May 28th 1980, 2am. London. Hearing his R/T beep, Bodie jumped awake and hastily
glanced around for the annoying device. He spotted his it
on the coffee table and reached for it, checking his watch
in the process. It was just after 2am in the morning and
he figured it had to be either Turner or Brown reporting in
from outside the Mayfair hotel.
"3.7," Bodie answered, covering a yawn and seeing MacLeod
sit up and rub his eyes. They were both sitting in the
dimly lit main room of the penthouse suite, with cold
coffee on the table between them and a black and white
movie playing on the television. No sound was coming from
the TV so he assumed MacLeod must have hit the mute button
sometime between the last lot of phone-sex ads and the time
his R/T woke him.
"Bodie. Christ mate - you won't believe how glad I am to
hear your-"
"Ray!?" Bodie interrupted the other man, instantly alert
and swiftly standing while he grabbed his coat. "Where the
hell are you!?" He saw MacLeod mirror his actions while
the Scot made urgent hand gestures and mouthed Adam
Taylor's name at him. He waved the Scot back and
concentrated on what his partner had to say. Never had he
been so relieved to hear Ray's voice.
"I'm not too sure."
Even via the static, Bodie could tell that his partner was
not seriously hurt and he closed his eyes and breathed out
a sigh of relief. A million questions flew into his mind
and he started to wonder if this was a set up of for real.
A trick? Was McKellen setting them up? "Listen mate-"
"We're at an old disused abattoir. I'm not sure but I'd
say we're near the Surrey Docks."
"Trouble?" Bodie asked, needing to know and mentally
calculating the quickest way to get across the City.
He
could get CI5 mobilized within ten minutes.... "Nah."
He could hear Doyle sigh into the bad connection, and from
his partner's tone he knew there was no set up or real
danger. Relaxing even more, he let his mind start to dwell
on other issues.
Like who took them, what had happened,
if he was hurt in any way.... He felt all out of sync,
like he was missing part of his soul and knew that this
feeling was getting worse each time one of them got into
trouble. Lifting his eyes to MacLeod, he saw the Scot's
pinched expression. "Ray?"
"We're fine. Taylor's just a little knocked around. But
McKellen's dead."
"What-"
"Look just get down here and then I'll explain. Oh and I
suppose you had better call the Cow."
Hearing the connection go dead he stared at his R/T then
back at MacLeod. "Can this get any weirder?" Changing the
frequency button he was about to call CI5 HQ.
"Wait." MacLeod admonished.
"Cowley needs to know." Bodie informed him, softening his
tone. Over the last few hours of enforced association he
had gained a new insight into MacLeod's complex personality
and could grudgingly admit to liking the guy. "I'm sorry,
mate. It will take ten minutes for the forensic boys to
swing into gear, that gives us a small window."
Knowing Bodie was technically correct in his assessment,
MacLeod pulled on his coat and headed for the door.
McKellen was dead? How? By Adam's hand or Connor's? And
what had Doyle seen?
Half an hour later Bodie killed the ignition outside the
old disused factory and abattoir area, scanning the
darkness for any sign of trouble, snipers or Doyle. He had
maybe 5 to 10 minutes at the most before other CI5 agents
arrived and he wanted to find his partner and make sure
Doyle was okay. Next to him he sensed the fact that
MacLeod had tensed and he spared him a brief glance.
Seeing a figure appear at the edge of his car's headlights,
he flipped the high beam on. Automatically he took out his
gun and exited the car, crouching down behind the driver's
door to wait and see who it was. "Get down!" He growled
at MacLeod. Shaking his head when the other man took a
moment too long to react. Staring off in the direction of
the approaching figure Bodie saw Doyle materialize in his
headlight beam and beside his partner was Taylor. "Ray?"
Bodie called, wanting to rush to his partner, but holding
back out of instinct and training. MacLeod wasn't so
particular and Bodie swore when the Scot stood up and
jogged over to meet the two men. "Shit!" Bodie cursed.
"Bodie?"
Slowly standing, Bodie kept his gun ready and hurried over
to his partner, running his eyes over his mate's figure and
noting the bloodied wrists, swollen eye and wet clothing.
"Christ, mate, what the hell is going on?"
"There's no one here. Taylor and I swept the building
before I called you." Doyle explained tiredly. "McKellen
is inside. Dead as a doornail." He turned and gestured
back towards the building, seeing MacLeod drag Adam away.
Noticing the move also, Bodie was about to protest, but
stopped when Doyle reached over and gripped his arm to get
his attention. "Leave it mate." He advised.
Glaring after MacLeod, Bodie, centered his gaze on Doyle
and gave his partner a small lopsided smile. "Shit, Ray,
we'd better get these wrists treated." He said to cover
his true emotions, taking hold of Doyle's injured hands and
carefully studying the damaged skin. "You had me so
Goddamn worried." Bodie carried on, not looking up from
his inspection of the bruised and bloodied wrists. "Next
time you step aside and let the bastards take what they
want. You don't play hero - do you hear me, Ray!" Bodie
hissed, lifting his head and glaring angrily at his
partner. "Not when the bastards cut us out of the loop, we
look after each other. Christ-"
"Hey," Doyle cut his partner's words off, turning his hands
over to grip Bodie's ice cold fingers. It hurt, but at
that moment he was more worried about his friend's mental
state. It was always hard when one of them was at risk,
but it wasn't like they hadn't been through this before.
"You know the risks of this job as well as I do. We've
been here before. Hell, we've even been in worse
situations. Remember that time you got knifed and I-"
"That was then, Ray." Bodie whispered. "This is now.
Things have changed."
Swallowing suddenly in a very dry throat, Doyle wasn't sure
it was wise for them to continue this conversation. Too
much could be said under stress and Bodie's eyes were
always direct and telling. "Things don't need to change."
He offered softly.
"Too late, sunshine." Bodie admitted. "I don't think I
could go back even if I wanted to. This job is dangerous
enough as it is without ignoring the few benefits that we
have."
"Oh hell, " Doyle sighed, closing his eyes. This was the
last thing he wanted to discuss at 3am in the Surrey Docks.
"Can we discuss this later?"
"Sure." Bodie nodded, letting his mouth curve up in a smug
smile. "Right after you get those wrists checked and I
take you home to my place."
"You're presuming a lot, aren't you?"
"No." Bode stated simply. "Just making sure we discuss
all angles before this becomes a problem within the
partnership." He studied Doyle's scowling face. "I take
it you still want the partnership?"
"Goes, without saying." Doyle mumbled, shocked that maybe
there was still a chance for them to salvage the tatters of
their relationship.
"Good." Bodie nodded. "Then my place it is." He checked
his watch knowing that forensics would be here soon. "Now
tell me what happened in there."
Releasing Bodie's warming hands reluctantly, Doyle winced
and ordered his chaotic thinking.
He just had to remember
what Taylor had told him.... Dragging Adam off to one side, MacLeod hastily glanced back
at the two CI5 agents and then turned his full attention to
the man standing semi-naked before him. Adam looked
drowned, even his jeans were wet, the dark stains of blood
covering the thick denim. "What happened?" He hissed
urgently. "Are you alright? Is McKellen 'dead' or
permanently deceased?"
Exhaling sharply, Methos blinked at MacLeod drinking in his
concern and traitorously trying to squash his rising hope
at the fact that the Highlander genuinely cared. "Connor
took McKellen's head." He stated simply.
"Connor-"
"And before you ask me where he is, I don't know." Methos
interjected. "He said to say goodbye to you incidentally.
Oh and by the way, Doyle knows about Immortals and all that
crap."
Thrown by all the information he was given, MacLeod wasn't
sure what to ask first.
Doyle knew?!? Connor was
gone.... but Adam lived and appeared healed. "I.... I-"
"I need a beer," Methos informed him, loving the way
MacLeod's eyebrows climbed in confusion and how his eyes
became impossibly big and beseeching. He could really sink
deeply into a man like Duncan MacLeod. But the problem was
he doubted he would ever surface again sane and be able to
function independently.
It would be best if he left.... "Then I'll take you home." MacLeod whispered. "But what
will Doyle tell CI5?" He just had to ask.
"Nothing." Methos shrugged. "Besides who would believe
him?"
"But-"
"Neither Raymond Doyle nor myself saw anything. We were
drugged." Methos told him. "That is the official story."
Nodding, MacLeod instinctively took off his coat and placed
it around Adam's shoulders, using the opportunity to touch
the other man and assure himself that he was alive and
safe.
Feeling the extra weight of the coat on one side, Methos
lifted a brow and looked at the Highlander questioningly.
"You have just handed me your sword, MacLeod." He stated
stunned. "You should never give another Immortal that kind
of power."
"I don't." MacLeod admitted. "I only do that for those I
care about. And there are precious few of them. Three
that I can think of, including yourself."
Scared now by the implications of that frank, honest
statement, Methos blinked at the Highlander in utter awe.
His mind was totally blank and he hardly protested when
MacLeod slid a hand under the lapel of his borrowed coat
and caressed his throat. "Duncan-"
"Come on, let me get you into the warmth of Bodie's car.
We might even be able to harass the man to turn his heater
on." MacLeod covered, a little shocked at his own forward
announcement. He'd frighten Adam off for sure this way.
Dammit! "Don't count on it." Methos muttered.
Hearing his radio sound, Bodie went back to the Capri,
seeing Taylor slide into the back seat and shiver in cold.
"3.7." He answered.
"Putting you through to Alpha One. Go ahead 3.7."
Taking a deep breath, Bodie prepared himself, hearing the
frequency change and Cowley's gruff voice sound out over
the small speaker.
"What the hell is going on, Bodie!?"
"We've found McKellen, Sir. 4.5 called it in. He and
Taylor were taken to the vacant abattoir near the Surrey
docks earlier today. Both are safe, but it seems McKellen
wasn't so lucky. He was beheaded at the hands of one of
his associates. We're searching the area now for clues.
Sir." He took his finger off the send button and held his
breath waiting for the shit to hit the fan. He'd known
that Cowley had wanted McKellen alive.
"Very good, Bodie. When you are finished up there, hand
over to the night team and go home. I'll want your full
reports on my desk by 10 in the morning."
Staring at the handset in his hand, it took Bodie a delayed
second before he replied. "Yes Sir." Then he threw the
radio back in the car and glared at Doyle who was standing
at his shoulder. "That old bastard! It's after 3am in the
fucking morning, how the hell are we supposed to get
reports to him by 10am!"
"Not by complaining we won't." Doyle mumbled. He glanced
into the Capri and saw Adam rugged up in MacLeod's coat.
Standing up again he eyed his furious partner. "Who's on
tonight?"
"Turner and Brown." Bodie said with poor grace, turning
around when the CI5 forensic boys arrived and parked beside
them.
"Then get them down here to take over so we can go and get
some shut eye." Doyle suggested, walking around Bodie to
direct the forensics team to the murder site.
Grumbling under his breath, Bodie picked up the radio
again.
What the hell would he do without Raymond Doyle
infecting his life?
Duncan paused just inside the door admiring Adam's body as
he moved towards the couch....
no doubt to fall into it in
that inviting sprawl he seemed to have perfected.
Checking the time he saw it was just after 4am now and he
came to a decision on the dilemma that had been bugging him
for most of the night and early morning. Shutting the door
firmly, MacLeod slid the security chain home with a click.
Last thing he wanted was to be disturbed by any more CI5
agents, or would be kidnappers. He and Taylor had a lot to
discuss.
Hearing the bolt drop in the lock, Methos stopped halfway
to the lounge and turned to raise an inquiring eyebrow at
the other man. He wondered what this little development
was leading to, fearing he already knew the answer. The
damned Scot had been unusually silent on the way home in
the back of the Capri, but his actions of an hour ago and
his expression spoke louder than any words could.
Seeing the questioning look Duncan grinned back. "I've
learnt from long experience never to trust the 'Do Not
Disturb' sign." He answered. "And I definitely don't want
to be disturbed," he growled, his voice deepening with
suppressed desire as an evil grin curled itself around his
lips. Slowly he advanced on his unsuspecting partner,
wanting to hold him and reassure himself that the ordeal
was truly over.
Oh Shit.... was the first thing that hit Methos' brain as
he realized that the bigger man was bearing down on him
with obviously dishonorable intent. Connor's words came
back to haunt him and he backpedaled quickly to avoid the
bigger man. He was exhausted and really didn't want to
have an argument now with this beautiful Highlander.
"Mac!" He squeaked when he was caught in the vice like
grip of a pair of strong arms, the other man not fooled by
his move. Hot demanding lips sought his in a bruising
clinch whilst broad hands urgently caressed his back,
seeking the flesh beneath his borrowed coat. He suppressed
a moan, his half-hearted attempts to push MacLeod away
became feebler with each passing second while the other man
deepened the kiss demanding entrance. Large warm hands
slid around to run feather light fingers across his abdomen
and Adam moaned deeply in his throat.
Gods.... but he
wanted this, wanted it more than the breath in his lungs,
and that was the best reason for giving it up. For two
hundred years he had survived without this kind of madness,
without the Game and he knew he would not survive now if he
surrendered. He cursed wordlessly while he felt his
traitorous body shiver in response to the blatant demands
MacLeod asked of him.
MacLeod heard the low moan, felt the fight leave the body
in his arms when his tongue forced entry into the moist
warm cavern that was Adam's mouth. For over eighteen hours
he had lived in fear of learning that McKellen had taken
this man's head that now he had to release all that caged
emotion and show this man how serious their relationship
already was. Even though he knew Adam was scared of
commitment. He'd seen the fear and knew with a dreadful
certainty that this would be their last night together.
And he felt helpless to stop the inevitable. This time.
But he would never forget.... and next time he met this
fascinating man he would not let Adam leave so easily, for
he could feel Fate whispering in his ear that they would
meet again.
When the Highland brat finally let him up for air, Methos
hung almost limp in MacLeod's arms, but with a steadying
breath he straightened and renewed his struggle, fighting
the almost overwhelming impulse to throw the manipulating
bastard down on the floor and fuck his brains out. "Mac,
we can't do this," he gasped, pushing at the Scot's chest,
needing distance from the other's over-powering presence
and the responses it evoked in him so effortlessly.
Gods, he could almost feel rational thought slipping from
his grasp at the mere smell of this aroused warrior.
"Why?" Came the inevitable question.
Methos looked at the man in front of him helplessly. A
million reasons flew to mind - starting with the obvious
excuse about the Immortal Game and digressing to the final
reason concerning his harrowing night with McKellen. But
he said none of that. Instead he simply said - "Because."
He stopped, licking his lips nervously and then gasping in
a breath when his thoughts scattered like feathers in the
wind. "Because we can't." He finished lamely, feeling a
bubble of hysterical laughter threaten to engulf him.
Oh
yeah, full marks for eloquence on that one! He was
furious with the exasperating Scot. Furious for what this
child was able to do his rational thinking ability.
"Why?" MacLeod knew why, he had seen the trapped
expression, had seen the look of an animal ready to flee
that had flitted like an elusive silver fish in the green
depths of Adam's eyes. With a sinking certainty he knew
that if he did not let the other go voluntarily, then Adam
would walkout the door and never return and he could not
live with that.
Could not live with the fear of not
knowing if the other had left, or had been challenged and
killed. "Because I can't give you what you want, MacLeod. I don't
do happy families. Okay!?" Methos finished harshly,
closing his eyes and turning his face away, not wanting to
face the hurt that was bound to be reflected in those big
brown puppy dog eyes.
"I know." Came the soft reply as MacLeod gently claimed
the angry mouth with his own, persisting until the stubborn
resistance slackened. "I know you won't be here in the
morning, but does that have to mean we deny each other
tonight?" He asked quietly.
Methos' jaw dropped, this was the last response he had
expected from the stubborn Highlander, and he was
immediately suspicious of the man's motives. Placing his
hands on MacLeod's chest he pushed him away to arms length,
leaving them there as if to hold him at bay. Capturing the
dark gaze with his, Methos found only acceptance tempered
with regret and he relaxed. "What's the catch?" He
demanded suspiciously.
"No catch." MacLeod replied, taking note of the
disbelieving look that Adam shot him. He released his hold
stepping back from the other man, opening his arms in a
gesture of release, offering Adam control. "If you want to
leave now, I won't stop you." MacLeod stated quietly, his
voice flat, without inflection.
