private2

                                     Private Eyes
                                            Part Two
                                        by Diana DeShaun

                             See Part One for all Disclaimers and Warnings.

In all the trip home, neither man uttered a word. Each was lost in a turmoil of thoughts as he reviewed the events that had perhaps shown both of them a side of the other best kept from view.

Finally, when they reached the uncertain haven of the loft, Methos announced his intention to head for the shower as Mac wandered into the kitchen to get a drink and find them a snack. After a couple of minutes of rummaging around in the refrigerator, Mac became aware of Methos watching him
quietly from across the room.

Once he was sure he had Mac's attention, the old man slowly stripped off his clothes, dropping them to the floor. Pausing at the bathroom door, Methos finally broke the silence, "Well..."

"Yeah, well." After downing two big glasses of water, Mac strode over to the man leaning negligently against the bathroom door. Leaning down, he began to nuzzle at his lover's neck.

Methos leaned into the touch for a second then drew away with a jerk. "Ouch! When's the last time you shaved, MacLeod?"

"Just before I met you at Joe's. Why?" Reaching up, Mac frowned as his questing hand encountered a heavy growth on his usually smooth cheeks. "Good grief. At least, I think I shaved. To tell you the truth, my head feels a little foggy."

"Maybe you're trying to block out this evening's...entertainment, hero. At any rate, there is no way you could have shaved. That looks like at least two days' growth. You'd better come on in here with me and take care of it. I don't do beard burn."

Leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on the old Immortal's cheek, careful not to scratch, Mac smiled and said mildly, "Whatever you say, Methos."

Methos eyes widened in mock wonder. "Whatever I say? Now I know you're sick, Mac." Pressing a deep kiss onto the smiling mouth, he continued, "You know, it's been a long time, I might like beard burn more than I think."

Still smiling, Mac shrugged casually as he stepped out of his clothes and into the shower behind Methos. With a sudden burst of energy, he pushed Methos back against the wall and kissed him savagely, beard and all. He began to kiss his way slowly down the old man's neck and onto his chest when he faltered and stopped, "Some things just aren't worth the hassle, you know? Besides, my head really does feel strange..." His voice trailed off as he reached up to rub suddenly weary hands across his eyes.

Frowning now, Methos pushed the Highlander's long hair behind his ears, and said, "Maybe you just need a good night's sleep. After all, it has been a remarkably full day."

Eyes still closed, Mac leaned into Methos' hand. "Yeah, you're probably right. Still need that shave though."

"I'll do it."

"What?"

"I said, I'll do it. Let me just get the razor." Hopping back out of the shower, Methos trailed puddles of water over to the counter and scooped up Mac's razor and shaving cream. Climbing back into the shower, he pushed on Mac's shoulders. "Mac, you look asleep on your feet. Here, tell you what. Sit down."

"I thought you were going to shave me."

"I am. You're going to sit right here on this little ledge. That way, you won't have so far to fall if you suddenly keel over."

Sinking down, Mac grinned through his fatigue. "How terribly considerate of you, old man."

Murmuring softly under his breath, Methos stepped in front of Mac, letting the hot water beat down over his back and shoulders, sheltering the Highlander from all but a gentle mist. Tilting Mac's head up, Methos applied an even coating of shaving cream to the strong jaw and down the bronze neck. Setting the can aside, the old Immortal took razor in hand and began to stroke. Although it was a bit awkward at first trying to maneuver the razor under the shower spray to clean it, Methos soon got into an easy rhythm.

With the first long glide of metal against flesh, Mac had sighed and closed his eyes. Now, his hands came up to brace lightly at Methos' waist as his lover continued to work.

Finally, Methos lay the razor aside, his task complete. As he moved to step away, Mac's hands tightened, effectively pinning the old man in place. Opening his eyes, Mac smiled beautifically up at the other man. "Thank you, Methos," he said it quietly, but the words were much more than just gratitude for a shave. Considering a moment, he added deliberately, "My love."

The ancient Immortal jumped as if he'd been shot. "What did you call me?"

Shaking his head slowly from side to side, Mac smiled again and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss against the taunt white abdomen in front of him. "Not me--you. You called me your love. You thought I couldn't hear you, but I did. I like that."

"Duncan, you're confused. I--" Methos choked off in mid-sentence as Mac leaned forward again, this time to nuzzle at his groin. The Highlander's big hands crept on around to rest on Methos' hips. Pulling the old man closer, Mac settled in to happily coax his lover's already half-tumescent cock into full hardness.

Liquid, languid moments passed as Methos lost himself to the pleasures of Mac's caress. There was little of urgency in it, just a long sweet burn, like being slowly immersed in warm honey. At last, with a low moan, Methos let himself dive into that pool of pleasure, knowing full well that it was bottomless and that he could never climb out again.

He was riveted by the sight, the feel of Duncan placing soft, slow kisses on his now replete flesh. Sinking to his knees in front of the Highlander, Methos took the face, now blinking in the full flood of the shower between his hands. "Duncan, about what I said..."

"So tired, Methos. I'm just so tired." The Highlander yawned and leaned forward to rest his head on the old man's shoulder.

Standing slowly, Methos bore Mac up with him, "Come on then, Duncan. It will wait. Let's get you to bed."

Working swiftly, Methos turned off the shower and rubbed both of them dry. Drawing the Highlander out to the bed, Methos was still a little concerned at Mac's lethargic behavior, but finally shoved his misgivings aside as he followed Mac onto the bed and drew the comforter up to cover them both.

Mac immediately curled into the old man's side, his soft dark hair fanned over Methos' pale chest. He yawned again. "Goodnight, Methos." Placing a kiss on the smooth chest under his cheek, Mac drifted off immediately.

Methos lay a few minutes, one hand absently twirling a long lock of Mac's hair. He frowned to himself as he tried to puzzle out Mac's befuddled state. No answer being forthcoming, he idly flicked his eyes over the ceiling, remembering the odd dusting of plaster earlier. Did something look different? Something...Just then Mac stirred, mumbling uneasily in his sleep. Fearful of disturbing the sleeping Scot, Methos reached over and switched off the lamp, plunging both the loft and his thoughts into the darksome realm of sleep.

Coming awake the next morning, the first thing Methos noticed was the brilliant shaft of sunlight slanting directly across his eyes. Blinking crossly, the next thing he noticed was a warm body preventing him from scooting out of the brightness. Mac was still asleep, looking as if he'd barely moved since the previous night.

Nigglings of alarm began to eat at Methos as he turned to check the clock on the bedside table. Nine-thirty! Mac never slept that late--well, Methos allowed with a brief grin--at least not unless he'd had some sort of a workout the night before.

Climbing out of bed, Methos dug into his duffel, still sitting where it had been dropped the previous evening. Pulling out the handful of mail he'd shoved into the top, he spared it a cursory glance then tossed it onto Mac's desk to deal with later. Grabbing a pair of sweats, he tugged them on, then wandered into the kitchen to make some coffee.

