Hero Worship

by Diane Deshaun

Fandom: Highlander

Pairing:

Disclaimers: Rysher and Panzer/Davis Productions own all things Highlander, I’m just giving them a bit of exercise.

Rated NC-17, m/m same-sex sexual content. If that’s not what you thought you would find in a slash story on a slash list/page, leave. And, finally, I am not an entomologist, nor do I play one on t.v.

Hero Worship

by Diane Deshaun

"Ow! Bloody hell! Would you stop that?" Methos was feeling extremely exasperated with the behavior of a certain Scotsman. And, to top it off, that was the third time Mac had stepped on the back of his heel.

"Sor-ry. God, you're in a mood today. Not as if I hurt you."

"That's not the point, MacLeod. You're in my space. I can't bloody breathe."

As the two of them were striding down the sidewalk of Seacouver, Mac couldn't quite see the respiratory difficulties Methos claimed. "Oh sure, next thing you know, you'll be saying I'm interrupting your aura."

"Well, now that you mention it..."

"Enough, Methos. I get the point." Mac stepped two paces to the side and back, deliberately creating an excessive amount of distance between the two of them. Raising his voice, as if he now had to shout to be heard, he continued, "There. Is that better, your highness?"

Undaunted, Methos merely inclined his head regally, "Much. You don't have to herd me, you know."

"No, I don't know! I wouldn't have to if you'd quit trying to take these detours. I just don't get it, Methos. Why don't you want to go visit Joe?"

"I just don't. Okay? I have nothing to say to Joe."

"Oh for...good grief, man! Are you still mad at him? It's been two weeks, Methos. Get over it."

Stopping so abruptly that Mac had to do a fancy back pedal to avoid stepping on the old man yet again, Methos folded his arms decisively. "That's easy for you to say, MacLeod. You aren't the one who's been humiliated ever since." As Mac opened his mouth to answer, Methos jabbed one hand into the air between them. "Not another word, Highlander. I think you've said more than your quota on the subject."

Placing his hands on his hips, Methos puffed his chest out at a ridiculous angle, threw his head back and began to declaim in an atrocious Scottish accent. "'Ach, it will pass, Methos. Sure, and you can take a wee bit of teasing, can't you, Methos? You wurra too much, Methos.'"

By this time Mac was sputtering in protest. "What is that supposed to be? I never said any of that! And I sure as hell don't sound like...like...some sort of a drunken parrot! Although, you've just proven their point all over again."

Methos frowned fiercely. "What do you mean by that?"

"Face it, old man. Just because Joe and Richie have been indulging in a bit of harmless teasing ever since they caught your starring role in our little video, you can't take it. It's not my fault that you, er, stood out more than I did. Of course," Mac had to chuckle a bit, "you were the only one actually standing now that I think about it. And, you were the only one making any noise."

For the briefest instant, Methos' lips twitched, but then he frowned again, "All right, fine. So I made a little noise. Under the circumstances, any normal man would have. You, on the other hand, didn't make a peep. Now why is that, I wonder?"

Mac's eyes were dancing now as he fought the bubble of mirth rising to the surface. "Manners."

"Manners?"

"Manners. I was taught never to speak with my mouth full."

A moment passed. Then Methos bowed his head and turned away. The smile dying on his face, Mac approached the other Immortal slowly. His lover’s slender form was wracked with tremors.Joining him, Mac draped an arm over the old man’s shoulders and squeezed. "Come on, now. I thought nothing embarrassed you. Just because Richie has made a few remarks is no reason to take it out on Joe. And it’s certainly no reason to get upset about it."

Still avoiding the Highlander’s questioning gaze, Methos shrugged and muttered one last protest. "Ah, but Joe is encouraging him. Plus, Joe made the original comparison."

"He did?" Mac thought back to their last ill-fated video night at Joe's. "I can't quite remember."

"No doubt some sort of convenient drug-induced amnesia. Besides, as I recall, you had long since fainted from embarrassment yourself."

"What?" Mac grabbed Methos’ chin and forced the other man to raise his head. "Methos!" The old man was wracked with tremors all right, but they were tremors of laughter.

Mac laughed too. "Nah. I was faking it. Believe me, I was awake for every glorious technicolor moment. At least all the camera really showed was the back of my head, but when you made that sound..."

"Don't you dare even say it."

"But, Methos, that sound. I mean, it's no wonder Joe said what he said. Make it for me again."

"I will not!"

"Come on, Methos. Please?" Mac leaned over and began nibbling on the older Immortal's neck.

"MacLeod! We are in broad daylight here. Back off!" Methos shoved the Highlander away with enough force to send him careening off at an angle.

Mac staggered back to him still snickering. "Joe was right, you know. You did sound like a dog baying at the moon."

At that, Methos growled and slammed Mac against the wall, pressing him into its rough surface. His eyes glittered and he snarled in mock anger, "Oh is that right?"

Far from being perturbed at the rough treatment, Mac just waggled his eyebrows at the man crushing up against him. "That's right. A dog baying at the moon...in heat."

Unable to hold his outraged pose, Methos snorted with mirth. "What kind of a dog?" He leaned forward to nip at Mac's ear lobe.

"Oh I don't know," Mac shivered and tilted his head accommodatingly. "Um....a Chihuahua...ooww!" He yelped as Methos bit down with a vengeance. "Okay, okay! A big dog. A big, powerful, beautiful example of the canine species...a wolf maybe. How's that?"

"A wolf, huh? I suppose I can live with that, and, more importantly, so can you." He tugged on Mac's ear lobe on last time, then stepped back. "Well, come on then. We might as well go get it over with and let Joe get in his little jabs."

Stepping away from the wall, Mac fell into step beside his companion. "Joe hasn't said anything about your, er, tendencies since that first time. He sounded positively contrite over the phone. I think he wants to make it up to us."

"Yeah, right. He just lets Ryan say it for him. That's fine, but, mark my words, MacLeod. One of these days the opportunity will present itself for payback, and when it does..."

"Now that's the Methos I know."

"What? Aren't you going to try to talk me out of it?"

"Nope."

Methos stared at the Highlander in surprise. "I don't believe it. Duncan MacLeod is agreeing sight unseen with something nefarious, underhanded, and downright sneaky! A turn of the screw. A hoist on the old petard."

"Petard? Now hang on a minute, old man. I'm not at all sure Joe even has a petard, and I'm sure Richie doesn't."

Methos stopped in mid-soliloquy, a pained expression on his face.

Mac shouted with laughter. "Oh come on, Methos. I'm joking, okay? God," he laughed again, "the look on your face."

Methos grabbed his chest and staggered back in mock weakness. "Can I stand the strain? You're scary when you're like this, Duncan. A man after my own heart."

Looking fully into the older Immortal's eyes, Mac smiled seriously. "As are you, Methos. As are you." After a moment, Mac visibly gathered himself and started off again. "Now stop shilly shallying. Think beer, Methos. Beer."

"Shilly shallying? Gods, you've been rereading that romance book you're the star of again, haven't you?" Methos hurried to catch up. "Besides, there are other places to get beer."

"Not free."

"Well, there is that." Stepping on the back of Mac’s heel , just for good measure, Methos smiled to himself as he began to plot.

Having sensed the presence of another Immortal while approaching the bar, neither Mac nor Methos was surprised at all to see Richie Ryan lounging at their usual spot. The young man grinned across the empty room and waved them back.

As the two older Immortals approached, Richie stretched elaborately and gestured at his booted feet propped up on the table. "Mac. Adam. Good to see you guys. Sorry about the feet." Richie yawned effusively. "I was just resting a couple of minutes. You know how it is when you're *dog* tired."

With a warning frown, Mac swept Richie's feet off the table to land on the floor with a thump. "Richie," he said sternly as he took his usual seat. "Where's Joe?"

Not at all daunted, Richie replied, "Oh, he's around here somewhere, Mac." Turning his attention to Methos, Richie shook his head and continued, "I don't see how you put up with him when he's in his 'dour Scot' mode, Adam. I mean, look at him, sitting there all bowed up and frowning. Worrying at god knows what, kinda like a...dog on a bone. Wouldn't you say?"

Mac reached out a restraining hand, as Methos drew breath to speak. However, just at that moment, Joe's voice boomed out from behind them. "Richie! I thought you'd be gone by now." The tone of voice left no doubt that Joe heartily wished that were so. Walking up to the three at the table, Joe made an elaborate play of scooting the remaining chair out and arranging himself in it. "Mac. Adam. Glad you both could come down."

"So much for free beer," Methos muttered.

"What's that?" Joe ask quizzically.

"Beer, Joe. How about something to drink?" Mac repeated.

Joe waved his hand dismissively. "Oh that. It'll be along in a minute. First, there's something I really need to talk to you two about."

Sitting forward, Richie was ready for round two. "I'll be right back. This calls for some music."

Joe looked torn between stopping Richie from doing whatever it was he was about to do and hoping he got lost on his way back. Shaking his head at the jaunty twist the young Immortal put into his walk, he grinned a bit then turned back to his guests. "Like I said, I'm glad you came down. I have to tell you something, and before I do, I just want you to know that I did everything in my power to prevent it from happening. I mean, hell, even if they're right, and I'm not saying they are mind you, considering the circumstances, I just really think it would've been better all around to--"

"--Joe!"

"Yes, Mac?"

"Is there a point there somewhere?"

Richie slipped back to the table as Joe replied. "Hell yes. That's what I've been trying to tell you. I did everything but quit to keep them from giving her back to me, but they just wouldn't listen."

Methos spoke up clearly for the first time since entering the bar. "Her?"

"Er, yes. You see..." At that moment the opening strains of the song Richie had selected at the juke box began playing over the speakers. It had a beat that was somewhere between old fashioned rock and roll and country--rockabilly they'd called it back then. Joe knew which song it was before the first dozen notes were out, and looking from the grinning Richie to the dawning horror on MacLeod's features, he steeled himself for the explosion. Somehow, he couldn’t see Methos sitting still for being called a hound dog, even if it was by Elvis.

It was gonna happen, and it was gonna be bad. So much for getting on their good sides...He surged up from the table and crossed to the juke box, intent on pulling the plug. From the sounds behind him, it was only a matter of moments now before the war began. He just hoped they took it outside for the Quickening.

Straightening from his task, cord dangling from his hand, Joe turned back towards the incipient crime scene. He couldn’t bring himself to move as he realized another player was about to enter the game.

The three Immortals had been so intent on each other, they hadn't even noticed the waitress bringing the long lamented beers until she began plonking bottles down in front of them. "Here. Joe told me to bring these over. I figure you can open them yourselves, being big macho Immortals and all."

Joe felt as if he were watching one of those pivotal moments in a bad horror movie where everything suddenly flips into slow motion. As the waitress's familiar sibilant tones washed over the two older Immortals at the table, Richie was already looking up, his mouth hanging slack in disbelief. Methos froze in mid-grab for the beer, unable, or at least unwilling, to look up and confirm what his ears were assuring him was true.

As for Mac...Mac knew all too well what Joe had been trying to tell them even before the first words came out of the waitress's mouth. He'd know that perfume anywhere--a slightly off kilter combination of florals and aromatic oils that would forever more shout 'predator' for him. As he was the one sitting nearest her, Mac judged himself as the one in the most immediate danger. Reaching up slowly, his eyes never leaving that well remembered face, Mac slowly buttoned the remaining buttons on his shirt.

His lover’s surreptitious movement jerked Methos from his frozen reverie. Or rather, Mac himself jerked Methos from his frozen reverie. After securing his person as best he might, Mac reached over with one long arm and dragged Methos, chair and all, to his side.

Methos blinked once, then again, unable to believe what his eyes told him was true. In a thousand years, in another five thousand years, Methos would never have expected to see Taphelia Desmond again, and certainly not happily ensconced in Joe's Bar. Finding his voice, he turned his disbelieving gaze on the mortal and asked in a deceptively mild voice, "What's she doing here?"

Ignoring the two older Immortals entirely, Taffy finished delivering the drinks by setting a beer in front of a thoroughly bemused Richie. Her bland expression soften in a smile, making her seem young and pretty. "You're Richie Ryan, aren't you? I don't think we had the chance to be formally introduced before, but Joe talks about you a lot."

Frowning suspiciously, Richie looked at Joe, "He does?"

"Yes." Taffy didn't seem to notice Joe's frantic attempts to silence her. "You're my new practice case."

"What?" Richie jumped up to stand behind Mac and Methos.

The smile melted off Taffy's face as she realized Richie was just as skittish in her presence as the other two. Schooling her face to mild distaste, she slowly and deliberately raked her eyes the length of first Duncan MacLeod and then Adam Pierson. Last, she turned expressionlessly to Richie and replied, "Oh, don't worry. Believe me, I'm only interested in your chronicles. I'm going to be practicing ferreting out information in preparation for my real work."

"Which is?" Mac couldn't stop the question.

"Ahem!" Joe interposed loudly. "Thank you, Taffy. That'll be enough." She frowned as he chuckled self-consciously, "Can't go around divulging Watcher information to just anybody, you know."

With a shrug, Taffy acquiesced. "Sure, Joe. I'll be at the computer." And with that, she was gone.

Methos let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding as the three of them relaxed, and Richie headed back to his chair. Mac sat back slowly, unable to even trust himself to speak to his Watcher. Richie just shook his head, rolled his eyes and took a long overdue draught on his beer.

After enduring the stony silence for a few minutes, Joe couldn't take any more. "Mac, Adam, please! I had no choice. They said it was my fault for not supervising her better."