Methos almost overbalanced at the sudden loss of support,
not having realized how much he had leaned into the other
man's strength. The irony of it was not lost on him and he
cursed himself for being fifty kinds of fool, for not
comprehending what was happening to his own heart. He had
been so wrapped up in the Highlander's supposed feelings,
and the avoidance of those feelings, that he had been
unaware of what his own were doing. He had not even
recognized that the overbearing, overprotective, brat of a
boy scout had wormed his way into the empty place in his
soul where he kept his loneliness under lock and key.
Serves you right you idiot! That's what you get for
isolating yourself for so long! He glanced back to MacLeod
who was standing patiently before him, his face impassive,
the once obvious desire banked down now behind opaque eyes.
When he left, Methos knew he would hurt this magnificent
warrior and he admitted silently that he would also hurt
himself. But he also knew he couldn't stay. Not now. Not
after what had happened with McKellen. Staring at the Scot
he was stunned to realize that MacLeod seemed to understand
this too and Methos acknowledged that maybe Duncan MacLeod
was not such a child after all.
Maybe he could be proved
wrong. So now he had to hurriedly revise his
preconceptions and he came to a decision. Honestly he did
not want to deny either of them the pleasure of this last
night together. He would need the memory of it, to hold
close, to keep out the cold chill of the loneliness that
would wrap its familiar icy claws around him when he left
the burning heat that was Duncan MacLeod. So, making his
decision, Methos closed his eyes and sighed, knowing he
would regret this in the morning, but for one more night he
would not care. He would live to the full and make sure
Duncan lived the few hours they had left to the full as
well. He wanted this beautiful man -
however brief their
time together. Placing a hand on either side of MacLeod's
face he pulled the slightly taller man down to him and took
the passive mouth in a gentle undemanding caress. It was
an invitation and for the briefest of seconds he agonized
that the other would not accept. Then to his eternal joy
he felt two strong arms enfold him in a crushing embrace as
the mouth against his own became aggressive and demanding.
MacLeod skimmed his hands over the slender back, smiling
inwardly at the shudder of pleasure that rippled through
his lover's body and the moan that escaped into his mouth.
Gently he pushed the coat from the bare shoulders, glad
that the damp flesh was now warm and dry. Placing the coat
down carefully he smiled at Adam, remembering the trust he
had placed in Adam's hands by giving him his precious
katana. Skimming hands over the white skin, he looked for
blemishes, but found only a few flakes of dried blood and
wondered again what McKellen had done to this man. If he
asked Adam might tell him, but at present he didn't want to
break this spell of desire. Taking a deep breath he
shelved all his worries and he glided his hands down to the
tab on Adam's jeans, his own breath catching as Adam
attacked his shirt with equal vigor. When they were both
naked, MacLeod took Adam in a fierce hug, storing up the
feel of this incredible man against him for the famine that
was to come. When his lover returned the hug with equal
strength MacLeod knew with a bittersweet surge of joy that
Adam felt the same way. Unwilling to let this last night
turn maudlin, Duncan tilted his head up and proceeded to
lick kiss his lover's exposed neck, knowing that this was a
sensitive area for Immortals, and in particular for this
sensual being.
Methos tilted his head back to allow better access, moaning
as darts of pleasure spiked through his nerves and his body
shuddered.
Fuck.... but Duncan knew how to reduce him to
near incoherence faster than almost anyone else he had
known in his long life.
And that, my foolish friend, is
why you have to leave, a small annoying voice in the back
of his mind shot back pointedly.
Oh shut up! He snapped
peevishly.
Just this once you can go to hell.... he
snarled to himself, slamming the door on the demon voice of
survival. Taking deep uneven breaths and trying to keep
his quickly weakening legs beneath him, Methos broke the
heavy silence. "Mac - Duncan, this room has a perfectly
good bed in it. Can we use it before my legs give way, or
do you want to use the floor? I hate carpet burns," he
complained.
Sniggered into Adam's neck MacLeod nodded. "Your wish is
my command." He teased breaking the embrace, and dragging
Adam by the hand to the bedroom, where he took the slender
frame in his arms and sought out the tantalizing mouth
again. He was convinced that this strange man, whom he
knew almost nothing about, had him under some sort of spell
and when he allowed Adam to leave the separation was going
to be one of the hardest, most soul destroying things he
had ever endured in his life.
Methos shuddered as he was drawn close into another embrace
by his lover, the other's powerful presence washing over
him like a hot wave, engulfing his mind just as the hot
full lips engulfed his mouth. He could not stop a moan
from escaping, feeling the Highlander's straining erection
brush his own burning shaft, before large hands slid down
his back to cup his buttocks and pull him closer.
Desperate to gain some distance from the feelings that were
swamping him Methos broke away from the fierce mouth
gasping for much needed oxygen, but found his eyes caught
in an intense brown gaze.
Oh Gods but this Highland
barbarian was the most beautiful creature he had ever
known, his eyes deep pools of undisguised emotions and if
he wasn't careful he'd be pulled into those bottomless
depths and drown.
Sensing the hesitancy, MacLeod moved away, pulling his
lover onto the bed with him, he pushed the other man gently
down onto his stomach, ignoring the questioning glance.
Straddling the slender hips he lent down and placed his
lips on the exposed neck. "Relax Adam, you're too tense."
He breathed, letting his warm breath feather across the
pale skin, eliciting a shiver and a moan from the man
trapped beneath him. MacLeod reached over to the side
table and picked up the small bottle of oil that he had
taken from the bathroom that morning, pouring a small
amount of the contents into his hand and putting the bottle
back. He rubbed his hands together, warming the oil before
placing his hands on the tense shoulders and beginning to
massage them slowly.
Methos sighed, amazed at how easily MacLeod's hands found
the knots of tension in his muscles, mercilessly kneading
them into submission. What ever else he might think about
the exasperating Scot, he had to admit that Duncan had the
most wonderfully talented hands.
Duncan felt the change in the body under him and his caress
became more sensual as he reveled in the feel of the warm
silky skin, and the muscles beneath, under his fingertips.
Looking down at the long slender back, he was again
surprised at the lean muscles that were hidden so well
under the baggy clothes that Adam insisted on wearing. He
marveled at the way those muscles moved beneath the pale
skin as his lover squirmed under his touch. Adam seemed to
have perfected the look of innocent helplessness, but there
was a hidden strength now that belied that image. And it
was this contrast and the occasional glimpses of something
much deeper in Adam's personality that made for a puzzle
that MacLeod knew he would one day have to solve. A
murmured protest bought him out of his revere and without
warning MacLeod found himself tumbled from his perch as
Adam caught him off guard with a twist of his hips. He
found himself pinned beneath the slighter man, the other
holding his hands to either side of his head, the grip on
his wrists shockingly strong.
"Day dreaming can be dangerous," Methos whispered into
MacLeod's ear, his voice a low growl.
"Then it's a good thing you're not armed, isn't it?" Came
the nonchalant reply.
"Who said I wasn't armed?" Methos growled, a feral grin on
his lips as he suggestively rocked his hips causing his
aching erection to rub against MacLeod's own hardened
shaft. His grin widened at the answering gasp from the
prone Highlander, feeling the other man arch upwards.
Bending, he found the strong dark column of MacLeod's neck
and proceeded to nip along its length, soothing the small
red marks he'd made with his tongue. Reluctantly leaving
the Highlander's neck he slid his hands down the muscled
arms, admiring the darkly tanned skin -
such a stark
contrast to his own - the rising moans from MacLeod
causing his own breath to quicken. Placing his hands to
either side of the broad chest for support he lowered his
mouth to a dark nipple and enclosed it in his mouth,
nipping gently with his teeth. He felt the body under him
tense and gasp and repeated the move on its twin, before he
slid further down the beautiful form leaving hot wet trails
with his tongue. Stopping briefly to toy with the Scot's
navel he resumed his southward journey, encouraged vocally
by MacLeod's hoarse groans of pleasure. Reaching the
Highlander's proud erection Methos grasped the base and
proceeded to tease the swollen head with his tongue,
lapping at the leaking fluid before taking the entire
length into his mouth and sucking hard.
MacLeod cried out in ecstasy as he was engulfed in the hot,
wet heat of his lover's mouth.
A man who seemed to have
turned into a demon, a demon determined to draw his very
soul from his body. He moaned, reaching down and running
shaky fingers through Adam's short silky hair, holding the
other man's head as he thrust into the inviting heat.
Methos found a rhythm that seemed to please the Highlander,
and he gently fondled and squeezed the precious sacs with
his other hand, causing the other to moan and shudder.
Noting how close his Highlander was, Methos released the
hard shaft from his mouth ignoring MacLeod's cry of
protest. Instead he slid up the now sweat soaked body to
capture the open lips with his own, whilst he reached for
the small oil bottle. When he had it safely in his hand he
captured MacLeod's petulant gaze with his own. "I want
you, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." He whispered
huskily, slipping a probing tongue into his lover's ear
suggestively.
"Oh Gods yes.... Please-" MacLeod moaned, arching his body
closer to the sensuous, inviting heat above him.
Grinning at the plaintive tone of MacLeod's voice Methos
moved back down and positioned himself between the Scot's
spread thighs. Pouring out the remaining oil into his hand
he tossed the empty bottle negligently aside, keeping his
eyes centered in his prize. Warming the oil between his
hands, he glanced up at his lover's face, to find the other
man regarding him with a desperate pleading expression.
Gliding his finger tips down the muscled thighs with
feather light caresses, he worked his hands down to the
Highlander's firm buttocks slipping a finger between his
cheeks until it reached the small tight opening, causing
his lover to gasp and buck.
"Adam?!" MacLeod protested, the teasing becoming
unbearable.
With a wicked grin Methos used the remaining oil to
lubricate himself, before easing into the inviting heat,
stilling momentarily to allow them both to savor the
feelings. Then he placed his hands on the Highlander's
hips and began a long, slow rhythm.
MacLeod groaned as he felt Adam slide into his body, fire
coursing along his nerves, the slow sensual rhythm enough
to set him alight but maddeningly below what he needed for
release. He felt engulfed in his lover's presence, the
faint buzz of his immortality an ever-present sensation in
the back of is mind. It was something he had never felt
before, not even with Amanda, and it was another reason why
letting this incredible man slip away was going to be so
hard. Having Adam next to him,
with him, in him was a
feeling he was fast becoming addicted to.
As he slowly increased the rhythm of his thrusts, Methos
felt his control slipping and knew he could not last much
longer. The gasping cries of his lover's building climax
spurring him on. Slipping his arms beneath MacLeod's bent
knees, he lent forward in order to deepen the penetration.
"Duncan?" He called softly, willing the other man to move
with him, to become in tune with him.
Duncan look at me,
I want to see you - to remember this always. But he could
not bring himself to say the words out loud. For that
would confirm his need for this feeling -
this intimacy -
to fill the void in his life. And that was something he
could never admit out loud. Because that would then give
this wonderful, exasperating man the excuse he needed to
try and make him stay. And Methos knew that if Duncan
MacLeod used his considerable powers of persuasion on him
now, he would cave in and stay.
Through the clouding fog of pleasure that Adam was creating
in him, MacLeod somehow heard his name called and opened
his eyes to find himself falling into a pair of vivid green
pools. Reaching out a hand he brushed the flushed face
before him, tracing the open lips with his fingertips,
smiling as a warm wet tongue flicked out to lick them
before the tip of his finger was caught between very white
teeth. "Adam.... Oh Gods-" MacLeod moaned feeling the
last of his control fly away in tatters, as he panted out
his release.
Methos shuddered at the sound of the name on MacLeod's
lips, closing his eyes he imagined that deep silky voice
crying out another name. And for the first time in
centuries he wished fervently that it could be his true
name spoken with such feeling and passion.
What would it
sound like for MacLeod to say 'Methos'? Opening his mouth
to ask - he found his voice gone, like it had been stolen
by his own personal survival demon and he gave a silent sob
of frustrated regret.
It was not fair, and he closed his
eyes feeling the Scot's shuddering contractions drag him
over the edge into completion and he spilled his essence
into his lover's warm depths. Collapsing onto MacLeod's
abdomen in a boneless sprawl, the sticky evidence of his
lover's pleasure warm against his skin, Methos fought
desperately to control the pain that threatened to
overwhelm him. But he could not hold back as another sob
forced its way past the knot in his throat.
Oh fuck the
Gods - fuck Fate, if he did not leave now he never
would! But his body once again betrayed him as it
shivered in the aftermath of its pleasure and his strength
deserted him. In the end all he could do was listen to the
beating of the Highlander's powerful heart as its frantic
pace slowed gradually and they both came down from their
high.
MacLeod heard the strangled sob that came from his lover
and reached down to run gentle fingers through Adam's silky
hair. "Adam? Are you alright?" When he got no reply he
became concerned. And he forced himself to move. He sat up
and reached for Adam, wanting to give comfort, needing to
know what had caused his lover pain.
Methos felt the bed move as the big Scot sat up and slipped
a hand under each arm, before he was dragged up MacLeod's
cooling body to lie within two strong arms. A hot mouth
claimed his in a demanding kiss whilst he felt MacLeod's
legs entangle with his own in a full body hug.
Instinctively he felt trapped and his body tensed as an
uncharitable thought wormed its way into his brain.
The
damned stubborn Highlander wasn't going to let him go....
and he started to panic and struggle for freedom.
MacLeod felt the body he held tense and struggle, but this
time, instead of letting go as before, he tightened his
hold, guessing what the other must be thinking. "Shh Adam.
Easy," he soothed stroking his lover's head, as if calming
a frightened animal.
Damn, but he hadn't expected a
reaction like this to a simple embrace. "It's okay, you're
not trapped." He whispered gently, appalled at the tremors
running through the spare frame in his arms. When the
tremors did not lessen he loosened his hold on the other
man allowing him to move if he wished, unsurprised when
Adam rolled off onto his side and curled into a tight ball.
His first instinct was to move closer and give comfort, but
he crushed that urge, instead he reached out a tentative
hand and laid it on the pale skin of his lover's arm,
stroking lightly. "I'm sorry, Adam. I didn't mean make
you feel trapped. Hell, I already said you could go when
you wanted."
"Not your fault, Highlander." Methos replied, his voice
harsh with suppressed emotions. "Just my over active
survival instincts." He finished bitterly.
"Are you saying that I am a threat to your survival?"
MacLeod asked withdrawing his hand, shocked at such an
accusation even a vaguely implied one.
"Yes, MacLeod, that is precisely what I'm saying." Methos
retorted bluntly, uncurling from his protective posture and
moving to sit on the edge of the bed with his back to the
stunned Scot.
MacLeod stared at the slim naked back, the tense shoulders
still shacking. He was torn between anger at being accused
of such a thing and compassion for his lover's obvious
distress. He reached out a hand, but seeing the other
tense as if reading his intention, he withdrew it letting
it drop. At that moment he felt utterly helpless. "Why?"
He hated to ask, but needed the answer.
A choked sob forced its way between clenched teeth.
Gods
- but that question was one he was beginning to hate with a
passion. Especially coming from the mouth of this Highland
child. Taking a deep mental breath, Methos decided
charitably that it was not really MacLeod's fault.
Maybe
he could blame McKellen for this entire mess, or Connor.
Now that was more workable.... But then he sighed.
In
fact it was his own fault, for not leaving at the first
opportunity. He was a fucking idiot. Sensing the other
was still waiting for an answer he took a deep steadying
breath. "I've learned through long painful experience
MacLeod, that to become involved with our own kind is a
short road to tragedy and loss. And it's a road I won't
willingly walk down again." He finished shortly. It
wasn't the real answer,
not all of it anyway, but it was
what the other would expect to hear. So it should suffice.
The truth was so ugly that he did not even want to look at
it himself, let alone show it to this moral and upright
Scot so he could be judged unworthy yet again of a love
that was being offered so freely.
Although MacLeod could hear the bitterness of the words
spoken, he also suspected that there was much more not
being said out loud. He suspected that Adam was hiding
something very dark and very painful in his past that he
did not want him to know about.
So be it. This time he
did reach out with his hand, laying it gently on the cool
pale skin and feeling the muscles twitch under his touch.
But he refused to pull away, gliding his hand up to Adam's
shoulder and tugging firmly. "Come here," he coaxed,
putting all the reassurance and need he felt into his
voice.
"Back off, MacLeod." Methos growled, shrugging his
shoulder to try and dislodge the caressing hand that was
making a mockery out of his efforts at control. It didn't
work as the other tightened his grip.
