As Time Goes By

By Melissa

Fandom: Angel/Highlander x-over

Paring: Methos/Angel

Summary: Angel’s latest assignment is a little more then he bargained for

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Angel and co. belong to Joss, the WB, Fox ect.; Methos and co. belong to Davis/Panzer ect.

Distribution: Angelslash, anywhere else just ask

Feedback: Yes please

Warning - Subsequent parts of this series will contain elements of slash (m/m) sex. If you don't like that or are underage, don't read this :)

As Time Goes By
By Melissa

The 245 year old souled vampire sitting in a darkened corner of a smoky bar impatiently drummed his fingers on the table. His preternaturally good eyesight scanned the room, trying to discern any potential victims. Angel let out a well practiced sigh and wondered for the hundredth time why The Powers couldn’t be a little more explicit with their instructions.

It had all started, as usual, with a vision from Doyle. The Irish half demon had only been given a
place and a name. It was up to Angel to find the person that needed his help and set things right,
which was going to be incredibly hard to accomplish when the vampire’s attention kept returning to a young man at the bar. The young man with short dark hair, an interesting angular face and a nose Angel wouldn’t wish on Spike.

With a soft growl he pried his eyes away from the tall figure. Now was not the time. Angel had a job to do and a person to rescue, if he could find him. Doyle hadn’t given the vampire a lot to go on and the information he did have was cryptic at best.

"I mean, what kind of name is *Methos* anyway?" Angel grumbled into his coffee.

**********

"Hey Joe."

"What?"

"You know that guy?"

The bearded watcher rolled his eyes. "What guy?"

"The one in the corner, with the forehead." Methos made a tiny jerking motion with his head.

Joe studied the pale stranger for a moment. "Nope, haven’t seen him before. He part of the club?"

"If you mean, is he an Immortal, the answer is no. But. . ."

"But?" Joe prodded.

The 5000 year old man frowned. "Something’s not right. He keeps looking at me."

"Maybe he just likes what he sees, Old Timer." Joe chuckled.

Methos snorted. "Yeah, or maybe I owe him money. Look, I’m just going to slip out the back."

"Fine, fine." Joe raised his hands in mock defeat as the ancient Immortal slid off his barstool.

**********

When Angel next looked at the bar the dark haired object of distraction was gone. The vampire rubbed at an imaginary spot on his table. It was for the best, he knew that, but something gnawed at the back of his mind.

Could the kid at the bar have been the person he was sent to help? Angel shook his head. The guy had only looked a little older then Doyle and. . . God only knew how many enemies Doyle had racked up in his twenty five years.

Muttering Gaelic curses the vampire threw some money on the table and went out into the night.

**********

Methos stood in the middle of the ally whispering maledictions that would have made a Macedonian sailor blush. Even with a few beers in him the old Immortal was still steady on his feet, but that didn’t mean he was ready for a confrontation.

The ancient one peered into the darkness trying to pinpoint the location of the other Immortal causing the buzz in his head. Suddenly the words Methos loathed to hear came from his right.

"There can be only one."

The ancient one turned toward the voice, his Ivanhoe drawn and ready, and was promptly propelled backwards by a bullet slamming into his stomach. Methos hit the ground hard, his hand futilely, instinctively trying to staunch the flow of blood coming from his abdomen. Any available options he might have been thinking about taking were quelled by the sharp prick of steel against his throat.

Methos could see his attacker clearly now. He looked young. He felt young. Just another headhunting whelp getting the best of an old fool.

The growl startled them both. It was a low, guttural sound and in his semi-anemic state Methos wondered when jaguars started roaming downtown Seacouver. He also wondered why his attacker was giving up an easy kill and running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Both of his questions were answered by the figure that now loomed over him.

"Shit." Angel breathed out. The smell of blood assaulted the vampire’s senses. He knelt down and took a quick study of the injured man. Angel was surprised with how strong the man’s pulse was considering how much blood had already been lost. He noticed the man’s greenish brown eyes were bright and alert. . . and completely focused on the vampire’s face.

For the first time in his long life Methos was speechless. His mind couldn’t move beyond the sight in front of him. The ridged forehead, the yellow eyes, the sharp, pointy teeth, all of which shimmered for a moment then faded leaving the world’s oldest Immortal staring into the handsome, normal, countenance of the pale stranger from Joe’s bar.

Angel snapped out of whatever reverie he was in and focused on the gaping problem in front of him. "We’ve got to get you to a hospital."

"No need." Methos said finally finding his voice.

"What do you mean? You need medi. . ." Angel’s voice trailed off as he watched bright blue sparks originate form inside the bloody mess and dance around the wound. His eyes widened as the hole in the other man’s flesh closed, seemingly of it’s own volition.

Angel sat back on his haunches. "You’re not human."

"I’m not human!" Methos said with a touch of his old indignation. "You look in a mirror lately?"

"I haven’t had a reflection for almost two hundred and fifty years." Angel said with a shrug.

Methos let this fact, and the nonchalant way it was presented, soak into his mind. A shudder ran up and down his 5000 year old spine. "Bloody Hell! I need a drink!" With a slight grunt he stood up, wrapping his sword in his coat. The Immortal was still a bit shaky but in all honesty he wasn’t sure if it was from the injury to his body or his sensibilities. As he opened the door that led to the back of Joe’s bar he looked over his shoulder at his savior. "You coming?"

