The Game 19
Edited by Karen Leigh
Dustin came to a decision and turned to the others in the room at and sighed. "I have a meeting in a little while with some industry people. I've got to run back to my hotel room and get ready. Do you want to come with?"
He picked up his laptop.
"I'll just go get showered and changed, then go... you can wait in the lobby or bar if you want. Or whatever."
Anson hadn't really been paying attention. His thoughts were partly on the weird things that were happening all around him, and partly on the amazing luck that had finally come his way, bringing him Methos. Happily dreaming of the night he'd just spent, he hadn't at first noticed Dustin's departure. Suddenly, he sat up straight, disturbing Methos, who was apparently sunk in a reverie beside him.
"Hey, if Dustin has the key to your room, shouldn't you go with him and get your stuff, you two?"
Methos shrugged. "Probably a good idea," he agreed. "Cory?"
Raines nodded his head. "Yeah, I guess we should get the hell out of here." He grinned at Methos, "Shall I go round up a car for us?"
"NO!" Sitting up, Methos frowned quellingly at Cory. "We'll call a cab. Once we're at the hotel I'll make arrangements to rent a car."
"Fine, fine," Cory agreed pleasantly. "Whatever you want, old man." He rose and crossed to the phone.
After a short conversation he hung up and turned back to Methos and Anson. "Dispatcher says about ten minutes."
Methos climbed to his feet and stretched. "Come on, Anson. We'll get our stuff and shift it over to the new hotel."
Dustin headed out the door, hailing a cab easily enough. Reaching the Embassy, he smiled. He was going to get his things and go to the production meeting. Routine, just routine.
He suddenly found himself enjoying the concept of routine more than he could ever remember.
Walking towards the elevators, he was shaken out of his reverie as he saw another double of himself at the receptionist's desk, acting very charming to the girl there. He saw her give him a keycard, and he smiled. Must have lost his key or ID or something.
He chuckled to himself at the idea of losing his identity. He surely had done that! Well, at least his uniqueness in looks. Geez, if he'd known he might have let this guy borrow his key card and no one would know the difference. He saw the guy head up, and decided to continue to his room. They'd be able to meet later, he was sure.
Arriving in his room, he was pleased to note a maid had been in and cleaned up the mess he dimly recalled they must have left there.
He took a shower, and then dressed in his Hugo Boss best. Gathering his papers from his briefcase, he frowned, and then smiled. Wait till I pitch this, guys.
Heading back downstairs, he looked around as the elevator stopped to pick up a passenger on a lower floor. Was that... it looked like... oh, no. Not *another* clone of himself.
On the other hand, he was getting used to this. He smiled gamely, and held out a hand. "Dustin Yarma. Pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm sure." God, I'm getting good at this. Not so much as an eyelash bat.
As the elevator began its descent, he stood, smiling as if meeting clones of oneself was something one did every day.
Well, for the past two days, he had been doing just that. Whether it was a shroom dream or an alternate dimension, he decided he might as well try to enjoy himself.
And he'd have a hell of a sci-fi thriller for Mackey. Good thing, too...Globe needed a good sci-fi flick. Mackey had asked for one.
Tom jumped a little when he heard the voice beside him. He had been focused on getting out of the building without being followed by those two sex fiends, one of which looked exactly like himself.....too weird...waaay too weird.
Remembering his manners Tom turned to the man offering his hand and tried to smile. "Oh, pardon me....I'm not myself today....I just saw a..........." All conscious thought left Tom's mind as he stared at yet another replica of himself. Unless this was the same guy from earlier...what was his name? Oh yeah, Vic.
"Excuse me for staring, I'm sure you understand why I am a little shocked. Did you say your name was Dustin? I thought you told me earlier your name was Vic? I am so confused. Can you please tell me what is going on here?" Wow... so this is what I would look like if I had money....real money. Damn.... money looks good on me! I am really hot as a rich guy. Maybe this one won't point a gun at me....I would seriously like some answers here.
"Nope. I'm Dustin. Who's Vic? Oh, don't tell me - about 6'1", green eyes, dark hair, slim build?" Dustin couldn't help laughing again. This was all too weird... but what was weirder was his growing nonchalance. He paused. "Is he -- with anyone? Any other clones, or - "
Tom found his voice again and made a decision. "Do you know what the hell is going on here? Why there seems to be several versions of me..uh, you...um, us walking around here? :::sigh:::: I'm tired and have a horrible headache.
"I'm sorry, I'm as flummoxed as you are. Though since I produce films for a living, I have been thinking on ... sci-fi plausibilities. Do you know how many things we now take for granted started out as science fiction dreams - or nightmares?" He looked at Tom with a slightly evil twinkle in his eye. Oh, God, when had this penchant for messing with people's minds appeared? Was Minnow rubbing off on him? Good God... "Of course, many things have, mercifully or not, stayed safely there in the sci-fi realm... everything I can think of... well, it's not a good thing. Course, Hollywood hasn't done many Utopian films lately..." I'm beginning to think a trip to the sci-fi section of Block Buster may not be a bad idea. Wonder if Cory would be up for that?
I'm supposed to be recuperating right now, not being dragged to a hotel with a bunch of me look-a-likes running around acting like there is some big mystery or cover up. I just want to go to bed. I'm exhausted. I'd like to talk to you about this, but I'm afraid it will have to be after I get some sleep."
"Well, I kind of learned the hard way we don't have as much charge of our lives as we think. How... easily someone or something can... throw it into a tailspin."
The urge to laugh hysterically and sob uncontrollably came up all at once. Well, lets see....if I were in control of my life I would have prevented an avalanche that subsequently caused the deaths of five people....nonononononono no no don't think about that right now....think about that later
Dustin quirked his eyebrow. "You want my advice? Go with it. Or your head will explode. I promise." Mine almost did.
"Do you have a room? If not, I'm late for a meeting. You're welcome to crash in my room if you like. I've got some friends around somewhere... Anson, Cory, and Methos. Nice guys... Cory and Anson look like us, but mercifully Methos doesn't."
Tom's eyes widened a bit in surprise....more guys that look exactly like me? This is getting waaaay too strange. Now there's no way in hell I'm gonna leave without finding out what's going on "Hey, thanks man. I would appreciate a little down time and I'd love to crash in your room for a little while. I'm anxious to hear what's going on and why I seem to see a new and more interesting version of *me* everywhere I go."
Dustin noticed a look in the other's eye. "Just... you may not want to get Anson and Methos near a bed together..." At least he didn't hit on you... yet.
