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He wondered what the woman had done to convince his friend to participate in such a cheap gimmick. And why hadn't he been told? He slipped a copy of the flashy paperback into the stack of books he was carrying and paid for his selections, eager to escape the mob of adoring "fans" crowding around the author.

At the dojo, he was pleased to see that MacLeod wasn't in the small office. When he had left earlier the other man had been tearing apart the kitchen sink. Methos had slipped away quietly, preferring to spend his morning in some less strenuous pursuit. Obviously the project wasn't going well. During business hours, the Highlander usually stayed downstairs but Methos preferred to confront him with this little discovery in private.

"Where have you been?" MacLeod sounded annoyed, he had expected Methos to help him fix the faucet. Methos took a moment to watch him grappling with the stubborn pipes. MacLeod was lousy with plumbing but manual labor suited him. His muscles looked good, bulging under the tight tee-shirt.

"This is a good look for you MacLeod. The primitive laborer at his duties. Watching you, I feel like the lord of the manor, quite feudal."

"I'd prefer someone less feudal and more physical. You didn't say where you've been."

"At the bookstore. You don't seem to have made much progress with that. Why don't you get someone in?" Methos ignored the irate look. "I made quite a discovery this morning. Listen to this." He opened the flashy paperback and read:

"As he strode into the room, she felt her knees weakening. The dark eyes that roved over her were the color of midnight, his muscles as hard as the highland hills that bore him."

"Not exactly Shakespeare," MacLeod responded dryly, obviously wondering why he was being treated to a reading of this slush. "Doesn't sound like your usual reading. Are you telling me you've been hiding a secret taste for bodice ripping? Or do you want to play dress-up again?"

"This is historical," Methos told him slyly. "Based upon the life of a real person."

MacLeod grunted and turned his attention back to the faucet. "Sounds like a damned fool." Methos chuckled quietly. Leaning against the counter, he continued reading aloud.

"A mane of flowing hair to rival Lancelot's charger. This was the man that Father had hired to protect her. This barbarian, this smoky-eyed Scot, this Duncan MacLeod."

"WHAT!!" MacLeod jumped out of the way of the spraying faucet and stared at him in shock. "What the hell is that?" He grabbed the book out of Methos' hands and checked the text himself, suspecting a trick. "Who wrote this? Who the hell is Carolyn Marsh?"

"I thought you'd tell me." Methos grinned at him, envying the droplets of water caressing the tanned cheeks. "One of these days you really must remember to make a list of all of your former lovers who might show up unexpectedly. Running into one without warning can be such a shock."

"How did you find this?" MacLeod was suspicious.

"The author was reading it to a group of *fans*," was the sarcastic response. "Imagine how fascinated I was to hear your ...charms...described in loving detail to a group of titillated housewives. The author was quite lyrical on the subject. Tell me, what *is* your secret with women?"

"You don't think I *know* this woman? " MacLeod was offended. "I've never met her in my life!"

"So you say," was the tart response. "Personally, I can't imagine how you've been able to keep track of them all without a computer. I could set you up a spreadsheet if you like. Cross- reference birthdays and anniversaries, favorite sexual fantasies...."

He yelped as MacLeod dropped the book and grabbed his shirt front. It was possible to push the Highlander too far but Methos found the results were frequently worth the trouble. In fact, MacLeod-baiting was rapidly becoming one of his favorite pastimes, since the Highlander's taste in revenge was normally quite physical.

He was well-rewarded for his efforts this time. Backing him against the counter, Duncan smiled wickedly. "Fantasies? Are you talking about theirs or mine?"

"Theirs, of course. I know yours. In fact," he licked his lips and smiled at MacLeod, "I can tell you how to make yours come true. For a price."

"A price?" Duncan raised an eyebrow and smiled at him invitingly. Resting his hands on Methos' shoulders, he began to massage his neck gently. "What's it going to cost me? And how can I be sure you really know what I want?"

Methos felt his stomach tightening as the warm hands rubbed his neck firmly. "Trust me, MacLeod. I know."

"Tell me. What do I want?"

Methos grinned. "A plumber."

MacLeod looked startled and, to Methos' disappointment, his hands stopped their intriguing movement. "A plumber? It's just a faucet, Methos. I'm perfectly capable of dealing with a kitchen sink."

"Not based on the evidence. You've been working on it for hours without getting anywhere." Methos wasn't surprised when MacLeod pulled away in irritation. "Admit it MacLeod. You're lousy with plumbing."

