Comments are always welcome, flames will be used to fuel the creative fires. If you want to archive this, e-mail me.
Disclaimers:
I don't own any of the characters in the Highlander universe. I've just borrowed them for a while. I'm not making any money off this so please don't sue me. All you'll get is my computer and my plants 'cause I'm a poor college student. Asher du Lac is my creation. Please don't use her without permission.
"Are you drunk?" Asher asked Methos. She'd come to the barge looking for him after finding his flat empty. "You realize it's not even noon yet."
The ancient Immortal looked at her for a moment before turning to Duncan. "Am I drunk?" He asked in ancient Greek.
"I'd say that's a yes." She said and took off her coat. "When he gets really wasted, he sometimes forgets to speak English." She told Duncan. He nodded slowly and absently before reaching for a bottle of scotch. He peered inside and pouted disappointedly when he found it empty.
"Oh Gods. You too?" She surveyed the scene as she made her way to the kitchen. There were beer bottles everywhere. She went to the fridge and got herself a beer before settling between them on the couch. "Mind telling me what brought this on?"
Methos put an arm around her and leaned into her a little. He said something in a language she didn't know. She suspected it was Sumarian but she couldn't be sure.
"English please."
"'S Byron's birthday." He said softly.
She closed her eyes and let him hold her. "I'd forgotten." She said, her voice quiet.
She felt his shoulders move as he shrugged. "Happens. We're old."
"Yeah." She sighed sadly and took a long pull from the bottle. "As good a reason as any." She looked at Duncan. "What about you?"
"Misery loves company."
"Do you have anything else to drink?" Asher cocked her head to the side and looked at Duncan.
He nodded and stood up slowly before walking to the kitchen.
"Do you remember the party in France?" Methos slurred.
"I danced with you and Byron." She smiled. "We danced."
He nodded. "We did. We did other things too." His smiled widened to a grin.
Duncan was in the kitchen puzzling over how to carry three glasses of scotch. Finally, he picked up one in each hand and then held the third between them. Smiling victoriously, he carefully made his way back to the couch. Methos didn't see him and threw up his hand, knocking the glasses from Duncan's hands. They landed on Asher, spilling over her shirt and jeans. She gazed up at him.
"I hate scotch." She pushed herself up and walked to the armoire by the bed, stripping off her clothes as she walked. She looked through the shirts before pulling one out. Asher put it on and bounced over to Duncan's stereo as she buttoned the shirt up. Grabbing a stack of CDs Asher flopped onto the bed. "No, no, no, no." She commented as she flipped each jewel case over her shoulder in rejection. Crawling to the end of the bed, she squinted at Duncan. "Don't you have anything but opera?"
Methos shook his head. "Anything else would be too much fun for our Boy Scout." He grunted as a throw pillow hit him square in the face. "Oh, that's it." He launched the pillow at Duncan. Asher squealed and jumped onto Duncan's back.
"Lemme go. Git off me." He tried to throw Asher off. "Git off me ye harpy." He got a hold of her arm and pulled her off him. She landed on the couch, pulling him down with her. Methos continued to pelt Duncan's back with the throw pillows. He growled and pulled Methos down onto the couch with them.
Asher stretched and reached for a beer. The first bottle she picked up was empty. So was the second. She peered up at the men. "No more beer?"
Her legs hit the couch as Methos sprung up and tried to run to the fridge. Unfortunately, Duncan's foot was in the way and he tripped, falling flat on his face.
Duncan started laughing and Asher soon followed. Methos glared at them both before getting to his feet exaggeratingly slow. He walked to the fridge and looked inside before sticking his head back out triumphantly. He grabbed several bottles and very slowly made his way back to the couch. "Beer." He said happily. He settled back on the couch next to Asher.
Asher frowned for a moment. "I'm hungry." She complained and her mood changed quicksilver fast. "I want fried chicken." She declared happily.
Methos looked at her and shook his head. "Chinese."
Asher pouted. "No, fried chicken."
"Chinese."
She drew herself up and glared at him. "I want fried chicken."
"Children." Duncan admonished.
Asher crawled into Methos' lap and trailed her fingers up the back of his neck. Leaning in very close, she breathed very slowly, "I want chicken."
Methos closed his eyes as her tongue darted out and lightly touched his earlobe. "Sure, chicken."
She smiled and turned to Duncan. "Good."
Duncan rolled his eyes. "I'll order."
There was no answer from the other two. Asher and Methos looked very busy with each other. He shook his head and went to the phone.
When the delivery guy arrived, Asher grabbed the money from Duncan and skipped into the lift, still only wearing one of Duncan's button down shirts. "Food." She said happily.
Methos grabbed Duncan's arm and pulled him toward the stairs.
"Where're we goin'?" Duncan asked.
"Downstairs." Methos told him.
The delivery boy was a gangly teenager of 17. He was shifting on his feet, looking around nervously at the swords on the walls. He looked up when he heard the lift and swallowed hard when he saw Asher step into the dojo.
