Don't Dream It's Over
"I can't stay. It will never
be right between us. You won't see me again. I will love you always, M."
Duncan read the note again for
the hundredth time, even after three months it still stung how easily
Methos had thrown their love away. The note was crumpled and worn, the
ink smudged from constant handling. He smoothed the wrinkles before
replacing the note between the pages of an Oscar Wilde first edition.
Another day alone stretched out endlessly in front of him, the prospect
as bleak as the ninety-three that had preceded it. The decision to
excise Methos from his life had been a hard one, but at the time it had
been necessary to preserve his sanity; his behavior after Methos
returned from his abortive disappearing act was something he still
found hard to think about.
Not that any of his so-called
friends understood, he thought with a cynical twist of his mouth, they
all seemed to have weighed in on Methos' side, ignoring the fact that
the old man had brought it on himself. Even Amanda, he added bitterly,
his erstwhile lover's defection still rankling. Joe wasn't any better
-- the man was his Watcher for God's sake and all he could do was glare
balefully at the Scot whenever Mac came into the bar, his formerly
genial manner pared back to barely civil monosyllables. Still, it was
Amanda who should have stood by him. Did three hundred and fifty years
of friendship count for nothing? From what he could gather the answer
was no -- the treacherous little thief was actually staying with
Methos. Well they are welcome to each other, he thought with a savage
kick at the sofa in passing.
Methos rolled over in his
sleep, stretching his arm over the warm body beside him. In the
confused moment between sleeping and waking he wondered briefly why the
body wasn't large and brawny. Then, as his mind cleared, he remembered.
His heart contracted with the thoughts, before he ruthlessly pushed
them aside. He snuggled closer to the slender body, stroking a hand up
the length of barely covered ribcage to the elegant neck, lifting the
black satin strands lying against it to bare it for a gentle brush of
his lips. She stirred, arching catlike as she pressed her rounded hips
back into his groin with a purring moan. He drew a velvet earlobe into
his mouth teasing it with his tongue as he sucked. Long black eyelashes
flickered and opened and she turned her head to meet his lips with hers.
"Good morning," she breathed
into his mouth.
"It's certainly starting to
be, Amanda," he said and his hand closed over her porcelain throat, his
thumb tracing the pulse point.
He felt the pulse quicken as
she tilted back, pressing into his hardening shaft. Slipping his hand
from her throat to one lush breast, he teased the claret-dark tip to
"Ohh, very nice," Amanda
sighed and her hips rocked back against him once more. This is the way
to wake up.
"Did you want something,
Amanda?" he whispered into her ear.
"Depends. What"ve you got?"
she teased back.
Grasping his erection, he
rubbed the swollen head along her slick, wet folds, feeling her shiver
slightly, "Only this."
"Well if that's all you've
got, I...suppose...I'll...take...it. Ohh..." she gasped as his heated
length slid inside, filling her deeply.
Methos steadied her hips with
a firm, sure hand, as he began a slowly sensuous rhythm in long, easy
thrusts. Amanda arched her back into the motion, riding the waves of
sensation coursing through her. She felt his teeth graze her shoulder
and gave a small shudder.
"Ohh Methos, just like that,
He replied with a throaty
little chuckle and increased the tempo slightly.
"Oh yesss..." she sighed.
Over and over again he thrust
into her until Amanda's pale skin was flushed and sweat-sheened and she
trembled on the edge of orgasm. Methos slipped his hand from her hip to
circle a clever finger over her firmly engorged clitoris, sending her
rushing to her climax, her strong inner muscles milking him. He let go
finally, driving into her and filling her with his essence.
Amanda felt his spasms cease,
felt him slump against her back, his arm heavy around her waist. She
turned to face him and her heart cracked a little at the tear running
away from one hazel eye.
"Oh Methos..." She caught the
tear, erased it with a kiss.
"I'm sorry, I feel like such a
shit, sleeping with you and wanting him." His eyes were desolate as
they met hers.
"Neither of us is under any
illusions about where we stand, you are my very dear friend and this is
all nice," she paused at the quizzical eyebrow. "Well okay, better than
nice, but it's MacLeod you love." She ruffled his soft hair
"Why can't I forget him,
Amanda? Life would be so much simpler." His voice was thick as she drew
him closer and felt his damp cheek against her neck.
"You still love him--maybe you
always will. He's a tough guy to forget.."
Duncan pulled on the practice
gloves and stepped up to the speedball, beginning a steady rhythm. Soon
the ball was a blur of motion under his fists. Relying on muscle memory
to keep the timing, his mind wandered into dangerous ground. The image
sprang to mind of Methos, wearing only Mac's 'borrowed' jeans, driving
him back against the dojo wall in a sexually charged sparring session
that had ended with Methos' blade at his throat. Suddenly the speedball
flew out of control, the rhythm gone, his next blow finding only air.
He grabbed the ball with both hands, resting his forehead against the
smooth leather surface. Damn. The feelings that plagued him night and
day were back -- the evil twins of regret and deep uncertainty.
It was the uncertainty that
bothered him the most -- kept him awake until the small hours, robbed
him of his appetite, sent him jogging at odd times. The uncertainty
bothered him more than anything else because it was so unfamiliar.
Duncan was used to knowing that his actions were right or wrong and
accepting the consequences as they came. The not knowing was killing
him in small, painful degrees. Had he done the right thing sending
Methos away? Had he given up too easily? He was so unused to the
feeling of quitting that he wasn't sure how to deal with it. His life
was becoming rootless, purposeless -- everything he hated. It was long
past time for action.
Methos arrived at the
university, with barely a minute to spare before his first class. The
buzz was an ill-timed and unwelcome intruder into his consciousness as
he parked his car. Shit, not now. He didn't recognize it, so it wasn't
MacLeod. Damn. He looked about surreptitiously, not seeing anyone
nearby. Feeling the reassuring weight of his sword in its concealed
space inside his coat as he carried it, he left the parking lot
quickly, the buzz fading away behind him. Pushing aside the unease that
always accompanied such encounters, Methos hurried off towards the
"Good Morning Dr Pierson!" a
trio of female students called out.
"Ladies..." He gave them a
smile as he entered the room, finding it full as usual, Intro to
Linguistics had rarely been so popular. "Not Doctor yet, remember? I'm
still ABD, you know, all but dissertation. I still have to finish it."
If I can ever concentrate long enough.
The rest of the day passed in
the usual flurry of lectures, meetings and classes. As he climbed
wearily into his car at the end of the day, he felt the buzz begin
again. This is getting to be a habit. Still no challenger approached,
and he could discern no lurking stalker in the shadows. More than a
little uneasy, he drove out of the lot and headed for home. As he drove
he remembered what Amanda had said as he'd left that morning. Damn He
wasn't in the mood for the theater and the crush of an opening night
was not his idea of fun at any time. He grimaced at the thought of
having to wear black tie. You owe me
big time for this one, Amanda.
Arriving at his apartment, he found Amanda darting about half-dressed,
the air fragrant with her perfume.
"Don't even think of weaseling
out on me Methos, I can see it written all over your face. You promised
-- and besides," she cooed, coming up behind him to murmur in his ear,
"Armani make the nicest tux -- you'll love it."
"Sure I will," he replied with
all the enthusiasm of a man on his way to the guillotine.
Amanda was in the living room,
slipping on her shoes, when Methos re-appeared a short while later. Oh
my... Duncan, you stupid, stupid man.
"Will I do?" he asked, head
tilted to one side, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
She stepped up close to him
and made a correction to an imaginary fault in his bow tie. "You will
do very nicely, shall we go?"
MacLeod wondered for the
hundredth time why he was bothering to go to this opening at all.
Because Claudia asked you to, and you
don't have so many friends left
that you can afford to alienate any, idiot. Utterly
finished dressing, the suit a little looser than he remembered. I must
have lost a few pounds. Trying to muster up what energy he
left the dojo and headed to the theater.
Parking the T-bird some
distance from his destination, due to the crowd, he walked the
remaining distance. He felt the presences grasp at his mind and looked
up sharply -- there they were across the street. Amanda, of course,
looked stunning, her deceptively simple black dress clinging ripely to
her curves, but it was Methos who took his breath away. He'd
never seen his (ex) lover in black tie before; the superbly cut suit
accentuated the width of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips, the
length of his legs. He felt his traitorous sex twitch and fill slightly
at the sight. He saw them glance about casually, then Methos spoke into
Amanda's ear. They know it's me. And she laid her head on his shoulder
briefly as they continued up the stairs into the theater and
disappeared from his sight.
"Is it him?" Amanda turned to
him as they felt the buzz.
"Yes." Methos' face hardened
and Amanda could feel the tension fill his body as she held his arm.
"It's not getting any easier,
is it?" she whispered as she laid her head on his shoulder and squeezed
his hand, as they entered the old Victorian building.
Duncan steeled his spine and
followed them in.
Methos and Amanda sat in the
front row, Duncan two rows back -- just close enough for the song of
each man's presence to twine around the other's. Ever since Bordeaux
they had been able to distinguish one another's presence from any other
Immortal's, it had once been a comfort, now it tortured them.
Seductively, their presences insinuated into every synapse and neuron,
distracting them both until neither man could have given the slightest
detail about the play if asked.
They rose at interval, turning
to go to the foyer, when their gazes clashed. Methos' stomach plummeted
to his knees, his breath sucking in involuntarily. Gods, he looks good
enough to eat -- he's let his hair grow again, I always loved it long
eyes, his mouth -- I could write volumes about the things I want to do
with that mouth... no one should be allowed to look that good in a
tuxedo... he smells unbelievable, citrus and spice -- I remember...
