STAND BY ME

(A.K.A.: I'M TUCKER, YOU'RE HOLLOWAY)

By JoLayne

EMAIL: EnyaJo@aol.com

CHARACTERS: Duncan, Methos, Joe, Amy, a few made up ones to tell the story

CLASSIFICATION: Action

SUMMARY: Response to the "Brave words from a dying, senile old man" challenge on HLGenFic.

DISCLAIMER: All characters you recognize belong solely to Panzer/Davis.

MacLeod and Methos were sitting in a dark, dusty bar, nothing new. They took turns buying rounds and argued if it was in fact Mac's sweater that Methos was wearing as they nursed a scotch on the rocks and a glass of wine. The only thing that made this night different for them than any other night was that it was the debut of a new musical act on stage. Joe Dawson's Blues Band.

Since Joe retired from the watchers, he returned to his first love, music. The blues. As Mac and Methos watched him expertly manipulate that guitar, accomplishing noises ranging from screeching anger to solemn cries depending on the song, they were entranced.

It seemed that Joe was so into each of his songs, expended so much energy to set the mood of each piece, he had to towel off his forehead and neck between each number. He made a little joke that the lights were a little too hot, "Either that or I'm having hot flashes." The twenty or so in the audience urged him to start another song.

After catching the eyes of Mac and Methos at the table just off to the side of center stage, Joe announced, "This next one is for two of my best friends in the world, Mac and Adam."

They held up their glasses to him as Joe settled back onto the stool.

Joe produced the opening strains of "Stand By Me" on his guitar and the audience immediately started a soft, encouraging clap.

"When the night..." Joe began, but realized he couldn't focus his eyes when he opened them after the opening guitar lick.

"Has come..." The audience sang along with Joe and his band.

"And the land is dark," the was a tightness that start in Joe's fingertips of his left hand.

But he moved on, "And the moon..."

Joe's fingers could no longer make the chords on the neck of his guitar. There was a tingling sensation, as if he was being electrocuted.

"Is the only..."

The guitar neck slipped out of his left hand. Joe's arm involuntarily spasmed and closed up to his body. A piercing spasm washed up and down his arm. A tightness choked hold of his chest. If the guitar wasn't strapped around his neck, it would have slipped to the floor.

Joe slumped forward, head smashing against the mic and landed in a heap on the stage, then rolled off the edge. Mac jumped off his chair and stopped Joe's momentum. Methos stood and knocked over their table making the glasses and glass enclosed candle break when hitting the hard wood floor. A guy sitting at the next table stamped out the fire that erupted when the flame mixed with the spilled alcohol.

MacLeod bent over his old friend," What is it?" The doctor in Methos kicked in and kneeled over him, loosened Joe's shirt and checked his pulse. MacLeod asked again, "What is it?"

"Joe is having a heart attack," Methos told him, then yelled to the converging, concerned crowd, "Call 911!"

Joe tried to focus on the ceiling or the heads of his friends, the faces of his band members who appeared above Methos' head. <This can't be happening!> Joe groaned, could hardly breath. <My life is just beginning!> Then it all went black.

Joe found himself sitting in a wheelchair looking out on the gardens of the Peaceful Rest Nursing Home. "Damn," he cried out to a nurse pushing another patient toward him. "Can you at least give me my damn legs?"

The nurse bent to set the brake on the wheelchair of Joe's roommate, Gerald Nedemeier, lost cause, and said, "Mr. Dawson, it's been decided by your doctors that walking would put too much stress on your heart."

"I don't need to walk on them," he pointed at his stumps, covered with a yellow eyelet blanket. Would his dignity ever be restored?

"I just want them."

"Take it up with the doctor on his next visit," the nurse said while walking away.

Joe asked, "When will that be?"

"Next Monday," she said over her shoulder, heading back to the building.

