The following is a sequel to PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE and is set immediately after Four Light Years Farther. Again, it's a crossover between LFN and the Highlander universe.

As he drove down to the river Seine, Michael tried not to think. It had been a scant few hours since his forced disappearance from Section One. As he had walked out of the forest, the field router masking his location and disabling his implant, Michael had had no idea even where to go. The last fifteen years of his life had been a lie, from start to finish. Nothing he had been able to hang onto was real.

Even the break from Section wasn't clean. Nikita, and god only knew who else, was aware that he was still alive. Michael had refused Walter's help for the same reason he'd asked for an abeyance mission. Then Nikita threw a monkey wrench into his plans – she'd taken Walter's bag of tricks to save his life because she 'wasn't ready' to see him die. His life was just *full* of irony.

At this point, Michael couldn't afford to dwell on the events of the past few weeks, as he wasn't ready for them. Denial had been a way of life for him the last ten years, ever since transferring to Section One. It was easy to continue the pattern, especially now that he had an excuse.

By the time Michael had decided on a course of action, night had fallen. He'd sworn he wouldn't go to MacLeod for help, the immortal had already done more for him than Michael thought he deserved. But as the hours had gone by and his thoughts and emotions were no less jumbled than when he left Nikita in the forest, Michael decided to turn to the only person he knew that hadn't lied to him.

Reaching the immortal had been more difficult than he'd imagined. The number he'd given Michael now apparently belonged to a bar but when Michael asked for the Highlander the man on the other end asked *him* who he was. When Michael hesitated, the man put him on hold and the next thing Michael knew, Joe Dawson picked up the phone and told him that Mac was, in all places, on a barge on the Seine River.

New phone number in hand, Michael called MacLeod and told him he was out of Section. Surprisingly, Mac, who hadn't wanted him to go back to Section in the first place, didn't sound very thrilled. Not wanting to discuss anything over the phone, Michael simply asked Mac what was wrong.

"Richie's dead." MacLeod replied.

"I'll be right over." Michael didn't hesitate. It looked like they would be trading 'war stories.'

Michael proceeded to pick up one of the many false documents he had hidden in various parts of the world, bought a used car (cash, of course) and drove to Mac's location. Refusing to think about the last few times he'd been on a barge of any kind, Michael turned on the radio to escape his thoughts. Rather than distract him the radio mocked him.

There's no time for us
There's no place for us
What is this thing that builds our dreams yet slips away from us

Who wants to live forever
Who wants to live forever....?

There's no chance for us
It's all decided for us
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us

Who wants to live forever
Who wants to live forever?

Who dares to love forever?
When love must die

But touch my tears with your lips
Touch my world with your fingertips
And we can have forever
And we can love forever
Forever is our today
Who wants to live forever
Who wants to live forever?
Forever is our today

Who waits forever anyway?

********

It was late night/early morning when Michael arrived at Duncan's 'home,' the moon casting a pale glow, just enough for the two immortals to recognize each other and lower their guard. Duncan had been waiting for his guest on deck but when Michael finally arrived they immediately went below, privacy being key for both men.

Michael took off his leather trench coat, given to him by Richie after the older immortal had lost a bet and been bested by the 'newbie' and kept in a locker along with the katana Duncan had given him upon graduation. Michael had removed all of that locker's contents, intel he'd gathered over the years to ensure his longevity in Section among the other items removed, before setting off for the barge.

Duncan proceeded to hang up the coat, knowing Michael would be here a while. They sat down across from each other and remained silent, both men needing to gather their thoughts.

"What's on your cheek?" Duncan finally asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Long story." Michael replied, peeling the 'scar' off his left cheek.

"Let me guess, it has something to do with the fact that you said 'I'm out' as opposed to 'we're out?'" Duncan asked, not knowing the story as he hadn't had any real contact with either of his 'sources' since he'd cloistered himself after Richie's death.

"Yes." Michael replied, pain flickering in his gaze. "What's with the hair?"

"Long story."

"What happened to Richie?" Michael asked not ready to deal with his own problems.

"You first." Duncan dodged.

"Not yet."

"I'm older." Duncan countered.

"I'm more stubborn." Michael returned.

"Could be." Duncan conceded and sighed. " I took his head."

"Why?" Michael asked, visibly shocked.

"I was being pursued." Duncan replied.

"By an immortal?" Michael asked, surprised that Mac would run from a fight.

"A demon." Duncan corrected.

"Demon?" Michael echoed skeptically.

"Like I said, long story." Duncan sighed.

"I have time." Michael paused. "How long?"

"Shortly after you left." Duncan replied, understanding the question, somewhat familiar with Michael's thought processes. "You've only just begun your journey. There's much you don't know about. Demons are just as real as immortals, believe it."

"Okay." Michael prepared himself to suspend his beliefs again, much like he did when they first met all those months ago.

"They're not much different than any other evil. They find your weaknesses and prey on them."

"Sounds familiar." Michael commented, sadness rather than humor coloring his voice.

"Well this one used my recent past against me quite effectively. It knew which wounds weren't healed yet then showed up in so many forms that I didn't know which way was up. My friends thought I was going crazy and for a time so did I."

"But it was real." Michael asked for confirmation.

"Yes." Duncan sighed. "I thought I was confronting it, but it was Richie's head I took."

"I see." Michael absorbed the details with little fuss, as usual. "And then?" He asked knowing there had to be more to this story.

"I disappeared for a while." Duncan replied.

"Without fighting back?"

"Yeah." Duncan sighed again, the pain and guilt he'd just so recently buried resurfacing. "But I finally came back and finished it, with some help."

