Baby

Methos walked away from his former apartment, his diary securely in the bag slung over his shoulder. "Adam Sloane" had died in public, so it was a little risky to go back to his former residence to retrieve even that, but he wasn't willing to lose one of his diaries over so little risk. Of course, it was still risk, so he'd made sure to use a more discreet entrance – thus why he was walking down an alley.

He froze in mid-step as he heard a sound that didn't belong in an alley, because what person leaves a baby in an alley? Hoping he was mistaken – though he knew that the millennia of experience he had with sounds made it unlikely – he walked over to the dumpster the sound was coming from next to and looked down. There, lying on top of the mounds of garbage which had been piled next to the dumpster, in a blanket and gnawing on what looked like an opened letter, was a baby.

Dried and crusted blood was all over the baby's face, presumably having originally come from the scabbed injury on its forehead. Fortunately he didn't see any fresh blood. Methos couldn't smell anything over the smell of the trash, but he was willing to bet that its diaper was soiled as well, since it had obviously been left untended since it was left here, and probably before that, if the caretaker's pattern had held true.

Looking at the baby lying in the trash, Methos knew the child wouldn't be missed, and even though they couldn't reproduce Immortals still felt the desire to have children. With the experience of dozens of lifetimes of childcare, he scooped the baby up.

"Hey there, little one, I'm your new Daddy."