(How do we start? Is this thing on? Hello? Hello? Testing...one, two, three...testing.)

We start with the basics, but first we have to get their attention. Not like that. Stop kissing the monitor, Duncan, you're fogging up the screen.

(So, how do we get their attention? Shall I take off my shirt and gaze at them adoringly?)

Ordinarily, I'm sure that would do it. Unfortunately, they can't see you this time. Sit back and let me type.
 

Slash alert! Well, as slashy as the muses get anyway -- mostly implied.

None of them are mine, and no money changed hands.
 

MISSING: One Methos Muse.

(One mean, lying, underhanded, cowardly Methos muse.)

HAIR: Mussed. Reportedly feels like velvet.

(But looks like little wet sticks. And who said it feels like velvet? It feels like dried mousse. Have you been reading smarm again?)

I never re-read my own stuff, you know that. What's next?

(EYES: narrow and squinty, with a gleam of depraved insanity lurking in the corners.)

Uh-huh. I'll just correct the spelling a bit. EYES: Green-gold, yellow-brown, or hazel.

(My version was more accurate.)

Accuracy isn't always the point, Duncan.

(What is the point?)

Depends. Do you want him back?

(As much as it pains me to admit it, yes. I've grown rather fond of the snarky little twit. And this story's been unfinished long enough. Let's get him back and get it over with. I'm ready to move on.)

Well, placation's right up there, then. So is gratuitous flattery. And while you're at it, a touch of obsequious groveling wouldn't hurt either.

(Gratuitous flattery is inherently dishonest, and I don't grovel or placate. I'm the hero.)

Stretch yourself. Learn new skills. Heroes are capable of amazing feats when they put their minds to it.

(Speaking of feats...)

Thanks for reminding me. FEET: two, both left.

(You have an interesting definition of flattery. I'm beginning to understand why Methos chews his cuticles when he works with you.)

FEET: slender, graceful, absolutely kissable, fully equipped with ten adorable, devastatingly suckable toes.

(Perfect. Go for the toes, it gets him every time.)

I thought you didn't approve of gratuitous flattery?

(I've decided to be Methosian about this. Use whatever works.)

SIZE: ...Uh, I've forgotten -- how big is he this week? Were we doing the knee-weakening 'strong, worthy partner' Methos; the ambiguous, vaguely androgynous 'the smaller man' Methos; or the disturbingly feminine, albeit incredibly sexy 'lithe and slender' Methos?

(Does it matter? He's not as big as he thinks he is, not by half.)

And aren't you glad he's not around to hear you say that?

(Wouldn't matter. He's the sidekick. No matter what outrageous adjectives he cons you into using, I'm always going to be bigger.)

And you've got prettier hair, too. Hardly seems fair. But none of that is exactly helpful right now. Next up, DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: alabaster skin; classic nose; swan-like neck.

(Perfect for wringing.)

That goes without saying. LAST KNOWN LOCATION: hiding in the shower, pouting.

(You shouldn't let him pout, he's not good at it. He confuses it with whining and it's not attractive at all.)

Let him? When the hell has he ever listened to me? You're the One Great Love of his life. If you don't like it, you do something about it.

(Such as?)

If you don't want him to pout, stop encouraging him.

(I do not encourage him!)

The hell you don't. "Oh poor, Methos. I'm so sorry, love. Look what the nasty writer did to my adorable precious. What can I do to make it better, my sweet lump of pumpkin butter." It's sickening. Is there such a thing as prick-whipped? He's got you
wrapped, Duncan. Wrapped like string around his tiny little...

(I am not wrapped! I'm not! And even if I were, it is not tiny. It's magnificent. It's glorious. It's a blushing rose pillar of blazing fire and luminous delight. It's the stuff that heroes'
fantasies are made of. It's...)

I was going for 'finger', Duncan.

(Oh. My mistake. Carry on.)

I thought you were mad at him.

(I'm furious with him.)

Doesn't sound like it.

(Well, I'm never too angry to be fair. That wouldn't be heroic.)

Of course it wouldn't.

(Exactly.)

And since the hero is always bigger and better, if the sidekick's is that impressive, then the heroes' is even...

(Of course.)

That's what I figured. Let's move on. LAST SEEN WEARING: Duncan MacLeod's sweat.

(That's Duncan MacLeod's *sweater*.)

That's not how I remember it.

(Well, obviously you were mistaken. Type 'sweater'.)

No, let's talk about this. It may be a clue. Right before he disappeared, the two of you were in the shower, fucking.

(We were making love.)

You were fucking. And as I remember it, you finished and left Methos in there alone.

(He finished, too! I never leave him unsatisfied! My sex scenes always end in glorious, technicolor climaxes for everyone.)

Fine. Whatever. The two of you humped like hyperactive bunnies until the fireworks went off, then you patted him on the ass and left him there, naked. No sweater. He hasn't been seen since, in sweat or a sweater. What did Methos do when he finished pouting?

(I have no idea. He wouldn't let me read that part.)

He wouldn't let you... Duncan?

(What?)

You're a wuss. You talk a good game, but when push comes to shove, you let that skinny little loud-mouthed weasel of a Methos muse walk all over you.

(I do not!)

Do so.

(I'm the hero! The hero can't be a wuss!)

