Better Be Home Soon
                                                       
 
"MacLeod, I can't hear you! Say it again!" Methos bellowed into the phone. "You want me to pick up what? When? Where? My Gods, MacLeod whatever for? Bring it home with me?"

He hung up the phone feeling even more mystified. Why on earth would Mac be sending him a cat, by plane, from Hawaii of all places, then phone him in the middle of the night from the middle of the ocean to ask him to pick it up and bring it home with him? All that fresh air and sunshine had finally fried the Scot's brain, Methos decided. Of  course it might have helped if the transmission from the satellite phone on Mac's yacht let him understand more than every third word.

Oh well, all will be revealed tomorrow. He sighed, fried brain or not, he missed Duncan more than he ever thought possible.

They had barely found one another when Duncan had sailed off across the Pacific, telling Methos he needed some time away from the Game, the city and everything. Despite Duncan's protestations of love and his assurances that it wasn't Methos that was the problem, Methos' own insecurities kept coming back to prick him.

Mac had tried to reassure him as he left; "I'll send you something nice from Hawaii. Don't look so tragic, I'll be back before you even know I'm gone."

Not true, Methos thought morosely. MacLeod's absence had nagged him like a missing limb, every moment of the last few months.

                                          
***

Walking through customs into the arrivals area Kat looked for the friend Mac had promised would meet her. The presence of an approaching immortal sang in her head and she paused, casually glancing about until a pair of intense hazel eyes arrested her gaze. Wow, Mac wasn't kidding – he is gorgeous. What actually came out of her mouth was, "Adam?"
 
Making the intuitive leap between Mac's garbled message and the strange immortal, he replied, "I take it you're Kat?"

"Mmm? Oh yes, Kathleen Burke. My friends call me Kat. Mac said you'd meet me, thank you so much. I am so glad that's over – a pox on airlines. I just need to grab my backpack from the carousel."  Great, now the jetlag is making me babble. It was going to be hard to cheer up Mac's lover during her brief stopover if she was too busy making a fool of herself.

Methos flicked a wary eye over his unexpected houseguest. She was attractive enough in an outdoorsy sort of way – thirtyish, tall, and fit looking.

"Mac's phone call wasn't too clear, how long will you be in Seacouver?" Methos asked as they walked through the terminal.

"Just a few days. I'm having a break before I have some business in San Diego."  Just long enough to keep my promise to Duncan.
 
Kat was acutely aware of his scrutiny and sent it right back at him. Duncan was one lucky guy, Adam was beautiful, the baggy monochrome layers of his clothing hinted at the excellent musculature beneath and that face - those eyes, that mouth, those cheekbones. Finally her pack appeared on the carousel and she was saved from further lascivious thoughts by the simple action of picking it up and walking outside to Adam's car. The cold wind whipped through her as they approached the car, Kat sighed and pulled her coat around her.

"Homesick, already?" he asked.

"No, just missing the whole concept of warmth," she shivered.

"Come on, we'll get you warmed up at my place." Methos unlocked the car door for her.

"That's the best offer I've had all day," Kat flirted, light-heartedly.

"I was talking about turning up the heat," he answered patiently.

"So was I," she grinned.

Methos shook his head in faint amusement; at least her stay wouldn't be dull.

***

Kat tried to get a sense of her host's enigmatic personality as she glanced about the apartment. Books were everywhere, some new, most old, on shelves, on tables, a few on the floor. By the fireplace a pair of sofas faced each other with an ancient and well-worn Persian rug between them.

Dropping her pack, Kat gratefully sank down onto the rug. "This is great, Adam, I am so stiff," and she bent into a series of increasingly complicated stretches that stopped him in his tracks.

"I knew a yogi once who could do that."

"I used to fill in for the 'India Rubber Man', in between working with the lion tamer, back when I first met Duncan, when I was with the circus. It helps to be hyper-flexible. And it's so important to be flexible, don't you think, Adam?" she finished with a wicked grin.

Despite himself Methos found a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Kat noticed the smile with satisfaction, since her arrival Adam had worn a distinctly dour expression and if she was to fulfil her promise she needed to change that and fast. With a final deep exhalation she sat up and caught the dark eyes in an openly appraising stare. Hazel eyes met hers – and held.

A sudden vision of Duncan flashed into Methos' mind and he broke away, oddly discomfited. A situation like this called for –beer. Grabbing the thought with both hands he went to the fridge and took out two cold ones.

"Beer, Kat?"

At her nod he tossed it to her, she caught it and climbed into the sofa, stretching out full length. "Ah, bliss."

Methos fell into the other sofa in an unconscious mirroring of his guest. Between chatting, drinking and jetlag Kat was soon asleep, curling with artless feline grace into the deep, soft cushions.

"Damn," Methos swore softly, he'd meant to ask her about MacLeod.

She wriggled and gave a small, "Mmm," as he covered her with an afghan and went out.

He arrived at Joe's bar to find the owner behind the bar, talking with a customer.

"Well hello, Adam," Joe greeted him using Methos' current public persona, "What's up?" And he automatically pulled him a beer.

"Joe, what do you know about this girl MacLeod sent me?"

"Mac sent you a girl? Helluva gift. Kinda hard to return too."

