Title: Time Flies
Fandom: Highlander
Challenge: Spy
Other Prompt: Richie Ryan Forever promptfest
Rating: G
Length: 350
Content notes: Refers to a conversation that takes place during the episode 'Chivalry'.
Author notes: Thanks go to Morgynleri for encouragement & sanity-checking. Clan Denial all the way.
Summary: Richie and Methos play a little I Spy, waiting out a transportation connection.



"I spy, with my little eye," said Rich (he would always be Rich, or occasionally Richie, to Methos, no matter how old they got, how many names they used) "something beginning with S."
They were having a drink in the glass-steel observation lounge attached to the most exclusive traveller's club on Tycho Station, waiting for their connecting shuttle out to Duncan's newest project. They were also unabashedly hiding out from an obstreperous and importunate (Methos' words) ass of an Immortal (Rich's term) who had been 'just happening to be' in the same cafe, plaza, corridor and hydroponics park as they for the past two days. But this was a bastion he was unlikely penetrate, and the view was spectacular. The distant stars burned bright against the void, and nearer in glittering motes darted and flashed.

"S. Really? Stars, space, ships, Sirius, Saturn, Cepheid — no, that actually starts with C — sphere, swizzle-stick?" Methos rattled off the list, spinning the fanciful stick that had come with his drink between his fingers.

Ryan looked over at Methos and rolled his eyes in much the same spirit as Methos had delivered his list. They’d known each other now for four hundred years and a bit, and some things did not change. “You are usually better at this game, ‘old man’ “ (a more ironic statement than usual, given that at the moment, Methos looked younger than Ryan, Rich having learned a few things about shaping one’s appearance over the years) “you got pieces, but not the whole.” Ryan grinned and stretched back in the surprisingly comfortable sculpture that served as a chair, the eighteen year old he’d once been shining through.

But then, Methos hadn’t been there for that conversation. He wouldn't have the context, though he should have enough clues by now. Especially with the flash and glitter and exuberant speed of the solar wind skimmers darting and dashing about the buoys and pylons above them.

Methos followed his glance and laughed.

“Starships, racing,” They said simultaneously, and laughed again.

"Four hundred years, and here we are, and there they are, racing starships."

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