Joe glanced at his watch and reached eagerly for the tv remote. It was almost time. He’d had to pull a lot of strings, and do a lot of fast talking, but he’d arranged the perfect blind date. Fortunately, the couple he’d arranged it for were good friends and would forgive him for doing it in such a public way. Eventually.
Shaking off his momentary twinge of unease, Joe clicked past an Australian football game, This Old House, and a Spanish soap opera, and finally landed on the WB. He waited through a few commercials, and was relieved to see the opening credits he’d expected to find there. The graphics flashed on the screen, the music played, and finally the dapper host appeared in the studio.
“Hello, I’m Roger Lodge. Welcome to Blind Date. We have seen a number of ordinary men and women trying to find their match, but tonight we’re going to see how the other half lives. Gay and lesbian singles have just as much trouble finding partners as their heterosexual counterparts, and tonight we’re going to try our hands at setting up dates for four people that have had more trouble than most.”
“Our first couple is from Seacouver, Washington. Adam is a university professor who claims to admire brains over beauty.”
Joe chuckled to himself as a familiar aquiline profile appeared on the screen. He’d had no idea Methos was so photogenic.
He didn’t look particularly happy about it, but “Adam” dutifully described himself as, “someone who wants to get out and see the world, with little patience for someone who expects their looks to compensate for a lack of intelligence.”
At the close of “Adam’s” segment, Roger Lodge said, “We think Adam will appreciate Richie for both his looks and his brains. Richie’s a dojo manager who thinks it’s important to see below the surface.”
His curls and blue eyes showing to advantage against the backdrop, Richie came on the screen and talked about how “people aren’t always what they seem,” and how people “need to be willing to see what’s not obvious on the outside.”
“We’ll see how well Richie can find out what’s underneath Adam’scool, intellectual exterior,” the host grinned cheerfully, “when we return to Blind Date.”
The bar patrons rushed up to get drinks during the commercial break. Joe helped them as quickly as he could, and breathed a relieved sigh when his eye caught sight of the show’s logo just as the last drink was being rung through the cash register. He didn’t want to miss a minute of this.
When the show came back on the air, it was following ‘Adam’ to Richie’s apartment. What Joe knew, but the audience did not, was that ‘Adam’ thought he was picking up ‘Rach’, and not ‘Rich’. Joe had overseen that not-so-accidental typo personally. Joe considered it a stroke of pure luck that Methos had never been to Richie’s current apartment, so he hadn’t recognized the address from the card the show had given him.
As the dark-haired immortal approached Richie’s front door, only Joe was able to detect the moment Richie’s immortal signature registered. Thinking of Richie, Joe was reminded that he was expecting ‘Ada’ and not ‘Adam’, and he certainly wasn’t expecting an immortal. Still, there was a smile on Richie’s face when he opened the door to greet his date. His smile froze, but didn’t falter when he saw Methos instead of the fictional ‘Ada’. After a barely noticeable pause he gestured for Methos to come inside, saying, “I just want to grab my jacket.”
What Joe imagined was Richie’s plan to talk to Methos alone was foiled when the cameras followed the other man inside. Surprise flickered briefly across Richie’s face, but his smile returned immediately. He shrugged almost imperceptibly at Methos, then headed to the closet for the jacket he’d claimed to want. When he returned to the living room the charm was on full blast, and with just the right amount of nervous enthusiasm he said, “All right, let’s go.” Richie laid a seemingly casual hand on Methos’ back as he followed the older man out the front door. Joe thought they might have exchanged a few murmured words, but with the show’s background music blaring, it was impossible to tell.
The first few minutes of the car ride passed in silence. Just when Joe was beginning to think the two men weren’t going to say anything at all, the words Awkward silence ends in 3... 2... 1... appeared on the screen.
No sooner had the beep signaled the end of the countdown than Richie ventured to ask, “So you’re a college professor?” Joe was aware that Richie already knew the answer to that, of course, but as a conversation starter he supposed it was a good choice.
