Author: Whimsicle-1
Disclaimer: This is not meant to infringe on copyrights held by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, Centropolis Productions, Fox, or anyone else (and besides, I have no money-suing me would be a waste of effort). This story, however, does belong to me, so please don't reproduce it without something approaching permission.
Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate several strange murders involving beheadings, and Duncan McLeod becomes involved.
Date Originally Written: Some time in '94 or '95--in terms of timeline, it's set after Tessa's died and Richie became immortal, but before Richie died on the show. 
Feedback: always welcome at whimsicle.dreams@gmail.com

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What Immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the offering of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

--William Blake--The Tiger, st.1,2

The power sought out and found Russell Tamron, swirling around him, long fingers of light caressing his body,  wrapping him in their embrace and holding him closer than any lover ever could.

Tamron's back arched as the energy, knowledge, and soul of another man tore into him. Agony sliced through his body as it did any Immortal when they took a quickening. It was a stormwash of raw power that warped and vibrated every cell of his body. The pain was furious, but, at the same time, so very wonderful. It was sexual, addictive, a desperate driving need that made the average junky hooked on heroine seem calm and collected.

Lost in the agony/ecstasy of the moment, Tamron never noticed when the quickening lifted his feet off the ground.

Confident he would win, he almost dreaded the end of the Gathering. Once the other Immortals were gone, there would be no more quickenings. No more loss of self in the power and surge of another man's soul.

Then it was over. The bright band of electricity winked out and he dropped back to the ground, spilling to his knees and elbows.

Tamron stayed that way for a long minute, then slowly staggered to his feet. His hand was still wrapped tightly around the Civil War saber that was his weapon of choice. He stumbled back to where he'd dropped his coat and sheath, and quickly retrieved them, slipping the coat on, then hiding the saber inside it as he hurried out of the darkened alley.

As he moved, he heard the wail of sirens and it added speed to his gestures. He didn't want to find himself the target of a police investigation, particularly not with the Gathering in full swing. He wondered what the mortals would think when beheadings became almost a daily event.

Lost in thought, he never noticed the wallet that slippd from his coat pockets near the entrance to the alley.

Three hourse later, Fox Mulder did...

He was flipping through the plastic I.D. folders, reading them in the glow of his mini-maglite when he heard the determined stride of his, partner clip down the alley. "Anything?" he asked when she drew near.

Dana Scully shook her head. "Forensics is still going through the evidence, but..." She shrugged. "What about you?" she asked, gesturing to the wallet in his hand.

"I think we may have a lead," Mulder said, then flipped the wallet closed, carefully bagging it before peeling off the latex gloves that covered his hands.

*****

Duncan Macleod hung up the phone, then let his head fall forward into his hands as the agony washed over him. "Ah God, Richie, why didn't you run? I told you to run," he whispered huskily.

Duncan had cried precious few times in his life. Living the life of a soldier, he had become hardened to the reality of death early in his four hundred years. Humans always died eventually, and it was hard to trust other Immortals when the thought was always in the back of his mind that they might turn around and want his head one day and. 

But Richie had been different.

Like Tessa, Richie had become a part of Duncan's life.

And Damn them both for dying.

Hot tears clawed behind his closed eyelids.

Damn them both for leaving him.

His hand scrabbled for the hilt of the katana that was always close now that the Gathering was upon them. His fingers closed on the polished, carved  ivory, and he stood easily, biceps flexing as he lifted the carefully balanced weight of the sword.

And damn Russell Tamron for taking one of them from him.

*****

Tamron realized he had dropped the wallet several hours after returning to his immaculate apartment. The curses he snarled were succinct, to the point, and uttered in the ancient Babylonian dialect of his childhood. He grabbed for his sword and the stash of cash and fake documents he always kept somewhere nearby.

*****

After reading the rather banal biography that went with Russell Tamron's name---no arrests, a couple of parking tickets, one marriage, one very simple divorce, a good credit rating, and a lien free title on a Toyota Celica GTS---Mulder told the four police officers who had accompanied he and Scully to Tamron's apartment to wait outside on the street. By the look of his profile, he was probably an innocent witness and Mulder didn't want to frighten the man any more than necessary.

With the frequency that the bodies had been appearing in different states, Mulder was confident the killings were involved in something wide ranging. He just wasn't yet certain quite what it was. With that in mind, Tamron might well have good reason for being frightened. "Let's go," he said to his partner.

Scully straightened away the side of the police car where she had been leaning while he used the officer's mobile computer, and easily kept pace with him as they entered the building.

Tamron's apartment was simple enough to find.

Mulder's knock was quick and sharp. "Mr. Tamron!" he called a moment later when there was no answer. "Mr. Tamron. This is the F.B.I. Please answer the door!"

"I'll see if I can find the landlord," Scully offered, and Mulder nodded in agreement.

As she moved away, Dana noted that several of Tamron's neighbors stuck their heads out to peer curiously at the proceedings.

"Scully!" Mulder shouted when he heard the sound of shattering glass and  a low groan inside the apartment.

Scully spun back, hand going for her gun as she saw her partner lunge against the door.

It gave without resistance.

Mulder barely had time to register the trap as the silver glint of a sword hilt slammed into his temple and sent him spinning into the door. Somebody caught his coat and rammed him head first into the door again.

Scully's voice echoed dizzily in his brain as she called out, "Mulder!" Then he recognized the feel of her body as his assailant shoved him into her. Reeling badly, he couldn't halt his fall in time to keep from taking her down with him.

Tamron danced past the man and woman as they went down in a tumble, careful to keep his sword away from them both.

He had one firm rule in life, never kill cops of any kind. That attracted too much attention from too many people with grudges on their minds.

"Mulder?" Scully panted, as she untangled herself, and lunged to her feet.

"Go!" he assured her and swung an arm toward their disapearing assailant.

She nodded, shouting to one of the cracked apartment doors as she ran past,"There are police out front. Go get them, now!"

Dana hit the stairs only a few yards behind Tamron. "HALT! F.B.I.!" she shouted down the stairwell at his disappearing back.

Tamron didn't even appear to hear her.

Scully stayed hard on his heels as he fled through the building, but when he ducked out a back entrance into a darkened alley, she could feel herself starting to lose ground. Quick and agile, Dana Scully could keep up with almost anyone in an of obstacle course, but as short as she was, there was no way she could keep pace with a man a foot taller and in equal or better condition in the open.

The alley twisted and turned, and Tamron quickly turned a corner and was out of sight. With the sound of his footsteps still echoing off the walls, Scully redoubled her speed in an effort to stay as close behind as possible, but it was a losing battle as the pounding of feet grew steadily more distant.

And then suddenly, the alley branched off in two directions, forcing her to pull up.

Breathing hard, Scully tipped her weapon up and did a slow pivot. No sign of Mulder's assailant. "Damn," the F.B.I. agent panted "Damn ... damn ..."

A clatter brought her head around and her weapon back down. She automatically curved her left hand around her right, bracing the pistol in near perfect form as she crept forward.

"Mr. Tamron? If that's you, come out with your hands up."

Another clatter, this time farther down the alley.

The alley was narrow and cluttered, her view obscured by garbage cans and a large dumpster.

Dana moved forward very carefully. "This is the F.B.I. Come out immediately, hands in the air!"

Nothing.

The agent continued forward carefully, eyes flickering right and left as she hunted the shadows in an effort to prevent anyone from sneaking up on her. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was probably alone in a dark alley with a  madman who had decapitated several people. Good move, Dana, she thought with dark humor.

A soft thud even farther away.

Her heart hammering violently against the inside of her chest, she approached the dumpster cautiously, fully aware that it provided more than enough room to give a large man cover. Suddenly questioning the wisdom of taking off after a suspect alone, she edged around the corner of the dumpster. 

And heaved a soft sigh of relief when she found nothing more threatening than a stack of old newspapers.

Her relief didn't last long. Before she could turn back, a hard male body slammed into her back. The corner of the dumpster clipped her just above one eye as she was knocked to the ground beneath her attacker.

Scully tried to hold onto her gun, but a hard chop to the nerve point in her hand brought a sharp cry of pain and her weapon skittered away.

Suddenly, she pulled up short, all struggles ceasing as a cold, razor sharp blade slid into place against her throat. The cut over her eyes was bleeding, blinding her on one side.

"Palms flat on the ground," a hard male voice ordered near Scully's ear.

Painfully aware of her own vulnerability, she complied, pressing her hands flat against the cold tarmac.

He shifted slightly, using the weight of his body to pin her to the ground as his free hand slid searchingly over her body.

"Very nice," Tamron approved as his hand brushed across her breasts before discovering her I.D. in an inner coat pocket.

Scully's flesh crawled and she bit back a nasty retort.

She heard him flip open her I.D.

"You take a good picture Agent Scully...Dana..."

She couldn't help but wonder how he could see it in the dark alley.

"I like you...You're lucky I have rules about cops." Suddenly his lips just brushed her neck.

Despite her best efforts, Scully let out a single, nearly inaudible whimper.

"I'll have to look you up again when the Gathering's over," he exhaled, his breath fluttering over her skin.

Scully was too frightened to ponder the meaning behind his words. Tamron shifted the blade against her throat just enough to remind her it was there. "Now, don't move..." he ordered and pushed up to one knee, straddling her torso. He trailed one hand down the center of her back. "On the other hand, some rules were meant to be broken..." he murmured thoughtfully.

Suddenly, Tamron tensed and Scully's neck arched even farther as the blade against her throat shifted fractionally. Dana's assailant pushed into a crouched position, then dug his free hand into her hair. Something, she realized in a rush, had changed.

"Up! You're coming with me," he snarled as he hauled her up without moving the blade away from her throat.

Scully was on her knees, the sword across her throat, Tamron standing at her back when a man, tall, dark haired, and wearing a long black trench coat stepped from the shadows. An ivory handled katana glittered in his right hand. She heard Tamron's softly muttered curse as his hand tightened in her hair.

"I am Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod," the newcomer said in a rich, softly accented voice.

"Macleod," Tamron murmured and Scully thought she detected a hint of unease in his voice. "I'd recomend you be careful with that sword unless you like the sight of mortal blood."

"Let the woman go," Macleod ordered quietly. "This is between you and I."

"That's so very chivalrous of you, Highlander, but I don't think so. I always try to keep it to one quickening per night...although I must admit your little friend's was rather weak.

