Quickened
by P.H. Wise
A Buffy crossover fanfic
Interlude: Methos
Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy. I don’t own Angel. I don’t own Highlander. Please don’t sue me. I’m only a poor starving writer. I have no money.
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It wasn’t the most upscale place in town. Still, even filled with bikers and punks as it was, the bar wasn’t the worst one in town, either. One thing it did have going for it was its beer. The best beer in Seacouver, rumor had it. The sounds of loud music mixed with the babble of the people and the occasional cracks of pool balls striking against each other, creating a vaguely unpleasant, claustrophobic atmosphere. At the bar, a man – thirty something, wearing tight black jeans, a black long sleeved shirt, and a vaguely greenish duster – sat nursing a beer.
The beer is what had drawn him here, you see. The best beer in Seacouver was nothing to sneeze at, even if it couldn’t compare to what he’d had in Germany at that quaint little inn back in 1453. Still, this was damn good beer, and Methos was determined to enjoy it. After his trip to Vegas, and the advice he’d offered that newborn Immortal, he figured he deserved a good beer, and since he’d already drank everything in Duncan’s fridge, well, here he was.
An aging, respectable looking man in a business suit walked in through the front door. Several of the patrons turned to stare, but he paid them no mind, his purposeful stride carrying him towards the bar. He sat down at the stool next to Methos.
Methos, or Adam Pierson, as he usually called himself these days, swallowed a mouthful of beer and turned towards the man in the business suit. “Can I help you?” he asked.
The man smiled, producing a business card from his pocket. “Yes. Yes you can.” He offered Methos the card.
Methos didn’t take it.
“My name is Holland Manners, and I represent the law offices of...”
Methos cut him off. “I know who you are,” he said.
Holland nodded. “I suppose you know why I’m here, then.”
Methos took another sip of beer. “Yes,” he said, “But don’t you think it would be more dramatic if you spelled it out for me?”
Holland looked annoyed for the split second that it took him to reign in his natural reaction. “I don’t know that we need to get down to business so quickly. I’ll buy you a drink, if you like. Another beer?”
Methos looked at Holland, his face blank.
“I suppose not,” said the lawyer. “Right then. Business it is!” He took a breath. “Mr. Pierson, there have been a few important changes in policy recently. The Senior Partners are marshalling an army, and it needs generals. The Four Horsemen are being reformed, and we’d like you to be a part of it.”
Methos smiled faintly. “Well, I’d love to help, but without George and John, it just wouldn’t be the same. Death has a way of splitting up old bands.”
Holland laughed. “So it does. But I’m afraid that their contracts with Wolfram and Hart go well beyond that. And so, of course, does yours. Standard perpetuity clause, you understand.”
“Of course.”
“Mr. Pierson, are you ready to get back into the saddle, as it were?”
“Let me think about that.” The oldest Immortal waited a beat. “No.”
“I see,” said Holland. “Are you aware that your refusal could be interpreted as a breach of contract?”
Methos nodded. “And I don’t care. I’m not that person any more. I’m different, now.”
Holland smiled pleasantly. “Different or not, you signed in your own blood. Are you aware of the consequences of a breach of your contract with us?”
Methos nodded, this time wearily. “I am.”
Holland extended his hand, but Methos didn’t shake it.
“Well then,” said the lawyer, “the Senior Partners will be very disappointed to hear that. You were good, Methos. A hard worker, and dedicated to your work. It’ll be a shame to lose someone of your caliber.”
“Spare me the false courtesy.”
Holland stood up. “We’ll give you a few days to put your affairs in order.”
As Holland walked out, Methos turned back to his beer.
This was a bad situation. VERY bad, in fact. Still, he hadn’t lived for thousands of years without learning how to deal with emergencies like this one. If you can’t win, you change the rules. If you can’t change the rules, you ignore them.
Now all he needed to do was figure out how to do that.
In the meantime, getting the hell out of Dodge sounded like a good idea just now.
END
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Author’s notes:
This is the first in a series of interludes dealing with the time between the first and second story arcs of Quickened. At the moment, I’ve got five of them in the works including this one; one for Methos, one for Duncan, one for Angel, one for Buffy, and one for Faith. I’m debating whether or not to write one for Amanda as well. Some, like this one, won’t be much more than a short scene. Others may be as long as ten or twenty pages. The ones dealing with Buffy, Angel and Faith probably won’t make much sense if you haven’t seen season seven of Buffy and season four of Angel, but with any luck, they’ll still be an enjoyable read.
Also, yes: Holland Manners IS dead. And he’s still working for Wolfram and Hart. Somewhat cliched, perhaps, but hey, it works.