"Very funny," Methos hissed, "You know what we are to each other. She's staying with me a few days. Kathleen Burke, she's one of us."

Joe couldn't believe his ears, "You, Mr Supercautious, have a strange immortal woman staying with you, in your apartment." He shook his head in amazement; "Mac really has rubbed off on you, hasn't he?"

"He asked me to do him a favour and I, being the kind and generous person that I am, agreed," Methos replied, loftily.

"So you want me to check her chronicle for any nasty little surprises? I don't know Adam, that sounds a little like interference," Joe teased.

"I don't have to see it, just check her out. If she's all she seems, well and good. If not, I'd like to deal with it before Mac gets back." The cold killer glint in Methos' eyes was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Joe wondering if he'd really seen it at all. He hoped for her sake this girl was on the level, otherwise she was
in a lot of trouble.

"No problem, I'll go in now and look her up."

"I'll be waiting."

Joe was back in no time, a slight smile creasing his face. "She looks legit enough to me. Kathleen Burke, as she is now, animal handler specialising in the big cats, not really in the Game, 'bout two hundred years old. Is that enough?"

"Yeah, Joe, thanks. It'll do."

"Adam, is that what's really bothering you?"

Methos was touched by the level of concern in his old friend's voice, "What else would there be?" Draining his glass, he stood and left.

Of course he was lying through his teeth, so familiar a practice it was surprising any teeth remained. Kat disturbed him on a level that made him distinctly uncomfortable. It would almost have been better if Joe had found something against her, then at least he would know how to deal with her. Bloody MacLeod, always complicating his life with the extended family of the Clan MacLeod.

You better be home soon, he thought wistfully.

His skin ached with wanting, two months with only an ambidextrous sex life to keep him warm were two months too many. He arrived home to find Kat just waking up, stirred by the return of his presence, flushed and warm with her pupils large and slightly unfocused. He was utterly unprepared for the jolt that the sight and sound of her sent straight to his groin and he inhaled sharply, drawing in her uniquely feminine scent.

This is not going at all well.

"Mmmm, that is so much better," she fixed her golden brown eyes on his, a teasing smile playing about her lips.

"Why don't we order in some dinner, Vietnamese okay?" he said the first thing that came into his head.

"Sure Adam, whatever you want," she breathed.

What he actually wanted, for the briefest of moments - was to jump on her and fuck her senseless – but instead he ordered Vietnamese food, not exactly an equivalently satisfying act.

"So, Kat what is it that you do?" he asked, casting about for a safe subject and failing.

"Do?" And there was that wickedly arched eyebrow again.

"For work." He already knew the answer, but it was the best he could do.

"I'm an animal handler for a wildlife park, tigers and lions mostly, but we got some cougars last year," she answered, taking pity on him and giving a straight reply.

"That must be exciting," he replied lamely.

"Sometimes. Did you know that lions can mate up to twelve times a day when they're in season? And what is it you do, Adam?" she asked archly.

"I er, I uhh, ahh, I'm doing my Ph.D in umm, linguistics." He was going to kill MacLeod for this.

"Obviously." She almost felt sorry for him – almost.

Eventually the food arrived and Methos was saved from further humiliation by the arrival of coconut prawns, chilli and lemon grass chicken and jellyfish salad. During dinner he tried to recover his customary composure, then he looked up at Kat biting a large prawn in half with her small, white teeth, leaving a spot of sauce on her lip
which was delicately removed with a flicker of pointed, pink tongue. He almost groaned out loud.

He stared intently at her face, waiting for her to notice, which she did because of all the things Kat was – slow wasn't one of them.

"What's wrong? Do I have chilli sauce on my face?"

He reached across to her, stroking a long thumb down her cheek, "Now you do."

"Bastard!" she squealed in mock-indignation and wiped the sauce off.

Methos sniggered and leaned back on the back legs of his chair feeling superior, which was probably a mistake. The next thing he knew, he was being flipped onto his back, by Kat grabbing the front legs of the chair.

Well that was unexpected.  "Remind me never to really piss you off."

"Here, Adam," Kat offered him her hand.

It was right about then that the 'real' Methos reappeared.

Kat's next conscious thought was, how did I get here?

In an amazing show of speed, he'd pulled her down and rolled on top of her. The atmosphere couldn't have crackled with more electricity if he'd taken her head. As soon as she was able to focus again she was shocked by the dangerous glitter in his eyes.

"So, you want to play rough?" He growled in a voice that melted her insides.

Well hell, two can play this game. Quick as a flash she brought her knee up hard between his legs, using her raised hip to roll him off and reverse their positions so that now she sat straddling his jeans clad hips. Rubbing salt into the wound, she leaned forward and nipped the tip of his prominent nose. Infuriated, he reached up
behind her and grabbed a handful of her short, thick hair, sitting up as he did, pulling her backwards, using the momentum to lay her flat on her back.

"I think we were just here," Kat murmured as she lay panting with Adam's lean body pressing down on hers.

He grinned evilly, "Give up now?"

Now Kat could feel something really quite hard pressing against her stomach, and stupidity not being one of her major faults she chose to answer by lifting her face to his and kissing him. His mouth opened to hers, she felt his tongue dart over her teeth, then it was gone.

