Location- archive for me. (That goes for anyone else. You want to archive?  Just drop me a note and let me know. Don't do it without telling me please.) Rating-err..G. That's U for Brits Friendship story. 
Description-No plot but no sex either. Just a bunch of Immortals and a Watcher getting together the morning after and having fun with edible body paint.

Characters involved-Duncan, Methos, Joe, Amanda and Richie 
Type of story- humor 
Author-Andie P 
Spoilers for-Not a thing. 
Fanfic home page-n/a 

Thanks to Andrea without whose advice this story would still be cluttering up FFH, Charlisemaelion for encouraging me to post, and Attilla for likening me to a fluffy bit of double mint chewing gum. Thank God it wasn't juicy fruit or this story may have gone very differently. Oh, and of course she encouraged me to post as well, and even gave me time of from writing FFH to write this. What a gal.:)

BEWARE-This hasn't been Beta Read. All mistakes are my own. If you've read "Rite of Fire", you'll recognize my version of Methos. He's back, but I made him leave the attack squid at home this time.:) As ever this is spelled in that foreign language known as British. "Cheque" is UK for a money "check". And despite the fact that the word doesn't appear in this story I feel compelled to point out that there is an extra "I" in 
Aluminum that seems to have passed you colonial types by. :)

Disclaimer-Nobody, but nobody belongs to me. They belong to Rysher: Panzer/Davies or somebody like that. But since they're not filming anymore, I'm hoping to buy them cheap. Anyone want to go halfies with me? 

He was determinedly, relentlessly cheerful despite his suspicion that he was being followed by a particularly stealthy, though utterly deranged, psychopath who insisted on thumping invisible rocks off his head. 

He was deliriously happy although his stomach seemed to be planning a violent rebellion against the tyranny of a body that had gotten in a drinking contest with a man who had 4950 years more experience in such 
things. 

He was forcefully delighted about the fact that he had, at some point during the night, gotten up and sung "Auld Lang Syne" while draped over a Scotsman. Just before surrendering to the suddenly irresistible force of gravity and spending an hour or so studying the underside of a table and poking Immortal kneecaps with his cane until a broadsword had slammed into the ground about an inch from his groin. He was fiercely, grimly, ecstatic that Mike had had a video camera in the bar, and had captured his small "eeeep" of terror to be Immortalized (excuse the pun) for all eternity

Joe Dawson ascended in the elevator whose ancient motor screeched in his abused head like an deranged donkey on speed, with a ruthless good mood that generally took illegal herbage to achieve, and the reason for it was simple. No matter how much he wanted to cut his own head off and slip into a quiet coma of embarrassment for a year or two; no matter how many quiet sniggers he was getting from his soon-not-to-be-if-they-didn't-stop-smirking employees, he was in a good mood as knew he was going to utterly ruin the day of the Worlds Oldest Man. Despite the danger that it would make his brain explode, he started to whistle. Methos and Duncan looked up from their seats on the couch as they heard the screech of the elevator cage, and Joe entered the loft. Methos smirked as the Watcher collapsed in the first chair he reached.

"Good afternoon, Joseph, how are we feeling on this fine day?" He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the gray face and red-rimmed eyes. 

"Just fine, thank you, Old Man." Joe smiled sweetly at Methos' slow  blink of surprise.

"No headache? No feeling like your stomach contents are about to erupt out your ears? If you do feel the urge to vomit, please don't do it on my sword.  It's murder to get out of the hilt." He pointedly moved his sword to the sofa beside him and grinned as Joe rolled his eyes at him. "No twinges of embarrassment at singing "Auld Lang Syne", but not being able to remember more than the first verse so singing that over and over again for about 20 minutes?"

Oh Dear God! What have I done?... Joe started to sweat slightly.  Not the fingers lightly touching pursed lips' and the 'mildly confused tilt of the head! These were the signs of impending verbal doom for the Old Man's opponent, the times when being reduced to a quivering, sobbing heap, was the absolute best thing you could hope for. I may not survive this. Joe shivered as Methos grinned, an expression of pure, terrifying, evil.