Methos snorted in disbelief. "Supervising what, Joe? Her kidnapping and torture techniques? That woman is certifiable!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Joe rubbed one hand wearily over his face. "Adam," the question seemed to come from left field, "what's the name of the retired Director-in-Chief?"

Looking at his friend as if he'd lost the last few marbles out of his bag, Methos answered, "You mean Raymond? Why?"

Joe looked at him expectantly. "Raymond...what?"

"Raymond...Desmond. Oh no, don't tell me."

Joe nodded. "Yep. Granddaughter. She may be crazy, but she's not stupid. Little Taffy went running to grandpa with some crazy story about how I'd all but abandoned her to your and MacLeod's wicked ways, and *voila!* I'm under orders to train her right this time or else."

Everyone jumped as a big fist slammed onto the table. Duncan MacLeod was livid. "Our 'wicked ways'! You have got to be kidding. Don't you remember what she did to me? Why that, that..." Words failed him as he slowly turned redder and redder, thinking about just what the girl was capable of.

Methos patted his friend's broad shoulders as he joined the protest. "He's right. She's positively diabolical. I mean the nerve, the unmitigated gall to tie me up in that, that...torture rack."

Suddenly, with a loud expulsion of mirth, Richie leapt into the conversation. "Ha, ha. I believe that's 'shoe rack', Old Man."

"What?"

"Not torture rack, shoe rack!" And Richie was off again, laughing so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Sputtering in outrage, Methos turned back to Joe, only to discover the Watcher was fighting a valiant but losing effort to control his own laughter.

"Joe!"

"Oh, come on, Adam! You too, Mac. I'll admit, she did get a little carried away, but she didn't actually hurt you. Step back, and look at it from our point of view for a minute," Joe gestured at the young redhead who now had his head buried in his arms, struggling to control himself. Joe chuckled, "I mean really, you're both grown men, and then some. You can surely take a little harmless mischief. Besides, you know, I've been thinking about it."

Mac sat bolt upright in his chair, obviously preparing to take the battle forward.

Joe continued quickly, "No, no! Not that! I've been thinking about her, er, surveillance techniques. I mean, Watchers have been following Immortals around, peering into windows for thousands of years. Maybe it's time we joined the modern era. A few harmless bugs might be just the thing."

Mac couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Harmless bugs? Are you insane? Since when did the Watchers become a branch of the CIA?"

Suddenly, Methos lay a warning hand over Mac’s forearm and squeezed, hard. If they were going to get their very satisfying revenge, it was necessary that the others didn’t suspect a thing. "Now wait a minute. Maybe he's right. I mean, it is all in the past now, I suppose. Come on, Duncan. We're bigger men than the types who hold silly grudges, aren't we?"

Mac looked into Methos' carefully schooled expression for a long moment before shrugging minutely and saying grudgingly, "I guess so. But, Joe, if she comes after me again--"

"Oh she won't, she won't! I'm going to keep her way too busy to even mention your name--or yours either, Adam."

Having finally gotten control of his gross motor skills back, Richie looked up and asked, "Hey, wait a minute. She mentioned my name. Joe! She's not gonna come after me, is she?"

Reaching over to cuff the side of Richie's curly head, Joe hastened to reassure him. "Of course not. She's just using your chronicles to acquaint herself with my specialized system. Then it's right into her real search."

"And that would be?" Methos inquired with bland courtesy.

"Er," Joe looked uncertain again. "You remember. I actually set it all in motion a couple of weeks ago."

"A couple of weeks ago..."

Richie spoke up. "Oh yeah. Right before she got away from us." He nodded sagely. "Still a great idea, Joe."

Methos stiffened as he remembered just exactly what the great idea was. Looking from one man to the other, Mac was still puzzled, "What? You know a lot of that time period is a little fuzzy. I don't remember any great idea."

Richie grinned in delight. "Methos. She's gonna be looking for Methos. Right, Joe?"

"Right. Now guys, before you get all bent out of shape again, it's perfectly safe. Methos, you know she'll never find you. Hell, I can never find you, and I kinda know where to look."

"Joe's right, you guys. Don't worry about it. This will work out just fine." Richie waved a hand casually in the air to emphasize his point.

"My, if it isn't the font of all knowledge." Methos drawled sarcastically. "Since when did you get so old...and...wise..." His words sounded so familiar, Methos paused to consider just when he'd voiced them before. Oh yes, of course, then he'd been talking about himself. If Richie Ryan considered himself comparable in any way to Methos, well, obviously the young whelp needed some help in correcting that misapprehension.

"Well, okay then. I guess that's settled." Mac spoke quickly, distractedly patting the hand still gripping his arm. "Joe, I trust you. Richie's right. In the circumstances, this is the best possible solution all around. Right, Methos?"

"Hmm?" Methos seemed to come back to his surroundings with a start. "Oh, right." Looking right at Richie, Methos suddenly smiled. "Good call, Ryan. Best possible solution. Smart of you to see that." Standing up from the table, he tugged the Highlander up with him. "Well, it's been...different. Gotta go."

"So soon?" Now that everything seemed to be settled, Joe was anxious to spend more time with his friends.

Taking his cue from Methos, Mac nodded in a friendly manner. "Yeah, sorry, Joe. Um, I've got to take Methos to the mall. Big shoe sale. Imelda Marcos has nothing on Mr. Shoe Horse here. See you two later."

"Yeah," Joe spoke to the rapidly retreating backs of his two friends. "See you later." Turning back to Richie, he fretted, "Is it just me, or was that a little strange?"

"For those two? Joe, remember who you're talking about. God only knows where they're goin' after the shoe store."

"True." Joe smiled. "There's no telling, at least if I'm lucky." He waggled his eyebrows at the young man at his side. "I think I've had just about all the chocolate covered surprises I can stand for the next decade or so."

Laughing, Richie turned and made his way behind the bar for another beer.

When Methos tore back into the loft short minutes later, Mac was hard on his heels. The old Immortal had been thinking furiously the entire way home, and, recognizing the signs, Mac had left him to it. Now though, he had to know. "Methos?"

Showing absolutely no indication that he'd even heard the other man, Methos sat down at Mac's desk and turned on the computer.

"Methos!" Mac spoke a bit louder. Still no response. "Methos!!" The yell, accompanied by a firm hand grabbing the older Immortal's wrist, finally did the trick.

Frowning irritably, Methos looked from his captive hand to Mac. "What?"

"Tell me."

Not even pretending to misunderstand, Methos suddenly grinned toothily. "Ten minutes, Mac. Give me ten more minutes. Then, I'll explain everything."

Drawing a deep breath, Mac nodded reluctantly and released Methos' wrist. "Okay. Ten minutes. Hurry up!"

"Patience, Highlander. Good things come to those who--"

"Just do it, Methos."

Chuckling, the old man turned his attention back to his task, murmuring, "That's what you said last night too."

Mac forced himself to stay away from the desk area while Methos worked. Instead, he paced. Back and forth. Back and forth.

At last, Methos looked up in exasperation. "All right, MacLeod. It's done. Gods, I had no idea you had so much nervous energy. Obviously, I haven't been giving you enough of a workout."

"Methos! This is no time to be talking about our sex life."

"I was referring to our spars in the dojo. Carnal minded, aren't we?"

Closing the distance between them in three long strides, Mac placed both big hands around Methos' neck and squeezed. "More like 'charnel' minded if you don't hurry up and tell me what's going on."

"Oh cute! A pun."

Mac tightened his grip even as a smile lowered the possible terror quotient considerably. "I know you thought of something wicked. I could tell the moment it came to you in the bar. I want to know too."

"You're not going to stop me?"

"No, I told you. In fact, I want in on it. So, what are we doing?"

Getting up from the desk, Methos dragged the Highlander over to the couch. "Actually, it's brilliant, if I do say so myself. And, like all great plans, blindingly simple. At this point, it only affects Richie directly, though given the way Joe clucks over him like a mother hen, Joe will be a player as well." Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Methos pondered. "Hmmm...we'll have to work a little more on something special for Joe, but no bother, I'm sure something will come to mind."

Mac’s eyes narrowed as he thought back over the conversation in the bar. "Tell you what, Methos. How about you leave Joe to me."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Oh by all means, MacLeod. You take care of Joe. A frown, couple of stern looks...that’ll put him right in his place."

"We’ll see," the Highlander said cryptically. "You take care of the details with Richie, I’ll handle things with Joe."

"Uh huh. Right."

"It will be. I’m flattered you have so much confidence in me."

Noticing signs of unrest in his audience of one, Methos hurried along. "I’m sure whatever you come up with will be suitable, MacLeod. And dignified. Let’s not forget dignified. Your way, my way, the highway...whatever. Now, I want you to tell me a few things. As far as your former charge, I've certainly set the ball in motion, but there is always room for refinement."

"Like what?"

"Like...what's Ryan's favorite food? His favorite color or favorite movie maybe? Oh, and how about...any odd little quirks you may have noticed."

"Quirks?"

"Yes, you know. Like, does he have any habits? Any sayings or gestures he makes so often they've become almost subconscious?"

Mac nodded slowly. "Yes, all those things. And just as soon as you tell me exactly why you need to know about them, I'll fill you in."

Smiling fondly at his lover, Methos leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then he began to talk.

Late the next afternoon, a confused Richie Ryan burst into Joe's bar. "Joe! Joe! Where are you?"

A loud thump followed by a muffled curse sounded from somewhere in the back. "Damnation! Keep your shirt on, Rich. I'm coming."

By the time Joe got to the front, Richie had grabbed a beer and flung himself onto a stool at the bar.

"Hurricane Richie, I presume."

"Sorry about that. I guess I got a little excited. Wouldn't do to be late."

"Late?"

"Yeah," the confusion on the expressive young face grew more pronounced. "I have an appointment."

"With who?"

Richie looked at Joe with speculative eyes. "Adam."

"Adam? What for?"

With a shrug, Richie admitted, "I really don't know. I can't quite figure it out. I guess, it's like he said, just to hang out."

"'Just to hang out' with Adam? We are talking about the same guy, right? Tall, big nose. Has a couple years on ya?"

Richie flushed a bit. "Yeah, so? He said he wanted to get to know me better. Why is that so hard to believe?"

Joe snorted, "Oh, right. Like you're so fascinating."

Richie was hurt. "Thanks a lot, Joe. I didn't realize I was so boring."

Contrite, Joe patted the young Immortal on the shoulder. "Aw, I'm sorry, Rich. I didn't mean it like that. You're a great guy. But, come on now. You've been a great guy for a long time. Why is he so interested now?"

With an engaging grin, Richie shrugged again. "I know. Something's fishy, and it ain't caviar. I figure, definitely, it has something to do with Mac."

"Right. What else?"

"Well, it is barely possible that it's just what it seems to be. I mean, between you and Mac, you are my family, and now that he and Methos are, well, now that the two of them..." Richie trailed off.

Joe chuckled. "Yeah, they certainly are, aren't they?" Considering, he finally gave up with a little shake of his head. "Maybe so, maybe so. But still...better watch your step, kid. Remember, you're dealing with a man whose ulterior motives have ulterior motives."

Richie laughed, "Don't worry, Joe. I can take care of myself."

"Under normal circumstances, I agree. But you should never trust a man you can't drink under the table."

"Joe, you can't drink him under the table either."

"Exactly."

At that moment, Richie got that patented far away look in his eye that Joe knew heralded the approach of another Immortal. As Methos strode into the bar, Joe squinted his eyes against the sudden encroachment of sunlight then drawled, "Speak of the devil."

Casting Joe a sidelong look, Methos eased himself onto the stool beside Richie. "Hello to you, too, Joseph. Well, Ryan, you're here. Good."

"Ah, yeah. I'm here, but to tell you the truth, I'm not exactly sure why."

With an affable expression of amusement, Methos clapped Richie heartily on the back. "Oh come on now, Ryan. It's just past time for us to get to know each other better. Don't you think?"

With a speaking look at Joe, Richie grinned back at Methos, "Sure. That's what I figured. Maybe I should be calling you Uncle Adam or something. After all, I guess we're almost family now."

Only the tiniest of tics marred the old Immortal's expression, before the mask of affability returned. A loud snort from Joe drew a quick frown from Methos before he turned his full attention back to the young redhead. "Family. Yes, I suppose you could say that...Richie."

As Taphelia Desmond came from the back to begin readying the bar for the day's patrons, the conversation continued.

"So, Richie, to tell you the truth, I did have a special reason for wanting to speak to you today."

"Aha!" Joe's sotto voce exclamation was studiously ignored by the other two men, though Taffy did send a puzzled glance in his direction before turning her attention back to polishing the beer taps and listening to the conversation taking place right in front of her.

Richie looked apprehensive, "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"Oh no, no. It's nothing like that. In fact, I need your advice."

"*My* advice? Wow. About what?"

"I want to buy MacLeod a gift--something special. You know how much he likes old things. He's been an antique dealer, for gods' sake, so I don't want to get him just anything. I need something original, unique. And, since he's always going on and on about how well you know...the Elizabethan Age for instance, I thought maybe you could help me out."

"He does? I mean, well, yes, I suppose I do know a lot about things back then. I made it my business to find out about a lot of different time periods. Actually, it was business." Richie chuckled at his own joke.

Methos joined in and nudged him companionably. "And why wouldn't you, eh?"

"Well, yeah," Richie laughed, "why wouldn't I?"

With Taffy listening intently, Methos pressed further. "In fact, you could help me out no matter how far back I want to go."

"Er, well, yeah. Maybe so."

