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.)

EVERYTHING AND NOTHING

By
Kiristeen ke Alaya

Part One


Methos once more closed the door of his temporary home behind him, going through the motions of settling in for the night, but this time he was agitated for a far different reason than mere hours ago. This time, it seemed he was getting everything he wanted and then some. In fact, he was getting far more than he'd even thought of wanting. It was...unnerving, to say the least.

Less than 24 hours ago, he'd been bemoaning the fact that Mac would never look at him as anything other than an on-again, off-again friend, and he'd walked away from the Dojo, determined to begin again, wishing...

Methos ceased his motion toward his kitchen, slowly turning in place to stare at the coat he'd just hung on the coat rack near the door. "No way," he whispered into the moonlit room. He swallowed with some difficulty. Despite, knowing better, knowing that kind of magic simply wasn't real, he couldn't stop his thoughts from running in circles, from reviewing everything that had happened since he'd opened the envelop from the old man.

He denied the evidence, with a shake of his head. Surely it was simply coincidence!

'But you don't believe in coincidence, Old Man!'

"I'd rather believe in coincidence," Methos muttered into the silence, "than in magic wishes."

'Let's review the evidence, shall we?'

Methos sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged and began reciting the events he'd wanted to happen, that had. He drew the line at saying he wished for them to. He began his reverie at when he'd left Joe's bar, reliving the memories, nearly as acutely as if they were happening now.

He rehashed his walk, and his remembrances of when he'd first seen the so-called charm. He replayed his visit to MacLeod's loft. Now there was an evening he sincerely w...No, he wasn't going there.

"No sense, taking chances," he said aloud, when his conscious twitted him about his burgeoning superstition.

Setting that aside, and resolutely deciding no more wishes, he continued his walk down memory lane.

'If only...If only.'

"No," Methos denied, glaring at the coat, as though it were the cause of this confusion, rather than what it contained. "That wasn't even a wish."

'I thought we weren't admitting to *any* wishes, just wants.'

"True," Methos acknowledged. "Very well, then. Unvoiced, and only half thought *wants*, count."

He rose in one quick, graceful movement and strode to his desk. Pulling out a pen, he debated between plain, loose leaf notebook paper, and actually putting this nonsense in his current journal. The journal won out, when he finally admitted that this was a significant indicator of the strange mood he seemed to be in lately. Besides, it just might give him a laugh centuries down the road.

Pulling out the half full leather bound book, he made his way back to his previous spot on the floor. Then, in an abrupt change of direction, he headed for the kitchenette. It really wasn't much more than a half-sized fridge, hot plate and sink, but it was better than nothing.

Cradling the journal under one arm, he pulled open the tiny fridge and pulled out a beer. Then, changed his mind. Replacing the single beer in the carrying case, he pulled out the entire 6-pack. If he was going to continue this foolishness, he was going to at least attempt to get drunk in the process.

After returning to his seat on the floor, he ignored what he'd set out to do until he'd down half of the first bottle of beer. Then setting it beside him, he opened his journal to the first open page, and wrote in neat, precise letters.

___

Things I Wanted Today, That I Coincidentally Got.


1. If only
___

He stared at the page and the words he'd written. If only...what? What had that 'if only' meant? If only MacLeod would relax? No, Methos rejected that immediately. If only MacLeod would be willing to broaden his horizons?

'Bloody hell, Old Man, at least be honest with yourself.'

"Fine!"
___

1. If only Duncan would return my interest.
___


Part Two


Methos slumped, staring at the stark black against white words he'd written in his journal. Unfortunately, them seemed to stare accusingly back at him. He really, really hoped his cynical, 'I don't believe in anything but myself', side was right, because if this magic shit was real, and what Mac was feeling was because of that want of Methos', that desire of his, Methos was really up the proverbial creek. Not only did he not have a paddle, he didn't even have the canoe!

'Be honest.'

