"It's all right, George!" Jacob insisted.

"It is not all right! The man is dead! Colonel arrest that woman."

"With pleasure," O'Neill snarled as he and Teal'c none too gently grabbed hold of Anise by the arms, forcing her to drop the bloody scissors.

"He's not dead, George," Jacob said calmly. "At least, not permanently."

"Dad," Samantha interjected softly as she knelt by the body feeling for a pulse. "He's gone, Dad. She pierced his heart."

"No, he isn't," Jacob repeated. "Just wait."

"Jacob," Hammond said, putting every ounce of patience he owned into that one word. "I'd like to believe you. But I know a dead man when I see one. And so do you."

"George, remember when I first became blended? I told you there were things about Earth's history I'd discovered. Things that would amaze you. Well, this is one of them. I never said anything because the Tok'ra assumed they no longer existed. Methos-- Dr. Pierson," he corrected for their benefit. "Is what the Tok'ra refer to as an Immortal. A race of beings who cannot die unless you severe their heads."

"He looks pretty dead to me," Jack interrupted. "Damn. And I kinda liked the guy."

"It's only temporary. Immortals regenerate. Look at his chest, Sam."

She did as he asked, pulling aside the dead man's shirt. "There seems to be a small energy field around the--"

The body jerked and a loud, rasping gasp came from the mouth as empty lungs suddenly filled with air.

"--wound," Samantha finished as she fell back in astonishment.

Methos' eyes snapped open and he hurriedly glanced around, rolling away from Major Carter and into a crouch. He caught sight of Anise and suddenly saw red, abruptly launching himself at her. The force of his fist impacting with her face sounded through the room, along with the crack of her breaking jaw.

"Oops," Jack said with no remorse as he and Teal'c let her unconscious body fall hard to the floor. "Sorry, sir. Didn't see that coming."

"See what coming?" The general smirked. "I didn't see anything. Did you, Major Carter?"

"I didn't see anything," she answered calmly, getting to her feet and wiping her blood stained hands on her pants.

"I also saw nothing," Teal'c added.

Methos looked around seeing both understanding and curiosity in their eyes. Yet it made no difference. "Sorry for the mess," he told them. "Now, if you'll excuse me, as I said, I'll be going."

Jack stepped in front of him. "Whoa. Hold on, Pierson-- Methos-- Whatever your name is. It's not that easy to just walk out of a high security installation."

He moved back a pace and straightened, throwing off any remaining vestige of his Adam Pierson persona. "Am I to understand I'm a prisoner here?" he asked coldly.

"Of course not. He isn't, is he, General?" Jack asked hopefully.

"No," Hammond confirmed. "You're not a prisoner. But we would like to ask you a few questions."

"I've had enough of questions," Methos told them angrily. "And enough of being made sport of. If I'm not a prisoner then I insist you allow me to depart."

"Now, son," the general came forward and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "I can see you're upset. You had a secret and one I'll bet that probably doesn't go over very well with the general populace. But we like to think we're different here. That people are people no matter what they look like or where they come from. Why don't you go back to your quarters, take some time to think things through and we'll talk again in the morning. I promise no harm will come to you while you're with us. You have my word on that as an officer."

"Pretty words," Methos sneered, shrugging off the hand that sought to comfort. "But I think not. I've already had a taste of your hospitality in that regard."

"He does not lie," Teal'c suddenly stepped forward. "On that you have my word as a warrior."

"And mine," Jack echoed.

Samantha raised a hand. "Me three," she smiled.

He looked at them, sensing that they at least believed what they were saying. "Till morning then, but on one condition," Methos said as he heard Anise begin to stir. "That I never lay eyes on that bitch again. Or I swear," he growled, daring anyone to challenge him. "It will be a life for a life and she won't be getting up again."

"Works for me," Jack grinned. "Everybody?" The rest of SG-1 nodded. They had good reason to dislike Anise, given that she'd risked their lives and thought nothing of it simply because the Tok'ra required the sacrifice.

"Agreed," the general nodded. "Jacob?"

Carter shrugged. "We have no problem with that," he responded, moving to help the scientist to her feet. She clutched her bloody face, tears streaming down her cheeks from the pain. "Let's go," he pulled her none too gently toward the door, ignoring her inarticulate cry of agony. "I'll take you home. After all, I wouldn't want to leave you to the primitive care you might be subjected to here. It may take a while though," he grinned widely at Methos. "I seem to have misplaced the address."

Anise whimpered pitifully as she was dragged from the room.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer girl," Jack quipped unrepentantly. "Come on...Methos?" The Immortal gave a curt nod. "We'll see you safely to your quarters."

Despite the fact that he could have easily found his own way there, Methos tacitly accepted the colonel's offer. It was, after all, meant as a gesture of hospitality.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jack asked as they moved toward the elevator.

"Just peachy," he muttered, plucking at his blood soaked shirt.

"So it's true what my father said? You can only be killed by decapitation?"

Methos flinched. He hadn't heard that part of the conversation. "We don't like the D word, Major."

She gave him an embarrassed smiled. "Sorry."

The elevator came and he got on with the others, feeling surrounded by a flock of over protective mother hens by the time they reached his room. They were being incredibly solicitous. First O'Neill saying that he'd requisition a new shirt to replace the one Anise had ruined. Teal'c, seeing his sword in its display rack on the wall and offering to spar with him when he felt better. Then Major Carter running off to fetch him some fruit juice, because even though he was Immortal, he must still be feeling dehydrated from the loss of fluids, while Jack called after her that soup was better and to bring some of that too.

Once she was gone Methos stripped off his shirt, much bemused by his audience. The last few minutes had gone a long way toward easing his mind as far as his safety with this lot was concerned. He still didn't know what was going on here, but he was sure he'd have his answers in the morning. Then, he'd either stay or go. Most likely go, he thought as he went into his private bath to shower and change. After all, tacit acceptance or not, he had his future to think of about. And it didn't include another stint in the military, especially when there wasn't a war on. He'd only served in the last two because they'd virtually exploded around him before he could get out. And they were big enough, and nasty enough in his opinion to merit his attention. World domination by dictatorial forces had never sounded like a good idea. A free and open society was a much healthier place for an Immortal. At least, he'd thought so until a few weeks ago.

When he exited the bath he found O'Neill sitting on the chair by his desk playing flip the dagger with one of the other pieces he'd brought for show. The colonel looked up and set it aside, pointing to a tray on his desk.

"Sam left that for you."

Methos took the tray over to his bed and sat down with it. His body could rebuild its blood volume without liquid fuel, but the juice and the soup would help to at least alleviate his thirst. "Where's your big friend, Teal'c?"

Jack looked toward the door. "He's sworn on his oath as a warrior to stand guard. He's out there now, feeling proud and useful."

"And so he should," Methos grinned delightedly. A rare honor indeed, he thought, in these modern times. "I shall have to thank him for that."

O'Neill nodded. "Listen, uh, Methos?" Jack swallowed uncomfortably. "Do you mind if I still call you Pierson?"

Methos smiled. "Actually, I'd prefer it. Adam's fine too."

"Adam then. Look, I just want you to know that we don't condone what Anise did. In fact, we don't much like her around here. And we certainly don't approve of our...associates committing murder just to make a point. So, I can pretty much guarantee that unless there's some extreme circumstance which requires her presence she won't be back. And also that she won't ever be allowed in the same room with you."

Methos nodded and sipped the juice. "That's good to know. And I'm sure one day," he grinned nastily, "she'll come to appreciate that fact."

Jack matched him grin for grin, then he took a deep breath and went on. "Another thing, Adam. I don't know what you think of us here, but I'd also like to reassure you that in spite of what the public thinks, the military in general is not interested in experimenting on civilians."

Methos very obviously flinched and Jack paused, the expression on his face changing to one of deep concern. "What happened?"

Methos shook his head. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," O'Neill insisted, leaning forward with his hands loosely clasped between his thighs. "Whatever happened I need to know. Was it our guys?"

Methos gave an abrupt nod and pushed the tray aside. "Look, it's not important. I'll be leaving in the morning anyway."

"It is important," he insisted. "And as one soldier to another I'll tell you that it happened to me. Not our guys, and probably not what you went through, but torture is torture in my book. Now I need to know what happened, when it happened and if you know who it was. Because, god damn it, Pierson! If our people are pulling shit like that I want it stopped!"

"And it doesn't matter that I'm not like you?" he asked, staring fixedly at his hands.

"No, it doesn't matter to me that you're different. I wouldn't let Research and Development take Teal'c and I won't let them have you."

Methos glanced up in surprise. "Teal'c?"

"Long story," Jack waved a hand. "You'll hear it the morning. Now give."

Methos moved back on the bed, wrapping his arms around his chest as he drew up his knees. He liked this mortal and he knew in his heart that he could trust him, like he'd known he could trust MacLeod. Maybe, he thought, no matter what his decision a few hours from now, if he did tell O'Neill and it was possible to stop them, perhaps he wouldn't have to run. And since he very much liked his life at the moment the thought of leaving it all behind for a century or two was not a happy one. Finally, he closed his eyes and nodded.

"All right," he began quietly. "I never saw their faces, but it was just after I arrived at the fort..."

***

The door Teal'c was guarding suddenly opened and a red faced, furious Jack O'Neill stepped out. "No one but me, you, Sam and the general goes in or out of this room until further notice, got that?"

"Is something wrong, O'Neill?"

"Oh yeah," he muttered angrily as he stalked down the hall. "But not for long."

A few minutes later he was knocking on the door to Hammond's office. "General," he said as he opened the door. "We need to talk. Someone got hold of Pierson at the fort."

Hammond put aside the file he was reviewing. "I know," he nodded toward the file. "I had someone pull up everything we had on him. It all seems in order until you get to this."

O'Neill took the folder and glanced at it. "The doctors involved filed a medical report?" he asked, surprised.

Hammond nodded. "I don't believe they were in on it. The attending thought three physicians to confirm each other's findings was a little excessive, despite the fact that they were just following orders, so he filed a formal report. I'm having the matter looked into right now," he added, getting to his feet and putting on his jacket. "The full report should be on my desk by morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an errand to run."

O'Neill smiled. "Very good, sir."

"Oh, and Jack?" The general paused at the door. "Keep an eye on Pierson, will you? Immortal or not, no one deserves that."

"At least no one we like."

Hammond only sighed. "Good night, Colonel."

"See you at the execution," he murmured, sauntering out of the office. Because for six soon to be miserable junior officers there would be one come morning -- of sorts. Of that he had no doubt. And he was going to be there to enjoy every minute of it, watching them see their budding careers go right down the toilet.

***

It was nearly 3 a.m. when the general's jet landed at the NATO base just outside of Paris. There was a car waiting for him and he gave the driver the address. Not long after they pulled up outside the building which housed Le Blues Bar and Hammond got out, telling the driver to come back in an hour. He walked through the door and smiled to himself as he saw an old, but familiar face, straightening up behind the bar.