Oh Gods how he
wanted to relent, to sink back down into the hot sensual
embrace that would envelope him like a blanket. The heat
of MacLeod's spirit would thaw that part of himself that he
had long ago placed in the deepest darkest coldest recesses
of his mind and locked the door on in order to survive. "I
said, BACK OFF!"
"No!"
Methos whipped around to glare at the man behind him, the
implacable tone in the refusal like a slap in the face.
Was MacLeod now denying his feelings and rights? MacLeod grinned inwardly at the deadly gaze leveled at
him.
My, my - if looks could kill he'd be reduced to
ashes on the spot, but at least he now had Adam's complete
attention. "Adam," he started, injecting seriousness into
his tone. "I know nothing about you and although I would
be lying if I said that I don't want you to stay, I am also
not going to go back on my word and force you to remain."
The
'this time' he left unsaid, hoping that the other
could not hear the unspoken promise and threat. "Now stop
acting like a child and come here." He finished, grinning
openly at the outraged expression on the others face.
"Child!" Methos sputtered, torn between laughter and
outrage at the well-calculated dig. "Oh Mac, what am I
going to do without you?" He laughed, then seeing the
brown eyes once again turn serious he reached out a hand
and placed gentle fingertips over the full lips. "Have you
not heard of rhetorical questions, MacLeod?" He
interrupted with mock exasperation, forestalling the reply
he could see forming.
MacLeod took the slender hand in his, turning it he placed
his thumb in the palm and with gentle pressure he rubbed
small circles, smiling when Adam closed his intense green
eyes and sighed in pleasure. Then with a slow forward pull
he tried to coax his skittish lover back into his embrace.
Methos felt the gentle pull and this time he relented,
ruthlessly squashing his instincts to run. He knew he
could trust the Highlander, he just wasn't sure he could
trust himself. The longer he spent in this man's presence,
the harder it was to contemplate leaving. But leave he
must. With a small sigh he slid back onto the bed,
stretching out beside the beckoning heat to be once more
embraced by his lover's strong arms.
Not believing he had allowed Bodie to talk him into
returning to his partner's spacious flat, Doyle paced away
from his shadow and went into the kitchen to turn the
kettle on. He checked his watch, remembering too late that
it was smashed, and pulled a face, not bothering to look up
when Bodie walked over to lean on the kitchen counter next
to him. In a strange way the action was very reminiscent
of their entire eighteen month partnership so far, Bodie
the antagonist of the team, him the pacifier.
Bodie the
pursuer, while he preferred to wait.... So did he now want
the dynamics of the teaming to change? "What time is it?"
Doyle asked to cover his apprehension and worry.
"Quarter past four - in the morning."
"Christ," Doyle muttered. "We have to get a report on the
Cow's desk in less than six hours."
"Ray, forget Cowley." Bodie said softly, crossing his arms
and staring at the polished tiles under his feet. "Forget
MacLeod, Taylor and this whole damn case for a moment and
just talk to me. Please?"
Lifting his head, Doyle glanced at Bodie from under his
damp curls, noting his partner's serious expression and
direct gaze. Suddenly the simple fact that they were about
to have the most important conversation of their lives and
careers seemed unbelievable and so dangerous, that his
breath caught and he felt a fit of unstoppable giggles rise
up from his chest. Then he was laughing, stepping away
from Bodie and cracking up. He knew it was stupid, but his
mirth was uncontrollable, a reaction to the stress over the
last few days,
to the drugs, to the half truths he was
forced to tell, to the secrets he was cursed to hide from
his partner, lover and friend. Doyle didn't know any
longer what was up or down, he only understood that he
needed a release outlet. Unfortunately that was Bodie.
Always would be Bodie.... and that thought sobered him,
driving home a point he had been too blind to see. "God,
aren't we a sick pair of idiots," Doyle wheezed, wiping his
eyes and grinning at his partner.
Studying the other man with a dubious expression, Bodie
hadn't moved an inch during his partner's fit of giggles,
well used the odd way the other man dealt with issues and
pressure. He'd just never seen Doyle crack up at the
mention of their relationship before and that was a worry.
"You feel better now?"
"I dunno." Doyle sighed, spooning tea into a pot and
pouring in the hot water. "Ask me after I've slept."
"Ray-"
"Listen Bodie, this thing between us is never gonna work."
"Why?" Bodie asked belligerently.
"Because I refuse to be the convenient lay you can throw a
leg over when you can't find a bird." Doyle stated
bluntly, letting his eyes watch Bodie's expression change
from stunned disbelief to insulted outrage in the space of
a second. There -
he'd finally said it. Admitted what
had been eating at him since he woken next to his
exasperating partner.
Was it only the previous morning?
Less than twenty-four hours ago? Shit.... "Is that what you think I want?" Bodie demanded hurt.
"Isn't it?"
"No. Aw hell mate! What do you take me for?" Bodie
growled angrily. "We're partners for Christsakes, Ray!
We're a team. What you do affects me and visa versa! What
I want from you I can't get from a bird and what I want to
give to you I guarantee you won't get from any of the
females you chase!"
Hearing the heavily emotion laden tone, Doyle blinked at
his partner, startled. "It sounds like you've given this
some thought-"
"Too bloody right mate!" Bodie spat back, sticking his
chin out and challenging Doyle to back away. "I know you
want meaning in your life, Ray. I watch the way you search
for it with each female you bed and fuss over. I hate to
see you hurt when every bloody time they leave, and you
turn all subdued on me. It scares me that one day I'll
lose you to some toffee-nosed bitch who won't understand
you like I do. So I'm offering you an alternative. I'm
offering you a chance - only you have to tell me if this
is what you want."
Absolutely speechless, Doyle could only stare at his
partner and friend. Everything Bodie was feeling was
strikingly clear in the vivid blue eyes and Doyle had to
look away. For the second time in less than twelve hours
he was shocked and he covered his mild panic by reaching up
and taking down two mugs. He poured the tea automatically,
stirring in the sugar and milk before handing one to his
partner. His actions were pure habit and he stopped,
staring at Bodie's hand when his partner took the mug off
him.
Those sure, capable hands.... and Doyle closed his
eyes. In all honesty he couldn't turn away now. The door
of possibilities Adam Taylor had opened refused to close
and he accepted the fact that he wanted to see where this
madness would lead. Coming to an instant decision, he took
the mug back off Bodie and reached up instead to cup his
partner's pale face. "Treat me like one of your easy lays,
and I'll kill you myself!"
"Never-"
Not waiting for a response he moved and claimed Bodie's
open mouth, taking the initiative and tasting the other
man's relief. Regardless of what happened in the future,
they needed to live in the present and that was one lesson
he intended to adopt from Adam Taylor's cynical philosophy
on life.
Besides, surely a five thousand-year-old man had
gained some insight into human nature....
Awaking with a start Methos welcomed the awareness seeping
back into his satiated mind and body with a languid
slowness that drew a contented sigh from him. He was
surrounded by the warmth of a solid body and the now
familiar buzz of his lover's presence. He felt the weight
of a strong arm draped across his waist and the feathery
exhalation's of his lover's warm breath caressing his neck.
All was right with the world.
McKellen was gone. The
threat to this beautiful Highland child was gone and he
grinned at the memory of last night. Then another memory
surfaced and his smile faded as if it had never existed.
Last Night - the irony of those words like a knife in his
heart, for it had been their 'last' night. Suddenly he
felt like a condemned man savoring the memory of his last
meal while he was sentenced to return to the safe but dull
and cold existence of Adam Taylor - forever exiled from the
warmth and light that was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan
MacLeod.
Lifting a hand, Methos caressed the smooth warm skin of
MacLeod's arm, marveling at the solid muscle beneath.
So
strong and yet so gentle when they held him. A small sob
escaped before he could suppress it and the pit of dark
loneliness that had disappeared briefly in the Highlander's
presence cracked open. Despair threatened to engulf him
and he battled to exercise his familiar controls to banish
the darkness into the background.
He had to leave now, before the barbarian child woke and
pleaded with those soulful brown eyes for him to stay. He
knew MacLeod would not say a word to make him stay,
but oh
those eyes, the brat could melt glaciers and break even a
saint's resolve with those pleading eyes, and Methos knew
he was no saint.
Lifting the arm that banded his waist so possessively,
Methos slipped out of bed replacing his body with his
pillow. He watched how MacLeod curled about the still warm
pillow with a contented sigh and was almost undone by that
simple act of trust.
Quickly and quietly, Methos set about getting dressed and
gathering his things. He dreaded what would happen if the
Highlander should wake, while a small traitorous part of
him wished that he would. In his haste to be gone, Methos
failed to notice the small furry face that peeked out from
under the bed, a puzzled expression in the clear green
eyes. Instead he stood in the doorway of their shared
bedroom, unable to drag his gaze from the sleeping form
that was just visible in the not quite darkness of the
early hours.
It was just gone 6am.... His traitorous
mind kept replaying images of their passion from the few
hours before and unbidden he felt something warm and wet
slide down his face. Shocked Methos reached up an
unbelieving hand and touched the wetness, bringing it to
his lips as if he needed the salty proof that they were
real tears.
Tears? He hadn't cried in longer than he
could remember, and if that wasn't proof enough that he was
too involved for his own good, he didn't know what was.
Alright! You've won! He cursed the snide little voice
deep in the back of his mind.
Now leave me alone! Taking a shuddering breath Methos stole one last look at
his Highland prince and called softly - "Is fhea'r
teicheadh math na droch fhuireach. I'm sorry Duncan-" He
whispered a second time, his voice breaking on the last
word. Abruptly he turned and let the tears flow, slipping
out the door soundlessly while the icy fingers of despair
and loneliness wrapped around his heart in cold
familiarity. He felt dead inside before the Highlander's
presence even faded from his sensing range.
MacLeod felt the sting of hot tears, but he struggled to
remain still. To keep his breathing to the slow even
rhythm of sleep, when all he wanted to do was leap up and
drag his contrary lover back to bed where Adam belonged and
never let him go. But he had given his word to Adam, and
he
never broke his word, no matter the cost. Even if the
pain would cripple him. And he had felt his lover's eyes
on him, had heard the whispered words -
'Better a good
retreat than a bad stand'.... He had heard the pain
behind those huskily whispered words and knew that Adam was
suffering also. A small nasty part of him was glad that
Adam suffered,
for why should he suffer alone? He was a
little ashamed of those thoughts, but they were there and
there was nothing he could do about them. Then he heard
the door close and held his breath as the precious buzz of
Adam Taylor's presence faded for the last time.
Closing his eyes, MacLeod lay for what seemed an eternity,
his face buried in the pillows, feeling the last of the
heat left by Adam's body subside also. He inhaled the
unique scent, imprinting it on his memory along with the
images of the last few hours they had spent together,
desperately trying to remember the sound of that soft
smooth baritone before it too faded from his mind.
Later that same morning MacLeod woke with a start, groping
blindly for the warm body that should be beside him. When
he encountered nothing but cold empty sheets, memory
returned and he groaned with feeling, the loss cutting
through him afresh. He flopped onto his back, staring
blankly up at the ceiling and began to curse Adam, Connor,
McKellen and CI5 loudly and graphically.
MacLeod nearly jumped out of his skin when his verbal
tirade was rudely interrupted by a small black and white
body that landed on his pillow with no warning. Turning
his head he was confronted by a pair of forlorn emerald
eyes. Instantly his heart went out to the tiny creature
and he reached up a finger to gently stroke the delicate
head, rewarded for his efforts by the beginnings of a purr.
"So.... he left you too did he?" He was answered by a
subdued meow before a small, pink tongue flicked out to
lick his finger. Then the tiny feline proceeded to make
herself comfortable on his chest. She curled up into a
tight ball, tail neatly draped over her small perfect nose
while a half-hearted purr vibrated down through his chest
bones. "I know exactly how you feel," MacLeod murmured
placing his hands behind his head. A small smile tugging
at the corners of his mouth despite the pain that still
echoed through him.
At least he still held a part of
Adam.... Unwilling to disturb his new friend, MacLeod resigned
himself to an extended stay in bed. In truth he figured it
was the perfect excuse to give in to the urge to do nothing
but mourn the loss of his lover. Because no matter how
much he thought he had prepared himself for this morning -
knowing that he would wake up alone - Adam's absence still
cut like a sharp knife. The thing he missed the most
already was that constant buzz in the back of his mind that
had become a comforting presence. It was almost like the
physical sensation, similar to the cat's purring
. Never
again.... would he let Adam walk way when he found him a
second time.
And he would find him!Glancing at the time MacLeod saw it was almost 11.45am and
he wondered when Bodie and Doyle would show up.
Sooner
rather than later he imagined. Settling his eyes on the
cat he watched her sleep, seriously considering what to do
with her. As much as he wanted to keep her for Adam's
sake, at present he had no real address. He'd just bought
a barge in Paris but it needed work and he really needed to
travel the auction circuits if he wanted to seriously get
back into the antique business.
So what was he to do with
the cat? Frowning, he wondered if
Bodie liked animals?
Three hours later, MacLeod opened the door to his hotel
room and invited the two CI5 agents in. All morning he had
been silently praying that Adam would return, but deep in
his heart he knew that was a false dream. "Come in
gentlemen. I trust this is only a social visit?"
"Tying up loose ends." Doyle said pleasantly, glancing
around. He saw no sign of Taylor and raised a brow. "Mr.
Cowley would like to have a word with Nash."
MacLeod sighed, not surprised. "I don't know where he is.
Last time I saw him was yesterday morning." He offered
honestly, assuming an open and innocent expression. He
slid his gaze to Doyle, wondering what was going on in the
agent's mind, remembering that Adam had warned him about
Doyle witnessing the Quickening between Connor and
McKellen.
Could he be trusted? Adam seemed to think so.
Yet it was a risk.... "Surely you don't think Nash is a
suspect?"
"We would just like a word with him." Bodie restated his
manner and tone vastly different to what it had been over
the last few days. Now he appeared more relaxed. At ease
with the world and his surroundings.
Looking at the taller agent, MacLeod regarded Bodie with
interest. "I wish I could help, but-" he shrugged.
"And your plans, Mr. MacLeod?" Doyle asked, returning from
his brief survey of the room to pin the other man with
shrewd eyes. He and Bodie had endured a grueling de-
briefing in Cowley's office and he would be
bloody glad
when this operation was finished. Forensics was already
having a field day with McKellen's sword and the
decapitated body. And he prayed that
Adam was as
experienced in covering evidence as the man was in
fabricating lies.
"I intend to return to Paris in a day or so." MacLeod
stated.
"All finished with the auctions?" Bodie asked, softening
his tone with a small smile. "You never did tell us how
much you paid for that book."
Remembering the book, MacLeod felt a pain start under his
heart, glancing around and seeing that the old book was
still sitting on the table by the phone where he'd left it
two days ago. He'd offered it to Adam and suddenly he
could hear Adam's
voice in his mind. Could almost
smell
him and see him - hear his sarcastic reply about the
merits of that book. 'Paradise Lost' -
too damn right.... "Mr. MacLeod?"
Blinking himself back to the present, MacLeod sucked in a
deep breath, shelving his regrets and pain and noticed that
both Bodie and Doyle were regarding him with worry.
Oh
hell.... "I paid too much," he stated, dragging his mind
back to the question Bodie had asked. "Adam though it was
a piece of junk."
"Which reminds me, where is Taylor?" Doyle asked.
"Gone." MacLeod stated, finding it was very hard to
verbalize the truth. "You may catch him at the
University."
In a century or two. "We'll do that." Bodie nodded, turning away and going to
the door. "Stay out of trouble, Mr. MacLeod."
Lifting his lashes, MacLeod was not surprised to find Doyle
still watching him, half expecting the other agent to have
already known that Adam would leave.
What connection was
it that these two vastly different men shared? He was no
longer jealous of the friendship, rather he was now
curious. Not breaking eye contact with Doyle, MacLeod
forced a smile, losing it a moment later when Doyle walked
closer. He had the sudden impression that Doyle could read
his thoughts.
"He'll be back." Doyle offered in a softer tone, turning
slightly so that he kept their conversation private from
Bodie.
"How can you be so sure?" MacLeod asked, knowing he should
keep quiet, but he wanted to know what Doyle knew.
Any
comfort.
Considering his words carefully, Doyle glanced over at his
partner and saw Bodie lift a brow in question. He shook
his head and turned back to MacLeod, trusting his partner
to respect his privacy. So much had changed in the last
twenty-four hours that he owed MacLeod an explanation.
