A/N opening drabble. :D Seems Methos and the Five knew one another at one point...hmmm _

"Druitt, you bastard." The words didn't hold any real venom, which surprised John Druitt greatly.

"Miss me Ben?" He smirked.

"No." Ben replied smoothly. Ben was no more human than John.

"Ahh, I am wounded." John sneered and gestured at the bartender.

"He'll have whiskey, neat, best you've got." Ben ordered before John could speak. The bartender glanced at John, who then nodded minutely in acknowledgment.

Ben smiled neutrally at his one-time companion and raised his beer to him.

"What brings you here?" Ben murmured tightly.

"Work." John chuckled. Ben let out a bark of laughter and shook his head.

"Work? Right. Sure." Ben's voice is taught, sharp, razor wire.

"And you?"

"I live here, for now at least."

John accepted the drink and downed it without tasting it. He leaned forward and whispered in Ben's ear.

"Come now Methos let's not get off on the wrong foot, again." John murmured.

'Ben' flinched and flexed his jaw.

"Learn a lot if you know where to sniff." John said cheerfully as he leaned away and gestured at the bartender for a second drink.

Methos stared at his beer, face blank for a few seconds.

"Y'know I quite liked you, until your friend started sniffing around about the Ripper business and I did a little deduction of my own." He hissed spitefully at John.

"Oh that is rich. Are you going to call me a killer?" John chuckled sourly turning slightly towards the immortal man. Methos glanced up at John, and for the first time, John saw the other man's real age reflected back at him. In spite of himself he felt a shiver crawl along his spine. Not fear or dread, but rather anticipation, eagerness.

"I've done what I've done, there's no man or woman alive with rights to judge me." Methos said very softly his accent slid from it's usual vaguely upper class British to a darker richer more common growl.

"That's not what I hear." John laughed richly. His eyes drifted over Methos, taking stock.

"How's your head? Still getting headaches?" Methos asked venomously, taking the offensive. John smiled, revealing his teeth and inclined his head in acquiescence. Methos had scored a point.

"I had a... chat with an old friend. Haven't felt this well in years." John admitted as he leaned into Methos' personal space. The heat from John's body warming Methos' pallid skin.

Methos stared hard at John. In the heady days of Victorian indulgence there may've been something between the men. Methos briefly thought of the poet Byron and the sordid activities surrounding their friendship. But time moved on and people changed, even him. He stood up and counted several bills from a wad in his pocket. He tossed them onto the bar and turned to leave.

"Don't be a stranger Ben." John called after him his voice it's customary growl. Methos ignored the parting shot and left the bar. The Parisian night spread before him endless opportunities awaiting, but he felt no interest. He resented John's intrusion. He'd been thinking of leaving Paris anyway, itchy feet, a healthy habit in an immortal. He couldn't really run from John, not for long. But, it was his privilege to meet his old friend on his own terms. The game had begun, the old dance. He would go to London.

John enjoyed his second drink savoring it's age and flavor. His phone rang.

"Yes Helen, he was here."

"London I should guess. No I'm having a rather fine drink...the bartender understands English and I am disinclined to leave."

"Very well." He hung up with a thin smile. Magnus' orders must be obeyed, he thought, but he had time...


Methos did not feel him coming, but then, he wouldn't. John may be very old and insane but he was not an immortal and therefore beyond Methos' abilities. Methos did smell John a moment before he struck.

John snaked an arm out to throttle Methos. Methos' – resenting such rough treatment- dodged the arm and lashed out at John's solar plexus. John – being John- teleported a few inches beyond Methos' reach and stood staring at him with a playful smirk.

"Oh you are annoying." Methos glared while the vaguest of smiles twitched his lips.

"Let's stop playing games shall we Ben?" The name and John's tone brought a flash of memory from nearly two hundred years past flaring to life before Methos' inner eye. A caress, a laugh, a need. Methos shivered and faced John, slowly he relaxed out of his fighting stance.

"Why are you here?" He asked, tone resigned but eyes calculating.

"Honestly? I was sent to find you." John admitted, he enjoyed watching Methos' think.

"Oh gods, is it Helen?" Methos half groaned half asked. Only Magnus could tame John, mad or no, and only Magnus could have any interest in Methos. Methos had no business with the Watchers, hadn't in at least a decade. The few immortals who knew him, by pseudonym or his actual name, had no interest in him at the moment. Which left dear Helen Magnus, ringleader (lover) and meddler.

"Of course it's Helen, now, you can pack a bag and I can take us both, or you can pout and catch a flight.

"Go back to the bar. I'll be back in an hour." Methos sighed.

True to his word Methos arrived just under an hour later. John glanced at him but had the grace to hide his pleasure at so thoroughly invading the other man's world. Methos stood at the doorway until John strode toward him. He gripped Methos' arm at the elbow and as they left the bar he embraced the Methos almost tenderly. They vanished from sight, a brief ripple of almost liquid air hung in the dull light from the streetlamps, and then it too faded.

A/N M'kay. I have an outline, really, I do :D I'm thinkin about 20 chapters total hopefully most around this length mebbe longer. Short 'n sweet. Later chapters will be M. Hope you've enjoyed it.