That done, he turned to the big chest that held most of Mac's clothing and found clothes for him as well. Detouring briefly to grab a couple of mugs of coffee, he walked back over to the bed. Putting the cups down, he sat on the edge of the mattress and shook Mac's shoulder. "Mac. MacLeod. Wake up."

Moaning, the Highlander flopped onto his back and threw an arm up over his face as the sunlight struck full force. "Methos? What's wrong? What are you doing up so early?"

Chuckling, Methos tugged Mac into a sitting position.

"Early? Think again, MacLeod. You're obviously losing your touch."

Leaning over to peer at the clock, Mac's eyes opened wide, "What? I don't believe it."

"Believe it. You were pretty well out of it last night. How are you feeling now?"

A puzzled frown marred the Highlander's smooth features. "I'm not sure. My head still doesn't feel quite right. It's like
everything is wrapped in a layer of cotton."

Taking the mug of hot coffee Methos held out, Mac drank gratefully. "Thanks. I just can't figure out what's wrong with me, Methos. I need to clear my head. I'm going to go for a run."

"A run?" Methos groaned. "Damnation, MacLeod. I should have left you asleep."

When Mac gave no answer other than to rise and begin tugging on the clothes Methos had brought him, the old Immortal sighed dramatically. "Oh fine. We'll go for a run. Splendid idea. Why didn't I think of it?" Crossing the loft, he grabbed socks and running shoes for them both, and, a few minutes later, let the younger man drape an arm casually over his shoulder and lead him to the stairs.

After a few minutes of warm-ups, the two men were jogging peacefully down a secluded path in the park. Methos had to admit the fresh air had done Mac a world of good. With every passing moment, his companion acted more like his usual slightly annoying self.

Surging past Methos with a shout of laughter, Mac executed a bit of fancy footwork and began running backwards, darting hither and yon and above all, making a determined effort to stay right in Methos' path.

"What's taking you so long, old man? Come on! Hurry up!" Mac grinned as he continued to dance back and forth in front of his exasperated lover.

"Get out of my face, MacLeod! I swear, you are as changeable as the moon." Stopping abruptly, Methos took a couple of breathes and folded his arms. "One minute you are so tired you can't even shave yourself..." Reaching out he ran a considering hand over the Highlander's jaw, "Which, by the way, you need to do again--my god, MacLeod, you're turning into a hairy beast, aren't you?"

Looking aggrieved, Mac reached up and rubbed at his heavy stubble, "So?"

"So, the next minute, you're hopping and bopping like a demented rabbit. What is going on with you?"

"A rabbit, huh? You know, hopping isn't the only thing rabbits are known for." Mac leered suggestively.

"Down, boy. Look, Mac, if think I'm going to go darting around playing tag--"

"Um, Methos."

"Quit interrupting, I'm about to make a point here."

"Methos!"

"What?"

"We need to go."

"No way, MacLeod. Not until you tell me why you are acting so, so weird. What--"

"Methos! We need to go! Now!" Grabbing the old Immortal's arm, Mac jerked him around and pointed back down the path.

Methos' eyes widened as he beheld three of the biggest dogs he'd ever seen bearing down on them. They weren't barking, but their very silence was in many ways more menacing. Ears back, fangs bared, tails rigid, they were not coming to make friends.

Methos couldn't believe it. "What is going on?" he shouted. "Has Stephen King taken over the world?"

"Methos..." Mac met the old man's wide eyes with his own. "Run!"

Needing no further urging, Methos took off along the path at a furious pace. At first, Mac wondered if the old man had been holding out on him, but then decided to worry about more important things, like which dog would bite where first. Every few seconds, Mac broke stride to look back to check on the progress of their pursuers. It was rapid.

The animals were definitely gaining on them. In fact, it was a certainty that the canines would over take the two men before they could exit the park. Thinking fast, Mac tugged Methos off the path to the right.

"Where?" Methos panted.

"Tree."

"Tree?"

Pounding up to a big oak with wide, low hanging branches, Mac gasp, "Got any better ideas?"

The first low growls and barks as the dogs sensed their quarry was cornered echoed over the area.

"No! Let's climb." Methos suited words to actions and took a running leap, landing several feet up the trunk and grabbing at a bottom branch. "Mac! Come on!"

Scrabbling up the trunk in Methos' wake, Mac wasn't quit fast enough to avoid the lunge of the lead dog as it hurled itself at the climbing man. A brief tug of war ensued, which the Highlander ultimately won, though not without the sacrifice of one very expensive Nike running shoe.

Braced against the trunk, with Methos on the other side, Mac peered down past his stockinged foot at the dogs milling below. Occasionally, one of the three would make a half-hearted leap up the side of the tree, but thankfully they always fell short of the Immortals' perch. On the down side, the animals showed absolutely no sign of leaving. On the contrary, they were soon joined by yet another dog, this one a bossy little white poodle who had obviously slipped its leash.

After watching the dogs worrying the remains of Mac's shoe and snap at each other for a few minutes, Methos turned to the other man in disgust.

"This is another fine mess you've gotten us into."

"Me! Have you forgotten last night? Seems to me, you're the one who's suddenly developed the animal magnetism. Switched colognes again, didn't you?"

Methos smirked, "That's not my former shoe they're fighting over down there." Looking again, he added, "Uh oh. Looks like Blackie there has decided to make a stand."

He gleefully directed Mac's attention to the big black Rottweiler busily marking Mac's shoe as his territory.

"Shit! I liked these shoes! Methos..."

"Forget the shoes, MacLeod. If you think I'm risking life and limb to engage in a pissing contest over your choice of footwear--I don't think so. Let's talk about something useful, shall we? Like how we're going to get down from here."

Still staring gloomily down at his shoe and noting with interest that the Dalmatian looked to be preparing to dispute its final disposition, Mac sighed, "Damn. Yeah, I've got my cell phone here. I'll call Joe."

"And just what do you think Joe can do? Call the dog catcher? How humiliating."

Wriggling his brows at the grouchy old Immortal, Mac just shrugged, "Should've thought of that before you decided to switch colognes."

"I did not switch colognes!!"

"If you say so, Methos." Quickly punching in Joe's number, Mac turned his attention to the phone. "Joe? It's Mac........Well, yeah, but we need a favor........Methos and me........Yes, the two of us! Would you listen?........I need you to find Richie and have him come into the north end of the park........No, not on the street, he needs to come into the park on the service road........Yes, that's right........Oh, he can't miss us, tell him--tell him we'll be the only Immortals sitting in a tree........Joe--Joe! Calm down........Just do it Joe, okay? I'll explain it all later........Oh, and Joe?........Tell him to bring beef--"

At that moment, the dog fight that had been threatening erupted. Methos jumped, Mac jumped, and the phone dropped. Shouting after it, Mac could only hope Joe had heard his final request, "Shit! Beef, Joe! Bring beef!"

