This story is rated PG and happens after the episode
"Indiscretions". It's a " the day after" that episode. The dialogues from
the episode "Indiscretions" may not be very accurate since there
were things I didn't understand. I tried to be as faithful as
possible.

I want to thanks my ever patient, excellent beta-reader JoLayne,
for reading this story and turning it into something with some sense.
Without her I assure you wouldn't understand half of it...
THANK YOU!!!! Here's a virtual box of candy for you Jo! :-)))

I also want to thank Alice for correcting some minor mistakes and for even
reading my story and saying it was good the way it was when I felt
like it wasn't. Thanks!

If I made HUGE grammatical mistakes (as I think I did, because I'm
Portuguese not English), or if you just want to say 'hi', here's my
e-mail cristinamonteiro@netzero.pt

Enjoy!

**********************
A Night at Joe's
By
Cristina
**********************

That night Joe had decided not to open the bar. He was not in the mood
for human company, all he needed was his friendly guitar by his side,
and play till his fingers bled. Play all the sad tunes he knew, just
as long as they kept him from thinking how he had screwed up with his
daughter, Amy. She had left the day before but it felt like it had
been ages ago. Methos assured him she would come back one day, but that
day just seemed too far away for Joe.

His fingers moved on the chords with trained agility, producing
simple but melodic sounds that carried Joe into another dimension. This
had always been a way for him to cope with suffering. Some punched
bags and worked out, others meditated, and others simply didn't cope.
Joe played. His guitar was his therapy. Joe played what was in his soul,
letting his mood merge with the strings, letting his fingers lead. And
he had always loved the way he felt after hours of playing, well maybe
he didn't like the pain on his fingers, but he definitely felt a whole lot better.

Amy... Her name still dancing in his mind. He should have told her
sooner, he knew it, but... It had been for her own good.

<The hell with good intentions!>, Joe thought angrily as a high
pitched wail emitted from the guitar, lingering for a few seconds before moving
to a lower and moody one. <It made her suffer. And me.>

Now she was gone, and he didn't know when or if he would ever see her again. He
really screwed up. Big time. To send a rookie to watch a creep
like Morgan Walker... it hadn't been a great idea. In fact, it had been a
terrible idea.

<You were really asking for that, Joe. If it wasn't for Methos...>

Joe's mind rested on the thought of his friend and a small smile
crept on his lip as he remembered how gullible he was to think the
Old Man was easily deceived. Methos had known all along it was a trap
and still walked right into it.

<Why did he do it, Joe was
still trying to figure it out why Methos put himself on the line,
since the 'I'm easily amused' excuse wasn't quite convincing. Methos never walked into a
fight light minded, he always ran from them like the devil from the
cross. The guy never risked his neck. Well, he had done it for
MacLeod a couple of times, but Mac was a friend...
Could Methos consider Joe just as cherished a friend?When that
thought played through his head, Joe realized how he had been a major
ass with Methos.

<"Well, you know why, I know MacLeod. You see, I know who he is. I
know *what* he is. As far as you're concerned..." Joe trailed off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Methos asked meeting the older
looking man's eyes.

"Look, let's make this real simple. I'm a Watcher. You're an
Immortal. It's not my job to make your life easier."

"Your Watcher oath? Oh, yeah. Heaven forbid that you get involved
with an Immortal. That would compromise your precious ethics,
wouldn't it? Providing of course, that it's possible to do that with
an hypocrite." Methos said, his voice full of anger and scorn.

"Get out!" Joe hissed after a brief moment of uncomfortable silence.>

<Smooth, Joe, really smooth,> Joe thought with a hint of bitterness
of how he treated the man who saved his daughter's life, just
hours before he went to ask Methos for
help when he had denied it to the Old Man. <He was right, you know
Joe. You helped Mac so many times, and you refused help to him, why?
Because of his past?>

But Joe couldn't answer that. He had always the impression that
Methos never gave a damn about anything or anyone. Except...