"I am not!" Turning his back on Methos, Duncan picked up the discarded wrench and continued wrestling with the stubborn pipes.

Methos promised himself.

As they headed toward the office a short time later, Methos thought about the author. Maybe someone had given her MacLeod's name and description to use in her book, trying to draw the Highlander's attention. In any case, this situation was too tempting to resist and he continued his teasing.

"She got the eyes sort of right but 'muscles as hard as the Highland hills'?" He rolled his eyes skeptically. "I don't know about that." He pinched MacLeod's butt experimentally.

"Methos!" MacLeod jumped and slapped his hand away in surprise. "Do you mind? This is a public place!"

"Yeah, and now you're public property." Methos grinned wickedly. "So, what's the problem?"

MacLeod ignored the teasing. "Where did you say you were?"

"At that new bookstore, downtown."

"What were you doing there? I didn't think you were interested in anything written in the last 500 years."

"Don't be such a snob MacLeod. There's more to life than plumbing. Some of the world's greatest authors have been published in this century."

"Like who?"

"James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway," Methos stopped and pretended to think. "Carolyn Marsh."

MacLeod dropped into a chair and looked at him in disgust. He seemed to consider throwing something before he decided it would be more dignified to ignore the remark.

"Who the hell is Carolyn Marsh?" He repeated the question in frustration, staring at the photo on the book jacket and trying to remember her face.

"One of your many conquests?" The suggestion was less than helpful. "You can't imagine how surprised I was to hear you'd been hiding such a delightful adventure from me. I'd love to hear the details. I'll admit Carolyn Marsh didn't *look* like your type, but..."

"You don't think I'd tell some mortal about my life?"

"You have before, especially women. Usually women. In fact, MacLeod, you are surrounded by people who know who you are. Have you thought about putting your life story on a tee-shirt? Think of how much time you'd save."

"I haven't told any romance novelists!"

"Well someone you told obviously told her and now you are a bestseller, baby. Just think you could be the next Fabio! You could have your own calendar, a workout video, maybe even a line of lingerie. Tell me MacLeod, do you like garters and stockings, or are you more the 'leather and lace' type?"

"Not funny, Methos." MacLeod threw the book on the desk in disgust. "This isn't even close to the way it happened."

"The way it happened? You mean this *is* a true story?"

"Not exactly. I mean," Duncan looked embarrassed. "There was something...but not the way she described it."

"I can hardly wait to hear all about it." Methos sat down and waited patiently.

Awkwardly, MacLeod described the meeting with the young woman and her insistence that Coventry was attempting to ravish her. He also gave Coventry's version, that the woman was a cheap whore who had stolen his money Methos' laughter made him squirm as he admitted that she had stolen his horse even as he had fought to save her *honor* from her pursuer.

Methos was entertained. "Well, what happened? After she stole your horse, I mean? Did you and Coventry continue dueling to protect the lady's honor?"

"No, we didn't," MacLeod was irritated. "Coventry still had his horse, and I still had my money. He agreed to let me ride with him to the next village if I shared what I had with him."

"Well?" Methos looked at MacLeod expectantly.

"Well, what?"

"Don't stop there, this is just getting interesting. Did you share what you had with him?"

"No!" MacLeod looked outraged, then smiled reluctantly. "Besides, he said I needed a bath."

"A bath? You should have taken him up on the offer. Lots of possibilities there."

"Possibilities?" MacLeod looked at him suspiciously.

"Well, you *did* owe him an apology didn't you? You could have offered to wash his back for him. Or something."

"Methos!" The Highlander looked quickly toward the dojo to see if anyone in the other room was listening.

Glancing over his shoulder, Methos stopped laughing for another reason. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

"What's she doing here?" The joke forgotten, MacLeod's voice was sharp and wary.

Methos watched the woman crossing the dojo, noting the way she looked over the men exercising in the room. "Shopping?" He followed MacLeod out to meet the woman, bristling with suspicion.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" MacLeod's voice was polite, but not welcoming.

Her response was as gushing as her written prose. "Please, just tell me that you're Duncan MacLeod."

Duncan looked surprised. "OK, I'm Duncan MacLeod."

"But you're perfect. Just perfect"

Methos watched in irritation as the woman rubbed her hands over MacLeod's broad chest. He coughed meaningfully, snapping MacLeod out of his trance. The Highlander backed up a step and looked at her questioningly.

"MacLeod, this is Carolyn Marsh."

"Do I know you?" She looked at Methos in surprise.

"I saw your book signing this morning," he answered politely.