Macleod's muscles tensed and for a moment, Scully thought he was going to lunge despite the weapon at her throat.

Obviously Tamron thought so too because he twitched the blade, purposely drawing blood. "Careful, Highlander."

Macleod pulled back, restraining his temper with obvious effort.

"Now drop the sword."

Macleod's jaw muscles clenched as he ground his teeth in frustration, but he crouched down and carefully set the katana on the ground.

"Very good, Macleod. Kind of you to save the little F.B.I. agent's life."

Macleod's expression darkened.

"Yes," Tamron sneered. "The lady's a Fed. If she lives, all sorts of government agencies will wind up with your name. You really should learn to curb that need you have to introduce yourself."

"Some of us still have a little honor," Macleod snarled.

Tamron laughed softly. "I was born at the foot of a ziggurrat. Honor hasn't kept me alive this long."

Scully let out a soft cry of pain as she was unceremoniously hauled to her feet.

Macleod half lunged forward, but pulled up short as Tamron yanked Scully back against his body, using her as shield.

The cut over her eye had continued bleeding since her fall and despite her best efforts to blink the blood away, she was nearly blind.

"Scully!!!!" Mulder's voice, distant and panicked sounding, reached them all.

"That's my partner," Dana said quickly, "along with several police officers.""

"I almost believe you, little girl," Tamron sneered near her ear.

"Believe it," Dana hissed.

"Scully!!!!" Mulder called again, his voice drawing steadily nearer.

Tamron suddenly shoved Scully forward, barely jerking the sabre out of the way in time to keep from decapitating her.

She hit the ground hard, tumbling roughly before finally skidding to a halt next to the katana at the same moment the scotsman bent to retrieve it.

Scully flinched, as if she expected him to use it on her.

"I'll no' hurt ya," Duncan muttered to calm the frightened woman, stress bringing out his brogue. He grabbed for the katana, but Tamron was already gone. Too late, he realized in a sick rush as he straightened and returned his katana to its hiding place in his coat.

"Sculllleeeee!!!!" Mulder's shout again.

Holding out a hand in a calming motion, Duncan backed away a step. "Your friend'll be here soon...you'll be all right." Nothing more he could do here, he reminded himself. Maybe he could still find some trace of Tamron. Without another word, he turned and disapeared into the shadows.

Struggling to restore her vision, Scully wiped at the blood covering her eye as she watched the dimly visible outline of her rescuer fade into the night. What the hell? Macleod had saved her life, but he was obviously a part of some sort of conspiracy surrounding the recent spate of decapitations. And Tamron? For all of having a sword to her throat, he'd shown no apparent desire to do much more than frighten her.

It made no damn sense.

Her partner's distant call brought her back to the present.

"MULDER!!" she shouted to guide him closer.

She'd scrambled to her feet by the time Mulder arrived with two police officers in tow. He skidded to a halt in front of her, blanching as he got a lot at her injuries.

"Is it as bad as it looks?"

She shrugged. "I've been better." Another swipe at the blood pouring from her forehead spread even more of it over her face. "Tamron got away." Reaching up, she touched her fingertips to the razor thin line of blood marring her neck, then peered at the resulting patch of crimson on her finger. "I can definitely tell you that his sabre is sharp enough to do damage. He went that way, by the way." She made a loose gesture down one of the two branches.

Mulder nodded, waving the two cops after Tamron. "Anything else?"

Scully's mouth opened and she almost told him...but something kept her back. "I...nothing but the gorey details," she said softly, her eyes slipping away from Mulder's piercing gaze.

"You can finish filling me in on the way to the hospital," Mulder said quickly. "There are more police on the way. They can continue the search here."

Scully nodded, then canted her head sideways as she noted that Mulder was weaving nearly as badly as she was. Remembering how hard Tamron had slammed him into the door, she wasn't surprised. "Good idea," she muttered.

*****

Duncan returned to the dojo and waited, fully expecting a fleet of police cars to drive up any minute. At some level, he wondered what he was going to do when it finally happened, run away or stay and let them ask their questions. He was so tired, so sick of it all that he almost wanted to spill every last ugly detail and let someone else worry about it for once.

He poured a brandy and downed it in one swallow, letting the liquor burn through his system. He'd let go of Tamron to save the woman's life, let Richie's murderer get away to protect a woman who was probably bringing the police down on his head at that very moment. He poured another brandy.

Damn the Gathering.

Damn the immortals.

Damn them all.

His head fell forward into his hands as broad shoulders suddenly shook with harsh wrenching sobs.

*****

Long hours later, Duncan awoke with a start, his head pounding as an aftermath to the drinking he'd done the night before.

Bright sunlight streamed through the half open blinds, making the headache throb even harder. There was something fundamentally wrong with immortality when it could bring a man back to life, but couldn't seem to do a damn thing about a hangover. Grumbling under his breath, he swung his feet off the desk and stood shakily. Rubbing the back of his neck exhaustedly, Duncan staggered over to the office windows, peering out across the main floor of the dojo where Charlie was working out with a lone customer. 

Macleod sighed softly as the newcomer tossed Charlie with a quick econmical movement. It was hardly a surprise that the dojo was having so many financial problems. Charlie was a nice guy, but not the greatest fighter ever. Then Duncan wondered if he was being too hard on the other man. After all, he hadn't exactly had four hundred years to perfect his style. Folding his arms across his chest, Duncan continued to watch.

The woman working out with DeSalvo wasn't especially impressive, but she was quick and moved like someone who had used the knowledge in real life. Too many people thought martial arts were about grace and control. In reality, they were all about survival, and it didn't matter whether or not it was pretty if you got the job done. On the small side, her red hair scraped back in a loose ponytail, her style, while not especially graceful was quick and to the point and had all the earmarks of police or military training.

Duncan experienced a sudden, growing suspicion.

The woman blocked several would-be blows from Charlie, then tossed him to the floor again, turning slightly as she moved.

Macleod stiffened as he got a look at her face. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. It was the female F.B.I. agent. Even if he hadn't been certain, the three tape sutures over her left eyebrow would have confirmed it.

Expression burning darkly, Duncan stormed out of his office. "Get out!" he ordered his sort-of business partner while Charlie was still climbing to his feet.

"Wha'?" DeSalvo stammered as he stared at Macleod in shock. He'd never seen the Scotsman like this before.

Duncan barely glaced at DeSalvo, his attention focused on the patiently waiting redhead. "I said, Get. Out!" he snarled. "Lock the door on your way and cancel all classes for the week." Whatever was going to happen, he didn't want Charlie standing in the middle of it.

"I, uh..." DeSalvo stammered to his new student. "Sorry...I'll, uh, refund your money." He never heard Macleod move, but the man was suddenly just off his left shoulder.

"Leave," Macleod hissed grimly. "I'll see to any reparations to your...student." He almost sneered the last word. Charlie pivoted just enough to get a good look at the other man's face.

Macleod's expression would have chased all the devils from hell.

Innate chivalry wouldn't let DeSalvo leave the woman alone with Macleod in this mood, most of it seemingly directed at her. Ironically enough though, she seemed far calmer than he felt. When he looked at her, her eyes met his and she nodded fractionally.

Duncan saw the gesture and felt his temper fray another inch. "GO!" he bellowed at his friend.

Charlie barely took the time to grab his wallet and car keys on his way out.

Macleod waited until he heard the triple click of the front door locktumblers roll before he turned on his heel and stormed back into his office.

He went straight to the brandy decanter only to find it empty, then slammed it back down harder than he'd intended. In an instant, the crystal shattered, sending shards across his desk. A valuable antique, it had never been meant for such rough handling.

Feeling like a caged animal, he was hyper-aware when the woman stepped up to the doorway to his office.

"So how long do I have?" he asked without turning to face her.

"Until what?" she asked. Her voice was surprisingly pert, but he could hear the underlying stress.

Duncan spun, pinning her in place with his gaze. "Until the Feds and the local cops surround this place or are they already in position?"

Scully stared at Macleod, debating her answer. She didn't know what impulse had made her keep this man's presence back from Mulder. She had left him researching past killings while she ostensibly went to check on the autopsy of the body that had been found the night before.

Finding Macleod had been easy. She'd already had his name and had quickly discovered that he'd already had substantial contact with the local police. She hadn't been surprised to learn he owned a dojo, though the news that he had bought it with the money he got selling an antique shop had startled her.

"Well?" he demanded, interrupting her thoughts.

Scully blinked as she came back to the present, and found herself wondering at her own sanity in facing him alone, on his home ground. She shrugged. "Unless you've robbed a bank I don't know about, there's no one out there."

Duncan frowned at her. "Why are you here?" he asked suspiciously. He wondered if there was a possibility she was a Watcher. He knew they had people in high places. Was this lovely woman one of them? The thought laid a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Curiosity, I suppose," she exhaled thoughtfully, then tried to explain herself. "There's been a rash of beheadings all across the country...and I want to know why...and how to stop it. And Russell seems to have something to do with it...and I'm hoping that maybe you can help us catch him---"

Not a Watcher, then.Duncan cut her off with a bitter laugh. "Russell Tamron isn't behind anything," he muttered darkly. "He's just another player. We're all just players."

Scully frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Look Miss..." Duncan's voice died away as he realized he had no idea what her name was.

"Scully...Agent Dana Scully," she filled in for him.

"Agent Scully...I suggest you forget what you saw last night. This is a very dangerous time and you could get hurt too easily."

"I assure you, I can take care of myself," Scully snapped back at him.

Duncan's eys slid closed and he sighed heavily. She couldn't possibly know the unwanted memory that surged through his brain. Richie had said nearly the same thing only a few nights before when Tamron first started after him. The boy hadn't understood what he was up against any more than this woman did now. When he opened his eyes, there was a dark purpose to his expression. He closed in on her, moving into her personal space. "You think you can," he sneered as he leaned even closer.

Scully would have sidled back out the door, but he threw his arm in the way, barricading it to prevent her escape.

"Remove your arm," she ordered.

"No," Macleod said simply.

Scully backed away from Duncan into his office, suddenly very aware that her service weapon was in her purse out in the main room.

He stayed in the open doorway, smiling at her in a way that could only be described as feral.

"Please step out of the doorway," Dana requested in her best I'm-in-charge-around- here voice.

"No," Macleod refused again and folded his arms across his chest.

Scully backed a half step away from Duncan, very much aware of his size and relative strength when compared with her own. He hadn't been interested in hurting her last night so maybe this was just an attempt to scare her off, but suddenly she wasn't so certain.

