Innuendo

by Jasper Fantasia

One night at Joe's bar, with Methos.... Just a tad slashy, nothing explicit, and a lot of fun at the expense of members of Queen! Typical guitarist.

Rating/Disclaimer: The boys at RPD own these boys. I've borrowed them... and I *might* give them back... rated R. More fade out than anything, but still very, very slashie! Just a little break from "Blue"... hope you like it! Innuendo

Part One

AN: For the Queenliterate-challenged, Brian May is the guitarist from Queen. You know, the one with the hair.

Present day; Paris

Methos and Joe finished setting up the new sound equipment they were testing the next day. It'd been a lot of work, effort and beer, but it was finally done. Methos had done all the heavy lifting, relying on Joe's expertise of such things to get it right. Joe had been really excited about the new system and had talked about it for weeks. He'd explained every part of it and how it was so much better than the one he'd previously owned. Although he didn't understand any of the technical jargon that Joe had used, Methos found his own appreciation of the system. Joe plugged in his favourite six-string and played a song. He'd picked up some musical knowledge in his five thousand years, enough to hear and appreciate the difference and richness of tone that the new system allowed for.

"It's beautiful," Joe commented, putting down the guitar and looking at the collection of speakers, monitor and wires as though it were a holy shrine. "It's not the best money can by, but sometimes it's much better. Like now," he said. He picked up a different guitar, a classical twelve-string with an electric adaptor. As if to demonstrate, he played a new song, slowly, concentrating on every nuance of every note. "Listen to it sing, Adam."

He was listening, and it was indeed singing. Methos had an incredible respect and love for music and musicians. He never felt the passion that ran through their lives, but he could reconise it and found it an endearing quality. He loved people like that, artistic and different. They were more likely to understand him, he and his passion for living. And yet, Methos did not have that musical passion in himself. He fed off it from others. Methos, the five thousand year old groupie.

Joe spent another hour there, salivating over the new equipment and the admittably rich tone of the bass and the sing-song quality of the treble. Methos hadn't noticed before what a difference sound equipment could have on a guitar. But he'd noticed things like that before. Found out that tuned drums- after he'd learned drums could actually be tuned- sounded better than untended ones, that a warm piano sounded better in the bass and that a bright piano had a better treble. Maybe that was why, after a while, he realised he held a similar if less passionate facination with the music that Joe played.

Eventually Joe parted with the guitar, placing it on one of the several stands that littered the stage. As Joe moved to tidy up behind the bar, Methos went and sat on the stool that Joe had previously occupied on stage. "You mind?" Methos asked Joe, pointing to the classical acoustic.

Joe smiled. "Didn't know you played," he commented. "Go ahead. But remember, what happens to her happens to you."

Methos laughed. Typical guitarist. "It's been a while," he conceeded. He picked up the guitar, unpluging it from the sound system. He had a use and appreciation for technology, but a classical twelve-string was a classical twelve-string and he didn't need a fifteen-thousand dollar sound system to remind him that. It was best this way. He looked around, sighting a pick and plucking it off the table on which it sat. Trusting that it was still in tune, he was fully prepared to take the blame for any wrong notes he hit. He played a scale first, to try and remember where everything was and how to use it.

"Maybe you should use the six," Joe offered. "It's easier feel, especially if it's been a while."

"Was it that bad?" Methos asked. "I would, but I learned on a twelve-string." Thinking a moment, Methos started to play a song, an moderately hard one, but one that he none the less remembered to a certain degree.

Joe watched as Methos' hand glided across the frets and back again. He was good, and, though he tripped up occasionally, Joe never would have expected Methos' talents to venture in to the land of music once or twice. It wasn't that he didn't have time- he just never seemed the type. The song was a pretty one, with a very classical feel. Methos played only part of the song, stopping seemingly half-way through. He put the guitar down and shook his left hand. "Worse than harp strings," Methos scolded, rubbing the tips of his fingers.

"Well, as you said, it's been a while. Still, that was pretty good. How long has it been, four hundred, five hundred years?"

"I learned about four hundred years ago... but, that I learned to play twenty years ago. It's a Queen song."

"Didn't sound like 'We Are the Champions' to me."

Methos gave him a mock scowl. "Queen had a lot more songs than that. That was 'Love of My Life.'" Methos' thoughts trailed off. "Meant a lot to me, that song... so I learned to play it."

