![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Highlander fic: Horseshoes and Hand Grenades
Title: Horseshoes and Hand Grenades
Fandom: Highlander
Rating: PG, gen
Word Count: 1300
Summary: "One Minute to Midnight" missing scene(s), taking place somewhere between the intro sequence and the first scene in the wine cellar with Joe, Duncan and Methos. Obviously there are some missing days in there. These are a few of them.
Crossposted: http://archiveofourown.org/works/204811
The first time he surfaced, the world kept spinning away from him -- all fuzzy round edges that he couldn't grab hold of. There was pain, but it was far away, blurred and blunt like everything else.
"It's all right," someone said, and strong fingers rough with sword calluses latched onto his wrist. "It's all right, Joe. Go back to sleep."
He couldn't put a name to that voice with its soft Scottish lilt, but it was familiar, and he knew with bone-deep certainty that if the voice said things were okay, then it must be true. He stopped trying to hold onto the crazily spinning world and sank under again.
******
The next time, at least the next time he could remember, there was a bare light bulb glaring in his eyes. He squinted, tried to raise a hand to shield his face from the light, and was a little surprised when it worked. Through his fingers he saw a cracked plaster ceiling, the dusty tops of wine racks.
"What the hell." His voice sounded raspy and faint even to his own ears. "I'm not dead."
"Could be a temporary problem if you keep trying to get up," said Methos's voice from somewhere nearby. Which meant that now he was even more confused about where he was.
"Your bedside manner is terrible," MacLeod said, and Joe realized, feeling the vibrating of MacLeod's chest against him, that Duncan was actually propping him up for some reason. Or possibly holding him down. Up and down, left and right were all a bit vague at the moment.
Methos's voice moved off a bit. He sounded busy. There was a sound of paper being torn, something plastic being snapped open. "Thank you for the critique, Florence Nightingale."
The image of MacLeod in a frilly cap and apron immediately popped into Joe's head and he started giggling and couldn't seem to stop.
MacLeod said, "Didn't we talk about cutting back the --" And then it was all gone again.
******
He was crying, and it took him a minute to realize why. His legs. That land mine and his god-damned legs. "I need --" he managed to say, but he wasn't sure what he needed. His service weapon. His fucking life back.
Someone tucked a blanket over his shoulders. He huddled into it, because he was shivering, he was freezing, and nobody ever told him 'Nam would be this cold.
"Hey." Fingers snapped in front of his face. "Joe. Calm down. This isn't Vietnam. It's Paris. 1996."
That was the hell of having Methos in the Watchers, Joe thought, using irritation to claw his way slowly back to himself: Methos had read Joe's file. Usually he knew more about Immortals, about any Immortal, than they knew about him. But Methos knew everything -- everything that was in his file, anyway. Methos knew a hell of a lot more about him than he knew about Methos. He didn't like it.
"You've been out for a while," Methos went on, sounding absurdly cheerful. He was somewhere else in the room now; Joe was pretty sure he'd lost time again. "Want a drink of water?"
"I need a drink," Joe muttered. He wiped a hand across his face, felt the sticky tracks of tears he barely remembered shedding. "Not water."
A moment later, long fingers shoved a cup into his hand. He opened his eyes and pushed himself up a little bit on musty-smelling pillows. Methos was sitting on the edge of the bed, studying a dusty bottle. Joe sampled the contents of the cup, and choked.
"What is this shit?"
"Er ..." Methos held the bottle up to the light. "Chateau Margaux 1952. Not their best year ..."
"Scotch would be better." Joe coughed -- his throat was dry as brick tile -- and took another slug of the wine. "Hell, I wouldn't turn up my nose at a shot of Jim Beam."
"You're hiding in a wine cellar," Methos said. "Deal with it."
"Mac's right. Your bedside manner stinks."
"I'm impressed you remember that, given that you were high as a kite at the time."
Joe still felt fuzzy and cotton-mouthed, but at least he could think, albeit slowly. "Morphine?"
