Richie's motorcycle roared to a stop next to the sleek black T-bird. Tendrials of blue light flashed from an alley, their eerie blue and white streaks reflecting off window panes seconds before shattering them. Kneeling in the alley, a figure held a sword high above his head. His screams of inhuman agony and elation echoed off the buildings as the fingers of light from the headless body on the ground struck him repeatedly.
Richie froze in morbid fascination, the blue and white lights flickering across his youthful face as he pulled off his helmet. Watching a Quickening brought back memories of the pain and ecstasy of experiencing one. As the last lights died away into the night, Richie shook himself and headed toward the kneeling figure. A buzz filled his mind as he did so, but Richie wasn't sure if the kneeling figure could feel it so soon after the jolt of a Quickening.
"Duncan?" he asked cautiously.
"Yea? What is it, Richie?" the dark-haired figure asked, using his sword to prop himself up from a kneeling position, "I thought I told you not to follow me."
"I know Mac, it's just that --" Richie broke off as he saw a shadow duck out from behind a dumpster. The figure was wearing a trenchcoat, and carried a camera in one hand. "Hey, who's that?"
Duncan MacLeod pulled himself to his feet and watched the figure run down the block and disappear around a corner, "It's probably a Watcher, Richie. Who else would be following us?"
The redhead considered, "I suppose so, but he's awfully sloppy... being seen I mean."
Duncan slid his katana back into the inside of his trenchcoat, "Hm, I suppose so. I wonder if I should tell Joe about it."
"Why not?" Richie offered, "besides, you look like you could use a drink."
"Fine, but first I think you need to explain why you followed me when I told you stay put..." Duncan grumbled good naturedly.
Stray beams of chalky white moonlight filtered in though ceiling slits and into the warehouse-like bar. The once smoky air of the room had thinned out, except for a table in the far corner of the bar. The dim track lighting reflected off the smoke from the cigarette of one of the circular table's occupants.
"Aren't you ever going to stop smoking those?" lamented a tall, blond woman, looking up from her cards.
"No," the smoker answered from his seat next to her. He took a long, slow draw from his cigarette. "Your bet, Joe," he said, turning to the layed-back looking man with a short, silver peppered beard and graying hair.
"I'll meet you, and raise you ten," said Joe, as he tossed a handful of chips onto the growing pile in the middle of the table. "You know Carlson, unlike some of the people around here, you're getting older, and those things only shorten your life span."
"I don't need you to preach to me, Joe," the gaunt, wrinkled, but intimidating man answered. "Besides," he added, taking a unhealthy puff on the cigarette and blowing the gray smoke towards the chips, "who wants to live forever?"
"I know I sure don't," said a balding man on Joe's right, as he tossed in some chips to meet his employer's bet, "just Watching them is enough for me."
"That is until some of us get the bright idea that it's okay to actually go up and say 'Hi!'," grumbled a heavy-set black man who sat across from Carlson as he tossed some chips onto the pile. "Raise you 20."
"Hey, now we've been though this before guys," Joe snapped, "there's no reason to dredge up the past again."
"What about when it walks in though the door?" the blond woman asked, nodding towards the front of the bar.
"Oh, damn," Joe swore, upon seeing the tall, handsome man with a black ponytail and a younger looking, but equally handsome guy, with red hair stride into the bar.
"What is it you always say, Dawson?" the blond lady quipped. "'Sooner or later, everybody comes to Joe's'?"
"Cute, Kim. Real cute." Joe said, slamming his cards down on the table. "Hold on 'til I get back."
The gray haired Watcher stood from his chair and picked up his cane from where it rested against the table.
"Um, guys," he said, thumping towards the two figures, "now's really not a very good time for you to be here," Joe said, nodding back toward the circle of poker players who sat watching Joe with an expectant air.
"Oh, sorry, Joe," said the dark haired man, "we can come back later."
Joe looked back at the circle of Watchers, and back at his two friends, "No, wait, Mac, Richie. What the hell, it's a public establishment, and we're technically still open...you have every right to be here. Sit down, I'll get you a drink."