Joe put some glasses back on the shelf. "No song I've heard of. Who taught you that? Not people would know a song like that."

Methos looked at Joe, then back at the guitar. "Brian May," he said quietly.

Joe looked at Methos. "Brian May," he repeated, deadpan.

Methos nodded, seating himself at the bar but not looking at Joe.

"You know Brian May?" Joe leaned closer to the Immortal. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've known a lot of people. Nero, Churchill, Byron..."

"Yeah, but this is Brian May we're talking about here."

Typical guitarist, indeed. "So?"

"So? He's one of the greatest guitarists who ever lived! You never said you know him!"

"Knew, Joe. I knew him."

"He's still alive, Methos." Joe handed Methos a beer. "You'd think you know that, especially if you know him."

"Says you who thinks 'We Are the Champions' is the only song Queen ever wrote. I know he's still alive," Methos added, drinking his beer. "It's I who am not alive."

Joe nodded. "Oh," he said, understanding.

"Anyway, that was some time ago. He taught me that song, made me get back into playing the guitar for a while. I'm cursed- I get attached to guitarists too easily," he joked. "The Gods have it out for me."

"I'm sure they do," Joe responded. It was later, so there were only a few people left at the bar. He'd taken the morning off and done what he'd liked best, sleep, so he felt refreshed despite the clock hailing early morning. "You ever meet Freddie Mercury?" Joe asked, a half-joke.

Methos looked to the floor and back again. "Yup," he answered. "He was... different." Methos took another sip of beer. "Very different. Then again, they all were. All musicians are. Every one, their own unique brand of different."

"Yeah, I can say that," Joe agreed. "Then again, everyone's different."

"I suppose, but musicians have an indearing quality to them. Different and... adorable. Like snowflakes."

"You calling me a snowflake?"

Methos smiled. "Yes," he replied.

"I'll let it go. But only because you knew Brian May."

"He wasn't the only musician I've met."

"I'd hope not," Joe replied. "Anyone stand out in your mind?"

"Well... you're certainly a charmer. And Freddie and Brian... they were both very talented and amusing people. Everyone can teach you about life and yourself, but musicians always do. Make you think. There was Casperalli, the man who taught me guitar, Dominique LaDouceaur... I remember her well. She was a caberet singer. Wonderful at it, too."

"By the smile on your face I'm guessing she was good at a few other things, too."

"Might've been. And Albrecht... I remember him... very much."

"What'd he do?"

"Piano. He played piano."

"No, I mean, how'd you know him. The way you say his name... there's something about it."

"Oh..." Methos leaned back against the bar. "He was a translator, during the Second World War. I was working as a doctor. He had been on the field, brought in because he'd been shot. I wasn't the doctor who treated him, but I worked with him. Most people with an injury like that were sent home, but we were short on translators."

"What happened?"

"He lost a leg. I had to help him learn to walk again. He wasn't in the field anymore, but he had to learn to walk again. And he did."

Joe came around to the front of the bar. He did his rounds before closing, putting the last few chairs up on the tables and telling the few remaining patrons, asking them politely to leave. With muttered grumblings to pleasent goodbyes, they all eventually made their way to the door. "Now," Joe continued as he sat next to Methos, "tell me more about this... person. What was his name? Something German."

"Albrecht." Methos laughed. "He hated being called Al. And I hated being called Ben." Methos chuckled to himself, sharing a private joke with his beer bottle.

"So what'd you call each other?"

"Ben and Al," Methos confessed with a grin. "It was... fun. Playful adversarialism. It got him through his troubles. For the mind, laughter is truly the best medicine."

"Dr. Methos, I will be sure to remember that." Joe shut off the lights beneath the bar top and the bright overhead lights, leaving only the wall scones to illuminate the area.

Methos got to his feet, collecting his coat and walking to the door. "Nice chatting with you."

Joe nodded waving goodbye. He rummaged around the bar, putting things away and sweeping some of the particularily dusty areas. His employees would do the rest tomorrow. As he was edging one of the corners with the broom, he heard a knock on the door. Looking up, he saw that it was Methos.

"Hi, again, Joe." Methos started as Joe let him inside. "My car won't start, if I could use your phone-"

"You're not going to find anyone to fix your car this time of night."

"I was more thinking of calling a taxi."

