Disclaimer: Rysher and Davis et al own the characters of the highlander series and this particular incarnation of immortality, not me. I intend no copyright infringement and will make no money from this story.

Warnings: This story contains m/m sexual situations. It is adult in nature. If you aren't an adult yet, I'll have to ask you to come back when you are. If the idea of two men together squicks you, or just isn't your cup a tea, I've got lots of Het stories that might interest you. (link to my main page at the bottom.)

Choices
By
Kiristeen ke Alaya

Joe Dawson couldn't believe what he was hearing.  It was sublimely ridiculous.  Wishes?  Beer appearing out of nowhere?  It simply wasn't possible.  "Methos, slow down.  You're not making any sense."

Methos stopped mid-sentence, glaring at him, and dropped onto the corner of his desk.  "I know I'm not, but I swear, it's exactly what happened.  Either I'm finally going crazy, or that bloody, gods-forsaken, necklace really works."  Methos took a deep breath and twisted to face him.  "Please tell me I'm going crazy.  I think that would be easier to deal with."

Joe shook his head.  "Well, Methos, I have to admit, that is my first impression."

"What?"  Methos exclaimed, outrage sending him flying off the desk corner and back to pacing.  "You don't believe me," he said flatly, after several long moments, yanking the hem of his sweater down and attempting to regain his lost dignity.

"Methos!" Joe reprimanded, then continued speaking in a quieter tone.  "You can't have it both ways."

"Bloody hell, Joe, don't you think I know that?" Methos snapped back.  "But, I also know what I saw."

"You're asking me to believe in...what, magic?"  Joe asked scornfully.

"Magic exists, Joe, not this kind, but it does exist."

"Did you just hear yourself?"

Methos groaned, dropping into a chair.  "Yes, damn it.  I heard myself, loud and clear.  I know I'm not making any sense, but that's beside the point."  He stopped suddenly and glared at his Watcher friend.  "Unless you think, on top of everything else, I'm hallucinating too.  Because, I know what I saw."

Joe watched as Methos dropped his head back, eyes closing in frustration.  What Methos was asking him to believe, couldn't be believed, but, while he may not always agree with the oldest Immortal's world view, Joe had never met anyone with a saner grasp of reality.  If he didn't know better, he would be willing to swear the old man was trying to play a joke on him.

"Okay," he said slowly.  

Methos snapped his head up, staring at him expectantly.

"Prove it."

Methos' shoulders slumped.  "How?" he asked wearily.  "If you don't believe the proof you've already seen..." Methos' voice trailed off suggestively.

"What?  What proof have I seen?"

"Joe, come on.  Think about it.  We both wished MacLeod would try harder to avoid challenges, and what happened?  You heard me wish MacLeod would change his name once in a while, and then what happened?  He bloody PROPOSED to me.  You heard him confirm it!"

"Nothing that couldn't be explained away as coincidence," Joe replied with a negligent shrug, carefully keeping an amused expression on his face. Incredible coincidences, to be sure!  "Wish for something."  He watched as Methos considered several options and then discard each one.

x-x-x

Methos watched Joe's expression change with a mixture of satisfaction and growing trepidation.  If Joe was seeing it too, then he wasn't just hallucinating, and he still wasn't sure which answer he would prefer.  

Joe leaned back against the wall.  "It's done.  Today's entire shipment has been put up.  It would have taken me and Mike hours to do it."

"Joe," Methos began, then let his voice trail off.

The Watcher looked over at him, his eyes confused.  After a moment he shook his head.  "I done know what to tell you, buddy.  This is...um...incredible."  He again looked at the perfectly stocked shelves, then back to Methos.  "What are you going to do with it?"

Methos shrugged, certain he hadn't managed to pull off nonchalance.  He stared at the necklace he still held, his thoughts running nearly in circles.  Just how powerful was the necklace?  What could it do?  Was there a limit to how many times it could be used?  What if there was no limit?