"Bed??" Tom gaped then swallowed hard, a little shocked at Dustin's quiet advice. "You will tell this Methos person about me in case he goes up to your room he won't think I'm someone else, won't you? I have had enough surprises today, any more and I think I might have a coronary." Tom picked up his bag and followed Dustin to his room. Dustin explained he had some work he needed to take care of, but would be back shortly. Tom barely heard Dustin as he eyed the soft looking couch. His back was throbbing in time with his head and his ribs ached painfully with each breath. Sitting down heavily he didn't even notice when Dustin had left the room, all that mattered right now was rest...sleep...he'd work it all out later...he'd ask questions later...later. Tom hadn't even taken off his coat and was fast asleep before his head hit the pillow.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Methos knocked on the door and waited impatiently for Dustin to answer.
Nothing. Not even the vaguest hint that anyone was within.
"Damn," he said, disgusted. "We missed him." He frowned in thought, and then turned back towards the elevators. "One of you will pretend to be Dustin and say you've lost your key. That should work."
Cory snorted. He knelt down in front of the door and pulled something that looked like a hand-held game out of his pocket. "You've become distressingly mundane, old man. Why go all the way back downstairs when ..." The door opened smoothly and Cory grinned up at Methos. "Voila," he said, standing up to usher the others into the room with a flourish. "Entrez vous."
Methos rolled his eyes and walked into the darkened suite. He hit a light switch and headed over to the corner where his bag lay.
"Hey!" Cory grabbed Methos' arm and pointed to the couch. "Who the hell is *that*?"
"Oh no ... not another one," Methos groaned as he took in the appearance of the sleeping figure. "How the hell did Dustin manage to find another one - he only left us ... what..? 45 minutes ago?"
None too pleased to find that Dustin had actually brought another man into his room; Cory frowned and moved closer to the newcomer. "Hey," he said rather loudly, poking the man's shoulder. "Wake up."
Anson had been content to sit and snuggle against Methos in the cab on the way over, silent in his desire to make the most of every second he spent with the man: sure that he would be separated from him soon enough, perhaps forever. Now he looked at the sleeping figure and back at Cory.
"What the hell is happening? Methos? This is totally nuts. How many more of me are there?"
As the man began to show signs of waking, Anson stepped back, unsure of what was going on.
Tom opened his eyes slowly and tried to sit up. He winced as the pain came rushing back into his chest and back. A little disoriented and a lot confused, Tom tried to shake his head a little to clear the cobwebs, but not enough to bring back his headache.
"Hey, Dustin. Thanks for letting me crash on your couch......wha.....is that you Vic? I'm sorry I ditched you and your ...um, friend. But I've had enough danger and excitement right now to last a lifetime and having you shove a gun in my back seemed a bit dangerous to me. So are you two going to tell me what's going on now? Vic? Dustin? You guys are Vic and Dustin......aren't you?"
Tom put his head in his hands and began to mumble to no one "This is weird...so weird..it's a dream...it has to be...that's the only explanation...or it's just not real...that psycho really did kill me on that mountain....he stabbed me in the fucking heart and killed me....that's it....this is all some bizarre purgatory where I see myself over and over and over again doing different things, really strange things I normally wouldn't consider doing, but under the interesting circumstances, why the hell not....or maybe I'm just dreaming....I'm still stuck on that mountain top and my mind has concocted this to cope with the situation.....why me...why me."
The other three men just looked at Tom, then at each other, then back at Tom. No one knew what to do or say. Anson and Cory looked at Tom with sympathetic eyes, knowing how confusing and frustrating it was when they first had to cope with the information overload. Methos, on the other hand, was not so tolerant.
Anson smiled nervously. "I take it you met Dustin? He's a trip, isn't he? I don't know who Vic is, but you gotta know that there are at least another four of us that I've seen, and who knows how many more besides." Anson stayed beside Methos, reluctant to leave his side for a moment. "We're gonna have to go where Ricky was saying, aren't we?"
Methos shrugged. "I suppose we'd best. I really want to get to the bottom of this ... whatever this is."
Cory, none too happy with the thought of being surrounded by copies of himself, frowned. "What about Dustin?" he asked. "Shouldn't we wait for him?"
Anson fixed the new duplicate with a questioning look. "Vic? You said Vic? Who is he?"
Frowning at the way Tom was holding himself, Methos looked closer. The man was in pain. Great pain.
Then he remembered seeing something about a Chiropractor's convention in this very hotel. That could mean ... should mean ...
He crossed to the phone and dialed down to the front desk.
"Yes, do you have a Dr. David Cameron registered?" he asked.
Anson had been leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on Methos with an expression that was distinctly proprietary. As Methos dialed the phone, he smiled. Methos seemed to be able to take charge wherever he was. Anson shivered with the knowledge that he was *his* lover.
"Just a moment sir, I'll check that for you." Pause. "Yes, he checked in yesterday, would you like me to ring his room for you?"
"Yes, indeed, I'd very much appreciate that," Methos responded smiling.
Ring.
"Cameron."
"This is a voice from your past ... " Methos said teasingly.
No! There had to be some mistake. Methos belonged to him. He couldn't start flirting with someone else. It wasn't possible. Anson felt his fists balling up. He didn't know who this guy Cameron might be, but he wasn't gonna be feeling good if he got in the way of Anson Greene. That was for certain.
Dave Cameron actually found himself pulling the receiver away from his ear and staring at it in numb disbelief for a beat. It couldn't be. Could it?
Pause.
"Adam?" Came the doubtful reply.
"Nice to know I'm not forgotten, Dave. How the hell are you?"
Well, son of a bitch! It *was* Adam Pierson. It had been years. At least six years... maybe seven. Damn.
"I'm good." Dave answered. "You?"
"I'm fine ... just fine. Listen, I have a guy here in serious need of your special attention. He's in a bad way. Think you could take a look?"
Pause.
"Where are you?" Dave asked, bemused to hear from this man after so many years.
"Right here in the hotel, believe it or not."
Eyebrows rising in silent surprise, once again, Dave found himself staring at the receiver. He supposed he really shouldn't be all that surprised - after all, Adam had made a habit of just turning up at the most interesting times for several years.
"Oookay, what room? I'll come to you."
Methos gave the room number and rang off, well satisfied with himself.
Dave hung up and ran one hand over his face. What the hell had brought *that* on? For five years, he and Adam had been occasional lovers. Adam would appear in Pittsburgh out of the blue - and Dave had always been happy to see him. Then, nothing. For seven years. Not one single word. Now this. He shrugged into a clean polo shirt and slipped his loafers back on. He might just as well head up and find out what was up.
"An old friend," he explained to the three curious faces watching him. "He's a Chiropractor, and it looks like our new friend Tom could use a little medical attention just about now."