"We're closed, buddy."

"Not even a beer for an old friend?" the general called as he moved into the light closer to the bar.

Dawson looked up, staring hard at the face and the uniform. "George? George Hammond?!" he finally grinned. "Well I'll be damned. Look at you! Major General, huh?"

"So they keep telling me."

"Well I'll be. I haven't seen you since Saigon. Pull up a stool," he said, drawing the man his best draft. "Just get into town?"

"Actually, Joe," Hammond told him, taking a sip of his drink and nodding in appreciation. "I came to see you about a mutual friend of ours. Adam Pierson."

Joe nodded disinterestedly. "You know, Adam, huh?"

"He works for us."

"Adam?" Joe laid his hands on the bar, looking as though he were going to fall down. "Adam Pierson? Mild-mannered researcher? Working for you? For the military? Sorry, George, but you must have the wrong guy."

"No, we have the right guy. And don't you mean mild-mannered researcher who also happens to be an Immortal named Methos?"

Dawson found his cane, a bottle of rye and a shot glass then staggered over to the nearest chair. Hammond followed, sorry he didn't have time for the niceties with his old friend.

"I won't confirm that," Joe said quietly.

"You don't have to. I saw him die and get up again not five minutes later. And I also know about the Watchers. Not exactly why you watch these Immortals, but that you do."

Dawson swallowed hard and poured himself a shot. "What do you plan to do with this information?"

"Do with it?" Hammond asked, surprised. "You mean about the existence of a race that can't die unless you cut off their heads? Nothing. What the hell would we do with it, Joe? They're not bothering us. This is the military, not television. We don't need people who don't want to work with us. You know the best soldiers are the ones willing to do the job and get it done right because that's what they get paid for."

"And Adam?"

"Pierson's another matter. We need his help at the moment, although we could probably manage without him. What I need from you is a better understanding of who and what he is. I need to know how best to approach him. Make him feel comfortable so that he'll stay of his own free will."

"What does he have to say about it?"

"Well, given the circumstances, and they're not good, he's more than a little upset, but he's agreed to give me until this morning to convince him."

Joe snorted. "Upset? I'll bet he's upset! Look, George, you don't know what we do? Okay, I'll tell you. We watch Immortals challenge each other in something they call the Game. It's a duel to the death between two Immortals for what is essentially the other's soul. It's called a Quickening. A power, or energy that makes them what they are. When one Immortal loses his head to another he also loses his Quickening, which is absorbed by the winner, and the older they get the more powerful their Quickening becomes. The ultimate goal of this game is for only one to remain. Only one, George. It's a case of the winner literally taking all. And Methos is old. Very old. His head's worth a lot. More than that, he's a friend. So, I'm not going to tell you anything that could get him killed."

Hammond nodded slowly. No wonder Pierson was terrified. Still, that didn't change things back at Stargate Command. "Joe, I can't tell you why we need Pierson, but it's important. Important to me, to you, to everyone who lives on this planet. And that includes Immortals. I can also promise you that I'll do everything in my power to protect him. No one is going to take his head on my watch."

Dawson sighed. "I know you mean well, George, and I believe you. But it's not me you have to convince. It ain't even Adam. It's Methos you have to sway. And that's a horse of an entirely different color. He's survived the Game longer than anyone."

"How long?"

"More than five thousand years."

"My sources say ten."

Joe nearly choked on his drink. "And he confirmed this?"

"He doesn't have to. I trust my sources."

Dawson shook his head in disgust. "I don't know what to tell you, George. However old he is, Methos only got there by being smarter and more dangerous in his own way than all the rest. You're playing with fire and if you keep him where he doesn't want to be you'll be holding a ticking bomb that I can guarantee will someday explode in your face. Be smart and play it safe. If he wants to go, just turn him loose. No questions asked."

Hammond nodded. "I hadn't planned on keeping him against his will, Joe. But I would like to appeal to what is obviously a very powerful sense of self-preservation."

"Then your reasons better be good. Methos doesn't have any loyalty to mortal causes. He can't afford it. But if you can convince him that it's in his own best interest to help you... Look, I don't know what you guys are up to that could affect the whole world, but hell, he is technically its oldest living inhabitant. If this is anyone's planet, Methos'd probably consider it his."

***

At precisely 0900 Jack O'Neill led Methos into General Hammond's office and quickly took up the guard before the flags. Methos steeled himself for the expected confrontation. They'd ramble on about duty and honor and he'd...

You'll what? Methos chided himself. Tell them it's stuff and nonsense? Probably, he thought with a touch of sarcasm. After all, it worked to put MacLeod off the scent whenever he was being particularly trying.

"Good morning, Dr. Pierson," the general greeted him. "Please take a seat."

With a heavy heart, because they really were attempting to be kind to him, Methos did so. Still, no matter how he felt it just wasn't safe for him here any longer.

"I'm afraid," the general began politely. "That we left off rather abruptly yesterday."

That's putting it mildly, Methos thought.

"There were a number of things about the project I wished to discuss with you. As well as what I hope will be your continued relationship with us here at the SGC. And we'll get to that shortly. First," he handed Methos a half a dozen file folders. "I'd like you to look these over whenever you get the chance. No rush."

He briefly glanced at the folders, noting that they seemed to be personnel files. Why they were being given to him Methos hadn't a clue, but he nodded his acceptance and laid them across his lap.

Hammond didn't take his eyes off Methos as the door behind him opened and the Immortal heard the swish of cloth as several individuals silently entered the room. He stiffened imperceptibly, but didn't look around, keeping his attention focused on the general, who ignored the interruption.

"Now, I have a bit of business to attend to," he went on barely glancing at the new arrivals. "You're welcome to remain where you are until it's done."

Methos gave a half shrug and finally looked around, not at all sure what was going on, but willing to sit and watch if that's what Hammond wanted.

"Gentlemen," Hammond coldly addressed the six waiting officers who snapped to attention. Methos felt a shiver of tension rise in his spine as he recognized at least two of the officers. They had been the ones who approached him in Paris about the job. And, of course, he now understood the reason for the files Hammond had given him. Know thy enemy was as true now as it had been when the words were first spoken and Hammond obviously understood that.

"You are here to receive your new orders," the general began without preamble. "McMichaels and Breslow, for the next eighteen months you two are going to be manning our communications station in the Outer Hebrides."

Methos dug his fingers into the arm of his chair to keep himself from laughing. The pair, as he recalled, had been the height of urbane good looks and breeding when he'd met with them. Slicked backed, expensively coifed hair, sun lamp tans and manicured nails. City boys to the core. Mummy and Dadums money and connections wouldn't be able to help them out on that empty, windswept rock. And unless they had a secret passion for sheep they'd get cold comfort and the cold shoulder from the villagers on the nearby islands. He ought to know, he'd been shipwrecked there for an entire godforsaken year.

"Delmar and Witowski, I know you'll be thrilled to learn you'll be joining our team at the Arctic Circle." The two very tan, very blond, and very buff beach boys seemed to wilt visibly. "Hadley and Frankel tell me it's wonderful there this time of year. A whole six hours of sunlight daily," the general smiled.

"Gustafson and Marlow." Two Nordic gods, who'd probably skied all the way to Colorado, blinked nervously. "There's a rain forest in the Amazon that needs a road, and gentlemen, you're going to build it."

"But sir!" Gustafson protested, the others briefly joining in.

"Gentlemen!" Hammond's tone demanded silence and he got it. "You have no reason to object to these assignments. I am being most generous with you. These," he slapped his hand on a file lying on his desk, "are court martial offenses and the result if brought to trial would surely be prison time. You are all, albeit marginally, " he glared at them dangerously. "Guilty of treason. You were not given orders to conduct this unacceptable investigation of civilian personnel. Or," he rumbled ominously. "You knowingly accepted orders from someone not in a position to legally give them. And if that is the case, gentlemen, then you'd best be grateful that I'm the one in charge, because whoever gave you those orders will be none too pleased with you for getting caught." The six paled visibly. "Now you all, of course, have a choice. Report immediately for duty to your new assignments, or you will, I assure you, be going to prison."

Hammond nodded once as they remained silent.

"Now, on a personal note. Before I dismiss you, let me just say for the record that this is the STUPIDEST thing I have ever heard of! Does this man," he gestured at Methos, "look 800 years old to you? He barely looks the 28 years he claims on his birth certificate! And frankly, I think he's fudging it. We'll let it pass, son," Hammond told Methos' gently, ignoring the wicked gleam in the Immortal's eyes. "You're doing good work for us here."

"But, sir. He confessed!" Breslow insisted and his cohorts hissed at him to be quiet. Up until that point, Methos thought with an internal sigh of relief, no matter how much circumstantial evidence they had it was still just speculation.

"He confessed?! Hell, I would have confessed to being Mickey Mouse if you were asking me these questions! You're just lucky Dr. Pierson is a historian, or this could have turned into a tragedy rather than a shameful travesty of justice. He spun you a fairy tale he knew you were just dumb enough to buy and no doubt saved his life in the process. A man who's lived 800 years pretends to be an academic? Don't you think he'd be a captain of industry by now? Rich and powerful beyond anyone's wildest imaginings? And you found him hiding in a library. I think not, gentlemen."

"But, sir, he doesn't exist. We traced the records, sir," Breslow offered lamely.

"In the 1960's half this country's population didn't exist at some point, Lieutenant. Damn computers! I spent a whole year stuck in Omaha until the Air Force finally found me. And I was only supposed to report there for two weeks of training!" Hammond shook his head and slapped a hand on his desk making the six officers jump. "The sheer, utter stupidity of your actions is almost surpassed by your unadulterated gall! How dare you try to justify yourselves to me! Now get the hell out of my office! Dismissed!"

As the door closed behind them Methos sat back and loosed his strangle hold on the chair arms. "But I was hiding in a library," he pointed out, bemused by the general's final comments.

"Of course you were, son," Hammond agreed. "And if I could live forever I wouldn't be a captain of industry either. But those young fools think power and money are the best that life has to offer. And they couldn't possibly understand how no one else couldn't want it."

Methos smiled. "True," he agreed. "Maybe now they'll begin to doubt their own findings. And for that I thank you. But what about their superiors?"

Behind them O'Neill snorted. "If they ever read that report they'll be so embarrassed and so completely grateful to have those morons out of their hair, they'll burn that file and be glad no one else discovered it."

"At ease, Colonel," the general ordered and Jack moved to sit on the edge of his desk. "And he's right, son. No one in their right mind would give credence to that report. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen the proof with my own eyes. And frankly, I'm still having a hard time with it."

"I don't know, sir," Jack drawled. "It's kinda nice having a real live hero of the revolution sitting in the same room with us."

