SquidgeWorld Archive

"Mac, can we please stop? You've taught me this same sword thrust fifty times now, I still can't get it right, my ass is sore from you knocking me on it, and I'm tired! Can we please just stop!"

MacLeod reached down and offered Richie his hand. "You're the one who asked me 'How did you do that?' and then wanted to know if you could do it," he reminded the younger Immortal.

"Yeah, well, that was before I realized you took such pleasure in sending me down on my ass. You nearly took my head off that one time!" Richie continued complaining as he let Mac pull him up from the floor of Joe's storeroom.

"Then be glad I'm not really out for your head." He passed Richie's sword back to him. "What have I always told you, Richie? Never do things half-assed."

"I couldn't agree more," spoke up a third voice from behind MacLeod. "I've always thought that if you're going to do something, you might as well do it whole-assed."

MacLeod rolled his eyes. "Hello, Methos." He'd felt the Buzz and knew Richie had too, but Joe hadn't rung the storeroom phone, and he'd known it had to be a friend.

"Well, please, don't get up," the older Immortal replied. "I wouldn't want to interfere with your abuse--er, training--of this fine young man."

"Oh, please, interrupt," Richie begged. "I don't mind. Really. In fact I think I could use the break." With that, the young man disappeared into the bar and left Methos and Duncan alone in the storeroom.

Duncan sheathed his katana and finally turned to face his friend. "Welcome back." He tried hard to keep the reproach from his eyes.

~ * ~ * ~

*Six months ago*

Duncan woke up, shivering. The blankets had been thrown off to the foot of the bed, and with the loss of the warm body beside him, he was cold. He put his hand down, and Methos' side of the bed was stone cold. Turning onto his side and putting his back to the empty half of the bed, MacLeod wrapped himself in the blankets and tried to go back to sleep. However, sleep eluded the Highlander, and he got out of bed, showering and making a pot of coffee to take down to the dojo.

~ * ~ * ~

*Present*

Methos met Duncan's gaze head on, and hid the flinch the soft brown gaze caused. Devoid of the anger and the questions Methos knew had to be simmering below the surface, the gaze was welcoming and slightly sad.

"I didn't expect you back so soon," Duncan continued, as though the last few moments of silent communication and reminiscence hadn't happened.

"I didn't expect to be back," Methos admitted, but gave no further response.

Surprisingly, MacLeod accepted that. "Come on inside. I'll buy you a drink." He slipped an arm around Methos' waist and led him into Joe's.

~ * ~ * ~

Eight Months Ago

Joe's was smoky, because he was one of the few bars that refused to prohibit smoking, instead keeping only the mandatory non-smoking area. That's why on any given night of the week, his bar was the perfect place to hide in, because of the constant fog of smoke that permeated the place. Methos, Mac and Richie were sitting at a corner table together, waiting for the busy time to pass so they could resume their seats at the bar.

MacLeod was watching Methos, who in turn was running a sarcastic commentary on the success--or lack thereof--of Richie's flirting techniques. "You'd think he'd get tired of being shot down."

"He's got a resilient libido," Duncan answered, sipping from the bottle of beer in front of him.

"No, he's got a persistent libido," Methos corrected. "And apparently, a Teflon one as nothing seems to be sticking to it." Duncan chuckled softly and that seemed to satisfy Methos as an answer until Richie's next comment-worthy endeavor. "You know, Highlander, if I didn't know that you were enthralled by my every comment, I'd be offended that you weren't paying me any attention."

"Enthralled by your every comment?" Duncan asked, caught between outrage and amusement. "I just don't seem to share your fascination with the state of Richie's love life. I'm much more concerned with my own." Methos didn't answer, merely crooked his eyebrow. "What?"

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod is having difficulty with his love life?" Methos questioned. His tone signaled his readiness to switch his commentary from Richie to the Highlander, and the young Immortal picked up on it immediately.

"What? Oh yeah. Mac's been dateless since... when, September?" Richie was more than thrilled to have Methos' wit deflected away from him, even for a moment. "I think that's when it was, and believe me, she didn't like Mac that much."

"Richie, shut up."

"September, MacLeod? Isn't that some sort of record or something? I thought you had a string of lady friends out to here."

"That little black book of his is getting.... Hey! Ow!! Ooh, I think I'd better go and see if Joe needs help bringing out the kegs," Richie said, knocking over his chair in his haste to escape the black glare that MacLeod was throwing his way.

"Well, you've certainly got the boy frightened of you, Duncan. What? You have a standing threat to take away his tinker toys if he discusses the family secrets?" Duncan turned the black glare to Methos, who shrugged it off indifferently. "Oh, come on, MacLeod, where's your sense of humor? Oh, right, I forgot, you don't have one."

"I do have a sense of humor," MacLeod protested. "I just see no reason to exercise it at every opportunity."

"Right." Methos' voice totally lacked conviction. "So what cosmic shift in the balance of the world has caused Duncan MacLeod to be dateless?"

"Lack of interest in the local scenery," MacLeod offered.

"That's not a reason, that's an excuse."

"It also happens to be the truth. I haven't seen a female face around here in months that provokes the slightest bit of interest." Which was true as far as it went, MacLeod reflected. It just wasn't the *whole* truth. And he had learned from the Immortal sharing a table with him just how to filter the truth for your listener.

Methos made a show of placing the back of his hand against Duncan's forehead for a brief moment only to have the Highlander slap it away. "Well, you're not sick, and you've still got your head so you can't be dead.... What is it, MacLeod?" His eyes widened. "Oh no."

"What now?"

"You went and did it again, didn't you, MacLeod?"

"Did what again?"

"Fell in love. That's the only possible explanation." Methos took a long pull off his beer as he examined his friend closely. "Highlander, after four hundred years I'd have thought you'd have learned to listen to your elders. Bloody hardheaded youngsters..."

MacLeod knew his next comment would be a low blow but it would shut Methos up. Taking a deep breath, he uttered one quiet word, "Alexa."

Methos narrowed his eyes at the Highlander. "Alexa has nothing to do with this conversation, MacLeod."

"Why? Because it's you who fell in love and not me for once?" Methos angrily slammed his bottle down on the table and rose to leave. "Me--Adam!!" Duncan called, but the furious Immortal ignored him. "Damn." MacLeod knew he shouldn't have brought up Alexa, but dammit, Methos was so *smug* and infuriatingly *right* that MacLeod couldn't stand it. He got up and followed Methos out the back, not catching up until he was in the alleyway. As soon as he hit the alley, he felt a tingle along his spine, stronger than a single Immortal, and he ripped off his coat as he pulled out and unsheathed his katana. "Adam!!" The clang of steel against steel was his only answer, and he ran the few steps until he could see what was happening.

An Immortal of approximately the same build as MacLeod circled Methos as another closer to Methos' own size engaged the ancient Immortal. The combination of his shout of Methos' name and his own approaching tingle had given his presence away, and the large Immortal stalked towards MacLeod as Methos continued his engagement. Duncan's katana met the first rapier thrust, and the battle was on.

