June 2000 - Current

Unfinished Snippet from The Grab Bag

"Right," shot back MacLeod dryly. "Like you don't remember the Prep H incident."

The sudden dead silence caught Joe's attention in a way that the continuous sniping between the two immortals hadn't in the past twenty minutes. He looked up to see a smug-looking MacLeod watching Methos. Following that gaze, Joe was startled to see not the expected expression of tolerance but rather a rosy blush highlighting the oldest immortal's face.

Prep H? wondered Dawson. What the hell was the Prep H incident? Dawson turned back to MacLeod to voice the question but was left with his mouth gaping open at the matching rosy hue on MacLeod's face when the Highlander realized Dawson had caught that last exchange. The two immortals definitely had Dawson's attention now.

"Sounds like a story that needs to be told," commented Dawson, setting the bribe of two more beers on the bar before his friends.

MacLeod's blush deepened. Checking on Methos, Dawson noted that the oldest immortal was already recovering from the unusual lapse. The hazel eyes narrowed as he eyed MacLeod and Dawson knew in that moment that whatever this Prep H incident was, Mac was going to pay for mentioning it. Life with these two had definitely gotten more interesting since they had become intimate. He wasn't certain these two were willing to admit yet that what they had between went a lot deeper than simple sex, but Dawson was no fool. He'd seen enough of both hatred and love to know love when he saw it.

"I don't think--" started MacLeod but he was quickly overrun by Methos.

"You started it, MacLeod; you finish it."

Dawson nearly broke out in laughter at the look that passed between the two men but he didn't dare interrupt their silent communication for fear of tipping the scales out of his favor. Very little embarrassed the Old Man but this had -- momentarily. And Joe could see he was determined to make MacLeod squirm because of that.

"Joe doesn't want to hear about our . . ." MacLeod trailed off, unable to finish the sentence once he realized where it was going.

"Sure he does, MacLeod," enthused Methos. "Joe's a Watcher. He likes hearing about these things."

"And you want this written down in a Watcher journal?" MacLeod turned a disbelieving gaze on Methos, who shrugged unconcernedly.

"Sure. Why not?"

Turns out the boys got all hot one night and couldn't wait. Had to do the deed there and then. Methos grabbed the first thing at hand. A tube of some ointment. Figured whatever it was it was oily enough to do for lube in a pinch and if it wasn't, well, they were immortal. They'd heal.

"Wait a minute. Why would one of you guys have a tube of Prep H lying around? It's not like you'd need it . . . would you?"

"Uh, Joe, this sort of happened in your office."

"My office?"

"On the desk."

"My desk?"

"It was your Prep H, Joe." Methos' eyes widened innocently. "But we promise not to tell anyone."

Dawson threw the bar rag at Methos.

Methos took his time peeling the damp bar rag off his face. Sniffing at it, he smiled appreciatively. "How 'bout another beer, Joe?"

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