"The demon?"

"Defeated."

"But the dead are still dead?"

"Yes." Duncan confirmed.

"How did you deal with it?" Michael asked, as much for himself as for Duncan.

"Friends." Duncan replied succinctly, a subtle way of 'inviting' Michael to tell *his* story.

"I don't know if I have any." Michael replied, trying for a joke but succeeding only in sounding like a drowning man, then added upon seeing Mac's reactions. "Present company excluded, of course."

"Not even Nikita?" Duncan asked surprised, not knowing the details of what had brought Michael to his doorstep ahead of schedule and not having had sufficient time to find out after their very brief conversation and the younger Immortal's subsequent arrival.

"After I returned to Section I realized something." Michael purposely evaded. "I *wanted* to be there. I still believed in the ends, it was the means that I didn't agree with any longer."

"And the best way to change that was from within." Duncan surmised.

"Yes." Michael confirmed.

"But…" Duncan prodded gently, knowing how hard this was for Michael, a man who never opened up to any one about any thing.

"But Nikita's situation was getting more dangerous. Our superiors still preferred to see her not return from a mission." Michael winced in remembrance. "I thought at the time that Nikita had come to the same conclusion as I did and taken it upon herself to escape."

"Escape?" Duncan questioned, noticing Michael's wording, but letting it go for now knowing he would elaborate at his own pace.

"Yes." Michael paused, pain at the events he was about to recall etching his features. "She drugged me and turned me over to a terrorist organization to further the escape." Michael stopped again, remembering how he tried to get out of the apartment, not knowing at the time if it was a lethal dose of poison or simply a 'knock out' drug that Nikita had used.

"Nikita? The same woman you'd been protecting for six years?" Duncan asked incredulously.

"She told me later that she knew I would be able to get myself out of there."

"How did she know that?" Duncan inquired, thinking perhaps Michael had told Nikita of his immortality.

"Ten years in Section One includes training in resisting torture and escape." Michael elaborated. "Fortunately, the electroshock was done while I was still wearing my clothes so they didn't notice the lack of injury and the wound on my face had healed, but the drying blood concealed it."

"Damn." Duncan cursed, sorry that he hadn't kept better tabs on his pupil. Someone would have a lot to answer for later, but for now all he could was listen.

"She came back in ostensibly to get me to come with her." Michael continued.

"You agreed?" Duncan pushed, knowing Michael needed it, otherwise he'd clam up again.

"Yes. I already had a plan." Michael confirmed. "There was another immortal in Section."

"Only one?" Duncan asked, the sheer number of personnel dictating higher numbers.

"Others probably got themselves killed one way or another to escape." Michael guessed.

"Good point." Duncan conceded. "So who was the other one?"

"A level three operative."

"Level three?" Duncan interrupted, not wanting to appear as though he knew more about Section than he should.

"Middle management." Michael supplied then filled Duncan in on his deal with the other Section immortal.

********

After dropping off an injured Nikita upon their return from The Red Cell compound Nikita had been held in, Michael passed an immortal in the hallway. Michael recognized the 'buzz' and the other immortal recognized that Michael was no longer a pre-immortal, but rather a full fledged one.

"My office, ten minutes." Michael ordered the level three operative quietly and walked away without bothering to wait for a reply.

Predictably, ten minutes later there was a knock on Michael's office door.

"Come in." Michael called out while opening his drawer and keying in the code to scramble all the eyes and ears in his office.

"Please sit down." Michael invited, keeping his tone neutral until he ascertained if his guest was friend or foe.

"Thank you." Came the similarly neutral reply. He'd never known Michael to fight or kill needlessly, but immortality sometimes changed people, and not for the better.

"I don't want your head." Michael stated, sensing the other man's concerns. Michael though, wasn't worried about losing his head to the other immortal.

"Good." Davenport sighed in relief. "I don't want yours either." He added hastily.

"I know."

"How?" Davenport asked curious as to Michael's reasoning.

"You've been an immortal longer and could have done something earlier."

"Maybe I waited so I could get your quickening." Davenport argued to see what Michael would say. He had twenty years as an immortal on Michael but got the impression that if it came down to it, age wouldn't make a damn bit of difference against Michael. Davenport figured correctly that Michael would not re-emerge until he was fully prepared for his new life. Not that Davenport was after anybody's head in the first place, unless of course, he was challenged.

"Why are you still in Section?" Michael didn't bother to reply and instead asked a question of his own, wanting to know why Davenport hadn't gotten himself canceled or killed on a mission rather than continue to as Operations' *true* errand boy.

"I've been asking myself the same damn thing over the last six months or so." Davenport replied honestly. "At first I thought I could do some good. However, I've come to realize that won't happen, not with the current regime anyway and I don't see either one of them 'retiring' any time soon."

"You were immortal when you came to Section?" Michael asked.

"Yeah, it's what got me here in the first place."

"How?" Michael asked curiously, having studied Davenport's file which included an autopsy report on his victim before their meeting. "You were brought in for murder, of a mortal."

"Not an ordinary one, that's for sure." Davenport countered. "It was self defense. The guy came at me with a gun and a battle ax."

"A mortal?" Michael asked skeptically.

"Oh, yeah. No doubt." Davenport relayed. "And just in case I wasn't clear on his intentions he started ranting about how evil all immortals are and how it's up to watchers like him to stop that evil."

"Watchers?"

"That's what the man said. He was cocky, told me backup was on the way and that I wouldn't be 'waking up' again. He thought he had the upper hand, even showed me some tattoo he had on his left wrist."

"What kind of tattoo?"