<Alexa.>

That was one of the times he had seen the old Immortal care for
someone, apart from that... he only helped MacLeod,
risking his life for the Highlander. The guy was a puzzle
that nobody knew how to solve. Like one of those puzzles with 3,000
pieces, in this case it was one with 5,000 pieces and whenever you
think that they're starting to fit, you realize you're getting it all
wrong and you have to start all over again. But the most incredible
thing was, and Joe was seeing it right now, nobody seemed to bother
to solve that enigma. Mac had tried but after the Horsemen, he had
just stopped caring. And Joe hadn't even tried. And still, the
Immortal kept coming to them. Although they seemed to ignore him, he
kept coming. He kept being around. If that wasn't the mark of a caring man, Joe
didn't know what was.

<I owe him my friendship>, thought Joe as he started playing the
song 'Stand by me'. < I never gave him a chance, like I gave Mac.
Just assumed from the first meeting, Methos didn't need the
friendship of anyone.>

And the answer was there. Methos helping Joe was the proof of it. The
Old Immortal was showing Joe how he cared for his happiness, and
health. That he needed friends.

<"She'll be back." Methos said as he brought two glasses and a
bottle of whiskey to the table, where Joe had been talking with Amy.

"How do you know?" Joe asked unbelievingly.

"Because, I'm very old and wise..." Methos said in a very relaxed
voice.

Joe snorted smiling, thinking, <Yeah, right.>

"To someday." Methos rose his glass to Joe before they both took a
sip from the dark liquid.>

After the toast, they had stayed in silence all night until Methos had
decided to go home, only after making sure Joe was okay. He hadn't said anything,
but Joe could tell that Methos had cast that look, that only he was
expert. It was a look that in an instant, inspected the person from head to toe.

Joe smiled.

<"Thanks, Joe" Methos said as he drove.

"For what? You're the one who saved my ass." Joe said looking at
him, a bit annoyed.

"Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me that." Methos glanced at
Joe who seemed quite uneasy with his words. "You know, these last few
hours, I feel like there's a bond between us." Methos said quite
happy with the thought.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." said Joe looking through the car's side window,
feeling even more displeased with Methos words and carefree demeanor.

"Who would've ever thought that I would have a Watcher as my best
friend?" Methos continued keeping his happy face.

"Yeah. It's a real puzzler. Hey, listen. How about a little less chat
and a little more speed?" said Joe a bit harshly, trying to make him
shut up.

"Okay... buddy.">

How much of what Methos had said was true, Joe questioned himself. As
far as Joe was concerned, it all might be a bunch of bull, but he really
felt like a friendship had been, not grown but consolidated. Maybe
it had been the trust that Joe had lost over the years, that in part had been
restored. Then again, Joe knew, Methos had been playing with him,
teasing him, to see how long it would take for Joe to get to the truth that he
already knew.

<"Joe, we actually make a really good team. We could be like Scully and
Mulder." Methos said as he moved to walk by his side.

"Yeah, right."

"Sipowitz and Simone." he continued.

"Whatever." said Joe annoyed.

"Caligula and Inquitartas. Not Inquitartas 'cause he was a horse."
Methos said before being cut off by Joe's really irritated voice.

"Will you shut up?!"

"Joe?" Methos voice was low almost a whisper when he said his name.

"It's a trap, man. Walker is waiting for us, he knows we're coming. I
was told to shoot you, once we get inside. He said he was going to
kill Amy." Joe's voice was low, trying to explain and say he was saying he was
sorry at the same time.

Methos laid a hand on Joe's shoulder. "There. That wasn't so hard,
was it?" he asked Joe with the kind of voice you use when you talk
to a child that had been lying.

"But you knew?" Joe asked amazed.

"Of course I knew."

"Well, how did you know?"

"Joe. You never give a Watcher's first and last name. And you
couldn't go to them for help. And then suddenly someone is phoning
you with information..."

"Alright, alright." Joe said surrendering to the obvious facts.

"And whenever you lie, you do this weird thing with your face."
Methos ended, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"What?" Joe demanded looking at Methos.

"You know..." Methos twisted his face in comical expressions and Joe
just stood there looking not believing how he had been fooled instead
of fooling Methos.

"It's the last time I play poker with you." Joe said looking at the
factory and then to Methos. "Why did you drag this out?"

"'Cause I'm easily amused," he said chuckling at Joe's astonished
face.

Joe started walking and muttered on the way. "Bonding, my ass."