"Oh!" She turned away, dismissing him. "You know, I have *so* many fans. Just another face in the crowd."

Methos wasn't going to take that. "Actually, I chose the Aristotle."

She ignored the comment and took MacLeod's arm, smiling at him possessively. The Highlander smiled back foolishly.

Through the rest of the conversation in the dojo and the one that followed in Joe's bar, Methos occupied himself by plotting various hideous fates for Carolyn Marsh, who persisted in treating him like an unwelcome intruder.

When Duncan was more than usually smug, Methos amused himself with less hideous but much more satisfying ideas for revenge on him as well. Methos could tell MacLeod was imagining himself the hero of folk tales all over the world.

Finally even MacLeod's inbred chivalry rebelled against the woman's schemes. Not surprisingly, she continued to try and persuade him.

"Look, I've seen your 'dobro' or whatever you call it and I've seen dumpsters with better facilities."

Methos added fuel to the flames. "It may not look like much, but it suits him. Trust me. Besides, the loft above it is great. You should see the plumbing."

"Well look I know you need the cash, so what's the deal here?" She ignored him and directed her appeal to MacLeod.

"What would it take for you to get off my back?" He heard the surrender in MacLeod's voice in disbelief.

"Come to the party my publisher is throwing, just give it a try. If you don't like it, I'm gone."

MacLeod thought for a moment. "OK, one time, one party. No publicity, no press, no pictures. That's the deal."

"OK, deal." She was obviously reluctant.

Methos knew that it would take more than one unpublicized appearance at a party to convince her to give up the idea of using the handsome MacLeod as a living, breathing advertisement for her books. After giving MacLeod directions to the party and a warning not to be late, she left. They had about two hours before MacLeod's "command performance" as Methos called it.

The two men headed back to the loft in silence. Methos had a lot to say but he didn't intend to be interrupted.

"You really are an idiot, do you know that MacLeod?" Throwing open the refrigerator, Methos grabbed a beer. "Could you consider, just once, maybe, using an alias? Didn't you think anyone would notice *Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod" showing up again and again for 400 years?"

"I didn't think about it," Duncan answered defensively. "You don't believe I was *expecting* people to make up stories about me?"

"I believe you didn't think," Methos snapped. "That's obvious!" Stalking up to the Highlander, he fought the urge to grab him and shake some sense into his thick skull. "All of those stories about the great Duncan MacLeod, and you just sat there, eating it up. I'm surprised you didn't offer to host an autograph session or agree to have your picture put on a billboard!"

Duncan backed away cautiously. "Now you're being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous! I'm being ridiculous!" You're about to become the most famous Immortal in history and you think I'm being ridiculous because I'm a little concerned?"

"A little concerned? You're acting as though I hired this woman to write about me. I'm the victim here, remember that?"

"No you're not, MacLeod. The only thing you're the victim of is your own lack of foresight." Methos threw himself on the couch. "The real victim here is me."

"You?" MacLeod was incredulous. "What makes you the victim?"

Methos ignored the question. "Fame and fortune are waiting MacLeod. You'd better hurry, or you'll miss your chance."

"Look...you don't have to be like this," Duncan's voice turned coaxing. He settled next to him and slid one arm around his neck.

"Like what?" Methos was ready to be persuaded. Just not too quickly.

MacLeod dropped a light kiss on his neck and nibbled one sensitive earlobe. "You know what I mean. I don't even know this woman. I'm just trying to get out of an awkward situation as simply and as quietly as possible."

Methos pulled away slightly. "Simply? Quietly? I'd hardly call parading your ass around as the main course in a publicity free-for-all a particularly unobtrusive move."

"This isn't helping!" MacLeod grabbed his clothes and headed toward the bathroom. "Instead of sulking, why don't you concentrate on something to get us *out* of this?"

"Us?" Methos asked in disbelief. "No one is writing books about *us* MacLeod. This one is all yours."

The bathroom door didn't quite slam behind the Highlander and Methos was forced to wait to deliver the rest of his lecture. Abandoned on the couch, he condemned MacLeod's impatience. The other man had given up trying to persuade him far too easily. It might have solved part of the problem if he could have distracted MacLeod until he was hopelessly late for the party. Besides, he would have rather spent the afternoon in bed than watching Carolyn Marsh trying to seduce the Highlander into helping her sell her books.

He tried not to think about how much it had bothered him to watch the other man responding to the woman's crude advances while she pawed him and fed him stories about his heroic stature.

When MacLeod returned, Methos was sitting on the couch reading a book. "What the hell are you doing? Why aren't you dressed?"

