by C.L. Finn

The world's oldest living Immortal parked his rental car and pulled his duffel-bag and backpack out of the back seat. He stood in the parking lot and stared up at the four-story red brick building, and was annoyed to find himself smiling. He'd spent the past six-months traveling and trying to make some decisions about his life, but he found himself inexplicably drawn here-- to this place. Well, not to this place, but to Duncan.

Methos sighed and made his way up the back stairs to the loft. Not feeling the presence of any Immortals, he surmised that Duncan was out so he dug the spare key that Duncan loaned him the last time he was in town out of his pocket. He'd never managed to give it back. Methos let himself into the loft, dropped his duffel-bag near the coat rack, and hung his coat up.

"Please let there be beer in the fridge," Methos muttered to himself as he headed for the kitchen. He dropped his back-pack on the counter and opened the fridge. To his delight, there was a full six-pack-- of his favorite brand no less.

"Damn boy scout... he's always prepared," he laughed and took a bottle out, throwing the cap on top of the fridge.

Methos leaned up against the counter and took a long drink from the beer, looking around the loft. He liked this place-- it was homey, yet quintessentially Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Everything in the loft fit him, each piece of furniture and each bit of art or knick-knack, was a piece of Duncan's history and had his personality firmly imprinted on it. It had been a long time since Methos lived in a place that truly felt like home, that reflected him. The only things of real importance to him were his books and journals, everything else he usually chose simply to reflect his current incarnation. Adam Pierson's apartment had been filled with cold, impersonal modern art and furniture-- very little color or warmth. Not like this loft-- it was extremely warm and comfortable.

Wondering where Duncan had gone off to, Methos wandered around the loft restlessly. He wasn't really snooping, but he glanced over the papers and letters on Duncan's desk. He'd cut himself off from the Watcher network when he left Paris after Jacob Golatti's death, so he had no idea what the Highlander had been up to. He had logged onto the computer network just long enough to find out that Duncan had indeed come back to Seacouver, but that was all he really knew. Methos picked up a flyer advertising a sail-boat for sale and grimaced-- he couldn't figure out why the Highlander liked boats so much.

Israel, Italy, Greece, Nepal and Tibet-- Methos had wandered endlessly for the past few months trying to re-center himself. Ever since Duncan MacLeod had walked into his life, things had begun to change. The careful, safe life he had built for himself as Adam Pierson, mild-mannered Watcher, had begun to crumble. He'd cut himself off from the world of Immortality, and if he was honest, the world in general. But since he'd known Duncan, he had found himself being pulled back into that world bit by bit. He found himself becoming involved-- caring. It was impossible to be around the Highlander and not be pulled into his causes-- he was absolutely infectious that way.

The easy thing, Methos told himself, would be to simply disappear and cut MacLeod out of his life. But for some unfathomable reason, he couldn't do that. Duncan MacLeod was like a magnet, irresistibly pulling Methos into his orbit again and again. He knew part of the reason for his irresistible attraction was physical, not spiritual, but he also knew it was more than that. Somehow, deep down, he felt he had a purpose, a cosmic connection to MacLeod that made it important that he stay around. He wished he had the answers, but Methos had learned millennia ago that the workings of the universe revealed themselves in their own time. For now, Methos was just tired of thinking and searching for answers. His travels had left him exhausted, and somehow lonelier than he was before.

"For god's sake, stop brooding," Methos told himself. "It doesn't get you anywhere." He finished off his beer and tossed the bottle in the trash, then grabbed a second one. Wandering to the stereo, he pulled one of Duncan's jazz C.D.s out and popped it in, then pulled his shoes off and stretched out on the bed. Might as well relax until Duncan showed up, he thought. It didn't take long for Methos to fall into a deep, contented sleep on Duncan's soft bed, only to be awakened an hour later by the presence of an Immortal and the sound of the elevator.

"Sometimes I don't get you, Mac," Richie said, shaking his head.

"Sometimes I just don't get you at all." With that, the young man turned and walked out of the dojo, leaving a very confused Immortal in his wake.

*What the hell is going on?* Duncan asked himself. Richie suddenly decided to walk the way of peace and non-violence. Worse than that, he was claiming that it was Methos who was teaching him this nonsense. Duncan suddenly wondered if he hadn't stepped through the looking glass, into a different reality. None of it made sense, and on top of everything, he was extremely annoyed at letting Culbraith slip through his fingers. He didn't intend to let that happen again.

Duncan closed the elevator door down and engaged the motor before he felt the sensation of another Immortal above him. *Damn* he thought, *just what I need.* As the elevator rose to the top and he lifted the gate door, he looked across the dark loft and found that he wasn't terribly surprised at who was there. Methos. Of course, he was there-- Richie had just told Duncan that he was in town.

As he stepped into the room, looking at the ancient Immortal who was lounging in Duncan's bed, looking quite at home, Duncan felt himself assaulted by memories of the dreams he'd had months earlier. When he returned to Seacouver, Duncan had a series of extremely erotic dreams about the older Immortal, and had struggled to come to terms with them and what they meant. Now he was faced with the object of those dreams, draped comfortably across his bed. It was so bizarre, he had to struggle not to start laughing at the situation.

"Hey, grab a beer," Methos said, looking up from the bed. "There's a cold one in the fridge."

"Yeah, I know," Duncan answered, advancing toward Methos, "it's my fridge." He watched the ancient Immortal, who looked incredibly at home, and quite pleased with himself. Suddenly, his past fantasies didn't hold a candle to the current irritation he felt over what had happened with Culbraith and Richie, and with Methos' part in it.

"I thought you were off wandering the world?" Duncan asked.

"Oh, Tibet," Methos said. "Yak butter plays hell with the digestion. Besides, I had about all the enlightenment I could use."

"Maybe you should have kept it to yourself," Duncan said, growing more irritated by the minute. He grabbed the stereo remote from Methos' hand and went over to shut the music off.

"Sorry, I must have dozed off," Methos said, sitting up. "What is it we're talking about?"

"All that crock you're feeding Richie," Duncan answered.

"Right," Methos said, looking confused, "and what crock would that be exactly?"

"Oh you know... stop fighting, lay down your sword, give peace a chance. Ring a bell?"

"Wow," Methos said, sitting up and grabbing his shoes. He got one of those smug grins on his face that irritated Duncan more than anything. "So he's here, is he?"

"Who's here?" Duncan asked.

"The other Methos," he answered with a grin. He got up from the bed with his shoes and headed into the kitchen, leaving a very confused Highlander in his wake. *Terrific,* Duncan thought, *one of them is enough.*

Several days later--

"Hello!" Methos called, coming in the side door to the loft. He was carrying a large pizza box and a grocery bag.

"What's that?" Duncan asked, looking up from his book.

"Pizza and beer," Methos said, smiling. "I thought I'd buy dinner."

"Why is it, when you buy dinner it's beer and pizza and when I buy dinner it's significantly more expensive?" Duncan asked, sarcastically.

"All a part of my charm," Methos smiled and plopped the pizza box down on the low table in front of Duncan's couch. "Where's Richie? I thought he'd still be here."

"He left," Duncan said. He got up to grab a towel from the kitchen and placed it under the pizza box, then he took a beer from Methos. "He's going off in search of answers."

"Ah," Methos nodded, "<with> his sword I hope." He opened the pizza box and took out a piece, then leaned back in the couch comfortably to eat.

"Why am I the only one who doesn't need to go off in search of enlightenment?" Duncan asked, picking up his own piece of pizza.

"Because MacLeod," Methos' voice dripped with sarcasm, "you are already soooo enlightened."

Duncan snorted in laughter. He wasn't in the mood to get into a verbal sparring match with Methos at the moment, so he dropped the subject. He sat back in the chair and watched Methos struggling with his pizza. He'd gotten extra cheese, and it was coming off his piece in strings, which he was twisting around on his tongue and trying to keep from ending up on his shirt. Watching him, Duncan suddenly had visions of all those dreams he'd had about Methos a few months earlier.

The dreams he'd had while Methos was gone were very disturbing, but Duncan had reconciled himself to the fact that he had feelings for Methos. Well, now the ancient Immortal was here-- camping on Duncan's couch. While he was dealing with Richie and the Methos impostor the past few days, he hadn't thought much about the dreams, but now everything had settled down and they were alone.

Duncan promised himself that when Methos showed up again, he'd face the situation. He had to find out what these feelings were about-- and whether Methos felt the same. Problem was-- now that he was faced with it, Duncan was utterly terrified of it.

"So MacLeod," Methos began with a devilish smile, "Joe tells me you have been Immortalized in literature."

"Well, I wouldn't call it literature," Duncan grumbled. He'd have to kill Joe for sharing that bit of information-- he knew this was not something Methos would drop.

"I'm gonna have to go out and buy me a copy first thing tomorrow-- you will autograph it for me, won't you?" Methos grinned and picked up another piece of pizza. "So how much trouble did Amanda get you into while she was here?"

"No more than usual," Duncan smiled fondly. "Just a few thefts, explosions, sword-fights, credit-card bills-- you know, the usual."

Duncan went on to tell Methos all about Carolyn Marsh and her books, and then Cory Raines and his schemes. Methos gave Duncan the travel-bureau version of his journeys over the past few months-- where he'd been, how the places had changed, what he'd eaten. But he told nothing of what he'd gotten personally out of the trip, or of any decisions he might have made. The two men chatted comfortably and laughed while they finished off the pizza and nearly two six-packs of beer.

When the pizza was gone, Duncan got up to throw the box away and get another beer, grabbing the last one for Methos at the same time. He handed him the beer and sat back down in his chair, when a thought occurred to him.

"Methos?" he asked. "I was curious. That guy you told me about-- Alejandro Spinoza-- he was a friend of yours wasn't he?"

The older Immortal's face darkened a bit and Duncan suddenly was sorry that he'd asked-- but he had been curious. There was very little he actually knew about Methos, and this whole experience with the impostor had made him more curious than ever about Methos' life.

"I guess you could say that," Methos said and stood up from the couch. He walked over to the window and stared out at the fading sunlight, taking a long swig of beer. "He was a lover," he finally said, simply.

"What?" Duncan said, surprised. Well, it answered one of his questions. Methos didn't go on, so Duncan prodded him. "Is that what the Inquisition went after him for?"

"No," Methos shook his head absently and smiled ironically. "He was a Converso. They were much more interested in how he prayed than in whom he slept with. He was baptized, went to Mass regularly, paid dues to the Church, ate pork in public-- but they came after him. He refused to say that he didn't still practice Judaism in secret, so they tortured and killed him."

"I'm sorry," Duncan said, standing up to join him at the window. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No," Methos said, shaking his head emphatically. "It's okay. I used him to make a point-- I owe you the whole story. After they killed him, they came after his daughters." Methos turned back to the window and closed his eyes, as if trying to block out the memories.

"What happened?" Duncan asked quietly, not sure he wanted to know.

Methos took another drink of his beer and took a deep breath. His face became as impassive as usual and his voice flat and cold as he told the rest. "I tried to protect them. The soldiers killed me, then they took the girls. They both died after being tortured-- had to live up to their father's example." Methos added the last bit with disgust.

"Methos," Duncan said softly, putting his hand on the older Immortal's back.

"Like I said, MacLeod," Methos said, not moving away from Duncan's touch, "integrity doesn't get you much when you're dead."

Duncan opened his mouth to argue the point, but decided better of it. He suspected that Alejandro would have argued the same-- that living wasn't worth much if you didn't stand up for what you believed. However, it was clear that the whole discussion was too painful for Methos at the moment, so Duncan kept his mouth shut. But wanting to do something he used the hand he still had resting on Methos' back to pull the older Immortal to him in an embrace. Methos stiffened for a second, then leaned into the embrace, allowing Duncan to comfort him.

After a minute Duncan pulled back, and Methos looked into his eyes with a question. Before Duncan could even think about what he was doing, he leaned forward and kissed Methos tenderly on the mouth. It was a soft, friendly kiss, but it was also electric, and Duncan felt a surge of warmth blossom out from the kiss through his body. Methos pulled back and looked at Duncan strangely, with his brow furrowed.

"What was that for?" he asked, almost as an accusation.

"I don't know," Duncan smiled and shrugged. "I just wanted to."

"Why?" Methos' eyes narrowed with suspicion as he examined Duncan's face.

"Why not?" Duncan answered, exasperated. Methos' face softened a bit, so he tentatively reached out and cupped Methos' cheek, pulling him back to his lips. Methos acquiesced, and soon the kiss became more intimate. Methos opened his mouth to Duncan's tongue and wrapped his arms around the Highlander's back. Duncan sighed inwardly, surprised that it felt so good, so natural. After months of dreaming about this-- obsessing over it-- he couldn't believe he was here, in Methos' arms, kissing him. It was strange, and frightening, and exciting all at once.

Duncan pulled his body closer to Methos, wanting more, but Methos suddenly pulled away. He stepped back, gasping, a look of shock on his face. He stared at Duncan for a second and then shook his head.

"What is it?" Duncan asked, suddenly frightened by the look on Methos' face. It was something between pain and fear.

"Nothing," Methos said, looking around the loft frantically until his eyes fell on his coat hanging near the door. "I have to go," he muttered and headed for the door.

"Wait Methos!" Duncan called, following him. "I'm sorry-- I shouldn't have..."

Methos stopped him, holding his hand up as he put his coat on. "It's all right, Mac. I just need to leave." Then he was gone.

Duncan stood in the middle of his loft and stared at the space Methos had just vacated. Confused, he went back to the window and watched Methos drive off. *What just happened?* he asked himself. Duncan knew he had taken a big chance, but Methos hadn't seemed to resist in the beginning. But what sent him running out of the loft? And what made him look so frightened? Duncan had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had just ruined one of the most important friendships he'd ever had. All for what? Sex.

"Dammit!" Duncan yelled in the silent loft, then he picked up the beer bottle Methos had left on the window sill and threw it against the wall in the kitchen. Glass shattered and landed all over the kitchen floor, but Duncan paid it no attention. He turned back to look out the window, trying to figure out what he was going to do next.

Methos stormed into Joe's with a dark cloud hanging over him. He sat down at the far end of the bar and waited for Joe to make his way down to him. After leaving Duncan's he had driven around town for about an hour, trying to make some sense out of the muddled thoughts that were flying around in his head. To say he was confused severely under-estimated his state of mind.

"Hey there," Joe said, amiably. "Beer?"

Methos shook his head. "Whiskey... double."

"Ooo-kay," Joe said, and reached for the bottle, pouring Methos about four-fingers worth of the dark liquid. "Anything you want to talk about?" Joe asked, noting the dark look on Methos' face.

"Nope," Methos answered simply and downed the entire drink in one. He set the glass down and pushed it toward Joe, indicating that he wanted a refill.

Joe refilled the glass and then moved back down the bar to wait on the women he'd been talking to when Methos had come in. It was obvious the Immortal wanted to be left alone, so Joe obliged him. They hadn't been getting along terribly well since Methos had returned to town anyway. Methos was staying tight-lipped about whether he was leaving the Watchers or not, and Joe was concerned that if he left, he'd disappear with all of the Chronicles. That had added to the tension that was already lingering from all that had happened in Paris.

Methos stared down into his glass and ignored the band or the voices of the other patrons. Joe's was actually fairly crowded-- business was doing well. But the only thing that was really registering with Methos was the thought swirling through his head. MacLeod kissed me! That was the last thing he had ever expected to happen in a million years. He came back to Seacouver because he'd found himself unable to stay away from Duncan. Ever since the damned Highlander had walked into his apartment, Methos' life had changed. He'd come out of his two-century old isolation, he'd put his life on the line for MacLeod and for Dawson, he'd taken a chance with Alexa, basically he had learned to care again. But this-- he wasn't sure he was ready to handle this.

It wasn't that he hadn't liked the kiss-- he'd loved it-- he'd nearly drowned in it. He'd wanted Duncan since the day they met, but it had never occurred to him that anything could ever happen. One minute he was lost in his memories of Alejandro, and the next minute he was drowning in Duncan's incredible mouth. This turn of events scared him to death-- and it really took a lot to spook Methos after 5000 years.

Methos finished the glass of whiskey and reached behind the bar for the bottle. As he refilled his glass, he got a sharp look from Joe, but the mortal didn't object. And he didn't pry-- which Methos was even more grateful for. Maybe if he just got piss-drunk, he could face Duncan again. But as the thought occurred to him, he felt the presence of another Immortal fill and surround his senses.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. He knew it was Duncan-- he didn't even have to look up when he felt someone sit down on the barstool next to him. He could feel Duncan looking at him, but he refused to look up. If he looked up, he'd have to deal with the situation. That's it Methos, he said to himself, play ostritch.

"Hey Mac!" Joe said, rejoining them at the end of the bar. "You want a beer or are you drinking the hard stuff too?"