"Not so simple, is it?" Macleod asked gently, confirming her suspicion that he had intentionally set out to frighten her.

Judging by her heart rate, he'd succeeded too well.

"Why didn't you tell the others I was there last night?" Duncan questioned after a long pause.

Scully's brows quirked and she shrugged. "You saved my life," she muttered, though she was far from certain that was really the reason. 

Macleod offered a grim laugh. "Oh, he wouldn't have killed you. That's Tamron's one firm rule. He never plays with the police."

"He said some rules were meant to be broken...."

Duncan's expression turned even more bleak as he absorbed her words. Despite the veneer of perfect middle-class normalcy Tamron projected, Macleod had seen the things he was capable of on more than one occassion. Utterly amoral, his greatest skill was his ability to blend in with mortals until he chose the place and time to act.

"He would have let you live..." Macleod repeated at last and turned away.

Scully's hand curved to his forearm, drawing him back. He stared down into her delicate features, wondering if she realized how very young she looked or how very dangerous the game she had stumbled across was becoming.

"If you're afraid of something, the F.B.I. can offer you protection..."

The ignorance and idealism behind the offer made Duncan feel every one of his four hundred years. "The F.B.I. can't protect me from the things I fear," he said very softly. He brushed a thumb across the thin line of the cut on her brow, then the one at her throat. "These are nothing, but the same may not be true the next time you stumble across the game. Go home, Agent Scully."

"You know I can't do that. This is a multiple homicide investigation," Scully snapped. "People are dying. It's my job to prevent that."

"You can't," Macleod said more than a little sadly. "This isn't about some sword wielding maniac. It's a lot bigger than that. It's a force of nature, like an earthquake or a hurricane. And if you get in the way, it will destroy you."

"Tell me," Dana hissed.

Duncan stared down into her upturned face and the urge to tell her was almost overwhelming. With Richie gone, he was alone and something about Dana Scully that made him think she might understand his isolation all too well. The stray thought fluttered through his brain that there was a very feminine body beneath her karate whites.

"I can't," Duncan whispered at last. Scully sighed softly and her eyes slid closed for a brief second.

Macleod stepped out of the doorway in order to give her room to pass.

Scully stepped past him, then turned back, making one last stab at guilting him into telling her what she wanted to know. "I have to go. I'm sitting in on an autopsy today." Duncan blanched and his eyes slid closed for a long moment. When they opened again, Scully could have sworn she saw tears. 

"The one who was killed last night?"

"How did you know about that?" she questioned. "They're still looking for his family."

Duncan's eys slid away from hers. "I have...connections...so, is it...him?"

Dana nodded.

"I...be car..." Duncan's voice cracked and he fell silent for a long moment before whispering, "Be gentle...with him..."

Scully stared at him, torn by the agony she in his eyes and felt tears prick at her own. "I hope to hell that whatever this is, it's worth it," she said raggedly as she moved to leave.

Duncan's voice stopped her before she was out the door, but she didn't look back as he spoke.

"It isn't," he admitted huskily, "But once you're in, there's only one way out.... One more thing, Agent Scully..."

Dana turned back then. "Yes?"

"There are a lot of sides to this game and most of them would probably like you out of the way. Keep your guard up."

Dana nodded, then slipped out.

*****

Fox Mulder spent the day pouring through everything from facsimilies of ancient manuscripts to reels of microform of more recent newspaper articles to the most current postings on the web. As was wont to happen when he was in research mode, his excitement increased with every printout and xerox copy he added to the stack, the only downside, his usual case of motion sickness when he went hot-rodding with the microform viewer. Still, that was a lot better than witnessing an autopsy, in his opinion.

Lost in his research, he never noticed the two men who always seemed to be frequenting the same part of the library he was in.

Mulder's hunch about what was going on produced even more results than he was expecting. It was well past dark when he finally hurried back to his car, a briefcase, full of information in hand.

They jumped him in the parking building, slamming him up against a wall. Fists connected with Mulder's ribs and jaw several times, his briefcase was grabbed out of his hands, and his gun was stolen from his shoulder holster.

Mulder dropped to his knees, grabbing his midsection with a low groan. He looked up at the two clean cut, college types who stood over him. "Mugging your way through school, I see," he rasped.

One of them kicked him hard in the ribs and Mulder gasped for air, doubling over even tighter, as pain blazed through his brain.

"If he moves," the taller of the two men, a blonde with an artfully youthful look and hard eyes, ordered. "Shoot him."

Mulder peered up through the hair that had fallen across his brow, watching carefully as the blonde carefully went through the documents in his briefcase.

Finally, the blonde reclosed the briefcase and tossed it to the ground beside Mulder.

"This is your lucky day,Agent Mulder, you get to live," the blonde didn't sound at all thrilled by the idea.

"I'm sure that disapoints you to the depths of your Aryan soul," Mulder muttered. He gasped as he received another sharp kick in the ribs.

Blondie caught him by the hair, twisting Mulder's head up as he crouched down beside the F.B.I. agent. "Understand something, Agent Mulder, you're not wanted here, and if I have to kill you to make you understand that, I'm quite willing to do so."

"Sieg heil," Mulder groaned.

The dark haired one delivered another punch to the ribs, but Mulder didn't double over this time. Blondie tightened his hold on Fox's hair, nearly yanking it out to keep him upright.

"I don't think you're listening, Mulder. We want you, and that pretty little redheaded partner of yours gone. If you don't leave, we'll kill you. Although, I must admit, I might let Agent Scully live just a little longer," he sneered.

Mulder lunged forward, despite the pain it caused, snarling. "Don't you touch, Scully!" He was pulled up short by the nine millimeter Beretta shoved into his cheek. The point of view gave him a good look at the oddly shaped tattoo on the man's wrist.

The blonde smiled triumphantly. Mulder's soft spot hadn't even been all that hard to find. "If you want to keep the lady safe, I suggest you do as you're told."

Mulder bit back on his retort.

Blondie shoved him hard, and Mulder fell into the wall at his back. The second man stripped the clip from Mulder's gun and hurled it away, then dropped the weapon to the ground

"We are everywhere and we are everyone...so don't even think of trying to ignore this little warning, or you'll never see it coming, though she might."

Blondie delivered another kick to Mulder's ribs doubling him over. Mulder fell heplessly to the ground. He heard the footsteps as his two assailants ran away. They were long gone by the time he could breathe again. He pushed shakily to his feet.

He was still leaning against the wall when a small group of genuine college kids, their voices loud and happy, wandered by.

One of the girls glanced over, noticing Mulder where he stood in the shadows. "Hey, Mister, are you all right?" she called worriedly.

Instinctively, Mulder knew that whoever it was who had arranged for him to be attacked still had him under surveillance. He had a sudden mental image of a bunch of dead college kids. "Fine," he called back, grateful for the dim lighting in the garage that kept her from seeing the damage to his face. "I just tripped. It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" another girl called. "You don't sound too good. We can give you a lift over to student health, if you need it."

"No, really, I'm fine," he assured them, waving them off. Finally, the kids shrugged and continued on their way, one boy hushing one of the girls with the admonition to, "Lay off the guy, he's probably embarrassed he fell."

Mulder couldn't hear the rest of their speculation and didn't really care what they thought. When his head had cleared he took the time to retrieve the clip tall-dark-and-silent had hurled away, shoving it into his service weapon with more than usual emphasis, quickly chambering a round before replacing it in his shoulder holster.

*****

Dana Scully stood at the edge of the window in Mulder's darkened motel room, staring out through the narrow crack between the curtain and the wall. She shifted from one foot to the other. After more than an hour of standing like that, her feet were beginning to feel the strain. She shifted again, this time to change her view ever so slightly, rather than relieve the stress on her legs. When she got the angle aligned just right, she could make out the narrow red laser beam both at it's origin on the roof across the street and where it struck the window before being bounced back to the source.

She had to admit that whoever had decided to bug Mulder's room knew what they were doing. The laser system their watcher was using to monitor the room was very high tech and very expensive...which left precious few people with the money to afford the access to that kind of equipment.

The sound of a key in the door galvanized her into motion. She crossed the room in a few steps. As the door slid open, she caught Mulder's tie tugging him into the room as she pressed a hand flat across his mouth.

All Scully could really see of Mulder's face, in the darkness, was his wide surprised eyes. "You're late, Fox," she said, keeping her voice intentionally loud and sultry, hoping their listener would pick it up. "I was looking forward to dinner." She took her hand away from his mouth, but kept it ready to silence him again if he didn't take the hint.

Mulder frowned slightly, but took the cue. "I was...uh...detained."

"You smell like it....I'll bet a shower would feel good..." Nobody, particularly whatever pervert was listening in, could miss the suggestive spin she put on the comment. Hopefully, that would take his mind off of whatever reason he had for bugging them.

"You have no idea," Mulder groaned and managed to inject a certain amount of his own suggestive quality into the words.

She tugged him into the bathroom, slamming the door behind them. She turned on the shower to cover whatever they might say before worrying about the lights.

It was Mulder who found the switch, illuminating the tiny bathroom in bright flourescent light.

"Mulder, I..." Scully started to say as she turned back to facehim. She fell silent as she got a look at his face. "Good Lord, what happened?" she whispered, careful to keep her voice under the shower.

Mulder leaned against the door at his back, then slowly slid down into a sitting position.

Scully quickly dampened a washcloth, then knelt down next to him. Her hands were gentle as she washed the blood away from his mouth. "Well?" she whispered after a moment.

Mulder shrugged broad shoulders. "Two men put some effort into explaining why I don't really want to continue on this case," he groaned, wincing as she hit a particularly tender spot on his cheek.

"Charming," Scully exhaled.

"What about your little performance out there?" he asked with a wry, if somewhat pained smile.

"Somebody's got a laser listening device trained on the window. If you align the angle just right, you can make out the origin point on the building across the way, and the reflection point on your window. I figured a little cheap titilllation would keep the creep distracted."

Mulder's mouth twitched into a grin. "And here I thought you loved me for my mind," he teased.

Scully eyed his bruised and dirty appearance. "Well it's not your body I'm after," she shot back.

"That hurts," Mulder groaned.

"You'll get over it....so what do we do now?"

Mulder sighed softly. "The two guys who jumped me went through my notes. They let me go because they didn't find whatever they were looking for..."

"Which means..."

