MacLeod found this entire situation not to his liking. Upon waking in the back of a moving vehicle, hands cuffed behind his back and a gun shoved in his face by the missing link sitting beside him, things had gone steadily downhill. Well, actually, things had gone steadily downhill since the chase in the casino but he was digressing. His attempts at discovering who his captors were and what they wanted had been met with silence and he'd spent most of the trip having a one-way conversation. Once they arrived at their destination he was pulled out of the car and learned that he'd been taken to a warehouse on Las Vegas' little talked about docks district. Where had he seen this set up before? It seemed no Immortal confrontation could go properly without a trip to a pier or a warehouse, in this case, a double feature. He wondered why that was. Roughly pulled along, he was directed to enter the warehouse where he now sat tied to a dusty and rather uncomfortable chair, waiting for his fate to arrive.

One of the two armed men turned to the other Immortal and said something to him, addressing him as 'Mr. Mariner'. Mac frowned. The name didn't seem any more familiar than the face and his confusion multiplied. Why would an Immortal he'd never met kidnap him? Deciding to give it another try, he spoke.

"Mariner? I don't know you."

An uninterested gaze fell upon him as the other man turned. "Nor I you, Mr. MacLeod."

"Then what the hell's going on?" Mac growled.

"Payback," he stated simply.

"But we haven't even met!" Frustration was clearly evident in this plain statement of fact. They were just going in circles.

Cocking his head, Mariner stared openly at the other man. "Does the name Frankie The Blade mean anything to you?"

Recognition and realization dawned on the Highlander's face and he hissed as he breathed in. "You work for him." It wasn't a question.

In answer, John Mariner pulled out a cell phone from his coat pocket and punched in a number. When whoever it was picked up on the other end,

MacLeod surmised Benelli, Mariner simply said three words, "We have him."

Closing the phone and tucking it back into his inside breast pocket, Mariner crossed his arms over his chest, looking for all intents and purposes as if he was settling down to wait. Francis Benelli was coming and then he was going to kill Duncan MacLeod. All they had to do was make sure MacLeod stayed put until their employer arrived. How hard could that be?

By the time Methos arrived at the hotel, Joe had been in contact with HQ and uncovered quite a bit of enlightening information. After getting the triumphant looks and victorious smirks out of the way, the three men sat down. The two Immortals waited for the Watcher to fill them in on the specifics.

"Okay, here's what we know. The owner of this hotel is an Immortal named Francis Benelli. He's just recently returned to the city after an eighty-year absence."

"Great, but what does this have to do with Mac?" Richie asked.

"Here's where things start making sense. Benelli used to be involved with some shady, let's say, 'businessmen' way back in the twenties. Apparently, he was really an up-and-coming power, working his way through ranks. Guy really loved his work. Anyway, Mac had a run-in with him in front of Frankie's associates and ended up killing him, cutting off his left arm in the process. He couldn't finish the job with all those people present, so he just left it at that. Of course, Benelli couldn't stay in Las Vegas because people had witnessed his 'death', so he had to leave. I suppose anybody who would recognize him is long gone so he's come back to pick up where he left off. It's just a huge coincidence that we ended up in his hotel. I'm guessing he caught sight of Mac and decided to get some revenge."

"But I distinctly remember the gentleman who came after us had two arms," Methos interjected.

"Right. I'm assuming that was John Mariner, a young Immortal; he's Benelli's student."

"Ye gods! Hasn't MacLeod done this before?" The old Immortal shook his head. Upon the two questioning looks being sent his way, he clarified. "Dealt with revenge-obsessed Immortals who lost an appendage to his blade."

"Yeah, well, these things happen. Obviously more than once."

"It's never happened to me. Although I seem to recall an incident in 1638 where I came this close to doing irreversible damage to a drunk and very, shall we say, 'excited' young man's pe..."

"So where are we going to start?" Richie cut in quickly. "We don't know where they took Mac."

"We might have an idea," Joe interjected. "Benelli has a couple of warehouses on the docks. Those always seem to pan out for some reason."

"Vegas has docks?" Richie asked surprised. "But we're in the deser..."

It was Methos' turn to cut the other man off. "Who cares, Ryan. Lets get this show on the road."

Piling into the rented blue Buick, the three of them made their way through the city towards the pier. It was late and there seemed to be very little activity along the dark shoreline as Methos parked the car.

"What was that first address again, Joe?" he asked, looking up and down, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.

"Three-twenty."

"All right. Let's go."