“Yes,” Methos answered, letting a beat pass before he remembered to curve his lips into a facsimile of a smile. Joe scowled darkly at the screen, prepared to have a serious chat with the Old Man if he was this difficult the whole day.
“What do you teach?” Richie prompted with an exasperated half-laugh.
“History,” Methos admitted grudgingly, unbending enough to add, “I specialize in Ancient Greece.”
Richie snickered, and observed, “Well, that’s appropriate.”
Joe wondered why the rest of the bar patrons were laughing, when he was the only one who knew ‘Adam’ had actually lived in ancient Greece, but Adam’s reply made it clear what everyone else found so amusing.
“I know what you mean. The ancient Greeks are known for their acceptance, even celebration of same sex relationships, so it seemed like a logical choice for me.”
From Richie’s blush, Joe knew that the younger man hadn’t considered that particular aspect of Methos’ specialty either. The bartender-turned-matchmaker worried about how well Richie would handle the issue, and was pleased to see the young man recover quickly.
“I guess that makes them a couple steps ahead of us, even way back then,” the redhead replied with a wry grin.
The broad smile stretching across Methos’ face caught Joe completely by surprise. He thought he’d seen Methos happy, but he’d never seen quite that expression on the ancient immortal’s face before. Joe was so absorbed in trying to decide what was different about Methos’ smile, he didn’t pay any attention to Methos’ words at first.
“They certainly lived in interesting times,” Methos agreed. “And they had a rich culture.” In the interest of keeping at least some of his attention on the road in front of him, Methos just slanted a look at Richie from the corner of his eyes and continued, “All in all, though, I prefer the here and now.”
Richie’s smile gleamed brightly, then he seemed to remember the cameras behind them. His lashes fluttered down to shield his eyes, and he turned his head to look out the window instead. The reflection in the glass showed the audience that Richie wasn’t able to keep the grin off of his face for more than a second or two at a time, however.
What is Methos doing? Joe asked himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he just made a pass at Richie. When the ride continued in comfortable silence, Joe managed to talk himself out of the disturbing thought. Methos making a pass at Richie — I must be out of my mind. I mean, I knew they’d play along, but they’d never go that far. Joe sighed with relief when the pair finally reached the zoo. Even as he scolded himself once more for letting his overactive imagination get the better of him, he saw Richie’s hand settle onto Methos’ back, guiding the other immortal through the turnstile at the zoo entrance. A casual gesture, but he couldn’t help agreeing with the customers whistling at the screen that there was something… intimate about it.
Joe sighed to himself, Richie and Methos are putting on a show for the camera, and they’ve even got me fooled. Feeling marginally better when Richie and Methos didn’t start holding hands on the way to the lion cage, he braced himself for what other torture the pair had in store for him.
Although Joe wanted to observe every facial expression and gesture of the couple on the screen, he found himself distracted by a pair of women watching the show from the end of the bar. The conversation coming across the television’s speakers seemed banal enough to Joe, but the two women seemed to burst into laughter at every other word. If Richie and Methos were drawn into the slightest physical contact, the women’s laughter was replaced by alternating exclamations of excitement and sighs of pleasure. They were acting as though Richie and Methos really were acting out some sort of mating ritual, which had Joe completely baffled.
The immortals were just walking around the zoo, feeding monkeys, petting elephants’ trunks, and talking. They shared some popcorn, discussed their mutual disinterest in football and movies — nothing suggestive, nothing with any innuendo that Joe could discern. It only went to show, he supposed, that women could find romance in anything.
He winced when “Therapist Joe” suggested that Adam’s sarcasm was intended to keep people from getting too close. He nearly groaned aloud when at one point it really appeared as though Richie was checking out “Adam’s” butt, and a thought bubble popped up next to Richie’s head saying, “Nice ass. If your jeans were as tight as mine, I could get a better look at it.” Joe looked hopefully at his watch when the show cut to commercial again, but it was only five after ten. Ten more minutes to go.
