Three months later...
Of all the places for Adam Pierson to go to ground Jack O'Neill had never considered Nepal to be one of them. Maybe he should have, he thought wryly as he very carefully landed the small Harrier jet on the side of a grassy slope not far from where the transmission signal emanated. Methos had been fairly terse, even abrupt during his debriefing before being given compassionate leave. Hammond hadn't asked, and no one else had said a word, but it was clearly understood that Pierson had been very quietly hurting. Whether he'd come back, of course, was the obvious question.
There wasn't much to see around here, O'Neill thought as he looked around, and maybe that was the point. The Himalayas of course were spectacular, and Methos' hiding place was just as spectacularly hidden within the upper foot hills of the mountains. But it had taken just one pass of a satellite to determine that the ancient Immortal was very much in residence.
He found the entrance with very little trouble, although unless you knew what you were looking for it was neatly hidden by an optical illusion of perspective, appearing to be nothing more than a small bump in the side of the mountain. Inside, it was as dark and dank as one might expect. Further back it narrowed so that one thin man with a hand truck might easily pass through. On the other side of that narrow opening Jack found the first signs of habitation. Maybe ten tons of stored goods dating back to the turn of the century if the labels were anything to judge by, and several thousand propane tanks stacked neatly against the walls.
"Nice. A little paranoid, but nice," Jack murmured as he moved through the storage cave, coming across a small door about half way through. He opened it cautiously and smiled. Now this was a hideout, he thought as he stepped outside. The cave led to a small sheltered valley within the peaks. A miniature Shangri-La of sorts and he wondered if that was where Pierson had gotten the idea.
Behind him, he heard a gun cocking and Jack lifted his arms. "I come in peace."
"Next time," Methos responded testily, putting up his weapon as O'Neill turned around. "Call first." He held up his cell phone and pointed to the camouflaged satellite dish and microwave tower on the hill above them. "Don't you know there's a war going on here?"
O'Neill shrugged and lowered his hands. "Didn't think you'd answer and it might have made you leave."
Methos scowled. "Just how did you find me, anyway?" he asked, heading toward the house he'd built about half a mile away.
"You took your transmitter with you. Little known fact, Pierson," Jack confided as he followed down the steep hillside.
"They can act as homing beacons," Methos concluded with a sigh. "Shit!" They reached the house and he opened the door, stepping aside to allow his somewhat welcome guest inside. Placing both hands together, Methos bowed and gave the typical Nepalese greeting.
"Namaste."
"Huh?"
"Make yourself at home," Methos rolled his eyes.
"No can do, Pierson. Get your stuff and let's go." He looked at his watch. "Another six hours and thirty-seven minutes and you're AWOL."
"Don't be ridiculous," Methos scoffed. "You have MacLeod and his friends to back you up now. And Daniel should have returned to work already. What do you need me for?"
"Let's just say, I like your style, Captain Pierson."
"Captain?" Methos laughed.
"Yup. Hammond thought it was appropriate, since you were no longer a captain of industry. Oh, and," he fished a flat velvet display box out of his jacket. "If you hadn't lit out so quick you'd have gotten this from the man himself." He tossed the box to Methos, who opened it gingerly. "The Presidential Medal of Honor?!" he gasped. "Don't you have to be dead or something to get this?"
"Yeah. So? You've been dead and you're...something. I left the others back at the base," he added. "There are at least a dozen. The Iron Cross, the Victoria Cross, the Croix de Guerre. A Gold Star from the Russians. Not to mention a bunch of other distinguished service medals from our guys - and the Purple Heart."
"The Purple Heart?" Methos asked, dumbfounded. "The only thing wounded was my dignity."
"My idea," Jack grinned. "Knew you'd like it."
For a long moment Methos stood speechless until finally he closed the box and laid it aside. "How nice. More pretty baubles."
Jack grimaced. "That reminds me. This," he pulled a silver box out of his pocket, "is from the Tok'ra. Glows whether it's in the dark or not."
Methos raised his hands, demurring. "You keep it. It's probably a homing device."
"That's why it's in a lead lined box," Jack grinned.
"So all this," Methos cocked his head in amazement, "is to convince me to come back?"
"No," Jack smiled. "That's to say thank you. This," he pulled out his gun, trying not to laugh at Methos' affronted expression, "is to convince you to get your ass packed and in that jet. Don't you know the punishment for going AWOL is more time in the service - with no furloughs. And," he added cheerfully. "We also dock your pay for six months."
"But-"
"Aw, come on, Pierson! Don't make me do the corpse thing. I don't need any more of your bodily fluids messing up my cockpit."
Methos frowned and started looking for his duffel bag as Jack tossed him clothes, a CD player, a few discs and some personal items, never lowering the gun.
"This is so typically American," Methos sniped as he hurriedly filled the bag.
"You should know, Mr. Revolutionary War plaque."
"Ingrate," Methos sneered, hiding a smile. He hadn't really thought they'd want him back, not after what he'd done to Inanna. But it felt good to be wanted. And after taking some time to think about it, he truly had wanted to explore the other side of that Stargate. Still, he could get a lot of mileage out of playing the unwilling victim. "All right," he growled, yanking the duffel shut and slinging it over his shoulder. "Let's go."
Jack followed, finally putting away his weapon as he closed the door. "Did I mention this was a nice little vacation spot? You'll really have to invite me back sometime."
Not having invited him in the first place, Methos rolled his eyes. "Use it anytime you want," he grated.
"Gee, thanks! How's the fishing?"
Methos twisted his lips in disgust. "It's wonderful, Jack. Help yourself."
As they reached the jet and climbed in O'Neill turned and smiled happily.
"So, my little minion. What'd you get me during your visit to Nepal?"
The End