To be fair, Connor was actually enjoying his time on the road. The last time he was "on tour" was the year he followed the Grateful Dead in the 60s. He entertained Chris with some of those stories in private. It's true that Immortals have some, well, interesting reactions to hallucenogenics.

Anyhow, the boys were anything but what he had expected. He found Joey funny and thoughtful in a rough sort of way, Lance to be quietly intelligent, and JC and Justin to be as flamboyant and charming as Chris had told him. From watching their dance rehearsals, he felt the two would pick up sword fighting easily. Whether or not they would take to The Game was another story.

Finally, the opportunity he and Chris had been waiting for came. A group of crazed fans attacked the band as they made their way from the hotel to the bus early one morning. They tried to fend them off without hurting them. Connor, Lonnie and the rest of the security staff rushed to the boys' aid. By the time they reached the safety of the first tour bus, four of the five band members had a few scratches and bruises adorning their arms and faces.

"Chris, man, how come you never get a mark on your pretty face?" Joey quipped.

"Just lucky, I guess. I'll get some ice and peroxide. And then we're going to talk about this."

Justin protested, "We're not going to barricade the hotel again, I refuse. We're also not going under hotel arrest, whatever you have to say for our safety. We're not babies, Chris, you don't have to take care of us anymore."

The expression of pain on Chris' face was plain to see, "You're wrong. You're still very young and have a lot to learn. Connor has an idea."

The four boys glanced up, surprised. They hadn't realized the taciturn Scot had followed them into the bus.

"I have a friend, a cousin, really. He's a self-defense expert. He owns a dojo near Seattle, but it pretty much runs itself. I believe he's in Paris right now. I'm going to have him come out here and teach all of you how to defend yourselves. I've spoken to your people already." Connor smiled, "Wade seems to think it will give a new look to your dancing."

Lance frowned, "He would think that."

Methos rang McLeod's doorbell. Again. What was that damn Scot up to?

As he picked the lock, he sang out, "McLeod. I know you're in there, I can feel it. You can't just pretend your not home." Methos sailed into the kitchen to get a beer, opened it and tossed the bottlecap behind the fridge, all in one well-practiced motion. Then, he saw a horrible sight.

Duncan McLeod was packing.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going on a little vacation, Methos."

"Without me?" Methos looked wounded. Duncan noticed his little pout.

"It's a working vacation. Connor wants me to train two pre-Immortals. They're in a band. I'm to be their self-defense trainer, or some such nonsense."

Methos' brain went into overdrive. He couldn't let McLeod leave without him. Life may be safer without the Highlander, but it was infinitely more boring. He didn't have to look for excitement when Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod was around. "Which band?" he asked carefully.

Duncan scrunched up his face, "uhhhh, Laundry Tub, Kitchen Sink, something like that, I don't know."

"'NSync?," Methos offered.

"Yes, that's it. Funny name for a band, if you ask me."

McLeod was going to go on tour with 'NSync? He was going to teach them how to fight? Some of them were Immortal? Wow, the possibilities were endless. He could not stay in Paris and let McLeod have all of that energy all to himself. "I'm going with you."

"Why?"

"Who will buy me beer?" Methos wondered which ones were Immortal.

"You're 5000 years old, you can buy your own beer," though Duncan didn't mind buying it.

The old man hit on how to make himself indispensible. "McLeod, do you even know what a boy band is?"

Duncan looked stumped. He didn't. He hadn't had a clue what Connor was talking about. It was obvious from the shit-eating expression on Methos' face that the old man knew something Duncan didn't.

"Fine, you can come." Methos looked triumphant. Duncan continued, "As my secretary."

Duncan wished he had a camera. It wasn't often that he totally floored the oldest man on Earth.

Methos growled, "I am NOT a secretary."

Duncan grinned, "If you want to go, you will be my secretary."

Methos gritted his teeth. He hated being subordinate when he didn't have to. But, he loved 'NSync.

"I'm a Personal Assistant, I don't do laundry or get coffee, and you buy the beer." With that, Methos swept imperiously out of the room.

Duncan yelled after him, "What else is new?"