Davenport described what he had seen, a bird inside of a circle. "Had no idea then and still don't have a clue about any watchers. Tried digging around, but nobody knows anything. Maybe he was deranged, who knows?" Davenport mused. "Anyway, he wasn't a very good shot so I didn't die and seeing that my sword was the only weapon I had, I used it."

Michael filed away Davenport's story for future reference. Perhaps he'd ask MacLeod if and when he saw him again. As old as he was, maybe Mac knew something about 'watchers.'

"Got me a one way ticket to Section." Davenport sighed then asked. "You want out?"

"Do you?"

"I'm getting there, man. Closer and closer every damn day." Davenport answered. "Listen, if you go, I go. Seriously, you're the only level five or higher I still have any respect for."

"We'll see." Michael said thoughtfully.

********

"So, you helped each other out?"

"Yes." Michael confirmed. "As I said, Nikita came back into Section in disguise, supposedly to get me out."

"Ostensibly? Supposedly? This doesn't sound good." Duncan realized, silently berating himself again for not keeping up to date, but then again he hadn't stayed up to date on much of anything since…

"No." Michael sighed and continued painfully. "I ran Davenport over to facilitate our escape and as far as Section is concerned, he's dead. At least he got out intact."

"Go on." Duncan prodded again patiently.

"After a week we were captured by Section."

"I could have helped you disappear." Duncan admonished gently.

"No, Nikita gave away our location."

"What? Why?" Duncan asked more puzzled by the minute.

"It was a mission."

"For Section?"

"For Center, Section's governing body. She was a 'mole' for them for three years."

"Damn." Duncan cursed again. "So, how'd you get out?"

"Nikita ordered my cancellation. I asked for and was granted an abeyance mission."

"She what?!?" Duncan asked bewildered. "After everything you'd done, everything you'd risked?"

"I put her well being above Section, it was tantamount to treason."

"Her well being? She sent you on a suicide mission for keeping her alive?"

"Walter, Section's munitions chief offered me a way out." Michael continued his story in answer. "I'd rather have let everyone in Section believe I was dead…"

"So you said thanks, but no thanks." Duncan deduced.

"Yes. But Nikita had other ideas. She 'rescued' me."

"Why do I get the feeling this is *not* a good thing?"

"Nikita told me she wasn't ready to see me die, but she didn't love me either. Never did, in fact."

"You think it's true?" Duncan asked, several possibilities for Nikita's actions coming to mind.

"I don't know." Michael replied honestly. "I don't know Nikita anymore, never did it seems."

"Well, why do you think she…did what she did?"

"Anger perhaps. I *have* given her a lot to be angry about over the years. I thought we got past it, but perhaps I was mistaken." Michael replied, despair coloring his voice. "Anger, contempt, revenge or perhaps just plain indifference to me."

"But she let you go." Duncan pointed out. "You think it was out of guilt?"

"Living with the memories of…" Michael's voice finally cracked. "What happened is more painful than dying, perhaps Nikita understood that and decided it was fair punishment for me."

"You don't really believe that."

"Why not?" Michael asked. "Nikita didn't have to bring us back in to complete the evaluation. *She* chose to return and end it the way it did."

"So, you've given up." Duncan surmised.

"Yes." Michael confirmed, rehashing events with Mac reinforcing his despondency. "What's the point? I have nothing left."

"If that's the way you feel." Duncan began, walking into his bedroom and over to the old trunk laying at the foot of his bed, reverently taking out the sword he'd so recently sworn not to pick up again. "Let's get it over with."

********

While it may have been Duncan's intention to spar with his former student as a way to help him focus on the future and not the past, it had turned out to be the Highlander who needed to focus more. While Michael had still harbored a wish for oblivion, he couldn't say no to his former teacher when Mac had 'offered' a sparring session. On the short trip over to the abandoned warehouse they were now standing in, Michael had put aside his own melancholy enough for Mac's story to sink in. Michael had realized that while his circumstances at least had a tiny glimmer of hope for the future, Mac's didn't. You couldn't raise the dead, not even the immortal dead. Michael promised himself on the short drive that he would find a way to help Mac overcome his past before succumbing to his own. It was the least he could do for his one remaining friend.

Michael stared at his former teacher standing a few feet away. MacLeod held his ivory- hilted katana in his favorite waiting position – held in both hands but down and pointed to the side. By all outward appearances he was ready for their sparring session but to Michael's perceptions something was missing. As he analyzed that feeling, he realized that Mac's eyes were blank and nearly lifeless. In all of their previous fights, MacLeod's dark eyes would sparkle and dance with the intensity of his love of the movement.

Sword fighting, like other hand-to-hand combat was much more personal and intimate than the usual Section method of shooting a target. The first lesson to be learned was that you had to look directly into your opponent's eyes. Looking anywhere else was a dead giveaway of where your blade would go next. No, everything you needed to know would be found by examining the other person's face. There would be subtle shifts in their expressions, tightening of muscles, and various layers of intelligence to decipher in their gaze. The other movements of their body and their blade you saw peripherally in a strange sense of awareness. You saw their sword, but you didn't look at it.

Looking into his sparring partner's face now, Michael could see the half-healed scars on the man's psyche. There was a veil separating MacLeod from his actions. He stood there, prepared to go through the motions but his spirit was in retreat, refusing to deal with the implications of holding the katana again. Michael sighed inwardly, thinking that this apathy would have to go.