"I told you MacLeod. This is your problem. I'm quite comfortable here."

Duncan looked puzzled.

"You and your new friend don't need my help. She gets her hero, you get a new career as a male model, and I'll get a ticket to Bora Bora."

"You know what your problem is? You're jealous!" Duncan looked superior. "I can't believe you! All this just because some stupid woman I never met before wrote a book!"

"Don't flatter yourself." Methos was annoyed. "The two of you are welcome to each other. In fact, you suit each other. Neither of you has any sense."

"You helped get me into this. You're not deserting me now."

"I didn't have anything to do with this. Anyhow, I prefer to keep a low profile and you're about to lose yours. I wouldn't want to stand between you and your 15 minutes of fame. Especially right before someone takes your legendary head."

"Get dressed, you're coming with me. If you think I'm going through with this without someone to watch my back, you're crazier than she is." MacLeod glared down at him and Methos stood up slowly.

"I don't think she liked me. She doesn't want to see *me* on her doorstep, you know."

"You're not fooling me. You don't give a damn what she wants."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not what your new friends are looking for around *their* Duncan MacLeod. Besides, what's in it for me?"

Duncan ignored his perfectly logical objections. "Could you hurry up? We're going to be late. We can have this conversation later."

"We *are* going to be busy later, aren't we?" Methos asked spitefully. "We can finish talking about you and your friend Coventry as well. You still haven't told me the rest of *that* story. In the meantime, you can be thinking about what this is going to cost you."

Less reluctantly than he pretended, Methos changed clothes. He had never intended to let the Highlander out of his sight but he preferred to make a favor of it.

When Carolyn Marsh opened the door, she looked at MacLeod with approval and Methos with resignation. "You're just in time. Come in."

Closing the door behind them, she took a long look at MacLeod. "Almost perfect," she purred.

"What do you mean?"

She smiled at Methos insincerely. "Help yourself to a drink. We'll be right back. Before he could protest, she grabbed MacLeod's arm and dragged him to another room. In a few minutes, he returned, looking sheepish. A cashmere sweater was draped casually over his shoulders. The tie he had been wearing was gone and his shirt was open half-way to the waist.

Methos surveyed him appreciatively. "Maybe having me along wasn't such a bad idea after all. You may need protection. You do look sweet."

"I feel like a fool." The Highlander seemed to have lost his sense of humor.

"Really? You look like a ..."

"Shut up, Methos. Just...shut up."

The party progressed and Methos watched in amusement as predatory women circled MacLeod.

The Highlander, no stranger to female appreciation normally, seemed unnerved by the bold propositions. Finally he shook off his admirers, and pretended to be very busy talking to Methos. "I hate this. Why the hell don't you do something?" He looked around nervously.

"Yeah, right. You agreed to do it." Methos was obnoxiously cheerful. Besides, it served MacLeod right for allowing himself to be talked into the charade. "What do you expect me to do? Throw myself between you and your adoring public? No way, MacLeod. It's your problem."

"What other choice did I have?"

"Don't try to fool me. You love being the Scottish action hero."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Admit it. When she was talking about the "legendary Duncan MacLeod" you were wallowing in it. I haven't seen so much preening since the peacocks at Versailles."

MacLeod wasn't listening. As Methos spoke, two very attractive women walked by, each giving MacLeod an inviting smile. The Highlander smiled back at them and grinned at him. "Well, then I guess I just have to live with it."

Methos gave him cold look. "Don't you think you're in enough trouble? Maybe it would be good for you to sleep alone for a while?"

"Don't start...."

Before MacLeod could finish, Carolyn Marsh appeared at his elbow with an urgent invitation to meet her publicist. That situation, with both of them struggling for MacLeod's attention, promised to develop several intriguing complications. Before it did, the Immortals were distracted by the approach of another Immortal.

"Would you excuse us for a moment, we have something to discuss." Glancing around hastily, MacLeod offered his excuses to Carolyn Marsh, who looked frustrated.

The two Immortals moved to the less-crowded balcony. "What now?" Duncan asked.

"Maybe it's the real Duncan MacLeod? I'd like to meet the real thing." Methos leaned on the balcony railing and pretended to admire the view. Next to him, MacLeod looked irritated.

Methos smiled. "I've always wanted to meet a bona-fide hero. Do you know what he did later in the book?"

"Look Methos, you aren't really going to make me..." He didn't get to finish the question before the unknown whose presence they had both sensed interrupted the conversation.

