Methos blinked. He was reasonably certain he'd just been asked out on a date. By John Sheppard.
"I'm flattered," he started to reply. "But--"
"I'll see you tonight." Sheppard walked off without waiting for a reply. "Meet me in my office."
It was Methos' opinion that John Sheppard was a little too observant for his own good. He was trying to avoid the man, not date him.
He considered conveniently forgetting the invitation, but decided it would just be drawing unexpected attention, which with John Sheppard was just inviting trouble.
"Look," said Sheppard, once the door was shut behind them. "I know you're immortal."
Methos gaped at him for a second, then recovered. "Immortal, sir?"
Sheppard pulled back his wristband to reveal a Watcher tattoo, then snapped it back in place. "You brought a sword with you," he said. "Not exactly subtle."
Methos had removed his own Watcher tattoo long before joining SGC, but he'd also checked for any Watchers in the organization. "There aren't any Watchers in SGC."
"I quit," said Sheppard lazily.
"They don't let Watchers quit."
"They do when they get kidnapped by top-secret military projects," drawled Sheppard. "As far as the Watchers are concerned, I'm missing, presumed dead."
Methos decided to let it slide. "Did you just bring me in here to tell me that?"
"Not exactly. How old are you?"
"Old enough to know better," said Methos automatically.
"Old enough to know Ancient?" prompted Sheppard.
"No, that was a little before my time," said Methos, putting on a sheepish grin. "I learned it later in life."
Sheppard watched him for a moment. "You know, a memo was sent to all the Watchers that the researcher assigned to the Methos chronicle, one Adam Pierson, was now a known immortal." Sheppard's lazy grin didn't waver. "Also that he was believed to actually be Methos and any contact with him was to be immediately reported."
Methos took a moment to curse Joe Dawson, Amy Zoll and the entire Watcher organization for being entirely too efficient. Bringing back Adam Pierson and his variety of skills and useful degrees had backfired properly this time.
"So," said Sheppard. "Now that we've cleared all that up. How old are you?"
"Look," said Methos. "I know you have lots of questions. If I'd just met me, I know what I'd be asking. But I really can't tell you anything more than you already know."
"You're over five thousand years old."
"I'm just a guy," said Methos. "I like beer, I hate baseball, I keep a diary, I don't like to fight but I will if I have to. I don't know the secrets to the universe."
"Huh," said Sheppard. He leaned back on his chair and studied Methos for a moment. "Wait, you don't like baseball?" he said, eyes widening in affected horror.
"I'll tolerate it if it involves enough beer."
Sheppard grinned at him. "I'm told the Athosians have a brew they've been trying to perfect. You should check it out, if you haven't already."
Methos had checked it out, actually, and politeness made him attempt diplomacy. "It... wasn't to my taste."
It seemed the interrogation was over... at least for now. Methos hadn't yet met a mortal (or an immortal, for that matter) who would accept "I don't know" as an answer to the secrets of the universe.
"We should do this again some time," said Methos. "You bring beer, I'll see what ancient wisdom I can dig up."
"Yeah?" said Sheppard. "How about tomorrow?"
"It's a date."