"Oh I know so...you've been around, my friend."

"But, Adam..."

"No, no. I have been accused of many things, Richie, but stupidity isn't one of them. I know when to bow to superior knowledge and experience."

Steadfastly resisting the urge to look at Joe, Richie couldn't help a small flush of pleasure. "I--Thank you. Um, okay, let's see, have you thought about a piece of art? I do know for a fact that Mac has a fondness for busts."

Methos went for the coup de grace with an easy smile, "Hmm, that’s a thought, but you know, Rich, I've also been considering some kind of jewelry. Got any suggestions there?"

"Oh, sure. Jewelry would probably be a good choice. You mean like a ring or something?"

Caught by surprise, Methos found himself snorting his last drink of beer. After taking a few moments to get himself under control and resume spontaneous respiration, he shot a quick glance at his watch and asked, "A ring? You think I should give him a ring?" Methos paused to consider the startling thought from all angles. "You think he wants one? Has he said anything?"

"Well, I don't know, of course. I mean, I'm only on the outside looking in..."

With a shake of his head, Methos dismissed the notion and the unsettling emotions that accompanied it, and focused back on his real goal. "Well, at any rate, for right now, I was thinking more along the lines of a neck chain with some sort of token on it."

"Token?"

"Yes, like a medallion maybe." Twisting on the bar stool, the wily old Immortal forced Richie to do the same, bringing the young man more into Taffy's direct line of sight. "Say, Mac told me once that you had a medallion that was really special. Maybe I could see it sometime. Get some ideas."

"Oh sure. Actually, you can see it right now." Richie reached to pull the chain around his neck up and over his head, but froze in mid-motion when Methos reached over and slowly began to undo the buttons on his shirt to reveal a medallion nestled against Richie's breast bone. Casting a wide-eyed look at Joe, Richie rolled his eyes, wondering what Methos would do next.

Intent on displaying the younger Immortal's wares for Taphelia's inspection, Methos listened with smug amusement as Taffy drew a sharp breath, no doubt properly bedazzled by the smooth expanse of masculine flesh on display. Richie's chest was pale and smooth and firm looking--the scattering of freckles only serving to highlight the planes of his nicely defined pecs.

Highly entertained, Joe raised mirthful eyes to the young Immortal's. Richie grinned back at him, relaxing into the game enough to let his fingers idly trace a line up and down his breast bone. "So," he asked a little breathlessly, "you like what you see?"

"Wha-what?" Methos’ voice sounded befuddled even to his own ears.

"The medallion," Richie’s voice echoed the laughter coming from Joe. "Do you like the medallion?"

Taken by surprise that his quarry showed every sign of enjoying himself, Methos was caught up in the performance, only jerking back to himself when the first tenuous wisps of another Immortal's buzz caught his attention. Leaning forward quickly, he pulled the neck chain up and clear of Richie's chest, bending the young Immortal's neck forward at an awkward angle and taking a couple of curly red chest hairs along with it.

"Ouch!" the young Immortal yelped.

"Oh, sorry." Methos couldn't resist making a show of examining the chain for flaws, then leaning forward to examine Richie's chest. "Did it scratch you?"

Trying fruitlessly to lean away from the old man, Richie shook his head. "No. It didn't scratch me. Forget it. You could have just ask me to show it to you, you know?"

"Sorry, I was eager." The Immortal signature was stronger now. Methos was a bit amazed Richie couldn't feel it too. Duncan was apparently lurking just outside the door, no doubt trying to gauge the exact moment to enter and play out his little part in the melodrama. Turning his attention back to the medallion, Methos held it at eye level, letting it twist slowly. After making sure Taffy got a good look, he dropped it back down onto Richie's chest with a thud.

"Ouch!" Richie said again.

"Sorry." Methos said casually. "Duncan was right, that is a nice medallion. Etruscan isn't it?"

Feeling a bit testy, Richie answered shortly. "That's right. It's a symbol of one of their war gods. I've had it--"

"Yeah, a war god. Hmmm....you know, I kind of thought your war days were over. I mean, I know there was a lot of strife in your past--"

Opening the outside door noisily, Mac rushed into the bar. "Oh there you are, Methos! I was just looking for you."

Walking up to his friends, Mac clapped Richie on the shoulder and seemed to notice the medallion hanging around his neck. "Richie! What are you doing with that out here?"

With a speaking glance at Taphelia, now simply standing with arms folded, blatantly watching the four men, Mac made it clear where the core for his objection lay. Making an elaborate play of tucking the medallion back inside Richie's shirt, Mac continued, "It's not like you to be so thoughtless, *young man*."

Rising from the bar stool, Methos pulled Mac away from Richie and headed them both toward the door. "Now, Duncan. To say that Richie is a grown man is to state the obvious. Obviously, the medallion is one of a kind, but I, for one, have every confidence that our friend can take care of himself." With a little chuckle, he concluded, "After all, you must remember he was taking care of himself long before you came along. Isn't that right, Richie?"

"Well, yeah, he's right, Mac. You worry too much. Hey, where are you two off to now?"

Distracted when Taffy suddenly headed back for the office, Joe finally spoke up, "Yeah, seems like every time you come in here lately, it's only to go haring off again. It's not another shoe sale is it?"

"Shoe sale?" Mac was confused for a moment, then remembered their most recent excuse for flight. "No, no. Methos and I just have to get back to the dojo, that's all."

"But why?"

Staring hard at Richie, Mac allowed himself a sly little grin, "Do you really want to know?"

Methos stepped closer to Mac and deliberately raised one hand to caress his broad chest. All pretense aside for the moment, the old man's eyes fairly glittered as he ask, "How about it, Ryan? I'd be happy to fill you in."

"Haarrmmph." Joe walked forward to plant himself firmly at Richie's side. "Get out of here, MacLeod. And take the him-bo with you."

Laughing, the two older Immortals shrugged and wandered out.

Joe cast a wry look at Richie. "You okay, kid? Those two..."

Richie snorted. "I'm fine, Joe. But I swear, the next time one of them asks me if I want explanations, I'm gonna tell them I want to watch."

Joe gave a shout of laughter. "Watch! Richie, you wouldn't!"

"Well..."

"Richie?"

Laughing himself, Richie relented. "I guess not." Noticing that Joe was still looking at him with amazement, Richie decided it would be politic to change the subject a bit. "Forget that, you know, Mac was standing outside the door for at least two or three minutes before he swooped in, what do you think they're up to?"

Allowing himself to be diverted for the moment, Joe scratched at his beard. "Something's up, that's for sure. All this interest in your medallion, and the way Methos kept talking about your past..." After a couple of minutes he shrugged. "We'll figure it out. The day those two clowns can outsmart us, is the day--well, let's just say it ain't here yet."

Laughing over the look on 'Uncle Adam's' face, Joe led Richie over to a table where they could rehash the strange encounter over a beer.

Out on the street, Duncan and Methos were in high spirits. "My god, Methos. That was perfect! I can't believe Richie fell for all of that."

Quite pleased with himself, Methos agreed smugly, "Yes. I was good, wasn't I?"

"You? What about me? I pulled your ass out just in the nick of time, and you know it."

Methos looked at Duncan for a long moment, then grinned engagingly. "Okay. You pulled my ass out at just the right moment. *We* are good. How's that?"

Laughing, Duncan thumped Methos on the back. "That's better. Now come on. We have some more work to do."

Making an elaborate play of staggering under Duncan's playful blow, Methos drawled, "Down, Simba. What do you mean 'we have work to do'? You're confused again, MacLeod. I don't *do* work."

Opening the passenger door of the Thunderbird, Duncan gestured Methos inside with a courtly show of leg. "I do beg your pardon, Sire. I forgot myself there for a moment. Wrong choice of words. I have a phone call to make while you sit and admire how well I do it."

"That's more like it. Sitting and admiring, I can do. Especially with a beer--we do still have beer don't we?"

"Fresh stock in the back seat." Duncan gestured over his shoulder as he stepped inside.

"Perfect." Methos yawned and stretched expansively. Tangling his fingers in Duncan's long, dark hair, he added, "You know, I'm a bit fatigued from all these machinations. It might take more than just watching you make a phone call to keep my attention. What will you be wearing?"

With a sideways glance, Duncan wondered just what his perverse lover was getting at, "Wearing? To make a phone call?"

Now those same long fingers that had been tangled in his hair began tracing the veins and chords in his neck. Shivering a bit, Duncan tried to concentrate. "Methos! What difference does it make what I'll be wearing? The person on the other end of the phone can't see me."

"But I can."

The fingers abruptly moved away, leaving Duncan a bit bereft. Before he could protest though, they returned, stroking down his inner thigh. When they reached the bend of his knee, they began their return journey. As they approached his overheated crotch, Mac fought to keep his mind on the road and his hands on the wheel, "Methos! Joe was right, you are a him-bo."

"That's just fine, Highlander. You keep right on with the verbal abuse." Withdrawing the offending digits, Methos made an elaborate ritual of crossing his arms and turning to gaze out the window.

As seconds stretched to minutes, Duncan began to worry. He hadn't meant to make the old man stop, much less mad. "Now, Methos. You don't have to get sulky. I happen to be very partial to him-bos."

"Hmmpphh."

Bridging the intervening space, Duncan rubbed his fingers along the exposed nape of Methos' neck. "Come on. We'll be home in a couple of minutes." His fingers began to tease under the edge of his lover’s collar. "I thought you wanted to watch me make that phone call."

His curiosity astir, Methos turned back to face the other man. "Oh yes, that phone call. Just who is it you're calling, anyway?"

Relieved that he'd averted a possible brood, Duncan gave Methos' nose a playful tweak before answering. "An old friend of mine. Actually it’s more along the lines of a follow up to a call I made yesterday."

Methos snorted. "Gee, that’s a new one. An old friend of yours--imagine that."

"Keep it up, smart ass. You want to hear about this or not?"

"By all means. Do tell. This old friend have a name?"

"Gregor Powers."

Methos frowned. He’d read about Greg Powers in Mac’s chronicles. They’d seen each other through some rather harrowing times. "Just how good of an old friend is he?"

Slanting a quick look at his companion as he pulled the car to a stop at the dojo, Mac grinned. "Oh, pretty good. Why?"

"No reason.....Hell! How good?"

"Why Methos, you’re jealous."

Methos was silent for a long moment, a flip denial dying on his lips. "...I...Fine, perhaps I am--a little. But only in the sense that I’d rather know if he might decide to come after my head."

"Methos, why on earth would Greg Powers come all the way here from Florida just to take your head?"

"Well..."

"Nope. You already admitted it, old man. You’re jealous, pure and simple. I’m flattered."

"Oh good. As long as you’re flattered." Methos snarled sourly.

Deciding he’d let Methos stew long enough, Mac got out of the car and waited for Methos to do the same. Pressing him back against the closed door, Mac rested a hand on each of Methos’ shoulders and leaned close. "Methos, you have nothing to worry about. Dr. Gregor Powers has more important things to do with his time than beheading old friend’s lovers."

Methos had to smile. "I suppose you’re right, MacLeod."

"Of course, I’m right," Duncan smiled in return.

"After all, if Powers did make it a habit to remove all your lovers, he’d certainly have no time for medicine."

"Methos!"

"What?" The old Immortal was the picture of innocence. "He is still a doctor of medicine, I presume."

"Yes, he’s still a doctor of medicine." Mac backed away in amused exasperation. Methos was impossible to repress. Thank god. "These days he’s into research."

"Oh?" Methos was mildly interested as they entered the dojo. "What sort of research?"

"Well, something about diseases and how they’re spread. Parasites, pathogens, all that sort of thing. Which is why he’s the perfect choice to help us."

"You know, MacLeod, that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?"

Mac turned to face his companion as they entered the loft. "What do you mean?"

"You’re going to get someone who specializes in diseases to help us? Okay, Ryan I can see--beri beri, scurvy....nothing wrong with a little scurvy now and then to keep a guy humble. But, Joe..."

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Mac walked over to the phone. "Oh brother. I said I wanted to get them back, not kill them. Listen, old man. Listen and learn."

As Methos flung himself into the nearest chair, Mac dialed the good doctor. "Yes. Dr. Powers, please......Duncan MacLeod."

Waiting for Gregor to be located, Mac began to tap idly on the desk in time to the muzak.

"Ahem!" Methos exclaimed loudly.

Turning milady inquisitive eyes to his lover, Mac shrugged and covered the mouthpiece. "What is it? I’m on hold."

"You promised me a show, remember? I’m waiting."

"Oh for..." Mac trailed off as he thought about it. Suddenly, a decidedly wicked grin lit up his face, and he deliberately turned his back to the old man. At first, Methos assumed Mac was ignoring him, but then he had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle the laugh when Mac’s hips began swaying to a beat only he could hear.

Next, Mac cradled the phone between his cheek and one shoulder as he moved his hands to the buttons on his shirt. Methos sat very still, not quite able to believe that the Highlander, *his* Highlander, was about to treat him to his very own strip show.

Just as Mac eased his shirt off his free shoulder and twisted his neck to cast a look of exaggerated provocation at Methos, Dr. Gregor Powers answered his page. Mac had been so wrapped up in the music, that when it stopped abruptly, he did too. Jumping as if Gregor could peer through the receiver and see just exactly what his old friend was doing, Mac barely caught the phone as it slid off his shoulder and down his chest.

Turning a dusky red, he quickly jerked his shirt up into place as he replaced the receiver at his ear and said in a brightly cheerful voice, "Greg! Hi! Good to hear from you........"