Monday... it seemed like a lifetime away. Joe looked at Gerald. Eighty-one years old, a watcher for over 60 years. At one time, had quite the rep in the system. Solid, loyal, diligent, somewhat jaded, smart, able to amuse himself during the down times of a stakeout, not afraid to put pen to paper to chronicle every deed his immortal did. Gerald had all the qualities that made up a good watcher. Before Joe ended up his roomie at Peaceful Rest, it had been almost 30 years since he saw the man, when Joe was just entering the fold. Gerald had been fit, athletic, took chances that could only be blamed on stupid courage.

There he was, stooped over, an oxygen hose in his nose, wrinkled, in and out of lucidity, drooling. Old Gerald was like he had molted, his youth gone, only the shell was left, and it had been run over by a truck one too many times.

Joe had felt that buzzing in his ears for too long. Was there a pesky fly around? He swatted the air. No, it had to be coming from him. He thought he had been regaining his strength since his transfer from the hospital to the nursing home after the heart attack, but on that bright, sunny, breeze-free day, he just felt tired.

Methos was stretched out on his couch watching Citizen Kane on a classics movie channel. After all these years, he could finally find out what the hell Rosebud was. In the movie, the reporter walked into the basement of Xanadu, stuffed with priceless artifacts that Kane had collected. Methos thought the man should have simplified. There was no use having all that stuff in a basement. Stuff only tied you down. He felt the tightening of his chest, the rumble in his inner ear, the prickly sensation on the back of his neck. It could only mean that an immortal was nearby.

Because he wasn't expecting anyone, he turned up the TV via the remote to mask noise, sprang from the couch and grabbed his sword from inside his coat hanging by the door.

The knock on the door made Methos shrug. It was either Mac or an unbearably ballsy immortal... either one would be bad news. He wasn't in the mood for company and wanted to finish watching the movie. He looked through the peephole and saw it was the former.

MacLeod walked in and said, "Hey." Then he reacted to the noise of the TV, switched it off. "We have to talk." Methos was disturbed that he so nonchalantly turned off his movie, just when it was getting good.

"I was watching that."

"Citizen Kane? What took you so long? This is more important."

"It can't wait for another five minutes?" Methos turned on the TV again. The reporter was still talking to the workmen. "I just want to see this."

MacLeod turned it off again with the remote. "Rosebud's the sled, Methos."

"What sled?"

"The sled," Mac said, figuring that's all the explanation needed. Then he continued, "The sled Kane played with when he was a kid, before his life was turned upside down with all the money from the Colorado Lode."

"MacLeod!" Methos jammed his hands on his hips. "Why would you tell me the ending? I invested two hours on that blasted thing!"

"You've had 50 years to see it!"

"I've been busy!"

MacLeod watched as Methos clicked off the TV, not needing to see more, then said, "This is about Joe."

"What about him? Did something happen?"

"Have you been able to talk to him?"

Methos said, "Not since he was in the hospital."

"Me neither. Isn't that strange?"

There was a pause, then Methos shrugged, "He's fine."

"How do you know that?"

"He's in a nursing home for watchers," Methos explained. "He's only supposed to be in there for another week or so, then we'll be able to talk to him."

"And where did you get this information?"

"I talked to Mike at the bar last week."

MacLeod paced, "I don't like it. Where is this nursing home?"

"Out on I-90."

"Let's go." Duncan actually grabbed Methos' arm and pulled him to the door, making Methos more than a little ticked.

Methos stopped him, "Are you insane? Or is your behavior today just a temporary thing?"

"Why?"

"I'm not walking into a watcher establishment."

"Why not? You were pretty tight with them at one time."

"At one time. And I wasn't tight," Methos spouted. "I've never been tight."

"I know," Mac agreed. "A friend had a heart attack and you aren't lifting a finger to at least see him?"

"Joe's fine."

"Let's go see for ourselves," Mac threw Methos' coat at him.

"MacLeod, slow down. I'm serious. I'm not walking in there."

"Why not?"

"Ms. Buttinsky Zoll outed me. I enjoy a low profile. Adam Pierson is not walking into a den of watchers, I don't care who's in there. They're taking care of Joe, he's one of their own. Mike says he's fine."

