Universe: A virtual "6th" season wherein "Modern Prometheus" was the finale of season 5 and ignores all events in the "real" season 5 finale and all of season 6, as well as the last movie. This season takes place 1997-1998
Summary: Beer is one of the oldest institutions on the planet. Methos is the oldest human being on the planet. His history with beer must be a long and bittersweet affair…
Disclaimer: If I owned them why would I waste my time posting to fanfic sites? I'd be off making lots and lots of money! But since I'm not, I therefore don't, nor do I pretend to.
Most Seacouver Decembers were cold and intolerably damp, and this one was no different. Outside, it couldn't make up its mind as to weather or not it wanted to precipitate, and when it did, it still couldn't seem to choose between rain, sleet, or snow. The roads were rapidly becoming slick and dangerous, if not from the visible winter slush than from the even deadlier black ice. Joe Dawson kept one of his bar televisions tuned to the Weather Channel, worrying in spite of himself about the safety of his immortal friends whom he knew that at that very moment were all attempting to rendezvous at his bar for a pre-Christmas get together.
No one was due for a good half hour yet, and Joe hoped that one of them had the foresight to bring takeout, because he had already decided not to call for pizza as previously planned. Disgusted with the local forecast, Joe switched on another television. After flipping through a few channels he decided to leave it on one of the hundreds of broadcasts of It's a Wonderful Life scheduled for this Christmas season and went to warm up the grill, just in case. Joe was grateful he had stocked up on beer, and hoped that no one would be disappointed if their pre-Christmas feast consisted of Buffalo wings and cheese fries.
He caught himself looking out a window with an air of worry and laughed to himself. "They're immortal," he reminded himself. "Sure it would be a disappointment if Mac totaled his T-bird, but he'd live through it. Besides, if they were truly worried about the weather, they'd call and say they couldn't make it."
A wistful sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. All of his closest friends were immortal. He didn't make many mortal friends outside the watcher organization, and none of them were close. Now almost all of his watcher friends were dead, and the immortals remained. Just as they would remain when he himself was dead and gone. Unconsciously he massaged one thigh above its stump that proved his fragility. However much he may be considered their friend, he will always remain on the outside of their circle, looking in.
However, his thoughts quickly turn from longings for immortality with any serious consideration of them. He has read—and witnessed first hand, how painful and lonely the immortal existence can be, and as much as he (and every other human being) fears death, he can hold to the fact that he should by right pre-decease them all, and he decided long ago that that was better than living through the pain of their loss.
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening, and Joe turned to see Richie enter his bar.
"Richie!" Joe called out as he made his way towards the young man, but stopped short when he saw what the young man looked like. Richie had stumbled in, drenched from head to toe and shaking like a leaf. He still wore his biking gear, and when he removed his helmet Joe gasped. Richie's hair and face were streaked with dried blood, smeared with heavy amounts of sweat.
"Coffee," was all Richie was able to say. It came out strained, as if he nearly choked on the word.
"Jesus, Rich," Joe muttered as he closed the gap between them. If MacLeod was the kid's father, then Joe liked to consider himself the favorite uncle. Forgetting that Richie was immortal he put his arm around him protectively, and putting their collective weight oh his cane, maneuvered Richie to one of the booths in the back. The snow was melting in puddles around him, and by the time Joe made it back with a cup of coffee—with a generous dose of Irish whiskey, Richie seemed to regain more of his sense of awareness.
"Thanks Joe," Richie said as he put his hands around the large mug and breathed in the aroma.
Joe sat in the booth across from Richie. "You're welcome."
Richie took a big gulp and nearly choked. "You spiked it?"
Joe just smiled, and then they both started laughing. As anxious as he was to find out what the hell had happened, Joe learned early on not to pressure Richie for his secrets. Unlike MacLeod, who would usually tell Joe just about anything concerning his present-day circumstances, Richie was nearly as tight lipped as Methos, only easier to read. Only when Richie had finished the coffee and sat back in the booth with a sigh did Joe speak up.
"You should probably get out of those clothes if you want them to dry."
