![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivendellroseJust a warm and fluffy little gen-fic. I blame this one completely on the housemates, for reasons they'll understand within the first two sentences. Let it never be said that sitting upstairs doesn't help me get my writing done. *g*
Fandom: Highlander
Title: "The Gourmet"
Summary: Cooking, snarking, and a happy birthday for one very deserving Watcher. Includes Duncan, Richie, Methos, Joe, Amanda, and Amy.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for a bit of foul language. I'm sorry, but I can't picture Richie or Methos not swearing at least a little bit in all their snarking. As![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dorothy_1901 pointed out, this is also a bit of an AU - I'm ignoring the events in the 5th season finale and 6th season premieres.
Dedication: For Kari and Fey for being my own personal Richie and Joe, respectively, and for putting up with their own personal snarky old soul. ;)
"Hey, does this look 'slightly beaten' to you?"
Methos peered into the bowl that Richie held out. Clear, raw egg whites swirled with thick stripes of opaque yellow yolk. "Hmm... sure?"
"'Cause that's all it says. 'Slightly' beaten. What the fuck does that mean? It's either beaten or it's not, right?"
Methos shrugged and turned back to the tray of meats and cheeses he'd been assigned to arrange. "Hell if I know, kid. That's not how we did things when I learned to cook."
Richie made a sour face. "I thought you just gnawed the dinosaur meat straight from the bones, when you were young. Hey, Mac - is this what 'slightly beaten' eggs should look like?"
Duncan glanced into the bowl, settling the bottles of champagne he'd just retrieved from the refrigerator into an ice bucket. "I'd say they're more like a fourth beaten."
Richie looked from the bowl to Duncan. "So... is that 'slightly'?" He swirled the contents, looking dubious. "Is it bad if I beat them too much?"
"Just let it go, Richie. It's fine."
"Why are we letting him make dessert?" Methos reached over Duncan's shoulder for the plate of mini-quiches on the counter, only to have his hand slapped away by the younger immortal. "Hey! I just wanted to test them - make sure no one's trying to poison us."
"I made those myself," Duncan griped, "and I'm not going to poison Joe."
"Sure, sure - but what about while you were gone earlier?" Methos casually wandered toward the fridge. "Anyone could have come into the flat while we weren't here, and you know Joe's not as popular with the other Watchers as he used to be. Better safe than spending Joe's birthday watching over him in the emergency room."
Duncan glared. "Right, and it has nothing to do with you being an immortal bottomless pit. And get away from that fridge - I counted every bottle, so I'll know if you take one before the party starts."
"Spoil-sport. Anyway, I'm not bottomless for quiche. Now, the buffalo wings... those are a different story. And those little stuffed potato skins..."
"No eating anything until Joe gets here," Ducan ordered.
"Alas. The tortures I survive for my friends." Methos wandered away and flopped onto the couch, sprawling bonelessly and staring at the ceiling.
Duncan rolled his eyes. At least the ancient immortal couldn't cause any trouble over there. "Hurry up with the crepes, Richie - Amanda and Amy only promised to keep Joe busy until seven, so we've only got--" He checked his watch. "Five more minutes."
Richie's eyes widened as he turned back to the stove, where the thin little pancakes were nothing more than pasty spots of batter on the griddle. "I'm so not going to be done by then."
"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure Joe will appreciate uncooked, partially-beaten batter," Methos snarked from the other side of the room.
"You know, shut the hell up, Methos."
An innocent grin was all his reply.
"Screw you, man. You're not even making anything!"
"My gift is already wrapped and ready. I don't do cooking." Methos yawned, using an extended stretch to surreptitiously push one of the black knights on Duncan's chess-board two squares forward.
"Yeah, 'cause you suck at it."
"No, I just choose not to." Methos smirked. "We used to call that slave's work."
"That was a long time ago, and nothing we need to talk about now," Duncan advised with a stern glance at his old friend. The last thing they needed to start on just before Joe and the ladies showed up was that particular period of Methos' long and eventful past. Amy and Amanda still didn't know a thing about Death or the Horsemen, and Duncan intended to keep it that way, if at all possible.
"Just giving the boy a little history lesson. He always said he wanted wisdom from all my years of experience."
"Hey, that's not what I--" Richie's indignant reply was cut off by the clunking whirr of the dojo's elevator rising up to the loft. "Crap!" He quickly flipped the first batch of crepes off the griddle and onto a plate, covered them with a tea towel. "Do we hide?"
"Yes," Methos drawled at the same time that Duncan, moving the bucket of champagne behind the counter, answered "No, just pretend everything's normal," with the direct result of Richie flipping Methos the finger just as the elevator door slid open and Joe stepped out.
