Disclaimer. I know I know them from somewhere. But they aren't mine.
AN- This is a little something for the fifth season.
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Methos scowled as he ducked out of the bright sunlight into the bar. Definitely seedy and tipping over the edge into downright disreputable. He sighed. The trouble with being Adam Pierson, mild mannered graduate student was that he was supposed to be perpetually broke. Most of the time he was happy to mooch beer off his friends and pass off the occasional indulgence as a legacy from a second cousin, four times removed.
This was not most of the time. This had not been a good day.
He wondered if Adam Pierson had any relatives that could stand him a night in a Five Star Hotel, with room service - a Jacuzzi -and beer that had been passed by the board of health.
He was sure he could think of one.
He had turned back to the door when the buzz hit him. His first instinct was to keep on walking. He didn't want to fight anyone nearly as much as he wanted a shower, a steak, and a drink or six, and not necessarily in that order.
He wouldn't find what he was looking for here.
Still, out of habit, his eyes swept the bar looking for the source of the buzz – and he frowned.
Pasting an air of casual nonchalance, over his rising irritation, he sauntered over to the booth in the corner. At first he thought he must be mistaken. The figure didn't even look up at his approach.
"Hello." Methos spoke icily.
"Mine's a beer please."
"What?" Methos wasn't sure that he had heard right.
"I said." The figure flipped another playing card into the dish on the table, "I'd like a beer please. If you are buying."
Methos swallowed and counted to ten. In Chinese.
"Do you have to practice to be this annoying, or is it a natural talent?" he asked through gritted teeth.
At last the figure looked up and Methos was stuck by the dark circles around his eyes, which stood out in stark relief from his sallow complexion. His clothes were torn and dirty, a fact that he was trying to hide, unsuccessfully, by wearing an ugly yellow jacket that was two sizes too big.
"Well you can either buy me a beer or be on your way." The figure shrugged. "Because I can't fight you."
"Assuming that I wanted to." Methos slid into a chair. "Which I don't by the way. Why can't you fight me? Have you given it up for Lent?"
"There are rules." A shrug. "Holy Ground. One on One. Introductions. Ring a bell?"
"You don't know." Methos realised. "You don't know who you are."
His eyes flashed dangerously. "I know I'm Immortal. I know you're Immortal. I know how to tie my own shoelaces." He sighed. "I just can't remember my name right now."
"Do you have a sword?" Methos asked.
The blade that was suddenly pressed against his groin under the table answered that question. If the situation wasn't so, delicate, Methos would have risked a grin, as it was he didn't think moving was a very good idea. "Point taken." he squeaked, hoping to reassure. To his relief the blade was removed. "I said I didn't want to fight you." He pointed out a little miffed.
"Why not?" The sword was tucked away, but still clearly in reach. Methos didn't recognise the blade.
"Because I don't have to." Methos sighed, "Richie."
"Richie?" The kid looked faintly amused.
"What?" Methos couldn't think of anything about this situation that was remotely amusing. Except perhaps that jacket.
"Sorry." He shook his head. "Its just, you don't look much like a Richie."
"Not me." Methos said, exasperated. "You. You are Richie Ryan."
"Oh." Richie realised. "You know me?"
"Yeah. I know you." Methos smiled, standing up. "Come on."
Blue eyes regarded him warily. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because I'm the one with the credit card?" Methos raised a brow. "And you really need a shower."
"Funny guy." Richie still didn't move. "I don't know you."
"You definitely practise." Methos sighed. "No one can be this annoying. Look kid, I've spent the best part of the last week looking for you. I've barely slept, I've had to cope with Joe worrying, Macleod brooding and Amanda being very distracting, I've been in and out of places like this! Now all I want is a shower, a meal, and a very large number of beers. Trust me. If you want to keep your head you are coming with me."
"You really know me?" Richie asked again.
"Not in the Biblical sense." Methos assured him.
"Please tell me we are not friends." Richie sighed, as he stood up.
"That I can do." Methos smiled. "Nice jacket by the way."
"Not mine?" Richie asked hopefully.
"Not that one." Methos reassured. "Although, you did have this spectacularly ugly green thing when you were 17."
"You knew me when I was 17?"
"No. I've seen the pictures." Methos grinned at the memory. "But I know some people who did. They've been worried about you."
"Hey." Richie realised as they made their way out of the door "What's your name?"
"I could tell you." Methos grinned. "But then I would have to kill you."
"Of course." Richie sighed. "So. What happened to me?" he asked quietly?
"I don't know." Methos admitted. "But I intend to find out."
