Who’d have thought a one part story needed separate notes? Oh well, here they are. Although this is really the first installment of what is supposed to be a trilogy revolving around Richie showing up at Methos’ house in London a couple months after the episode we’ll call Archangel, since we’re going to use the alternate ending for this universe. This is called London Bridge , because it serves as a way of connecting Before I Go with the rest of what’s coming up. Emma calls this a vignette — it’s mostly Richie and Methos hanging out, and just barely hints at any of the actual plot-related conflict coming up. Mostly it exists as a separate story rather than as part of a larger one because the muses wanted it that way. Go figure. I said universe earlier, but other than using the ending of AA from the script that should have happened there really isn’t anything alternate about it. Why the boyz wanted to start playing with canon, I have no idea, but I’m just the writer, so I don’t really have to understand, I guess. The way this looks at the moment, this is the very, very beginning of what has been the Fun & Games universe that I introduced with Video Games and TicTacToe. It even looks like everything else I’ve written, except for RA of course, will fit into the timeline somewhere. Surprised the heck out of me, but I should have known the muses weren’t just giving me random stories. So the characters are all as you know and love (or strongly dislike) them and all of the familiar stuff happens/has happened to them. This is still pre-slash. We’ll get to the slash in the next part, I promise. Post-AA angst and slash — the muses have spoken, lol. Now we’ll see how fast they actually write it. Oh, for those of you who have seen it, when I think of Methos’ house for this story, it’s basically the house we see the outside of in Endgame. A huge, enormous, really big thank you to Emma for helping me figure out that this was an honest to god Universe, with a (hawk spit) timeline and everything. Thanks, too, for checking the weather, and for betaing, and all of the other great stuff you do. Any remaining mistakes are all mine. The characters aren’t mine, I’m not making any money off them. Feedback really encourages the muses, so please send lots and lots. (n.memmott@gte.net) Enjoy!

I n his parking spot across the street from Methos’ house, Richie started having second thoughts. Maybe dropping in on the old guy unannounced wasn’t such a great idea. Richie hadn’t even seen the ancient immortal since that night at the abandoned race track, and the last time they’d spent any real time together was before Methos had left Seacouver with Alexa.

Richie wasn’t entirely sure what impulse had prompted him to call Joe and get Methos’ address and phone number here in London, or why, having gotten the information, he hadn’t simply called Methos before coming over.

On second thought, that he did know. He’d decided not to come. There hadn’t seemed to be any point in bothering Methos when he wasn’t going to be in town more than a couple of days anyway. Once he was on the road, though, he’d found himself riding over here in spite of his intentions to the contrary.

It wasn’t any use sitting here on the street, though. He had to decide — either go up or ride on. Richie hesitated for one more deep breath, then set the kickstand down on his bike and dismounted. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he trudged up the stairs to Methos’ front door. Predictably, the buzz washed over him halfway up. Great. Methos was home.

When he reached the top, Richie reluctantly pulled one of his hands out and knocked gingerly on the door. He barely had a chance to take a careful step away from the portal before it opened to reveal familiar aquiline features.

“Richie?” Methos asked, surprised. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Richie hastened to assure him. “I’m sorry to just drop in like this. I was just passing through, and thought I would say ‘hi’ while I was here.”

Methos shrugged. “Come on in, then.” Opening the door wider, he leaned his sword back into the corner and walked into the kitchen. “Do you want a beer?”

“Uh, Methos, it’s ten o’clock in the morning,” Richie pointed out.

“Already?!” Methos returned, acting horrified. “I’m falling way behind, then. I’ve only had five so far today.”

Richie rolled his eyes and laughed in spite of himself.

The elder immortal opened the fridge, grabbed a beer for himself, and scanned the rest of the fridge’s contents. “Well, if beer at this hour offends your dainty sensibilities, then your choices are tap water, which I don’t recommend, and this lovely, green, unlabeled bottle of what is most likely some kind of carbonated beverage.” Methos paused, considering. “Of course, it could be beer. To tell you the truth, it’s been in there so long, I don’t really remember what it is anymore.”