"If it isn't the superhero himself. Duncan MacLeod!" The newly-arrived Immortal glared at Duncan, ignoring Methos for the moment.

"Terrence Coventry!

Methos watched with interest as Duncan walked over to the newcomer. So, this was MacLeod's old friend. He amused himself by trying to decide what the real ending of that adventure had been.

"Are you here for me?" It was more of an invitation than a challenge. Watching the two, he was more than ever convinced that MacLeod had left out the best part of the story. He would get it out of MacLeod that night. One way or another.

The conversation was interesting only when MacLeod wandered off. Methos and Coventry compared notes about the best way to put Carolyn Marsh out of action, as least as a novelist. When he overheard their conversation, MacLeod seemed disturbed by Coventry's anger. Methos wondered why the Highlander couldn't just mind his own business. The idea of Carolyn Marsh having a painful accident didn't bother him at all.

Before they knew it, MacLeod had grabbed the woman and was headed toward the door. Methos was close enough to hear him agree to take her to the loft. They would have caught up with them in the lobby if MacLeod hadn't told the guards that Coventry had tried to pick his pocket. By the time that was straightened out, they were out of sight.

Methos got rid of the infuriated Immortal with difficulty, then headed toward the loft, determined to put an end to this farce.

He was surprised to feel a hot flash of jealousy when he found the two of them apparently locked in a passionate kiss. "You will tell me if I'm in the way?"

His sarcastic question broke up the embrace but didn't earn him any popularity points. "Didn't you ever learn how to knock?" she asked rudely.

he wondered. He smiled at her evilly. "Oh, you'd be surprised at some of the things I've learned. Would you like a demonstration?"

MacLeod interrupted hastily. "This isn't exactly what it looks like."

"You don't want to know what I think, MacLeod. Trust me. I just need to pay the cab."

MacLeod jumped up with relief "Oh. Listen, it was my fault, I forgot you didn't have your car so I'll take care of it. And, don't..." He looked at Methos helplessly. "...just don't."

As he left the room, Methos turned to stare at the woman. "I suppose I understand your enthusiasm. I even understand how finding a living, breathing, Duncan MacLeod must seem like a godsend. Maybe you should stop to think about what will happen to your book sales when your public finds out that your hero is living with me?"

"*Living* with you?" She looked startled.

"Yes, *living* with me. Are you totally blind? Or, maybe you don't care? In that case, why don't you join us?" He smiled wickedly and moved toward her. "I did offer to show you some things, didn't I?"

Carolyn backed toward the elevator hastily. "I'm really sorry, I guess I should have noticed. I was just so happy to find him and when he turned out to be so perfect... Well, you understand what I mean." As she spoke, she pulled the elevator door closed, seeming to breathe easier.

Predictably, when MacLeod returned, he was unhappy to find her gone. He took off down the stairs in pursuit, leaving Methos alone and furious in the loft.

He didn't finish the thought. When MacLeod returned, considerably later, he was pretending to be asleep.

"Methos?" The voice was apologetic.

Methos ignored him, keeping his eyes resolutely shut.

"She's gone," MacLeod offered. "And Coventry showed up. Drunk. I left him downstairs."

Methos gave up the pretense, in favor of glaring at him. "Surely you can do better than that MacLeod. Where the hell have you been?"

MacLeod slipped quickly out of his clothes and slid under the blankets. "What did you expect me to do? Leave her to Coventry?"

"Why not? What makes you responsible for protecting her from the consequences of her own stupidity?"

"Because someone had to. Why does she irritate you so much?" Slipping his arms around Methos' shoulders, MacLeod brushed a kiss against the stiff jawline.

"Because she does. Did you tell her you're not having any more to do with her stupid plans?" Methos tried to ignore the warm lips trailing more kisses along his neck.

"Yes, I did," MacLeod whispered and Methos could feel him smiling. "How much longer are you going to keep sulking?"

"I haven't decided. How much longer are you going to keep apologizing?"

"You just let me know when you get tired of it."

"That might take a while." He accepted the warm kiss MacLeod offered. "I have an idea."

"I'm sure you do."

Methos smiled lazily. "I want a bedtime story."

"A story? What kind of story?"

"Hmmm..." Methos pretended to think. "Tell me about...Coventry. Did you ever get that bath you needed?"

"You're determined to make something out of that, aren't you?"

"I was watching the two of you today. You haven't told me everything."

Macleod grinned. "Well, maybe there was a little more to it."

"Tell me."