Methos rolled his eyes. "My feet froze, my patients died and the only time I picked up a gun was to shoot for the pot."

"And they gave you a plaque for that?"

"I made the future mayor of Bedersville a beaver skin cap. It was the Forge. He was grateful."

"Valley Forge?" Hammond asked, his eyes going wide. "You were at Valley Forge with Washington?"

"And a few thousand other half frozen, half starved, pathetic bastards. If I'd had any place safe to desert to I would have. Beastly hell hole!"

Hammond sighed, trying not to laugh. Dawson had painted his picture of Methos rather accurately. A man who owed no allegiance to anyone and would rather run than fight if given the chance. It seemed at odds with the great warrior the Tok'ra remembered, but then who was he to judge? "Be that as it may, you're prominently conspicuous in the fresco with General Washington in the congressional rotunda."

Methos waved a hand in disregard, sprawling lasciviously in his chair. "I slept with the artist," he shrugged. "You should have seen his etchings."

Jack choked on his shock.

"You know," Hammond said calmly. "Making yourself out to be a cad and a whore isn't going to change my mind. We still need your help, Methos. And besides," he smiled. "I was told you are not only a consummate actor, but a pathological liar."

"Who said that?!" Methos pulled himself up. "My lies are not pathological! They are, in fact, quite logical. 'Don't ask, don't tell', remember? Well I've told and now you'll just have to send me packing."

"Yeah," Jack grinned. "But since we've officially decided that you couldn't possibly be that guy in the fresco, you really didn't tell us anything."

"Semantics," Methos muttered, voicing his annoyance. "Oh, all right," he sighed disgustedly, resigning himself to an hour spent listening to the general's sales pitch. "You wished to speak with Methos, General Hammond." He sat up straight as his sword, all trace of the shallow fop gone from his attitude. "Well, you now have his complete attention."

The change in demeanor was extraordinary. "Now this guy I can believe is 28 -- maybe even 30," O'Neill quipped.

The general just shook his head. "We have some private matters to discuss, if you will excuse us, Colonel?"

O'Neill rose and headed for the door. "I'll be in the gate room, if you need me. SG-3 is due back in half an hour. Sir."

"Very good, Colonel."

Hammond turned to Methos as the door closed. "Well now, where to begin? I think the truth would be a good place to start, don't you?"

"Never hurts," Methos agreed cautiously.

"You and I have an old friend in common. Joe Dawson. I went to see him last night."

Methos searched the other man's face. Just how much of the truth about Immortals was this man aware of?

"He explained the reasons for your hesitancy about remaining with us. And while I can't say I like this Game or the end result which it implies, I understand that cultures vary and that what is an acceptable state of affairs to some is not to others. Fair enough?"

Methos nodded. "Fair enough."

"While you're with us, I could guarantee your safety from any such challenges. One, because unauthorized personnel wouldn't even get through the front door. And two, if they were authorized and managed to get in, they would not be getting out in anything other than a body bag. As I believe you've seen, the military takes a dim view of having its civilian personnel attacked or harassed by anyone. Lastly, the only members of the team who would be made privy to your special circumstances would be the ones you've already met and might of necessity be required to work with. Of course, the nature of these circumstances would be classified Top Secret. And I can tell you from personal experience they'd die before revealing it to anyone."

"What about Daniel?" Methos asked, anticipating what was likely to be a problematic relationship if the young historian knew he had unlimited access to living history. "I shouldn't like to be trapped in the same room with him and his notebook if he found out. I'm not very good at playing the 'what's the greatest invention in history' game. No one ever believes me when I say it's the toaster. Most perfect gift item ever created," he added smugly.

Hammond chuckled then smiled wryly. "I don't believe your Immortality is germane to his position on the team, but I'll leave that up to you. Right now, it's on a need to know basis and I don't see a need for him to know, do you?"

Methos shook his head. "As things stand now, no I don't. What about Anise and General Carter?"

"Apparently, they were already aware of the existence of Immortals and given their location and affiliations, I highly doubt they would allow any harm to come to you. It was in fact Jacob who requested that I make this appeal to you once he realized who you were. And while I can't tell you any more than that for the moment, I hope what I have said will ease your fears in that regard."

Methos nodded thoughtfully. "I'm not sure exactly what that means for myself and other Immortals, but I'd be willing to wait and see."

"Good. Now, if I've allayed most of your concerns on that subject, I'd like to tell you our little secret. Because frankly, it's a doozy. And I'm hopeful that once you know you'll change your mind about working with us."

Methos said nothing, though he didn't doubt for a moment that what the general intended to do about his safety was the god's honest truth as far as Hammond was concerned. However, a secret interesting enough for him to knowingly involve himself in any government's national security had to be truly compelling and this he doubted utterly.

"I'm listening."

"Have you ever heard of an archaeologist by the name of Langford?" the general asked getting to his feet.

"Katherine Langford? She's not well known, and I'm not sure if she's still alive, but yes, I've heard of her."

"Actually, it was her father who discovered what you're about to see, though she was involved in the project during its early phases. If you'll please follow me."

Methos rose and listened, looking around curiously as the general led him through a series of corridors. This was the restricted area of the facility he'd never seen.

"In 1928," the general told him, "Dr. Langford made a startling discovery on the Giza Plateau." He opened the door to what looked like an operations center and ushered Methos in. "He found this."

Methos stared down through the gallery windows. A huge circular object with a ramp leading up to its center dominated the virtually empty room below.

"What is it?" he asked, craning for a better look at what seemed to be writing on its heavily carved face.

"That's what we wanted to know. It isn't made of any material found on Earth."

Methos shot him a surprised glance then turned back to stare at the object.

"On and off over the last fifty years the military tried to figure it out. Then, several years ago, Katherine Langford brought Daniel Jackson on board to help decipher the inscription on the cover stones found buried with the device. His breakthrough allowed us to do more than just turn it on."

Methos looked back at the general. "So what does it do?"

"It's a gateway, son. A Stargate to other worlds."

Methos laughed. "That's a good one, but what does it really do?"

"Colonel?" the general asked.

"Any minute..." O'Neill looked at his watch, "...now."

The blare of warning klaxons suddenly filled the base and a half a dozen battle ready soldiers raced into the gate room.

"Picking up SG-3's transmission signal, sir," one of the technicians called.

"Open the iris," the general ordered. "We generally keep it closed," he told Methos, who was watching the object with a bemused expression as its hollow center was revealed and its outer tier began to rotate. "We've had a few problems with unwelcome guests from time to time."

"That's a bit of an understatement," O'Neill muttered.

"Really, General, you'll have to do better than this if..." Methos felt the room begin to vibrate and he looked back at the gate as its symbols began to glow. He leaned forward in attempt to read what appeared to be a variety of glyphs when the center of the object exploded outward in a brilliant ball of light. He leaped back, staring open mouthed as the device seemed to suck the maelstrom back into itself creating a smooth, yet weirdly undulating pool of light within the body of the ring, while a massive energy torque flowed out behind trailing off into nothing. Speechless, Methos watched as an instant later several soldiers, who hadn't been there before and couldn't have possibly come from anywhere else, stepped from the light and casually made their way down the ramp.

Distantly, Methos heard the general's voice over the loudspeaker informing SG-3 that they had a quarter of an hour until their debriefing. He felt a hand on his shoulder and found Hammond standing beside him. "I remember how I felt the first time I saw it," he said quietly as the light in the center of the gate suddenly winked out and the iris closed up tight. "Scared me half to death at the thought of what it might mean. The endless possibilities."

For a long moment Methos said nothing. There seemed to be no words to describe how he was feeling. He briefly thought about arguing, but why would Hammond lie about something so patently unbelievable? And if that was indeed the case which seemed far more likely, then, "And I thought the world was just starting to get interesting," Methos whispered breathlessly. "But this..." he shook his head and lapsed back into silence for a moment. "How does it work?" he finally asked.

"Major Carter can best answer that," the general responded. "And I'll leave you for the time being in SG-1's very capable hands. We'll talk again later and you can tell me your decision."

Methos started to say something, but the general shook his head. "No. There's more. Much more. Not all of it pleasant. And I want you to hear it all before you decide anything. Agreed?"

Methos nodded and turned to the major, who stood beside O'Neill waiting expectantly.

"If you'll follow me, Dr. Pierson," she began, leading the way down to the gate room. What followed was a sometimes complicated but fascinating exposition on the creation of stable, localized and directed worm holes, while he wandered around the room studying the now dormant device from every angle. As to who built the thing she could only answer that the Stargate system was developed and scattered across the universe perhaps hundreds of thousands of years earlier by an alien race known only as the Ancients.

"Friends of yours?" O'Neill asked hopefully.

Methos grinned. "Hardly. I'm a mere babe in arms by comparison."

Samantha looked at him curiously. "But according to my dad you were at something called the Battle of Annu'tak'ra, led by an Ancient some ten thousand years ago."

With a shake of his head Methos told them the truth. "I wasn't born ten thousand years ago. More like five. And it's been so long I can barely remember much before the Bronze Age. I don't know where your father gets his information, but it couldn't possibly have been me."

O'Neill and Carter glanced at each other.

"If you can't remember much," Jack asked. "How can you be certain just how old you are? Or if you were there or not?"

Methos gave them a wry smile. "Oh," he said glancing toward the Stargate. "I think I'd remember that."

"Maybe there's a reason you can't," Carter responded.

Methos shrugged. "Believe what you like, Major. As for my age, Colonel, I never said I was certain. We kept time differently then. First it was which stars one had been born under and their placement in the heavens at the moment of birth. Later we did it by the reigns of kings. But that only works for as long as a particular civilization remembers who was in power and for how long. Eventually my reference points disappeared. I couldn't give you an exact date if I wanted to. My best guess is 5,000 years give or take a few centuries."

O'Neill nodded thoughtfully as Samantha chewed her lip. "You know what stars you were born under?" she finally asked.

"I think I do," he admitted. "As I said, it has been a long time. Why?"

"Well, if you knew what they were we could run a simulation until we came up with the right combination. Compensating for precession and spatial drift it would probably give us a date within ten or twenty years."

"What difference would it make?" Methos smiled gently. "The past is gone and to me it is of very little importance."

"How can you say that? You're a historian!"

"For you, Major Carter. Not for me. The past is filled with wonderful things and the thoughts of men and women who should be remembered and whose work should be recalled. Human memory is so fragile and fraught with so many misconceptions that it sometimes requires a little aid along the way. If I can help save something of those lessons your forefathers learned through trial and error and pass it on to their children's children, does it not make the understanding of the present and the road to the future a less rocky path for us both?"

"It does," Samantha agreed quietly. "But if you are missing a huge chunk of memory then I think it would be safer for everyone concerned if we knew about it now."

