Author's Note: We're just gonna let these two talk for us. Have fun.

It being New York, Manhattan, the Village, there were still a lot of people out on Washington Square on a moonlit warm evening. The Square had a happy feel to it, as if the world were in a good mood and determined to stay that way.

Sydney maneuvered through the door as Adam held it for her, and brushed past several hopeful patrons intent on joining the throng inside the pub. Once they were clear of the crowd and walking was a bit less treacherous she turned to look up at Methos. "Quite some friends you've got there. I'll check in the morning to see if the Pub is still in one piece."

"You don't know the half of it." Methos chuckled, sticking both hands in his pockets, offering her an elbow to tuck a cold hand in. "But, not to worry. MacLeod can handle the rabble, I offered a lady an escort."

"I confess to being unused to gentlemen. I teach."

"You know, there was a day when I remembered great retribution for not honoring your teacher. Now you can't even raise your voice without being chastised." Methos shook his head. "Society goes backwards in the wrong places sometimes."

He turned to look at Sydney expectantly. "So are you going to take it or not, because I look bloody ridiculous holding my arm out like this." He said pointedly, flapping his crooked elbow like a chicken wing.

"If needs must," she replied, slipping her arm through his. "That way," she added with a nod of her head. "Across past the fountain and take the corner by the Starbucks." She paused then added, "Your friend, Ressa? She'll be all right? She looks like someone who feels deeply. Of course, that's pure conjecture on my part, but, from a look or two I saw.."

"She's lost before." Methos said gently as they started walking. "Doesn't make it any easier, but she has us and Julian's brood to make sure it's not any harder. At least that's what we hope. But it's not your problem so you shouldn't worry about it." He said with a casual shrug.

"True. What should I worry about then? You? You seem to like convoluted plots and mysterious complications. You'd have been happier living in the Renaissance. Now those folks knew how to plot."

Methos smiled. "That was...an interesting time. And a thankful modernization of water channeling." He sighed happily. "We thank that period for what we now call the hot tub."

She laughed. "My interest is far more.. visceral. I fell in love with pictures of men in tights when I was 10. My father was horrified when I announced my greatest desire was to be a historian. He'd so badly wanted me to be an architect. Of course he also wanted a son, but was stuck with me."

"Silly man. It sounds like you were interested in architecture, just the human kind. A man in tights can be a great piece of art...and then it can also be a horrible abomination to the gentle eye. But all in all, still architecture. And buildings are boring after a while, humans aren't." He said, taking her for a turn around the fountain instead of past it.

"Yes, which is what I love about history. Besides the men in tights." She craned her neck a bit to adjudge Methos's architecture. "Hmm."

Methos looked at her out of the corner of his eye and smirked. "And where, might I ask, would you place me? I'd like to think I'm a bit more outlandish then the Renaissance. I've got better architecture."

"Do you indeed! And an ego too, I see. Hmmm. Where else might you fit in. Perhaps the Barbary Coast. A privateer, enjoying his shore leave in Casablanca or Marrakesh. Secretly working for the French."

Methos pulled a face. "See, now I'm picturing myself as Errol Flynn in badly researched costumes. And syphilis or being hanged to death are not my two favorite options of ending such a grand life of treachery."

"Ah, well, yes, there is that. But then syphilis was rather the scourge of all grand heroes in the day, I'm afraid. And what period of history and what brand of treachery is your favorite, since you prefer not to be Errol Flynn."

"I don't know, the first? I am called Adam after all, why not go for the first traitor in all of recorded history, or fiction depending on the way you look at it I suppose. Adam displayed one shred of self thought and screwed the whole world for a chance at eternal bliss on earth. Thankfully he made the world a lot more interesting for the rest of us." Methos shrugged. "Besides, I've done the tights before. They make your legs look fantastic but they itch. And if I was Adam, no clothes is a lot easier to maintain."

"True, except I always wondered how they pinned the grape leaves over Adam's dangly bits."

"I don't know, maybe they were jealous."

"The dangly bits or the grape leaves?"

Methos seem to think about that. "Both. After all they were personally crafted by God, the man most definitely had a bigger ego then me."

