Not that she wasn't right, he reflected as he waited on a bench in the train station. He held his cellular phone in a death grip as Amy tried to reason with him.

"Joe, you said no cell phone calls."

What would he do if Methos were killed? How would he tell MacLeod?

"Joe, you know the phone records can show the location of the receiving cell phone, too. At least the repeater site, and we are nowhere near Paris."

He wasn't the first Watcher to become emotional about his assignment. Frequently Watchers were given time off after losing their assignment. Like the grieving time before you got a new dog.

"You have to turn the phone off."

No, he didn't. He had to know.

"If she calls you, it won't change anything about the outcome."

"I'd know how many train tickets to buy," he finally responded.

Amy put her cool hands over his. "Joe, you already bought three tickets."

So he had. He looked into her sympathetic sapphire eyes as she gently tugged at the cell phone. Where did she get those eyes? If her mother's had been that beautiful he would surely have remembered it. He tugged back.



Amy released his hands and leaned back, studying him.

Joe went on, allowing his bitterness to tinge his words. "If I get questioned by the police, I'll try to leave you out of it."

Amy's gaze moved from Joe's face to something behind him. With a perfect poker face she certainly didn't inherit from her father's side she said, "I really think you can turn it off now."

What was she talking about?

"Hey Joe! Amy."

"Adam!" Joe cried. He would have jumped to his feet and hugged the man, if he could have. Maybe the impulse showed on his face. He did seem to be awfully transparent lately. Because Methos leaned down and squeezed Joe's shoulders.

"Miss me?" he asked, grinning. "And what happened to 'Benjamin'?"

"Oh, damn. I'm sorry. Amy..." At least he hadn't blurted the immortal's real name. But . . . he looked at Amy, who was now on her feet.

"It's okay, Joe," Methos said, "I'm sure I can count on Amy's discretion."

"What makes you think that?" Amy's tone would have chilled polar bears.

"Because I saved your life."

"No you didn't. Joe did. You were just the tool he used."

Methos raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly. It was a smile of recognition. Joe had seen him use it on MacLeod. It meant he saw an enjoyable fight and a worthy opponent. Joe tensed.

Methos may have sensed Joe's distress. He let Amy go and looked at Joe. "Joe, have we got a train, soon? I'd really like to get out of here."

"Yeah. Fifteen minutes." Joe handed Methos a train ticket, immensely glad for the change of subject. Amy, however, was not ready to appreciate the mercy she'd been shown.

"Why?" she demanded, "It's not like anyone's after you now."

Methos donned his best shy-graduate-student mask. "Well, yeah, he still is. And I'm worried that he might show up here. I don't remember the guy's name, but I do remember that he owns a computer shop in Munich. He'll need to open up tomorrow, I should imagine. I sure hope he didn't come by train." Methos cast a nervous glance over his shoulder.

Amy scowled.

Joe bit his tongue. He might as well sit back and try to enjoy the show.

Methos indicated Joe's cell phone. "Have you heard anything from his Watcher?"

Joe shoved the phone in his pocket, hitting the power button. "No. You know I said no cell phone calls."

"You mean you didn't..." Amy caught herself and lowered her voice, "You didn't kill him?"

Methos managed to look scandalized. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Why?! Because it's what you do!"

"It is?"

Joe closed his eyes and thought longingly of his own bed.

"Well, yes," Amy sputtered, then recovered, "What are you, some kind of a coward?"

"Coward or killer, which bothers you more?" Methos sounded curious.

"Well, uh, ..." Amy sputtered again, "What do you do, just go around avoiding immortals?" Now she sounded scandalized.

"It's a living," Joe could hear that Methos was pleased with his own joke. Then the silence between them lasted long enough that Joe opened his eyes. Amy's set features bore a pensive look which hadn't been there earlier.

"If Walker had killed me," she asked, "would you have fought him?"

"Not for all the tea in China."

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't bring you back. And I might have had to join you."

"But, ... he might have done it again."

"Probably. He'd done it before."

"And you knew that? But you know ordinary justice systems can't affect someone like him. Someone like you."

"So? It's not my job."

"It should be."

"I don't think so. Besides, ..." Methos gave Joe a look which he later understood to be an apology, "as a reformed mass murderer myself, I really shouldn't be throwing stones."

Amy gaped. "You are kidding," she stated.

"Well, no," said the graduate student, smiling, "I'm not kidding."

Amy no longer sputtered. She stared. Some internal struggle showed on her face.

"Joe, I really don't see why I couldn't take a later train. After all, I'm not wanted for anything. I'll see you later." She spun smartly on her heel and left them.

Joe merely watched his daughter leave. (his daughter!)

He looked up at the immortal. "You know," he commented, "You're not such a good liar yourself."


"There's this thing you do with your face."

Methos turned away, quickly. "Oh shut up," he said without rancor.

Joe chuckled.

Methos sat beside Joe and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Joe, I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. Should make the trip more pleasant."


Or maybe not. It was hard for Joe to imagine how the trip could have been more unpleasant. Barring bombs or beheadings, that is.

After making one pass through the length of the train to determine that no other immortals were aboard, Methos fell asleep. Hard. And his choice of pillow was one Joe Dawson.

Joe tried everything he could to nudge Methos away from him, but the sleeping immortal always returned to Joe's shoulder. Joe lost track of the number of times he blushed as he imagined the other passengers carefully not looking at them. Over and over, he considered simply shaking the other man awake and telling him to keep to himself. And over and over he couldn't quite do it.

"You are so weird," he complained to the man with more excuse for it than anyone he knew.

Methos muttered something and sighed.

Finally, Joe isolated himself by turning to the window and refusing to look at anything inside the train.

"You're a fool, you know," he whispered to his reflection. But his reflection grinned back at him, unabashed. Ah, what the hell.