"Shit." Methos grumbled soto voce. "There’s a moment that won’t come again in this millennium." Snickering when he realized it was 1999, he subsided to listen to the puzzling one-sided conversation.

"...Well, yes, I know I just talked to you yesterday, I just meant.....Ha. Right........You did? Wonderful....Perfect!.....How soon will they arrive?.....That soon?....yes, Greg, I know things have speeded up a bit since the Pony Express.....So, tell me again what I have to do when they get here......uh huh....uh huh....right....Amazing. Freeze dried....ha, you’re right...hm? Oh fine, fine...Handsome?...oh come on now, Greg...yes, still just as long....uh huh....Of course, who could forget you?....Oh? I understand. Duty...I owe you one.....anytime. Bye."

Turning around with a big grin on his face, Duncan began, "You’ll never believe..."

His voice trailed off uncertainly when he realized that Methos would probably not hear him. One of the old man’s legs dangled over the arm of the chair, while his head was thrown back across the other. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes were slightly shut. Asleep. Methos was asleep. Disgruntled, Mac wondered whether the old coot had dozed off before or after his little dance. With a humph, Mac turned away and stalked into the bathroom, intent on taking a shower before the package from the good Dr. Powers arrived.

As soon as the door closed behind the highlander, Methos opened his eyes and sat upright. Less than pleased with the turn of events, he had bought some time to examine the new developments in peace and quiet. *Well,* Methos winced as the sounds of a fatally fractured aria tumbled out of the bath. He quickly scowled again at the thought that Mac’s good mood no doubt had very little to do with him and everything to do with Gregor Powers. "Still just as handsome, MacLeod? Still just as long?" Methos mocked in a high pitched voice. Handsome was a given, but *long*? What was just as long? A steely glint entered Methos’ eyes as he thought that Powers had damn well better be talking about MacLeod’s hair.

A brisk knock at the outside door disturbed Methos broiling thoughts of torture and vengeance. Not that MacLeod would let him carry any of them out anyway--which gave him all the more reason to enjoy this little caper they were embroiled in now....with a dissatisfied sigh, Methos slung the door open. The young man standing there gave a startled yelp, nearly dropping the small box he was holding. "Ulp! Excuse me, sir! Delivery for Duncan MacLeod."

Snatching the box from the trembling youth, Methos fairly snarled, "I’m MacLeod."

"Y-yes sir. Um...please, sign here." Wanting nothing more than to get away from the frowning man with the strange caterwauling coming from behind him, the young man thrust a clip board and ink pen forward.

Plucking the proffered ink pen from the delivery man’s fingers, Methos signed Mac’s name with a flourish. He winced as a particularly toneless baritone refrain began to repeat with gusto. Shedding his bad mood like last year’s winter coat, Methos smiled conspiratorially and said, "Sounds terrible, doesn’t he? The doctor says he’s getting better though." He sighed dramatically. "We live in hope."

The young man’s eyes grew impossibly wide, "Of-of course. Thank you." Turning, he rushed down the stairs, sans tip and sans ink pen. Twirling the pen in his fingers, Methos shrugged and closed the door.

Crossing to the desk, he rummaged around until he found the letter opener and carefully slit the center seam on the box. Pausing before he pulled the flaps apart, he examined it more closely. According to the return address, it was from one Dr. Gregor Powers. No surprise there, he’d gathered that much from that insipid phone conversation. It did strike him as a trifle unusual that it was covered with all sorts of symbols and warnings....hmmm...*biohazard*....*do not crush*....*Hermetically sealed--do not open except under sterile conditions*....Whoops.

*Oh well*, the old man thought to himself, *too late now.* Unconsciously whistling the counterpoint to the grand finale coming from the shower, he carefully opened the flaps and looked inside. Nested inside amongst the inevitable packing materials was a small container. Never considering that this was the actual sealed matter, much less that it had all been addressed to a certain four hundred year old Scot and not himself, Methos gave the top of the jar, cylinder, whatever it was, a firm twist.

With a slight whoosh, the lid came off, and Methos leaned over the box to get a better view. He looked, and then looked again. Lowering the lid back into place, he stopped and peered inside one more time, giving the box a tentative shake. Blanking his expression carefully, he finished replacing the lid, sat down a bit heavily in his favorite corner of the couch, set the box on the floor at his feet, and waited for the re-appearance of Duncan MacLeod.

When Mac emerged from the steamy bathroom several minutes later wearing nothing but a towel and a smile, he wasn’t at all surprised to find a wide awake Methos waiting for him.

"Ha. I knew you weren’t asleep! Why didn’t you join me?" Mac leaned over the back of the couch and began to nuzzle the old man’s neck.

Never one to pass up a friendly nuzzle, Methos willingly submitted to the caress, but before Mac got more than a couple of nibbles, Methos arched his neck away from the meandering lips. "Duncan?"

"Umm...yes, Methos?" Mac whispered as he leaned even further over, diligently chasing his goal.

"Duncan." Methos voice was a bit more forceful. "Stop that for a minute, and come around here."

Standing up, Mac made his way around to the front of the sofa. "Okay, I’m here. You know, old man, I could use..." His voice trailed off as he focused in on the box. "What’s that?"

"A box."

"A box. Really."

"Give it up, MacLeod. You don’t do ingenuous well. It was delivered while you were in the shower reminding Carmen why she was glad to be dead."

Mac leveled a frosty stare at his lover as he bent to examine the markings on the box. "I thought Greg sent this special courier."

"Um hmm, that’s right, he did."

"But only the recipient can sign for that sort of thing. How..."

"I said I was you."

"You said...didn’t they ask for ID?"

Methos just smirked and stayed silent. Mac shook his head in exasperation, then noticed the opened state of the package in question. "Methos! What have you done?"

"Recently? Not much actually. Why? You have something in mind? I’d hate to interfere with any plans you might have pending with the good doctor."

"What? I have no idea---you’re just trying to divert me from the fact that you opened my private mail."

"Oh that. True. I did."

"And that’s all you can say? That you did?"

Not even gracing the question with a reply, Methos ask the question that had been begging to be ask ever since he’d seen the contents of the package. "Why?"

"Why what?" Mac ask grouchily. He might’ve known the old Immortal wouldn’t feel guilty about a paltry thing like invading someone else’s privacy. Methos seemed to think that most rules just didn’t apply to him. The longer Mac thought about it, he ruefully acknowledged to himself, they probably didn’t. But, he saw no reason to let Methos know he thought that.

Reaching down, Methos pulled the box onto his knees. "Why am I sitting here holding a box full of dead bugs in my lap?"

"Because you’re too nosy for your own good?"

"MacLeod."

"Okay, okay." Mac took the box off Methos’ knees and placed it carefully to the side. With a glint in his eyes and a twitch of his lips, he positioned himself so close to Methos that he was all but in the older man’s lap. Deliberately bouncing up and down a few times, Mac squirmed unmercifully until a strong hand grasp him firmly by the waist and shoved.

"Mac! You’re crushing me here. My god, man, you’re a bit large for this don’t you think? You’re avoiding the question. What’s with the dead ladybugs?"

Chuckling, Mac eased himself over a bit so that most of his weight was resting on the seat of the sofa. "They’re not dead."

"MacLeod. They’re dead. I shook the box. They bounced around like tiny little red popcorn kernels for a moment then nothing. They’re dead. D-E-A-D....Wait a minute, tell me again, they don’t have some sort of dread ladybug disease, do they?"

"No, Methos. I told you. No diseases. And, they’re not dead. They’re just kind of asleep right now."

"Asleep. So, Gregor Powers sent you a box of what--a thousand sleeping ladybugs. Care to enlighten me?"

Still laughing softly, Mac leaned back in and began kissing and licking his way down Methos’ throat. "Oh, I don’t know, Methos. Seems to me there are a couple of other things we could do that might be a lot more interesting than a bunch of freeze-dried ladybugs."

"Ummm..." Methos was caught up in the delicious sensations, dragging the Highlander’s legs up off the floor and into his lap. Running his fingers teasingly around the edge of the towel still encircling Mac’s waist, Methos pulled it open, revealing his lover in all his damp and glistening splendor. Following the traceries of liquid still clinging to the flat abdomen, Methos smiled as he heard the quick intake of breath and felt the ripples beneath his fingertips. When his hand closed softly over Duncan’s straining shaft, Methos had to agree that there were times to discuss ladybugs and there were other times to...not discuss anything at all.

How they got from point A: one damp, naked Highlander draped across Methos’ thighs, to point B: two equally naked men lying entwined on the couch, was unclear. However, Methos wasn’t about to spend time thinking it through when there were several other activities he could be engaged in.

Devouring the lush, full lips that parted so willingly beneath his own, Methos continued to stroke and pet along Mac’s length. When the Highlander was reduced to breathy moans, Methos pulled his mouth back just far enough to whisper, "Duncan?"

"Mmm...yes, Methos?" Mac tossed his head back and forth, arcing his hips in time to the rhythm of Methos’ hand.

Pausing in the caress, Methos squeezed gently. "Duncan," he said a bit more forcefully.

Forcing himself to focus, Duncan answered with a bit more asperity, "What?"

Pulling Duncan more snugly against him, Methos maneuvered carefully until his lover was lying stretched atop him, pressing him down into the cushions. Smiling up into the startled brown eyes, Methos whispered again, "Fuck me, Duncan."

Letting his actions answer for him, Duncan’s mouth ravaged Methos’ lips. One hand grasped the lube Methos pressed in it, while the other began stroking between the firm legs. Wrenching his mouth free, Mac sat back on his heels and stared down at his lover. Methos, given over to pleasure, was a beautiful thing. An elemental from the dawn of time refined to his clearest essence. Sometimes, like now, Duncan wondered how he’d been chosen by this man, by this singular passion.

Then, Methos stirred restlessly beneath him, and Duncan knew it really didn’t matter. Fate, cosmic whim, or the tossed heads or tails of a beer cap, Methos was his, and he intended to keep him. Opening the lube, Duncan squeezed a generous amount into his hand and set about to prepare his lover.

After working slowly and carefully for several eternal minutes, Methos raised his legs and locked them around the Highlander’s waist. "Now, Duncan. Now!"

Positioning himself, Duncan slid all the way inside with a strong sure stroke. "Ahhh..."

At Methos’ answering groan, Duncan began to move. Carefully, almost gently at first, he retreated and advanced, like a wily general employing a complicated strategy. But his opponent was no stranger to this type of battle either. Methos began raising himself up to meet Duncan’s thrusts, making satisfied little grunts when Duncan’s control began to erode until he was pounding into the older man, driving him deeper into the couch with every stroke.

It was good. Too good to last long. Duncan’s hips pistoned in and out as Methos tightened his legs even further and pulled Duncan deeper than before. With a cry, the Highlander stopped, trembling at the apex of his thrust, then plunging over the edge into the waiting arms of his lover.

Sated and content, Methos struggled for breath under the Scot’s limp weight and thought back to the end of the previous conversation. Mac’s words finally seeped into an active part of his brain. Sitting up abruptly, Methos so unbalanced his partner, that the unwary Scot found himself dumped peremptorily on the floor. "Freeze-dried? You mean like that coffee? How intriguing! So what...we just add water and stir?" Methos chortled a bit as he lifted the box, totally ignoring the hand thrust up at him from his recumbent lover.

Placing the box on the coffee table, he began peering at it intently, even going so far as to poke a finger cautiously inside. "You know," he continued, "I wonder if those two are still together?"

Realizing he was a far second to freeze-dried bugs at the moment, Mac levered himself off the floor, located his towel, and plopped down beside Methos. Leaning over to have a look for himself, he wondered lazily just whom Methos was referring to. "Hmmm?"

"That couple on those coffee commercials."

When Mac just continued to stare at him blankly, Methos signed noisily. "I swear Mac, those commercials...on television! You know, I always thought that guy looked like someone...never could quite place him. I always meant to check the Watcher roster..."

"Methos. They were commercials."

"Oh right. Silly me. Not as if they were soap operas or anything really important."

Coloring slightly, Mac turned his attention resolutely back to the box. "At any rate, you don’t add water." He snorted. "We just want them to wake up, not become some sort of soup dish."

"Okay," Methos was still sifting a finger through the tiny red forms. "So how do we wake them up?"

"That’s the easy part. Once they’re exposed to the air, they absorb the moisture necessary through their shells. Just like they do in normal circumstances."

At last, Methos had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Er, MacLeod. How long?"

"How long?"

"How long before they wake up?"

"Now that you’ve exposed them to the air, you mean?"

"How long?"

"Relax, Methos. Gregor said it could take up to forty-eight hours, depending on various factors. That gives you plenty of time."

Methos narrowed his eyes. "What? How does that give *me* plenty of time?"

Turning his best beseeching look on his lover, Mac explained. "You got to have all the fun setting up Richie, right?" At Methos’ wary nod, he continued, "So, it’s my turn. I get to distract Joe while you..."

"While I...?"

"While you...planttheminhisstorageroom."

"Now wait just a minute, MacLeod. Talking fast and mumbling isn’t going to help you with this one. Why in the world would I want to skulk around in a musty storage room making intimate contact with a bunch of disease-ridden vermin?" Jerking his hands out of the vermin in question, Methos made a show of wiping his hand vigorously on his jeans-clad thigh.

Struggling not to laugh outloud at Methos’ outraged expression, Mac blinked his big brown eyes slowly, trying to convey how deeply Methos’ words had wounded him. "Because I ask you to. Is it so impossible to do this simple little thing for me, Methos? Don’t I..."