"I'm sorry, that shouldn't have happened, I got a little carried away."

"Adam, Mac told me about the two of you. He also told me he thought you needed cheering up, any way that I could."

"He said that, did he?" The ice in his voice could have frozen beer. "So he sent you here to keep me warm for him, make sure I didn't do any freelance fucking. Is that it?" He pushed away from her in disgust, his mouth twisting in a parody of a smile.

"No, Adam, it wasn't like that at all. He was worried about you, that's all. When I told him I was coming to Seacouver he asked me to make sure you were okay." Kat scrambled up from the floor, tugging her dishevelled clothing into place.

He didn't appear to have heard her. "Bloody typical, Duncan fucking MacLeod of the Clan fucking MacLeod, has to be in control, even when he isn't here." The look on his face was beginning to frighten the younger immortal.

"Adam please, it wasn't like that at all. He told me how much he loves you." He failed to mention the terrifying temper part, though.

"And that's another thing, where does he get off discussing our private life with a total stranger?" Methos was so incensed he could hardly see straight.

"Now hang on a minute, buddy, if you want to be like that about it, I've actually known Duncan longer than you have. I'm hardly a stranger." Methos wasn't the only one with a temper.

"What are you then, another one of his cast-offs? Don't feel special, dear, it's a pretty large group," he threw at her cruelly.

"Fuck this. I don't have to put up with this crap. Tell Mac I had to go. Hell, tell him you took my head. I don't know what he sees in you." Tears of rage stung Kat's eyes as she snatched up her backpack and stalked out the door.

Methos sank to the floor, adrenaline coursing through his system making his hands shake. How the hell had that gone so far, so fast? He'd been a bit hard on the girl, the look in her eyes as she walked out the door wasn't something of which he was proud. Now she was gone and ...shit she's left her coat...and most probably her sword, hanging by the door. A quick examination proved him right. Damn. Now what was he supposed to do? If the silly little twit got her foolish head lopped off, he knew who would wear the blame in the eyes of one self-righteous Scot.

Meanwhile Kat, having realized her blunder, was desperately casting about for a church, a synagogue, a mosque, any holy ground where she could sit and work out what to do now. She'd rather die than go grovelling back to Adam's place, but her other options were limited. Eventually she came to a minuscule church hidden amongst office buildings like a secret, the sound of a choir rehearsing floating out the door. Gratefully she went inside and sat down. Finally able to relax, she burst into a sudden flood of tears.

"You okay, Miss?" a creaking voice inquired.

Kat looked up through her tears to find the minister looking at her, a concerned frown on his craggy, milk-chocolate face. "I'll be fine, but I could really use a phone. Would it be all right if I borrowed yours?" Kat swiped at the tears with the back of her hand.

"Certainly dear, come with me." He led her through to the small office. "I'll leave you to it."

Kat rifled through her backpack until she found the number Mac had given her, "In case of emergencies". Well this certainly qualified, although she wasn't looking forward to dealing with Mac's odious boyfriend. Still she didn't have a lot of choice. Reluctantly she made the call.

                                            
***

Methos was still angry as he stalked across the room to answer the phone, "Yes?"

"Methos, How's everything? I miss you." Mac's deep voice rumbled amid the static.

"Oh everything's just perfect. I got your 'present', she's quite lovely. But I suppose you know that already. What's that phrase? Ah yes, sloppy seconds. Vulgar but accurate." The frigid sarcasm didn't drip – it poured.

"Methos, what in the name of God are you on about? Kat needed a place to stay for a few days and I thought you might like some company. You sounded like you needed cheering up." Duncan was mystified by his lover's anger.

"So you decided to provide the way and the means. Gods, MacLeod do you have to control everything? You couldn't take the chance I might go off and do a little freelance fucking so you send your little friend to play with poor lonely Methos." His anger was making him repeat himself. How could you do this – treat me like a piece of property?

"I don't know what you're talking about but I think you better calm down before you burst something. Where is Kat anyway, can I speak to her?" Mac was suddenly very worried.

"She left. I guess that wasn't the plan, was it?" Methos' blatant scorn made Duncan flinch.

"Methos, I'll be home as soon as I can. We'll sort this out then. In the meantime, remember this – I love you, even when you're acting completely irrationally." Duncan tried to sound less worried than he really was.

"Talk's cheap MacLeod." Methos stabbed a finger at the 'off' button. Bloody technology, it was a lot more satisfying when you could slam a phone down.
                                               
***

Kat would have dearly loved to have unleashed the stream of obscenities that were brewing in the back of her mind, but she was in church and thought better of it. The bloody phone was engaged and she was just about ready to explode from frustration. She tried one last time and finally it rang. About fuckin' time.

"Yes, what is it now, MacLeod?" The voice on the other end snapped.

"It's not Duncan, Adam."

"Ahh, Kathleen, I was wondering when I'd hear from you. You seem to have left some property of yours here." His icy response was no more than she expected.

"Yes and I'd like it back, please. I'm at the Church of the Trinity, could you meet me here?" Kat tried to avoid sounding as desperate as she felt.

"I suppose I could do that. Wait there," Methos ordered.

"Sure." Kat bit back a tart comeback as she hung up.