"Not even a teeny niggle of embarrassment at passing out under the table in your own bar--?"

"I didn't pass out, I was..." Methos waited expectantly. "...checking for structural damage." Joe finished lamely.

"Ah yes, of course. Wouldn't want the tables to collapse in the event of an earthquake now would we?" Methos lips twisted into an amused smirk. "So, you didn't pass out." He considered the slightly trembling Watcher, " So you're fine about having stood up on the stage and done a credible version of the Macarena?"

Joe stilled in horror and Methos went in for the kill. "And about having grabbed Mac's pony tail and used it to tickle the ears of passing women as you made 'snakey-noises'?" Methos smirked again and Joe suspected he was going to pass the 'quivering/sobbing' stage and head straight into the 'gibbering quietly in the corner' stage when Duncan thankfully intervened.

"Give the man a break, Methos." He handed Joe a coffee and stared disapprovingly at the Old Man. "If you drive him into suicidal despair, I'll have to spend ages breaking in a new Watcher." He rolled his eyes at the petulant look the Ancient turned on him at the reprimand. "And if he kills himself, the new owner of the bar will almost certainly make you pay for your beer." 

Methos seemed to consider this for a moment, then accept it as a valid argument. He stood down 'battle-mode' and relaxed, secure in the knowledge that yet another had fallen before him. Another job well done. He congratulated himself with the 'Full length body stretch of Victory', luxuriating in stretching every muscle, and then relaxing them utterly into a full sprawl. He closed his eyes and sighed happily.

Joe and Duncan watched in fascination, and Duncan shook his head at the content smile the Old Man bestowed on him.

"Sometimes, Methos, I swear you're part cat." Methos opened an eye lazily and looked at him.

"Want to see if you can make me purr, Highlander? Take me to your bed again and you can try" He raised one eyebrow, grinning again as he saw Joe suddenly reconsider the situation.

"You know." the Watcher looked at the two Immortals. "It's not normal for Adam to be up so soon when he was out last night, and he certainly wouldn't be out visiting at this hour, particularly," and he paused for effect, "wearing your sweats, Mac." He smiled at MacLeod's slightly confused look. "Which leads me to conclude that he spent the night here. I.e. not at his own apartment. I.e. in the loft with one bed, and he," he jerked at thumb at the grinning Elder, "just asked you to take him to bed again." He looked at the spluttering Scotsman speculatively. 

"Joe!" Duncan flushed crimson but was too stunned to come up with a sensible argument.

"Oh!" He sighed melodramatically, "Mac was an utter cad. I was entirely too drunk in his opinion, to get home on my own, so he dragged me in my vulnerability to his loft, and threw me onto his bed and then--"

"...Sofa..." Methos and Joe looked at the still mostly insensible Highlander in surprise, and waited for any explanation as to why the Scot was naming pieces of furniture. When none was forthcoming and he merely continued to look very red and slightly deranged, Joe turned back to Methos sourly.

"You were at least as drunk as I was. "By virtue of having drunk about three times as much. It was a bitter thought and Joe chose to retain some dignity by not vocalizing it. "You couldn't have been good for much."

"Never underestimate the power of Immortal healing, " Methos lectured absently, still watching in fascination as the Highlander flushed even further at his words. Methos was entranced, he'd never seen anything like it in 5000 years and wanted to savoir every shade, after all it was extraordinarily rare for him to find anything he hadn't seen before. He idly wondered if the Highlander radiated any more of his body heat from his face, whether he would lapse into a hypothermic coma and die. As it was, he had no doubt that every spy satellite over America had registered the huge heat spike, and that sinister men in black suits were going to come and ask leading questions regarding a small thermonuclear detonation in the dojo. Joe interrupted his reverie by virtue of smacking him smartly across the shins with his cane.

"So you don't get hangovers?" Joe thought it fundamentally unfair that people who could drink that much didn't get hangovers.