"Yeah, I know," Richie agreed. "I'm gonna head to the bathroom and wash up."
"Alright. You know the way." Joe smiled as Richie walked over to the men's room. Once he warmed up some and got the coffee in him he began acting like his normal self again.
Alone again, Joe allowed himself to frown. He knew that whatever happened to Richie didn't have anything to do with another immortal. If he had fought a challenge and won, he'd still be under the effects of the quickening. Joe had seen Richie take enough heads that he would have picked up on that immediately. If the battle had been a draw, Richie would have been preoccupied by the thought of the other immortal on the lose gunning for his head, and that worry would have driven him to mention something about it. That left Joe's best guess to be that Richie had lost control of his bike on some weather-slick road.
Thankful for Richie's immortality, the watcher got up and began preparing an order of extra spicy wings, Richie's favorite. The order was almost ready when Richie reemerged, no traces of blood remaining, but still wearing his soaking jeans and sweatshirt and carrying his wet biking gear and jacket in a ball.
"You got a place I can put this, Joe?"
Dawson looked up and frowned. "What's salvageable you can hang in the kitchen above the dish sink to dry. There are garbage bags in the closet next to the freezer for what's not." Joe tried to appear more concerned with the wings than with Richie's still disheveled appearance.
Richie nodded and disappeared into the kitchen again, returning a few moments later. "The jacket's probably had it, but the rest of it should survive ok," he said, walking back to the bar area and sitting on a stool. His lips were still blue and he shivered slightly.
"I could probably find something dry for you to wear. Wouldn't fit you, but it beats seeing you shiver and drip all over my bar."
Richie smiled. "You keep spare clothes at the bar?"
"Ever since the old man and I got snowed in during that freak Thanksgiving Day storm."
This time Richie's smile turned to outright laughter. "Oh yeah!"
They both laughed, Richie at the memory the irony of Methos being snowed in with all the beer he could drink (which, as it turned out, was quite a lot), and Joe at the actual memories of what had happened, which he still hasn't revealed to anyone else.
When the wings were ready Joe dumped them into a basket, grabbed the necessary dips, and slid them across the bar to Richie. "I'll go find those clothes," he said as he walked through the back into the kitchen.
Meanwhile Richie dove hungrily into the wings, letting the radioactive orange spices make his body forget its present situation. Joe emerged from the kitchen a few moments later holding a shopping bag. Richie was too interested in the wings to pay it much attention.
"You can change when you're done," Joe informed him, realizing the only way to remove Richie from his barstool would be by sword point.
"Thanks," said Richie without looking up.
Joe set the bag on the bar and made a show of polishing around the same general area in front of Richie in amicable silence while the young man ate. Richie finished a few more wings before looking up. Joe could sense that there was something on the young man's mind and decided to spare him the trouble of addressing his problems himself.
"Are you going to want to stash the bike in here?" He asked before Richie could open his mouth.
In the same instant the young man's face seemed to both light up and flush deep red. He looked intently into his buffalo sauce for a few moments before responding.
"I sort of, uh, dumped the bike," he said quietly after a pause.
"What?" Joe did his best to make his voice sound more surprised than concerned.
"Yeah. Uh… My bike had a slight disagreement with the weather."
"Did you wipe out?"
Richie's cheeks turned a little pink and he suddenly became very interested in is bare feet on the bar stool cross rung. "No," he said without looking up. Then, after a pause: "Windy Hill Road wasn't salted enough, or plowed. I couldn't make it up without spinning my wheels and sliding back down. I tried to find an alternate route, but I couldn't avoid the hilly section I need to cross in order to get from my apartment to the bar. I was planning on stopping for Chinese on the way, figured it would be safer to eat in tonight with all this weather." Another pause, during which Joe nodded in agreement. "Well like I said, I couldn't avoid the hilly section, so the only thing I could do was get off my bike and push."
"Well that explains why you came in here looking like a little drown rat," Joe declared.
Richie laughed slightly before continuing. "Then my bike wouldn't start once I climbed the hill. Gas line froze I think."
