InsaneJournal

FIC: The Pied Piper of Decapitated Corpses--Gen, BDS/Highlander
title: The Pied Piper of Decapitated Corpses
author: lisa roquin
rating: 15+
characters: Connor, Murphy, Smecker, Mac, Methos, Joe
fandom: Boondock Saints/Highlander
disclaimer: all recognizable characters and their universes belong to their writers, production companies and long lists of people that are very much not me.
summary: Connor and Murphy end up in Seacouver because it's as good a place as any and Smecker doesn't like decapitated corpses in Boston.
warnings: violence, language, some religious undertones/theme--in other words, see fandoms, about what you'd expect.
author's notes pure conversation drabble....yeah. right.
word count 6200+


Connor MacManus exchanged a glance with is twin as he held open the door to the Blues Bar for Murphy. Neither of them knew what to make of this guy. Smecker didn't know what to make of this guy either. Other than he had a long history of decapitated bodies showing up around him. Decapitated bodies of people recently seen, if not last seen in the company of one Duncan MacLeod, who was a Scot with residences in both Seacouver and Paris, and a dead girlfriend named Tessa Noel who'd been shot and killed along with their foster son Richie Ryan, which was actually kind of unusual because decapitation really seemed to be a theme around this MacLeod guy.

MacLeod had been cleared, alibied, and in all not a damn thing could be pinned on him despite a recorded decade plus of decapitated bodies both in the states and abroad turning up in his vicinity. Interpol had a file and a watch tag on the guy. Again--those watch markers seemed to be dropped and things buried. It had taken some digging on Smecker's part and he wasn't sure he'd found everything. MacLeod had come to Smecker's attention, mostly by annoying the hell out of Smecker. Four dead bodies, minus heads inside a freaking week in Boston when MacLeod was there for an estate auction and visiting some academic nitwit at Harvard (Smecker's description). Smecker had been pulled to do double duty along with the Saints Task Force which was predominantly, well, Smecker himself and a couple truly terrorized underlings, to deal with the interpol agent who was still pissed about a couple bodies in Paris from the year before and a Scotland Yard inspector who had gotten the permission to go with the interpol agent somehow, and had a headless body turn up in some little highland town near the old keep that had belonged to Clan MacLeod.

Just too many headless bodies, everywhere MacLeod went. "Fucking pied piper of decapitated corpses," had been Smecker's frustrated and slightly eratic exclamation over the phone to Connor.

Smecker had been in a bit of a state, because he was absolutely certain the four decapitated bodies in the Boston morgue had something to do with MacLeod and his endless trail of decapitated bodies, but there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it and a chunk of evidence had vanished, as well as a couple particularly nasty computer viruses originating from Paris. At least it seemed to originate from Paris based on what little Smecker had managed to figure out--how Connor had no idea but it seemed to involve the viral deaths of several harddrives to accomplish as well as the loss of half the Boston FBI's servers. Duffy had said he hadn't seen Smecker in such a state since the original Saints murders, and that was saying something. They had orders to blow heads off before they got theirs chopped off, and not to do anything stupid.

Smecker was worse than their Ma at times, though neither of the twins would ever dare say it.

Connor couldn't shake the disturbing oddness of all this, uncertain. They wouldn't be doing anything yet. Just checking things out and a good deal of praying over it. The look in Murphy's eyes said his twin had the same unease about something really off here, moreso than just your average, if odd serial killer.

~*~

"Adam?" Joe asked quietly as the pair came into the bar. Peacoats and...

Methos glanced over his shoulder, and gave a slight shake of his head. No, they weren't Immortal. Disturbingly familiar, but not Immortal. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was familiar about them, but there was something, and it was a something less than comfortable. Aequitas on the hand of the darker haired one, Veritas on the hand of the blonde, the turtlenecks and peacoat collars turned up obscured whatever was on their necks but a little bit of ink showing said there was something there as well. Methos didn't doubt more ink elsewhere considering. Hand and neck were very unlikely to be the only two tattoos if one had tattoos.

Joe frowned further. "You sure?"