"Oh I felt a bit ill this morning but I've had loads of practice with hangovers." Methos rubbed his shins and glared. "I spent nearly 75 years once, studying the phenomena, and trying to find just the right combination of meditation mantras and food to get rid of the blasted things. It was mostly an excuse to get drunk a lot of course." He noted with disappointment that Mac's face was beginning to retreat back down the color spectrum and turned his attention fully to Joe with a smirk. "I felt a tad queasy for about 20 minutes after I first got up, but now I'm just a bit tired."

Joe, for the first time in his life, understood the expression,  'seeing red' and was seriously considering making a grab for the sword but was fortunately startled from his murderous thoughts.

"Tired?" Duncan seemed as surprised as they at his sudden return to coherence "How can you possibly be tired when there's 12 hours of drool soaking through my pillows?"

Methos leaned forward. "Well, if you hadn't insisted on keeping me up all night..." he paused just long enough to make Joe's eyebrows head for the stratosphere, "...with your snoring..."

" First of all," Duncan gave the Ancient a murderous look before turning his attention to Joe, "I was on the sofa last night since he passed out on the bed while I was in the bathroom, so you can stop buying into his utterly preposterous claims that I would ever sleep with him--"

"You heel, MacLeod," Methos smirked, "I knew you wouldn't respect me in the morning. And personally, I think the Scotsman doth protest too much."

Mac shot him a dirty look but chose to ignore the comment.

"Secondly, I do not snore."

"Not sn--?" Methos looked at him in apparent disbelief. "MacLeod, even if I hadn't had to live through it on numerous occasions myself," Mac glared and he sing-songed virtuously, "when I've been on the sofa and you've been in the bed and we have not at any time made physical contact of any description." He grinned. "Amanda's told me all about it. Including what makes your snores better or worse, I probably should be grateful that you hadn't had a cold bath or anything, I mean..." He trailed off, wide-eyed. "Oops..."

"What?" MacLeod's voice was low and dangerous.

"Umm... nothing, MacLeod." Methos' face projected puzzled innocence.

"Methos." It was a warning growl and Methos watched in fascination as Mac frowned deeply enough that his eyebrows touched in the middle.

"Tell me."

"You're sure."

"Yes."

"You're definitely sure you want to know what Amanda told me."

"YES!"

Joe had begun to choke quietly as MacLeod loomed threateningly over the wide-eyed, seemingly innocent other man.

"Well... uhmm... It was the time with the bottle of champagne, and the edible blueberry body paint, and the horse and the fountain. And you...aah... sans clothes." It came out in a rush.

"WHAT?"

Joe was choking more loudly by now, and Methos tried to look reassuringly at MacLeod. "Look, don't worry. I'm sure the policeman really appreciated the lesson in ancient Celtic full-body art, even if he only briefly caught a glimpse of it between the time you stole his horse and the time you fell off it and into he fountain." He grinned at MacLeod impishly, and looked over at Joe, who was guffawing loudly, tears streaming down his face. "You got all that for his chronicles, Watcher?"

"Oh yeah. Like that little mental image is something I'm gonna forget in a hurry." Joe managed to choke the sentence out past chortles, and wiped at his eyes.

"Joe!" Duncan spun wildly to look at the Watcher. "You cannot put that in my chronicle! He's lying! That never happened." He was pleading desperately.

"I am not lying!" Methos abruptly dived from the sofa to the bed where he could be seen rummaging in the bedside cabinets. Duncan paled and turned towards the other Immortal as Methos emerged brandishing a tube and headed back to the sofa to show Joe. "Look, Amanda even told me where to find the body paint... uhmph..."

Duncan had successfully intercepted, and grabbed the older man before he could hand over his prize to Joe.

"Give me that." He made a grab for the tube as Methos hid it behind his back.

"Give it back!" Mac wished Methos would stop wriggling against him like that. He really did.

"No!" Methos' voice was slightly muffled by the solidness of the Highland chest pressed against his face. "This is evidence so that Joe can fill in a gap in your chronicle. Now stop being infantile and let me go!"

