Title : Tweed ?!
Author : Nemainofthewater
Disclaimer : I don’t own anything you recognize, it belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and Panzer.
The Watcher’s Council. An ancient organization spanning 4 millennia and 5 continents. It was first established to aid the Slayer, until someone saw immortal men that couldn’t die and thought, hey; maybe it would be a good idea to watch them as well! In the face of this logical conclusion, he was laughed at and shunned, but he continued and with a few of his friends set up another Watcher’s organization. Needless to say, that didn’t go down very well. In fact, it went down so badly that the two organizations didn’t talk to each other for three millennia, and acknowledged the others existence when they couldn’t decide when a certain young man was a demon or an Immortal.
Two thousand years later, all this added up to the perfect hiding place for an Immortal.
Methos knew this, so, after his secret had been revealed, he discarded Adam Pierson, moved to England and enrolled in University as ancient languages major Peter Adams. There, he made sure that he was top of his class, a laughingly easy feat, and wrote several papers that would be sure to interest the Council.
Finally, after a year of dreadfully dull lectures, he was approached by a member of the Council, and offered a position as a junior researcher. He managed to look wide eyed and stunned during the ‘the earth is older than you know’ spiel, and went into his new job the very next day.
There he was dismayed to find that everyone, and he meant everyone, was wearing tweed. Although it had not been mentioned before, it seemed to be the unofficial uniform of the Watcher’s Council. He gritted his teeth, and the next day he was indistinguishable from the rest, in a neat tweed suit.
And it was all perfect until he was given his first assignment. To find an ancient manuscript in, of all places, Paris. It was typical, but perhaps he could pull it off. He boarded his plane a few hours later, and found the manuscript within the next few hours.
He thought that he was home clear. Boy was he wrong. He cursed as he felt the now familiar buzzing in his mind, and if he had had a god, then he would be praying to them for it not to be a certain Immortal. Unfortunately, Fate really didn’t like him.
He turned around quickly to find the immortal Boy Scout and Dawson, both of who appeared to be stifling laughter.
“Honestly Adam,” Joe Dawson finally choked out, “I can understand you going to the ground, but what’s with the tweed?!”
“I’ll have you know that it’s a perfectly acceptable form of dress,” he replied, and Dawson collapsed again at his upper class English accent. He was starting to turn blue before he gasped out a breath, and Methos suppressed a small pang of disappointment. It would have been nice to see if someone could really die from too much laughter. His cheeks inexplicably flushed, he tried to make his getaway.
“Well, excuse me, but I have a plane to catch.”
And with that he walked off. Hopefully he would be able to get away before they stopped laughing. And, maybe, just maybe, if he was extremely lucky, he wouldn’t ever see them again. But, somehow he doubted it.
Hours later Joe Dawson still laughing, wrote in his secret Methos Chronicles,
Saw Methos. He was wearing Tweed. He looked like an idiot.
He even included a photo.