Methos gave Joe a dirty look. "No ones that good at masking. They don't even register pre--" Methos said quietly. And if there was anyone who could tell that, it would be him, he'd written the bloody book on reining in his own quickening, dimming it and making it seem less. Tak-ne had been able to do the same, Cassandra could, if she knew it was possible and someone had taught her. Methos was fairly certain no one had, he sure as bloody hell hadn't, it hadn't been possible then, letting his own tricks out of the bag, especially that trick, to Kronos? No. Caspian and Kronos wouldn't have been able to master the ability, they hadn't had the innate..something..to manage it. Having an ability Kronos didn't, was a good way to ensure the swift removal of one's head from one's body if Kronos knew about it. MacLeod didn't know of it. He was one who would no more ever be able to master that in a few millenia than Kronos had been. Connor MacLoed was another story, but Methos doubted the wisdom of trying to teach the elder highlander that trick. Strong as he was, he wasn't that old yet, and he was well enough known as it were. His quickening seeming dimmer might get noticed. Maybe someday, though he didn't doubt that there would be some loud moral objection on the part of Duncan if someday ever happened.

"Masking--"

"You've read Ramirez' chronicle, you've met Cassandra." Methos snorted and left it at that.

Joe nodded reluctantly, eyes narrowing at Methos a moment.

Methos stifled a sigh. Joseph was all together too clever some days. He truly was. Still that was enough of an explanation. Joe knew there were interesting abilities attributed to Immortals occasionally, like Ramirez and his inability to drown no matter how long underwater or Cassandra and her Voice. Joe believed Ramirez' Chronicle only on Connor's say so, and even at that he was a little skeptical.

"Ramirez really could."

"Yes, he could." Methos agreed.

Further conversation cut off by the pair sitting down at the bar a couple seats from Methos, their movements eerily in time, almost perfect unison.

"What can I get you guys?" Joe asked straightening and taking a step towards them.

"Beer" the dark haired one said pulling cigarettes from his coat and looking around. "Ye c'n smoke in here can't ye?"

Joe snorted and nodded pulling an ashtray from a shelf under the bar and sliding it down.

"Guinness if y' have it. Whatever's on tap if not."

"Pisswater"

"Beer's beer"

Joe snorted. "I've got Guinness."

The dark haired one grinned widely and lit a cigarette, handing the pack to the blonde blindly. The blonde didn't so much as flicker his eyes in the dark haired one's direction taking the pack and pulling a matching lighter from his own coat.

Both were carrying guns. Methos was fairly sure of it, at least a handgun apiece. Likely more weapons than that. Something in how they moved screamed predator, something in the way they looked about the bar...He hadn't lived as long as he had without recognizing..well that was just it. He couldn't quite categorize them. Not mercenary, not psychopaths, not...something of both and something else again. Something they weren't bothering to disguise very much just now, nor bothering to hide a weariness that was more than lack of sleep.

"Haven't seen you two in here before." Joe said conversationally.

"Aye, jus' visitin'," the dark haired one said with a shrug. "Pretty country up here."

"Mmm c'n only go so long without a shore of some sort to wander about a bit." the blonde agreed. "An' not quite such a bloody madhouse as Seattle or some such."

They definitely would prefer to be left alone, that much was obvious but weren't trying to be unfriendly exactly. Methos just barely stopped himself from shaking his head.

The buzz skittered along the edge of his senses a moment before MacLeod walked in, an instant before the door opened both the strangers stiffened, heads turning to each other. Methos managed a cheery "About time you got here MacLeod!"

Methos watched the pair closely out of the corner of his eye, ignoring the demanding look from Joe. He didn't know, he saw their reaction as well, as if they sensed MacLeod somehow. That was entirely impossible, unless they were Immortal, which Methos was certain they weren't. Something else but not Immortal.

