Disclaimer and Notes: Panzer/Davis owns them; I just play with them. Don't know if I'll ever finish this.

Last Request

By Raine Wynd

Immortal healing or not, riding cross-country on a motorcycle that wasn't designed as a touring bike had to rank as one of the less brilliant ideas Nick Wolfe had ever had. The low rider looked great, ran like a dream, but he'd also never taken it on a trip this long before. His ass was sore, and he was exhausted from the effort it had taken to operate the machine. Still, riding the bike had given him the chance to explore the rest of the country he'd never seen.

Oh, sure, flying would have been quickest, but then he'd have to dig up the “I'm a courier for an antiques dealer” paperwork to clear his sword through security, and he was pretty sure he'd left that with Amanda in Paris. Taking the train from Torago, where he'd been living the past few months, would've involved a far more circuitous route, and he still would've had to catch a bus part of the way. It was late spring, and he was enough of a biker to heed the call of the open road. This way, too, he knew exactly who was in control of how he got to his destination and when. Moreover, the instructions had been something of a puzzle, requiring that he go several different locations.

The directions he'd gotten from Amanda had been vague, but he'd found the martial arts studio easily enough. A few minutes of mutual bonding over motorcycles with the receptionist there had provided him with the name of a bar, not far away, where the receptionist claimed his quarry would often go.

“Joe's” was lit in neon letters near the entrance. Nick dismounted with the quick efficiency of long habit and left his helmet fastened to his bike. Immortal presence hit him in a migraine-inducing flash; grimacing, Nick continued forward. He sincerely hoped whoever the immortal was inside, it was the person he sought.

Near the door, he was amused to note that along with the usual plethora of “credit card accepted here” logos, someone had placed a same-size sticker declaring it a “Religion-Friendly Zone.” Opening the door and stepping across the threshold, he was less amused to feel the shock of holy ground; someone had taken the time to consecrate a pub, which meant that whoever owned the bar knew about immortals — and wasn't taking any chances.

The pub was half-full. His experience at helping Amanda run a club in Paris told him that while the furnishings weren't new, they were meant to last — a traditional long wood bar, an assortment of highly polished wood tables and chairs, a well-lit stage off to one side. Johnny Lang's blues guitar wailed through the speakers as Nick made his way to the bar, noting how no one reacted obviously to his walking in, but that there was definite interest from the wait staff as they tried to see where he was going to sit. Two bartenders were on duty that he could see, but he quickly forgot about the girl as soon as he saw the older gentleman.

“Joe Dawson.” Somehow, Nick wasn't surprised. Moreover, he wasn't surprised Joe was chatting up the immortal Nick had been sensing. “I take it this is your bar?”

Joe turned from talking with the other man and some of his smile faded. “What are you doing here, Nick? I thought you were in Torago.”

“I was,” Nick said simply, amused by the Watcher's surprise. “I decided to take a road trip.” He turned to the other immortal. “Duncan MacLeod, I presume? I'm Nick Wolfe.”

Duncan took the handshake warily. “You know Joe and Amanda?”

Nick grinned at the wariness in the other man's voice. “They once conspired to try to convince me Amanda was dead,” he told Duncan, and was pleased to see Joe wince at the memory. “As in permanently.”

“It was Amanda's idea,” Joe protested as he drew a beer for Nick and set the glass in front of him. “She thought you'd move on with your life, not hunt down the person responsible.”

“Yeah, well, I thought I wasn't going to live forever, either,” Nick reminded him. He smiled at Duncan. “Crazy in love with Amanda. How much more deranged could I get?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Duncan countered coolly. “Depends on whether you're hunting her or me or someone else we know.”

Nick's smile faded. “I'm not hunting.” Nick reached into his jacket and watched the other man tense. He pulled out a padded envelope and placed on the bar. “I came to deliver this to you from Connor.”

“Connor's dead,” Duncan said harshly at the same time Joe said, “That can't be.”

“I figured as much when I got the letter of instructions from his attorney.” Nick shook his head. “It's taken me most of this month to get that and get here. Connor had safe deposit boxes in several locations between here and Torago — I'd open up one to find a key and instructions for another. Damn puzzle pieces. I finally found that one in a bank in Vegas, and no, I have no idea what's in the envelope, only that it's addressed to you or your heirs.”

[and if I can ever figure out what's in the envelope, I might be able to finish it. Suggestions welcome!] 3.15.06

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