"Okay, okay!" Methos shouted at the voice of his conscious. "If it's real, I'm fucked!" Satisfied? he thought angrily. He really wasn't surprised at the responding silence. It was so like himself, to revert to silence when he was right. "This whole bloody, ridiculous mess has me talking to myself," Methos muttered," and *answering*."

With renewed vigor, he drained the last of his first beer. Then, pulling his journal into his lap, he opened a second beer. After taking a long swallow, he quickly began writing. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could return to his normal life of disbelief in what he couldn't see or touch.
___

Less than three hours later, Mac was at my door, seducing me.

2. I told MacLeod I wished he'd change his name once in a while.
Seconds later, he suggested he change it to Pierson. Later he confirmed it, kind of, to be a proposal of marriage. No mushy stuff for Mac, a straight forward "Let's do it."
That's fine though, I don't think I could take the Highlander if he went all roses and songs on me.
___

Methos shuddered at that mental image. Then he groaned. Even *when* he confirmed his belief that this was mere superstition and a very odd series of coincidences, he knew he was still in so far over his head, he was lucky he wasn't drowning! The blasted Highlander did things for keeps!

'And then, in the heat of the fight, I just *had* to try again.'

Methos frowned. Why had he thought of that? Joe was the one who wished Mac would try harder to avoid these challenges, not him. Not that he didn't agree wholeheartedly, he admitted. That was it! He'd agreed with the wish. Was that enough to evoke-

"Bloody hell! This is utterly ridiculous!" Now, he was even starting to buy into this hogwash. That wasn't the point of this little exercise, he reminded himself harshly. It was supposed to confirm his disbelief, not persuade him the opposite direction.

'Told you.'

"Oh, do shut UP!" Methos snapped, dropping the journal and the pen onto the floor, then draining his second beer. "I'll prove it," he continued.

He stood, stomped across the room to where his coat hung, and digging into one pocket, he yanked out the necklace, he was truly beginning to loathe.

"So, What do I wish for?" Methos asked himself. He only had to think for a moment, then a wicked smirk curled the corners of his lips. "Beer of course, what else?"

Standing straight, with shoulders back, he made a production of holding the necklace straight out in front of him. Feeling slightly, okay very, ridiculous, he made his wish. "I wish I had a case of my favorite beer."

He cracked open only one eye, concerned (despite all sane reasons not to) that he might actually see his wish materialize, and warily checked the room around him. 'Nope,' he thought with satisfaction. 'No beer.' He opened both eyes fully and chuckled, while shaking his head at his own folly. It was *just* his own fancies combined with an amazing set of coincidences.

That out of the way, a sense of disappointment mixed with a sense of relief, ebbing through him in a conflicting morass of emotion. It confused him thoroughly and made his head ache. He needed a drink.

'No,' he thought, crossing to the partial 6-pack he'd left in the center of the room. 'he needed to get drunk, and four beers just wasn't going to cut it. Snatching up the remaining beers, he strode back to the fridge and yanked the door open. Reaching in, he stopped, his hand halfway to the shelf. There, sitting all by itself, was a case of his favorite beer. His jaw fell open. Blinking twice, in the vain hope that it would turn out to be his imagination, he shook his head in absolute denial. It couldn't possibly be.


'Told ya!'

After that succinct, if rude, comment, he thrust the beer in the fridge, slammed the door shut. His thoughts, spinning in useless circles, Methos backed up two steps, His breaths coming faster and faster until he was breathing in short quick gasps. As his lips began to tingle and turn numb, he belatedly realized he was hyperventilating. Taking himself into the routine of a calming meditation, he forced his racing thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on breathing deeply, slowly.

It took only a few moments, when the panic that had suddenly struck, seemingly out of nowhere, receded. However, he knew only one thing. He had everything he wanted, but had nothing at all. None of it was real. His breathing far closer to normal, he suddenly knew what he had to do. Casting one last resentful glare toward the closed refrigerator door, he headed out of his motel room.

He had to talk to Joe.


Return to Highlander Story Index

Return to my Main Page