Blah, blah, I don't own these characters. Blah, blah, I did this for fun, not profit. Blah, blah, the Highlander concept is not original with me. Big shock, huh?

Deliriance

Methos was surprised to hear Joe's voice on the phone. The Watcher rarely called him at home. "You better get down to the bar, old man. There's something here you need to see." Not liking to be summoned, Methos would have blown him off with a snarky retort, but the bartender sounded worried.

Entering the bar a short time later, he understood why.

He approached the bar cautiously, his eyes on the man on the stage. Joe came up behind the bar to meet him. "Told you ya needed to see it."

Up on the stage, a man wearing a navy windbreaker, a green plaid flannel shirt – untucked – and blue jeans two inches too short, stood wailing into a microphone. The long dark hair Methos knew him to possess was apparently tucked under a Mariners baseball cap.

"What the devil is he doing?"

"Singin' karaoke to the jukebox," Joe said, shaking his head. The ancient immortal listened to the song playing, barely audible beneath the din pouring through the sound system.

"Is that...?"

"Yeah," Joe said sadly. "'Born To Be Wild.'"

"I know this is Halloween and all," Methos said, "but couldn't you have been content with pumpkins and black cats like everyone else?"

"I know. This is seriously scary stuff."

To the relief of everyone in the bar, the song ended, and with it the wailing. "Thank you, thank you, I'm here all week," the performer said over the complete lack of applause, and skipped down off the stage.

"Hey, Methos, how's it goin'?" He grabbed the beer Joe had poured for him, took a hefty slurp, and wiped the foam from his mouth with his sleeve.

"To hell in a handbasket, if your singing is any indication."

Duncan MacLeod snorted loudly and gave a braying laugh. Methos exchanged a horrified look with Joe. Motioning for Joe to move down the bar a bit, Methos leaned over and asked, "How long has he been like this?"

"Since he came in over an hour ago. I saw him yesterday, and he was just like normal."

Joe looked up as the door opened, and Methos glanced over his shoulder to see two attractive women walk into the bar. Duncan met them, leering. As he talked to them, he scratched himself. Closing his eyes, Methos turned back to Joe. "So something happened last night or today to cause this."

"Looks like."

They both turned as a resounding slap signaled the end of MacLeod's chat with the ladies, who stalked away to a table. "Fine, no problem," he called after them, rubbing his face. "No ride on Duncan's Love Train for you two!" Seeing Methos and Joe looking at him, he shrugged with a grin and said, "Chicks."

Leading Duncan to a table, Methos and Joe sat down with him. "MacLeod, what have you been up to lately? Say, oh... last night and today?"

"Watched some Mutant X... nuked some hot dogs... called a 900 number..." He crammed a handful of candy corn from a dish into his mouth.

"Before that, Mac," Joe said.

"Oh, this was really cool," Duncan said, grinning widely and fully displaying the handiwork of his teeth on the as-yet-unswallowed candy corn. "This morning, I called up Richie's girlfriend and told her that he'd said I could have a go at her when he wasn't busy with her. She got so mad! It was funny."

"MacLeod," Methos said intently, "did you have any challenges recently?"

"What are you thinkin'?" Joe asked, but the old man merely put up an impatient hand.

"Well, now that you mention it, yeah," Duncan said, leaning his chair back and sticking one hand under his waistband. "I took a head just last night." He made a chopping gesture and a "whoosh" sound.

"What was he like?" Methos asked. "What kind of guy was he?"

Pursing his lips in thought, Duncan replied, "He was kind of a dweeb. Mismatched socks, rode to the challenge on a bicycle with coaster brakes. When he pulled out his sword, he actually made a humming sound like a light saber."

Smiling, Methos patted Duncan's hand. "Could you excuse us a moment?" Gesturing for Joe to follow, the old immortal led the way back to the bar. He rested his elbows on the bar and sighed heavily. "It's worse than I thought."

"What? What is it?"

Methos looked Joe in the eye. "It's a Dork Quickening."

Joe gasped. "Oh, come on, Methos! That... that's just a legend. There are no verified stories of actual Dork Quickenings in the Watchers records, and you know it."