He raised his own katana and advanced. Mac's blade met his and they engaged in a few half-hearted strokes, bantering it was called. Michael's concern increased. He recalled a past conversation he'd had with Richie. Both of MacLeod's students had agreed that their mentor probably had an incredibly good chance of being the last Immortal – the one to get the Prize. It wasn't even that Duncan was so skilled with a sword – he was and no one doubted it – it was the fire in his soul, the life that burned so brightly in him even after everything he'd experienced in four hundred plus years. The Highlander and his katana moved as one entity and at the core of the man one could sense the deeply held knowledge that he would win. Richie had explained that Mac had gone up against enemies older and better than him, but that stubborn hopefulness and quiet confidence in not just his abilities but the right of his cause had seen him through every crisis.

It was gone now, Michael sensed, and he worried. Could the Scot survive in the Immortal world without that living fire in his eyes and his soul? He allowed himself to make a few mistakes in his attack…leaving an opening here or there, but Duncan didn't press the advantage. Damn the man, anyway, the younger Immortal thought. His teacher would casually and easily block the blows coming toward him, but refused to counterattack.

'Let's take this up a notch,' Michael thought grimly.

Duncan was holding his sword directly in front of him. The younger man crossed his blade a few inches from the tip of the katana. Duncan automatically began pushing Michael's sword away and Michael allowed him but then suddenly swung into the Scot's right arm – hard.

MacLeod stumbled back, hissing from the pain of the cut in his bicep. He touched the injury and looked at the blood on his fingers. "Zantei setsutetsu – cutting through nails, severing steel," he murmured. "Very good."

Michael allowed a few seconds for healing since this was not a real fight, and watched as MacLeod returned to his favorite waiting position. He mirrored this position and lowered his own sword then touched Mac's katana a few inches from the tip. When Mac attempted to push it away, he thrust forward. The tip of his katana touched the Highlander's chest and a small drop of blood welled up. He backed off, not wanting to follow through with the maneuver, which was referred to as "pushing into a lion's den."

He saw the first flickers of annoyance pass across Duncan's face and raised an eyebrow insolently. The frustration turned to anger, which was quickly put aside. Duncan began attacking and Michael began defending himself backing up quickly. As Mac swung at his left arm, he saw an opening and slipped to his left under the katana and struck Mac's right arm once again.

Taking a step back, leading with his left leg, Michael assessed the condition of his teacher. Was it his imagination or was a light shining in the other man's eyes? A few more minutes passed, the two immortals evenly matched until Duncan began reemerging in earnest from his self imposed exile.

Not long after, Duncan turned sideways and held his blade above his head with his left hand gripping the front part of the hilt. Michael stepped forward, swinging only to realize that Mac had swirled the katana down and sliced his wrists. He felt the sting of the cuts as blood ran down his arms and forced himself to keep a grip on his sword.

He attacked Duncan again, who had moved once again to that downward positioning of his sword that he favored. As Michael neared, Duncan stepped outward with his right foot, and as his attacker passed, slashed him in the back. Michael fell to his knees.

Duncan stepped around and hit the end of Michael's sword with the blade next to his tsuba, which was much stronger and closer to the katana's center of balance. The sword fell from his student's grasp.

The tip of Duncan's katana at his throat, Michael looked up into those dark brown eyes to see the beginnings of the look he'd aimed for. It wasn't a full-fledged fire yet, but there was more than a candle's glow in the other man's eyes.

"Welcome back." he said.

********

"Who was supposed to bring who back from the brink?" Duncan asked a few moments later after both men healed and cooled down.

"Quite a pair, aren't we?" Michael commented dryly in reply.

"Yeah, a sorry pair if you ask me." Duncan agreed. "So what are we gonna do about it?"

"We?" Michael sobered. "You're going to do what you do best."

"Oh no, you don't." Duncan reproached. "If I'm going to return to the world of the living then so are you."

"Mac…" Michael began.

"Twelve hours." Duncan interrupted.

"For what?" Michael asked curiously, unable to believe anything Mac could do in a day would change anything.

"Trust me." Was all Mac would say.

"Alright." Michael reluctantly agreed after a few minutes of stubborn silence in which Mac offered no explanation or elaboration, in this instance at least, just as stubborn as his former pupil.

"Good. Let's go."

"Where to?"

"Back to the barge." Duncan replied. "You're going to make yourself comfortable for the day."

"And you?"

"Going to talk to a couple of old friends." Duncan replied cryptically, knowing exactly who he was going to talk to and pretty sure about where he would find them, too.

"Mac…" Michael tried again.

"You gave your word."

"Fine." Michael returned, annoyed at being kept in the dark, but bowing to his former teacher's wishes.

********

"Wow. It's a miracle." Joe Dawson exclaimed from the stage of his blues bar where he was tuning up his guitar upon Mac's entrance. "Must be something big to bring you out of hibernation."

"Where's Methos?" Duncan asked, his anger barely contained.

"Hello to you, too." Joe answered in reply, coming over to the bar and pouring himself a drink even though he hadn't officially opened yet, knowing by the anger emanating from Mac's eyes, posture and voice he'd need it. "Nice to see you. Glad you stopped by for a visit."

"Sorry." Mac muttered contritely.

"Yeah. I know." Joe accepted the apology. "You look better, at least. Got some life in you."

"Thanks."

"About damn time, too. Although it doesn't look like it's good news that brought you here."

"You're right about that." Duncan agreed.

"Well, let's go, then." Joe returned. "Dave's coming in, he can open."

"Where to?" Duncan asked suspiciously.

"You said you wanted to find Methos. So I'm taking you to him."

"You know where he is?" Duncan's suspicions rose even further at Joe's seeming foreknowledge of his search and his quarry's whereabouts.