Maybe even his thanks. "I'm sure, because no one would
put up with what McKellen did to them if they didn't love
the person they were protecting. Do you understand what
I'm saying?"
"I'm starting to." MacLeod breathed.
What had McKellen
done? And why had Adam not told him? Why?!? "Doyle-"
"Give him time."
Biting back on more questions, MacLeod reluctantly nodded.
He would have to track down Connor and get the information
out of his clansman, though Connor very rarely discussed
challenges. Especially if they involved old friends still
alive. Then another thought hit him and he briefly glanced
over at his partially opened bedroom door. "Doyle, do you
like cats?"
A little perplexed by the change in subject, Doyle frowned.
"Depends on its size."
"Wait here." MacLeod said, coming to an instant decision
and walking over to his room. He went inside and swiftly
found the small bundle of fur curled on Adam's pillow. The
sight of Nefertiri cuddled into the softness of the pillow
produced another pang of regret and loss, and MacLeod
exhaled strongly forcing himself to suppress the useless
emotions.
Adam was gone. There was nothing he could do
about that fact and later he would grieve. But now he
needed to make some decisions and he went over to the bed
and gingerly picked up the cat. She was warm and soft and
he smoothed down her fur when she protested the movement
before carrying her out to the waiting CI5 agents. "This
is Nef, or I think Adam called her Nefertiri."
"After one of the Egyptian Queens." Doyle said with a
laugh.
"Probably. He liked his history." MacLeod agreed. He
stroked her ears back one last time then thrust her at the
other man. "She needs a home and I know Adam would trust
you to find her one."
"Now hang on a minute." Bodie interjected ambling over.
"What the hell are we supposed to do with a sodding cat?"
Hearing the tiny animal start to purr, Doyle sent his
partner a sly smile. "I think I know the perfect home."
"Don't even think about it." Bodie growled. "Cowley won't
sanction it, so forget it."
Grinning wickedly, Doyle said his good-byes to MacLeod and
preceded his partner to the door.
Throwing his hands in the air, Bodie stopped at the door
and glanced back at the forlorn looking Scotsman and
softened his scowl. "Have a safe trip back to Paris."
"Thanks," MacLeod called, closing his eyes when the door
whispered shut. Now he was truly all alone.
Again. "Ray!" Bodie hissed, catching up to his partner and
modifying his glare when an elderly couple took a step back
away from the lifts. Yanking on Doyle's arm he dragged his
partner into the stairwell. "What the hell do you think
you are doing?"
"Lay off," Doyle muttered, starting down the steps ahead of
his partner. "I didn't say I was going to keep her
indefinitely, just until I found her a decent home."
"Oh." Bodie stopped, all the ire draining away. He
watched Doyle disappear down the step, then hurried to
catch up. "Just remember I'm allergic to the bloody
thing."
"Then you'll just have to sleep on the couch."
"Doyle!!" Bodie spluttered in outrage, his scowl turning
to a mischievous grin when he heard Ray Doyle's husky,
wicked chuckle echo up to him. Things were certainly on
the improve.
June 4th 1980. Paris.Returning to Paris a week later, MacLeod tried to sink
himself into the early summer warmth by remembering what he
loved most about Paris in the summertime.
The warmth,
romance, elegance of the city that attracted young
love.... But he was now almost as depressed with life as
he had been before McKellen had turned up. He had stayed
in London an extra four days, hoping against hope that Adam
would return, praying that Adam would realize how stupid
this unnecessary separation was. But the infuriating older
Immortal seemed to have vanished.
He had even gone back to Oxford only to be told that Adam
Taylor had pulled out of all his classes and returned home.
'A family crisis' - and MacLeod had rolled his eyes.
How
often had he used that excuse, or heard it used by another
Immortal to escape a painful situation? Too often.
But
then maybe Connor was right? Maybe Adam had not returned
his feelings and he was deluding himself? Yet what had
Raymond Doyle told him? '-no one would put up with what McKellen did to them if
they didn't love the person they were protecting-'Another lost opportunity.
How many more lovers would he
lose before he managed to find his soul-mate? Either way,
MacLeod was now back in Paris, oblivious to the sunny
weather, mourning over a lover he had barely learned how to
touch. Yet a lover that was burned into his memory so
strongly that if felt like they had been together for
centuries, not mere days.
Shelving his brooding thoughts abruptly, MacLeod scanned
the immediate area when the sweeping sense of an Immortal
presence feathered over him. In that instant everything
around him stopped, his complete concentration focused on
the Immortal presence - the drone of the traffic dimmed,
the laughter of the tourists faded, even the warmth of the
sun diminished while his entire being located the direction
of the buzz. In the back of his mind a desperate little
voice was
begging for it to be Adam, but he knew that
dream was impossible and his heart sank when his eyes fell
on a tall menacing figure on the other side of the busy
street.
A glory seeker? Not feeling up to the
aggravation of an unnecessary challenge, or the exposure in
front of so many witnesses, MacLeod swiveled on his heels
and hastily crossed the busy road, mingling with the
tourists along the riverside stalls. Glancing back he saw
he still had his unwelcome visitor and he grinned,
detouring across the Rotal Bridge towards the Louvre.
Glancing down at the Seine, he saw a tourist barge drift
slowly under the bridge and on impulse swiftly vaulted over
the edge of the old stone railing to land on the open
decking of the barge. His landing was met with numerous
stares as tourists turned to gawk and MacLeod mumbled an
apology, before finding the first vacant chair and sliding
into it. Lifting his head he found a petite, pretty blonde
Tour-guide glaring at him and he sent her a charming smile.
She started to demand what he was doing and if he were mad,
and MacLeod let his smile increase, admiring her passion
and spirit. His smile only seemed to upset her more, so he
tried to look suitably chastised, pointing out that she was
neglecting to tell them all about the Louvre which was
passing on their left.... His boldness seemed to impress
her and she spluttered, her cheeks turning a very becoming
shade of pink and MacLeod smiled. Around him other
tourists were laughing.
Then he felt the resurgence of Immortal presence and
MacLeod glanced up at the bridge they were approaching, not
seeing his persistent opponent anywhere. He frowned in
annoyance. The buzz of presence didn't ease until they
were moving away from the Carrousel Bridge and MacLeod
glanced back, puzzled by the fact the Immortal remained
hidden.
A different Immortal? A new challenger? Two
Immortals? Paris obviously was not as it used to be....
He was positive it was not the same Immortal whom he had
originally seen, for that brash challenger would have made
a point of showing himself
. So who was it?Dismissing the problem when the feisty little French Tour-
guide asked his name, MacLeod turned his complete attention
and charisma on the pretty female. She was gorgeous and he
saw her blush a second time under his obvious appraisal.
Maybe summertime in Paris wasn't so bad after all?
Sucking in a breath from shock and admiration when MacLeod
had jumped from a Rotal Bridge to the open aired tour boat,
Methos pressed back against the cold wall of the Carrousel
Bridge and swallowed nervously.
MacLeod was going to kill
him at this rate, and he let his eyes close, not believing
the younger Immortal's luck. He had seen the other
Immortal stalking MacLeod and for an instant had been so
tempted to interfere and warn the precious Highlander, but
Fate had now removed his chance.
So he would back away again and pick the Scot up outside
his newly renovated barge. It was the least he could do
until he was in a position to safeguard the Highlander's
head properly. Once his new identity was secure he
intended to make himself known to one of the well-respected
historians' at the Paris University - a Donald Salzer - and
from there make sure he was sponsored into the Watcher
Organization. For once he was back in the secretive halls
of the Watchers' vaults he could not only check up on his
own chronicles, but he could make sure MacLeod stayed
alive.
As plans went it wasn't perfect or what he craved, but for
the moment he had no other options. Besides, he was a
patient man.
Very patient.
EpilogueAugust 16th 1995. London.Methos stood at the edge of the road gazing somberly at the
loan figure crouching before a granite headstone with a
hand outstretched as if to caress the cold stone. His
heart went out to the man who had so recently buried a
friend and lover. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward
when he saw the other man stand and take a step back.
Hearing the approaching footsteps, Doyle turned and was a
little stunned to see who it was that approached him, but
glad all the same. "Adam." He greeted his old friend,
holding out his hand.
Methos paused, appraising Doyle's emotional state,
cataloguing the changes that five years had made to the
other man since their last meeting. The face was a little
more lined the hair now salt and pepper, but the eyes were
the same clear direct green, although they were undeniably
sad. Taking the outstretched hand in his, Methos pulled
the younger man into an embrace, offering the comfort of
one who knows what it is like to lose a loved one. "I'm so
sorry Ray," he whispered. "I would have been here sooner,
but I only just heard." He finished, feeling the
tightening of Doyle's arms around his back before the other
pulled away, unshed tears bright in those green eyes.
"I know. Thanks for coming." Doyle replied, turning back
to the headstone for one last look before resolutely
turning his back and gesturing for Adam to accompany him.
The two friends walked in silence, absorbing the quiet
peace of the cemetery while Methos waited for Doyle to
begin talking in his own time.
"It was so pointless," Doyle eventually began, before
falling silent again.
"It always is." Methos interjected quietly, more to
himself than to his companion.
A small smile tugged at Doyle's lips when he heard the
words, knowing the man beside him was 'Methos' rather than
the softly spoken Adam Pierson. It still amazed him at how
different Pierson was even to Taylor and again how
different both were to the real man now offering him
unconditional comfort. Yet he liked Pierson, had known
Pierson for over thirteen years, but cherished the moments
when they were alone and he was given a glimpse of Methos'
true personality. For over sixteen years he had known this
ancient Immortal's secret and he had come to respect him
greatly, but also to be wary of Methos' warped sense of
humor and cynical attitude. He remembered the many times
that they had enjoyed baiting Bodie, and abruptly a new
sense of loss swept over him as he remembered whom he had
just buried.
Bodie.... and the reality of it crippled
him anew, the pain just as devastating now as it had been
three days ago.
Methos heard the in-drawn breath and out of the corner of
his eyes saw Doyle stop then tense. Turning to Doyle he
placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremors that ran
through the too slim body.
"Oh God Adam, I can't believe he's gone. Everyday I expect
to see him walk through the door, and I want to tell him
what a stupid bastard he's been for leaving me!"
Methos registered the strain in Doyle's hoarse voice,
listening to the familiar words - words that he had heard
from so many others, words that transcended time itself in
the agony they caused. Words that he had uttered so many
times. The denial, however woefully inadequate still
sheltered the soul from the full brunt of the loss, but
also somewhat cruelly, forced the mind to relive the loss
over and over again.
Perhaps, he thought cynically,
repetition numbed one's mind and spirit eventually. "It was better this way," Doyle said cryptically after
regaining his composure. "He would have hated being....
It was a car accident." He whispered abruptly, closing his
eyes briefly to shut out the images. "Some stupid punk,
drunk driver.... It broke his neck," he sucked in a
breath. "If he had survived he would have been a
paraplegic. Could you picture Bodie in a wheelchair?"
Methos winced at the rage behind the quiet words, feeling
some of it himself for whoever had caused his friend so
much pain and anguish.
"We were supposed to go out together this weekend and....
and-"
Wincing in sympathy at that Methos shook his head, letting
himself experience the emotions, identifying with the
sentiment. Bodie had complimented Doyle perfectly. They
had been a team, a partnership in everything possible and
Methos cursed Fate on his friend's behalf.
"So, how's life in the Watchers?" Doyle asked taking a
deep breath, needing to change the subject. He glanced
sidelong at the other man and noticed the transformation
from Methos the Immortal to Methos the avid historian and
researcher. It wasn't anything obvious, but he had been
watching this ageless man for years and saw the small
changes- the way Methos stood up straighter when he wasn't
being Pierson and the way his eyes lit up when he had an
innocent to corrupt or tease. Seeing the affectionate
twinkle enter Methos' eyes now, Doyle was bloody grateful
for the change as it numbed his grief. He needed his
friend desperately now, needed to be reminded that there
was a reason behind everything, needed Methos to carry him
for a while and inspire him. It wouldn't be hard, for he
had liked this man for years and was as equally awed by
him. Offering a slight smile, Doyle noted how Methos'
gold-green gaze lit up with enthusiasm, and how Methos'
broad grin increased.
"Guess what project I'm working on?"
Doyle shrugged, amused at the open ingenuous manner,
guessing this must be the 'Adam-Pierson-Grad-Student'
persona he was seeing now.
Christ, but when Methos sunk
himself into a roll he really transformed. Doyle had
never ceased being fascinated by the complex enigma that
was Methos. "Don't tell me, the Methos Chronicles?" Doyle
replied laughing. "How did you swing that? I seem to
remember you saying they all thought you were far to young
to be looking after such an important project." He
finished with a smile, remembering how outraged Methos had
been at the time.
Methos just grinned evilly. "I came up with some research
I found in some old texts that I just happened to find in a
private collection. It seemed that this anonymous
collector was in possession of some lost diaries of a
supposed Watcher, proving that Methos was present at the
first Crusade in the Holy Land. They patted me on the head
and assigned me to Don Salzer. I was mildly offended by
that." Methos finished after a pause.
Doyle snorted. "But it is what you wanted. I couldn't
think of a better way to make sure you're never found. And
I suppose those diaries were yours?"
"Of course," Methos smirked. "I always write in the third
person. It's safer that way."
"Must make for one hell of an identity crisis." Doyle
quipped.
"You have no idea." Methos returned with a role of his
eyes.
They walked in silence again for a short time, before
Methos stopped and turned to face Doyle his face serious.
"Ray, I didn't just come for a social call, I also came to
make you an offer."
"Go on," Doyle prompted, when Methos hesitated, guessing
what the offer might be.
"Remember what I said to you years ago, one cold morning in
a disused abattoir? Well now I've come to offer you a
place in the Watchers, as a field agent - if you're
interested. Of course you'd have to start in the academy,
but with your skills they would soon move you into the
field." Methos finished, meeting the other's gaze
squarely. "You don't have to give me an answer right
away," he continued while he tried to find a reaction in
his friend's guarded expression.
"Why?" Doyle asked.
"Why?" Methos hesitated a second, wanting to tell his
friend,
because you need something to do to keep you busy.
Because I don't want to lose another friend to grief....
but knowing that was the answer Doyle expected and would
probably dislike the most, he said instead - "Because we
need more men like you in the field. Look, we've been
losing agents since the Watchers began. It's a dangerous
job. There are some fairly nasty Immortals out there-"
Doyle snorted at the vast understatement of that remark.
"..and I think you have what it takes to do the job."
Methos finished ignoring the interruption.
Doyle stood lost in thought for several minutes, silently
grateful to Methos for not stating the obvious reason for
the offer, but also intrigued by the idea of the Watchers.
He had nothing to lose by taking up the offer and it was
almost like a second chance to become a student again. A
student of history, to enter this man's intriguing world,
and if he had his way he would not be doing fieldwork only,
there would be some research in there as well. "Alright.
So what do I have to do to get into this Organization?" He
asked softly.
Methos let out the breath, unaware he had been holding it
and clapped Doyle on the back. "You had me worried there
for a minute." He joked.
"What? Don't tell me I worried you? That I might actually
have surprised you? The great student of human nature?
I'm flattered." Doyle quipped in return.
"Very funny, Ray. I'll put you in touch with a friend of
mine. He's a field agent, historian and general good-guy.
His name is Joe Dawson. I'm...." he hesitated, wrinkling
his nose up in disgust. "I'm too young to have known you
all these years, so it will have to be Joe that brings you
into the Watchers." Methos finished with a grin.
"Uh huh," Doyle laughed. "Joe Dawson, isn't he MacLeod's
Watcher?"
"The very same."
Doyle noticed the tension behind the words and caught the
other man's gaze with his own, but as usual he could read
nothing from the poker expression. "So.... how is
MacLeod?" He asked, not really expecting an answer, but
interested in seeing if he could catch any reactions.
Methos opened his mouth, then closed it, catching Doyle's
shrewd expression and knowing Ray would read behind his
hesitation. But his heart was still so undecided about the
beautiful Highland child. "He lost Tessa just over a year
ago." He answered heavily.
"And?"
"And what?"
