These are series of HL drabbles written when I was studying my GRE vocab back in 2005-ish. The basic idea was to take a random set of vocab words and try to write a fic around them. Hopefully it doesn't sound too pretentious.

Summary: Takes place after Methos, Finale I & II - Joe Dawson tries to feel out the 'young' Watcher who is possibly not so young.


Conversation Over Beer

Joe Dawson eyed the seemingly young and innocuous man lounging on the barstool across from him, searching for a felicitous moment to launch his interro - that is, questions. The aforementioned young man seemed to be ignorant of the piercing gaze, looking every inch the cogent picture of a carefree grad student as he assiduously finished off his seventh beer that night.

Finally, looking around one last time to make sure that no one else was in the now-closed bar, Joe decided to dive in.

"So. You're Methos."

The 'young' man smiled at him; it wasn't quite the shy, innocent smile that he'd seen the few times he'd met 'Adam Pierson'.

"Hmm… I guess it's too late to prevaricate. So I guess I am." Methos studied his almost-empty beer bottle as if it held all the secrets of the universe. Maybe it did.

"You're not going to deny it?" Somehow, that took Joe by surprise. He'd expected a lot more paranoia and obfuscation from the real Methos if he ever met the man. He was still only half sure that 'Adam Pierson' was who MacLeod said he was.

"You're not an idiot, Joe," replied Methos affably. "I leave willful intransigence in the face of futility to stolid Highlanders better suited to it."

"That 'willful intransigence' saved your life," Joe pointed out, a bit miffed at the aspersions being cast upon his Immortal. "As I recall, Mac said something about you offering him your head?"

Rather than reacting to the implied accusation of weakness, Methos simply flashed an amused smile. Secrets sparkled in those hazel eyes.

"Call it a moment of insanity in the face of childish truculence." Methos shrugged. "Why should only the youngsters have fun in their ostentatious melodrama?"

Joe blinked. That was certainly not what he expected. The man was confusing him with his non-replies. "So… you do still consider yourself in the running for the Prize?"

Methos snorted. "I'd rather play no part at all in the coda of Immortality, if it exists at all."

"You don't believe in the Game?" Joe asked incredulously.

Methos shrugged. "My beliefs hardly matter. The Game will still go on as long as others believe, and as it does, I much prefer the less strenuous role of playing the malingerer, and occasionally to delineate the story of Immortality within a certain group of historians." A wicked smirk now appeared on the man's face.

"Hence the Watchers…" Joe whispered, mind whirling in awe and confusion. Did Methos - if this was indeed Methos - just imply that he'd ensconced himself in the Watchers more than once? How far and for how long had their security been compromised?

"Hence the Watchers," came the calm agreement. The smirk remained on that youthful face - no longer wicked, but also no longer innocent.