"So everything's normal up here, huh?" Joe shook his head. "Seven years - are you two gonna stop acting like kids anytime soon? I'm getting too old for this shit."
"You know you love it," Richie teased. "We keep you young."
"I thought that was my job?" Amanda sauntered out of the lift and draped herself on Duncan's arm. "You should've seen the looks men kept shooting Joe at the mall, between Amy and I."
"I'm sure." Duncan kissed Amanda's brow. "So it went well?"
"Yeah, once I convinced Amanda she couldn't buy everything in the mall." Joe grinned. 'Buy' was probably a bit of an exaggeration, but the sentiment was close enough to reality. "I've gotta get moving, though. I've got a bar to watch."
"Oh, no, you don't." Amy grinned at Joe's shocked expression, and Duncan was struck by the way the devilish glint in her eye reminded him so much of her father. "Harold's watching the bar tonight. I made sure."
"That's right." Duncan stepped forward to squeeze Joe's shoulder. "You're staying right here to celebrate your birthday."
"Whether you want to or not," Methos chimed in, peeling himself from the couch to join his clustered friends. "Because Macleod won't let us eat all the snacks we made without you."
"Happy birthday, Joe." Richie uncovered the crepes, setting them out on the counter next to bowls of strawberries, peaches, and whipped cream, while Duncan retrieved the champagne from its hiding place and Methos carried the tray of meats and cheese to the coffee table.
Joe looked over all the food, looking a bit overwhelmed. "You guys didn't have to do all this. I thought we were just gonna hang out at the bar, if anything."
"Iron Chef Scotland over there decided we needed to do something more 'gourmet' than peanuts and beer." Methos smirked. "Don't worry, though - I convinced him we needed real guy food, too." Reaching into the oven, he pulled out the baking trays of stuffed potato skins and buffalo wings.
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Joe laughed. "I guess I can forgive you for making a big deal, in that case. Pop the cork, already, Mac!"
Amidst the laughter and banter of friends who'd known each other for years, Amy seemed unsure of her place, but she returned the hug and broad grin her father offered her, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek to hide her nervousness. "Happy birthday... Dad."
The night dissolved in champagne, snacks, old stories and new jokes, and with a sense of accomplishment - whether or not the crepes came out, or the quiches were eaten, it was fairly clear this would be a birthday for Joe to remember well.
Fandom: Highlander
Title: "The Gourmet"
Summary: Cooking, snarking, and a happy birthday for one very deserving Watcher. Includes Duncan, Richie, Methos, Joe, Amanda, and Amy.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for a bit of foul language. I'm sorry, but I can't picture Richie or Methos not swearing at least a little bit in all their snarking. As
dorothy_1901 pointed out, this is also a bit of an AU - I'm ignoring the events in the 5th season finale and 6th season premieres. Dedication: For Kari and Fey for being my own personal Richie and Joe, respectively, and for putting up with their own personal snarky old soul. ;)
"Hey, does this look 'slightly beaten' to you?"
Methos peered into the bowl that Richie held out. Clear, raw egg whites swirled with thick stripes of opaque yellow yolk. "Hmm... sure?"
"'Cause that's all it says. 'Slightly' beaten. What the fuck does that mean? It's either beaten or it's not, right?"
Methos shrugged and turned back to the tray of meats and cheeses he'd been assigned to arrange. "Hell if I know, kid. That's not how we did things when I learned to cook."
Richie made a sour face. "I thought you just gnawed the dinosaur meat straight from the bones, when you were young. Hey, Mac - is this what 'slightly beaten' eggs should look like?"
Duncan glanced into the bowl, settling the bottles of champagne he'd just retrieved from the refrigerator into an ice bucket. "I'd say they're more like a fourth beaten."
Richie looked from the bowl to Duncan. "So... is that 'slightly'?" He swirled the contents, looking dubious. "Is it bad if I beat them too much?"
"Just let it go, Richie. It's fine."
"Why are we letting him make dessert?" Methos reached over Duncan's shoulder for the plate of mini-quiches on the counter, only to have his hand slapped away by the younger immortal. "Hey! I just wanted to test them - make sure no one's trying to poison us."
"I made those myself," Duncan griped, "and I'm not going to poison Joe."
"Sure, sure - but what about while you were gone earlier?" Methos casually wandered toward the fridge. "Anyone could have come into the flat while we weren't here, and you know Joe's not as popular with the other Watchers as he used to be. Better safe than spending Joe's birthday watching over him in the emergency room."
Duncan glared. "Right, and it has nothing to do with you being an immortal bottomless pit. And get away from that fridge - I counted every bottle, so I'll know if you take one before the party starts."
"Spoil-sport. Anyway, I'm not bottomless for quiche. Now, the buffalo wings... those are a different story. And those little stuffed potato skins..."