"Yeah. He said you'd be looking for him."

"Really? When was this?"

"Last night."

"He knew, did he?" Duncan muttered, mostly to himself, his anger growing at the other immortal. "Fine, then. Where is he?"

"No way, man." Joe answered. "I'm coming with you."

"Why?"

"He's 5000 years old. I'm gonna make sure he makes it another year and that you don't regret taking his head later."

********

"What took you so long?" Methos asked impatiently as he opened the door to his opulent part-time apartment.

"Expecting me, were you?" Duncan seethed, barely containing his anger at the 5000- year-old immortal.

"Yes." Methos confirmed, unperturbed, leading the way into his informal living room and sitting down on the couch. Joe joined him on the other end.

"So you know why I'm here." Duncan returned, pacing, too angry to sit down.

"Yes." Methos repeated, less relaxed in the face of the unexpected force of the Highlander's ire and glad the watcher had accompanied MacLeod after all.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Duncan asked incredulously.

"Maybe you should take this up on holy ground." Joe piped up only half jokingly, aware that both men had their swords and thankful he'd brought his gun in case the argument escalated into the physical. He quieted again after getting dirty looks from both immortals.

"Would you sit down, already? You're wearing down the carpet." Methos commented once Joe had sat back, once again the observer.

"This better be good." Duncan acquiesced after a few moments and sat down on the chair furthest away from his host finally ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I'm listening." He said more calmly, briefly flashing back to an earlier confrontation that had resulted from a conversation with Joe several months ago, while Michael was still Duncan's pupil.

********

"I can't believe they'd do that to one of their own." Duncan had stated to his watcher/friend one late afternoon as they were enjoying a drink at the bar while Richie and Michael sparred in a converted abandoned gym a few blocks away. They'd been talking about the information Joe had been able to glean about Mac's student and the organization he 'worked' for.

"Which part?" Joe asked, as he had gathered much disturbing information about Michael Samuelle, Section operative.

"The kid." Duncan elaborated.

"Does he know?"

"Of course he knows, I told him about immortals not being able to have any."

"And he hasn't said a word?"

"Michael?" Duncan questioned. "You've met him."

"Good point." Joe conceded then muttered. "But then again his past, hell even his present, is not a stellar one."

"I think Michael has paid more than his share of dues." Duncan countered tightly, misunderstanding who Joe was referring to.

"Not Michael." Joe paused, realizing his faux pas but, resigned to Mac finding out the truth now, rather than later, continued anyway. "Methos."

"What does he have to do with this?" Duncan asked, puzzled.

"He must have approved the scenario, or what do they call it? Profile?" Joe explained, the proverb 'in for a penny, in for a pound' reverberating in his mind.

"What are you talking about?"

"The Watchers isn't the only covert organization our ancient friend has involved himself in."

********

"I can't believe you allowed it." Duncan had stated to Methos one night on the barge several months ago, not too long after Joe had revealed the older immortal's connection to Section One. Duncan knew his friend had a ruthless streak in him, you didn't survive 5000 plus years without one. But, he didn't think he'd lost his humanity.

"Why? Because he's one of us? Or because he's now your student?"

"Because he's a human being." Duncan countered.

"You can be such a boy scout sometimes."

"And you can be such a bastard sometimes." Duncan retorted. "So, what's your point?"

"First of all, I do not approve all profiles. I don't even read the damn debriefs..."

"Don't give me that." Duncan cut in. "This wasn't an ordinary mission."

"You didn't let me finish." Methos reproved mildly. "You're right it was an extraordinary mission. The target was extremely elusive and this scenario was offered by Madeline, Section One's second in command. It didn't get to me to approve or disapprove because Section's head, Operations, rejected it himself."

"So you're telling me the woman had an extramarital affair?" Duncan asked skeptically.

"No." Methos replied then elaborated. "Turns out Madeline went ahead anyway. I was occupied with Watcher problems just then and by the time I had found out it was too late, Elena was already pregnant. I didn't know Michael was pre-immortal then either."

"Watcher problems? Maybe you had your hand in too many cookie jars."

"Well, the Agency is the only cookie jar I still have a hand in."

"Thankfully." Duncan muttered. "I'm curious, would you have approved it, had the profile reached you?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Methos replied honestly. "I believed much more in the ends justifying the means back then."

********

"This better be good." Duncan acquiesced after a few moments and sat down on the chair furthest away from his host finally ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I'm listening." He said more calmly.

"Where do you want to start?" Methos finally asked Duncan after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"At this point, I don't even know." Duncan sighed. "Just tell me why you set Michael up. Did you really doubt his loyalty?"

"To Section One, yes. To the Agency and the cause, no."

"Then what the hell did you set him up for?" Duncan asked in frustration.

"To do *you* a favor."

"Me?" Duncan asked, shocked by the revelation.

"After Michael returned to Section you kept whining about the injustice of your former student's situation, the unfairness of Section's leaders…yada, yada, yada. So, against my better judgment *and* despite the plans for him, I gave Michael a get out of jail free card."

"You couldn't come up with a better way?" Joe interjected as Mac was still processing the implications of what Methos had just revealed. Even though Mac had been quiet on the way over, Joe knew what had happened courtesy of Michael's watcher, still in Section for the time being.

"What? You think I planned it that way?" Methos asked then sighed. "I told my immediate subordinate that Michael had to be canceled. I didn't know he would take it as an opportunity to teach Section personnel that everyone was expendable and no one could be trusted."

"Great. Your subordinate got on a power trip and ruined a few lives in the process." Joe commented.

