Fic: When Chloe Met Methos
A/N: I plan to start the next installment of Special Projects tomorrow. Untill then, the dynamic duo of Chloe and Methos will have to do.
Fic: When Chloe Met Methos
Summary: She doubted very seriously that he’d ever watched a fellow Immortal challenge the wrong person, get shot dead for his troubles, and then have the challenge-ee subdue the challenger rather than take his head. Which would probably explain his amusement with the situation.
Author: pen37
Fandoms: Highlander/Smallville.
Rating: G
Beta:Strangevisitor7
This fic takes place after the story A Kiss is Just a Kiss. However it can stand on it's own merits.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #38 Touch. The table is here.
Also for firstline_fic Challenges Week #24. “You are not the kind of person things like this normally happen to."
“You are not the kind of person things like this normally happen to.”
She studied the man who stood across the parking lot from her. The only thing separating them was the quickly cooling corpse. Which would soon be an awake and annoying bad guy.
Her audience of one was Clark-tall and Scarecrow-thin with a mop of unruly dark hair and a perpetually amused smile. As if he found the whole world to be one big cosmic joke. Since he wasn’t screaming into the night, she assumed that he was the man she was supposed to be meeting.
“What was your first clue?” Chloe Sullivan rolled her eyes, and tucked her .9 mm handgun back under her light jacket.
She supposed that she was being a little bitchy, but she’d just been challenged by an Immortal to a duel-to-the-death. One who had obviously thought that she was like him. Which meant that he had felt the Presence of another of his kind, and assumed it was her. She shook her head in self-disgust. Several years of living away from any Immortal hadn’t dulled the habits she’d picked up from a few months of living with Duncan, Richie and their bunch. If she didn’t want to be mistaken for an Immortal, she was going to have to unlearn how to move like an Immortal.
She was guessing that the tall stranger was the one who provided that Buzz that the rapidly-reanimating corpse had mistakenly attached to her. Sound logic, she reasoned, since A: she was supposed to be meeting a second Immortal. One who Richie said could help her if she ever ran into trouble. And B: the tall guy didn’t seem all that surprised to encounter a duel-to-the death with a sword at high midnight.
Given that Mr. tall dark and passive had stood idly by and watched the whole duel fiasco, and given that he was now making no move to help her subdue the corpse before it came back to life, she supposed bitchiness was warranted.
“Well, for one thing, you don’t have a sword,” he said with an air of smugness that would be annoying if it didn’t also have an element of childlike wonder mixed in. Chloe was reminded that this was supposed to be the oldest of the Immortals. Someone who had probably seen and done it all.
Well, almost all. She doubted very seriously that he’d ever watched a fellow Immortal challenge the wrong person, get shot dead for his troubles, and then have the challenge-ee subdue the challenger rather than take his head. Which would probably explain his amusement with the situation.
“Seeing as I’m not like you guys, I don’t need one,” she said with a snort that was half-humor, half annoyance. “And even if I had one, what would I do with it?”
Without waiting for an answer, Chloe turned, popped the trunk of her Yaris, and pulled out a set of handcuffs. Then she dragged the body the three feet required to handcuff it to the tailpipe of a conveniently-parked 95 Chevy Silverado.
“So how is it you’re still alive then?” His amusement had turned to curiosity . “I saw him slice cleanly into your midsection. You don’t give off any other indicators that you’re Immortal.”
“Before I tell you, I would like to know if you’re Richie’s friend,” she said. “The guy who is older than dirt?”
Chloe finished her task by ‘rolling’ the body: frisking it for its wallet and the sword that his kind always kept hidden in those convenient hidey-spaces that they kept in their long coats. She pulled all the cash from the borrowed wallet, pocketed it and then dumped the empty wallet and the sword in the bed of the truck.
“Did Richie call me that?” Methos frowned. “I’ll have to thank him for that in various painful ways.”
Satisfied that this was probably the right guy, She stuck her hand out to the tall man in greeting. “Chloe Sullivan,”
“Chloe Sullivan? As in Voice of Gotham City Chloe Sullivan? Pulitzer-prize-winning Chloe Sullivan? Chloe E. for Enigma Sullivan.”
“You follow the news. How nice,” Chloe said dryly. “And the Inquisitor got my name wrong. My middle initial is A for Anne. E for Enigma is just a good way to describe someone who goes into early retirement and gets really good at dodging the media. But better to retire when you’re at the top of your game, than when people start noticing that you aren’t aging and haven’t aged since you were twenty.”
“I see,” he said as he took Chloe’s hand and shook it firmly. “Chloe A for Anne Sullivan, You can call me A for Adam Pierson. And then you can explain why Richie gave you my number, among other things.”
Chloe grinned at him. “Richie is just the start of it. And the other things make for a very long story.”
Adam returned the expression with interest. “I think I can spare the time.”
“Then I can probably spare the good Irish Whisky.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.” His smile this time was genuine. “I think this must be the start of a beautiful friendship.”