"Have you seen him?" Doyle pushed, glad to have the chance
at thinking about something else. He knew Methos had
purposely distanced himself from MacLeod after the London
incident and he also knew that Methos kept tabs on the
Scottish Immortal and tore himself apart with worry on
occasions. Many a night he had listened to Methos cry in
his sleep when his friend had imposed on his and Bodie's
hospitality during the long years when MacLeod had moved to
America with the talented French artist. Methos might like
to fool himself, but Ray had seen under his masks too many
times to miss the way Methos now hedged around the subject
of Duncan MacLeod.
"I'm not that desperate." Methos muttered.
"I never said your were."
Eyeing the ex-agent, Methos considered Doyle's neutral
expression and nodded to himself.
Doyle would make and
excellent Watcher. "I'm not good at visiting-"
"Tell me about it." Doyle said under his breath realizing
that they had almost reached the parked cars.
Would this
changeable man vanish now they were back at the vehicles,
or could he con Methos into returning with him to his and
Bodie's.... his.... flat? It would be nice just to escape
the loneliness of the four empty walls. To just stop
thinking for a few hours and relax with a friend who truly
understood his feelings.
"What do you want me to do? Turn up on MacLeod's doorstep
and say 'I heard about Tessa so I'm here to take your mind
off things?!?'" Methos asked with twisted amusement. "Or,
I could just add, 'by the way MacLeod, I'm a Watcher into
the bargain.... so we can't see each other apart from this
once. Besides, remember I'm this cruel tease you once
screwed.... wanna do it again?'"
"Okay, you've made your point, professor." Doyle said with
a smile, remembering how Bodie used to always call Adam
that. It was an affectionate term. A cherished memory.
"MacLeod's big enough to look after himself."
"So that's it?" Doyle asked genuinely interested. It had
always baffled him as to why Methos had taken off sixteen
odd years ago especially when it had been so obvious
MacLeod was smitten with him. That time in London when he
was in CI5 was a filled with fond memories and he could
easily recall the day he'd first met Taylor and MacLeod.
Watching the pair fall in love had forced him and Bodie
into taking the final step in their own stressed out
relationship. Sixteen years of contentment -
to now be
ended by a stupid drunk driver who got off on a good
behavior bond and a thousand-pound fine! "Yes-"
Coming back to the present, Doyle blinked at Methos hating
to imagine the lost possibilities Methos ignored by always
walking away.
How quickly hope could die, how easily an
Immortal could die just as Bodie had died. At least he
had memories,
what did Methos have except a desperate
hope? "You'll never see him again if you don't-"
"Never is a relatively short period of time for me, Ray."
"Moron."
Trying to look hurt, Methos turned to Doyle and let his
grin widen. "No, I'll probably meet MacLeod again the same
way I met him the first time. While he's chasing some
deranged, lunatic psychopathic Immortal. He'll probably
lead the bastard right to my doorstep and demand to protect
my 'innocent honor'."
"You know this or you hope?"
"Know." Methos said with a straight face. "It fits his
profile."
"You're a dead set lazy bastard, do you know that, mate?"
Doyle stated with mock disgust. "You always take the easy
road. Well one day you are going to be forced to actually
participate in life again."
Scoffing at that, Methos laughed, taking out his keys and
studying them. "I am participating you young, hot-blooded-
"
"Watch it," Doyle warned as he leaned closer. Letting his
gaze travel over the impossibly young looking man next to
him, he was hit with a strong feel of deja vu.
A man too
young for this world, but too old to live. Methos needed
a balance and Doyle let his eyes become speculative.
Methos needed MacLeod's balance. Needed his fire, his
passion for life, just as he had needed Bodie's ire and
cynical abrasive personality to force him to live and
survive in the world Cowley had thrown them into. "So tell
me, besides brooding, what else is MacLeod currently
doing?" Doyle asked shrewdly.
Glad they were off the less personal topic, Methos relaxed
and saw how Doyle had read him. This man was the only
mortal in a long time that he actually trusted with more
than just his name. "He's on a Scottish hunt."
"A what?"
"A good friend of his was killed by this bad head-case
Immortal a few weeks ago. So MacLeod is playing judge,
jury and executioner." Methos wiggled his eyebrows as
Doyle just blinked at him shocked. "See why I don't want
to get involved? Look what happened last time-"
"Yeah, you ended up in his bed."
"Shut up Doyle," Methos laughed good-naturally. "Besides
it's all part of the high intrigue driven world of
Watchers, better than any movie I guarantee."
"Be serious-"
"I am."
"So does this 'bad head-case' Immortal have a name?"
"Why?" Methos asked puzzled.
"Just in case I end up in the Watchers I want to know who
to avoid." Doyle gave a wolfish grin.
"Kalas." Methos muttered and shrugged. "It's an old
dispute between MacLeod and Kalas, goes back to the 1650's.
It involves, honor, a female and stubborn Scottish pride."
Methos listed in mild humor. "Not necessarily in that
order."
"You're a fraud."
"Now you injure me."
"You're more involved than you want to admit." Doyle
carried on, pinning Methos with his eyes and reading him
expertly. "I bet if I asked, you could tell me exactly
where MacLeod is at this very moment."
Lifting a brow, Methos checked his watch and shrugged. "He
should be arriving in Paris in two hours. His flight was
delayed in New York."
Letting his eyes linger on Methos' face, Doyle waited until
all the humor faded from his friend's expression and gave
the other man a knowing smile. "I think you're right."
"About what?" Methos asked, not sure he wanted to hear the
answer. Somehow Ray had managed to show him how pitiful he
was for hanging on to the past. And how much he
still
wanted MacLeod.
"I do want to meet this Joe Dawson." Doyle declared.
"I can arrange that."
"If only to keep an eye on you."
"Ray?" Methos asked perceptively. "Remember you can only
ever watch, never interfere. No matter what you see.
Neither of us can."
Taking a deep breath, Doyle let himself meet the clear
hazel eyes and read the truth of Methos' quiet words.
"Maybe I can't but you can."
"No." Methos shook his head. "Don't do this for me. Do
it for yourself."
"I will." Doyle whispered, thinking suddenly about Bodie
again and about how his lover, partner and friend had never
balked at any challenge. "I think it's becoming a
necessity. I have to understand this thing, your world-"
"Ray, it can be dangerous," Methos warned. "And no one
must ever know what you do for a living. Nor can you tell
anyone inside the Watcher's what you already know about
MacLeod or me. Not even Dawson."
Considering it all, Ray let his eyes touch the silent
gravestones, thinking suddenly how
Bodie would have been
appalled by these types of restrictions - how his lover
would have been appalled by the world of Immortals if he'd
ever learned the truth. "I kept your secret from Bodie-"
"I know." Methos acknowledged. "That was why I didn't
visit often. I didn't want to make it harder for you."
"He was a pussycat really. A marshmallow," Doyle broke
off, his eyes suddenly filling with tears as it hit him
that he would never be able to tease his lover again.
Never see him again or hear Bodie complain about the
weather, the price of petrol or the new Soccer team.
Lifting his eyes he saw the genuine compassion in Methos'
face and nodded, not backing away when Methos reached out
and drew him into a fierce supportive hug. At that moment
he wanted nothing more than to fall into the promise
Methos' warm body and firm hands offered. Wanted the
oblivion of peace, to feel loved, to be cherished and to
give up control for a single night. Turning his face into
Methos' neck he accepted the comfort, letting long, slender
fingers travel up his spine and tangle in his curls to
massage the back of his head soothingly.
"Ray?"
"I'm sorry-" Doyle started, pulling away and finding he was
prevented from going far as warm, hazel eyes held his own.
"Nothing to apologize for. I was just thinking we should
go back to your place. Get out of the cold." Methos
murmured.
Floundering for a second, Doyle stopped and stared at
Methos, reading the silent invitation easily in the
unblinking gaze. He could accept or reject the offer of
companionship, and he remembered Bodie, remembered what he
had learnt from his partner. There were many different
types of love and what Methos was now offering was the
sharing of memories, the gentleness of comfort and the
warmth of a friend who cared and wanted to help him
remember the good times. Nodding slowly he gripped the
hand sliding down his arm and pulled Methos a little
closer. "I...."
"Shh," Methos breathed, closing the distance between them
and lightly kissing Ray's lips. "You need this, and I
think so do I. If I have learnt anything in five thousand
years it is to never turn away from the pearls of
friendship."
"I'm not," Doyle whispered, closing his eyes when Methos'
lips brushed his own, opening his mouth to sink into the
feel of being alive and being desired. Nothing would ever
replace the fire he felt inside for Bodie, but this would
warm his heart and remind him why living was so important.
"Then let me help you celebrate Bodie's life.... his love
for you."
Feeling his eyes fill with new tears, Doyle totally
surrendered himself into Methos' strong embrace.
September 26th 1995. Seacouver.Checking the address on the slip of paper Methos had given
him, Doyle looked at his watch and released a tense breath.
Everything Methos had said had sounded logical when the
other man had explained about this meeting with Joe Dawson.
But then he had been receptive to almost anything at that
point while he had lain in Methos' arms and soaked up the
other man's calming presence and warmth. There was just
something so addictive about the man, even Methos' annoying
smug superiority was likable and Doyle shook his head
wondering at his own sanity. Methos had manipulated him
into meeting Dawson and it was only his training and good
manners that now kept him standing in the main foyer of the
library in Seacouver awaiting an interview with a man whom
he knew little about.
Christ, but Methos had even
convinced him to travel to Seacouver.... He felt
strangely exposed and Doyle shivered wondering if it was
because he no longer had a trusted partner at his back, or
because his life was now taking an unexpected turn.
Bodie
would turn in his grave. Glancing around he took another breath and checked his
watch again.
Maybe Methos was right. Maybe this would
be just what he needed, a job that kept him active, his
mind alive so he could live in tribute to Bodie's memory.
But then on the other hand, it would also be a way for him
to
keep tabs on the infuriating Adam Pierson and make sure
the annoying son of a bitch kept his head and eventually
faced his own fears. He really wanted to see Methos and
MacLeod meet again in his lifetime and he wanted to be
around long enough to tell the old bastard 'I told you so.'
It was a goal and one he intended to realize, especially
after the few days he had spent with Methos in London after
Bodie's funeral. The man was an experienced lover and he
now understood why MacLeod had looked so dazed after that
first night he'd spent alone with the irascible Adam
Taylor.
Smiling fondly, Doyle turned, hearing the approach of
another person and eyeing the man who stopped three feet
away.
Old habits died hard.... Steel grey eyes met his
own and Doyle was swept with a sense of intelligence and
strength while he assessed the man watching him.
Dawson?
He wasn't sure, but the man was taller than himself, older
by at least ten years and the man was leaning on a cane and
he appeared to have either one or two artificial legs.
From the war, or from the dangerous work inside the
Watchers? "Raymond Doyle?"
"Joe Dawson." Doyle returned, holding out his hand and
smiling when Dawson's handshake inspired confidence. "Adam
told me you would be here."
"This isn't exactly correct protocol," Dawson muttered, as
he looked around then gestured to a secluded bench and
table in the far corner of the library.
Foregoing to comment, Doyle saw Dawson limp forward and re-
assessed the man again, wishing Methos had told him more
about this Dawson.
"I take it you know about the Watchers." Joe stated in a
resigned tone, sitting down before glaring up at Doyle.
"Adam-"
"Pierson has a big mouth." Dawson interrupted, then gave a
small smile. "Aw, hell, forgive me, it's just been a hell
of a week."
Accepting that, Doyle frowned. Debating his choices, he
decided to see what Dawson had to offer and slid into the
seat opposite the older man.
"So what has Pierson told you?" Joe Dawson asked, studying
the man across from him and seeing how Doyle frowned, those
green eyes giving nothing away. Adam had told him little
about Doyle except the fact that the man was ex-CI5 and
that Adam had met the English agent in Oxford a few years
ago when he had attended an Ancient History seminar. Since
then Joe had tried to pull some information on Doyle. He'd
learned that Raymond Doyle had an impeccable record in the
Police Service and the Intelligence community before he had
retired eight years ago with his partner. A male partner
who had been tragically killed in a fluke accident only a
month ago. Doyle's profile looked good, but Joe wasn't
sure this man was ready to face a new job so soon after
burying a loved one - but the Directors in Geneva had
different ideas. Grimacing slightly he watched how Doyle's
frown increased and Joe remembered that one of the
Directors had telephoned him personally to stress their
interest in this ex-CI5 agent.
But how the Watcher
Board had found out that he was going to meet Doyle, Joe
never learned,
but the Director had told him that Doyle
probably knew about Immortals.
From the brief file Joe had acquired on Doyle, Joe learned
that sixteen years ago Raymond Doyle had been photographed
in Duncan MacLeod's presence while MacLeod had been hunting
an Immortal named Bruce McKellen in London. The case was
unfamiliar to Joe, for at the time - sixteen years ago - he
had been in Washington completing a refresher course on the
new Watcher Policies. He'd only been watching his
assignment for a few years and Duncan MacLeod had traveled
to London under the care of a relieving Watcher. Then
because MacLeod had not been responsible for beheading
McKellen, Joe had not followed up the facts. It was
assumed Connor MacLeod had taken the Quickening, but there
was no proof.
Except maybe Doyle knew.... "Dawson?"
Giving a small smile, Joe nodded slightly to himself,
deciding to give this ex-English agent the benefit of the
doubt.
If Raymond Doyle knew about Immortals - then he
was already a risk, which was probably why the Directors
wanted this man either brought into the Organization or
tracked. "Sorry, you were saying?"
"I have an interest in history and Adam suggested I talk to
you. He indicated the possibility of a job." Doyle
stated, remembering all that Methos had told him.
"Let me ask you Mr. Doyle-"
"Ray," Doyle interjected.
"Ray," Joe repeated, giving a slight smile. "Let me ask -
where were you in the spring of 1980?"
Taking a deep breath, Doyle didn't answer immediately,
letting his eyes remain on Dawson's face, noting how the
American's eyes slowly crinkled up in amusement. "I think
you probably already know the answer to that one." He
answered seriously.
"You met this man." Joe continued, not willing to give
anything away yet. Instead he placed a photograph of
Duncan MacLeod on the table between them. "Do you remember
him?"
Debating his answer, Doyle rejected the idea of denying all
knowledge, then reminded himself that it was no longer
necessary. Rather he was worried that Adam's cover might
have been compromised. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan
MacLeod." Doyle said deliberately, sending Dawson a tight
smile when he saw the grey eyes widen in surprise. "Or I
think that was how he used to announce himself before
pulling out a bloody great big sword."
"Son of a bitch-"
"Yes Mr. Dawson, I do know who he is and what he is."
"Joe," Dawson said absently as he reassessed Doyle again.
"You have known this for what, sixteen years?"
"And I have never told another living soul."
"Not even your partner?" Joe asked incredulously.
"No. Not even my lover and partner." Doyle clarified,
remembering how hard that decision had been.
But Bodie
had never asked.... never pushed him to talk about what had
happened in that old disused abattoir so long ago. And
now he wished he had told his partner.
"Except Pierson."
Doyle shrugged. "You didn't hear that from me."
"That manipulative little bastard."
"I don't want Adam to get into trouble." Doyle said
instantly, reaching over to grab Dawson's arm and stop the
man from moving away. He let his expression convey his
seriousness. "It was not his fault I found out."
"Don't worry, I'm not in the habit of divulging secrets
either." Joe assured him. "But Adam has one hell of a lot
of explaining to do!" Joe groused. "I'll wring his
scrawny neck."
"He does provoke that type of response, doesn't he?" Doyle
quipped, relaxing when Dawson grinned then laughed softly.
"But he's a damn good researcher." Joe added.
"He's had a lot of practice." Doyle said cryptically.
"So I take it you know about Immortals and about Watchers?"
"Only that Immortals exist and that you record their
histories." Doyle explained. "Adam thought I would make a
good Watcher with my background experience."
"Well you have the skills," Joe admitted. "..but it's not
as easy as it sounds."
"Neither was working for CI5."
"Point taken." Joe said, coming to a decision. "Why don't
we go somewhere else to discuss this further."
Agreeing, Doyle waited for Dawson to get up, knowing that
the next part of the process was probably going to be even
more difficult. He just had to remember that he
knew
nothing. Thinking about that he waited for Dawson to
catch up and eyed the older man up and down again. "By the
way, do you know where Adam is at present?"
"Why?" Joe asked instinctively.
"I have a few research books he was looking for." Doyle
said off-handedly.