"Well, okay. Maybe things didn't go as planned, but he *is* out." Methos pointed out.

"He didn't *want* out." Duncan finally spoke.

"What?!?" Methos was almost yelling.

"Like you said Michael was, is, still loyal to the Agency." Duncan explained. "He didn't want out, he wanted change."

"Why in the bloody hell then did you tell me Michael wanted out?" Methos asked, perturbed.

"I thought he did."

"So after everything, you're telling me it was for nothing? I lost a good operative who I had major long term plans for and the damn organization is in an uproar." Methos muttered. "Wonderful. This is what I get for getting involved with a damn boy scout."

"So, what now?" Joe asked practically, knowing something had to be done to solve this 'problem' otherwise the rift between friends would never mend. "How do we fix this?"

"I don't know. Ask the boy scout, he seems to know everything." Methos muttered in anger.

"Okay, he's a boy scout and you're a ruthless bastard. Great, we've established that already. Can you two get over it so we can move on? Arguing won't change the circumstances, now will it?" Joe asked, the voice of reason, more removed from the situation than the other two.

"He's right." Duncan commented, admitting that he was at least as responsible as Methos for the current situation.

"So what if he's right? Where can we go from here?" Methos nearly huffed, still upset at MacLeod for his 'meddling' and himself for listening to the Highlander in the first place.

"Well, let's start at the beginning." Joe turned to Methos, thinking things through more clearly and objectively right now than the two immortals. "If you hadn't listened to Mac, where in the organization did you see Michael?"

"I recently replaced my top person." Methos began in answer.

"Adrian?" Joe asked.

"Yes." Methos confirmed.

"How do *you* know about that?" Duncan asked, surprised at Joe's knowledge.

"What? I can't have any other friends?" Methos answered the question. "I told Joe all about my 'retiring manager' problems, too. He had the same idea for a solution you did."

"Sorry." Duncan muttered sheepishly.

"As I was starting to say." Methos tried again. "Adrian retired and her replacement wasn't working out. He's more suited to Oversight than to Center. This little debacle just confirmed it."

"You think Mick will accept a demotion?" Joe asked skeptically.

"Mick?" Methos asked aghast at the possibility.

"Yeah." Duncan returned. "Adrian retired so you moved him up. Right?"

"Actually, I didn't listen to either one of you." Methos paused. "I mean, really, Mick's just a front. He's good at what he does, running Center's day to day operations. But, overall control, no."

"I didn't tell you to promote *him* in particular. I just told you to promote from within." Duncan interjected.

"So did I." Joe added.

"Well, I *did.* Sort of." Methos hedged. "I mean I didn't go totally out of the field. Besides, Adrian did stay around long enough to train him."

"Train who?" Joe and Duncan asked simultaneously.

"Well, you have to understand the background I was coming from." Methos hedged, knowing his two friends' probable reaction if he didn't explain himself first.

"I can't wait to hear this one." Duncan commented.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Methos asked.

"It's just that when you start explaining your actions is when we start worrying." Joe elaborated.

"Well, maybe I have a *bit* more experience than the two of you and without 'explanations' you won't understand."

"Oh yeah, all that experience really paid off." Duncan countered.

"May I remind you that if it wasn't for your whining, this would never have happened? *And* this isn't the first time I've been sorry I listened to you either." Methos added.

"Alright gentlemen." Joe had had enough and pointed to Methos. "You, explain." Then pointing to Duncan, "You, sit back down and listen. I knew we should have done this on holy ground."

"Fine." Duncan sat.

"Fine." Methos echoed and started his story up again. "Adrian was quite impressive in her days. She did wonders with the Sections. She trained her personnel well; however, things changed and she was no longer as formidable as she once was. She realized it herself as well and asked to be retired. At first I did want to promote from within. Had a candidate or two all lined up." Methos paused, looking pointedly at the Highlander.

"We've established that already. Next." Joe interjected before the next argument could start.

"Anyway, when that plan didn't pan out, I decided to go outside of the Agency. Someone who I thought would be 'untainted' by the Agency, but experienced and familiar enough with international law enforcement. I thought I found him, someone relatively high up in the pecking order of their organization who'd been undercover for several years while simultaneously remaining in command of their own substantial task force. An added bonus was his recent run-in with Section One. He'd vehemently disapproved of their operating style and had excellent suggestions on what and where to change. With Adrian still around to train him in the nuances of Agency politics, I thought it would work out very well."

"What organization?" Joe asked.

"Interpol." Methos supplied.

"Interpol?" Duncan asked incredulously, remembering his on again-off again (immortal) girlfriend Amanda's run-ins with that organization. "That's a completely different mindset. They barely scratch the surface of covert operations…"

"I know, I know." Methos sighed then continued. "Volker, that's the bloke's name, failed miserably. His saving grace was coming to me and saying as much yesterday. He'd told me what he'd done with my scenario and the fact that he'd regretted it almost immediately, but couldn't stop it once it was in motion. He realized that his actions were no better than that of those he was supposed to change, and that he also gave in too easily to the temptation of all that power and opportunity for a little 'payback.' Even asked if he could perhaps start fresh in Oversight instead."

"So, Adrian's replacement was supposed to be Michael?" Joe asked after Methos finished his tale.

"Actually, Adrian and Mick both liked Volker for Oversight in the first place with Michael taking over Center until Duncan's nagging threw a monkey wrench into everything. They were both rather surprised at my about face regarding your former student's fate."

"So, nothing has really changed." Joe pointed out.

"Of course it has." Duncan contradicted.

