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 romantic content. 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.)
IF ONLY
By
Kiristeen ke Alaya
Part One
As the lift rose above the loft's floor level, Methos was greeted to the sight of Mac, sword in hand and ready for anything. Mac's stance relaxed, slightly, as he pulled up the grate and stepped out.
"Methos!"
"Hey, Mac," he responded. "Glad to see you're finally learning some caution," he continued flippantly, waving vaguely toward Mac's still nearly hostile stance. Part of him truly was glad, but a different part, a larger part, was dismayed to see it used against him. It spoke, loudly, of all the pain that had passed between them.
Over the last couple of months they'd been in contact, worked through the worst of it. In fact, he'd thought they'd mostly put it behind them. Unfortunately, it looked they were farther from being 'healed' than he'd thought. Actions that seemed like betrayal, didn't 'go away' over night, in fact, they never truly went away at all. He knew that. Today was simply an outward sign of that. They could never go back to the easy *innocent* camaraderie they'd had before. He supposed it was overly optimistic to hope for it.
Mac flushed, only then seeming to realize he still had his sword out. "Yeah, well, I've recently had it pointed out, rather blatantly, that you can't always trust what you see," he said, turning suddenly and brushing past Methos and with short angry movements put his sword back in its rightful place.
Methos froze. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I'll see ya 'round Mac."
"No! Wait, Methos. I'm...sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"No, you're right," he replied, striding back toward the lift. "I shouldn't be here."
"Methos!" Mac repeated, a growl in his tone. "Can we just start over. Please?"
His shoulders slumped in defeat. What was it about the Highlander that he couldn't say no, especially when the man actually asked? He sighed and then turned, none of his turmoil visible on his face. "Sure, why not," he said, barely catching the beer that was tossed his way.
"Trying to bribe me, MacLeod?"
"Yep!" Mac responded with a cheeky grin. "Is it working?"
"You know me. Beer is the answer to the world's woe's."
Mac chuckled warmly. "You *would* think so."
"Hey! I think I've been insulted."
"Must have lost a few more brain cells there, if you only *think* it."
Methos smirked. Happily lounging into the couch. *This* was more like it. "Well, let's just say, you need to improve your insults a bit."
MacLeod just shook his head as he settled into the chair across from him.
***
Methos surreptitiously glanced around the loft. What the hell was he doing here? He let his head drop back the back of the couch. Was he some kind of masochist or something? He snatched a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of the air around him. He let it out far more slowly.
MacLeod had disappeared on him, oh he'd only stepped out to get the makings for dinner, but suddenly Methos wasn't comfortable with the silence that surrounded him. He lurched up off the couch, draining the remainder of his beer in one long swallow. He strode toward the kitchen area, strangely preoccupied with the bottle in his hand.
It's empty, he thought.
'Just like your life,' a voice whispered in his mind.
He froze, mid-stride.
"Now where the bloody hell did *that* thought come from?"
Silence reigned for several moments while he stared at the shadowed bottled. "My life is NOT empty!"
Utter stillness met his firm proclamation. The voice remained stubbornly silent.
"I said, my life is NOT empty."
Again silence met his claims.
"It's not. I have friends, true friends. For the first time in centuries people," (millennia, he thought very, very privately) "*know* who I am. The people closest to me know my *real* name." He threw the bottle across the room. It shattered against the brick, falling to the floor in tiny, glittering pieces.
'Looks like the pieces of your life.'
"Shut up!!"
His legs folded underneath him and he slowly sank to the floor. He shook his head. What was happening to him? This was utterly ridiculous! He was happy. Why was he suddenly questioning his life? He had more now, than he'd had in so very, very long. He was *alive*. He, the ultimate survivor, had found things that were worth more than simply surviving. He'd found more to both live *and* die for in the last few years than he had ever considered possible. So why wasn't he happy? It didn't make any sense.
Since Kalas had threatened his serene existence within the watchers, he'd been terrified, he'd hated, he'd loved, he'd despaired, he'd been frantic with both hope and hopelessness, but he'd been living, not simply surviving. It had nearly killed him more than once, but if he was utterly honest with himself, (which he truly tried to be, if with no one else) he would not trade the ups and downs of his current life for the false tranquility he'd had before. He wouldn't trade it, not even if he *knew* all this would lead to his certain death tomorrow.