"Joe, are you sure?" asked the redhead, not wanting to get his friend in trouble.
"Yea, Rich, I'm sure," Joe said, thumping over towards the bar, "they need to learn that Immortals are people just like everyone else."
Guiding Duncan and Richie over to the bar, the gray haired Watcher poured two drinks, "I see you handled Kerrigan,"
"Yea," Duncan said, talking a swallow of his drink, "Look, Joe, we just stopped in to tell you that we saw one of your guys... he ran off just after the Quickening."
Joe paused, "Hmm, Kerrigan was assigned a new Watcher just a few weeks go, top of his class, though, didn't seem like the type to be sloppy." Joe frowned, "But I'd better have a talk with him all the same. Thanks for dropping by, Mac." Joe walked back over to the table and sat down, as he leaned his crutch against the table's leg. Duncan and Richie sat at the bar nursing their drinks and watching the Watchers.
"Aren't you going to get rid of Them?" asked Carlson, smashing his cigarette butt in the ash tray and taking another with stick from a package in his jacket.
"No," Joe said, silently praying that he wouldn't get another reprimand for involving himself in Immortal's affairs. His old friend was getting peevish about that lately for some reason.
Instead of lashing out at Joe, though, Carlson simply sat back in his chair and puffed on his cigarette.
Richie could see that the other Watchers were giving Joe a hard time about them being there. After draining his drink, Richie glanced over at Duncan who gave him a slight nod. Richie took a deep breath and ventured over to the poker table.
"Um, Joe? Thanks for the drinks, but we'd better be going --" Richie began, when he was cut off by Carlson.
"No, that's perfectly alright, Mr. Ryan. You and 'Mac' can stay here. I think it's about time we called it a night," Carlson said, placing his cards face down on the table. "Joe I believe that we can trust you with our chips?"
"No, look, Carlson, you guys don't have to leave."
"I'm sorry, Joe," said Kim, "it's getting late, we probably should be getting home. We can catch up on business later," Kim flinched as the black man and Carlson flashed a glare in her direction.
The three Watchers gathered up their belongings and solemnly filed out the front door. Distant sounds of car engines could be heard in the background as Mike turned to his employer and said his good nights as well. Mike nodded to Duncan and Richie as he too ventured out into the night towards his car.
"Look, I'm sorry guys," Joe said, hunkering down on a bar stool, "they have no right to treat you that way."
Richie managed a half-grin, "It's okay Joe, just give 'em some time."
Joe snorted, "Right. Time."
"It's worked with Mike," Richie said, taking a seat next to his friend.
Joe rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Kim might get used to the idea, but Logan and Carlson..." Joe emitted a deep sigh of resignation.
Duncan managed a half smile, "It's not like you're forcing them to come to these little socials."
Joe looked up at his four hundred year old friend, "It doesn't work that way, Mac. Those three are high up in the Orginazation, and I mean *high up*. These little games are only a front for business meetings." Joe broke out in a half grin, "You don't really think we're some sort of anarchy, do you?"
"No, its just that after all that Kalas business last year..." the Highlander began.
"They're even more cautious of you guys that usual," Joe sighed, he didn't want to deal with this right now. He had too much pressure on him right now... pressure from the Watchers, the bar was having an insurance investigation tomorrow, and pressure from the damn tax collectors who said he owed more money in property taxes. It all came crashing down on Joe at once, and he suddenly felt more tired than he had in ages.
Duncan picked up on his friend's frustration and tapped the concerned Richie on the shoulder, "C'mon Rich."
Richie looked up at his mentor wordlessly and took the hint.
"Later Joe," he said, hopping down from the bar stool and walking out into the night air with Duncan.
"Night guys," said the Watcher, getting up from the stool and thumping over to the stage where he got out his guitar and strummed a few soulful cords. The guitar strings sang, fueled by the frustration and blues that tore at the aging Watcher's soul.