"He's in Paris." Joe growled not wanting to be reminded of
the problems befalling the Watchers in Paris. He wanted to
be there himself, but the Directors wanted him in Seacouver
to assess Doyle and bring him into the Organization.
Damn
awful timing and if he lost Mac.... "He's working on a
confidential research project."
"Is there a problem?" Doyle asked concerned and seeing how
Dawson's expression darkened with worry.
"Nothing that needs concern you," Joe started, then stopped
when his cell phone rang. "Excuse me." He muttered,
taking his phone out and listening. He closed his eyes and
thanked the caller then swore furiously under his breath.
This was the last thing he needed now! Glancing around
he saw they were standing by the main lifts and Joe limped
towards the far window before dialing a new number. He
waited impatiently for his call to be connected. "Come on,
come on...."
Not missing Dawson's agitation, Doyle followed the other
man to the far window, hearing his muttered curses and
guessing the previous call he had received had not been
good news. From Dawson's reaction he guessed it was
Watcher business and he unashamedly eavesdropped, hearing
Dawson's gruff tones as he mentioned the name 'Mac' more
than once.
Duncan MacLeod? Doyle didn't believe in
coincidences like that and inched closer just catching
Dawson's tense tones, he seemed to want this 'Mac' to be
careful.
Someone had gone missing.... and Doyle missed
the rest of the discussion when a group of young college
students noisily exited one of the lifts. He didn't catch
anymore of the hissed conversation and tried to look bored
when Dawson turned back to him and glared around in
impotent fury.
"Aw hell...."
"I take it that wasn't good news."
"No." Dawson snapped, then relented. He looked at Doyle
again and came to another decision, one that he hoped would
not get him into more trouble. "I need to chase up
something immediately, so you are about to get a hard
introduction into the Watchers. I hope you can handle it."
"You'd be surprised."
September 26th 1995 - morning. Paris. Methos struggled with his five thousand-year-old
conscience, battling the effects of MacLeod's powerful
quickening while he stupidly waited for the Highlander to
'discover' him.
Fuck, after sixteen years he had been a
hopeless fool to think that he had gotten over the
remarkable Scot! "Well," Methos intoned, striving for a
measure of nonchalance when he saw the tall Highlander step
into view. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Have a
beer." Finding himself stunned beyond measure when he
actually managed to sound both calm and only slightly
interested, Methos forced himself to smile.
If the
Highlander could only see the turmoil that seethed below
his calm exterior, then the other man would know him for
the fraud he was. MacLeod stood transfixed, gaping at the figure sprawled on
the floor in front of him. The splayed posture a blatant
provocation and challenge to every one of his shocked
senses. He remembered to close his mouth while his stunned
brain caught up with what his ears were registering and he
blinked, hearing the achingly familiar baritone wash over
him like a verbal caress. That voice sent spikes of heat
straight to his groin.
Adam Taylor.... now Adam
Pierson....
was - was.... "Methos?" The word forced
its way past his numb brain to his lips.
Methos felt a shudder pass through his body at the sound of
his true name being spoken by the man who had stolen his
heart without his even realizing it. He was suddenly
flooded with memories of a night sixteen years ago when he
had wished futilely to be able to hear his name spoken by
MacLeod in the heat of passion.
Maybe Fate would be
kinder this time around? And maybe he'd finally met his
match and now would lose his head? Battling again for
calm, Methos reached down to the six pack that sat beside
him and picked up a can. "Mi casa es su casa." He said,
tossing the beer at the still gaping Highlander, before
favoring him with his best innocent look. He allowed a
slight hit of mischief to play around the corners of his
mouth.
MacLeod caught the tossed can by reflex, his mind still
disengaged from reality as the softly spoken words threw
him back to a similar moment in London -
sixteen years
ago. Then to the man before him had greeted him with
those very same words and a beer. Releasing a tense
breath, MacLeod drank in the face before him, noting the
smile and the teasing look that was evident in the
changeable green eyes that gazed up at him from beneath the
long dark lashes.
God, but that smile had the power to
melt his bones and he had to lock his knees in place before
he ended up on the floor. But suddenly it didn't seem
important anymore that he was chasing Kalas and he took
several steps closer to his former lover. Suddenly sixteen
years of ruthlessly suppressed feelings and memories almost
overwhelmed him and he sank to his knees in front of the
startled man. He instinctively reached out a hand with a
desperate need to touch, to know that the body in front of
him was real and not some twisted trick of his imagination.
Since losing Tessa he had found it was becoming harder and
harder to suppress the memories of past loves.
Past
regrets.... The longing for what he had found with this
man, however briefly, had become a pain like an old wound.
A wound that had never healed. Covered - but not
forgotten.
Methos drew in a sharp breath when MacLeod approached him,
a sliver of fear slicing through him as he took in the
expression of longing on the tall Scot's face.
Oh Christ,
this was not good. Methos cursed himself, abruptly
finding himself face to face and at eye level with the
Highlander, seeing a pair of chocolate brown eyes boring
into his own.
And Mac's scent.... it assaulted him.
Smothered him. The heat in the hand that lifted to touch
his face almost burnt and Methos sucked in a breath, seeing
MacLeod stop the action and just stare at him.
"Methos."
The soft exhalation of breath feathered over his skin and
Methos read the frantic need for confirmation in the depths
of Macleod's brown gaze. Helpless to deny the man before
him he reached up and cupped the raised hand, pressing the
palm to his lips and placing a kiss at its center.
MacLeod shuddered at the first tentative touch of the
velvet soft lips, feeling a similar shiver pass through the
slim form under his hand. He felt a smile tug at his lips
as a wave of pure joy rolled through him and he fought the
uncharacteristic urge to laugh out loud at the sheer
happiness that engulfed him.
This was the chance he had
wished for all those years ago, the chance he somehow
instinctively knew he would get, and this time he was not
going to let Adam - Methos - walk away. He caught the
instant shuttering of the green eyes and with an inward
sigh knew without a doubt that nothing had changed,
Adam
Taylor, Adam Pierson, or Methos.... whatever this man
chose to call himself - he was still a mystery that would
never be easily solved. Finding him again had been a
chance, keeping him would be a battle, but it was a battle
that MacLeod would never walk away from.
Not again and
he certainly would not he let Adam walk away from it
either.
Methos fought the urge to bolt when the Highlander's warm
hand slid behind his neck and with gentle but irresistible
force drew him close for a kiss,
and what a kiss....
Methos was unable to stifle the moan that gave voice to the
white hot need that flared in his blood, drowning out the
tiny voice in his head that shouted at him to beware of
what MacLeod would do to him emotionally, mentally and
physically.
Category number bloody five.... and he
shivered when the sensual mouth that was playing havoc with
his vaunted self-control demanded entry. A soft tongue
brushing his lips and he found himself pushed back against
the bed end behind him.
MacLeod was thrilled by the needy moan that issued from
Adam's -
Methos' - mouth and gently demanded entry into
the remembered haven of this man's warmth. Pushing
forward, he deliberately trapped the slender male against
the bed, feeling one of Methos' hands come up to weakly try
and push him away. Reluctantly remembering why he was here
-
who he was chasing - MacLeod broke the kiss and moved
back. Slowly a smile played around his lips when he heard
the other man curse under his breath and gasp for breath.
Under his hand he could feel the erratic pulse beat and let
his fingers curl possessively around the slender neck.
"Fuck! MacLeod!" Methos growled, sweeping away the hand
that rested on his shoulder, desperately needing some air
and room to gather the tattered shreds of his composure
before he could face the Scot.
"That's it!?"
"That's it.... what?" Methos snapped back, looking down at
the floor and therefore failing to notice the sly smile
that spread itself across MacLeod's lips.
"Five thousand years and all you can come up with is -
'Fuck MacLeod'?"
"Screw you, MacLeod. Is that better? What did you bloody
well expect? Shakespeare?!" Methos snarled, before he
caught the look that the other man was throwing at him.
"Damn you to hell, Highlander."
"Already been there." MacLeod answered somberly.
Methos cursed his sharp tongue and reached out a hand
cupping the other man's face, remembering the many friends
MacLeod had lost in the last few months. "I'm sorry Mac.
Truly sorry about Tessa." He murmured, putting as much
sincerity into his voice as he could.
MacLeod shut his eyes on the wave of pain that swept
through him at the sound of her name, finding no anger
inside him for the man in front of him. Then what Methos
had just said hit him and his eyes flew open, fixing the
older Immortal with a suspicious glare. "How did you know
about Tessa?"
Methos snorted. "Adam Pierson. Remember? Researcher
extraordinaire for the 'Methos' Project. I've read your
chronicles." He stated in a perfectly matter of fact tone
that implied there was nothing wrong with doing so.
"Besides, I was there when you met her. Tell me, do you
always pick up women in such a dramatic fashion? I thought
you only did that with men." He finished with a sly grin,
ignoring the outraged sputtering coming from the
Highlander.
MacLeod forgot his outrage and he took in the sly smile,
sorting through the rest of what the exasperating man had
said. "You were there when I.... that was you?!"
"What do you mean - what was me?" Methos snapped, cursing
his big mouth.
"I felt an Immortal that day. I thought it was Kuyler."
He caught the hooded gaze before Methos glanced away. "But
it was you, wasn't it? You were the one watching me from
the bridge. Why?"
Methos looked down, refusing to meet the questioning gaze.
Fuck, this was not how things were meant to be going.
All he'd originally wanted to do that day was see the
Highland barbarian -
throw him on the nearest flat surface
and fuck his brains out to get that crazy insane craving
out of his system before he disappeared for good. But
another Immortal had ruined his plans.
Yeah right Old
Man, keep telling yourself that and you might start to
believe it. He was a thrice-damned fool for thinking he
could get away with such an obviously idiotic plan.
Would
he never learn! Apparently not, and now he was stuck
again with the overprotective brat, because Joe had told
him that MacLeod was coming to see him about Kalas, to
protect him from the psychotic Immortal.
Now where had he
heard that before? And why had he chosen to stay? "Methos?"
The sound of his name and the gentle hand on his cheek made
him jump, and Methos found his chin raised and his gaze
captured by a pair of knowing brown eyes. Fighting a
losing battle with his unruly body, Methos flinched when
MacLeod leaned forward, the grip on his face tightening as
a pair of soft possessive lips engulfed his in a brief but
thorough kiss.
"It's okay. It doesn't matter." MacLeod soothed before he
reluctantly released the soft, warm mouth beneath his. He
had seen the trapped expression on the other man's face and
remembered from their brief time together that this man did
not like to be pressed for lengthy emotional explanations.
"Unfortunately MacLeod, it does matter." Methos replied
softly, reaching up to push an errant strand of silky hair
aside. Taking a deep, bracing breath he let his gaze fall
again to the floor, fixing it on a neutral spot between
them as he recalled that fateful day in Paris.
It had
been the beginning of summer.... when he had resigned
himself to watching the Highlander from a distance. "Well,
before you left London, it seems you'd given Nefertiri to
agent Doyle and he used his damned contacts in a most
inappropriate manner and tracked me down." Methos started,
the outrage in his voice conflicting with the laughter in
his eyes. "He told me I had been a fool to walk out on
you. He took a leaf out of your book and used blatant
sentimentality and emotional blackmail to persuade me to
make contact with you and 'give things another go' as he
termed it."
"Blatant sentimentality and emotional blackmail?" MacLeod
repeated with a laugh. "You mean he bullied you." He
stated ignoring the sour glare from the other man.
"Whatever. Do you want me to continue or do you want to
carry on with the hilarity?" Methos groused testily.
Taking MacLeod's silence as a hint to proceed Methos
started again. "Anyway, not wanting to hurt his feelings-"
he ignored the snort from his audience, "...I decided I
would at least check up on you. Make sure you hadn't
gotten yourself in trouble with any more insane Immortals.
By the way, is attracting every power-hungry psychopath a
regular thing for you? Or do you just do it on special
occasions?"
"What do you mean?"
"This penchant for crossing paths with deranged Immortals."
"You've read my Chronicles, you tell me." MacLeod replied
blandly. "Now get back to the story." He demanded, not
willing to let the other man get away with so obvious a
change of subject.
Methos muttered something about 'pushy barbarians' which
was ignored by its intended target and sighed. "Well, as
it turned out you were running true to form when I caught
up with you. Kuyler could be persistent. Then I saw you
jump off the bridge and land on the tour-barge. Do you
swing from the chandeliers as well, MacLeod?"
MacLeod chose to ignore the dig.
Failing to get a rise out of the Scot, Methos continued.
"I made my way to the next bridge and that's when I saw you
with Tessa Noel." His voice trailed off to silence as the
emotions he had experienced that warm summer day rolled
back over him. He was back on that bridge watching Duncan
charm a young, beautiful Tessa, and he knew he was too
late. He could not intrude on Duncan now and the loss hit
him in the most unexpected place - his heart. He had lost
his last chance to be with the powerful Highland child, at
least in this lifetime. So he had bidden his lover a
silent farewell, feeling for the last time the wash of
MacLeod's tantalizing Quickening when the barge passed
under his bridge.
"Why Methos? Why did you leave again? Tessa and I had
barely spoken to each other."
The urgency in MacLeod's voice startled Methos out of his
revere and he looked up. "I'm five thousand years old
MacLeod, I can recognize love at first sight when I see it.
Even at that distance." He snapped, afraid that he might
have revealed too much to the deceptively perceptive Scott.
"Really? Then it's a great pity that you didn't learn to
recognize it at closer range." MacLeod replied quietly,
leaning in and claiming the open mouth before the other
could reply or protest.
An anguished moan escaped around the skilful mouth invading
his, while a warm hand sought to worm its way beneath the
sweater he was wearing. It sent his senses spinning.
Methos shuddered at the heated sensations that the
exploring fingertips were causing in his overcharged
nerves. Abandoning the last of his excuses he gave himself
over to the waves of pleasure that were crashing through
his body, his legs spreading to slide either side of his
kneeling Highlander. Letting himself sink into the support
of the bed behind, he tilted his head back in an open
invitation to MacLeod, hoping the other would explore
further. He was disappointed when MacLeod pulled away.
MacLeod shivered at the open need that was embodied in the
eyes that pinned him, delighting in the surrender he could
feel in the slender body relaxed beneath his touch.
This
was what he had wanted, and with a last longing sweep of
his fingers across the taunt belly he broke the kiss,
sitting back on his heels. Seeing Adam - Methos - was
a shock, but now he was starting to remember his original
purpose for coming here.
Methos groaned in protest at the sudden abandonment, his
body shivering with thwarted arousal. "Fuck MacLeod, you
are a bloody tease!" He rasped between breaths, shifting
uncomfortably and trying to ignore the painful tightness in
his jeans. He threw a disgusted glare at the seemingly
calm and collected Scott. "You're a bastard. You planned
this, didn't you?" He snarled.
"Don't be stupid. I didn't even know you were here, so how
could I plan this?"
"Whatever," was the snappish reply. "So why are you here?"
Methos asked a moment later.
MacLeod knew damn well that Methos hadn't forgotten the
reason he was here, but found himself explaining anyway.
"Does the name Kalas ring any bells?" He asked, turning a
blind eye when the scowl directed at him got colder.
"Look, we need to get out of here. Kalas will know where
you live by now, and I don't want you involved in this."
MacLeod continued his voice losing all playfulness.
"MacLeod, I'm not a child. I can take care of myself."
Methos growled. He needed to distance himself from the
effects of the Highland child's overwhelming presence and
resurrect his protective shields.
"That, my dear Methos, is a fact of which I am very well
aware." MacLeod teased wanting to sooth the anger from his
companion's face. Reaching up he slid a hand along the
nape of Methos' neck and attempted to draw the other
closer.
Fighting the urge to give in, Methos forced himself to
break the clinch and half glare at the pouting Scot. "Will
you stop doing that!"
MacLeod didn't bother to answer the accusation for he knew
what he was doing. "Look, you were the one who decided to
stay here. You could have pulled another disappearing act
and left before I arrived. I know Joe rang you - Adam
Pierson - to say I was coming." MacLeod finished, placing
a pointed emphasis on the name.
Methos chose to ignore the pointed statement.
"So, let's just call a truce." MacLeod continued. "We
need to talk. But that can wait until we get out of here."
"And where would we be going?" Methos queried, casting a
suspicious glare at MacLeod. He wouldn't put it past the
barbarian to kidnap him and spirit him away somewhere.
Oh
Gods.... don't go there. Methos groaned to himself,
dismayed to find himself not entirely disliking the idea.
