“Have we met before?” I parroted stupidly. 

Actually, (I assured myself) it was a play for time since part of me wanted to laugh out loud and respond, Are you kidding?  You and I have kicked some serious demonic arse together over the past few millennia, you overweening, over muscled, prideful JERK!  Fortunately, I still have the extraordinary reflexes and intellect the All Knowing One granted to his Special Minions and with superhuman effort I managed to hold my tongue.  Besides, those quite, quite lovely, soulful brown eyes were looking at me with a combination of amusement, irony, concern and… hmm… interest?  And that odd, fluttery feeling was tickling me again in strange places and I found myself sweating.  Interesting sensation, that.

Intellectually, of course, it’s perfectly explainable.  Our Kind are Blessed with an intense charisma, so of course he would be interested, curious, and in his current human form… attracted.  I am, if nothing else, a fascinatingly magnetic being (and that is not pride, I noted firmly, casting the thought into the All Knowing Ether.  It is merely a statement of fact).  It was, however, the first time I have felt the power of that magnetism emanating from someone else.  It was simultaneously irritating and scintillating.

“You seem familiar,” Mr. Soulful Brown Eyes finally responded into the rather awkward silence that had fallen, and I could feel a keen Watcher’s eye surreptitiously studying us as Dawson put equipment away on the stage.  “But I’m pretty good with names and faces and I can’t place yours.”

“Maybe we met in another life,” I cleverly offered, turning away to put the bottle of schnapps on the top shelf, out of easy reach.

“Oh, I’ve been living this life for quite a while,” he answered, a smile in his voice.  Such a nice voice, too.  Silky, smooth – a seductive purr from a man used to getting his own way.  “And I think I’d remember you.”

I looked at him over my shoulder.  “No doubt,” I answered.  “I’m a very memorable person.”  I turned and offered my hand.  “Gabriel.  And you’re?”

“Duncan,” he responded, taking my hand in his own.  “Duncan MacLeod.”

Joe coughed noisily before firmly closing the case on his Fender and treading heavily in our direction.  “Hey, Mac!” says the Watcher.  “Long time no see.”

Duncan turned with a puzzled smile.  “Uh, Joe, I was just in here on Tuesday, and you were the one who called to ask me to drop….”

“Well, it sure seemed like a long time,” Joe interrupted, grinning a little too broadly.  “Gabe, why don’t you hand Mac that bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses, then finish cleaning up and head on home?”  Without waiting for an answer, Joe steered MacLeod to a table some distance away.

Fortunately, my hearing is still far more sensitive than the human norm, so as long as I kept my own movements quiet and my eyes on their lips, their near-inaudible whispering was as clear as though I was sitting with them.

“What’s going on, Joe?”

“I told you to call me before you came over!”

“I got busy and forgot.  What the hell is going on?”

“It’s Gabe.  I’ve been all over my database and couldn’t find anything,” Joe whispered urgently, “So I figured you…,” Joe shrugged, “you know.”

“You invited me here to meet an unknown Immortal?  Christ, Joe, you know what could’ve happened!”

“I said you should call first, and I wasn’t at all sure Gabe was an Immortal, I just had a suspicion, but the way you reacted, well, I wanted to explain.”

“What do you mean, ‘the way I reacted’?”

“Come on, Mac, your radar was up from the moment you came in here.”

Mac chuckled and leaned back, the tension going out of his body.  “It wasn’t the kind of radar you’re thinking about, Dawson.  Anyway, Gabriel is not one of us.”

Joe just looked at Mac blankly for a few seconds.  “You mean…?”  Joe’s cheeks above his grizzled beard blushed a ruddy hue, and he leaned forward to whisper, “If that’s the case, MacLeod, then your radar needs some adjustment.  Gabe’s a guy.”

I don’t know what response Joe was expecting, but from what I could see, MacLeod hardly even blinked.  But after a few seconds, a slow smile tickled the corners of his mouth.  “You sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be without a personal inspection of his equipment,” Joe answered gruffly, still blushing, and now irritated.  “I know he’s a bit… what’s the word… androgynous?  But he uses the men’s room when he goes to the can, so I guess that’s a pretty good clue.”

“Interesting,” Mac said, turning his head to look at me.

I managed to tear my eyes away just in time, busying myself polishing glasses and putting them away.