"You don't have to do that. I'll drive you home. On second thought, stay here. The spare room's finished." Joe finished the sweeping. "You should know, you helped fix it up."

"You know I hate to impose like this..." Methos said, more a pleasentry than anything else.

"No, you don't," Joe replied. "Besides," Joe said, sitting on the bar stool. "Tell me more about this Al person. You never told me what was great about him."

"Well," Methos dragged himself, coat and all, over to the neighbouring stool. "He had a determination- that always helps when you rehabilitate someone. They have to want to do it, and he wanted to walk again. And he- why do you want to know?"

"Because you never talk about yourself. After all those millenia you'd think something interesting had to happen to you."

"Fine. Give me another beer."

"More beer," Joe repeated, almost uncertain.

"More beer, more story. It's win-win, Joe, you have beer, I have story... seems fair to me."

"It would," Joe agreed, traveling to the fridge and back again with an offering of beer. "Now, more story."

"He had been a dancer, not a professional one, but it was a hobby of his. Understandably, he was a bit shaken, but very down to earth. But he had that passion, that musician passion that I reconised. A real zest for life, I suppose. I found it a very attractive quality. He was fun to talk to, an interesting person. He was wonderful."

"You sound really taken by him."

"After years and years of being couped up with often bitter patients who wanted nothing more to fight again, go home or gain back what they had lost, Albrecht seemed one of the few amiable people left on earth. I didn't like the staff I worked with so much, and I needed a constant. Someone constant. He was that person. My anchor, and I needed that."

"I can relate. Then again, I was one of the bitter, complaining patients."

"It's all relative, Joe." Methos looked at the Watcher who sat across from him, He Who Gave Him Beer. "I never hated my patients, but it can grate on your nerves. I felt appreciation from him. That's why people become doctors, for the most part, they want to help, and be appreciated. I felt appreciated around him, like without me he'd not be able to find his way."

"It sounds like you two got pretty attached."

"I suppose we did. Transmissions intercepted would come in, and Albrecht and I would translate them. My German was rusty, and he helped me with that. A symbiotic relationship is best. Where you can learn as much from them as they can from you. Made him feel appreciated."

Joe nodded. To a degree it was like that with he and Adam. Joe taught Adam about music and bartending, when he thought he was listening, and if Adam cared to open his mouth Joe often learned something. That is, if it wasn't cynical pessimism. Maybe their relationship wasn't like that after all...

"He would talk to me, would really open up to me. Tell me things that I don't think he told anyone else. He told me how hard it was, I told him there was good in everything. You just had to find it. I was expecting the normal answer, a patient asking you to go through what they were and then to tell them that there was good in it. But he surprised me. He said I was right, that there was good in his misfortune. He'd met me."

Joe momentarily thought that perhaps this was all a story. However, by the look on Adam's face, it was clear this all really happened. Depite his often surpressed and always over-inflated ego, Adam was a well-liked and charming person. He deserved that ego, and he handled it well. "Maybe he just didn't know the real you," Joe quipped.

Methos smiled. "I think he knew me better than I thought he did. Knew me better than a lot of people. We talked all the time. One conversation stands out in particular, though," Methos added with a particularily precious grin.

"Oh? What was that, exactly?"

"When he told me he had been a dancer. I told him my sympathies, fearing he'd go into a depressed spiral. But again- he surprised me. He told me it had been fun, but he didn't need that- he had his music, his piano. I was glad for him that he hadn't lost his hands."

Joe shifted on his stool. "Yeah, I can hear him on that one," he said, looking fondly at the forlorn guitar that sat on stage, begging to played. "Did you know Brian May almost lost his arm?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "I thought you wanted to hear the rest of this story," he said, appalled.

"I do. Continue. Dancer boy didn't lose his hands, something about talking about music and German..."

Methos scowled again. "Anyway, he said he loved his music, we shared our musical knowlegde, finding a level ground. Told me what kind of dance he'd done, who had taught him, how disappointed they'd be. He had that humour in his eyes, that sort of laugh and love always in his eyes. He told me there was still one dance he could do," he added with an obvious tone of innuendo.

"Yeah, there's always that one."

Methos didn't look as though he'd payed attention to his companion's words. He instead looked at the bottle in his hand. Quietly he added, "I asked him to show me."

Joe looked up. "What kind of doctor are you?"

Methos shrugged. "It was in his best interests. He needed a self-confidence boost-"

"Right," Joe said sarcastically.