"What?" Duncan asked, then noticed the glass in Methos' hand. "I'd better have one of those too," he chuckled. After Joe had filled Duncan's glass, he watched both Immortals sit in tense silence for a minute.

"Is something wrong?" Joe asked. "Richie okay?"

"He's fine," Duncan answered simply, taking another drink of the whiskey.

The tension between the two men was palpable and Joe knew something was going on-- he knew both of them too well.

"All right, what gives? Something is obviously up?"

Methos simply snorted and stared down into his drink-- he still hadn't acknowledged Duncan's presence at the bar.

"Nothing you need to worry about Joe," Duncan said, clearly dismissing the Watcher. Joe took the hint and refilled both men's glasses before he shook his head and moved back down the bar.

"So," Duncan said finally and paused. When Methos didn't respond, Duncan took a drink of his whiskey and turned toward Methos on the bar-stool. "Are you going to ignore me or are you going to let me apologize?"

"What are you apologizing for?" Methos asked carefully, still not looking up.

"Honestly?" Duncan asked, with a humorless chuckle. "I don't know. I don't know if it was the kiss itself, or something else that upset you. So, I thought I'd try an all-purpose apology."

"Are you sorry for the kiss?" Methos asked, finally turning to look at Duncan through narrowed eyes.

"Yes and no," Duncan said, trying to be honest. He was at such a loss about what was going on, that he had come to the conclusion that the truth was the best approach.

"Care to elaborate on that, Mac?" Methos asked.

"I mean..." Duncan stopped and looked around at the crowded bar. "Look, can we go talk about this somewhere less public?"

Methos studied Duncan's face for a few seconds, then nodded. He downed the rest of his glass then stood up and walked toward the back of the bar without another word. Duncan gulped down his drink and then followed him.

"Joe," Methos said, stopping at the other end of the bar, "can I use the office keys?"

"Sure," Joe said, and pulled a set of keys from a hook under the bar and tossed them to Methos. "Anything I can help with?" Joe asked, wondering what was going on.

"No thanks," Duncan answered, and followed Methos back to Joe's office.

"Okay," Methos said, sitting down on the old couch in Joe's office, "what did you mean, yes and no?"

Duncan took a deep breath and rubbed his hand across his forehead. He wandered around the room, trying to figure out how to explain all this. He wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to get this straightened out-- to explain truthfully why this had happened. But he was also terrified that this conversation could lead to the end of a friendship. Well, he had started this-- so he had to finish it. There was no turning back now.

"Methos," he finally said, and sat down on the edge of Joe's desk, "I kissed you because I wanted to... because I'm attracted to you... at least I think I am," he was trying to pull his thoughts together into something coherent. "No... I know I am. But I'm sorry if what I did caused you pain, or if it was something that you didn't want. If you'd like, we can forget it ever happened. I don't want this to be a problem."

"I don't understand this," Methos said, looking down at his hands. "I thought I had everything straight in my mind... I could keep things separate. It wasn't a problem, but you just turned everything upside down."

"What do you mean?" Duncan asked, even more confused than before.

"I mean that I've wanted you since the day we met... but never in a million years did I think you'd ever be interested. That was no big problem... I can separate sex from friendship. From what I knew of you, and your Chronicles, I didn't think you were the least bit interested in men."

"I'm not," Duncan cut in, "I mean... I never have been." At Methos' questioning look, he went on. "When I realized I had these feelings, it was one hell of a surprise to me. I still don't really understand it. But it's here and I can't make it go away. I'm not really sorry for what happened tonight-- unless it costs me a friend."

Methos shook his head and smiled at Duncan. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he said, eliciting a relieved smile from Duncan. He regarded the younger Immortal for a second, trying to gauge exactly what was happening. "I'm sorry I ran out like that. You just spooked the bloody hell out of me-- shook up all my preconceptions about you."

"Now you know how I've felt the last few months while you were gone and I was trying to sort this out," Duncan chuckled. "I really missed you," he said more seriously.

"Why do you think I came back?" Methos asked and looked up, locking eyes with Duncan. Something passed between them in that split second-- an understanding, a promise. Duncan smiled-- the kind of smile that lit up the Highlander's face and occasionally made Methos want to lie down at his feet and vow his undying devotion. But it wasn't the time for such dramatics, Methos chastised himself.

"So," Methos said, standing up from the couch, "now what?"

Duncan shrugged. "I guess we could give it a shot-- see where this takes us."

"Is that your romantic way of asking me back to your place?" Methos asked, with a wry grin.

"Methos, you're already staying at my place."

"How suave," Methos said, rolling his eyes. "I thought you were a master at wooing your lovers?"

Duncan laughed and then stopped, looking at Methos carefully. "Is that what you are? My lover?"

"Is that what you want?" Methos asked, stepping forward to stand in front of him at the desk.

"I think so," Duncan said, suddenly sounding shy.

"Don't think, Duncan. Know," Methos said intently. He wasn't about to jump off this cliff with such hesitancy on Duncan's part. He watched the thoughts move across Duncan's face-- uncertainty, a bit of fear, then changing softly to anticipation and certainty as the reality of the proposition hit him.

"Yes," Duncan said, reaching out to grasp Methos' hand, "that's what I want."

Methos reached up with his other hand and softly touched Duncan's jaw and ran his thumb across his lips. So many times he had wanted to touch those lips, and run his fingers through that hair. Now that his shock had subsided, all he felt was sweet anticipation of what was to come. A voice in his head was telling him that this was all a bad idea, but he didn't care. Whatever it was that had pulled him to this warrior in the first place wasn't going to let him retreat now.

Duncan got impatient waiting for Methos to explore his face with his hand, so he leaned forward, wrapping his arm around Methos' neck and pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss. It was intimate yet sweet, and held many promises and many expectations. They just stood there, reveling in each other's mouths, enjoying the connection for several minutes. Finally, Methos pulled away and smiled at Duncan as they both tried to catch their breaths.

"Let's get out of here before Joe comes looking for us," Methos said.

"Wouldn't want to give him a heart attack," Duncan chuckled, and reached out to kiss Methos again softly, still holding onto his hand.

Methos laughed with him and squeezed his hand, then he reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind Duncan's ear that he had pulled out of his hair-tie. He watched Duncan pull his hair out and re-do it as he walked toward the door. When he didn't follow, Duncan turned around and looked at him quizzically.

"Coming?" Duncan asked.

"Not yet," Methos said, and followed him out, "but soon I hope." Duncan just groaned at the pun and rolled his eyes.

"Five thousand years and you can't come up with a better joke than that?" Duncan asked.

"Bad humor is timeless, MacLeod. Didn't you know that?" Methos joked. He re-locked the door to Joe's office and tossed Joe his keys on the way out. "See ya, Joe," he called and laughed at Joe's incredibly confused look as he watched the Immortals leave the bar.

Joe caught the keys that Methos tossed him, and noticed the obvious change in mood between the two Immortals. Whatever had been bothering them when they came into the bar had clearly been worked out in his office. Before he could ask a single question, however, they were gone. Frustrated, Joe turned to straighten the row of bottles behind him and mumbled to himself.

"Come on in, drink my booze, use my office, but don't tell me anything," he muttered. "When exactly did I get left out of the loop here?"

Duncan pulled into the dojo parking lot and parked, then sat and waited for Methos to drive up behind him. The drive over from Joe's had given him time to think-- and to get nervous. What the hell am I doing? he asked himself. He knew this was what he wanted-- he had worked that out a while ago. But that certainty didn't take away his fear. He was about to jump into something that he knew very little about-- and he hated that. He was also afraid that this could be disastrous. Relationships between Immortals were complicated enough, but with Methos?!

Duncan watched in the rear-view mirror as his friend got out of his car and locked the door. He watched Methos run his hand through his short dark hair and look over at Duncan still sitting in his car. He stood there for a few seconds, and then stuffed his hands down into his coat pockets, pulled the coat around him and looked down at the ground. Duncan smiled watching him-- this man who had offered his life and then his friendship to Duncan without a second thought. He could be so complicated, and infuriating, and... sweet.  Yeah, Duncan thought, Methos. It did make some kind of strange sense to him.

"Hey," Methos said tapping on the car window, causing Duncan to jump, "are you getting out? Or do you have a thing for cars?"

Duncan looked up at Methos, confused by his question. Methos gave one of his smug grins and leaned over, looking into the back of the car.

"Of course," he said, thoughtfully, "the advantage of the T-bird is it's large back-seat."

"Oh, very funny, Methos," Duncan said, finally getting the joke. He grabbed his keys and got out of the car, before Methos could get any other bright ideas.

Methos followed Duncan up the stairs to the loft, watching the Highlander's back as he moved-- always so graceful. He had the sudden urge to just attack him on the stairs, but he contained himself. Two years of wanting someone could create an amazing level of patience in a person, and he had a feeling that this situation called for just that. It was clear that although Duncan wanted this, there was still a degree of reticence. Methos would have to take this as slow and casual as possible-- leave Duncan in control.

Duncan opened the loft door and walked in, flipping a light on as he did. He hung his coat on the rack and then headed for the liquor cabinet. Methos hung his own coat up and pulled his boots off, dropping them by the coat rack.

"You want a drink?" Duncan asked, holding up the bottle of Scotch.

"No, thanks," Methos said and headed into the kitchen. "I'll just get a beer."

"Wait!" Duncan said suddenly, remembering how he'd left the loft. "There's..." but his words were no longer relevant as he saw Methos jump and curse in some ancient language.

"Glass on the floor?" Methos asked, standing on one foot and looking at the pieces of beer bottle scattered around him. He tip-toed over, wincing in pain, and jumped up to sit on the counter.

"Sorry," Duncan said, putting his glass down and coming into the kitchen. "I had a little umm... accident earlier. Let me see it."

"It'll heal," Methos said dryly, wincing as he pulled his bloody sock off.

"Not very well if you have glass left in it," Duncan said. He flipped the kitchen light on and grabbed a towel from the sink. "Let me see it," Duncan insisted.

Methos lifted his eyebrow in amusement over Duncan's concern, but he lifted his foot up for him to examine. Duncan cleaned the blood off with the towel and pulled a small shard of glass out of Methos' heel. The cut was already healing, but it felt good to have someone take care of him like this-- he could get used to it.

"Mac?" Methos asked. "Are you really sure about this?"

"About what?" Duncan asked, but seeing the look on Methos' face, he understood. "Is it that obvious?"

Methos smiled gently and nodded.

"It's just..." Duncan faltered. "I really want to be with you, but I've never done this before." Might as well stick with honesty-- it had gotten him this far.

"Duncan," Methos said softly and reached out to grab his hand. "We don't have to do this tonight. We can take it slow."

A wry smile crept up on Duncan's face and his eyes lit up. "What are you going to do? Buy me flowers? Take me to the prom?"

Methos laughed, the tension broken. "Actually, I thought I'd ask your father's permission," he quipped, and swung his legs over to the side of the counter where there was no glass on the floor and hopped off.

"Now that could be tough," Duncan laughed. "But if he was alive, I'd love to see you try."

Methos laughed and held his hand out to Duncan, who took it and followed him to the back of the loft, flicking the kitchen light off on his way.

"Uh, Mr. MacLeod, sir," Methos joked, "I'd really like to take your son into the woods and..."

"Shut up, Methos," Duncan interrupted and pulled him into a kiss.

"Yes sir," Methos said, when he finally pulled away to breathe. When he looked into Duncan's eyes-- those dark wells of passion-- it all became suddenly very real, very serious. He took a deep breath and tried to still his hands that were suddenly trembling. For God's sake, old man, he chastised himself, you're acting like a bloody teenager.

Duncan cupped Methos' face with his hands and placed light kisses on his cheek, his lips, and then his jaw. He worked his way around to Methos' ear, lightly running his tongue along the outer-edge of the ear and then sucking the lobe into his mouth, causing Methos to moan from the sensation. He ran his own hand up Duncan's back and pulled the clasp out of Duncan's hair, letting the hair spill down onto his shoulder. He ran his fingers up into Duncan's hair and grasped two handfuls of the soft, dark hair, then pulled Duncan back to his lips. He tasted so good-- the smooth taste of whiskey, the slightest hint of garlic left from the pizza, and the earthy, sweet taste of Duncan himself. It was utterly intoxicating. And utterly male.

Duncan pulled Methos' body up against him, wrapping his arms tight around the other Immortal's lithe body. The kiss was intense and passionate, but he wanted-- needed-- more. He ran his hands up underneath Methos' shirt, feeling the soft, warm skin of his back give under his hands. He could feel the lines of strong muscles, honed through years of swordwork-- so different from the feel of a woman's back. He ran his fingers up Methos' vertebrae, eliciting a shiver out of him. Methos pulled away from his lips long enough to raise his arms and allow Duncan to pull his shirt over his head. Duncan ran his hands lightly up Methos' torso, over his chest and up around his shoulders. He marveled at the paleness, and the lean sculpted muscles, then he pulled Methos back into a kiss.

Methos pushed Duncan away lightly. "Uh uh," he said, breathlessly, "my turn." He reached out and pulled Duncan's sweater up over his head slowly, running his hands along Duncan's ribs and up his arms as he did. Duncan shivered from the sensation and smiled when Methos tossed the sweater across the floor.

"Make a mess, why don't you?" he joked.

"I intend to," Methos promised, his eyes wrinkling up in mischief. "My god," he whispered, reaching his hand out toward Duncan's chest, stopping just before actually making contact. He had watched Duncan work out too many times, and wished he could touch this powerful, beautiful body. So many times he'd wanted this-- it almost didn't seem real now.

"What is it?" Duncan asked, slightly concerned at how Methos had seemed to freeze in place.

"Nothing, it's just..." but he stopped, unable to explain.

Duncan smiled, remembering how he had felt when in this situation with Cassandra, and he got an idea of what was going on in his friend's mind. He grabbed Methos' wrists and pulled his hands to him. "It's okay," Duncan said softly, kissing Methos' ear, "I'm real."

Methos laughed and relaxed at the words. He couldn't figure out how Duncan had read his mind so well, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was here, and this was very real. If he didn't laugh, he thought he might cry. But what he really wanted to do was worship this body, explore every inch of it.

He ran his fingers lightly over Duncan's chest, stopping to draw tiny circles around his nipples, which drew gasps from Duncan. Methos smiled and leaned over to replace his fingers with his mouth. He ran his tongue gently over Duncan's nipple and then sucked the hard nub into his mouth, grazing it slightly with his teeth. Duncan moaned and tightened the grip he had on Methos' short-cropped hair.

"You know," Methos said, straightening up again, "this would be so much easier in the bed."

"Good point," Duncan said, his eyes dark and smoky. That look alone made Methos want to melt where he stood. The two men reluctantly pulled apart and Duncan pulled the bedspread down, tossing it off the end of the bed in his impatience. He sat down on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off, but ended up stopping to watch Methos pull his jeans off.

Duncan raised his eyebrows at Methos as he pulled his jeans off, noticing the lack of underwear, and Methos caught the look and chuckled. "Never got used to the whole concept," he said, trying not to let on how much it excited him to have Duncan watching him.

Duncan appraised Methos' body-- pale, lean, but hinting at amazing power and efficiency. And extremely well-endowed, Duncan couldn't help but notice. It was so strange to watch another man undress and find it arousing. He marveled once again at what had brought him to this point-- was it Methos in particular or had he always had these tendencies and simply ignored them? Well, it didn't matter-- what mattered was this, now, sharing this with his dear friend. Snapping out of his reverie, he brought his foot up to pull off his boots, but Methos stopped him.

"Let me," he said, and extended Duncan's leg out, pulling off his boot and then his sock. To Duncan's surprise, and pleasure, he placed a soft kiss on the sole of his foot. The simple action sent sparks of fire up Duncan's leg, directly to his already enflamed groin and he shuddered under the onslaught of sensation. Then Methos repeated the action with the other leg, eliciting yet the same response. Duncan suddenly wondered if he would lose it before Methos even joined him on the bed. He hadn't been this eager since he was a teenager, and kilts hid those kinds of accidents much better than his trousers did. He steeled himself, intent on remaining in control-- no reason to let the old guy know just how much power he had over Duncan.

Methos felt Duncan shudder when he kissed his foot, and saw the pleasure pass over his face-- then he watched the Highland warrior fight to hold onto his control. He fought back an affectionate grin at that knowledge-- this was going to be too easy. And far too much fun. He dropped Duncan's bare feet and leaned forward for another kiss. Duncan's arms came up around him, his hands moving up Methos' thighs slowly, but Methos pushed them away and then pushed Duncan back onto the bed.

Quickly, and unceremoniously divesting Duncan of his trousers and briefs, Methos climbed onto the bed and leaned over Duncan, taking in the view. He truly was a beautiful man-- forged by the Gods. Smiling down at Duncan, Methos leaned in for another long, deep kiss, before moving down his chin to Duncan's neck. He sucked lightly on Duncan's Adam's apple, feeling the rough texture of five-o-clock shadow rub against his cheek and lips. Duncan brought his arms up around Methos who was still kneeling over him, keeping the body contact to a minimum. He tried to pull Methos down to him, but he resisted and looked up at him with a smile. He pulled away from Duncan slightly and grabbed both of his wrists, placing them on the pillow above Duncan.