Sword clanged against sword, and MacLeod realized he was being driven towards the other dueling pair of Immortals. Each move he made to take the head of his attacker was parried easily, but he didn't attack except to drive MacLeod closer to the other pair. As he got closer to Methos' attacker he knew instantly why. The profile in the streetlight was clear, and he cursed heartily in Gaelic. "Ciala!"

At the call of the Gaelic name, Methos' attacker stopped in mid-swing as did MacLeod's attacker. "Duncan MacLeod of Clan MacLeod," the woman hissed.

"Do I need to ask why you're here?" Duncan asked, keeping an eye on her as he held his blade at the ready, bearing it between them. Methos was slowly moving to stand at his back, having changed his attention to the other behemoth who was circling MacLeod and the woman. "Surely you're not still holding that grudge, are you? It's been what, three hundred years? Isn't it time to let it go?"

Ciala spat on the ground between MacLeod's feet. "I'll let it go when I have your head, MacLeod. And the head of your friend here."

"What did you *do* to her, MacLeod?" Methos whispered. "I thought women liked you."

Duncan didn't even bother to growl at Methos. "I was engaged to her at one time, and when I was killed by a group of highwaymen and disappeared, my lady here was so distraught she took her own life... and rose to be branded a witch and several other heretical names. I don't quite think she's forgiven me for that."

"You made a fool of me, MacLeod. Nobody makes a fool of Ciala Glendoon and keeps his head." She hefted a claymore in both hands, custom made for her slight build and balanced especially to her. She tapped the end of Duncan's blade with her own. "Let's finish this, MacLeod."

Duncan nodded grimly. "There can be only one." With that, Ciala attacked, and he raised his blade to defend himself. Methos was on the defense as well, and MacLeod could feel the give and take of the older Immortal's muscles as the stood back to back. Methos wielded his Ivanhoe with practiced ease, as he fended off the other fighter.

As MacLeod focused on Ciala's furious flurry of thrusts and blocks, a part of his mind acknowledged that he trusted Methos with his life, and it felt right to be battling back to back with Methos. It only enabled him to concentrate further on his battle with Ciala. Mistaking the smile that flitted across MacLeod's face for distraction, she tried to take advantage of it by running forward to sweep MacLeod's head from his shoulders, and that turned out to be her fatal mistake. As she lunged forward, she held her claymore high for the beheading blow, and MacLeod's katana flashed in the street lights as it flew upwards and severed her head from her body.

At almost the same instant, the nameless Immortal battling Methos saw the fatal mistake of his partner and dropped his own guard, knowing the battle was over. It took a single stroke of the Ivanhoe to send his head flying after Ciala's.

Methos and Duncan found themselves slammed back to back by the forces of the dual Quickenings. The lighting storm whipped around, branching up from both of the dead Immortals before lacing together and sending the unified power of both Quickenings into the bodies of the victorious pair. Methos and Duncan both groaned, and then the volume grew to screams as the combined Quickening made a circuit, flowing from Methos to Duncan and back again, joining and twining around both men, filling them with shared power, shared knowledge, shared memories.

Inside the bar, Joe was holding Richie back as the people inside rushed to leave. The lightning storm had blown the breakers of the bar, and the entire building was thrown into darkness, illuminated only by the bright light of the bolts in the alley. "Stay here, Richie, you don't know who won!"

Then almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. The lights in the bar flickered as Joe scrabbled for the emergency breaker and flipped the lights back on. "Just a blown transformer, folks. It happens when it gets overloaded!" he shouted, trying to reassure the few people still in the bar.

Richie slipped out into the alley and looked around. Two bodies -one male, one female, both unknown - lay nearby. "Mac? Methos?" Richie called, bending to pick up MacLeod's jacket. He and Joe would get rid of the headless corpses.

"We're here," Methos replied, for the moment completely unable to formulate anything properly scathing. He had staggered to his feet and dragged MacLeod into the shadows against the building, hiding them from prying eyes. He cradled MacLeod against him for a few moments, willing the Highlander to wake up before Richie got there. Slowly Duncan came around, and his eyes flew up to Methos'. "We really need to get out of here," Methos said softly, caressing Mac's eyes with his own.

Duncan delved into his pockets and pulled out the keys to the Thunderbird. He passed them to Methos as he got to his feet and accepted his coat from Richie. "We're going back to the loft. Tell Joe to come when he closes."

"We'll be there, Mac. Are you okay?"

He looked at Methos, questioning in his eyes. Methos' eyes were calm, and he nodded subtly. "Yeah, Richie, I'm fine. Don't worry." He moved to pick up the dropped claymore and passed the broadsword to Methos. Then he quickly hid away the swords of their defeated opponents as they made their way to MacLeod's car. Mac got into the passenger seat, and Methos got into the driver's side, and the black car quickly took off into the night as Richie turned and began to move the bodies into the nearest dumpster marked with a W. Joe would have the Watchers come and dispose of them properly after closing down the bar.

~ * ~ * ~

*Present*

That was the memory that was fresh in Methos' mind as they entered Joe's. It was the last time he'd felt welcome at the establishment; not long afterwards, he'd disappeared for a few weeks to deal with a small problem, and when he'd returned, he'd felt as though he was a visitor in someone else's familiar routine. He'd not stayed long after that, but now he was back.

Now it felt comfortable again. He, Mac, and Richie were settled around the same corner table, having a similar conversation, though the only noticeable difference was the lack of ribbing about MacLeod's private life. Richie was still having his questionable successes, and MacLeod was still watching. Only now, his time was spent studying Richie instead of Methos, and the ancient Immortal didn't like the twinge inside him. It wasn't the Buzz of the two Immortals sitting at the table with him but another feeling that was not alien to him. Nothing was strange to him, not after five thousand years, but it was not a feeling he was especially proud of. Jealousy.

He was jealous of Richie. Because Richie had MacLeod's attention. And he didn't like it one bit.

Then MacLeod had the nerve to speak to him. "Methos. Give Richie a break."

Methos blinked once. He didn't stare at MacLeod--that would have been crass. Instead, he gave an indelicate snort and muttered, "Taking the protector role a bit seriously, aren't we, MacLeod?"

"Give it a rest," MacLeod repeated, toying with his beer bottle.

"Oh, come on, Mac."

"Methos."

The Old Man heard the Highlander's gentle rebuke and shut his mouth. Now that was definitely something he'd never done before, backing down when MacLeod demanded it. Maybe things were changing between them. And if that were the case, Methos definitely was not happy with the trend things were taking.

Richie cut a glance out of the corner of his eye at the two older Immortals sitting silently at the table with him, and then caught Joe's attention. Joe's practiced eye swept over Richie first, then MacLeod, and then Methos. Of all three men, Methos was at the same time saying nothing and yet saying the most with his body language. His posture was rigid, and his air of detachment was a little *too* detached, as though he were trying hard not to show that he cared about something that was going on at the table.

