Chapter 11

Methos sat by the hearth hand tooling a long strip of deerskin into a sword belt. It was delicate, painstaking work, but after two months in this place he finally had the time. He listened to the rain pattering on the ground outside and wondered how Teal'c and Daniel were getting on. They'd gone out early to check the rabbit snares he'd put out and had yet to return, while Jack was happy in his little potter's shed making more ceramic beakers, test tubes and other items for Carter's work.

He glanced up as Samantha accidentally dropped the tool she'd been working with trying chip out another good sized stone. That too was painstaking work and everyone took a turn at it, because they didn't dare try to smelt it out of the rock. Their control over the kiln's temperature wasn't that good and they'd already ruined several precious batches of stones.

"Damn it!" she hissed as she bent to pick up the implement, angrily pushing back the hair that now constantly fell in her eyes. Except for Teal'c they were all looking a bit shaggy these days. Methos was about to offer her one of the many ribbons he'd bought for her use - things which she'd glanced at and then ignored - when she turned to him and started to speak.

Methos held up a hand and shook his head. "In Greek, please," he told her quietly.

As promised, Methos had been working with the team on language skills and custom. Daniel, of course, was almost completely fluent in Greek and in contemporary Ancient Egyptian, rather than the hybrid dialects of Abydos and the Goa'uld. Teal'c was also doing well, though Methos didn't think he'd have to do much talking on the journey. All he'd need to do was stand there looking dangerous and most people would give him anything - until of course they got to Egypt, where he'd just naturally blend in.

O'Neill and Carter on the other hand were problem students, and he'd already given up on ever getting them past the basics in Egyptian. As for their education in Greek - which he considered an absolute necessity -- neither was very musically inclined and Ancient Greek was an inflected language where the pitch, lilt and tone of the spoken word often determined its meaning. To improve their skills Methos had decreed that they speak only Greek when they were alone with him. Jack chafed, but went along with it. Carter simply forgot - constantly.

Samantha frowned, but nodded, asking her question with the most atrocious pronunciation he'd heard from her yet, completely changing the meaning. Feigning affront, Methos glanced at his crotch then looked her in the eye.

"No," he told her indignantly. "You may not borrow my fat man!"

Appalled, Carter covered her mouth, blushing fiercely until she started to laugh. Which of course set Methos to laughing.

"I'm sorry," she finally choked, gesturing at the table. "It's just that I'm so frustrated!" Another horrified expression of embarrassment crossed her face as his eyes went wide and Samantha realized she'd done it again - and in her own native tongue!

Eventually, they both stopped laughing. Methos put aside his work and stood up, stretching the kinks out of his muscles. "Enough," he told her gently. "I'm giving you the afternoon off. I think we both need it at this point."

She nodded gratefully and sighed, again brushing back the annoying locks of hair.

"Would you like me to do something about that?" Methos asked kindly, finally taking pity on her plight.

"Don't tell me," Samantha smiled tiredly. "You also do hair and nails."

"After a fashion," he agreed. "Come on, instead of language what do you say to working on cultural assimilation for a change of pace?" She glanced guiltily down at the stones. "They'll keep," Methos insisted. "And besides," he added, trying to alleviate any embarrassment she might be feeling. "I was planning this for everyone later in the week. Maybe it'll be easier to remember to speak the language if you look like one of the people," he suggested.

"Well, I obviously need a break," she finally nodded. "Okay, you're on. What do I do?"

Methos grabbed a chair and set it by the hearth. "All you need to do is sit," he told her, going to the corner as she moved. He opened one of the smaller chests and pulled out a box of toiletries containing all the things a woman of some status would require daily. Then, going back to the hearth he laid out the items he needed, putting the rest aside.

"What are those for?" Samantha asked as Methos rested a pair of hollow, tube shaped clay implements with bone handles near the fire. He told her and from the expression on her face, for a moment he thought he'd get slapped.

"You had curling irons?! And you didn't bother to tell me?!" she accused, voicing her ire.

Methos smiled impishly. "You never asked."

"What else have you got in there?" she said, reaching for the box.

Methos grinned. There was a woman under that uniform after all, he thought with relief. "Perfumed oils, scented wax, combs, ribbons, cosmetics and a few pieces of jewelry."

"Cosmetics?" she repeated hopefully.

"Not Revlon, I'm afraid. Or whatever it is girls wear nowadays. But it gets the job done."

Carter opened the box and looked at the confusing array of tiny jars and unmixed powders. "Looks complicated," she said a little wistfully.

"Takes a bit of practice," he agreed. "But you'll get the hang of it eventually."

She gave him a long considering stare then handed over the box. "Okay, Pierson, let's see what you've got. Make me pretty."

Methos accepted the challenge with a grace born of centuries. "Too late for that I'm afraid. Your parents got there long before me."


It was with some trepidation a few hours later that Colonel O'Neill approached the house. The windows, covered in thickly waxed linen, glowed brightly in the late afternoon shadows which harbored more rain for the night. But that was typical. Wet in the morning, again around lunch and sometimes in the evening the skies would open and the deluge would start all over again. What was not typical was the sound of music and laughter coming from inside. By this time of day everyone was usually too tired to do more than practice their language skills or listen to Pierson's lectures on proper Greek etiquette. Which was never too onerous since he generally interspersed these talks with amusing anecdotes and stories of his own social gaffs and faux pas.

So, he was more than a little surprised when he opened the door to find everyone dressed in blankets. The beds Teal'c had made had been moved and set into a half circle at the side of the room - and in the center Methos and Daniel were line dancing to the sound of the Jaffa's flute. Nearby, Carter lay on one of the beds, a wine cup in her hand, looking spectacular. Hair curled up in an attractive do and set with decorative combs and ribbons, she giggled as Daniel tripped over his feet when Teal'c suddenly broke off his tune.

"You guys decided to have a blow out and you didn't invite me?!" O'Neill complained, pretending to be hurt, but in truth secretly pleased to see his team relaxed and happy for the first time in months.

"Uh, sorry, Jack," Daniel apologized, faintly embarrassed as Carter stood, nervously putting aside her cup. "We kind of got lost in the moment."

"Apparently."

They stared guiltily at him, except for Methos, who showed not the least bit of remorse. O'Neill frowned, looking them over one by one.

"Well, don't I get a bed sheet?" he finally asked feigning annoyance.

"Right this way, Colonel Satan, sir!" Methos grinned as he bowed O'Neill toward Carter's bedroom.

The colonel gave Samantha a surprised glance. Her room was strictly off limits unless the door was open and the man inside had her express permission to be there.

"It's okay, sir," she told him, blushing faintly. "Getting these on..." She absently touched one of the many folds and draperies of her chiton. "Well, it gets a little...personal."

O'Neill paused as he digested her words. "You mean you're not..." He couldn't even bring himself to say it as he stared at their faces. "None of you?!"

Methos chuckled as the others stood there looking clearly uncomfortable. "You want to be authentic, don't you?"

O'Neill grimaced. "I was kinda hoping that was all just a nasty rumor."

"Afraid not," Methos shook his head. "And with all due respect, Colonel, underwear is highly overrated. But not to worry," he grinned widely. "You're fat man is safe in my hands."

Carter unaccountably burst out laughing, while O'Neill turned red and stalked into the bedroom.

"You leave him out of this, Pierson!"

The door slammed behind him and Methos sighed. He was definitely going to have to add alum to their list of supplies. His chances of getting O'Neill into a public bathhouse, he suddenly realized, had just taken a nose dive.

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