"Adam, Joe," Duncan said frowning just a little as he sat down. Of bloody course between Methos and the two strangers, obscuring Methos' careful watching of them. How the bloody hell had the boyscout managed to survive four hundred years was almost baffling. The man seemed to have no sense of his surroundings half the time. Methos wasn't sure if it was arrogance or stupidity. Oh he was watchful enough at times but, something of the man once groomed to be Clan Chieftain perhaps. Lord and Master, arrogant in the fact that he was safe in his domain and at once surveying all and seeing bloody nothing beyond his own nose at times. There were times Methos just wanted to throttle the man and this was one of them. The only Immortal about was Methos, so MacLeod seemed to ignore everything. If he didn't like Joe so well Methos just might beat MacLeod's head in. He'd have the time to let Mac get over his snit about that---but that time might be more years than Joe had. Someday, that was definitely on the to-do list if MacLeod hadn't managed to pick up a bit of fucking sense after Joe was gone.

Methos leaned an elbow on the bar, sprawling and resting his head on his hand as he listened to Mac's ranting about the mishap with the shipping of whatever the hell he'd bought there. Joe made grumbling noises and gave Mac a glare. Methos wondered just what sort of trouble Mac had managed to find in Boston.

The two were carrying on a conversation, silent, made up entirely of little glances and near-nonexistent movement--the faintest lift of an eyebrow that was so minimal as to almost be imagined, a shift on the stool that was an answer but easily ignored as a resettle-stretch. They finished their beers slowly enough, but left immediately after.

"Goddamn Mac, what the hell did you do in Boston?" Joe hissed leaning in. "Do you know what kind of mess is going on at the moment? Do you care? FOUR challenges in eight days!"

"I'll see you tomorrow Joe." Methos said, grabbing his own coat and heading for the door. Most Immortals never had a clue about what Watchers did to cover up evidence of the game, then again, most Immortals didn't leave near as much evidence of the game behind as MacLeod did. Others managed to do a bit of their own cover up, unwittingly helping the watchers, and they didn't wander around using the same bloody name in the same bloody places over and over and over and over and thinking a few months was long enough for the last murder investigation to have blown over.

~*~

"We're being followed," Murphy said in Russian.

"Da" Connor agreed. "The wary one"

"Think I'd learn to be a bit wary too if I had the fucking pied piper of decapitated bodies for a friend" Murphy snorted.

Connor choked.

"So what do you think?"

"I haven't decided no more than you have, Murph," Connor sighed and reached for his cigarettes, Murphy mirroring the motion with his own pack.

~*~

Methos wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or shoot Mac at the 'fucking pied piper of decapitated bodies' his Russian was more than a little rusty but he was certain he hadn't heard that wrong. He headed for MacLeod's loft to find out Mac's version of what the hells had gone on in Boston. He'd get an accounting from Joe tomorrow.

Exactly what reason might be in as much question as what exactly they were...but they were hunters of some sort. Hunters that moved together more completely and naturally than the Horsemen had even after a thousand years and knowing every move and habit of the other three. Hunters interested in MacLeod.

~*~

"It's just me MacLeod," Methos called out as the elevator to the loft apartment stopped.

"Methos."

"You're out of beer, you should do your shopping." Methos held up his glass of scotch in an affronted manner.

"Where did you go in such a hurry earlier?"

"I followed the two that were at the bar."

"What on earth for Methos?"

"It was educational." Methos glared. "MacLeod you need to pull your head out of your arse once in a while. They were watching too closely, they tensed a second before you entered. It was before the door opened as if they felt you."

"They weren't Immortal, or even pre-Immortal..." Mac frowned.

"No, but they're something, and their exact words about you--you're the pied piper of decapitated corpses."

MacLeod's expression would have been hilarious if Methos wasn't ready to put his thick Scottish skull through the nearest brick wall.

"Even better they spoke flawless Russian when they said that Mac."

"Joe said they were Irish."

Methos simply glared at the younger Immortal in disbelief.

~*~

"WHAT???"

Connor flinched and held the phone a bit away from his ear, on the bed Murphy winced in sympathy. "There's something different about this one..."

"Well, decapitated bodies are a little fucking unique."

"I don't know, neither of us feel quite right."

"I'm heading out there, so's the Scotland Yard guy and the fucking idiot from Interpol there was a fourth body that turned up without a head, and the guy had been last seen arguing on the sidewalk in front of the Hilton with MacLeod. Keep yourselves out of trouble."