"Don't," he said simply, and then smiled at Duncan's confusion. "Lie still and let me do the work. I promise it will be worth it."

Duncan shuddered at the promise Methos' words held. He wasn't used to being passive in bed, and in truth, he was so turned on he didn't know if he could. But the tone in Methos' voice made him want to try. He swallowed hard, trying to find words, but settled for simply relaxing his arms and nodding. Methos smiled again--an open, loving smile-- and kissed Duncan lightly on the lips before letting go of his wrists and moving back to what he had been doing to Duncan's neck.

Methos kept his promise. He worked his way down Duncan's chest and torso with his mouth and hands at an excruciatingly slow, but utterly wonderful, pace. His mouth was like fire-- hot, wet, and soft and painful at the same time. Sometimes sucking, sometimes touching with the barest of caresses, and sometimes biting. His fingers followed in the lightest of touches, causing trails of cool sensation in their path and playing Duncan's body like a fine piano. It didn't take long before Duncan was reduced to a shivering, moaning, mass of flesh-- so sensitized that it was almost painful, yet not painful in the least.

"God, Methos," Duncan moaned, as Methos nipped at his hip bones, while his hands ran lightly up the outsides of Duncan's thighs, "I'm going to die."

"Don't worry," Methos said with a grin and a wink, "you'll come back."

Duncan chuckled, and then moaned as Methos shifted and began to work his way back up Duncan's legs, touching places on his ankles and behind his knees that he never thought of as being sensual-- but suddenly they were. Something Methos had said once popped into his head suddenly.

She's got him tingling in places he didn't even know he had, Methos had said about Kristin and Richie. That comment suddenly took on a whole new meaning to Duncan-- he was living it. Kristin had nothing on Methos.

By the time Methos finally made his way to Duncan's penis, his entire body was so sensitized that he had stopped hoping that Methos would hurry up and get there. But when he ran his tongue lightly over the tip of Duncan's penis, and reached down to gently cup Duncan's testicles, Duncan's eyes flew open and all the sensation in his body seemed to surge and rush through his body to that point. He gasped at the feeling, and clenched his whole body to keep from coming that instant.

Methos pulled back and waited, letting Duncan regain his control, then lowered his mouth to the engorged cock once more, taking the head into his warm mouth softly. Duncan moaned and clenched the pillow above him, holding on for dear life. Then the mouth moved down and Duncan was engulfed in the hot, wet heat of Methos and all he could concentrate on was that feeling. He felt himself climbing the peak, ready to plunge over, tired of the battle for control.

Methos took Duncan's penis into his mouth, and reveled in the taste of the Highlander-- salty, earthy, and sweet. *And hot*, he thought. Duncan's body was like a furnace, naturally emanating heat. Methos could feel himself being enfused with that heat. He loved this body-- so exquisite, so sensitive. Duncan was a naturally sensuous person-- so full of passion and fire. He was like a hearth-- the point where people are inexplicably drawn to in a home. He wanted more-- he wanted to be a part of that heat-- needed it.

Methos could feel Duncan climbing to the point of no return. He felt the muscles in Duncan's thighs clinching and his stomach tightening, and his penis was throbbing with heat against Methos' throat. He knew they had plenty of time, but he didn't want Duncan to come yet-- he had the sudden urgent need for more. He pulled back and looked up at Duncan whose eyes opened in shock.

"Wha?" he said, somewhat coherently. "Don't stop," he panted. The intense pleasure that had been centered on Duncan's groin was gone, and he felt the cool air on his penis which made him shiver. "Methos, please!"

"MacLeod," Methos said softly, crawling back up to kiss him lightly and draping his body along the length of the Highlander, needing full contact. "I want more," he whispered and devoured Duncan's mouth, grinding their hips together, eliciting another groan from Duncan.

"Of course," Duncan said, not really understanding, but nerves rising again in his stomach. He brought his arms up around Methos, pulling him closer, enjoying the feel of their cocks grinding against each other-- a feeling like nothing else he'd ever felt.

Methos lifted his head slightly to look down into Duncan's eyes, his usually bright mischievous eyes suddenly very dark and serious.

"I want you inside me, Duncan. I need you," Methos said intently.

Duncan shuddered at the request. He wanted-- needed-- the same, and Methos' words only deepened that need. He stared at his friend for a moment-- lost in those hazel eyes, the layers of meaning so clear to him at that instant.

"Anything," Duncan rasped finally. "But I've never..." he started, but Methos cut him off with a kiss.

"Surely you've done it with a woman," Methos said, a twinkle coming back into his eyes. Duncan just nodded. "Same thing," Methos said simply and leaned in for another deep kiss. As he kissed Duncan, he took Duncan's hand and moved it down his back, guiding him to where he wanted him.

Once he knew where Methos was guiding him, Duncan took the initiative and began to explore tentatively, feeling the hard muscles moving under the soft skin of Methos' ass. He ran his fingers softly up the cleft, eliciting a shiver and moan from Methos against his mouth. Duncan relaxed-- Methos was right, this was simple. If he could do it with Amanda, he could do it with Methos. He pulled away from Methos' mouth and reached over to the bedside table, pulling a small bottle of massage oil out of the bedside table.

"Damn handy," Methos said, looking at the bottle. He moved off of Duncan and took the bottle from him. He poured a small amount onto his hand and then reached down to coat Duncan's penis with it, grasping it enough as he did to elicit a moan from Duncan. The smell of the almond oil filled the room, heightening the sensuality of the moment.

Duncan pushed Methos' hand away from his penis-- he couldn't take much more stimulation. He put the bottle aside and then grasped Methos' hand with his, interlacing their fingers and rubbing them together to coat his own hand with the warm oil. He kissed Methos again, deeply, their tongues imitating what their bodies would soon do-- and then he pulled away. Methos moved further away from Duncan and grabbed a pillow, propping it under his pelvis to make things more comfortable, opening himself to his lover.

And then Duncan was moving over him, surrounding him with his warmth, softly kissing Methos' neck and back. He felt a finger gently invade him and his body surged with sensation, crying out for more, wanting it all. Then there were two fingers, and then they were gone, and Methos nearly whimpered at the loss. He felt hot breath against his neck and a deep, soft voice asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he rasped, and pushed his body up into the broad chest above him. He felt Duncan's penis at his threshold and then he felt himself being filled-- little by little, with excruciating care. Needing more, he pushed his hips up, taking it all in at once. He held his breath at the intensity of pleasure and pain as their bodies adjusted to each other-- realizing that Duncan had done the same.

Then slowly he felt Duncan move, the simple adjustment causing sparks of sensation to shoot through Methos' body. Duncan brought his hands up and linked them with Methos' above his head, and he softly kissed the back of Methos' neck. Then slowly-- oh so slowly-- Duncan began to move-- pulling out slightly and moving back to fill Methos again. It didn't take long for the pace to change-- both men no longer able to resist the conclusion. As Duncan thrust into Methos, he felt himself being filled, surrounded, and engulfed in the heat of the Highlander. It was overwhelming-- physically, emotionally, totally. The feel of Duncan inside him, his powerful thigh and chest muscles sliding along his own, the musky intoxicating smell of Duncan, and the deep sounds of pleasure that were coming from deep within his chest and vibrating against Methos' back-- all of it together was too much and he felt himself surrendering to the flood of sensation and emotion.

"So long..." Methos whispered.

Each sentence incoherent, each thought incomplete-- but Duncan understood. Unable to form words, Duncan felt Methos pulse into the hand that he had snaked under them to grasp Methos' penis. With a final fierce thrust, and a growl that emanated deep within Duncan's chest and seemed the shake the room, Duncan plunged over the edge and came inside Methos for what seemed like an eternity. When the last pulses of sensation had subsided and Duncan could breathe again, he collapsed onto Methos' back in exhaustion, unable to form a coherent thought.

Methos felt the last of the fire that raged through his body fade. Once he had regained his faculties, he felt the heavy, limp weight of Duncan on top of him, and his fingers ached where Duncan had gripped them hard, and still had not released his vice-like grip. Shifting slightly, he turned to look up at the Highlander who seemed to have fallen asleep where he lay.

"MacLeod," Methos rasped, unable to speak louder from the weight constricting his chest.

"Huh?" Duncan asked sleepily and nuzzled the back of Methos' neck.

"I can't breathe."

"Oh!" Duncan regained his coherence with a start. He released Methos' hands and carefully pulled out from where they were still joined, then he rolled off of Methos. "I'm sorry," he apologized profusely, running his fingers over Methos' temple.

"It's okay," Methos smiled, "but your dead weight is enough to hold down an ox."

"I'll no' have ye casting aspersions on my weight," Duncan joked in his best burr, and pulled Methos to him in a kiss-- this one slow, teasing, and soft. It was easier to joke than to acknowledge the intensity of what he'd just experienced-- the complete pleasure and profound feeling of connection.

"Never," Methos said in mock innocence when he pulled away. He moved off of the now-sticky pillow he had been propped on and tossed it onto the floor, then wrapped an arm around Duncan's chest. He rested his head in the crook of Duncan's neck and fell quickly into a deep, very contented sleep, wrapped in the warmth of his lover.

Duncan lay in bed, feeling the warmth of the body wrapped around him. He was tired, but he had too many thoughts spinning around in his head. He looked down at the dark head resting on his shoulder and the pale hand resting on his chest. Such beautiful, long fingers. And most surprising to Duncan-- such a sweet innocent face. Methos looked so young, and so vulnerable in his sleep. Seeing him unguarded and at peace like this, made it hard to believe that beneath the young face lurked so much cynicism and experience.

It astonished Duncan that it had taken him so long to discover this-- loving his friend. A friend who had offered him his life, and who had been his life-line when Duncan thought he'd lost himself for good, and who had now offered him his body. Duncan knew this was dangerous-- this could be so complicated, yet somehow it felt very simple. He was at peace, he was happy right here, with this ancient man's arms wrapped around him.

After a while, Duncan realized that the various substances on his body were drying and beginning to stick to the bed and to Methos. Knowing he wasn't going to fall asleep, he carefully extricated himself from his lover's limbs and crept into the bathroom for a shower. When he came out of the bathroom, Methos was awake and after a quick kiss, he took his turn in the shower.

Methos came out of the bathroom to find Duncan lounging on the couch, with Billie Holiday playing on the C.D. player. Duncan was sprawled out in the corner of the couch, his legs stretched out and propped up on the low table, and sipping from a glass of brandy. Methos smiled at the sight-- the man knew how to revel in a mood.

"Nice music," Methos said, coming up behind Duncan.

He reached down and placed his hand on Duncan's jaw, then leaned over and kissed him lightly on top of his wet hair. Duncan placed his own broad hand over Methos' and smiled up at him. The look on his face dispelled any fears Methos may have had about Duncan having second thoughts. He looked thoroughly pleased. Methos sighed inwardly and walked around the couch and sat down next to Duncan, taking the glass from him and leaning back against the Highlander's chest and stretching his legs out on the couch. They sat in silence like that for a few minutes, just listening to Billie's soft voice.

"You're still warm from the shower," Duncan said, wrapping his arm around Methos' chest. "I'd think you'd get cold walking around like this," he joked, indicating Methos' towel.

Methos chuckled. "I'm warm blooded, but you're like a furnace, did you know that?" he asked.

Duncan nodded. "I always have been. Maybe it's a Highland thing... I don't know."

"Well, no one can accuse you of being frigid," Methos quipped, then turned more serious. "Duncan?" he asked.

"Hmmm?" Duncan asked, taking the brandy glass from Methos for another drink.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tentatively. "I mean..."

"Yes, Methos," Duncan interrupted him. He cupped his hand under Methos' chin and turned him to look up at him. "No regrets," he said simply, knowing what Methos had really been asking. "You?"

"Never," Methos smiled crookedly. "Don't believe in them."

"Right," Duncan laughed, "I forgot who I was talking to for a minute." Duncan felt Methos laugh against him, and the movement evoked earlier sensations. Duncan set the brandy glass down and lightly explored Methos' chest with his hand. The ancient Immortal was pale and thin, but surprisingly muscular, and he had very little hair on his chest. He was actually quite beautiful to Duncan, and that surprised him.

Duncan ran his hand down the inside of Methos' forearm and stopped at the wrist, rubbing his thumb across the place where he used to have a tattoo.

"I've been meaning to ask you about this," he said. "Does this mean you're out of the Watchers?"

Methos chuckled. "I burned it off in a fit of anger when I left Paris. Stupid act of self-pity, really," he scoffed. "But to answer your question-- I don't think I can reconcile myself to going back. Not the way things are right now."

"So what are your plans?" Duncan asked, somewhat afraid of the answer.

"I had planned to just kill Adam and disappear," Methos sighed and shifted against Duncan. "Now? I don't know."

Duncan could hear the weariness in Methos' voice. It was obviously a decision he'd been having a hard time with, but Duncan couldn't help smiling. Although Methos hadn't said as much, it was implied that what had happened between them had changed Methos' plans. Deep down, he wanted to ask him to stay, but he knew he couldn't do that-- not now, not yet.

"You know," Duncan said, continuing his slow, light caresses of Methos' chest, "I should have tried this years ago."

Methos shivered under Duncan's touch. "You didn't know me years ago," he pointed out, running his fingers across the back of Duncan's hand and up his thick forearm.

"Good point," Duncan said sarcastically. His hand strayed down to where the towel was wrapped low on Methos' hips. He ran his finger along the edge, teasing Methos for a few seconds before loosening the towel and letting it fall to the sides. He smiled, seeing his cock already hardening in anticipation. "Actually," he said in a low voice and kissed Methos' ear lightly, "it's not so strange. It's all very familiar," Duncan said, reaching down to grasp his penis and stroke it lightly.

"Yeah," Methos gasped, and then said wryly, "you seem to have had plenty of practice at this particular activity."

Duncan chuckled and continued his light, uneven stroking, while he devoured Methos' ear and neck with his mouth. Methos sighed and shuddered from the double assault of sensation. Duncan was certainly good with that sensual mouth of his, and that thought led Methos to wonder what it could do to other parts of his body. His penis grew even harder in Duncan's hand at that thought, and Methos shivered.

"You're right though," Duncan chuckled and spoke into Methos' ear, "this is old hat." Methos looked up at him, and Duncan claimed his lips for a deep, slow kiss. Then he pulled away and shifted around to kiss Methos' other ear. "But I'd like to try something new."

"What?" Methos asked, moaning as Duncan pulled out from behind him and let him settle back into the couch. Duncan smiled at his confused look and leaned down to kiss him again, moving to his chin and neck, sucking lightly on his collar bone, then moving on down. Duncan moved off the couch, kneeling down in front of him and continuing to work his way down Methos' chest. Methos moaned under the expert ministrations of Duncan's mouth, tongue and teeth, then his eyes widened as he realized where Duncan was headed. The man obviously read minds too.

Oh god, he thought, I can't handle it.  All the fantasies and dreams he'd had about that sensual mouth since the day he met Duncan came back to him in a flash. Now it was real-- he was here-- and Duncan was loving him. He clenched his fists and held his breath in anticipation, vowing to remain in control.

But Duncan was intent on making Methos lose control-- to give back some of what he'd been given earlier. He ran his hands up Methos' thighs lightly, as he kissed his way down Methos' collar-bone, shoulders, and chest. He bit lightly and sucked Methos' nipple into his mouth, causing the older Immortal to moan and writhe under Duncan's touch. Duncan's still-damp hair fell across Methos' chest, tickling him and sending shivers through his body. He wanted to reach up and guide Duncan's mouth, to use his hands, become active-- but even more he wanted to just let Duncan make love to him, so he resisted.

Methos held his breath as Duncan reached his belly-button, flicking his tongue into the small indentation. Methos sucked in his belly and tried to stifle a giggle from the sensation, which made Duncan look up at him with a devilish grin.

"That tickle?" Duncan asked.

"No," Methos said, shaking his head and trying not to grin back. "I'm too old to be ticklish."

"Riiight," Duncan said, drawing the word out in sarcasm, then repeating the action.

"Okay," Methos said, jerking at the sensation and laughing, "stop."

"If you insist," Duncan said, rolling his eyes. He looked up at Methos intently for a moment, and leaned his head back down to place a feather light kiss on each of Methos' hip-bones. He allowed his hair to brush across Methos' penis and the sensation sent sparks through Methos' body. Duncan smiled at the shiver that went through Methos' body, and continued to work his way from Methos' hip, inward toward the center of his arousal. Methos watched him, unable to take his eyes off of that dark hair and beautiful mouth that was causing him such exquisite pleasure. He watched, and willed Duncan to reach his destination.

