Adam Pierson 'aka' Methos sighed softly as someone slipped - uninvited - into an empty seat at his carefully chosen table in Joe's. He'd picked this particular table as it gave him a clear view of the entrance and emergency exit, not to mention the fact that it let him sit with his back protected against the wall; he'd picked this table for peace and quiet, not that this particular person cared about that. Knowing that he'd get no peace till he found out what the other man wanted - and Joe did own the place, after all - Methos put down the book that he had been reading and said, "Is there something I can help you with, Dawson?"
He felt some small measure of satisfaction when the Watcher shifted uneasily in his seat under his favourite 'stern professor' gaze - this was a good book that he was interrupting! When no answer was immediately forthcoming he scowled at his friend and picked up the book only to be interrupted again by a hissed, "Adam!"
Firmly shutting the book, Methos stared at the man opposite him and said, "What?!"
"What's wrong with MacLeod?"
Sighing in irritation, Methos said, "I really don't have a spare three hours to discuss the Highlander's patent on guilt or his Boy Scout complex, Joe."
Joe Dawson bit back a sigh. He knew better than to disturb the Old Man when he was so obviously enjoying reading his book and sipping a bottle of beer, but he was worried. He found it hard to believe that Methos, consummate survivor, observer and strategist that he was, had failed to notice that there was something off in MacLeod's recent behaviour.
"I'm being serious, Adam. He's been acting... weird. Even for MacLeod, weird. Since when does he not wear silk, or white?! Since when does he start willingly stopping at fast food joints for lunch? Or how about that music he played at dinner last week? What was that?!"
"I believe it was bagpipes, Joe," said Methos in a sarcastically sweet tone. "Didn't the incessant caterwauling clue you in?"
Joe glared at the ancient Immortal. "I'm being serious here, Adam! Do you think there's anything wrong with him?" Joe winced as Methos grinned. He'd left himself wide open for a sarcastic response there and they both knew it.
Allowing the Watcher a reprieve, Methos shrugged and said, "I'd take a wild guess that he's got a case of the 'blahs'. Are you trying to tell me that you've never had weeks where you wished that you didn't have to get out of bed?"
"Of course, I have. It's just... he's been like this all month, Adam."
"And?" said Methos.
"You don't think that's excessive?!" said an irritated Joe Dawson.
"Joe," said Methos with exaggerated patience, "please do try to remember that we're Immortal, will you. We don't have to set time limits on ourselves to cheer up. Give him some time, he'll come around."
Methos couldn't help but grin at Joe's muttered response of, "Immortals with the mopes aren't in my job description, you know. He gets one more week before I brain him with a broom."
Catching the Oldest Immortal grinning at him, Joe asked the question that had just occurred to him. "What's the longest you ever had the 'blahs' for, Adam?"
Sipping at his beer before answering, Methos smiled and said, "Oh... give or take a decade... about a hundred and fifty years. Why?"
Joe's eyes widened in horror and Methos fought to contain his hilarity. He tensed slightly at the familiar buzz of an Immortal entering the room but he recognised the 'signature' of the buzz, it was MacLeod. Turning his gaze towards the entrance, he watched as the Highlander stalked in.
At a glance, he took in the brooding eyes, black jeans, black wool sweater and a full-out case of the 'blahs'. He then turned to check on Joe and the expression of dismay in his eyes was so funny it was close to being a comic gem. Waving his arm at a passing waitress, Methos asked for a bottle of twenty year old Lagavullen and three glasses... this could well end up being a long night, they'd need proper fortification.
Smiling at the disconsolate face of Joe, and the brooding face of the Highlander as he slipped into the other vacant seat, Methos had one word running around and his head... kids.