Authorís Note: This oneís a sequel to "Trojan Horseman."
The door to Joeís didnít just burst open; it nearly exploded as Duncan MacLeod came through. "Methos!!" he roared.
Startled, the older Immortal immediately toppled backwards off his stool, scrabbling for his sword as he hit the floor, his beer mug shattering and sending amber liquid everywhere.
"Whatís he done now?" Joe Dawson asked, polishing a glass as if nothing had happened. He loved watching for these guysÖhe didnít have to go anywhere. It all happened right here.
MacLeod stalked straight up to Methos and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him upright. "Youíve got some Ďsplaininí to do!" he shouted in Methosí face.
"Would an advance ĎIím sorryí help?" Methos said, with great alarm.
"Not hardly," MacLeod snarled, shaking him and then setting him down. "I was just coming back from London, and I happened to be in the neighborhood, so I stopped by to say hello to Cassandra."
"Oop ack," commented Methos, the terror on his face growing.
"How is she?" Joe prompted from behind the bar.
"How is she?! She looks as if sheís swallowed a watermelon!"
"Like what?" Joe sputtered.
"Like pregnant!" Duncan roared. "Knocked up! Expecting! In the family way!"
"Thatís crazy," Joe insisted, his eyes widening.
"Iím not talking to you," MacLeod shouted savagely, turning his attention back to Methos, who flinched.
"What makes you think Iím involved?" Methos protested, trying to put on his usual face of wide-eyed innocence.
"Because youíre sneaky, youíre ancient and youíre Methos," Duncan ticked off his reasoning, pounding a finger on his chest. "Immortals arenít supposed to have babies! What the hellís going on?!"
"Why donít you ask her?"
"I did! She just screamed at me to ask you."
"Ooh. An Immortal with morning sickness. Not pretty." Methos sucked in a breath between his teeth, closing his eyes. This was the very reason heíd been against Cassandraís little idea. Well, that wasnít quite true, he had to admit. Heíd been willing at the time, but heíd had second thoughts later. Unfortunately, it had been too late. "You werenít supposed to find out."
"Well too bad for you, I did. Tell me before I give you a really short haircut with my katana."
Methos gulped. "Tell you what, exactly?" he stalled.
"How the hell did Cassandra get pregnant?!" Duncan roared yet again, frustrated.
"In the usual way, I imagine."
MacLeod took a menacing stomp forward, his sword now in his hand.
"Okay! Okay!" Methos held up his hands in alarm. "It was me. We were fooling around."
Joe broke in. "Impossible. Immortals donít get knocked up."
"They doÖafter they pass three thousand years old. With other three thousand year plus Immortals." Methos sighed, his face slightly pink. "Itís not a very well-known fact because almost none of us make it that far." He shrugged. "I guess the idea is that if we do, we deserve to add to the gene pool. Youíre too young, Mac. I didnít see any point in telling you. If itís any consolation, it was her idea."
"Wow!" Joe commented, pulling out a notepad and scribbling furiously. "This is great Watcher dirt."
MacLeod stood, blinking, as his gray matter slowly tried to absorb everything. "Does this meanóthat Immortals come from other Immortals?"
"Bright boy," Methos said, cautiously picking up his barstool and settling back down on it.
Joe reached for a bottle of Methosí favorite beer. "Here, have one on me, Dad," he grinned.
"Butóbut that meansóthat means youíre going to dump the baby in some foster home!" MacLeod protested.
Methos nodded in agreement. "Kind of like the cuckoo birds, donít you think? Actually itís a pretty safe strategy. The parentís household isnít exactly the safest place to be if a challenger comes calling."
"How can you give up a child like that?!" MacLeodís voice was rising again, along with his agitation.
Methos rolled his eyes heavenward. "Now you sound like Cassandra. She doesnít want to follow the rules." He turned toward Joe. "Iíve been meaning to ask, do Watchers do baby pre-Immortals? Sheís going to need a sitter."
MacLeodís expression became sullen.
"Well, itís really for the best," Methos argued.
"Maybe it is. Iím not sure I can imagine what kind of father youíd make," MacLeod said.
Methos smiled, unable to resist. "Youíd be surprised how good some of my kids turn out." He chucked MacLeod under the chin, drank down the free beer and strolled out, hands in his pockets.
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