Wuss wuss wuss wuss.

(Stop that!)

Wuuuuusssss.

(I can't help it! I'm in love with that skinny little loud- mouthed weasel! I adore everything about him, from his long, pointy toes to that sexy little scar across his nose. God, that
scar! I love that scar. I love to kiss it, and lick it, and suck on it...)

I know you do, Duncan, and we all love to watch you do it. But sweetie, what would it take to convince you to be just the tiniest bit more forceful with Methos?

(More forceful? I practically raped him in that shower scene! How far do you expect me to go? Do you know how hard it was for me to treat him like that then walk out and leave him there, alone and suffering? I'm the hero, for God's sake!)

I think I'm beginning to see why we're having a problem with this story. And all this time I thought it was Methos who was being stubborn.

(Hah! You think he can be stubborn? My stubbornness is of heroic proportions. Everything about me is of heroic proportions. My honor, my virtue, my grief, my atonement, my hair, my shoulders, my chest, my...)

You can stop the inventory, I get the picture.

(Are you sure? I was just getting to the good parts.)

I'm sure. Save it for the next chapter. Which we're never going to get to if you don't loosen up that shining armor a little bit.

(I don't know about that. Exactly how much loosening are we talking about?)

Not too much.

(How much? Be precise.)

Push him around a little? Slam him against the wall once or twice? He'd thank you for it, and it would certainly do me a world of good to see it.

(Sounds like bullying. I'm not sure I could do that. I think I've hurt him enough already.)

Not even if he deserved it? Not even if he really, really, REALLY wanted you to?

(I still don't think it sounds very heroic.)

Small bruises. Itsy bitsy bruises.

(Maybe I could manage a few small bruises.)

But livid. Small but colorful. And just enough blood to lubricate things a little. You've gone that far before.

(Yes, but I didn't enjoy it.)

Do it for Methos, Duncan. Make the sacrifice for true love.

(Are you sure this is what Methos wants?)

Trust me, he's dying for it. He dreams about it every night. He won't shut up about it. It's at the top of his Christmas list every year.

(That's what you said about Kronos and the Candy Striper uniform, and you know how that ended.)

So I made one mistake -- nobody's perfect. Work with me here, Kiltboy.

(I'm still listening, aren't I?)

Methos wants those bruises and that blood as much as he wants your collar around his swan-like neck. He's suffering, Duncan. How can you stand by and watch that when you could give him what he wants? As aggravating and infuriating as he is, I can't stand
to see him in this much pain. Do you think he left because he was angry? The poor thing ran off because he thinks you don't love him anymore. His poor heart is broken, Duncan. If you don't do something about it soon, I'll have to...to...I can't say it.

(What?)

I'll have to...let the EDM muse out of the storage room.

(EDM? That beast? With my fragile, delicate little Methos blossom? No! I absolutely forbid it.)

What choice do I have, Duncan?

(That unspeakable monster will never touch my Methos. I won't let you do that. If this is what Methos needs, I'll do it myself.)

You're amazing. Only a true hero would sacrifice himself for a friend like this, Duncan.

(Small, colorful bruises, and a little blood. Is that all?)

Almost. Let's talk about domination.

(Let's not.)

It's not that hard, Duncan. Just tell him what you want him to do, then make sure he does it.

(Are we talking about the same Methos here? Tall, pale guy with a funny accent? Skinny, with a world class ass?)

He of the Supremely Suckable Toes. That's the one.

(And I'm supposed to be able to accomplish this without taking his head?)

Don't worry about it, any fight he puts up will be strictly for show. Just an act to make it look a bit more realistic.

(You know this for a fact?)

Methos craves being dominated, Duncan. I got it from an unimpeachable source.

(Who?)

Amanda swears to it.

(Oh, shit. You're kidding me, right?)

Give me a break, Duncan. I'm not an idiot, I know exactly how far to trust Amanda.

(Really? Do they make a ruler that small?)

This is sex, Duncan -- have you ever known her to be wrong about sex? Ever? About even the most minute detail?

(Now that you mention it -- no. And she's sure this is what he wants?)

Absolutely. You've got me and Amanda backing you. What could possibly go wrong?

(OK, I'll do it for Methos.)

That's my hero muse!

(Let's get this over with. Where's my mark? Who's got my body oil? Do I at least get a whip and a chair? Oh -- we still don't have Methos.)

Go get oiled down, I'll take care of it. I think I've figured out where he's gone.

(Call me when he gets here. I'll be in the closet.)

/Doesn't it worry you when he's that gullible?/

'Trusting', Amanda. The word is 'trusting'.

/If you say so. God, he's so cute when he's got a mission./

Adorable. A six-foot-plus, hundred-eighty pound teddy bear, with fangs and claws. Did you finish the outline?

/Bruises, blood, and lots of alpha-male chest beating, as  requested./

Great. I'll send for the Woad Warrior and we'll get this show on the road.

/You knew where he was all the time, didn't you?/

I didn't need to know where he was -- I know how to bring him home.

Methos --

All is forgiven.

The cat's fur is growing back, and the dry cleaners got the butterscotch pudding out of the drapes. Duncan is oiled down and in the mood for that romantic PWP you requested. Get your skinny ass back here before he forgets the oil and sits on my couch.

Suze