Finally, Duncan obliged him. Running his hands up the inside of Methos' thighs, Duncan reached the center with his mouth, placing a kiss just above the soft hair that surrounded Methos' penis. He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of Methos' arousal, the warm heat of his sex, and the salty, musky scent of Methos himself. It was incredibly arousing. Tentatively Duncan placed a soft kiss on the underside of Methos' cock, feeling it twitch under the touch, then he slowly ran his tongue up and over the tip, tasting the fluid that was already seeping out. Funny, Duncan thought, it was exactly what he thought it would taste like-- sweet and salty and intoxicating. Excited and emboldened, Duncan swirled his tongue around the tip of Methos' cock, and smiled when the older Immortal groaned and pushed his hips up toward Duncan.

Methos felt he was dying under the slow, teasing of his lover. Duncan was exploring, feeling, tasting, and touching-- but he was not giving Methos any satisfaction whatsoever, only sweet torture. When Duncan finally took the head of his cock into his hot, wet mouth, Methos thought he would lose it right then, but he managed to hold on. He didn't want it to end-- he wanted to feel as much of this man's amazing mouth as he could. But Duncan's tactics had changed now-- he was no longer teasing or exploring. He moved further down, taking Methos' entire penis in his mouth and reached up to gently cup his testicles in his hand.

"Oh god, Mac," Methos groaned, and couldn't help thrusting up into Duncan's mouth. Duncan was obliging Methos now, and began a persistent strong rhythm of suction, pulling Methos toward the edge.

Methos felt every muscle in his body tighten, fighting the power that was building up inside of his being. He twined his fingers into Duncan's mass of dark hair, and allowed himself to be pulled down into the well of pleasure and intense sensation as he climbed up to the edge and jumped off. The slow burn that had been building up inside Methos erupted in a blaze of sensation and light that rolled outward in wave after wave that finally centered on his groin. His pleasure was only heightened when he opened his eyes and looked down to see Duncan drinking him in. His body shuddered a last time and he sighed deeply and laid his head back on the couch, spent. Duncan licked the last drops from Methos' penis and then kissed his way back up Methos chest. He looked down at Methos and grinned in satisfaction, making Methos burst out in laughter.

"Can I always be around when you try something new?" Methos asked, and pulled Duncan to him for a deep, passionate kiss.

"So," Duncan said, pulling away and sitting down next to him on the couch, "I take it, I did that well?"

Methos groaned and pushed him away in jest. "Stop fishing for compliments." He moved out from under Duncan and stood up. "Come on," he said, holding his hand out, "let's go to bed. I'm sticking to the leather."

Duncan laughed and followed him to the bed. "We can't have that now can we?" Duncan flipped off the light and dropped his robe, then crawled into bed next to Methos. He pulled him into his arms and kissed him, long, hard, and deep, thinking about how glad he was that he'd taken this chance. It was definitely worth it.

Several days later--

Methos was pulled out of a deep, satisfying sleep by the sound of the elevator door sliding up. Duncan had gotten up earlier to open the dojo, and he'd turned over and stretched out across the bed, enjoying the sun that flooded the loft in the early morning. The golden warmth had wrapped itself around him and pulled him back into a deep sleep, and he hadn't heard the elevator motor engage. When he heard the door slide up, he turned over with a smile, to find Duncan standing across the loft watching him.

"Are you planning on staying in bed all day?" Duncan asked, walking slowly over to the bed.

"Well, yeah," Methos said with a grin, "but I was hoping I wouldn't be alone."

The sight of Methos laying in the sunlight that streamed in took Duncan's breath away. His body was only covered at the waist, his limbs stretched out across the bed and his arms propped behind his head. He had a sweet smile on his face, and his hazel eyes sparkled golden with mischief in the sunlight. He looked like some ethereal being beckoning Duncan to join him in any manner of bacchanalia.

Duncan grinned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He leaned over and pulled Methos to him for a soft, slow kiss.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Yeah," Methos breathed and tried to pull Duncan back down into the bed with another kiss. But his efforts were thwarted when Duncan pulled away with a chuckle.

"I hate to ruin your plans, but I have a class this morning," Duncan said, standing up. "As much fun as the last few days have been, I do have some responsibilities."

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Methos sighed and sat up. "Always the responsible one."

"Somebody has to be around here," Duncan quipped, heading into the kitchen. "And since I'm not the one who is presently between jobs..."

"Oh, you wound me Highlander," Methos said, clasping his hands to his chest as if he'd been hit. His dramatics were interrupted by the phone ringing.

"Get up and I'll make some breakfast," Duncan said, and then answered the phone. "MacLeod."

"Hi Joseph," Duncan said, looking over at Methos. Methos sighed and climbed out of bed, knowing his fun was over. He grabbed his jeans and pulled them on while he listened to Duncan's end of the conversation.

"Yeah, Methos is still in town." Duncan paused, listening to Joe's questions. "Nothing's wrong, we've just been busy. I know we haven't been by the bar in a few days, but..."

Methos chuckled at Duncan's obvious discomfort with trying to explain where the two Immortals had been and went into the bathroom. He had faith that Duncan could handle the questions with ease... eventually. When he came out fully dressed, Duncan was still on the phone with Joe, but the subject had obviously changed.

"He hasn't run into any trouble has he?" Duncan asked, his brow furrowed. But his expression changed quickly and he broke out in laughter. "Oh no, the female population of New York is in trouble." Methos chuckled at Duncan's words and pulled his boots on, then waved to get Duncan's reaction.

"I'm going out for the paper," he whispered and headed for the door, leaving Duncan chuckling at Joe's description of whatever Richie was up to on the road.

"All right, Joe, thanks for the update," Duncan said after Methos had left. "Yeah, I don't know what his plans are, but we'll probably drop in tonight. See ya later." Duncan hung up the phone and shook his head. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he and Methos would have to re-enter the world at large. But, he thought with a smile, hiding out the past few days had definitely had its advantages.

After he put the phone back in its cradle, Duncan pulled some eggs out of the fridge and started to cook up a couple of omelets. At the same time, he put a kettle on to make tea. He knew Methos hadn't gone far-- he'd left his coat and sword behind. Sure enough, a few minutes later he felt Methos' presence and heard the side door open and close. He smiled, and wondered at why the simple presence of his friend-- lover-- should have that effect.

"So," Methos said carefully, coming into the kitchen and dropping a newspaper on the counter, "everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Duncan said, smiling tenderly at Methos. He reached above the stove and took down a mug, dropping a tea-bag into it and then filled it from the kettle. "Here," he said, handing the cup to Methos.

"Thanks," Methos said, surprised. They had learned in the past few days that each man had a different routine in the morning. Duncan was a coffee drinker-- Methos couldn't survive without a cup of good British tea. It touched him that Duncan had unconsciously prepared his tea-- made him a part of his routine. Duncan had turned back to the stove, working intently over a pan. Methos came up behind him and kissed him softly on the side of his neck, then looked down at whatever culinary masterpiece Duncan was working on.

"Smells delicious," he said, leaning against Duncan's broad back.

"The eggs or me?" Duncan asked with a wry smile.

Methos snorted in laughter. "Both," he said, and placed a kiss on Duncan's temple, then padded over to the fridge for some milk. He poured a bit of milk into his tea, dropped a spoonful of sugar in, then sat down at the counter to sip the hot liquid. He sat silently, watching Duncan move around the kitchen. Everything the Highlander did, he did gracefully-- it was truly an amazing thing to watch. He knew it had to be an innate talent, because in 5000 years, Methos still hadn't learned to move like that. Duncan had the ability to make Methos feel like a gangly teenager sometimes.

"You want salsa?" Duncan asked, snapping Methos out of his reverie.

"What?" he asked, then zeroed in on the jar Duncan was holding up. "Sure," he nodded.

Duncan placed the jar down on the counter, then carried over two plates loaded with delicious looking omelets. Methos poured some of the salsa over his, and then dug in while Duncan poured himself some more coffee.

"So what did Joe want?" Methos asked, tired of waiting for Duncan to bring the subject up.

"Just checking in," Duncan answered, and sat down across from him. When Methos continued to look at him expectantly, Duncan smiled. "He was worried because he hadn't seen either of us since that mysterious discussion in his office the other night. And he had news about Richie-- I had asked him to keep an ear out."

"So how much trouble is the kid getting into?" Methos asked, with a smug grin.

"Not much," Duncan answered defensively. "He's in New York and he apparently ran across Connor." Duncan added the last bit with a chuckle.

"That sounds like trouble."

"That's what I figured, but according to his Watcher they've been hitting the bars together." Duncan took a long drink of his coffee and grinned. "Now that is trouble."

Methos laughed and turned to his paper, folding it out on the counter as he ate his eggs. Duncan watched him for a few minutes, wondering about the strangeness of this new relationship. He couldn't deny that he had thoroughly enjoyed the past few days, and the new pleasures he had discovered, but he was also strangely content. The peace that he felt at the moment surprised him more than anything.

"What are your plans today?" Duncan asked.

"Well, since you ruined the plans I had..." Methos said, waiting for Duncan's laugh before he went on. "Actually, I have some errands I need to take care of. When will you be back?"

"Probably not till around four. Joe wants us to come by tonight."

"I guess it's about time we made an appearance," Methos said nodding.

"Yeah," Duncan said, absently. Methos had turned his attention back to his paper and was finishing off his tea. "Look Methos, about Joe..." he hesitated as Methos look up at him.

Methos considered Duncan through narrowed eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Duncan was concerned about. He found it endearing that the warrior was having such a hard time articulating himself, so he decided to help him out.

"You don't want Joe to know about what we've been up to," he said with a nod and a straight face.

"Yeah, it's not that..." Duncan started to explain, but Methos stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"I'd prefer to keep it between the two of us, for my own reasons. I may be out of the Watcher's, but that doesn't mean I don't want to keep a low profile." Methos saw the look of relief that washed across Duncan's face, then added with a grin, "Not an easy task around you."

"Ha ha," Duncan said sarcastically, but he couldn't help but smile. "Are you going to share that paper?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Sure," Methos said and handed Duncan the comics. "That should keep you busy."

"Oh, you're a riot," Duncan said sarcastically, reaching for the paper. "At least give me the sports section... I know you don't read that part."

"Gladly," Methos said, shuffling through his paper and handing it over. He couldn't contain a grin over the top of his paper as he watched Duncan pretend to be annoyed while flipping open his section. It was just too much fun taunting the Highlander sometimes.

Methos walked into the dojo that afternoon to find Duncan, shirtless and sweating, going through the moves of a kata with his sword. He had turned toward the door when Methos walked in and only missed half a beat, before continuing the graceful, powerful moves. Methos just leaned up against the door jamb and watched. A year earlier, Methos had tried to teach Duncan a lesson in this room, only to find himself with the Highlander's sword at his own throat. He'd known then that Duncan MacLeod was going to be a force to be reckoned with-- that he would leave an indelible mark on Methos. But the truth was-- he really hadn't a clue.

He'd watched Duncan work out before and harbored secret fantasies about that body-- but it had been nothing compared to the reality. He'd touched that body, had it inside him, become a part of it. This barbarian warrior had the ability to surprise and delight Methos. But what surprised Methos more than anything was the amazing sense of trust and comfort he had in placed in Duncan's hands. He rarely allowed himself to be comfortable anywhere, but suddenly he was-- here, with Duncan. The dominant, cynical voice in his head that spoke from 5,000 years of experience told him that it would be impossible for this feeling to last for any length of time. But a softer voice told him to just go with it and enjoy it while it lasted-- he decided to listen to that one for the time being.

"So it is true what they say," Methos said, pulling his sword out of his coat and walking across the dojo floor. He stopped long enough to shrug his coat off and toss it onto one of the benches.

"What they say about what?" Duncan asked, stopping and trying to catch his breath. He grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off his face and chest.

"You know," Methos said, approaching Duncan and holding his broadsword out in front of him as if examining it, "that thing about the size of a man's sword being proportional to..." He let the sentence trail, and smirked at Duncan as he looked back and forth between the broadsword and the katana in Duncan's hand.

Duncan groaned at the joke and stepped into position, letting Methos swing first and blocking him with ease. They moved into a quick pattern of blocks and parries.

"But you know what else they say," Duncan said as he began to push Methos back against the wall.

"No, what else do they say?" Methos asked as he fought off Duncan's attack.

"They say," Duncan went on, as he encircled Methos' sword and pushed forward, trapping Methos' sword against his body and placing his own sword against the older Immortal's long neck. "It's not the size of the sword, but what one does with it that counts."

Methos raised his eyebrow at Duncan and tipped his head as if to say Touche. They stood like that for several seconds, bodies pressed against each other, until they both became far too aware of the reaction the closeness was having on their bodies. Finally, Methos blinked and sniffed.

"You really need a shower," he said sarcastically, and with a quick move he disarmed Duncan and knocked him away from him. The move obviously surprised Duncan, who lay sprawled on the dojo floor staring up at Methos incredulously. Methos took the opportunity and ran for the door to upstairs, taking both swords with him.

"You don't get away with that," Duncan warned, and took off after Methos. He caught him halfway up the stairs, pulling him down and flipping him over.

Duncan trapped Methos' body against the steps and leaned over him, leering down at him in challenge. Methos chuckled and lifted his head up to capture Duncan's mouth, but Duncan pulled back staying just out of Methos' reach. Instead, he held Methos down and teasingly rubbed his own thigh against the older Immortal's groin, causing him to groan and relax under Duncan. Taking that as a good sign, Duncan leaned in and began to devour Methos' neck with his mouth as he continued the pressure from his thigh.

Methos groaned from Duncan's torture and tried to shift into a more comfortable position against the stairs. Through the lust-induced fog in his brain, he was trying to decide whether the exquisite torture of Duncan's mouth, thigh-- and now the hand that had snaked up under Methos' sweater to tease his nipples-- was enough to outweigh the pain of the concrete step that was digging into his back and shoulder. He appreciated Duncan's spontaneity and intensity, but he wasn't in the mood for such inconvenience when a huge, soft bed wasn't far away.

"As interesting as this is, MacLeod," he finally said, "these steps are killing me."

Duncan pulled away and looked down at Methos with a grin. "You'll survive."

"Maybe so," Methos said with a smirk and lifted one of the swords still in his hand, placing it against Duncan's neck. "But you might not, if you don't let me up."

"When you put it that way." Duncan moved back, off of Methos watching to see how serious he was. When Methos grinned and took off again, Duncan laughed and followed him.

Methos dropped both swords onto the couch unceremoniously and headed for the bed, pulling his sweater off as he went. Duncan was right behind him, slipping his pants off and reaching for Methos, pulling him to him in a deep, fierce kiss. Methos chuckled against Duncan's mouth and turned, pushing Duncan off balance and down onto the bed. Most of their love-making in the past days had been slow, explorative, and intense, but this was different. Duncan had offered a challenge, and Methos intended on making him come as quickly as possible.

Methos draped himself over Duncan, not stopping to remove his shoes or jeans, and devoured Duncan's mouth with his own. The kiss was fierce, stealing the breath from his lungs and sending fire rushing through Methos' body. Once again, he was amazed at the heat of Duncan's body-- it nearly burned his skin where he touched him. The need for air necessitated that Methos pull away from the kiss, but he didn't slow down. He worked his way down Duncan's neck and then chest, licking, biting and sucking every inch he could reach. He tasted the saltiness of Duncan's sweat from his workout, and breathed in the musky male scent.

Duncan moaned as Methos worked his way down his body quickly. His own intentions had been easily dispensed with as Methos took control. Duncan couldn't even attempt a protest under the onslaught of sensation that the older Immortal was eliciting. It took only a moment for Methos to reach Duncan's groin, and there was no teasing, no prelude-- Methos took Duncan's penis into his mouth and immediately set a steady, rough pace. Duncan shuddered in surprise at the wet, heat surrounding him and pulling him quickly down into a whirlpool of nothing but sensation. He couldn't even attempt to hold back or slow down the inevitable-- instead he just lay back and let it wash over him.

"What the hell was that?" Duncan asked later, once he'd had a chance to catch his breath. He lay sprawled out across the bed, unable to move after the power of the orgasm Methos had just given him. Methos was lying on his side next to him, still half dressed, and propped up on one arm, watching Duncan with a smug half-smile.

"That..." Methos said, reaching out and brushing a strand of damp hair off of Duncan's forehead, "was you giving up control." He watched Duncan consider his answer. This warrior amazed him sometimes-- at times he was incredibly self-aware, but at other times he seemed adrift and lost. Methos liked that about him. He loved watching Duncan wrestle with a problem, battling with his own conscience, trying desperately to make things come out right in the end. It was a fascinating process to watch.

After a few moments of silence, Duncan sighed and turned over to look at Methos.

"So, where'd you go today?" Duncan asked, reaching out and absently running his fingers lightly down Methos' neck and collar-bone.

"I rented a little apartment and leased a car," Methos answered, watching Duncan's hands wander.