Slowly, the old Watcher levered himself to his feet from his seat behind the bar and made his way to the Immortal table. "It got awfully quiet over here, guys," Joe said, dropping himself into the last empty seat at the table. "When the three of you shut up, the noise level went down by half," he prodded, trying to get the conversation started again. This time, he openly stared at each Immortal, Richie shaking his head, MacLeod refusing to meet his eyes, and Methos staring stonily at him. "Richie, we're about out of draft at the bar. Want to bring me in another keg and hook it up?"

"Yeah, Joe, no problem. Want me to watch the bar while you take a break?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks." He watched as the relieved young man vanished from the table and then turned his gaze back to the other two men. "You're killing my business," Joe said flatly. "I've got nothing to Watch if you two are always here. Go Challenge each other and get whatever is eating at you out in the open."

MacLeod's head snapped up. "I would never challenge Methos, Joe, not even in jest."

"Who says I'm joking? You guys look about ready to kill each other anyway. Just make sure to let me know when it is, Mac. I'll definitely want this one to go in your Chronicles."

"Joe, go fuck yourself."

The unruffled Watcher turned to look at Methos. "So the old man speaks. Profanely, nonetheless. That's definitely one for the record books."

"Methos. You've got no call to talk to Joe that way."

"Since when do you think you can tell me what I can and can't say and who I can and can't say it to, Highlander? However did I manage to live for five thousand years without your rapier conscience to guide me?"

"Don't go there, Methos," MacLeod warned. "You won't like where we end up."

Joe was starting to get seriously worried. The tension between the two Immortals was beginning to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Duncan was defensive, and Methos was downright cutting and bitter. "Um, guys? You want to lay off each other and tell me what's going on?"

"This... boy scout had the temerity to suggest to me that I should lighten up on Ryan!"

"All this because Mac told you to lighten up on Richie?" Joe didn't believe it for a second. Personally, he believed it had more to do with the fact that MacLeod had been watching Richie instead of Methos. If Joe had noticed, he knew that Methos had too. He kept his eyes on Methos', and then for the briefest of moments flicked his eyes towards MacLeod. He watched Methos' eyes as they flicked over to the Highlander, softening for a brief instant, and Joe schooled his features so that when Methos' gaze returned to him, his face was as stoic as ever. "I think you two need to talk. And soon." He trained his gaze on MacLeod. "Before he takes the low road. Richie needs help."

Mac watched the Watcher leave and then focused his eyes on Methos. Methos returned the gaze, and finally Methos realized that the Highlander's thick head and stubborn pride weren't going to let him break first. He'd let Methos walk out again before opening his mouth. "MacLeod."

"Methos."

"Joe's right. We need to talk."

This time when Duncan looked up at Methos, he let the pain in his eyes show. "I think an empty bed says it all, don't you?"

Methos shook his head. "I didn't want to hurt you, Duncan."

Mac shook his head. "Don't lie to me, Methos. If you've got to lie to yourself, fine, but at least give me that much respect and don't lie to me. I thought we had something special between us, Methos. I thought I was more than just a quick fuck for you. But when I woke up that morning and found the bed cold beside me, I got the message very quickly. You knew, Old Man, you knew that I wouldn't have done what we did if I didn't think... but of course you knew. There's very little you don't know, isn't there? At least about me, and that includes how to play me like your own personal violin." He pushed away from the table. "Do you know what hurt the most, Methos? Knowing that you knew how I felt... and still left." He wrapped himself in the folds of his long coat and secured his katana in the secret pocket.

Methos put out a hand to stop him, and MacLeod paused. "I had to leave, MacLeod. I had to leave to see if what I was feeling was real or just an echo of what you were feeling."

MacLeod fought the urge to reach out and touch Methos. "You should have told me, Old Man, instead of leaving me wondering."

"I love you, Duncan."

Sadly, Duncan pulled away from the old man. "And I love you, Methos. I always will." With that, he disappeared out the front door of the bar.

Joe watched Duncan leave, and then looked at Methos sitting alone at the table. He didn't know what had just been said, but neither Immortal looked happy. He sighed and sat down on the stool behind the bar, his body aching. Richie was there to offer reassurance, and for the moment, Joe was thankful for the quiet. "I'll go and look for Mac," Richie offered softly. "You talk to Methos."

Joe nodded as Richie walked around the bar. "Richie? Be careful. When Mac's brooding..."

"I know, Joe. Wounded lion and all that." He flashed a smile at Joe. "I got the easy one," he said, trying to lighten Joe's mood.

"I wouldn't trade you," Joe said, as he started shuffling back towards Methos. Richie just shook his head and left, and Joe sat down across from Methos. "I said talk, not push him out the door."

Methos didn't say anything for a very long time, and Joe didn't push. Finally, he got to his feet and looked down at Joe. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Whatever." And with that flip reply, Methos disappeared out of the bar too.

That was a complete success, Joe thought dourly to himself. I'm too old to meddle in things like this.

~ * ~ * ~

Richie steered his bike down the streets, navigating his way to the dojo and the loft apartment. When he got there, the place was dark, and Richie felt no Buzz whatsoever. Wherever Mac had gone, it wasn't to his house. He parked and used his key, calling Joe and exchanging news. Richie shielded his eyes as Methos pulled up and relayed that to Joe also. Methos said nothing as he passed Richie, and in a few moments, lights flicked on upstairs in Mac's loft.

~ * ~ * ~

As MacLeod drove, he called Connor in New York, and Connor reassured his younger clansman that of course, he was welcome, and that the ticket would be waiting for him at the gate. He drove to the airport, resolutely not thinking of Methos until the radio started playing Queen. He reached down with a savage twist to change stations and had to stop the Thunderbird on the side of the road until his hands stopped shaking, and his chest opened again. Once he had himself under control, he got out and popped the trunk. He always called you a boy scout, MacLeod. Now you know why. In the back of his car was a suitcase of clothing, packed for an emergency, and a carrying case for the katana, along with all the necessary permits and papers needed for it to travel on the plane with him. He pulled out both items, put them on the front seat beside him, and continued the trip to the airport. He parked the Thunderbird in the long term parking area, stowed the katana in its case, and headed into the terminal where he picked up the promised ticket.

Two hours later, Duncan was in a first class seat, his katana case at his feet and his suitcase overhead, on the way to New York.

~ * ~ * ~

Methos slept in Duncan's bed that night, tossing uncontrollably as he woke every time he heard a noise, hoping it was the Highlander and feeling his heart sink at the lack of Buzz. He reached out with his Quickening, not quite sure how he did it, just knowing that he and the Highlander were linked by far more than their shared Quickening. He found Duncan's Quickening, strong and alive, and then the power faded, and Methos tried once again to sleep.

The ancient Immortal knew that this was nothing but a dream, a false memory. MacLeod had not yet been born when he'd ridden with the Horsemen, and yet there he was. He was there, watching everything until finally, Methos could stand it no longer. "What are you doing here, Highlander?"

"Waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to show your true colors."

Methos indicated the blue face paint that adorned half his face. "These are my true colors. This is what I am inside, I am Death."

"Outside perhaps. But not inside. Inside you are different, Methos. Inside, you are not Death, you are Life. My life."

"I can't be your life, Highlander, look around you." He gestured. "I'm surrounded by nothing but death. I am Death!"

"You know you are the one, Methos."

"No, Mac, you're the one."

Duncan smiled. "I'm not talking about the Game."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you being the one who completes me. We shared Quickenings, Methos. I saw what was inside you, and it was not this wasteland. I saw what was inside you, and it was me. Just as you saw inside me. What did you see, Methos?"

"All your lives, your memories. Your feelings, your thoughts for a moment. And me. I saw me inside you, Highlander."

"Yes, you did. Because you have always been inside me, Methos. Always a part of me, my teacher and friend, my love and my lover. And that is why you left. Because of this wasteland, you believe that is what is inside you with no place for me. But it's not. If this is all you were, you never would have left the Horsemen in the first place. But there has always been something more inside you, and you are not this barren of emotion. You admitted it to me in Joe's; why can't you admit it to yourself?"

"All right, MacLeod. Yes, I do love you. You are inside me. I had to leave to make sure of it; I couldn't think of ruining your life if what I felt was only an echo of what you felt for me. I had to leave to make sure..."

"Make sure of what?"

"To make sure that you loved me too." Methos sighed deeply. "Happy now, Highlander? I had to know if my leaving hurt you as much as it hurt me. I didn't want to hurt you, but I couldn't stay unless I knew."

For the first time during the dream, Duncan moved, and he wrapped his arms around Methos. As their bodies touched, the light of a Quickening engulfed them both, and when the light faded away, Methos stood alone, but Duncan was inside him. He could feel the Highlander's thoughts, hear them in his head, feel the touch of Duncan's hands on his skin. *There Can Be Only One.*

Methos woke, sweating and tangled in MacLeod's sheets. "Duncan."

~ * ~ * ~

Far overhead, on the plane, MacLeod turned his face to the window. "Methos." He had not heard his lover's call, but Methos was in his thoughts nonetheless. Unable to sleep, he stared out at the starry night.

~ * ~ * ~

Back in the loft, Methos trembled in the wake of his dream. "Come home soon, Highlander." He had not heard Duncan's answering call of his name.

~ * ~ * ~

By morning, Duncan's plane had landed in New York. Connor was waiting for him, a placard in his hands that read "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." As soon as the elder MacLeod saw his cousin however, Connor dropped the sign and enveloped Duncan in a bear hug. "Duncan... ye look rough."

"Rough," Duncan repeated softly. "You could say that." He quickly located his two bags and followed Connor out of the terminal to where the elder MacLeod had a car waiting for them. Duncan loaded his suitcase and katana into the back seat and then slid into the front beside Connor.

Connor waited until they were on the way to his home before speaking. "Would ye like to tell me why ye felt the need tae run here instead of Paris?"

"Because it's the first place they'd look."

"Who'll look?"

"Joe. Rich." He shrugged. "I needed to be out of Seacouver for a while, and I don't think they exactly understood."

Connor eyed Duncan worriedly. "A Challenge you can't avoid?"

"No. Something personal."

Connor shook his head again, worry for his brother's head replaced with worry for his personal problem. "When was the last time ye ate?"

"Oh, I had peanuts at Joe's before I left, but I bypassed the airline meal," Duncan explained.

"Looks like ye haven't slept either."

"No, Mother, I didn't."

Connor snorted. "I'm not your mother, Duncan, I'm your cousin. If you want to tell me, you will. If you don't, you won't. Either way, you're welcome here as long as you like." Connor broke into a smile then. "In fact, I heard from a little bird that there's another of your friends on the way to New York."

Duncan shot his cousin a dark glare. "You didn't call Amanda did you?"

"I wouldn't do that to you. She was already on her way here when I got the call from you."

"Wonderful," was Duncan's only comment. Like he really needed to see Amanda right now. She was just the kind of distraction he'd come to New York to escape, not embrace.

Connor shook his head. "Where's the old man?"

"Since when did I become Methos' bloody keeper?" Duncan groused. "He comes and goes as he damn well pleases, and to hell with anyone else."

Methinks we've found the root of the trouble, Connor crowed to himself. "You don't have to bite my head off, Duncan. I thought you two were joined at the hip. I figured that's why I hadn't heard from you lately."

"One would think so," the Highlander said softly. "But then, one would be wrong." Duncan turned to look out the window, and Connor knew that he would get nothing else from the tight-lipped Highlander.

~ * ~ * ~

In the morning, Methos untangled himself from MacLeod's sweaty sheets and looked out the window to see Joe pounding the door. And he didn't even care. "Nobody's home," he bellowed.

"Dammit, Adam! Let me in!" Joe used the head of his cane to pound on the door again, not daring to call Methos by his name in broad daylight. "Old Man, open the damn door!"

"It's okay, Methos, I'll let him in." Richie had slept downstairs in Duncan's office, on watch for the Highlander, but had come upstairs for breakfast.

"How marvelous," Methos sneered as the young Immortal headed down the stairs. He seriously considered locking Joe out and not dealing with him for a few days, but outside of cutting the power to the elevator that was already on the way up, that wasn't exactly going to be possible. Although... the idea of locking the Watcher up with Richie did have its good points. And nobody loved fun more than Methos. The slim chance that Joe would end up having information about the Highlander was the only thing that kept him from doing it.

In the elevator, Richie looked at Joe. "Did you find anything?"

"No, I didn't. Wherever Mac's gone, he's not left a trail behind."

Richie whistled softly. "The old man's not going to like that."

"Yeah, I know."

The redhead slipped his arm around Joe's waist and hugged him briefly. "Don't worry, Joe, you know he's not a morning person. And, I know he didn't sleep well last night, so he might snap your head off. He already did mine."

As soon as the elevator ground to a stop, Joe made his way into the loft and stared at Methos, who sat on Duncan's countertop, naked from the waist up and drinking coffee from the Highlander's favorite mug. "Did you find anything about where MacLeod got off to?"

"No," Joe answered shortly. "We were hoping that you might be able to find a bit more through your shared Quickening."

"Sorry, Joe, tried it last night. All I could feel is that he was alive." He still sipped calmly at his coffee, trying not to mentally curse the Highlander for all that the Scot was worth. Methos knew he'd need the energy looking for him.

"Just wonderful," Joe muttered. "So, do we look or do we wait?"

Methos vaulted off the countertop. "We look, of course. Or, more to the point, I look. You stay in case he comes back when I leave, and please, make sure you let me know when you hear anything." He turned his back to Joe and Richie, and then turned back to look at them. "What?"

"You're being awfully calm about this, Methos," Joe said.