"Methos?" Anson moved in close to the old man and snuggled up against him. "Who's this guy? Where did you meet him?"
Uh oh. Methos cleared his throat and put his arm around Anson's shoulders, pulling him close. "He's just an old friend, love. That's all. I..." he paused, then shrugged and continued. "I am a doctor, you know - I've told you that. Dave and I met at a conference in Las Vegas a few years ago."
Cory snorted and Methos frowned at him repressively. He did not need that idiot feeding Anson's jealousy right now.
With sly grin, Cory turned back to Tom and rolled his eyes expressively. "Ain't young-love grand?"
Tom blushed and shifted nervously on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position. He really thought he should object to this Methos guy just up and calling some bone-cruncher in without even asking him about it. But then, he moved the wrong way and stiffened in pain.
Hell, let this Dr. Dave give it a shot - couldn't hurt at this point. He hoped.
Glad that Cory was distracted with Tom, Methos concentrated on Anson. "I haven't seen him in years, Anson. There's nothing for you to worry about," he soothed. "Dave is a great guy - you might even like him."
He fell silent, worried for a moment that Dave might say something ... do something that would convince Anson that he was more to Methos than an old friend. No, he realized, not Dave. The man was careful. Discrete.
Well, most of the time. A small grin tilted the corners of his mouth; visions of Dave Cameron being rather less than discrete dancing in his memory. Of course, that only happened behind closed doors - no reason for Anson to ever know anything about that.
Anson closed his eyes, picturing his vital lover partying in Vegas with another man. Someone elegant and gorgeous. Someone who wouldn't cling, and whine and who probably would wear a suit and look spectacular. It looked as though his fling of the past night or so was merely that - a fling. He drooped visibly, and backed away again to lean against the door. When the knock came, he was ready.
"You must be Dave," he said to the tall, attractive man who was standing outside. "Hi, I'm Anson. I was just heading out. See ya."
Somewhat taken aback by Anson's rather abrupt greeting, Dave paused in the doorway. The kid appeared to be upset. Very upset. Not sure what was going on, but recognizing that he was apparently the cause of Anson's distress, Dave instinctively blocked the doorway, keeping the kid in the room.
Looking past Anson's downcast face, Dave spotted Adam and smiled hesitantly. "Hey, Adam," he said quietly.
Sighing, Methos crossed to the door and took Anson's arm in a firm grip. "Just hang on a second, Anson," he murmured. Pulling his lover back into the room and placing one arm over his shoulders to keep him in place, Methos turned his attention to Dave.
"Come on in, Dave. I really appreciate this."
Dave nodded, took in the arm around Anson's shoulders, the mulish expression on his face and grinned, recognizing that Adam had one hell of a jealous lover on his hands.
Good for the self-satisfied SOB, Dave decided. He suspected that Adam seldom ran across this particular problem - he'd never struck Dave as the type of man to put up with such a childish display. Dave was pretty damned amused at the thought of always calm, cool and collected Adam Pierson with such an emotionally needy lover.
Methos tightened his arm around Anson when the kid tried to pull away. No way was he going to let Anson get out of here alone. There was just no telling what he might get up to in his current state.
Hell. Dave would just have to handle Tom and Cory on his own - the Doc was a big boy and would be just fine.
"Listen Dave, this is Cory Raines and that's Tom McLaren. Tom's the one I called you about." Again, Anson tried to break away, and Methos started for the door, ruthlessly pulling Anson along with him. "We have a few things to talk about ... Sorry to run this way - hopefully, we'll be back soon." With that, he opened the door and pushed Anson out into the hallway.
Anson was stiff under Methos' hands, his body resistant against the manhandling he was getting from the old man.
Methos pulled the suite door closed behind them and crowded Anson up against the wall. "Now," he said quietly, "you want to tell me what the problem is?"
"You can stay with Doctor Dear. I don't mind, you know." He lowered his eyes, and waited.
"Oh, gods," Methos groaned, closing his eyes momentarily. "Anson, David is not my dear doctor. He is just an old friend. Surely you didn't think I'd lived this long without having made a friend or two along the way?"
"Yeah?" Anson smiled a little, his eyes raised to meet those of Methos, a challenge written in them. "I heard you. Tell me that you and he aren't lovers. Hey, I SAW him."
"Anson, Dave is *not* my lover. *You* are my lover." Methos looked into Anson's wary green gaze and reluctantly continued. "I haven't even seen the man in at least six or seven years. Once upon a time, yes, we *were* lovers - but, not any longer. It's long over between us."
Anson had seen the man. He was beautiful, glowing with his own particular brand of health. He looked affluent, and had an air of quiet assurance about him. He was a guy who was used to getting the things that he wanted. Anson knew the type, even though he'd never managed to become that himself, and his heart ached with envy for the things he knew that he could never have.
"I know that you're on holiday. You don't have to make me any promises. I wasn't expecting you to carry me off on your white horse." Anson laughed shortly, and averted his face.
Oh boy. This was not at all good. With a quiet sigh, Methos reached out and gently urged Anson's averted face back towards his own. "Listen to me, Anson. I don't want Dave. I want you. Just you. What Dave and I had is over and done. History."
"He's a great guy, Anson," Methos continued. "Really, he is. It just ...didn't ever go much beyond casual sex and friendship between us. I had thought - hoped, even - that there was the possibility of more between you and me."
It was hard to meet Methos' eyes. He wanted to believe so badly, and because the tears of self-pity were so close to springing unbidden from his eyes. He wanted this man to love him, and somehow he was screwing it all up. Settling for lowering his lids, and dropping his chin, Anson stood quiet for a minute, and then he took a breath.
"I - I know I'm a fuck-up. Sorry."
Pulling Anson close against him, Methos wrapped his arms firmly around his lover. Lord, the kid was so ... unsure of himself. Methos wanted to cry for the damage that had been done to this beautiful man.
"Hush, love," he soothed. "You are *not* a fuck-up. I understand, truly, I do. This is a stressful situation and you're just unsure, is all. Relationships are never easy, especially in the beginning." He pulled back just enough to meet Anson's eyes. "We can do it, though, if we put a little effort into it."
Anson's dawning realization that he was not going to be sent out in the cold, today at least, provoked the glimmer of a smile, and he dropped his head down to lay it against Methos' shoulder.
"I want to try. I'm still a fuck up though, I really am."
Relieved that the worst of the crisis seemed to be past them, Methos regretted for a moment that he wasn't in a position to show Anson graphically that he was wanted, very much wanted. Deciding to let the question of whether or not Anson was a fuck-up wait for a more appropriate occasion, Methos leaned his head down, resting his face against Anson's hair.