“What do you mean ‘interesting’?” Joe asked, his brows drawing together in the middle of his forehead.

MacLeod turned back to his friend.  “What’s the matter, Joe?  You’ve never found a guy attractive or interesting before?”

“Me?  You think I…?  No!  Of course not!  Not in that way!”

Mac leaned close, and I had to watch and listen carefully to catch his words.  “Well, after a century or so, Joe, the equipment becomes the least important part of what makes another person attractive.”

Joe’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, then closed.  “But you’ve never…,” Joe finally sputtered, then he looked down, studying the table, unable to meet MacLeod’s direct gaze.  “I mean, there’s no evidence in the chronicles that… Shit!  You’re just pulling my leg, aren’t you?” Joe finally concluded at last, looking up with a grin.

MacLeod threw his head back and laughed out loud.  It was a warm, infectious sound that instantly relieved the tension between the two friends.  “I would never pull your leg, Joe Dawson.  It would just come off in my hand.”

Both of them seemed to think that quip was quite amusing, guffawing genially together, but I was more interested in Dawson’s revelations about Duncan's past.  No evidence of what? I wondered. 

Oh, you might think I was All Knowing, but you’d be wrong.  I’m only Mostly Knowing since those of us on the Upper Plane were prohibited by You Know Who from poking around in the lives of non-mortal beings – all a part of the Greater Plan, you know. 

Although I don’t know, actually.  If there’s a Greater Plan, that is.  We’ve all assumed there was a Greater Plan, but it isn’t like the Boss confides in me or anything.  As a matter of fact, it was my frustration with not being clued in on the larger picture that led to that unfortunate business with Constantine and Lucifer’s offspring.  I still think…  Well, never mind.  Water under the bridge, and all that.

“Okay,” Joe had managed to stop chortling at last.  “You had me goin’ for a second there,” Joe pointed at MacLeod with an accusing finger.  “You know, I always thought Methos was,” he waggled his hand back and forth, “Maybe.  But you, playing both sides of that fence?”  He chuckled again into his glass.  “Not a chance.”

Methos??  Now there was a name I hadn't heard in a long, long while, and I wondered how he fit into MacLeod's current life.  I couldn't help the small snort of laughter that I quickly stifled.  A little (hand waggle) indeed.

MacLeod leaned forward on his elbows, cradling his drink in both hands.  “Joe,” he said softly, “You may be my watcher and my friend, but I’ve been around for over 400 years.  Do you honestly think the Chronicles are all that complete?”

Joe paused with his glass halfway to his lips, then put the glass down, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.  “Oookay,” he murmured after a long pause.  “I guess I deserved that one.”  His eyes rose to meet MacLeod’s.  “So you’re telling me you’ve always, uh, swung in both directions?”  He shook his head slowly.  “Jeez, Mac, that one is pretty damned hard to swallow.”

“Does it really bother you that much?”  MacLeod asked, studying Dawson with a curious, assessing look.

Joe smiled, then chuckled.  “That we missed you boffing some guy?  Hell, yeah!  You’re the only Immortal on record who went for this long without at least *some* kind of bisexual romp.  I had a pretty big bet that it was going to happen on my watch, and now… shit, man, you just cost me $100 bucks!”

“You what?!” Duncan almost bellowed, but then moderated his voice back to a loud whisper.  “You guys bet on who I sleep with?  That’s… that’s low, Dawson.  Really low.”

Dawson shrugged.  “Hey, you try sitting for days and weeks at a time, watching some guy live out a routine life.  Sure, being a field agent is supposed to be the glamour job of the Watchers, but mostly it’s boring, so…” a sly grin curved his lips.  “We do what we have to to entertain ourselves.”

“Well, I’m sorry I haven’t been more entertaining,” Duncan quipped grumpily.  “But I don’t live my life for your amusement, or for you to win bets about my sexual lifestyle.”  He rose, cast a dark look back at Joe and approached the bar, where I once again managed to look conspicuously busy.

“Hey, Gabe,” Duncan called in a warm, welcoming voice.

I turned, catching him casting a defiant look back at Joe.

“What say we blow this joint and find a more  welcoming place?”

“Mac, I’m sorry!” Joe called.

“Ignore him,” Duncan instructed.  “He’s just pissed because I asked you first.”

Joe sputtered into his drink, and I smiled my most winning smile into those lovely, dark eyes.

 

To Part 4