"Well, technically heroin."
"You bastard! You gave me heroin?"
"What? It's an opiate. Faster-acting than morphine and much easier to buy without a prescription."
"If you've turned me into a drug addict, so help me --"
Methos snorted. "I'm already tapering you off. Don't worry, I do have some experience with the administration of narcotics."
Joe eyed him, the Watcher in him unable to resist a lead, but Methos showed no sign of elaborating. And he was already starting to drift again. The last thing he consciously registered was the cup slipping from his fingers and Methos catching it.
******
There was a spider spinning a web above the bed. Joe decided to name it James. The ones to the left got to be Mac and Methos, just out of pure ornery.
******
He told MacLeod that if they didn't get him a TV in here, he was going to kill someone. Possibly himself. He'd already caught himself talking to Methos the spider more than once. What he really wanted, what he needed was to be out there doing something, and he was pretty sure Mac knew it, but all he could do was lie here while the world he'd helped to build fell quietly to pieces around him.
"We're under a bookstore. I could bring something for you to read. What do you like? Zane Grey, maybe? Hemingway?"
"They got any Clancy?"
MacLeod gave him a quick grin and squeezed his uninjured shoulder. He wasn't sure if it was just the lingering echoes of the heroin (heroin, god damn, Methos) but Joe got the feeling that he'd scared MacLeod shitless, that Mac had really thought he'd died for awhile there, even though everyone had been steering carefully around that topic. Whatever his sins, he must've racked up some good karma somewhere to be blessed with a friend so tenaciously devoted. Two such friends, actually, and he'd be more appreciative of that fact if they'd let him out of this damn wine cellar.
"I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best."
Unfortunately Methos overheard, and brought him a pile of crossword books. In French.
"Okay, you guys are just fucking with me now."
"I have to do something to occupy my time while I'm supposed to be hunting down and dragging MacLeod off to justice. It takes work to be this incompetent. Hey." Methos smacked Joe's hand away from his bandages. "Stop messing with that."
"I was trying to figure out if you guys had been practicing home surgery on me, or if you actually took me to a hospital."
Methos's Cheshire-cat smile flickered. "No need for hospitals when some people in this room are actually surgeons."
Joe stared at him. "You're a doctor? Seriously?"
"Certainly. It's something I've done off and on for over, oh, two thousand years. I even have a degree. Heidelberg."
"A two-thousand-year-old medical degree. Great. I feel better already."
"Don't be absurd, Joe. Heidelberg as such didn't even exist as a town until the 5th century." Methos smiled again, and paused for effect. "It was 1453, I believe. Of course, methods have changed somewhat since then."
"To put it mildly," Joe muttered. "God. Do I need to check under my bandages for leeches?"
"Don't worry, we haven't used leeches since the seventies at least."
Joe rolled up one of the crossword books and threw it at his head.
Methos ducked gracefully and then picked up the book off the floor, dusting it off and flattening it out. "But seriously," he said, his attention focused on the book, "you were lucky, Joe. You don't know how close -- well. Anyway. You were incredibly lucky."
"I know," Joe said. More lucky than he'd ever willingly admit. He knew why he was still alive. And okay, it had something to do with Jakob's crappy aim and the prevailing winds and God knew what else, but it also had to do with two stubborn Immortals who, in their own respective and equally indomitable ways, refused to let him go. "And don't think I'll forget it."
Title is from the saying "Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." And maybe near-death experiences as well.
This entry is also posted at http://friendshipper.dreamwidth.org/345849.html with
comments.
Fandom: Highlander
Rating: PG, gen
Word Count: 1300
Summary: "One Minute to Midnight" missing scene(s), taking place somewhere between the intro sequence and the first scene in the wine cellar with Joe, Duncan and Methos. Obviously there are some missing days in there. These are a few of them.
Crossposted: http://archiveofourown.org/works/204811
The first time he surfaced, the world kept spinning away from him -- all fuzzy round edges that he couldn't grab hold of. There was pain, but it was far away, blurred and blunt like everything else.