They moved cautiously and quietly down the dock looking for the proper building. Once it was found, they sent Joe to peek inside a grimy window so as not to tip off Mariner with their presence. Peering inside, Dawson saw what seemed to be a simple, gutted warehouse which was now one huge room with only a few stacks of boxes scattered around and a series of metal catwalks circling high above the room. Three men could be seen, two holding guns, with MacLeod tied to a chair in the center of the room. It appeared that Benelli hadn't arrived yet. They'd have to get Mac out while they still had the chance. Scuttling - that is to say, as fast as anyone can scuttle who must rely on the use of a cane - back to his waiting companions, Joe whispered harshly.

"Benelli isn't here yet. There are three of them, two are packing and I'm not sure about the third. Obviously, Mariner is going to have a sword. Other than that, I'm not sure."

"So, how are we going to go about this?" Richie asked looking from man to man.

There was a long silence as all three of them attempted to think of a plausible rescue plan. Methos looked about him, searching for he knew not what, until his eyes rested on one of those red plastic gas cans sitting on the equally plastic, carpeted floor of a bow rider bobbing by the dock. Grinning evilly, he move to 'borrow' the gas. What was a little petty theft in the interest of rescuing a friend?

The heads of the four men waiting in the warehouse for the arrival of Francis Benelli were suddenly whipped to the right as a voice could be heard calling out and the back door to the building rattled as someone banged on it.

"Hello, anybody here?" echoed through the virtually empty room.

Mac frowned. That sounded like Joe. What the hell was he doing? Mariner jerked his head towards the door and the two armed men moved across the large open space to investigate. Opening the door and seeing nothing, the two men stepped outside, disappearing into the dark to have a look around. Suddenly, Immortal presence reverberated through both remaining men. Pulling his sword, Mariner crossed to the front entrance, cracking the door open to glimpse out. The door swung open quickly and smacked him in the face, hard. Stumbling back, he had no time to react when Richie Ryan burst in and dumped a good portion of the gasoline on him. Methos stepped in behind him, struck a match and threw it onto the drenched Immortal. Mariner burst into flames, stumbling around like a burning chicken with its head cut off, trying to get out of his flaming jacket. His screams brought his two associates back from their pursuit of Joe, giving the Watcher time to escape, but not before Richie and Methos had dragged Mac, chair and all, out of the building.

All three men met Joe at the car and crammed in after untying MacLeod from the chair. Pulling away, all of them were breathing hard. Methos cracked a huge grin, looking in the rearview mirror to Richie and MacLeod.

"How was that for a rescue, eh?" he breathed, as he pulled over once they were a safe distance away. Turning in his seat he looked at Mac. "So, what do you have to say to me?"

"You set a man on fire!" he said in disbelief, eyes wide.

"Yeeesss. And?"

"And what? That pretty much says it all."

Methos frowned. "I was looking for something more along the lines of a thank you."

"Thank you."

The older Immortal snorted. "A little late now."

MacLeod was about to say more but was waved off.

"Forget it," said Methos. "Let's just get out of here and to the airport. This is one trip I'd rather forget. Remind me not to let you guys persuade me into going on vacation with you again."

"We're not leaving." Duncan informed them flatly.

"Excuse me?!" the ancient exploded, his voice loud in the confines of the car.

"We're not leaving. I'm going back and finishing this business with Benelli."

"Are we back to that again? You ever hear of 'never make the same mistake twice', Mac?"

"Exactly. I left Benelli behind the last time and look what it got me. This time I'm going to finish the job."

"So nothing's changed?" Methos asked. Duncan shook his head. "You're hell-bent on going back there, are you?" A nod this time. "Fine. Well, I haven't changed my mind either. I'm leaving and if you get caught this time, don't bother to call me!"

Popping the trunk and getting out of the car, Methos grabbed his bag, throwing it over his shoulder, and slammed the trunk lid closed. He walked off down the road, intending to call a cab from the nearest phone. He shook his head in disgust as he watched the tail lights of the rental car disappear down the blackened road. You go out of your way to help people and look it what gets you. Not a damn thing! Lord, now he remembered why he was in the habit of doing nothing - at least then you got what you paid for.

Francis Benelli stood glaring at the three men in front of him, two looking appropriately nervous, the third more along the lines of enraged. The irate countenance was not helped by the charred clothing and skin all angry and red in some places. The burns obviously hadn't healed completely. The distinct lack of eyebrows topped off the entire ensemble.