"-and it helped him... get exercise."

"Usually when I think of exercise that's not the first thing that comes to mind."

"Well, maybe it should be."

"So, you took him to bed."

Methos shrugged again. "Why not?"

"Why not indeed," Joe replied, not at all surprised. "It's not shocking, at any rate. Didn't know you were that way- but that's not shocking either," Joe said with his own humour.

"I took a semester at Freddie Mercury school, dah-ling," he said with a mock drawl.

"I'll bet you did."

"And, back to the story, we were... lovers throughout, from then 'till the end of the war." Methos looked up, recalling the memories. "I'll never forget that day. We were sitting, in the field hospital, translating some documents. A messenger ran in, one who gave us a telegram- Germany had surrendered. Everyone stood, jumped, cheered... almost everyone. We looked at each other and... forgot ourselves. We kissed, not caring about anything else. Ignorance truly is bliss. After a moment the cheers stopped. At first I thought that maybe someone had come telling us the war was back on- but then... I realised they were staring at us. We stood back, still looking at each other. The people who'd seen were anywhere from shocked to disgusted to appauled, but most of them seemed to understand. Years away from women and cooped up with men doesn't make one homosexual- but it makes it more understandable. They understood, I believe."

Joe didn't say anything, prompting Methos to look at him and quip, "How well you understand?" His tone positively dripped of innuendo.

"Enough," he replied.

"Do you have any I-was-in-the-war-and-'accidentally'-made-love-to-my-best-friend stories?"

"No," Joe said. "Never exactly happened. I spent a lot of time in an army hospital. The opportunity never came around, and didn't really think about it."

Methos' features were set in old-and-wise mode. "Sometimes those opportunities come when you least expect it."

Joe felt to urge to say 'Confusious say', but something to Methos' look made him hold his tongue. He looked at him, noticing that smile was almost an offer, then Methos looked back down to his beer. After a minute he looked back to Joe, seemingly looking for acceptance of that offer. Joe didn't know what to make of it. He held his eyes with Methos', saying nothing. He thought about it- but didn't know what to think of it. He didn't have to think about it much longer, as Methos leaned over and kissed him, causing both to close their eyes. When Methos broke off their kiss, Joe pulled him back. Partially because he wanted that to continue, partially because he didn't know what he was going to say to Adam when it was over. Methos took Joe's hands in his own, massaging them gently. Seductive bastard, Joe thought, one of his only thoughts to make it to coherency. Well, besides 'holy shit...' at any rate. He to admit, Methos was a good kisser. Then again, after five thousand years, he hoped he would be.

Methos cupped Joe's face in his hands, continuing their embrace. He didn't know why he'd kissed him, just knew that he had. He had experience with kissing. It was usually the best thing or greatest mistake you could make. More often than not, it was both.

Methos' head shot up, his hand flew to his sword and unsheathed it, quick as lightning. Joe looked at him in surprise. Hell of a way to break off a kiss. "Someone's here," Methos reported. "You expecting MacLeod?"

Joe shook his head. Methos nodded and crept towards the door. He looked outside. It was MacLeod. He opened the door, his sword at ease. "Don't do that," Methos scolded, shaking his sword as point. "I don't like being sneaked up on."

"I didn't sneak up, and I'm not here to see you. I want to talk to Joe," MacLeod said, pushing Methos out of the way. "What's with him? Why's he still here? Aren't you closed?"

"Would you like me to answer those all at once?"

Methos stood still, unsure what to do. He remembered what he had to do: get that guilty look off his face. Don't look at me... I didn't steal the cookies, what are you looking at me for?

"His car broke down," Joe explained. He continued his conversation with MacLeod, the bulk of which Methos didn't hear. Something about Amanda and information on some Immortal. When they finished talking MacLeod walked to Methos and put an arm around him. "Are you going to put that away?"

"What?" Methos asked as innocently as he could muster.

"Your sword."

"Oh... right." Methos obediently put the sword away.

"Now come with me and let's see if we can't fix the car."

"It's okay, Mac," Methos said. "It's something with the starter. I think... think it's dead. No helping that."

"Suit yourself," he said, walking out the door and into the night.

"Real smooth, Methos."

"What?"

Joe just shook his head and walked to where Methos stood, looking decidedly blank and confused. "Now, do we finish what we started or did that completely kill the mood?"