"It's all right," someone said, and strong fingers rough with sword calluses latched onto his wrist. "It's all right, Joe. Go back to sleep."
He couldn't put a name to that voice with its soft Scottish lilt, but it was familiar, and he knew with bone-deep certainty that if the voice said things were okay, then it must be true. He stopped trying to hold onto the crazily spinning world and sank under again.
The next time, at least the next time he could remember, there was a bare light bulb glaring in his eyes. He squinted, tried to raise a hand to shield his face from the light, and was a little surprised when it worked. Through his fingers he saw a cracked plaster ceiling, the dusty tops of wine racks.
"What the hell." His voice sounded raspy and faint even to his own ears. "I'm not dead."
"Could be a temporary problem if you keep trying to get up," said Methos's voice from somewhere nearby. Which meant that now he was even more confused about where he was.
"Your bedside manner is terrible," MacLeod said, and Joe realized, feeling the vibrating of MacLeod's chest against him, that Duncan was actually propping him up for some reason. Or possibly holding him down. Up and down, left and right were all a bit vague at the moment.
Methos's voice moved off a bit. He sounded busy. There was a sound of paper being torn, something plastic being snapped open. "Thank you for the critique, Florence Nightingale."
The image of MacLeod in a frilly cap and apron immediately popped into Joe's head and he started giggling and couldn't seem to stop.
MacLeod said, "Didn't we talk about cutting back the --" And then it was all gone again.
He was crying, and it took him a minute to realize why. His legs. That land mine and his god-damned legs. "I need --" he managed to say, but he wasn't sure what he needed. His service weapon. His fucking life back.
Someone tucked a blanket over his shoulders. He huddled into it, because he was shivering, he was freezing, and nobody ever told him 'Nam would be this cold.
"Hey." Fingers snapped in front of his face. "Joe. Calm down. This isn't Vietnam. It's Paris. 1996."
That was the hell of having Methos in the Watchers, Joe thought, using irritation to claw his way slowly back to himself: Methos had read Joe's file. Usually he knew more about Immortals, about any Immortal, than they knew about him. But Methos knew everything -- everything that was in his file, anyway. Methos knew a hell of a lot more about him than he knew about Methos. He didn't like it.
"You've been out for a while," Methos went on, sounding absurdly cheerful. He was somewhere else in the room now; Joe was pretty sure he'd lost time again. "Want a drink of water?"
"I need a drink," Joe muttered. He wiped a hand across his face, felt the sticky tracks of tears he barely remembered shedding. "Not water."
A moment later, long fingers shoved a cup into his hand. He opened his eyes and pushed himself up a little bit on musty-smelling pillows. Methos was sitting on the edge of the bed, studying a dusty bottle. Joe sampled the contents of the cup, and choked.
"What is this shit?"
"Er ..." Methos held the bottle up to the light. "Chateau Margaux 1952. Not their best year ..."
"Scotch would be better." Joe coughed -- his throat was dry as brick tile -- and took another slug of the wine. "Hell, I wouldn't turn up my nose at a shot of Jim Beam."
"You're hiding in a wine cellar," Methos said. "Deal with it."
"Mac's right. Your bedside manner stinks."
"I'm impressed you remember that, given that you were high as a kite at the time."
Joe still felt fuzzy and cotton-mouthed, but at least he could think, albeit slowly. "Morphine?"
"Well, technically heroin."
"You bastard! You gave me heroin?"
"What? It's an opiate. Faster-acting than morphine and much easier to buy without a prescription."
"If you've turned me into a drug addict, so help me --"
Methos snorted. "I'm already tapering you off. Don't worry, I do have some experience with the administration of narcotics."
Joe eyed him, the Watcher in him unable to resist a lead, but Methos showed no sign of elaborating. And he was already starting to drift again. The last thing he consciously registered was the cup slipping from his fingers and Methos catching it.
There was a spider spinning a web above the bed. Joe decided to name it James. The ones to the left got to be Mac and Methos, just out of pure ornery.