The things he could accomplish with it were mind boggling.  Anything he wanted, is that what he would be able to get?  He'd certainly never have to fear for his life again.  He swallowed hard as that thought circulated through his mind.  It was tempting, very tempting. Bloody hell!  Why me?

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea, Joe."

"You're not just talking out your ear there, Methos."

Methos snapped his head up to stare at the Watcher.  He hadn't expected the man to agree quite so quickly, nor so whole heartedly.  

Joe shrugged, making his way out of the storage room.  "How much power does that thing have?" he asked.

"I don't know, Joe.  I was just wondering that myself."

Joe stopped, cocking his head to look over his shoulder.  "You know what they say about absolute power," he said quietly, then continued out into the bar proper.

Methos paled, then hurried after Joe.  Even the high of power palled after a few centuries and he had long ago given up the ambition for that power.  But he couldn't lie to himself, not about this.  This kind of power was very seductive.  It called to parts of him he'd really rather leave buried.

He dropped down onto a barstool.  "I could really use a beer, Joe."

"You got it," Joe responded, already reaching for one, as well as a whiskey for himself.

Methos laid out the necklace onto the bar, then slowly, carefully pushed it away.  "I don't want this, Joe.  I can't have it," he said seriously.  "You should take it."

"ME?" Joe exclaimed loudly, leaning back as if it might bite him.  "No way!  After seeing the trouble it's already gotten you into, there's no way I want a damn thing to do with it."  

"But what about--"

"Nope, no way, Methos.  I mean it.  I don't want to get hooked into that thing.  If I'm gonna open my mind wide enough to believe this thing is real, I've also got to believe there's one hell of a hefty price tag along with it.  Personally, no matter the benefit, I really, really don't want to find out what that price tag would be."

Methos' mind flashed images of the two men he'd seen after they'd used the necklace.  He blew out a long breath.  "Fortunately, I think you're right," he said after a long moment of silence.

Joe fixed him with a hard stare.  "Fortunately?"

"Yeah, fortunately," Methos responded.  "You realize, don't you, that with this, if it can do the things we fear it can, I would never have to fear for my life ever again."  Methos continued, not looking up at Joe.

"Jesus!" Joe breathed incredulously.  "I hadn't thought of that."

"I did.  Almost as soon as I really started to believe it," Methos said very softly.  Then his head snapped up suddenly and he stared at Joe in shock, he jaw dropping open.

"What?" Joe demanded fiercely, after several moments of Methos' wide eyed shock.

"I...I was just wondering if I could stop the game with this?"

"I need to sit down."

The two silently made their way toward a table, methos carrying the fortification.  They sat, each lost in their own thoughts, neither wanting to rebroach the subject again.  

Finally Joe cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "Do you have any idea what the ramifications of that would be?"

"Of course I do Joe.  We wouldn't have to kill each other any more!"

"That wouldn't stop some Immortals."

"I know that, too, Joe.  But, not having 'the game' doesn't keep mortals from killing each other, either, now does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Joe responded sadly, then continued on another tack.  "But that's not really what I meant.  I meant, what other ramifications would there be?  I mean, that's an awfully far reaching "wish".  You could make things even worse than they already are."

Methos looked at him skeptically.

"The game has rules.  *Most Immortals basically follow those rules, right?"

Methos nodded reluctantly.  "Not everyone, obviously, but most at least have a nodding aquaintance with the rules."

"If there's no game, what's to stop those who still want quickening power from doing all the things that used to be against the rules?  No game, no rules."

Methos flinched.  "Bloody hell, Joe!" Methos snapped.  Drowning the rest of his beer, he reached for Joe's bottle and the spare tumbler.  He smirked as he raised the now full tumbler in a toast.  "So much for grandiose plans of saving the Immortal race," he said, then tossed back the drink.  "That's more Mac's department than mine, anyway."

