Disclaimer:   Standard disclaimer applies.   Methos and the Watchers are owned by Panzer/Davis. No infringement is intended. I'm just taking them out for a quick walk around the park.   Thanks to Rhi and Anaith for beta-reading this.  Any mistakes that remain belong to me and will be pounced on and corrected when I find them.
Rated:  PG
Summary:  Where does a wise man hide a pebble?   Methos joins the Watchers. 

To Hide a Pebble

September 1985

The two men walked carefully through a maze of cubicles and bookshelves.  The older man's stride carried an air of authority as master of all he surveyed.  Typewriters clattered industriously as he passed, as if to reassure him that important work was being pursued without a pause for speculation about the new man being led into their midst.  Heinrich Mull was pleased.  He did not encourage idle curiosity among the research staff; their work was too important to permit frivolous interruptions.

The researchers did not trouble to correct Mull's delusion that they adhered to his rigid work ethic, although they took care not to flaunt their disobedience.  Curiosity was essential to a good researcher and needed frequent exercise to stay fresh.  If any of the staff did believe in Mull's dictums, they were careful not to betray their colleagues.   Mull might be the boss, but their co-workers mandated who got the chocolates, pastries and other goodies that periodically showed up in the department pantry.  Loyalty had its limitations, especially when cast versus Francois's exquisite chocolate brandy tortes or Helmut's constant search for the perfect coffee.  Mull remained blissfully unaware of the unseemly rampant curiosity of his industrious staff and the industrious staff enjoyed bountiful coffee breaks.

Following on Mull's heels was a pleasant-looking young man who peered around the room with frank curiosity.  He observed the seemingly casual maneuvers that spoke of careful planning and a superb tactical information-gathering organization.   Within a minute of their arrival in the room, a middle-aged woman, dressed in a plain dress and a dust smock emerged from her cubicle.  Her arms were piled high with papers and loose vellum sheets.  In a deliberately casual manner, she headed off to some unknown destination in a path that would intersect theirs.

Methos noted with interest the well-acted startle and mumbled apology as the woman nearly bumped into them - he'd known professional spies who were more obvious.  Within the few seconds of their encounter, he was certain the name on his ID tag had been noted along with the name of the file Mull was holding to his breast.  Mull brushed past the woman without ever realizing that he no longer needed to introduce the newest member of his staff.

"This is your desk.  If you need anything from the archives, ask Madame Weadon and she'll retrieve them for you.  Until you complete your probationary period, you will not be allowed full access to the archives.  You have come highly recommended.   I hope that your work will justify your sponsor's trust," Mull said with a stern look.

His self-important air reminded Methos of several tribunes he'd known: spoiled, rich young Roman nobleman sent out to plague honest legions with unnecessary, and sometimes disastrous, advice.  Methos made a special effort not to smirk behind Mull's back.  No doubt he was being watched surreptitiously and he had no intention of confusing his new co-workers with any hint that he was not the earnest, young graduate student he was taking pains to appear to be.  He was certainly eager, just not in quite the way that Mull or Don Salzer expected.  After five thousand years, Methos had learned to respect serendipity.  How else to explain the happenstance encounter with Salzer and the friendship that had grown up between them which was now giving him unprecedented access to the Watcher files?

At first, his decision to pursue a degree in classical studies had been nothing more than a desire to find a comfortable identity and bury himself in it for twenty or thirty years.  He chose the Sorbonne for no other reason than a love of Paris.  Despite the potential inconvenience of encountering other Immortals in a global city like Paris, Methos had learned that hiding in plain sight was sometimes the best disguise.  Paris understood secrets and the student quarter was far enough off the beaten path to preclude untimely encounters with passing Immortals.  Darius was the rare exception to his rule of keeping his distance from all other Immortals.   A carefully staged chance encounter with the reclusive priest gave cover to the renewal of a friendship that had spanned centuries and more philosophical arguments than Methos cared to count.  Darius was a constant in a changing world and Methos found himself treasuring the few constants he could afford in his life.

Meeting Salzar, however, was pure chance, but he quickly became a friend as well as an employer.  Despite the tell-tale tattoo on his wrist that marked him as one of the infernally nosy Watchers, Methos found they shared a passion for history.   True, Methos had actually lived the history that fascinated Salzar, but he was intrigued by Salzar's interpretation of events Methos remembered as random pieces in the jigsaw puzzle of his memory.  Adam Pierson was suitably impressed and awestruck when Salzar began recruiting him as a researcher for the Watchers.  Methos had been alarmed at first, then struck by the sheer audacity of hiding out in the ranks of the people whose mission it was to spy on Immortals.   Not only would it give him a chance to keep track of the movements of those Immortals who might pose a danger to himself, it would give him access to certain records that might be inconveniently accurate about his past.

After several months, he'd allowed Salzar to persuade him to apply to the Watcher Academy.  It was almost too easy: the Watchers never suspected that an Immortal would infiltrate their ranks.  It took more skill not to graduate first in his class than it to present the Watchers with a bright, eager-to-please graduate student.