"Oh shut up, MacLeod. I’m sure there must be a lot of people out there who’d believe your ‘woe is me’ act, but I’m not one of them."

With a bark of laughter , Mac gave up and decided to go for the ‘this is really not as weird as it sounds’ approach. "Okay, okay. Just listen. For the last time, the lady bugs aren’t diseased. In fact, they’re a lot more germ free than you are. These are special lady bugs, lab born and bred. Sterile. In both senses of the word. They’re harmless, old man. Harmless. All you have to do is sneak into the store room and find them a nice new home."

Methos tapped his foot on the floor as he thought it over. "That’s all, huh? And you really, really want to be the one to hoodwink Joe." At Mac’s eager nod, Methos rolled his eyes and acquiesced. "Oh all right. But I’m warning you , Mac. I have a bad feeling about this."

Dire imprecations aside, Mac just grinned and leaned forward to thank his recalcitrant lover with a quick buss to the cheek. As Methos reached for him again, however, Mac bounced up, flicking his towel at his insatiable lover. "No time for that right now, you just hold that thought for later."

"I’d rather hold this," Methos growled, lunging for a convenient handhold on Mac’s exposed personage. "Uh uh uh," Mac shook his finger playfully, "now’s the best time to catch Joe unawares. Strike while the iron is hot, or in this case, while the bugs are still asleep. Later, Methos."

With a disgruntled shake of his head, Methos observed sourly, "Something tells me, I’m going to regret this."

(2)

Joe popped up from his desk at the sound of a loud clatter near the front of the bar. Hurrying to the door of his office, he was stopped by the sound of two voices: one a bit shrill, the other masculine.

"Miss Desmond! I don’t know what to say!"

"Oh...Richie, I can call you Richie, right? You don’t have to say anything. I want to do it."

Joe’s eyes widened as he inched forward another step.

"But, Miss Desmond--okay, okay, Taffy, I can’t just accept personal gifts from you like this..." Richie’s voice trailed off as Joe strained forward. "But, god, it’s beautiful. Where--how did you know?"

Taffy’s bright bubbly voice suddenly had a darker thread that had Joe frowning. "So, I guessed correctly? You are into antique motorcycle parts?"

Richie laughed, still a little uneasy. "Oh yeah. But, really, Taffy..."

A soft rustle and suddenly Joe heard a muffled yelp. Unless he missed his guess, it came from Richie. Determined to find out just exactly what was going on, he walked out into the main bar, only to be brought up short by the sight of Taffy Desmond wrapped in Richie Ryan’s arms, kissing him like there was no tomorrow--and Richie was kissing her back.

"Ahem...Ahem!" Joe had to do it a couple of times before he could get their attention. When at last the two young people parted, Richie flushed red while Taffy’s eyes were sparkling triumphantly.

Not the least bit fazed, she smiled casually, "Oh, hi, Joe. I didn’t see you back there. But, since you’re here, I just came by to thank you again for giving me the day off." Turning back to Richie, she ran one red fingertip down the center of his body from his chin to a point just above his belt buckle. "And, to see if Richie here would like to take me out to lunch."

"Me?" Richie was so shocked, he couldn’t help but blurt, "Why?"

"I’ve been studying your chronicles, remember?" Taffy purred as she stepped even closer to him. "You and I have a lot in common. Seafood, right?"

"Er, right."

Reaching down to touch a small box Richie was clutching in his right hand, she continued, "And we’ve already established your love for motorcycles."

"True." Richie seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Sure, I’d love to have dinner with you."

"Great!" Taffy was all smiles. "Just let me drive home and change. Joe can give you directions, okay? Bye, Joe!" Laughing, Taffy rushed out the door, leaving an obviously disapproving Joe to confront one young, slightly embarrassed Immortal.

As the seconds dragged on in silence, Joe finally spoke up. "Well? Don’t you have something to say?"

"Umm...sure, Joe. What’s her address?"

"That’s not what I meant, Richie, and you know it. Are you or are you not the same guy who sat right in here a day or so ago worrying about that little gal?"

Richie seemed to be searching for words, then, "Yeah, Joe, that was me. I know she’s...well, she’s maybe a little...."

"Off her beam?"

"Joe! That’s not very tolerant coming from you. Maybe we misjudged her."

"Misjudged her! God, I sound like MacLeod now. No, Richie we didn’t misjudge her. She may or may not be harmless, but she’s definitely, to use Methos’ vernacular, a couple a brewskies short of a case."

Holding the box out to his friend, Richie opened it reverently. "But, look, Joe. She gave me this. Isn’t it gorgeous?"

Leaning over to get a good look, Joe looked askance at the young Immortal. "What is it?"

"Joe! It's a gas cap."

"A gas cap?"

"Not just any old gas cap. It’s a genuine original equipment Harley gas cap. They only made ‘em like this the first coupla years. I can’t believe she found one!"

Joe was puzzled. "I can’t either. And, how in the world..."

"Joe," To Richie it was obvious, "she’s been reading my chronicles, remember?"

Joe shook his head slowly. "I know that, Rich. I assigned them to her. Well, that and the Methos’ chronicles and speculations, but....they're not that detailed. Okay, it’s not a big leap to go from your recorded love of motorcross to a love of antique Harleys, but seafood?"

"Lucky guess. What about it? Joe, I don’t have time to debate this with you right now. Just give me her address, and I’ll take off."

Still feeling a strange, forboding reluctance, Joe moved over behind the bar and wrote Taffy’s address on a convenient napkin. Handing it to his young friend, he kept his grip on the paper until Richie looked up at him. "Just do me one favor. Be careful, okay?"

Smiling, Richie was quick to assure, "Of course, Joe. You know me. I’ll be fine."

"Yeah, I do know you, Casanova. That’s what I’m worried about. Just, if she suggests anything to do with whipped cream that isn’t in a dessert dish, don’t. Okay?"

Richie laughed. "Okay, dad. Sheesh." Still chuckling, Richie waved and trotted out the door.

As Joe watched him go, his answering smile faded. "Seafood." He muttered to himself. "I know it doesn’t say anything about seafood. I wrote the damn thing..." With worry creasing his brow, Joe moved back into his office to do a little investigating of his own.

Less than an hour later, Joe was more perplexed than ever. Richie’s chronicles looked...different somehow. When the young man had begun making the racing circuit, Joe had been forced to assign him a separate watcher, and, admittedly he hadn’t read any of the more recent reports since Richie was here to tell him about his adventures in person, but still....why in the world had Lefkowitz put in all those details? He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to delve a little deeper. Richie might be the Immortal, but Joe knew himself to be far more mature in the ways of the world, and this was all just a little too pat.

As he picked at the puzzle, turning it first this way, then that in his mind, he was glad he’d decided to close the bar for the day. Too many odd things were going on. Shaking his head in exasperation, he looked up in surprise as Mac burst through the doors.

"Joe! Good to see you!" Mac shouted.

Wincing a bit, Joe said wryly, "I thought I locked that door."

"Ha ha, very funny, Joe." Mac’s voice was still several decibels north of normal.

"MacLeod! What’s the matter with you? I haven’t suddenly gone deaf, you know."

Looking a little sheepish, Mac lowered his voice as he stepped away from the door. "Sorry, Joe. Was I shouting?" He chuckled, "Blame it on Methos."

Gesturing to a chair, Joe took a seat and asked, "Okay, I can do that. er, why?"

"You know how he is. Shouting is usually the only way I can get his attention. When he gets his head in one of those musty old tomes of his, he wouldn’t hear a volcanic eruption. I am amazed he escaped Pompeii."

With a half grin, Joe agreed. "That’s true. Tell me, Mac. If there was something going on, you’d tell me, right?"

Mac shifted in his seat. "Something going on? I don’t know what you mean, Joe."

Waving his hand dismissively, Joe got up and went around the bar to get them both a drink as he continued, "I know. I know. You’re not the type. Of course, if you weren’t around to keep a rein on that old--What was that?"

The ‘that’ in question was a low thud from the direction of the bar’s store room followed by what sounded like muffled curses and the tinkling of breaking glass. Raising his voice again, Mac began to talk. "What was what? Oh, you mean that little thump? Sorry, Joe, that was me, stomping around under the table. My foot’s asleep." To emphasize his point, Mac began to stomp noisily. "Damn foot. Don’t you hate it when..." Rolling his eyes, Mac shook his head sheepishly. "Well, that was stupid."

Joe stared at him a minute, then blinked a couple of times, picked up two beers and came back to the table. "Yep, I do."

"You do what?"

"I hate it when one of these puppies goes to sleep." He rapped his cane sharply against his left prosthesis. "Of course," he winked, "I just beat on it a bit and it perks right back up."

Mac’s lips twitched and he shook his head. "Yeah. Sorry, Joe. So, what was it you needed anyway?"

"MacLeod! I didn’t call you! You came here to me, remember? Good god, man, if the old man has you this addle-pated, I’m gonna have a talk with him." Holding up a finger in admonition as Mac began to protest, Joe continued, "No. Don’t even try to sit there and make something up. Let’s just say you’re here and leave it at that. Besides, the truth is, I am a little worried about something. Well, someone."

Sitting forward, Mac asked, "Who?"

Sighing, Joe replied, "Richie. Now before you get all righteously indignant, I want you to try and remember how you felt when you were twenty-three years old."

"Joe, what are you trying to say? Where is Richie?"

Rubbing a hand wearily across his face, Joe was slow to answer, "He’s with Taffy, and that’s not even the weirdest part..." his voice trailed off as Mac sat up straighter in his chair.

"What?" Mac rose from his chair, rubbing his forehead as he strove for a reasonable tone. "What do you mean he’s with Taffy?"

Joe was saved from making an immediate response when Mac’s head whipped around to the door just as Methos sauntered in. Joe’s eyes narrowed, something....Methos looked disheveled, downright dirty. Joe wondered where the old man had been, suddenly certain that a very big piece of the puzzle was bearing down on him with an innocent smile on his face.

"Hail, hail the gang’s all here." Methos said cheerfully. "What are you doing here, MacLeod?"

"Never mind that now, Methos. We have a big problem. Richie is with Taffy."

"Oh really? Well, well, isn’t that interesting."

Mac stared down at the other man as Methos settled himself comfortably in a chair. "Is that all you can say? Interesting?"

"Well, Mac," Methos spread his arms to show his helplessness. "What else can I say? Richie is a grown man, after all. If he wants to consort with loons, that’s his prerogative."

"Methos," Mac growled.

"Look, Methos. Something odd is going on here, and it occurs to me that you’re part of it." Joe stood up too and gave Methos a menacing look.

If anything, Methos just sank a little more into his chair. "Me? In the first place, I take serious umbrage at your implication, and in the second, why do you automatically assume I’m involved? What about MacLeod here? He’s not exactly pure as driven snow you know. The things I could tell you....Quit staring at me like that!"

Mac was really fuming now. The old fink was going to rat him out to Joe! "Methos, I’m warning you!"

"Yeah, really, Methos. Who are you trying to kid here? The very idea that MacLeod would be involved in, in whatever nefarious scam you have going here is ludicrous!"

"That’s right! Thank you, Joe! Really, Methos, I’m hurt."

"Keep it up, MacLeod. You’re not hurt yet, but you’re gonna be! Joe! Stop staring at me!"

"There’s something....Where have you been, old man?" Leaning over the now squirming Immortal, Joe sniffed. "What’s that smell? I know that smell..."

Methos was spared from answering by the timely ringing of the telephone. Pinning the old Immortal with a glare, Joe said, "Stay right there!" and went to answer it. As he moved to pick it up, he turned back to face the two Immortals at the table, just in time to see Mac sit down and begin sweeping his fingers through Methos’ hair. *Hell of a time to get frisky,* Joe thought as he prepared to answer. Then, Joe realized that Mac was sweeping something out of Methos’ short locks, string or...spider web! Suddenly, another piece clicked into place. That smell, it was bourbon! Joe shook his head and lifted the receiver. "Joe’s Bar....Richie! Where are you?.....Yes, I know you’re with Taffy, but Rich....but Rich....yeah....yeah....SHE WHAT?.....Whadda ya mean she thinks you’re Methos??" If looks could kill, Joe knew two Immortals who would be busily regenerating about now. As Mac and Methos surged up from their seats and headed for the door, Joe rapped the top of the bar sharply with his cane, pointing it at them like a wand or a scepter. Both men stopped in their tracks as Joe tried to get a word in to Richie’s running monologue "...Ri....Ri....RICHIE!...Yes, I had to shout! Listen to me! When she finds out you’re not Methos, there’s no tellin’ what she’ll do. Believe me, you don’t want her mad, Rich....Yes! You have to tell her!...How much later? Where is she now?...No! Richie Ryan you listen to me!...Richie? Richie? Damnation! He hung up!"

Turning around, Joe slammed the receiver down and struck the bar sharply with his palm. "I want some answers, Methos! And, I want them now! Why does Taphelia Desmond think Richie is you?"

"Lack of taste? Poor judgment?"

"Why, I oughta..." Joe shook his fist in the air. "MacLeod. I want the truth, and I want it now. Do you know what’s going on or not?"

"Well now, Joe. I guess that sort of depends on what you mean."

Methos snorted. "Oh good answer, MacLeod. Decisive and clear."

"You shut up." Joe turned back to Mac. "Mac, I know whatever your involvement with this, that unlike certain people," he glared at Methos who shrugged defensively, "you would never lower yourself to putting another person in danger. Especially Richie."