"An apartment?" Duncan asked, surprised. "Methos..."

Methos interrupted Duncan's words. "It's not that I'm not happy here, Mac. But I figured if I'm gonna be sticking around for awhile, I should have my own place. Especially since we both agreed to keep this our little secret."

"Good point," Duncan said, but couldn't contain the grin at learning Methos had decided to stay in town. "But you know," he added with a smirk, "mi casa es su casa."

Methos chuckled at hearing the very words he had used when Duncan first met him. He shivered under the light stroking of his fingers at the base of his neck.

"You really have a sensitive neck," Duncan observed.

"I've noticed that most Immortals do... more so than mortals." Methos reached out and ran his own fingers over Duncan's neck.

"That's true," Duncan nodded. "Tessa's wasn't that sensitive... but with you and Amanda both, it's an erogenous zone. I wonder why."

"You have to ask?" Methos said incredulously. He leaned forward and kissed Duncan softly just below his ear.

"Because it's our vulnerability... our mortality."

"Bingo," Methos whispered and continued placing soft kisses along Duncan's jaw and sucking lightly on his Adam's apple. "And vulnerability can be very sexy," he said in a deep soft voice, then placed a soft, slow kiss on Duncan's mouth.

When the kiss was over, Methos pulled back slightly and looked down at Duncan, searching his eyes. Duncan was confused by the close scrutiny-- it looked as if Methos were trying to read his mind, or was trying to form the words for something.

"What is it?" Duncan asked, placing his palm along his lover's sharp cheekbone.

"I want you, Duncan," Methos said intently, his hazel eyes suddenly dark and serious.

"I think you've got me," Duncan chuckled, not understanding the sudden seriousness. Methos leaned forward and kissed him softly again and then pulled away and sat up.

"No," he said, looking down at Duncan, "I want to be inside you... I want to make love to you. Will you let me?"

"Oh," Duncan said, realizing finally what Methos had meant. It was the one thing they hadn't done yet-- the one line they hadn't crossed. Duncan had always been on top since that first night, but it wasn't because he had objected to it. It was because Methos hadn't ever pushed the subject. He had to admit, the idea made him extremely nervous. But looking up at his friend now, it didn't matter. Methos had given him nothing but intense pleasure-- this would only deepen that intimacy. Suddenly he felt a jolt of anticipation flow through him at the prospect, and he was touched at the sweetness of the older Immortal's request.

"Yes," Duncan said, sitting up. He reached out and pulled Methos to him, placing a light kiss on his forehead, cheek, and then lips. "I would like that very much."

"Yes, I think you will," Methos promised, his breath warm against Duncan's ear, causing a shudder to run through the younger Immortal's body. He brought his hands up and delicately explored the planes of Duncan's face, running his fingers over the dark eyebrows, the round cheeks, the full, sensuous lips, and the strong jaw. Finally he twined his fingers in the long dark hair at Duncan's temples and pulled Duncan to his mouth. At first, Methos touched Duncan's lips with the lightest of kisses, but Duncan sought to deepen it-- his tongue reaching out and probing Methos' mouth.

Duncan ran his hands over Methos' chest and reached down to unbutton his jeans. Methos protested vocally when Duncan pulled his mouth away, breaking the kiss and the warmth that surrounded Methos. But Duncan smiled and pulled away, getting up off the bed. He reached over and pulled Methos' boots and socks off, then easily divested Methos of his jeans. He grabbed the small bottle of almond oil off the bedside table, and then stretched himself over Methos' body. He wrapped his warmth around the ancient man again, lying skin-to-skin and reclaimed his mouth.

Methos groaned under the assault of warmth and sensation. He explored Duncan's body with his hands, and his face and neck with his mouth, enjoying the intense pleasure of their cocks grinding together. He shuddered and moaned at the assault, causing Duncan to chuckle lightly at his response. Duncan lifted up slightly and looked down at Methos with a tender smile, then kissed him once quickly and placed something in his hand. Methos recognized the bottle of oil immediately, and delicious anticipation surged through him.

Duncan slid off of his body and lay down on his stomach next to Methos. Methos smiled affectionately-- it was typical of the Highlander to decide on a course of action, then plunge in. Placing a soft kiss on the middle of the younger Immortal's shoulder blade, he slowly traced the delicate curve of Duncan's vertebrae with his hand, then ran his hand across Duncan's back to rest on his hip. He tugged gently on the hip and whispered to Duncan.

"Turn on your side," he said. "It'll be easier."

Duncan shivered at the words and complied. He wanted this-- he really did. But the reality of the situation suddenly made him nervous. He could feel his muscles tightening up against his will and he tried to calm himself. Soon though, as he felt Methos' lips on his neck and shoulder and one of his hands in his hair, the other stroking his chest in small circles, he relaxed-- giving himself up to the tactile sensation.

Once he was breathing heavy under Methos' ministrations, he didn't flinch when the hand on his chest left and returned moments later to stroke his ass, slick with the massage oil. He shivered when Methos ran his fingers lightly over his anus and began to draw tiny circles over it. Soon he felt the finger push in to invade him. He gasped and felt his body clinch up in surprise.

"It's okay," Methos whispered, his breath warm on Duncan's ear. "Relax. Let it happen."

Duncan merely nodded and tried to concentrate on relaxing-- something that is really quite impossible to do. But Methos sucked Duncan's ear into his mouth and bit down slightly, then ran his tongue over the spot softly to soothe it. Duncan gasped at the sensation and didn't notice the finger slide the rest of the way into his body. But then Methos began to move the finger, and Duncan gasped from the electric sensation which shot through his body, his penis pulsing painfully in response. He moaned and felt Methos chuckle against his back. It wasn't long until the finger was pulled out and replaced with two, gently stretching Duncan as he was stimulated.

When Duncan was panting and pushing his hips back against Methos' hand, he felt the fingers leave him and stifled a whimper at the loss. Then he felt Methos' lips on his ear again, his breath causing Duncan to shiver.

"Are you ready, Highlander?" Methos whispered in a husky voice, causing another shudder to wrack Duncan's body.

He nodded.

"Tell me," Methos insisted in the same whisper.

"Yes," Duncan managed to croak, "please. Now Methos." The last bit came out stronger, more steady, and he felt Methos smile against his neck.

Then he felt Methos' penis at his entrance. He took a deep breath and felt Methos push in just a bit, then pause, waiting for Duncan to relax. There was pain at first, but once his body had adjusted to the intrusion it faded. Methos began to move again, pushing in another inch, and Duncan moaned from the sparks of fire than began to erupt. A few more gentle pushes and Methos was all the way in. Duncan felt himself filled, connected to the ancient Immortal in a way he had not felt before.

Methos devoured Duncan's neck again and wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, then he began to move, pushing himself in and out of Duncan slowly at first and then speeding up. Duncan came apart under the assault of sensation. He found himself meeting Methos' thrusts, increasing the speed and intensity, overcome with the need. He reached down and began to stroke his own penis, knowing he wasn't going to last long. He was surprised when Methos hand curled around his own, and bit down on Duncan's shoulder, muffling a groan.

Methos was overcome with the feeling of being inside the Highlander, inside his intense heat. He was hot and tight, and Methos knew that he wasn't going to last long, so when Duncan reached down to stroke his own penis he knew it was time to let go. He wrapped his own hand around Duncan's and joined the effort, while thrusting hard the last few times before letting go of his control. He allowed the orgasm to wash over him, picking him up in a tidal wave and crashing down on him. He felt himself explode inside Duncan, and distantly felt the warm wetness on his hand of Duncan's own release, and heard the fierce growl he'd come to recognize.

As he came down from the tempest, he nuzzled against Duncan's back, overcome with the knowledge that he'd been allowed this privilege. Ancient words rose up and floated through his brain, as he closed his eyes and relaxed against Duncan's back.

"What?" Duncan asked, still catching his breath.

Methos' eyes flew open, not realizing he had spoken the words out-loud.

"What language was that?" Duncan asked, having not received an answer. He turned to look up at Methos.

"Aramaic," Methos answered. He sighed at the loss as he pulled out of Duncan to allow him to turn over. At Duncan's questioning glance, he went on. "It was a piece of an ancient poem."

"Poetry?" Duncan said, lifting an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Methos himself. He placed a soft kiss on Methos' neck, sliding his mouth across the fine sheen of sweat that had collected. "What does it mean?"

Methos lifted the corner of his mouth in a wry smile and lifted his eyebrow in humor. "The paraphrase would be something like... 'Really great fuck'," he said sarcastically. He wasn't about to tell Duncan the real translation. My soul has taken refuge, In thee I have come home. He hadn't meant to say the words out-loud in the first place and he wasn't prepared or ready to share the sentiment with Duncan, no matter how intense their passion had just been.

"Riiight," Duncan drawled. He decided against pushing Methos on the subject though, not quite comfortable with the intensity himself. "It was great," he said softly, and burrowed himself farther into Methos' arms.

They lay like that for several minutes-- arms wrapped tightly around each other, legs tangled up together. Methos absently twirled a section of Duncan's hair around his finger and listened to Duncan's breathing slow and deepen as he dozed. He was about to fall asleep himself when Duncan shifted and moaned. Then he heard Duncan's stomach growl, and both men erupted in laughter.

"I guess that means we have to get up," Duncan sighed.

"We could always eat in bed," Methos offered.

"I told Joe we were going to come by tonight."

"I'm sure we could come up with an excuse," Methos said, and nibbled on Duncan's neck to support his argument.

"If we don't show up, he's gonna send out the Marines," Duncan said, puling away and sitting up. "Besides, I have to go over some stuff with him for the boxing tournament we're sponsoring."

"Boxing tournament?" Methos asked.

"Yeah, in honor of Charlie," Duncan stood up and held his hand out for Methos. "Come on, we're both in desperate need of a shower."

"If you scrub my back, I'll scrub yours?" Methos asked, tilting his head as he looked up at Duncan.

"Yeah, something like that," Duncan answered and pulled him up off the bed and pushed him into the bathroom.

Several weeks later--

"Oh, MacLeod," Methos groaned from behind his book, "you do know how to use your hands."

"So I've been told," Duncan grinned, continuing the foot massage he had begun.

"It won't work you know," Methos said, turning the page in his journal.

"What?" Duncan asked innocently.

"You're trying to distract me. You have been for a while now." Methos looked at him over his book and Duncan just grinned at him.

Duncan had been doing his books when Methos came in, and so the older Immortal had stretched out on the couch and begun writing in his journal. It was the first chance he'd had to sit down and write about the past few days-- he wanted to record his thoughts about Duncan and his friend Ingrid. Watching Duncan struggle with the conflict between his own sense of justice and that of Ingrid's had been fascinating-- and painful, as he watched Duncan beat himself up over his decision in its aftermath. But for once, Methos felt that Duncan had really learned a valuable lesson. He made the vital discovery that justice is not absolute or universal. It is personal and can only be evaluated in the moment. What is left after that moment is learning to live with the choices.

He'd been engrossed in that task for the past hour and Duncan had grown tired of waiting for him to finish. Hoping to distract him-- or get a look at what he was writing-- Duncan sat down on the end of the couch and lifted Methos' feet into his lap and proceeded to give him a very thorough foot massage. He could tell it was working-- it was obvious that Methos was only pretending to work.

"Why don't you tell me what you're writing in that thing?" Duncan asked, tapping the back of the book.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Methos teased and finally closed the book. He looked at Duncan seriously. "Actually, I'm keeping an erotic diary of our exploits."

"You are not," Duncan laughed, but then noted the seriousness on Methos' face. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Methos. "You better not be."

"What?" Methos asked, shifting to move closer to Duncan. "You don't want me to share with the Watchers just exactly how good you are in bed?"

"That's your Chronicle?" Duncan asked, surprised.

"No," Methos answered, seeing how alarmed Duncan was at the prospect. "It's my journal... and don't worry, I haven't shared anything important with the Watchers in centuries."

Duncan relaxed. It was ridiculous of him to let Methos tease him that way-- he should have learned by now not to believe half of what came out of the old man's mouth. Why was it that he suddenly became gullible around Methos?

"So, you have my attention now," Methos said, taking Duncan's hand and sandwiching it between his, "was there something you wanted?"

"Not particularly," Duncan answered with a sly smile, "I just hate being ignored."

"So I noticed. You really do have incredible hands, MacLeod," he said, continuing his examination of Duncan's hands. They were big and strong, hands built to hold a sword-- yet so tender and comforting when he wanted to be. Something occurred to Methos suddenly, and he sat back.

"Lie back and close your eyes," he told Duncan.

"What?"

"Just do it," Methos commanded softly.

Duncan narrowed his eyes at the command, but complied. He stretched his legs out on the table in front of him and leaned back in the couch and closed his eyes. He felt Methos pick up one of his hands and begin to massage his palm-- it actually felt wonderful. Methos massaged his hand and fingers gently until all the muscles and joints in the hand were loose and relaxed, then he carefully located several pressure points and began to manipulate them. He'd been so tense since killing Ingrid, and this was the first time he began to feel himself relaxing in days.

Now it dawned on Duncan what Methos was doing-- accupressure. He felt his whole body relaxing as the ancient practice did its work, then he felt Methos locate some more obscure points and he gasped as he felt the sensations flood his body. Tiny tingles spread throughout his body, and centered themselves on his groin, causing his heartbeat to accelerate and his breathing to grow heavy. It was an incredible sensation and he remembered only feeling this one other time in his life-- that particular sudden memory startled him and he opened his eyes to look at Methos' intent face.

"Where'd you learn this?" Duncan asked, almost accusatorial.

Methos was startled at the sound of MacLeod's voice, his attention had been so concentrated on his manipulations. He studied the look of surprise and accusation on Duncan's face, and wondered what could have brought on this outburst. Then it began to dawn on him, and he chuckled lightly.

"I take it you've felt this before?" Methos asked.

"Yes. Only once. Where'd you learn it?"

Methos smiled and leaned over to kiss Duncan softly on the lips. "Has it never occurred to you that we might have lovers in common? It happens a lot among our kind you know," Methos said non-chalantly.

"You and Mei-Ling?" Duncan asked, astonished.

Methos just nodded and leaned back on the couch-- obviously his earlier intentions had just been side-tracked. He smiled at the look of surprise on Duncan's face. *Leave it to the Highlander to be bothered by this.*

"When?" Duncan asked simply.

"When did we meet? When were we lovers? Or when was the last time we were together?" Methos asked in succession.

"All of the above," Duncan answered, annoyed at Methos' obtuseness.

"We met long before you were born. We became lovers a few centuries after that, and on a few occasions since that time. And the last time I saw her was in 1934. I was surprised, to say the least, to hear that she had lost her head," Methos finished sadly. "But I'm glad you took care of that little shit who killed her." Methos stood up and went to retrieve another beer from the fridge.

Duncan sat and watched Methos, stunned at the news. Methos had known Mei-Ling that long! It was strange to find out that his lovers had once been lovers-- there was something incongruous about it. But if he thought about it, Methos was right-- it was common among Immortals. They were around for so long, and crossed paths many times. And just because he had only now discovered the pleasures of a same-sex relationship didn't mean that all of his lovers in the past had been so limited. Hell, he knew Amanda had been involved with women in the past. Why should this be any stranger? Of course Methos had still not given him much of an answer-- which was typical.

"It's not fair, Methos," he said finally.

"What?" Methos asked, trying to follow the line of conversation to something that might not be fair.

"You know everything about my life, and I know next to nothing about yours."

"Oh," Methos said. He knew this subject had been coming for a while. It actually surprised him that it had taken Duncan so long to notice the one-sided flow of information. "Can I help it if you weren't smart enough to infiltrate the Watchers?" he quipped, hoping to find a way to avoid the conversation.

"Methos, the Watcher's don't even know that much about you."

"They know more than you do," Methos muttered, but then was sorry he had said it. *Encourage him, why don't you?* he admonished himself.

"My point exactly," Duncan said, growing more irritated.

Methos sighed and set his beer down on the counter. He went and sat down on the table in front Duncan and tried to find a way to explain why he didn't intend to open his whole life up for Duncan's examination.

"Mac," he said softly, "first, let's make a distinction. The Watchers know things about my life-- a very long time ago at that-- but they don't know me. You know me a lot more than anyone has in a long time. Who I was is not the same as who I am. If there are specific things that you want to know about, feel free to ask, but I won't volunteer the information and I can't promise that I'll answer you if you do ask."

"But..." Duncan started, but Methos stopped him.

"I know we're not on an equal footing here-- I'm sorry that I have an upper hand in the information department. But, Duncan MacLeod, you have a life you can be proud of, and you know as well as I do that those Chronicles are far from being complete or a hundred percent accurate. I didn't know you until I met you-- you can't know a person from words on a page."