"True," Joe acknowledged ruefully.  "And speaking of Mac, there's something that's been bothering me."

Methos arched a questioning eyebrow at him.  "And what's that?"

"Just how do you get from, 'wishing he'd change his name once in a while', to 'him proposing'?  The two just don't seem connected.  The name change, sure.  It was a great line, by the way.  But surely he wouldn't have done that if the sentiment behind it wasn't there."

Methos ducked his head, staring at the empty glass in his hand.  He reached out for the bottle and mumbled.

"What?"

"I said I hadn't told you everything."

Joe's expression darkened.  "What did you do?"

"Hey!" Methos defended himself quickly.  "I didn't know."

Joe slumped forward, resting his head on his hands for just a moment before looking back at Methos.  "Okay," he replied slowly, filling each of their glasses before continuing.  "What did you do, that you didn't know you were doing?"

"It was only two words."

"What was?" Joe asked, his voice dangerously low.

Methos sighed, and straightened.  "If only."

Joe frowned.  "If only -- what?"

Methos just looked at Joe.  Surely that much was obvious.  Surely he didn't have to elaborate.  This was humilating enough as it was.

Joe's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.  "Mac's gonna kill you."

Methos choked.  "You'd TELL him?" he asked incredulously.  

"Well now," Joe replied, "that depends entirely on what you plan on doing about it, doesn't it?"

"Some friend you are, Joseph Dawson."

"No, Methos, I'm not going to tell him."

"You're not?"

"Nope."

"Why?" Methos asked suspiciously, wondering at Joe's sudden about-face.

"Because you're going to undo it."

"I am?  Why should I do that?" Methos leaned forward.  "Does it really matter how things got started?  Or does what we're feeling matter?"

Joe shook his head, then cast a pointed glance toward the bar where the necklace still lay.  "I wonder what the price tag on Immortal love would be?"

"Oh, Joe.  You fight dirty!"

Joe grinned, raising his glass to Methos.  "I learned from the master."

Methos couldn't have stopped the smirk from forming if his life had depended on it.  "Touche, Joe.  Touche."

"So, you're going to change it?"

"Yes, Joe.  You've won."

"Good.  And then what?"



xxxxxxxxxx
Part Two
xxxxxxxxxx


Methos blinked. "What do you mean -- and then what? You don't expect me to do anything as ridiculous as 'confess' do you? Because if that's what you--"

"No, Methos. I don't expect that. I know you far too well for that, besides I don't particularly want to see you dead."

"Good."

"What are you going to do with the necklace?"

"I honestly don't know, Joe. I certainly don't know anyone who could be trusted with that kind of power."

"Me neither."

The two of them debated back and forth, and between the two of them nearly finished the bottle before they'd finally decided that it should simply be destroyed. Methos eyed his once again empty glass. Well, they'd decided to destroy it, about 45 minutes ago, but then they'd started to wonder if it could be destroyed and that had taken up most of their talk since then.

"Joe, it's just a necklace."

"Ri-ight," Joe drawled, "it's just a necklace that happens to grant wishes." Joe leaned toward him, his eyes bleary. "That's powerful magic, Methos. And that is still mind bolgl...boggle-ing. I can't wrap my mind around it, not really."

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Methos said by way of reply, pushing his glass away. "I need to figure out how to make my last wish."

"That sounds morbid," Joe noted.

Methos frowned. "Yes, it did, didn't it."

"An-y-way, how about it was just a dream?"

Methos thought a moment. It sounded good, but something was wrong with it. "No," he said finally. "What about the missing day?"

"Scratch idea one."

"I've got it, we'll--" Joe's glare cut him off. "I'll," he corrected, "wish it never happened."

Joe shook his head. "Won't work."

"Why not? It's perfect."

"What's to stop it from happening all over again?"

"Right."

Both subsided back into silence. Then suddenly, Methos grinned broadly, snapping his fingers. "I've got it! I simply wish that whatever feelings my wish engendered, go back to what they were before I made the wish."

