Our Small Cabals
By: Arsenic

Rating: R (m/m implied)
Keywords: XOVER HL/XF, sequel to Spin the Bottle
Characters: Methos/Krycek
Archives: Seventh Dimension, anywhere else that wants it, just please ask first.
Summary: Methos decides one night wasn't enough.

Disclaimers: At the end of the day, the gorgeous Russian returns to CC and 1013 productions, and ROG crashes with R/P/D. The quotes are those of David Mamet from "All Men are Whores" as is the title.

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Cinna for the wonderful beta job as for being my inspiration day in and day out.

Dedication: This one is for Erin, Danish and 'Manda. 'Manda for her newly stated purpose in life. Danish for her all around support and friendship. Most importantly, Erin, for kicking my ass into writing again and reminding me why I enjoy it so.

^^^

Our Small Cabals

Krycek tried spitting for what seemed the millionth time, attempting to force the residue oil out of his mouth. On some level, he knew it was foolish to spit when there wasn't enough moisture in his body even to merely lick his lips. He didn't care. The oil was bitter against the roof of his mouth and a constant reminder of the endless minutes he had spent voiding it. He forced his mind into reciting the alphabet backwards for something like the eighteenth time. It was reassuring to know he could think clearly enough to get through it. It was one of the few reassurances he had had in the two days, maybe three that he had been locked in here. When he reached A, he gave himself a reward. Closing his eyes, Krycek slipped into the memory of clean sheets and soft pillows. He didn't let himself think about the man who had held him under the layers of blankets. A rewarding memory was one thing, tormenting one's self over lost moments, that was sheer stupidity. Especially when locked in a freezing, midnight-black missile silo, starving where nobody would ever find him. Krycek coughed harshly and shivered as the aftermath of the respiratory spasm passed through him. He was surprised to hear his own voice, hoarse and low, echo into the darkness.

"I'll tell you what. If you get me out of this, I swear I will never kill someone without just cause again." He sighed. Somehow, he had a feeling that if anything of the sermons he used to roll his eyes at every Sunday was true, that promise wasn't going to get him out of here. Still, if he promised anything else and did get out of here, then he was a sitting duck anyway. Killing was a necessity, sometimes more but never less. *Why don't you lie? You're good at lying.* Krycek sat, considering the possibility. *Isn't G-d supposed to know when you are lying?* He threw it back at himself, triumphant that he had come up with a counter-argument that made sense. *You don't believe in G-d.* Hmm, that was a good point. *Well, then this is a stupid discussion anyway.* His last point was made rather belligerently.

*Oh, fuck, I HAVE to get out of here.* He couldn't have been sure, but he thought he heard the angels laughing.

^^^

Methos was starting to seriously question his sanity, let alone his motives. *Maybe after five thousand years, a little insanity is unavoidable.* He shrugged to himself; it sounded like a good enough rationalization for the moment. Then again, over the last week he had come up with hundreds of rationalizations that had sounded good at first.

It wasn't like he had never woken up alone before. And it sure as hell wasn't like the kid "David" had owed him any good-morning kisses. So when he had woken up to cold sheets and that empty feeling that a habitation shared by none always gets, he had rolled rather ungracefully out of bed, taken a thirty-minute shower, and had ordered himself coffee and fruit. It was half-way through the second cup of coffee that he came to his completely irrational decision to track down the man he had slept with the night before.

*The sex wasn't THAT good, was it?* It had been good. Really good. But not good enough to follow the guy back to the states. To North Dakota, at that. Not to mention the effort and bribe money it had taken him to track the younger man down. He had to give the kid credit, he covered his tracks well. But Methos hadn't lived for as long as he had without picking up some tricks of his own. Still, the search had only fueled his reasons for having to admit to a certain fascination. Whatever David's day job was, it wasn't exactly the nine-to-five type.

It had taken a couple of days and some intense laying low to figure out where exactly David had gone in North Dakota. Following the men out to the silos had been tricky since spotting a tail isn't all that hard when there is nothing in the rear view mirror but desolate stretches of highway. Especially not if they knew what they were doing. These men (David's employees?) were professionals.

Methos knew that by this time, David was probably long gone since he had waited for the Feds and men of a less easily identifiable organization to clear out. He figured that going out to the silos couldn't hurt though. They seemed to have been the main attraction, so he was pretty sure it was the last place David would have visited before setting off for his next destination. He figured they were as likely as not to give him some indication as to where the next part of the search would lead him. It occurred to him, as he was climbing into his rental car, that he was having way too much fun for someone who had traveled across the international dateline for a good blowjob. *Yeah, well, when was the last time you had fun?* Deciding he didn't want to attempt to answer that, he turned the keys in the ignition, put the car into gear, and drove towards his destination.