While Benelli was furious that MacLeod had escaped for a second time; he'd been counting on having another chance at retribution. MacLeod had stayed in his very hotel even after the first attempt at his capture, therefore the man was hell-bent on seeing this confrontation through. It was even more likely that the Scotsman would seek him out now that he knew who his enemy was. They would stay and wait here for a spell; MacLeod knew they'd been waiting for his arrival and might take this chance to settle things. Instructing his men to take positions on the catwalks above the room, he informed them that if it appeared John and himself were going to lose the duel, they were to shoot their opponents dead. As soon as the two men were in position, the distinct presence of other immortals warned Mariner and Benelli of impending arrivals.

Duncan MacLeod and Richie Ryan opened the warehouse door and strode in, weapons drawn and muscles taut. Joe was on their heels. All three looked ready for a fight.

"I'm so glad you decided to see me after all, MacLeod," Benelli addressed the other man, also pulling out his sword and motioning for John to fan out. "I had to learn how to fight with a whole new hand. You know how difficult that is? My balance was a mess due to this!" He brought up his plastic arm angrily. "You owe me."

"You're lucky that wasn't the only thing I cut off," MacLeod informed the fuming ex-mobster. "This time I won't be so generous."

The two men lunged at each other at the same time and the fight was on. Seeing their respective mentors intent on decapitating each other, Ryan and Mariner moved to do the same. Richie shadowed the other young Immortal, cocking his head.

"You look a little different for some reason." He grinned evilly at him. "Shut up, you little fuck," Mariner snarled stalking his opponent. "Where's your other friend, the bastard that lit the match?"

"He ran out of matches. Seems he used the last one on you. Lucky boy."

And with those words, the two young men clashed.

While the four Immortals were engrossed in killing each other, Joe had moved to a stack of boxes he could use for cover. Quickenings could be mighty unpredictable. As the battles waged, it became increasingly obvious that Benelli was no match for MacLeod. Mariner seemed to be having similar difficulties handling Ryan, but what could one expect from a man who took lessons from a one-armed swordsman? Pressing their advantages, it looked as if the fight was to be concluded in a matter of seconds as Mac went in for the kill, skewering Benelli in the stomach. Casting a quick glance up to the catwalk, Francis Benelli stopped both his own imminent death and his student's struggles. The loud thunder of gunfire rang out.

Snapping into action, Joe scrambled behind the boxes at the shots and pulled his own gun. Peering from behind his cover, he saw both Mac and Richie fall to the ground, shot dead for the second time today. Shocked into immobility, he looked on in horror as both Benelli and Mariner moved in to end their opponents' immortal lives for good. Both raised their swords to deliver the final blow.

Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass could be heard, then two loud bangs. Benelli and Mariner never had a chance to sever any heads; they both dropped to the ground beside Mac and Richie, all four of them dead. Joe took the opportunity to break cover and dispatch the momentarily distracted and confused gunmen on the catwalk. Both men were taken by surprise; their attention had been fixed on their employer's sudden and very unexpected collapse and forgot to cover the third man.

Looking about him at the carnage, Joe Dawson simply stared. The two goons lay limply on the scaffolding high above him and four corpses lay bunched together on the warehouse floor, pools of blood spreading out beneath them, swords scattered about. The entire scenario was bizarre to say the least and he still didn't know exactly what had happened. Before he could rearrange his chaotic thoughts, he heard the back door open and looked up to see Methos stroll in, gun in hand. He said nothing as he sauntered towards the four bodies. Taking aim, he put another bullet into each body, increasing their recovery time.

Joe jumped slightly as the gunshots bounced off the walls of the nearly empty room. He licked his lips. "You came back." He croaked, then frowned at the sound of his voice.

Methos simply nodded. "I realized I needed money for the cab."

Duncan MacLeod jerked into awareness with a gasp of air. He stared up at the dingy ceiling of the warehouse, blinking slowly. What the hell had hit him? The last thing he remembered was running Benelli through and going in to sever the other Immortal's head. Then nothing. Sitting up gingerly, he looked around and saw Richie lying beside him along with two decapitated bodies, Benelli and Mariner. Huh! That was odd. He didn't remember any of this. Suddenly, he realized Joe was standing there watching him intently, but before he could ask the Watcher what had transpired, Richie took a deep breath, snapping his eyes open. The young Immortal performed the same ritual that MacLeod had only moments earlier and also rested his eyes on Dawson.

"You guys all right?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, sure," Ryan replied getting to his feet.

"Fine," MacLeod also responded, taking his student's offer of help to stand. "Mind telling us what happened?"

"You don't remember?" Joe inquired.

"No." The Highlander sounded slightly confused; Richie was shaking his head in the negative.

"I'm not surprised," Joe informed them. "That was one hell of a quickening."