He told MacLeod that if they didn't get him a TV in here, he was going to kill someone. Possibly himself. He'd already caught himself talking to Methos the spider more than once. What he really wanted, what he needed was to be out there doing something, and he was pretty sure Mac knew it, but all he could do was lie here while the world he'd helped to build fell quietly to pieces around him.
"We're under a bookstore. I could bring something for you to read. What do you like? Zane Grey, maybe? Hemingway?"
"They got any Clancy?"
MacLeod gave him a quick grin and squeezed his uninjured shoulder. He wasn't sure if it was just the lingering echoes of the heroin (heroin, god damn, Methos) but Joe got the feeling that he'd scared MacLeod shitless, that Mac had really thought he'd died for awhile there, even though everyone had been steering carefully around that topic. Whatever his sins, he must've racked up some good karma somewhere to be blessed with a friend so tenaciously devoted. Two such friends, actually, and he'd be more appreciative of that fact if they'd let him out of this damn wine cellar.
"I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best."
Unfortunately Methos overheard, and brought him a pile of crossword books. In French.
"Okay, you guys are just fucking with me now."
"I have to do something to occupy my time while I'm supposed to be hunting down and dragging MacLeod off to justice. It takes work to be this incompetent. Hey." Methos smacked Joe's hand away from his bandages. "Stop messing with that."
"I was trying to figure out if you guys had been practicing home surgery on me, or if you actually took me to a hospital."
Methos's Cheshire-cat smile flickered. "No need for hospitals when some people in this room are actually surgeons."
Joe stared at him. "You're a doctor? Seriously?"
"Certainly. It's something I've done off and on for over, oh, two thousand years. I even have a degree. Heidelberg."
"A two-thousand-year-old medical degree. Great. I feel better already."
"Don't be absurd, Joe. Heidelberg as such didn't even exist as a town until the 5th century." Methos smiled again, and paused for effect. "It was 1453, I believe. Of course, methods have changed somewhat since then."
"To put it mildly," Joe muttered. "God. Do I need to check under my bandages for leeches?"
"Don't worry, we haven't used leeches since the seventies at least."
Joe rolled up one of the crossword books and threw it at his head.
Methos ducked gracefully and then picked up the book off the floor, dusting it off and flattening it out. "But seriously," he said, his attention focused on the book, "you were lucky, Joe. You don't know how close -- well. Anyway. You were incredibly lucky."
"I know," Joe said. More lucky than he'd ever willingly admit. He knew why he was still alive. And okay, it had something to do with Jakob's crappy aim and the prevailing winds and God knew what else, but it also had to do with two stubborn Immortals who, in their own respective and equally indomitable ways, refused to let him go. "And don't think I'll forget it."
Title is from the saying "Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." And maybe near-death experiences as well.
This entry is also posted at http://friendshipper.dreamwidth.org/345849.html with
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"pure ornery"
My HL imagination still lives in the early seasons, but by coincidence this past year, I watched my later-season DVDs straight through for the first time (without skipping certain episodes, that is) and so just met the Eurominutes relevant here not too long ago. It's an almost forgotten sensation, getting to read a new story set near a new-to-me scene! :-)
I remember the summer between "Judgment Day" and "One Minute to Midnight," when they cut the season short and it was entirely possible that Joe was indeed dead, because HL really did do things like that... I appreciate having feelings like those given here to Duncan.
Excellent title choice. Good use of Joe's unconscious total trust (of Duncan) and conscious ornery resistance (of the situation) to display the nature of the relationships from his side. Fun use by Methos of tidbits from his past to distract and soothe Joe. Oh, the heroin; oh my! It's quite logical from Methos's (and the plot's) perspective, but it surely has extra freight for Joe from his Vietnam experience, even beyond what it would have for anyone else with his specific concerns and anyone at all with ordinary concerns, and Methos and Duncan can't be unaware of that if they stop to think about it.