Methos laughed and followed him.>

Easily amused or not, Methos had risked his life to save the life of
a stranger, the life of Joe's daughter. Of course he had a quarrel
with Morgan Walker, but if it hadn't been for Amy he had run like he
always did.

Amy... He decided to try and be a father to her. But she
had already one, he had died, but still she had grown up thinking
that her father was the man married to her mother. What did he
want? What did he expect from Amy? At least, Joe expected to be her friend.
He wasn't waiting for
her to come rushing into his arms, or call him daddy or something. He
wanted to feel trusted, to know Amy would come to him if she ever
needed a friend. Just like Richie did. The thought of the boy hurt
more than the thought of Amy leaving. Joe had cherished his
friendship with the kid. And to think he was killed by MacLeod.

<It wasn't Mac's fault>, Joe told himself angrily. He still had a
hard time believing in Ahriman, but he had seen him. That bastard had
been right in front of him, tempting him with false promises and one
of Joe's dreams, to have his legs back. Damned demon. Anyway, it was
over. Mac was okay, seemed to be recovering quite well, Joe had
already dealt with the idea of Richie's death, and... Methos? Joe
wondered where had Methos gone after Richie met his maker, whoever that
was. After comforting him at the racetrack, the Immortal disappeared
completely, without even staying for the funeral.

<I have to ask him.>, Joe decided, just at the same moment he heard a
noise coming from the door. He didn't need to look. Joe had the
sneaking suspicion it was Methos.
Through the corner of his eye, Joe saw that he had guessed right.
Methos come in, not making a noise, trying not to disturb Joe's playing.
The Old Man moved behind the bar to grab a beer, a glass and a bottle of
Irish Whiskey, then walked to a table nearby and sat. Joe noticed Methos
still sprawled in chairs like he used to do, like a cat when it's
stretching its limbs. Joe had always wondered how did he do it without
falling from the chair. Joe made a mental note, to ask how Methos did
that at another time.

Methos popped the bottle open and took a sip closing his eyes at the
magic sound of Joe's guitar. Blues... jazz had never been his choice in music and it still wasn't. There was only one person that could make
him feel relaxed and bewitch him and that was Joe. There was
something in the way he played, in the song Joe made the
guitar sing, that really touched him. Methos opened his eyes and glanced at
Joe. The older looking man seemed tired, probably hadn't slept last
night.

<Well, Joe. That makes two of us>, Methos thought, thinking of the
nightmares that had kept him awake. All because of the
Quickening. It had been like Morgan Walker had churned him inside
out all night, making him have dreams with past events, and dead people.
So, last night had been spent looking at the stars, seeing
the sun come up, life beginning to wake up in the city, and thinking.
In these occasions he hated to think, because everything he thought
were things *he*, in fact, didn't want to think about.

Methos played with the bottle for a while. He missed her. He could
hardly believe that it had already been two years since Alexa had died.
And last night her appearance in the nightmares had
uncovered a wound he thought had cauterized after seeing her
die. He still liked her, he still thought about her just as strongly
as when she was alive. Sometimes he could swear she was next to him.
With her kind eyes, and loving voice.

Methos hated to feel like that. To dream and wish upon the dead. He
had seen friends and lovers die so many times that by now, one would
think that one more death wouldn't mind and wouldn't hurt so much.
But it still did. Every time he lost someone he felt the same renewed
pain, emptiness, as the first time he had seen someone he cared about
die. Methos actually thought it would get easier after a couple of
years, but in the end he found out that it would never happen. And
now, for the last two years he tried to do what he always did. Accept
death. Not only Alexa's, but Byron's and Silas' and the rest of his
brothers', and maybe even Richie's. _People die, Immortals die._
That's what he always told himself. And eventually he would accept it.
He had to, if he wanted to keep his sanity and his life. And Methos
cherished both as his most precious treasure.

Joe stopped playing, briefly examining his friend. Methos looked like
he hadn't slept, he actually seemed thinner than Joe remembered. He
made a quick memory scan, trying to remember, to pinpoint the exact
moment when Methos started getting thinner. A few seconds
later, Joe came to the conclusion that the Immortal had started
changing physically after the Horsemen history was exposed to his friends. Joe cursed himself silently.
He hadn't noticed and he could almost bet that Duncan hadn't either.
What could make them think that Methos wouldn't break? The 5,000
years of living? He was as human as any one of them, he just kept the
pain to himself and made the others think he was heartless,
unbreakable. He had done it with Alexa, hadn't he? Avoided anyone and
when they met, everything just seemed fine. Seemed. That was Methos,
the Master of Deceit.