"Danger! Oh come on, Joe. Don’t you think you’re doing it up a bit too brown?" Methos was less than flattered with Joe’s portrayal of his character, or lack thereof. "So Richie is with Taffy. Big deal. What in the world could she possibly do with him? Ride motorcycles? Go to a drag race? Play frisbee in the park?"

Still fuming, Joe practically snarled. "I’ll have you know, Mr. High and Mighty, they were supposed to be on a lunch date, but somehow, they ended up staying at Taffy’s apartment. Richie took a minute to call in because she went on an errand, and he knew I would be worried. Which I am."

Finally, Mac spoke up. "Joe, I really don’t see what you’re so upset about. I’ll admit, I don’t like the idea of Richie with that woman either, but really, so he’s having lunch with her. Richie has more brains..." Mac trailed off as Joe shook his head.

"Twenty-three, MacLeod. He’s twenty-three."

"A walking wad of testosterone." Methos volunteered reluctantly.

"Exactly, and that’s not even the worst part."

"The worst part?" Mac was beginning to looking vaguely horrified.

"That errand Taffy is on? She’s gone to the grocery store. They’re having lunch at her place."

Twenty-four hours passed. No one, not Joe, not Mac, and certainly not Methos had heard anything else from Richie. At last, unable to stand the inertia any longer, Joe peremptorily summoned the two Immortals back to the bar. As they came in the door, Joe gestured them back to his office, away from the commotion of the early ‘after lunch, before dinner’ crowd.

As Mac pulled the office door quietly shut behind him, Joe moved around behind his desk. Methos thought he looked amazingly affable for a man who’d been accusing him of all sorts of dire things just a day ago. His suspicion increased when Joe smiled and said, "Glad you could make it, Mac. You too, Methos. Don’t guess either of you have seen hide nor hair of Richie?"

Methos shook his head as Mac answered regretfully, "No, Joe. I’m sorry." He sighed. "I hate to admit it, but I’m beginning to think you were right. We should have heard something from him by now. How long can one lunch last?"

Ignoring Methos’ snort, Joe just smiled again, "My point exactly. I’m especially interested in how long it could last after she figured out he wasn’t Methos."

"Now, Joe, are you still on that?"

The atmosphere in the room changed abruptly as Joe leaned forward, all traces of amiability gone. " Yes, I’m still on that! I spent the last twenty-four hours going over all of Richie’s chronicles again. Nothing in them should have led Taffy to that conclusion. I was totally baffled. Then, I thought, ‘maybe I’ll just have a little look-see at Methos’ chronicles. God knows, it’s pretty stale reading but still...’, and, would you like to guess what I found there?"

Looking from the man in question to Mac, Joe repeated, "Well, would you? Would either of you like to guess?" At the continued silence, Joe swore softly, "Goddammit, if I thought for one minute that either of you was actually trying to hurt Richie...but, I don’t. I even understand why you did it, Methos. Richie was riding you pretty hard over that whole video thing. But, dammit! It worked a little too well! What’s she gonna do...no, make that what’s she done now that she’s figured out Richie is just Richie?"

Sitting forward, Mac began, "Joe, I--"

"--No, Mac. Let me." Methos grimaced slightly. "I am sorry, Joe. You’re right, it was just supposed to be a bit of revenge. A joke." Shaking his head and shrugging, Methos added, "It doesn’t seem quite so funny from this end of it. Have you tried calling her?"

Wordlessly accepting Methos’ explanation and apology, Joe nodded. "Yes, several times. There’s no answer at her apartment. Nor at Richie’s. I was hoping maybe you two could..."

"Right." Mac jumped up, glad to be doing something. "Give us the address, we’ll go right now." As Joe handed him a slip of paper, Mac said, "I’m sorry too, Joe. It wasn’t just Methos, you know."

The first genuine smile since Mac and Methos had arrived flitted across Joe’s face. "Oh, I know. Richie and I both knew you two were up to something. Now, go on. I won’t be easy with this thing till I know he’s okay."

With swift good-byes and promises, Mac and Methos were gone. Joe told himself the best thing for him to do was to sit tight. Wait. Let them do whatever had to be done. He argued with himself for ten minutes, until finally he shoved wearily up from the desk and started for the door. *Wait? Let them handle it? Yeah, right. That’s what had gotten them into this mess in the first place.* As he told Mike he’d be out for a while, Joe flicked absently at a small red spot on the bar surface. The ladybug flew off to search for a safer landing pad as Joe hurried out to find his friends.

Mac and Methos were led to the door of Taffy’s apartment by the soulful croonings of Hank Williams declaiming about "Your Cheatin’ Heart" to pretty much everyone on the entire fifth floor. Wincing as the tuneful twangings seemed to reverberate inside their skulls, both men nevertheless heaved a sigh of relief at the Immortal signature coming from within. Pulling back on Mac’s arm, Methos stopped him before he pushed the buzzer. Putting his lips against Mac’s ear to be heard over the din, he said, "Mac, Duncan. You’re not...I mean, you don’t..."

Smiling gently, now that it seemed pretty clear that Richie was fine, Mac kissed his lover lingeringly on the lips. A sudden silence let him answer in a normal tone, "Don’t what? Blame you? Methos, how could I? We’re in this together, remember? I may not necessarily like having to admit it to Joe," Mac chuckled, "but it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to blame you for something I helped engineer." Turning to press the doorbell, he stopped again, "Methos, what if they’re, er, occupied? I mean, Richie isn’t gonna be too happy with us if we bust in on the middle of something."

Leaning around Mac, Methos solved the dilemma by pressing the doorbell himself. After a few minutes, when no one answered, Mac pressed it again. Still nothing. Looking apprehensively at Methos, Mac raised his fist to bang on the door. At the first touch, it swung open, creaking slightly on its hinges and revealing a dark, lightless interior.

The two Immortals exchanged a look, both drawing their swords as Mac, followed closely by Methos, edged inside. "Richie? You in here? Taffy?"

The only answer was the opening notes of yet another song, so loud Mac imagined he could sense the very walls vibrating in protest. Then, just at the cusp between introduction and verse, a voice came from inside the doorway on the left. "Who’s there? I’m warning you, I have a gun!"

Mac tried again, "A gun! Richie? That you?"

"Mac, oh god..." The sounds of Johnny Cash lamenting about his "Folsom Prison Blues" rose again as Richie shouted at the top of his lungs. "Mac, yes! It’s me! Don’t come in!"

Methos hurried on down the hallway towards the mammoth stereo system blinking against the back wall. When he’d poked and prodded until blessed silence reigned again, Mac stepped forward until he was just outside the room where Richie seemed to be, then called, "Rich, we’re not here to bother you. Joe, well, all of us were worried and just wanted to be sure you were okay. Is Taffy in there with you?"

"Oh god. Does that mean the old man is here too? Oh no..." The sentence trailed away into such a pitiful moan that Mac had to force himself to stay put and respect his young friend’s privacy.

"Okay, okay, Rich? Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll just leave. Right Methos?"

Grinning, but feeling a sneaking sympathy for the youngster and his paramour, Methos agreed. "Right. See ya, Ryan."

"No! Don’t leave!"

"Richie. Which is it? Do you want us to leave you two alone or not?"

"Taffy’s not here. She--she’s gone. I just , I just....oh god."

"Richie? What’s the matter, kid?" Another voice sounded from behind Methos as Joe stepped into the apartment.

"Joe?" The relief in Richie’s voice was palpable. "Could you help me please?"

Mac started forward again, "Richie, I told you, we’re all here to help you. Let me just get the light switch."

The yelled, "No!" came a split second too late as Mac located and flicked the switch on the wall. Raising his head to look for his former student, he felt his mouth falling open as he stood rooted to the spot.

"MacLeod," Methos sounded impatient as he pushed his way past his lover, only to brought up short, speechless.

Grumbling, Joe was the last to get a clear view, "I swear, people pushing and shoving their way in somewhere then stopping dead right in the middle....Rich?"

"um...hi, Joe." It was hard to say exactly what was going through the three rescuers’ minds just then, but it wasn’t difficult at all to see that Richie was mortified. The vast expanse of exposed flesh left little doubt as to just how embarrassed he was as an angry red flush spread from his cheeks down to where his feet disappeared in a pile of fluffy pink pillows that almost covered the entire floor.

*Of course,* Joe thought wildly, *I can’t actually see all his body--I guess it’s possible that the parts hidden by the serape or the bars are some other color.*

The serape, striped with some really nice colors, Joe noticed in a tiny corner of his mind, was obviously a child’s size. Far from covering his entire torso, it hung in a long narrow strip down the center of Richie’s chest, ending just below his, er, masculine credentials. Unfortunately, Joe noted, this was only because it was hiked up in the back so that it would drape as far forward as possible. Most of Richie’s hips were totally exposed, as, no doubt, were the rest of his buttocks had anyone cared to look. Again, in all fairness, Joe had to acknowledge that Richie wasn’t totally nude beneath the dinky drapery, a black leather belt complete with two holsters that appeared to contain six-shooters was slung low around the kid’s waist. Lying off to the side was a huge, white ten-gallon hat, no doubt intended at one point to top the ensemble.

Forbearing to comment for the moment, and, Joe admitted to himself, being totally at a loss for something to say anyway, he turned his attention to the rest of Richie’s predicament. The young Immortal was, for all intents and purposes, in jail. As Mac and Methos continued to stand and stare behind him, Joe cautiously approached Richie’s...cage. For cage it was. Richie was standing in the biggest birdcage Joe had ever seen. Richie strove for a sickly grin, but at the continued silence of his erstwhile rescuers, he finally shrugged and sank down into the pile of cushions. Now, Richard Ryan was sitting like a demented member of Alice’s tea party beside a scattering of bowls and utensils, looking as at home as a human being could look in a seven foot tall golden birdcage.

Still waiting for his friends to breech the silence, Richie munched on a handful of tortilla chips as he looked from one man to the next, almost as if it was a game to see which would dare a question first. Mac was still waiting for his vocal chords to catch up with his sight. Methos was apparently not afflicted to the same degree, as he began to inch his way forward, whistling a merry tune as he went.

"Methos! Stop that!" Joe was not pleased to recognize the theme from "Bonanza". Luckily, he was fairly certain Richie was too young to be familiar with it.

Pinning the old Immortal with a look that basically ordered him to stand quietly or else, Joe turned back to the resigned looking young man. "Rich," Joe said gently, "Why don’t you come on out of there, and we can talk about it, okay?"

Richie just shook his head and tried to tuck his serape more demurely around his person. "I can’t do that, Joe."

"Wh--" Mac’s voice failed him, and he had to clear his throat to try again, "Why not, Richie?"

Richie just sat there, unable or unwilling to answer. It was Methos who got it first, breaking his stasis and striding forward right up to the bars. Locating the door, he gave it a little shake, "You can’t get out, can you? She’s locked you in here! My, my, what a predicament, and you all dressed for the occasion too. Tell me, Ryan, or should I say ‘Hoss’, does she have this place wired as well as she had the loft?"

Looking around wildly, Richie appeared to shudder at the thought, telling Methos all he needed to know about what had probably been going on earlier. Then, suddenly, Richie was up and snarling in Methos’ face. "Yes, you’re right! She locked me in here and she left; no doubt, to secure the distribution rights and market my video in all the porn shops from here to Calcutta! Does that make you happy? She took the key and left! Isn’t that funny? How about it, Joe? You gonna laugh? You were right and I was wrong. Richie messes up again. Does that make everybody happy?"

Before Mac or Joe could address the outburst, Methos laughed outright and held up a hand to stop Richie’s two outraged protectors. "Gentlemen, I’ll handle this."

Joe allowed himself to be restrained by Mac, who seemed willing to give his lover the benefit of the doubt. Methos smiled warmly at Mac for a moment, gratified that the Highlander apparently trusted him enough, *finally*, to handle some things himself.

Turning back to the cage, he leaned in close to whisper, "Oh, good try, Ryan. ‘Distraught Innocence’ might work on Paw and Little Joe back there, but no way it’s gonna work on me, *pardner*." Raking a speaking glance down the length of Richie’s body, Methos continued, "Trying to divert them isn’t really going to work for long. You know that, right? I mean, it’s like this, chum, you’re standing here, worse than naked, looking like the next act in the Chippendale’s Review, as casually as if you were waiting for the bus, and as soon as the two of them get a good look at what’s on that table over there," Methos jerked his head back towards a corner of the room, " the gig will be up."

Richie’s blue eyes widened in dismay, and he reflexively made an abortive move to cover his groin as Methos bit back a grin and said, "Don’t worry, Ryan. Those two will believe anything if you tell it right. I don’t know why, but I actually feel kind of sorry for you, so....Just follow my lead."

Richie was shocked but quickly recognized that Methos was his best hope of getting out of the situation without imparting a lot more knowledge to Mac and Joe than they needed to be burdened with. "Okay...um, thanks."

Methos stepped back from the cage and raised his voice, a little uncomfortable at all the bon homie himself. "That’s all settled then. The thing to do would be to find something to open the cage with."

Stepping forward, Mac suggested, "How about a sword?"

Richie shook his head, "Nope, won’t work. I’ve already tried it." He hefted his sword which had been leaning against the bars behind him.

With a last long look at Methos, Joe spoke up. "She left you your sword?"

"She said she didn’t want me to get hurt just cause I was stupid. The sword is for if the guns aren’t enough." Richie managed another sickly grin. "There’s no way to get enough leverage to pry the door off though."

Joe reached through the cage and patted Richie gently on the shoulder. "She was pretty mad when she found out you weren’t Methos, huh?"