"Aye, we will." Connor agreed, not at all surprised when Smecker merely hung up the phone. "Ye hear?"

Murphy snorted. "How could I not?" he gave his twin a worried slightly unnerved half-smile, crushed his cigarette out and started gnawing at a hangnail.

Connor scrunched up his face in thought and bit his lip. "There's something about that MacLeod."

"Aye, but what?" Murphy frowned.

Connor snorted and shook his head as he flopped down on the bed next to Murphy. Only once before had Smecker pointed them in a direction. Sick bastard that had bought his way out of even being charged. Running a kiddie porn ring and had so many layers of protection and smokescreens there was no way to legally get near the bastard. They'd known. They'd known at first glance that that one was meant to face the Saints brand of justice, though they'd carefully taken their time, gathering their own proof and learning the man's habits. This one they didn't know what to make of.

Murphy sat up and reached for the laptop.

Connor raised an eyebrow at his brother but waited patiently, lit a cigarette and managed not to comment on Murph's tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he worked. He wasn't in the mood for a scuffle with Murph, even a little one at teasing his brother over the ridiculous habit.

"Church on Eustace Avenue." Murphy said quietly. "Just a couple blocks over from the Blues Bar."

"Aye" Connor nodded and got up moving for his shoes.

~*~

Talking to MacLeod had been about like talking to a brick wall. Somehow, Methos wasn't really surprised by that. Charlotte had needed his help. So MacLeod, chivalrous gentleman that he was, helped her. He didn't understand why Methos was so upset. And...gods, it was so tempting to take MacLeod's head just to be done with the frustration of dealing with him.

Methos drew his coat tighter around him as he walked toward Joe's. His next residence was going to be in a desert clime. The foggy damp chill this morning was absolutely miserable. Joe hopefully would have more information on what the hell had happened in Boston. Mac had just gotten indignant and would be Clan Laird had had a full blown bloody tantrum about his judgment being questioned and how he was so disappointed Methos didn't understand what was necessary to do to protect friends. In all it put Methos in mind of the surly eleven year old that had came with his fiftieth wife, blustering and raging when he'd been caught in a mistake. If somehow the world at large ever learned of the existance of immortals, Methos was fairly sure it would be laid at the doorstep of the Highland Infant and stubborn ways.

Movement caught his eye, black coats, two heads, almost attention-getting in their absolute unison, mirroring of movement.

Methos detoured down Eustace following at a casual distance, his mind reeling with what was down that direction. Holy ground, that was something at least and a little bookstore just a bit down from that. He really wasn't sure if he was comforted or worried as the two men slipped into the Catholic church. Forty wet miserable minutes later, Methos cautiously slipped into the church.

Side by side, heads bowed, fingers working over well worn rosary beads and mouths moving, just barely in reverent silent whispers...Latin? Traditionalists saying their prayers in Latin, though they were young enough that the Church's relaxation of allowing native language mass and prayers was likely all they knew, or at the very least all they were old enough to remember.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

Methos recognized that expression somewhere between peace, ecstacy and bloodlust. He'd seen it before, that strongly on Columban's face when he'd interrupted the mad old man at his prayers in his cave...

Just what had MacLeod managed to stir up in Boston.

~*~

"What are you doing here?" Joe asked slightly surprised shaking his head reaching for a beer and set it down on the bar in front of Methos' usual spot before the Old Man reached his favorite stool. "Mac said he expected you to be going on one of your walkabouts."

"I still might." Methos huffed. And it figured Mac would decide it was his displeasure that would make Methos leave, disappear for a time.

"What happened?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing. Mac caught some attention that isn't healthy in Boston."

Joe nearly growled. "Charlotte Montraven"

"Hmm?" Methos frowned racking his brain, he had read MacLeod's chronicle, both MacLeod's honestly start to finish. Connor's because he was Tak-ne's student. Duncan, well he was Duncan. There wasn't a bloody watcher who didn't hear about the legend of Duncan Bloody MacLeod. "Sharasa Rah Veen." Methos whispered. "Son. Of. A. Bitch."

"Who?"

"How old do the chronicles list Charlotte Montraven?"