"Well, what would you like me to do? Pull my hair out and weep? Sorry, Joe, not my style. I could beat my breast and shear my hair off, but it's already short enough, don't you think?"

"Methos!"

"What do you what out of me, Joe? Blood?"

"How about concern? You're the one--"

"Duncan MacLeod has lived four hundred years without us babysitting him every step of the way," Methos pointed out, for the moment ignoring everything else that Joe said.

Joe opened his mouth to say something, but Richie stepped between them, and Methos took the chance to duck into the bathroom and start a shower. "Richie?" Joe demanded softly.

"Joe, look. You know the old man, he wouldn't show what he's thinking if it meant his head. He didn't sleep well last night, I heard him come down to the dojo last night, pacing back and forth for hours before finally going back to sleep. I know you're worried about Mac, we all are, but you and Mr. Sorry Joe, I'm Just a Guy here at each other's throats isn't going to help anything."

Joe looked appraisingly at Richie. "Since when did you grow up?"

Richie just shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. "I didn't. You guys are just losing your heads--figuratively speaking--and it makes me sound older."

The old Watcher nodded. "If he's acting that strangely, then I suppose he is worried about Mac." Richie nodded as he poured cups of coffee for both of them and passed one to Joe. "After all, he did sleep up here in Mac's place. Waiting for him." Richie nodded again.

"I guess I'm just a little edgy."

"I noticed."

Joe eyed Richie. "Why aren't you edgy?" Methos' shower went off, but Joe didn't really pay that attention.

"Because I know Mac almost as well as you do, Joe. And if Methos says his head is still on his shoulders and his Quickening is still intact, then I have enough faith in him to keep it that way. And so do you both, if you'd stop sniping at each other."

"I never thought I'd see the day," threw in Methos from the bathroom. "Richard Ryan being the voice of reason. Will wonders never cease?" He came out of the shower wrapped in MacLeod's robe, which had been hanging on the back of the door. Opening the dresser, he helped himself to one of MacLeod's sweaters, which was baggy on his much smaller frame, and shimmied quickly back into his own jeans and loafers after stealing a pair of MacLeod's socks as well. He took his Ivanhoe from its post by the bed and secreted it inside his coat, which he donned as he headed towards the elevator. As he stepped in, he looked at Joe and Richie. "Aren't you coming?"

"Coming? Where?"

"Paris, of course," Methos answered, as he swung down the elevator grate.

~ * ~ * ~

Connor didn't bother pouring the Scotch for his cousin, merely passed him the bottle and settled in the great chair across from him. "All right, Duncan, you want to tell me why you wanted to come here and what it has to do with Methos?"

Duncan eyed Connor as he tilted the bottle to his lips. After a long drink, he answered. "Who says it has to do with Methos?"

"Well, I mentioned him in the car earlier, and you all but bit my head off and then clammed up immediately afterwards," Connor reminded him. "Of course I assumed it had to do with Methos."

Duncan sighed. "It all started about a year ago. Ciala came--"

"Wait. Ciala Glendoon, your one-time fiancé?"

"Is there any other?" At Connor's conceding nod, he continued. "Ciala showed up outside of Joe's one night. She was looking for me and happened to run into Methos first, because--no, wait. Let me go back."

"Back?"

Duncan glared, and Conner shut up. "Richie, Methos and I were all gathered at Joe's, drinking beer and teasing Richie. Somehow Methos started in on my lack of a love life, and... I reminded him of Alexa." Connor whistled, but said nothing. Duncan raised his bottle in acknowledgement of the blunder, and continued. "He walked out--alone--and that's when he ran into Ciala and her goon. I followed him, and she challenged me. I took her head, and Methos took the head of her goon. I don't know exactly how, but... the Quickenings combined. We ended up sharing one combined Quickening from both Immortals. Something that I thought happened only once in an Immortal's lifetime... happened twice. Both times... with him."

"I see."

"Unfortunately, that's not all we shared," Duncan mused. He leaned forward, trying to hold the ideas in his hands as he attempted to voice them aloud for someone who didn't share the same Quickening with him. "For an instant, we were the same person. He was me, I was him, and we could see everything that the other ever knew. It was... unbelievable. Methos... he saw how I felt about him, how much..."

"How much you love him?" Connor supplied. Duncan looked up, surprised. "What, you thought no one else knew? I can't speak for anyone else but I saw it, Duncan."

"Well, he saw it too. And I thought that it meant something to him, because we... the way we touched each other that night, Connor... I would have been willing to swear that he felt the same way about me."

"What happened to change your mind?" he asked, reaching out to lay a hand on Duncan's shoulder. He'd known Methos as two centuries worth of aliases, and despite *not* knowing his true identity until lately, Connor felt that he knew the old Immortal well enough.

"Two months later, I woke up in the middle of the night to find him gone. Then after almost a year has gone by, he comes back yesterday, and acts as though nothing has changed." Duncan's face was oddly calm, only his eyes showing the storm of emotions that currently rocked him. "We went to Joe's--like always. It was as though nothing had changed while at the same time, everything changed. I was hurt, I was angry, I was glad to see him back, and at the same time, I wanted him to hurt. It was selfish of me, but I wanted him to know what it felt like to be deserted by someone you love." He lifted the forgotten bottle of Scotch to his lips and drank deeply, straight from the bottle. "He said it, Connor," Duncan continued after taking the fortifying drink. "Before I walked out of Joe's he said, I love you, Duncan. And I still walked out."

Connor studied the upset Highlander. "You know what it took for him to say that."

"Yes, I do." Duncan took another slug of the liquor. "He said, I had to leave, MacLeod. I had to know if what I was feeling was true or just an echo of what you were feeling. And then when I left, he didn't try to stop me, he just said, I love you, Duncan."

"And did you think that was his way of trying to stop you?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't stop."

"No. I needed this, Connor. I needed to leave, get away from everything there, and see what I had in my head."

"I understand." Connor got up and left the room. "The bedroom is made up for you. It's late; you should be sleeping and so should I."

"Goodnight, Connor. And thank you."

"It's what family does," Connor said simply as he disappeared down the hallway into his own bedroom. He looked at the telephone and almost picked it up, but then shook his head. Duncan had come here for privacy; privacy he'd have.

~ * ~ * ~

Joe and Richie looked at each other, stupefied as the elevator descended. "You're just going to let him go to Paris?" Richie asked softly.

"You obviously overestimate me," Joe said dryly. "I don't think wild horses could keep him here. If Methos wants to go to Paris to find MacLeod, then he'll go to Paris."

Downstairs, Methos was actually whistling as he walked into MacLeod's office. Using his Adam Pierson persona, Methos was soon booked on the first available flight to Paris. He stopped by "Adam's" apartment only long enough to pack a valise, and then he was gone, off to the airport. You won't get away from me that easily, Highlander, Methos thought to himself as he packed the valise. If I have to, I will hunt you down and then kill you and bring you back to me. By the time he'd finished packing, the apartment was fairly empty, and that suited Methos. Let the Watchers assume that Adam had gone out of town for an extended trip as he researched the Methos Chronicles.