"Oh boy, was she ever. I didn’t want to tell her, but she didn’t really give me any choice."

Before Joe could ask what he meant, Mac spoke up from where he’d been canvassing the room looking for something to free Richie. "My god, what is this!!"

In a parody of their earlier reactions, all Mac and Joe could do was stare at the object dangling from Mac’s katana blade.

Turning back to Richie, Methos gave him a big wink then asked in mock surprise. "My god, indeed! Richie, I’m sure you were shocked when Miss Kitty brought out that very inappropriate item?"

To Joe and Mac’s amazement, Richie didn’t even seemed fazed at this latest discovery. "Oh yeah," he agreed readily. "Totally shocked. And outraged. Shocked and outraged."

"I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything quite like it." Joe sounded dazed.

"It’s a Do-It-Yourself Strap-on Dildo...with a big pickle on it." Richie volunteered helpfully.

"A WHAT?" Joe’s yell was loud enough to wake the dead, or at least the neighbors. "What did that woman do to you? I can’t believe even she would buy that, that..."

"Relax, Joe. Nothing happened. In fact, everything was fairly routine up until, well, for a long time, but suddenly she started talking about how, since I had no doubt been around when the first one was invented, I shouldn’t object, and then she said that I probably *had* invented them so in a way it was mine..."

Methos winced. This was all gonna be a bit harder to pull off if Richie didn’t shut up very soon..."Yours!"

"Yours!!"

"YOURS!!!" That was Joe again.

Methos went to examine the sex toy more closely, noting the four clamps arrayed around the base that seemed to be gripping the gherkin tightly in place. Looking over the rest of the items on the table, Methos whistled silently at the astonishing array of fruits and vegetables: the inevitable banana, a huge cucumber, a carrot, and a rather spectacular specimen of crook-necked squash.

Turning back to the jailbird, Methos sidestepped plan A and went directly to plan Z, which consisted of...well, he’d just have to see what developed. Meanwhile, it was time a certain caged bird began to sing, "You want to tell us how you that little contraption came to be all loaded up and ready to go, Dead-eye?"

Staring hard at Methos, Richie seemed to calm after a moment then began talking swiftly, "Don’t worry, don’t worry! God, we didn’t, I didn’t... Nothing happened! She told me she had a present for me and made me close my eyes. The next thing I knew, she was prancing around waving that thing and talking about how important it was to get your daily requirements of fruits and vegetables. Even then, I thought she was just goofing around. I mean..." Richie paused and cast a sheepish look around the cage, "we had been having a really good time. We’d just had the most amazing Tex-Mex feast, complete with, um, entertainment. I thought she just wanted to... well....when she started trying to attach that pickle, well, that’s when I had to tell her I wasn’t Methos."

Rising from a close examination of the carrot and the odd indentations around it’s circumference, Methos’ eyes met Richie’s for a moment. Certain he had the young man’s attention, he palmed another item on the table and slipped it into a pocket. Then he asked, "And she just believed you? Just an ‘oh by the way, I’m not Methos’ and she bought it?"

Coloring again, Richie hedged, "Well, no, not exactly."

"Well, what exactly?" Mac asked as he continued his search for an extra key in the drawers of the desk.

Pulling the big cowboy hat into his lap, Richie began to knead its brim nervously."Okay, so she didn’t believe me no matter what I said at first. Methos, did you know there are apparently a lot of things you and I have in common?"

"Oh he knows all right," Joe said sourly. "So how did you convince her?"

"Well, it finally occurred to me that there was one thing that Methos and I most certainly did NOT have in common. Not me and Mac either for that matter."

"Aha!" Mac looked up in triumph as he held up a large ornate key with a dangling tag that said ‘birdcage’ attached to it. Hurrying to the cage, he paused in the act of turning the key, "What was it that we don’t have in common, Richie?"

"You know," Richie looked first at Mac’s crotch, then his own.

"I...", Mac’s eyes were drawn to follow the younger man’s almost against his will. "I know?"

A snort from Methos, followed by a sudden choked guffaw from Mac told Joe he was the only one still in the dark. "What??"

Methos was grinning from ear to ear. "Think, Joseph. What is it that Mac and I have that Richie doesn’t? Besides good looks, pleasing personalities, charisma, and each other I mean. You might say it’s something unique to our place in history."

Mac opened the door with a flourish then stood aside while Joe handed Richie the jeans he’d found nearby and thought out loud, "Besides....Oh! Ha...very clever, Rich. So, Taffy left then?"

Richie tugged the pants over his long, muscular legs, and sighed in relief. "Um...not exactly." he replied as he unbuckled his gunbelt and tossed it back into the cage. "She was still totally convinced that I at least knew where Methos was." Richie stared pointedly at the old man. "I mean, I had to tell her something." He ended on a defensive note.

"Oh no," Methos groaned. "Tell me you didn’t set her back on me."

"Nope!" Richie grinned, his usually cocky confidence reasserting itself. "And I wouldn’t send her back to Mac either. I sent her off to the one person who will know exactly how to handle her."

Now it was Mac’s turn to groan. "Richie, you didn’t!"

"Sure did. Mac, I had to do something." Richie gestured toward the dildo. "Do you know how much something that’s been soaked in vinegar and salt would probably sting?" Oblivious to the pained winces from his rapt audience, the young Immortal continued, "I told her that while I didn’t know Methos personally," he smiled, "I did know someone who claimed to be intimately acquainted with him in the past."

"Intimately acquainted?" Mac turned to Methos with raised brows.

"Well, yeah, you know. All those stories Amanda tells about when she and Methos first met."

"What stories?"

Making shooing motions towards the door, Methos decided it was time to conclude the discussion. "You mean she never told you, Mac? Hm...well, maybe some other time. Sending her off to Amanda like that was quick thinking, Ryan."

"No, she never told me, and neither did you." Mac allowed himself to be pushed out the door, but he wasn’t about to let the matter drop. "Well, Methos, sounds like we have a couple of things to talk about. But, Richie, I still don’t see why, you sent Taffy to Amanda."

"I do." Joe spoke up. "Who better to handle a predatory female than another predatory female? And, let’s be honest boys, have you ever seen anybody, male or female that Amanda couldn’t handle?"

Mac chuckled. "When you put it that way, no, Taffy doesn’t stand a chance. I’ll just call Paris and give Amanda a quick heads-up on the situation. Tell you what, Joe, can you take Richie home? Methos and I will go by the loft, and then we’ll meet you both at the bar around eight, all right?"

"Sounds fine by me. Rich?"

With a last lingering look around the little room where he’d spent one of the most memorable days of his life, Richie shrugged. "Great. And, Mac, Methos...thanks guys. Both of you."

"You’re welcome, Rich."

"Yeah, Ryan. No problem. See you at eight." Whistling, "Rockin’ Robin" Methos followed the others out, firmly shutting the door behind him.

After riding along in near silence to the dojo, Mac wasted no time in trying to pin Methos down about his amatory adventures with Amanda when they entered the loft. After several minutes of non-answers like "it was a long time ago, Mac" and "if Amanda had wanted you to know, she would have told you", Mac decided more drastic action was called for and pinned his lover down a bit more literally.

Huffing from having picked Methos up bodily and tossed him onto the bed, Mac settled himself more comfortably on his favorite interrogation location, Methos’ chest, and smiled at the slightly red-faced man beneath him. "Well, well, here we are. Why is it, do you suppose, that two of my best friends in the entire world, one a former lover and one my current one, would neglect to tell me of a past history that no doubt was good for more than a few laughs over the centuries? Now, why is that, Methos?"

Cocking his head inquiringly, Methos stared into Mac’s brown eyes for several beats. "You’re jealous." A grin creased the aquiline face. "You, Duncan MacLeod are jealous!"

"Ppffttt. Dont’ be ridiculous. Why would I be jealous of anything Amanda does? ‘She has ever been constant in her inconstancy’."

"Oh, nice quotation. Granted, you and Amanda have always been...well, you and Amanda. But, if you’re not jealous of Amanda, that must mean you’re jealous of..." Methos let his voice trail off suggestively, almost daring the Highlander to finish the thought.

"Of you." Mac agreed softly. "I must be jealous of you." Leaning forward, he captured the wry, witty, wonderful mouth with his own.

When at last the kiss ended, Methos tried to collect his thoughts as he tried to collect his breath. "Duncan, you have nothing to be jealous of. Not then, and certainly not now. Amanda and I--well, there never really was an Amanda and I--more like an Amanda and I and Rebecca, you know?"

Feeling absurdly happy that his lover was so eager to reassure him about something that was apparently hot gossip over a thousand years ago, Mac allowed the levity rising in his chest to burst forth. The thought of Rebecca and Amanda fussing busily over a Methos sandwich, knowing what he knew of those two....well, he had to laugh.

Edging over onto his side, Mac continued to chuckle as he ran a finger over the finely wrought features of Methos’ face. "Now that I would have liked to see."

"Really? I hadn’t realized you were quite that much of a voyeur, MacLeod." Methos was amused too. The combination of good memories and the overwhelming proximity of a great deal of warm, firm Highland flesh made him unusually expansive. "Ah, the stories I could tell you..." Pressing a hand firmly over the Highlander’s partially open mouth, Methos continued, "...but I won’t. Think about it, Duncan. I know you and Amanda have been--gods I don’t really know what to call you--but the point is, I only know that because I know both of you and have been around when you’ve been together. And, I’ll wager that whatever the Casanova Kid thinks he knows, it’s probably very little. How many times have you or Amanda given me detailed accounts of your little tussles between the sheets?"

Nipping at the hand still covering his mouth, Mac grinned at Methos’ euphemisms, "’Tussles between the sheets’? How old worldly polite of you, old man." At Methos’ growl, Mac hastily continued, "No, no, you’re right. Amanda doesn’t go around doling out blow by blow accounts," Methos winced at the bad pun. "However, our man Richie does. So tell."

Affecting a look of perplexity, Methos asked, "Richie and Amanda? You have got to be kidding, Highlander. Now that’s an unlikely couple if I ever saw...mmpphh."

It was Mac’s turn to staunch the flow of words, only instead of a hand, he used his lips. When Methos had been effectively kissed into silence, Mac decided further discussion would best be facilitated if he maintained control of the situation. Yes, he was definitely in control, he thought with smug satisfaction, as his lover relaxed beneath him.

Pressing fervent kisses on the face of the man who had come to mean so much to him, Mac ever so slowly made a trail of fire across Methos’ finely planed cheekbones to his left ear. "Methos," he hissed, using his tongue to punctuate his inquiry.

"Hmmm?" Methos found he couldn’t be troubled to actually speak, too busy concentrating on the delicious sensations tingling through his nerve endings.

"Perhaps we should make an agreement about this jealousy thing" Mac continued, his lips now searing across collarbones laid bare by a shirt that had miraculously vanished.

Twisting and turning beneath the marauding lips, Methos ran his own hands down Mac’s back to tug at the shirt that was keeping them from pressing flesh to flesh. "Anything, Duncan. Anything, just..."

"Just what, love?" Mac seemed unaware of the endearment as his hands worked languidly on the belt around Methos’ waist.

With a frustrated curse, Methos heaved upwards tossing Mac back onto his side. "Your clothes, Duncan. Take off your clothes! Now!" Matching actions to orders, Methos stripped his own pants away with careless haste, watching with hot eyes while Mac did the same.

When at last both of them tumbled nude back onto the bed, they moved together like iron being pulled to a magnet. Rolling, hips surging forward to thrust frantically against each other, both Duncan and Methos could feel the rising tide of arousal that flowed between them. Still, Mac struggled to think. He wondered vaguely how Methos had suddenly become the one on top. There was something...unfinished, something they’d been about to--"Methos!"

Instead of a verbal response, Methos went for something a bit more subliminal. A sound, at once both threatening and caressing, rose from his throat. Raking his hands in great sweeps from Duncan’s shoulders to his thighs, Methos considered himself far too busy to be bothered.

Shivering, torn between continuing their fascinating conversation about, well, whatever it had been about, and giving in to the persistent man who seemed bent on pleasuring him, Duncan decided that perhaps allowing Methos’ non-response to stand was, in fact, an answer in itself. Just as soon as he could remember what the question was, he’d certainly give it due consideration.

Pleased with that notion, he gave up his last vestiges of self-control, and turned his full attention to his partner. Just then Methos decided to put a bit more force behind his curled fingers...."God, Methos!"

"Like that, do you? You, my dear Duncan, are a born Sybarite."

Wrenching himself out of the very pleasurable fog that he felt like he was floating in, Duncan opened on eye, "Eh?"

Laughing out loud, Methos swooped down to kiss the eye closed again, "Never mind, Duncan. You are so eloquent during sex." Reaching between them, Methos grasped Mac’s erection in a sure grip. Hot and hard, that was the way the Highlander seemed to prefer it these days. Methos shuddered with pleasure of his own as Mac’s big hand closed in a similar vise around his own shaft. Hot and hard...definitely something to be said for that approach.

"Oh...yessss..." Methos found he could get fairly eloquent himself. Pumping in rhythm to the staccato beats of their hearts, both men soon brought each other to completion.

Later, with the evidence of their passion spattered on the svelte torso beneath him, Mac sighed and levered himself up on wobbly arms. His lover lay in boneless disarray.

Leaning down, Mac nuzzled the stubbled cheeks, "Methos...Methos."

"Ummmm?"

"Open your eyes, old man. We have to get up."

With the barest hint of a frown, as if even that much effort was all but untenable, Methos sighed as well. "You would have to promise to meet them at Joe’s."

