Over the impersonal connection of 6000 miles of copper wire it was easy to remember Adam Pierson was, in reality, the elusive oldest immortal he had claimed to be seeking.

It was proving surprisingly difficult to remember when he was standing in front of you, all fluffy hair and hands tucked in pockets and self-deprecating smile.

"Welcome to Paris," said Adam, taking Joe's bag and leading him out of the airport. "Thanks for coming on short notice."

"Yeah, well, you said it was urgent." One early morning phone call and a little over twelve hours later he was standing on the other side of the world. Modern technology at its finest.

He waited until Adam was out of the chaos of the airport before raising the subject again. "So tell me about Christine Salzer. You said we had big trouble."

Adam sighed. "I've been packing up some things from Shakespeare and Co. to take to Christine. The other day I dropped a box around and she told me she knew the truth about the Watchers. I don't know how. Maybe she found something on Don's computer, maybe he told her before he died - hell, maybe he left her a letter in his will."

Joe looked at him sharply. "And you haven't gone to Watcher HQ with this?"

"I called you," Adam pointed out. "Don was a good friend. I want to keep Christine safe, if I can. We're meeting her tonight."

Joe slumped against the window. "Great. So what do you need me for?"

"She isn't coping well with Don's death. I thought we could, you know, talk her through it. Keep her from doing anything drastic."

Joe sighed. "I dunno, Adam. I still can't believe he's gone myself. The entire flight I kept thinking I'd call him when I get in, maybe go out for a beer."

Adam stole a glance at him. "Yeah. Every morning I walk into the shop I half-expect to see him there. You never get used to it."

He stared out the window as the Paris scenery flew by. How often had he made this journey now? "Hey, can you drop me at MacLeod's? I should let him know I'm in town. You can pick me up when it's time to see Christine."

"At the barge? I'll come with you." Adam changed lanes abruptly and took the next right turn.

"Yeah? You seen him since you put Kalas in jail?"

"No. But he seems a useful guy to know." When Joe glanced over at him, Adam was wearing a sheepish eagerness to see Duncan MacLeod that was startlingly close to a schoolboy crush.

Joe caught himself just before launching into a speech about how Immortals were just people, not heroes, and MacLeod was just as stubborn and annoying as any other person Joe had known.

Jesus Christ.

--

A few hours later.

Adam slumped back into the driver's seat and started the car. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "You want to head to the hotel now?"

"No," said Joe, after a moment's consideration. "What I need is a beer."

"My place?" offered Adam. "I've a feeling we won't want to be overheard."

"Yeah, sounds good." He rubbed his temples and let Adam drive in silence.

Adam unlocked the apartment door with a flourish. "Welcome to the very finest in Watcher safe-houses."

The decor was minimalist at best, though Adam hadn't wasted time making himself at home. The tables were littered with books and files, and a modest pile of pizza boxes decorated one corner of the kitchenette.

Adam kicked his shoes into a rough pile by the door and emptied his pockets onto the kitchen bench. "What'll it be? I have beer, beer or beer." He took a can from the fridge for himself and opened it one-handed while he waited for Joe to make his selection.

Host duty complete, Adam took his beer to the couch and sprawled across it, utterly boneless. "What a night."

"You can say that again," muttered Joe. He eased himself down into the easy chair. It was hard as a rock. "And you didn't even have to fly ten hours to get here."

"Sure you want to stay in a hotel? I can make up the bed for you," said Adam, waving a hand in the direction of the bedroom. "I even have clean sheets, the whole deal. A few nights on a couch won't kill me."

Joe was preparing a quip, something like maybe not when you're young and flexible, when he realised that was a joke. Because Adam was immortal. Hell.

"If the bed's anything like this chair I think I'll take my chances with the hotel," he said finally.

"Suit yourself." Adam wriggled further into the corner of the couch and let his head fall backwards.

Joe was starting to see that this Adam wasn't quite the same Adam Pierson he'd been the last time Joe met him. He was a little less deferential, a little more sarcastic. It was a far cry from the wise teacher they'd always pictured when he and Don talked about what sort of person Methos might be. Hell, Duncan MacLeod acted more like a teacher than Adam did.

He tried to remember if they'd ever had one of those conversations with Adam around. He had a horrible suspicion the answer was yes.

"You're staring at me," said Adam, without opening his eyes. "Stop it."

Joe finished his beer and set the can down next to the chair. "You know what, I'm not tired yet," he said. "I think I'll head over to Shakespeare and Co. I can check it over one last time, see if there's anything we missed."

Adam looked up at him, brown eyes wide with concern. "You want me to come?"

"Nah," said Joe. "I'll take a cab. Goodnight, Adam."

"Night, Joe."

Once he was outside the door, he let himself fall back against it for a moment. There was a potted plant slowly dying next to the doormat. Five thousand years, he reminded himself. And he can't even remember to water his plant.

Shaking his head, Joe set off into the night.