Joe nodded. "It might work. But won't Mac feel guilty about...well, reneging?"

"Damned bloody Scot! Of course he will." Methos stared at his fingers, tapping an irritated cadence on the table. This was far harder than he'd anticipated. "I'll broach the subject first. Admit he had me fooled, and buy him a drink."

Joe laughed. "We want him not to feel guilty. We don't want to give him a heart-attack."

"Immortals don't have heart-attacks," Methos replied sourly.

Snickering softly, Joe rose, grabbing what was left of the alcohol and taking it with him. "It just might work, Methos."

"It will. Of course, it'll leave Mac worrying about his sexuality for a while," Methos shrugged, another smirk twitching the corners of his mouth upward, "but he's overdue for that anyway."

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Joe retorted as he replaced the bottle.

"I thought you already knew that, Mr. Watcher."

Joe just shook his head and Methos returned to contemplating his fingers. The false glow of alcohol already burning out of his system, and he wished Joe hadn't taken the bottle just yet. He wasn't ready to face the reality of this sober. For just a little while longer he'd really rather have the false cheer.

Methos shook his head. He was getting maudlin now. He hated that. "Joe, have you ever thought you had exactly what you wanted, only to have it jerked out from under you because it's all illusion?" Methos didn't really expect an answer. He wasn't even sure why he'd asked, so was surprised when he got one.

"Yeah," Joe replied quietly, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I have. It hurts."

"Yeah," Methos acknowledged, "it does. And, unfortunately, age doesn't seem to make a person master of their own heart. I know I'm certainly not master of mine."

Joe nodded sympathetically. "Would you really want to be, Methos?"

Glancing up at the mortal in surprise, the corners of Methos' mouth twitched upward. "I suppose not. That would make things awfully dull, wouldn't it?"

"And lonely," Joe said softly as he lowered the necklace to the table. Loathe to touch it just yet, Methos simply stared at it. When he did, it would all be over.

'What's so wrong with leaving things the way they are?" the pragmatic side of him asked.

'It's wrong, immoral even,' answered a much underused ethical side.

Methos snorted, rolling his eyes at his internal arguement.

'Quit acting like a love struck child, and get it over with.'

"Alright," Methos muttered, and gingerly picked up the necklace. He drew in a deep breath, prepared to utter the assinine wish he and Joe had come up with, when the shrill ringing of the phone shattered the quiet. He jumped, dropping the necklace onto the table. "Bloody hell!"

He glared at Joe as the Watcher rose to answer the phone. "It's Fate," he smirked. "I'm not supposed to 'unwish' this."

'And since when do you believe in Fate?'

'Well, there is that,' he acknowledged ruefully. Then, Methos frowned. Joe was staring at the phone as if it had grown horns, or perhaps wings. A cold chill, rippled through him. "What's wong, Joe."

Joe looked over at him, a perplexed and at the same time worried expression on his face. "That was Mac," he began.

Methos was out of his seat instantly, but he strolled across the bar room floor as if he had only the slightest interest. "Oh?" he asked. "And what has the Highlander gotten himself mixed up in this time?"

"I'm not completely sure."

Methos rolled his eyes, even as concern curled in his gut. "Well, what did he say?" Methos asked impatiently.

Joe slowly lowered the receiver, hanging up the phone, then turned to face him. "He said, and I quote -- 'I ran across an Immortal hunting for Methos. He challenged. I managed to avoid it, but I'm leading him away. Tell our friend to lay low.' -- end quote."

Methos paled. "That bloody Idiot!" he swore. "Where is he? Did he say who?"

"No," Joe replied, shaking his head. "He hung up on me, actually."

Frowning, Methos bit his lower lip as he thought. "Why in hell would he do something so profoundly stupid?"

"Figure it out, buddy," Joe retorted, snorting rudely. "And while you're doing that, I think you'd better hurry and unwish the feelings you wished up."