"Ballpark 1300, just a bit older than Amanda."

Methos shook his head. "You got photos in the database so I can see for sure? I--it has to be. The one I saw a few years back certainly."

"Old Man?"

"She's older than that. Closer to twenty three centuries not thirteen. Plays the damsel in distress very well."

Joe snorted.

"Can I use your computer?"

Joe's eyes narrowed.

"I just want to see what's coming. The bloody infant's stuck his neck in it this time and mine's not getting caught by association."

"Is saying no going to do a damn bit of good?"

"Joseph, you wound me, surely you know me better than that by now."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I do. Why the hell did I ask that? No you don't have permission."

"Thanks Joe." Methos said as he stood and headed back for Joe's office.

"Old Man"

"The Pied Piper of Decapitated Corpses, Joe."

"WHAT?"

"The two Irish guys last night. That's what they called Mac--in Russian."

"Jesus." Joe groaned fighting morbid laughter. The mess Mac had left behind in Boston just ratcheted up several notches in Joe's mind. "Hunters?"

"Yeah, though for who, or what, or why, or if they're anything we should try to do anything about is...I don't think doing anything about them is advisable, Joe."

"Why not?"

"If they're hunting Mac, it's not because of the Game. Not..." Methos shook his head. "They're something else again, and their allegiances aren't likely to cross paths with Immortals much of anywhere. Not those two."

"WHY NOT?"

"They remind me of Columban," Methos said and headed toward Joe's office in the back.

"Just once, someday, I'd like a straight answer from someone over the century mark." Joe grumbled. "Who's Columban!?" he shouted after Methos. He didn't get an answer, not like he expected one anyway. After all, when did the Old Man actually explain a goddamned thing that was absolutely necessary, or just to make Mac's head explode when he was bored.


~*~

Anton Grinkov, his students Richard Shaunnessey and Wilhelm Unger, and Unger's student Winston Philmore. Grinkov was the eldest of the four at just barely six hundred. Shaunnessey and Unger 450 and 300, and Philmore little over a century since his first death. None of them active in the game much, avoiding major populated areas and other immortals. Grinkov's repeated trips through medical school...

Why the hell had the four of them gone after Mac?

No, why had the four of them gone after Charlotte Montraven. They weren't hunters. They were barely even bloody active. Grinkov had all of a dozen heads in six hundred bloody years attributed to him. Shaunnessey tended to make his home on holy ground and not a single head in four hundred fifty years ever known taken by him. Unger had a couple decades of fairly regular challenges, lucky and damn good with a sword when he was first immortal before Grinkov took him as student. By all accounts even after twenty-three years immortal and thirty heads, Unger at that point had had no real idea of what the hell he was and had made repeated suicide attempts, which was nothing more than a study in masochism for an immortal who didnt' know they were immortal prior to Grinkov. Philmore was pretty much always kept with one of the other three. The last killed, and that was probably a kindness. 6'6 and 300lbs with the mental comprehension of a child, gentle sweet, rather what Silas would have been if he hadn't been so brutally twisted to the point of psychotic over the centuries, Philmore had found far kinder keepers in Grinkov Shaunnessey and Unger than Silas had in Kronos Caspian and Methos.

Grinkov's teacher was listed as Dasha Nikolova. Head taken by Charlotte Montraven. Another student of Dasha's Anna Bridges, was....the quickening was claimed by Charlotte Montraven but she seemed to have decapitated Bridges as she was reviving from being burnt at the stake, accused of witchcraft--by Charlotte Montraven. In fact despite the number of heads accredited to Montraven, there wasn't a single accounting of a challenge. Several poisonings, followed by heads taken while the victim was dying or reviving. The same with gunshot wounds.

"MacLeod's taste in lying vipers strikes again." Methos sighed.

"Mmm"

Methos looked up at Joe standing in the office doorway.

"Mac met her about eighty years ago. Not much contact..." Joe offered.

"Just enough to play the helpless card with Mac?"

Joe nodded. He'd done his own searching when Grinkov's watcher contacted him.