Joe laid the guitar on the stage and moved towards Methos, sitting on
the chair across the other man. Methos had poured a bit of whiskey on
the glass for him while Joe had been coming, and was now sipping from
the beer slowly, as if he was tasting it, analyzing its flavor as
someone does with wines.

"I'm sorry" Joe said gazing Methos, who was looking at the bottle
absently.

"For what, Joe?" Methos rose his eyes slowly from the beer.

"For even thinking of selling you out to that bastard, Walker," Joe
said, sipping a bit of whiskey, as if that would give him courage to
say the things he wanted. Joe felt like he had to do this for the
Immortal. After seeing Amy leave made him think that, life
sometimes doesn't happen the way we want and sometimes words aren't
said because we think there's time, or because that wasn't the time
to say them. Well, life had just proved to Joe that things should be
said, no matter how hard they are, without worrying about bad timing.

"I understand, Joe. There's nothing for you to be sorry about,"
Methos met the other man's eyes, seeing the sincerity in his words.

"Yes, there is, man," Joe held Methos' gaze, as the latter fought to
look elsewhere. "I was an ass to deny you help when you asked for it. You were right,
Methos. I've broken my oath so many times for Mac..."
Methos took another sip of beer, getting the excuse he was waiting to
break eye contact and let his eyes rest on the beer label. "He's your friend."

"And so are you, Methos. Regardless of who you are. You've always
been a friend," Joe looked at Methos almost eagerly. He wanted to
see the reaction of the Old Man, but something told him, that the
answer was going to be either scornful or cynic.

"Stop it, Joe. You're almost making me cry."

Joe snorted. <Bingo! One scornful answer coming up!>

"I mean it, Methos. Besides... I owe you big time," Joe said,
refilling his glass.

"Forget it," Methos looked at Joe again with a smile in his lips, as he
remembered the day before. "You're my 'buddy', remember?"

Joe smiled broadly, still a bit ashamed of being led so easily.
"Yeah, yeah... Whatever," He took the glass and bounced it gently
just to observe the dark gold liquid move in circles inside the
glass, like a whirlpool.

"So, no word on Amy?" Methos glanced at his friend seeing a brief
cloud in his mortal friend's eyes.

"No. Like you said, Methos. I have to wait." Joe sipped a bit more of
the whiskey, savoring the acrid taste burning his mouth and throat.
"So... Where have you been, Methos?"

"Around," Methos said, shrugging his shoulders.

Joe nodded. He already knew that, but Joe had a feeling that the Old
Man was not going to say where that 'around' was. "Around... I heard
it's a nice place, care to give me some directions?"

Methos tilted his head looking at Joe carefully. There was something
really weird with Joe. "Why the interest?"

"'Cause... You disappeared a year ago without saying where you had
gone, leaving me and Mac with a loose demon in hand. Then you reappear
a year later just to 'consult' my Watcher's files... And because I care."

Methos laughed. Oh boy! Joe was really suffering from the 'abandoned
father' syndrome, diverting his attentions to someone else, since he
couldn't do it with his daughter.

"Oh, Joe. I'm not your daughter, and I'm sure too old to have a
father," he said amused.

<Oh, great! Now he thinks I'm doing this because I screwed up with
Amy.>

"This has nothing to do with Amy, Methos," Joe paused, then admitted,
"In part it has."

Methos snorted, knowing he had been right.

"Look, Methos. Sometimes we don't say things we want to say because
we're afraid of the answer we might get. And right now, I just feel that,
because of it, I lost someone very important to me," Joe paused once
again looking at the old Immortal, trying to see if he got his
attention, "I don't want to lose anyone else, just because I don't
say the things I should."

"Joe--," Methos started, being cut off by Joe.

"No, Methos. I have to say this. I know I never paid much attention
to you, like I did to MacLeod or Richie. In part I think that I
always thought that a 5,000 year old Immortal wouldn't need the
friendship of a common mortal..."