MacLeod was no less affected,
from a distance Methos had been breath-taking, up close with the light
shining on his raven dark hair, his lips slightly parted, those
incredible changeable eyes open wide in surprise, Duncan was
mesmerized. Damn it, Methos, why did
you have to be so fucking
beautiful? He caught sight of the strong, elegant hands. Those
hands, I love those hands... They're the first thing I fell in love
with... The things he can do with those hands... His pulse
quickened at the memory and it took a conscious act of will to come
back to the present. They stood there; consuming each other visually,
for a long moment until the trance was broken by an impatient tapping
on his shoulder.
"Enjoying the play then,
Duncan?" Claudia looked up at him, an expectant look on her piquant
Mac tore his eyes unwillingly
from his (ex) lover's face and turned to the young pianist. "Uhh, of
course, Claudia, the play's wonderful. Your friends have done a great
job on it. Give them my congratulations."
When he looked back again,
Methos had gone.
"Did you know he'd be there?"
Methos stormed in a fury at Amanda the second they arrived back at his
"Would I do something so
underhanded?" Amanda was all innocence, her dark eyes wide and
"In a heartbeat, Amanda dear,"
he growled, not letting her get away with anything.
"Methos, I'm hurt," she
pouted, wrapping her arms around him, pressing moist red lips to his
"That doesn't work on me,
Amanda." He pushed her away irritably.
"Hey! Don't get your boxers in
a bunch, old man. I didn't do anything to you," she flung back at him,
hands on hips, lying through her small, perfect teeth. She had
concocted the evening's 'accidental' meeting in collusion with Claudia
-- ignoring her innate dislike of the brash young Immortal. Amanda was
tired of the stalemate between her two dear friends and determined to
do whatever it took to end it.
He sat down, sprawling
dejectedly into the sofa, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the collar,
all the fight suddenly gone out of him. "I know. It's just seeing him
again like that. He looked good, didn't he? A little thin, but good."
"When have you known Duncan to
look anything but delectable?" Amanda slid in next to him, her legs
folded beneath her.
"Damn him." Methos'smile was
bleak, and he sprawled a little further into the chair.
The quiet scene was rudely
interrupted by the intrusion of an Immortal presence. Methos and Amanda
leapt from the sofa, reaching quickly for their hidden weapons.
"Damn, not again," Methos spat.
"What do you mean, again?"
Amanda snapped as she checked the window and the fire escape.
"Someone was shadowing me at
'Thanks for letting me know,"
Amanda hissed sarcastically.
"Hey, it could have been a
coincidence," Methos tossed back lightly, as he opened the
door and checked the hallway, finding it empty.
As rapidly as it had intruded,
the presence melted away.
"Well, whoever it was, they
obviously changed their mind." Methos turned as he closed the door, his
sword resting casually on his shoulder.
"Any ideas?" Amanda asked as
she returned her sword to its hiding place.
"None at all," he answered,
secreting away his Ivanhoe, his offhand tone masking his growing
MacLeod returned to his loft,
having escaped the opening night party as soon as possible. An
uncomfortable mixture of exhaustion and emotional tumult was making his
head spin, clouding his thoughts. Stripping out of the evening suit, he
headed for the shower. Soon the billowing steam was obscuring his
vision and he stepped gratefully into the heat, letting the scalding
water course over his body. He rested his hands either side of the
shower head, the water hitting him in the chest. His mind kept
returning to the evening's events. The only face he could remember, the
only thing at all that sprang to mind, was Methos.
In four hundred years he'd had
plenty of experience of losing lovers, but, for reasons he didn't dare
examine too closely, this one, this unique man had become grafted to
his soul, resisting all Duncan's attempts to wrench him out. I want
him back. The thought filled his mind, almost surprising him
with its intensity. Once begun, the thought was tenacious, growing and
spreading to every corner of his consciousness, metamorphosing from a
thought to a mission in a breathless instant. I will get him back. No
sooner had he floated this optimistic bubble, than a pessimistic finger
came to burst it -- a vision of Methos' stricken face as he asked, "Do
get a say in this, before you tear out my heart?"
That was going to be tough to
Methos glared at the alarm
clock -- no fucking way --
before silencing the shriek with a sharp blow.
It had been a horrible night, almost as bad as those first weeks after
the break-up. Amanda had been sweet and solicitous but eventually he'd
sent her to the guest room to sleep, for his sake as much as hers. The
dreams were always the same, that terrible day when it had all come
crashing down around his ears. He'd bounded up the stairs to the loft
ready to apologize for running off and to tell Duncan he was sure now,
sure about their future. In the nightmare Duncan drew his sword and
plunged it through Methos' heart, dragging the blade down through his
body, disemboweling him, bringing him to his knees before yanking the
katana free and, by placing his foot precisely in the center of Methos'
butchered chest, kicked him down the stairs. You don't need to be Freud
to work that one out, he thought bitterly. Heart-broken, gutted,
brought to my knees and kicked when I was down, sums up the whole
Too distracted to face a day
of students' demands and problems, Methos made the easy decision to
call in sick. After a masterful performance of death's door sound
effects for the benefit of the faculty secretary, he pulled the covers
over his head and managed a few healing hours of sleep. Around midday
the peace was shattered by the shrilling telephone. Shit what now?
"Yes?" he snapped.
"Adam? It's Andrew, Andrew
Miller, from the college?" his colleague's diffident voice stammered.
"Yes, Andrew, what can I do
for you?" You tiresome little man.
"Can you come down to the
office, Adam? There's somewhat of a problem," the man nervously
"What sort of problem?" Methos
was fully awake now. What the fuck's
"You better come down, Adam,
as soon as you can," Miller said and abruptly disconnected.
Thoroughly mystified, Methos
threw on some clothes and left.
The nature of the 'problem'
became blindingly clear when he arrived at the university. Emergency
services' vehicles were everywhere and a pall of smoke hung over the
campus. He left the car parked by the side of the road and walked
quickly to the building that housed his office. Or had. Shit. The
source of the smoke was this building, or what was left of it. There
had clearly been an explosion of some magnitude, probably a bomb, the
rational side of his mind concluded. The other side of his brain could
only ask why. Almost definitely a bomb, Methos had seen too many wars
and too many of the world's dark places not to recognize the signs.
From behind the police tape he
could see the compete devastation at the center of the blast. The
office was reduced to only burned and blackened fragments and the area
surrounding showed evidence of having been hit with flying debris, he
even thought he recognized a piece of his office chair speared into a
nearby brick wall. His eyes lingered for a moment on the three plastic
covered mounds lying on the ground, knowing them instantly for the
bodies that they were. The sudden awareness of an Immortal presence
dragged his attention from the horror. Shit, not again. Quickly he
turned to look for the elusive Immortal, but all he saw was a swirl of
a dark coat vanishing behind a fire truck. He almost gave chase, before
his common sense reined him back. No,
don't play his game.
Suddenly desperate for a beer
and not keen to answer the questions of the police, Methos left,
driving the short distance to Joe's bar. As he arrived at Joe's the
unmistakable buzz of Duncan's presence stopped him cold. Just as
quickly, the presence faded away. Well don't be obvious or anything,
MacLeod. Feeling lower than ever, he shambled into the bar, sprawling
dejectedly into his usual chair.
"Hey Adam, what's up?" Joe
poured him a beer without waiting to be asked.
"Where do you want to start?
The sleep I haven't had, the nightmares I have had, the explosion in my
office, or the ex who can't stand to be in the same room as me?" Methos
sank the beer in one long swallow as an end to his outburst.
"Wait a minute. Explosion --
what explosion? What the hell's going on?" Joe was in full 'Watcher
mode' in an instant.
"I don't really know, Joe. All
I know is someone's been following me, hanging about just close enough
for me to know they're there, and then disappearing. Then this morning
my office blew up. Maybe it's a coincidence, but I don't actually
believe in coincidences."
Methos was doing an excellent impression of
being coolly detached, but Joe wasn't buying it for a second. Joe asked the next obvious
question: "What did the police say?"
"Well, I didn't actually hang
around for the police." A sardonic smile spread over his face. "What am
I supposed to tell them, anyway?" He spread his hands wide, "That maybe
someone who can't die is trying to kill me? I don't actually know
anything, anyway. It's all just theory right now." Methos sprawled
even further into his seat and sighed.
"So was anyone hurt?"
"I saw three bodies at the
site, maybe there were more, I don't know." Methos couldn't meet Joe's
gaze, looking into the empty glass instead.
"You know MacLeod was here,
just before you? He came in to ask me about you, see how you were. He
said he ran into you at the theater last night." The Watcher was still
uncomfortable getting in between the two volatile Immortals.
"It didn't stop him from
sneaking out the back door, the minute he knew I was coming, did it?"
the Immortal asked harshly.
"He said he knows you don't
want to see him, that he understands."
"He understands That'll be
the day," Methos answered sarcastically. "He's the one who threw me out
on my backside. If he wants to know how I am, he can come and ask me
himself. You can tell him that the next time you see him."
"Sure, okay. Whatever you
want." Joe was not at all surprised by the vehemence of the response;
the last three months had been hard to watch. He could only imagine how
hard they'd been to live.
"Look, Joe, I've gotta go.
I'lll see you later." Methos rose and fled the bar.
Methos breathed a sigh of
relief as he arrived home to find Amanda lounging about in a
shopping-induced state of bliss.
"Why the rush, Methos?
Somebody giving away free beer?" she giggled.
"Very funny -- has everything
been okay here? No unexpected guests?"
The laughter faded from
Amanda's face as she realized something was definitely wrong, "Methos
what's going on? Where have you been?"
So he told her.
'No I will not go! How many
times do I have to say it? Would you go off if someone were threatening
me? No you would not. And neither will I. Besides you don't really know
there is a threat. It could just be some kind of weird coincidence;
maybe someone else at the college has an enemy. You're not the only
person in the history of the world to piss people off, even though I
will admit you have raised it to an art form."