"No." Methos shook his slowly. "He's right." Methos stated, his mind frantically working out a solution. "It's not like everyone who dies in Section or the Agency always stays dead. And anyway, no one ever sees Jones. But even if Michael wanted to change that, which would definitely be in character, it wouldn't matter."

"What do you mean it wouldn't matter?" Duncan asked.

"You don't know the goings on of Agency too well. I may not be around all the time, but I certainly keep track of everything. Even if Mick hadn't confirmed it via surveillance, there's no way I'd believe Nikita hadn't planned on a suicide mission and rescue as soon as she was ordered to cancel Michael." Methos elaborated with much more enthusiasm than he'd shown throughout the entire conversation. "Yes. This could definitely work."

"So, Nikita's words were just to get Michael to leave." Duncan mused aloud.

"Of course. I can't believe Michael didn't see it." Methos commented.

"Well, the recent past made things more difficult." Duncan defended his former student.

"Good point." Methos conceded then added thoughtfully. "Of course, immortality might be something *Nikita* can't get over."

"You think he'd tell her?" Joe asked.

"Yes." Duncan and Methos replied simultaneously and without hesitation right as Duncan's cell phone rang interrupting the discussion.

"Hello?" Duncan answered his phone, identified Michael as his caller and then listened silently for a moment, his expression not a happy one.

"What?" Duncan spoke into the phone. "It's ok." Another long pause. "Let him go." A short pause. "Yes, I'm sure. Head back to the barge. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes and I'll explain." Duncan hung up.

"What happened?" Methos asked.

"Michael's watcher got too close." Duncan sighed.

"Damn." Joe cursed. "He didn't…"

"No." Duncan confirmed. "Michael gave him quite a scare, but no injuries."

"How the hell did he spot him?" Joe asked, surprised that the veteran watcher had been 'caught.'

"I'm sure ingrained Section paranoia was a factor." Duncan looked meaningfully at Methos. "But, it seems that Michael is also somewhat familiar with your organization."

"How?"

"A former Section colleague of his had a run in with a renegade at some point."

"Wonderful." Joe muttered, getting up.

"You're coming?"

"My mess, right?"

"You coming, too?" Duncan asked Methos.

"Nope." Methos replied. "With all his connections I wouldn't be surprised if Michael was able to identify me. I think learning about the watchers is enough to digest for one night."

"Good point." Duncan conceded.

"We'll finish this discussion tonight."

"Sure, it's not like we need to sleep or anything." Joe commented on their way out.

Waiting by the barge, Michael saw his former teacher's approach even before he felt an immortal presence and he somehow wasn't surprised that the older immortal hadn't come alone.

"Mac. Joe." Michael greeted warily, aware of the possibility that he was somehow being setup, Davenport's story warring with his own history with the immortal and his friend.

"Michael." Joe returned while Duncan merely nodded, thinking ahead to how he would explain things.

The three men went inside and made themselves comfortable for what surely would be another long conversation.

"You're a watcher." Michael focused on Joe, surprising both watcher and Highlander alike.

"Yes." Joe confirmed. "How did you know?"

"You're wearing a short sleeved shirt tonight." Michael elaborated. "Your tattoo is showing."

"You've seen it before?" Joe asked referring to the tattoo while Duncan remained silent, content to let Joe explain about his supposedly secret organization.

"I've been given a description."

"By another immortal?" Joe wanted needed details confirmed. "In Section?"

"Yes, but not anymore." Michael answered, protecting the other man's identity.

"Must have been Davenport." Joe muttered, almost to himself, then seeing the flash of anger and distrust in the young immortal's gaze quickly decided to 'explain' a few things.

"Watchers have been around for hundreds of years. All we're supposed to do is objectively observe immortals and record their lives. Contact, let alone interference, was strictly forbidden. It still is, technically."

"Your former colleague's experience and my friendship with Joe are *very* rare exceptions." Duncan threw in.

"Explain." A still wary Michael directed.

"Joe was, and still is, my watcher." Duncan began. "I stumbled onto the organization by 'accident.' My stubbornness wouldn't allow me to let it go until I uncovered all I could about the watchers."

"The same stubbornness and tenacity that helped him keep his head for over 400 hundred years." Joe added.

"And made sure I didn't leave until I knew how to use a sword." Michael remembered. "So, when did you become friends? Doesn't a no interference policy preclude friendship?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Joe commented. "Well, it started out as each of us asking for a favor or two from the other and kind of snowballed from there."

"And your superiors approve?" Michael asked.

"Joe's high up in the organization himself, and I've helped them out occasionally with internal and external problems, so they tolerate it."

"Did Davenport's watcher constitute an internal problem?" Michael asked, putting the pieces together quickly.

"Yeah." Joe sighed. "My brother-in-law was also a watcher, also high up in the organization."

"I can take it from here." Duncan offered.

"No, it's okay. Like I said, my mess." Joe returned. "To make a long story short, he became convinced that all immortals were evil and needed to die. He had enough followers in the organization to cause a lot of damage and kill some very good men, both mortal and immortal before we could stop him."

"And now?"

"There are no more renegades." Joe stated definitively. "The man that was following you was only observing."

"Every immortal is assigned a watcher?"

"Yes." Joe confirmed. "As soon as we know someone is immortal, they're assigned a watcher."

"But we're not supposed to know." Michael surmised.

"That's how it usually works." Joe said ruefully. "Your guy was actually one of my best."

"What about in Section?" Michael asked, not recognizing his watcher as Section personnel.

"That was easier, much more contained. There was no need to follow you then at all. I also had someone in Section already on Davenport, so he just did double duty." Joe answered. "How did you 'find' him so fast?"

