(no subject)
Title: Five times Jack and Methos met on vacation
Author: jinxed_wood
Fandoms: Highlander/Doctor Who
Characters: Methos, Jack, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and a quickie snog
Genre: Humour and Angst…but don’t worry, Jack will clear that right up.
Rating: PG13 - for horsemen, apocalyptic viruses, an angry Cassandra…oh, and I did mention the snog, didn’t I?
Previous Parts: One : Two : Three
When you have a hard decision to make, probably the last person you’d ask for advice is Jack, but sometimes Captain Jack can surprise you…up to a certain point.
Bordeaux, France, 1998 CE
Taking a deep breath, Methos leaned against the wall, his mind still reeling from Cassandra’s anger. “And she’s entitled to it,” he reminded himself. “Oh Gods, is she ever entitled to it. ” He shook his head in bewilderment. He’d thought he’d left this all behind, but maybe he should have known better. He’d always known that Kronos would catch up with him one day, but he had hoped…
Methos laughed bitterly; he had hoped that Kronos would change; that he’d never have to make this decision. Of such things, nightmares are made. “You idiot,” he muttered under his breath, “You should have killed him years ago.”
Footsteps echoed through the shadows, and Methos abruptly straightened. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, especially now. The figure slowly emerged from the darkness, and Methos did a double take. “You. What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I think that should be my question.” Jack drawled. “What are you doing here, man? This isn’t your style.”
“You mean you don’t like my vacation spot?” Methos said, dryly. “What’s not to like? Sea breeze, great privacy-“
“Apocalyptic virus in the freezer. Yeah, I heard all about it.”
Methos tensed. “Tell me again, why are you here?” he asked, softly.
“The Doctor sent me,” Jack said, as if this explained everything. “He thought you’d might need a familiar face to talk with before…you did something you couldn’t take back.”
“So now you’re my agony aunt?” Methos snapped. “Give me a break.”
“Listen, Michael…”
“Michael, who’s Michael?”
Jack quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, I get it. So, who am I speaking to, today? Dr Adams, Benjamin, I know, how about scary assed bronze-aged guy with a bad paint job.”
Methos winced “No, not anymore, that’s half the problem,” he said, quietly.
“Yeah, well, life goes on,” Jack said. “The question is whether or not you want to move with it. You know what’s right, you know what’s wrong; make a decision. We all have to, sooner or later.”
“That’s it? That’s your sage advice?”
“What were you expecting, the Magna Carta?”
Methos choked back a laugh. “Call me Adam.”
“How come I get the impression that that’s not the name on your birth certificate?”
“Because you’re not just a pretty face?”
“Ah, at last he admits his fatal attraction for me! I knew you’d break down and admit it, sooner or later…which reminds me-“
It came out of the blue. One moment, he’d been glaring at his smug face; the next, he was kissing him. He hadn’t been expecting it, but he should have. Idiotic boy.
At last, Jack came up for air and Methos took a hasty step back. “It is customary to ask first,” he retorted, flustered.
“Sorry,” Jack said, his unrepentant grin telling the lie. “I just had to know what three thousand years of experience kissed like."
“More like five, actually,” Methos muttered distractedly, and then froze. “I said that aloud, didn’t I?”
He hadn’t thought it possible, but the grin on Jack's face grew wider. “Don’t worry, I know how to keep a secret - and, hey, we’ll always have Bordeaux.”
“Don’t you mean Paris?”
Jack shrugged as he stepped back into the shadows. “We’ll see. Good luck, you’re going to need it - and remember, stay cute...”
A few moments late, Methos heard footsteps again but, this time, it wasn’t Jack.
“It is time, Brother.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The fifth time Jack and Methos meet has yet to happen, and Methos isn’t exactly sure how he feels about that. In the meantime, however, he’s off for a weekend break in Cardiff. Nothing like vacation in Wales to remind you why you like Bora Bora so much.
On a Train to Wales, Present Day, Right…about…now.
A shadow passed over him, blocking his light, and, sighing, Methos looked up from his book. “Excuse me, do you mind…oh, good grief, it’s you again,” Methos eyed the grinning form leaning over his seat. “My day is complete.”
“You wound me, Adam, you really do.” With a smirk, Jack threw himself onto the adjoining seat. “You don’t write, you don’t call…is that the way to treat an old friend?”
Methos groaned, something told him this wasn’t going to end well…
FINIS
Author’s Note: Well, that was…different. This story was a series of firsts for me. The first time I’ve written Jack, the first time I’ve written a kiss (even a vague one like this) and the first time I’ve ever written anything remotely slashy. So, I ask myself, is this what they mean when they call a story a ‘crackfic’?
If you’re wondering what’s going on with all the Casablanca moments, you’re not alone. For some strange reason, whenever I think of Jack, images of smoggy runways keep rolling around in my head - it’s a whole dodge the Nazis, strangers in the night scenario.
Weird.