Amanda paused from the
passionate tirade just long enough to let him sneak in a word. "Thank
you so much. Yes, it could be a coincidence, but how many of the rest
of the faculty have had as long as I"ve had to collect enemies? Then
there's the matter of our mystery guest, showing up at the university
and doing his disappearing act. It's too risky, Amanda, go back to
Paris, go to London. Hell I'll give you the keys to my place on
Bora-bora, if you'll just go !" Methos' frustration was growing by the
But Amanda -- whose
stubbornness was second only to the Scot's -- was immovable.
"It's your head," was his only
"Exactly." Amanda had the last
word -- for the moment.
MacLeod picked up the newspaper at the end of his run the next morning.
The story of the explosion at the college was on the front page:
"The identity of the fourth victim has yet to be positively confirmed.
Sources within the police department say that the body, which is
believed to have been dismembered by the force of the blast, will need
to be identified through dental records.”
"Oh please, no." The plea escaped from a throat suddenly tight with
He wasn't far from Joe's apartment, he realized quickly. Sprinting the
half-mile or so, he arrived at the apartment just as Joe was leaving,
almost colliding with him in the doorway.
"Watch it, MacLeod!" the watcher's gruff voice barked. "What're you
doing here anyway?"
"Joe have you seen Methos? Do you know about this blast at the college?
Is he all right?" The questions came flooding out in a torrent.
"I don't get it, MacLeod, you toss him out without even hearing his
side of the story, you don't speak to him for three months but now
you've come around twice in two days to see how he is. Am I the only
one who sees something wrong with this picture?" Heavy sarcasm overlaid
"For god's sake Joe, is he
all right?" The desperation on Mac's face gave Joe a pang of remorse at
his harsh words, but only a small one.
"He's fine, he wasn't even there, he took the day off. You still
haven't answered my question, MacLeod. What's it to you, anyway,
haven't you done enough damage? Have you any idea how hard it's been
for him - how hard it's been for all of us - to watch him grieve over
what happened?" and he stopped for a moment, thinking of all the late
nights he'd sat and watched his old friend try to drown his pain. "And
now what -- you decide you're still hot for
him, and it's all on again? Think again, pal. It won't be that easy."
Joe steadied himself on his cane as he glared at the highlander.
Duncan was shocked at the cold fury behind Joe's voice and even more
shocked at the truth so brutally presented. "I know. I've acted like a
complete and utter bastard through all of this. I should have given him
a chance to talk…I should never have just thrown him out. I was an
idiot, and now he'll never forgive me. How could I have thrown away the
best thing that's ever happened to me?" he breathed deeply in a
desperate effort to contain his emotions. "It was all my fault anyway,
it was my stupidity that made him run off in the first place. But I'm
too late aren't I, Joe?" Duncan slumped against the wall, staring off
into the distance, the bitter truth hitting him as he spoke.
Joe wasn't letting him
off that easily. "Yeah,
well, it's not the first time you've been a fool, probably won't be the
last. Question is, what are you going to do about it now?"
"Yeah, that's the question all right." The one I haven't worked out the answer to.
Methos was having the dream again, the nightmare of breaking up with
Duncan, only this time it seemed his subconscious had refined the
torture further. As he ran up the stairs, he realised that he couldn't
recognise Mac's presence, couldn't differentiate it from any other
immortal's. The buzz was there unmistakably, but it could have been
anyone. He had a moment of deep confusion as a banging and crashing
infiltrated his nightmare and then he was awake. He rolled frantically
off the bed, reaching for his sword as he hit the floor. The sight of
the intruder made the events of the last few days click into place like
a coffin lid closing.
"Callum O'Neal." He grasped the hilt of the Ivanhoe in both hands,
"Aren't you dead yet?" Methos sprang to his feet, "Been up to your old
tricks with incendiary devices have you?" Get him talking, wait for a chance. Where
the hell's Amanda?
"Feeling the pressure, eh Adams, gettin' worried? Good. I've waited a
hell of a long time for this. Shut yer hole and put up yer blade,
bastard!" O'Neal yelled as he advanced on Methos, swinging his
broadsword in a low horizontal arc.
The ancient parried the blow, turning his blade so that the tip pointed
at the floor, bracing his legs to absorb the impact. Methos raised his
sword, circling it anti-clockwise over his head using the return
momentum to slash a long wound across O'Neal's chest from right
shoulder to left. Part of the ancient's mind coolly registered the
dissection of an artery as it spurted bright red in time with his
enemy's heart, before the immortal healing took over.
The challenger grunted with the pain, but wildly thrust his sword point
towards the elder, trying desperately to impale him upon it. The
ancient immortal was inside O'Neal's guard in a second, taking control
of the line of defence, forcing the other man onto his back foot, the
Ivanhoe a silver blur that sliced at the muscle of shoulder, flank and
thigh. Soon pools of blood lay congealing on the polished wood
floorboards, the coppery stench strong in the small room. From some
deep reserve of energy, O'Neal managed to block the killing blow when
it came, a wide arc of death screaming towards him in slow motion.
Encouraged by this small success, the heavier man tried a combination
of diagonal slashes, slicing down from the right and left in turn,
surprising Methos with his stamina.
With a crashing thud the elder was flat on his back, winded and dazed,
realizing foggily that he must have slipped in a puddle of blood.
O'Neal smirked triumphantly as he raised his blade for the final
stroke, but Methos still had one last card to play. As the challenger
stepped closer to finish the fight, the ancient lifted his weapon and
sliced it deeply into the calf muscle of his assailant, opening the leg
like an obscenely grinning mouth. Pulling the blade towards the bone,
Methos felt the strong fiber of the Achilles tendon resist and then
give with a faint popping sound. O'Neal finally howled in agony, unable
to stand and he collapsed onto the floor, blood gushing from him once
more. The old immortal was struggling to stand when he sensed an
"Amanda?" he rasped, still struggling to fill his lungs.
"Methos? What happened?" She entered the room finally, "Oh, is this the
tiresome little lurker? Well you look like you have it under control.
I'll just go and take cover before the fireworks start, shall I?"
Amanda was cool as ever, on the outside at least, and she left the room
Methos had managed to stand and had his sword raised to finish the
battle. He felt the presence return and looked up to see Amanda
re-appear, her hands held above her shoulders, a darkly wry expression
on her face.
"Uh Adam? We have company," she tossed her head at the small figure
standing behind her, gun in hand.
"Adam is it now? Still shit by any other name still fuckin' reeks," the
mortal woman threw at him in a strong Irish accent. She nudged Amanda
into the room to stand alongside Methos who still held his blade ready
to take his opponent's head. "You drop yer sword or I'll drop you,
"Tsk-tsk Callum, breaking the rules. Tell me this, even if I was stupid
enough to put down my sword what's to stop you from shooting me and
taking my head anyway?" Methos' lightly chiding tone was belied by the
point of his blade poised at O'Neal's throat and the cold glint in his
"What and have yer girlfriend here take mine while I'm down?" O'Neal
The woman raised her revolver and released the safety, pointing it at
"Take him and get out. Go on O'Neal, get out. It appears you get a
reprieve for today at least." He gestured with the point of his sword,
"Come near me again, though and you'll think this was just a light
sparring session." Chilling menace filled Methos' voice as he moved
only just enough to allow the defeated challenger to rise from the
floor, still limping from the only partially healed wound.
Keeping the blade between the retreating couple and himself, Methos did
not relax until the presence had faded completely away. Then he sank
exhausted onto the corner of the bed, resting the point of the Ivanhoe
on the floor.
"You want to tell me the story now or later old man?" Amanda demanded.
"Later." Never? "Where were you anyway? It's four in the
morning." Methos deflected the question neatly.
"Nightclubbing and what's it to you, ‘Dad'. So the story? Hmm?" Amanda
was too old a hand at evading questioning to be put off so easily.
"If you must know, I met the delightful Callum O'Neal, in Switzerland.
He was hiding out after some business involving a shipment of currency,
a robbery and some rather stereotypically repulsive criminal types. He
was in a little village outside Lausanne when Byron and I ran into him.
You never met Byron, did you? He could be well, somewhat impulsive,"
the ancient's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. "He and I arrived
in the village, Byron challenged O'Neal, and they fought. When it
looked like Byron would lose -- he was only very young at the time and
O'Neal was already about four hundred -- I interfered. I shot O'Neal
and shortly after, by some coincidence, the police caught up with him
and he spent the next twenty years in prison."
"I can't believe you interfered like that," Amanda broke in.
"I loved Byron, I couldn't stand by and see him die like that," and his
voice caught over the words.
"But you let Mac take him. You didn't try to get between them," Amanda
trod the dangerous ground cautiously.
"People change. The Byron I'd known was long gone, poisoned by life,
madness, drugs - I don't know." Even now the memory of that time was
sharp-edged and painful and he pushed it aside with a facility born of
long practice. "The charming Mr O'Neal vowed revenge, yada, yada,
yada…Which brings us to today's little contretemps." Methos finished
with trademark sarcasm.
"Will they be back?"
"I doubt it. He's basically not very bright. He'll run and hide, plot
my downfall for another time." Methos dismissed O'Neal with a careless
"I hope so," she was unconvinced.
Suddenly Amanda stiffened, turned and raced for the nearest sword.
Methos sat frozen, unable to respond for a long moment. He recognised
the presence, but he never thought to feel it coming through his door
"Well hello, MacLeod," Amanda dropped the point of her sword but not
the frosty glare.
"Hello Amanda, I know he's here. Can I see him?" Without waiting for an
answer he strode through the smashed door. "What happened here?"
"Unexpected guests." Amanda replied shortly, wanting Methos to explain
Walking into the bedroom, Duncan was stopped short by its horrific
state. Blood decorated the walls in graceful arterial sprays, pooled on
the floor in darkly glinting puddles, the scent hanging in the air like
an acrid mist so thick he could taste it as he breathed.