"That's good, Carter," Jack suddenly interjected. "But first things first, birthday parties later. We still haven't mentioned the nosy neighbors."

"That would be the unpleasantness the general referred to?" Methos asked.

Jack smiled sourly and nodded. "Oh yeah. Let's go find Teal'c. I think it's time for round two of show and tell."

***

"Bourbon," Methos gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He could still taste the bile on the back of his throat as Jack opened the bottle and started pouring.

"Say when."

At about three quarters full Methos held up a hand, "When," and grabbed the glass, gulping at least two shots before his shoulders sagged and he slumped in the chair beside O'Neill's bed. He glanced at Teal'c, who waited patiently for him to recover from his first shock of seeing the parasite he'd been forced to incubate for the so called gods.

"Sorry," he murmured, trying not to stare at the man's stomach. "So that...thing is a Goa'uld?"

"No offense was taken," Teal'c promised. "Yes, that is a Goa'uld in its immature state."

"Is it..." Methos shuddered, "...aware of us?"

"Good question," Samantha sighed as she moved to sit on the bed. "We're not entirely sure. We have good reason to believe it is at least partially able to access its racial memories. But is it aware of us as individuals outside of its Jaffa? We just don't know. Not even the Tok'ra are certain, but then they don't use human incubators like the Goa'uld and they don't take over their human hosts."

"In their case it's more like a time share deal," Jack supplied.

Methos shook his head. "And to think when I was young I worshipped such gods."

"You are not alone in that, Methos." Teal'c came and laid a hand on his shoulder. "On Chulak and on many other worlds the false gods still reign. It is here that the battle is being fought."

Methos reached up and gently squeezed the hand on his shoulder. With a frown he looked at the two officers. "Why don't you just get that thing out of him?!" he asked, suddenly very angry.

"We would if we could," Jack told him softly. "Unfortunately, removing it will kill him."

"We've tried," Samantha added. "And hopefully, one day, we'll be able to. But for now..."

Methos nodded. "Of course you can't." He sighed and sipped his drink as Teal'c moved away. "I'm still not sure what to say about all this, except that it is certainly a horrible thing to do to anybody. But the truth is," he sighed sadly. "I'm a selfish bastard and it doesn't really concern me. I expect that if I live another five thousand years this too will have passed and been forgotten."

"Another 5,000 years?" Jack snorted. "You may not even get five. We're at war here! These people don't just want to come back and pick up where they left off, they want to annihilate the entire planet as an example to others."

"And sealing the Stargate won't help," Samantha added. "We tried that. When Jack and Daniel destroyed Ra they frightened the other Goa'uld into taking action against us. We had to get out there and find some way to defend ourselves. Granted, the exploration of other worlds is a wonderful tool for science, but our main goal, our real purpose, is to figure out how to fight them and win."

"And right now," Jack took up the cause. "We don't stand a hope in hell of defeating an entire fleet. Oh, we've managed to beat back a few of their mother ships through good luck and by the skin of our teeth. We even managed to negotiate a kind of treaty with the system lords. But eventually they'll be coming for us and whether you like it or not, Pierson, you and your Immortal buddies also live here."

"I can tell you now," Teal'c added. "That should you, or others like you, survive the initial onslaught, though all humans on this world were dead or enslaved, it would not go well for you. According to the Tok'ra you can neither be hosts nor Jaffa. As such, they would consider your kind far more of a threat than mere humans."

Methos exhaled slowly and finished his drink. "All right. I'm in."

"That's it?" Jack asked, puzzled by his sudden about face. "You're in?"

"What do you want me to say? For 5,000 years I've wandered this world thinking I was a man without a nation -- without a home. Not even a plot of land I could point to and say 'there I was born'. And now you tell me that my one surety is a lie. That the one place I thought to call my own, an entire world I once believed had an infinite number of hideaways to wait out the centuries in blessed peace, is really just a poorly defended fortress -- and one that offers no sanctuary at all. Like you," Methos explained, voice tight with emotion. "This is all I've got! Of course I'm bloody in!"

***

The clock on the night stand read 0230 and Methos sighed, turning over to try and get at least a few hours of sleep. At 0300 he finally gave up and threw off the covers to sit on the edge of his bed.

"I must be completely insane," he muttered disgustedly.

Still, this wasn't simply a matter of conscience, or even, god save him from all MacLeods, loyalty, friendship and honor. This was truly a fight from which he couldn't just walk away. This was his home, too. And that hideous creature residing inside Teal'c was one of thousands who wanted to take it away from him just because they could. It was too like centuries past when there was no place he thought of as truly safe for any Immortal. If the soldiers didn't get you the peasants surely would. And with nowhere left to hide, this time the alternative truly was unthinkable.

The phone suddenly rang and Methos stared at the thing as if it were a foreign object. Who could be calling him at this hour? The only person who might know where he was...

Methos smiled and picked up the phone. "Hello, Joe."

"Adam? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Joe."

"You're not pissed at me for talking to George are you?"

"No," Methos sighed. "He knew enough to qualify for a first approach as far as our friends are concerned anyway. The rest... Well, that was unavoidable. And in a way I'm glad it happened."

"You are?" Joe asked, his astonishment plain even across the line.

"Yes. And I'll be staying on for a while."

"You will?"

"Why so surprised, Joe? Surely you know me well enough to know I look after my own best interests first."

"Uh, yeah. That's what's so scary. I'm having a hard time imagining anything that could get you to pull your head out of your ass."

Methos chuckled and phrased his words carefully, knowing the line would be monitored. "Let's just say I'm having a Mac attack and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Speaking of our friend, he was in here this morning and wanted to know if you wanted your book back. You know, the one on seventeenth century arms and armor. Said you might need it at some point."

Bless his do-gooder heart, MacLeod was offering to launch a rescue mission. "No, I don't think I'll need that one anytime soon. Although he might find the sequel on Culloden to be of interest."

There was silence from the other end of the phone and he knew that Joe understood. Something was going down that affected the world. From Mac's point of view that had been the final defeat of the Highland clans by the invading English troops. It had effectively destroyed everything he would have known and understood at the time. And the allusion to it would tell Joe as much as he needed to comprehend Methos' reasons for remaining.

"Ill let him know," Joe said quietly.

"You do that," Methos responded. "And if there's another book he has I might need, I'll certainly let him know when the time comes."

"Right. And if there's anything in my collection you want, all you have to do is ask."

"Thanks, Joe. I appreciate the offer, but hopefully it won't come to that. They've got a pretty extensive library here and I know how precious those particular books are."

Again there was silence as he let Joe know just how high the stakes actually were.

"Well, I've got to go open the bar," the other man finally offered, his voice a little shaky. "The lunch crowd will be here soon."

"It was good to hear from you, Joe. Give Mac my regards."

After he hung up the phone Methos frowned. He was well and truly awake now. He stood and stretched, pacing the room as he tried to think of something to do. He could go to his work room, but he was still too wound up to concentrate on that. He'd tried earlier after speaking with General Hammond again, but the words on the tablets had taken on a more sinister aspect now that he understood what it all meant. He knew he needed time to absorb everything he'd learned before once again trying to unravel that puzzle.

What you need is to stop thinking and do something! he told himself sternly as his eyes casually fell on the Ivanhoe in its display rack. Of course! A good solid workout was just what he needed to focus himself inward and allow the events of the last day or so to assimilate on their own.

He dressed himself in a pair of loose fitting trousers he'd picked up in Tibet, a plain black tee shirt and soft soled shoes, then tossed a change of clothes in his gym bag. After taking down his sword, he placed it in its case and headed for the gymnasium. Moving through the corridors, Methos was not surprised by the amount of activity around him. In any military establishment there was always something going on day or night, and the SGC was no exception.

In the gym he found others, both male and female, working out and chose a place for himself at the far end away from all the equipment and mats. Putting his case on one of the benches along the wall he mentally paced off an area for himself and began his kata. It was a form so old he didn't even recall where he'd learned it. But he'd done it nearly every day of his life for as long as he could remember and the moves were so ingrained he rarely thought about them. He couldn't even explain them to Mac the one time he'd asked. The few students he'd had he'd taught other forms of meditation. Whatever seemed to suit them best. For himself, this simply felt right. And despite everything he'd learned in places like China, Japan and Tibet he'd never been able to achieve the degree of centering or depth of focus he could with his normal routine.

As he moved deeper into the various stages of his meditation Methos became peripherally aware that he had drawn an audience. But this often happened when he practiced in public and he paid it no mind at all. It was with some surprise then as he neared the final stages that he sensed someone nearby echoing his movements. This had also happened before. A monk or aficionado of the art would begin to copy the moves, but never to his recollection with such accuracy. The thought disappeared almost before he'd realized he'd had it and he passed into the final stage where nothing, save the presence of another Immortal could have broken his concentration. A long time later, as he stepped back for the final time and at last laid his arms at his side, Methos turned to his shadow and bowed. Teal'c did likewise.

"I offer my humble thanks and gratitude," the larger man rumbled.

Methos smiled. "You're welcome always," he responded formally then went to retrieve his sword in order to properly finish his workout. It would have been better with a partner, but... He suddenly remembered Teal'c's earlier offer to spar.

"Would you join me?" he asked, seeing the soft leather case at the other end of the bench.

"I would be honored."

As Methos set the practice guards around the edges of his blade he couldn't help but notice the increased movement on the barbican above the gym floor. The place, of course, was a model of modern engineering. Designed not only for holding sporting events, but providing room for an audience. He didn't mind at all as long as they stayed off the floor. But given the profession of his audience he doubted there was any need to worry on that score.

He didn't bother with wrist guards or any of the other paraphernalia associated with the sport. In real life he knew he'd rarely get the chance to be that ready, unless he was preparing for battle or called the challenge himself. So when he did practice it was with the greatest impediment to success possible. Bare hands and bare feet, let the sweat run where it may. If he sprained a wrist so much the better, since it would teach him not to make the same mistake next time.

As he slipped off his shoes and moved back out onto the floor he smiled to himself as he recalled his first conversation with MacLeod. He hadn't lied when he'd said he was out of practice, but after a few thousand years the moves had become second nature. If he slacked off for a century or two, it didn't seem to matter in the long run. A couple of weeks of regular sessions and he was back in top form -- exactly where he'd been since he'd first begun to orbit the MacLeod pantheon. And even out of practice he could probably take on most any Immortal and win. He might not have the anger and the passion, but survival was a hell of a strong motivating factor when you came right down to it.

He began another series of stretches, this time using the Ivanhoe as a balancing point. Unlike the katana, or other light weight cavalry style swords most Immortals preferred, the Ivanhoe was a substantial piece to wield in battle. Not only meant for slicing and stabbing, but for doing solid impact damage. Finally, it became merely an extension of his arms and Methos turned to face his opponent.

***

"Colonel, what's going on?"