Weighing his options carefully for all of two seconds Richie said, “I’ll have a beer, thanks.”

“Smart boy,” Methos smirked, handing Richie a bottle. Prying the top off of his own beer and taking a drink, he gestured with his free hand towards the living room. “Have a seat,” he offered.

“On what?” Richie asked, amused, as he searched for the furniture that had apparently been buried in pile after pile of books.

“Sorry about the mess,” Methos apologized around another swig of beer. “I was looking for this reference to the… Never mind. Just pick a chair and set the books down anywhere.”

After they had unearthed a chair, and a spot on the couch for Methos to sprawl, the two men drank silently for a few moments. It occurred to Methos that there was something very comfortable about sitting in his living room sharing a beer with Richie. As he watched his unexpected guest, however, it became clear that Richie had something on his mind. The temptation was strong to simply ignore whatever it was until Richie brought it up, but his instincts told him that leaving Richie to deal with it on his own would probably end up being more trouble down the road than just getting it out into the open now.

When Richie’s empty bottle hit the nearby end table at the same time as his own, Methos decided it was time to get down to business. “So, what brings you to London?” he questioned casually, as though Richie showing up on his doorstep was an everyday occurrence, and not something that hadn’t happened in over a year

“Nothing special,” Richie hedged, wondering when the nerves he’d battled back at the door had found their way inside. “I’ve been here a few times. I like it.”

“Are you going to be in town very long?” Methos pressed, keeping his tone light.

“Just a couple of days,” Richie answered, hoping he sounded casual rather than tense. “I was thinking about going up to Dublin this weekend.”

You’re just a fount of information, aren’t you, Kid? Methos asked Richie silently. He considered pushing more forcefully, but there didn’t seem to be any point. If Richie was in any danger, then Joe or MacLeod would have contacted him already. If Richie had come looking for advice from the ‘Methos: The World’s Oldest Man’, then Methos supposed he could dredge up something suitably sage and wise for the occasion. If it was something else — well, he was just going to have to wait it out.

Donning an encouraging smile, he said, “Sounds like a plan.”

When the interrogation he’d been expecting didn’t materialize, Richie found himself starting to relax. Mac, and even Joe, would pester him for ages, so more and more often now when he didn’t feel like talking he just stayed out of their way. Being questioned like a teenager who’d been caught out after curfew tended to piss him off, and there had been enough hard feelings of late.

In contrast to the well-intentioned, but often annoying duo back in Seacouver, Methos was still draped lazily over the couch cushions. He’d accepted Richie’s presence with very little fanfare, and other than a few polite questions seemed content to let Richie mind his own business. Allowing the last of the tension to flow out of his body, Richie decided to enjoy the moment. He leaned back in his chair and settled his right ankle over his left knee before taking another look at the stacks of books cluttering up the room.

“What did you do, check out the whole library?” he teased, tilting his head towards one of the larger piles.

“Not exactly,” Methos replied dryly. “Believe it or not, Kid, these are all my books.”

Richie looked around the living room. “Where do you keep them? There’s only one bookshelf in here, and it’s already full.”

Levering himself up, Methos stood and said, “Come on, I’ll show you. Might as well get the grand tour since you’re here.”

The dining room and kitchen came first, then the library with its shelves that extended from floor to ceiling. The tour continued, revealing two studies, four or five bathrooms in various sizes, and six bedrooms. By the time they reached the small, but well-tended garden just off of the sleeping porch, the hot tub, and finally the workout room, Richie somehow knew that he was seeing Methos’ house, and not just a temporary residence for a role the man was playing. It wasn’t just that the old guy was so obviously at home here, or even that the place looked lived in. Everywhere Richie looked there was a blend of modern and antique, of light and dark, of the classical and the absurd, that seemed perfectly suited to the man he had only gotten glimpses of before now.