"Christ Methos it looks like an abattoir in here!" His relief at
finding Methos unharmed mingled with his shock to drain the color from
"Sorry MacLeod, it's the maid's day off," Methos was nothing if not
quick on his feet.
"Are you all right? What happened here? I heard about the explosion at
your office…" MacLeod trailed off as Methos stood and stalked towards
"And what MacLeod? What are you doing here really? As you can see,
rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated. What is this anyway-
a gesture of concern and at this late stage? Really, highlander, I
might start to think you care. Only I don't see how I could possibly be
that deluded!" Methos hissed defensively.
"Please Methos, you've every right to be angry but I need to talk to
you. I've been doing a lot of thinking. I made a terrible mistake in
not listening to you that day. You've no idea how sorry I am. No
matter what I said or did, I never stopped caring about you. I need you
to believe that. I was wrong. I don't know how else to say it. I WAS
WRONG. I acted like a fool, a stupid unthinking, moronic fool. I accept
total responsibility for this whole mess. Is there anything I can say
or do, that will fix this? Is there any way you'd give me another
chance? Please?" The admission laid him bare, stripped away any
remaining pretence or artifice, leaving only the pure essence of the
man - open and vulnerable and it melted a little of the ice around
"There you go with the guilt again, there's plenty of blame to go
around. I don't know what to tell you, MacLeod. I just don't know if I
could take the risk again. I feel like we broke something -- something
essential -- I don't know if it can be fixed. I wish I did," he paused
and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. "Do we have to talk
about this now? I'm not exactly at my best." He finished on a
shuddering breath, adrenaline and emotion conspiring to leave him
shaking, a fine tremor consuming his slender frame.
MacLeod looked at him, really saw him for the first time since he'd
entered the room. He saw the man he loved -- loved with his whole being
-- half-naked, pale, shaking, blood smeared, but with fierce pride
keeping his head up and his back straight - and all he wanted to do was
take him in his arms and bolster Methos' strength with his own and
never let him go.
"MacLeod it's after four in the morning, why are you here?" Methos'
rational tone broke into Mac's reverie.
"I saw the lights on…I've been up all night, walking, thinking,
wondering what I could say to you that could possibly help you to come
back to me." Duncan looked into the eyes of the man who had been his
"And what did you come up with?" Methos could only manage a strained
"That there really isn't anything I can say, except the one thing I
haven't yet said - I love you. I never stopped. I can't change what
happened, what I did, or what you did. I can only look to the future
and hope we have one -- together. I want it -- you decide if it's what
you want too." Methos watched in stunned silence as Duncan turned and
walked through to the living room.
Amanda confronted him there, "I hope you know what you're doing
MacLeod. He's been through a hell of a lot in the last few months.
You've no idea how close to the edge he's been," she glared at him,
daring him to refute her statement.
"I know it's been hard for him, but at least he's had you. Who have I
had? He's the one who ran out and you and Joe have acted like I'm the
bad guy. Do you know how alone I've been?" The heavy brows contracted
as the remembered pain became flesh once more.
The pain on his face sent an arrow of guilt straight to her heart, but
she wasn't letting him off yet. "He told me what happened that day,
MacLeod. You've been as alone as you've wanted to be. No, don't look so
wounded -- I invented that look. You could have talked to any one of a
dozen people. You do have more than your fair share of friends. But did
you go see any of them? Did you go to Glenfinnan and visit Rachel or go
see Ceirdwyn in Paris or Carl in the islands or any of your other
friends? No. You stayed right here in town, brooding and licking your
wounds, doing your world-renowned version of self-flagellation." Her
eyes flashed fire as the long-restrained words poured out.
The harsh words cut deeply, even as he recognised the truth of them.
"You missed one thing Amanda," he broke in somberly, "None of those
friends are anywhere near as important to me, have shared as much of my
life, as you. The only thing that's hurt anywhere near as much as
losing Methos has been losing you. You've been my closest friend the
largest part of my life, you left a big hole when you went."
"I'm sorry, Mac, I've missed you too. But I was so mad at you - you
were so unfair to Methos, and he was so hurt. I guess I just felt like
he needed me more than you did, I always think of you as being so
strong." The combativeness drained out of her slight frame and she
leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted.
"I haven't felt very strong lately. God Amanda, when did this all get
so fucking complicated? All I want is to have him in my life, to love
him as much and as long as I can. Why does that have to be so hard?"
Lines of pain and exhaustion etched themselves into his face, aging him
for an instant.
"I wish I knew, honey, I wish I knew." Amanda pushed away from the wall
and went to him, folding her arms around him as he enclosed her in the
circle of his.
After a long while Duncan pushed away from her, dropping a light kiss
onto her hair. "Take care of him, okay? I should go. I'll talk to you
As he walked through the door, as emotionally shredded as he was, there
was also a tiny seed of optimism taking root somewhere deep inside and
he felt better than he had in days. Amanda watched him go, pleased that
at last the tension appeared to be easing.
Well okay, maybe he meant what he
said yesterday. Methos strolled into Joe's, a quiet thrill of
apprehensive expectation lurking somewhere in his stomach. He'd felt
Mac's presence as he approached the bar and half expected it to
disappear as it had before. To his pleased surprise it had remained
"MacLeod." A careful friendly-but-not-too-friendly greeting.
"Adam." Not using his real name made it easier somehow, kept the
turbulent emotions at bay.
Methos settled on a barstool and ordered from the bartender, Joe
apparently being elsewhere. Moments turned into awkward minutes.
"Pool table's new," Duncan offered into the silence.
"Hmm? Yes," Methos replied vaguely. What's this? A conversational gambit?
"Feel like a game?" Duncan turned to face Methos for the first time
since he'd entered the bar. Say
yes, Methos, anything to bridge this godawful uncomfortable silence
There was a pause of several long seconds as the elder absorbed the
look in Mac's expressive eyes, "Okay, why not."
As they played the icy distance between them thawed some more. They
began to talk, a little desultorily at first and then slowly, very
slowly with more feeling and animation. The talk was inconsequential in
subject, friends in common, books, how much the game of pool had
changed since it was invented -- but it was the simple act of talking
that was important to each of them.
At closing time the conversation staggered to an awkward standstill
Methos spoke first, "I guess I should be going then."
MacLeod looked across the pool table, his eyes sliding up to meet
Methos', "I'll call you, okay?"
The ancient's head tilted to one side and he smiled a little -- at once
very young, "Yeah, that would be okay."
Methos was still asleep the following morning when the phone rang,
"Mmm?" he answered sleepily.
"Methos," the bass tones sent a shaft of unexpected pleasure straight
through him, "It's Duncan."
As if anyone else could make me feel
this way just by saying my name.
"Methos," Duncan paused, suddenly nervous, "I was calling to ask you to
have dinner with me tonight at the loft. Would you, please? It'd mean a
lot to me. We could talk. Or just eat. Whatever you want. "
There was a small silence as Methos processed the implications of
setting forth on this particular path, before his caution and his
rationality were overwhelmed by desire, need - and love. "Sure MacLeod,
why not. What time would you like me to come?"
How about right now? "How about seven? Is that okay?" MacLeod was so on
edge he could feel a cold drizzle of sweat running down the center of
Right this minute would be better. "Fine, seven it is."
As he put down the phone, Duncan realized his hands were shaking and he
gave a self-mocking snort of laughter You
are so desperate. Shaking his head at the things one does in the
quest for love, he went to get started. He threw himself into the task
with his usual energy and enthusiasm but less than his usual level of
concentration which made cleaning the loft a far more hazardous task
than it would be otherwise. It's a good thing I'm immortal, or I'd be
half dead by now, he thought as the third life-threatening injury of
the day healed in a river of sparks. The cooking went less than
spectacularly too. His thoughts refused to settle on the job at hand,
continually jumping back to the previous night at the bar and the
promising start that it had been. But eventually the preparations were
complete and the hour was upon him.
Time had performed strange contortions throughout Methos' day, slowing
down and speeding up in inconsistent rhythms. He was short-tempered and
irritable too. He growled at the repairman when he finally showed
up to fix the ruined door. He hissed at Amanda when she teased him
about his date. He hurled his thesis notes across the room when he
found himself reading the same paragraph for the fourth time without
understanding a word. Inevitably though the time passed and he was
ready to go, dressed with more than his usual care in a black silk
shirt buttoned to the neck and well-cut black trousers. He gave himself
a mocking grin as he looked in the mirror Who are you trying to impress?
Methos had a moment of deja vu as he entered MacLeod's building,
remembering both his dreams and the last time he was here, but he made
a conscious effort to push aside the past and succeeded. Taking the
elevator, he was first greeted by Mac's presence, then by the man
A tiny hissed inhalation marked MacLeod's surprised pleasure at the
Methos' appearance. The unrelieved black highlighted the ivory skin to
flawless purity and stole all the gold and brown from his eyes leaving
them glowing green. The silk draped sensuously over the sculpted chest
and shoulders distracting MacLeod from his habitual good manners and
making him stare. How am I going to
get through tonight without throwing myself at him?
"Everything all right, MacLeod?" Methos was just as overcome by
Duncan's appearance, he simply had more practice in hiding his
thoughts. Mac looked even better than his normally edible self in a
burgundy red linen shirt open at the neck, the color flattering the
darkness of his skin, with loosely tailored trousers hanging low on
narrow hips, his glossy hair smoothed back into a silver tie. I am in so much trouble.
"Hmm? Yes, of course, come in. Can I get you something?" Duncan blurted
You -- stripped, oiled and brought to
my tent "Beer would be good," he managed to answer.
Glad of something practical to do, MacLeod retrieved the drinks from
the kitchen and they sat, the ancient claiming his habitual seat
sprawled on the sofa, Duncan perched on a barstool. The Scot was having
great difficulty maintaining any semblance of rational conversation,
one look at the elder had turned his thought processes off. Standing in
front of him the man had been incredibly desirable, sprawled bonelessly
across the leather sofa exuding raw sexuality from every pore he was
"So what's for dinner?" Methos asked. There's
a safe subject, food. No need to think of the time I covered him in
fudge sauce and whipped cream. No need at all. Too late.