"Not now, Carter," Jack hissed above the clash and clang of steel as he pulled her through the crowd. "Out of the way. Excuse us." Rank had certain privileges and O'Neill used every one of them until he and Samantha were standing at the edge of the walkway overlooking the gym. It seemed that half the base had turned out for this.

"How long have they been at it?" he quietly asked the guy next to him. He'd gone to get Sam as soon as Methos had started his warm up. Not because he was worried, but because he'd thought she'd appreciate the insight into Pierson's character. He'd been supposed to work out with Teal'c as they did nearly every morning, but when he'd found them in the final stage of that strange kata he'd hung back in the crowd to watch.

"Just got started," the other man murmured.

O'Neill nodded and leaned his elbows against the edge as he watched the mock fight unfold. They were still in the opening rounds, testing each others defenses and getting a feel for each other's style.

"You thinking what I'm thinking, Carter?"

"He's been at this a very long time," she responded quietly.

Jack nodded slowly. What they'd thought to be a lanky, but decent physique beneath those loose fitting sweaters and jeans had suddenly turned out to be in better shape than their own. Not an ounce of spare fat existed on that sinewy frame. And the elongated muscles of his arms seemed to have been carved out of stone. He moved like a warrior. Not with the fancy dance-like moves some practitioners tried. Pierson was all business and clever cunning as he sought for weak points in Teal'c's defenses. More often than not he breached them and moved back for another round.

"So much for the librarian," O'Neill smiled.

"You're not serious?" Sam asked, her voice tinged with shock.

"I want him on the team, Carter, not sitting on his ass in the SGC."

"But, sir," she began as Methos suddenly disarmed Teal'c in another quick parry.

"No buts, Major. This is not open to discussion. We started out as five and I've always had the option to replace Ferretti. I'm simply going to exercise it. Don't worry," he grinned. "I'll take care of the paper work. You just schedule us some training time."

"Yes, sir," she nodded dubiously.

"He's just playing with him," Jack suddenly murmured, shaking his head, but Sam had gone. Too bad, he thought as Teal'c tried something new and took the offensive. She and Daniel would just have to live with it. Ferretti had been his best friend and he hadn't needed to either guide or guard the other man as he felt he had to with the others. Part of him had always desperately wanted those sureties back. More importantly, Methos couldn't be taken over by the enemy, or easily killed in a fight. Well, he could be, but he'd come back -- and that Immortality thing meant he'd have one less worry to keep him awake at night.

***

"What do you mean I'm drafted?" Methos asked, bemused as he sat on a bench in the locker room tying his shoes. "You can't draft me. I'm not a citizen. And besides, didn't you get it? I already agreed to work with you."

"You agreed to honor the contract you signed in Paris," Jack informed him. "But if you ever want to go through that gate, you're going to have to sign on the dotted line."

"What about Daniel?"

"Technically, he's just a civilian observer. He also signed a waiver absolving the military or the United States government of any indemnity in the case of loss of limb or life -- and we have a Presidential order allowing him access. Think you could stand up to that kind of scrutiny, Methos?"

Bastard! he thought, annoyed. Of course he couldn't and Jack knew that.

"You still can't draft me. As I said, I'm not a citizen."

"You are and I can. You fought in the American Revolution. Whether you knew it or not you were automatically granted citizenship at that time. And that law still exists. You fight under our flag, you become one of us. As for drafting you, there's a little known clause in the Constitution that allows for any citizen, regardless of age or sex, to be conscripted if they have a skill that can't be duplicated and that skill is required -- war time or not. Well, you do and I require it."

Methos frowned. He had forgotten about that sneaky little loophole the framers of that blasted document had designed. "So you can draft me. Fine. But why?"

O'Neill suddenly smiled. "You've been a soldier for a very long time and I want you at my back. I need someone with your strengths. Daniel and Sam are first and foremost academics. And Teal'c has his own set of problems. My first team through the gate was, with the exception of Daniel, a hand picked squad who'd seen combat with Special Forces. Only two came back alive and they died not long after we opened the gate for the second time."

Methos nodded. "And I have the advantage of being both an academic and a seasoned fighter. Well," he sighed, sitting up and resting his arms on his thighs. "I can't fault your logic." He shook his head slowly. "Still, I haven't served in battle for more than a century. In the armed forces, yes. But not as a combatant."

"What were you?"

"Well, I worked as a secretary in the war office during the First World War and as a code cracker in MI during the second. I never got near any actual fighting."

"Why not?" Jack asked curiously as Methos stood.

"Those are bloody big bombs you've gone and invented! Take your fucking head off in one shot. I want to live, Colonel. Not die in some meaningless skirmish in a cause that will eventually be forgotten. But if I am to die, I want it to be by the hand of another Immortal. Hopefully, one who deserves what I have to offer."

"That Quickie thing, huh?"

Methos smiled. "It's called a Quickening. And yes, that's exactly why."

"Okay, well we don't see too many bombs. Too primitive I guess for those oh-so-sophisticated alien bad guys. Lots of energy weapons and electronics that will fry your brain of course."

"Of course," Methos responded drolly.

"Anyway, if you want to go through the gate, this is your only option. Take it or leave it."

Methos sighed and followed Jack into the hall. You're a fool, he told himself firmly. But saving the world aside, there was still that damnable gate. That damned, incredible Stargate.

In his mind's eye Methos saw a flash of his own hand holding a stone knife as he carefully skinned some animal he'd caught. From that to this, he thought, and his heart leapt with a profound sense of joy. He'd lived to see this! Against all the odds he'd made it this far. Into a future he could never have imagined, let alone dreamed of even a century before. This was better than H.G. Wells or Jules Verne, both of whom he'd known and whose books he'd once loved.

"You are an evil, manipulative son of a bitch, Jack O'Neill," Methos told him.

"But you want to go through the Stargate." Jack gave him a wide slow smile.

"Of course I want to! Now, where do I sign?"

***

"Come on in," O'Neill gestured at Methos once he'd finally found the colonel's office.

Methos looked around the small room with its banged up steel desk, squeaky metal chairs, half a dozen slowly rusting file cabinets and one antique manual typewriter sitting in the center of the desk and nearly shuddered.

"This is your office?" he asked dubiously, even though the colonel's name was on the door.

"I know. I know," O'Neill nodded. "I should requisition some new stuff. But hell, I'm hardly ever in here. Am I, Teal'c?"

The big man nodded. "It is true. I have never seen Colonel O'Neill in this office."

O'Neill held out his hands as if to say, "See? I told you," and waved Methos to a chair.

"I've done most of it," he gestured at the typewriter in front of him which held some sort of form wrapped around its cylinder. "I just need you to help play fill in the blanks. You okay with that?"

Methos said nothing, but took a chair and looked expectantly at Jack.

"Not having second thoughts are you?"

"Along with third, fourth and fifth," Methos sighed.

"You can still change your mind," O'Neill offered.

Methos gave him a disgusted sneer. If he could have, he would have. He should know, he'd really tried. "Let's just get on with it."

Jack shrugged. "Okay. Full name and date of birth. Oops. Sorry," O'Neill grinned apologetically. "Could have done that one myself. M-E-T--" he started to type.

"Are you mad?!" Methos suddenly stood up. "You can't put my real name on there!"

"H-O-S. Methos. I have to. Law says so." He glanced up, grinning happily. "Don't worry so much," he waved Methos back into his seat. "No one reads this stuff anyway once it's in the computer."

Methos rolled his eyes and sat down. That much was probably true given the nature of bureaucracies in general, but he'd lodge a complaint with General Hammond anyway. A public record of his name and stats hadn't ever been part of their deal.

"Middle initial?"

Methos looked at the man as if he'd lost his mind.

"Guess not, huh?"

"O'Neill," Methos sighed in exasperation. "Don't try my patience."

"O," Teal'c rumbled from his place near the cabinets. "The middle letter must be O."

"O?" Methos raised an eyebrow. "And how do you figure that?"

"Colonel O'Neill once explained to me the purpose of a second or third name to identify one with a clan or place of birth. Did you not?"

"I did," O'Neill nodded.

"So, if I am Teal'c O. Chulak as you are Jack O. Neill then he must be Methos O. Earth."

Methos squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried not to laugh.

"Well if ya gotta have a name..." Jack grinned.

"Thank you, Teal'c," Methos said, then waved a hand to tell O'Neill to just do it and move on. "And I've no doubt, my young friend, that one day you too shall discover that not only have you served your people well, but that they have repaid you by turning your name to mud."

"Date and place of birth? Oh, I know that! Chal-co-li-thic era," Jack typed slowly. "Planet Dirt."

Methos chuckled. O'Neill had better hope no one else read this, or someone would likely schedule him for a psych evaluation -- and not just his strange inductee.

"Social security number?"

"000-00-0001," Methos grinned as Jack looked up.

"First in line, eh?"

"Early riser," Methos shrugged negligently.

"Works for me. Mother's maiden name?"

"Terra," Methos answered promptly.

"Father's name?"

"Firma."

Jack snorted. "Big guy, huh?"

"24,000 miles in circumference." Methos squared his shoulders and smirked.

"Ouch! Okay. List job titles and previous places of employment."

"Which ones?"

"Well, let's start with the longest period you've ever worked and go from there."

"Death. One thousand, three hundred seventeen years."

"Death?" Jack sat back from the typewriter and stared at him.

Methos nodded. He'd wanted him on the team so badly, then he really ought to know just what he was getting. "Yes. Death. As in Revelations. You know, the fourth seal, rode a pale horse, Hades followed behind. That was me. Death."

"O-kay," Jack nodded skeptically and typed. "Angel of Death."

"Trust me, O'Neill," Methos said quite seriously, leaning forward. "I was no angel."

The colonel frowned and searched through his drawers until he found an old fashioned eraser. He rubbed away the words, then blew on the page and laid his hands on the keys. "No angel. Right. Minion of Satan," he typed instead, then pulled the form out of the machine, ignoring Methos' laughter.

"I think that about does it. Teal'c, please give Satan's minion here his BDUs."

Methos took the pile of clothes, glanced at his name boldly stenciled across the pocket and tossed them aside, no longer laughing. "Now that's not funny, O'Neill."

"Okay. I didn't know. I'll have them put the O'Earth on later. All right?" He slapped the paper down in front of Methos. "X marks the spot, kid. Sign right here."

Furious, Methos stood and reached for the document intending to tear it up, but before he could take it someone knocked at the door.

"Hey, Colonel," a young Marine poked his head in. "If you're done here, could we have our store room back?"

Methos snatched up the paper and glanced at it, then down at the typewriter which he suddenly realized held no ribbon, then back at the computerized, neatly filled out form. It listed his name as Adam Pierson with all the pertinent information he'd already provided. He picked up the uniform and peeled the label off the pocket. Underneath, it thankfully read Pierson.