"Give!" Mac's voice held no compromise. 

"No!" 

"GIVE!"

"NO!"

Mac tried to twist Methos round and pin him against the back of the sofa. Unfortunately, Methos' bare feet, tangled in the inches of extra material of the borrowed sweats, skidded out from under him and he started to topple backwards. Slightly panicked, he grabbed the open neck of MacLeod's shirt for balance, which served no better function than to tear open all the buttons, and pull the Highlander down with him, over the back, and onto the sofa in a pile of limbs, the big Scot firmly pinning him beneath his weight.

"Get OFF me, you big OAF! I think you cracked a rib!" Methos was very aware of Joe's guffaws. Gods! It's been centuries since I've been in such an undignified position. He struggled against MacLeod's body. "Get OFF!"

"I'm bloody tryin', ye damn Sassenach, but my arms are pinned un'erneath ye."

"And I'm pinned underneath you!" With great effort, Methos managed to twist one arm free and pushed it against MacLeod's chest. Of course, he'd forgotten about the edible body paint he held and it burst, covering both men. "Oh, this is disgusting!" And cold against bare skin, he realized with some shock. He looked down at himself. The oversized sweatshirt had ridden up in the course of the struggles and he was pretty much as bare chested as MacLeod. Bloody Hell!

Both men abruptly froze as they felt the hum of an approaching Immortal Presence. They looked towards the elevator, and sure enough, it was rising.

"Swords, MacLeod!" Methos separated the coming signatures into two.

One old, the other very, very young. Goddamn it!

"I know!" The big Scot managed to pull his arms free and, putting his hands on the other man's ('bare' he realized with a start) chest, and began to push himself upright. Not quick enough. They heard the elevator cage slide open and heard a young familiar male voice choke and say, "Oh my GOD!" They looked up from their positions on the sofa to see the disbelieving face of Richie Ryan and the red-faced, choking visage of the Watcher who looked like he just might be about to expire. But neither was as disturbing as the look the other Immortal bestowed on them.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The men on the couch froze like rabbits caught in headlights at the uplift of one shaped eyebrow, staring in fear into Amanda's speculative gaze.

Amanda had been looking forward to seeing MacLeod again. It had been a tough few weeks and she was hoping for some of the Highlanders own particularly sweaty ways of relaxing her. As Richie had opened the cage of the elevator, they became aware of the sound of a struggle and moved quickly into the apartment, wary of whatever trouble MacLeod seemed to have attracted this time. Nothing could have prepared them for the sight that greeted them. 

Richie had stopped dead in his tracks, choked, and with a curse turned away in horror, only to look back again in shocked disbelief at the sight on the sofa. He turned to Joe, who had collapsed on a chair, trying to get breath into lungs that were too busy with hilarity to bother with annoyances like breathing. "Joe... what..?" He was wide-eyed. Richie looked at Amanda, refusing to look in the direction of the couch. "I don't care
what they're doin', but I want them to have stopped by the time I look back." He firmly returned to his task of trying to keep the old Watcher conscious.

Amanda, on the other hand, while initially taken aback, had looked on in open fascination at the two men on the couch, both sweaty, red faced, and breathing heavily.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" They seemed frozen in position, and what a position! Both men were in a rumpled state of undress, Methos' sweatshirt pushed up to reveal his chest, sweatpants riding low, Amanda noted with amused fascination. Man's barely decent. Duncan's chest was likewise bare, shirt pulled out of his jeans and hanging open. Their legs were tangled together, with Methos' body pinned underneath Duncan. Both of Duncan's palms were flat against Methos' chest, looking for all the world like he was attempting to slide his hands under the loose sweatshirt. One of Methos' hands was against Mac's chest...

Is that body paint? My word! And their faces, now turned towards her in mute shock, were only inches apart.

Ooh, this is centuries worth of blackmail material. Oh, to have a camera. She grinned ferally and sauntered over to them, dragging a finger through the bodypaint on Methos' chest and sucking it off her finger. "Mmm," she purred appreciatively, "blueberry... my favorite. Mind if I join the party, boys?"