"It's been too long without word."

"May I remind you that mortals take a while to heal."

"Joe should have his friends around him."

"Immortal friends?" Methos raised an eyebrow. "What Joe needs is rest, medication, whatever doctors do nowadays for their patients. I'll send a card."

"How can you be so Goddamned heartless?"

Methos stared at him, "You think you can call me names and it's going to make me leap to your command and commit suicide? Come on, you know me better than that."

"I thought I did." MacLeod threw up his arms. "Fine. I'll go alone. Where on I-90 is this place?"

Methos told him, "You really need to get off caffeine, my friend. You can at least have a plan. And, *you* are also known by the watchers. Does that make you comfortable?"

"I couldn't care less."

"Well, bully for you."

Amy Thomas sat in incognito among a myriad of people on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art watching a few read books, drink cups of coffee from the street vendor and a man in an unkempt overcoat mimicking the walk of a pigeon on the step above his. She leaned back and stretched her arms and worked the kinks out of her neck.

Her latest assignment was a meek sort. There wasn't much to chronicle on Arthur Pangent, the three hundred year old immortal from Northern England. In fact, that trip to New York City was enough to make Amy jump for joy. She might actually have the opportunity to chronicle something.

At times she relished not being close to danger, like she had been with Morgan Walker, but really! This guy did absolutely nothing! He wasn't even a pleasure to look at. Arthur had spent every day of the last week in the Big Apple eating a tuna or bologna sandwich on the subway, arrive at the museum by noon, then walked every single hallway looking at the artwork, getting back on the subway to his hotel room, stopping at a deli on the way. His light would go off at 11:10, just after the news, Amy assumed, then the whole process would start all over again. Each day the same.

She walked down the steps to get some exercise and wait for Mr. Punctual to re-emerge, but she knew he'd be in there for the rest of the day. When she reached the street, she about jumped for joy when her cell phone rang. She'd put in for a transfer, maybe it finally came through. "Thomas," she said after pushing the button.

"It's Adam," Amy heard a low voice say.

She was in a good mood because of the intrusion, smiled, "Adam who?" The joke obviously didn't go over. Of course she knew who Adam was, but hadn't seen him since the incident with Walker. After a pause, she wondered, "How did you get my number?"

"I have ways."

"I'm sure you do." She lightly asked, "How've you been?"

"Worried about your dad."

"Joe? What happened?"

"You don't know?"

"What? Is he sick or..." she hated to even admit it was a possibility, but she asked, "Dead?"

"He had a heart attack two weeks ago."

Amy about dropped the phone. Her knees buckled. Methos asked, "No one contacted you?"

"No! Why didn't you?"

"I figured you'd be informed. Meet me."

"Where? When?"

"Where are you?"

"On the corner of Fifth Avenue and 82nd Street."

"Too specific. What city are you in?"

"New York."

Methos paused and said, "It's 9 am here. Meet me at Seacouver Zoo, the penguins, 6 tonight."

"How is Joe?"

"Don't worry. He's fine. I'll fill you in when I see you. 6 pm. Pacific time."

"I'll be there." She hung up and ran to her car. She had wanted a diversion, but this was ridiculous!

MacLeod and Methos hovered around the penguin exhibit, getting out of the way of a bunch of kids who oohed and aahed, pointed at the birds as they waddled across the fake snow and dove into the water.

MacLeod looked at his watch, "What time did you tell her to meet us?"

"6."

"It's ten after. Try her cell again."

"I did while you were in the bathroom."

A child stepped on Mac's foot, making him grab hold of the boy to steady him. When the boy looked up at the tall man in a long, dark coat, he froze. "Sorry."

"Just be careful," MacLeod smiled. Then he asked Methos, "Tell me again why we couldn't just drive over to the home ourselves?"

Methos glared at him, "If anyone can get in to see Joe, it's Amy. Can you imagine nobody called her? Why didn't you?"