Duncan stared at Methos for a moment and let his words sink in. He was right about the distinction between knowing a person and knowing about their lives, but something else he had said bothered Duncan. If Duncan had a life he could be proud of, the implication was that Methos couldn't say the same. It made sense-- in 5000 years, surely he had changed and surely he had done things that he couldn't be proud of. That explained at least partially why Methos was so hesitant to talk about his past. But he had offered to share if Duncan asked.

"You're right Methos, I'm sorry," Duncan said and leaned forward to kiss him.

"Haven't you learned by now that I'm always right," Methos joked and rejoined Duncan on the couch.

Duncan groaned at the joke and pulled Methos up next to him and settled in comfortably. He figured he'd take Methos up on his offer and see what he could find out.

"So tell me how you met Mei-Ling," he said.

"I was traveling with a caravan of merchants on the Silk Road... mid-11th century I believe," Methos began. "She was traveling the road with her husband at the time and hadn't yet become Immortal, but soon after we met she was killed by a horse. I took up employment in her husband's house."

"You were her teacher?!" Duncan asked, even more surprised.

"At first," Methos nodded. "I taught her about Immortality and the Game and some basic defense, but then I turned her over to a master. The next time I saw her," Methos chuckled at the memory, "she taught me a few things."

Duncan laughed, remembering the strength and fierceness of the woman he had loved and learned from. "Let me guess, 'Man's greatest strength is also his greatest liability'," he quoted, imitating Mei-Ling's speech pattern and soft voice. He reached down and gently grabbed Methos' groin for emphasis.

Methos jumped and then laughed. "I see you learned the same lesson."

Duncan smiled and felt an overwhelming sense of anticipation and peace as he closed down the gate on his elevator and engaged the mechanism. He felt an Immortal above him, and knew it had to be Methos. He shook his head in amazement that it felt so good to come home. In the past few years, coming home had become more of a dreaded thing-- the loft had become lonely. But not now. Despite the fact that Methos had rented an apartment, he spent the majority of his time hanging around the loft and dojo. The voice of dread that lived inside Duncan wondered how long this could possibly last.

Of course, old habits were hard to ignore and he shifted the bags he carried into one hand, keeping the other free to reach his sword in the event that it wasn't Methos in his loft. But as the elevator reached the top, he knew it had to be Methos-- the stereo was blaring something Motown. He opened the gate to find Methos sitting on the floor near the bed with his back to the door, hunched over something. He turned his head around and smiled at Duncan when he came into the room.

"Hey," Methos said casually and then turned back to his work.

"Hi," Duncan said taking his coat off and setting his bags down, then he went over to stand over Methos and see what he was doing. He had pieces of his walkman spread out on the floor in front of him, and was using a tiny screw-driver to fiddle with the internal mechanism. "What are you doing?" Duncan asked.

"This bloody thing's broken," Methos said, tapping the walkman with his screwdriver. "Ate my favorite Clapton tape too."

"Sorry," Duncan said, and tried to stifle a laugh at how intent Methos was on trying to fix it. He reached down and ruffled the older Immortal's hair and was rewarded with a grin.

"Get me a beer will ya?" Methos asked.

"Oh, yes dear," Duncan said, in a mock subservient tone. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Yeah," Methos said with laughter in his voice, "but my hands are busy at the moment. It'll have to wait."

Duncan laughed and rolled his eyes. He went to the kitchen and pulled two beers out of the fridge.

"What's in the bags?" Methos asked.

"Some shopping," Duncan said, pulling the bottle caps off. With a grin, he put the beers in one hand and pulled a particular gift out of one of the bags. He walked back over to where Methos sat and knelt down behind him, then reached around and placed the gift in the older Immortal's lap.

Methos snorted in laughter. "Very cute," he said, setting the walkman down and taking the huge brown teddy-bear in his hands. "But I already have something to sleep with." Methos tipped his head back to look at Duncan with a smug grin, and Duncan covered it with his mouth as he settled down behind Methos and wrapped his arms around him.

"Well, it's not for you," Duncan said, and took the bear away from him and gave him the beer. "It's for Mary. Her birthday is coming up."

"Ah," he said nodding. He knew all about the baby that Duncan had once hoped to raise. "Better plan.... though he is kinda cute. He has your eyes, I think."

Duncan ignored the comment and tossed the bear up on his bed, then turned his concentration to Methos' ear. Methos took a drink of his beer and leaned back into Duncan as he nuzzled his ear and neck with his warm mouth. He had to admit he could get far too used to this kind of attention. Since they'd become lovers, Duncan seemed to be undeterrable-- and Methos didn't mind it a bit. Duncan rested his chin on Methos' shoulder and looked down at the electronic parts spread in front of him.

"So what happened to it?" he asked, picking up one of the pieces.

"I dropped it," Methos said, sheepishly. "I think it's a hopeless case though."

"Time for a new one," Duncan said, and then turned more serious as a thought occurred to him. "Methos?"

"Hmmm?" he asked, putting the pieces back together.

"I could have been another Immortal."

"What?" Methos asked, trying to figure out what Duncan was talking about.

"When I came in a while ago-- you were sitting here with your back to the door and just let me walk in before you ever checked to see who it was. Someone else could have walked in here and taken your head," Duncan said in a voice that sounded more like a tone he would use with Richie.

"Mac," Methos said with a slight edge in his voice, "I appreciate the concern for my safety, but I think you seriously underestimate me sometimes." Methos pulled away from him and got up, walking into the kitchen.

"I didn't mean you couldn't take care of yourself," Duncan said, hoping he hadn't offended Methos. "I just think you need to be more careful. This isn't like your apartment in Paris-- Immortals come looking for me all the time. I wouldn't want them to find you instead, and you not be prepared."

"Not prepared?" Methos asked, smiling at Duncan's attempt to explain. "I have managed to keep my head for quite a while-- I'm not helpless."

"I know," Duncan said. "Sorry." He shrugged and sat down on the couch

"You know what your problem is, MacLeod?" Methos asked, tossing his walkman in the trashcan.

"No. But I'm sure you're going to tell me," Duncan answered with amusement, and settled farther into the couch.

"You have a pathological need to protect every person who crosses your path."

"I do not," Duncan replied indignantly. "Not every person."

"Oh no?" Methos asked, raising his eyebrow in a smirk.

"No."

"Then tell me something. Do you remember the day we met?" Methos asked, and grabbed a cookie from the counter, popping it into his mouth.

"Of course I remember. What's your point?" Duncan asked, knowing there had to be one in there somewhere.

"You meet a man who has survived in the Game for 5000 years... 12 times your elder, you know absolutely nothing about him... and yet you have the audacity to offer your protection!" Methos pointed at Duncan emphatically, and then shrugged at Duncan's surprise.

"Well..." Duncan sputtered, "I... You said you hadn't fought in 200 years."

"So?" Methos said with a grin. "Boy scout.. that's what you are. A big Scottish boy scout."

"Fine. I apologize for offering to help," Duncan retorted.

"You wouldn't be Duncan MacLeod if you didn't try to protect people-- but at some point you have to think of your own survival. You are far too trusting of people and far too quick to offer your services to damsels in distress."

"Methos," Duncan sighed in exasperation, "why are we having this discussion again?"

"Because it obviously hasn't sunk in," Methos said simply. "At least there's one thing I don't have to worry about."

"What's that?"

"Well, you seem to be incapable of killing someone you've slept with. Guess that means I'm safe now," Methos said with a wry grin.

Unfortunately, Duncan didn't find it as amusing. "Not funny, Methos," he muttered. He got up off the couch stiffly and went to throw his beer bottle away.

"It's not funny because it's too close to the truth," Methos said, looking off into the loft at a distant point. "You have an Achilles heel, my friend," he added and turned to look at Duncan. "And one day it's going to get you killed."

"Thanks for the warning," Duncan tried to hide the edge in his voice, but the conversation was really starting to annoy him. He'd had enough speeches from Methos on this subject to last him a lifetime, and he wasn't in the mood for any more.

"MacLeod," Methos said, obviously not taking the hint, "you live in the world of a clan chieftain, where everyone is your responsibility and everyone is expected to live up to your self-imposed code."

"At least I have a code," Duncan shot back angrily.

"What?" Methos asked, the comment surprising him. He felt as if he'd been physically slapped.

"You heard me," Duncan answered. "I don't intend to repeat myself."

"Oh, I get it," Methos said, getting defensive despite his efforts not to. "I don't have a code, because I'm only out for my own survival. Touche," he said, raising his bottle in a mock toast.

"If the hiking boot fits..." Duncan said dryly, and turned to open the fridge.

He obviously intended the conversation to be over, but Methos refused to let it go at that. There was a voice inside of him that could be very mean and childish sometimes, no matter how many centuries he lived. It was the voice that knew how to step over the line, and lash out when he'd had his feelings hurt. And it was the voice that rose up in him now and spoke before he could stop it. He grabbed his book off the counter and headed back toward the couch casually.

"You might want to ask Sean Burns how much good your code did him," Methos said with an icy calm in his voice.

Duncan looked up at Methos stunned, his face turning ashen. He stood and stared at the ancient Immortal for several seconds, the torrent of emotions and painful memories playing across his expressive face. As soon as Methos saw how he'd hurt him, he wished he could take the words back. Finally, Duncan let out a long breath and turned to glance around the apartment, as if looking for a way out. Finding it, he headed for the coat rack to grab his coat.

"Mac, I'm sorry. I didn't..." Methos began, but Duncan cut him off.

"I'll be back later," he said, and strode out the back door, obviously trying hard not to slam it as he went.

"Bloody fucking brilliant, Methos!" he yelled to himself, and slammed his book down onto the table. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? Duncan hadn't wanted to have this conversation, but he'd pushed anyway. He'd been so intent on making his point that he pushed Duncan right into a corner, forcing him to lash out at Methos. Then, being the childish idiot that he was, he'd lashed back. Only Methos had used real bullets-- he'd thrown salt in wounds that had yet to heal.

"Life is good," Methos said to himself, crossing to look out the loft window, "so naturally you have to screw it all up." He didn't need this-- he really didn't need all this hassle. He knew that if he was smart, he'd get out of town and forget that Duncan MacLeod even existed. But he also knew it would be impossible-- he'd tried that tactic before and failed.

Duncan stalked into Joe's and sat down at the bar. He was furious, but his anger was directed at himself, not at Methos. Methos had the ability to irritate him, but he had snapped at him for no reason and he knew he'd hurt Methos' feelings, which in turn had caused him to lash out. True, using Sean Burns was a low blow, but there had also been a purpose behind it other than simply hurting Duncan. By bringing up Sean, Methos was subtly reminding Duncan of the fact that he had on occasion put concern for his own survival aside to help Duncan. He had risked his life more than once for Duncan, and his words to Methos had been unfair. They had simply pushed each other's buttons.

Joe didn't seem to be around, but Mike greeted him with a smile.

"What can I get you?" Mike asked.

"A beer's fine," Duncan said. He had intended to come and drown his sorrows, but his anger was already fading, so he thought he'd just have a beer and then go back and apologize. "Joe around?" he asked. He hadn't seen much of his friend lately since he'd been spending most of his time at home with Methos.

"He's in the back," Mike said and set the beer down on the bar. "Got a phone call... he'll be out in a few minutes probably."

Duncan nodded and took a long drink of his beer. After a few minutes, Joe came out of his office. Duncan smiled at his friend, but grew concerned when he saw the grave look on Joe's face. Something was obviously wrong.

"Hi Mac," Joe said, grabbing a bottle of Scotch from behind the bar. "I was just going to come by your place... you saved me a trip."

"Must be fate," Duncan said lightly. "What's wrong, Joe?"

Joe sighed and ran his hand through his hair, the look on his face causing alarm in Duncan. Joe set two glasses on the bar and made a motion to Mike that caused him to grab a tray of glasses and head into the kitchen, leaving the two men alone. Joe came around the bar and sat down heavily on the barstool next to Duncan.

"Mac, I just got some bad news," he said, filling the two glasses with Scotch.

"Richie?!" Duncan asked, suddenly terrified at the thought.

"No, no," Joe said quickly, holding his hand up. "Richie's fine, as far as I know. Maggie Compton just called from Chicago. I had asked her to call me if anything happened and..."

"Joe, who's Maggie Compton?" Duncan interrupted impatiently.

"She's..." Joe took a deep breath and corrected himself. "She was Claudia Jardin's watcher."

"Oh my God," Duncan said, paling at the clear implication of Joe's words.

"It happened yesterday, after her afternoon concert. I'm really sorry, Mac," Joe said shaking his head. He sat silently and watched Duncan process the news before going on. He knew it was only going to get worse-- there was no point in putting it off. "That's not all."

Duncan looked up at Joe surprised. How could that not be bad enough?

"You're friend Walter was also killed."

"Walter? What did he have to do with it?" Duncan asked, confused.

"He's actually been following Claudia for quite a while," Joe explained, holding his hand up before Duncan could say anything. "Mac, he's been protecting her. I guess he felt guilty about what he had done, so he had been staying close enough to keep an eye on her without her knowing he was there."

"So what happened?" Duncan demanded.

"From what Maggie could piece together between herself and Walter's watcher, it seems that this guy came for Claudia and Walter tried to stop him. Unfortunately, he was better. Then he went after Claudia's head... and she never had a chance," Joe finished sadly.

"Dammit!" Duncan yelled and jumped up from the bar, knocking over his bar stool as he did. Joe watched him pace-- could see the anger and the grief working itself out, and Duncan fighting to control it. "I knew I should never have let her go off without training."

"Mac, she made her choice. You couldn't have stopped her, and you know that," Joe said, trying to calm his friend.

"I should have..." Duncan's voice faltered. There were many things he should have done, but none of that mattered now. A beautiful, talented young woman was dead-- and there was nothing he could do about it. As that particular knowledge settled into his gut, Duncan felt his rage turning into a dull hatred-- hatred of the Game, hatred of himself, and even hatred of Claudia for making the choice that she made. He was suddenly exhausted by all of it, and his earlier intentions took root again.

Taking a deep breath, Duncan picked his bar stool up and sat back down at the bar. He downed the glass of Scotch Joe had poured him in one gulp and then reached for the bottle to refill it. He didn't want to feel anymore. He didn't want to think about Sean Burns, or Claudia Jardin, or Walter Graham, or Ingrid Henning. He just suddenly wanted to get stone drunk and not feel any of it for a while.

"Joe's, what can I do ya for?" Joe answered the phone behind his bar.

"Hi, Joe," Methos said. "Have you seen Mac?"

"Uh, yeah," Joe said, looking over at the Highlander, who was quickly drinking himself into a stupor. "He's here."

"Can you put him on?" Methos asked.

"Look Methos," Joe said with a sigh. "He's not really in a talkative mood. Honestly, he's a bit incapacitated at the moment."

"What do you mean?" Methos asked suspiciously. He doubted Duncan had gone and poured his heart out to the Watcher, and he'd hoped that Duncan was cooled off by now.

"He got some bad news and he's not taking it very well."

"What bad news?" Methos nearly growled. He was getting impatient with Joe's vagueness.

"Claudia Jardin lost her head... as well as his friend Walter. He's sitting in a corner, making his way through a bottle of single-malt."

"Damn," Methos muttered. "Don't let him leave. I'll be right there."

"He's not going anywhere," Joe said, "but he probably needs to be left alone right now."

Joe's words fell on deaf ears, as he heard the click of the phone being hung up on the other end without so much as a "good-bye". Annoyed at Methos' abruptness, he shook his head and hung up the phone. He had hoped to talk Methos out of showing up because he figured the last thing Duncan needed right now was a dose of cynicism from the ancient Immortal.

He watched Duncan, who had already worked his way through half of the full bottle that he insisted on taking to his table. At the moment, he was sitting in shadows at a table in the corner, staring into his glass. Joe was glad that the bar was nearly empty because Duncan's mood was so dark that it had the power to bring down the entire room. He wanted to help, and almost wished that he hadn't needed to give Duncan the news. But he promised Duncan that he would keep an eye on Claudia. If he'd at least known that someone was after her, he could have told MacLeod and maybe things would be different. The truth was that this was part of the Game, and Joe caused more problems than he'd solved by breaking his oath in the past. Claudia had chosen not to learn to defend herself. It had only been a matter of time for her.

"Mac," Joe said, standing in front of his table, "you want something to eat? I can have Mike cook up a burger for you."

"Nope," Duncan said, never looking up from his glass. "I'm fine."

Joe took the hint. He didn't want food, and he didn't want company. Joe shook his head and went back to cleaning off the tables from the lunch crowd. It was only about 10 minutes later when the door swung open and Methos strode into the bar. Duncan looked up briefly when he walked in, downed the full glass in front of him and poured himself another.

"Methos," Joe said, intercepting the ancient Immortal, "why don't you just let him be? He needs..."

But Methos cut Joe off, pulling away from him with a jerk. "I know exactly what he needs," he muttered and walked over to stand in front of Duncan's table. Joe just muttered a few choice words under his breath and went back behind the bar to watch.