Kat left the office and strode through to the tiny garden at the front of the church, hefting her pack onto one shoulder with a soft grunt. There were too many thoughts swirling in her head. She was finding it impossible to reconcile the coldly furious man she had just left, with the lover Mac had so glowingly described.

"You should see him, Kat, sometimes I have to look twice just to make sure he's real. He funny and intelligent – he's always studying something new. I never know exactly where I am with him, though, he's so – slippery, it's hard to know what's going on in his mind. Sometimes I think they invented the word 'mercurial' for him alone, trying to know him is like trying to grasp mercury – just when you think you've got a hold of it, it's gone again – slipped away between your fingers. Maybe that's part of the attraction, it'd be pretty dull to live with someone for the rest of your immortal life if you always knew everything they were thinking. He's overcome so much in his life, he's the most extraordinary person you'll ever meet." Duncan had almost been falling over himself trying to describe his wonderful new love to his old friend.

Well, either Mac was seriously delusional – not for the first time when it came to love – or there was something very strange going on. Her musings were interrupted by Adam's presence sneaking into her consciousness. Taking a deep breath to try to remain calm, she caught sight of his black-clad figure striding through the pooled light of streetlamps.

"Adam," was her carefully neutral greeting.

"Kathleen," was his equally careful reply.

"Can I have my coat and sword?" She swallowed hard, "Please?"

He handed it to her, "Here." He went to walk away.

"Adam, wait." I may live to regret this.

"What?" The weariness in his voice tugged at her heart, despite herself.

"Adam, a blind person could see there's something very wrong. I know we had a misunderstanding and I'm sorry for that. But I also know that Mac loves you a great deal and I'd hate to be the cause of any trouble between you. Adam I realize we're practically strangers, but sometimes it's easier to talk to someone you don't know."

"Don't play amateur psychologist with me, child, it doesn't suit you." His tone was still frosty, but his anger was dissipating.

"Fine. If you'd rather throw pithy comments at me than sort out why you're determined to hurt the sweetest man who ever lived – then go ahead!" Kat's temper was beginning to simmer again and she itched to stamp her foot in frustration.

Methos turned away, she might be only a 'child' but she had a point. The trouble was he wasn't sure he could adequately explain what it was that so infuriated him about the whole mess. He sighed heavily and sank down on a nearby bench, lifting his face to the full moon, his eyes closing tiredly. He felt the young woman sit down, leaving a wide margin between them.

"Have you ever been owned, Kathleen?" he began without opening his eyes.

"I've been married three times, but that's not quite the same thing," she replied as a glimmer of understanding appeared.

"Unless you've been a slave, been owned body and soul, had your every move, your every waking thought and action directed and controlled by another person, I don't think you can truly appreciate what it's like. In my life I've been enslaved more than once, for different reasons, but the end result was the same. Everything I did – what I ate, what I drank, where I lived, who I had sex with and how – was controlled by someone else. Sometimes even now, I do things or go places for no better reason than because I can, because I want to, to remind myself that I'm free. It never goes away - not really – it's always there in the dim, dark recesses of my mind. So I leave suddenly, I disappear, I change homes or jobs or lovers, because I can, it's my choice. And now bloody MacLeod comes along, makes me fall in love with him, for the first time in f- my life I'm in love with one of us and he's got to be the fucking clan chieftain and run the whole show. He doesn't understand - how could he understand - what it does to me when he pulls these stunts." His voice softened until he was almost talking to himself, he'd come close to forgetting the other immortal was even there.

"Does he know how you feel?" Kat asked, tears of pity welling up unbidden.

"How could he not know? He knows what I was." Methos leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, as tired as he could ever remember being. Does it never end?

"But have you told him? Have you told him straight out what you need? Does he know how afraid you are?"

"I'm not afraid. You don't know what you're talking about, girl." He tossed the words at her contemptuously.

"Adam, I've never seen anyone as afraid as you are." Kat reached out and briefly placed her hand on his broad shoulder, giving it a little squeeze before taking it away.

"You're a perceptive little thing aren't you?" His mouth attempted a smile, but his eyes were bleak.

"I have my moments, once or twice a century." Kat stood, straightening her coat around her frozen body. "I need to find a place to stay, so I better get going. You take care, now." She shrugged the heavy pack onto both shoulders and without a backward glance walked away.

"Kat. Wait," Methos called out almost too softly for her to hear.

She nearly kept walking, there was too much pain here, too much intensity; but something pulled at her, making her turn to face him, arms folded across her chest, her eyebrows raised.

"If you're not still too angry at me, I have a guest room. If you like..." His voice was non-committal but there was tension in the lines of his face and shoulders.

The younger immortal smiled. "You will need to promise there'll be no more psychotic mood swings."

In spite of himself a smile escaped out one corner of his mouth, "I was pretty vile wasn't I?"

"Yes, Adam, actually you were." Kat's smile widened a little, at least he looked a little less desolate.

They walked down the darkened street in silence.

                                            
***

Methos moved quietly about the apartment, watching the girl covertly. She sat curled in the corner of the sofa, apparently immersed in a Thomas Hardy novel. She seemed to have forgiven him his outburst, but her manner was still wary. It was only what he deserved. Time to face facts, old man, happy ever after is for children and fairy-tales. He felt the gathering melancholy as clearly as if it was storm clouds on the horizon. There really was only one solution to this whole horrible mess. He only hoped he had the strength to go through with it.