On the other end of the phone, Joe Dawson looked at the young man standing next to him in astonishment. Almost from the beginning, Richie had had one ear pressed to the receiver, listening to the unusual conversation. Now, as the terrible sounds of the dog fight came over the open line, Richie's eyes widened in horror. "What is that?"

"God, I don't know, but it sounds bad! Let's go!"

"Joe, did Mac say 'bring beer'?"

"Nope. He said to bring beef."

"Beef? So, we're gonna..."

"Yep. We'll swing by the butcher's on the way. Something tells me, he wants it raw."

Less than thirty minutes later, the white knights rode their sleek charger to the rescue. That is, Richie, with Joe beside him cradling a large bag of meat scraps, carefully drove Joe's car up over the low curb and into the north end of the park. Even without the buzz, the sight of two grown men sitting in a tree with a bunch of dogs underneath it would have been a little hard to miss.

Stopping some distance away, the two men studied the situation. Mac and Methos looked fairly comfortable with Mac leaning against the trunk of the tree and Methos leaning against Mac. Joe's dawning grin widened as he noticed the way Mac's arm was wrapped around the old man's shoulder and Methos' head lolled on Mac's chest.

And the dogs...well, actually, except for a little white poodle who was running playfully around the trunk, the dogs were asleep. Nudging Richie, Joe had him cruise on up until he was directly across from the two older Immortals' perch. Getting out of the car, Richie grinned up at them and quipped, "Well, well. What have we here? Two little birds.... You know what Joe? This reminds me of that famous poem I learned in junior high. 'Mac and Methos sittin' in a tree, k-i--"

"Shut up, Richie." Mac growled. "Did you bring the meat?"

"Got it right here, Mac. I'm sure when these vicious attack animals wake up, they'll be very grateful." Richie was the epitome of innocence as Joe began to chortle.

"They were trying to eat us, Dawson." Methos snarled.

"It's true, Joe. They may look asleep, but every time we try to climb down, they come at us again."

Holding up his hand placatingly, Joe grinned, "Oh no doubt. No, really." He hastened to add when Methos' eyes narrowed to glittering slits. "I heard 'em on the phone. We both did. Didn't we, Rich?"

Snickering now, Richie reached in the open window and took the bag from Joe. "Yeah, we did guys. Let me just put this meat over here, and you guys can come down." Walking some distance away, he upended the bag onto the ground and whistled softly. "Here, boys. Here, boys. Come and get it."

As the big dogs raised their heads and perked up their ears, the little poodle trotted over to Richie and dug in. The other three were soon following suit. "That's it. Good dogs. Good dogs. I'm sure this tastes much better than that stringy old Methos would anyway. Not to mention all that hair you'd have to go through to get to Mac."

"Hey." Mac protested as he lowered himself to the ground with a grunt. Mollified, mortified, Mac and Methos watched the newly awakened mutts happily chowing down, wagging their tails no less.

Shaking his head, Methos scooped up the cell phone and pointed at Mac's much the worse for wear sneaker. With a grimace of distaste, Mac gingerly picked it up between thumb and forefinger then dropped it into the recently emptied butcher's bag for disposal.

"Well, guys," Richie's voice was loud and full of humor, "I suppose we can offer you a lift, but you'd better hurry so you can make it out of the park before these monsters are ready to look for dessert." Climbing back into the car, Richie reached over absently to pat at the shoulder of the man beside him. "Hurry up, you two. Like you said the other day, Mac, got things to do, people to see. You know how it is."

Without waiting for a reply, Richie gunned the engine and they took off, carrying two very silent passengers back to the loft.

Stepping out of a conveniently placed clump of bushes, Taphelia Desmond was furious as she put her camera away. "Damn that man! Pierson is going to get MacLeod hurt. The man sticks to him like super glue. Well, obviously the animal scent has worn off. Too bad Pierson was never alone when it was active. And, it's all too obvious MacLeod's not nearly as sedate and lethargic as he should have been by now."

Fumbling for her pocket recorder, she thumbed the record button.

     *Personal Log: After dropping off my first report at Watcher Dawson's office, I followed MacLeod and Pierson to the park. After the occurrences here, it has become obvious to me that direct action is my only recourse. As I copied the videos I have collected thus far to file with my written report, I was able to review them, and I am now convinced I can wait no longer. Using the information I have gleaned, I plan to correct the MacLeod situation now.*

When Mac and Methos finally slunk back into the loft, Mac threw himself down in his chair and ripped off his lone shoe. "Damn. Damn. Damn!"

"For gods' sake, MacLeod. It's a shoe. Get over it." Methos tugged the shoe out of Mac's hand and went to the kitchen to deposit it in the trash. Stopping in mid-drop, he slowly pulled the trash can out from under the sink and stared at the jeans wadded carelessly in the top of it. Drawing them out, he looked from his pants to the man sitting slumped in the chair.

"MacLeod?"

"All right, already, Methos. I've shut up about the shoes. Okay?"

"Fuck the shoes. What is this?"

Twisting in the chair, Mac looked at the pants dangling in Methos' hand and deadpanned, "Gosh, I don't know...your jeans?"

"Bloody right, they're my jeans. What were they doing in the trash?"

"The trash? I thought you put them in the refrigerator."

"The refrig--oh yeah, right. They may have been in the fridge, but you obviously decided to find them a new home."

"Methos, I did not throw your jeans in the trash. Why would I do that?" Mac was beginning to get exasperated.

"All I know, MacLeod is that I certainly didn't do it. I like these jeans. I look good in these jeans....That must be it. You're jealous, aren't you?"

"What?" Mac surged upwards out of his chair, hands on his hips. "Jealous of what?"

"The way everybody looked at my ass when I was wearing them."

"God, you're conceited, you know that? And just how do you know everybody was looking at your ass?"

Looking a bit sheepish now, but determined to have the last word, Methos muttered, "You told me."

"What's that old man? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said, You Told Me! But that still doesn't explain why you threw them in the trash."

"Methos! I didn't do it! Maybe Richie snuck back up here. He did mention that he wanted to borrow them."

"Oh right. Great plan. He throws them in the trash, then waits around till the garbage truck shows up, whereupon he and Bubba the Mountain Man divvy them up. Sure, Mac. Uh huh."

Tossing the jeans to the floor in disdain, he strode across the room.

A knock at the door interrupted the tense silence. Miffed, Mac flung it open startling the young delivery girl who stood outside. "Yes?" he growled.

The girl jumped, causing Mac to feel a flush of guilt. She was a harmless looking little thing, not her fault Methos was being his usual charming self. Summoning a smile, Mac tried again, "Sorry. What can I do for you? Miss?"

The girl seemed to melt before his eyes, suddenly she was all smiles, practically cooing. "Desmond. Taphelia Desmond. But you can call me Taffy. It sounds sweet just like the candy."

