Joe Dawson and Richie Ryan turned their heads towards the door when they heard the approach of their missing compatriots. Upon their return, the two men found the hotel suite empty and went down to the casino to see if they could locate their friends. No such luck, neither Mac nor Methos could be found but there seemed to be a lot of buzz about a disturbance and subsequent flight of some riff-raff. Joe was hoping that the two Immortals had been present and could fill them in on all the details. As the door opened and the two men stepped in, the tail end of a conversation could be heard.

"...Methos MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, that's a mouthful. It will never fit in on my luggage." The end of Methos' sentence echoed in the silent room.

As if suddenly realizing they were not alone, both Immortals looked to Joe and Richie in surprise but quickly recovered.

"Hey, guys! How was the show?" the older Immortal asked.

"Finesowherehaveyouguysbeen?" Richie spat out quickly with more than a tinge of suspicion in his voice. He hadn't liked the sound of that conversation.

"One of those quaint little Las Vegas wedding chapels," Methos replied, as if he was commenting on the weather or how he'd bought a new pair of shoes.

"What?" the young Immortal sputtered. "What in God's name would you be doing in a wedding chapel?"

Methos look at the other man critically. "I knew you were a bit on the slow side, Ryan, but I didn't think you were that moronic."

"Quiet! Methos," Mac snapped, but the elder didn't even break his stride.

"Or maybe it's more than that. Do I detect a hint of jealousy, hmmm?"

"Methos!" Mac tried again, seeing his student's face become redder with every word which left Methos' mouth.

"Poor Richie, always a bridesmaid, never a bride," said Methos, clicking his tongue.

"Will you shut up! We have more important things to worry about," he finally exploded.

"Such as?" Joe inquired. It really was fascinating, even entertaining to watch these three go at each other but Dawson knew something had gone down and was losing his patience.

"In short, casino security tried to escort me away, Methos felt an Immortal, so we ran and took refuge in a chapel. I didn't recognize the Immortal but it's obvious he has something to do with this hotel. We waited for a while to make sure the guy was gone and came back here." MacLeod gave the Watcher the abridged version of the afternoon's fiasco.

"And you say you have no idea who this Immortal is or what he wants?" Joe reiterated.

The Highlander shook his head. "No clue, but I intend to find out."

At these words, Methos' head snapped up. "Whoa! Whoa! whoa! Slow down, MacLeod. What do you mean you intend to find out? Aren't we going to pack up right now and get the hell out of here?"

"No, we are not. We're going to stay here and find this Immortal. I intend to settle this."

"Are you out of your mind?" the other man exclaimed, incredulous. "This Immortal has the entire hotel staff at his disposal; it'd be suicide to stay here! Why don't we just high-tail it to the airport and go home. End. Of. Problem. It's all settled and YOU never set foot in Las Vegas again." The older Immortal was trying his best to convince the other of the logic in this plan. It was all so obvious! Why couldn't MacLeod see it?

"Unlike some people, I'm not in the habit of running away from my problems. Besides, leaving an enemy behind you is not a safe habit to get into. We're staying," he stated firmly. And that was that.

Both Joe and Richie looked back and forth as the two men argued and, while they could see the reasoning behind Methos' point of view, they were inclined to agree with Mac's way of thinking. Turning tail and running away from this fight was not an option. Especially since they had no idea as to whom or what they were dealing with. Although Methos would argue that that point supported HIS course of action, not MacLeod's. Joe could see the older Immortal's face harden at Mac's last announcement and he didn't think the Old Man appreciated that final decree from Lord MacLeod. This was going to get really ugly really fast but there was no way in hell he was going to get in between those two. That would be interference and, as we all know, 'observe and record' were the Watchers' watch words. So he watched. Hey alliteration! Cool.

"You sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch," Methos quietly addressed the other. "You always think you know what's best, don't you? 'I've lived my life a certain way for four hundred years and I'm not going to change no matter how idiotic or plainly wrong I am'. Is that it? You'll not only put your life but the rest of our lives in danger just because your ego can't take the blow of leaving while your enemy's still out there. No wonder everyone around you seems to end up dead. Well I'm not going to wind up as one of your casualties of war, MacLeod. I'm not going to be another statistic in a long line of statistics when it comes to your life."

Turning to go and pack his bag, the ancient Immortal turned for one last parting shot. "You know it's probably better that Tessa died before you could heap any more suffering onto an already short life."