Take tonight for example. He'd come up here, not in the best of moods, he would be the first to admit. That talisman had brought up memories of a time best left to the past. To survive, with his sanity intact, past times, both good and bad, must be left there. But today, he'd been awash in memories. If the truth be told, he'd been drowning in them. But as soon as that gate had lifted and the Highlander had turned to him, he'd suddenly been firmly in the present. And discounting the rough start, all the tensions of the day had flowed from his body and he'd settled down to enjoy as easy a camaraderie as was possible 'post Kronos'.
His jaw fell open in silent shock. Shit, he thought despondently. When the hell had others become so important to him?
'You know when,' the voice mocked him again.
He was outta here! He rose quickly, striding evenly towards the stairs. He didn't particularly feel like being trapped on that slow moving, antique of an, so-called, elevator. He froze, about three-quarters of the way to escape.
Presence, tingled at the base of his skull. His breath stopped, half way between his lungs and his throat. He could neither pull it back in, nor breath it out. 'Of all the bloody timing,' he thought, with just a touch of fear.
He turned, ever so slowly as the gated elevator rose. His left hand reached for his sword. Although a key was necessary to operate the lift, it *wasn't* necessary to assume that meant friend.
Why didn't he just leave? That's what he'd planned just seconds ago.
Silent, mocking laughter filled his mind. 'Because you're greedy. You want it all.' He shook his head, blocking out that voice and resumed his exit.
"Methos!" MacLeod called out behind him. "Where are you going?"
"Out!"
"What?"
"I said, OUT, MacLeod. Are you hard of hearing?" He asked without turning around and without slowing. He could hear Mac's gasp of surprise, but didn't let it distract him. He HAD to get out of here. He yanked open the door to the stairs, not bother to close it behind him.
He was half way to the outer doors when he was jerked around by a bruisingly tight grip on his upper arm. It was a couple of seconds before it felt like his skin fit again. He automatically reached for his sword, but found that arm grabbed also.
"Bloody hell, MacLeod, do you think you could make some noise when you move. You startled the hell out of me."
MacLeod snorted. "Maybe when you start making sense, then I'll start giving you some warning. What happened while I was gone? I thought you were going to stay for dinner."
"Plans change."
"I gathered that *already* Methos. What happened that changed yours? I leave you for half an hour and you're suddenly as jumpy as an immortal in a room full of guillotines."
Methos shuddered. "Could you *please*, find another metaphor, MacLeod. That one is...well, it's...sadistic.
Mac's mouth twitched upward. "I'll consider it," he said. "Now, what has you so out of sorts?"
"Nothing, Mac," Methos snapped, jerking out of MacLeod's grasp. "Absolutely nothing. What, you think that just because I want to leave your, *oh so exhalted*, presence something just has to be wrong? Well, I've got news for you, you're not all that!" Methos turned on his heel and strode quickly away.
As the door was closed behind him, Mac's confused, and hurt, words floated after him. "No, it's not that..." He steeled himself against them and kept going.
Less than a block later, as soon as knew he wasn't being followed, he slowed to a stop. Taking a deep breath, he turned around. The brick building stood there and he stared at it for long moments, doing nothing more than breathing deeply, slowly.
He shook his head. He was an idiot. How could he let any one person affect him so profoundly? He almost went back, but before he could take more than two steps he froze. He sighed deeply once more. "If only..." he thought, before he could stop his thoughts. Then he turned and headed back toward his current, temporary, home.
Part Two
Methos paced methodically around his room, packing what little he'd already unpacked. It didn't take long. Duffel bag zipped and sitting on the bed, he took one last circuit around the room. It was as barren as any motel room and he closed his eyes against it.
He refused to let an empty motel room dictate his mood. A new life beckoned him. He had numerous identities set up and ready to go. All he had to do was choose one and he could start again. As long as he kept his head, he had all the time in the world to find new interests and new passions. His life did NOT revolve around someone who couldn't return his interest.
Bag in hand, he headed for the door, but three steps into his new life, presence flooded his awareness. He froze. No one knew he was here. If he waited, the other would probably pass by, continuing on to whatever business they had here.
He waited. The presence, the tingle, didn't go away.