~*~

"What did you want Joe?" Duncan said frowning as he approached the bar, not seeing the Immortal he felt the presence of, relaxing as he spotted Methos ambling out from the back, then glaring.

"You--"

"Mr. MacLeod. Your assistant said you'd be here,"

"Agent Smecker."

"Is there somewhere we can go for a little chat..."

"I've nothing to hide from my friends..."

~*~

Smecker glared. "You think you're really fucking something don't you MacLeod." He ignored Clouseau and Lestrade whatever the hell their names were, he didn't particularly care, and as long as they were having fits over what he tossed at them they weren't fucking up his investigation.

"I've nothing to hide from my friends."

Smecker glanced at the friends, the skinny kid that was probably younger than the twins by the look of him hunched shouldered and swimming in a baggy sweater slunk forward. The older guy behind the bar was fighting a long-suffering look.

"Fine. We'll start from start to finish. Your friends might be well advised you're the fucking pied piper of decapitated corpses you smug son of a bitch and I am going to get you and your goddamned ring. Because we're also looking at destruction of property of the US government charges. I'm getting your ass one way or another, MacLeod, and that is a promise. And arson."

"Arson?"

"Yeah, Arson. Lab where part of the DNA evidence left at the sight of Anthony Gehrin's murder scene, chunk of long dark hair. You've gotten a haircut since you were in Boston, what happened to your pony tail MacLeod. That wasn't the only lab that the hair was sent to and we have a warrant for DNA sample from you as well."

"What? On what grounds? What could you possibly have on.."

"Well lets start in 1993, that's the furtherest back I could manage, lots of small fires around investigations involving you--literally MacLeod. Lots of computers selfdestructing from viruses that held information on crimes--mostly murders involving headless bodies, connected to you. Oh close your goddamned mouth I'm not buying the wronged innocent act. I have managed to come up with SEVENTY NINE headless corpses in five countries--with you positively ID in the vicinity, and questioned in seventy-two of them. FOURTEEN YEARS OF HEADLESS BODIES. And you thought no one would notice? We also have fourteen years of arsons, destruction of governmental property in seven countries. We have witness tampering, we have.."

"WHAT?"

~*~

Joe paled as he listened to the FBI agent, with a Scotland Yard and Interpol agent behind him, go through the list of charges, and the stack of papers pulled from the briefcase, seventy-nine single sheets of paper, each with a photograph attached. The most basic rundown of the victim's statistics--name, age, residence, cause of death-decapitation in everyone.

"You canna think"

"Oh I know. And I'm going to prove. The only two murders remotely connected to you that I actually believe you're innocent of--Richard Ryan," another piece of paper with a morgue shot of Richie attached. "And Tessa Noel. They were shot to death. That doesn't fit your MO at all. Everything else, yeah. I know you did it, and I'm going to get you for it."

~*~

"This is preposterous..."

"MAC" Joe growled after the FBI agent had flounced out dragging the other two and headed, by his own words, toward the Seacouver PD.

"What you can't think they have a case. The charges were dismissed or never even brought..."

Joe raised an eyebrow.

Mac sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

"What I want to know is who screwed up? A lot of that should have been destroyed..." Methos glared. He could see the pieces falling into place for MacLeod. He moved around the back of the bar and helped himself to a beer.

Joe shook his head. "I don't know but it's going to be looked into that's for sure. And whoever they have designing the viruses is going to have to step it up. This is not good. Damn it Mac. What the hell were you thinking?"

"A band of Horsemen Wannabes were after a friend of mine, one who has.."

"Charlotte Montraven, originally Sharasa Rah Veen. I actually found a decent picture in her file this time around. She's 2300 and one of the most manipulative scheming bitches that ever has existed, she's taken over 200 heads and not a one of them in a fair challenge including Anton Grinkov, last using the name Anthony Gehrin's teacher Dasha Nikolova and another student of Dasha's Anne Bridges, who was Grinkov's lover for a century."

"What--"

"She accused Anne Bridges of WItchcraft and decapitated her after she was burnt at the stake."

"Charlotte wouldn't"

"Charlotte did, you killed a man with an IQ that was roughly 60, a serial priest, a doctor and a man whose current occupation was listed as a goddamned social worker who did a lot of work with getting kids out of the gangs in Pittsburg..."