When the show returned to the air, Joe was relieved to see that it was time for dinner. With any luck, Richie and Methos would be so busy eating they’d keep their mouths shut and their hands to themselves. The sign for the restaurant came into view a second later, and Joe’s sense of impending doom increased. They were headed for a popular Indian restaurant; wine, candlelight, and finger food — just what the romance doctor ordered, unfortunately.
The immortal pair was just getting seated when a customer entering the bar asked Joe, “What show is this?”
“Blind Date,” Joe replied absently, his eyes riveted to the sight of the first bottle of wine being poured.
“That’s no Blind Date!” the customer exclaimed. “I see those two in that restaurant at least once a week.”
That got Joe’s attention. He turned to stare at the man, taking in the sleeveless denim jacket over a dirty white t-shirt, the colorful tatoo visible beneath the sleeves of the t-shirt, and the earring that dangled from his right ear. “You’ve seen those guys,” Joe pointed towards the immortal couple working their way through a second bottle of wine, “at that restaurant before?”
“Yeah, all the time.”
“Man, I know those two guys. I know they’ve never been there before.”
“Whatever you say,” the customer shrugged, “but it sure looks like the guys that are there every Tuesday night. Hard to forget a nose like that.”
“Everybody looks different on camera,” Joe suggested agreeably. “What can I get you?” he continued, eager to change the subject.
Joe handed the man a beer and turned his attention back to the TV. Watching Richie and Methos getting progressively more intoxicated, Joe wondered if the customer really had seen Richie and Methos out together before, then immediately rejected the idea. He would have known if Richie and Methos were seeing each other. From all reports, Richie and Methos had spent possibly a combined total of two hours together since they’d gotten into town the week before. Joe was relieved at that thought, until he noticed that Richie and Methos were leaving the restaurant and headed for the hot tub.
It wasn’t until the two women still giggling at the end of the bar started speculating about Speedos that it even occurred to Joe to worry about what Richie and Methos were going to wear in the hot tub. Did Methos even own a swimsuit?
Joe’s mind stopped whirling once the pair appeared on screen wearing relatively modest swimming trunks. Apparently even Methos was willing to make allowances for the public nature of their dip in the hot tub.
To the bartender’s further relief, Richie and Methos were seated on opposite sides of the hot tub. They continued the easy banter that had begun over dinner, but there wasn’t anything date-like about it.
Or was there?
It was hard to tell from the camera angle, but as the men relaxed into the tub, their legs seemed to tangle underwater. At first they were careful to move away at the slightest brush of leg against leg, but the touch seemed to be addicting, and it wasn’t long before accidental contact became deliberate caresses.
Caresses?
Like someone watching a train wreck, Joe was unable to tear his eyes from the increasingly sensual scene.
Richie’s head fell back against the rim of the hot tub and his eyes drifted closed as Methos’ toes stroked farther and farther up the inside of his leg. Methos’ head was gradually disappearing underwater as he stretched towards Richie to increase his reach. For a moment, all that was visible were eyes narrowed to dark slits and a small patch of forehead topped by spiky, wet hair, then he slipped completely beneath the surface.
Joe watched nervously to see exactly what Methos was doing, and he was not at all comforted when the ancient immortal resurfaced holding his swimming trunks in one hand.
Richie’s eyes mirrored Joe’s own wide stare, and his whole body stiffened. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“The trunks were a little... tight,” Methos explained easily.“ And since, as a historian, I know that baths like this were intended to be enjoyed without any clothes on at all, I decided to take them off.”
“Oh, so you’re just being historically correct, then?” Richie questioned, his laughter on the thin side, but still genuine.
“Yes, exactly,” Methos smirked. “You should try it, too, you know.”