"Bastard!" Methos laughed, falling back into the chair. Still, he thought, it had been a very long time since anyone had gotten something that elaborate over on him. And he not only appreciated the skill it had taken to pull it off, but the fact that O'Neill liked him well enough to even bother. Practical jokes in the military were considered a sign of affection. With a sigh, he picked up a pen and signed his name with a flourish.

Jack held out his hand and Methos took it.

"Welcome to Stargate Command."

***

So these are Stargate addresses, Methos thought as he sat in his work room once again studying the king list tablets. Now that he had full access to all of Daniel's previous work many of the references he'd struggled with finally became clear. He'd back tracked and corrected his previous translations, replacing words like "the joined ones" with symbiot. Still, he had over 200 tablets left to complete and the task seemed daunting at this point. Part of him couldn't wait for Daniel to come back and give him a hand, while the other was dreading that very thing.

"Pierson?"

"Good afternoon, Colonel," Methos looked at the door and smiled. "Please, come in."

Jack looked at the dozen or so tablets on the work table as he sauntered past. "Having fun?" he asked with a hint of mocking amusement.

"Yes, actually. See those three tablets on the left?" Jack looked over and nodded. "They tell of how Tok'ra went to the planet of the Don-gi, where the Queen judged every man by the size of his penis and Tok'ra was sadly found wanting."

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Too small?"

"No, too large. She suggested surgery and he apparently left in quite a hurry."

Jack chuckled. "I'll bet he did."

"That last one tells of the argument he and his symbiot had over the whole affair, or lack thereof. Amazingly, the worm seemed to think it would grow back."

O'Neill's eyes went wide. "What's the address? I plan to avoid planet Dong--"

Methos burst out laughing at the colonel's expression.

"Good one, Adam," Jack admitted ruefully.

"Academia does have its little perks. Now, was there something you needed to see me about? Or shall I regale you with more and better tales of Tok'ra, the well-armed?"

"Basic training stuff mostly. Modified, of course, but necessary."

"Like what?"

"Oh, weapons training, marksmanship. Can you take an M-16 apart and put it back together in 9 seconds. Things like that."

"Actually, I can," Methos smiled brightly.

"Sure you can," Jack nodded distractedly, obviously thinking this was another joke.

Methos smiled patiently. "I take it you would like to do this now?"

"Now would be good. We just got a message from the Tok'ra. Things are probably about to become busy around here, so we need to get this done."

Methos got to his feet and followed Jack out. "You think there'll be some action?"

"Always is with them," he responded dryly.

"You don't like the Tok'ra, do you?" Methos asked quietly.

"Don't trust 'em," Jack clarified. "They seem to think we lesser folk are here to help them fight their battles, and not the other way around. What should be equal isn't. And we're usually left holding the short end of the stick."

Methos nodded as they got into the elevator to head up to the above ground area of the base and its firing ranges. So, he wasn't the only one to have misgivings about them. "Sounds like the Tok'ra need to have their cages rattled."

"Big time," Jack agreed, than stared at Methos and smiled. "You know, they are supposed to be our allies, Pierson."

"It was a wise man who once said that our enemies make us powerful, but our friends teach us humility."

"Who said that?"

"Julius Caesar, on receiving Pompey's head."

***

"What's that?" Sam asked as she entered the conference room.

"Pierson's range results." Jack held up the paper silhouette for her to ogle. "Qualified Expert center mass and sniper. On the first try. Gotta love that guy!"

"No. I don't," Carter shook her head, looking nervously at the paper. "Sir, the man also went for the knee caps, elbows and wrists. Doesn't that strike you as odd? Even a little ominous?"

"Shows how much you know, Major."

"Colonel, those are torture shots!"

"Your point being?"

She suddenly seemed to remember to whom she was speaking. "Never mind." She turned away, taking the seat next to Teal'c.

O'Neill sighed. "I know what you're thinking, Carter. And if it were anyone outside the armed services besides Pierson -- given his special needs -- I'd be worried too. But it's crunch time, Major, and skills like that don't come cheap or easy."

"Let's just say I wouldn't want to live next door to anyone who deliberately learned to do that as a hobby and leave it at that, Colonel."

"I doubt you could afford the house next door, Major." Methos strolled in and casually sprawled in the chair across from her.

"Whatever." She looked hopefully toward the door to General Hammond's office.

"You're afraid of me," Methos grinned dangerously. Carter glared at him and his smile broadened. "Smart girl."

"Enough you two," O'Neill ordered, annoyed. They didn't have to be in love, just work as a team.

The door opened and General Hammond walked in followed by Jacob Carter. "Good afternoon, people." There were greetings all around as the two men sat down.

"Before we begin, George," Jacob looked to his old friend. "With your permission, Selmak has something she'd like to say to Methos." The general nodded and Jacob's expression changed.

"Greetings to Methos, companion of Tok'ra, from the High Council of the Tok'ra. We offer our most sincere apologies for any offense Anise may have caused and would like to assure you that she has been suitably chastised for her actions."

"That's nice," Methos responded laconically.

"I am told you still claim no knowledge of your heritage, is this true?"

Methos sighed in exasperation. "Look, I don't know what you want me to say. I may have forgotten a lot, but misplacing an extra 5,000 years is highly unlikely. I'm old, not senile."

"Is this really germane?" Hammond interrupted.

Suddenly, Jacob was back. "Not really," he admitted. "They're just disappointed. Apparently, they consider Methos almost as much of a hero as Tok'ra."

At that Methos snorted. "I'm no one's hero."

"You're my hero," Jack insisted, clutching the silhouette to his chest and earning a brief smile.

"Perhaps I may shed some light on the matter," Teal'c finally spoke. Everyone paused as he looked at Methos. "Do you recall my mirroring of you during the last stages of Chel'no're?"

"You mean the kata?" Methos asked, surprised.

"Indeed. It is why I believe you must be he whom the Tok'ra praise, for you are a Master of the Art, while I am but a student."

"I thought you were a master of Chel'no're?" O'Neill asked, confused.

Teal'c shook his head slowly. "I have mastered that part of Chel'no're which I was taught, but I left Chulak before my studies could be completed. There are no Masters on this world, save Methos."

"Do you recall where you learned it?" Jacob asked the Immortal.

"Where?" Methos responded with a laugh. "I don't rightly recall when. And how can you be so sure this Chel’no’re wasn't practiced for centuries, or even millennia after the Goa'uld left, just as they were still worshipped as gods?"

"Because," Teal'c explained. "The form you use was lost to us more than 10,000 years ago when the last and greatest Master of the Art was killed in battle along with his most proficient students. We have but descriptions left in the archives. Many have tried to use these to achieve the final stage -- and many have died trying."

"There is a way to find out," Sam reminded everyone.

Methos sighed. "And again I ask you, Carter, what would be the point? My age, whatever it is, has no bearing on the present."

"But it may have a great deal of bearing on the future," Selmak stated.

"Your future," Methos scoffed. "Look, I'm sorry your wee ones are feeling a bit out of sorts, but I have no desire to become anyone's symbol of hope and encouragement. There's one bloody reason I'm here and that's to protect what's mine! Not to help your children deal with their feelings of inadequacy as they confront a hostile universe."

Hammond cleared his throat. "Excuse me, people, but this argument serves no purpose. We're here to discuss the current translation project, not to bicker among ourselves. Now, could we please move on?"

The room came to order and the general sat back in his chair. "Our first bit of business is to bring everyone up to speed. Dr. Pierson. Since the Tok'ra have been given copies of your work they are, of course, aware of the latest translations you've completed. In turn, they have provided us with copies of their completed translation of those tablets as well as others you haven't yet had a chance to work through. If you would all take a moment to look these over." He selected a handful of folders from the stack of files he'd brought with him and passed them around.

Methos hid his distaste, guessing whom they had to thank for the translations and promising himself that he'd go over them very, very carefully. From what he'd learned of Anise, the woman had more of an interest in ancient weapons that might be useful to the Tok'ra than the ancient cultures she purportedly claimed to be studying. One could not truly study a culture one held in contempt. Nor could one give due credence to that culture's experiences when the ultimate goal was to acquire their technological expertise. He would not put it past her to have deliberately slanted any number of passages to suit her own purposes, knowing the humans would likely bear the brunt of any subsequent engagement. And it gave him pause to wonder now, at how succinctly she had solved her little access problem by throwing the SGC into a minor upheaval by revealing the Immortal among them. A revelation they might have ignored, but for her little stunt.

"I take it these were computer generated?" Methos finally asked.

"Based on your foundations, of course," Jacob responded.

Methos closed the folder and carefully laid it aside. "It's a tricky dialect," he told him with a polite smile. "I'll make the necessary corrections. But do thank Anise for her efforts. I'm sure she did the best she was able."

"Rattle them bars," Jack murmured and tossed his own folder onto the table. "Let's cut to the chase, Jacob. The abridged version, please?"

"Well, you already know the gist of the story," Jacob shrugged. "The end result seems to have been that Tok'ra somehow created a weapon which destroyed an entire Goa'uld fleet."

"I knew there had to be an alien weapon involved here somewhere," O'Neill muttered.

"Problem is," Jacob went on, ignoring his comment. "We're missing some key pieces of the puzzle. The story breaks off in the middle at the end of the last tablet."

"Meaning," the general informed them. "That we need SG-1 to return to P4X37 and find those missing tablets."

"Oh, joy," Jack sighed and looked to Methos. "Bring lots of extra sun block."

As the meeting broke up, Methos felt the shock of his surprise mixed with an incredible amount of excitement and a hint of fear. This was it. He was really going to do this thing, wasn't he?

Oh, yeah, he thought as he passed the stairs leading to the gate room. The world was definitely getting interesting.

***

"Uh, Colonel," Carter said as Methos and Teal'c entered the gate room an hour later. "He's got a sword with him."

"I think they come as a matched set," Jack told her calmly. "Like the rig," he said to Methos, who merely grinned.

The ancient Immortal had attached the lightweight scabbard he usually wore inside his coat to a nylon harness which allowed him to wear his sword slanted across his back beneath his pack.

Seeing the team was in place, the crew in operations activated the Stargate and Methos watched the process with a sense of awe and nervous tension in his stomach.

"Ready?" Jack asked in an undertone of concern.

Methos wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, unable to take his eyes off the Stargate. "Is this what the first day of school feels like? All tingly butterflies and queasy gnawing?"

"Sounds about right," Jack admitted as he led the way up the ramp. "Don't worry," he smiled kindly. "I've done this at least a couple of hundred times. You'll do fine."

Methos watched as O'Neill and then Carter nonchalantly entered the portal. Behind him, Teal'c waited patiently as Methos fought the instant of panic which suddenly reared its ugly head at the thought of being broken down into his composite molecules and whisked across the galaxy. But instead of retreating, he took a huge deep breath, closed his eyes and stepped forward into the light.

