by: Quicksilver
mbsilvana@yahoo.com
If you want to post this somewhere else, please let me know before you do!
-Sorry for the Trek Title, but it was just so PERFECT!
This is a "what-if?"- does not fit into the plot line at anytime.
Note- I'm looking for a few good beta readers....
Standard Disclaimers
Feedback is what a fanfic author lives for (hint, hint!) No flames, puh-lease.
Methos walked into his office, looking at the ten younger immortals
who scurried around, doing all sorts of weird office work.
Filing, paperwork, computer stuff.... all sorts of truly boring stuff that
Methos didn't even want to THINK about. What a way to spend
an eternal life! he thought, looking at his apprentices. What
was almost ironic was that some of them even seemed to enjoy it.
then again, it just went to prove that immortality had no taste, picking
even little office drones.
His personal assistant, Carol (formerly a peasant in Medieval
England), ran up to him. She pushed her glasses up (they were constantly
slipping down her nose) and handed him a thick file. He took
it without a thought, knowing it would be only the interesting stuff.
He was THE BOSS, who paid their salaries and offered protection (most of
his staff couldn't even hold a sword, let alone swing one).
He paged through the reports, trying not to laugh. Seemed
Kit's Watcher, following his double-eagle assignment, had taken a fondness
for gambling. It was like pets, Methos thought. The longer
a Watcher Watched, the more like their assignment they became.
One only had to look at Dawson and MacLeod to figure that out. Joe
had gone from a calm bookstore owner to the most rebellious Watcher in
Watcher history. MacLeod didn't even know the half of it.
One report caught his eye. He read it twice, unable to
believe it. "This CAN'T be happening," he moaned.
Carol looked up at him, removing her glasses.
"Oh, yes," she answered, her voice still carrying a slight accent.
"Got to Amanda's report, did you?"
"But it- it isn't true! Joe couldn't have- I mean-"
"He was damn good at hiding it, wasn't he?" Carol put her glasses
back on, and Methos snatched them off her face.
"You're Immortal! How many times do I have to tell you?
You don't NEED the damn things! Now tell me the truth- did Joe and
MacLeod?" he asked tensely.
"Yes."
Carol watched as Methos stormed out of the building.
Wasn't often she got to see the Old Guy so annoyed.
The rest of the office workers continued to work, oblivious to
the nature of the problem they would soon be facing. One ticked
off Really Old Guy. Not a good thing. No, ticked didn't
even BEGIN to cover it.
Methos stormed into MacLeod's loft, swearing in at least sixteen
different languages. MacLeod and Joe were sitting on a couch together,
sipping beer.
"Now tell me the truth- did you?" he demanded, grabbing MacLeod
by the collar of his shirt.
MacLeod, instead of going into "warrior" mode, laughed, which
made Joe collapse into a fit of heavy laughter as well. "Yes,
Methos, we did," Joe choked out.
"But- but-" Methos slumped down to the floor, letting MacLeod
go. "How could you?" he asked.
"It's simple. You make the call-"
Methos glared at MacLeod. "Why?"
"Because."
"I can't believe it! You signed me up for Alcoholics
Anonymous!"
MacLeod looked at him, blinking wide eyes. "We did
it for you, Methos!"
Joe looked at him. "And Mac signed Richie, Amanda,
and myself up for support groups as well. You have no idea how your
drinking problem influences the rest of us, Methos."
"But I don't have a problem!"
"Admitting you have a problem is the first step.
Oh, Methos, the meeting is at your place in-" Joe glanced at his watch-
"half an hour."
"AGGHH!" Methos yelled.