MacLeod picked up the story from the point where he and Coventry reached the inn and ordered a room and a bath. As Methos had suspected, the rest of the *adventure* was much more interesting than the beginning. He even thought of a way to improve on the original ending, which left both of them exhausted but quite satisfied.

****

The next morning he left early, determined to let MacLeod handle this problem from here on. He knew the other man wouldn't be able to leave well-enough alone and Methos wasn't in the mood to deal with Carolyn Marsh. Besides, he wasn't sure what she might say about their conversation the night before. He was having lunch at Joe's when MacLeod found him and described his day.

"I told you she was trouble," Methos pointed out. "Why did you go there in the first place?"

"To try and get her to stop," MacLeod answered impatiently. "She can't keep doing this to Coventry or to me either."

"Making you a hero? This is a problem?"

"She tried to get me to wear a kilt at that stupid book signing this morning!"

"Really?" Methos smiled wickedly. "You should have agreed. I'll bet you look sexy in a kilt."

"Thanks," MacLeod answered sarcastically. "Very flattering. Could you try to concentrate for a few minutes?"

"I *am* concentrating," Methos pointed out. "But I'm tired of this subject. Are you finished with her?"

"Absolutely."

"Good." Methos chewed his sandwich thoughtfully. "By the way, if you thought Coventry was that angry, why did you leave her there?"

"Because she made *me* angry. And it was turning into a circus."

"Right. So, she pisses you off, and you leave her to the wolves?" He noticed MacLeod's startled look. "Oh, hey, I would have done the same thing."

"Well, that's a relief," Duncan answered doubtfully.

"But, what would the *real* Duncan MacLeod do?"

"I *am* the real Duncan MacLeod!"

"Well, you know, I don't know what the fuss is all about. To tell you the truth I don't really care if he does kill her."

MacLeod looked irritated. After a moment, he stood up and stormed out of the bar. Methos laughed quietly.

As the hours passed and MacLeod didn't return to the dojo, Methos started to worry. Finally he gave up and headed for the bookstore. Carolyn Marsh was there, signing autographs again. She noticed him immediately and he could feel her watching as he waited patiently for the last fans to leave.

They left the bookstore and walked along the deserted plaza. Methos thought carefully before he spoke. "A little advice. Forget MacLeod. You don't really know him."

To his dismay, she began to cry.

"Tell me about it," he said gently, hoping that no one would notice them. He steered her to a nearby bench in the warm sunshine.

He listened carefully while she explained her relationship with Coventry and her inability to face growing old while he remained young forever.

He understood what she meant. He had faced this situation before. "And so you left him first. And you changed all the stories and came on to MacLeod."

"I wanted to hurt him," she explained. "To make him angry."

"Well, congratulations, it worked. If he doesn't kill you, he's going to kill...."

They looked at each other.

"Oh my god. MacLeod," he groaned. He headed for his car with Carolyn right behind him. Speeding toward Coventry's house, he swore silently. MacLeod's misplaced nobility might get him killed. He wasn't surprised when they found them fighting.

Glaring at him, MacLeod said weakly, "Oh, Carolyn. Hi. We were just..."

"Fighting over me?" she interrupted. "How romantic!"

"No...." MacLeod started, but Coventry interrupted him.

"....Yes!" Attacking MacLeod, Coventry shouted theatrically, "You won't have her!"

To Methos, both the duel and the dialogue were absurd. "What's there to understand?" Methos was tired of Carolyn Marsh and Terrence Coventry and their problems. "What did you think was going to happen when you told her those stupid stories? What woman wants to compete with...Helen of Troy?" Methos decided the man was an idiot. He didn't know what MacLeod saw in him.

"But she can!" Coventry turned to Carolyn. "You can! Those stories...I told them to you because I trusted you, because I wanted you to know *me.* Those people, those places, they were my life. But you, Carolyn, you *are* my life.

"Oh, Terrence." Carolyn smiled at him mistily.

"How romantic," Methos muttered sarcastically to MacLeod, watching the two fall rapturously into each other's arms.

MacLeod agreed. "Let's get out of here before this gets embarrassing."

As they headed toward his car, MacLeod grinned at Methos, "So, what were you doing there with Carolyn? Helping the star-crossed lovers?"

"Yeah, I guess I'm just a sucker for romantic stories."

"I couldn't tell."

"So, do you think they'll live happily ever after?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"You really are a boy scout MacLeod."

"I thought you liked romance?"

"I do." Methos gazed out over the deserted beach. "But I don't believe in *happily ever after* any more.

"How about *happily for the time being*?"

"What do you mean?"

"Let's go home. I have another bedtime story for you."

****

The End