"That maybe I missed something...What about you? Anything come of the autopsy?"

Scully looked uncomfortable for a moment. "We need to discuss that, but not while there's any chance of someone overhearing."

Mulder frowned at her, but Scully shook her head. "You think maybe we should get out of here while Prince Charming out there thinks we're busy?" she suggested gently.

Mulder cast a longing glance at the shower, but nodded in agreement. He looked down, eyeing the dirty streaks that marred his shirt. "Just let me pull on something a little less..."

"Filthy?" Scully suggested when her partner seemed uncertain how to describe his present state.

Mulder shrugged and nodded.

A few minutes later, the two F.B.I. agents slipped out of the hotel room, leaving the shower and television running in an effort to confuse and distract their audience.

Careful to keep their heads low, they  moved quickly through the darkened motel parking lot until they reached Mulder's rental car.

Mulder tossed his briefcase into the space between the seats, then slid in behind the wheel. Once Scully was in and belted, he carefully pulled the car smoothly out of the parking space, driving conservatively in an effort not to attract attention.

They drove aimlessly for the first hour, watching for signs of pursuit at every stop sign and red light. Scully spent the time going through Mulder's reasearch under the faint illumination cast by the Taurus' map-lite.

As she kept reading, her frown deepened.

"According to what I found, there have been accounts of similar killings for nearly four hundred years that we can trace..." Mulder told her.

"Tell me why you think they're related," Scully suggested without looking up.

"The head was completely severed in each killing, and there were sign of prolonged combat."

"Decapitation isn't that unusual in ancient combat..." Scully suggested.

"But most of those killings didn't happen during warfare. They happened somewhere private, like the two people fighting didn't want to be seen."

"Duelling was illegal during a lot of the periods mentioned in these articles."

That was one of the reasons Mulder liked having Scully around. She always made him think about his theories and refine his arguments. "How about this....on those occasions where there were witnesses at or near the scene, they claim to have seen lightning, even when there was no storm in the sky."

"Lightning?" Scully said doubtfully.

"Lighning," Mulder confirmed. "Just like apparently struck the alley last night."

"It could be coincidence coupled with some sort of a hysterical superstitous reaction," Scully tossed out an off the cuff response.

Mulder was silent.

After a long moment, Scully sighed softly. She hated when he did that. "So, you're suggesting we're dealing with some sort of a conspiracy that's come down through the ages, and happens to have natural phenomenon on its side?" Her voice was  cynical, but even as she said the words, she couldn't help but remember what Macleod had told her about "the game."

"I think it's some sort of weird brotherhood, like the Masons, or the Roscrucians, only a lot more secretive."

"And a lot more violent, if they're going around cutting off each other's heads," Dana murmured thoughtfully.

"Those two guys who jumped me both had identical tattos on their wrists. Maybe it's some sort of signal, so they can recognize each other."

Scully shook her head. "None of the victims had tattoos on their wrists."

"Well, maybe the ones who were killed tried to leave, or failed some kind of test you take before you become a full member," Mulder hypothesized.

Scully shook her head. "That wouldn't explain the sudden rash of killings. The FBI would have noticed if this had been going on down through American history."

Mulder nodded. "Maybe it only just made it to America. Look, I don't know what's going on, but something is. I think we should go back to the university library and see what I missed."

"Mulder, it's nearly midnight. If it isn't already closed, it will be by the time we get there."

"I'll bet there's a guard on duty. What are those fancy F.B.I., I.D.s good for, if they don't let us act like pushy Feds?"

Scully laughed softly. "You've got me there, Mulder."

They shared a brief conspiratorial laugh, as Mulder swung the car around and headed back toward the university.

*****

Duncan barely looked up from the computer as he heard the distinct, arrogant, stomp of Joe Dawson's latest second in command. "You forgot to knock," he growled.

Terrance Mann was effete and blond, and there was something about him that set Macleod's teeth on edge. Mann shrugged, his expression insolent. "What's a little familiarity between friends?"

Macleod's head did snap up then. "We aren't friends, Mann. We're just unlucky enough to be trapped in the same theatre together, except I'm on the stage and you're in the audience."

"And what about the F.B.I. agent who visited you today?"

Macleod smirked. "She's clueless. She hasn't even made it into the lobby."

"But she knows your name and where you live."

"A lot of people know who I am and where I live," Duncas said noncommittally.

"What did you tell her, Macleod?" Mann pushed.

"What do you think I told her?" Macleod demanded disbelievingly. The Watchers' interferance had been growing day by day as the Gathering continued to advance, and it was beginning to set Duncan's teeth on edge. "Nothing. She asked a few questions which I didn't answer. That's it."

"Make sure it stays that way, Macleod."

Duncan's gaze darkened. "That sounds like a threat," he murmured. Of late, the Watchers had been taking a very peremptory tone when it came to matters concerning Immortals, as if they were somehow in charge, rather than on the outside looking in.

Mann snorted softly, then abruptly changed his tack. "Tamron is a dangerous man. You know what he threatened to do to the woman last night. If she remains here, she's in danger as long as he's alive."

Macleod's gaze narrowed. So the Watchers had been there last night. He wondered if they would have stood by and done nothing while Tamron assaulted the woman. He stared at Mann and felt his stomach muscles clench as he saw the answer in the other man's eyes. "You know where Tamron is?" he asked in a deceptively low voice.

"Duncan, you know we're forbidden from taking sides," Mann said quickly.

Too quickly, in Duncan's opinion. He knew damn well the Watchers were up to something, but overlooked it in favor of getting the information on the other Immortal. "Where?!" He bellowed as he came up out of his seat.

Mann fell back a half step and cunning flickered across his expression for the briefest second. "Two steps behind the agents," he admitted.

"And of course, you're prevented from doing anything to warn them," Macleod sneered.

Mann's response was self-righteous. "You know the rules."

"Damn. Your. Rules," Duncan snarled, very succinctly, and reached for the katana.

Panic etched itself on Terrance Mann's features for no more than a heartbeat.

"Relax," Macleod snapped. "It's not your head I want...Where are the two agents?"

For the first time, Mann's expression was genuinely uncertain. "We don't know. We had them under surveillance, but they slipped through somehow."

Duncan resisted the urge to grin. He knew how thorough the Watchers surveillance could be. He was impressed that the two agents had gotten through the net without being seen. He was pretty sure he knew why Dawson's flunky had appeared at his place. The Watcher had been hoping Duncan would give him a clue as to where the two agents were. "Then you seem to have a problem," he said rather happily. He started toward the door, leaving Mann behind.

"Dammit, Macleod," the other man snarled at his back. "Was she that good a lay?"

"Macleod turned back, his expression dangerous. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Macleod, your exploits are legendary. Isn't that how you stopped her from asking any more questions?"

There was a sneering, suggestive tone to the other man's voice that made Macleod's blood boil. The thought that the Watchers were sitting around discussing his private life enraged him. He drew the katana in one smooth move, and pointed the tip until it was resting at the center point of Mann's throat. "Stay out of my life," he hissed. "You've interfered, threatened, and spied, now get the hell out!"

Mann knew he'd gone too far, knew he'd pushed Macleod past the snapping point. That had not been his intention. He lost color at the thought of losing whatever influence the Watchers had over the scotsman. "Dammit, Macleod," he said quickly, hoping to save the situation and turn it around. "You know we only want to see you win the prize. Nothing must get in the way of that." Mann tried for sincerity without much success.

"Really?" Duncan said cynically.

"Yes," Mann answered quickly in his most earnest voice. "If one of the others, like Tamron, or the Kurgen were to win, the price to mankind would be immeasureable."

Seeing the genuine fear in the other man's eyes, Duncan sighed softly, and some of the tension drained away from his body. He resheathed his sword. "Stay out of this," he warned, then grabbed Mann by the collar and shoved him out the door.

*****

Mulder was rifling through another copy of an ancient text while the security guard, who had let them in, despite the fact the library was officially closed, looked on uneasily.

"Nothing," Mulder grumbled disgustedly. and set the book aside.

Scully looked up blearily from the text on secret societies she had been reading. "Mulder," she exhaled. "I think it's so secret that nobody knowsabout it."

"Which is your sarcasstic way of suggesting we've been on a wild-goose chase?" Mulder said acidly, his own temper shorter than normal

Scully sighed softly. "Yes, no, I don't know..." she began rubbing her temples in an effort to cool the raging headache that had been throbbing in her brain for about an hour. "I just don't...think...that the answer's here."

"Uh, look, there might be some more volumes, you haven't seen, in the back room," the guard, whose badge read, Max Detweiller, interrupted. "I can unlock that area if you want to see."

"In a minute," Mulder snapped impatiently.

Scully let her eyes unfocus as she stared off into space, not really seeing the manuscripts, art boxes and storage leafs all over the special collections division of the university library. Suddenly she refocused her eyes on the shelf on the opposite side of the room. Something was not...right. She frowned slightly. A shelf full of medievel manuscript facsimiles was tilting slightly. Scully blinked. No, not the shelf, the manuscripts themselves. The papers were angling sideways in a way almost guaranteed to cause damage over time.

Her first thought was that Mulder had removed something from that shelf without putting in one of temporary spacing blocks used to keep things from sliding, but no, the manuscript he'd been reading had come from another shelf.

She glanced over at the guard. He was sweating, glancing nervously around, keeping one hand tight at his side,  near the weapon hostered on his hip. He had let them in bad-naturedly, so why was he trying to help now?

Scully experienced a sudden sense of foreboding, The guard had left the room once about fifteen minutes before and returned much more helpful.

"Excuse me," she said abruptly, and pushed up from the table where she was sitting.

The guard looked stiffly over. "Yes, Miss?"

"Why don't you show me the storage room," she suggested.

The guard nodded, eyes darting nervously toward Mulder. "Uh, why don't you both come take a look."

Scully saw Mulder look up, his head canting slightly. She knew her partner well enough to know that he had picked up on the tension in her voice and the guard's. Mulder seemed to think about it for a second, then nodded. "Sure, why not?"

"Uh, yeah," the guard said quickly, and began fumbling for the keys on the heavy chain hooked to his belt. His hands were trembling slightly as he struggled to find the right key, and they rattled as he handled them. Finally, he located what he was looking for. "Uh, this is it....I...this way" He gestured toward a door that read:

No Admittance, Athorized Personnel Only

For just the briefest moment, the tattoo on his inner wrist was clearly visible.