"Nevertheless, Joe, you see the evidence before you." Methos jerked a thumb to indicate MacLeod, who was amusing himself at the table by lining up candy corn in the shape of a male organ, pointing it out to the disgust of passing customers.

"Okay, what do we gotta do?"

"Well, first I need to fly him to Rome. We visit an ancient shrine, go down a hole, MacLeod gets into this sacred pool..."

"Are you nuts? We don't have time for all that! I got the Halloween crowd comin' in pretty soon, and he's alienatin' all my customers." Joe thought for a few seconds. "How 'bout the Methodist church across the street? They got a bathtub in the basement."

Methos shrugged. "That works too."

In the basement of the church, Methos turned off the faucet of the pocked and pitted claw-footed porcelain tub. Joe looked doubtful. "You sure he's gonna fit in that thing?"

"Why not? He folds. All right, MacClod, in you go."

"Stupid, taking a bath with my clothes on," Duncan grumbled. "And what are you, a couple of pervs here to watch?"

"With yer clothes on, what's there to see?" Joe growled. "Get in the tub."

Duncan climbed in, still grumbling, and wedged himself into the tub to lie in the shallow water. "Now what?"

"Now... go have a mind-fight," Methos told him.

"A what?"

"A mind-fight. Let your cool half and your dork half fight it out. That's what this is all about. You have to wage a war within your –"

"Hey! Your voice sounds funny."

"That's because your ears are under water. Now, MacLeod –"

"Hellooooooo," Duncan intoned, enjoying the echo. "I am Duncan MacLeooooooood of the Clan MacLeooooooooood."

"Stop it, MacLeod! Pay attention!"

Duncan gulped a big mouthful of water and shot it upward as from a fountain.

"Man, this ain't workin' so good," Joe observed helpfully.

As Duncan launched into a jazzy rendition of "My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean," Methos lunged toward him, putting his hands around the Highlander's neck. "Shut up, you bloody Scot, and concentrate! You need to –" Duncan's thrashing resulted in Methos falling into the tub.

"Why am I not surprised it ends up this way?" Joe muttered.

But Methos and Duncan didn't hear him. "Wait, Joe's gone," the old immortal said, looking around at the church bathroom. "And where did all this mist come from?" He climbed out of the tub, followed by Duncan. A shadow appeared in the bathroom doorway... and a neatly coiffed man in a long black coat, burgundy button-down shirt, and pleated dress pants strode into the room.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he said somberly.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Dork Duncan. "I was just gonna say that."

"Perfect," Methos groused. "Well, don't mind me. You two, have at it."

"Yeah, dude. Prepare to be shorter!" Dork Duncan lifted his katana... holding it with the wrong edge out.

"You've got to be kidding," Cool Duncan said. Holding his own katana correctly, he glanced pointedly at his opponent's sword.

After about ten seconds, Dork Duncan turned the katana's edge around. "Ha! I was joking!"

Cool Duncan put down his sword. "I can't do this. Look at him! It's no match at all."

"Well, you have no choice," Methos told him. "You want that walking around for the rest of your life telling people he's you?"

"Yeah, but... Oh, for crying out loud! Look, he can't even keep his fly zipped." As Dork Duncan fumbled with his zipper, Cool Duncan started to walk away.

"Wait! MacLeod, come back! You can't leave me here with this... this... oh, bloody hell!" Grabbing Dork Duncan's sword while he still tried to close the barn door, Methos efficiently beheaded him. The bathroom filled with a strange yellow mist...

Methos awoke in the tub, once again on top of Duncan. "Hey, the water changed colors," Joe was saying. "Does that mean it's over, or was the water just the 'right' temperature?"

"Just help us get out," Methos said irritably.

Later, back at Joe's, they enjoyed the warm afterglow of the Halloween celebration. Duncan, perfectly groomed once more, was silent and reflective. Handing Methos a new beer, Joe said, "Aren't you worried about consequences? You know you weren't supposed to be in that fight."

Methos snorted, sitting back and putting his feet up on the table. "And what sort of consequences would you have me worry about, Joe?"

"Maybe," Duncan said, looking at Methos' ankles, "that."

Methos followed the look... to note that he was wearing one black sock, and one grey.

"Whoa!" he said.