Upon arriving, he chose the silo that most of the cars had congregated around the day he had followed the men there. He found the entrance and started straight down what seemed to be the main corridor. He tracked down the hall for about ten minutes listening to the echo of his footsteps. Eventually he turned, not knowing why he chose the particular corridors that he did; he just needed a change at the specific moment he made the choice. After forty minutes he was about to retrace his steps and head off, disgusted with himself and thoroughly ready for a bottle of quality beer in a heated building, when he heard something. Methos went still to the point of not breathing and waited. The last thing he wanted to deal with was some Federal officer who had arbitrarily decided to come back. He heard it again. It sounded like muffled coughing. Methos squinted his eyes and inched towards where the sound seemed to be originating from. Eventually he found a door wherein the sound was resonating the loudest. Methodically, Methos set to opening the door.

^^^

Alex was sure that the delirium must have crept up on him when he had been doing the multiplication tables. He looked at the light spilling in from the now-open door and the figure rather rudely blocking that light. *The only people who know you are here are the ones who left you here, dipshit.* That sounded like a pretty rational thought. He couldn't understand how he could think rationally and be seeing things all at once.

"David?" He heard a tentative voice calling. It sounded slightly familiar. He tried to think if he knew any Davids. He was pretty sure he didn't.

"David?" Alex barely managed to croak the question. The figure had gotten closer now. Alex knew that he should recognize the man nearly towering over him, but no frame of reference was popping to mind. The momentarily unidentified man crouched down on level with Alex and muttered.

"Well, I guess that proves my theory about David not being your real name." Alex wanted to ask what the hell he was talking about and why it was important but had exhausted his vocal ability with that one word. Besides, he didn't think that talking to hallucinations was a productive use of time. Nonetheless, he tried to listen to what the hallucination was trying to say.

"David, it's me, Will, do you remember? Hong Kong? We met at a bar." Alex pondered this information. Oh, Will. Right. What was Will doing here? He coughed painfully but figured that he should probably respond, so he gave what passed for a nod.

"Let's get you out of here." Alex felt himself being lifted off the ground, supported under his arms. He felt one limb slung over Will's shoulder, and then with some effort, his legs were lifted off the ground. The movement beneath him caused the world to do some wild spinning, and everything went gray inside his mind.

He woke up to feel the world vibrating beneath him. It took him several moments to figure out that he was in the car. The motion was disorienting after having sat on the ground for days.

"St-stop, p-please." Methos barely heard the plea but slowed and pulled to the side. Krycek fumbled with the handle but managed to get the door open and spill onto the ground in time to vomit. Methos came around to where he huddled, noticing that when something actually came out, it was slightly blackened bile. His body finally stopped long enough to gasp for breath. He tried to apologize but the sound came out somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. Racking coughs followed. He felt a warm hand making firm circular motions on his back.

"Shh, relax, it's okay. Can you get back in the car now?" Krycek gave a weak nod, and Methos helped to haul him back into the passenger's seat. "We're only about five minutes away. Just try to breathe regularly." Krycek concentrated on following the instructions. The car ride seemed to last at least another half hour. He knew his sense of time was screwy.

The motion beneath him stopped, and he realized somewhat dimly that they were there. *Where exactly was "there?"* He was too busy staying awake to answer himself. He managed for the second time in ten minutes to get the door open and sat there being inordinately proud of his accomplishment. By this time, Methos had managed to make his way around the car and was attempting to pull him out of it. It took awhile, but between the efforts of both men, they managed to make it into the studio hotel room Methos had rented. Methos deposited Krycek on one of the kitchenette's chairs and went to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of water and returned to Krycek's side.

"Slowly." His tone brooked no argument, and Krycek took tiny sips, allowing time to breathe in between. Methos held the bottle until Krycek proved himself capable of doing it himself. He left him there to drink and went to go run the hot water in the bath.

