"Well, you tell me. They cheered every time anyone brought up Evil Duncan's name, and they offered to rip off his clothes if he showed up."

Richie laughed, shaking his head. "You gotta love these conventions."

The two sat across from each other at Gate A6 of Denver International Airport. They had just finished appearing at the latest "Highlander" convention, and their flight to Paris was scheduled to take off in an hour. Even though shooting for the rest of season five didn't start for a week, they were going early so they could hang out for a little while.

Only one person was missing -- Adam Pierson. Or Methos, as he was also known. Richie had found out his real name during the summer when some ditzy fanfic writer had told him. He'd had to hide his knowledge on the set, lest The Powers That Be throw a fit that he'd found out before they wanted him to know.

Richie knew Methos would be late to the airport, since the night before he'd stayed up late partying with the Methos minions at the convention hotel. Methos had been quite taken with Lisa Krakowka. Richie wondered if it had something to do with the boots she'd been wearing. Maybe Methos found them erotic.

Then again, according to all of the Methos fanfic floating around, the 5,000-year old Immortal found everything erotic. He was always having sex, unlike Richie. Most of Richie's fanfic writers only tortured him. Nobody wrote stories solely for the purpose of letting him indulge in his wild sexual fantasies. It left him feeling completely unsatisfied. The sensation did not please the Immortal frozen forever at the age of 19. Eternally horny, that was him.

A leggy blonde sauntered by Richie and he flashed his most charming grin, to no avail. He shrugged and watched as another trim young woman walked near him, and tried the same grin. Nothing.

This wasn't right. Even if women didn't exactly fall at his feet, they usually at least smiled back. Unless -- he sat up straighter, and Duncan looked at him curiously.

"Problem?"

"Uh huh," Richie said slowly, scanning the area. "None of the women here are checking me out."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Getting a little egotistical there, aren't you?"

Richie gave him a dirty look. "Mac, the average woman smiles back at me, if nothing else."

"So what do you think is up? Are we in the Twilight Zone?" Duncan joked.

"No, worse. The fanfic zone."

Duncan sighed. "Great. Just what we need. Do you have any idea whose?"

Richie paused. "Judging from the fact that I'm sitting here wearing nothing but blue silk boxer shorts and I feel sexually frustrated, I'd guess it's Angela Mull's."

Duncan tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh.

"This isn't funny, Mac. You know what she's like. She just got done shooting me and leaving me to suffer in your stupid cabin, and -- "

" -- and she never lets you have sex," Duncan finished, laughing.

"Just because she's sexually repressed doesn't mean I should suffer," Richie said, tapping his naked chest. He looked down at himself. "Oh, man. I need some clothes."

He opened up his carry-on bag and rummaged through it. Once. Twice. Richie started yanking out everything inside, stacking up a mound of blue silk boxer shorts. Finally he found a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. He glared balefully at Duncan.

"She thinks this is funny, you know."

"I know I do," Duncan supplied cheerfully.

Richie scowled and headed toward the nearest bathroom, conveniently located 10 minutes away from the gate. After he changed, he rejoined Duncan.

"She's a lunatic," he told the older Immortal as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Careful, careful," Duncan said, waggling a finger. "She'll hear you."

"She always does," Richie said in a singsong voice.

He leaned forward, scrutinizing Duncan, then laughed and settled back into his seat.

"What?" Duncan asked.

"Well, given the fact that you're not her favorite character, I'm guessing that there's something nasty waiting for you."

"Like what?"

Richie shrugged. "I don't know, but I'd be on my toes if I were you."

"This reminds me of that time when -- "

"Oh, no. Not another flashback," Richie interrupted in disgust. "Can't we have just one day without one of your flashbacks?"

Duncan's eyes widened suddenly. "She didn't! She wouldn't dare! Not to me! I'm the main character!"

"What's wrong?"

Duncan buried his face in his hands and groaned. "She took away my flashbacks," he said, voice muffled against his fingers. "I can't remember any!"

"Hmm. Maybe this isn't so bad after all. If only TPTB would do that, I'd have more air time."

Richie's shameless grin was covered by a pair of boxers Duncan threw at him.

***

Methos sauntered in midway through an announcement of their plane's arrival. He had an oblong khaki duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and he stopped a few feet in front of Richie. The mound of boxer shorts caught his eye.

"Interesting," he said dryly. "I take it one of your more ardent admirers has ensnared us in another fanfic?"

Richie nodded as Methos flopped down in the chair next to him. Duncan sat still as a statue, his face slick with sweat. He looked at Methos with a pained expression. Methos kept his eyes on Duncan and leaned toward Richie.

"What's his problem?" he asked in a low voice.

"He can't have flashbacks," Richie whispered back. "She won't let him."

"She?"

"The writer."

"Oh." Methos paused, then smirked. "Considering that I've never actually had a flashback on the show, I don't feel sorry for him."