"You're telling me we took their heads and don't remember it?" Richie sounded dubious.

"Yup, at right about the same time too. Probably why it was so HUGE! You both passed out." The Watcher shook his head in disbelief. "Never seen anything like it! Can't wait to write it all down." Slow down, Dawson! Don't overdo it.

"Glad you enjoyed yourself, Joe," Mac said sarcastically. Looking about once more, he stooped to snatch up his katana. "We better get going."

The three men left quietly, walking to the car in silence. The drive back to the hotel was equally quiet while both Immortals tried to puzzle through the strange occurrence, wracking their brains trying to recall something. Dawson invested all his will power in keeping a straight face while watching his two friend struggle.

Trudging into Mac's hotel suite thoroughly exhausted, all three men were intent on falling into bed and sleeping off the rest of the vacation. Maybe when they woke, they'd discover the entire thing was a dream a la Dallas. Upon seeing Methos lounging on the couch, clad in boxer shorts and a bath robe left open, a cup of steaming liquid in his hand, Mac stopped short. Both he and Richie expressed mild surprise at seeing the older Immortal relaxing in the room. Joe, for some reason, seemed less so.

"Methos, what are you doing here?" MacLeod asked and he dragged himself the rest of the way into the room, collapsing beside the other man.

"Sitting and drinking a cup of tea?" he offered.

"I thought you left." Mac reached out and took the cup from his friend's hand, bringing it up to his lips and swallowing the rest of its contents in one gulp. "Oh, yeah," he groaned.

"I did and came here. I decided that being right was much more fun when you were surrounded by the people who were wrong. Although, I see you managed to salvage the situation and survived your encounter with Mr. Benelli." The odd smirk accompanying his words Mac slightly confused.

"Yeah, we did, hence you were wrong this time! It cancels out your previous gloating rights and we're all back to where we started."

Raising his eyebrows, Methos turned to Joe and Richie who had also taken seats. "Is that so? Ryan agree with you?"

"You bet; you can't gloat, smirk or in the future say 'blah, blah, because I was right back in Vegas, yada, yada'," Richie backed his teacher.

Methos nodded in acknowledgment of the younger Immortal's opinion, then turned to the only mortal in the room. "Joseph?"

Dawson regarded Methos' pointed look and shifted nervously. "I have no opinion."

"Surely you have some standing in the matter?" The Immortal cajoled.

Swallowing hard, Joe ran a hand through his hair. "You did save Mac from the security guards that first time, so technically you're still ahead by one," the Watcher offered.

"Good point. Thank you for bringing that up; I never would have thought of it." Stretching his legs out in front of him, Methos tightened all his muscles and held them taut for a moment before letting them go lax. He sighed. "You have a tough time with Benelli and Mariner?" He asked wearily.

"Apparently," Mac replied. "Giant quickening, knocked us out cold."

"Imagine that." Rising to his feet and shuffling towards Mac's bedroom, the elder Immortal turned to his companions. "In thanks for saving your life numerous times these last few days and in recompense for rending my neck from its natural alignment I'm commandeering your bed, MacLeod. Goodnight gentlemen."

Opening his mouth to argue, Mac caught Joe shaking his head. Sighing, MacLeod shifted slightly on the couch and regarded the retreating Immortal's back. "Methos, next time you and I go on vacation together, remind me to stay home."

Stopping at the bedroom doorway, Methos turned around and pouted at the other man. "You keep talking like that and I'm filing for divorce. And to think we only lasted a day. If I had a mother, she'd be devastated. As it is, we'll have to console Joseph over the break up. I know he had such high hopes for us." Sighing, he turned back and stepped into the room. Before closing the door, he offered some parting words. "Get a good lawyer MacLeod; I'm going for the barge."

MacLeod, who had patiently sat through the entire diatribe with the quiet indulgence one gives a child, perked up at this. Despite the stupidity of the conversation, he couldn't let this one go unanswered. It was the principle of it all, damn it!

"I thought you hated boats?" He yelled.

Silence was the only response. The Highlander leapt to his feet and stalked to the door, banging on it with the side of his fist. "Methos! Methos, I thought you hated boats?"

A tired and slightly incredulous voice filtered out. "Well, it's either the barge or I sue for custody of Richie. Not much of a choice if you ask me."

"Hey, there is no fucking way I'd live with you!" Richie snapped to the disembodied voice. Turning his attention to MacLeod, the younger Immortal looked hopeful. "You'd fight for me, right Mac?"

Ryan frowned when silence and an inability to catch his teacher's or Joe's eye was the only response.

"Mac?"