"Vengeance, Charlotte's changed.."

"She set you up. She sent you after them, telling you they were big bad evil and out to trick you into thinking she was the bad guy Charlotte tends to hunt Pre-Immortal's, kill them, and take their heads immediately upon recovery of their first death, the last one was a 12 year old boy in Boston five months ago." Methos glared. "You were taken ,MacLeod. And that flouncing loudmouth has too damned good of a case. He's got too much. Circumstantial or not, he's got too much."

"You let him in the--"

"I didn't let him do anything he broke into my office and hacked, he was courteous enough to tell me he was going to. But I did tell him no" Joe huffed.

Mac glared at Methos. "I was trying to protect a friend..."

"YOU. WERE. USED! AND YOU WILL BE THE ONE WHO PAYS FOR IT ALONG WITH EVERYONE NEAR YOU! YOU HAVE THE FBI AND ..."

"Interpol, Scotland Yard, probably the major law enforcement of every country you've taken a head in in the last twenty years if Smecker keeps digging." Joe grumbled. "You've got to goddamn think once in a while, Mac."

Methos sat his beer down and grabbed his coat. Mac was digging in, the stubborn I meant to do right so all is well I protect my clan...Best he could tell they weren't after vengeance. Shaunnessey had been the one to find the infant, and quietly arrange the adoption with friends of his, that infant had been the twleve year old boy who was the latest head attributed to Charlotte Montraven. Just the pieces he'd managed to gather from the Watcher's database...they weren't out for Vengeance. Justice.

And MacLeod's blnid stupidity for anything with a nice set of tits and a way to work the oh poor helpless me I'm scared Mac with a flutter of their eyelashes. He'd let Joe try to argue Mac out of his stubborn pout at being caught and proven horrifically wrong. Because it wasn't his fault for not checking the facts, for not stopping and thinking, for not questioning, or even bloody calling Joe and Mac had called Joe before to ask who some Immortal or another was, he didn't often, more often Joe volunteered the information when Mac let something slip or Amanda, or Methos, or COnnor who caught enough of what was going on to pass it on to Joe and ask. He was going to take the idiot's head if he stayed.

Mac's idealism, his unwavering belief in right and wrong and streak of chivalry were sometimes his best qualities, but they certainly took their turn at being his most frustrating and worst qualities at all. And Methos was not able to dredge up the patience for that just now.

~*~

Methos nearly ran over the pair, he wondered if they were just now finishing their prayers, if they had they'd been on thier knees nearer to five hours. The slow, stiff gait they seemed to have at the moment seemed to support that idea. Yes, most defnitely Columban. They reminded him of Columban. Shit.

"Fancy meetin' y' here," the blonde sighed, a look exchanged between the pair.

"Let us buy y' a drink f'r nearly runnin' ye over," the dark haired one smiled. Not threatening, almost friendly.

Methos looked from one to the other.

"M' Connor, this is m' brother Murphy."

"Adam," Methos managed.

"S' how bout a beer, Adam?"

"Sure," Methos agreed. He was pretty sure he didn't have a choice, not without a potentially messy scene. He'd rather deal with any crazed Immortal hunter than a bloody Saint. There were zealots and do-gooders and lunatics hearing voices, but there were few true Saints. Methos had seen them all, far far fewer of the true Saint variety, but they'd had the same air, the same intensity in their prayers as Columban had. A zealout or madman would be rapturous or carrying on. A true Saint had that other quality, ecstasy, bloodlust, righteousness, the closest they came to peace was their prayers but even then...

~*~

Methos found himself sitting across a table in a booth at one of the dingier bars in Seacouver staring at the pair. "Brothers?"

"Twins, fraternal." the dark haired one smiled.

"Never would have guessed," Methos said honestly. The upturns of the corners of their mouths said they'd heard that often enough in their lifetimes. "So what do you want?"

Eyebrows rose in perfect unison, hands moved for pockets, cigarette pack lighter, cigarette pulled out and lit. Gods the two were downright eerie with their mirrored movements. "Three beers." Murphy told the barmaid.