"I'm very glad that you want to try, love. I think we need to talk about the trust issue a bit," Methos said into one ear. "I know that trust doesn't come easily for you. It doesn't for me either. We're both going to have to work on that. For now, let me just say that I do not have another lover stashed away here or anywhere else. You're quite enough for me, Anson. More than enough, in fact."
Anson gave a low, uneasy chuckle, and snuggled in closer to the warm body pressing against him, just for a second. Then he seemed to realize where he was, and straightened up. The elevator chose that moment to arrive on their floor and as the people within stepped into the corridor, all that could be seen were two men, apparently chatting together.
As they turned the corner at the end of the passageway, Anson leaned to place a swift kiss on Methos' lips.
"I'm sorry. I really am."
"Don't be sorry, Anson. Just, give me a chance next time, okay?" Pulling Anson back into his arms, Methos kissed his soft lips and smiled at him. "Now, shall we go back in?"
Hanging back, Anson caught Methos' hand. "They're going to laugh at me, aren't they?"
Methos shrugged. "I tend to suspect that they'll be laughing at me, actually. In any case, you know enough about Cory to know he's perpetually amused, Dave will understand, and, as for Tom - I rather think he has no idea of what was going on between us, in there or out here."
Anson shook his head, ducking against Methos. "Okay. Just don't let me fly off the handle. Do something with me, huh?"
Methos grinned. "Okay, I shall think of something to *do* with you, if you should show signs of getting upset."
He opened the door to the suite and ushered Anson in ahead of him. He surely hoped that Tom would be able to deal with Methos' intended method of controlling Anson.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Dave stood silent for a beat, staring after Adam and his pretty love, then turned back to the sofa and the two men ...
Well, damn. They were identical. And - these two were identical to Anson. He blinked, looked again.
Cory couldn't help but be amused by the look on Dave's face. "Anson's a little, ah, volatile, shall we say. He'll keep the old man busy for a while. And, before you ask - as far as we know - none of us are actually related. There appear to be a great number of us wandering around the greater DC area at the moment."
"A number of you?" Dave repeated, bemused by the whole situation. "You mean there are more?"
"Oh yeah," Cory answered cheerfully. "A great many more - we haven't met all of them ... us ... whatever, but we have it on good authority that there are innumerable copies of us in town."
Silently, Dave digested the information. Finally deciding that he'd never figure it out based on the little he knew, he shrugged his confusion aside and turned his attention to Tom.
The poor guy was sitting stiffly, looking almost as confused as Dave felt. Smiling in sympathy, he crossed the room and crouched down so that Tom wouldn't have to strain his neck looking up at him.
"Hi," Dave offered quietly. "I'm Dave Cameron. I don't know what Adam told you but-"
Tom frowned. "Who the hell is Adam?"
Cory snorted. "Adam is Methos is Adam," he said with a definite smile in his voice.
Well, he'd sure as hell be having a *most* interesting talk with Adam a little later, Dave promised himself.
"Listen, Tom. I don't know what the hell is going on around here ... and it looks like you have about the same information I have. Why don't we set that all aside for later and concentrate on trying to get you more comfortable. Tell me what the problem is."
Several questions flooded Tom's mind ...who are you? How do you know Methos? .Or is it Adam?...What's going on here?...Can you get me away from these crazy people? ...Are you one of them?
Finally Tom just sighed and gave up. "The problem is nothing a little pain medication and physical therapy won't fix." Tom smiled weakly at Dave but the doctor wasn't about to be put off so easily. He just kept staring expectantly at Tom waiting for an answer as to why he was brought here.
"All right...here it is in a nutshell...I went mountain climbing, I fell in a crevasse, I broke some ribs and twisted the shit out of my back as well as fracturing my leg in a couple places. A psycho-millionaire-novice mountain climber-asshole stabbed me in the chest with a syringe. Other than that, I'm fine doc."
Dr. Dave motioned for Tom to stretch out to be examined. He was poked, prodded and twisted, all the while Dr. Cameron was making small talk but Tom wasn't really listening....he was concentrating on what the doctor was doing. Some techniques didn't bother him and were quite...um, pleasurable, felt a little like getting a massage. Other techniques were excruciating.
When the preliminary examination was done, Dr. Cameron had assessed the situation, given a minor adjustment and was filling out some prescriptions while he waited for Tom to sit up. He chuckled to himself and tried not to attract attention to Tom's embarrassing situation.
Tom was a bit shell-shocked. The adjustment made his back feel 100% better and the short massage did wonders for his headache. But there was a small problem....well, if the truth be told...a rather large problem, a large embarrassing problem.
He kept telling himself this happens all the time, it happened when he had his last physical and the doctor had to examine his prostate. The doctor calmed his fears and advised him that the body will react to stimuli even if the brain doesn't find it appealing. So this is why he had a fucking two-by-four in his pants. Why? He didn't find this the least bit arousing.....did he? NO...no he couldn't. It was just a reaction to all the clones and their sexual behaviors. Wasn't it?
Keeping his body between Tom and the rest of the room in an attempt to offer the man a little privacy, Dave put his hands in his pants pockets and watched the other three men. Methos and his friend stood in one corner murmuring softly to each other. Cory was sitting on a chair, sprawling all over the chair, to be precise, watching everyone with an amused smirk decorating his mouth.
Dismissing Cory as pretty but shallow, Dave concentrated on Adam - or, was it Methos? - and Anson. It really did amaze him that his former lover would fall for such a man. So needy. So... volatile. So pretty.
But, by all outward appearances, Adam had indeed fallen and fallen hard. Smiling at his own memories of Adam, Dave turned back to face Tom when the other two fell into what looked like an incendiary kiss. He faltered at the look on Tom's face. He was watching Adam and Anson with a fascinating combination of curiosity, embarrassment and, most interesting of all, longing. Well, well, it looked as if Mr. McLaren wasn't as straight as he might like to think.
And, Dave's eyes scanned lower, if this continued, the man would never get up off of the couch. Though, it was pretty damned funny to watch his color heighten even as other parts of him "rose". Dave chuckled inwardly and moved to sit on the sofa.
"Tell you what, Tom, let's go down to the pharmacy in the lobby and get these meds I've recommended and maybe find something to drink."
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
As the door closed behind Dr. Cameron, Cory, and Tom, the newcomer, Anson barely noticed. He'd been seized by Methos, who was now performing a tonsillectomy on him, using only his tongue. Methos held his face steady as he systematically explored his mouth, and Anson felt his body shiver, despite the heat of the embrace.
Pulling away from the kiss, Methos looked into slumberous green eyes. "Cold? He teased. "Shall I warm you up, then?"
