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"The hell you did!"

"Seriously, Joe." Methos smiled sly and slow, like a snake, and nudged his empty glass across the bar.

Joe sighed and drew him another pint. One of these days the old man's tab was going to put him out of business. "Pull the other one, Adam." The bar was closed, the tables up on chairs, and Joe's collection of Watchers and misfits that he liked to think of as employees had all gone home. It was a great opportunity for more of the old man's stories, but as usual, at least ninety percent was obvious bullshit.

Methos took a long pull of beer from the glass before he continued. "I was a fisherman on Imbros when a flotilla of Greek ships full of soldiers sailed on by. One invited me aboard – not by choice – and I was interrogated by a sulky teenaged pre-immortal." He laughed. "He accused me of being a coward for preferring to fish than fight, but I could hardly tell him I'd sacked the city myself a few thousand years earlier." The old man smirked. "I may have given them directions to Mysia."

Joe shook his head. Of course he would. "Cassandra was living in Troy, right?"

"Also a good reason to steer clear," the old man admitted. A shadow passed over his face, but it cleared after another long pull at the pint.

Joe sighed. Methos was going to drink him out of house and home one beer at a time. "Okay, so say I believe you that Achilles was immortal. That doesn't explain the heel thing."

"I wasn't there for that part, Joe," Methos chided. "From what I understand, though, he was cremated and the bones separated. A pity. One of the greatest warriors of the age, brought down by local burial practices."

"You are so full of shit." Joe shook his head. "This has been great, buddy, but I need to get some sleep and you need to go bum your booze off someone else. Shoo."

"Sure," the old man said, and ambled on home.


The next week, Joe got a strange phone call from Methos.

"I'll be out of town for a little while. Called an old friend, he needed a favor, you know how it is."

"Is this the kind of old friend that Mac's gonna want to have words with?"

"Oh, probably," Methos said blithely. "He never does like my friends."

"What do you want me to tell him?"

"You don't need to tell him anything, Joe." Methos paused, then laughed. "I'll be back in a few weeks. Maybe a month or two. Don't wait up!"

A click, a dial tone. Joe sighed.


"He went where?"

"Turkey! Çanakkale, specifically, and now he's getting on a ferry to Gökçeada." Amy sounded annoyed. "Joe, what's going on?"

"I have no idea, sweetheart."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know. I'll call you when I get off the boat."

Joe hung up the phone. What was the old man up to this time?


When Mike handed him photos and a file with Amy's report on Methos' 'emergency' on Imbros, Joe laughed. "So that's Achilles?" It wasn't in the Immortal's known history, but sometimes even the Watchers missed things. He ran his thumb over the glossy surface. "Keep your secrets, old man. I'll weasel the rest of the story out of you someday."

...Possibly he'd have to keep an eye out for some really stupendous rare craft beer made from moonbeams and fairy tears and twelve kinds of hops in exchange for more details about this one, though.