A/N I've had this up on LJ for a couple of days but I thought I'd put it up here too.
When Duncan first met Methos the world's oldest Immortal had told him 'Mi casa es su casa' however time had proven the opposite to be closer to the truth. After five years of an irregular and uninvited occasional houseguest he had grown used to arriving home to an immortal buzz and a flat in various degrees of disorder, this however was a new low. He glanced between the stranger and the scrawled note he had thrust under Duncan's nose after Duncan had started asking questions with the point of his sword.
An old friend needed somewhere to stay so I told him to make himself at home. Play nicely I'd rather both your heads were still attached when I return.
p.s How's your Aramaic? He's been buried for the last millenia or so, I've left a dictionary but it may take a while for him to catch up. He speaks very bad Attic Greek or Eygptian if you get desperate, but I'm afraid he doesn't speak Latin.
From almost their first meeting Methos had made an art of pushing his welcome but inviting a strange immortal into Duncan's house was definitely new. He looked at his guest who was dressed only in a towel, and who nodded to him briefly before disappearing back into his bathroom.
As he could hardly kick some immortal who spoke no English and had no understanding of the Modern world out into the street alone, he set to looking for coffee equipment and grumbling about Methos. When Duncan had found an Ancient buried immortal she turned out to be a little crazy, but at least she had conveniently picked up English somehow whilst dead for 2000 years. He was still trying to decide just what Methos could do to repay the extremely large favour he now owed when his phone rang.
"Ah Mac, change of plans I'm afraid. I have to leave town, but I found a place for David." Methos' cultured drawl informed him
"Who?" Duncan asked mystified
"David, your houseguest Macleod, please try to keep up. Anyway can you bring him to St. Julien le Pauvre, one of Darius' students will meet you there." Methos sounded so casual he almost made it seem as if there was nothing unusual in asking someone to just drop everything and fly to France.
"You want me to take some immortal I have just met, who has no passport and doesn't speak any modern language to Paris?" Duncan could hear the incredulity in his voice. He was beginning to wonder if there were hidden cameras filming his every move and a TV host about to spring out from behind the couch.
"That's great Mac, I knew I could count on you." Methos said quickly before Duncan could object.
From behind him he could hear his guest still in the bathroom, talking to himself in some language Duncan didn't recognise gradually getting louder and more distressed.
Part of him wanted to investigate whilst his flat was still standing, but the rest of him wanted Methos to take responsibility for his own mess. "But Methos…" Now he was actually whining, that's not right Macleods don't whine. He could hear a public announcement in the background from the phone receiver.
Methos cut him off "Look Mac I have to go I'll see you later. Just don't tell anyone where I am." a dialling tone was the only listener to any of his further complaints.
He put the phone back in its cradle banging his head against the wall in frustration, if he did know where Methos was he'd take out an advert, just to get even. He turned to see water coming from beneath the bathroom door. Forget favours Methos would have to do his bidding for the next century at least to make up for this and pay for a new bathroom.