With gradual movements, he urged Anson closer to the bed. Now, finally, he had a chance to show Anson exactly how much the younger man had come to mean to him.
"God, yes." Anson knew that he was needy, knew that he had been really stupid, and he was still convinced that Methos would think him a total idiot, but he still wanted this... wanted the man who was kissing him so hard.
When the back of his knees bumped against the edge of the mattress, Methos let himself fall back onto the bed. Anson landed atop him with a stifled grunt.
Immediately, Anson rolled to one side, attempting to reverse their positions. Grinning, Methos pulled the other man back.
"Not this time," he said softly.
"But..." Anson looked at Methos with inquiry in his eyes. "I want... Oh, no..."
At the thought of what the other man was suggesting, Anson felt a helpless surge of - was it lust, or something more? He shivered again, and lowered his head to place his lips against Methos' once again.
"I don't know..."
Allowing Anson to hide his obvious uncertainty for the moment, Methos surrendered to a kiss that was positively inflammatory. The heat of Anson's mouth mesmerized him, drawing him further and further into an inferno of need.
Begging was not something he did often or well - but, if necessary, he would beg tonight. He wanted Anson, wanted so badly to give himself to the mortal man.
"Anson-love. I need you tonight. Please don't say no."
The words seemed to work on Anson like an aphrodisiac. He moaned into Methos' fine skin and began to mumble his way down over his throat to the base of it, nipping as he went.
"I haven't... What I mean to say is..." He looked at Methos, helplessly. "Oh, fuck! I want you so bad." His hands were trembling as he started to pull off Methos' clothes.
With each layer of clothing, Methos shed bits and pieces of his control. By the time he was naked, he was gasping for air as he writhed under Anson's hands.
Pressing himself up against Anson, Methos frowned at the obstructing fabric still covering the body he needed to touch.
Impatiently he plucked at Anson's t-shirt. "Get rid of this," he demanded breathlessly. "I need to feel you against me - c'mon," he urged, "hurry up."
Anson peeled himself away from Methos, and ripped his tee shirt off with clumsy haste, then began to try and get out of his jeans. When at last he was naked, he flung himself to cover Methos. Lying against him, he began to run his hands over Methos' pale skin, fingers gentle now as he explored the satin flesh.
Restlessly, Methos shifted under the careful touch. He moaned quietly and parted his legs, allowing Anson to settle between his thighs. And, gods, it felt good. Better than good. The sensation of their cocks rubbing together damn near took his breath away.
"Oooh, Anson," he sighed. "You feel so ... perfect against me, love. Just perfect. Think," he grinned up into dazed green eyes, "how much more perfect it will be once you're inside of me."
"You really...?" Another shudder ran through Anson's frame. "What can I use? I need something to slick you up with, or it's gonna hurt you, lover." He cast around for anything that might work. "I can't just stick it into you without..."
Excellent. It looked as if begging wouldn't be needed after all. Methos pulled Anson down for another kiss, and then lay back on the bed. "Well, if I know our Dustin," he offered, "he'll have what we need in his shaving kit. Go look."
Grumbling a little, Anson peeled himself away from the warmth of the man on the bed and stumbled towards the bathroom.
As Anson struggled to climb off of him and the bed, Methos grinned. "And, Anson," he called after the retreating figure, "I really, really do want you to fuck me, so hurry up will you."
His breath suddenly felt as though it had frozen inside his chest, and the center of his body seemed to be melting down. Fumbling through Dustin's toiletries, he snagged a bottle of baby oil, and raced back to the bed.
Greeting Anson as if he'd been gone for months instead of mere seconds, Methos pulled the young man close and wrapped his legs around slim hips.
"Mmm," he murmured, nibbling on the length of Anson's throat, "how do you want me, love?"
Oh, heavens. Anson took a breath, then another one... then he flipped open the top of the bottle and poured the oil into his hand, allowing it to drizzle over Methos' lower body and snickering softly at the sharp intake of breath that produced. "Can I?" He reached between Methos' legs to rub slick fingers over the tight pucker that lay there, stroking and teasing as he kissed the long throat, nipped the sweet flesh and finally sank onto the soft mouth that was offered.
Arching luxuriously under Anson's touch, Methos didn't at first register the question.
//Can I?// Wrong attitude. Anson didn't seem to be grasping the urgency of Methos' need. Well, time for a little encouragement, here. Wriggling his hips upward, Methos managed to angle himself just so and groaned happily when Anson's oil-slicked finger slipped inside of him.
"Oh yeah," he moaned. "That's where I want you. I need you, Anson. Need you so much."
"Oh boy." Anson was gone now, unable to do anything except push into Methos. He felt clumsy, hurried, and somehow brutish, but he couldn't stop. His fingers stretched and wormed their way inside of the other, until suddenly, Anson froze. "I have to... Sorry." He centered his cock, and thrust it home without any thought for his partner, crying out at the sudden heat that enveloped him.
Methos' eyes rolled back at the extreme ferocity of his own need. "Yesss," he hissed. "That's it, babe. Fuck me. Fuck me into next week!" Closing his hands on Anson's hips, he pulled, urging the man to set a demanding pace.
No problem. Anson's hips began to pump, and he made a guttural, groaning sound in the back of his throat. Then, he bent over to bite at Methos' lips as he felt his orgasm approach. "Can't last long." He grabbed at Methos' cock and began to stroke it urgently.
"Uuunh," was all Methos could manage. The flames shooting through his nerve endings seemed to have short-circuited his ability to speak. He could, however, make noise. And he did. A series of sounds escaped him, the likes of which he couldn't remember ever having heard himself make before tonight. He felt his muscles tighten and knew he wouldn't last much longer. Desperately, he clenched his hands in Anson's hair, lifting himself high enough to bring their lips together.
Nothing could stop Anson now. He was moving with short, stuttering jerks, trying to reach that one last fraction of an inch inside Methos, while his slippery fingers flew over his cock, working the loose skin back and forth. His tongue met with its equal, and all he could sense was soft, wet friction.
And it hit him like a fucking freight train. In some dim corner of his mind, Methos was amazed to hear himself screaming as his orgasm poured out of him, over Anson's hand and his own chest. He'd never done that. Well, not from sheer pleasure, he hadn't. Damn, he really had to keep this kid around.
Everything was rippling over him. He pushed in harder, and froze as the suction of Methos' orgasm fluttered around him, milking him of his essence and making him cry out. Even as he came, shooting his load deep inside Methos, he couldn't take his eyes off the other man's face.
Holding Anson tightly while shudders of ecstasy left the other man helpless, Methos realized ... "I love you," he admitted quietly, stunned to hear the words come out of his own mouth.