"Hi." She sauntered toward him, her hips gently swaying. He closed his mouth and swallowed again before stammering.
"H-hi." After a moment he recovered enough to hand her the bag.
"How much do I owe you?" She asked, her French accent coming out.
"What?" He shook himself. "Oh, $16.80"
Asher handed him a twenty and took the bag. "Keep it." She told him and walked back to the lift. "Thanks." She called back to him as she reached up to pull the gate down, revealing shapely legs.
"You're welcome." He stammered before walking out of the dojo in a daze.
She met Duncan and Methos as she was coming out of the lift. They were laughing. She quirked an eyebrow quizzically at them before setting down the bag. "What?"
"Ye just made that lad's night." Duncan told her. "'e'll dream about ye ah'm sure." He pulled more beer out of the fridge for them and flopped back onto the couch.
She shook her head and carried the bag over to the coffee table. Pulling out two buckets of chicken, she happily opened one and took a bite of a drumstick. "Good." She commented as she finished the piece.
Three more bottles of scotch, a case of beer, two buckets of fried chicken and a few hours later, the three Immortals were sprawled on the couch, limbs intertwined.
"I miss Byron." Asher sighed.
"Me too." Methos commented.
Duncan looked up from his inspection of the sole of her foot. "I'm sorry."
She crawled into his lap. "I know." Her small arms went around his neck. She opened her mouth to say something else but stopped, thinking for a moment before shrugging. She leaned forward until her forehead was against his. "You are a good man, Duncan MacLeod." She giggled and looked at Methos.
"Of the Clan MacLeod." They said at the same time and burst out laughing. Asher moved back over to sit near Methos.
Duncan glared at them, which made them laugh even harder.
"'Tis no funny." He told them, his brogue manifesting. "Don' make me come over there." He threatened.
Asher curled back into his lap, one hand playing with his still short hair. "Je suis desolee, cher Duncan." She sobered suddenly. "Mon beau po�t. Je m'ennuie de vous." She said softly, a tear escaped down her cheek.
Duncan wrapped his arms around her. "Ah, Lady Alex. Don't cry.
'One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place'."
Asher and Methos looked up sharply; their alcohol fogged senses trying to comprehend their lover inside their friend. She touched Duncan's face gently, searching for another sign of the self-destructive poet in his strong features.
Methos stroked her back gently. His hand moved up, under her hair to the collar of her shirt to touch bare skin.
She offered her hand to Duncan, who took it, kissing the back of her hand before turning it over. He pressed a kiss onto the pulse in her wrist and the palm of her hand, his tongue darting out to leave a quick wet trail. She gasped and kissed him full on the mouth, letting him deepen the kiss.
After a moment, she pushed away from him, breathless. He held her so her head was in the crook of his shoulder. "He didn't write that for me." She murmured, tears running down her face.
"Who?" Mac asked, looking down at her, brushing the hair from her face.
"It was for his cousin Anne Wilmot." Methos told him, his hand stroking Asher's back.
They sat in silence for a while before Mac looked down. Asher's breathing was soft and regular. He looked at Methos who smiled and lay back on the couch. His head was on the arm, one leg tucked under the other which was resting on the coffee table.
"Night." He mumbled as he drifted off.
"Night, Methos." He answered and settled his arms more securely around Asher before closing his eyes.
Methos groaned. There was a heavy weight preventing him from moving. Opening one eye, he looked down and found himself stretched out on Duncan's couch. Asher was asleep on her stomach, her body covering his. Duncan was slouched down on the other side of the couch, Methos' legs crossed over his own. The early morning light from the windows hurt and he threw one hand over his eyes before going back to sleep.
Asher yawned. Her bed was warm but not comfortable like it normally was. She rolled over and felt herself falling. She fell to the floor, her head hitting the edge of the coffee table and her vision swam. She cried out softly as tears came to her eyes as the pain in her head tripled.
Duncan rushed over when he heard her hit the floor. "Are you alright?"
She started to shake her head but the pain was too great. "I hit the coffee table."
"I'll get some ice."
He came back with an ice pack and some aspirin. She swallowed the pills dry and held the ice to the back of her head. Duncan helped her up onto the other couch. Methos groaned and opened his eyes.
"Could you people possibly make any more noise?" He growled before turning to look at them. He sat up suddenly when he saw Asher holding the ice to her head. "What happened?"
"I rolled off you and hit the coffee table." Asher murmured.
He closed his eyes and looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. "Are you okay?"
She reached out and punched his shoulder. "No thanks to you. I swear I could drop dead and you wouldn't wake up long enough to notice."
"If I'm sleeping, just make sure you do it quietly."
She laughed and then winced. "Ohh, it hurts."
"It'll go away in a minute." He told her.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Not all of us heal as fast as you. We can't all be 5000 years old."
He shrugged. "What can I say? It's a gift."
Duncan rolled his eyes. "So modest too. I'm making lunch. Anybody hungry?" He went back to the kitchen.
"As long as you're not making fried chicken." Methos told him and Asher punched him in the arm.