Sydney finally lost it and laughed. "Yes, you're probably right there. But to have your girlfriend wooed away by a snake, well, that must have hurt. I don't recall snakes having much in the way of dangly bits at all."

"Ah, but that could be considered an experimental fling. Snakes are rather dexterous with their tongues but she shared the the apple with Adam, so she had some reason for going back to him to share all the hells of life with." Methos countered.

"Yes, well, you know us women are so fickle. Never know when we have a good thing. And there's the whole cultural imperative to change the guy. Reform him. We're such suckers for that."

"I've changed countless times, so if you ever feel the need to exercise your cultural instincts I'm your man." He said, smiling as he took her on their third circuit of the fountain without her noticing.

"Alas, I'm a very defective woman. I apparently was in another line when they were handing out the reform genes. Perhaps I was getting extra smartass genes at the time."

"Now you're just being difficult," He complained. "Most men like to be reformed, it tells them what kind of man their woman want them to be. How are we supposed to act if you don't tell us? Because I'm sorry to inform you, but we men have been ruled by you woman too long to know what to do with ourselves without being told."

"Now you tell me. No wonder my love life sucks."

Methos laughed. "Now you know better. So while I'll being generous, perhaps you'd like to return the favor and let me in on the secret of how to keep woman from ripping my head off the moment they meet me. It's been a nasty trend I haven't been able to break in forever and I'm starting to suspect that I smell."

"I doubt the problem is merely olfactory. Perhaps the problem is your pheromones."

"My pheromones?"

"Hmmm. Try disguising them with Brut. I'm told all the sexy women find it impossible to resist. Or so my Freshmen men tell me."

"So smelling like a old drunk is the answer to all my problems? And here I thought it was a lack of class."

"No need to thank me. I offer it as a public service. Haven't we been round the fountain before?'

Methos stopped and made a show of surveying the area with surprise. "I think you're right. I was staring to think all the buildings here just looked the same, tough act for the village. But you can't really blame a guy stalling, Sydney. If I'd walked you straight home you would of missed out on all the insightful talk of men in tights and the oral pleasures of snakes in Eden." He said reasonably.

"And I'm particularly grateful for the visuals on that, thanks so much. But you've friends waiting and I have to be up and pretend to be coherent at 9."

"I think we're evenly matched in our tasks at hand then, but..." Methos hesitated as they neared her place and came to a stop under a street light, holding her gaze. "I'm going to be in town for some time. So if you ever feel the need to walk, talk, laugh or dinner...I'd like to leave this as something to be continued...if you like."

5,000 years and he still couldn't do this part with any style.

She grinned. "I think it would be lovely, thanks." She rummaged in her briefcase and produced a card, identifying her as indeed, Sydney Watson, with NYU. "Maybe we can do lunch, if you're free one day."

Methos beamed at her and took the card, tucking it into his pocket. The cogs were already turning in his mind as he led her up to her doorstep and shifted her hand from his arm into his warm palm.

"All right, lunch. Would you like it themed or a normal lunch? Because I really still do have those tights somewhere, though I'm not quiet sure what your Brut wearing students would say to my entrance then." He offered with a cheeky grin.

She laughed. "I think we'd best not go there. You'll have heartsick men chasing you around New York."

"Right," Methos said with a serious nod. "Not the cat striped ones then."

"Smart man. And do me a personal favor and leave off the Brut."

"I promise." He said, smiling at her with her hand still in his. "Then goodnight Sydney Watson."

"Good night Adam Pierson. And thank you for making me laugh."

"My pleasure," he said, stepped down on a lower step, dropping his eyes to the hand he still had and wondering what to do with it. He wore an odd smile as he turned the hand over so it was palm up and leaned down to press his lips against it, his nose brushing the curve of her wrist as his eyes closed for the briefest moment like he was trying to store away the memory of it. Then he let her hand slip from his and smiled. "Goodnight."

She slipped her key into the door, opened it, stepped in and turned. She smiled a good night to him before the door closed between them.

Methos laughed softly and shook his head, turning back to the bar with an inerasable smile. "Be careful old man," he muttered to himself as he stuffed both hands in his pockets. "This ones sharp."

Author's Note: Reviews make us and the Old Man happy.