Ignoring the loud snort behind him, Mac drew the young lady inside. "Ahem. Yes, well, Taffy. Did you have something for me?"

"What?" The young woman seemed to be hanging on the Highlander's every gesture. "Oh right! Here you are." Handing him yet another of those damning envelopes, the woman was suddenly eager to leave. Turning, she stiffened perceptibly when Mac caught her arm.

"Wait! Who sent this? Don't I need to sign something?"

"What? Oh no, no. That won't be necessary this time. Thank you anyway." And with that she whirled away and was gone.

Staring at the letter in his hand, Mac hardly noticed. Ripping it open with undue ferocity, he read the single word written there. *Tonight.* Casting an uneasy look at Methos, he decided now was not the time to reveal the presence of ...whomever.

Methos had been watching Mac, and as soon as he knew he had the Highlander's attention, he strode away across the loft. Flinging himself back onto the bed, Methos stared up into space as Mac shook his head in exasperation and entered the bathroom to clean up. Utterly unconvinced as to Mac's innocence, Methos found himself studying the ceiling again. Something...there it was, that odd, off-color speck that had caught his attention the night before. Methos was certain he had seen its like before.

Casting his mind back, he eyed the suspect spot. What was it...what...wait! With the blinding clarity that a glass of ice water in the face would bring, Methos knew exactly what it was. Springing from the bed, careful now not to stare, he hurried toward the bathroom to warn Mac. Entering the humid space, his voice froze in his throat as he realized there was no guarantee that was the only device. Of course, there was a small possibility that MacLeod himself had installed it. Methos snorted to himself. Yeah, right.

Which left...whom? Considering the question grimly, Methos soon discovered two more. One was affixed to the light fixture over the sink, and the other was in the ceiling again, this time directly over the shower. Knowing exactly what had happened in the shower on more than one occasion of late, not to mention the bed, and the kitchen counter, Methos had no doubt whatever cover he and Mac had hoped to maintain as 'just friends' had been shot to hell. And, as soon as he thought about the reasons for their low profile in the first place, Methos knew who it had to be. He had known all along, he just hadn't wanted to admit it.
The Watchers. Joe Dawson, in his capacity as a Watcher, was spying on them!

Suddenly, Methos was furious. How could Joe do this to them? Methos knew he couldn't wait; he had to confront Joe. Instead of telling Mac about the bugs, reasoning that by this point the Highlander had absolutely nothing to hide, Methos simply told him he'd remembered something he had to take care of and that he'd be back in a little while. He didn't want to tip Joe off.

Without waiting for Mac to reply, Methos grabbed his coat, making sure his sword was secured inside, and strode into the elevator. When he arrived below, he almost tripped over the woman lying on the sidewalk outside the door.

Crouching over her, Methos tried to see how she was injured. "Miss? Miss? Are you hurt? What's happened?"

Turning over to face him, Taphelia Desmond moaned piteously and grasp him by the arms. "Oh thank goodness. It was awful, just awful." She began running her hands up his forearms, leaning towards him in a near swoon. "You came just in time."

Recognizing the girl who had delivered the letter that Mac hadn't seen fit to share with him, Methos had to fight the urge to push the young woman's roaming hands away. He found himself momentarily distracted by her attire. Beige. She was dressed entirely in beige. And she looked very familiar--too familiar for that brief meeting upstairs. Where had he seen her before?

Turning his attention back to the woman, intending to ask her just that, he had the merest instant to feel her arms slip around his neck, followed by a sharp prick behind his left ear, and then the world receded down a long beige tunnel. Dimly, he heard a voice ordering him to get up, and he struggled to obey. He felt himself being shuffled forward into the back seat of a car, then another prick briefly penetrated the dimness, and he knew no more.

After finishing his shower, Mac tied a robe loosely around his waist and wandered idly through the loft. Feeling more awake than he had in days, he found his mind turning inevitably toward his relationship with Methos. *Relationship* Now there was a loaded word. If anyone had told him, even a few weeks ago, that he'd be involved with a five thousand-year-old man in some thing that felt like it could be forever...

With a sigh halfway between exasperation and contentment, Mac did what he always did when he had decisions to make: he cleaned. Making the bed, doing the dishes...moving to the desk, he began to sort through the clutter there.

Looking through a handful of letters, he realized many of them were Methos'. Smiling, Mac was surprised at how good it made him feel. Having Methos' mail here was like the first step in having Methos here--permanently. And that, Mac realized, was exactly what he wanted to happen.

Decision made, Mac started to lay the envelopes back down when several large beige ones near the bottom caught his eye. Pulling them out, he saw they were identical to the letters he had received earlier. No return address, just Adam Pierson written in big blocky letters.

Even though his own notes had been fairly innocuous, at least up until the last one, the fact that Adam had received them too made Mac uneasy. Barely hesitating, he ripped an envelope open and pulled out the single sheet inside.

*Leave MacLeod alone. He is not for you.*

Another...

*You don't take hints very well, so how about this--Either you leave now, bag in hand so it's obvious you won't be back, or you will be removed. Choose.*

That was enough. What the hell was going on? Alarm flaring, Mac quickly dialed the number of Adam's apartment. No answer. The cell phone yielded the same result. Finally, Mac called Joe.

"Joe's Bar."

"Joe. Is Methos there?"

"MacLeod, I presume. No, Methos isn't here. Why? You lost him?"

"Joe," Mac growled. "Have you seen him?"

Sobering at the serious tone in Mac's voice, Joe said, "No, Mac. I haven't. What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure..." Quickly, Mac proceeded to tell Joe about the letters, ending with "...and on top of that, I keep getting the weirdest feeling that I'm being watched. Every time I turn around, it's like I've just missed seeing...something. Someone. Now, I can't find Methos." Mac sighed. "I don't know Joe, I've been feeling really weird lately--maybe I'm overreacting. What do you think? Joe? Joe!"

Mac began to shout into the phone, hearing a groan. "Joe!"

"Yeah, sorry, Mac. I'm here. Oh my god, oh my god. Look Mac, I may have something....I'll have to call you back."

"Joe! Wait! Don't you dare hang up like this....what about Methos?"

"Just hang on Mac, I'm sure he's all right. I'm sure he is. Just sit tight." And with that, the line went dead.

*Sit tight.* Easy for Joe to say. Hard for Mac to do. Everything in him was suddenly screaming *danger*, and what could he do about it? Sit tight. Grabbing a big bottle of water, he proceeded to down it thirstily. He didn't know what was wrong with him, seemed like he was always needing a drink these days. Rubbing his hand consideringly across his jaw, he was startled to feel the stubble there. He had literally just finished shaving...hadn't he? Suddenly, Mac was finding it hard to remember. Didn't matter, he had more important things to worry about, like...Methos. Yes, Methos was...out somewhere. He wondered if he
should be worried about the old guy, but.....Yawning, Mac finished off yet another bottle of water then tumbled onto the bed. Closing his eyes, his last thought was to hope Methos hurried back from wherever he'd gone.