He swallowed nervously. While he was certain he could handle any random challenge that might come his way, he'd *really* rather not bother. It would only slow him down, give him time to second guess himself. The disorientation of a quickening just might erode his resolve to leave.
It was the height of madness to stay. As much as he valued the highlander's friendship, being near him hurt as much as it helped. It was time to go. It was time to let time work the magic it had worked so many times in the past. Time was all he needed, time to get used to a new name, a new persona. Time would accustom him to life away from the 'unattainable' and allow him to move on; maybe even fall for someone he had chance with.
Besides which; immortals were simply too much of a commitment. It wouldn't have worked even if his interest had been returned. It would have just been sex. Neither one of them were meant for *long term* involvement. He took another step forward. After all, MacLeod's longest relationships were with mortals, so were his. It was better to disappear while they were still, or rather again, friends. Two more steps.
The loud knocks made him jump. The presence hadn't faded. 'Shit!' Whoever was out there, was immortal. Had someone followed him? No, he thought. It had to be random. If he could avoid mortal followers, no way in hell, an immortal could follow him without him being aware of it.
Pulling out his sword and making sure he had a secure grip on his bag, he completed his short trip to the door. Sword at approximately neck level, he jerked open the door. He froze in shock.
"You planning to use that, or are you going to let me in?"
"MacLeod! What are you doing here?" He asked, without moving.
Duncan rolled his eyes, then brushing aside the sword, he slipped past him.
"What do you want," Methos snapped, allowing every ounce of unreasonable hurt, desperation and longing, to come out in his disgusted, impatient tone.
MacLeod slowly turned and watched him, eyes wide. "I came to find out what's wrong, Methos."
He forced himself to roll his eyes. "I told you nothing's wrong," he said, dropping his bag to the floor. "Don't you ever believe *anything* I tell you?"
"Of course I do, Methos," MacLeod responded, moving toward him. He stopped suddenly. "But, you know something?"
Methos didn't answer at first and Mac simply stood there waiting, watching him.
Methos met him eye to eye for long moments, until it became readily apparent that Mac wasn't going to continue.
"Well?" he asked.
"Well, what?"
Methos shook his head. This was unbelievable! "*What* do you know?" he asked, turning away.
"You don't lie as well as you think you do."
"What?!" Methos gasped, spinning back around in shock. "Just what do you mean by that?"
MacLeod smiled, ferally. "I mean," he answered deliberately, "that you are getting predictable."
Methos shrugged it off. "I don't know what you're talking about, MacLeod. Maybe you could start speaking in a language I actually understand," he snapped, infusing it with every ounce of sarcasm he'd accumulated, "because right now you're talking gibberish."
"No, I'm not," MacLeod responded, stepping forward slowly, "but since you seem to be having trouble understanding me, maybe I'll just resort to a language *much* older than English."
"W..what do you mean," he asked, backing up as the large Scotsman invaded his personal space. "What language are you referring to? I speak so many," he continued flippantly, trying to control the churning of his stomach.
Mac's grin grew. "Oh, I think you know what language I'm referring to," he responded, continuing forward.
Methos twitched as he came up against the closed door. When did that get closed? He fumbled for the handle as Mac came even closer.
Before he could turn it half way, or even think about actually open it, Mac was there, stopping mere inches away from him.
"Back off, MacLeod!" he snapped.
"Oh, I don't think so," Mac drawled, purposely pushing his right hand against the door as Methos got it to unlatch. It shut with a resounding click.
"Oh, are we turning Neanderthal, MacLeod? Aren't you a little young for that?"
"Oh, I don't think so," he replied, lazily placing his left hand on the other side of Methos' body. "I think, it's about time.
"What the hell are you talking about, MacLeod?" Methos asked, ducking down to slip under MacLeod's arm.
Mac leaned forward, pressing his hip against Methos. "You're not going anywhere, until we settle this."
Methos' heart rate raced. Could Mac be *so* oblivious to what his presence, his touch, did to him? His tongue darted out, licking dry lips, before he could retort. "Who made you God?"
"You did," MacLeod responded, lowering his head until their lips barely touched.
"What?" Methos yelped. "Mac, I don't know..."
"Is this what you're so afraid of?" Mac asked, his lips tracing a feather light trail along his jaw then up to his cheekbone.
