Disclaimer: I own no part of the Highlander Franchise. No profit is being made from this story, but these two are too cute together to not write it.
Author's Note: Blame this on RoadrunnerGER. In an online conversation, someone said something about Methos and plot bunnies, and the next thing I knew, the first five chapters just sort of exploded into my brain. The story is complete and I will be posting every couple of days until Easter.
Eggs in a Basket
Call of Duty
"Absolutely, positively not!" Methos said definitively.
"But if you . . ."
"But I . . . "
"Will you stop interrupting and at least let me explain?" Amanda pleaded, stamping her foot in frustration.
Rolling his eyes, Methos said, "It won't do you any good. The answer will still be no."
"But you'll listen?"
Methos sighed. "I'll listen."
"Ok, so, the assistant children's curator is usually the one who does all the costume stuff," she began. "But last week he came down with chicken pox, had a hundred-and-four degree fever, and wound up in the hospital because he didn't look after himself. I really, really wanted to make a good impression at work, so I said I could find someone to do it."
"Then ask Macleod," Methos said, and turned to the fridge to get himself a beer.
"I did ask him, first," Amanda said, leaning against the refrigerator door so he wasn't able to open it. "He couldn't."
"Why not? Because he's not an easy mark?"
"No, because the suit is too small."
Methos wasn't sure if he should be offended by that or not. Knowing how broad-chested the Highlander was, he chose, for the moment, not to be.
He and Mac had both been suspicious when Amanda, of all people, got herself a job as a junior curator specializing in jewellry for a local museum. It was like giving an alcoholic the keys to the liquor cabinet, but Amanda insisted that being surrounded by beautiful things that she was allowed to handle and study every day could be just what she needed to go straight. So they agreed to be supportive.
"Pleeeease, Methos," Amanda begged batting her eyes. "All you have to do is show up, sit for a few pictures, and then go home. It will only take a couple of hours. I'll even drive you. The suit is already rented, and I don't know anyone else I can ask."
"Then do it yourself."
"I can't," she said dramatically. "I have to run the tours."
"Of course you do," he replied dryly.
Listening, Methos thought, is being supportive, but this would be above and beyond the call of duty.
"If I do this . . . "
Amanda clapped her hands and bounced excitedly.
"I said if," he reminded her sternly. "We still don't know if that thing will fit me yet."
"I'm sure it will," she interjected.
"I'll just bet you are," he replied, knowing he would live to regret this day. "If I do this, what do I get in return?"
"What do you want?" Amanda asked.
Deciding to turn the tables, he leered and told her, "As far as I know, my dear Amanda, you have only one thing I want."
"I . . . uh . . . Methos!" she hissed, sounding as if she wasn't sure whether he meant her Quickening or her sex.
"Let's just say, you owe me," he decided abruptly. He surely didn't want to take her Quickening, and he wouldn't have turned down the sex, but he didn't want to put her in the position of having to reject him if she really couldn't find him appealing. They were friends, first and foremost, and he didn't want things to be awkward. Besides, having an expert thief indebted to him could come in handy at some point.
She threw her arms around him, kissed his cheek and danced in place chanting, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," like a little girl who had just gotten The Best Present Ever for her birthday.
And Methos knew he had just been had.
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