Me? "Uhh, pasta, just
something simple." Mac swallowed the rest of his beer and moved into
the kitchen to check on the meal.
Methos watched him go, his eyes glued to the tightly muscular
behind Want. An
involuntary noise escaped his throat as an errant wildfire flamed in
"What was that? Did you say something Methos?" Duncan asked
distractedly from the kitchen, where he was putting the final touches
on the meal.
"No, just uhh clearing my throat. Can I help with something?" Hold your shirt, your pants, any
appendages you'd care to name? He rose from his sprawl and
ambled over to MacLeod, just close enough to inhale the intoxicating
scent emanating with the heat of his body. Oh this was a mistake, he smells even
better than he looks.
"No I'm fine, you can take a seat if you like." I have somewhere you can sit.
MacLeod managed to strangle his inner voice long enough to dish up the
pasta, salad and bread and pour the wine without any embarrassment.
Methos accepted the food, grateful for the distraction from his noisy
internal monologue. It didn't last long. The second he looked up from
his plate, his heart was stopped by the sight of Mac's fingers slipping
up and down his wineglass, tracing the contours. Need.
Duncan was faring no better. Sitting across the table from the most
sensual man he had ever known was an exquisite torture. Methos ate like
he made love -- with a focussed enjoyment of every taste and texture.
MacLeod watched avidly as a forkful of pasta entered the ancient's
mouth, forcefully reminded of other, more personal items slipping into
that satiny orifice. The elder made a small sound of pleasure as he
ate, and Duncan's toes curled in his shoes as a wave of arousal shot
through him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It's way too hot in here. Mac
drained his wineglass in a gulp, heedless of the taste of the fine wine
he'd gone to such pains to select.
The ancient was fully aware of the effect he was having on the Scot's
self-control and was enjoying the sense of power it gave him. It
pleased him that he wasn't the only one struggling to maintain his
equilibrium. Things were a long way from being resolved but talk was
highly overrated at times. Times
like this. He glanced across at Mac to find the dark
chocolate eyes fixated on his face, a look of ravenous hunger clear in
them, the pupils huge.
Methos recognised the yearning written so clearly across Duncan's
features, it was the same feeling he'd been walking around with for the
last three months. But simply wanting something (or someone - a
treacherous voice in his head added) didn't necessarily mean having it
wouldn't be painful or dangerous. No matter how much he ached with an
exquisite hunger of fingertips to take that beautiful face between his
hands and press his lips to that perfect, ripe, lush mouth, and part
the warm flesh with his tongue slipping into the moist, satiny depths
to duel with its velvet-rough counterpart. No matter how bereft his
skin felt, yearned for the touch of strong callused fingers tracing the
lines of muscle and sinew, the tactile memory so real for an instant he
could feel a hand slip over his thigh. No matter how his blood rose and
coursed in response to the mere thought of having this incredible man
needy and begging for him just to touch him, to release him, to end his
sensual torture. Methos' breathing quickened with the thoughts of his
mutinous sensuality as it warred with his rationality.
Duncan watched transfixed as the conflict travelled across his love's
face, watched the growing signs of arousal, Methos staring at him as if
hypnotized, his pupils so dilated his eyes were almost black, his
breathing shallow. He is so
beautiful. Don't rush him. There was an endless moment hanging
suspended as their gazes locked and the silence was deep and profound.
Neither man could draw breath as they each declared their desire in the
wordless, breathless minutes. Each battered heart quickened and banged
as the adrenaline of anticipation hit like a drug. The clatter of
Methos' fork as he dropped it on to his plate broke the silence and
galvanised Duncan to action.
Rising from the table, he stepped around to stand in front of Methos,
hands outstretched in invitation. Methos lifted his eyes to meet
Duncan's again as he reached up to clasp the hands and stand only
inches from the heated body. Slowly the heads tilted and the bodies
leaned and then by some mysterious alchemy they were kissing. Red wine
flavored tongues danced in a sensuous tango that escalated to a
desperate tarantella as the passion flared.
Wresting good sense from the control of his need, Duncan broke away for
just long enough to ask, "Are you sure this is what you want, Methos?"
In a husky voice that sent shivers of anticipation down Mac's spine he
replied, "I've never wanted anything more." And he leaned into Duncan's
mouth once more. I have missed
With infinite finesse the kiss went on as their hands moved to touch
and explore the thinly covered steel of chests and shoulders and then
bare the smoothly heated skin underneath. As Duncan slipped the shirt
off Methos' arms he moved his mouth to the alabaster column of his
lover's neck, running his tongue along the snaking vein that pulsed
under it, tasting the faintly salty essence, biting gently above the
ridge of the collarbone, the answering moan music to his ears. Methos
pressed more urgently into the solid body, his hips writhing and
rubbing, trying to assuage the growing ache.
"Keep that up and this will be over very quickly," Mac rasped, turning
his attention to the lobe of his lover's ear, sucking it in a rhythm
that sent arrows of fire directly to Methos' groin.
"You say that like that's a bad thing," the ancient gasped as his hands
cleverly divested MacLeod of his trousers. "It's been a long time."
"Too long," Mac agreed as he reciprocated, pushing the pants down over
Methos' ass, using the opportunity to reacquaint his hands with the
high muscled globes, stroking them, pressing them forward so the
burning erections pressed together. He paused and caught the ancient's
gaze again, "Come to bed?" he asked with the faintest trace of
uncertainty underlying his words.
"Oh yes…" Methos whispered as he melted into Duncan.
Unwilling to lose contact for a moment, the two immortals slowly
shuffled across the room, caressing and kissing all the while. The
snails-pace desperation of the embrace continued, both men unwilling to
hurry, savoring each tiny nuance of taste and touch, sight, smell and
sound with the craving born of long abstinence. But at last they
reached the bed, tumbling untidily across the covers.
MacLeod stared down into the hazel eyes that shone with such hunger,
and lowered his mouth once more, his tongue slipping out to flicker
over the thinly sensual lips that parted in wordless invitation. The
kiss deepened once more, only breaking when Methos raised a bent knee
and flipped Duncan onto his back, reversing their positions. With a
tiny triumphant grin escaping from the left corner of his mouth the
elder slithered down his lover's golden brown body. Pausing with his
head on Duncan's heaving chest, he teased a flat brown nipple to aching
hardness with tiny nibbles of serrated teeth, the small nub rising to
meet the tongue that curled around it.
Instead of continuing the downward path, as Duncan expected, Methos
dropped a trail of moistly heated kisses on the hot dusky flesh where
chest became shoulder, over the shoulder and down the arm, biting and
sucking. Mac shivered as the waves of sensation threatened to overwhelm
him, his other hand running rampant over the flawless back. As his
lover's small sharp teeth attacked the tender skin inside his bicep,
his hips bucked up off the bed pressing his desperate cock into
Methos'. The clever mouth reversed its path, winding tortuously over
the sensitised skin to travel down the ridged landscape of ribs,
teasing and tickling.
Methos' mouth reached the flat plain of Duncan's stomach and he groaned
loudly as once more the lips travelled away from the where his shaft
lay throbbing. Mac's hands grasped and pushed at his lover, his hunger
for release raging out of control. Small whimpers of desperation
escaped from Duncan as he clutched at the sheets, his head thrashing
from side to side. The ancient smirked a little at Mac's distress,
clamping down firmly on his own control. Again Methos roved up the long
torso, over the sternum to the pulsing hollow at the base of Duncan's
throat. His tongue dipped pointedly into the indentation, laving the
skin minutely. Needy hands grasped at Methos' hips pressing them down
into his own, an involuntary thrusting motion out of his control.
"God, Methos, I can't stand it…I need…ohh," Mac became almost
incoherent as shockwaves of pleasure spread through his system with
Methos was no less affected, this was what he'd wanted, fantasized
about through the long months of separation, to have Duncan beneath him
begging and needy, desperate for release. Prolonging the ecstasy could
wait for another time, the time for finesse and long extended foreplay
was not now, he abandoned his idea of a slow sensual feast in the time
between one breath and the next.
"What is it you need, love?" his emotion-roughened baritone asked.
Duncan's eyes opened wide in a soul-deep stare, "You…inside me…now…"
His breath came in shallow gasps through parted swollen lips - he
needed to be filled, to have Methos deep inside him, feel him at his
Dropping a final kiss on to that irresistible mouth, the elder slid
down to where the rigid cock lay bobbing at his every move. The
highlander, with a moan that dripped carnality, spread his legs and
raised his knees, leaving no doubt as to where he was desperate for
attention. Methos smiled slightly and reached for the oil, hoping it
was still in the same place and it was -- right where he left it. Warm
oil-slicked fingers probed and then entered, one then two, twisting and
parting, stretching and stroking, thrusting. MacLeod reached down to
where the merciless hand worked at his flesh, wrapped his hand around
the wrist and pulled it away.
"I…need…you. Now Methos. Fuck me now." His eyes never left Methos'- the
need burning in them seared the ancient to his soul.
"Do you want me?" the simple words were a purring caress as the elder
caught hold of his lover's hands, pinning them behind Mac's head.
"Yes. Now." The fierce need in Duncan's voice and eyes broke through
the last of Methos' control and the long-banked fire flamed furiously.
Methos pressed his hardness against the puckered opening, the sight and
sensation of the head disappearing inside, impossibly erotic. Rocking
forward he filled the small space, and paused.
Duncan's eyes were unfocussed and his breath ragged as he waited for
Methos to take them both to completion, a wordless cry torn from his
throat as his love began at last to move. Slow, sure strokes in and
out, filled him to his limit, stretched him, drove him beyond the realm
of sanity. One second he was suspended, hanging in space, the next he
was free-falling, Methos' name on his lips. The sight and sound and
feel of his lover where they joined at his core sent the ancient
tumbling into outer space after him.