"To be honest, I didn't think about it. I've never even met Amy. Joe told me what you did for her, though," MacLeod said with a friendly smile.

Methos humphed, "I live for your gratitude, Highlander."

"Adam!" they heard Amy call and turned to her voice. When she ran up to them, she demanded, "Where is he? How is he? Damn you!"

Amy focused on Adam Pierson. "I've been frantic all damn day."

"He's fine," Methos said.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod," Mac said with his hand raised to shake hers.

She slapped it away, "Some friends you are... you can't tell me Joe had a heart attack?"

"Settle down," Methos said, steering her to the exit. "We took for granted your watcher family would have let you know."

"How bad was the attack?"

"I'm not sure," Mac admitted, taking her other arm.

"Don't push me," Amy spouted. Jerked off their hands. "I want to see Joe. Now."

Methos raised his hands in exasperation, "Yes, okay, get your arse in the car. We aren't going to fly."

Joe was laying in bed with a massive headache. He stared at the acoustical tile of the ceiling and was at least grateful his chest didn't hurt anymore. He was so tired and wondered if he'd ever get his strength back. The same nurse from the garden came in and immediately went to work giving Joe his scheduled injection. Joe took for granted that it was his pain killer and didn't even make a fuss. He was actually looking forward to it getting rid of his headache and that buzzing in his ears.

Then the nurse took his finger and pricked the end of it with a needle. "Ow!" Joe flinched. "What was that for?"

"Blood work," was all the nurse said.

He laughed to himself. He used to be leery of needles, now it was old hat. But, shouldn't he be off the pain killers soon? As soon as the nurse was finished, Joe felt groggy, so he closed his eyes and settled in for a good long sleep.

When the nurse moved to Gerald's bedside and readied his injection. Joe's eyes snapped open when the supper tray from Gerald's table crashed to the floor. The old man was trying for everything he's worth to stop the nurse. "No," he insisted. "You're not going to do it anymore!"

The nurse ran out of the room. Gerald looked at the door and then at Joe, then realized the sudden silence in the room, and the lack of an injection into his system. "Well, that didn't take much. Why didn't I have the guts to do that before?"

"What's the problem, old man?"

"They're killing us, Dawson."

Joe smiled, shook his head, "Get some sleep."

The old man pulled himself up on his right elbow and stated to Joe, "That's all we do around here. Sleep. If I never sleep again, it will be good news for me. You're new, so it hasn't hit you yet. I've been here for 6 months. They're killing us, I tell you as sure as I'm laying here."

Just then, the nurse came back with two orderlies. Big burly orderlies. What did she need two musclemen to subdue a dying, senile old man for? The old man fought them off as bravely as he could, but to no avail. Gerald yelled at Joe, "Get the hell out of here, Dawson! You're going to look like me in 6 months! It's too late for me, but you, Dawson..." Gerald took the time to bite the hand of one of the orderlies who was trying to cover his mouth, making the big guy howl in pain. "Get out of here!"

Joe watched as it took both men and half of the nurse to get him flat on the bed to give the 81 year old man his shot. Gerald was expending more energy than Joe had seen the whole time he had been in that place. For the first time, Joe finally wondered what the hell was in those shots, that he was just given. He looked at the pin prick on his finger. Blood work for what?

But, he didn't have much time to wonder, the shot had kicked in. His head felt light. When he tried to raise his hand, to get the attention of the nurse, it felt like it weighed a ton. Joe tilted his head to the left to look at Gerald, who was no longer a bull in a china shop. He was laying flat. Eyes drooping. Breathing heavy. Drool seeping down his cheek.

Amy left Methos and MacLeod in the car and barreled through the double doors of Peaceful Rest Nursing Home. "Who's in charge here?" she asked the first worker she came across.

The meek nurses aide pointed to a formidable woman dressed in a suit and starched blouse standing in the nurse's station. Amy stomped to her and instructed, "I came to see my father. Joseph Dawson. Now."