^^^

Methos watched the bathroom mirrors steam up from the temperature of the water. *We've been here before, haven't we?* David had been cold that night too. But not half-dead. He wondered what had happened in the few days it had taken him to trace the man there. Plus the day or so it had taken for him to get into the silo without being apprehended by federal agents. In all his years as a doctor, he had never run into anything quite like that black...stuff covering the other man. From a distance he had thought it was motor oil, but rubbing David's back he had come to the conclusion that it wasn't. *Why do you even want to know? Okay, fine, you couldn't leave him in the silo to die. And he's looking all pathetic, and your doctor instincts are telling you to fix him up. Your regular instincts are saying that taking him to any other health care professional or establishment would be a death sentence. So fix him, get some more good sex, and leave him to his own devices. This is shit you do not want to be mixed up in.* The decision was a sound one, and Methos set his mind to following it.

Having run the bath, he went to collect his patient. Krycek had almost finished all the water.

"Oily is not a good look for you," he said as he placed the bottle on the table and methodically undressed the other man. There was none of the other night's seduction in his actions, it was just a necessary part of his prescribed treatment. Krycek submitted silently, walking with more strength than he had possessed before having drunk the water. After several minutes, he was in the tub. Methos used a bath sponge to wash his skin over and over again. Using the trash can and his own grooming kit, he cut Krycek's hair and shaved him. By the time Krycek was sanitized, the bathtub had been drained and refilled four times. Methos had begun to wonder why he hadn't just held the man up in the shower.

He pulled the other man out of the tub and wrapped him in a bath sheet before walking him to the bed and situating him beneath the covers.

"Try not to fall asleep on me; you need to eat something." Krycek nodded his assent, but his eyelids drooped. The corner of Methos's mouth turned up in amusement, and he went into the kitchen. Grateful that he had bothered to go out and get a couple of days' worth of food when he had first arrived, Methos fixed a can of tomato soup and got out another water bottle. He brought it back into the bedroom.

"Mmm mm good." The sound of his voice, not his entrance, woke the man dozing in bed. Methos situated the younger man with the food and waited while David blew cooling breaths on the spoonful of soup. When he had eaten a few bites, Methos asked his question.

"What's your real name, David?" He placed an ironic twist on the last part. Unless he had underestimated him, the kid was too exhausted right now to worry about picking a new alibi.

Krycek gave him a tired but unapologetic stare.

"People call me Alex Krycek, Will." Alex placed a direct imitation of Methos's mocking tone on his pseudonym, and the older man had to give him credit. Even more dead than alive, the kid managed to convey his knowledge of Methos's front and give him a name that was only questionably his real one.

"Is that the name you answer to when delirious?"

"That and any variation on the word 'rat.'" The words came out dryly, and Methos wondered at the significance. He fell silent and waited for Alex to finish the meal. When done, he collected the dishes and walked to the door. He turned around.

"Get some-" The man in bed was already asleep.

^^^

Alex woke up to shock and the sound of his own screams. He tried frantically to regain a normal breathing pattern and rolled himself over in an attempt to get out of bed. He fell hard against the carpet-covered cement and lost any progress he'd had with his respiration. Dimly he heard someone approach.

"Light." It was less than a gasp and in Russian at that, but it must have been comprehensible because a second later, his hands and the carpet were visible. A hand placed itself on his waist and arm and hauled him back into the bed. When he was settled and breathing almost normally, he heard the question his hirsute caretaker was voicing.

"The silo?"

"I never remember my dreams." It was only half a lie. Until this moment, he never had.

"Uh huh." Alex looked up and fixed the sarcastic man with a glare.

"Sorry to have woken you up." He spit the words out before feigning the act of relaxing back into the pillows and closing his eyes. He practically flew out of bed when he felt warm hands on his chest. *Jesus Christ, how the hell did he get over here without me hearing it?* Alex's eyes blazed a wary green.

"How much did Cancerman pay you?"

"Cancerman?"

"I have to give it to you, the confusion there was well played." The hands on his chest had not paused in their movements, even if the rubbing was a little more absent-minded, less soothing than moments before.

"Not to give you the impression that I can't do confusion well on command," his expression was wry; Alex wondered what it meant. "But in this particular case, I don't happen to know anyone with cancer."

"Not insinuating that you do."

"Okay, good, then we can move on." Alex snorted.

"Like hell. Let's try a different tactic. You gonna tell me that you just happened to show up in the middle of butt-fuck North Dakota and find me after a completely random one-night stand? Oh, yeah." Alex rolled his eyes. "And while we're on the topic, is the Russian language something you picked up in your spare time?"