"God!" He didn't know if he'd heard it, or if he only wished he had. He fell forward to lie limp across the body of the oldest man in the world. "Do you know what hearing that does to me?"
Tracing a path up Anson's spine with one finger, Methos smiled. "No, I don't. I know what it does to me to say it, though." He sobered and looked at his lover. "I mean it, you know. Not sure how it happened - but, I do seem to have fallen in love with you, kid."
"Oh, man, that's tidy. I've been trying not to love you since that damned hot tub. It's been making me crazy." Anson snuggled in next to Methos, and buried his face in the other's neck. "I've been going nuts."
"Have you now?" Methos asked amused at the comment. "Well, I'm glad to hear it, Anson-love. Damned glad. C'mere," he murmured, lifting Anson's head so he could offer a kiss. "Love you," he whispered as his lips met Anson's.
"Jesus. I love you too." gasped Anson, and melted against his lover.
Closing his eyes, Methos held Anson close as the younger man's breathing grew deeper. When he finally fell asleep, Methos kissed his hair and did the same.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Dave, Tom and Cory left the room and rode the elevator down to underground shopping concourse. Cory wandered off while Tom and Dave found the pharmacy. Getting the prescriptions filled didn't take long and then they made their way to the hotel bar.
Once their drinks were in front of them, Dave found himself at a loss for words. Somehow, he suspected that mountain climbing - the most obvious topic at hand - would not be the thing to bring up. Not right now - Tom actually looked like he might be starting to relax a bit and his earlier description of recent events in his life had left Dave with the distinct impression that he man did not want to discuss it any further.
Just what I need...a good stiff..um, drink....::giggle..snort::: yeah right. Shit...being around all these guys is having a really peculiar affect on me....not that it's a bad thing...it's just...I don't know....just weird...that's all Tom stared into his drink trying to sort out this very bizarre trip to the Twilight Zone....or was it the Outer Limits? Can't remember...oh well. And to make matters worse, surprised that it could possibly get worse with identical copies of himself running around in this hotel, Tom couldn't take his eyes of this doctor. He's interesting. Handsome. Intelligent. Funny. The kind of guy I'd like to go to a football game with, or a bar...um, I mean a real bar..you know...strip bar, with half naked women..yeah, that's it.
"So," Dave finally said, "how long-"
"Hey you two." Cory sauntered up and collapsed into an empty chair at the table. "Did you get everything you needed in the pharmacy?"
Arrogant, self-centered and vain. Everything Tom didn't want to be. Cory had charm, but anyone can learn to be charming. There was something else about him that made people look twice. Well, besides the obvious, that he was sitting next to a copy of himself. He had a bizarre aura, like he thought he was invincible or that he just didn't give a shit. Like he could do what he pleased and consequences be damned. Hmm...it's a wonder he's lived this long, with an attitude like that. It will get him shot one day, or blown up maybe. Anyway, the arrogant little prick seems to show up at the most inopportune moments. I thought Doc and I would talk a little...I guess not.
Dave nodded in response and glanced at Tom, noting the slightly sour expression on his face. Hmm. Looked as if Cory's charm left Tommy-boy cold.
"So," Dave leaned forward and spoke to Cory, "why don't you tell us what you know about this clone thing?"
With a wide grin, Cory settled back in his chair. "Well, what can I say? We're everywhere. A clone here, two clones there ... I'd get tired of seeing my own face plastered all over the place if I weren't such a good-looking bastard."
"Arrogant, vain and shallow. Tell me something, Cory, .do you think it's possible that it's not a simple coincidence that we're exactly alike on the outside, but total opposites on the inside?" Tom knew he was snapping at his living reflection, but he couldn't help it...he was pushed to the brink of annoyance by this guy.
Cory just winked at Tom and gave him a slow, seductive smile and licked his bottom lip "maaaaybe baby, or maybe I'm just like you...only you don't know it yet."
Rolling his eyes, Dave shook his head, and smiled against his will. Shallow charm was not at all appealing, but the droll humor in Cory's voice was irresistible. Possibly the man was slightly more interesting than he'd first assumed.
A movement at the bar caught his attention and he looked over to see... another one. Damn. He was going to have a massive headache if this continued.
Tom's gaze followed Dave's across the room and to the bar. He started visibly, knowing he'd never ever get used to seeing "himself" anywhere except the mirror.
Following Dave's gaze, Cory straightened and he grinned widely when he saw the man at the bar. "Dustin!" he yelled.
Tom perked up at this...oh yeah, him. The one that *didn't* stick a gun in my back and force me to this bizarre hotel. This is the nice guy that let me crash in his room. Maybe this guy has some answers. He watched as Cory waved Dustin over to sit with them.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Denise finished applying another coat of "Passionate Plum" to full, pouting lips, and surveyed herself in the mirror. She'd gone for broke, in a black merry widow made from fine lace, and a pair of matching panties over a garter belt that held fishnet stockings up against her long, long thighs.
She slipped her feet into toeless sandals that had a moderate heel. There was no sense in overdoing it. She was 6'1" anyway. She didn't want to audition as a lighthouse.
Once she was garbed, made up, combed and depilated to her satisfaction, she turned to gather up her mink coast, and slipped into it with a sigh of satisfaction.
As the phone rang to announce Skinner's arrival, she wrapped her coat around her, picked up her purse, and hurried down to meet the Assistant Director.
Skinner stared in the direction of the bar. Vaguely wondering if the Krycek clone he'd just spotted heading that way was a new one or one of those he'd met, he had his back turned when she approached.
The distinctive cloud of perfume gave ample warning, though. Skinner frowned, considering... No, it couldn't be. Could it? He took another deep breath and couldn't help but grin in helpless amusement.
Youth Dew. Bryson had doused him/herself with Youth Dew. Under almost any other circumstances, Skinner would've been doubled over with laughter.
Damn, this person had one hell of a sense of humor. He couldn't help but appreciate it. Turning to face this most interesting new Agent of his, Skinner couldn't quite keep the amazement out of his expression as he beheld Bryson. Oh lord. Fishnets. A fur coat.
Skinner gulped, swallowing heavily. His stomach sank to knee level as Denise leaned down to adjust a lower button on her coat. Unless he was very much mistaken, her shoulders were bare under that coat. Not good. Not at all. Taking refuge behind his stoic AD persona, Skinner cleared his throat and did his best to wipe all expression from his face.
"Ready, Bryson?"
She nodded and simpered at him. "For anything," she said in a sultry voice.
Reaching in his pocket, Skinner pulled out his cellphone. "I'm going to call Krycek and find out how to get to this place where they're all gathered - all the clones, I mean. We need to find out what's going on."