“Going… Greek?” Richie gulped.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think so M... man,” Richie protested, just barely catching himself before nerves made him use the wrong name.
Joe closed his eyes against the sight of Methos lunging across the pool towards Richie, but he forced them back open when the women at the bar began squealing excitedly.
Methos’ right arm held Richie’s back flush against his chest, and his left hand worked furiously to divest a squirming, slippery Richie of his trunks.
Finally a pair of navy shorts floated to the surface. Richie struggled in Methos’ grip for a few seconds more, then he subsided into embarrassed silence. When Methos’ left arm simply joined his right around Richie’s chest, however, instead of pursuing the flesh it had bared, Richie relaxed into the embrace with a contented sigh.
“Doesn’t that feel better?” Joe heard Methos ask huskily a moment later.
“Yeah,” Richie agreed, his voice equally rough. Melting deeper into Methos’ arms, he turned slightly so his face was buried against ethos’ neck. His right hand captured Methos’ left one, and their fingers threaded together.
Joe began to feel like a voyeur intruding on a very private scene between the two men. They were completely oblivious to the television audience now, he was sure.
It also occurred to Joe as he watched Richie lift Methos’ hand to his lips and press a kiss on each knuckle, and as he saw Methos rub his cheek against Richie’s curls, that the position was a familiar one for them both. There was no shifting positions until they found the best fit, no awkwardness at finding angles instead of curves. Joe began to consider that the customer who claimed to have seen Richie and Methos out on dates before might not be mistaken at all.
The scene on the television screen shifted to the cab ride back to Richie’s apartment, and Joe’s lips quirked into a reluctant smile as he observed Richie and Methos, fully clothed once more, trying to keep their hands off of each other. Inevitably, though, conversation soon brought them knee to knee. Hands reached out instinctively to clasp a denim-clad thigh or a cotton-clad shoulder and lingered, then stayed longer still. Finally Methos stretched his arm across the back of the seat and Richie immediately slid into position against Methos’ shoulder.
Joe was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Richie and Methos had obviously been seeing each other for some time, and had kept that fact a secret from him, when the pair on the screen arrived at Richie’s apartment.
Richie unlocked his apartment door in silence, then turned slowly back to Methos. Joe held his breath as the redhead slid an arm around Methos’ waist and pulled him close for their first on-screen kiss. It was brief, but almost immediately Richie leaned back in for a second, more thorough attempt.
“Richie,” Methos sighed, trying to remind Richie that they had an audience, but he did not pull away.
“Stay,” Richie urged, taking Methos’ hand and tugging him gently towards the open doorway.
“I don’t…”
Richie stopped Methos’ words with fingers pressed against the lder man’s lips. “Stay,” he repeated, and this time Methos allowed Richie to pull him inside.
The blare of the show’s theme music as the scene shifted from Richie’s apartment to the studio startled Joe into breathing again. Annoyed now, rather than amused by the host’s witticisms, he waited impatiently for the next date to be announced.
“Richie said ‘Stay’, and he wasn’t kidding!” Roger Lodge exclaimed with grating cheerfulness. “He and Adam still haven’t left the apartment. Guess we don’t have to ask those two if they’ll be seeing each other again. It looks like they’ve definitely found their match. Let’s see if our next couple, Tasha and Naomi, will be as lucky.”
Customers approached the bar once more, allowing Joe to tune out the television. He poured drinks and made change, but his mind was on the couple still behind closed doors at Richie’s apartment.
Seeing them cuddle in the hot tub and in the van was one thing, but the kiss outside Richie’s door, coupled with the almost certain knowledge that it had not ended there, was a whole new shock to Joe’s system. Thank God he hadn’t invited MacLeod to watch the fiasco. It was going to take some very fast talking to explain just how Richie and Methos had ended up on the date in the first place, let alone that they were now lovers.
Richie and Methos.
Joe didn’t want to think about it anymore. There would be time enough for that once Richie and Methos emerged from their tryst and could offer some kind of explanation.
