Happy Holidays adabsolutely, a lovely pinch hitter!
Title: Flying Coach
Author: The Travel Agent
Written for: ADabsolutely
Characters/Pairings: Methos
Rating: G
Author's Notes: My thanks to You Know Who You Are.
Summary: Graduate students fly coach.
Adam Pierson flew coach. When he flew, which was as seldom as possible. But the Director of Watcher Research wanted "contributions" (read: articles he did not have to write) for the "Immortals in the New World" series of journals he had already announced, and that the Tribunal had stated eagerness to see. Herr Doctor Steinwald had made it more than a suggestion that Adam Pierson, M.A. (not a Dr. yet, with a thesis still in committee, as yet undefended, and too few publications in public journals) provide a paper or two. Was it not the case that there were reports of the "lay down your sword" Methos in the Pacific Northwest in the late 1800s? Perhaps this was an area of the Methos Chronicles that merited attention now rather than later? Or the anomalous Dr. Robert Helm, mentioned in passing in one of Amanda's chronicles - an English doctor in Spanish Alta California. Could there be any connection between Helm and the Doctor Adams known to have been Byron's teacher, and to have left Europe shortly after the final death of Hans Kirchner at Byron's hands? Seacouver had an excellent research library, and the resources of the Northwestern Division in the person of Joe Dawson. Steinwald had even scared up a pittance of a travel allowance.
Adam was not fond of being told how to conduct his work, but neither was he willing to make waves.
And Kristin Gilles had resurfaced. In Seacouver.
Kristin was bad news, and invariably a new branch of "The Kristin Agency" heralded unpleasantness in Immortal circles, particularly among the newer (and most decorative) young male immortals. Often enough even not so young men were casualties in her unending quest to be the cynosure and focus of male adulation. Not to mention the women swept into her orbit by promises of patronage and opportunity, to end drowned in debt, or despair, or drugs, or quite literally drowned dead, pulled cold and still from the water.
So. Seacouver did have an excellent archive and resources, the Other Methos was always good for distraction (not to mention it was useful to know where he'd been and who he'd seen, if only to keep himself out of the limelight. It would be interesting if they ever met, though Adam certainly wasn't planning on it.) And MacLeod was there; several birds and only one transatlantic flight.
Coach. And a tiresome change at O'Hare; not merely planes but airlines, meaning he had to go through customs there and change terminals, with seven and a half hours to do it in. Too short to get out of the airport or get any sleep once the hassle of officialdom was dealt with, much too long to pass with simple distraction.
Methos didn't fly at all if he could help it. Not because he didn't like flying - the part actually in the air was fine, fascinating and exhilarating, especially from the perspective he had - but because of the sheer annoyance of what air travel entailed, from the crossroads aspect of airports and the likelihood of encountering not merely other immortals, but watchers and people who had known him in other incarnations to the goldfish-bowl scrutiny of travelers in this increasingly and tiresomely 'security-conscious' age. Not to mention the difficulties of transporting a sword internationally. This trip did give him the opportunity to test the current procedures with a legitimate mandate from the watcher archives: transferring one of Connor MacLeod's old blades to the American watcher Archive. It had been quite simple to put his own Ivanhoe on the manifest as well. He may not have taken a Quickening in more than two hundred years, but that certainly didn't mean he hadn't had to fight. Avoidance wasn't always possible.
It didn't help that the beer on airplanes was invariably expensive and usually the horrible stuff that even Joe called 'American rice-water' (though not where the customers could hear him). And even at that it wasn't a good idea to buy it, because the flight attendants tended to take note of the people who were drinking, just in case. He didn't want to be any more memorable to people untethered to a place and context than he already was. So he didn't imbibe in the air. (Well, Methos didn't drink because of the whole being remembered thing; Adam didn't because it wasn't in the budget, and it was dehydrating, and that was enough of a nuisance on airplanes without making it worse with alcohol.) But they usually had a decent ginger-ale, and often they had hot chocolate. Very few people knew that Adam had a weakness for hot chocolate. It didn't even have to be good hot chocolate - Swiss Miss was perfectly acceptable.
At least he had a window seat this time, and was reasonably near the front of the plane. He folded his long frame into the angle of upholstery, tucking knees and elbows close. With luck it wouldn't be a full flight, and the center seat would stay empty. He had three books in the satchel currently competing for space with his feet under the seat in front, and another half-read in his pocket. And with a window seat he could probably sleep at least some of the hours across the Atlantic away. But he knew that he would have cause to be grateful for immortal healing by the time they landed at O'Hare.
Adam was just getting the seatbelt end fished out from where it invariably fell between the seats when a squashy bag landed on the aisle seat to be wrestled into the (always smaller on the inside, never larger) under-seat space. The corners that poked at the sides looked very like books. Bag wrangled, its owner settled into the seat with a sigh. Bright blue eyes looked at Adam from under a thicket of curly brown hair, a little longer than strictly fashionable. "Hi," he said, smiling. "Dare we hope the middle stays empty? I'm Blair, by the way."
"Adam," Methos said, smiling back.