Methos strode back toward the table. "Tell me you've got someone helping you Watch him," he demanded as he picked up what had become a serpent.

"Actually, yes, I do."

"Then call them. I'm not doing anything that might affect his judgement if he's already in the middle of a fight."

Joe nodded, again reaching for the phone.

"You know my cell phone, Joe. Call me."

"Where are you going?" Joe demanded angrily.

"Out!" To see if I can find the blasted, idiotic, child-highlander.


xxxxxxxxxx
Part Three
xxxxxxxxxx


As he drove the streets of Seacouver, hoping to find one stubborn, impetuous Highlander, Methos ranted, at himself, at the absent Highlander, and at Joe -- who had yet to call him.

Thirty minutes! Thirty bloody minutes! Anything could have happened in that length of time.

Methos glared at the phone, laying stubbornly silent on the passenger seat. "Ring!" he demanded. A skittering buzz along the base of his skull snapped his head upright, and he brought the Jimmy to a screeching halt. Leaping out of the car as he jerked it into park, he anxiously circled in place in an attempt to locate the source of the buzz. He was the sole person on the street. Sighing in weary frustration, he was about ready to get back in, when the faintest sound of steel against steel reached his ears. With a swift breath, his heart sank ,then began thudding in dread anticipation. Was it Mac involved in an Immortal combat?

He headed toward the barely heard sounds, denying the inner voice that was screaming at him that heading toward an Immortal combat was stupid, but the cell phone shrilly breaking the quiet behind him made him hesitate. Which was more pressing?

With a muttered oath, Methos spun on one heel and sprinted back toward his vehicle. Fairly diving through the open window, he snatched the phone with one hand and the previously forgotten keys with his other, and was back striding toward the unseen fight as he flipped the phone open.

"Pierson."

"It's Joe."

"Where is he?"

"He's fighting--" Joe began.

Methos gritted his teeth against a sudden rise in fear and quickened his pace to a jog, his mind running scenes of him rounding a corner just as the too-noble-for-his-own-good Highlander lost his head. "Who?" he demanded, interrupting Joe.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Methos shouted incredulously. "How can you not know? Have you got someone there or not?"

"Yes," Joe snapped, "There's someone there. He doesn't know who the other Immortal is. The guy's good though, Adam. From what Andrew is describing -- real good."

Methos' throat closed off and he had to swallow a couple times before he could find his voice. "Mac's losing?" he finally managed quietly, a renewed surge of fear sending him into a sprint. He could now hear the sounds of the fight more clearly. I'll be there in time. The thought appeared, and kept repeating over and over in perfect cadence to the beat of his shoes against the pavement.

Yeah, but what good will that do? Are you going to interfere?

I don't know, Methos thought, I just don't know.

"Well," Joe temporized, "he's not winning."

Mac'll let him live if you do. Then, where will you be?

Methos groaned, but ignored the thought. "Where?" he asked Joe shortly, not wanting to waste time on irrelevancy, most of his attention on locating the fight.

He rounded the alley corner and came to a skidding halt. In front of him, wasn't the fight he'd been expecting to see, but rather an ominously dark entrance. The sounds he'd been hearing were echoing out from the stonework. The light spilling into the opening from the street lamp let him see just far enough to see stairs heading down. In that split second he prayed fervently that Joe would tell him they were anywhere but underground. There was just something morbid about dying already buried -- not that he'd ever admit to anyone that it bothered him.

He shuddered as he thrust that aside to listen to Joe's response, groaning when Joe confirmed they were down that forbidding opening. It looked far too much like the catacombs of old.

"I didn't even know that was there!" Joe said ruefully.

"Just my luck that Mac, or the other Immortal, did," Methos said drily, slowly entering.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, Joe. Just direct me."

Ignoring the paths the sounds told him to take, -- He knew better than that. -- he followed Joe's tensely muttered directions. It didn't take long before the ringing of metal on metal grew louder, and he rounded a final corner, finally feeling Immortal presence.