Things were not nearly so calm at Joe's Bar. Upending the big manila envelope Joe had found on his desk earlier, Taphelia Desmond's first report on Duncan MacLeod tumbled into view. A substantial written breakdown of MacLeod's movements with several addendums, an incredible array of still pictures, mostly close-ups, some even cropped to obliterate anyone else who happened to be in the frame, and...a video tape. Joe's stomach did a flip flop when he considered the items in his hands.

This was not normal Watcher business as usual. At most a Watcher would have a cursory log of an Immortal's wanderings, a couple of pictures if he happened to interact with another Immortal, and, if they were incredibly lucky, a videotape of a challenge and the resultant Quickening. Joe Dawson knew for a fact that Duncan MacLeod hadn't taken a challenge lately, and the only Immortal's he'd interacted with were Richie Ryan and Methos.

Dread growing incrementally, Joe stuck the video tape in a desk drawer, and called to Richie back in the storage room. He began leafing through the written report. There, and there, and there! Every time Mac had been in Methos' presence, Taphelia had been increasingly hostile in her reporting. In fact, the more glowing her words about Duncan MacLeod, the more contemptuous her observations of the man she knew as Adam Pierson.

Just then, Richie came barreling into the room. "Joe, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No. I just hope to god I haven't helped make one." Quickly, Joe brought Richie up to speed on the situation. Thankfully, Richie grasped the implications at once.

"You're afraid she's done something to the old man, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. Or if she hasn't...we have to find her and stop her before it's too late." Opening a drawer, Joe quickly found the young Watcher's address. He then called Mac to have him meet them there. The phone in the loft rang several times before Joe hung up with a grunt. "Damn. I told him to stay put. Come on, Rich. Looks like it's just you and me, kid."

Clamping his arm around Joe's shoulder, Richie tried to lighten the mood. "Oh yeah. I can see it now. If she has managed to get the drop on Methos, he is gonna hate being rescued by us again. Talk about p.o.'d. Ha....The look on his face is gonna be priceless. We'll be able to tease him about this for years."

Laughing weakly, Joe said, "You bet, Rich. You bet."

When the elevator climbed up to the loft, Mac didn't even stir. He was deeply asleep, totally oblivious to anything short of and possibly including an Immortal buzz. When Taphelia Desmond stepped inside, she wasted no time exulting over the success of her plans. With Pierson out of the way, she had bought some time to do things right with MacLeod, but that didn't mean she could be lazy.

With that thought in mind, she crossed determinedly to the bed and looked at the man lying there. Reaching for the tie securing his robe she thought she'd have to remember to thank him for making her task so much easier. It was the work of moments to ease the robe over his big shoulders and off entirely. Stepping back, Taphelia gasp. The man was a god. The flesh incarnate. And he was all hers. Resisting the temptation to ravage him then and there, she draped a small towel artistically over his groin. It took several tries to get the placement just right, but after she had it just so, she had to admit to herself that it was easier to concentrate on her task with the towel in place.

Working quickly, she located the restraints that she had reason to know were secured at all corners of the bed, and fixed them to the Highlander's wrists and ankles. Step one was complete. Now for step two.

She changed her own clothing layer by layer until she was dressed in a flimsy little French maid's outfit complete with lacy hat and stiletto heels. Removing several items from the bag she'd brought with her, she arranged them on a tray and sat it beside the bed. It was time to bring MacLeod out of his drug induced torpor and show him what a real woman in his bed could do.

With that in mind, Taphelia had done diligent research into the most potent aphrodisiacs known to man and assembled a meal sure to counteract the last lingering bits of drug in his system and stimulate him to heights of passion hitherto unknown. But first, she had to wake him up.

Climbing up onto the middle of the bed, Taphelia knelt beside the supine body of the man she loved to distraction. "Oh, Duncan. Wake up, my love. Duncan, your taffy candy is waiting for you."

Leaning over, she planted a lingering kiss to Mac's slack mouth. After several seconds, she felt the body beneath her own tremble. "Ah there you are, my darling. Time to wake up and eat your supper. You naughty boy, you've slept the day away."

"Wha...."

"Shhh.....don't try to talk yet, beloved. You must be dying of hunger. Here, let me feed you." Reaching for the tray, she placed it beside her on the bed and studied its contents. "Let's see, what would you like first? Oysters...asparagus...escargot...or how about some fresh fruit dipped in honey or chocolate? Hmmmm? What would you like to try first?"

Still struggling to climb out of the hazy nightmare he fancied himself trapped in, Mac didn't answer. Taphelia frowned for a moment, but then brightened again. "Oh silly me. Of course, you must be terribly thirsty. The drug does seem to have that side effect. How about some lovely marapuama tea?" Pulling the Highlander's head up, she literally poured the strong concoction down the Highlander's throat. As he was strangling and gasping for breath, she took the opportunity to force a few capsules down as well.

Gulping even more tea in self-defense, Mac at last realized his dream showed no signs of abating and he spoke. "What is going on here? What are you doing here? Methos? Methos!" Tugging furiously, Mac began to buck violently as he found himself secured to his own bed. "Methos! This isn't funny, old man! Let me go!"

"Careful there." Tugging the towel back over Mac's hips, Taphelia said firmly. "That man isn't here. And, he isn't going to be here. It's just you and me, Duncan. I'm going to make you so happy."

Stilling at her words, Mac thought furiously. His mind was rapidly clearing away the cobwebs from the last few days, and he realized with startling clarity that he was in a bit of a fix. "Ta-Taphelia, isn't it?"

"Oh please call me Taffy again....just like the candy....all soft and warm and oozy....." to Mac's dismay, the young woman closed her eyes and began to undulate over his body, swaying closer and closer.

"Taphelia!" As her eyes snapped open with a frown, he amended hastily, "Taffy. I'm sure you're a wonderful young woman, but I'm...I'm involved with someone. I'm sorry. Please, let me go, and we can talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about. I told you, Pierson is gone. I'm going to take care of you now. Don't worry, everything is going to be fine."

Methos. Mac had to know what she'd done to him. "No! I don't want you to take care of me. I want Adam. I love him. Now let me go."

Taphelia seemed not to hear as she sat the first tray back on the bedside table and moved to lift another in its place. "Well, if you're not hungry any longer, let's get to your massage, shall we? You know," she said conversationally as she began to ready the various oils and ointments, "I had to really search for a lot of this stuff....do you have any idea how hard it is to find powdered rhino horn these days? And then there's the Spanish fly, yohimbine, even crushed emu shell.....of course, there's a lot to be said for modern science too, don't you think, darling? That's why I popped those megadoses of viagra in your mouth." She giggled. "We may never know which one works first, but then," she cooed as she leaned to give the horrified Immortal a
swift kiss, "it's the results that count."