Kat pretended to read the novel, but she was far too distracted. She watched Adam drift around the apartment, silent as a ghost, haunted lines surrounding his eyes. Under cover of the book she followed him closely, dread gnawing at her gut. The small rallying of his spirit she'd seen at the church was gone, leaving only sadness, palpable as a pulse. It's been a long strange day. Tired beyond belief, she closed the book and rose.

"Off to bed, then?" he asked vaguely.

"Yeah, I'm beat. 'night, Adam." She left the room, collapsed onto the bed and, despite the insistent nagging at the back of her mind, was soon asleep.

The apartment was quiet when Kat woke the next morning, unease hitting her like a fist. No immortal presence tickled her senses, no early morning sounds reached her ears. Vaulting out of bed, Kat ran through the small apartment until she came to the kitchen bench. A small, white envelope lay there, innocent as an adder. Even though the writing on the front said, 'Duncan', she was about to snatch it up when a buzz intruded into her panic. Thank the Goddess, he's back.

There was a rattle of a key in the lock and then it was open. Instead of the slender figure she expected, the doorway was filled with the more substantial form of the Highlander.

"Oh, Duncan, am I glad you're here. We have a problem." She held the letter out to him in a shaking hand.

Mac shook his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts, "Kat, what the hell's been going on around here? I call here only to have M-Adam rant some nonsense about you and I, at me. Where is he anyway?"

"Just read the note, Duncan, please," Kat begged.

He opened the letter and Kat watched as the color bled away from his face, leaving it ashen. "He's gone. He's not coming back. Christ, what am I going to do now? Do you have any idea how good he is at this? He can run and hide better than anyone. He wrote the fucking book." Mac sat heavily into the sofa, hopelessness welling up within him for a moment before he squashed it ruthlessly. No, not again.

                                            
***
                                      
Methos sat in the aircraft cabin, pretending to sleep. It seemed an eternity since he'd had any real rest. Exhaustion and alcohol combined to screw with every one of his senses until overwhelming nausea sent him stumbling to the bathroom. He stood there, heaving up never-ending streams of almost pure scotch – how much had he drunk anyway? He couldn't remember. He didn't even like scotch that much – it was Duncan's drink. Eventually, the spasms eased and he straightened, looking into the mirror. The image reflected did nothing to lift his spirits – huge dark-circled eyes, pasty yellow skin and a cynical twist to his mouth that hadn't been there in a
long time. He had expected to feel something – some relief, some sense of expectation – at the prospect of a new life in a new place, but all he could feel was sick and numb. Still, he'd done it before, he could do it again.

                                          
***

"Did he say anything, give you any clue what this was all about?" Duncan's sorrowful dark eyes searched Kat's face.

"Yeah, actually he did." Kat answered uncomfortably, standing and crossing the room to lean against the low bookcase, avoiding eye contact. "Oh, Mac, it's all my fault, I'm so sorry. I was trying to cheer him up, like you asked me to, just flirting with him and it was working too, he relaxed a bit and even smiled and then..." She
trailed off, unsure how much to reveal.

"Come on, Kat, the rest please." MacLeod's voice commanded.

"It went a little too far, I kissed him and - he kissed me back. I'm sorry, Duncan. We were horsing around and he's so, well you know. He pulled away and apologised. And then I told him that you asked me to cheer him up any way I could and that's when he lost it. Then I got mad too and walked out." Kat couldn't look at Duncan.

"There must be more to it than that, did he tell you why he was so angry?"  Mac was still mystified.

"This is hard for me to tell you, Duncan. He feels like you're trying to control him, that by 'sending' me to him, you were trying to run his life. He's so very afraid of losing control of his life – every time you over-step the boundaries you remind him that once he had no say over any part of his life. He told me he can never forget what it was like to be owned." Kat finally glanced at the Scot and the pain on his face sliced through her like a sword.

Duncan knew Methos had been a slave, of course, but he had no idea how deep the wounds went. It was all starting to make some sort of twisted sense. Methos' accusations were baseless in fact, but then when had fact had anything to do with emotion? Does it never end? He had always known loving Methos would be a challenge, but this was more difficult than he'd ever envisioned.

"Did he say anything , give you any clue to where he might go? Think Kat – it's important!" Mac's desperation was growing by the moment.

"He didn't say anything, Duncan. Not a thing. He barely said two words the whole time after we got back." Kat wracked her brain for anything that would help Mac but came up empty.

Mac could see the self-recrimination on his friend's face and felt it matched by his own. How could he have been so wrong about their relationship? He'd thought they were past all the worst problems. He'd gone off on his trip secure and happy in Methos' love and, until the phone call, had been anticipating an intensely pleasurable
reunion. Instead, Methos was gone, apparently forever. Well sorry, lover, you don't get off that easily. If you want this to be over you'll have to tell me to my face.

"Kat, I've got to go out for a while. Can you wait here in case he calls?" Duncan hoped Joe would have some news.

"Of course. Good luck, Mac."

***                                            

"He what?" Joe couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"He just left, disappeared, did a runner. Left me a note. A note!" Mac's worry was fast turning into anger.