Methos smiled. The charm was back. He had frequent flyer miles for charm. "I don't think it's completely dead. One of those Immortal things, you know? It comes back."

"Really," Joe said.

"I think so." Methos looked at Joe. It was awkward. It wasn't that he was a friend or that they'd just kissed, it was that someone needed to make that first move- again. Might as well be Methos...

He leaned in a second time, the awkwardness finding no more place in the little Parisian blues bar. They kissed a while, Methos eventually backing away.

"Go upstairs," Joe commanded, "I'll finish turning out the lights and join you."

Methos kissed him one more time. Pouting he said, "don't keep me waiting too long, dah-ling..."

MacLeod took the papers that Joe handed him. "Thanks, Joe," he said. Amanda looked at the papers, prompting Duncan to pull them away from her sight.

"Fine," she said. I don't want to see them anyway." Amanda turned to Joe. "What's in the papers," she whispered to Joe.

Joe leaned in closer and whispered light-heartedly, "ask Mac."

Amanda harrumphed. "What's with you this morning? You seem more chipper. It brings out the evil in you."

"Yeah," Duncan agreed, "What's her name?"

Joe shrugged. "Like I'd share that with the likes of you too."

"What," Amanda began, "you think we'd embarass you or something?"

"Something. Definately something," he said more to himself than his companions.

Duncan read over the papers, giving select information to Amanda. "Now, Joe, tell us: what's her name?"

"Where'd you meet her?" Amanda chimed in.

Joe turned around and prepared two drinks which he placed in front of the two Immortals. "Not saying anything. That's on the house."

"You think you're going to get us off you with free alcohol?" Duncan asked, jokingly.

"Who do you think I am, Methos?" Amanda asked. Joe blushed slightly and said nothing, but neither seemed to notice.

Duncan looked up. "Speaking of Methos, did he get home okay?" He turned to Amanda. "He was here last night; his car wouldn't start," he explained.

Amanda looked at Duncan. "That's right, I saw his car out there this morning and I was going to-"

"Oh," they chorused, taking a nice big hop on the clue bus.

Joe bit his bottom lip, blushing furiously.

Amanda turned to him. "You didn't," she stated.

Joe shrugged, grabbing a drink for himself. "Might have," he replied.

Amanda did her quasi-evil grin. "Let me guess, you had a few drinks, one thing lead to another..."

"Might have," Joe repeated.

The two Immortals looked up, sensing another. First they looked at each other for confirmation, then the door. After a quick memory check of the recent conversation, they looked to the stairs. There, looking deliciously disheveled to some degree, was Methos.

"Hey, M- Adam!" Duncan began. "We were just talking about you."

"I can well imagine," he said, approaching the bar. Joe handed him a beer. "They know?" he asked quietly.

"They figured it out." Joe stayed next to Methos for a minute. "I called someone, they got here about five minutes ago. To fix your car."

Methos nodded, half-way sleepy. "Thanks."

Joe turned to walk back to MacLeod and Amanda but Methos held his arm firm. He grabbed gentle hold of Joe's collar, pulling him closer for a light kiss. Joe looked at him, frowning playfully. "In public, Methos?"

"Just tell everyone I was drunk."

"They'd believe it," Duncan quipped.

Methos opened his mouth to reply but was silenced by the door opening and the mechanic approaching Joe. "What's the charge," Joe asked.

"No charge," the mechanic said. "Easy fix." Joe indicated Methos as the car owner. "Your car? Oh, well, someone unhooked the starter. Nothing to fix." The mechanic left, saying "thanks for the beer", before leaving out the door.

Laughing nervously, Methos stood and started for the door, noting the look on Joe's face as considerably hilarious. "Silly things... funny car, that..." he said. "It's always the starter..." he stated, leaving for the door. Before leaving he turned and addressed Joe. "Say, Joe, how much of my beer tab did last night cover?"

Playfully bitter Joe responded, "I don't give tab credit to blanket hogs."

Methos laughed, shutting the door behind him.

"That bastard set the whole thing up," Joe said reflectively. His thought line was cut off by Methos re-entering the bar, zipping past them and up the stairs. He came back down, brandishing his broadsword. He held it up to display to the three at the bar. "Forgot my sword," he explained, leaving out the door, quickly.

Amanda and Duncan shook their heads. Joe still looked at the door. "Only Methos."