That was enough to drive them from their stupor, and she stepped back to watch the fun. MacLeod reacted with predictable panic, but Methos, after his initial shock, recovered much too quickly for Amanda's liking. Poo. He's no fun. She would have liked to see the Old Man lose his customary composure.

"Amanda! This isnae what it looks like!" Mac was struggling to get off Methos, hands scrabbling frantically at Methos' chest for purchase.

"Don't you believe it, Amanda." Methos looked over at her with a convincing expression of fear. "He's trying to take advantage of me again. Stop him, Amanda!"

"But you look like you're having so much fun, Methos." Amanda grinned at him.

"A little too much fun thank you." Oh, you have no idea. He looked at the struggling Highlander in exasperation. "MacLeod, would you please stop massaging that damnable blue stuff into my chest? I'm trying to have a conversation here, and you're distracting me terribly." Oh, aren't you just. For Gods sake, hurry up, get up, and stop wriggling against me, or I will not be held responsible for my body's reactions! Methos was getting a little desperate, but refused to show it.

"You know, if it'd been any Immortal but us, you could have lost your heads by now." Amanda was a little disappointed that MacLeod had almost disentangled himself ('Thank God' was Methos' fervent thought) and was starting to get up, though still in a nervous, floundering panic.

"Nonsense," Methos said, and with a slight twist of his body, he planted a foot against the off-balance Scotsman and heaved him to the floor. Brandishing, as he did so, the sword which he had left on the couch earlier. The sword that had been jabbing him painfully in the rear for the last several minutes, although it would take drugs to get him to admit it.

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "Hanky panky on the couch, on top of a sword. You're weird, Methos. And in front of a Watcher as well."

"Well," Methos grinned and stretched lazily on the couch, "we wouldn't want there to be any gaps in Mac's chronicles, now, would we?"

Mac abruptly managed to rejoin the conversation coherently. "You!" he pointed a finger at the grinning Methos, "shut up!" He turned to Amanda, ignoring the sniggering Immortal behind him. "It wasnae whit it looked like, Amanda!" He sounded desperate.

"Then what was it, Duncan?" Amanda cooed at him lightly and ran a finger through the blueberry stickiness on his chest. "Because from where I was, it looked like two sexy, sweaty men having a good, if somewhat kinky, time." She heard Methos snort of amusement. 

"Ooh, yes. Sex, a Scot, a sword, and a Watcher. One of my boyhood fantasies fulfilled."

"You don't remember your boyhood." Duncan regarded the grinning Ancient sourly. "Your skin's paler than mine, how come you're not blushing?"

"I haven't blushed since the sixth century, MacLeod. Centuries of meditation in a Buddhist monastery taught me to control such impulses." Methos looked at him seriously.

"Useful way to spend your time." MacLeod shook his head, composure restored.

"Well, I've had so much of it, you see. I spend a great deal of time, figuring out ways, to fill in time." He smiled lightly, but it was tinged with sadness. "After a while, even inane nonsense looks pleasant, when you realize you've done all the interesting things life has to offer."

"Is there anything you haven't done?" Amanda's question was curious. She had often fantasize...considered all the thing a man could have learned  in 50 centuries. She glanced at Duncan slightly guiltily as though he could see into her mind and see her fantas...thoughts dammit...idle considerations 
and that's all. She tore her gaze away from where the sweatpants were still riding low on bare hips and refocused her gaze on Methos face as he considered 
her question.

"Very little, I expect." He grinned suddenly. "So being caught in flagrant with a Scotsman and some bodypaint isn't anywhere near enough to get me embarrassed. Now, if there had been a goat, that'd be different."

"A goat!" Even Amanda looked a little surprised at that one.

"Hmm, yes. You always wanted advice from the 5000 year man, so here it is. Never get caught unexpectedly with a goat. They're fantastically difficult animals to explain, and people are so rarely ready to listen to  your reasons for having the animal in your bedroom. Then it all gets rather unpleasant, in my experience."