"I see," said Joe, leaving the unspoken question thick in the air.
Richie seemed to gather his courage and then continued. "Well, my bike isn't exactly light, and pushing it uphill is hard and tiring." Joe nodded. Richie swallowed. Whatever it was he was reluctant to share it. "I took my helmet off because the visor was fogging up."
"So that's why you're head was vulnerable," said Joe, mostly to himself, and he would have regretting saying it out loud but Richie spoke first.
"Yeah—no! No it wasn't an immortal or anything, Joe."
Joe smiled, knowing that Richie would take it as a sign of relief. In truth he had already deduced that much, but Richie's concern over his possible concern was touching.
Richie continued, rather sheepishly: "It turns out that the hill was just as slippery on the way down." Joe laughed as Richie blushed. "I don't know what happened. One minute I'm shuffling down hill because my bike won't start, and the next I revive beneath my bike at the bottom of the hill." Richie shrugged and sat lower in his stool, signaling he was done with his tale.
"Good thing no one saw you," the watcher proclaimed.
"No kidding!" Richie readily agreed. "How embarrassing!"
Joe shot Richie a sharp look but Richie just laughed. He was kidding and they both knew it and shared in the joke.
"Anyway," said Richie once the laughter died down, "I forgot about stopping for Chinese and just pushed my bike all the way here. I stashed it behind the ally behind the bar. It'll probably need some bodywork, but it should survive." Then the immortal looked at his watch. "Made it almost on time, too."
"Actually," said Joe, "you're early." Then he noticed that Richie was still shaking badly from being in his wet clothes. "Tell you what, I'll go turn the heat up, you finish your wings and change your clothes."
"Right," said Richie, returning to his basket of wings as Joe disappeared into the kitchen again. "Hey, Joe?" He called after him.
Joe stuck his head back through the doorframe. "Yeah Rich?"
"Please, don't tell Mac about this. I'd never hear the end of it."
Joe nodded. "Sure thing."
Richie smiled his thanks and returned to his wings as Joe returned to the kitchen.
Secretly Joe was smiling to himself. He knew that if MacLeod were here, he'd have been insistent on learning what had happened to Richie right away, and then probably would have laid a lecture down on top of it that would have increased the tension between them for the entire evening, essentially ruining it for all. Joe knew how to handle Richie, how to get him to open up about things. There's been many an evening where the bar has been transformed into Immortal Psychotherapy Central, with the revolving cast of characters all coming to him at different intervals. He adjusted the heat with renewed pride in himself and his abilities to bridge the gap between being an immortal's friend and watcher.
Suddenly there was a loud bang and the front door flew open just as Richie felt the buzz of another immortal. Momentary panic surged through him as he remembered that in his earlier predicament he had left his sword in the saddlebag attached to his bike. He had nothing to worry about though, because in strolled Amanda in a very long and expensive black wool winter coat and white angora scarf. A black beret was fixed upon her head for added effect. She slammed the door shut again and removed the beret.
"Richard, I tell you, it's cabbies in this city that make me grateful I'm an immortal, and that's even in good weather!" She unwound the scarf from her neck and took both scarf and beret in her left hand to begin unbuttoning her coat. "How can people who honestly don't know how to drive ever expect to be able to drive in weather like this? Especially since—"
She stopped short once she finally noticed Richie just staring at her, wing sauce on his lip, and water pooling around his barstool. "Richard, you're all wet," she declared as she approached him and helped herself to a wing. She made a face at how spicy it was but said nothing.
"Yeah, well…" Richie didn't have to finish his statement, because Joe came back from the kitchen.
"There ya go, Rich. Oh, hi Amanda."
"Joseph." She said, presenting her hand for him to kiss, which he did with flourish.
"I'm gonna go change now," Richie announced as he stood up, grabbed the bag of clothes, and headed for the bathroom.
Amanda took off her coat and hung it, along with her scarf and beret, on the coat rack against the wall.
"Early present from MacLeod?" Joe inquired, indicating the coat.