"Do you know why?" the watcher wanted to know, and not just for the chronicles.

"It's complicated. Does it really matter? He's gone, Joe. Does he have a watcher?" MacLeod came to the real point of the conversation.

"We've had a guy on him since 'Adam' took Kristin's head – I just didn't tell him about it." Joe admitted.

"Thank God for that. So can you track him down?" Relief washed over him, loosening the knot in his gut.

"Let me check with him, won't be a minute." Joe limped into the office, while MacLeod drummed impatient fingers on the bar.

A few minutes later, Joe was back. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

"Christ Joe – I'm dying here!" MacLeod was in no mood for games.

"My guy managed to stay with him as far as Auckland, New Zealand. He might've changed planes there but we lost him at the terminal. We don't know where he is now. You gotta remember, Mac, he's had a helluva lot of practice at this." Joe wished he had better news. Damn Methos and his disappearing acts.

"Auckland? What the hell's he doing there?" Mac couldn't sit still any longer and began to pace back and forth.

"Your guess is as good as mine. What're you going to do, Track him down?"

                                         
***

Methos was sure he'd lost the watcher who had tailed him since Seacouver.  It wasn't particularly hard, watchers weren't employed for their genius. Not that it mattered. New Zealand was a red herring to fool the watchers and anyone else who came looking. Adam Pierson no longer existed, the identity with which he had entered the country was equally as fake and soon he would be someone else entirely. With enough practice you can become good at anything. Soon his new life would be in place. Let's see how you can stuff this one up.

                                        
***

"Kat, come help me look through these," Mac asked as he came through the door.

Joe had obtained – quite illegally – the passenger manifest for the flight that had left Seacouver for New Zealand the previous night. Naturally Adam Pierson's name didn't appear, but he hoped between the two of them they could spot his latest pseudonym. MacLeod handed half the printout to Kat, working through the other half himself. They sat in silence, carefully reading every name.

"Mac wait, I think I've got it. Look – Troy Sargent – first class passenger. I was re-reading Far from the Madding Crowd last night, Sergeant Troy was the guy who ran away from his life and joined a travelling show. Would he be that obvious?" Kat felt a glimmer of hope for the first time.

"Maybe, I don't know. Even if it is him, he's probably using another name by now. I don't know that there's any point to this, we know he was in Auckland, but he could be on his way to anywhere by now. Dammit! I wish there was a flight today, I can't stand the waiting." Duncan's voice shook a little under the strain.
 
                                           
***

Methos drove away from Cape Town, heading north. It seemed like he'd been flying for days, first to New Zealand and then to South Africa but at last he was here. Now all he had to do was pick a town at random where he could start over, insert his new identity. He had no real plan, no itinerary, only a deep-seated need for peace and solitude. He drove through small towns -- they call them dorps here -- keeping his mind carefully blank, listening to the radio, concentrating on the road., After about twenty-five miles, he left the highway, taking what looked to be a promising detour. He was rewarded for his gamble by the revelation of a wide expanse of  beautiful, endless and - most importantly - deserted beach. Grateful beyond words, he left the rental car and walked barefoot on the sand, letting the waves and sunshine work their magic on him. He found a shady place above the high tide line and sat, folding his long legs into a comfortable lotus. Slowly he began the rhythmic breathing that eased him deep into a meditative state. As he relaxed, a part of his mind floated freely, attempting to make some sort of sense of the whole disaster.

All the images that came to him were of Duncan: the first time they'd met; after Alexa's death; the holy spring after Duncan's dark quickening; laughing with him on the barge; the first time they made love; the first time they admitted it was love; the last time they said goodbye. As he sank deeper into the meditation the images came
from further back in his life, but nowhere in the vast storehouse of his memory could he find any one who came close to making him feel the way Duncan MacLeod did. Then the images turned dark, he could feel the sting of the lash as his first master had trained him to serve without question, his stomach roiled as he remembered the humiliations inflicted upon him as body slave to his fifth owner, his armpits prickled as he remembered fear as a constant companion through it all. Could he let the memories go, banish them into the mists of time where they belonged? Gradually he came back to reality, opening his eyes to the beauty before him.

Yes, that was what he needed to do, the answer when it came was laughably simple, he needed to open his eyes to what was in front of him. The past was dead and gone, if he could let it be. Instead he'd been using it to push love away, afraid of the depth and scope of his feelings, afraid of the permanence of an immortal love. But he couldn't run from what was inside him. His love for Duncan was deeply rooted within him, too deep to be torn out by petty misunderstandings. I am such a fool, he thought with a tired smile. Feeling better than he had in days, (was it only days?), he stretched out on the sand and with his head on his coat, slept with a depth that was closer to coma.

When he finally woke, the sun had long set and the damp sub-tropical summer heat had faded to a silky whisper against his skin. The stars were brilliant in the sky. Orion hung suspended above him, sword held aloft in eternity. I know how you feel. Until MacLeod the weight of his vast age had begun to hang heavily upon him, so heavily at times the temptation was strong just to let it go, let himself be taken. Now, he realized with a start, the life force beat strongly within him again. It was too precious to let go. He was suddenly frantic to get back, the need to hold Duncan again an addict's craving.