"No eating anything until Joe gets here," Ducan ordered.
"Alas. The tortures I survive for my friends." Methos wandered away and flopped onto the couch, sprawling bonelessly and staring at the ceiling.
Duncan rolled his eyes. At least the ancient immortal couldn't cause any trouble over there. "Hurry up with the crepes, Richie - Amanda and Amy only promised to keep Joe busy until seven, so we've only got--" He checked his watch. "Five more minutes."
Richie's eyes widened as he turned back to the stove, where the thin little pancakes were nothing more than pasty spots of batter on the griddle. "I'm so not going to be done by then."
"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure Joe will appreciate uncooked, partially-beaten batter," Methos snarked from the other side of the room.
"You know, shut the hell up, Methos."
An innocent grin was all his reply.
"Screw you, man. You're not even making anything!"
"My gift is already wrapped and ready. I don't do cooking." Methos yawned, using an extended stretch to surreptitiously push one of the black knights on Duncan's chess-board two squares forward.
"Yeah, 'cause you suck at it."
"No, I just choose not to." Methos smirked. "We used to call that slave's work."
"That was a long time ago, and nothing we need to talk about now," Duncan advised with a stern glance at his old friend. The last thing they needed to start on just before Joe and the ladies showed up was that particular period of Methos' long and eventful past. Amy and Amanda still didn't know a thing about Death or the Horsemen, and Duncan intended to keep it that way, if at all possible.
"Just giving the boy a little history lesson. He always said he wanted wisdom from all my years of experience."
"Hey, that's not what I--" Richie's indignant reply was cut off by the clunking whirr of the dojo's elevator rising up to the loft. "Crap!" He quickly flipped the first batch of crepes off the griddle and onto a plate, covered them with a tea towel. "Do we hide?"
"Yes," Methos drawled at the same time that Duncan, moving the bucket of champagne behind the counter, answered "No, just pretend everything's normal," with the direct result of Richie flipping Methos the finger just as the elevator door slid open and Joe stepped out.
"So everything's normal up here, huh?" Joe shook his head. "Seven years - are you two gonna stop acting like kids anytime soon? I'm getting too old for this shit."
"You know you love it," Richie teased. "We keep you young."
"I thought that was my job?" Amanda sauntered out of the lift and draped herself on Duncan's arm. "You should've seen the looks men kept shooting Joe at the mall, between Amy and I."
"I'm sure." Duncan kissed Amanda's brow. "So it went well?"
"Yeah, once I convinced Amanda she couldn't buy everything in the mall." Joe grinned. 'Buy' was probably a bit of an exaggeration, but the sentiment was close enough to reality. "I've gotta get moving, though. I've got a bar to watch."
"Oh, no, you don't." Amy grinned at Joe's shocked expression, and Duncan was struck by the way the devilish glint in her eye reminded him so much of her father. "Harold's watching the bar tonight. I made sure."
"That's right." Duncan stepped forward to squeeze Joe's shoulder. "You're staying right here to celebrate your birthday."
"Whether you want to or not," Methos chimed in, peeling himself from the couch to join his clustered friends. "Because Macleod won't let us eat all the snacks we made without you."
"Happy birthday, Joe." Richie uncovered the crepes, setting them out on the counter next to bowls of strawberries, peaches, and whipped cream, while Duncan retrieved the champagne from its hiding place and Methos carried the tray of meats and cheese to the coffee table.
Joe looked over all the food, looking a bit overwhelmed. "You guys didn't have to do all this. I thought we were just gonna hang out at the bar, if anything."
"Iron Chef Scotland over there decided we needed to do something more 'gourmet' than peanuts and beer." Methos smirked. "Don't worry, though - I convinced him we needed real guy food, too." Reaching into the oven, he pulled out the baking trays of stuffed potato skins and buffalo wings.
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Joe laughed. "I guess I can forgive you for making a big deal, in that case. Pop the cork, already, Mac!"
Amidst the laughter and banter of friends who'd known each other for years, Amy seemed unsure of her place, but she returned the hug and broad grin her father offered her, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek to hide her nervousness. "Happy birthday... Dad."
The night dissolved in champagne, snacks, old stories and new jokes, and with a sense of accomplishment - whether or not the crepes came out, or the quiches were eaten, it was fairly clear this would be a birthday for Joe to remember well.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 09:43 am (UTC)Thanks so much for sharing this, and for giving us a sprawling Methos with attitude.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 01:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 07:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 03:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 03:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 07:40 pm (UTC)I'm happy you liked it - relieving perpetual angst is definitely a good thing. ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-24 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-25 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-25 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-25 03:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-25 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-06 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-08 02:14 am (UTC)Love the icon, by the way - it's so cute!
no subject
Date: 2005-04-08 11:08 pm (UTC)