"I'll take the last question first. I lived in Russia for quite awhile in fact; I was unaware this was an offense. To be perfectly honest, I was a little surprised to hear it come out of your mouth, but it does lend some truth to your newest pseudonym." Alex almost smiled but caught himself in time. Whoever this guy was, at least he was a worthwhile adversary. "Now, as for the first question. I could tell you that the sex was really good, which it was, but that might give you something of an ego. So instead I'm going to tell you that you are interesting, and it has been some years since I have met anyone I thought was truly interesting. It seemed worth the cross-Atlantic flight and detective work. Still, if I had known I was going to end up playing nursemaid while being interrogated, I might have reconsidered." Methos was surprised by the urge to take back his words at the flinch they produced.

Alex struggled hard against the hands into a sitting position. Having gained it, he swung his legs over the bed with no small amount of effort and pushed himself into a seriously wobbly standing posture. Methos stood back, half amused, half intrigued.

"Where'd you put my clothes?"

"The jacket is at the cleaners, it looked like something you might appreciate me trying to salvage. I burned the rest. Out of curiosity, why?"

"If I've made it this far, there is no reason for me to infringe upon your hospitality any longer." It was Methos's turn to roll his eyes.

"Um, yeah, okay. Get back in bed."

"I thought I was inconveniencing you." Methos drank in the shards of green ice staring pointedly at him. This had definitely been worth even the worst airplane food.

"I'll just have to be inconvenienced for a bit longer." Alex stood stiffly for a moment more before falling limply back down on the bedding.

"Look," the ice in his eyes had melted to a weary pool. "If you are one of them, this game isn't necessary. I can't figure out why you took me out in the first place; I mean, dead is dead, right?" Methos wasn't sure what made him give up the edge he found himself having, but seeing the kid squirm wasn't as much fun as it should have been.

"I'm not." Alex looked confused. "One of them, whoever 'them' is."

"If you say so." Alex turned in the bed away from where Methos was standing and closed his eyes. Methos started to leave the room when a soft request reached his ears. It was in Russian.

"Um, do you mind leaving the light on? Thanks." Wondering, but not really caring whether it was the tone of voice or choice of languages that made him do it, Methos crossed the room, climbed gently onto the bed, and pulled the younger man into his arms. Alex went taut, and his breathing stilled. It started again as a coughing fit ripped through him. Methos held on and rocked him until the spell was over. He would have to get some medication for that. He didn't want to leave the man sleeping, though. The nightmares alone were enough of an argument against that. The fact that Alex's fear of someone being sent after him was obviously something more than paranoia was an even better one. *You're picking sides again, and you don't even know what the sides are this time, let alone which one you belong to.* He sighed and leaned in heavily against the man he was holding, waiting for the inevitable signs of oncoming sleep. He decided a little of the same might help him make better decisions and allowed himself to drift off.

^^^

"I have to go out; you need something for that cough, and we cannot live off of what currently inhabits the shelves of that kitchen." Methos wondered if the look of abject panic that had crossed over Alex's face had been his imagination. It was gone instantaneously. Imagination or not, he decided to take steps to make the other man feel better. He stepped out of the room silently and found the firearm he kept on him just in case he ever came across someone who didn't play by the rules. It never hurt to be prepared. He grimaced inwardly at the thought. *You were NEVER a boy scout.*

He returned to the room and crossed to the man in the bed, silently handing him the weapon.

"It's loaded."

"I'm almost disappointed; I was beginning to think you were very good."

"Don't count me out yet." Methos adopted a wounded look.

"What makes you feel secure with me holding a deadly weapon no more than two feet away from where you stand?"

"A couple of factors, the first being that you haven't shot me yet."

"Don't get too comfortable." Methos rolled his eyes.

"You've made your point; you're very macho. Trust me, you would not like my reaction to being shot."

"There would be no reaction; I would not miss."

"Did not for a second imagine you would." Having said that, Methos turned to walk out, grinning at the other man's unvoiced frustration with his answer.

^^^

*Get out of here. Take the gun; grab some of his clothes and whatever is in the kitchen and RUN.* The thought sounded logical, he had to give it that. The actual execution of it, that was a different thing altogether. For one thing, his lungs felt like they were home to a million burning splinters. And his legs were not too keen on the idea of functioning well enough to make it much further than the bathroom. If that far.

Alex sighed, leaned back into the far too-comfortable bedding, and told himself that was why he wasn't doing anything more self-preservational than gripping the gun in his right hand. After twenty minutes of telling himself this over and over again, he was ready to shoot anything that walked in that door, sentient or no, just as long as it provided an outlet for his aggravation.