"Mac?" Methos said softly to get the younger Immortal's attention. Duncan looked up and Methos was shocked by the look on his face. The pain evident in Duncan's eyes hit Methos like a punch in his gut. He knew from the haunted look on Duncan's face that this went much deeper than their fight or Claudia's death.

"You want one?" Duncan asked, pushing the bottle towards Methos. He figured it was the closest he was going to get to an invitation to sit down, so he took it and poured himself a glass.

"Tell me," he said simply.

"Claudia's dead," Duncan answered, and took another gulp of Scotch.

"You think this is going to help?" Methos asked, indicating the bottle.

"No!" Duncan snapped. "I don't think this is going to help. But it's what I want to do at the moment."

"Okaaay," Methos said carefully. This was obviously going to take a different approach. Methos took a long drink of Scotch and watched Duncan for a minute, trying to figure out how best to help. It seemed that what he really needed to do was get the Highlander's attention.

"Well, far be it for me to not give you what you want." Methos reached out and filled his own glass with Scotch and downed it in one gulp. "I think this is a great idea. We'll both get bloody plastered and everything will be better in the morning."

That got Duncan's attention. He glared up at Methos, who simply gave him a smug grin and a wink in reply.

"God, you can really be irritating sometimes," Duncan said, shaking his head. But Methos was sure he also saw the hint tenderness.

"I thought that's what you liked about me?" Methos asked, with a smile. "That, and my cute ass."

Duncan actually snorted at that comment, nearly spitting out the Scotch he had been drinking. Damn him. He'd been intent on brooding and drinking himself into a stupor, but it was obvious that Methos wasn't going to leave him alone. He looked at his friend's face, and was surprised by the gentleness he found there. It was all he could take, and the carefully erected dam that he'd been holding back on his emotions crumbled. His hold slipped away, and his eyes filled with tears as he cursed himself for it. He wiped at his face, trying to hide the inevitable.

"Oh god, Mac," Methos whispered. It nearly broke his heart to see this warrior crumble in front of him. He quickly moved over onto the bench next to Duncan, and reached up to wipe a tear away.

Duncan let out a single sob and leaned up against Methos, letting him wrap his arms around him. He never really cried full out-- he just sat there for a few minutes and took comfort in the ancient Immortal's arms. Methos just sat silently and held him, rubbing his back and giving him the time he needed to pull himself back together.

"I'm sorry," Duncan finally said, pulling away.

"You're welcome to my shoulder anytime," Methos said lightly.

"No, I mean for earlier."

"Oh," Methos said. He reached up and wiped the remaining tears from Duncan's face and smiled. "I'm sorry too. I hit below the belt. It was uncalled for and the whole thing was pretty damn stupid."

"Yeah, it was," Duncan admitted and smiled, feeling the room spin a bit from all the Scotch he had in his system. He leaned forward and kissed Methos softly, then patted him on the cheek. His brow furrowed and he looked down, finding it hard to focus on anything. "I really hate it all sometimes."

"I know. We all do," Methos said, taking his hand and standing up. "Let's go home." Duncan looked up and suddenly noticed Joe, standing at the bar staring at the two men incredulously.

"Shit," Duncan said, and pulled his hand out of Methos' grip.

"What?" he asked and turned around. When he saw what had elicited Duncan's reaction, he couldn't help but burst out in laughter at the look on Joe's face. Well, this was going to take a lot of explaining, he thought. But, not right now. Right now, he had to worry about Duncan.

"I think he'll survive the shock," he said, and reached out to help pull Duncan out of his seat. "Come on home-- I'll make the coffee." Methos took Duncan by the arm and led him out of the bar, waving to Joe, who was still standing at the bar with his mouth open in shock.

Joe had been furious when Methos pushed past him when he came into the bar. He'd retreated behind the bar, so he could nurse his anger and keep an eye on the two men. He wanted to be able to intervene if Methos decided to be his usual son-of-a-bitch self. What he ended up seeing instead, surprised him more than if a ship full of little green men set down in his bar and ordered martinis.

He could tell when Duncan began to crack, and it only mildly surprised him when Methos had moved over and put his arms around Duncan. But when Duncan pulled away, and Methos reached out and gently wiped the tears from his face, Joe blinked wondering if he was imagining the intimacy he thought he saw. Any misinterpretation was put to rest when Duncan leaned forward and kissed Methos. Whoa! He began to wonder if he'd just stepped into some kind of alternate universe, where everything was backwards. But there was no denying what he'd seen, especially when Duncan looked up at him and paled. It was obviously a secret that Duncan had intended to keep.

"Holy shit," Joe said, and sat down heavily on a stool at the bar.

He had known something was going on with those two for the past few weeks. He'd hardly seen either of them, and the air of secrecy seemed to be thick as pea soup around them when he did. But this had been the last thing he expected. Once again he'd learned a valuable lesson about Immortals-- never assume you know your assignment as well as you think you do. Or your friends, he added to himself.

Methos followed Duncan up the stairs to the loft, wincing as he watched the younger Immortal's heavy steps that spoke of alcohol, exhaustion, and the painful weight of memories. He knew the feeling far too well. Getting Duncan out of Joe's had been much easier than he thought it would be, but now the dark silence that had descended over Duncan was more worrisome. True, Duncan was a brooder at heart-- he held on to his pain like a talisman sometimes, holding it inside him until he was able to integrate it or it destroyed him. Methos hoped the former would continue to win out.

Duncan unlocked the door, tossed his coat down and silently headed for the bathroom. Methos sighed and headed for the kitchen to make coffee. He hated Duncan in this kind of mood-- the silence could get oppressive. Just watching the warrior battle his own emotions made Methos tired. He had learned long ago that it was best to simply allow the emotions to come-- immersing himself in pain and grief allowed the soul to cleanse itself. Of course, he had to admit that he didn't allow himself the potential for pain as often as Duncan. Methos could count the people that he truly cared about on one hand.

After a few minutes, Duncan came out of the bathroom. He carefully hung up a shirt that Methos had left hanging on the towel rack that morning, causing the older Immortal to smile as he watched him. But Duncan still didn't speak, and Methos stayed silent, letting him have his time. He turned his attention to the coffee-maker. When he finished preparing a cup for Duncan, he turned to find his friend standing at the window near the back stairs, his arms crossed over his chest, and staring out at the settling dusk. Methos grabbed himself a beer from the fridge and carried both beverages over to Duncan.

"Here," he said, handing the mug to Duncan. "You need it."

Duncan didn't respond, but he took the cup with an attempt at a smile and turned back to the window. Methos sat down on the spiral staircase and waited silently, watching Duncan sip his coffee. He wanted Duncan to talk to him, but he knew he had to wait until he was ready. After several more minutes of the oppressive silence, Duncan startled Methos when he finally spoke.

"Is that really how you see me?" Duncan asked, not turning to look at Methos.

"How I see you?" Methos asked, completely baffled by Duncan's question. He suddenly felt like he had come in on the middle of a conversation.

"Yes... earlier you said that I live in the world of a clan chieftain, where everyone is my responsibility and everyone is expected to live up to my self-imposed code," Duncan quoted, then turned to look Methos in the eyes. "Is that really how you see me?"

Methos nodded, now understanding Duncan's question. It had been the middle of a conversation-- just one that was started earlier in the day. He regarded the younger Immortal for a moment, trying to determine how to answer. It was certainly a loaded question, and not an easy one.

"Not entirely," Methos said, opting for simplicity. Somehow he knew he wouldn't get off that easy though.

"What does that mean?" Duncan asked, frustration at Methos' vague answer evident in his voice.

"It means that clan chieftain is only a part of who you are... of who I see... but it does define much of what you do. And certainly how you play the Game."

Duncan didn't respond. He turned back to look out the window again, but seemed to be considering Methos' words carefully. It gave Methos a headache just watching Duncan thinking so hard.

"My father raised me to be chieftain," Duncan said softly. "I always hated the lessons when I was a kid. Everything with him always seemed to be about how I would learn to lead the Clan." Methos smiled, hearing Duncan's voice slip easily into his former burr as he spoke of his childhood.

"When I was eleven, there was this boy... a cousin, named Andrew. He was a year or two younger than I was, and he was really small and awkward for his age. But he was so intent on being a part of the group... he used to follow Robert and I and a few other boys around like a shadow... always wanting to take part. But he never could really keep up with us, and he just became a nuisance. One day, he followed us out into Donan Woods. There was this river, cut into a small gully and the only way to cross it was an old log that wasn't terribly sturdy... but it was some sort of adolescent test of manhood to walk across it. We'd all done it before, but Andrew hadn't. He was afraid of heights, and even if he wasn't he had no business near that log because he had a horrible sense of balance. Robert decided it was time to teach Andrew a lesson about following us around... so he and Angus started teasing Andrew mercilessly until they forced him to go out on that log." Duncan paused and took a long drink of his coffee.

"So what happened?" Methos prodded.

"He fell," Duncan sighed and set the mug down on the window-sill. "He was knocked unconscious for a few minutes... God, I was sure he was dead. But he came to and he had broken his leg. We had to climb down into the river and carry him back to the village. We all felt horrible about it, but when my father found out he hit the roof."

"Oops," Methos chuckled, trying to imagine Duncan as a boy, frightened by his father's fury.

"I got the tanning of my life for that. It didn't matter that I hadn't been one of the ones who teased Andrew. My father said-- it does not matter that you didn't hurt him, it only matters that you did not stop him from being hurt. He said that as his son it was my duty to protect all those in my Clan, and because of that Andrew's injuries were my responsibility, my burden."

"But Duncan, Andrew made the choice to walk out on that log. You can't take the blame for his decisions."

"That's easy to say, Methos," Duncan sighed, turning back to the window. "Not so easy to live. To teach me a lesson, my father left me behind when the men went out on the next hunt. I was old enough to go, and I was so furious at being left behind to care for the women. But I learned the lesson-- that it was my job to protect those weaker than me." Duncan took a deep breath and let it out before he whispered. "I failed Claudia."

"All right, MacLeod," Methos said, standing up. He had seen where this was going, and he still hadn't stopped it. He knew he should have more patience with Duncan when he was like this, but he didn't. He grabbed Duncan's arm and turned him around to look at him.

"Listen to me," he said forcefully. "You can not protect someone who does not want to be protected. Claudia made her choice when she went out there without training. Andrew made his choice when he walked out on that log. And you can not change the consequences of their choices."

"I know it," Duncan growled and pulled away from Methos, turning back to look out the window. "I know it," he said again, more softly as if he was trying to convince himself. Methos smiled sadly, knowing that Duncan would never change-- and if he was honest with himself, he wouldn't want him to. It was these very qualities that had drawn him to the Highlander in the first place.

"Well Chief," Methos said, and wrapped his arms around Duncan from behind and kissing his neck softly. "You want some dinner?"

"I'm not hungry," Duncan said. He turned around and kissed Methos softly on his forehead. It was apparent that the conversation was over.

"No?" Methos asked, with a wry smile.

"No," Duncan answered simply and pulled Methos to him in a kiss.

"Oh shit," Duncan said, stopping his full chopsticks in mid-air before he reached his mouth. After making love, they had called out for Chinese food and were now spread out on Duncan's bed, with various cartons of food and a couple of beers.

"What?" Methos asked, alarmed by the outburst.

"Joe," Duncan said simply, his brow furrowed in sudden concern. He had forgotten all about the little show they put on for Joe in the bar earlier, and wondered how the Watcher was taking the revelation.

"Oh," Methos said, a grin forming on his face. He couldn't help but chuckle remembering the look on the mortal's face when they'd left the bar. "I have to say the look on his face was priceless. I get the feeling it's not very easy to shock Joe Dawson-- and we sure as hell did that tonight."

Duncan wanted to treat the situation serious, but Methos had a point. He had never seen Joe struck speechless before. He grinned, and stole one of the steamed dumplings out of the carton in Methos' hand.

"Seriously. What are we going to do about him?" Duncan asked, dipping the dumpling in soy sauce and stuffing it in his mouth.

"Well, I don't think he's going to buy a denial. He's a good friend-- we'll just be straight with him."

"So to speak," Duncan said with a sideways glance at Methos.

"Oh... very clever," Methos said dryly and reached for the carton wedged between Duncan's thighs. "Are you going to share the General Tso's or not?"

"No," Duncan said, slapping Methos' hand. "You didn't even want to order it. Stick with your sweet and sour shrimp. I don't know how you can eat that stuff," he said with a shudder.

"I can't help it if you don't like sweet and sour, but we agreed to share," Methos argued and grabbed the carton he'd been after. "So what do you want to tell him?"

"I don't know," Duncan shrugged. "How do you think he's gonna react to this?"

"Mac, he's a Watcher... and an ex-soldier.  He's been around and has a pretty open mind. I don't think he's going to disavow your friendship just because you've broadened your horizons."

"I know," Duncan said with a frown. "God, I just don't know what I'm going to say to him... this is all still pretty weird." Duncan waved his chopsticks around, indicating Methos and the bed. "But I can't just avoid him either. In fact, I have to go talk to him in the morning." Duncan pointed at the carton laying next to Methos. "Give me another dumpling."

Methos stared at Duncan suspiciously for a moment, noticing the change of tone when Duncan had said he would have to talk to Joe tomorrow. He was no longer concerned about Joe's reaction-- this was about something much more serious. Methos had a pretty good idea what that was. He picked up one of the dumplings with his chopsticks and dipped it into the soy sauce, then leaned over and fed it to Duncan. He watched Duncan take the dumpling into his mouth and then lick the soy sauce that dripped down his chin. Methos suddenly had the urge to lick it off himself, but he couldn't help but ask the next question.

"You're going to go after him aren't you?"

"Who?" Duncan asked, trying to be non-chalant.

"You know who. The guy who killed Claudia and Walter... you're planning to hunt him down."

"Methos, don't start," Duncan warned, and began setting his food cartons on the bedside table.

"Not a word," Methos said pointedly, but with a softness in his eyes. He took a drink of his beer and lay back on the bed. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Duncan said, surprised at the lack of argument. It hadn't been the response he was expecting. Perhaps their earlier discussion had been fruitful. He watched Methos laying on the bed-- his eyes were closed, but his mouth was twisted up in a sly grin. Yep, the old man knew he had surprised Duncan and was enjoying every minute of it.

"You know," Duncan said, leaning over Methos and pinning his arms down, "you really can be irritating sometimes."

"Yeah, so I've been told," Methos mumbled before Duncan claimed his mouth in a deep kiss. "It's an artform you know... I've had thousands of years of perfecting the craft."

"Shut up, Methos," Duncan said, and reclaimed his mouth, trapping Methos' body beneath him.

Duncan stopped just outside the door to Joe's bar and squinted up into the morning sun, taking a deep breath. He was dreading the conversation he was about to have-- afraid of facing Joe. He would have preferred that the new aspect of his relationship with Methos remain secret, but he knew that eventually Joe would have found out one way or another. Joe was, after all, his Watcher. It was his job to know everything about Duncan's life. That fact had once bothered Duncan immensely, but in the past couple of years he'd come to know and trust Joe Dawson. The Watcher was, above all else, his friend. So why did this impending conversation terrify him? Scolding himself for his reluctance, Duncan pushed the door open and went into the empty, dark bar. Might as well get this over with, he thought.

Joe was looking through a case of bottles, counting them as a delivery man stood waiting. He looked up when Duncan came in and squinted in the sudden light coming through the door. His eyes widened slightly when he recognized his visitor.

"Hey Mac," he said, waving to his visitor.

"Morning Joseph," Duncan answered, smiling shyly.

"Help yourself to some coffee. I'll be done with this in a minute."

"No hurry," Duncan answered and headed for the coffee-maker set up on the bar. Well, so far so good, Duncan thought. Joe seemed friendly enough-- maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. He watched as Joe nodded, signed the man's clipboard and took his receipt.

"I don't know why the suppliers insist on making deliveries this early in the morning," Joe sighed, walking back behind the bar and sticking the receipt into a book near the register. "If it's all the same to them, I'd rather be able to sleep in."

Duncan chuckled and jumped up from his stool. "You want me to put those away for you?" he asked, eager to put off any talk.

"No," Joe said, stopping him. "Mike's coming in later to reorganize the store room. It's easier to just leave it for him."

"Oh," Duncan said and sat back down.

Joe poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down on the stool behind the bar. He put cream and sugar in his coffee and watched Duncan fidget silently with his cup. He had to stifle a grin at how much Duncan looked like he was waiting outside the principal's office, knowing he was in deep trouble. It amused Joe to see Duncan so nervous. He was obviously afraid of what Joe was going to say about what he'd witnessed the previous evening.