Methos swallowed drily. How many times had he wanted this? He pushed against the Highlander's chest, but was unable to put his weight behind it. At the same time, his eyes closed of their own accord. Those lips were turning his legs to jelly. "Stop," he pleaded.
Mac pulled his head back, not moving any other part of his body. "I'll stop as soon as you can look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this," he whispered silkily, dipping his head back down to nip lightly at Methos' exposed neck.
"I don't want it," Methos responded weakly, silently commanding his body to mind. The heat radiating from the body pressed up against him, seeped through his clothing and kissed the skin beneath.
Mac pulled back, capturing Methos' face in both of his hands. "Open your eyes and look at me, then say it again, Methos," he ordered softly.
Methos forced his eyes open and found himself staring into soft brown eyes, far too close to his own. He opened his mouth, prepared to tell this man anything necessary to get him to pull back.
Mac's thumb pressed lightly against his parted lips. "I will take the next words out of your mouth as gospel. Don't lie, Methos. Please don' lie ta me." And the thumb caressed his lower lip as Mac removed it.
He stared, unable to say anything for a few moments, his mind stuck on the promise and the plea. "Shit!"
A chuckle vibrated through Mac's body, sending pleasant jolts into Methos. "What's the matter, Methos," Mac asked, dropping his voice to a sultry breath as he whispered his name. "Can't think of anything to say?"
"I can't think like this."
"What's there to think about? Either you want this as much as I do, or you don't."
"It's not that simple."
"Yes, yes it is. It's just that simple...if you let it be."
This was stupid. Just say the words. Ignore the fact that they'd be a lie. So what. This was dangerous and stupid. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He'd lied to him before. This wouldn't be the first time.
'Yeah, but it would be the first time after he told you that no matter what you say, he'll believe it, no questions asked. It would be the first time after that heartfelt plea for you not to.'
His shoulders slumped. He couldn't do it. "I can't."
"Can't what, Methos?" Mac asked quietly.
"Lie," he answered softly, "not like this."
Mac's brilliant smile spread across his face and he leaned forward ever so slowly.
Methos had what felt like an eternity to stop it. One word, that's all it would take. Say it, he thought fiercely. He stayed silent.
Mac's lips touched his lightly, once, twice, then pressed fully against his. Sinful, he thought, with just a touch of hysteria, then flicked his tongue out to touch the Mac's lips. The mouth moving against his parted and Methos slipped his tongue inside, exploring the warmth. Moist, agile tongues slowly dueled together in a mimicry of things to come.
He groaned as Mac pulled away, his breathing fast as he gulped in air. "How?"
"How what?" Mac asked as he dipped his head to Methos' neck.
"How did you...find me?" he asked with just the slightest hitch to his voice.
Mac chuckled against his skin. "I have my sources."
"Joe."
"Joe."
He'd kill him. Well, then again, he amended as Mac's teeth lightly nibbled his neck, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd fund the man's liquor stock for the next year...decade.
"Come on," Mac said suddenly, pulling back and bringing Methos with him.
"What?"
Mac laughed. "Come on, we're going out."
Methos blinked twice before he could answer. "Out? Why? Where?"
"You'll see," Mac answered with an infuriating grin, and slipped out the door.
This is *so* not fair, Methos thought, as he stared at the half open door. Did the blasted Highlander *have* to add his curiosity into this too?
"You coming?"
"No...unfortunately," Methos muttered. "Yes," he said loud enough to be heard. One thing was certain. What ever else may come, this was definitely going to be an interesting ride. He pushed aside the snide little voice that whispered...'and deadly'.
Part Three
Less than half an hour later, MacLeod pulled the car to a stop in front of an all to familiar bar.
"Joe's?" Methos asked in surprise. "Have you forgotten that Joe just happened to have ratted me out? And that I'm not supposed to be happy with him right now?"
Duncan just laughed. "No, I haven't forgotten. I thought maybe you'd like to thank him."
He knew how to talk, he really did, but for the life of him, several moments passed before he could do more than open and close his mouth. No sound would come out. "Thank him! Why on-"
"I'm kidding, Methos," Duncan replied laughingly, cutting off his tirade with a single finger on his mouth. "Come on. I do want to let him know you're okay."
How did the man do it? He wouldn't have let anyone else cut him off like that. "What?" He demanded. "What would make Joe think I might not be?" He grinned suddenly. "Don't tell me I actually lost that watcher he's so proud of."
