I watch.  More than what I do, it's what I am now.  It's what I've 
become.  I remember being someone who did things, who tried to make a 
difference, who tried to fight for my country to make the world a better 
place.  Who am I now, that I watch and wait and interfere with nothing?
	Every night they come in here, flaunting their youth in front of 
the old man, not realizing how much it hurts to watch them in their 
eternal playground.   They think the Game is such a hard way to live--
don't they see that all of us are hunted, and that most of us die the 
*first* time?
 	I believe in what I do.  If I didn't believe that it was valuable 
stuff then I would have told Ian right then and there to stuff it.  Then 
again, I needed something to hold onto after...after...  Funny how I can 
tell people about Vietnam but I can't think about it much.  My worst 
nightmare and my greatest dream all rolled into one big mess.
	"Hey, Joe."  Duncan looked the same as he had every day for the 
last three hundred and seventy-odd years, and like they always do when 
he's around, my fingers raked self-consciously through my hair.  Somehow 
I feel my years all the more acutely whenever he's around.  Richie *is* 
still a young man--and Methos' years are incomprehensible to me--but 
Duncan, Duncan makes me feel old.  Wise and sometimes fatherly...but 
always old.
	"Hey, Mac.  Something to drink?"
	"No thanks, Joe.  I just came by to tell you that I was leaving 
town for a while."
	"Where to?"
	"San Francisco.  I have stuff to take care of.  Can you keep an 
eye on the dojo for me?"
	"Sure, Mac."  Duncan MacLeod is the man I love and hate the most; 
the man I know better than anyone else, living or dead.  He knows he can 
get me to do anything, and that's why I hate him.  I also know I can get 
him to do almost anything for me, and that's why I love him.
	"All right then.  I have a plane to catch.  See you in a few days, 
Joe."
	"See ya."  I know that Mac is heading for Denver, and I know why 
he's going.  I also know that he had waffles for breakfast and that no 
less than three women tried to pick him up today.  I know that he lies 
to me and I know that I let him get away with it because it makes him 
who he is, and it makes me who I am.  I know that he looks in the mirror 
and sees the man that he will always be and sometimes I hate him for it.  
And I know that he has no idea how I see him.  Like I said, I watch.

--end--