The truth was-- Joe had been shocked, and a little angry at the fact that his two friends were keeping this secret from him. But he'd gotten over it. He'd spent most of the night thinking about the situation and he'd even gone through some Watcher records. Most Immortals who were more than a few centuries old had at some point learned to enjoy relationships with members of their own sex. He supposed it was human nature, and Immortals were, after all, exaggerated humans. Humans were inquisitive by nature and the need to try new things, to expand one's repertoire would be amplified by the fact that a person had lived for centuries. Add to that the fact that living for centuries in many different cultures would tend to break down the barriers of most taboos and social mores.

Once Joe had looked at this objectively, it didn't surprise him so much that Duncan was apparently sleeping with Methos. Joe had noticed long ago that the two men had a kind of unexplainable connection. They had trusted each other almost immediately upon meeting-- very uncharacteristic for Methos-- and they had both put themselves on the line for the other several times in the past two years. In a moment of romantic sentimentalism, Joe had decided it was an act of fate bringing his two friends together. That, however, did not lessen his annoyance at being kept in the dark.

"You know," Joe said, breaking the uncomfortable silence and startling Duncan, "there's one thing that really annoys me about Immortals."

"What's that?" Duncan asked, looking like he was about to be led to the gallows.

"It really pisses me off that you guys can drink like you did yesterday and not have the slightest hint of a hangover," Joe said with a chuckle. He saw Duncan relax considerably at the wise-crack. That had been his intention.

"Well," Duncan said with a self-deprecating smile, "we pay for our stupidity in other ways."

"I suppose so," Joe chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. The silence descended over them again, and Joe realized that he was going to have to bring it up or they'd be there forever.

"So," he said and reached over to refill Duncan's coffee cup. It was the comfortable habit of a bartender. "Are you going to tell me about it?"

"I guess I owe you an explanation," Duncan said, not looking up from his mug.

"Mac, you don't owe me anything," Joe interrupted. "I can forget I saw anything yesterday, if that's what you want. But I think you're here now because you want to tell me about it."

Duncan looked up and grinned at Joe's words. He chastised himself for being so nervous about talking to his friend. Joe Dawson was a person who continued to surprise him.

"How'd you get so perceptive, Joseph?"

"I ate lots of carrots when I was a kid," Joe shrugged. "So, I take it you and Methos are..." he let the implication trail off, not really knowing how to put it.

"Yeah," Duncan said quickly, "we are. That doesn't bother you does it?" he asked warily.

"I gotta say, it shocked the hell out of me." Joe shook his head incredulously.

"It shocked the hell out of me," Duncan insisted.

"Is he the first time you ever..."

"Uh huh," Duncan nodded.

"How long's this been going on?" Joe asked.

"Not that long," Duncan answered. "Just since he came back to town."

"That's a relief," Joe chuckled and went on to explain at the question on Duncan's face. "I was afraid I'd been completely clueless. I knew you two were up to something the last few weeks. This, I wouldn't have guessed, but I knew there was some big secret you guys were keeping."

"I'm really sorry about that, Joe. It's not that we didn't trust you, it's just..."

"Don't worry about it," Joe stopped Duncan's apology. "I can understand why you want to keep it a secret. I suppose you're gonna ask me to keep it out of your Chronicle?"

Duncan looked up from his cup, surprised at the question. He considered it for a moment, weighing his possible answers. He did want it to remain secret, but not because he was ashamed of this new part of his life. There were other considerations. But he knew suddenly that he couldn't ask that of his friend-- he'd already used their friendship too much in the past.

"No, Joseph. I can't ask that. When I asked you to stay in the Watchers, I did it because I respect your judgment and your commitment to history and truth. I leave it up to you to decide whether to record this or not. I'm only going to ask one thing of you."

"What's that?" Joe asked, moved by his friend's words.

"If you make the choice to record this relationship, I'd like you to find a way to do it without jeopardizing Methos. He has much more to lose than I ever could."

"I'd never..." Joe started, surprised by the request.

"I know that," Duncan stopped him. "That's why we trust you with this."

Joe smiled at the compliment he'd just been paid. "Thanks Mac."

Duncan just smiled and nodded, then took a drink of his coffee. They lapsed back into silence for a few minutes, but this time it was decidedly more comfortable.

"So where is the old man?" Joe finally asked.

"He dropped me off and went to run some errands. I actually had a second reason for coming by," Duncan said sheepishly. He was afraid to ruin the good feelings they just created, but he had come here for a purpose besides smoothing things over.

"Hang on a minute," Joe said suddenly getting up, and walked back to his office. Duncan sat stunned by the abruptness of Joe's departure. He hadn't heard a phone ring, and he hadn't even asked his question yet. How could Joe already be offended?  He poured himself another half cup of coffee and waited for Joe to return. A few minutes later Joe came back and resumed his seat behind the bar, laying a folded piece of paper down in front of Duncan.

"I knew you'd be asking," he said with a shrug. "But this guy's a real son-of-a-bitch, Mac. Be careful."

Duncan shook his head, amazed once again by Joe. He smiled and put the paper in his pocket.

"I can be too when I want to be," he joked. "Besides he can't be that good if he preys on the helpless."

Joe shook his head at Duncan's confidence, but before he could respond the door opened and Methos walked in. He pulled his sunglasses off and tucked his hands in his pockets, considering his friends carefully before walking into the room.

"So," he said, "I take it all's well in paradise?"

"Everything's fine," Duncan said and looked back at Joe for confirmation. Joe just nodded.

"Except that I told Mac he could probably do better," Joe quipped.

Methos snorted in laughter and sat down at the bar next to Duncan. "Hardly. There's something to be said for experience," he said smugly. Joe couldn't help but notice as Duncan lowered his head and blushed.

"Okay, that begins to move into territory I really don't want to know about," Joe said holding his hands up in the air. Accepting this new situation was one thing, but he wasn't ready for innuendo. He really didn't want to imagine what they were up to, much less hear about it.

"Right," Methos said, nodding his head. "Not a problem."

"Mind if I use your phone, Joe," Duncan said, standing up. He was ready for this particular conversation to be over as well. "I've got to call the airport."

"Where to?" Methos asked, knowing exactly what this was about.

"He's still in Chicago," Duncan answered simply, holding up the piece of paper, and walked back to the office. Methos and Joe watched him go in silence, then Methos turned back to look at Joe with a wry grin. Joe just shook his head at his friend.

"I'm surprised you weren't able to talk him out of going after this guy," Joe said.

"Unfortunately, I have no more sway over that barbarian's will than I did before," Methos said with a sigh.

"You want some coffee?" Joe asked, reaching for another cup.

"No thanks," Methos answered and eyed the beer tap.

"You can't possibly want a beer this early?" Joe asked, incredulous. "Besides, the taps are disconnected at the moment and I don't have any cold bottles."

"Bloody hell, Dawson," Methos groaned. "What kind of establishment is this if a guy can't even get a beer?"

"It's the kind that doesn't open for business for another three hours," Joe answered sarcastically. Methos glared at Joe for a second, trying to determine if the mortal was telling the truth or was simply punishing Methos for keeping secrets. He discarded that thought quickly. Truth was, Joe was always giving him a hard time-- this wasn't something new to second guess. Hell, it was a large part of what Methos liked about Joe Dawson-- he could hold his own against Methos in a battle of insults. Methos respected that talent.

"Fine," he said. "Give me a Coke."

"Very healthy," Joe muttered, but grabbed a can out of the small fridge under the bar and handed it over. Joe watched Methos take a long guzzle of the soda, his eyes not straying far from watching the door to Joe's office. He could tell Methos wasn't as indifferent to Duncan going off on this quest as he'd like Joe and Duncan to think.

"He'll be fine, Methos," Joe said softly.

Methos turned back to Joe, shocked at how the mortal had read his mind. Was he getting that easy to read? he wondered.

"Of course he will," Methos scoffed, trying to assure himself as much as Joe.

"Methos," Joe started, trying to find a way to word what he wanted to say. "I know you really care about him, but Mac's had a lot of pain in the past few years," Joe paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I just don't want to see him hurt again."

"There are no guarantees, Joe," Methos said, his voice hardening. "If I've learned anything over the years, it's that."

"What have you learned?" Duncan asked, coming into the room.

"Nothing," Methos said quickly and stood up, slipping his sunglasses back on his face. "Ready?"

"Yeah, there's a shuttle leaving in 45 minutes... just enough time to get to the airport," Duncan said, puzzled at the way Methos had closed off his face when Duncan walked in. He wondered what he and Joe had been talking about while he was gone.

"You be careful, Mac," Joe said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Always am, Joe," Duncan answered with a cocky smile. "I'll see you when I get back."

"Right," Methos said, and grabbed his can of Coke. "Let's go." He walked toward the door quickly, Duncan on his heels. Joe just shook his head as he watched his friends go. He had a horrible feeling that the two of them were headed for disaster-- and he suddenly wondered if it wasn't Methos who was in for the worst of it.

Methos flopped down in the chair with a sigh, and propped his feet up on Duncan's desk in the dojo office. He looked through the glass partition at the front doors one more time, and then scolded himself for doing it. This was ridiculous. He'd been this way for the past three days since Duncan left for Chicago. At first, he'd stayed at his own apartment, trying to get some things done. The quiet had driven him crazy, so he'd spent the next day and late into the night hanging out at Joe's bar. But eventually, Joe had begun to drive him crazy with his wavering between trying to keep Methos distracted and hovering over him in concern. So, he'd just given up and spent the rest of the time here-- in the loft and dojo.

His current state of nervousness was really uncalled for. Joe had called earlier to tell him that the guy Duncan went after had just been reported as deceased by his Watcher. He knew Duncan was okay and was probably on his way back to Seacouver, but he was still restless. Methos really hated this feeling. He hated being too attached to any one place or person for too long. His ability to remain separate, aloof had served him for centuries now. He was a survivor, and to be a survivor he had to keep his concentration on his own safety, not on someone else's. This was a very dangerous road he was traveling.

Shaking himself out of his dark thoughts, Methos leaned back in the chair and opened the book he'd been reading. He'd found it in the loft, tucked behind some other books on a bookshelf-- Blade of the MacLeods. An autographed copy, no less. He had to chuckle at the inscription. To the real Duncan MacLeod, thanks for being better than fiction. Terrence and I appreciate your help. Love Carolyn Marsh.  It wasn't exactly great literature, but it was entertaining. Paperbacks were one of the inventions of modern life that Methos loathed. That didn't really keep him from reading them-- he had a habit of reading anything he could get his hands on, but he missed the feel of a leather cover and the thin silky pages. Books should not be disposable things, like so much else in this world. In Methos' mind they were things to be worshipped and revered.

Methos was chuckling his way through an especially dramatic sword-fight for the damsel's honor, when he felt a familiar sensation that signaled the approach of another Immortal. He looked up to see Duncan walk through the double-doors of the dojo. He had to struggle to keep a ridiculous grin from breaking out on his face. Instead, he turned his attention back to his book and waited for Duncan to cross the dojo floor to the office.

"I see you've been busy while I was gone," Duncan said, leaning up against the office door-jamb with a smug grin.

"I see you've still got a head on your shoulders," Methos said, lifting an eyebrow.

Duncan walked over and sat down on the edge of the desk over Methos. He leaned over to look at what Methos was reading and groaned.

"Where'd you find that?" he asked, grabbing it from Methos.

"You didn't hide it that well, MacLeod," Methos teased. "One might think you get a little pleasure out of being such a romantic hero."

"Oh God, this is exactly why I hid the book from you," Duncan groaned and tossed the book onto the desk, causing Methos to chuckle at his embarrassment. Before Methos could come up with a clever response, Duncan held a bag out to him. It was a small gift bag, silver with blue stripes on it.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Just something I picked up in Chicago," Duncan shrugged. "I thought you could use it." Methos' eyes widened in surprise and he took the bag, pulling open the single staple that sealed it. He laughed in unconcealed delight when he pulled out the gift-- a new CD walkman.

"The guy assured me that this particular one is waterproof and won't break if you drop it. I think it was designed for NASA or something," he joked, rolling his eyes. "And I figured it's time for you to move with the times and have one that plays CDs."

Methos turned the contraption over in his hands, and a grin broke out on his face that made him look even younger than usual. He stood up in front of Duncan and wrapped his arms around the younger Immortal's neck, plundering his mouth with his own in a kiss whose intensity would have knocked Duncan off his feet if he hadn't been sitting on the edge of the desk. When he pulled away for air, Duncan chuckled.

"Remind me to bring you gifts more often," he said with amazement at the reaction.

"I can be bought," Methos joked with a wink. "Welcome back." He leaned in for a softer kiss, and then pulled back to examine the Highlander's face. He could see a deep exhaustion and sadness under the smile, and it caused an unaccustomed feeling in Methos' gut-- a need to protect and care for this man.

"Hungry?" he asked, lightly. "I have a lasagna in the oven."

"He cooks too," Duncan said in mock surprise.

"Don't press your luck, Highlander," Methos warned.

"What other hidden talents do you have?"

"Actually, I'm trying out for that Wheel of History game show tomorrow. You can come watch if you want."

"Game show?" Duncan asked, sure this was a joke of some kind.

"I'll explain later," Methos waved off his question and walked out of the office, grabbing the walkman and the novel on his way. "Come on Chief, I'm starved."

Duncan shook his head and laughed at the ever changing face of his friend. Methos never ceased to amaze him. It was like peeling back the layers of an onion, trying to get the essence of who exactly this man was. He had a feeling that he would never really know.

Duncan showered while Methos made a salad and laid out the dinner. He threw on some sweats and a t-shirt when he got out and joined Methos on the floor at the coffee table. The lasagna was delicious, reminding Duncan of something he'd eaten once years ago in Northern Italy. They ate dinner mostly in silence, Duncan lost in his own thoughts and memories. He got up half way through dinner and put a tape in the stereo.

"It's Claudia," he explained. "A tape she sent me a few years ago from one of her concerts in Carnegie Hall."

"She really was talented," Methos said, listening to the Beethoven piece she played with exquisite precision and feeling.

"Yeah, she was," Duncan said with a sad smile.

"Mac, tell me about her," Methos said suddenly, pushing his empty plate away. "I didn't really get to know her when we met. I was a bit preoccupied at the time." He felt his own pang of sadness remembering his whirlwind romance with Alexa.

Duncan looked at Methos for a few seconds in thought. Then he took a long drink of his wine, which Methos promptly refilled, and began to talk.

"Most of the time, she was a real pain in the ass," he said laughing. "But she had another side that she didn't let many people see. She hid all her insecurities and fears behind that obnoxious egotistical attitude. When I first found her, she had no idea how good she was, only that music was the only thing that truly made her happy."

Once Duncan began talking, he couldn't stop. It was like a cathartic release to talk about Claudia, to remember her. Methos said very little-- he just listened and laughed, and asked a few questions to keep Duncan talking. After the subject of Claudia was exhausted, Methos prompted him to talk about Walter, and Tessa, and Richie. Mostly funny stories that kept them laughing.

He even managed to get him to talk about Sean Burns. He had Methos laughing at a story about a certain poker game with Sean, Fitzcairn, and Robert deValincourt that had nearly come to swords between Fitz and Robert. In the end though, it had been Sean who walked away with all the money. Duncan swore it was his training as a psychologist that gave him such a great poker face. And Methos could see in the lines around Duncan's eyes and forehead that he began to find some healing, some peace with his memories.

Much later, Duncan succumbed to his exhaustion and the good food and wine. He stretched out on the bed while Methos cleaned up the dinner dishes, and was asleep almost immediately. Methos smiled at him, sprawled out on the bed, still wearing his sweats and t-shirt, his hair curly from the shower. He turned off all the lights except the one by the bed and slipped out of his jeans. Propping himself up on some pillows, he went back to reading Blade of the MacLeods. After a few minutes, he felt Duncan shift on the bed. He turned over in his sleep and pillowed his head on Methos' stomach, wrapping an arm around his midsection. He sighed and fell back into a peaceful sleep.

Methos smiled down at Duncan fondly and put his book aside. He felt the strange heat of Duncan's body seep into his pores and warm him. He studied the contours of his friend's face, so peaceful in sleep. He'd been drawn to this man from the moment he met him, truthfully even before that, but for a different reason. Methos had been interested in Duncan MacLeod because of his place in the Game. This was a man who understood compassion, honor, nobility, and a number of other things that made him worthy of the Prize. He had the mark of destiny on him, a true warrior prince with a heart of gold. He was still young and had much to learn, but Methos was still convinced of his fate.

But his attachment to Duncan MacLeod had gone beyond his dedication to ensuring that a worthy Immortal won the Prize. He'd found a sense of peace in Duncan's arms, in his life, in his home. For the first time in centuries, Methos felt like he'd come home-- like he had an anchor, a shelter in the world. But as the comfortable sense of peace deepened when he was with Duncan, a corresponding uneasy feeling that there was something sitting just outside of his vision, waiting to pounce, nagged at the back of his mind. Oh yes, he thought, I'm on very dangerous ground. He smoothed the hair back from Duncan's face and settled down into the bed with him, allowing the warmth to wrap around him and chase away the dark thoughts.

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