When he got downstairs, Richie and Joe were waiting at the end of the driveway, driving Joe's car, and the Watcher was sitting in the back seat. Methos paused and contemplated leaving without them, but then Joe opened the door from the inside and motioned Methos in. "Come on, we'll give you a ride to the airport." Methos climbed into the back seat beside Joe and looked down at the cell phone the Watcher was holding. "Mac's not answering his phone; all we're getting is his voice mail, and if he's checking it, he's disregarding our messages."

"Don't worry," Methos said confidently. "His head is still on his shoulders." His voice darkened. "And if it's otherwise when I find him, whomever took his head won't have it long."

Joe studied Methos' face. Calm, smooth, and unruffled, his eyes were the only thing that showed the cold calculation, the planning and scheming that was going on in Methos' head. Suddenly, the Watcher got the distinct impression that he was looking at Death on a Horse. And it was a very cold feeling that spread between Joe's shoulder blades as he looked at Methos. "You want Richie or me to come along to Paris with you?"

"No, no, I'm quite capable of hunting an Immortal on my own. It wouldn't be the first time, and I'm sure it won't be the last."

"You'll let us know what you find out?"

"Of course I will, Joe." He said nothing else on the ride to the airport, but looked intently out the window as they went by the parking lots. "Richie, stop." Unquestioning, the young Immortal slammed on the brakes and pulled the car to the shoulder, and Methos pointed. "It's Mac's Thunderbird."

Joe followed Methos' point, and squinted. "Yeah, it is. Well, at least we know you're on the right track here."

Methos nodded. "I'll call you from the barge as soon as I get in, and then again as soon as I find MacLeod and kick his ass for this." At the terminal, Methos got out, shouldered his bag, checked his sword case, and smiled at Joe. "Don't worry, Joe. It's me."

"That's what worries me, Old Man." Joe's face was serious. "Watch your head."

"Always, my friend."

Joe watched until Methos was gone from sight and then sighed in the back seat. "Richie?"

"Yeah, Joe?"

"I'm too old for this shit."

~ * ~ * ~

Methos collected his ticket at the gate and quickly boarded the jet for Paris. He stowed his luggage away, tucked the slender sword case by his side, and looked out the window. I will find you, Duncan. We will come to an understanding. The fingers of one hand caressed the cold glass window as he stared out, unseeing.

~ * ~ * ~

Late in the night, Connor came out to find Duncan sprawled out in the chair, and the elder MacLeod's first thought was how much the pose unconsciously reflected Methos' sprawl. Instead of waking the sleeping Highlander, Conner picked up the empty bottle from the carpet and covered Duncan with an afghan from the back of the couch. "Sweet dreams, Duncan," Connor whispered softly as he returned to bed.

Somehow Duncan knew he was dreaming, but he wasn't quite sure how he knew. He was sitting at the corner table at Joe's, drinking the imported beer that he and Methos both favored. Methos sat at the table across from him, studying him intently until finally he gave in and spoke.

"Methos. What are you doing here?"

"What, here at Joe's? Can't an old man have a drink in peace, Duncan?"

"That's not what I meant," Duncan said dryly. "I meant, why are *we* here?"

Methos laughed, a rich full sound that echoed in the bar. "How should I know? This is your dream, Highlander, not mine."

"You're still damned hard to get along with, Methos."

"Oh, flattery will get *you* everywhere, Duncan."

Duncan sighed. "I'm sorry about leaving you."

Methos studied Duncan frankly. "I know you are. Did you think I'd just sit home in Seacouver and wait for you?"

"I didn't think, I just had to leave for a while."

"I'm surprised you didn't go to Darius'. Holy ground and all that. Besides, that's where you always go to brood."

"I do not brood."

Methos laughed so hard he dropped his beer. "Why do you think I call you 'dour Scot,' Highlander? You brood almost constantly. Besides, you're cute when you brood."

"Cute?"

"Yes, you're cute when you brood. Your ass--and the rest of you--just immediately tightens up, and you radiate this excess of dark, brooding energy."

Duncan shook his head in confusion and answered Methos' previous question. "Paris is where everyone would look for me. Darius' chapel was too obvious, and my island isn't private enough. So, I went to Connor's."

"Why did you feel the need to run?"

Duncan shrugged. "I was angry, and I wanted you to hurt like I did. You left me, and I thought that maybe if I left you... you would see what it felt like and not do it to me again."

"And people think what I do is illogical." Methos sighed. "Duncan, I didn't mean to hurt you, you know that. I told you that before you left."

"I know. Connor told me the same thing. He said it was your way of asking me to stay. I know he's right, I just didn't want to admit it at the time. I hope you're still in Seacouver when I get home."

"I wouldn't count on it, Duncan. Knowing Joe, he's probably got me out searching the ends of the earth for you."

At that, Duncan smiled. "Now that's entirely possible. But, I know that you wouldn't go unless you wanted to."

"Why don't you call them and find out, Duncan?"

"And what if you are still there?"

"Then you know I really don't give a damn about seeing you again."

"And if you're gone?"

"Then you know I love you, don't you? At least, I love you enough to look for you. Which is something you have never done."

"I respected your need for space."

"Did you ever once think that I might want to be found, Highlander?" That struck Duncan speechless. "Maybe it would have been nice to know someone needed me that much."

"Methos..."

"Why do you think I kept coming back? Because you never came to me."

Duncan bolted awake, shaking off the afghan that had tangled around his legs. "Methos."

~ * ~ * ~

On the plane, Methos jolted awake, as though someone had just called his name.

~ * ~ * ~

Folding the afghan over the back of the chair, Duncan walked from the living room to the bedroom that Connor had made for him and opened his suitcase. On top of all his clothes sat his cell phone, message light beeping madly. Two days worth of messages sat in his voicemail, and he was even less inclined to deal with them now than he had been before. He consulted his watch: one in the morning. Despite the early hour, he felt no urge to go back to sleep, and instead started unpacking his suitcase. His body still ran on Seacouver time, and it was barely ten there. It took him no time to unpack, and he was surprised by the last thing he found in the suitcase. A simple white sweater that was entirely too small for him. He knew it on sight as Methos' sweater, but never remembered packing it in the suitcase. Hell, the last time he'd seen Methos wear it, he'd painted the old man's nose and gotten scolded for his ideals about chivalry. Carefully, Duncan refolded the sweater and put it back in the suitcase. It must have gotten mixed in with his laundry one of the many times that Methos stayed with him.

Unpacking done, he collapsed onto the bed. He craved something calming and soothing, a balm for his troubled thoughts, but he knew not what it was. Liar, called a little voice in the back of his head. You know exactly what you want. You want Methos to curl up against, his heartbeat to listen to. At the truth of that statement, Duncan slammed his fist into the pillow. He did want Methos. Everything else be damned, he did want Methos.