"I've been 'observed' for fifteen years, it's become habit to look for shadows."

"I'm sorry, but even if I didn't assign you a watcher, inevitable interactions with other immortals would eventually, probably sooner than later, get you noticed anyway."

"It's okay, I'll get used to it." Michael replied, shocking the other two with the swiftness of his acceptance.

"You will?" Mac asked first.

"Well, if you're okay with it, I guess I will be too, eventually." Michael explained. Fifteen years of being watched like a hawk made one used to living in a fishbowl. As he'd just said, if Mac, almost as much a stickler for privacy as he was, didn't seem to mind it, well neither would he. Eventually. Michael trusted Mac and if the older immortal trusted Joe, then so would he. Besides, the way he saw his futire at this point, it didn't look he'd need a watcher for very long.

"Good." Joe commented and stood. "Now that that's settled, I'll be going. Maybe catch a few winks before heading over to the bar."

"I'll see you there tonight." Mac returned, getting up to see Joe out.

"That's ok, I know the way out." Joe countered.

********

"So?" Michael asked after the watcher had departed. "What now?"

"Twelve hours, that was the deal." Mac replied. "That gives me until tonight."

"Why?"

"Why, what?" Duncan asked, not understanding. "I know you're a man of few words, but…"

"What's the difference?" Michael elaborated. "Now or tonight?"

"Things might look better by then." Duncan replied cryptically, giving Michael a dose of his own medicine.

"I don't think so." Michael sighed.

"You might be surprised." Duncan returned then continued, suspicion coloring his voice. "Now, tell me the truth about the imminent placement of your new watcher."

"What do you mean?" Michael asked, blank stare firmly in place, trying to duck the question even though he knew exactly what Duncan was asking.

"You know exactly what I mean." Duncan persisted, not fooled for an instant, knowing his former student a lot better than Joe did. "Why so accepting of a lifetime shadow? That's *not* like you."

"I may have agreed to being watched, but that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy on them." Michael explained, hoping his acting skills were good enough to fool the older immortal.

"Ah. Well, that's more like it." Duncan grinned, erroneously accepting his former student's explanation. He believed his protégé and easily imagined the frustration Michael's watchers would likely endure given his considerable natural and Section honed skills. He had no doubt the young immortal would go through a number of watchers in no time at all. "So, any plans for the day?"

"No." Michael replied, then seeing the weariness warring with suspicion in Duncan's countenance, added. "While Joe figures out who watches me next, I'm going to enjoy some 'freedom.'

"You haven't gotten much sleep either." Duncan commented, knowing what Michael was trying to do.

"I'm fine." Michael returned, used to lack of sleep and a host of other creature comforts thanks to his Section training and experience.

"Be careful." Duncan warned, somewhat wary of letting Michael out of sight now that there was nobody 'watching' him. "Remember your promise and don't lose your head."

"Of course." Michael replied in answer to all three warnings. He pointedly picked up his coat with the sword hidden in its folds on the way out so Mac wouldn't worry about him keeping his promise.

********

After Section was blown up following the Glass Curtain breech, they had moved to a remarkably similar but slightly more advanced facility in a Paris suburb. The new location had just enough civilian traffic to mask Section activities.

Although considered dead as far as most of the Agency was concerned, Michael didn't take any chances. He kept far away from Section's new base and ended up in a part of Paris he never frequented, nor would ever be expected to visit.

After walking for several hours Michael stepped into a store where anonymity was easy. Three stories of wall to wall books and music greeted him upon entrance. At ground level was the music department, one floor up were books and assorted software. The third floor contained a café and another section of wall to wall, almost floor to ceiling, rows of books.

At various intervals were tables, armchairs, love seats and couches for readers to sit back and browse through books and music. Many took the opportunity to read rather than browse. Picking various books at random, Michael found an empty armchair in a quiet corner and, after making sure the positioning of the chair allowed him an unobstructed view of his surrounding area, sat down.

A master of blending in when needed, Michael proceeded to do just that. Picking up and opening one of the books at his feet, he began to 'read.' While a part of his mind remained aware of his surroundings, including the task of turning pages at proper intervals, the rest of Michael's mind wandered to thoughts of his future, or lack thereof.

Where did he go from here? The question kept reverberating in his mind, but the answer wouldn't come.

The life he'd led for the last fifteen years had come to an abrupt and painful end. Michael was dead to all but a couple of the people he cared anything about. To the one who really mattered and knew different, he might as well be dead.

His purpose was gone as well. Unbidden, a snatch of a two year old conversation came to mind.

Nikita: You have to find a reason to live.

Michael: Where?

Nikita: Wherever you can.

Nikita had been his reason to live then. Eventually, fighting for innocents (like his 'son') and the greater good reasserted itself as well. Now he had neither.

Would anything have been different if he had listened to his screaming instincts and not escaped Section with Nikita? Would he still have been there now? Or had his death sentence and subsequent 'mercy' been inevitable? Had he burned too many bridges in forging and continuing their relationship? Had Nikita known him so poorly that she thought he wanted out rather than in and making a difference? Or was it something else entirely that necessitated his being 'canceled?'

Michael couldn't go back, not to his 'son' and certainly not to Section. Perhaps if he wasn't immortal, he'd be looking at things differently. But the fact that he *was* immortal couldn't be denied. It made things worse in a way, much worse. He'd have to deal with loss as long as he had his head, drift in and out so no-one discovered what he was. How did Mac do it for over four hundred years? He couldn't even imagine doing it for one.

His morose musings were suddenly interrupted by the awareness of an immortal presence nearby.