While listening to Krycek tell him to stay put, that he was on his way with Mulder and Scully, Skinner's attention was caught by another clone walking by. This one carried a bag from Blockbuster Video. Well, at least all of the clones weren't at this Skip Brule's place. And, judging by the bag the man carried and the anticipatory smile on his face, this one had something enjoyable in his near future.
Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Skinner squared his shoulders and turned to Denise. "Krycek and Mulder are on their way. He'll give us directions when he gets here or we can just follow him in my car." He took her elbow and moved her to the entrance to the bar thinking to keep an eye on the clones and still be visible to Alex when he arrived.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Fucking body was sick...Horace thought. He had picked it as it looked like his strong capable body, but the asshole had cancer or something. He had to find a new ride and what the hell was that?
Licking his chops, Horace checked out the flash of skin. Oh, yum, he had to get some of that. Sure, he figured out that it was a guy under the fur coat and makeup, but it looked so edible. He followed for a while until the pretty piece met HIM. The body looked even better than the old one, which died in the chair. No way was that one sick. He looked as if he could have run head-on into a steam engine and won.
One happy dude, Horace giggled to himself. Gonna have a new set of threads and a bonus. He could imagine his huge hand running up and down those fish net stocking clad legs, those long shapely legs and ripping the crotch of the sexy underpinnings...maybe eating his way through the thin fabric. Pinning the squirming body beneath his powerful muscles as he forced the long legs over his shoulders to shove and shove his cock into the pretty ass until he came.
He couldn't wait to drag her/him back to the house he had commandeered to that sound proof room in the basement that used to be a porn studio. Hell, maybe he had it in him to be an artiste and he would film her/him on her knees as he wrenched her head back to force himself between the pouting lips. Bouncing in anticipation, Horace crept in the wake of the couple... when the stopped in the bar doorway he passed them casually.
Hopping and giggling, Horace Pinker was happy, happy, happy. He reached into his pocket and laid a twenty on the bar. "Bloody Mary," He ordered. Grabbing a walnut out of the bowl he cracked it between his fingers and sucked out the meat. You delicious things! Horace thought. "First, he had to get some of that foxy number in the doorway who was flashing his/her prime meat for anyone to see. Horace leaned back and rubbed his basket reflectively. He was ready to slip the sausage into that silky ass right here and now.
Looking around the bar, Horace licked his lips. He wanted a salad made of all those green-eyed pretties with the nuts of the hot number for seasoning. He picked one of the pretty ones to rape with his eyes...the soft-eyed one at the bar, with the open notebook in front of him.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Dustin walked into the lobby of the hotel, carrying a bag of rented movies with him. He smiled to himself. The meeting had gone well; there were several picks for urban legends on the table and just as many locations, ranging from subway stations to airplane bathrooms.
He was feeling on top of the world as he walked towards the elevators, preparatory to going up to his suite. Hearing someone call his name, someone who sounded like him, he smiled, and looked across the lobby, towards the bar.
Cory Raines was smiling back at him. Nearby was the man he'd met at the apartment... Skinner, wasn't it? Next to him was a disheveled looking Denis..? Denise, he corrected himself with a wry grin.
Smiling as he walked towards Cory, the thought of the movies he'd brought back: Attack of the Killer Klones, The Clones, Here Come the Clones, The Clonus Project, eXistenZ, My Brother the Clone, and The Thirteenth Floor. He also had several episodes of The Twilight Zone.
Maybe they could figure this thing out yet. "What we need is a biologist and a quantum physicist," he murmured as he smiled at Cory, offering the bag.
"Find anything out?" he asked the group at large. He nodded to Anson and Methos, and looked back to Cory, arching a brow.
Cory jumped up from his chair and planted a smacking kiss on Dustin's lips. Damn, he'd missed the man!
"Cory, for god's sake, control yourself," Methos hissed.
With a unrepentant grin, Cory resumed his seat, making sure Dustin sat next to him.
Dustin sat down, a little taken aback by the kiss, but somewhere deep down; he felt a little thrill go through him. He put the bag of videos on the bar.
Matthew paused just inside the entrance to the bar at his hotel, unable to keep a wide companionable smile off of his face. It faded briefly to a rueful one as he considered the contrast between these palatial surroundings and the B&B he'd held together, sort of, with duct tape and baling wire. Fortunately, he'd had an interim stop in Vancouver, so the culture shock wasn't quite so dramatic.
Sidling up to the bar, he smirked at what a difference a couple of months made. Back then, he barely eked out a living, desperately clinging to a failing business and a worn out relationship. Now, he had a support system in his life, an expense account and carte blanche to write whatever he wanted about Washington D.C. countercultures and where to find them.
Freedom felt sweet and deserved toasting. Catching the bartender's eye, Matthew ordered what had been his usual before he'd gotten domesticated, "Wild Turkey Manhattan, up, light on the vermouth, generous with the bitters."
True to his nature, Matthew looked around the bar, searching for someone with a story to tell. His eyes fell on a well dressed man, draped elegantly over his bar stool who somehow seemed both connected to and separate from the group of people surrounding him. Something about his posture engaged Matthew's writer's instincts. When he turned slightly, Matthew caught a look at his face and blinked.
Shaking his head and fully believing that he couldn't have seen what he thought he had, he accepted the drink with a smile, lifted glass and wink at the lady bartender. His low, "Thank you," got him a smile in return.
Her, "My pleasure, sir," was decidedly ambiguous.
Holding her gaze for a long moment, Matthew grinned. He liked Washington D.C. already.
Dave, feeling the instant effect of the beer he'd been drinking, rose to his feet. "Hold the conversation until I get back," he said to the group at large. "I have to go to the men's room."
He turned and headed to the back of the bar. Stopped and stared in disbelief at the man sitting at one end. Damn... another one. The man noticed his interest and looked at him inquiringly.
Shrugging inwardly, Dave approached the man. "Hi, I couldn't help but notice your... resemblance to my friends over there," he nodded his head in the direction of the group he'd just left. "Perhaps you'd like to join us?"
Matthew followed the man's gesture toward the group that had caught his eye earlier. Resemblance? Oh shit! He had seen what he'd thought he'd seen. Times three or four by the look of it. Absently nodding at the man's gesture toward the men's room, Matthew stared across the bar.
What the hell was going on? He had no brothers and cousins just didn't look this much alike. A smile flitted across his lips as he contemplated writing an article about a Washington D.C. cult whose members all looked like him. Some insane plastic surgeon had found his driver's license picture and gone wild and ... and ... they were having a reunion at the Embassy. What would his inestimable editor Stacey say to that? A sort of team photo could sell her on it, but Matthew didn't know if he wanted to join. There looked like an awful lot of togetherness happening.