MacLeod didn't even think; he just lashed out with his fist and struck the other man squarely in the jaw. Methos reeled back, his feet tangled in Mac's coat, which was still lying on the floor. Unable to regain his balance, the Immortal fell and an audible crack could be heard as his head connected with the edge of the coffee table, snapping his neck.

Everyone froze in mute shock at the corpse lying on the hotel suite floor and the large open wound on its temple oozing blood, the head at an awkward angle. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, Joe leapt up and moved over to the body.

"Oh shit! Oh shit!" he moaned loudly. Nudging Methos with his cane, he detected no movement and could plainly see the man's chest remain motionless, lungs taking in no air. "He's dead."

Way to state the obvious Joe, MacLeod thought as he moved over to kneel beside his dead friend. All the anger had left him with that horrible crack. He repositioned the body in order to realign the broken vertebrae. Now all they had to do was sit back and wait for Methos to revive. Then it would be his turn to die.

"Whatcha go and do that for Mac?" Dawson berated him. "I know he can be a real pain in the ass but that's no reason to kill a guy."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Mac defended himself. As he stood up, his anger returned slightly.

"Yeah, right! Your fist just kinda flew out and collided with his face by accident," Joe commented, his voice laden with sarcasm.

"You know what I meant, Dawson," he snapped back. "I didn't mean for him to end up with a broken neck."

"And why not?!" Richie threw in. "You heard what he said! The spiteful fuck got what he deserved, if you ask me!"

"Well nobody asked you," a fourth voice informed him from the floor. Methos opened his eyes and looked up to see both Joe and MacLeod looking down at him. Bringing his hand up to his temple, he felt the sticky blood over the healed abrasion and scrunched up his face.

"You okay?" Joe asked.

"Great." A hand came into his field of vision as MacLeod offered to help him up off the floor. Reaching up to take it he suddenly realized WHY he was on the floor and slapped the appendage away instead. "Get away from me," he snarled as he moved to get up on his own.

"Methos, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for you to end up dead," MacLeod tried to apologize.

"That makes me feel so much better! You know, you're lucky I'm Immortal, MacLeod, or you'd have ended up with a murder charge on your hands." He brushed past the two men and headed for his luggage.

"Where are you going?" Mac asked, moving into his path.

"I told you I'm leaving. Now get the fuck out of my way."

"Just let him go Mac," Richie interjected. "We'll all be better off."

"Rich, you're not helping matters," MacLeod pleaded.

"It doesn't matter, MacLeod," said Methos. "I can't get more pissed than I already am." After hastily stuffing his clothes into his bag, he moved towards the door, yanking it open. "I'm out of here." Jamming his cowboy hat onto his head, he walked through the door, closing it gently and quitely behind him.

The silence that followed was broken by Joe's heavy sigh. "I thought he'd given me that hat."

Despite the break between Methos and himself, MacLeod's original plan to track down this mysterious Immortal and find out what he wanted was still in effect. After Methos had stormed out following his rather unintentional death at Mac's hands and the supporting role of a coffee table, both the Highlander and Richie decided it would be best to search the hotel first. The unknown Immortal seemed to have the power to order the staff about and therefore obviously knew that MacLeod was staying at this hotel; logic suggested that, with this knowledge, he was probably not very far and was waiting for another opportunity. Their search would begin in the parking garage and move its way up to the top floor. They would not leave any corner unexplored and would comb the hotel from top to bottom, or, in this case, bottom to top.

During the elevator ride down to the garage, Richie brought up something that had been bothering him for some time and, considering recent events, now seemed as good a time as any to bring it up.

"Mac, how in the hell can you like that malicious old windbag?" he suddenly blurted out. He couldn't understand Mac's choice in friends when it came to this one and he really, really wanted to understand.

"Do you mean Methos?" MacLeod turned to his friend knowing full well that he did.

"No, I meant Joe!" Sarcasm seemed to be the rule of the day.

"Oh, well, he's my Watcher, you see, and all the free drinks at the bar..."

"Will you cut that out! I'm serious!" Richie interrupted. "I mean it, Mac. I don't think I can remember that man ever saying anything remotely good-natured."

"What are you talking about? He jokes all the time!"

"Yeah, but they're always sarcastic, biting remarks about something you did or how you think. He belittles and ridicules everything we do."

The elevator finally reached the underground parking lot and the two Immortals moved off the lift to begin their investigation.

"He's just very opinionated, Rich; I mean, he's lived for fifty centuries and I'm sure we all seem a little immature to him. Despite what he says, he always has plenty of advice, or wisdom if you like, in the form of those cynical remarks he doles out."

They looked about the parking lot searching for a specific face or an Immortal presence as they moved in amongst the cars.