There was a moment of contemplation from the two Immortals as they regarded the elder, broken by Richie's, "Hey, Wise Dude, do you know if it's possible for anyone to die of laughing? I mean really die. 'Cos if it is, I think Joe's about to do it."

They looked at the spluttering, wheezing, chortling man collapsed in the chair beside Richie.

"My God." Methos sounded awed. "I think we just killed Dawson."

Some head-between-knees exercises and the liberal use of a paper bag later, Joe's continued survival had been assured, and they all settled down a little.

"I require a shower." Methos pulled up his shirt and poked at the blue gunk on his chest doubtfully, grimacing as it clung stickily to his fingers. "What is this stuff, tar-based? How the hell do you get it off?" 

"Generally with liberal use of a willing tongue." Amanda smirked at him. 

"Oh, Amanda," Methos moved in closer, "is that an offer?" He breathed the question at her and arched an eyebrow speculatively. 

Amanda leaned into him and dragged her fingers seductively across his chest. "Ooh, Methos, you know I would, but with Mac here, well, I'd be afraid he'd take your head to defend my honor, which is a pity, as I always liked..." her voice dropped and she leaned against him until her face was inches from his as she breathed, "...older men." She began to pull away, seemingly regretfully, only to be held in place and pulled back against Methos' body. God, who'd have thought the old guy was so strong? She felt her breath quicken slightly in spite of herself.

"Oh, but, Amanda." she could feel his breath against her lips as he softly purred at her, "Just think how much more I've learned than the child." Oh, I've thought. Amanda tried to distract herself from the fact that his lips were a scant centimeter from hers and realized that she couldn't move under the intensity of hazel eyes. God, his eyes. How come I never noticed them before? Unconsciously she pressed forward slightly as he leaned in towards her... and abruptly pushed her backwards onto the couch.

"Enjoy the body paint, Amanda." Methos grinned wickedly and sauntered into the bathroom as Amanda collected her thoughts and looked down at herself.

"METHOS!" She got there just as the door closed, her last sight of the Old Man, a wicked smile, and blueberry body paint.

The other three men were regarding her with amusement as she returned to them, still fingering the body paint on her Armani blouse with disgust. "What?" She turned and glared at them sharply.

"Oh, nothing." Richie was obviously keen to dice with death this day. "It's just that I don't think I've ever seen a man throw you off balance like that before. Didn't think the Old Guy had it in him." He looked impressed. "Hey, maybe he'll give you the address of the monastery he went to. You know, the one that stops him from, you know, blushing." He grinned at her, enjoying her discomfiture.

"Oh... Shut up!" Amanda was annoyed that she was still too flustered to come up with a really good put down.

"And you!" She turned on MacLeod. "Where the hell were you when Methos was putting the moves on me there?"

MacLeod turned on her the grin of the one who has seen justice served. "To paraphrase you from a few minutes ago, you looked like you were having so much fun..." He chuckled. "Consider this payback for having so much fun at our expense when you got here. Besides, it's nice to see someone other than myself at the wrong end of the Old Man's sense of humor for a change."

"Humph!" Amanda turned from them and rummaged in the bag she had been carrying, pulling out another blouse and stripping off the one she had been wearing, now decorated with inelegant blue splatters. She deliberately took her time pulling on the new shirt, and was gratified that when she turned back, two of the smiles had disappeared.

Joe looked embarrassed and was blushing slightly, and Richie was gaping at her stupidly. She smiled in triumph. "Exhibitionist." She turned to Duncan's wry smile, then turned back with a glare as the bathroom door re-opened.

Methos peered at her with mock fear as he toweled his damp hair. "Is it safe to come back in, or are you going to rip off my head with those impeccably manicured talons of yours?"

Amanda smiled ferally. "It isn't your head I'd worry about, Methos... at least, not that one."

"Don't damage what you might need, Amanda." He leaned towards her again and leered.