Now, after a year's apprenticeship, he had finally achieved his goal of being recruited by Mull's elite research group.  To find himself, as Adam Pierson, assigned to research the mysterious Immortal named Methos, reputedly the oldest Immortal living, was a gift from heaven.  If he believed in the gods, he'd offer an appropriate sacrifice.  Lady Luck, on the other hand, he believed in.   She was a shameless flirt and coquette, but when she smiled on a man, interesting things happened.

"Yes, sir," Adam Pierson said in an ingratiating manner as Methos smothered another smirk.  Mull would have apoplexy if he knew that he had just given Methos the ability to further obscure and misdirect the historical records of his existence.  He would have to do something very nice for Lady Luck, soon.

Under Mull's approving eye, he settled down at his assigned desk and slipped firmly into his new identity.  The walls were bare and the desk swept clean of any traces of his predecessor.  That would soon change.  Littering Adam's desk with books and old manuscripts would be the easy part.   A visit to the Left Bank would provide suitable grad student-type pictures to tack up on the walls.  He had several books he'd bought from Salzer which should complete the studious image he was trying to project.  The fact that he actually enjoyed doing research and being a grad student was a pleasant bonus.  Despite the many legal pitfalls involved in creating new identities in the 20th century, Methos enjoyed the challenges of learning new technology.  He'd have to see about requisitioning a computer as soon as he settled in.  Salzar had one in the bookstore and it offered enticing possibilities for organizing data previously kept in his head.

"You can get started on these projects immediately," Mull said as he placed the slim folder in the exact center of the desk.  "They are simple exercises to acquaint you with the index to our archive.  Once you have demonstrated your competence in using our index system, you may proceed to your primary assignment.   If you have any questions, you may direct them to Frau Dr. Mintz; she has been notified to assist you as necessary."   The speech had been delivered in grave tones that Mull probably supposed gave weight and authority to his words.   Methos preferred 'pompous,' but refrained from puncturing Mull's delusion.

To hurry Mull on his way, Methos sat down and opened up the folder.  It didn't surprise him to find a list of rules on the top of the file's contents.  A quick scan told Methos two things immediately: Mull's favorite word was 'promptly' and the man believed that trivial details were next to godliness.  In the past five thousand years, Methos had turned his hand to many jobs, but he didn't recall ever receiving instructions on the proper procedure to follow to request a bathroom break.  Stifling an urge to laugh, Methos made a show of pinning the rules on the cubicle wall beside the opening.  It would serve as a grotesque parody of the mezuzah which reminded observant Jews of the laws of God as they left and entered their homes.  In this enclosed world, Mull was god, a fact that bore remembering if Methos wanted to pursue his purpose without interference.

The projects Mull had given him were simple enough: fill in the missing years in well-established Watcher chronicles.  Since the Immortals listed were extremely well-known, Methos guessed that this was a test of his research skills.  No doubt the information he needed was located in one of the secondary chronicles and the answers already known.  The trick was simply whether he could find the appropriate report and give Mull the answer he was expecting.  The real trick would be to maintain the illusion of a dedicated researcher with his co-workers.  It would be too much to expect that Mull had managed to hire an entire team as pedantic and dull as he was.  The danger would come from the bright, perceptive researcher with an eccentric turn of mind and a quixotic curiosity.  Methos had no trouble with the scent hounds who ran nose down along the trail oblivious to everything but the enticing scent.  It was the rare sight hound, who ignored his carefully laid trail, that caused him no end of headaches.

According to the rules, there would be a fifteen minute break at 10:00.  It was barely 9:30, but Methos had been aware of people circulating through the staff area for the last ten minutes accompanied by a low chatter of voices.  No doubt, everyone outside their cubicle would have papers in hand and good reasons for milling about.  It was clear that Mull's laws were taken with a grain of salt.   Methos began looking forward to meeting his fellow-researchers.

Unless something happened to necessitate a move, he had no particular plans for the next twenty years or so.  He might as well enjoy the company as he went about sabotaging any hope the Watchers had of compiling a reliable history of the legendary oldest Immortal.  Personally, he could have done without the notoriety.  If he could create a suitable legend to fit the title, Methos would be very happy to fade quietly into the background.  In his experience, reality paled beside the glitter of legend.  If he ever decided to write his memoirs, he would be certain to include how calculating he was in approaching Salzar and infiltrating the Watchers to achieve his goal.  People expected great things of legends; legends were supposed to either be aided by the gods or be geniuses at manipulation and convoluted strategic maneuvers.

Methos doubted if anyone would believe that he depended on serendipity.

The End

Author's note:  Title taken from C. K. Chesterton: "'Where does a wise man hide a pebble?' / And the tall man answered in a low voice: 'On the beach.'"  Somehow this tactic is just so like Methos.