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crack_van2009-06-04 09:07 am
fractured-sun.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-06-04 09:07 am
Entry tags:
Simple Gifts by Dejla, PG?
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Methos/OFC
Length: 78,000 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dejla
Author Website: None as far as I know
Why this must be read: This is one of favourite het fics in the highlander fandom, (I'm rather surprised it hasn't been recced here before). A newly immortal Nick Wolfe has been drinking himself into oblivion until he finds Amanda gone and two strange immortals at her apartment. From here we have a wonderful tale of a reluctant Nick being taken under the wing of an immortal called Jehanne and by extension her annoyed lover Adam Benoit (Methos of course). There are evil immortals, missing swords, immortal training and a wonderfully written OFC.
He took the hand, on automatic. It was not Lucy's hand, not creamed or perfumed: small, hard, with her clean unpainted nails short-clipped. "I am, yes. And you are--Jeanne? Jehanne. With an h."
Her grey eyes--light grey, so light the irises would have been invisible except for the dark grey ring circling them--lit up. The smile transformed her. "Yes, Jehanne with an h. Martin. Amanda mentions you live upstairs and are a friend. We are also --" Her eyes flicked across to her companion, then focused on Nick again. "Friends of Amanda's."
"Any friend of Amanda's can call me Nick."
A cough interrupted; Adam stepped forward. Nick dropped Jehanne's hand. The man, still holding the blissfully nursing kitten, looked so harmless that Nick bit back a laugh. Here you are, Wolfe, having a pissing contest with the absent-minded professor.
Absent-minded, but insistent. Insistent beginning to be annoying, in fact. "Then, as a--friend--of Amanda's, you know where she is? Possibly what sort of problems she's having at present?"
Jehanne's eyes rolled. She lifted a hand, putting fingers and thumb together, indicating her insistent friend should stop talking. "What he meant to say was he is called Adam. Adam Benoît. Both of us are concerned about Amanda, so we hope you can tell us something about where she might have gone."
"The letter doesn't say?" He felt somehow as if he should know where she had gone, and why… Well, he suspected why. Damned if I'll feel guilty about it!
"If it said--" Adam stopped in the middle of a potential explosion. "Jehanne, take Darius, please. I'll get our gear."
She tucked the sleeping kitten somewhere inside the coat this time. "Bon. I'll see if Amanda keeps anything around for coffee. Unless you know that, Nick."
"Actually, I do." They shared the kitchen. He had made coffee for Amanda there more than once. On a few rare occasions, he'd even cooked meals for her. Amanda herself said she did not cook--he'd seen the take-out cartons to prove it. "This way."
The hound followed them into the perfect order reigning in Amanda's kitchen. Amanda might not cook herself, but she kept it spotless: coffee press, canisters, breadbox all aligned on the polished granite counter, no stray dishrag or sponge around the sink. The Aga and the fridge gleamed like black glass. The red tile floor shone like patent leather.
Jehanne took off her black coat, then laid it across the table as if it were spun of glass, not wool. She pulled it open briefly, checking on the kitten. He would have thought one of Amanda's friends would dress… well, to match that expensively cut ankle-length trench coat. He hadn't expected a burgundy sweatshirt reaching halfway down her thighs over black denim leggings tucked into the afore-noticed lug-soled black boots. A little less bohemian, at least. Well, but it's beatnik, to go with driving in Paris in 1953.
"How old is the kitten?"
Her face transformed once more, like watching the sun come out from under a cloud. "Four weeks. I didn't think I'd be able to pull him through at first, but he's got more spirit than either Adam or I hoped…"
Nick set up for coffee, nearly tripping over the dog twice. Each time, Jehanne pulled Sorcha away and made her lie down off the path between counter and stove. Each time, the dog waited until she wasn't paying attention, then skulked back over to loom in his way. The third time, Nick spilled scalding coffee over his hands and swore.
Simple gifts part zero
Pairing: Methos/OFC
Length: 78,000 words
Author on LJ:
dejlaAuthor Website: None as far as I know
Why this must be read: This is one of favourite het fics in the highlander fandom, (I'm rather surprised it hasn't been recced here before). A newly immortal Nick Wolfe has been drinking himself into oblivion until he finds Amanda gone and two strange immortals at her apartment. From here we have a wonderful tale of a reluctant Nick being taken under the wing of an immortal called Jehanne and by extension her annoyed lover Adam Benoit (Methos of course). There are evil immortals, missing swords, immortal training and a wonderfully written OFC.
He took the hand, on automatic. It was not Lucy's hand, not creamed or perfumed: small, hard, with her clean unpainted nails short-clipped. "I am, yes. And you are--Jeanne? Jehanne. With an h."
Her grey eyes--light grey, so light the irises would have been invisible except for the dark grey ring circling them--lit up. The smile transformed her. "Yes, Jehanne with an h. Martin. Amanda mentions you live upstairs and are a friend. We are also --" Her eyes flicked across to her companion, then focused on Nick again. "Friends of Amanda's."
"Any friend of Amanda's can call me Nick."
A cough interrupted; Adam stepped forward. Nick dropped Jehanne's hand. The man, still holding the blissfully nursing kitten, looked so harmless that Nick bit back a laugh. Here you are, Wolfe, having a pissing contest with the absent-minded professor.
Absent-minded, but insistent. Insistent beginning to be annoying, in fact. "Then, as a--friend--of Amanda's, you know where she is? Possibly what sort of problems she's having at present?"
Jehanne's eyes rolled. She lifted a hand, putting fingers and thumb together, indicating her insistent friend should stop talking. "What he meant to say was he is called Adam. Adam Benoît. Both of us are concerned about Amanda, so we hope you can tell us something about where she might have gone."
"The letter doesn't say?" He felt somehow as if he should know where she had gone, and why… Well, he suspected why. Damned if I'll feel guilty about it!
"If it said--" Adam stopped in the middle of a potential explosion. "Jehanne, take Darius, please. I'll get our gear."
She tucked the sleeping kitten somewhere inside the coat this time. "Bon. I'll see if Amanda keeps anything around for coffee. Unless you know that, Nick."
"Actually, I do." They shared the kitchen. He had made coffee for Amanda there more than once. On a few rare occasions, he'd even cooked meals for her. Amanda herself said she did not cook--he'd seen the take-out cartons to prove it. "This way."
The hound followed them into the perfect order reigning in Amanda's kitchen. Amanda might not cook herself, but she kept it spotless: coffee press, canisters, breadbox all aligned on the polished granite counter, no stray dishrag or sponge around the sink. The Aga and the fridge gleamed like black glass. The red tile floor shone like patent leather.
Jehanne took off her black coat, then laid it across the table as if it were spun of glass, not wool. She pulled it open briefly, checking on the kitten. He would have thought one of Amanda's friends would dress… well, to match that expensively cut ankle-length trench coat. He hadn't expected a burgundy sweatshirt reaching halfway down her thighs over black denim leggings tucked into the afore-noticed lug-soled black boots. A little less bohemian, at least. Well, but it's beatnik, to go with driving in Paris in 1953.
"How old is the kitten?"
Her face transformed once more, like watching the sun come out from under a cloud. "Four weeks. I didn't think I'd be able to pull him through at first, but he's got more spirit than either Adam or I hoped…"
Nick set up for coffee, nearly tripping over the dog twice. Each time, Jehanne pulled Sorcha away and made her lie down off the path between counter and stove. Each time, the dog waited until she wasn't paying attention, then skulked back over to loom in his way. The third time, Nick spilled scalding coffee over his hands and swore.
Simple gifts part zero