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: METHOS IN THE MORNING III: THE BLONDE. 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." "Already?" "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 breakfast." 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 Next Story