Okay, I’ll shut up now.
Author: jinxed_wood
Fandoms: Highlander/Doctor Who
Characters: Methos, Jack, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and a quickie snog
Genre: Humour and Angst…but don’t worry, Jack will clear that right up.
Rating: PG13 - for horsemen, apocalyptic viruses, an angry Cassandra…oh, and I did mention the snog, didn’t I?
Previous Parts: One : Two : Three
When you have a hard decision to make, probably the last person you’d ask for advice is Jack, but sometimes Captain Jack can surprise you…up to a certain point.
Bordeaux, France, 1998 CE
Taking a deep breath, Methos leaned against the wall, his mind still reeling from Cassandra’s anger. “And she’s entitled to it,” he reminded himself. “Oh Gods, is she ever entitled to it. ” He shook his head in bewilderment. He’d thought he’d left this all behind, but maybe he should have known better. He’d always known that Kronos would catch up with him one day, but he had hoped…
Methos laughed bitterly; he had hoped that Kronos would change; that he’d never have to make this decision. Of such things, nightmares are made. “You idiot,” he muttered under his breath, “You should have killed him years ago.”
Footsteps echoed through the shadows, and Methos abruptly straightened. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, especially now. The figure slowly emerged from the darkness, and Methos did a double take. “You. What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I think that should be my question.” Jack drawled. “What are you doing here, man? This isn’t your style.”
“You mean you don’t like my vacation spot?” Methos said, dryly. “What’s not to like? Sea breeze, great privacy-“
“Apocalyptic virus in the freezer. Yeah, I heard all about it.”
Methos tensed. “Tell me again, why are you here?” he asked, softly.
“The Doctor sent me,” Jack said, as if this explained everything. “He thought you’d might need a familiar face to talk with before…you did something you couldn’t take back.”
“So now you’re my agony aunt?” Methos snapped. “Give me a break.”
“Listen, Michael…”
“Michael, who’s Michael?”
Jack quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, I get it. So, who am I speaking to, today? Dr Adams, Benjamin, I know, how about scary assed bronze-aged guy with a bad paint job.”
Methos winced “No, not anymore, that’s half the problem,” he said, quietly.
“Yeah, well, life goes on,” Jack said. “The question is whether or not you want to move with it. You know what’s right, you know what’s wrong; make a decision. We all have to, sooner or later.”
“That’s it? That’s your sage advice?”
“What were you expecting, the Magna Carta?”
Methos choked back a laugh. “Call me Adam.”
“How come I get the impression that that’s not the name on your birth certificate?”
“Because you’re not just a pretty face?”
“Ah, at last he admits his fatal attraction for me! I knew you’d break down and admit it, sooner or later…which reminds me-“
It came out of the blue. One moment, he’d been glaring at his smug face; the next, he was kissing him. He hadn’t been expecting it, but he should have. Idiotic boy.
At last, Jack came up for air and Methos took a hasty step back. “It is customary to ask first,” he retorted, flustered.
“Sorry,” Jack said, his unrepentant grin telling the lie. “I just had to know what three thousand years of experience kissed like."
“More like five, actually,” Methos muttered distractedly, and then froze. “I said that aloud, didn’t I?”
He hadn’t thought it possible, but the grin on Jack's face grew wider. “Don’t worry, I know how to keep a secret - and, hey, we’ll always have Bordeaux.”
“Don’t you mean Paris?”
Jack shrugged as he stepped back into the shadows. “We’ll see. Good luck, you’re going to need it - and remember, stay cute...”
A few moments late, Methos heard footsteps again but, this time, it wasn’t Jack.
“It is time, Brother.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The fifth time Jack and Methos meet has yet to happen, and Methos isn’t exactly sure how he feels about that. In the meantime, however, he’s off for a weekend break in Cardiff. Nothing like vacation in Wales to remind you why you like Bora Bora so much.
On a Train to Wales, Present Day, Right…about…now.
A shadow passed over him, blocking his light, and, sighing, Methos looked up from his book. “Excuse me, do you mind…oh, good grief, it’s you again,” Methos eyed the grinning form leaning over his seat. “My day is complete.”
“You wound me, Adam, you really do.” With a smirk, Jack threw himself onto the adjoining seat. “You don’t write, you don’t call…is that the way to treat an old friend?”
Methos groaned, something told him this wasn’t going to end well…
FINIS
Author’s Note: Well, that was…different. This story was a series of firsts for me. The first time I’ve written Jack, the first time I’ve written a kiss (even a vague one like this) and the first time I’ve ever written anything remotely slashy. So, I ask myself, is this what they mean when they call a story a ‘crackfic’?
If you’re wondering what’s going on with all the Casablanca moments, you’re not alone. For some strange reason, whenever I think of Jack, images of smoggy runways keep rolling around in my head - it’s a whole dodge the Nazis, strangers in the night scenario.
Weird.
Okay, I’ll shut up now.