***

Cold, and yet not cold. Intense heat, and soothing balm. Bright white light, but without sight. Wind rushing through every pore of his body in a complete and utter calm. Methos found himself face down in the sand an instant later, gasping for air.

"Takes a little getting used to," he heard O'Neill say as the colonel helped him to sit up.

"Wild ride!" he grinned and saw O'Neill smile. "Take that, Mr. Disney!"

"Gets better," Jack told him as he got to his feet.

Methos looked around, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. Two suns, he suddenly realized, startled by a sight his instincts told him should not exist. By all the gods, he thought, a sense of wonder filling him. I'm not only standing on another planet, but for the first time in my life I am completely free of the Game! Now that was worth signing over a small portion of his life to the military.

"It's over this way," Samantha pointed as she led them toward a rising dune.

At the top, Methos paused to stare across the sand swept landscape at the looming ziggurat in the distance. "That's the Temple of Inanna," he told them quietly. "There was one just like it in Uruk." He nodded slowly. "So this is where the bitch went."

"Knew her, did you?" Jack asked.

Methos shook his head. "Never met the woman. But like everyone else back then, I was intimately acquainted with her prostitutes." The colonel raised an eyebrow. "Inanna was also known as the Whore of Babylon. A bitch goddess who murdered her husbands regularly. The tarts were part of her mystique. Le petite morte as ritual sacrifice in worship."

"See?!" Jack complained to Teal'c. "Now that was important information. Daniel never tells us these things."

The Jaffa's countenance remained impassive. "Daniel Jackson has knowledge of many things. Perhaps these prostitutes are not among them."

"Y' think?" O'Neill asked sarcastically.

Methos heard the comment over his shoulder as he followed Major Carter and looked back with a wide-eyed, calculatedly shocked expression. "What has that shameless reprobate got you believing?"

"Beg pardon?" O'Neill hurriedly caught up with him.

"In college, Daniel went through women like you go through socks, Jack. That incredible brain of his has memorized every bit sexual esoterica there is. Including the entire Kama Sutra."

"Why that little..."

Pay back was indeed a bitch, Methos thought smugly as he slogged his way through the sand. Of course, he could be wrong. Daniel might actually have read the damn book and not used that bloody big tome as a door stop. At the very least, watching him as he tried to either live up to or deny the lie would certainly be entertaining.

***

"So this is where you found them?" Methos asked, chuckling.

"I'm sure she didn't mean to fall on him," O'Neill responded sincerely.

"Of course not," Methos solemnly agreed.

"Could we get on with this?!" Sam interjected heatedly, reaching for the rope she'd secured to assist them in descending.

"Oh, you won't find anything down there," Methos pointed out, casually moving away from the opening.

"Well, this is where we found the other tablets," she reminded him unnecessarily.

"So you've said," Methos nodded. "And I take it the chamber was excavated quite thoroughly?"

"Yes. But we still might have missed something."

Methos finally took pity on her. She was, after all, such an earnest young lady. "I highly doubt that given the quality of your experts in the field. More likely, the temple priests had the final tablets on display somewhere else. The great epics were worshipped cyclically. Each year a different part of the story would be recounted and so on until it was complete. Then they'd start over so anyone who might have missed a particular bit or had a favorite part could hear it again. Kind of like free concerts in the park. The propaganda rewards were enormous."

Now Sam was listening -- and of course, arguing. "Why would a Goa'uld direct her priests to recite an epic that details a major Goa'uld defeat?" Before he could respond her eyes widened in understanding. "Unless it doesn't?"

"Exactly," Methos smiled. "The end of the story would have been the most important. The part where Inanna betrays her lover, Tok'ra, and shows her power over him."

Carter nodded slowly. "That's why the early tablets were hidden."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "Or trotted out as a series of examples in futility. Nothing so kills hope as hearing how badly the mighty have fallen."

"This is all very interesting." O'Neill interrupted. "But where would the rest of the tablets be? We went over this place top to bottom before we left here."

"I'd guess in the temple proper somewhere."

"I thought this was the temple?" Jack asked.

"This?" Methos looked around and grinned. "Hell no! These are the temple offices and storage facilities. Inanna would never have set foot down here." He turned away and headed for the exit, the others following. Once outside he circled the building until he reached the base of the ceremonial stairs and started climbing.

"This would have been a landing pad?" Methos asked as they reached the flat summit.

"Probably," O'Neill agreed as Methos led them across the wide staging area and into the temple itself.

Unlike its counterpart in Mesopotamia this temple had been made of stone, not mud brick and Methos looked around, startled by the empty surfaces around him.

"Where are the carvings?" he whispered in astonishment. The walls should have been covered with them. And there was no altar. He'd expected to find the tablets there. Set in the stone around its base where the ancient plaques of gold inlaid with lapis lazuli bearing the many tales of Inanna in the old city had been.

"Carvings?!" O'Neill exploded, recalling his very first experience gating. "Don't tell me you assumed there'd be inscriptions. Jesus! They don't put 'em on the walls out here!"

Methos stared at him, then suddenly his eyes moved past the other man and out to the landing platform, narrowing. "Of course," he murmured and strode back the way they'd come. He paced out the general area then began sweeping the sand aside with his feet until he found what he wanted. He smiled and crooked a finger at the rest of the team. When they were standing beside him, Methos stepped back and showed them the tablet set in the paving stones underneath.

"'And I have laid my heel like a yoke upon the neck of mine enemy'," he recited slowly. "'And forever shall he writhe ignominiously beneath the tread of my feet.'" Methos curled a lip in disgust. "Bitch took the words literally."

***

"He did what?!" Daniel shouted over the phone.

O'Neill covered the mouth piece while he laughed. "Your friend, Pierson," he repeated slowly. "Borrowed Teal'c's staff and blew the damn things out of the ground. Said temples like that were thick as thieves in the Bronze Age, so why bother excavating."

"Is he there?! Is he? I want to speak with him!"

"Hey!" O'Neill called across the room to Methos, who was working with Sam to sort through the labeling. "Hey! Satan's minion! Your friend the sex fiend wants a word with you!"

Methos rolled his eyes at the irreverent colonel as he hurriedly made his way over and grabbed the phone. "Pierson."

"What did he just call me?" Daniel queried nervously.

"Sorry, wasn't listening."

"Yeah, right. Okay. Adam, did you shoot up an ancient alien temple?"

"No, I did some down and dirty excavating."

"You did! I can't believe it!"

"Look, Danny," Methos sighed patiently. "You and I have had this argument a thousand times. And if you managed to live another thousand years we'd probably still be having it. People count, not pots."

"And if their pots are all we have left?" Daniel asked quietly.

"Then apparently they weren't very interesting people."

There was a long pause and Methos could practically hear Daniel's teeth grinding.

"Listen, Adam. I'm not going to get into this with you right now, okay? I'll be in tomorrow and we can start working on those new translations."

"Been brushing up on your proto-cuneiform?" Methos asked pointedly.

"As a matter of fact, I have been. I'll see you in the morning."

"Fine. Good night, Danny."

Methos exhaled disgustedly as he hung up the phone.

"Does that to me all the time," O'Neill offered sympathetically.

"He means well," Methos smiled briefly.

"You really like the kid."

"Don't sound so surprised, O'Neill. He's got a brilliant mind and there isn't a malicious bone in his body. So, he can be a little annoying." Jack rolled his eyes. "Okay, a lot annoying. But then, so can I. I think..." Methos sighed softly. "I sometimes think Daniel is probably who I would be if I weren't what I am. If that makes any sense."

"Makes a lot of sense, actually. Thanks to you though, I keep having to readjust my dweeb-o-meter."

With a smile, Methos went back to work. Daniel could do what he liked come morning. By the time he got here the translations would be complete. He did, after all, have Anise's computerized technique. And she'd been more than accurate in her translations, in spite of what he'd implied. No doubt, he thought as he scanned in the first of the new tablets using her filtering frequency, someone had sat her down and explained a few of life's necessities. The most important being, never to piss off your coworkers. They often had nasty ways of getting even.

***

"'And going forth to do battle Tok'ra created for himself a carapace'," Daniel read aloud. "Don't you think that's a strange way to describe body armor?"

"No, Danny, I don't," Methos sighed. "And if you'd ever worn chain mail you'd agree."

Daniel grinned. "Still doing that historical re-enactment stuff, huh?" He shifted his cast to a more comfortable position, knocking over his crutches as he did so.

Methos grunted a response as he gathered them up for the third time. "On and off. Mostly off these days." He propped the crutches securely against the wall, well away from Daniel's fidgeting. "Look, it's not that I don't agree with you. The word is odd. It's definitely a unique descriptor. But the story says he rode within the carapace to fight the Goa'uld, so how can it possibly be some form of advanced body armor? It had to be a ship of sorts. Probably a one man fighter. That's the only logical conclusion."

"What if it were both?" Daniel asked and Methos stared at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"Come again?"

Daniel shrugged. "I don't know. Just an idea. Hand me one of those tablets, Adam."

Methos looked across the room where he'd left a dozen or so out on the work table. With a shrug he snapped on a pair of gloves and went to retrieve one.

"What are those for?" Daniel asked, staring at Methos' hands as he deposited the tablet on the desk between them.

"Just a precaution. I think I'm slightly allergic to whatever this stuff is. Gives me a rash."

"Did you get it checked out in the infirmary?" Daniel asked with a hint of concern.

"They're not sure," Methos lied adroitly. "Could have been something I ate. But as long as I wear these I seem to be fine."

"Well the metal is odd," he agreed, slowly running his fingers over the surface of the tablet. "The tests indicate it's similar to naqueda, the mineral the gate's made out of," Daniel explained. "But the molecular structure is a little different. As if it were meant to provide a different kind of energy source."

Methos said nothing. He was not a geologist after all. Neither was Daniel for that matter, but the kid had picked up a lot of obscure knowledge in recent years and he was willing to bow to his expertise on those subjects.

"Funny how the reverse is completely without markings," he commented turning the tablet over. "And look at this scoring. Kind of looks like a pattern, doesn't it?"

Methos leaned forward and nodded. "Could be. So what? The pieces could have been made up of a larger slab that was broken down for the purpose. As for the reverse being rough, they might have planned all along to mount the tablets. Why polish what will never be seen by the public?"

Daniel nodded absently then cocked his head. "Maybe. Do these edges seem a little uneven to you as well?"

Methos shrugged. "Maybe that's part of their charm. Not every civilization likes their edges neatly rounded."

"Have you tried laying them out all together just to see what comes up?"

Methos felt a shiver of fear at the suggestion. He'd very consciously avoided doing anything like that. His Quickening's response to one tablet had been disturbing. The idea of putting all the tablets out and into one confined space made his skin crawl.