Re: "pure ornery"
And that must have been a terrible cliffhanger! I was actually halfway convinced that they'd killed him (or more like NO NO NO DON'T KILL HIM NOOOOO) at that point, but all I had to do was click to the next episode on the DVD. *g* And I definitely got the impression that Duncan had a moment or two there when he really did think Joe was dead.
Re: "pure ornery"
Yes! And no. :-) It was terribly startling, because "Counterfeit" and "Finale" had both aired their two parts in successive weeks, ending previous seasons tidily. And it was terribly plausible, of course, because we had indeed lost Tessa, and Charlie, and Darius, as well as a hundred lesser characters along the way.
But the May in which "Judgment Day" aired as HL's fourth season finale -- because they trimmed "One Minute to Midnight" and "Double Jeopardy" off fourth season to bulk up fifth season; I later learned this was because Adrian Paul wanted to be on screen less -- was the same May in which "Ashes to Ashes" and "Last Knight" ended Forever Knight. I'm afraid that my emotional fannish investment at that time was entirely elsewhere than poor Joe. I was too stunned and grieved in FK to be properly stunned and worried in HL.
That makes your "Horseshoes and Hand Grenades" all the nicer for me to experience now, instead of then, really. :-)
Re: "pure ornery"
And aha, that would explain some of the season/air date stuff that I had wondered about. They've got those episodes included with the season four DVDs (probably in the order that they were originally intended to air) but some episode guides list "One Minute to Midnight" as the season five opener.
Re: "pure ornery"
Well, there's always Blake's 7. ;-) But yes, our PTB tore us up and left us bleeding in a ditch, and then in our pain some of us turned on each other... given how badly the fandom imploded, I'm that much more grateful for every one of those willing to play FK today!
>"probably in the order that they were originally intended to air"
Yes. "Double Jeopardy" is #85, but it originally aired between "The Stone of Scone" and "Forgive Us Our Trespasses" at the end of the fifth season (really). I still count OMtM and DJ in the sequence in which I first encountered them on my personal episode list. ~shrug~
Was OMtM a stronger season opener than "Prophecy" would have been, though? IMO, yes, very much. I find "Prophecy" weak. I've wondered whether that could have played a role in their choice of which fourth-season episodes to pull into fifth, or whether it was too early (where was "Prophecy" in production?) for that to be a consideration.
Personally, I tend to finish "Homeland" (fourth season premiere) and then go back to "The Gathering" (series premiere) and start again, leaving the end of HL to itself unless I have to look up a canon fact. This makes me an extreme oddity in surviving HL fandom, as far as I can tell; most others seem to watch fourth and fifth season over and over, and skip the rest! For comparison, though, it's not at all unusual in surviving FK fandom to duck third season... while of course a few people do love late FK best, as I love early HL best. :-)
no subject
I think overall, seasons three and four are probably my favorites -- well, season four really knocks it out of the ballpark, but season three did so much to develop Joe and Duncan's friendship, which is still one of my very favorite things about the show overall. Seasons five and six both have episodes I absolutely adore, and I love in general some of the character stuff they did in season five (writing-wise, I think it's an incredibly strong season), but it was also starting to take a turn for the darker. If I could freeze-frame a moment in the show's history and stay there forever, it would probably be season four. Or possibly season one; I fell so hard in love with the Duncan, Tessa and Richie Show, and I still really enjoy the show's leisurely pace in that season, the focus on little everyday stuff that it began to lose as the episodes got more big-picture-oriented.
Actually, in general, I don't get the "just watch the Methos episodes and nothing else" attitude that I've run into so often in the fandom. Okay, if one is rewatching one's favorite bits, I can see cherry-picking them for your particular favorite characters or scenes. But I'm so glad I watched the show from the beginning, even through the slow parts -- I really fell in love with the whole thing, with all of the characters and the different character relationships, with the huge tapestry of the world and Duncan's convoluted relationships with other people. If you only watch seasons four and five, especially if you're also skipping episodes in those seasons, you miss so much of the long-arc stuff, the way that characters and character relationships evolve over time.