"Or - he's just mean-spirited!" the younger man added.

"I don't believe that and neither do you."

"Oh, yeah, well, after that comment about Tessa, I'm pretty much committed to that way of thinking and maybe you should consider changing your view of him, too."

Mac sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Granted that wasn't the smartest thing for him to say," he held up his index finger, "but! - but, he was angry with me for making what he saw as a bad decision and he was worried about us all getting hurt."

"So that makes it all right?" the other man asked incredulously.

"No, of course not, and that's why I punched him!" Mac's lips quirked up into a little smile.

Before another word could be spoken, a small group of men rounded the corner, a variety of sub-machine guns in their hands. Not having the time to run for cover from the subsequent barrage of ammunition, and since no-one dodges bullets like Superman, the two Immortals were riddled with holes in a matter of seconds. Moments later a car pulled up and John Mariner stepped out, looking dispassionately down at the two sprawled forms. He motioned for the other men to put MacLeod into the back of the car and seemed to weigh his options when it came to the other Immortal. Deciding against any course of action that went against Benelli's orders, he moved back into the front seat of the car and drove away. The armed men simply melted back amongst the sea of cars, leaving one Richie Ryan to wake on his own.

It wasn't too long before the young Immortal's lungs heaved and he was startled awake. Groaning as he sat up off the hard ground, he looked about him for any sign of his attackers or his teacher. Both seemed to have disappeared. Hauling himself to his feet with a curse, he made his way back to the elevator. He needed both to change his now-ruined clothes and inform Joe of this latest development.

To say that the mortal Watcher was perturbed would have been an understatement. He listened intently to Richie's account of events then unceremoniously grabbed a nearby ashtray and threw it across the room.

"Goddamn it!" he seethed. "How many times is shit like this going to happen? I swear we have to deal with crap like this once a week!"

"It's not Mac's fault, Joe; he didn't go looking for this," the young man defended his friend.

"Really? It seems to me that's exactly what he did. If we'd just left when Methos wanted us to, this never would have happened, but instead he stayed and went searching for the guy. That's a pretty good definition of 'looking for it' if you ask me!"

"So now you're on Methos' side? A little late now, isn't Joe? Why didn't you just support his suggestion in the first place if you thought Mac was making a mistake? What is it they say about hindsight?"

"All right, all right." The watcher held up a placating hand. "We still have to figure out what to do about Mac."

"A little Watcher inside information could probably help," Richie offered.

"Yeah, right. But we'll still need some backup." Moving towards the slightly maimed telephone book, Joe began searching for a number.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for the airport phone number."

"Why...Oh no! We are not asking that bastard for help!"

"Rich, we need him! We can't do this on our own." He'd found the number and reached over to grab the phone.

"And why the hell not?" the young man asked indignantly.

Joe didn't bother to respond as someone on the other end answered. "Yes, I'd like to page a Mr. Adam Pierson. It's very urgent that I talk to him right away." There was a slight pause. "Yes, thank you." Then the Watcher's face took on the bored 'I'm waiting to talk to someone on the phone' look.

"You know what he'll say, don't you?" Richie informed him bitterly. "He'll say 'I told you so!', and that he knew we'd come crawling back to him for help."

"And didn't he tell us so? And aren't we crawling back to him for help?" Dawson asked.

"That's beside the point. We'll never hear the end of this."

Holding up a hand to stop any further comment, Joe turned his attention back towards the phone.

"Yeah, hey, Adam, glad I caught you before you left." The person on the other end said something abrupt and Joe's face crumpled up. "I can't fool you, Old Man. We're kinda in a little trouble here." Again Methos said something brief. "I'm calling you because we need your help." Joe pulled the receiver away from his ear as a small voice raged from its ear-piece, "I knew it! What happened to MacLeod this time?"

Bringing the ear-piece back, Joe quickly related the events Richie had described. Methos then said something that made Joe frown slightly. "You should help us because Mac's your friend." Pause. "Yes I realize he killed you, but he was sorry and he didn't mean for it to go that far." Pause; blood pressure rising. "Well put your neck on the phone and I WILL tell it!" Pause; deep breaths. "Fine, fine, how about because you were right and if you help us you can gloat about it, especially to Mac once you haul his ass out of the fire." Pause; grin. "Yeah, I'll see you in a little bit."

Setting the phone back on its cradle, Joe turned to smile at a scowling Richie Ryan. "Oh come on Rich, it's a small price to pay to get Mac back."

Richie scoffed. "Speak for yourself."