The woman in the suit, with the perfectly positioned name tag reading Ms. Barrett on her collar, looked up from the paperwork to look Amy up and down. "And you are?"

"I'm his daughter, Amy Thomas. And how dare you not tell me, his only family, that he's ill and a patient here!"

"Keep your voice down, miss," Ms. Barrett calmly stated.

"What room is he in?"

One of the nurses sitting at the station said, "133," before thinking, and before she got the look that could kill from Ms. Barrett.

When Amy took off down the hallway marked Rooms 100-140, Ms. Barrett followed.

"Hold on, young lady. This is a rest home. Mr. Dawson is taking a well deserved nap. We can inform you when he's ready for visitors."

"He's ready for me now. I'm his daughter," Amy said, without looking at Ms. Barrett. She found 133 and went right in. Ms. Barrett walked away, determinedly. As soon as Amy saw Joe, she stopped dead in her tracks. It was the first time she'd seen him without his legs. His hair was longer, uncombed, and he looked so old.

Joe opened his eyes. He focused on the female form in the doorway. "Laura?" he softly asked, thinking it was the one love of his life. The mother of his only child.

Amy moved forward, bent down so he could see her, "It's Amy."

"Amy?" He grabbed her hand.

She smiled. "How are you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? You have a heart attack and in a nursing home and you're wondering why I'd want to see you?"

Joe smiled at his daughter. It was the first time he's seen her since she left the bar in Paris after finding out that he was her father, not the man who raised her. Methos said she'd be back. All those years since, how he hoped she'd be back one day. And how she looked like her mother. But, why did she have to see him like this? He could about imagine what he looked like.

Amy leaned closer to Joe and kissed him on the cheek, "What are you doing in here?"

"Taking a nap."

"I hate to tell you this, but... you look terrible. You have black circles under your eyes, it looks like you haven't slept at all. You look weak. Are you okay?"

"I've been better."

Amy saw the other man in the other bed. He didn't look much better than Joe. What were they doing to them? Joe was a vibrant man, still a young man. The thought that he was three years older than the last time she saw him didn't make her think he would have aged that much.

Joe shut his eyes again, Amy felt the pulse on his neck. It was steady as far as she could tell. She'd never seen a person after a heart attack and didn't know if this condition was normal or not. Ms. Barrett walked in with the two orderlies. The same ones that subdued Gerald. One of them had a bandaged hand from his bite mark. "Ms. Thomas, you have to leave now."

"I just got here."

"Mr. Dawson is resting."

"I can wait until he wakes up."

Barrett took her arm to move her to the door, "I've also gotten word that you left your assignment in New York City without making sure there was a replacement."

"I just heard about my father."

"One has been assigned to Pangent."

Amy rolled her eyes, someone else to be bored to tears, "What a relief."

Ms. Barrett stated, "Our regular visiting hours are from 8 am until 5 pm. You're more than welcome to come back tomorrow."

"Regular visiting hours? This isn't regular. I'm from out of town and just got here."

"Miss, we have to wake the patients and feed them and bath them and get them settled for the night. You'll only be in the way. You're more than welcome to come back tomorrow."

Amy looked again at her sleeping father, "What's wrong with him?"

"He's had a heart attack."

"I know that," Amy was perturbed, but since Ms. Barrett was using a civil tone, so would she. "But it's not usual for heart attack victims to be sent to nursing homes."

"It is if there isn't anyone to take care of him at home," she said. Amy wondered if that was a personal jab, or just the truth. "Mr. Dawson has no legs. Each step he would take on the prosthetics make extra strain on the heart. He can't take care of himself at this time and has a couple of more weeks of treatment yet to go through, and scheduling is very important."

Amy walked back out to the car and had MacLeod and Methos' undivided attention when she slouched into the back seat. "How is he?" Mac asked.

"He's sleeping." Amy looked out the window at Peaceful Rest and pondered. "I was told to come back tomorrow during regular visiting hours and I can talk to him."