"I don't think that's necessary, Danny. If you want to examine them for patterns we can use the computer scans to manipulate them much more easily. It would certainly be faster."

"Yeah, it would," Daniel sighed.

They both looked up as Colonel O'Neill entered unannounced. "Hope I'm not interrupting, but, uh, Pierson, we've got a little problem. Would you excuse us, Daniel?"

Methos grimaced and nodded pointedly to Jackson's leg. "I'll be right with you, Jack." He turned back to his friend. "Look, here's the keyboard," he moved it to where it was easier for Daniel to reach, then turned the monitor to face him. "I'll be back as soon as I'm able."

Daniel waved distractedly as he left and Methos heaved a silent sigh of relief. He didn't know whether or not putting the pieces together might be dangerous to him, but he certainly wasn't eager to find out. Nor was he interested in letting the mortals discover that little secret. They might not be concerned with his Immortality now, but just let them get a hint of the kind of power that might be available to him, or any other Immortal for that matter, and they'd be singing a different tune, he was sure of it.

"How's it going in there?" O'Neill asked once they were alone in the corridor.

"The work? Or me and Danny?"

"Both."

Methos smiled. "The first is going well. He's come up with some interesting ideas I never would have thought of. Whether they're useful remains to be seen. As for Danny and I, well... I doubt we'll ever see eye to eye on a few things. Luckily, he's incapable of holding a grudge for more than a few minutes."

O'Neill snorted and started walking toward the elevator. "Tell that to Apophos. If Daniel ever gets the upper hand there he'll kill him in an eye blink."

"How's that?" Methos asked, surprised yet believing the colonel's professional estimation.

Jack paused as they waited. "He hasn't told you about Sha're?" Methos shook his head. "Daniel's married." Methos' eyes went wide and he glanced back toward the work room.

"He never mentioned it."

"Not surprising," O'Neill went on quietly. "Apophos wanted an attractive host for his own wife. He decided on Sha're."

"One of those things is inside his wife?" Methos swallowed in horror as O'Neill nodded. "Poor Danny."

"Poor Sha're," Jack added as the elevator came and they stepped inside. "She's aware and she knows what's happened to her."

Methos wiped his face with his hand. Terrible as it was, it was not his problem. It wasn't like there was anything to be done about it either. But still, it explained a lot about Daniel's new found intensity for something other than his own devices.

Finally, Methos let it go and sighed. "You said you needed to see me about something?"

"Actually, it's more of a someone rather than a something. Know anybody by the name of MacLeod?"

Methos groaned. "He's here?"

"In the flesh."

"Yeah, I know MacLeod. The infant's probably come to rescue me from your dastardly clutches."

"Infant?"

"A mere four hundred years. Thinks he's everybody's knight in shining armor. Yours too, if you let him. Duncan is nothing if not loyal, true, thrifty and brave. The ultimate Boy Scout."

O'Neill looked interested. "Think he'd be willing to come work for us?"

Methos shrugged. "Don't see why not. He's served in some form or other in nearly every major conflict for the past four centuries. Just remember, he was raised to be his clan's chieftain. So if he adopts you, you’re his responsibility for life. And this saving the world stuff is right up his alley."

The colonel nodded. "I'll keep it in mind."

As they reached the surface Methos caught sight of MacLeod standing easily next to a pair of guards.

"We'll take it from here," O'Neill told them as he led the way outside.

"Look at you!" MacLeod crowed, grinning from ear to ear as he slowly paced around the ancient Immortal.

Methos rolled his eyes. He was wearing standard issue combat pants and a tee shirt. "I'm sure you haven't come to discuss my new wardrobe, Mac. And I don't need rescuing. So why are you here?"

MacLeod glanced at O'Neill and Methos nodded. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, Colonel Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force."

The two men shook hands. "A pleasure," Jack said sincerely. "One of these days we'll have to sit down and discuss the nature of modern warfare."

MacLeod looked stunned. "He knows about us?"

"He was there for the dog and pony show," Methos shrugged. "Couldn't be helped."

"Right," MacLeod nodded, taking it in stride. "Joe mentioned that. He also mentioned Culloden. Care to explain that?"

"Not at the moment," Methos told him as MacLeod stubbornly crossed his arms. "I also indicated that if your services were required I'd let you know."

"Meth-- Adam," MacLeod corrected himself and Methos sighed.

"Don't bother, he knows that, too."

The Scot's mouth fell open. "Everything?" he finally asked.

"Let's just say, O'Neill knows me in the biblical sense and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Hey!" Jack stammered. "No casting aspersions here. I may have to work with this guy."

Methos chuckled. "I meant Death, Jack."

The colonel nodded, relaxing. "Oh, yeah. Well, minion of Satan or not," O'Neill shrugged, "that's ancient history."

MacLeod nodded slowly. "I want in, Methos. That's why I'm here. Anything serious enough to get your attention has to be important. And if it means anything like Culloden ever happening again -- anywhere -- I want to make it stop. I didn't stand by for the Nazis or the Fascists, and I'm not standing on the sidelines for this."

Methos looked at Jack with an "I told you so" expression and shrugged. "It's your decision, Colonel."

O'Neill smiled. "I'll tell you what. Let me talk to my superiors and see what we can come up with."

"Jack?!" Methos uttered, surprised.

"Look, Pierson. It has occurred to us that an elite force of Immortal shock troops, say about a dozen, would be of enormous benefit. We're hanging out in the open with our pants down here," he reminded the Immortal forcefully. "We'll take anything that might give us even a slight advantage. And it would," he added knowingly. "Go a long way toward calming any fears about Immortal loyalties others might have."

Methos sighed and nodded. One didn't have to be prescient to see that the days of Immortals remaining safely hidden from the larger world were probably numbered. And having already established themselves on the side of humanity would put paid to any notion of what might happen should the Prize be won. Not that he believed in the myth of ruling over humanity, but the idea behind it might appeal to some as a rallying cry against Immortals. Having Big Brother on their side could help nip that kind of insanity in the bud before the massacres started.

"Listen, Duncan. Give Jack some time to sort this out. You're staying in town?"

MacLeod nodded. "At the Orange Tree Inn, just off the highway."

"Great. Let's say we get together for dinner later on. Seven okay?"

"Fine by me."

"In the meantime, you can maybe think about any others you know who might be willing to join up."

"You really think that's a good idea?" MacLeod asked nervously.

"This concerns all of us, Mac. If we don't get involved there may be nothing left to get involved in, if you take my meaning."

"Shit!" MacLeod grimaced. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

Duncan's expression went very still. "I'll see what I can come up with. Have Dawson check a few names. Maybe put out some feelers."

"Good. We'll see you then."

As MacLeod returned to his car Jack stared after him then looked at Methos. "You guys have done this before," he stated simply.

"Actually, we haven't," Methos gave him a sad smile. "But most of us have spent at least a portion of our lives fighting. Either singly or in massed combat with very little choice in the matter. Tactics and strategy are the necessary tools of our survival. And as you know they have a language all their own."

"Yes, they do," he agreed softly. "Let's go talk to Hammond. He'll need to be briefed before we can make any moves." Methos nodded. "And it'll have to have Presidential approval." At that, Methos' eyes went wide. "Don't worry, he knows what's at stake here."

Methos didn't like it, but what could he do? MacLeod had forced the issue. And once Mac became involved in anything he'd set his mind to, the big Scot would never let it go.

Ah well, if it came down to a war against Immortals, Methos thought with a secret smile, he'd just evacuate himself the hell out. He'd been going through Daniel's reports on some of the worlds they'd visited and a few didn't look half bad. Surely one would be safe enough to call home for a while.

***

The meeting with General Hammond had gone well, better than Methos had expected. The only people in the government who were going to know about Immortals in general were the Joint Chiefs and the President -- who told nobody anything -- not even themselves. As far as anyone else was concerned, if they could gather together enough participants, the identities of the team members would remain 'need to know' only. And since no one really needed to know, Methos felt sure they would be safe. As for himself, it was agreed that Adam Pierson would continue as he was, with no one, not even the other Immortals, any the wiser about Methos.

With a couple of hours left before he and Jack needed to head over to Mac's hotel, Methos decided to check in on Daniel and see what he'd come up with on those scans. Returning to his work room he was surprised not to find him there, but then perhaps Daniel had gotten tired and gone back to his quarters. As he started leave Methos glanced at the table, staring in shock at the empty stands where the tablets had been. His eyes quickly turned to the corner where he'd stacked the cases, finding them missing as well.

"Son of a bitch! Daniel!" he hissed furiously, stalking out of the room. Now where would the brat have taken them? He stopped the first person he passed in the corridor, asking if they'd seen Dr. Jackson. After three tries he finally found someone who knew and was directed to an empty staging area on another level.

After a short search he found the room. And, angrier than he'd been since this whole thing had started Methos flung open the door with a foul curse…and tripped. Shouting in surprise he rolled, trying to disentangle himself from the obstacle -- Daniel's crutches by the sound of it -- and put a hand out to steady himself.

"Shit!" Methos gasped, yanking his hand back as he touched something hard and cold then felt a surge of energy racing up his arm. "No!" He scrabbled back, at last seeing Daniel and Major Carter parked in front of a bank of portable monitors near the door.

"What the hell was that?!" Daniel demanded, trying to rise. While Methos could only shake his head, staring in horror at the large contiguous octagon in which the tablets had been laid out.

"Pierson?" he heard Carter ask as he uselessly grabbed his head, feeling overwhelmed by the awful noise of a tremendous buzz. A moment later the tablets began to pulse with power.

"Get out!" Methos shouted as he finally made it to his feet, doubling over as he staggered away from them and from the tablets which had suddenly begun to glow. "Get MacLeod!"

Suddenly, a single column of energy rose from the tablets like a tower of light. It searched the room, moving sinuously past the two mortals as if they weren't even there. Then it focused on Methos, hauled back like a fist and slammed into him hard.

By the door, the two horrified spectators saw him thrown across the room until he was pinned to the far wall by the sheer force of the energies involved. Then the tablets began to rise above the floor as they metamorphosed into a solid golden ball. This too began to alter itself almost immediately. Growing brighter and more translucent so that Carter and Daniel were forced to huddle against the wall shielding their eyes. Then suddenly it too joined in the stream of light piercing the ancient Immortal until it seemed that every last particle of energy was trying to fill him up.

How long this went on Methos didn't know, his mind was overwhelmed with images. Times and places worlds apart that meant nothing to him. And at some point he even saw himself. Young and, god help him, tiny. Quite literally a babe in arms. And he knew who it was who held him. Knew the man who fed and clothed and raised him up to call him Father. And when his own insignificant form could take no more, Methos screamed and went on screaming as bolt after bolt of lightening shot out of his body to send the SGC into electronic chaos before ricocheting back in a vain attempt to be reabsorbed.