Angel gave the ally one last cursory glance then followed.

**********

Joe’s office was small but well stocked in many things. Methos pulled a new shirt over his head and deposited his soiled one in a dark colored trash bag. He examined his coat, making sure there were no unwarranted holes. Satisfied that the bullet didn’t make it that far Methos threw the garment over the back of a chair and stalked to the tiny refrigerator. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed a drink, his hands hadn’t been this unsteady in nearly fifteen hundred years. He pulled out a beer. After he had shut the door and taken a healthy swig Methos remembered he wasn't alone.

"You want one?" He said, indicating the bottle in his hand.

"No, thanks."

"Oh, right. Let me guess, you don’t drink. . . beer."

"Well, not tonight. I’m driving." Angel’s face remained impassive but Methos could swear he saw a small twinkle in the now deep brown eyes.

The Immortal shook his head and sank down into a thankfully nearby chair. "You are what I think you are, aren’t you?"

"Um, probably." The vampire leaned against the closed office door, a perverse part of him always enjoyed this part of these conversations.

"No. No. NO. That isn’t possible. V-v-va. . ." Methos had shut his eyes and was concentrating on pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I believe the word you’re searching for is vampire."

"Right, they don’t exist. You don’t exist."

"You’re right, I’m just a figment of your imagination. I’m a six foot rabbit and you’re Jimmy Stewart. Feel better now?" The vampire asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Methos looked up and graced Angel with his best scowl. "Are all vampires that sarcastic or did I just get really lucky."

"No and yes." Angel settled down on to the little couch Joe kept for occasional naps. "We have some things to discuss Methos."

The Immortal flinched at the use of his real name. "Perfect. You know my name. So what do I get to call you?"

"Call me Angel."

"Angel! Is that your real name or part of some cosmic joke?" Methos asked with a burst of nervous laughter.

"Both, but this isn’t about me." Angel leaned forward. "Who was that guy?"

"I don’t know." Methos said honestly.

"Right," Angel crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So, some guy you’ve never met shoots you and then tries to stab you with a sword of all things, which is also something you have in your possession. Yeah, that definitely sounds like a coincidence."

Methos stared hard at the vampire for a few minutes. "He wasn’t going to stab me, he was going to cut off my head."

"Oh that makes much more sense."

The Immortal’s eyes narrowed at the disparagement in the younger man’s voice. "You don’t know anything about Immortals, do you?"

Angel paused while he searched his memory. "No, I don’t. How about you fill me in."

"Fine." Methos picked up his bottle, noticed it was empty and rose to get another one. "The basic, condensed version is that when two Immortal’s meet we either exchange pleasantries and move on or a challenge is issued and we fight."

"Fight?" Angel frowned.

"A duel, if you will. The winner cuts off the loser’s head, which is the only way to really kill us, and then absorbs his or her opponent’s quickening." Seeing the puzzlement on Angel’s face he continued. "A quickening is like our soul, our essence."

Methos sat back down and this time allowed himself to savor the yeasty liquid passing down his throat. "Some Immortals participating in the Game, as it’s called, fight with a sense of honor, and others find more expedient ways of dispatching adversaries."

"Like with a bullet." Angel said.

"Like my friend in the ally." Methos agreed.

Angel mulled this over while Methos finished his beer.

Finally having had his fill of brooding silences, Methos stood up and prepared to take his leave.
"Well, Angel, I can say with utmost honesty that it’s been an experience. I think I’m going to head home, pack and then leave the country for a few years."

"I’m going with you." The vampire announced suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Not out of the country, just to your apartment."

"Ah, well, I’m flattered really, and you’re very handsome, but you’re not really my type."

Angel’s brow furrowed. "What? No! Not like that. This is entirely business. I was sent here to protect you."

Methos’ body immediately tensed. "Sent! By who?"

"I’m not sure exactly. A friend of mine gets these visions of people in trouble. He tells me what he sees and I try to help."

"And this friend saw me?" The unease in the Immortal’s body diminished somewhat.

"Sort of. He gave me your name and the place where you’d be."

Methos gave Angel an appraising look. "Funny, I never thought vampires would be civic minded."

Angel gave a noncommittal shrug. "Yeah, well I’m kinda different."

"For some reason I don’t have any trouble believing that." Methos felt his mouth turn up into a smile. He coughed and forced his lips back into a thin line. "I’m a little older then I look. I can take care of myself you know."

"You couldn’t a little while ago." Angel could plainly see the Immortal bristle. "Look, that guy had you once, can you say with absolute certainty that he won’t try again, or that he won’t follow you if you run?"

"Well. . . no." Methos admitted reluctantly.

"For whatever reason some higher power thinks that you’re worth keeping around, so until I know that you’re safe, you’re stuck with me." The vampire put what he hoped was a reassuring hand on Methos’ shoulder.

Methos looked at Angel’s hand then rolled his eyes. "Goody. I’ve always wanted a babysitter with fangs."

**********
END PART 1
to be continued