Unwilling to part for a second, they lay wrapped in one another's arms,
breathing and sanity slow to return to normality. Methos curled into
Duncan's side, his arm draped over the broad chest softly tracing a
whorl of hair with a fingertip. The highlander's square palmed hand
rested on his lover's pale hip, caressing the fine, smooth skin.
"I have missed this so very much," Methos began as his fingers brushed
languidly over MacLeod's chest.
"So have I." Duncan drew him a little closer.
"Do you think we're rushing it?" The ancient's elegant hand skimmed up
to rest against the Scot's stubbled jaw.
"No." Mac hooked a finger under Methos' chin and lifted his face so he
could look into the hazel depths.
"But this part has always been good, it's everywhere else we run into
problems," Methos was almost unwilling to say the words and looked away.
"Only good?" Duncan teased, deflecting the unanswerable question.
"Outstanding, amazing, mind-blowing then. Can we have this discussion
without my having to bolster your already healthy ego?" Methos asked
"It's only really healthy when you're around." Duncan's arm tightened
around his lover once more.
"Why is that?" Methos murmured against the solid chest.
"Because, O Center of my Universe you are quite simply the best thing
that has ever happened to me. You make me feel ten feet tall and
bullet-proof." Duncan's lightly playful tone camouflaged the deeply
A small glow of pleasure settled in Methos' chest at the description
Mac used. "That doesn't answer the question though, does it? Can we
make this work outside of the bedroom?"
"We were doing okay before I went away," Duncan was reluctant to even
think about that time in their lives.
"That was a few months, I'm talking about a bit longer than that.
Aren't you?" Methos turned a little to look into Mac's face.
"Of course I am. Methos don't ever doubt that what I want is to be with
you and love you as much and as long as I can," Duncan met the gaze
evenly, "But the harsh truth is that there are no guarantees. I can't
promise unblemished bliss for all eternity, but you know I'll give it a
damn good try."
Methos noted the ‘for all eternity' part and tucked it away for future
examination, "That's all either of us can do, I only hope it's enough."
"It will be if we want it to be," MacLeod replied with certainty.
"Do you?" Methos had to be sure.
"More than anything, and you?"
"With the length and depth and breadth of my soul."
They lay in silence then, the language of hands and eyes and skin all
The shrilling telephone woke them the next morning, ripping the lovers
from their sated peace. Mac answered it:
"Well don't we sound happy this morning?" Amanda teased archly.
"Uh-huh, why shouldn't - I be?" Duncan almost dropped the phone as
Methos slipped down to take advantage of the highlander's morning
erection, their gazes locked over the expanse of muscled flesh.
"How's Methos?" Amanda asked in an innuendo-laden tone.
"He's umm, got his mo-hands full right now." His rapid breathing almost
betrayed just what Methos had his hands full with. The elder grinned
wickedly and bit gently at the base of Mac's shaft, making him yelp.
"Is everything all right, MacLeod?" Amanda was almost certain she knew
what was going on, the picture in her head leaving her a little weak at
Methos sank his mouth down over the urgently straining organ swallowing
it until his lips touched the springing curls, his tongue swirling as
the salt-musk pre-cum leaked into his mouth.
"Everything's fine, ahh, uhh, better than fine," Duncan gasped as a
clever finger wriggled into his ass to curl against the sensitive
prostate at the same time as the talented mouth began to slip up and
down in a steady rhythm. Amanda was saying something but he couldn't
concentrate, his whole body was focussed on the mouth that encased him
and the finger that stroked the pressure point deep inside him.
The sensations became too much and he came in a rush, his orgasm
sending creamy fluids jetting down Methos' throat. He dropped the
phone, Amanda forgotten, as his hips bucked and heaved in the waves of
climax. Methos lifted his lips from the flagging shaft, his tongue
snaking out to re-capture a tiny droplet from his lower lip. He calmly
picked up the phone.
"Amanda? Hello," he began smoothly, his eyes still trapping Duncan's.
"Well hello, you bad old thing, what were you doing to poor Mac? He
sounds positively wrecked. And you stayed the night, does that mean all
"Nothing he didn't enjoy, yes and we're working on it. In that order."
"Well don't do anything I wouldn't do -- that leaves you plenty of
leeway. I'll see you later, old man." She finished with a lewd chuckle
as Methos put the phone down.
"That was a very bad thing to do!" Mac rose up on the bed and
crash-tackled Methos onto the mattress, looming large over him.
Methos snickered evilly, "You didn't look like you minded a whole hell
of a lot."
"That's not really the point, is it?" The Scot was trying for outraged
innocence, and falling well short of the mark.
"And the point would be…?" Methos' eyebrow shot skyward.
"I can't remember, shut up and kiss me." MacLeod ended the discussion
to everyone's satisfaction.
Very much later, the immortals managed to disentangle themselves long
enough to leave the sanctuary of Duncan's bed.
"I should go home for a while, there's a few things I need to take care
of and I could do with a change of clothes." Methos said as they sat in
comfortable silence over coffee.
Duncan frowned, "I hoped we could spend the day together. We've spent
so much time apart, I just don't want to let you out of my sight yet."
"Now Mac, I'm only going down the road to my place for an hour -- not
Antarctica for pity's sake." Methos was determined to set his
boundaries at the start and not let MacLeod's over-protective
tendencies extend to him. "I'll be back shortly, I promise."
And bestowing a slow burning kiss on his favorite mouth, Methos left.
Duncan whistled, hummed and generally smiled to himself as he bustled
about the loft. He felt as if he was wearing a neon sign above his head
saying "I'm Happy!" Methos was back, back in his bed, back in his life,
back in his heart where he belonged. All was right with the world. He
tidied the loft, smirking a little as he changed the sheets,
remembering how they got into such a state. Then still bursting with
energy, he went downstairs to work out. He found it hard to concentrate
as he moved through the familiar exercises. Every so often he would
find himself staring into space, a silly grin on his face, remembering
something Methos had said or done last night.
After a while he gave in and settled for going for a run. Pounding
along the pavement at a steady pace Mac found that while the tumult of
thoughts didn't cease, at least running was something he didn't need to
concentrate too hard on. As he finished the three-mile circuit he was
buoyed by the thought that by the time he got home Methos would be
there. The first minute twinge of concern pricked at Duncan's heart
when he re-entered the dojo. If Methos was upstairs, he should be able
to sense him by now.
Duncan refused to let the dark thoughts into his conscious mind. Methos
said he would be back and he would. If they ever had even the slightest
chance of a future he had to trust that. Four hours had passed and sent
Mac from airborne bliss to tense expectation and he was heading for
full-blown brood. The ‘what-ifs' were multiplying in the dark corners
of his mind, like so much vermin. What if there's been a challenge? What if
he's hurt? What if he's dead? What if he's run- Duncan strangled
the last thought new-born, he wouldn't allow that into his mind,
couldn't countenance the idea.
Methos woke slowly, floating up through clouds of fog so thick that
penetrating them was an almost physical act of will. His eyelids opened
over sandpaper eyeballs, but his sight was blurred like oiled glass. A
vague nausea lurked in his stomach, his limbs were leaden and boneless,
the sensation -- unpleasant as it was -- was not unfamiliar, but
placing it was beyond his current capacity. He attempted movement, and
was dully surprised to find his limbs bound. With grating slowness his
head cleared, a degree of clarity returned to his eyesight. He was able
to look around, but he could have been anywhere -- the room was dark
and small. How the hell did I get
The last he remembered, he'd got into his car, put the key in the
ignition… What happened then? There was a partial recollection of
a stabbing pain in his shoulder muscle, a sense of someone in the back
seat of the car, someone mortal and then blackness…With sudden clarity
he recalled the last occasion he'd felt this way. Shit. The last time
he had felt this utterly crappy was sometime back in the early 1970's
- Heroin. Oh fuckin' joy. Some
asshole's shot me full of heroin. What the hell's going on?
The approach of an immortal presence further complicated matters Shit!
One thing after another. Scrambling clumsily in his bindings he
wriggled against the wall, leaned back into it and pushed himself up to
standing. Light entered the room with the immortal and he groaned with
recognition. This could be bad.
"Callum O'Neal. What a surprise, I thought you'd be halfway to Rio by
now. What a pity you're not." Methos hissed venomously.
"Adams you're gonna regret the day you fucked with me," O'Neal answered
menacingly, producing the baseball bat he held hidden behind his back.
"I think I'd remember if I'd had that dubious pleasure," Methos threw
out the insult and braced for the inevitable retaliation.
He didn't have to wait long. O'Neal swung the bat hard and low,
catching Methos in the left shin. The crack of the bone snapping was
shockingly loud in the small room. The ancient went down silently, head
bowed. O'Neal, apparently satisfied for the moment, left. Methos lifted
his head, glaring after the retreating figure, death in his eyes. He
gritted his teeth and reached his bound hands up under the back of his
sweatshirt, wincing at the shooting pain from his shattered leg.
Reaching into the inverted holster at his waist he hoped O'Neal's
search hadn't been too thorough. Yes. The long bladed dagger was
still there. Its razor-sharp blade soon sliced through the ropes around
his wrists, then sawed through the bindings around his ankles. The pain
in his fractured tibia was immense; the deformed bone pressing up
against the skin, the foot lying at an unnatural angle. Fighting the
rising nausea and the blackness that ate at the edges of his
consciousness, he sat still for several long minutes as the healing
took over, the bones straightening with a nerve-shattering agony that
made him wish briefly for unconsciousness. Slowly the pain ebbed and
the nausea eased and Methos was able to stand once more. O'Neal, you are one very dead man.
Amanda felt the approaching buzz and moved quickly to the door, sword
in hand, opening it to a wild-eyed MacLeod.