"Oh come on now," Energized, Mac bounced up and headed across the room to their coats. "Surely you want to hear the real version of ‘Ride’em Richie and the Loco Senorita.’"

Suddenly galvanized himself, Methos leapt from the bed and rushed past Mac to grab his long coat before the Highlander could go through its pockets. "Whoa there, MacLeod. Just what do you think you’re doing? And what do you mean the real story? Surely, you’re not implying that little Richie was less than forthcoming."

"Methos, let’s examine the facts here." Holding up a hand, Mac began to count off his fingers. "One, Richie is found, basically naked, sitting in a big bird cage. Two, he wouldn’t even have been particularly concerned about it, except that it was us who found him. Three, he never did actually explain how he wound up in said birdcage. Four, he knew what a Do-It-Yourself Strap-on Dildo was and only seemed concerned about *it* because of the pickle. And, four--"

"Five."

"What?"

"You said four twice. You’re ready for number five."

"Fine!" Mac made a sudden grab for Methos, succeeding in bringing the old Immortal and his coat up flush against him. "Five!" He twisted his now grinning lover’s arms behind his back and thrust his hand into a pocket. "Aha!" In triumph, he held up a well-used tube with the dubious name of Liquid Sex. "I don’t think he was using this to oil his six-shooters, do you?"

Laughing, Methos shook his head. "Oh, I don’t know, Duncan. He’s still young. I suppose it could possibly be a six-shooter."

Groaning at the old man’s never ending supply of ribald wit, Mac loosed his hold. "Like I said, we need to meet Richie at eight, and, if we’re gonna maintain our cover as the mature Immortals in the group, we need a shower." Tossing the lube back to Methos, Mac asked over his shoulder, "Why’d you pick that up anyway?"

Shoving the twisted, half empty tube back into his pocket, Methos tossed his coat away. "Future reference, Highlander. Future reference. Now, lay on, MacDuff."

With a playful cuff to the side of Methos’ head, Mac led the way to the shower. "That’s MacLeod, ye daft git. MacLeod. Though," he said admiringly, "the whole ‘not of woman born’ part does kinda fit, doesn’t it?"

Rolling his eyes, Methos silently resigned himself to a long homily on the likelihood of William Shakespeare knowing about Immortals and shoved Mac inside.

Mac and Methos entered Joe’s bar promptly at eight, still squabbling as they crossed the floor to their waiting friends. "Are you satisfied now, MacLeod? It’s just now eight o’clock. I told you we wouldn’t be late. After five thousand years, I’ve developed quite an innate sense of time, you know. Never forget a date."

"Oh really. If you hadn’t suddenly had to rush back upstairs, I wouldn’t have had to worry about it in the first place." Rolling his eyes, he turned to address the two men at the table, "Hi guys!" he said brightly. "How’s it going Rich?"

"I’m okay, Mac." Richie assured his mentor as the two Immortals sat down. "I still feel kinda stupid, but heck, it coulda been worse."

"It certainly could have," Methos began ruminatively.

With a frown and a discreet kick to the shin, Mac spoke up quickly, "I called Amanda. She says to tell you she’ll take care of everything. In fact, she says we should have called her in the first place." He chuckled, "She’s probably right."

"She probably is, " Richie grinned back.

"Still," Methos took back the conversation firmly with a well placed kick of his own. Raising his voice over Mac’s muffled "oomph", he continued, "you must be a little sorry to see her just ride off into the sunset like that."

Rubbing his shin under the table, Mac leveled a glare at his lover then shrugged. Fine. So much for subtle build-up. "He’s right, Rich. You know, it occurred to me you never did really tell us how you came to be locked in that cage."

Beaming approval at Mac, Methos closed in, "Yes, Richard. I’d have thought her earthier aspects would’ve appealed to a maverick such as yourself. How is it the little lady managed to lasso you?"

Leaning back a bit, Mac fell into the spirit of things. "Ah yes, you were caught slicker than a beaver in a lard bucket."

Methos mumbled, "Oh brother."

Sniffing, Mac decided to cut to the chase. "Spill it, Richie. What happened?"

Richie knew the time of reckoning was at hand, and he determined to be as matter-of-fact about it as possible. No matter what the rest of them thought, it wasn’t his fault that Taphelia Desmond had ...had....Looking over at Joe, hoping for a rescue, he realized the old bartender looked very uncomfortable. "Joe? Are you all right? What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," Joe said distractedly. "I think." Squirming in his seat, Joe was bending this way and that, engaging in incredible contortions as he grabbed first at his back and then dug in around his collar. "I mean--Hell! There’s something in here with me!"

Standing up with a jerk, Joe began tugging at the top of his shirt in earnest. "Here, no here! Gotcha!"

Realizing that almost every patron in the general vicinity was watching him with the avid interest they’d accord a new floor show, he colored and grinned sheepishly as he brought his now closed fist out of the back of his shirt and slowly sat back down at the table. "Methos, no doubt your bottle is already empty. When I open my fist you get ready to whack it. Ready?"

Opening his fist and jerking his hand out of the way before Methos could crush his fingers as he and his trusty weapon rode into the rescue, Joe waited for the blow. And waited. In the deathly quiet that descended on the table, Joe stared in bemusement at a tiny red lady bug, sauntering across the top of the table as if it was right at home.

"What the?" Richie raised his mug up to eye level and tried to peer inside. "Yuk!" He sat it down with a thunk and pushed it carelessly across the table.

"Richie!" Mac jumped back from the table as a golden stream of beer made its way across the surface to drip off the sides. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he followed the direction of Richie’s fascinated gaze.

Joe had jumped for a towel as soon as the mishap occurred. Now, he had returned,but instead of wiping up the spill, he too was looking at the table with a deepening frown on his face. Half a dozen lady bugs were trying to do the backstroke in the puddle made by Richie’s spilt beer.

"Oh no." Mac moaned. Rounding on Methos, he snarled. "So you never forget a date, huh? A human chronometer, huh? Well, Mr. Perfect, you forgot about the lady bugs!"

Methos stood up so fast his joints snapped, "I forgot!"

Hearing Joe’s gasp of outrage, Mac agreed. "I’m glad you admit it!"

"Why you--"

"STOP!" Joe’s voice quivered with suppressed outrage. Turning to the man who he’d known in one form or the other for years, he said just two words, "Why, Methos?"

As Methos stared in momentary stupification, Mac cast a dispairing look around the bar, knowing he was going to have to tell Joe the truth. Mac saw ladybugs at all compass points. There were bugs on the tables, bugs on the light fixtures, and, worst of all, bugs on the customers. It was only a matter of time--Mac’s morose ramblings were interrupted when a woman near the front door screamed and began clawing at her hair.

That was all it took. Within minutes, the entire bar was emptied, customers running screaming and cursing into the night.

"Well, if that doesn’t just tear it!" Joe would have said more but he gagged suddenly. With a terrible grimace, he grabbed a napkin and swiped it across his mouth. "Shit. I can’t believe this. I still don’t believe...Methos! What have you done?"

"Now that is enough. I have sat here day in and day out, Joe Dawgghhaagg!" Choking and gagging, Methos rid the world of one ill-fated ladybug. Eyes streaming, he whirled on his heels and stalked toward the door. "Coming, MacLeod?"

"MacLeod! You’re not gonna leave here with that--that incubus, are you?"

Before Mac could offer any explanations or possible confessions, Methos had turned back around. "Incubus! Me?! Who do you think unleashed this little plague on you anyway, Joe? Hmm? Why don’t you check with Gregor Powers? Or, no, I’ll just tell you. It was your pet Immortal, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, that’s who. Now, I am leaving. Alone. MacLeod, if you’re interested, I’ll find my own way home."

With that, Methos vanished into the night, leaving a very ill at ease Highlander to face two very suspicious faces. Realizing Richie had been abnormally quiet ever since the invasion had begun, Mac wondered briefly if he might find an ally there, but a quick look told him Richie had, if anything, an even more accusing look on his face than Joe did.

Falling back on the old ‘best defense is a good offense’ stratagem, Mac began, "I really don’t know who I’m madder at, you for calling my lover a succubus, or Methos for calling me your pet Immortal!" Crossing his arms, Mac stood in martyred silence, the picture of outraged innocence.

Recognizing it as the same look he’d tried to use earlier in the day, Richie began to grin, "Incubus," he murmured.

"What?" Joe turned a startled look on the young man.

"Methos is an incubus. Mac said ‘succubus’. That’s a girl demon. I’d say all of us here can vouch for the fact that Methos is 100% boy. Isn’t that right, Mac?"

Feeling the heat of a blush rising up his neck, Mac could do nothing but wait.

Wondering if the skewed reality he’d been living in the past few weeks was permanent, Joe flicked his towel to sweep a couple of lady bugs out of his chair and sat back down. Rubbing his hand across his face, he gave Mac a long look, then began to laugh helplessly. The big Scot had several lady bugs scurrying about in his hair, and as Joe watched, one tumbled over the front of his forehead to land on the long slope of his nose.

As Mac began to brush frantically at his head and clothing, Joe smiled up at him. "Aw, give it up, MacLeod. Was this your idea or wasn’t it?"

Reaching over to pick a couple of bugs off Richie’s back, Mac admitted ruefully, "It was mine. When you said that bit about bugs being a good idea..." his voice trailed off as he shrugged. "I guess I got a little carried away."

"Well," Joe shared a look with Richie, "Maybe we did carry that video stuff a little too far. Wouldn’t you agree, Rich?"

With a deep breath, Richie nodded. "Yeah, we did. It didn’t seem quite so funny when I thought it was happening to me. When Methos ask me if Taffy had filmed...well," he gave an exaggerated shudder, "let’s just say, I won’t be making anymore dog jokes for a while."

"Thanks, Rich." Mac clapped his young friend on the shoulder. "I appreciate that. So does Methos."

"Speaking of the old man," Joe spoke up, "when you catch up with him, tell him I’m sorry for that incubus crack, would you? I’ll just call the exterminators in the morning..."

"Oh don’t do that, Joe." Mac protested. "It’s really not necessary. Gregor said they’ll seek the nearest vegetation. As soon as the sun rises in the morning, just open up the doors, and they’ll be safely in the park by midday."

Joe nodded slowly. "Still, all these bugs. I better shut ‘er down for a couple of days till I can clean everything properly."

Mac shook his head again. "Nope. These are sterile lady bugs. The only place they’ve been in the outside world is right here. I’d wash the glasses and table tops, but otherwise, it should be fine."

Joe was admiring. "Leave it to you, Mac. Even when you ‘get’ me, you take care of the consequences. Methos is right, you know."

"I am not your pet Immortal!"

"No, not that. About you being a boyscout."

"Har har. One of these days, you just may be surprised."

"Oh yeah." Joe laughed. "Let’s get out of here. I’m getting tired of picking ladybugs out of my teeth."

"Yuk." Richie snickered, hurrying to the back hall to shut off the lights. "Hey, Mac?"

"Yeah, Rich?"

"You talked to Gregor Powers, right?"

Remembering Gregor’s questions about Richie, Mac grinned as he led the way out of the bar, "Yes, I did. He asked about you, as a matter of fact." Turning his head, Mac wasn’t surprised to see Methos leaning against the corner of the alley.

At the mention of Gregor, the old man moved closer. "What about Gregor Powers?"

Richie answered. "Mac says he asked about me."

"About you? Is that right? Do tell, MacLeod."

Hooking an arm around his lover’s neck, Mac drew him into the little group that now stood on the sidewalk while Joe double locked the door. "Seems he remembers you quite well."

"He does? Wow. Where is he now anyway?"

"Florida. I could give you his phone number if you like."

"Great, Mac! Thanks."

"No problem. Only come by to pick it up tomorrow, okay? Right now, I have a certain crotchety old Immortal succubus to soothe."

"Incubus!" Joe shouted as Mac’s mouth twitched with suppressed laughter.

"Dawson!" Methos fairly growled the name.

"Now, now, Methos. You took it totally the wrong way."

"Oh? And just what is the right way?"

"I meant it as a compliment actually."

"A compliment?" Mac was amused, but skeptical. "How so?"

"You read much about incubi, Mac?" At the negative shake of the Highlander’s head, Joe continued, "Some very interesting traits--very interesting, especially in the area of sexuality. If you know what I mean." Gesturing at the old Immortal still snug in the crook of Mac’s arm, Joe was relieved to see that Methos was trying very hard not to smile. "Ask him yourself. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to tell you all about them. No doubt with visual aids."

"No doubt." Methos did smile then.

"Oh, and boys?" Joe waited until he was sure he had the older Immortals’ attention. "The next time one of you amateurs decides to play a practical joke...don’t. Otherwise, you might just find yourselves up to your ass cheeks in something a lot more interesting than ladybugs."

As the two Immortals bristled in renewed outrage, Joe chuckled. "No offense, boys. You’re just outta your league. Hey, Rich, if you come over to my place, you won’t have to wait till tomorrow for the good Dr. Powers’ number. I happen to recall it’s right by my phone where I left it when his Watcher called me with a special report this morning. Seems he knew something strange was going on and he just thought I should have a head’s up since he’d heard my name being tossed about."

Expounding on the efficiency of Watchers in the modern world, Joe led a grinning Richie down the sidewalk, leaving 5500 years worth of chagrined Immortals staring after them.

Finally, Methos shrugged and turned towards the car. "Hey, MacLeod?"

"Yeah?" Mac still sounded disgusted.

"How do you feel about zucchini?"