On the other hand, sometimes you met the most interesting people, traveling coach.
END
Author: The Travel Agent
Written for: ADabsolutely
Characters/Pairings: Methos
Rating: G
Author's Notes: My thanks to You Know Who You Are.
Summary: Graduate students fly coach.
Adam Pierson flew coach. When he flew, which was as seldom as possible. But the Director of Watcher Research wanted "contributions" (read: articles he did not have to write) for the "Immortals in the New World" series of journals he had already announced, and that the Tribunal had stated eagerness to see. Herr Doctor Steinwald had made it more than a suggestion that Adam Pierson, M.A. (not a Dr. yet, with a thesis still in committee, as yet undefended, and too few publications in public journals) provide a paper or two. Was it not the case that there were reports of the "lay down your sword" Methos in the Pacific Northwest in the late 1800s? Perhaps this was an area of the Methos Chronicles that merited attention now rather than later? Or the anomalous Dr. Robert Helm, mentioned in passing in one of Amanda's chronicles - an English doctor in Spanish Alta California. Could there be any connection between Helm and the Doctor Adams known to have been Byron's teacher, and to have left Europe shortly after the final death of Hans Kirchner at Byron's hands? Seacouver had an excellent research library, and the resources of the Northwestern Division in the person of Joe Dawson. Steinwald had even scared up a pittance of a travel allowance.
Adam was not fond of being told how to conduct his work, but neither was he willing to make waves.
And Kristin Gilles had resurfaced. In Seacouver.
Kristin was bad news, and invariably a new branch of "The Kristin Agency" heralded unpleasantness in Immortal circles, particularly among the newer (and most decorative) young male immortals. Often enough even not so young men were casualties in her unending quest to be the cynosure and focus of male adulation. Not to mention the women swept into her orbit by promises of patronage and opportunity, to end drowned in debt, or despair, or drugs, or quite literally drowned dead, pulled cold and still from the water.
So. Seacouver did have an excellent archive and resources, the Other Methos was always good for distraction (not to mention it was useful to know where he'd been and who he'd seen, if only to keep himself out of the limelight. It would be interesting if they ever met, though Adam certainly wasn't planning on it.) And MacLeod was there; several birds and only one transatlantic flight.
Coach. And a tiresome change at O'Hare; not merely planes but airlines, meaning he had to go through customs there and change terminals, with seven and a half hours to do it in. Too short to get out of the airport or get any sleep once the hassle of officialdom was dealt with, much too long to pass with simple distraction.
Methos didn't fly at all if he could help it. Not because he didn't like flying - the part actually in the air was fine, fascinating and exhilarating, especially from the perspective he had - but because of the sheer annoyance of what air travel entailed, from the crossroads aspect of airports and the likelihood of encountering not merely other immortals, but watchers and people who had known him in other incarnations to the goldfish-bowl scrutiny of travelers in this increasingly and tiresomely 'security-conscious' age. Not to mention the difficulties of transporting a sword internationally. This trip did give him the opportunity to test the current procedures with a legitimate mandate from the watcher archives: transferring one of Connor MacLeod's old blades to the American watcher Archive. It had been quite simple to put his own Ivanhoe on the manifest as well. He may not have taken a Quickening in more than two hundred years, but that certainly didn't mean he hadn't had to fight. Avoidance wasn't always possible.
It didn't help that the beer on airplanes was invariably expensive and usually the horrible stuff that even Joe called 'American rice-water' (though not where the customers could hear him). And even at that it wasn't a good idea to buy it, because the flight attendants tended to take note of the people who were drinking, just in case. He didn't want to be any more memorable to people untethered to a place and context than he already was. So he didn't imbibe in the air. (Well, Methos didn't drink because of the whole being remembered thing; Adam didn't because it wasn't in the budget, and it was dehydrating, and that was enough of a nuisance on airplanes without making it worse with alcohol.) But they usually had a decent ginger-ale, and often they had hot chocolate. Very few people knew that Adam had a weakness for hot chocolate. It didn't even have to be good hot chocolate - Swiss Miss was perfectly acceptable.
At least he had a window seat this time, and was reasonably near the front of the plane. He folded his long frame into the angle of upholstery, tucking knees and elbows close. With luck it wouldn't be a full flight, and the center seat would stay empty. He had three books in the satchel currently competing for space with his feet under the seat in front, and another half-read in his pocket. And with a window seat he could probably sleep at least some of the hours across the Atlantic away. But he knew that he would have cause to be grateful for immortal healing by the time they landed at O'Hare.
Adam was just getting the seatbelt end fished out from where it invariably fell between the seats when a squashy bag landed on the aisle seat to be wrestled into the (always smaller on the inside, never larger) under-seat space. The corners that poked at the sides looked very like books. Bag wrangled, its owner settled into the seat with a sigh. Bright blue eyes looked at Adam from under a thicket of curly brown hair, a little longer than strictly fashionable. "Hi," he said, smiling. "Dare we hope the middle stays empty? I'm Blair, by the way."
"Adam," Methos said, smiling back.
On the other hand, sometimes you met the most interesting people, traveling coach.
END