The boarding announcement brought Richie and Methos to their feet, but Duncan remained where he was. Methos threw a questioning glance at Richie, who shrugged.

"MacLeod, it's time to go," Methos said, and waited for an answer. Duncan didn't even look at him. Methos reached down and hauled the man to his feet, then guided him to stand in the boarding line.

"I can't have flashbacks," Duncan said in disbelief, his eyes reflecting grief.

"Oh bloody hell," Methos said in disgust. "Get over it already. Worse things could happen."

"I know," Duncan agreed glumly, then straightened. "It's just that I'm so used to using those flashbacks to fill up air time."

"There's no script to pad here, Mac," Richie chipped in as they neared the front of the line. "Just relax. I'm sure that once we land, this fanfic will be over and we'll all be back to normal."

Richie reached the front first, followed by Methos and Duncan. They went to their first-class seats, but Richie and Methos found theirs already occupied.

"Um, I think these seats are ours," Richie told the stuffily-dressed couple.

"I'm pretty sure they aren't," the man said in a monotone voice. He pulled out his ticket and showed it to Richie.

"Looks like we both have the same seat number," Richie said, frowning.

"I'm sure there's room in the back."

Richie took a good look at the couple. The man had short, clean-cut brown hair, hazel eyes and a mole on his right cheek. He wore a pressed black suit and shiny black shoes. The woman had straight auburn hair, blue eyes and generous mouth. Richie thought her camel-colored skirt and jacket and the white silk shirt probably hid a pretty nice body.

The man had a definite attitude Richie could feel. He'd gotten similar vibes from cops, but these two were dressed too nicely to be cops. FBI agents, maybe.

Methos smiled down at the woman. "I don't suppose you'd like to give up your seat, would you?"

"I guess chivalry really is dead," she commented to her traveling companion.

Duncan edged past Richie and smiled at the agents. "Please excuse my friend. He's not a people person. Neither one of you needs to move. They can sit in the back."

"Well thank you very much," Richie said heatedly, glaring at Duncan. "I don't think I remember inviting you to be my personal spokesman."

Methos merely shrugged and walked down the aisle to find a stewardess. Richie and Duncan stood there awkwardly as the man withdrew a thick file from a briefcase he'd stashed under the seat. He leafed through it while the woman peered at it over his shoulder. Finally, Richie could stand the silence no longer.

"So what brings you here to ruin my chance at a first-class seat?"

"We're federal agents," the man said, producing a badge and showing it to Duncan and Richie before putting it away. "I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully. We're on our way to investigate a case."

"How nice for you. And just what's waiting for you in Paris?"

"Not Paris," Scully said. "Chicago. The plane stops there, and there's a rather...unusual string of homicides we're investigating."

"How unusual?" Duncan asked, his attention focused down the aisle to where Methos stood talking to a stewardess.

"Headless bodies," Mulder said. "Ten headless bodies. There were sightings of lightning strikes where each of the bodies were found. "

Duncan and Richie kept carefully blank expressions at the mention of what sounded like Immortal activities.

Scully tilted her head to look at her partner. "Mulder, I'm afraid I still don't understand why we're investigating this. All we have are headless bodies. It doesn't seem like our kind of case."

"Scully, this isn't the first time there has been a rash of murders involving beheadings. You saw the file I have back in the office."

"File?" Duncan sputtered. "You have a file on headless bodies?"

"Yes, and almost all of those cases involved the same sort of thing that's in Chicago. Clean cut through the neck, followed by lots of lightning but no rain."

Richie frowned. Even though the agents didn't really know what they were investigating, they knew more than he wanted them to. The knowledge didn't sit well with him. He felt queasy at the thought of the government poking around in Immortal business.

Scully saw the young man's face drain of color. "Mulder, I think you should stop with the play-by-play. He doesn't look too good."

Richie shook himself. "Uh, no, I'm fine, really. I just think it's pretty creepy. Why would anyone go around cutting off people's heads?" he asked, fishing for more information. Just how much did they know?

"I'm sure it's just a string of serial murderers patterning themselves after each other," Scully said, then looked at Mulder. "Really, Mulder, I just don't think this is our kind of case."

Richie and Duncan exchanged nervous, puzzled glances. "Just what kinds of crimes do you investigate?" Duncan asked.

"Basically anything that defies a logical explanation," Mulder told him.

"But 90 percent of it can be explained through science -- " Scully started.

"Scully, spare me the platitudes," Mulder said in exasperation. "Haven't you seen enough these last few years to believe that not everything can be stuck under a microscope and dissected down to its finest points?"

Scully opened her mouth to answer, but Methos reappeared and broke into the conversation. "Richie, there are two seats together back here we can take."

Leaving Duncan to fend for himself, Richie hastily followed Methos down the aisle. He was glad to get away from the two bickering FBI agents, especially the man, who seemed spooky.

If the headless corpses did involve Immortals, Richie thought he, Mac and Methos should stay as far away from the agents as possible.