, you better wait in the car.”

Methos climbed up a few more steps until he felt the buzz. <It’s Mac! >Taking the stairs two at a time he quickly arrived at the top and reached for the doorknob. Connor batted his hand away.

“What’s the matter with you? You don’t know who’s in there!”

Connor pushed Methos behind him and drew his sword. Methos just rolled his eyes and waited for the over-protective Scotsman to go in first.

He followed Connor into the loft and pushed past him once they were inside. Three steps into the main room Methos stopped abruptly and stared. Either Duncan had hosted one hell of a frat party last night or Barnabas and his goons had been through the place. In the middle of this chaotic mess stood Duncan MacLeod. Looking closer Methos prudentially stepped back. Duncan was in full warrior mode and itching for blood – let Connor deal with him first.

The two kinsmen locked stares, both daring the other to look away first.

“So, you’re back,” Connor sniffed.

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s obvious. What the hell happened here?”

“ Obviously someone has trashed the place” Connor replied, each word coated in ice. “I would think the more important question would be – are Adam and Connor safe and sound?”

Duncan’s gaze dropped to the floor.

Methos was impressed – they hadn’t been in the room two minutes and Connor already had Duncan on the defensive.

“Of course I was worried about…”

“Ha!” Connor interrupted. “You have a strange way of showing it Duncan MacLeod. I am very disappointed in you, young man.”

Duncan’s eyes flew up and his mouth fell open.

“Don’t try that innocent act with me” Connor continued. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Duncan looked at Methos who shrugged his shoulders.

“Connor, I…”

“You left this half-trained student on his own, Duncan MacLeod. It’s a bloody miracle he’s even standing here right now. I thought you cared about him!”

“Hey! I am not…”

“SHUT UP!”

A bewildered look crossed Duncan’s face.

“Adam can take care of himself.”

Connor snorted.

“If you think getting kidnapped by a gang of immortal headhunters tortured, sexually assaulted and murdered proves Adam can ‘take care of himself’ YOU are seriously fucked up!”

“WHAT?”

“I, I … it’s not my fault,” Methos stammered, caught off guard by two world class glares.
He pointed at Connor. “It’s his fault – he brought them here. Yeah, that’s right. Those headhunters were following Connor and … and they kidnapped me because they knew I could lead them to him. But I didn’t – not that I wasn’t tempted,” he added, giving Connor a dirty look. “Besides, I begged Connor to call you Duncan. But he wouldn’t.”
Methos felt quite virtuous – for once he was totally and completely in the right.
Duncan sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m not surprised. Connor would be the last person to ask for help, no matter how much he needed it.”

Methos smirked at Connor.

“Of course,” Duncan continued “that doesn’t explain why you didn’t call me.”

Methos chin hit the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor smirk at him.

“Well, why didn’t you call?”

“I, um … I knew I could handle the situation and I didn’t want you to worry?”

“I suppose that’s why you sent your luggage to Cascade, so your clothes would be safe while you ‘handled the situation’.”

Methos lost it. “Hey! Regardless of what you and Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky here think,” Methos snapped, jabbing a thumb in Connor’s direction. “Everything turned out OK. We won, they lost – end of story. I’m taking a shower.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Connor stopped him. “There’s still that little matter of your spanking.”

 Duncan gawked. “Spanking?”

Methos was horrified to feel a flush crawl up his face.

“I told you he wasn’t ready. Don’t you remember how I had to discipline you when you first came to me for training?”

It was now Methos turn to gawk as Duncan blushed. “That was different” Duncan sputtered, refusing to look at Methos.  “You can’t spank a five thousand year old … oops.”

It was so quiet Methos swore he could hear the faucet drip in the bathroom. Connor pulled him around until they were face to face. “You’re five thousand years old?”

Methos hesitated and then nodded.

“You’re name isn’t really Adam Pierson, is it? You’re Methos.”

Methos stepped back.

“Yeah, and you’ve got two of my diaries. I want them back.”

Connor ignored him.

“You’re Methos … I can’t believe it.”

“I bet you’re sorry now that you spanked me. Well, I accept your apology but you need to work on controlling that temper of yours before it gets you into trouble.”

Connor eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned. “Actually I can’t believe that someone hasn’t turned you over their knee before now. You are nothing but a loose cannon. How you survived five thousand years is beyond me.”

As he reached for Methos again Duncan began to protest.

“Connor you know I feel about corporal punishment …and on a grown man, too. Really, I think…”

Just then the telephone began to ring and somewhere in the mess the answering machine picked it up. After Duncan’s brief message a voice floated out over the loft.

“Mr. MacLeod? This is the Seacouver Police Impound. We picked up your Thunderbird down on the docks last night. Unfortunately it’s been stripped and vandalized. Next time -- don’t forget to lock the doors. You can pick up what’s left of your car anytime during normal business hours. Have a nice day.”

Methos closed his eyes and wished the fates would stop using him as the butt for their jokes.

“Dammit Methos! You are the most irresponsible…”

“Don’t you have insurance?”

“That’s not the point! You know…”

“Why are you yelling at me? It’s Connor’s fault!”

Duncan let loose with a frustrated inarticulate cry.

“Here,” Connor handed his wooden hairbrush to Duncan. “You can go first.”

Duncan stared at the brush and then at Methos.

“Don’t you even think it, MacLeod!”

Duncan hefted the brush and looked at Connor. “Does it work?”

“Mac -- You can’t! You wouldn’t!”

Connor shrugged.

“There’s some temporary improvement.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“DUNCAN!”