"Maybe you're right, Joe. After all I'm just a self-centered,
conniving, unfeeling Immortal, right? Methos, the killer, the guy who
doesn't give a damn for others, the one who doesn't care. The devious and
manipulative bastard, that controls everything towards his own gain.
Isn't that the way you see me," Methos hissed looking dangerously at Joe.

"That's the way *you* make us see you. But is that who you really are?
Sometimes I swear I think that of you, but that's not the guy who
fell for Alexa and took her to live her last days to the fullest. And
that's not the guy that yesterday helped me save Amy," Joe tried to
keep his voice low and controlled.

"What can I say, Joe? I have many personalities. You would be
surprised how many you can get after five thousand years." Methos was
tired. He hadn't slept well last night, and he really wasn't in the
mood to argue with Joe when everything just seemed to start getting
straight between them again.

"Stop that crap, Methos! You try so hard to make us hate you, I don't
even know why you still hang around us." Joe took another sip of
the whiskey. Had he really said that? That must be the alcohol screwing
with his brain. The eye contact with the Immortal hadn't broke
and Joe thought he could see the turmoil going inside the Old Man. Or
maybe he didn't. It was so hard to read the Immortal. Not like MacLeod
or Amanda. Those two seemed to be made of transparent glass. You looked
at them and you knew what they were feeling. Now, Methos was more like
a... dark glass. Sometimes you could get a glimpse of what was inside,
but insight depended on which side you were looking through.

"Maybe I was bored to death and needed some excitement," Methos said
with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

"And maybe I'll retire and become President of the United States. The
point is Methos. Why?"

"Why, what, Joe," asked Methos honestly puzzled.

"Why do you risk your neck for Mac, for me, for people that you don't
know. I thought you were the ultimate survivalist. Is there a catch to
all this," Joe asked suspiciously. Yes, he had been thinking about
it for a long time now, especially ever since Kronos and his gang had
showed up. He had known Adam Pierson for ten years, but Methos... he
still didn't know who Methos was for sure. Sometimes, Joe thought he
was Adam Pierson, but sometimes that Immortal showed to be the complete
opposite of the meek researcher's character.

Methos snorted. "There always has to be a catch, doesn't it? It all
adds up to that, doesn't it? Everything I do. Everything I say, is
carefully planned. I always have ulterior motives in everything I do."
Methos rose from his chair irritated and leaned over the table towards
the somewhat stunned mortal. "Well, Joe, I'm sorry if I'm not the
monster you and your Highlander Boy Scout think I am. And you know what?
I was a stupid to think and *even* admit that *maybe* I could..."

Methos turned away. He hadn't slept and he had little control
over his feelings and emotions. Mentally he chided himself for almost
exposing himself to Joe. Methos ran a hand through his hair to calm
himself down and started walking towards the door. His night was ruined.
And he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep as he still felt the Quickening
of Morgan Walker stirring him up inside.

"So, where are you going this time? Is it the Caribbean, Hawaii,
Dominican Republic or going to that place called 'Around' again? You
know... I really hate when friends just turn their backs on me and walk
away," Joe said expecting that might emend some of the foolish things
he had said. At least, Joe thought relieved, it made the old Immortal
stop on his way to the door, but he could see the tenseness on the
Immortal's body. For a moment Joe thought Methos was going to continue
to walk, or maybe turn around and say some harsh words. It wouldn't be
the first time. Even yesterday they had exchanged some pretty nasty words.
But the seconds ticked by and Methos just stood there without any
reaction. Good or bad, Joe decided he had to get the Immortal back on
that chair.

<"Okay... that was a good start, don't stop now old man,"> thought Joe
to himself as he spoke again in a mild voice, almost apologetically,
"Listen, I'm sorry, Methos. I'm not trying to analyze you or anything.
I'm just trying to say that if you need to talk, or if you're in trouble...
I'm here, Methos. Just like I am to Mac."

Methos sighed, closed his eyes briefly taking Joe's words in and turned
to meet Joe's eyes. A part of Methos told him to just take a walk, but
the other told him to accept what the man was offering. Friendship.
"I'm not MacLeod, Joe. Don't expect to read me like an open
book."

"I don't," Joe said firmly intensifying his gaze, making a point. Of
course he knew he was not Mac. That's why he was talking with him.
Joe saw Methos relax, abandoning the defensive posture he had been using.
"Besides, it's good to have you around to drive that Scot crazy. If it
wasn't for you, I think I wouldn't take his constant whining."