"What? This old thing?" She teased as she left it hanging to dry. She said nothing more, and Joe smiled to himself knowing that if it had been a gift, or if she had procured it legally, she would have bragged about it. "Duncan should be along shortly," she added, almost as an afterthought. "He has an errand to take care of."
Joe blinked in surprise. "How did you get here then?"
"Cab. The worst ride of my life Joseph, and that's the truth!" Amanda made her way to the bar and sat on the stool next to Richie's wet one.
"Can I get you something?" Joe asked, moving behind the bar.
"Oh, I dunno. Something light and fruity?"
"I never figured you for a lightweight, Amanda."
At that remark Amanda made a show of her 'oh how you wound me' face. "Really Joseph, I just want something to tide me over until the boys get here. They're all still coming, right?
"As far as I know," Joe answered, turning around to hand her a glass filled with something an amusing shade of pink.
Just then Richie emerged, wearing a pair of boxers and a very large sweatshirt. Amanda put her hand to her mouth to exaggerate her suppressed giggle.
"Sorry Rich," the watcher apologized. "I wanted something comfortable if I ever had to hold up here with Methos again."
This time Amanda couldn't stop the laughter. "What?" She half shrieked in her amusement.
"You weren't here for the freak Thanksgiving storm, Amanda," Joe said with the air of someone with a secret he wasn't about to share.
Now it was Richie's turn to suppress a giggle, more at Joe's manner than the memory of the actual event.
Amanda narrowed her gaze and stared intently at Joe. "Joseph— "
But whatever inappropriate or questioning remark Amanda was about to make was cut off by the sensation of another immortal nearby. Joe looked to Richie, whom he'd seen react to the buzz many more times than he'd seen Amanda, and his suspicions were confirmed. Just then the door swung open and was slammed just as quickly. Methos stood in the doorway dusting the sleet and snow out of his hair.
"Bloody hell!" He said as he looked up. "It'd better not do this all night!" Once he finished dusting off he hung his coat with Amanda's.
"Methos!" Amanda shrieked like an excited child as she threw herself at him and wrapped her slender arms around his neck.
Methos raised his hands to surrender posture and leaned back away from her. "I take it MacLeod's not here yet, then?"
Amanda dropped her arms, this time look of hurt on her face genuine. "I haven't seen you in six months and you won't even let me be happy to see you without—"
"Neither MacLeod is here yet," Joe informed him a smile. For everything he knew about Methos there were one hundred things he didn't know, but this was one of Methos's games that Joe was sure of. Before Amanda could recover after Joe cut her off, Methos took her in his arms and gave her a giant, sweeping kiss, dipping her backwards and leaving her weak at the knees. Richie and Joe laughed in spite of their slight envy.
Methos released her lips and brought her to standing again. For one of the very few times in her life, Amanda was speechless. Methos didn't care for conversation, however. He walked straight to the bar, where Joe handed him a beer.
"So where is everybody?" He asked, looking at his watch. He himself was ten minutes late.
"MacLeod junior is supposedly out running an errand. No word from MacLeod senior."
"Errands? In this weather?" Methos asked with only mock aghast.
"Yeah," Amanda verified, coming out of the daze and crossing to the bar. "He left a message at the airport for me when I got in. Told me he had to take care of something and wouldn't be able to pick me up. He did wire cab fare for me though."
Methos nodded and sipped his beer, wondering what could have kept the highlander from picking up his beloved at the airport, and praying that his natural paranoia wasn't warranted.
Richie, feeling awkward to be standing around in Joe's boxers and oversized sweatshirt while both Joe and then Methos played amusing tricks on Amanda, stood at the far edge of the bar, just taking it all in. His presence did not go unnoticed, however.
"And I suppose you're the reason for the lake in Joe's bar?" Methos asked him rhetorically, addressing Richie in a manner such that only those who knew him well would recognize as not unkind.
Richie merely laughed. "My bike lost an argument with a slippery hill," he explained, more embarrassed than anything else. "Had to push it all the way hear because the gas line froze while I was pushing it up said hill."
"So that's why you're wearing Joe's spare clothes," Methos concluded with much amusement. He studied Richie for a moment, then: "You know, Joseph, I don't think red is really your color."