Tryst.
Shuddering at the reminder, Joe pasted a smile on his face and pushed aside everything except the routine of the bar for the rest of the night.
The traffic in the bar dwindled gradually, as it always did, and Joe found himself alone a few minutes before closing. Just when he started to consider closing a little early, the door creaked open and Richie and Methos walked in.
“Hi, Joe.” Richie spoke first.
Joe nodded, but kept on wiping down the bar. From the corner of his eye he saw Richie and Methos exchange glances, then the pair approached the counter.
“So, you saw the show tonight?” Richie asked, only a hint of nerves showing in his voice.
“Yeah, I saw it,” Joe acknowledged.
When the bartender did not elaborate, Methos spoke up. “What, no comment? I’m surprised. You usually have an opinion about everything.”
“Oh, I have an opinion!” Joe snapped. He took a deep breath, then continued more calmly. “What do you want me to say? Joke’s on me, right?”
“It wasn’t like that, Joe,” Richie protested.
“Then how was it, Richie? That sure as hell wasn’t a “blind” date. I’ve been the only blind one around here. You guys have been seeing each other for what, weeks? Months? But I didn’t have any idea.”
“What should we have done, Joe?” Methos spat impatiently. “Taken out an ad in the dailies? This is our business.”
“And not Watcher business,” Joe finished bitterly.
“Joe,” Methos groaned, “that’s not what I meant.”
“No?” the Watcher asked, his skepticism obvious. “That’s sure what it sounds like to me.”
Richie placed a restraining hand on Methos’ shoulder and took up the explanation himself. “Joe, we didn’t tell anybody.” His tone pleaded for Joe’s understanding. “We’re just barely getting it figured out ourselves. We couldn’t even begin to explain it to someone else.” Sensing that Joe was weakening, Richie continued earnestly, “It’s big, Joe. It’s important. We weren’t hiding it from you, we just.... I’m sorry, Joe.”
Joe stopped wiping and looked at Richie, then at Methos standing protectively next to him. Finally he sighed heavily and asked, “You two want a beer?”
Methos eyebrow arched. “You have to ask?” His tone was light, but something more serious shone in the hazel eyes when the ancient immortal quipped, “Confession’s thirsty work.”
A full smile spread across Joe’s face. He’d spent enough time around Methos to recognize the words for the almost-apology they were. He enjoyed making the Old Man squirm a bit, but it was the friendship behind the words that warmed him.
After taking a long drink of his beer, Methos saw Joe’s smile and decided it was time to do some interrogating of his own. “If you didn’t know that Richie and I were seeing each other, then why did you send us on that date, Joe?”
“It was just supposed to be a little joke,” Joe explained, squirming uncomfortably under Methos’ gaze. “You two have been giving me such a hard time about getting back into the dating scene, I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine.”
“Oh, a taste. Right,” Methos replied. “On national television.”
“Hey, I already said the joke was on me,” Joe laughed apologetically. He watched Methos share a sidelong glance with Richie, trailing a hand lightly from Richie’s nape, down his spine to the waistband of Richie’s jeans and back up again before returning to his beer. “This is serious for you two, isn’t it?” he asked the immortals.
After another long look at Richie, Methos turned to Joe and nodded. “It’s serious.”
Seeing Richie’s face light up at Methos’ words, Joe sighed for the thousandth time that night. “It’s gonna take some time to get used to this.”
“But… it’s okay?” Richie questioned hopefully.
“Yeah, Richie. It’s okay,” Joe confirmed.
How could it not be okay, he asked himself, when Methos couldn’t take his eyes off of Richie for more than a few seconds at a time? How could he not accept something that made Richie look happier, more at peace, than he’d ever seen the younger man look?
There would be chronicles to deal with, and they had to tell MacLeod eventually, but the more he looked at Richie and Methos together, the more Joe realized that it was much better than okay. It was perfect.