MacLeod smiled inwardly not fooled by the show of ire.
Standing he held his hand out to the still seated Immortal.
"Truce for now?" He offered, much preferring those
changeable eyes when they were smiling slyly at him.
Methos sighed his most resigned sigh and looked up into the
sparkling brown eyes of his erstwhile lover.
Damn it all
and to hell with category five warnings! If he was honest
with himself, this was what he wanted, at least at this
moment. Reaching up he grasped the offered hand, shivering
when his own hand was enveloped by the Scot's firm grip.
"It's just a walk Methos. You're not going to your
execution." MacLeod said, hauling the slender Immortal off
the floor.
"That's a matter of opinion." Came the muttered retort as
the older Immortal followed him from the apartment.
September 26th 1995 - evening. Paris."Methos? You found Kalas?" MacLeod studied the ancient
Immortal seeing the wet clothing even in the dim lighting
under the Tournelle Bridge. Methos looked like a drowned
rat, exhausted and breathing heavy, his sword shining dully
in the muted light and MacLeod shook his head enchanted by
the sight. He could still not believe that this man -
Adam Taylor/Pierson - was Methos.
The Methos. The man
he had fallen in love with so many years ago in London.
Nor could he believe that he had run into this man in Paris
of all places -
and that Methos had been keeping tabs on
him for sixteen years! It was enough to make him hope for
the future. Squinting as the evening mist thickened,
MacLeod studied the other man noting how Methos approached,
easily seeing the way Methos' shoulders slumped in defeat
and how his eyes reflected a strange resignation and
MacLeod found his awe turned instantly into worry.
What
had happened in the few hours since they had talked and
walked along the Seine? Had Kalas found the other man?
"Is Kalas dead?"
"What do you think!" Methos returned, lifting his sword
and swinging at MacLeod's undefended figure.
The
Highlander was far too trusting and sentimentally big-
hearted. It was a trait that would get the brat killed,
Methos decided silently. Allowing that destructive thought
to grow in his mind he swung a second time at the
unprotected Scot, noting how MacLeod jumped back before
grabbing his arm with lightening fast reflexes and
thrusting him back against the cold wall of the bridge.
The maneuver winded him, and if anything it only increased
his determination to safeguard this precious child of
Scotland. Especially after their intimate 'chat' in his
apartment.
"Why?!" MacLeod demanded in a hurt tone. He couldn't
believe this man would ever seriously attack him with no
reason.
His instincts could not be that wrong surely and
he took out his sword, turning it into the light and making
sure Methos saw its edge before raising a hand to calm the
situation.
"Why?!?" Methos spat back in disbelief and exhaustion.
"Because there can be only One!" He snarled before
attacking again, lunging forward and forcing the Scot to
defend himself.
"Adam - Methos," MacLeod gasped, easily deflecting the
blow. "Don't do this."
"I have no choice."
Hearing the words, MacLeod stared harder at the other man
wishing there was more light to see Methos' but hearing the
defeat coloring the soft baritone.
"I can't kill Kalas - I tried. And he's not the type to
give up!"
"So this is your solution?" MacLeod asked incredulously as
he blocked a series of well-angled strokes. "Kalas wants
me! He is only after you because he thinks by taking your
head he can defeat me."
"He's good." Methos admitted. "Possibly better than you."
"A risk I am willing to take."
"No." Methos decided, taking a deep breath then going
after MacLeod again with grim determined. He wanted to
force the other Immortal to fight him properly. MacLeod
was fast and strong, and Methos let himself admire the
economy of the Highlander's movements. He watched the
gracefulness, enjoying the dance and getting lost in the
thrill of facing such an expert fighter. Suddenly his mind
filled with the
images of sixteen years ago when he had
watched this man perform his kata in the gym at the
Mayfair. MacLeod was sheer poetry in motion.... Mentally
shaking himself, Methos blinked up at MacLeod and saw his
confused expression and silently said his apologies for
what he was about to do to this man's life. Then he
deliberately let one of his own strokes cut down a little
further than necessary. He covered the deception with a
gasp of surprise, playacting the moment well as he faltered
and allowed his body's momentum to carry him into the line
of MacLeod's next stroke. The maneuver worked surprisingly
well and suddenly he had the sharp edge of the katana
against his damp, clammy throat. He closed his eyes
tightly, holding his breath and feeling his long life
abruptly flash before him -
images of his joy and
regrets filled his mind and disturbingly he was shocked to
picture Duncan MacLeod's face so imprinted on his memory.
Utterly dismayed at how blind he had been, Methos sank into
the moment, surrendering completely to the surge of emotion
that rushed up to engulf him while he waited for the
finality of death. To co-exist within this magnificent
warrior suddenly became a very exciting prospect.
"Noh!" MacLeod hissed, stepping back as anger and fear
vibrated through him. Without thinking he cut down on
Methos' sword and disarmed the other man, seeing Methos
stagger under the blow while that long neck was extended
further towards him. Methos' eyes were tightly closed and
MacLeod breathed out his rage in a forceful growl, shaking
his head and glaring at the man whom he had come to
cherish. "Why!!" He spat. An intense hurt now swept up
into him his chest and he watched how Methos dropped his
head forward to sag even more in defeat.
"Because I can't take Kalas alone and I don't think you can
either. But together-"
"Noh."
"Mac - Duncan," Methos licked his lips and let his eyes
lift to look at the angry man scowling at him with such
vibrancy and with so much life and passion. "You think I
want to die after all this time? After five thousand
years?"
"Then don't do this."
"If not Kalas then it will be someone else like him."
Methos told him, his voice resigned. "I don't have the
fire, the passion anymore. The desire to win. You do.
You
want Kalas," he stressed softly in a persuasive
whisper. "And with my Quickening you can take him."
"Aye, I do want him, but noh like this."
"There is no other way, Highlander." Methos petitioned,
letting his gaze hold MacLeod's for a long moment to convey
his sincerity and convictions. "Trust me." He whispered,
slowly reaching down and taking MacLeod's sword arm to
raise it and place the cold katana blade against his throat
once more. He felt the polished steal kiss his icy skin
where MacLeod's lips had once caressed him and he shivered,
allowing his fingers to brush over MacLeod's warm hand
before meeting the Scot's confused gaze and giving him a
small affectionate smile. "Listen to me Duncan - you have
so much in front of you, so much goodness, power and love
for life that I need you to do this. For both of us. Live
Highlander. Grow stronger and fight another day."
Staring at Methos, MacLeod felt almost hypnotized, his eyes
focused on the changeable gold-green eyes while his body
was focused on the fingers embracing his own hand. Then
Methos released his hand and closed those over-bright eyes
a second time, breaking the hypnotic spell. Between them a
powerful emotion churned, locking them soul to soul for a
terrifying instant and MacLeod was so tempted to do as the
other asked, but then he remembered how final such an
action was. How devastatingly brutal.... and he winced,
knowing it could not end like this. Shaking his head
slightly MacLeod found himself automatically stepping
closer and reaching out to cup Methos' nape with his free
hand before he lowered the katana. He felt Methos exhale
sharply releasing a tense breath and MacLeod leaned forward
to rest his forehead against Methos' damp forehead,
mingling their breaths and shaking his head in answer to
the silent question. "Noh, Methos. I canna.... not like
this."
"Mac," Methos protested slightly, his pulse traitorously
speeding up at the unlooked for intimacy and he lifted his
lashes to stare at the man so close. He could taste
MacLeod's breath, could feel his warmth and smell his
distinctive scent all around him and Methos laughed weakly
at his own erratic thoughts and responses. "I would have
killed you-"
"Noh." MacLeod informed him knowingly. "You would have
made another mistake and let me take your head." He slid
his fingers further up into Methos' damp hair and smiled,
then leaned forward and lightly kissed the open mouth when
Methos gaped at him bemused. "Or are you forgetting that I
do know you."
"You know nothing about me," Methos started, totally
disconcerted by the Highlander's boldness, then his
surprise turned into confusion when MacLeod started to
frisk him expertly. "MacLeod!" He spluttered as the
Highlander found firstly his concealed gun and then his
pocketknife. He saw the Scot send him a look of mock
reprimand and narrowed his own gaze, daring the man to
comment. In another time or place he would have at least
carried a second blade or even a third but at this point in
his life he had not expected trouble.
Had not expected to
find Kalas waiting for him so soon. Slack, he was
definitely out of practice. "I know more about you than you give me credit for."
MacLeod returned, dropping the confiscated items into his
coat pocket. Then he reached over and patted down the
front of Methos' damp coat.
"Do you mind!"
"Noh." MacLeod said simply before dragging Methos closer
by his coat collars and smiling smugly when the other gave
him a harassed glare. "I think its time we took this
discussion inside." Saying that he gave Methos a shove
towards the barge which was docked only a short distance
away.
"MacLeod, I'm warning you-"
"Shut up and walk." Glancing around in the fog MacLeod
hurriedly got them into the barge, ignoring the muttered
curses while he switched on the interior light and closed
the door. It was going to be a cold night and he wanted to
light the fire and get his unexpected guest out of those
wet clothes. "By the way, how'd you get so wet?" He asked
off handedly, noting that Methos had not moved from his
position at the bottom of the entry steps. Last time he
had seen this man, he been bone dry and safely on his way
home -
away from the Seine River. "I went for a swim. Courtesy of Kalas."
"I see," MacLeod said, reaching over to tug on Methos'
coat, dragging it off the other man and not missing how
Methos shivered in reaction to the drop in temperature.
"I see your manners haven't improved." Methos grumbled
half-heartedly.
"And I see you still haven't learnt to trust me." MacLeod
shot back, turning to hang their coats by the door.
"What?" Methos asked in mock confusion. He glanced around
at the interior of the tastefully decorated barge. Somehow
the elegance and earthy feel of the place fitted all his
fantasies and impressions about this man perfectly. "So
what now Highlander? Do we wait here for Kalas to show up
or do we-"
"You," MacLeod said breaking into the cynical tones.
"..you are going to sit down and tell me why you didn't
tell me the truth in London."
"Truth?" Methos repeated sarcastically while he watched
MacLeod amble down the steps and brush past him to go and
kneel down in front of the open fireplace and light the
tinder. He could tell this was going to turn into a long
night and he wasn't sure he had the energy left to fight
Duncan MacLeod's stubborn personality, so he glanced
tiredly away. He felt a little disconcerted by how quickly
his plans had been changed, at how swiftly his world had
been turned upside down and at how desperately his
treacherous heart wanted to accept the wordless offer of
friendship from Duncan MacLeod. Seeing MacLeod again had
been exciting - too exciting - for he had forgotten how
beautiful the Highlander was in person as compared to the
glossy photographs he had seen of this man in Watcher
headquarters. He'd forgotten how devastating MacLeod's
Quickening was, how it impacted on his senses, how
erotically powerful Duncan was, how exhilaratingly sexy and
dynamic the Highland child looked and
how he wanted him.
Burying that need deep, Methos shivered in unconscious
acknowledgment of his weak resolve.
The thrill, the
passion, the wildness of having this man focus his entire
attention on him for a single second was...."You're wet."
Blinking when that sultry accent brought him back to the
present with a jolt, Methos found that MacLeod was standing
closer than he remembered. Involuntarily he could not
suppress a second shiver and cursed his hungry responses.
Trying to cover the lapse Methos lifted his lashes and
tried to frown at the gorgeous man studying him, wanting to
tell MacLeod to back off. But the words died on his lips
when MacLeod reached forward and started to undo his belt
buckle. "Duncan," Methos started, his protest coming out
like a strangled cry of pleasure instead of a reproach.
"I won't allow you to die!" MacLeod hissed back suddenly,
feeling the despondency surrounding Methos and seeing
clearly the exhaustion and defeat permeating this
tantalizing man's aura. If anything that attitude angered
him even more and he savagely yanked the belt loose and
pulled it out of Methos' jeans tabs.
Why hadn't he seen
this when he'd found Methos in his apartment earlier?
Because the damn older man was an expert at wearing
masks.... "Allow-" Methos gasped, stunned when MacLeod stripped him
of his belt. He wanted to find some semblance of anger,
some valid protest, but again he lost the upper hand when
MacLeod glared at him determinedly. It was a beautiful,
seductive sight designed to melt his resistance and he
groaned in fear and anticipation.
"I won't let you commit suicide!" MacLeod hissed a second
time, clutching the belt in his hand painfully hard before
throwing it across the room in frustration. After living
for five thousand years it scared him to think that
this
incredible man would now give up life in order to protect
him from Kalas. It was an irrational rage, but MacLeod
let it flow through him, seeing Methos shiver again when he
growled out his displeasure a third time. He tried to
banish the image of Methos lying dead at his feet or at
Kalas' feet
. Noh! He would not allow that to happen and
he freely acknowledged that
yes he did love this man, had
loved him from the first moment he'd met him in London -
and
noh - he would not let one egotistical Immortal
bastard separate them again! He had lost so much, too
much, already that
he could not lose.... "Noh!" MacLeod
breathed, sucking in a ragged breath. "I will noh let yew
kill yewrself. Not over Kalas!!"
"Wow," Methos mouthed stunned. He held perfectly still,
putting up little resistance as MacLeod stood before him
and literally shook with rage. The image was a powerful
turn-on and he lifted his eyes to study Duncan's face,
frowning slightly when he read the underlying emotions
behind the fiercely whispered words and dangerous
expression.
Desire and love? Methos felt his own eyes
widen in shock at how easily he recognized the driving
emotions, finding that his own mind, body and heart
mirrored the dangerous emotions. It was like a potent drug
and he blinked dazed, lost utterly and he swayed closer to
this alluring Highland barbarian.
"You will noh die. Not because of me."
Sighing Methos closed his eyes, breaking the spell between
them with effort and re-gathering his chaotic thoughts.
Think friendship.... Then suddenly he felt large, warm
hands start to pull his damp shirt free of his jeans and he
snapped his eyes open wanting to glare at the presumptuous
Scot. "Mac - Duncan - you cannot fight my battles for
me. You cannot protect me. Or any of us for that matter.
We each must decide our own path-"
"Aye," MacLeod breathed, his hands stilling on the damp
shirt, feeling Methos steady strong heart beat through the
layers of damp clothing. "I let you chose your own path
last time and look where it got us. I can't live like
this." He whispered, begging Methos to understand. He
could read the fears in the slender Immortal, and prayed he
would be given a new chance and he let his eyes, body
language and smile convey his honest emotions. "Don't
answer yet," he added, watching Methos stare at him bemused
and lost. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes and
warmed up before we both say any more."
Sighing heavily Methos wasn't sure if he was relieved or
disappointed that he was saved from admitting the awful
truth, but instead he lowered his eyes and nodded minutely.
For sixteen years he had purposely stood back and observed
Duncan MacLeod's life from a discreet distance, watching
him silently and envying him the loves he had found, then
grieving over the losses. But never once did he permit
himself to think or believe that Duncan would remember him,
telling himself that it had only been a few days of
temporary insanity, a brief interlude brought on by stress
and pressure.
But now.... now he was both gratified and
terrified to see the longing reflected in MacLeod's warm
brown eyes and to find his own desires were so easily
rekindled.
"Move," MacLeod ordered gently, not missing the confusion
in the hazel eyes when he tried to lighten the atmosphere
between them with affectionate humor. Last thing he wanted
was to scare Methos off. Shepherding the complaint man
into his small bathroom, MacLeod caught the stark paleness
of Methos skin in the harsh bathroom light and was again
reminded of the deep exhaustion permeating Methos' system.
"Are you going to help here, or do I have to do all the
work?" He asked lightly while starting to unbutton Methos'
damp shirt.
"Alright," Methos muttered. "Enough with the caveman
routine." He stopped the Scot's hands, pushing them aside
and tried to send the other man a disproving glare. "Do
you have something I can change into, or am I to parade
around here naked?"
"Now there's a thought." MacLeod muttered, sending Methos
a mock leer before leaving the bathroom.
Feeling his jaw drop, Methos glared at the closed bathroom
door, feeling bereft at being suddenly alone in the small
room. Closing his eyes he battled to regain his lost
equilibrium, exhaling strongly and dragging his mind back
to the main objective.
He didn't want to die, but if he
had to face Kalas again he would. Unless.... and he shook
his head to dismiss the idea. Vanishing now
should be
his main goal, but leaving Duncan would be harder than what
it had been sixteen years ago. Surrendering his head was
no longer an option, and he cursed under his breath,
feeling stupid and disorientated by the last few torrid
hours of fighting and drowning.