Joe Dawson cautiously nosed his way into Taphelia Desmond's apartment. After a brief fight, he had left Richie downstairs and come up on his own to try to talk to the woman. Unfortunately, it soon became patently obvious that she wasn't there. Reasoning that he had cause enough, Joe wandered through the rooms of the apartment, trying to gain more insight into the young woman's possible actions. The apartment was amazingly uncluttered, almost looking unlived in. He had just closed the last closet door when he heard Richie's voice in the hallway.

"Joe?"

"Rich, I thought we agreed you would stay downstairs."

Advancing into the apartment, Richie shrugged, "I know, but it was taking so long, I got worried. Where's Methos?"

"Huh? Nobody's here, I already checked."

Richie shook his head decisively, drawing his sword. "You're wrong, Joe. Somebody's here. I can feel the buzz."

Incredulous, Joe began to turn slowly about the room. "But, where? I looked all over."

Not for the first time, Richie wished that he could zero in on an Immortal buzz like a homing signal. In reality, while he knew for a certainty that there was an Immortal somewhere around, he had no idea if that somewhere was to his left or right, behind him or straight ahead. Slowly, with Joe on his heels, Richie began to search.

He looked everywhere. In the shower, under the bed, behind the couch. Nothing. Finally, Richie found himself at the same closet Joe had examined earlier. Opening the door, he poked through the contents with the tip of his sword. Still nothing. He stepped back, prepatory to closing the door. As he brought his sword up and out, it snagged on the belt loop of a pair of slacks, pulling Richie off balance.

Staggering back, he landed with a grunt against the door. To his great surprise, the door grunted back. Eyes widening, Richie looked at Joe. Joe looked at the door. It had one of those fancy suspended shoe racks attached to it...the kind that was totally enclosed in a quilted fabric case. It was just about the biggest one Joe had ever seen. Reaching out, Joe poked experimentally at the contraption. Again, a muffled bleat seemed to come from it.

Slowly, Joe reached up and began to tug the zipper down. An inch at a time, an incredible sight came into view. There, amid the sneakers and sandals, nestled into the middle space usually reserved for hanging up suits, was Methos, trussed up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey with what appeared to be panty hose. He had a fuzzy wool sock shoved into his mouth, and it was very apparent from the owlish expression on his face that he had been asleep, or more likely unconscious.

At first, Joe and Richie could do nothing but stare. It wasn't everyday you saw a man hanging in a shoe rack. Despite the possible gravity of the situation, Joe could feel a big laugh straining to get out. Hearing desperate gurgling noises from the young man at his side, Joe knew that one look at Richie and he'd be lost.

Luckily, just then Methos seemed to throw off the last of his lethargy. If eyes could be said to shoot daggers, Methos' were shooting claymores. Jolted to action, Joe reached up and plucked the sock out of the old Immortal's mouth.

"Aaaggghhh.....yuck! Pfft. Pffttt."

"Hang on old man," Richie said as he stepped in to assist. "We'll have you down in just a minute." He began to try to untie the pantyhose, but in the end, he had to use his sword to saw through the surprisingly tough material.

During the entire ordeal, Methos hadn't said a word. When he was finally standing in front of the other two men, he said quietly, "If I ever read a word of this in a future chronicle, I'll know who put it there. Just remember that you two."

Joe, his lips twitching a bit, said nothing. Richie, however, couldn't resist. "But, Methos. I have to know."

"You have to know what, Ryan?"

"How in the hell did a little thing like Joe says Taphelia is get you up there?"

"She just did, okay? Maybe she's stronger than she looks."

Joe had to speak. "How much stronger? She'd have to be built like a gorilla to hoist you into place then hold you while she tied you up."

Methos scowled furiously. "Ididitmyself."

"What?" Joe couldn't believe he'd heard right.

"I said, I did it myself. She drugged me with something that made me pretty much do whatever she wanted me to do. She told me to climb up and hold on, so I did."

Richie hooted. "So, basically, you kinda kidnapped yourself."

"No, I did not kidnap myself. She orchestrated the whole thing to get me away from MacLeod." Stopping in mid-speech, Methos ask, "Where is MacLeod anyway?"

Joe sobered abruptly. "You know, I'm not sure. When I tried to call him at the loft, there was no answer."

As Joe and Methos exchanged a look of concern, Richie joined in, "Oh come on, guys. If the worst she did to Methos was make him climb a shoe rack, what could she possibly do to Mac? I mean, so what if she did drug Methos so he'd do whatever she said--"

"That's not all she did," Joe interrupted. "She's been using various drugs on both Mac and Methos for days now. She's the reason you felt like you were the next star of 'When Animals Attack', Methos. And, she's the reason Mac has been feeling so tired lately. Given her obsession with the man..." Trailing off, Joe saw that he'd made his point.

As the three of them made their way back down to the street, Joe began to fill both of them in on the specifics. Speeding for the loft, Joe could only hope they weren't too late.

When Methos, Joe and Richie entered the ground floor gym, they could feel the underlying pulse of music reverberating through the very walls. It was hot and slow and sensual. Methos' lips thinned into a grim line as he led the troops into the waiting elevator.

Although far from quiet, either the music masked the approach, or the occupants of the loft were so absorbed they failed to notice the elevator as it ground slowly to a halt. Taphelia was totally engrossed in her task, while MacLeod...

"Stop! Taphelia, you have got to stop!"

"Shhh.....just a little more, Duncan. You'll see, it will happen. You know you want it to happen. Just relax and let me work. Those pills should kick in any second now. I'm just going to help it along a little more, then we'll have dessert."

"I said no. Why won't you listen? No!"

As the three rescuers strode forward, they beheld a unique sight. Taphelia Desmond, still dressed in her French maid's costume, was crouching over a heaving, moaning mass of whipped cream with a long clear cylinder. As they crept closer, she frowned and exclaimed, "You have to hold still! Once I get this in position, a few pumps and presto, your troubles will be over. Duncan, hold still!" Flinging one leg over Mac's, she began to reach forward right into the largest mound of fluffy whiteness.

"Stop!" The voice that rang out through the loft was resonant with authority, and it brought the little drama on the bed to a freezing halt.

Taphelia looked up, her eyes widening as she saw Methos take a step forward to switch off the music with the other two men in close pursuit. Sliding her gaze past the obviously fuming Immortal, she said timorously, "Mr. Dawson, how, how did you get in here? I can explain..."

"Oh really," Methos snarled. "I'd love to hear it."

Gulping slightly, Taphelia began to crawl off the bed, angling toward the door. "Well, I....I...Duncan MacLeod is too special for the likes of you! Telling him all those lies about who you really are...I mean, sure, he had to be pretty stupid to believe them, but still..."

"I agree." Methos said quietly.

"It would be different if you really were Methos...what?"