“This is a great place,” Richie enthused when they returned to the kitchen for more beer. “It must be nice to have somewhere you can really live. You know, someplace where you can forget you’re immortal and just be yourself.”

Methos paused in the act of lifting his beer to his lips. ‘Himself’ was someone he hadn’t tried to be in a long time. There was no denying, though, that this place was as close as he ever came to being his ‘real’ self, if there was such a thing. Strange that Richie would sense that so clearly, he thought. Methos stalled for a moment, putting the lip of the bottle to his lips and taking a long swallow before admitting, “I like it here.”

Tilting his head to one side and looking carefully at the young man beside him, Methos asked, “Where do you go to ‘be yourself,’ as you put it?”

Richie considered the question seriously, surprised when the answer didn’t come immediately to mind. Finally he replied, “Seacouver’s home, but it’s hard to just live there with Mac around, bringing the game into everything. It doesn’t help, either, that I half expect him to take a swing at my neck every time I look at him.” Richie’s eyes flickered briefly to Methos’ sword that was still leaning against the wall before he continued, “I love Paris, but I’m always looking over my shoulder there, too. Anyplace else I’ve ever gone to, I’ve gone there to get away from myself, not to be myself. So, I don’t know. I guess I don’t have anyplace like this.”

“You’ll find your place,” Methos assured him quietly. “You’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” Richie agreed. “Thanks.”

When he felt the moment had gone on long enough, Methos set his empty bottle on the counter with a thud and asked, “Are you hungry?”

At the mention of food, Richie’s stomach growled loudly. Methos laughed. “That answers that question. Let’s go find something to eat.”

“Sounds good,” Richie assented gratefully. “Will we have to drive? I brought my bike, which is fine for me, but for two...”

“No, we can walk,” Methos answered, hunting for a pair of shoes.

“Cool,” Richie nodded, making his way towards the door. He paused awkwardly when he reached Methos’ sword.

The older man arched a brow at Richie, but walked by the weapon without stopping. “It’s too bloody hot for a coat,” he explained, reminding himself that, for London, nineteen was practically a heat wave. He wasn’t really lying, just exaggerating for Richie’s benefit.

“You aren’t worried about running into another immortal?”

“I didn’t say I was unarmed,” Methos pointed out.

For a moment Richie just stood watching the older man walk away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt safe enough to go anywhere without his sword, even if he had another weapon on him. Usually he could feel the next challenge breathing down the back of his neck before the last quickening had even settled in his body.

“Richie, are you coming or not?” he heard Methos call from the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I’m right behind you,” he returned, closing the door and setting his thoughts aside. There was plenty of time to take them up again — after lunch.

“O h, man,” Richie groaned, falling into a chair. “You said a walk, but I had no idea you meant seeing the whole city in one day.”

“That wasn’t even close to the whole city, Kid,” Methos laughed. “I’m saving that for tomorrow.”

“You gonna show me the sights, Old Timer?” Richie grinned.

“I can probably find a few places that your average tour guide doesn’t know about,” Methos offered. “If you want.”

“I’d like that,” Richie replied, surprised to realize it was the truth. “I’d like that a lot.”

Methos inclined his head once in acknowledgment. “Look,” he suggested as a thought struck him, “you might as well stay here tonight. We’ll order in for dinner, finish off the beer, and then we can get an early start in the morning.”

Part of Richie was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to find out that Joe had asked Methos to keep and eye on him, or that Methos was helping him as a way to butter up MacLeod, but the chance that Methos’ friendship was genuine made the other immortal’s offer impossible to refuse. “Sure,” the young immortal agreed. “Sounds good to me.” He settled deeper into the comfortable chair, able to relax now that he knew he wouldn’t be back on the road first thing in the morning. He fully expected that the restlessness that had driven him all over Europe would have him riding out soon enough, but he would enjoy this temporary peace while it lasted.

© 2001 Nikki Memmott