Disclaimer: I do not own Methos or Highlander, sad but true.

Author's Note: Now I bring you Chivalry, enjoy.


Nov. 27th, 1995

Today I asked MacLeod how he'd lived this long. How did a trusting, naive, gullible, hard headed, asinine Scot make it more then four hundred years with his head still attached? And you know what? I still don't have an answer!

I spend six months on a beach, trying to forget the whole catastrophe I left behind in Paris, only to find that trouble does not center itself in Paris. No, it centers itself around Duncan MacLeod. No one else, just him.

I should of stayed out of it, should of heard what Joe was telling me and gone back to my now quiet little apartment in Paris. But my new title must be 'Highland Nanny', because I can't seem to stop sticking my big nose in and try to help MacLeod out. And what do I get? Tipped on my arse and a healing scratch that's a little too close to my jugular for comfort. Not to mention a Quickening I could of done without.

MacLeod is still living in the age of chivalry and I can't understand why. These days love songs all sound the same, roses are sold by the dozen so husbands automatically know what to buy for their wives when they've cheated, and a man would rather get through the door first then hold it open for a woman. Wake up, MacLeod! You're leading a one-man parade, and I'm laughing my arse off on the sidelines as you twirl your pansy baton around and pretend it's a sword.

And while you're trying to defend the lady's honor, she's coming up from behind to take your head. Right after she tries to take Richie's of course. Turns out you have to get in line for the executioner's block these days. I'm sure you're ready to die for you code, MacLeod, but is your friend? I mean, is that what you really want to teach him? You're committing murder then. You've sent him to the gallows and you don't even know it yet.

So I stepped forward, I played the bad guy so you could see another day. No, don't thank me, don't ask why I haven't taken a head in two hundred years. No, really, it's fine. Just give me a beer and pretend I didn't sacrifice anything. If that's what you want to believe, fine. I'll pretend too; maybe if I drink enough beer I won't see that first spark of mistrust in your eyes.

Nurture it, MacLeod. That spark might just save your life someday.


P.S. Review make me happy beyond belief. :)