~ * ~ * ~

The first thing that Methos did as soon as he got off the plane was head for the barge. However, as he stood there, he knew there was no Immortal inside; no Buzz remotely close by. He stepped onto the deck, and MacLeod was nowhere to be seen. The door was shut and cold; no heat from the inside warmed it. He sorted quickly through keys and came up with the correct one, and slipped it inside the lock. Once it clicked, Methos pushed the door open and looked around. The barge was deserted, with no sign of life. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he called Joe.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Joe demanded.

"No, and I don't care. The barge is empty."

"What?"

Methos jerked the phone away from his ear at Joe's exclamation. As he dared to put it back to his ear, he heard the rustle of another person in bed, and the sleepy mutterings of Richie Ryan filter over the line. "Meth--Adam? It's the middle of the damn night, this couldn't have waited?"

"No, Ryan. It couldn't have waited," Methos responded curtly. "I'm on my way to Darius' chapel, and if he's not there, then have Joe start checking the Watcher network. See if Duncan's shown up anywhere else that we haven't heard of yet."

Joe jerked the phone back from Richie. "Right, I heard that, Adam. I'll put the word out first thing in the morning."

"He's only been gone two days. It's not like he could have gotten far. If he's not at the chapel, then I'll come back to Seacouver and check the island. But I don't think he's there."

"Keep me informed," Joe said gruffly, and made to hang up.

"Oh, Joe?"

"What?"

"Doesn't he wear you out?"

"Good-*bye*," Joe said firmly.

Methos laughed softly as he hung up the phone. He wasn't worried about MacLeod; he knew the Highlander was alive and well, wherever he was hiding, and the thought of Joe and Richie in bed together was something he could not resist. No wonder young Ryan never tries very hard for those ladies, he mused. I wonder if MacLeod knows...and how long it's been going on. Could have been why he told me to lay off Richie. You're slipping, Old Man. Carrying the valise with him, Methos locked the barge back up and waved down the first cab he saw, giving the address of Darius' chapel.

~ * ~ * ~

Richie studied Joe for a very long moment. "You don't think he's in Paris, do you?"

Joe shook his head. "No. Even if he did go to Darius' church, he'd have to be staying at the barge. But since it was empty... no, I don't think he's in Paris."

"Why didn't you tell Methos that?"

The Watcher chuckled softly as Richie nestled back beside him. "You really must think I'm good. First you think I can keep him from going to Paris, and then you think I can make him listen to me."

Richie flushed, and Joe's skin was cool against his red cheeks. "I didn't..."

"I know," Joe said, kissing Richie softly on the forehead. "I didn't tell Methos because I needed the time to think myself and to get the Watchers looking for him."

"Oh, I see. You win either way. If you're wrong, he finds Mac and everything's cool, and if you're right, he goes off chasing a wild goose, and you get your thinking time."

"Told you that you're a smart kid, Rich."

~ * ~ * ~

Duncan tossed and turned in Connor's guest bedroom, his arms stretching out and seeking the warmth of his absent lover's body.

~ * ~ * ~

In a Parisian taxi, Methos wrapped his black coat tightly around himself, wishing briefly for the Highlander's broad frame and warm body to sit in the seat next to him. No matter how chilled Methos ever got, Duncan always had welcomed warmth. He paid the fare as he shook out of his thoughts, and even as he got out of the taxi and walked towards the holy structure, he knew that MacLeod wasn't there. A faint Immortal buzz floated at the back of his awareness, but as soon as he stepped foot onto the church grounds, it disappeared, frightened off by the holy ground. Duncan was nowhere to be seen, and a quick questioning of the curator confirmed it. MacLeod had not been seen around recently.

Instead of immediately calling Joe and disturbing the Watcher's rest again, Methos sat on one of the benches outside the church and leaned back. Not in Paris. Not on your island. Where else would you go, MacLeod? Home to the Highlands? But even as he thought of it, he discarded it. Duncan had accepted long ago that he did not want to return to the Highlands, and Methos knew that this would not change that. Home... home is where the heart is, but where the hell is Duncan MacLeod? And then it hit him, as plainly as... well, the nose on his face. Which, he reflected, was pretty damn plain. Home isn't where the heart is, home is where his family is! And who is his family? Connor MacLeod. Is Connor still in New York, though?

~ * ~ * ~

It was barely two hours after Methos' call when Joe's phone rang again, and he consulted the clock by the bedside. Five A.M. and already the second phone call of the day. "Hello?"

"Joe Dawson?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Ross Killian. I maintain the Connor MacLeod Chronicles, and I thought that you'd appreciate the heads up."

"Heads up?" Joe asked, confused.
"Yes, his younger cousin, Duncan MacLeod, showed up in New York to meet with him a few days ago," Killian elaborated. "There've been no Challenges or anything so far, but since I had not heard from you, I thought you'd like to know that Duncan MacLeod is here."

Joe elbowed Richie awake. "Yes, yes, I appreciate that very much. Yes, thank you." Joe hung up and turned to face his still-mussed lover. "Hey, Richie?"

"Wha?" the young man yawned.

"I know where Mac is. He's with Connor in New York."

"New York! But Methos is in Paris!"

"I know. I've got to call--" Joe's comment was interrupted by the telephone.

~ * ~ * ~

Finally, Methos had had enough of waiting, and he re-dialed Joe's number.

"Hello?"

"Joe, I know where Mac is."

"So do I," bragged the Watcher. Then he paused. "Wait, what do you mean, you know?"

"Well, he wasn't at the chapel, and I started thinking. MacLeod goes home when he's hurt and brooding, and home is where his heart--his family--is, and that's New York."

"You're right," Joe supplied. "I just heard from Connor's Watcher, and Mac showed up there the night he left here."

"That bloody stubborn mule-headed Scot," Methos swore fondly. "Connor still living at the same address?"

"Far as I know. Call me when you get to New York, and I'll have it verified."

"I'm calling to book a flight now."

"Good luck, Adam."

"Thanks, Joe." He hung up and immediately dialed the airline, arranging to exchange his return ticket from the Seacouver airport to La Guardia. The change was made, and Methos headed back towards the airport. And towards MacLeod.

~ * ~ * ~

At nine in the morning, Connor finally woke his sleeping cousin. He had not been surprised to see Duncan in the bed; he'd expected the young MacLeod to wake up during the night and move, but he had not expected him to sleep so late. He put a cup of coffee on the bedside table, and shook Duncan awake. "Duncan? It's morning." As Duncan opened his eyes, Connor was not able to hide the shock at their bloodshot appearance. "You look like you didn't sleep well."

Duncan sipped his coffee, wondering briefly if he even had the energy to perform his usual katas. Maybe after coffee and a shower, he thought as he drank. "No, I didn't sleep well."

Connor's eye was caught by Duncan's cell phone flashing its messages. "You haven't checked your messages."

"No, I haven't."

"Does anyone else know you're here?" he asked gently.