Both Immortals' heads snapped toward him, the scene in front him like a frozen tableau. Mac was on his knees, sword several feet away from him. The unknown Immortal, unknown no longer, had his sword raised, poised for that final swing. Methos gasped, taking another step forward. This couldn't be happening! But, before he could say or do anything, Mac reacted, rolling to the side and up onto his feet, grabbing his sword on the way.

Launching himself backward, Jared glared between the two. "Maybe next time, Highlander," he offered, before turning and fleeing the room. "You, Methos, I'll be back for you," he called out, not slowing.

Mac dropped back to his knees, panting.

As Methos stepped forward, however, he struggled to rise, stumbling after Jared.

"Mac, don't," Methos advised, resting a hand on the Highlander's shoulder.

"He'll just be back, Methos. You know that."

Methos nodded slowly. "Yes, I know."

Just as I know that as soon as you're back to yourself, you'll be asking me what I did to him.

Duncan shook his head. "I'll never figure you out, Old Man," he said in mystification. "One minute you're telling me don't leave enemies behind, the next, you're telling me to let one go."

Methos shrugged. "Well, there is something to say for a bit of mystery."

Duncan laughed weakly and pulled Methos down to join him. "Yes, I guess there is at that. Now, shut up and kiss me."

You shouldn't, Methos' inner voice warned as Mac pulled him closer.

Shut up! he replied, leaning into the Highlander and parting his lips as Mac's tongue demanded entry. Moaning softly, he let his eyes drift shut, simply losing himself in Mac's touch, burying himself so deeply in feeling that he couldn't hear his mind's protests.

When Mac released his mouth, and pulled him into an easy embrace, Methos wasn't ready for it to be over. Because over, it most certainly was.

"We should get out of here," he said softly, not moving.

"Aye, we should," Mac responded, remaining just as still.

For several long moments they sat there, holding each other, both glad that once more they'd both survived the Immortal game. Finally, however, Methos pulled free. "Come on, it's late," he said.

Mac nodded wearily, groaning a mild protest as Methos helped him stand.

"What?" Methos cajoled. "Getting too old for this?"

"Hey! It's been a really long day," Mac defended himself, then raced ahead of Methos. "Beat you back outside," he taunted as he disappeared from view.

"Child!" Methos muttered, but broke into a sprint, determined to beat the exhausted Highlander back above ground.

x-x-x

He didn't. He emerged out onto the street to find Mac lounging against a wall, eyes half shut, and stirring only slightly at his approach.

"You didn't happen to bring a car with you?" he asked.

"Yeah, Highlander, I did," Methos chuckled, shaking his head as he strode toward the mouth of the alley. "You're chariot awaits, Mac."

Pushing himself off the wall, Mac followed slowly, and Methos was drawn to just exactly how exhausted his Highland friend was. Not surprising, really, he thought, considering the emotional and physical wringer the man had been through today.

The two men made their way to Methos' waiting vehicle, each climbing in without speaking. Making a quick check for traffic, Methos pulled out, allowing the relaxed, companionable silence to continue. Moments later a soft sound from the Highlander caught his attention, but he couldn't quite make it out. He turned his head, snorting quietly. The 'big bad Highlander' had fallen asleep and was snoring softly.

x-x-x

"Come on. Wakey wakey," Methos sing-songed, gently shaking Mac. Laughing at himself, he reached over and undid Mac's seat belt. "Mac," he called out, louder this time.

Mac stirred and stared bleary-eyed up at him.

"We're home," Methos offered by way of explanation.

"Oh, right," Mac replied, rousing himself and climbing out. Looking a bit sheepish, he headed for the dojo's front door. "Sorry 'bout that, Methos."

"About what?" Methos asked, striding beside Mac.

"Falling asleep."

"No big deal," Methos shrugged. "Close calls wear a person out."

