Duncan MacLeod didn't visit Methos too often. He did, however, have a tendency toward really annoying timing. And undue curiosity.
"What are you doing?"
Trust Mac not to respect the curt answer, or the concentrated frown focused on the computer screen. Or Methos' being his senior by several thousand years, for that matter. "Programming what?"
Methos sighed. Better get it over with. "A virus."
The younger Immortal sputtered unintelligibly for a bit, then got out a reproachful "Why?" And Mac being Mac, he didn't leave it at that but went on, "I can understand boys being boys or making a quick buck without realizing the consequences, but you... Really, that's..." So typical.
Methos got up and strode up to the Highlander. "Duncan."
Finally out of words, MacLeod only answered with a dubious look.
"Either go play boyscout outside and let me work in peace, or listen before you jump to conclusions." Surprised look. Had been the right word at the right time, thank goodness. He brushed past the younger man. "Remember Christine Salzer?"
Uncertainly, Duncan nodded.
Methos retrieved two loosely bound collections of code printouts from an overflowing bookshelf and turned back to look Duncan in the eye. No, Mac didn't seem to get it yet. "Remember the disk?"
This time, you could practically see the lightbulb going on.
"Call me a control freak, but next time I'd rather be prepared."
After a moment of contemplation, Duncan asked, "What sets it off?" He was, after all, a bright lad.
"I'm still figuring out how it should work." That much was true. "Detail work comes later." A white lie, if that.
"Oh." Disappointment rang in the softly spoken word.
That didn't matter. His tone would have been much harder to bear if Methos had told him the truth.
Hours later, after perusing code sourcebooks, printouts and hacker forums until his eyes hurt, he was at last typing in the variations and translations of the sentence that would activate the virus: "Joe Dawson is dead."