"What makes you think we want anything?"

"I followed you a little ways last night. Something bothered me. The Pied Piper of Decapitated Corpses Methos said throwing down the gauntlet and hoping to catch them offgaurd with the Russian.

Eyebrows inclined again, a half-glance exchanged, but damned unruffled.

"A Special Agent Smecker was at Joe's this afternoon and used the same words."

"Smecker's a good man." the blonde, Connor said, his tone nearly threatening. At the very least, promising, a dark promise to be sure if someone hurt the man they declared good.

"You're sure of that?" Methos raised an eyebrow.

"Aye." the both said, an underlying ferociousness to their tone. The barmaid sat the three beer bottles on the table, and took the money from Connor.

"A bit more modern outlook than others like you I've met in the past." Methos said, and let them make of that what they would. Half exchanged glaces, a slight shrug, a tilt of the head.

"Aye, ye've a few years behind ye." the dark haired one said with a half smile.

"Yer friend, he's a wee bit older than he looks. No' sure how that's possible, but it is, isn't it"

Methos shrugged. "If you know that why not turn your sights on me."

The two looked almost startled. "Should we?"

"Some might think so." Methos shrugged.

"An' some might think to damn Smecker. He's a good man."

Methos gave a small nod of acknowledgment to that and took a sip of his beer. He simply waited out the silent conversation of half glances and not-quite shifts of expression, bare millimeter tilts of eyebrows and mouths.

"Mac's a good man, a goddamned stubborn idiot at times, but a good man."

"Aye, but pride before a fall an' all tha'." Murphy shook his head.

"Beat some sense into him t'morrow, stay away from him til after noon." Connor said and the two slid out of the booth and left. "We've no quarrel with you." Connor said softly. And they were out of the bar before Methos could quite shake the feeling he felt Columban staring at him with those damned piercing eyes from somewhere behind him.

~*~

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod" was said in near perfect unison. Two voices, two mortal presences behind him. Mortal he hadn't felt any inkling of another Immortal, Joe had his ears still ringing. He was nearly sick seeing the chronicles of Anton Grinkov, Richard Shaunnessey, Wilhelm Unger and Winston Philmore, at least the highlighted summaries entered into the main database. Sicker still when Joe made him read both Charlotte Montraven and the vague few paragraphs on Sharasa Rah Veen whom Methos had connected with Charlotte. Sharasa disappearing a couple centuries before Charlotte's appearance in the Watchers records.

The cock of two guns, hands fisting in his jacket yanking it off, and he found himself forced to his knees. "Arrogance is your crime, pride a deadly sin. Ye are not judge and jury, ye can be fooled, and to not attempt to seek the truth before ye act is pride at it's worst, arrogance at it's most unforgivable, ye seem t need t' learn yer lessons th' hard way, but tis a lesson best you learn or the next time ye hear us, hear our prayer, twill not be guns we carry." Seamless as if only one was speaking, two voices, flawlessly interchanging as they spoke.

"And Shepherds we Shall be
For Thee, my Lord, for Thee
Power hath descended forth from Thy Hand
our feet may swiftly carry out Thy Commands
So we shall flow a river forth to Thee
and ever teeming with souls it shall be
in Nomine Patris, et Fili, et Spiritus Sancti"

The guns lowered from the back of his head. The gunshots tore through Mac's chest, only having a moment to register and feel the bullets before his heart stopped and he pitched forward.


~*~

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"

Connor stifled a sigh, the look he gave Murphy said he was going to make his twin pay for being the one to deal with Smecker. "He's not a bad man, a bit foolish perhaps, but not a bad man."

"DECAPITATED BODIES!! SEVENTY NINE DECAPITATED BODIES!

"Aye, there is that, but we leave our own trail of corpses."

ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS ARROGANT PISSANT IS--"

"Nay, he's no' got a holy mission or some such thing as that. Talk to the wary one, his friend, or the old man at the bar, ye might get yer answer then, leave the other two at the hotel when ye do though."

Connor held the phone from his ear, letting Murphy hear Smecker's shouting tirade as well.