Will HAD to work for Cancerman or one of the elders. A person did not just follow some guy he had fucked halfway across the known world. Especially not if that guy had physically assaulted the person for trying to kiss him. Then left without apology or thanks. People just didn't do these things. But then, most people didn't go into gay bars in downtown Hong Kong for good beer either. *The guy is loaded; maybe he's just one of those eccentric, rich men.* While it was certainly better than thinking he worked for Cancerman, it wasn't a terribly reassuring thought. Alex didn't believe it for a second. Eccentric people had a look to them, the one that tells the world that they are never really completely in this time or place. Will didn't have that. He was constantly aware of every creak in the walls, every syllable unsaid.

The look in his eyes though -- Will was a man worth following. He was worthy of obsession. That much was evident in his stance, the things he said, the way his hazel eyes were always laughing, even if the laughter was bitter or pained at something. And yet, Alex hadn't felt mocked. *You could have at least shown a little gratitude. He did happen to save your life.* But gratitude was...tricky. It easily led into other things. *You never keep your promises; why would you feel even the slightest compulsion to keep a debt?* Alex tried not to think about why promises, especially the ones most people made, were different. Trivial.

His life may have been trivial to the men in the consortium who had left him there, Mulder (except as an excellent source of anger relief), Scully, Skinner and everyone else in the known world, but it wasn't to him. In fact, seeing as how it was all he had at the moment, it was a matter of utmost importance to him. *Will must care some; I mean, you're here in a bed, clean, with food, aren't you?* Alex shoved hard at the thought until it was no more than a distant echo. *Idiot, he's having his fun. You are merely a pleasurable pastime. And I suggest you show him a good time when he gets back, or you're gonna be out fending for yourself a whole lot sooner than is really advisable.*

^^^

Methos had taken longer than he had planned on, longer than was probably safe. He had stopped in a field on the way back. He needed the space. He wasn't claustrophobic, had cured himself of that ages ago and never relapsed. It was just that suddenly the studio had felt the same way Seacouver had on that last day. The same way all places felt when things got too complicated. There just wasn't room to think.

So here he was in a field in North Dakota, and there was plenty of room but no clear thoughts.

"Shit." The word didn't really pertain to any particular aspect of the situation, but it made him feel better. He said it aloud in Russian, just to see if it would work twice. It didn't.

"So what do you do with him now, Will?" Methos made himself spit out the next words before he could think about them.

"Fix him, and dump him somewhere far, far away from you." He nodded, congratulating himself on the simplistic brilliance of the plan. Then his brain turned traitor. He wasn't sure what it was about Alex, maybe the nightmares, or the smart-ass answers, or the emotional flashes in his eyes that were so rarely indulged. More likely, it was the lack of expression that he nursed non-stop. Whatever it was, Methos knew Alex as a, for lack of a less clichčed term, kindred soul. Younger, less aware of exactly how interconnected action and consequence were but nonetheless, his moral and emotional peer.

He hadn't found one of those since...well, the last one he could remember was his twenty-seventh wife. It had been awhile. It was so unlikely in mortals; they didn't have the time Immortals were given to cultivate their souls. Which was what made the finding so much better. And Immortals, the ones who had souls, could never understand each other completely. It was part of what The Game and living one's own personal experiences forever was all about.

"So, to sum this up, you have found a new toy and are rather reluctant to let it go." Well, yes. He didn't bother flinching from the callousness of it, glad again of being alone in the field. After all, it wasn't as if he was planning on mistreating Alex. *And keeping him against his will isn't mistreatment? You didn't seem to like it very much.* Methos suppressed a shiver at the self-reprimand that brought back reminiscences of gilded cages and the such. A cage was a cage, no matter how pretty.

"Who says it would be against his will? Why don't you just ask him to stay. Not like you're asking for the rest of his life." Things got boring pretty quickly of late. "Novel concept that." The sarcasm seemed to spur him into motion, and he spun in the direction of the car. Opening the door, he slid in behind the steering wheel. *If you actually get up the nerve to ask him, I won't say a word about your emotionally-fucked factor ever again.*

"Shut. Up. Emotion? When did that enter into this?" *Who said you had to be honest with yourself all the time?* He paused to acknowledge the wisdom of this inquiry. *Uh huh, pretty much what I figured.* He sighed. *Knowing yourself well gets old.*

^^^

Alex tightened his hand around the weapon and feigned sleep at the opening of the door.

