"Heard it Through the Grapevine" Methos and Eliot Spencer gen
For lferion
rated: gen
Eliot Spencer and Methos
Beta: spoonlessone
Methos hadn’t wanted to go to Boston. There was nothing in Boston that interested him for even a moment, but he’d been summoned there by MacLeod, so here he was. He still wasn’t sure why MacLeod had sent him that message, and he had no idea why he hadn’t been there to meet him, but sooner or later he’d find out, and one thing he wasn’t short of was time.
He’d left MacLeod a message on his cell to say where he was, and now he was sitting in McRory’s bar, drinking a very nice microbrew, courtesy of Samuel Adams, and he was enjoying himself immensely, watching the drama unfolding before his eyes.
A handsome black man was making puppy eyes at a completely oblivious blonde, who was intent on eating every peanut in the place, and who, when her companion tried to reach for a handful, had pulled out a serviceable knife and driven it down towards the marauding hand so swiftly that Methos had expected to see fingers roll across the table.
He was not prepared for anyone to pay attention to him, and so it came as a surprise to him when a short, strongly built young man with long hair that fell in luxurious waves around his face took a seat beside him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Dr. Pierson?” said the man. Methos frowned.
“Yes. I’m Adam Pierson.” Maybe this was someone with a message from MacLeod. “And you are…?”
“My name is Spencer.” The voice was soft, but Methos could tell that menace surrounded him. “Tell me, Dr. Pierson, do you know a man named Damian Moreau?”
Methos pursed his lips. “Moreau… Moreau. Hmm… I don’t think so. Why do you ask?” He signaled for another beer and turned to face his companion.
“Because we hear on the grapevine that he’s looking for you.” The man called Spencer gestured with his head across the bar, and the couple Methos had been watching earlier looked up and rose to their feet to come across the bar towards them.
“Dr. Pierson doesn’t know Moreau,” murmured Spencer.
“He knows you.” The black man who had been attempting to poach peanuts offered his hand to Methos, who shook it, observing as he did so that there was a complete lack of knife wounds in it. “I’m Alec Hardison, and what Eliot here is trying to tell you is that there’s a bad man lookin’ for you.”
“A bad man?” Methos smirked. “Why would this bad man be looking for me? And what makes him so bad, anyway?”
“We don’t know that yet,” murmured Eliot. “But Hardison here broke into his big rival’s account and found a bunch of stuff relating to you. We just thought it would be good to warn you.”
“Yeah. Anything that Chaos is involved in is bad news.” Hardison nodded. “He’s working for Moreau. I’ve looked into Moreau, because he’s a person of interest to my company, but man, I gotta tell you he’s a weird one.”
“Weird? How do you mean?” Methos looked between the two men, one eyebrow raised. “Do you have a photograph of him by any chance?”
“Betcha ass,” grinned Hardison. He pulled out an iPad and tapped on it, then passed it over to Methos, revealing a lean, handsome dark haired visage that Methos recognized instantly.”
“Blaise Pascal,” he muttered. “Now what would you want with me?”
“He was suggesting to my pal Colin Mason -he likes to call himself Chaos - that he should trick you into coming here so you can meet. That’s all I know.” Hardison shrugged. “And now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to my best girl over there.”
“Sure. Watch out for the knife,” smirked Methos.
“Theirs is a love/hate relationship,” said Eliot, straight faced. “They love each other, and I hate watching ‘em pussyfooting around and not getting together.”
“I’m sure they’ll work it out,” murmured Methos. “Excuse me, but I need to buy myself a ticket to Katmandu immediately.”
“Katmandu?” Eliot raised his eyebrows. “Overrated. I was there in 2006. They have a terrible justice system.”
“The idea is not to get into that kind of situation. Don’t get noticed, and then the justice situation need not apply.” Methos’s grin was expansive. “Believe me; I’ve avoided more confrontations than you could possibly imagine, and I’m still here.”
“You run away?” Eliot’s tone didn’t change, but it was obvious that he disapproved.
“Got it in one,” nodded Methos. “And I hate to be a party pooper, but Katmandu is lovely at this time of year.”
“You know, we could deal with Moreau for you without you having to scram out of the country?” Eliot met Methos’s eyes, ice blue boring into deeper hazel. “Why don’t you stick around and give us any information you might have which would help us?”
“Us?” The eyebrows went up again, and Methos was smiling as he gazed over to where Hardison and his blonde bombshell were talking in an animated manner. “Who is ‘us’?”