Was he losing his mind?
Roughly he ran a hand up into his drying hair and groaned,
then yanked the shirt free of his jeans and started to
strip. Regardless of what his body and heart wanted, his
mind screamed caution and he knew that staying in MacLeod's
presence would just expose him to other Immortals like
Kalas and that in the end it could kill them both.
That
was the reason why he had left the first time.... he
reminded himself pointedly. Unzipping his jeans he heeled
off his soggy runners and pulled the T-shirt off over his
head and threw it on the floor.
Seeing MacLeod had been a
calculated risk, but facing Kalas had been a mistake. And
the consequent encounter with Kalas had done little to aid
his irrational thinking, except push him over the edge into
a dangerous exhaustion where impulses took over. One such
impulse had been to
give his head to the Highlander....
"Shit," he whispered, wondering why his life always got so
complicated.
Yet hadn't Ray Doyle told him to face his
fears and to go and see MacLeod? But he doubted Ray had
envisioned this scenario and he let a small smile form just
imagining how Ray would roll his eyes up in exasperation.
Thinking about the ex-CI5 man he turned on the shower and
gratefully stepped under the hot spray hoping that with the
heat his rational thinking would also return. Only his
mind traitorously returned to the image of Duncan when the
man had scowled at him with such open longing and desire.
Turning his face up into the hot spray, Methos groaned,
letting the Highlander's presence surround him and giving
in to the sweep of pleasure while he let the hot spray
drown his numb senses.
"Are you trying to drown a second time?"
Snapping his eyes open, Methos blinked the water from his
vision, not having sensed MacLeod's approach and he stared
at the Scot stunned.
He was positive he was going to lose
more than his mind now.... then a towel was thrust at him
when MacLeod turned the water off and Methos knew he was
gaping in disbelief at the man watching him so patiently.
"I was trying to relax," he tried to say with confidence,
confusion assaulting him again when MacLeod only held out a
glass.
How long had he stood under the hot spray? Five
minutes?? Ten?? "Then try this." MacLeod suggested, waiting for Methos to
accept the balloon glass of brandy before he backed away.
Being this close to Methos hurt for he wanted to shake some
sense into him, but then he also wanted to grab him and
hold him until the other man agreed never to leave.
Totally bewildered, Methos glanced down at the glass in his
hand then back up at the closed bathroom door and wondered
what he had missed now.
Pacing angrily into the kitchen area, MacLeod cursed under
his breath, his eyes darting around the dim interior of the
barge and seeing nothing but hopelessness beckoning.
Restlessly he went back to the fire and added a few more
pieces of wood, stirring the embers and praying for
patience while he waited for Methos to re-emerge from the
bathroom.
Methos - Adam - Methos - when he thought
about it logically he was not surprised, in fact thinking
back he remembered how he had almost gotten this
tantalizing being to admit his name in a vulnerable moment.
His eyes suddenly lost focus and he remembered
the first
night they had spent together.... Yet the name made
little difference for he had fallen in love with the man
and MacLeod closed his eyes, opening them a moment later
when he heard the bathroom door whisper open and steam
herald his guests reappearance. Methos exited and MacLeod
stared shamelessly noting how the dark towel was dropped on
the floor and how Methos picked up the few items of
clothing he had left on the bed. He watched how
economically Methos dressed, each movement flowing and
graceful as the pale limbs were systematically covered and
MacLeod had to look away, dropping his head down to stare
into the bright fire before him.
It would be so easy to
rekindle the love, and he sighed, waiting poised to see
whether Methos would allow him the chance to try.
"So...."
Sucking in a steadying breath, MacLeod plastered on a
friendly smile to cover his nervousness and apprehension
then lifted his head to look at the man standing only a few
feet away. Briefly he caught a glimpse of regret, fear and
nervousness in the wide hazel eyes before Methos narrowed
his gaze and MacLeod suppressed a tiny flare of hope. He'd
seen that same expression sixteen years ago and remembered
that even back then it had hidden a precious, bruised soul
that was scared to reach out. "I don't want you going near
Kalas." MacLeod stated, deciding the best place to start
would be on the non-personal issues.
"Going near Kalas wasn't my first choice, trust me."
Methos returned while he folded his arms and looked away
from the kneeling Scot.
It was too tempting a sight.
"But he now knows I exist and that is a dangerous piece of
knowledge."
"I take it he also knows where you live?" MacLeod asked as
he slowly stood and walked towards his guest.
"Bright boy."
"So you'll have to stay here tonight."
Pinning the Highlander with a distrusted look, Methos tried
to read behind the warm smile directed at him, and gave up
when MacLeod walked past him to go into the spacious
kitchen area. "I don't think that's wise."
"Why?"
Turning to stare at the Scot in exasperation, Methos let
his expression answer him. "Oh, let me think if I can
recall what happened the last time you talked me into
staying with you."
"I regret none of it."
"Of course you wouldn't!" Methos quipped sarcastically.
He felt better talking about the past like it was a dead
topic.
Safer. "But then you weren't the one tortured
and killed-"
"I wasn't talking about that." MacLeod informed him as he
moved back towards his stubborn friend.
"Then you have a very selective memory."
"Adam - Methos," MacLeod started again before he reached
out and curled his fingers into a fist when Methos
predictably stepped back out of reach. "If I could have
stopped McKellen then I would have. You know that!" He
snapped.
"That's comforting," Methos found himself saying
automatically and wishing he could bite his tongue when
MacLeod's expression darkened.
"I won't let the same happen with Kalas!"
"Shit," Methos breathed, not wanting this discussion. He
held up his hands to forestall the arguments. "Listen-"
"Is that why you left me?" MacLeod demanded, his voice
dropping down and becoming suddenly gruff. "Because I
failed to protect you from McKellen?"
"No," Methos started to protest giving up at maintaining a
distance between them as he felt himself hit the back of
the lounge. Instead he captured MacLeod's searching hands
and imprisoned them in his own, shaking his head gently.
"Wrong choice of words." He whispered. "I never blamed
you for McKellen, just like I would never blame you for
Kalas. If he comes after me again then it will be my
fight, not yours. Understand this MacLeod. You cannot
protect everyone. You could not protect Fitzcairn from
Kalas - he made the choice to fight. Just as I will."
"Not if I find Kalas first!" MacLeod whispered back
fiercely. "You know about Fitz?"
"I'm a Watcher. Well a researcher," Methos amended, giving
the Scot a small, soft smile. It gentled the tension
between them and he felt MacLeod relax under his hands.
Slowly he released his hold on the large warm hands and was
only mildly surprised to feel MacLeod entwine their
fingers.
"You are also exhausted."
"Dying a couple of times from drowning has that effect."
Methos admitted, dropping his gaze to focus on the
possessive fingers embracing his own.
Light and dark,
velvet and steel and he closed his eyes remembering too
easily the cherished past.
"Stay," MacLeod breathed, inching closer and lightly
brushing his lips over Methos' hair covered forehead. He
smelt the soap and brandy, and MacLeod inhaled deeply,
remembering how Adam - Methos -
smelt of the sun
warmed earth after rain and so glad that he could now
absorb that heady scent again. Instantly he was aroused
and MacLeod released his breath with difficulty seeing how
Methos' eyes had darkened to a vivid green.
"Mac-"
"Can't you feel it?"
Holding MacLeod's gaze Methos studied the other man's
sincere expression and felt his own heart constrict with
the same desires. "I have always felt it," he admitted in
a moment of pure honesty.
Relieved and scared, MacLeod reached forward and kissed the
parted lips, delighted when he was met with no hesitation
and he found his mind instantly transported back to the
morning. Just like sixteen years ago, the kisses he had
taken were devastating from this extraordinary man.
The
desire heartfelt and genuine and he again savored the
thrill of tasting that elusive quality that filled his
senses and mind with such longing. How long they stayed
like that MacLeod didn't know, but he eventually pulled
back from the intense sharing to find they were no longer
standing apart - his fingers were now threaded in Methos'
soft hair while his other hand pressed them closer.
"This is insane," Methos muttered lifting a hand to
separate them, sweeping his fingers along MacLeod's cheek
before fingering a strand of long, dark curling hair.
"Not as insane as you walking out again would be."
"Mac-"
"At least stay the night." MacLeod asked, petitioning with
his eyes. "No obligations, no promises...."
Stepping back, Methos moved away from the lounge and
regarded the other man.
How he wanted to accept the
offer, to experience the fire and he found he was nodding
without realizing it. Then he was instantly swept up into
another fierce embrace and he laughed, hearing MacLeod echo
the emotion and allowing himself to give in to the
irrational desires. His hands immediately caressed up
MacLeod's broad back, his fingers buried in the long thick
hair, where all the warmth, strength and vitality of this
magnificent warrior seemed to be mirrored. Yet oddly he
felt utterly safe, a rare condition and he remembered how
MacLeod had made him feel this safe in the past, and he
gave up protesting completely. "You are unbelievable.
Totally irrational, and undoubtedly insane-"
"But you love me none the less." MacLeod finished for him,
seeing how Methos' eyes widened and how the startling truth
of that was clear to see before the lashes fell masking the
emotion.
"You are a brat," Methos spluttered, feeling his cheeks
warm and frowning harder at the presumptuous Scot.
"I'll take that as a yes." MacLeod grinned, very pleased
with himself now. After all the years of fear and
uncertainty in losing this man by a cruel twist of Fate he
was now starting to appreciate that the separation had
changed nothing. If anything it had strengthened his
feelings and he idly wondered what the last sixteen years
had been like for Methos. He had been blessed with finding
Tessa, then Anne and Amanda and he suddenly frowned,
remembering what Joe had told him about Adam Pierson.
Adam had worked in the Watchers for ten years.... so had
Methos avoided him because he had found Tessa? Was that
why the other man had stayed away from him for so long?
Abruptly it all started to make a weird type of 'Adam'
sense and he tightened his hold on the slender Immortal
captured in his arms. "Please promise me that you won't
disappear again as soon as I take Kalas."
Breaking MacLeod's firm hold, Methos backed up a step and
searched the Highlander's dark, troubled gaze. Reaching up
and cupping MacLeod's face in his hands, his thumbs
caressed the full lips even while he shook his head. "This
type of relationship is too dangerous."
"I'm sick of being safe." MacLeod whispered hoarsely.
"Life is too short, even for us, to simply ignore how we
feel. Don't walk away again, Methos. Please...."
"Mac I can't promise the impossible-"
"I'm not asking you to." MacLeod told him earnestly.
"Just don't leave without telling me why. Without saying
goodbye. Without giving me the option to follow or a way
to at least contact you."
Closing his eyes firmly, Methos tried to deny how those
words tugged at his heart and his resolve, but he couldn't
banish his own needs and desires where Duncan MacLeod was
concerned. "Duncan-"
"Surely I am not asking the unacceptable?" MacLeod asked,
his tone breaking slightly.
"No. But-"
"Then what is the problem?"
"The Watchers will know." Methos offered. "They'll
relocate me after this attack. After what Kalas has
already done."
Nodding, MacLeod remembered all that Joe Dawson had told
him and not told him about the secretive Watcher
Organization and he let his eyes fall shut.
Seeing the expression of despair, Methos came to an
impulsive decision, reaching out to touch MacLeod's chest
very softly with his fingers. "But, I could ring you.
Keep in contact-"
"Anything." Mac responded, lifting his lashes suddenly and
feeling the first stirrings of hope in his heart. "Just
don't walk away again without a word."
"Alright." Methos agreed feeling buoyant by his decision.
This was dangerous, but he didn't care. "In that case I
should probably go and-"
"No." MacLeod said instantly. "Stay the night. Please?"
He interjected. "No pressure, just sleep. Then in the
morning we can decide what to do about Kalas."
"If you're sure...." Methos trailed off.
"Positive."
Letting his hand drop Methos nodded, suddenly very tired,
feeling both defeat and exhaustion rise up to swamp him and
knowing that MacLeod could read him expertly. Again he
felt both honored and cherished that this man would put his
concerns before anything else and he almost capitulated to
his baser desires that
whispered to hell with the Watcher
Organization. But that would place them both in
unwarranted danger.
"Get into bed," MacLeod urged, watching Methos absently
amble up to the sleeping area and stare down at the bed.
He didn't want to know what convoluted ideas and objections
were now forming in that ancient mind and MacLeod wondered
how many sacrifices Methos had made over his long life in
order to survive.
How lonely such an isolated existence
could be and he silently vowed to correct that situation.
He trusted his own skill well enough to protect them both
and prayed Methos would eventually come to trust him like
he already trusted the older Immortal. Locking up the
barge for the night he switched off all the lights, leaving
the barge illuminated only by the fire burning in the
hearth and one bedside lamp. Quietly he went to the bed
and stopped behind Methos, seeing the other jump as if
Methos had just woken from a dream to become aware of
another's presence. "You need sleep," MacLeod encouraged,
reaching over to fleetingly caress a finger down Methos'
neck to shoulder. Then just as quickly he stripped off his
own clothes, placing them over a chair before getting into
bed and holding the bed covers up in open invitation.
Watching the display before him, Methos slowly sat down on
the mattress, positive this was not wise but pushing all
regrets aside while he gave in to his wants and his bone-
deep exhaustion. To just relinquish control for a short
while would be wonderful and he stripped off his borrowed
clothing and slid into the coolness of Duncan MacLeod's
bed.
For one night he could pretend that they were safe,
that nothing else mattered. That the Watchers didn't exist
and that Kalas was only a figment of his over worked
imagination. Turning on his side MacLeod pulled Methos closer,
snuggling up to his side, sharing body warmth, inhaling
sharply when the glide of skin against skin ignited so much
pleasure. He was entwining their limbs without knowing it,
reaching down to capture the open mouth of his lover
without thought and finding that nothing but acceptance
welcomed him. Strong fingers threaded into his loose hair,
a muscled thigh slid over his hip, sending a shiver of
delight along every nerve ending. The kiss deepened, the
urgency replaced by a gentle reaffirmation of the intimacy
that already existed between them while their bodies molded
together so easily. Both comforting and exciting.
"You said sleep," Methos murmured, his breath shuddering in
his chest as he watched the Highlander lean over him and
devour him with passion darkened eyes.
Such beauty,
rendering him so helpless that he arched up in unconscious
response to the wordless questions asked in the velveteen
brown gaze.
Oh yes, he would give this man everything
eventually. So why fight the inevitable? "Aye." MacLeod acknowledged, pleased with the instinctive
response he received to his silent questions. "You need
sleep." Gently he reached down and kissed Methos temple,
lingering over the contact, muttering a Gaelic vow while
his lips feathered over dry skin. "In the morning we will
talk more."
Barely catching the muttered words, Methos closed his eyes,
replaying the sound of the Gaelic phrases and the emotion
behind the tone over in his mind a few more times. It
sounded suspiciously like an old Scottish betrothal vow and
he felt stunned by that, defenseless in this man's
consuming presence, instinctively curling in on himself and
never realizing when his waking thoughts turned into dream
images.
Feeling Methos' limbs grow heavy in his embrace, MacLeod
carefully turned the other man on to his side so he was
resting more comfortably. He heard Methos sigh, then
mutter in his sleep and he watched fascinated how Methos'
face relaxed and MacLeod was again swept with the
impression of how young this man looked with no masks.
An
ancient mind forever caught in a young man's body.
Impulsive, vulnerable.... yet so jaded and cynical. It
was one of the reasons why the man brought out every one of
his protective instincts, even though he knew it was
probably unnecessary. Still, he wanted to shelter him and
MacLeod leaned up on an elbow and carefully turned off the
bedside light. Dimness enshrouded the barge and he looked
down at the man sleeping in his arms, his heart melting all
over again as the warmth of the firelight highlighted
Methos' high cheek bones, lashes and longish hair. In the
quiet moments like this he could embrace the concepts of
forever and he settled a hand over a pale shoulder, sliding
his fingers down until he could cradle one of Methos'
curled hands. Rarely had he been happier and MacLeod
shifted closer to his charge, watching Methos sleep and
preparing himself to stay awake all night if necessary to
safeguard this man's slumber. He wanted to burn this
memory into his brain, to drink in the perfection of the
moment while he held this strangely defenseless yet
powerful Immortal in his arms.
Before him now stretched a future of endless possibilities
and MacLeod smiled.
He could live with
that-- THE END --
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