Regarding FK, though, I'm definitely in season three denial. *g* I acknowledge that it exists and I'm just fine with some of the fandom loving it, but the season one & two era will always be "my" FK.
no subject
Oh, yes! I remember phoning my local station to ask when they intended to air the episode they'd pre-empted when a sporting event ran long. They probably wondered at this strange girl, who not only watched their throw-away syndicated programming, but bothered to look up their phone number and bug them about it. Tape-tree days...
As you say, TPTB feared continuity back then, because they felt it would be bad for syndication sales; they wanted standalone episodes that could air in any order. Sometimes people today, who discover FK on DVD, criticize its lack of sustained development; they don't understand that even HL's level of continuity (nothing compared to today's) was innovative and daring at that time... and HL had some advantages on that score that smaller, less well-funded, less internationally-famous shows did not.
>"Actually, in general, I don't get the "just watch the Methos episodes and nothing else" attitude that I've run into so often in the fandom."
I don't understand that at all, and it's so very widespread -- and sometimes dispiriting.
It's not just that the first two seasons of HL are my personal favorites. I don't underrate Methos! But while Methos is a very nice addition to the HL universe, reconceiving that universe as Methos-driven and Methos-based unendingly confuses me. Sometimes, some people seem to end up honestly supposing that the de Valincourts are more important in canon than Charlie, or they can tell you everything the Horsemen ever said but don't have a clue who Angie is... it seems to me to often lead to an insupportable childishness in some renditions of Duncan, as if he first came into being in "Methos," if not "Deliverance" or even "Prophecy"...
>"Regarding FK, though, I'm definitely in season three denial. *g* I acknowledge that it exists and I'm just fine with some of the fandom loving it, but the season one & two era will always be "my" FK."
Season one (and the sixteen-month hiatus between seasons one and two) is my home in FK. I do love season three in its own way, on its own terms, though. I just don't rewatch it much. ;-)
(FK seasons are like HL movies: each happens completely independently in its own separate parallel reality. ~g~)
no subject
Yeah, I think my biggest problem thus far in HL fandom is the amazingly widespread mischaracterization of Duncan, often bordering on plain old character assassination! I don't think I've ever been in a fandom that so widely misrepresented or downright hated its lead character. I mean, there's always a lot of variation in how characters are written, and a minority in every fandom who are pretty vocal about hating at least one of the characters (or allow it to bleed through into their fic) but it's more the rule than the exception to run into Duncan-hate or, even if it's not openly vitriolic, versions of him in fic that are completely unrecognizable. And I do think it comes down in a lot of cases to the writers having only seen the Methos episodes, or seeing Duncan as a foil for Methos rather than a character in his own right (which leads to some of the traits that I think of as essential Duncan traits, like his mental adaptability/flexibility, or his sense of humor, being played up in Methos instead, leaving Duncan stuck in the role of humorless straight man or antagonist).
... though clearly I have my biases too. *g* I love all the characters, but it was Duncan that I fell for in the first place, and Duncan that kept me watching, even as I got drawn increasingly into the whole cast and the show's overall mythos. So I'm, yeah, kinda defensive of him.
FK seasons are like HL movies: each happens completely independently in its own separate parallel reality. ~g~
hahahaha, so true!
no subject
Amen!
Surely "pro-canon" and "pro-Duncan" go seamlessly together? ~g~
A few times in the past, I made the mistake of trying to explain to authors why I found their Duncans OOC... of course that never went well, and I learned Interpersonal Lessons. ;-)
no subject
And OMG! Methos' doctoring is just PERFECT! As in perfectly Methos - from the (of course) heroin analgesia to way he explained his medical qualifications (it sounds just like the banter out of that "The Methos & Joe Show" ep in the final season) - it's so utterly the way he'd go about it.
Nice one, mate!
no subject
I do love writing these guys -- they've got just the same prickly-yet-caring vibe that I used to love so much on SGA.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
And I confess I cackled at the spiders' names!