“Why don’t I introduce you to the Leverage team?” asked Eliot, rising to his feet and beckoning for him to follow. “I think you’re gonna like what we offer.”
rated: gen
Eliot Spencer and Methos
Beta: spoonlessone
Methos hadn’t wanted to go to Boston. There was nothing in Boston that interested him for even a moment, but he’d been summoned there by MacLeod, so here he was. He still wasn’t sure why MacLeod had sent him that message, and he had no idea why he hadn’t been there to meet him, but sooner or later he’d find out, and one thing he wasn’t short of was time.
He’d left MacLeod a message on his cell to say where he was, and now he was sitting in McRory’s bar, drinking a very nice microbrew, courtesy of Samuel Adams, and he was enjoying himself immensely, watching the drama unfolding before his eyes.
A handsome black man was making puppy eyes at a completely oblivious blonde, who was intent on eating every peanut in the place, and who, when her companion tried to reach for a handful, had pulled out a serviceable knife and driven it down towards the marauding hand so swiftly that Methos had expected to see fingers roll across the table.
He was not prepared for anyone to pay attention to him, and so it came as a surprise to him when a short, strongly built young man with long hair that fell in luxurious waves around his face took a seat beside him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Dr. Pierson?” said the man. Methos frowned.
“Yes. I’m Adam Pierson.” Maybe this was someone with a message from MacLeod. “And you are…?”
“My name is Spencer.” The voice was soft, but Methos could tell that menace surrounded him. “Tell me, Dr. Pierson, do you know a man named Damian Moreau?”
Methos pursed his lips. “Moreau… Moreau. Hmm… I don’t think so. Why do you ask?” He signaled for another beer and turned to face his companion.
“Because we hear on the grapevine that he’s looking for you.” The man called Spencer gestured with his head across the bar, and the couple Methos had been watching earlier looked up and rose to their feet to come across the bar towards them.
“Dr. Pierson doesn’t know Moreau,” murmured Spencer.
“He knows you.” The black man who had been attempting to poach peanuts offered his hand to Methos, who shook it, observing as he did so that there was a complete lack of knife wounds in it. “I’m Alec Hardison, and what Eliot here is trying to tell you is that there’s a bad man lookin’ for you.”
“A bad man?” Methos smirked. “Why would this bad man be looking for me? And what makes him so bad, anyway?”
“We don’t know that yet,” murmured Eliot. “But Hardison here broke into his big rival’s account and found a bunch of stuff relating to you. We just thought it would be good to warn you.”
“Yeah. Anything that Chaos is involved in is bad news.” Hardison nodded. “He’s working for Moreau. I’ve looked into Moreau, because he’s a person of interest to my company, but man, I gotta tell you he’s a weird one.”
“Weird? How do you mean?” Methos looked between the two men, one eyebrow raised. “Do you have a photograph of him by any chance?”
“Betcha ass,” grinned Hardison. He pulled out an iPad and tapped on it, then passed it over to Methos, revealing a lean, handsome dark haired visage that Methos recognized instantly.”
“Blaise Pascal,” he muttered. “Now what would you want with me?”
“He was suggesting to my pal Colin Mason -he likes to call himself Chaos - that he should trick you into coming here so you can meet. That’s all I know.” Hardison shrugged. “And now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to my best girl over there.”
“Sure. Watch out for the knife,” smirked Methos.
“Theirs is a love/hate relationship,” said Eliot, straight faced. “They love each other, and I hate watching ‘em pussyfooting around and not getting together.”
“I’m sure they’ll work it out,” murmured Methos. “Excuse me, but I need to buy myself a ticket to Katmandu immediately.”
“Katmandu?” Eliot raised his eyebrows. “Overrated. I was there in 2006. They have a terrible justice system.”
“The idea is not to get into that kind of situation. Don’t get noticed, and then the justice situation need not apply.” Methos’s grin was expansive. “Believe me; I’ve avoided more confrontations than you could possibly imagine, and I’m still here.”
“You run away?” Eliot’s tone didn’t change, but it was obvious that he disapproved.
“Got it in one,” nodded Methos. “And I hate to be a party pooper, but Katmandu is lovely at this time of year.”
“You know, we could deal with Moreau for you without you having to scram out of the country?” Eliot met Methos’s eyes, ice blue boring into deeper hazel. “Why don’t you stick around and give us any information you might have which would help us?”
“Us?” The eyebrows went up again, and Methos was smiling as he gazed over to where Hardison and his blonde bombshell were talking in an animated manner. “Who is ‘us’?”
“Why don’t I introduce you to the Leverage team?” asked Eliot, rising to his feet and beckoning for him to follow. “I think you’re gonna like what we offer.”