He drove quickly through the night, the radio blaring some local rock music, as he sped back along the road to Cape Town. South Africa really was an extraordinarily beautiful country, maybe he and Duncan would come here together one day providing, he thought with a lurch, Mac and he had a 'one day'. He grabbed his cell phone and driving one handed, tried to get a seat on the next plane back to the States.
                                           
*** 
    
Duncan couldn't believe what he was seeing – the message board had to be wrong. The flight couldn't be cancelled. Damn. He'd dropped Kat off for her flight to San Diego an hour ago. She'd offered to stay, to re-schedule her job interview, but there was no point, there wasn't anything she could do. Then he'd waited and waited. First he was told the flight was delayed, then delayed indefinitely, and now it was cancelled with no word on when he would be able to get away. The desk clerk had advised him to go home and wait but his legendary stubbornness wouldn't let him. A lead weight settled in his stomach as he sat down to wait, once more. The time crawled by.

As he waited he tried not to think too far ahead. Finding and confronting Methos had to be his main objective, to plan any further ahead than that would be futile. Instead he found himself trawling back through the sea of memories where he kept all the loves of his life. It was the faces that came most clearly to him, the images
clear as photographs. From his first adolescent crush on Cassandra to his deep and abiding love for Tessa and all the many women and men in between; the realization came to him that none of the feelings he'd experienced came close to the richness and complexity of his feelings for the oldest immortal. But then there was the seemingly endless variety of pain Methos was able to inflict on him. Was the pleasure worth the pain? Right now his heart and soul were too bruised and sore to be sure.

                                          
***

 Methos was half asleep sprawled out face down in his bed. Through the fog of semi-consciousness he became aware of a hand clasped around his foot. Slowly and gently warm, sure fingers stroked his arch, his toes, the spaces between his toes. He felt his breath quicken a little as the fingers were joined by a hot, hungry mouth.
The mouth tickled and teased the delicate nerve endings until his whole foot was trembling under the onslaught. Not content with only the foot, his unseen lover moved to slide heated trails along the sensitive skin of his leg. With infinite patience, the lips and tongue travelled over the muscled peaks and valleys before pausing at his smooth inner thigh, he felt the sharp sting of a bite, soothed by the soft sweep of a tongue. He moaned softly, spreading his legs further apart. Then there were hands, moulding the flesh of his buttocks, spreading them gently. Parted lips traced patterns over the globes and into the cleft between them. His toes curled and his back arched a little as he felt the tongue probe against his entrance. It fluttered there, tantalisingly close to what he desired. Then the tongue firmed, slid into him, mimicking a stronger rhythm. He squirmed against the sheets, arching his back further seeking to heighten the contact with the merciless tongue. His breathing was
ragged as he fought for control, not wanting the ecstasy to end. The landing announcement broke into his dream and he straightened, feeling fortunate the puny aircraft blanket was between him and certain embarrassment. It was a long time before he could safely stand.  Unfulfilled desire sat low in his belly, almost painfully. He had no idea what he would say to Mac, when he got home, he could only trust that the right words would come. The only thing he was sure of was that if they were to have a future he needed to make Duncan understand him.

                                             
***

The Highlander turned away from the desk in disgust, after hours of being promised that the flight would be re-scheduled – 'soon' – he was giving up and going home. He was sick and tired and at the end of his tether. Right now he wouldn't have Methos back if he came gift-wrapped. He drove home alone, wondering if it wasn't better that way. The way he felt, he would quite possibly take a sword to Methos if he showed his face now. Hurt, angry, and frustrated he collapsed into bed and into a dreamless sleep.

                                             
***

It was morning when Methos finally reached Seacouver, as he stepped into the taxi he debated briefly where to go. He doubted if Duncan would be back from his trip yet, he wasn't due for another few days. Besides, there was the wretched letter to deal with, so he headed back to his apartment. Walking through the door he noticed two things simultaneously, the first being that the note was gone and the second was the passenger manifest from his flight to Auckland. Damn, he's read the bloody letter, he's probably gone apeshit by now. Dropping his bags on the floor he turned around and made for the loft.

Methos ran up the stairs from the dojo to the loft, feeling Mac's presence greet him like a kiss. A whisper of anxiety crept through his mind, brushed aside by need and wanting. The door flew open before he reached it, the space filled with Duncan's figure. It was his eyes Methos noticed first, the anger warring with desire in the
coffee-dark depths. The aching need Methos had carried for so long burst into full flood at the sight.

Duncan was stunned by Methos' sudden re-appearance. Desire flowed, uninvited, into all the cold places in his body, turning his blood to liquid fire. His eyes locked with the green-flecked depths of his lover as they closed the distance between them.

"You bastard!" Mac ground between gritted teeth as he seized Methos by the shoulders hurling him bodily into the brick wall. "You ran off and left me, you cold-hearted son of a bitch!" MacLeod crowded the older man between the wall and his taut, angry body until he could see the fear in Methos' wildly dilated pupils.

"Duncan, I - " Methos got no further as his mouth was crushed under MacLeod's in a bruising kiss that tore at the sensitive flesh of Methos' lips until they shared the acrid copper taste of blood.