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way." After finishing the coffee, Duncan got out of bed and stretched. The window looked out onto a nearby park, and the sunlight danced on the green leaves of the trees as he looked out.

"Duncan, you should at least call Joe so that he doesn't worry."

The Highlander never turned from his contemplation of the park, and Connor only saw the reflection of his Duncan's face. "I don't think so."

"Are you all right?"

"I will be," was Duncan's enigmatic reply. The gold flecks of sun in the emerald leaves reminded him of Methos' eyes, deep green and flecked with hazel, bright and expressive windows in a face as old as the earth. Then he laughed softly, his entire face softening as he thought of the old man's reaction. Poetry, Highlander? Must you?

Connor watched his cousin's reflection in the window and saw it soften as he laughed. "If you don't call Joe, call Methos."

The smile fell away from Duncan's face, and he closed the curtain. "No."

"Duncan--"

"Let it be, Connor." Duncan's voice had a slight warning lilt to it. "Let it be."

Connor turned to leave but stopped outside Duncan's door. "If you don't call Joe by this evening, I'll do it for you."

Duncan acknowledged the statement with a nod and then decided that maybe he did have the energy for his katas after all, and then maybe a run through the park.

~ * ~ * ~

It didn't take Joe long to confirm Connor's address. Richie had taken off to the dojo to open it for the students who didn't know the classes were cancelled, which left Joe alone and waiting for Methos' phone call. As soon as the phone rang, Joe pounced on it. "Hello?"

"It's me."

"Mac!! Where! How! Are you okay??"

"I'm fine, Joe. I'll be home in a few days."

"Where are you?"

"I'm... out of town," he said. Then there was a long pause. "Where's Adam?"

"He's out looking for your dumb ass, where do you think?"

Duncan sighed gustily. "When you talk to him again, will you tell him that I will be home soon? And... if he's not there when I get there, I'm coming to look for him."

"You're... going to look for Methos?" Joe scratched his head. "Duncan?"

"Can you give him the message, Joe?"

"Yeah, of course I can. Mac... are you all right?"

Duncan laughed. "Everyone seems to be asking me that. Yes, I'm all right."

"Come home soon, Mac. And keep your head on your shoulders."

"I will, Joe."

Duncan hung up, and Joe studied the phone. The first thing he did was call Richie. "Richie! I just heard from Mac! He's okay and will be home in a couple of days!"

"Oh that's good news. Have you heard from Adam?"

"Yeah, he's on his way to find Duncan," Joe said, leaning against the bar. "Those two are going to meet up, and I do not want to be MacLeod when the old man gets hold of him."

Richie whistled softly. "How much torture do you think he'll put Mac through?"

"Enough to make him wish he'd never left."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. "Something tells me Mac's already there, Joe."

~ * ~ * ~

Methos' plane landed in New York, and as soon as he touched down, he was on the phone with Joe and had Connor's address confirmed in seconds. Not even bothering to say goodbye, he grabbed the first cab that stopped, beating out several businessmen in suits. With a terse set of directions for the cab driver, Methos sat back and waited to get to MacLeod.

When he got to Connor's apartment, he pounded on the door until Connor opened it. "Where's Duncan?" Methos demanded, pushing past the elder MacLeod.

"Out running," was Connor's reply. "Hello, Methos, nice to see you again too. Please come in."

Methos snorted as he sat down. "Has he been here all the while?"

"Yes, for all of a few days," Connor answered. "I know he called Joe this morning, and I had to threaten him to do that." He studied Methos for a long moment.

"What, do I have spinach in my teeth?"

Connor laughed softly. "Whatever do you see in him?"

Methos answered frankly. "I love him and I know he loves me. Isn't that enough?"

Whatever answer Connor would have made was eclipsed by the opening and closing of the foyer door. "Connor, I'm back, you should have..."

"Been there?" Methos supplied softly, moving quickly from his chair to cross the room and stand inside Duncan's personal space.

Shock and surprise flitted across his face, followed by anger and then finally a sad resignation. "Something like that."

Connor got up and edged past the two other Immortals, and when the door shut again, Duncan moved out of the foyer to the glass doors that led to the balcony. Methos was beside him in a flash, shoving the Highlander roughly against the wall to kiss him firmly, savagely. Duncan seemed shocked for a moment, and then his arms crushed Methos tightly to him, meeting savagery with savagery as their tongues fought against each other, neither mouth yielding to the other. Methos' hands bit into Duncan's shoulders, and Duncan used handfuls of Methos' firm ass to lift and press the older man closer to his body. The intimate touch caused a shudder through Duncan's body, and Methos pounced on that second of weakness, his tongue stabbing through to finally possess Duncan's mouth.

Long moments later, harsh panting filled the room as Duncan broke the kiss but didn't loosen his grip on Methos. "What are you doing here?"

Methos narrowed his eyes at Duncan. "You can still ask me that, Highlander?" His green eyes glittered dangerously.

"I hurt you when I left," Duncan said softly. "I know that."

"Yes, you did, but you mean enough to me that I tracked your ass across two bloody continents to find you."

"I'm sorry." He realized that he was stroking Methos' back as he talked.

"Tell me something that I don't already know--ow!" Methos jumped at the hand that landed hard on his ass. "See if I try to make you smile again, you brooding Scotsman you."

"Methos."

"I'm sorry, MacLeod, I don't see the problem here. I hurt you, you hurt me, we hurt each other. Now we know how we feel, and it won't happen again."

"It won't?" Duncan tried to keep the catch in his voice from showing.

"No, it won't." Methos pushed him back against the wall again. "Will it, Duncan?"

"No," the Highlander said softly. "It won't." He looked at Methos sadly. "I'll go and pack now."

Methos hauled him back. "What is your problem, MacLeod?" Duncan's expression didn't change as he continued gazing at Methos with a small measure of sadness. Suddenly, it dawned on him. Actions didn't speak louder than words. He'd made a whirlwind trip through Paris and New York to find Duncan, made him swear not to leave again, and still he needed reassurance. "That goes both ways, you know."

Duncan nodded. "I know. But if you're saying this just to get me to come home, don't. I don't want the lie. If you're saying this, then I want it to be because you want to be with me."

"I came here to find you, Duncan. Doesn't that answer your question?" Methos kept his hand on Duncan's arm.

"It should," Duncan admitted.

"But it doesn't." Methos sighed. He'd half been expecting this. "I told you once; are you going to throw it in my face again?"

"Methos-- no."

"Then listen to me, MacLeod, and closely, please. I love you. I love you enough to track you down, flying to Paris and back to New York. Don't insult either of us by assuming that's a lie." Methos' tone was filled with a slight anger and hurt.

"No, it's not a lie," Duncan acknowledged, a smile finally chasing the sadness away. "I believe you, Methos. I love you too."

Methos raised a hand to caress Duncan's face. "Good. Are we ready to go home now?"

"Together?"

"Yes, together."

"I'll pack my things."

The End
Feb. 2002