The guard turned away, not seeming to realize the mistake he had made. Scully and Mulder traded a brief look, then moved. They both pulled their weapons smoothly.

"Hands up!" Mulder snarled as he slammed into the guard from behind, his gun pressed between the man's shoulder-blades. "Scully, get his gun!"

Dana quickly grabbed the .38 revolver and tucked it in her waistband.

The guard tried to fight, but Mulder jammed his pistol even harder between the smaller man's shoulderblades. All the fight drained out of the guard.

"Hands over your head," the F.B.I. agent ordered and the guard quickly complied. Fox used the guard's own handcuffs to lock his wrists together, then pushed him into a nearby chair.

"What does that tattoo on your wrist mean?" Mulder demanded sharply, but the guard shook his head. "So you don't know anything about two guys, with the same kind of body art, who tried to work me over earlier tonight?"

The guard shrugged. "Maybe we use the same tattoo artist. This was a popular design last year."

Scully caught her partner's shirtsleeve and tugged him off to one side before he could lose his temper. She gestured to the miss-shelved manuscripts. "I think something's missing from that shelf. Special collections wouldn't be allowed to list like that. Too much chance of damaging the books."

Mulder nodded in agreement, then turned back to face the man seated at the table.

The guard sat stiffly in the chair where Mulder had shoved him, staring resolutely ahead.

Mulder circled around him, then leaned across the table until their faces were only a fwe inches apart. "So, Max...care to tell us what's missing from the shelves?"

The guard flashed a glare up at Mulder. "Nothing you want to see," he responded, his manner  condescending.

Mulder frowned slightly, but didn't rise to the bait. He glanced over at his partner who shrugged.

The keys to the storage room door were still in the lock and Scully reached over, turning them easily.

Both agents noted how their prisoner abruptly tensed.

Scully pushed on the door, but it remained firmly shut.

"Lock jammed?" Mulder asked without taking his eyes off the prisoner.

Scully shook her head. "No, there seems to be something stuck on the other side of the door." She leaned her weight into the door, shoving with considerable strength, but it remained firmly closed.

Intending to help push it open, Mulder turned and started toward her.

With their attention focused elsewhere, the guard suddenly lunged out his chair, running for the door. Mulder spun back and tackled into him before he had gone more than a few feet. The two men tumbled to the floor. Mulder rolled up to his knees, catching the chain linking the handcuffs together as he moved, then hauled his captive up and back into one of the chairs.

The guard tried to struggle, but Mulder wrenched his arms up high on his back, sending jolts of pain through their would-be assailant.

Scully started to move to help, but Mulder waved her off. "Keep working on the door." Instinct told him that something in the other room had made the guard bolt. He hooked the cuffs to the underside of the chair, so Max couldn't run for it again, then moved to rise. He froze as he spotted a second keychain lying on the floor.

This one was the type that had a plastic slipcover for the owner's driver's license. Mulder grabbed for it, frowning as he got a look at the information on the license.

"Uh, Scully."

"Mulder."

They said each other's names at the same instant, and both looked up until their eyes met.

Scully had the door open a couple of inches and was crouching down, shining her penlight into the space between the door and the jam. "I found what <@145>s blocking the door," she said grimly.

A man's hand, bruised and bloody was just barely visible under as the high intensity beam. As Mulder watched, she checked for a pulse, then sat back on her heels with a disgusted head shake. "No pulse."

Mulder surged to his feet, grabbing a handful of his prisoner's shirt collar, forcing the man's head back as he stuffed the driver's license in his face. "So, is the guy in the storage room, Leon? Is it Max?"

"What the---" Scully started to question, but Mulder cut her off, tossing the plastic cased I.D. as he snapped, "Our boy here's real name is Leon Winstell."

Scully's head swung back around to the hand just visible in the open door and she swallowed hard, feeling sorry for the poor dead---

He twitched.

Dana Scully almost jumped out of her skin. "Mulder, give me a hand, I think he's still alive," she snapped as she dropped the license and focused on the door.

It took them only a moment to realize that there was no kind way to get through.The door and frame were metal, and the hinges were on the other side. That left them with only one option, shove whoever was on the other side back with brute force until the crack was wide enough for Scully to slip through.

"They'll kill you," Leon snarled. "You might have been allowed to live if you had left well enough alone, but they'll kill you for sure, now."

Mulder glanced back. "And I'm sure you'll enjoy the show," he growled, and heaved even more of his strength into the problem of swinging the door open.

Finally, it was wide enough for Scully to slip through. Guided by the beam from her flashlight, she carefully stepped over the unmoving man's sprawled arms, then knelt down beside him. He'd been stripped of everything, but his boxers.

Scully flashed her penlight deeper into the narrow corridor that led away from the doorway, instantly spotting a dark trail leading up the door. She shook her head as she refocused on the victim.

He was young, no more than twenty-five, and curled into a semi-fetal position. She pushed his arms away from his torso and flinched, counting four large calibre wounds spaced across his bare chest. She peeled his right eyelid back and flashed the penlight across his eye, then did the same on the left side...nothing.

"Scully?" the question was implicit in Mulder's voice.

Dana shook her head. "His pupils are fixed and dialated, Mulder, he's gone." She rested her palm against the young man's chest. His skin was cool to the touch. "And has been for awhile," she said sadly, deciding  that the twitch she'd seen must have been caused by the onset of rigor mortis.

She rose smoothly, flashing the penlight back down the hallway. "He must have been shot in the back room. It looks like he crawled to the door. Probably trying to get help."

"Can you pull the body back far enough for me to get through the door?"

Scully grabbed the young man's legs, bracing herself as she tugged the rapidly stiffening body out of the way.

Finally, Mulder had room to step through into the darkened hallway. The high intensity beam from his mini-mag traced the walls and floors. "Any sign of a light switch?" he asked his partner.

Scully shook her head. "I haven't exactly had time to go looking for one," she panted as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. Mulder started to move deeper into the dark hallway, but Scully caught his arm. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

Mulder's head swung around, his expression questioning.

"Remember dear Leon," she nodded her head toward their prisoner on the other side of the door, "was gone for several minutes, and came back, suddenly wanting us to go in here."

Mulder nodded, visibly weighing the situation. "I'd still like to see if there's anything back here...like a missing volume, but let's keep it fast. I susupect company may be on the way."

Scully sighed softly, but didn't argue as she followed him deeper into the storage area, with nothing more than the tiny beams cast by twin penlights, to drive back the shadows.

It was, she reminded herself, nothing but a book storage room, full of musty volumes, copies of the anarchist's bible that the university had been busy controlling during the sixties, and third rate art prints of grand masters. It didn't help, she was still spooked. She slipped her hand under her coat, resting it on the comforting weight of the Walther in her shoulder holster.

"I think I found it," Mulder's voice cut through his partner's dark musings.

Dana glanced over to find him kneeling in front of  what looked like a garbage bag.

Fox carefuly opened it, his touch tentative as he pulled out an aging, leatherbound manuscript.

"What is it?" Scully questioned as she crouched down beside him.

Mulder had the book open and began thumbing carefully through the sheepskin pages. The languages, dialects, even the alphabets used were all different, each one lasting for no more than a few pages. "I dunno," he exhaled. "My Chinese and Egyptian are a little weak."<R>

Scully peered past his shoulder, frowning at what she saw in the limited light. A single sheet of very modern notepaper had been slipped between the pages, and she reached out to tug it free.

Steven,

As forgeries go, it's a fun one. Thought you might get a kick out of this. Don't know how they did it, or why, (probably an attempt by some PhD candidate to prove some loopy theory), but it's well done.

It was dated only three weeks previously, and appeared to have been sent by the head of another library somewhere in Europe. Neither Mulder nor Scully recognized the name of the institution.

"I don't think it's a fake," Mulder said at last.

"It is hard to imagine anyone getting this upset over a forgery," she admitted.

There was a sudden clatter outside the room and they could hear voices.

Both agents snapped their lights off and Mulder quickly replaced the book in the bag, then stuffed it under his left arm as he rose.

"There's got to be some kind of emergency exit," Mulder hissed.

Scully had her weapon out and ready. "Lead the way," she whispered.

Feeling his way, Mulder moved carefully through the darkened storeroom, trying to hurry as fast as possible in the direction he thought the exit might be, without making any more noise than was absolutely necessary.

Finally, he saw the dim green glow of a lighted exit sign with an arrow pointing the way.

Behind them, the voices had grown louder and somewhat raucous.

"Move!" Mulder hissed to his partner and broke into a run. He hit the fire door, and felt the emergency paddle, the kind that was always attached to a sign that explained:

Emergency Exit, Alarm Will Sound

No more than a second later, an ear splitting klaxxon echoed off the walls.

Mulder nearly stumbled once, then caught himself, and broke into a hard run. He knew Scully was next to him, keeping pace with less effort than might be supposed, despite her heels and his height advantage. One day he vowed to find out how the hell she could run so fast in heels, without breaking her neck or ankles.

Behind them, their pursuers found the fire exit and spotted the fleeing agents. He rounded a corner, wanting to get out of sight of their pursuer. As he ran, he tried to bring up a mental picture of the campus. Suddenly, he remembered a hidden alcove off to one side only a short distance ahead. With no time to warn his partner, he simply grabbed her arm, tugging her with him as he dove sideways, off the path and into a copse of greenery.

He heard Scully's startled grunt and tightened his hold on her arm supportively, when he felt her start to stumble.

The hedge quickly gave way to an oddly shaped little alcove that was scarcely noticeable in daylight. With luck, it would be completely invisible under the greenish light cast by the low intensity streetlamps that surrounded the campus.

"Mulder?" Scully gasped as she leaned against the wall on one side.

"I  remembered seeing it when I was on campus earlier. One of the benefits of photographic memory," he whispered, in explanation, as he set down the book in his hands and drew his weapon. Scully, he noted, still had her weapon out and was scanning the grounds for their pursuers.

She didn't have long to wait.

Five men rounded the same corner they had, only moments later. One wore the uniform of a university guard, the other four, jeans and sweatshirts. The same blonde man who had given the orders, when Mulder was being beaten, skidded to a halt, pivoting sharply as he hunted for some sign of his prey.

His curse, precise and foul, floated across the air with surprising clarity.

"They can't have gotten far," Leon insisted, his voice sounding nervous.

Not far down the mall, a late night showing of the director's cut of Blade Runner was just letting out, sending chattering young students out across the commons in rapidly shifting groups.

