Author's Note: Wildelf72, I hope this is visual enough for you!

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Eggs in a Basket

Chapter Two
Things, Amanda

"I cannot believe I let you talk me into this," Methos moaned as he followed Amanda through the museum to the children's section.

"Yeah, well, you agreed to do it, so quit your whining," Amanda said brusquely.

"Oh, I agreed to do it, yes, Madame, I surely did, but not without complaining," Methos pointed out. "And since I am doing it for you, so that you can make a good impression on your bosses, it is you who will listen to me complain!"

Stopping short, Amanda turned to face him, arms folded and lips pursed in irritation. "All right, get it over with," she commanded. "Tell me how miserable you are."

The blue velveteen Easter rabbit's maniacally friendly grin and the floppy left ear contrasted sharply with his tense and rigid posture as he stood, one oversized white-gloved hand on his hip, the other pointing angrily at Amanda as he listed his grievances.

"First of all, this thing is bloody hot," Methos griped. "And too many people have sweated in it before me. It reeks of old gym socks and cheap cologne."

"Yeah, well, I did have the courtesy to pay to have it professionally cleaned for you," Amanda said. "Imagine what it would have been like if I hadn't done that."

"Don't expect me to be grateful," Methos snapped. "It still stinks."

"Ok, so it's hot and smelly," she said indifferently. "So is the dojo, but you seem to like that well enough when Duncan's around."

"I what?"

"Oh, don't act so surprised," Amanda brushed it off. "Joe's noticed it, too."

Inside the costume, Methos blushed. He'd tried being subtle, but Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod, that beautiful, stupid, Highland bastard was about as perceptive as a rock. For the love of Christ, Macleod had come home to find Methos sprawled across his bed like a bloody offering one night and he hadn't batted and eye.

Glancing back at Amanda, he saw her smirking and snapped, "Don't change the subject!"

She quickly put on a straight face, but the corners of her lips kept quirking with amusement, which only made him angrier.

"There is no place for my sword," he whinged.

"You're not likely to need it in a museum, particularly the children's wing, and I'll protect you if you do," she promised.

"It itches in places where I can't scratch."

"I'll bring you some baby powder to ease the chafing."

"I'm shedding on my own vest."

Amanda inspected him closely. There was a bit of pale blue fuzz on the rabbit's navy blue quilted velvet vest. She wordlessly took a tiny lint roller out of her purse and rolled it over him.

"Bow ties are not cool," he said snobbishly.

"It's glued to your head, what do you want me to do about it? Take it off?"

"Don't even joke about that."

"Sorry."

"You should be," he snapped, but honestly, the banter was putting him in a slightly better mood. "The eyes are in the wrong place so I can barely see where I'm going, these ridiculous feet make it almost impossible to walk, and spats. Without shoes. Really? Need I say more?"

"Rabbits hop, they don't walk; once we get you safely installed in the carriage, all you have to do is sit there, hold children, and pose for the camera; and spats, really, you don't need to say any more, but I am sure you will," she said. "It'll be fine."

"Except that . . . "

He trailed off, which made Amanda genuinely concerned. As much as Methos liked to complain about nothing just to annoy other people, when something really bothered him, he was just like Macleod in that he clammed up and tried to tough it out himself.

"Except what?"

"It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"Really, it's not important," he said. "It's just that . . .

"Yes?"

"Well . . . "

"Tell me!"

"There's something in the tail that . . . um, whenever I sit, it . . . er . . . does things."

"Things?" Amanda parroted.

The rabbit hung his head and said darkly, "Things, Amanda."

"Things," she repeated, frowning. Then her eyebrows shot up. Her mouth twitched and she tried to school her features back into a serious expression. She hiccoughed softly, and her face convulsed. Finally she just surrendered and slid down against the wall laughing.

The rabbit stood there impatiently tapping one enormous, spatted foot, waiting for her to regain control of herself.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, "but once I realized what you meant, all I could think was, with the right person, that could be really fun!"

She began to laugh again, but even under the grinning rabbit costume she could tell that Methos was seething, so she quickly calmed herself. Taking a quick look around, she grabbed him by one oversized white glove and led him into the ladies' room. The museum hadn't opened yet, so there was little chance of them interrupting anyone. Still, she called out, and only when she got no answer did she turn Methos around and unzip him. While he got out of the suit and pulled the foam head off in relief, she found the custodian's placard that said, "Closed for cleaning, will reopen in 30 minutes," and put it outside the door.

Coming back to him, she gave him an appraising look and said, "You know, even through the jeans, I always knew you had a spectacular bum, and I love the tighty-whiteies, but I never realized what a truly amazing body you have."

"Oh, shut up!" he snapped.

"No, really, Methos, you are . . . really, very sexy," Amanda told him with as much sincerity as he had ever heard from her. "You should show it off more."

As he felt the heat of a blush fill his cheeks, he suddenly found himself wishing for that ridiculously grinning rabbit head. Trying to sound cool, he said, "When you have lived as long as I have, you learn to keep your best assets hidden. I'm easy to underestimate, and that has kept me alive more than once."

Amanda knew immediately what he was talking about, but she didn't want to think about the brutal Game that might one day pit them against each other. So she turned his words around on him and said, "If you really want to keep your best assets hidden, you should wear looser jeans."

Methos scowled, but when she gave him an impish look all he could do was snort with laughter and shake his head. As he watched, she pulled a small, folding, multi-purpose tool from a hidden pocket in her skirt, made a tiny cut near the tail on an interior seam of his costume, and with a couple minutes of careful manipulation, worked a rigid piece of plastic out of the fluffy mass of faux fur that was meant to bounce on his bum.

"Try it on now," she ordered.

He obeyed, and once he was dressed again, he hopped up to sit on the counter beside the sinks.

"Feels much better," he said. Sliding down from where he was sitting, he turned and looked at himself in the mirror, bounced on the balls of his feet a couple of times, and lamented, "but now I have a floppy tail."

"Oh, for goodness sake! You really aren't happy unless you're complaining, are you?" she marveled. "You will be sitting for the next eight hours, with children in your lap. I have done my best to help you. Now what'll it be? A floppy tail that no one will see, or . . . things?"

Blushing again, Methos grabbed the grinning rabbit's head, plonked it on, and said brusquely, "I'm good. Thank you." Leading the way out of the bathroom, he stopped short with his hand on the door and gasped, "Eight hours? Amanda!"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"You are so lucky I don't have my sword right now."

TBC

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