"I said, I agree. Duncan MacLeod is too special for the likes of me; however, stupid or not, that is for him to decide, not you. Dawson, I suggest you take your little Watcher here, and explain that to her...or I will."

At that, Taphelia gasped, wondering if perhaps Adam Pierson wasn't quite so spineless as she'd assumed. Stepping forward, Joe took her arm in a firm grip and said, not unkindly, "Come on, Taphelia, I think you and I need to have a long talk." Walking her toward the elevator, he shot back over his shoulder, "Rich, bring her coat, okay?"

"Um, sure, Joe. Be down in a minute." Stepping up cautiously to the bed and the Immortal still lying on it, Richie asked, "Mac, are you okay?"

As soon as Methos unbuckled the first wrist strap, Mac flung an arm across his face and sighed, "Yeah, Rich. I'm okay. Humiliated, but okay. Right now I just want to get off this bed and out from under all this...stuff. Talk to you later?"

Frowning, clearly reluctant to leave, Richie scooped up Taphelia's coat and moved to the stairs, "S-sure," he muttered, "later."

By this time, Methos had unhooked the foot nearest to him and was leaning across the Highlander's body to reach the other wrist. No sooner had Richie cleared the door, than Duncan's arm was free, and he was pulling Methos into a tight, if messy embrace. "Thank god! That woman is certifiable. If it had taken you any longer, I don't know what might have happened."

"MacLeod! Yuck! Let go of me, you loon. You're getting whipped cream all over....what have we here?" Even as Methos gave a token protest, his hand had been gliding down the other man's body, slipping and sliding his way towards the arousal poking up against his stomach. Instead of closing around hot, albeit slippery flesh, however, Methos felt something cool that crackled beneath his fingers. Leaning back a bit, his eyes followed the trail his hand had blazed down Mac's chest to see...

Convulsed with laughter, Methos barely managed to choke out, "What's this? A dip cone? A chocolate covered banana?" Wrapping his arms around his whipped cream covered middle, he gave in to helpless guffaws.

Obviously, Taphelia had been at the dessert building process longer than Methos had originally thought. Stopping abruptly as a thought occurred to him, he looked up at an embarrassed Mac. "She didn't burn you, did she?"

Giving in to the absurdity of the situation, Mac began to laugh himself. "No," he gasped, "but maybe you'd better check and see."

A devilish gleam in his eyes, Methos bent low over the impressive chocolate covered erection, nearly perfect in its dark brown shell, arcing up from the top of the whipped cream like a flag planted on a mountain peak. Extending his tongue, he tasted it lightly, once, twice. "Tell me, Duncan. Just how did you manage to hide this from her?"

"It wasn't there then, idiot. She gave me all these drugs and aphrodisiacs but nothing worked. Then you come in and poof! Go figure."

"Poof? I'm flattered. In fact, I'm more than flattered...I'm hungry!" Then with a big grin, he said, "Of course, some people prefer to savor their dip cones. I, on the other hand..." And with that, he swallowed Mac whole.

Far from discouraging Methos, Mac reached down gooey but enthusiastic hands to urge Methos to eat faster. Writhing in contentment, he had just realized that one ankle was still held fast when the elevator began to clang and the buzz of an approaching Immortal zinged into the loft.

With a curse, Methos flung himself off Mac and turned his back to the room, staring stonily out the nearby window. Realizing he had no time to fumble with the slippery restraint, Mac tried to scoop up the slowly melting whipped cream and cover himself with that. When Joe and Richie came back into the room, he was collected enough to ask mildly, "You forget something?"

Joe took in the situation at a glance. One look at Methos' stiff shoulders told him he needed to make it fast. "Uh, yeah. This." He held out a piece of paper. "A detailed list of exactly where all the bugs are in here. She was nothing if not thorough."

"Was?" This from the still form at the window.

"Er, well..."

"We lost her." Richie volunteered.

Mac's mouth fell open, so amazed that he didn't even notice as his hastily erected whipped cream fort began to sag. "You lost her? How in the hell could you lose her?"

"Now, Mac." Joe began desperately. "You've seen the last of her, I'm sure. The more we talked about it, the less worthy she decided you were. I believe I've got her attentions fixed elsewhere now. So, even though I technically lost her, it's really nothing for you to worry about."

"And just how did you lose her, Dawson?"

Wondering briefly why Methos didn't turn around, Joe answered truthfully, "One minute, she was agreeing with me that the real Methos was no doubt ten times the man MacLeod here was, the next she was dashing off down the street. Richie tried to find her when he came down, but by then it was too late."

Mac ask in a strangled voice, "You sicced her onto Methos?"

At the window, Joe was alarmed to see that Methos seemed to be trembling with rage. "It's not as bad as it sounds. Mac?" The Highlander just glared at Joe, refusing to speak. "Methos? I can explain."

Finally, turning just a bit, Methos proved to be about as far from enraged as he could get. He was shaking, but it was with suppressed laughter. Still, Methos had to reassure his friend. "No need, Joe. It's a brilliant idea. After all, Taphelia has no idea who Methos really is...in fact, the only thing she's sure of is that he isn't me." Nodding his head sagely, Methos was unaware of the globule of white goo that dripped off the end of his chin before Joe and Richie's fascinated gazes. "Good save, Joe."

"Well, thank you, Methos. Now, you'll just have to convince Mr. Cream Pie here. Oh, she also drugged all the food and drinks in here, including something she popped into the faucets. And, Methos, you'd better wash all your clothes." Shaking his head, still finding it hard to believe that one little girl had wreaked all that havoc, Joe clapped an arm around the slightly shell-shocked young man standing next to him, "Rich, I think it's time for us to leave."

"But, shouldn't we stick around in case Mac needs any help with the bugs or getting unfastened or anything?" Richie's questions sounded totally innocent, but Joe knew better.

"No, Richie, we shouldn't. Methos can handle it."

"Methos can handle it. Since when does Methos get to handle everything? What's he got that we haven't got, Mac?"

Tensing again, Methos turned back toward the window, hands balled into fists at his sides. He braced himself to hear yet another flip brush off from Mac. The man was just congenitally unable to acknowledge....Suddenly, Methos felt a big hand grab his own, and the next thing he knew he was being tugged over to sit on the bed beside MacLeod.

Keeping Methos' hand in his, Mac met first Joe's and then Richie's eyes as he ask, "Just what do you think he has, Rich?"

Richie loved teasing his friends about their budding relationship, but he'd never expected to be called on it. His eyes roamed desperately over Mac's still form, stopping in wonder at the chocolate covered erection once again blatantly rearing above the melted rivulets of cream. Totally speechless, he looked at Methos, and turned an incredible shade of vermilion.