"No," Mann  said sharply, eyeing the waves of students beginning to flow across the grounds. "Too much chance of being seen. Don't worry, Agents Mulder and Scully will be easy enough to deal with."

Instinctively Terrannce Mann knew the two agents were nearby, listening, hiding, waiting until it was safe to flee. He rounded the corner behind the other Watchers, conscious of the stare of his prey on his back. He was a good hunter, one of the best, and his instincts had never failed him, not when hunting animals in Africa, nor Immortals in America. Prey was prey, and the F.B.I. agents were his prey.

He spun as he rounded the corner, looking back, half expecting them to be dumb enough to break cover immediately.

It was a stupid mistake.

He forgot, or perhaps never realized that the hunter can become the prey.

The first stroke of the sword cut down Leon, neatly disembowelling him before he could utter a sound. The second stroke took out the dark-haired Watcher who had helped Mann beat Mulder.

Stroke three nearly beheaded a dark-haired Watcher who was old enough to look silly in the would-be college garb.

Mann slipped as he spun around. He fell to the rain softened earth even as he saw Russell Tamron gut the forth of his fellow Watchers.

Tamron pulled the sword out of the Watcher's body, letting the man fall to the ground with careless ease. He smiled as his gaze met Mann's. "So arrogant," Tamron whispered with dislike.

Mann scrambled for the gun hidden under his clothes, but Tamron slashed with the sabre, nearly severing Mann's right hand with one quick slice.

"Puh-lease," the Immortal muttered with dark humor and crouched down near Mann. He rested the point of the sword just under the center of Mann's chin. "A simple tourniquet will still save your life, so why don't you tell me why the Watchers are so worried about a book that's supposed to be a forgery that they're willing to kill a couple of F.B.I. agents."

Mann stared up at Tamron through black dark hate. Tamron wasn't supposed to know about the Watchers. According to Dawson, only Macleod knew.

Tamron smiled wryly. "I've known about your pathetic little group since the beginning." His expression darkened and he refocused on Mann. "What dirty little secrets are you hiding now that you've finished killing all the priests among us?" he sneered.

Mann laughed, no longer afraid as he felt his own life slipping away with the blood pulsing from his wrist. "They can't stop it. You can't stop it. The Gathering will continue until you are all dead."

*****

Fox Mulder was just climbing out through the thick hedge that had hidden he and Scully when the scream rang across the night. "Damn," he muttered and shoved the book back into the hiding place even as Dana Scully took off in the direction of the sound.

He was only steps behind her as they rounded the corner. Mulder skidded hard to keep from running into his partner's back as she pulled up short at the foot of a grotesque tableau.

"Dear Lord," Scully exhaled sharply, scanning the area for the perpetrator before looking back to the victims. Four were already gone, their wounds far too severe for them to have survived even the moments it took for she and Mulder to arrive. The fifth might still have a prayer.

She fell to her knees beside the blonde man, quickly taking in the extent of his injuries. He had only minutes to live without medical attention. "Your belt, Mulder," she snapped.

He passed it over and she used as a tourniquet on the injured man's right arm. She glanced back up at her partner. "We need an ambulance, Now!"

"That's guy who was giving the orders to beat me up," Mulder panted.

"Yeah, and if we don't get him to a hospital in a few minutes, he's going to be dead," Scully snapped.

Mulder nodded, and trotted away. Scully could hear him calling to the passing students, telling them he was F.B.I. and he needed help. She stripped off her coat, folding it into a thick pad as she made an effort at a pressure bandage against her patient's chest. As she pressed harder in an effort to stop the bleeding, she heard him groan softly. She looked up to see blue eyes flutter open, and focus on her with obvious effort.

"Hurts," he groaned weakly.

Dana nodded. "Just hold on, we've got an ambulance coming."

Mann gasped for air as he felt blood burble into his lungs. His eyes touched on the cross at Scully's throat. "Catholic?" he whispered with effort.

Dana nodded.

"I want last rites," Mann coughed. The arrogance had fled from his eyes, leaving only fear in its place."helped kill a priest..." he exhaled roughly, fresh blood spattering his lips with every word. "Darius was one of them, but a...priest..."

"Just stay quiet," Scully urged. "Don't waste your strength."

Mann shook his head as much as he was able. He caught Dana's shirt front with his good hand, dragging her down until her face was scant inches from his own. "Macleod, Tamron...the others...'d rule us if we...let...them..."

"Who?" Scully whispered urgently.

"Immortals..." Mann exhaled as consciousness fled.

Man's hand slid from Scully's shirtfront, and he collapsed back to the earth.

Dana's chin came up as she heard the distant whine of sirens.

*****

Duncan Macleod tossed the katana onto his desk with a disgusted grunt. A full night of hunting for signs of either the two F.B.I. agents or Tamron and he was no closer to tracking them down than he had been when he started. The agents had slipped out of their motel unseen, and Tamron had eluded the police nets. He eyed the telephone that sat on one corner of the desk as he considered calling Joe Dawson, then decided against it. He didn't want Dawson to have any more information than necessary about the situation, particularly the two FBI agents.

That was of course, assuming they were still alive.,

Exhausted, Duncan fell into his desk chair, letting his head fall back as he considered his options.       

*****

Fox Mulder looked up as he heard his partner exit the operating theatre where several surgeons were busy trying to save Terrance Mann's life. She was still wearing the jeans and sweatshirt that were spattered with Mann's blood.

She looked slightly surprised to see him.

"I didn't expect you to be here," she said softly as she joined him on the waiting room couch.

Mulder shrugged. "The detectives investigating the scene at the university didn't need any help."

"The book?' Scully questioned almost inaudibly.

Mulder patted the briefcase on the couch next to his hip. "I considered trying to hide it, but this seemed safer somehow. I backtracked to make sure I wasn't followed. What about the guy you came in with? Is he going to make it?"

Scully shrugged and rubbed the back of her neck to ease some of the muscle strain. "I don't know. They amputated the hand and got the bleeding stopped, but one lung is deflated and there may still be internal bleeding. The fact that he's made it this far gives him a reasonable chance."

Mulder nodded, silently absorbing what she'd told him. "Any chance of being able to question him anytime soon?"

Scully looked askance at her partner. "Not likely," she muttered with a grim laugh. They both fell silent for a long moment, and Scully leaned against the back of the couch, letting exhaustion have some headway. A sudden thought ocurred to her and she cursed softly as she bolted upright.

"What?" her partner questioned.

"I really meant to tell you, but we got...sidetracked."

"What?" Mulder questioned again, his voice confused.

Scully grabbed his arm, dragging him to his feet. "Let's go for a walk," she spoke quickly.

"Why?" Mulder quizzed, staring at his partner as if she had lost a key cog.

"Because you're going to be mad as hell, and I'd just as soon not have a shouting match in the middle of the hospital."

"Why am I going to be mad?"

"Because I would be in your shoes."

Mulder stared at Dana, genuinely puzzled by her behavior, but he let her drag him into a private office a doctor had given her permission to use.

Dana Scully took a deep breath then told him everything, from Duncan Macleod's appearance in the alley, to meeting him at the karate dojo.

Mulder just stared at her as the whole story came out in vaguely breathless soundbites. When Dana finished, she fell silent and stood staring at her partner.

Mulder's jaw started to work, then he thought better of whatever it was he was about to say. "Scully," he exploded at last. "This guy could've killed you. How the hell could you have done something so stupid as to go meet him alone...on his home ground?"

Scully held up her hands somewhat helplessly. "I don't know," she admitted sheepishly.

That answer only seemed to infuriate Mulder even more. "You don't know," he repeated.

"If he'd wanted me dead, Mulder, he could have killed me in that alley."

Mulder seemed about to lose his temper, but caught himself. He took a deep breath, exhaled it, then spoke in carefully measured tones. "So did you learn anything?"

"Yes, no, maybe...I think we should try and talk to him again."

Mulder considered the idea for a long moment, running one hand through his hair, in a gesture of suppressed frustration. "All right," he said at last, "But I'm going with you."

Scully sighed softly. "That's what I had in mind when I told you," she chided gently.

"I just don't like being lied to," he partner griped.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," Dana soothed, though the stray thought flitted through her mind that he was a fine one to talk, with all of the secrets he cheerfully kept from her on a regular basis.

*****

Duncan Macleod had often used physical exercise as a means to clear his head, and today was no exception. Every contact he'd used to try and trace Tamron had failed.

His body arced through the air, spinning as one foot slashed out in a perfectly controlled kick before landing lightly. He did several practice punches and blocks, focusing on the moves in an effort to free his mind.

Then there was the news a friend on the internet had dug up on Agent Scully. She was partnered with a man named Mulder and specialized in investigating the strange and the unusual. According to his contact, their specialty was UFO's, but they handled almost anything that didn't fit under normal F.B.I. profiles.

Which pretty much described him

He worked even harder, muscles pulling taut, and expanding as he pushed himself closer to the physical limit. Sweat poured down his bare torso, and slicked back his hair.

And Richie was still dead. Tamron was still loose. God...and Tessa was still dead. What the hell kind of universe allowed Tessa to die and Tamron to live.

Fueled by frustration, his movements became wilder, a perfectly controlled whirling dervish of kicks and puches.

The soft knock on the glass door of the dojo took a moment to cut through the perfect concentration, but when it did, Duncan spun on the balls of his feet, braced for attack.

He blinked when he realized the source of the sound, as well as the diminutive redhead standing on the other side of the locked door. This time, there was a man with her, and he was glaring for all he was worth. He carried a briefcase in his right hand, but there was nothing at all businesslike about him. As Duncan reached for the small towel sitting on one corner of the matt and started toward the door, he saw Scully's companion lean down and mutter something to her, and the glare she flashed back at him.

"I think I understand why you didn't tell me about him," Fox Mulder whispered near Dana's ear, his tone pithy.  The expression in his eyes was decidedly jealous, though he would have denied the charge to the death.

Scully speared her partner with a hard look. "Mulder, don't be an idiot."

"Come on, Scully, I can't blame you. If his female counterpart approached me, I might be tempted too...."

"Keep it up, Mulder, and I'll hurt you," Dana warned.

Duncan finished unlocking the door and swung it wide before either of them could say any more. "Yes, Agent Scully?' he said quietly, his tone neither welcoming nor forbidding.