Jumping slightly when the man returned and put his hand on Matthew's shoulder, he offered, "I'm Matthew by the way."
Holding out his hand, the other man murmured, "Dave," his eyes darting back to the group as well.
He simply couldn't pass this up, so Matthew moved easily at Dave's side. "What's the deal? Was there something funky in the water thirty something years ago?"
"How have things been?" Dustin asked, motioning the bartender over for a martini. "How'd y'all meet Tom? What'd I miss?"
"They appeared in the room," Tom explained. "Woke me up and just about gave me a heart attack."
"We might as well wait until Dave gets back to give you the latest," Methos said. Glancing in the direction of the restrooms, his eyes widened as he spotted yet another clone. If Immortals suffered from headaches, he'd have a doozy just about now.
"Hey," Cory nudged Dustin with one knee, "what's in the bag? Anything for me?"
Dustin smiled. "I've got some movies, having to do with cloning and AI, for the most part. Why don't you check them out? We can go watch one if you like..."
He looked around a bit nervously as a thought dawned on him. "Um... so... where is everybody?"
"Well, Dave and his new friend over there." He nodded in the direction of the two men further down the bar. "Dave is an old friend of mine - I called him to help Tom. He's a Chiropractor. And," Methos grimaced, "it looks as if he's found another clone along the way."
Dustin laughed. "So, when are we going to stop bringing clones home? I mean, I've always felt I was good looking, but... I'm finding I kind of liked the big-fish-in-a-small-pond thing, you know?"
He looked at Methos. "Not to be... egotistical or anything. And, yeah, so LA isn't a small town... but you know what I meant."
The four of them watched as Dave approached, bringing his find along.
"He looks like a nice guy," Dustin said with an ironic smile.
"D'you think he's a new one or one we've already met?" Cory mused.
"Guess we'll find out. I don't recognize the clothes, though," Dustin said. "That's how I tell you guys apart."
At a look from Cory, Dustin said, "Us."
Shrugging, Methos rose to greet the newest arrival.
"This," Dave announced, "is Matthew Seagull. New in town."
Dustin, Anson and Cory sat quietly under Matthew's incredulous stare, used to it by now and remembering all too well their own reactions to seeing these look-a-likes. Tom, being new to the experience, shifted uncomfortably under the searching gaze.
Stepping forward, Methos nodded in greeting. "I'm Methos," he introduced himself. "This is Anson, Cory and Tom. Dustin you've already met, presumably."
"Already met me? How's that?" Dustin stood up. "Name's Dustin Yarma. VP of Globe Pictures. What about yourself? What's your line?"
Dustin turned to the other clones, looking especially at Cory. "That's the key, then. Who are we, what are we doing, and what brought us all to DC on such short notice?
He paused. "I never had an itinerary. Mackey didn't send me anywhere specific, I mean. I just kinda... took it into my head, he told me to go anywhere to find people, anywhere we had an office... that could have been New York, Vancouver, Atlanta... but I chose DC."
He looked at his companions. "How did you choose DC? Anson, you came here on a whim, as well."
He paused, trying to gather his thoughts, and hoping the others would contribute something more reassuring than the scenarios he had running through his mind. He tapped his bag of videos. "Anyone else into... " Suddenly, I feel for Mel Gibson in 'Conspiracy Theory.'
Matthew shrugged, "My editor gave me a choice of LA, Chicago or D.C. I told her New Orleans would be more interesting, but it's too close to Mardi Gras for her. She wants something different."
Glancing around the group at the bar, he thought, "And how's this for something completely different. There's a science fiction novel in this. Time to start taking notes and try your hand at fiction."
Cory looked at Methos with a raised brow, silently indicating that he should explain their presence.
"A friend of mine told me that there were several Cory look-a-likes in DC, so we thought we'd head down from Vancouver and see what was up." He sighed. "Not that we've really learned anything so far."
Hmm. Strike one... for that theory. Or not... Dustin put his finger under his bottom lip, thinking.
Tom shrugged when all eyes turned to him. "I'm recovering from an accident. Never been to Washington before... it just seemed like a good spot to relax - a little sightseeing, some barhopping... you know."
"Relax? In DC?" Dustin had to chuckle a little. Another... random encounter, for lack of a better term. He nodded to himself.
"I'm here for a Chiropractor's convention," Dave offered. "Adam, er, Methos called me in to help Tom here with his back injury."
"Were you scheduled to attend?" Dustin asked. "Was it always to be here, in DC? How long in advance did you know you'd be coming to DC?" He was rapidly cycling through sci-fi plots, sorting, sifting. Discarding, picking up. The glimmerings were there... but should he share?
"So," Cory said brightly, "let's head up to Dustin's suite and watch these movies of his - we can fill Dave, Tom and Matthew in on what little we know, too."
"Good idea," said Dustin, standing up, putting his movies back in the bag.
"Ah," Tom frowned. "I met another one - another look-a-like - when I arrived. Name's Vic. He's with a guy named Mac - not a look-a-like. How about if we call them too? I don't think they've had a chance to investigate what's going on yet."
"The room you were leaving when we met? Those guys?" Dustin said.
At his nod, Dustin said, "No problem. We can stop at their room on the way up... call them ahead from the lobby phone."
He looked around, and noticed Matthew seemed deep in thought. He smiled, lowering his voice slightly, unconsciously. "As a boy I loved to watch the Twilight Zone. Never thought I'd live it, though." He flashed Matthew a grin. "Journalist, huh?"
"Yeah," Matthew replied. "But not exactly what you'd call mainstream, Dustin." With a shrug, he added, "Too boring. Unlike this."
He reckoned they could come up with something. Whether it would be correct, was something else entirely. Dustin looked back over at Cory, still with a sly grin.
Matthew smiled slightly, the vibes between Dustin and Cory weren't exactly difficult to interpret. And there was still something about Cory that screamed story to Matthew. Wondering how possessive Dustin was, Matthew prepared to follow along and see what happened. D.C. counterculture could wait a few hours. He had plenty of time to meet his deadline.
Methos smirked. This was looking like a most interesting situation. Given the interested looks Matthew was giving Cory, it seemed that Dustin would have to make a decision - and soon.
Oh great! Now, one of the few guys who didn't look like him was smirking at him. Why? Watching Methos' eyes track to Cory and then to Dustin, Matthew sighed. Okay --- so everyone at this party has a one-track mind. Figuring protestations of "I'm not interested in him *that* way" were likely to fall on deaf ears, Matthew decided not to bother.
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