Duncan, seeing by Amanda's face that another round was about to erupt, quickly intervened. He turned to Methos. "That was a remarkably quick shower." His voice was laden with sarcasm. "What? Was there still a shortage of hot water for you?"

Methos merely regarded him steadily. "Well, I thought you'd be wanting a shower as well. I hadn't realized that you actually enjoyed walking around with that blue stuff gluing your shirt to your chest. You realize that if you leave it much longer, by the time you take your shirt off it'll be like waxing your chest? No more Mr. Chest Hair." One corner of his mouth twisted upwards in amusement. "Help yourself to a shower, Mac, there should be plenty of hot water." He gestured grandly for MacLeod to enter the bathroom.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Oh, thank you, My Lord, your generosity is truly humbling, to so grace me with hot water in my own bathroom. I'm off to get rid off this bloody stuff; try not to annoy Amanda into killing you, all right?"

Methos grinned and slouched back to the sofa where he immediately relaxed his body into the improbable positions that constituted a sprawl. 

Joe had always been fascinated by this ability to make himself comfortable absolutely anywhere, and had spent quite a bit of time studying just how he did it. As far as the Watcher could tell you needed be at least triple jointed and have bones made of rubber. He rated this particular one at a 8.5 on the  sprawl-o-meter so perhaps the Old Guy was still a little stiff from having been mauled by MacLeod.

While the others were settling themselves on the sofas, waiting for MacLeod's arrival, Methos decided that he had been abstinent for far too long and that enough was enough. He went and helped himself to a bottle of beer from Mac's fridge, grinning triumphantly as he broke his own record for
'distance bottle cap to behind the 'fridge pinging.' He flopped back onto the sofa with a deeply contented sigh, and closed his eyes. I've terrorized Joe, Mac and Amanda, I have beer, I have a sofa, I haven't had to cut off anyone's head in weeks, and have managed to steer the damn Scot away from hopeless causes, so I haven't lost a sweater to inexplicable sword, water or blood damage in well over a fortnight. Aah, life is good.

Joe watched in awe as the sprawl relaxed into a full blown 10 which, as far as his studies could tell, could only be achieved by having an absolute maximum of 18 bones in your entire body and a lengthy puff at something illegal.

Amanda too had noticed the sprawl and wondered guiltily how it was possible for such an utterly limp form to exude so much damn sex appeal. Earlier irritation forgotten, she considered the Ancient Immortal. There's 'the sprawl', limbs all over the place--wonderful long limbs that make you want to find out what they look like under the habitual jeans and sweater, even if it means cutting off said clothes with a sword. Then there's the sweaters themselves. They're generally so ridiculously oversized that they should look bulky and frumpy and nicely hide any hint of physique, but which instead, inexplicably just highlight it. She shivered at the memory of the sight of a collar bone peaking out of an oversized collar. Stop right there, Amanda. No thoughts of naked flesh. We're thinking about this from the point of view of an observer not an interested party.  

She scrupulously avoided looking at the bathroom where Duncan was showering, determined to finish this study. Then, of course, we have 'the slouch,' the one that makes you want to tackle him in the street and molest him until the police drag you away. The one that in a less permissive society would probably be made illegal due to dangerous and excessive use of blatant sexuality.. The slouch that had those long, languid limbs swaying, muscles moving under denim...my is it getting hot in here?

Methos opened one eye lazily, "Something wrong, Amanda?"

Damn forgot 'the voice.' God how far up has Mac turned his central heating?" Just plotting a hideous revenge against you." She lied desperately and concluded, Pheromones. Man must put out pheromones. She caught her breath slightly at the sight of both hazel eyes looking at her with calm intensity.

"Don't even think about getting in a contest with me, dear. You will lose." The silky voice was low and dangerous and Amanda swallowed slightly.

Joe had been watching, as was his wont, and his awe of the Old Man went up a notch or a thousand. Seduction by sitting down. He shook his head in amazement. Thank God, Immortals are sterile. He shuddered at the thought of 5000 years worth of mini-Methos' then grinned as another thought occurred. Of course it'd do wonders for the beer industry.