"Have you seen him? Has he been here? Have you heard from him?" The
words tumbled out even before he was through the door.
"Methos? But isn't he with you? I just spoke to him at your place this
morning. What's going on?" Not
again, Methos, I'll kill you myself if you've gone again.
"He was coming home for a few things, and then he was supposed to be
back hours ago. Are you sure you don't know where he is?" A distinct
note of desperation had crept into Mac's voice.
"You don't think he's run off?"
"NO! I do not think that, Amanda. He said he'd be back and he will --
if he can."
"Well that's the most obvious explanation, when an immortal goes out
and doesn't -- oh God -- I can't even think about that. If I lost him
now…I don't know how I'd live." MacLeod's deep voice cracked and he sat
heavily into the sofa, suddenly surrounded by the scent he would always
associate with Methos. Be
"Call Joe, ask him. If anyone can help he can." Amanda was suddenly
hollow with dread.
He made the call. Joe, unfortunately had pulled ‘Adam's' watcher for
the night when he heard about the possible reconciliation, hoping to
give the two some privacy. The watcher promised to make a few calls,
see if there had been any challenges he hadn't yet heard about.
"He's been around a long time, MacLeod, he can take care of himself.
Don't worry so much. He'll be fine."
The buzz sounded its warning in his head again and quickly he moved to
stand beside the door. The other immortal entered, sword in hand.
Methos lunged a split second too late to disable him, catching O'Neal
instead in the upper part of his sword arm. The Irishman spun around,
blood streaming from the laceration, loathing plain on his face.
"You heal fast Adams. Not that it'll help you in the end." O'Neal
raised his sword, looking to impale him on it, unaware that Methos was
not as vulnerable as he thought.
The elder used the careless over-extension to his advantage in a
heartbeat, he ducked his head and, rather than turning away from his
attacker as would be expected, moved in close. Methos managed to slice
a long, shallow wound through O'Neal's abdomen with the dagger before
he was pushed back into the dark of the room.
"Adams you're gonna love what I've got in store for you," the Irish
immortal taunted as he circled the room cautiously.
"Let me guess, you're going to cut off my head?" Methos replied
sarcastically, keeping his distance.
"Better than that. The cops are gonna find you here with the remains of
a very large shipment of high-grade heroin. You'll be locked up, for at
least as long as you got me locked up, you bastard. You might also be
missing a few of your favorite body parts into the bargain. And we'll
be long gone, enjoying all that profit." He snickered as he lunged once
more towards Methos.
Very imaginative, dickhead. Take you
long to come up with that one? Catching his attacker's
sword arm in his left hand, Methos slashed the dagger through the
forearm separating the muscle neatly.
The useless arm forced O'Neal to hold his weapon left-handed, and the
change made him clumsy and vulnerable. Methos came in close again,
under his guard, blocking the coming thrust with a hand to the
shoulder. O'Neal wasn't finished by a long shot -- using his superior
weight he threw Methos off before he could drive the dagger home, the
elder landing in an untidy heap across the room.
"You sure you don't want to try for my head instead, O'Neal? Might be
more interesting." The ancient rose easily from the floor, brandishing
the dagger in complex, hypnotic patterns tossing it from hand to hand.
"You're no older than me, probably a lot less heads too. Why shouldn't
I just leave you to rot in jail, like I planned?" O'Neal was confused;
did this idiot want to die?
Methos noted the confusion on his opponent's face and gloated
inwardly. That's right, fool,
you wonder if I'm mad, wait till you hear the next bit -- you'll come
in your pants.
"You know Adams isn't my real name O'Neal," he began softly, his mouth
in a mirthless half smile. "I've gone by many over the years but
everyone seems to know the oldest of them. Perhaps you've heard of me…
I am Methos," and he inclined his head in a small bow.
Unable to sit and wait, Mac and Amanda were reduced to driving
aimlessly, trying to catch a sense of Methos' presence. The thoughts
torturing Duncan swung between a desperate need to find him and a
gut-deep fear of what he might find if he did. Up and down the city
streets they drove with MacLeod's senses straining fruitlessly for the
"Do you have any idea how much I love him, Amanda? He's part of me, if
I lost him now -- I don't know what I'd do. We're so close to working
it all out. I've never loved anyone the way I love him, it's the
strangest thing. He's prickly and secretive and sarcastic and I never
know where his head is but he's a part of me I can't imagine being
without." He almost felt as if he was talking to himself, working it
out in his own head as he continued to drive.
"Yeah I know MacLeod. I can see it in your face, hear it in your voice
every time you talk about him." There was a tiny trace of sadness in
her voice, a wistful tone that caught his attention.
"Amanda we've never really talked about how you feel about Methos and
me. I mean you and I were lovers for such a long time, and now…" he
trailed off, unsure how to finish.
"And now you want him and only him for the rest of your life, is that
about right? I'm happy for you -- both of you. I only wish…" Amanda
looked away, unable to articulate the empty feeling that ate at her.
"You wish you had someone too?" MacLeod guessed at the source of her
"Don't be silly Mac, I was going to say I only wish we could hurry up
and find this guy of yours, so I can get on with my life." Amanda's
lighthearted reply had a brittle edge and Duncan wasn't fooled for a
second. They drifted into a tense silence once more as each was
occupied with the dark thoughts that crept in unbidden.
"This is pointless, we've been driving for hours - we'll never find him
like this -- he could be anywhere. I think I'll head back to Joe's --
maybe there's something we haven't thought of yet." Mac turned the
T-bird around, anxiety sitting high in his throat. Be alive, Methos.
"Methos?" The immortal's tone was incredulous, "He's a myth, no-one
could be five thousand years old, it's not possible."
"Ah, but what if it's true? Wouldn't you like to get your hands on so
much power? Come on…have a try. Think of all the quickenings I've taken
in my life." The ancient's tone was soft and seductive, drawing the
other into the thrall of his voice.
O'Neal could no more resist the temptation of Methos' head than he
could resist gravity. He lunged forward, sword back in his right hand,
the muscle healed but still painful. Methos almost laughed, some days
it was just too easy.
"Come on then, let's see what you've got, ‘Methos' if that's really who
you are." O'Neal blustered.
"Ready when you are, boy," Methos' condescending tone was meant to
infuriate and succeeded.
"What about this guy that tried for Methos' head at the apartment the
other night? The one that bombed the college?" Amanda suggested as she
and Mac walked into the bar.
"What guy? I haven't spoken to Methos since the day of the bombing. Was
there a fight?" Joe asked quickly.
"Irish accent -- had a mortal woman with him. She was a frumpy little
thing, a real disaster. It was one of those O'something names --
O'Brien, O'Keefe, O'Reilly? No. Wait a minute…O'Neal! That was it --
Callum O'Neal," Amanda finished triumphantly.
"O'Neal? Wait a minute, I had a report from one of my guys about him, I
haven't read it yet with all this going on. Hang on a minute." Joe
scrolled through the database on the laptop computer behind the bar,
"Yeah, here it is. O'Neal, Callum - guy's a drug importer, real
scumbag - last seen at those old warehouses down by the docks.
You know the place MacLeod, not far from where Methos got barbecued
"Yeah I know it." He gathered up his coat and went to leave.
"Hang on a second MacLeod, you're not going without me. He's my friend
too, you know." Amanda grabbed Duncan's arm, for once letting the
barriers down, all the pretence of shallowness and self-absorption
melted away, "Please Mac, you shouldn't go alone you - don't know what
you'll find." And that was what frightened her more than anything --
what Duncan might do if Methos was indeed dead -- the despair in his
eyes that she'd seen earlier had chilled her to the bone.
"Come on, then," MacLeod agreed grudgingly.
"He's alive. I know it. I can feel it. I can feel -- him," MacLeod
tried to explain his certainty as much to himself as Amanda as they
approached the warehouses, having parked the car in a secluded laneway.
"When we shared the quickening in Bordeaux we didn't just gain the
ability to recognise one another from any other immortal on the planet,
we have a connection, a -- oh God!" He fell to his knees unable to
continue, as Amanda could see the distant flashes of lightning in the
windows of a warehouse some distance away.
"Is it him? Can you tell if he's…?" Amanda couldn't finish the
sentence, as she struggled to help Duncan to his feet.
"I don't know there's too much energy, too much quickening," he panted
as he stumbled towards the building, his face grey.
They were within several yards of the warehouse when it began, a series
of small bangs at first, not unlike fireworks. Then the stolen
explosives O'Neal had hoarded were set off with a single ear-shattering
blast in the firestorm of the quickening. Debris rained down around
them forcing Amanda and Duncan to weave and duck. Glass showered down
on them from the shattered windows. An immense piece of roofing iron
clattered to the ground inches from Amanda and Duncan pulled her away,
barely in time. Blue arcs of lightning rose from the fire and smoke in
deadly beauty. The explosions collapsed the roof and it fell,
smothering the worst of the flames, taking the rest of the structure
with it. As quickly as it had begun it was over -- an eerie silence all
The two immortals stood for a few seconds in stunned shock as they
viewed the devastation.
"He's in there somewhere, I've got to find him. Don't just stand there
Amanda, help me," MacLeod demanded as he searched the rubble.
"Mac, I can't feel anyone there. Are you sure you-"
He rounded on her, grabbing her shoulders with steel hard hands, eyes
blazing in fury and for the first time in their long friendship she
feared him for a moment, "He's here! If you don't want to help me then
get the fuck out of here!" He turned from her and continued to search.
"Of course I'll help you, MacLeod, calm down. We'll find him." You only get away with pulling stunts like
that buddy, because I know how desperate you are. Please be alive,
They tossed aside sheets of corrugated iron, wooden beams, odd pieces
of rubble but still could not sense any immortal presence.
"Here help me turn this over, Amanda, grab the other side. I think
there's something under this one." They grasped either side of the
piece of wooden wall and flipped it.