Methos felt the rough bricks tear at his back, felt the blood well and spread even as his clothes were torn away, his jeans pooling around his feet until he toed them away. Leaving his bruised and swollen mouth momentarily, the Scot's teeth sank into the firm muscle of the pale neck, biting and sucking until the violet stain bloomed under his lips, and the coppery taste filled his mouth once more. A single ruby drop, stark against the pale skin, ran away unnoticed.

All the while MacLeod's hands roved overMethos' body, roughly rolling the flat nipples to painful arousal, pinching them mercilessly. Methos drank in the pain-edged pleasure Mac was inflicting on him, like it was nectar. Rational thought had long fled, all that remained was this swirling whirlwind of terror and need. Callused hands pushed at the ancient's shoulders forcing him to his knees where the weeping cock pressed at his mouth before he swallowed it deeply. MacLeod thrust into him, forcing his cock even deeper into the silken interior over and over. In a sudden rush Duncan was coming, the streams of scalding fluid jetting down Methos' throat. Even as he swallowed the last drops he was seized by the hair and dragged to his feet. The Highlander's insistent mouth fastened on his again, reopening the just-healed wounds.

MacLeod drank in the taste of his own essence from Methos' mouth, his tongue running over the wounded flesh. In the blink of an eye Methos found himself pushed into the kitchen, turned and flung forward over the bench, an arrogant hand pressing down on his spine. He felt the weeping tip of Duncan's penis pause for a second at his entrance, then with a single savage thrust he pushed past the tight ring of muscle, filling the tight passage instantly. Ignoring the sharply hissed intake of breath, MacLeod began to pound back and forth, each thrust edging him closer to madness. Unlubricated, his cock tore ruthlessly at the unprepared flesh, but Methos was so lost in the spiked pleasure-pain he could not protest, instead arching his back pressing his ass towards MacLeod, ignoring the shooting pain between his shoulders, the tiny trickle of scarlet heat running down his thigh. The rhythm increased until MacLeod was pounding wildly against Methos' ass, completion his only imperative.

Methos felt his own orgasm build as the thrusts pushed into his prostate repeatedly. His neck arched in a wordless cry, Methos climaxed explosively, spilling onto the floor. The intensity of pain and ecstasy were too much at last and he let go of consciousness, welcoming the oblivion. The healing energy that sparked along the tight passage prickled at MacLeod's shaft, combining with the powerful contractions of Methos' orgasm to send him spiralling into a shattering climax. Gasping and sweat-soaked, the Scot collapsed onto his lover's alabaster back.

Suddenly horrified, Duncan gathered Methos up in his arms and carried him to the bed, feeling sick and disgusted. Many hours later, Methos awoke to find Duncan sitting in a chair across the room staring blankly out the window, an odd expression marring his beautiful face.
 
"Duncan? Do you want to talk about it?" Methos began uncertainly, as he sat up in the bed.

"I'm sorry, that should never have happened," he rasped, his face ashen and drawn.

"It's nothing that hasn't already healed," Methos answered lightly, trying not to add to Mac's guilt.

"I raped you, that's not nothing." The pain on his face was a living thing.

"Do you really think you could have taken me like that if I really didn't want you to?" Methos asked simply. "I love you and if sometimes we're a little rough on each other, well we're immortal – we'll heal." The openness and love on his face were a knife twisting in MacLeod's gut.

"Methos?" The name hung in the air like an omen.

"What is it, MacLeod?" the ancient replied with a prescient sense of doom.

"I can't do this." The words were out before he could bite them back.

"Do what?" An icy claw contracted around Methos' heart.

"Us. I can't handle us anymore. I thought I could. I wanted to. But I can't. It's just too much. Too much pain, too much uncertainty, too much damn drama. I love you but I can't be with you any longer. I don't even recognise myself when I get as angry as I was earlier. I've never even wanted to hurt a lover the way I wanted to - hurt you today. And I did hurt you, no matter how you gloss over it, you made me angry, I wanted to hurt you, and I did. Christ, it took me half an hour to clean the blood off the wall!" He stopped, disgust welling in his throat, "I can't do this any longer. If I had to go through the last few days again it would finish me. We're bad for each other, Methos. You promised me once that if we did this, you would hurt me, well you were right - you have. We've hurt one another until all we have left is pain. I've reached the limit of what I can take. Would you go, please? Just go." MacLeod's voice trembled and cracked under the strain of the revelation.

"Do I get a say in this before you tear out my heart?" Methos' customary verbal defences were gone, stripped away by Mac's terrible honesty, and his voice was small like a boy's.

Then he heard the words he hoped never to hear Duncan say again.

"No. We're through."

And MacLeod turned away.
                                            

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Better Be Home Soon.

Somewhere deep inside
Something's got a hold on you
And it's pushing me aside
See it stretch on forever

And I know I'm right
For the first time in my life
That's why I tell you
You better be home soon.

Stripping back the coats
Of lies and deceptions
Back to nothingness
Like a week in the desert

And I know I'm right
For the first time in my life
That's why I tell you
You better be home soon.

Don't say no
Don't say nothing's wrong
When you get back home
Maybe I'll be gone

It would cause me pain
If we were to end this
But I could start again
You can depend on it

(Chorus)
That's why I tell you
You better be home... soon.        (Neil Finn, Crowded House. Words used without permission)