Mulder, for his part, just stared at the other man with the same expression he might normally have reserved for solving a particularly tricky puzzle.

Scully nodding to Mulder. "Mr Macleod, This is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder. We'd like to speak to you, if you don't mind."

Mulder was still staring, spinning the rubik's sube in his mind.

Duncan shrugged his shoulders, and stepped out of the way to give them room to enter.

The last piece of the puzzle slid into place in Mulder's memory and he was barely through the door before he whirled, pinning a hard gaze on the other man. "So, Macleod, decapitated any priests, lately?"

Duncan stiffened, anger glittering in his dark eyes, and Scully turned on her partner, voice low and vaguely embarassed as she hissed, "Mulder, what the hell are you doing?"

"Stay out of it, Scully," Mulder bit out, meeting Macleod's angry gaze with one of his own. He dropped the briefcase he had refused to leave in the car, and drew the Glock holstered under his armpit easily. "This guy's name was mentioned in connection with several similar killings in France."

Scully's eyes widened, and she drew her own weapon. Despite her initial opinions of Macleod, she'd learned to trust her partner. "Duncan?" she murmured questioningly.

"You sound very certain about this, Agent Mulder," Macleod murmured, his posture deceptively calm.

"Le Journal had your picture...you have a very...distinctive face."

Macleod's eyes slid closed. "Darius," he exhaled as he opened them again. He even remembered the picture Mulder was referring to. It had been taken just after he finished speaking to the police. Darius' blood still on his hands and shirt, he had turned just as the camera snapped.

"A priest," Mulder confirmed grimly. "I don't know how the hell the French police failed to bring you in, but---"

Duncan's hand snapped out, grabbing onto Mulder's shirt collar as he twisted the F.B.I. agent's weapon aside and hauled him forward. "Damn you," he snarled furiously.

Scully lept into the fray, dropping into a shooter'stance as she shoved the barrel of her Walther into his side. "Let him go," she hissed. "NOW!" she rapped out when Duncan didn't immediately respond.

Macleod's hand opened and Mulder jerked free, then grabbed Macleod's arm, spinning the other man around, and shoving him toward the wall. "Spread eagle against the wall," he ordered. "Scully, keep him covered."

"Mulder, no," Dana said quickly.

Mulder glanced at his partner. "What do you mean, no?"

"Mann admitted killing a priest named Darius when he thought he was dying."

"I didn't kill Darius," Macleod rasped. "He was my friend." Real emotion threaded through the Immortal's voice.

Mulder backed off a step, his expression confused. He recognized that tone too well, guilt, anger and loss all stirred together in a tormenting mix. Despite his best efforts, he suddenly believed Macleod. "What happened?" he demanded.

Macleod's muscles flexed and rippled as he pushed away from the wall and turned around.

Mulder tensed, not wanting to get caught by the Scotsman's speed a second time.

But Macleod only folded his arms across his chest. "Leave it alone, Agent Mulder," he ordered, suddenly feeling the ehxaustion brought on by a sleepless night piled on top of a drunken binge. He looked over at Scully. "Mann?' he repeated the name she'd used. "Terrance Mann?"

Scully nodded slowly, and saw rage glitter momentarily in Macleod's eyes before he covered it.

The knowledge hit Macleod like a mack truck. First Dawson's brother-in-law, then, his niece's fiance, now his hand picked flunky. Everything always ...seemed .... to ... swirl ... around ... Dawson. Suspicions danced across his mind like darkling sprites.

Mulder's voice cut through Duncan's grim musings. "You know this guy, don't you?" he demanded.

Macleod didn't confirm or deny the allegation.

"Dammit," Mulder exploded. "He and a couple of his tattooed buddies tried to kill us."

Macleod's jaw muscles worked convulsively. He'd been afraid this would happen, that the Watchers would notice two agents investigating the killings, particularly in light of their specialty. His gaze touched on Scully, taking in her relative youth coupled with the strength and courage he saw there, then flashed over to Mulder. He had a few years on the woman, but to Macleod's eyes he also seemed like little more than a child. The pain in his eyes was very real though, ringing true. Macleod understood the feeling he saw in Mulder far too well. His strength was well matched to the woman's.

"Go home," Duncan muttered at last. "Get the hell out of this town and away from th..." he halted nearly mid-word.

"The Gathering?" Mulder demanded, using the term he'd found in one of the older texts, in a calculated hunch. He knew he'd struck gold when the Scotsman stiffened, and his expression flared before taking on that studied, neutral cast again.

Whatever Macleod was about to say died as an all too familar buzz crept up his spine. Dammit, not now. Suddenly he was out of patience with the F.B.I. agents and their "case." They had both relaxed their guard over the brief course of the conversation. They had both decided he was no threat.

That was a mistake. 

With no warning, Macleod's body was airborne, his foot lashing out with both speed and power. Mulder's gun was tilted up and it went flying as Duncan's foot slammed into his hand and arm, and sent him stumbling.

Scully scrambled backwards, trying to clear her shot as Mulder stumbled straight into her line of fire.

She didn't get the chance.

Macleod punched a fist into the back of Mulder's neck, hitting a nerve center with practiced skill.

Mulder's knees buckled, like a marionette with its strings cut, and Macleod stepped across him, knocking Dana's weapon aside just as she fired.

The bullet went wild, the explosion leaving both combatants mometarily deaf.

Knowing she couldn't get her weapon realigned in time, Dana lept into Macleod rather than away. It wasn't what he expected, and the top of her head slammed into his chin before he had a chance to push her back.

Ears ringing, Macleod caught the woman by the scruff of the neck and slung her away.

Dana's gun went skidding as she was tumbled to the floor. She knew she'd briefly lost consciousness a moment later when she opened her eyes to find that she and Mulder were alone.

Her partner was just pushing to his knee, his expression dazed. "Real nice guy, Scully," he muttered disgustedly.

Dana groaned softly, grabbing her own head as she rolled into a sitting position. "He can't have gotten far," she growled and shoved herself upright.

Mulder noted the expression on her face and didn't envy Macleod when Dana got ahold of him. He pushed to his feet and retrieved his weapon. "I'm definitely going to have to get a scorecard soon," he muttered. "Too damn many players."

*****

Tamron wasn't even trying to hide, Macleod noted with some degree of surprise. He was standing in the foyer of the aging building, arms folded loosely across his chest. Like many Immortals, he wore an oversize trenchcoat. It was one of the few ways to successfully hide a sword in modern times.

Tamron noted Macleod's wild hair and eyes and sword in his hand with some degree of consternation. "I hope you didn't kill those two F.B.I. agents," he said abruptly.

Duncan wouldn't have been more surprised if Tamron had suddenly grown a second head. "Since when do you care about mortal lives?"

Tamron shook his head. "You've never understood have you, Macleod? I'm not Slan Quince or the Kurgen. When this is all over, I plan on a nice quiet retirement, ruling a nice peaceful planet. You can't rule the dead."

Macleod rolled his sword through the air, making the blade whistle as he performed the simple exercise with nearly inhuman speed.

"Very impressive, Macleod, but I didn't come here to fight you."

Duncan snorted disbelievingly.

"Those two agents stole a book. It seems to be very important to the Watchers. I want to know why."

"We don't always get what we want in life," Macleod sneered as he paced forward, his body language that of an animal on the hunt.

"True, but sometimes we get what we deserve." Tamron snapped before continuing impatiently, " The Watchers are outside. They have agents on the ground and two sharpshooters on the building across the street. The moment those two leave the building or get near a window, they're dead."

"Why?" Despite his best instincts, Macleod was interested.

"Something in that book."

"What?"

"I don't know...imagine that...As long as I've been alive, and I have no idea...but I'm curious...aren't you?"

Macleod was, but there was no way he was going to admit that to his enemy.

"The Watchers aren't nearly so benign as they like to pretend, you know," Tamron continued. "Your little friend Dawson knew about Darius' murder, and still protected his killers. For all I know he ordered it."

Macleod's jaw muscles worked. He'd had that suspicion himself on several occasions, but Dawson always seemed to come up with a plausible explanation for the suspicious things that happened.

"You don't have all week to consider the problem," Tamron chided him."

"Why should I trust you? You murdered Richie."

"Killed," Tamron corrected. "It's what we are. It's the game."

The dull pop of a silenced rifle was followed by the sound of shattering glass and a surprised shout. More silenced thuds.

"No more time to debate," Tamron snarled and pushed past Duncan, lunging up the stairs toward the voices he heard.

*****

"Scully, you all right?!" Mulder shouted from his hiding place just to the right of the window that had been shot out.

Dana was flat on her stomach, one hand still over her head to shield her face from the flying glass and brick fragments. Windows on either side of her prone form gave the shooter a good line of sight. She was in no immediate danger of being hit but she couldn't move either. "Fine!" she shouted back without moving her head at all. The bullets were hitting close enough that she could hear them sliding past her ear.

Suddenly a dark figure swept into her limited line of vision, twisted between her body and the deadly hail of gunfire. She heard the dull thunk of bullets hitting a flack jacket, and saw a pair of legs dash past.

Russell Tamron leapt and slammed into Mulder. He stripped the gun out of Mulder's hand as he shoved him backwards.

"WHERE"S THE BOOK?" he screamed, and jammed the gun against the underside of Mulder's jaw.

"GO TO HELL!" Mulder shouted back.

Tamron snapped the gun out sideways, aiming at Scully where she still lay pinned, and grinned at Mulder. "The book?" he hissed near Mulder's ear, "or I'll spatter her brains all over the floor."

"In the dojo," Mulder coughed.

Dragging Mulder along, Tamron headed back up the stairs.

Macleod skidded to a halt as he saw the woman pinned between twin lines of fire. He watched the way the shots were hitting and squelched any thoughts he had of covering her so she could escape. Their antagonists were using high powered rifles. The bullets were certain to go through his body, then hers, and still leave a sizable dent in the wall.

"AGENT SCULLY!" Macleod called. "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT."

Scully barely dared to move enough to look up. "I'VE BEEN BETTER!' she shouted back.

"HOLD ON!" Macleod backtracked, hunting for something he could use a shield long enough to get the woman out of the line of fire.

Nothing.

He didn't have a choice. Despite the risk, he was going to have to use his own body to shield her. He ran back.

Duncan lunged in, grabbed the woman by the scruff of the neck and hauled her out. They were almost past the windows when a bullet punched into his bare shoulder. Macleod stumbled and nearly fell. He shoved Scully the rest of the way to safety, then fell after her even as another bullet slammed into his back.