Amanda's breath hissed in her throat, and she turned away for a moment
-- there was a boot, a black leather hiking boot poking out from the
edge of the rubble they had just uncovered.
"Methos?" MacLeod rasped, as he frantically threw aside the pile of
"It's not him, Duncan." Amanda's voice was oddly expressionless.
"How do you know? You can't see enough to tell," he continued to dig at
"Because Methos is over here." The simple statement should have filled
him with joy but the tone of her voice sent a chill through him.
The familiar spiky black hair was all that they could see, framed by
the devastation -- no other part of the body was visible. It was too
much for Amanda and she turned her back again, unable to face it. Mac's
vision swam as he pushed aside the remaining rubble. Be alive, Methos, please?
There was a sudden flooding back of the presence as Methos choked back
into life, gasping and coughing in his prison of debris. Duncan and
Amanda frantically dug the wreckage away and lifted him free. MacLeod
was so overcome with relief he was unable to speak, he could only sink
to his knees and wrap his arms tightly around his lover.
"Uh Mac I'm rather fond of breathing. You want to let me get some air?"
Methos joked as he covered his own relief.
"I thought you were dead -- I thought I'd lost you forever -- just when
we were going to sort it all out…" his hands that had been busy
brushing away the dust and fragments clinging to Methos' face, stilled
and cradled it instead, "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" and
his lips pressed against the elder's, sweet and undemanding.
The wail of distant sirens interrupted and the immortals struggled from
the ground and fled the scene. They made it back to the T-bird and to
Amanda's amazement; Duncan tossed her the keys and slid into the back
seat with Methos.
"Sure, no problem." Who are you and
what have you done with the real Duncan MacLeod?
He couldn't stop touching him. Duncan was so unbelievably, absurdly
happy to have Methos in his arms once more that he couldn't help
stroking his hands over the planes of Methos' face, over his neck, his
arms as the ancient leaned into him, still drained from the force of
"I'll bring the car back sometime tomorrow, okay Mac?" Amanda wasn't
above taking advantage of Duncan's preoccupation as she let them out of
the car outside the dojo.
"Mmm? Whatever…" he replied absently.
By the time they walked through the dojo Methos was fully recovered
from the worst after-effects of the quickening. He was left only with
the excess of energy frequently associated with the experience. They
were barely into the lift when Methos grabbed Duncan and, pushing him
against the wall, captured his mouth in a sizzling kiss. MacLeod could
only respond as Methos drew him into the whirlpool of desire. Methos'
hands were everywhere -- his chest, his neck, running over the growing
bulge in his groin. By some magic his shirt was open and Methos' hands
were on his skin, moving quickly, desperately rubbing, squeezing,
caressing. All the while the heated lips sucked and slipped over
his, turning Duncan's blood to liquid fire.
MacLeod's hands slipped under Methos' sweatshirt, lifting over his head
and tossing it into the corner. The elder's hot hard body crowded him
up against the wall of the lift, pressing their burning erections
together, tearing a groan from Mac's throat that was swallowed by his
lover. Methos' hands roamed down to open the highlander's jeans and
free the trapped tumescence that sprang into waiting hands that stroked
and teased. The pants fell away and Duncan toed them off with his
shoes. As Methos' mouth roved lower to feast on the younger man's
sweat-glossed neck, Duncan deftly slipped the remaining clothing from
his lover's slender body.
"The bed…?" he managed to breathe.
"Can't wait…have to…have you…now," Methos gasped raggedly. The
quickening energy pulsed through his body setting his nerves on fire,
making him desperate for completion.
They sank down to the floor in a tangle of lean strong limbs, still
joined at the mouth. Tearing away finally, Methos turned to take
Duncan's cock deep into his mouth, moaning out loud as he did. That's it fuck my mouth, push it into
me…oh yes. MacLeod moved closer to where the pale shaft gleamed
enticingly, he curled his body slightly and sank his mouth down
swallowing until he had taken it all, his head full of the scent of his
lover's body. He reached between the elder's long legs, a questing
finger massaging the perineum, seeking admission to the intimate
opening, and slipping inside, feeling the muscles twitch. So hot…so
MacLeod pulled back a little until only the head of the penis remained
in his mouth, he swirled his tongue around it, the tip dipping into the
sensitive slit and then sweeping around the corona, before sinking down
over it once more. Fuck, Methos, you
taste so good. Meanwhile, Methos had moistened two fingers
in saliva and pre-cum and slid them deep into Duncan's tight hot
passage twisting and scissoring, as he continued to suck, his mouth
slipping quickly up and down the shaft. Duncan pushed back on the hand,
grinding his ass into the pressure. That's
it lover, fuck yourself on my hand…so good. Mac thrust back and
forth between the mouth and the hand, overcome with the jolting
pleasure that assaulted him. He swallowed convulsively dragging Methos'
cock so deeply into his throat, that he felt the muscles contract
around him. Between the sensation of sucking and being sucked, entering
and being entered, it wasn't long before the gathering tension
overwhelmed them and with earth-shattering intensity they came
together, each hurling their essence down the other's throat. For a
long minute they lay panting on the floor, each one resting his head on
the thigh of the other.
"Do you think we could get off the floor now?" Duncan managed at last.
"I am physically incapable of independent movement until further
notice," Methos announced loftily, a wicked grin on his face.
"I'm not carrying you, pal. I've done that once this decade and that's
all you get. Sorry," Duncan teased, "Only once per decade."
"So I guess I'll have to stick around at least another decade," Methos
answered as he sat up, all the amusement gone from his voice, quite
another tone altogether replacing it.
"This floor is bloody hard -- and cold. Come to bed?" Mac rose and
extended a hand to Methos, helping him up.
Once in the bed Duncan sat leaning against the headboard with his arms
wrapped loosely around Methos who lay in the vee of Mac's bent legs,
his head resting on the highlander's solid chest, feeling oddly secure
and cherished, the turbulent energy of the quickening finally settled.
"I'd like it if you did…" Mac began a little tentatively.
"Did what?" Methos had an idea but he wanted to hear Mac say it.
"Stick around, stay with me, as long as you want. I don't want to crowd
you or smother you. I just want -- need to be with you. I love you
Methos. Stay with me?" The highlander's tone was soft and laced more
heavily than usual with the accents of his origins as he stroked a
gentle finger along the strong jaw line.
"You know there's nothing I'd like more. But wanting it doesn't make it
right… doesn't make it easy." Methos leaned into the large firm hand
that brushed the side of his face.
"I know it won't always be easy, but don't you feel it's right? I can't
imagine feeling this way about anyone else - the last three months have
taught me that. I missed you so much I felt like part of me was missing
-- and it was -- you're a part of me Methos, part of my heart, part of
my soul. Won't you stay and be part of my life?"
There was a pause as Methos threaded his fingers through his lover's
and then he replied, "Can I ask you something Duncan? What did you
think when I didn't come back today? Honestly?" He feared the answer,
but to hide from the truth now would be insane.
"First, I thought you were just late, you're not exactly famous for
your punctuality. Then I was sure that something must have happened to
you, and it was a knife in my gut. Poor Amanda, I think she was worried
I'd do something stupid. Does that answer your question?"
"And you didn't think, even for a second, that maybe I'd disappeared
again on purpose?" He swivelled around to look Duncan in the eyes; the
highlander was an appallingly bad liar.
"Okay maybe for half a second, but then I realized that I trusted you,
I believed you when you told me you'd be back and I knew that if you
could, you would." Mac leaned forward and punctuated the answer with
the barest brush of a kiss across the elder's lips. "What about you?
Can you ever forgive me for the way I acted that day? I can't even
think about the way I behaved without feeling ashamed. I threw you out
without giving you the first chance to defend yourself, not to mention
what I did before that." He turned his head, unable to meet the
"Do you still feel as if you raped me? You know, I never did. Sure it
was harsh, angry sex, but you know me well enough to know that if I'd
had a problem with it, you'd have been flat on your back in about three
seconds. If I'd thought you were going to beat yourself up over it, I'd
have put an end to it straight away. I just thought it was something
you needed to get out of your system, so I let you go for it. It
was…interesting to see you lose control completely like that -- you do
it so rarely." Methos laid his hand against Duncan's face, and stroked
a thumb over the beautiful mouth. "As for throwing me out, I won't say
that didn't hurt me terribly -- because it did. But it's in the past
and if we're ever going to have a future, we have to let go of the
past. That was what I was coming to tell you that day -- that I can let
it go. I was sitting on a beach in South Africa-"
"Hang on, when were you in South Africa? I thought you went to New
Zealand." MacLeod broke in.
"I did; it's a story for another time. Anyway, I realized that unless I
let go of all the things that make me want to run I'll spend my whole
life running. I ran because I was afraid. I was afraid of how
much I felt for you, how much I wanted it to be forever - you know I've
never been seriously involved with one of us before. For too long now
I've spent my life ruled by my fears. On that beach I realized I'd
rather spend it with you, for as long as we have. So yes, I will stay
with you, Duncan…I love you too."
The lovers' mouths met in a quiet kiss of forgiveness given and
promises made with full hearts and open eyes.
Back to Contents
Don't Dream it's Over.
There is freedom within
There is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a
There's a battle ahead
Many battles are long...
But you'll never see the end
of the road
When you're traveling with me.
Hey now, hey now, don't dream
Hey now, hey now when the
world comes in
They come, they come to build
a wall between us
We know they won't win.
Now I'm towing my car
There's a hole in the roof
My possessions are causing me
But there's no proof
In the paper today
Tales of war and of waste
But you turn right over to the
Now I'm walking again
To the beat of a drum,
And I'm counting the steps
To the door of your heart.
Only shadows ahead
Barely clearing the roof
Get to know the feeling
Of liberation and
(Neil Finn, Crowded
Words used without permission.