Richie blushed almost to the color of the boxer shorts that Methos was referring to. Amanda turned purple for a few seconds as laughter caused her to choke on her drink. Joe laughed at the both of them. Then he grabbed a roll of paper towels and tossed them to Richie.
"Why don't you clean up that 'lake' you've made on my floor," he said casually.
"Right," Richie acquiesced, squatting down to address the problem.
"Alright everyone," said Methos as he downed his beer, "listen up." The others dutifully turned their gaze towards him. "Mac told me that Connor is driving up from California this evening. He knows me as Benjamin Adams, so I would appreciate it if you all would be so kind as to call me Adam Pierson tonight."
It took the others several seconds before Methos's speech sunk in.
"Awwww," Amanda whined, pouting. "But I've gotten so used to calling you Methos!" She turned her pleading puppy dog eyes on him, too, but to no avail.
"I guess you'll just have to deal with it," he said, smiling at her.
"But if you know him, can't you trust him?" Richie asked from his squatting position on the floor.
Methos glared at him with the look that impatient adults give small children, but now was not the time for a sarcastic remark. For all intents and purposes everyone knew Connor as a man Methos could trust with his identity. He didn't have the younger highlander's overdeveloped sense of honor, but he would die before he betrayed a friend. As far as this crowd was concerned he had no good reason to go by his current alias, but he came up with one anyhow. After all, it was far better than telling them the truth. He spoke very slowly, hitting every word as if it were of vital importance.
"Yes I know him. Yes I could probably trust him. However, if I tell him it will be because I choose, not because one of you slips your tongue."
Richie nodded in understanding.
"Whatever you say, old man," said Joe.
Methos smiled and excused himself to the public restroom. He was grateful for their understanding. What he said, like everything else, was exactly true. It just wasn't nearly the whole truth. What he chose to not say was that Connor had been Ramirez's student, and Ramirez had known Methos. As Methos. They had been drinking buddies for a time, before Ramierez got it in his head to sail for Japan, and then after, when the Egyptian had returned brokenhearted. Whether or not Ramirez shared the fact that he knew Methos with his student was uncertain, because even in the time of Connor's entrance into immortality, Methos was unquestionably the oldest living immortal. However, whether or not Connor knew of Methos wasn't the issue; it was whether or not Connor knew of Death. Ramirez learned of Methos's past, and of the horsemen, when he fought Kronos on Methos's behalf in an escapade that, in hindsight, reminded Methos very much of something Duncan would do.
Something Duncan did do. That thought brought a sad smile to Methos's face. Kronos is dead. The horsemen will remain forever in his past, never again to threaten his present. Methos was just grateful it hadn't cost him Duncan's friendship the way it had Ramirez's. The fact that the Kurgan was one of Kronos's few students was another sad, cruel irony that Methos had long since grown accustomed to in his long life. Methos couldn't face the wrath of another Scottish temper, especially with the horsemen ordeal taking place only months before and his friendship with Duncan finally beginning to return to firmer ground. He couldn't be sure if Connor knew anything, but it was safer to let Adam Pierson, perpetual grad student, stand in for Methos the five thousand year old man for tonight's informal get-together.
Methos was drawn out of his private thoughts as the immortals felt the sensation of another wash over them. Once again the door opened wide and slammed quickly as a familiarly clad man stepped inside. His tan trench coat and white tennis shoes was soaked as he gazed upon Richie with a look that made the younger immortal seriously wonder if he would need to retrieve his sword from his bike.
"Come out to Seacouver for the holidays, you said," said Connor to Richie, his voice colder than the temperature outside. "Surprise Duncan for his birthday."
Methos heard Connor's voice from the men's room and listened intently.
"Uh, it sounded like a good idea at the time," offered Richie, still squatting on the floor where he was cleaning up the mess, and hoping that his casual tone would belie the fear Connor's voice could instill in anyone.
"You thought?" Conner half-questioned, half-stated. He reached quickly inside his trench coat and the tension in the room soared. Then he removed his hand, revealing a very expensive bottle of champagne that he'd kept hidden in the inner pocket.