"Did you get to see him?"

"Yes. He looks terrible."

Methos asked, "In what way."

"Weak. Tired. They haven't even combed his hair." She still stared at the building, and asked, "I wonder what Barrett's first name is."

"Who's that?"

"Commandant of the gulag," she said, motioning to the rest home.

Mac asked, "Should we go back in and try it again?"

"No," Amy said. "Take me to Westport and 9th."

"What's that?"

"Regional Watcher Headquarters."

Amy's clearance got her entrance into the library, but unfortunately, not the database. After looking up as much as she could about Peaceful Rest and Barrett, she'd come up with bumpkus. She got out her cell phone and called Adam. There was only one other person in the library that time of night, so she walked to the other side of the room, between two shelves, for privacy. "Yeah," Adam answered.

"I need a password," Amy whispered into the phone.

"For what?"

"I'm not as high up as I thought I was. I can't get into the West Coast database. Do you have any ideas?"

There was a pause on the phone, then Methos asked, "How secure is your phone?"

"I don't know."

"Great," Methos moaned, but he had to tell her. "I don't know if it will work... but... when I was with them I programed in a back door so I could get in even if the passwords were changed."

"Cool!" Amy was sorry she was so loud, hoping that other watcher wouldn't be suspicious. "What is it?"

"I worked in the European bureau, it may not make any difference to the American database...."

"What is it?"

"At the password screen, alt, control, F9, at the new screen, type in Alexa."

"Who's Alexa, Adam," Amy smiled.

"I'll tell you if you aren't shot on sight after trying that back door."

"Great," Amy cringed. "Talk later."

"You're backdoor was still in place," Amy smiled, out of breath.

Methos commented, "Really?" Then shrugged, "Good to know." They looked back, no one was in pursuit. "Why were you running?"

"He have to get Joe the hell out of there."

"Why?"

"Your back door really worked," Amy said, taking some stolen documents out from their hiding place in her coat. "I got to another classified area of the database and I got in. Ms. Barrett's real name is Clarissa Barrymore." Amy sat back and let it sink into the men.

As if it would. They waited, but had to pump her for info. "She was supposedly kicked out of the watchers 5 years ago for being a wacko."

Methos grunted, "You'd think that being a wacko would make her feel right at home with them."

Amy squinted at him, "Hey!"

"Just a joke. What did she do, and why is she back with the watchers?"

Amy told MacLeod, "By the way, we're going back to Peaceful Rest."

"Of course," Mac said.

Methos asked again, "Why was Barrymore kicked out?"

"I can't believe you haven't heard of her."

"So sue me. Who is she?"

"Clarissa Barrymore is a scientist and she was brought into the watchers when she discovered an immortal. To make a long story short, she was caught experimenting on immortals. She'd have them kidnaped and she'd perform tests."

Both Methos and MacLeod hated the thought, and that Joe was in her hands. But, Joe was a mortal. And, didn't Amy say she was out of the watchers? Methos asked, "I thought the place was run by the watchers."

"Peaceful Rest?"

"Yes. That's what Mike said."

"Who's Mike?"

"Never mind."

Amy told them, "It is owned and operated by the watchers. In fact, a lot of elderly watchers are taken there after their retirement. For testing."

MacLeod looked back at her through the rear view mirror as he cruised down the interstate. "Mortals? Why?"

"I found what is called the 'Eureka' document in the database. After Barrymore, Barrett whatever you want to call her was dismissed, she continued researching immortals. The watchers found out. They were going to have a little chat with her about the Watcher Code that she seemed to have forgotten about. She didn't leave it alone, she wasn't quiet. You know, a chat with guns, make an offer you can't refuse to don't tell, don't experiment."

Both Mac and Methos nodded, Amy continued, "Well, they found out she made progress in her research."

Mac turned off the interstate and onto the road to the home. Methos asked, "What was she working on?"

Amy announced, "How to make mortals immortal."