"Hi, honey, I'm home." Alex attempted a smile, his final resolve foremost in his mind. It wasn't hard. He had the feeling that if his body hadn't been in the shape it was, the other man's voice would have been an incredible turn on. Plus, the greeting sounded extremely surreal in Russian. "Did you get any sleep?"

Alex had to work hard to keep his mask of indifference while inwardly lapping up the thinly veiled concern. Alex figured it was pretty much useless to wonder whether things were going to last or not. As a general rule, they didn't. Inasmuch, he wasn't adverse to taking what he could get when he could get it.

"A little."

"Why don't you try and catch some more real quick while I fix us some lunch." Alex nodded. He had been struggling to stay awake the entire time the other man had been gone. Falling asleep while alone in the studio had not seemed like an intelligent idea. He was exhausted from the effort of keeping his eyelids above his eyes. He sank down a little, asleep before Methos reached the door. Methos smiled at this and went out to the kitchen. He decided on making something that would take awhile, giving Alex time to rest. After an hour, he poured the drinks and carefully maneuvered everything in to the bedroom.

"Good morning." Methos found himself enjoying the opportunity to speak Russian again.

"Good is a possibility, morning I highly doubt." Alex snuck a glance at the food semi-longingly, and Methos relented, putting it within his reach. They both stayed quiet for a bit as each silently moved his fork too and from the plate. "I should have said thank you." The thought came so abruptly in the silence that Methos had to remind himself to chew and swallow instead of skipping to the latter first.

"I don't generally do things that I feel won't benefit me in some way."

"Do any of us?"

"I've met a few." He smiled, only slightly sardonically. "Not enough to comprise a whole yes." He looked up, and backed slightly further into the chair, surprised to see Alex at the edge of the bed, knees almost touching his. Weakly, but just enough so that the chair actually moved, Alex pushed him further away, only to sink to his knees in front of the sitting man. His fingers deftly worked open the button and zipper of the worn Levi's Methos wore. He was reaching for the elastic band of the cotton boxers when long fingers and surprisingly strong hands threw his down to his sides.

^^^

*What the hell are you doing? Let's review the situation here. Gorgeous man on his knees in front of you. Even the signs of exhaustion and malnutrition are appealing -- in a dark kind of way. He's going to, willingly, I might add, suck you off. Which is generally good even when done by an amateur, and I'm pretty sure he can be ruled as anything but. Back to the original question. What the hell-*

"I didn't mean it that way. When I said what I said about the benefits, it wasn't a completed thought." He sat there for a few moments, hoping Alex would move out from in front of him. His position of the moment was too tempting. Alex shrugged but stayed on his knees.

" 'In cities where we kill for comfort- for a moment of reprieve from our adulterated lives- for fellow-feeling.' I don't mind; I'm good at this." Methos felt his heartbeat push painfully at his chest for a moment.

" 'We take comfort in our work and our cruelty. We love the manicurist and the nurse for they hold hands with us...We woo with condoms and a ferry ride; the world around us crumples into chemicals, we stand intractable, and wait for someone competent to take us 'cross the street.' I know that you are good at it. We've been there. I think that for the first time in a long time, I am curious to know what else you are good at."

"Besides quoting obscure plays?"

"It's a start."

"Killing people." Alex didn't know where it had come from. Maybe the shock that this man had been able to quote Mamet back to him appropriately. Or maybe the intensity of what this man was asking for him, but it had been spoken before he could stop himself. He almost choked on his own breath when the man just nodded.

"What else?" Alex thought. No way was he going to admit that he had no answers for him.

"I wear black well." He made the answer a purr. Methos sighed at the obvious distraction method.

"How about the fact that you are a survivor? I have a sneaking suspicion that you might harbor a great amount of intelligence. I've only known you a few days; give me a couple more, and I could probably add to that list. As far as your talents as seen by you, I have no room to judge and don't plan on doing so." He reached out a hand stroked it down the too-evident cheekbones. Alex opened his mouth and took the thumb, biting gently at the pad. Methos locked his eyes into Alex's and knew the other man wasn't even aware of his actions. He withdrew the thumb. "Have I won myself a few more days?"

"Will you cook like that consistently?" He threw his head in the direction of the empty plates, keeping his eyes in direct contact with Methos's.

"I think I can manage that."

"How do you know I'm not just using you for your culinary skills?"

"If that's all this is, I can promise payback." There was the hint of a growl behind the words.

"Just for that, I will make you believe that's all this is." He drawled the word believe.

"I knew you had other talents."