He stifled a grin as the bathroom door opened and Amanda nearly fell off the couch in shock. Duncan strode into the room utterly oblivious to the fact that if he had waited about 5 more minutes, he would have walked in on Amanda pouncing on the Old Man and doing her level best to ravish him.

Duncan looked down at Methos with annoyance. "Is that my beer?"

"No, Mac, it's my new Immortal talent. I create bottles of beer out of dandruff." Methos regarded the Scot with a lazy smirk, the perfect picture of contentment. If he had been part cat, he'd have been purring. And Joe had the oddest urge to tickle him under the chin and scratch behind his ears but he suspected that was the hangover doing his thinking for him. Speaking of which... Joe abruptly remembered the reason he had come over to Duncan's in the first place, knowing that eventually the Old Man would show up.

"Hey, Methos," Hazel eyes turned lazily to acknowledge him, "you know last night?" One eye closed as if to say, 'yes, now get on with it, I want to sleep.' Joe continued, "You were at least as drunk as I was, so how come you remember everything?"

"Oh I don't." Methos grinned. "Mr. Sobriety over there filled me in on everything I missed, this morning." Joe shot a dirty look, filled with promises of dire retribution at MacLeod, who had the decency to look slightly abashed, but returned his focus to the Ancient. Ooh, this is gonna be so perfect.

"So you don't remember this!" He brandished a smallish rectangle of paper like an Immortal brandishes a sword, another hangover-thought urging him to shout, 'I am Joseph Dawson of Joe's Bar" as he did so. Wisely, he resisted the urge.

Methos looked at the slip of paper with palpable disinterest. "Its a piece of paper, these are things which I generally find a tad unmemorable, sorry." His eyes started to close again.

"Its not a piece of paper, It's a cheque." Joe was practically bouncing in his chair with excitement and Methos opened his eyes, straightening to a scale-5 sprawl.

"A cheque." His eyes began to narrow with suspicion.

"Yeah, I got it last night. Check it out." Joe grinned maniacally and extended the slip. Methos regarded it like a poisonous serpent and hauled himself to his feet, slouching across the floor. Joe noted Amanda looking like a deer caught in headlights as she watched the Old Man, but disregarded it in favor of watching the Old Man himself.

Methos took the cheque with an air of deep and terrible suspicion, slowly looking at the face of it and paling as he did so.

"No." He looked at the grinning Watcher in horror.

"You'll note," Joe couldn't help the smug tone, "the signature is yours and the sum is for $6478.65."

"No." Methos looked stricken and his voice was tiny but Joe could not falter now. Show no mercy. He steeled his resolve. "Coincidentally," he grinned even more widely than before, "the exact same amount as your bar tab." There was a moment of stunned silence as his words sank in, broken by Duncan's slow chuckle and by a desolate wail from the Old Man.

"Three years!" He looked in horror at the 'cashed' stamp, voice faltering. "Three bloody years I've spent, trying to build up that bar tab. Another six months and I could have broken the $10,000 barrier." He looked at the Watcher, face blanched. "I...you..."

"Catch him!" Duncan leapt across the floor.

Joe sat back in contentment, realizing he had managed a scale-4.5 sprawl for the first time, closing his eyes and smiling benignly as he listened to the voices of the three conscious Immortals.

"Did he just faint?!" 

"$6000 Holy Shit!"

"Is he alive? I think the shock killed him."

"Amanda what are you doing?"

"Uuhmm...loosening his clothes?"

"I think his pants are fine where they are.."

"$6000! Am I the only one that's thinking AA here?"

"Methos, wake up and stop taking up so much floor." <light slapping noises

"Amanda! Leave that alone!" <harder slapping noises

"Well, they look tight!"

Joe smiled. Ah, life is good.

"AMANDA!"

The End

Authors final word on the subject-See I *told* you it had no plot! :) If you, by some bizarre occurrence, liked it, let me know and I'll grovel at your feet for all eternity. :)