Mac's foot hit the brake and stopped the car, turned along with Methos to stare at Amy. Amy just nodded. "She's almost there. I also found a statistical form on the number of deaths at Peaceful Rest. Do you know how many? 210 so far this year. That doesn't seem to be that big of a number, it is, after all, a nursing home. But, some of the deaths were children, younger men and women, who shouldn't have been put in there in the first place. How they got some of those people, I wasn't able to find out. But I did find a document actually stating the treatments. They're taking samples from the patients and mixing hormones from immortals, blending them, performing gene therapy stuff. It's too technical for me to figure out, but they're injecting them back into the people. Some died within minutes of the injections. Some took longer. Some are only used to get samples."

Mac yelled, "And this is sanctioned by the watchers?"

"A faction of the watchers. They're called the Omega Group. Do you know what that is?" she asked Adam.

He shook his head. "What?"

"I don't know, I was hoping you would. Anyway, they got Joe and we got to get them out of there."

Mac put the pedal to the metal and they arrived in no time at the home. He was going to park in the shadows of the corner of the parking lot, but Amy told him, "Park by the door."

"They'll see us."

"Precisely."

Methos asked, "Are you crazy? We're going to break out a patient, do you think they're not going to stop us?"

"I have IDs here." She handed two badges to Mac and Adam. They strained to see them in the dim light. "I made quite a fuss this evening and I might be remembered. So, you two are members of the Omega Group. Sinclair Holloway and James Tucker."

"Who are they?"

"I have no idea," Amy admitted. "But they'll get you in the door."

Methos grunted, "We just waltz right in there, say we want Joe Dawson and wheel him out?"

"Why not?"

"Amy!" Mac yelled again.

"Holloway and Tucker are very high up, I just couldn't find out their actual job description. There was another password screen that your back door didn't work on. I'm thinking that what they say goes. No questions asked."

Methos asked, "And what happens if you're wrong?"

"I'll see you at the execution," she smiled.

Mac and Methos glared at her, Methos exclaimed, "I don't like your humor, Amy."

"It's just as bad as yours. I didn't like that shot on sight remark at all. Come on. I did the dirty work, you get the glory. Go get him."

Mac looked at the badge. Sinclair Holloway. He took James Tucker's badge from Methos' hand and tossed Holloway's into his lap. "Come on, Sinclair."

Before Methos left the car, he pointed at Amy and said, "This better work."

"It will. Act like an officious jerk and nothing will go wrong."

Methos got out of the car, straightened his clothes and wished he had a clipboard. From past experience, it was always easier to get into buildings if you had a clipboard to show and acted like you were there for a reason. Mac yanked at the door, but it was locked. "Good going, Holloway," Methos smiled.

"I'm Tucker. You're Holloway."

"Whatever."

They rapped on the door and waited for the night nurse to come. Mac hoped Barrett was still there, but she probably wouldn't be. He had the unbearable impulse to punch her in the nose for a start. He looked at Methos. "We should be wearing suits."

"It's Friday."

"So?"

"Casual Fridays."

MacLeod shook his head, "Sometimes I worry about you."

"Someone has to."

The night nurse punched the intercom button on the other side of the door, "Who are you?"

Methos lifted his badge. "Sinclair Holloway. Open the door."

The nurse's eyes widened and snapped to attention. She fumbled with the keys that hung from a chain around her neck as Mac whispered to Methos, "Maybe such higher ups would have their own keys..."

"Well, it didn't faze her," Methos whispered back. He gave the strength gesture and said, "We're going to do this."

As soon as the nurse unlocked the door, Methos and Mac strolled in, past her and to the nurse's station. There was a bookish sort almost asleep, but working on a crossword puzzle. She jumped when Mac asked, "Who are you?"

She nervously said, "Penelope Rice... sir."

"What do you do here?"

"I'm a night aide."

The night nurse joined them, "Can I ask what you're doing here, Mr. Holloway?"

