All right. You asked for it. The whining, snivelling,
Methos-obsessed masses have spoken, and you want MORE! Fine. You get two
more episodes, free of charge, although we *really* should be charging
(considering the amount of personal injury it takes to come up with these).
So, with out further ado, we present:


by Carrie Van Steenburg
Caile Donachaidh Kane

        Methos rolled over, the sunlight blinding him.
        "Gnarf," he grumbled, burying his face in the pillow. That grew
uncomfortable after a moment (breathing became important after so long)
and he rolled back over, accidentally elbowing the person beside him.
        It took a moment to register.
        He sat up slowly, feeling the headache hit full force as he did.
"Bloody fucking hell," he muttered, covering his eyes with his hands, and
shaking his head.
        She wasn't exactly *ugly* per se.... she just wasn't... well,
hell. She wasn't Isabella Rosselini, okay? Groaning and swearing
alternately, he slipped carefully out of bed, grabbing his jeans from the
floor and hurriedly yanking them on.
        "Farging whiskey... gonna kill Joe..." He looked at his watch
with one eye open, and saw that it was almost one o'clock. Affirming
this, his stomach growled. "Coffee...ungh. Nah. Beer."
        He ambled to the fridge and pulled open the door. Even that light
was too bright. He opened his bottle of Black & Tan on the counter, and
drained it in one hearty swallow, then burped and shook his head.
        What the hell was he gonna tell her? Uh, sorry? Who are you? Did
I? Did we?? He shook his head, imagining the scene that would ensue.
Quietly, so as not to wake her, he gathered up the clothes strewn on the
floor and lay them carefully on the chair. She had been wearing a cute
little black dress. Well, he's always been a sucker for that look.
Still... He looked a little closer at her.
        *shudder* Oh, no. No, no, no. No. Nonono. It was Kim, Joe's new
barmaid. Shitfuck.

                *               *               *

        The events of the night before filtred slowly through his
hung-over haze. He'd been drinking pretty heavily with MacLeod, the two
of them trading stories for hours. Duncan had left around one am, and
that was when Kim had come up to him.

                *               *               *

        Pretty much everything after that was a blur. As he stood in the
shower beating his head against the glass doors, he imagined what Joe was
going to say about THIS one. It wasn't so much the old "don't date the
help" adage, but the fact that he knew, deep in his heart, that soon he
was going to have to go out there, and be an insensitive asshole. Well,
not that that was anything new.
        He stepped out and towelled off, putting on the same jeans as the
night before. He sighed. What the hell, he wondered again, was he going
to say? Hi, sorry, 'twas a wee mistake.... um, don't hit me?
        "Bugger all," he said out loud. "Balls, balls, balls."
        "Interestin' conversation you're havin' there." She smiled at him.
"Cutie," she added.
        Methos tried very hard not to bite through the insides of his
cheeks. He tried not to scream. Nope. Nope. Nope. Emma Thompson, she
wa'nt. "Hi," he settled for.
        "Well, hahhhh," she drawled.
        He winced. Another thing the whiskey had conveniently blocked out
was the irritating accent. Not that he had anything against Southerners.
It was just this... bubblegum accent that made him want to rip out his
own heart. "Hi," he said again. "You, uh... want breakfast?"
        "Lemme get a shower, first, darlin'."
        "Nope, sorry, I used up all the hot water. No agua caliente here,
nope. So, ready to go??"
        She frowned, an expression rather like a cow hit with a
sledgehammer crossing her features. "Go where?"
        "Ah... to... breakfast. Yeah. Then home."
        "Um, well, see... .I... uh... got called in to the office. Yeah.
That's the ticket."
        She nodded. "Oh, I get it. You're one-a them, aren't ya?"
        His eyes widened theatrically. "One-a who?" He worried for a
minute that he might have to kill her. Especially if he'd been talking in
his sleep again. That last mess... he shuddered involuntarily.
        "You know... love 'em n' leave 'em, I get it. You don't have to
be sorry."
        He shrugged. "Ah, well, I'm not. Sorry for... being a bastard
that is." He shrugged again. "Why... uh.. don't you just... here." He
handed her the sweater he had planned on putting on. "Let's just go to
        She smiled, nodding. "Can you get my hair spray outta my purse?"
        "Sure." *mental KICK* "Just a minute."
        Still kicking himself, he fetched the hairspray. Aqua Net. He
shuddered again. After giving it to her, he got another beer from the
fridge and drank it down, deciding that as long as he lived, he was never
ever doing this again.
        And knew as he thought it, of course he would.

Brought to you by the Thorazine Twins!!
C. 1997 

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