Mac stopped, cocked his head toward Methos, then nodded once. "That they do, my friend, that they do."

Methos frowned as Mac once again headed home. What did he mean by that?

Silence once again descended, with Methos debating asking what was wrong. Something was obviously bothering the Highlander, again, but he had no idea what it could be this time. Before he could make up his mind, however, the lift slowed to a halt and Mac raised the gate, striding out into the loft.

Slightly bemused, Methos followed, only to find himself pinned against the wall, his breath knocked out of him. "Mac?" he asked uncertainly.

Mac grinned, relieving Methos' apprehension, then leaned forward, re-igniting it. This time, however, Methos held firm to his resolve, and planted a firm hand in the center of Mac's chest.

Duncan pulled back, but didn't release him. "Stay tonight," he asked huskily.

Bloody hell. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Mac," he replied slowly.

"Why not?"

Idealistic idiot! "Because it just wouldn't. Let's not rush into anything," he asked, "okay?"

With a sigh, Duncan nodded and pulled away. "But stay the night anyway," he said, holding up his hand to forestall Methos' instant protest. "There's that head hunter out there. Please, for my peace of mind, stay on the couch."

Methos hesitated briefly, his common sense telling him it really wasn't a good idea, couch or no couch. "Alright," he said finally, "I'll stay -- on the couch."

Mac grinned, bouncing away from him.

Methos blinked and watched him go, shaking his head. Mac looked like a puppy high on sugar. Before he knew what was happening, Mac had made up the couch, and was pulling him toward it. Arching an eyebrow, he allowed it, sitting when urged to do so. When Mac began removing his shoes, however, he had to protest. "I can do this myself, Mac. I've been doing it a bloody long time."

Duncan laughed. "I know," he shrugged, planting a quick, chaste kiss on Methos' lips before standing and heading for his own bed. "See you in the morning, Methos."

Mother hen!

This is what you wanted -- what you asked for.

What? Methos snarled to his inner voice, to be smothered? It'd get old real fast.

Uh huh! Keep telling yourself that, you might actually begin to believe it.

"In the morning, Mac," he replied, sighing as he removed his jacket and lay down. He did not, however, fall asleep. Instead, he waited until he heard the Highlander's breathing slow and deepen, and he heard the tell-tale sounds of sleep.

Re-tying his shoe, he rose and silently made his way over to the sleeping Highlander, stopping only to pull the necklace out of his jacket pocket. He swallowed against the sight that greeted him. Oh, how he wanted to reach out and stroke the silky soft hair that fanned out around Mac's head. He always had, had a weakness for long hair. He wanted to slip into the bed and curl up beside the man sleeping so peacefully. He wanted to wrap his arms around that warm body and fall asleep, trusting that tomorrow could take care of itself.

He reached out, but stopped his hand inches away from that beautiful face. He couldn't do that. Looking down at the necklace, he turned it over several times. He couldn't have what he wanted -- not this time. He closed his eyes and whispered the words that would destroy this fantasy, forever putting it beyond his reach.

"I wish you were free from the hold any of my previous wishes placed upon you."

Turning swiftly, Methos ignored the rising lump in his throat and the sudden wetness in his eyes as he made his stealthy way to Mac's desk.

Why did this have always be so hard. It should get easier after a while...shouldn't it?

He wrote quickly, not wanting to waste time and risk having Mac wake up before he was gone. Right now, he wasn't sure he could carry off the attitude he'd have to, to keep Mac from being guilt ridden.



Mac,

Good one. You really had me going for awhile, Mac. But you know me, I'm not slow on the uptake...well, not usually anyway.

Next time I'm in town, I'll buy you a drink. It isn't often someone manages to pull one over on me.

As Always, Adam



Casting one last look at the sleeping Highlander, Methos made his way out of the loft. Seacouver wasn't the only place to be, he thought. Bora Bora was certainly nice this time of year.

The End


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