They both laughed at the statement. It was true. Mac always seemed to
be whining about something. If he wasn't whining, he was in
self-punishment mode. Since Methos had entered their lives, there
was something funny in all that. The Old guy always seemed to be
teasing Duncan and making him see that life was much more than
complaining about the little stuff. Things that seemed unfair, or
things an Immortal had to live with, couldn't change. He just had
to accept it as part of their lives, learn to live with it.

<Live Highlander... grow stronger... fight another day>, thought Methos,
as the memory of the first meeting with MacLeod came to his mind. He had
chosen to become a part of the Highlander's life and Joe was a part
of it as well. As rough and dangerous as that relationship might be, and
would be, he was starting to cherish it. That scared him. For he had
avoided those sort of feelings for so long. The Highlander and
his clan just seemed to attract him and make him have feelings and
conscience, when he thought he had banished them from his life. Well, it
seemed that he was wrong. Dead wrong. He was destined to become a member
of the clan too. For a moment, Methos imagined himself dressed as a
MacLeod clansman, kilt and all. He bit back a smile. That would be the
day!

"Now come and sit by this old timer, Old Man. Unless you still think that
'Around' is more pleasing." Joe rose his glass in a toast as Methos
gave a faint smile and returned to his chair.

"Thanks, Joe," Methos said looking into the blue-green eyes of his
friend, not really sure for what he was thanking him for.

"Hey, don't mention it. Besides, we make a good team. Like Scully and
Mulder. Sipowitz and Simone... Caligula and Inquitartas."

Methos smiled broadly finishing his beer. "Inquitartas was Caligula's
horse, Joe."

Joe smiled and got up to resume playing.

"I won't even argue with you to know which one of us is the horse,"
he said picking up the guitar.

"It *was* a smart horse, Joe."

"Well then, that's settled. I'm not very bright anyway. And if you're
so smart, you're the horse's ass."

Methos chuckled silently as he went to get another beer and a bottle
of Scotch and sat. "Santorini."

Joe turned to him. "What?"

"I was in Santorini to one of Darius' old Abbies," Methos said popping
the beer open.

"Did you find what you were searching for," Joe asked, knowing his
friend had been looking for peace of mind.

"Yes, I did, Joe. Yes, I did." Alexa returned to his mind along with
the memory of Darius. Both good friends, long gone, that helped him
without them even knowing it.

Joe started playing again, not before looking at Methos in a relieved
way. He had done it, Joe had said everything he wanted to. Maybe not
everything, but he couldn't push the Immortal's patience. He was not
like MacLeod, like he said, but Joe knew that they had made
progress in their friendship. Joe knew that he would never have the
level of trust with Methos like he had with the Highlander, and
Methos would continue to be a puzzle, but at least Joe was looking
more carefully at the pieces and was trying to put them together. He
might die before completing the puzzle, or even getting anywhere near
the finished piece. But at
least he had tried. At least, he had cared to look with more attention,
and he knew that was what Methos needed. He didn't need to talk about
things, he needed to know someone cared. Someone did give a damn
about whether he was dead or alive.

<He's nothing but a child wanting attention.>, Joe thought, looking at
the Immortal sprawled in the chair. <A five thousand year old child,
that drinks beer, carries a sword and swears.>

Joe laughed silently at the thought.

<No. He's just a guy. Just like everyone else.>, Joe glanced at Methos,
who had his eyes closed, his hand holding the bottle on the table. If
Joe thought it was possible for someone to sleep in that position, he
would have sworn Methos was asleep. But no one could maintain balance
in a seating position while sleeping, could they? Joe stopped playing
and heard a weird noise.

<Snoring?!>, Joe thought looking carefully at the Immortal, still not
believing the other man could really be sleeping. After a few more
seconds, Joe was absolutely sure that the sound was coming from
Methos and it was definitely a snore. Joe questioned how the
Immortal could be sleeping so deeply and still hold his body upright as if he
was awake.

<This guy is not normal. Definitely>, Joe snorted and continued
playing ignoring the constant and irritating snore of the Old Man.
<This is going to be a long night...>

-The End-