Disclaimers in part 1 Joe returned to his room, late, of course, some excellent brandy burning in his veins, looking forward to falling into a well-earned slumber. As he worked the key card lock, someone appeared at his elbow. Someone who wasn't Tommy. Connor MacLeod slid his arm along the unlocked door, swinging it inward for Joe, inviting Joe into his own room in much the same way he had invited him into Duncan's barge. The difference was, this time, Joe wasn't startled. "What do *you* want?" Joe groused. "You're supposed to show a room key for them to let you up here." Connor tightened his mouth into a mockery of a smile, holding the door. Joe didn't even consider refusing to enter. He stumped into the room and switched on the lights. The room was freezing. Housekeeping must think it's still summer in the Mojave desert, Joe thought. He fiddled with the air-conditioning, ignoring the immortal who glided in behind him. Finished stalling, Joe turned to face the elder MacLeod, to find him relaxing in one of the half-circle chairs by the window. He had lain his long coat on one of the two beds, and was booting Joe's laptop. Joe heard the beep which told him the operating system was finished loading. "Hey! Stay out of that!" Joe started for the table, all too aware that the immortal would have no difficulty keeping the laptop out of his grasp. Hell, Connor could tuck it under an arm and escape to the hallway with Joe helpless to stop him. Connor didn't prevent him. Joe slammed the top shut, actually clipping the man's fingers. Connor slowly raised them to his mouth. "Ow," he joked. Joe yanked the phone cord out of the laptop and tossed the closed unit back on the bed. "Should I get you a band-aid?" he glowered. "How did you find me this time?" "Followed you from the show. Good show. I really liked the second number. Who was the singer at the end? He was great." Joe blinked, and almost answered. He must have been more tired than he thought. "What do you want? I want to get to bed." Connor rose and circled the bed, looking at the laptop like it was an exhibit under glass. "Is that where you keep records of the immortals you spy on?" "No." It was almost true. Only updates to Duncan's chronicle were stored locally, and there hadn't been many of those, lately. "But you can find things out." "Not for you." Connor's gaze hardened. He drifted toward the dresser, and fidgeted with the few items on it. Joe watched him, wondering if Connor thought he could learn from a hotel room the kinds of things he had learned from Joe's office. The only thing Connor could take from this room was Joe's password and path to the Watcher's secure server, and he wouldn't get that without force. There was a cheery thought. Joe itched to get his prosthetics off. Maybe he could hurry this interview along. "Let me guess. You want to know about John Kirin." "And let me guess. You aren't allowed to tell me." "Are you going to challenge him?" "And if I were?" *Then I should probably warn you ... damn* "It wouldn't be fair. What if his Watcher told him everything he knows about you?" "Fair." Connor's voice dripped contempt. "It's your Adam who wants me to challenge him. Why doesn't he do it himself?" "I told you, he's a student. He probably knows Kirin's too good for him." *Read between the lines, Highlander. That's all I'm giving you. And I should stay away from the subject of "Adam", anyway.* Connor didn't seem very interested in Joe's response. It dawned on Joe that they still weren't talking about whatever the immortal had come for. Joe sat in the chair Connor had occupied earlier, leaned back, finally easing his back and legs, and smiled broadly. "You really have no idea how to ask for information without threats, do you?" Connor narrowed his already narrow eyes at Joe, but with interest, Joe thought, not hostility. "Sometimes" Connor replied, sliding into the hotel chair opposite Joe, the small mahogony table between them, "I try dinner, dancing, and drinks, but I thought it wasn't the best tactic for the situation." "Oh please," Joe groaned, "let's not go there." Connor's wolfish grin held real humor, this time. "How about I suggest a tactic?" Joe asked. Connor dipped his head, graciously, still grinning. "I always want to learn tactics from men a tenth my age." "Now don't patronize," Joe remonstrated, but he was shaken nonetheless by an echo of his awe for this warrior. *Ten times my age.* Then, unexpected, came the thought *Which makes Methos ...* It wasn't as if Joe had never done the math before. He knew the ages of his friends. It was just that he had somehow never been really *struck* by it before. Maybe it was the brandy and his fatigue, but Joe suddenly heard the whine of the winds of ages as somewhere a door to eternity cracked open and a cool tendril of time wisped around him. *Dratted air-conditioning.* He returned to reality to find Connor studying him. Joe looked back, thinking how ... *alien* the man looked to him, now. He cleared his throat. "How about offering me a trade? Information for information." "What do you want to know?" Now Connor looked suspicious. *What don't I want to know?* "I don't know. Try talking to me. Tell me what you want, and why. Sometimes it works for Duncan." "What if it isn't fair?" Connor mocked the last word. "Let me worry about that." The Highlander seemed to think about that. Joe looked for a drink to pour, then was just as glad there was none. "I went to see Kirin," Connor contributed. "He seems sincere enough. But I think he started the rumor that Methos is hunting Duncan, and I don't know why." "Oh?" This was interesting. "And I was just about convinced that the Chosen Champion business was coincidence." If Connor hadn't had Joe's full attention before, he would have had it now. "But you're not?" Connor frowned. "Then he said something. He said 'Evil is not the color of black; it's the color of blood.'" Joe waited. Connor stood again. Joe began to wonder if Connor was ever still very long. "You have records or something on Duncan's whole life, right?" Joe nodded, puzzled. "What do you know about the hermit?" "What hermit?" "The hermit. Duncan's first head. Duncan told me he'd said something like that. 'Evil is the color of blood.'" Joe clung desperately to his poker face. The Chronicles didn't have something as important as Duncan's true first head?! "Uh ... what exactly did Duncan tell you?" Connor looked grim. "You don't know about the hermit, do you." Joe knew better than to try to lie. "Look, Co ... Nash, we didn't have a Watcher on Duncan until you found him. We didn't know about him." Connor hid his disappointment with anger. Joe recognized the expression. "Not even with all of Glenfinnan yelling about it?" Connor complained. "Don't take this wrong, but Glenfinnan was never the center of civilization, you know? What did Duncan tell you about this hermit? Tell me!" Connor scooped his coat off the bed and donned it. "Maybe later," he growled, and Joe knew it would never happen. Desperate, he played his only card. "Nash, wait. Maybe Adam knows. Duncan might have mentioned it to him; they're friends. Duncan doesn't always figure he has to fill in the gaps in what I know." "I thought he was a student." Suddenly very impatient with the necessity to keep lies in place between people who were striving for the same goal, Joe rolled his eyes. "That doesn't keep them from being friends." "Ask him, then." "I can't," Joe admitted. "I don't know where he is." " I do." Connor wrote on one of the hotel pads by the phone. "I take it you two aren't close." "You've talked to Adam?" Joe gasped. "No, I'm *watching* him," Connor replied, with heavy irony. "I'll be around." Then he was gone.