Still waiting for Richie to comment, Mac watched his young friend's expressive face with amusement. When Richie seemed to freeze on Methos, Mac turned his head to see what had the young man so mesmerized, and began to turn red himself. Not only was Methos covered pretty much from head to knees in wisps of whipped cream, there was a perfect ring of chocolate around his mouth, not to mention a big smudge of it on his chin. Mac closed his eyes tightly then opened them and smiled ruefully. Raising one finger, he traced the chocolate 'o' around Methos' mouth then very deliberately, stuck his finger in his mouth and
sucked on it. "Any more questions?"

Looking from Mac to Richie in amazement, Methos couldn't believe what was happening. MacLeod was practically flaunting their involvement in front of the very two men he'd been at such pains to hide it from. Licking his lips, Methos wondered if he'd ever understand the enigma that was Duncan MacLeod. For a man to seem so straight forward, the Scot had more unexpected twists to his personality than...Methos stopped short in his ramblings as he realized what everyone must have been staring at. Looking down at Mac, he read confirmation in the laughing brown eyes, even as the Highlander reached up for another tracing
of his lips.

After carefully scraping off a bit of the chocolate, Mac held his finger up in front of Methos' face. Making sure the old man focused on the chocolate encrusted there, Mac held his finger to Methos' mouth again. Eyes locked with Mac's, Methos opened his mouth and sucked the finger inside. Long blissful moments passed before he released it, quite clean.

A loud "Ahem!" jerked both of the men on the bed back to the present. Richie was still red as the proverbial beet, but Joe was positively twinkling his approval. "Guys, we definitely need to go. I'm gonna put this list right over here," suiting actions to words, he walked over and dropped the paper on the table near the couch, "and we," he grabbed Richie by the shoulders and guided him to the elevator, "are leaving. Don't forget, you two are supposed to come over tonight to watch a movie with us."

"We'll be there, Joe." Mac's warm, laughter filled voice trailed after them. "And Joe? Thanks. You too, Rich."

Waving his answer, Joe entered the elevator. Richie finally recovered his voice enough to croak, "No problem, Mac. Methos. See you later."

Deliberately snagging the young Immortal with his eyes just as Richie was about to pull down the grate, Methos licked his lips again in an exaggerated gesture and smiled.

Gulping, Richie pulled the grate down with a jerk, jabbed the button to set it into motion and closed his eyes until Methos' knowing leer was above his line of sight.

Long hours later, Richie was helping Joe get everything into place for their evening. After he'd recovered from his initial embarrassment, Richie had admitted to himself and to Joe, that he was 'glad Mac had finally decided to come clean.' This had set off a round of mutual snickers as the two of them pictured exactly how Mac might be accomplishing that.

At this point, the only thing left from his earlier embarrassment was a burning desire to get Methos back for taunting him with it. Nothing serious, just a little pay back for Methos and Mac both to quell the laughter that had followed Richie and Joe out of the loft. Richie had spent the better part of the afternoon, making and discarding elaborate plans. As the time for the other Immortals' arrival neared, he still hadn't thought of anything specific, but remained blithely sure that an opportunity would present itself in time.

Listening to Joe, clattering around in the kitchen making popcorn, Richie took one last look around the living room. He'd already cleaned it up for Joe, while the Watcher took care of all the details about Taphelia Desmond. Joe seemed to think she'd be found pretty quickly. Richie had to agree with him, since, if she wanted to try to find Methos, she would have to come to the Watchers to use their files.

According to Joe, after a lengthy stay at a very restful little place deep in the hills of Switzerland, Taphelia would be given aniche that, while it would no doubt keep her away from any real live Immortals, would help her to lead a happy and productive life in the Watcher enclave.

Picking up the tape lying on the table near the door, Richie called into the kitchen, "Hey, Joe. They'll be here any minute. Need any help out there?"

"Naw." Joe called back. "I'll be through in a sec."

"'kay." Richie answered as he took the tape over to the VCR and inserted it. Using the remote to turn on the television set, he intended to fast forward past the various FBI warnings and such so that they could dive right into the feature when it was time. But, instead of the familiar screen or even the opening credits, the tape immediately began with a shot of what appeared to be the inside of a shower. Actually, Richie sat up straight and leaned closer, it was a shot of the inside of Mac's shower!

If Richie's eyes hadn't been firmly anchored in his head, they would surely have popped right out as the totally nude form of Methos suddenly filled the frame. At first, it seemed the old man was going to take a simple shower, but suddenly, looming up into the picture like the shark in Jaws, Duncan MacLeod climbed into the stall.

Taking the soap away from Methos, Mac slammed him none to gently against the wall, and began to kiss him like it was dress rehearsal for a Broadway show, and it was his last opportunity to get it right. Swiftly, Mac began to drag his lips down the ancient Immortal's quivering flesh...

Fumbling fingers finally found the pause button, and Richie drew a gasping breath as the images hung out of time. "Holy shit." Tapping the remote control furiously against his leg, Richie thought quickly. Somehow, this didn't look very much like The X-Files Movie they'd planned on watching. Wrong tape. He should immediately get up and eject it and find the right one. He should. He really should. He sat and tapped some more.

Standing well behind him in the shadows of the doorway, Joe Dawson grinned. Dear god, he'd known what had to be on that tape, but the reality far outstripped his imagination. The question was, what was Richie going to do with it. The answer soon became clear.

Pressing the rewind button, Richie watched carefully as Mac kissed his way back up Methos' chest to his mouth. Further and further back it went until Richie found the point he wanted. The moment just before Mac had joined Methos in the shower. Stopping the tape carefully, Richie laughed a little. This was going to be some movie night.

Fading back into the kitchen, Joe was a bit surprised at himself. By rights, he should march right in there and confiscate that tape. He should. He really should. He could just hear MacLeod now, ranting and raving when he saw the night?s feature selection.

Just then, Richie's voice disturbed his reverie. "Hey, Joe?"

"Yeah, Rich?"

"You'd better make sure you have plenty of popcorn. And beer. Are you sure you have enough beer? I have a feeling we're gonna be needing it." Richie's voice was full of anticipation and laughter, and Joe smiled fondly.

"You bet, Rich. We have plenty." And that was exactly why he wasn't going to take the tape. It wouldn't do a bit of harm in the long run to Mac and Methos, and it would do a world of good to Richie. Give him a chance to get back at them for embarrassing him earlier. Teach them a lesson. Joe caught himself as he realized he was trying to find lofty justifications when the simple truth was: Hell. It was going to be fun. Methos probably wouldn?t even be embarrassed, and as for Mac, well...as long as they stopped the tape pretty quick, Joe was sure he could handle Mac.

Satisfied that he?d covered all eventualities, Joe smiled again. Yep, everything was under control. What could possibly go wrong?

As a loud knock bounced off the door, Joe grabbed the popcorn and stepped out to greet his guests. Smiling at the unsuspecting and oh so clean twosome, Joe laughed and told Richie to stop bouncing around and grab everyone a beer, maybe make it a couple of beers. Like they said in the movies, it was going to be a bumpy night.

                                            --the end--

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