Methos puffed up his chest to act more officious and stated in a very businesslike tone, "We need Joseph Dawson. Now."

"Sir?" Both woman just looked at them.

Methos stated again, "Joseph Dawson, a patient. Where is he?"

"In his room. What do you want him for?"

Methos wondered when the no questions asked would happen like Amy suggested it would. "We're taking him to another facility."

Mac leaned over the desk and found a list of names and numbers. The night nurse grabbed it from him, "This is highly irregular."

Mac sneered at her, put his nose in the air, "Do you enjoy working here?"

"Yes," she said.

"Do you know who you're talking to?"

"I've heard of you."

Mac told Methos, "Room 133." then looked at the nurse, "Right? Did I see that right before you rudely took that list out of my hand? I can have you fired for that. But I won't. I'm good guy. And it's Casual Friday. I don't fire people on Casual Friday."

"Thank you, sir," the nurse said, followed them down the 100-140 hallway. "Mr. Dawson's had quite a day."

Mac looked at the numbers on the doors, "Oh? Why's that?"

"A young woman came in here just as my shift started. Caused a little ruckus. She wanted to see Mr. Dawson also."

"Yes," Methos said, spotting a little girl lying on one of the beds in one of the rooms they past. "That's why Dawson is being moved. We're stepping up his testing."

"Why?"

Methos looked at the nurse, didn't have an answer, then said, "None of your business."

They walked into 133 and were just as startled as Amy by Joe's current condition. What Mac hated most of all was that Joe wasn't wearing his legs. He was never without them around other people. He snapped at the nurse, "Where are his legs?"

"I don't know," she had to admit.

"Get a wheel chair," Methos told her, bending over Joe, checking his pulse and opening an eyelid. He was in a deep sleep.

"Yes, sir," and she was gone.

Mac watched her walk down the hall. "Well, that was easy."

The old man in the next bed startled them when he cried out, "Get him out of here!"

They both looked at the man who they could have sworn was in a deep sleep when they entered the room. He continued, "I'd ask you to take me too, but it'll only slow you down. Get him out of here. And don't forget the rest of us when he's safe."

Methos saw a wheelchair being pushed into the room, so he uncovered Joe and slipped his arms under him. Only, the wheelchair, was pushed into the room and crashed against the wall and the two burly two orderlies, Barrett's right hand men, came in. "I don't think so," the bandaged hand one said.

Mac showed him his badge, James Tucker.

The orderly only smiled. "Mr. Tucker in on vacation in Bermuda with his wife and lovely daughter. I don't know who you are."

Mac smiled, looked at the worthless badge in his hand and then at Methos, who by that time had straightened up. There was only one thing to do. Mac kicked the orderly in the groin, making him fall to the floor. Before his buddy could even formulate a thought, Mac punched him between the eyes.

Gerald screamed out, "Get him! Man! I've wanted to do that!"

Methos picked up Joe and carried him over to the wheelchair, setting him down.

The orderly clutching his groin pulled at Methos' leg. Mac grabbed him, picked him up and slammed his head against the wall. "Thanks," Methos smiled at Mac, rolled Joe into the hallway.

In the parking lot, Amy saw Adam pushing Joe down the hallway at a fast pace. She jumped out of the car and opened the door for him. Mac and Methos got Joe into the back seat and Amy pushed the wheelchair away, jumped into the seat next to Joe. As soon as Mac got into the driver's seat, he reversed, spun the car around, and floored it.

Joe came to in the backseat, woozy, and saw Amy's face next to his. He smiled, "Hey, where are we?"

"We're taking you home, Joe," she told him, kissing his cheek.

Methos said, "No we're not. They might find out about this, and who was behind it. Joe's going into hiding for a while, along with the rest of us."

Mac said, "Yeah. Until we get place shut down."

Joe smiled that he was back with his family. He held Amy's hand, so happy she was with him. Then he caught a glance out the corner of his eye at his stumps. "Can't I at least have my legs?"

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Jo - EnyaJo@aol.com