When Macleod looked up again, it was to find himself staring down the barrel of Scully's Walther PPk. "Down!" she ordered in a hard voice.

Despite his injuries, Macleod's hand snapped up automatically, catching her wrist and forcing the weapon aside faster than Dana could track his movements. He caught her by the shirtfront with his other hand, half lifting her, shoving her backwards as he snarled, "I've had about enough of guns."

*****

Tamron shoved Mulder ahead of himself as he hurried back the way they'd come.. Mulder was carrying the briefcase, Tamron the gun. Mulder saw the struggle going on between his partner and the injured Macleod as they approached the window. His attention focused elsewhere, he didn't realize Tamron had moved until the butt slammed into the back of his head.

Mulder went down hard, hitting the floor even as the world went black.

*****

Fox Mulder regained consciousness slowly, groaning as his head throbbed in time with every beat of his heart. Scully, shots fired, oh God! He tried to sit up, only to have warm hands press him back down.

"Shhhh," Scully soothed gently.

Mulder opened his eyes to find his partner staring down at him worriedly. He reached up, brushing one hand along his temple and found a bandage there.

"You were bleeding where he hit you. I don't think it's serious, but you should be checked at a hospital."

Mulder didn't waste energy arguing. He pushed until he was half sitting up, and peered around himself. He was lying on a couch in the waiting room of the karate dojo. Scully certainly hadn't moved him here on her own, which meant... "The book?" he croaked.

"Tamron escaped with it," Duncan Macleod's rough accent cut in as he reentered the room. He had changed from the karate togs into jeans and a sweater, and carried a phone in one hand. His eyes met Scully's. "The police and an ambulance should be here in a few minutes."

"I don't need an ambulance," Mulder growled as he pushed himself fully upright and was glared at Macleod. He remembered distinctly. When Scully was struggling with Macleod, the Scotsman had been injured, his back bleeding from at least two gunshot wounds. Now the man was standing there as if he didn't have a care in the world...and just who had been shooting at them...and what the hell had been in that book that made someone willing to kill for it...he had more questions that his brain could formulate at that moment. "What are you?" he croaked.

Macleod stiffened at the question and traded a meaningful glance with Scully.

Scully's hands tightened on Mulder's shoulders as she forced him back down. "Mulder, you're hurt, you need to lie down. You could worsen your injuries."

Mulder struggled against his partner's hold as he growled at Macleod, "You were hit at least twice...now, what the hell are you." Strangely enough, his partner's edginess convinced him he was right. He didn't know why Scully was lying, didn't know what kind of hold the Scotsman had over her, but he knew something was very wrong. He struggled against her hands as he fought to stay upright. The world was swimming around him, making him dizzy and confused.

"Mulder, please," Scully tried to calm him. "You were hit on the head. You must have hallucinated."

Mulder looked over at his partner, his expression accusatory as he struggled against encroaching unconsciousness. "Why?" he groaned, unable to believe that she had betrayed him.

He was already unconscious when Dana Scully cushioned his collapse back to the couch. She tenderly brushed a lock of hair away from his temple, then glanced back up at the imposing figure of Duncan Macleod.

In the distance, the distinctive sound of sirens echoed through the city.

*****

Holed up in an ancient motel that was barely high class enough to be called a flop-house, Russell Tamron stared at the ancient manuscripts he had already managed to translate with raw disbelief. A thousand years of life, of fighting for his life, of killing. A thousand years of believing that one day he might have the prize...

All for nothing.

There was no prize.

No reason for all the killing.

The Gathering would never end.

It was all a grand lie made up by the Watchers.

If they hadn't been so busy killing each other for all those millenia, the Immortals could have ruled the world.

Of course that was what had frightened the Watchers almost from the moment they realized the Immortals existed.

So they had started the grand lie.

Made up the rules.

Made up the prize.

Sat back and watched.

Russel Tamron shoved the book away as he rubbed his eyes with heels of his hands. For the first time in his life, he regretted all the deaths, all the killing. He remembered with a certain sense of poignancy, the expression on the face of Macleod's young friend as he realized his life was over, wondered if the two F.B.I. agents had survived the assault by the Watchers bent on retrieving the book, and thought of the deaths of a hundred others.

Exhausted and confused by the realization that one thousand years of life had been spent on a lie, he dropped his guard. He didn't hear the attackers until they were upon him. Black garbed men swarmed into the motel room, overwhelming the Immortal before he had a chance to fight back.

Tamron struggled wildly, but there were too many of them. He drew himself upright as Joe Dawson entered the room.

The lead Watcher limped over to the table, picking up the book with a slow smile. He turned back and his eyes met the Immortals.

"It was all a lie," Tamron snarled and tried to lunge for the other man.

Dawson smiled ever so slightly as he picked up Tamron's sword, weighing it and checking the balance. His eyes met Tamron's again. "Not all of it," he denied. "The part about beheading being the only way to kill your kind was completely true." And he lashed out with the sword.

Tamron saw the silver blade coming and instinctively tried to twist away from it. He had no more chance than any of his victims had had at the ends of their lives.

*****

Duncan was waiting for Dawson when he arrived in the morning.

The Watcher stiffened momentarily as he saw the Scotsman, but covered the reaction with a curious look. "What can I do for you, Macleod?"

Duncan didn't bother to pretend to go along with the lie. "It ends here and now," he said menacingly.

Dawson tried to continue with the pretense of ignorance. "I don't know what you're---"

Macleod slammed him into the wall at his back and leaned into Dawson's face. "You have your book back now, and the agents don't know anything. Leave them alone."

Dawson stiffened, but continued with some facet of the game. "Of course. We have no reason to---"

"Don't lie to me. I know you arranged for that little...welcoming party at the dojo," Duncan snarled as he rapped Dawson against the wall a second time. "I'm offering you a deal. You leave them alone and I don't look for any answers about that book."

A muscle ticked in the Watcher's cheek. "It's nothing but a history, Macleod. There's nothing at all sinister---"

"I don't want to hear it," Macleod snarled. "I saw the light show at the motel," he said pointedly.

This time, the Watcher didn't bother to try and deny the obvious allegation.

"It ends here and now, or, so help me, God, you are dead. Do I make myself clear?" Duncan demanded.

"Crystal," Dawson sneered.

Macleod shoved the other man away from himself, and turned away. Dawson's voice pulled him back around before he had gone more than a few steps.

"This isn't the first time those two have come to our attention," he growled.

Macleod smiled darkly. "I hope, for your sake, it's the last."

*****

Dana Scully sat with her partner until he slept easily, brushing his hair soothingly with one hand. She had lost track of how long she had been there with him, when a hand landed lightly on her shoulder. She looked back up over her shoulder to find Duncan Macleod standing over her. He jerked his chin toward the door, and waited until she had risen and moved toward the door. He followed her out into the hall, then hurried her out onto a nearby patio.

Scully turned to peer up at the tall Scotsman, her expression a cross between grateful and hostile. "Well?' she demanded as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Go home, as soon as your partner is out of the hospital, and I don't think they'll bother you," he responded grimly.

Scully was silent for a long moment. "That may be difficult with Mulder, but I'll find a way."

"You had better," Macleod warned her. He moved to turn away, but Scully caught his forearm, tugging him back.

"What are you?' she asked, her expression intense.

"I believe we had a deal, Agent Scully," Duncan reminded her.

"Are you a part of whoever tried to kill us?" she demanded as if he hadn't spoken.

Macleod sighed softly. "No," he assured her. "But they have long arms. You already know more than is safe."

"Dammit," Scully swore softly. "I saw you take two bullets, and the injury healed in less than an hour. That's not exactly normal."

"You've already convinced your partner that never happened. Now I suggest you convince yourself..."

"Damn you!" Scully exploded. "This is all so damn easy for you."

"No,"Duncan assured her. "It's not easy at all." He pulled free of her hold and disapeared into the hospital.

Dana didn't bother to try and follow him. Instinct told that he had already told her all he was willing to let known. She stared back in the direction of Mulder's hospital room and sighed softly. She had never lied to Mulder before, and the thought of doing it now made her skin crawl. Perhaps Macleod had been trying to frighten her again.

She was still standing there, mulling the problem over when her cellular beeped for attention. Dana tugged it out of a coat pocket and quickly answered it, paling slightly as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

When she finally hung up, her internal debate had been thoroughly resolved. Tamron was dead, beheaded by some kind of sword. According the coroner it had happened while Macleod was still with the police There had been no sign of any books in the hotel room where his body was found.

Whoever they were, they had found Tamron and killed him to retrieve the book. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling herself for the lies that lay ahead.

EPILOGUE

Fox Mulder pivoted slowly in the empty dojo. "Damn," he whispered under his breath.

Scully entered a few steps behind him, and he spun at the sound of her footsteps, pinning a hard glare on her. "He's gone," Mulder snapped.

Dana folded her arms across her chest and peered at her partner, bearing his anger unemetionally. "There was no reason to hold him," she defended herself.

"He was in the middle of it all, Scully," Mulder said impatiently.

Dana shrugged helplessly.

"Do you know where he is?" he demanded.

Scully was about to answer no, when Charlie DeSalvo's voice cut in. "He packed up two days ago and left for France. He has friends there." DeSalvo's voice was flat, and unwelcoming, making it apparent that he had no more to say on the subject.

"He's gone, Mulder. It's over. Let it go," Scully suggested gently.

Mulder turned to peer at his partner intensely, as if he could divine her deepest thoughts by simply staring at her. "Are you lying to me, Scully?' he asked, his voice almost frightened. Scully had told him, over and over, that he hadn't seen what he thought before being knocked unconscious, but for some reason, he couldn't pin down, he didn't quite believe her.

"I would never do anything to hurt you, Mulder," Dana assured him sincerely.

Mulder's shoulders slumped as if deflated, and he allowed Scully to take his arm and drag him from the suite.

Her hand on her partner's arm, Dana Scully glanced back, and her gaze caught Charlie DeSalvo's. Relief showed in DeSalvo's dark eyes, relief and also understanding. Unnoticed by Mulder, they stared at one another for a long moment, and Dana knew that she wasn't the only one aware that Macleod was keeping secrets, or that those secrets were dangerous ones. Finally, she turned back focusing on her partner. Whatever lies she had told him were for his own good, she reminded herslef. Now, if she could only make herself believe them as well.

THE END

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