"Got a place I can ice this?" He asked with a broad grin to no one in particular.
The tension in the bar let out like someone deflating a balloon. Richie was suddenly startled to hear his own breath, not realizing he had been holding it. Amanda laughed and sat down heavily on her stool, finishing her drink in one gulp. She chided herself for not realizing that a stunt like that was just like something the elder MacLeod would pull. Joe laughed to himself as he went fishing for an ice bucket, knowing full well that Connor would sooner take his own head then harm a hair on Richie's.
Conner put the bottle on the bar and went to hang his coat with the others. Richie finished wiping up his mess and stood. It was then Connor noticed his attire.
"Slightly underdressed for tonight, aren't we?" He asked with a wry smile.
"My bike's being uppity and I had to push it here," Richie explained yet again as he threw his used paper towels in the trash and left the roll on the bar.
"Why didn't you call a cab?" Connor asked as Joe came back with the ice bucket. He iced the champagne and handed Connor a beer.
"Ha!" Amanda exclaimed, indignant. "His way was safer!"
Joe and Richie exchanged amused glances as Connor sipped his beer. Upon tasting it he wondered exactly how the watcher knew which brand of beer he preferred.
"I take it you cabbed here tonight, Amanda sweet?"
"From the airport," Amanda said sourly.
"You mean none of these fine gentlemen offered to give you a ride?"
"Duncan was supposed to. He left a message for me saying he couldn't make it, along with cab fare."
Connor narrowed his gaze. "Did he say what he was doing?"
"Just that he had something to take care of," Amanda answered casually. She wanted it to be very clear that she wasn't at all worried about Duncan, or rather, for the sake of the elder MacLeod, that she didn't appear worried.
Connor's eyes darted quickly to Joe.
"Don't look at me," said the watcher. "This was all news to us, too."
"Aren't you paid to know where Duncan is?" He asked calmly, the ice returning to his voice.
"No, he's paid to run this bar," said Methos, stepping back into the bar from the public restroom. "As district manager, those paid to watch immortals report to him."
"Adams!" Connor exclaimed, the smile returning to his face.
"Close," said Methos. "It's Adam Pierson now." He extended his arm and Connor clasped it at the forearm in a warrior's handshake.
"What happened to Benjamin Adams? I don't suppose 'Adam Pierson' killed him?" Connor asked laughing as they dropped hands.
"Wrong again, Scot," said Methos. "Benjamin Adams disappeared because Adam Pierson is a watcher—in the research department." He added as he flashed his tattoo. He hoped that the others got the message: they weren't even to mention the Methos project.
Connor cursed in Gaelic. "You're still English and you've switched sides?"
"What?" Amanda asked. "You didn't know Adam bats for both teams?" Her deliciously teasing tone was met with laughter.
That is, it was met with laughter from everyone except Methos. Her remark sent his mind flashing back to the horsemen incident again. Duncan had accused him of the very same thing, albeit with drastically different meanings. Methos cursed himself as he acknowledged that tonight would not be an easy night for his memories as even sexual innuendo could trigger them. Still, he couldn't let that remark go unanswered.
"At least none of my lovers has accidentally called me by the name of their favorite sheep," he said with a level of ice in his voice to rival Connor's.
This time it was Amanda's turn to blush as Joe laughed heartily at the barb that dually stung both Amanda and the absent highlander. Connor laughed as well in spite of the fact that the remark was a pointed statement about his kin. Richie laughed softer and for not as long, envisioning his teacher accidentally calling Tessa's name in the heat of passion, which stirred up the wealth of his own painful memories.
Unfortunately for the jovial mood, this remark also returned their thoughts to their absent comrade. The weight of concern in various degrees was written on every face as all conversation momentarily stopped, but before anyone could say anything more Joe noticed all four immortals react to the presence of another. Just then the door burst open and Duncan appeared in the doorway carrying a paper bag in each arm.
"Good, you're all here," he said as he kicked the door shut with his foot. "I hope you were in the mood for Thai."