"What watcher?"
"Oh no you don't. You're *not* changing the subject."
"I didn't. You did."
Methos rolled his eyes. "Semantics, MacLeod. Now, listen carefully and try to understand what I'm asking. Why does he think I might not be all right?"
When he didn't get an immediate answer, Methos' eyes narrowed suspiciously. This could *not* be good. Mac didn't look *that* sheepish very often. "What. did. you. do?"
Mac's eyes widened innocently and Methos' suspicions grew. "Do?" he asked and if Methos didn't *know* better, he'd have sworn that Mac did not have any idea what he was talking about. The man was getting far too good at that. "I didn't *do* anything."
Taking a deep breath and slowly counting to five, he shot out his hand and grabbed hold of Duncan's arm. "Fine! What did you *tell* him, then?"
"Well," Duncan began, then continued in a mumbled rushed which Methos strained to hear. It didn't help. Most of it was still incomprehensible gibberish.
"We fought? And that...what?"
MacLeod sighed deeply.
Methos restrained himself from groaning, but did close his eyes and shake his head in frustration. It couldn't be *that* bad...could it? What could he have possibly said? That he thought he might skip town? Well, that would only be the truth. After all, that *was* what he was going to do. So, that was out. He wouldn't be holding out for something like that.
"What? I didn't quite catch that? I might *what*, MacLeod?" Then he almost laughed. Mac's eyes were so expressive. He could just *see* the thoughts burning behind them. "No, Mac, you're not."
A confused frown pulled the corners of Mac's mouth downward. "Not what?"
"Going to get out of telling me. Now, spill it."
"How did...? Never mind. I told him I thought you," he took a deep breath and continued in a rush, "mightdosomethingstupid."
Methos' mouth fell open in shock. "You told him, What?"
"You heard me. I'm not going to repeat it and make a fool of myself...again."
"Of all the...hare-brained...idiotic..."
"Oh, come on, Methos," MacLeod wheedled. "It's not as bad as that. All in a good cause and all that."
Methos chuckled finally, his sense of humor reasserting itself suddenly. "I can't believe you did that."
"Well," Mac admitted, "he wouldn't tell me what I needed to know at first, so I-"
"Lied. You, the boy scout, lied to get what you wanted."
"Exaggerated."
"No, you lied." Methos grinned suddenly. "There may be hope for you yet, MacLeod."
"Only you, Methos." Mac threw an arm around his shoulder and pulled him toward the front door of the bar. "Let's go set Joe's mind at ease, shall we?"
"Methos balked. "You want to walk in there like this?" He asked, incredulously. "A blues bar."
"Yep. Why not?"
"Because," Methos responded drily, ducking out from under Mac's arm just as the Highlander opened the door, "I don't like pain."
"What?!" Mac asked from behind him.
He didn't answer, just strode toward the bar and the man standing behind it. Both a beer and a scotch were on the bar by the time he sat down.
Thanks, Joe."
Joe nodded, and started to reply, but was pre-empted by Duncan.
"Adam! Just what, exactly, did you mean by that last comment of yours?"
Methos' shoulders slumped. He'd hoped the stubborn man would, at least, wait until after they'd talked to Joe. He could see Joe eyeing them quietly, obviously waiting to see if he would answer the question.
"Somehow," Joe said finally, looking from one immortal to the other. "I think this is going to be a very interesting story."
***
Judging from the laughter that followed as Mac haltingly tried to explain his 'exaggeration', Joe *had* found it interesting. But, somehow, Methos doubted it was a story that would end up in the Highlander's famous chronicles. Joe's private Journals, however, were a different story. It was all Methos could do not to laugh out loud at the interaction between the two of them.
Very obviously biting back several, possibly stinging, retorts, Joe very calmly and quietly wiped away his tears of laughter, and asked on final question. "All I want to know now, Mac, is why?"
"Well, Joe..." Mac started then turned a pleading look on Methos.
No, way, Methos thought, you got yourself into this, get yourself out of it. And his return look said the same, quite clearly.
"Thanks, a lot, Methos," Mac said, drily.
"Anytime, Mac."
"Would you two just stop!"
Both men turned incredulous looks at the Watcher.
"Sorry, Joe," Methos said quickly, only half succeeding in stopping a snicker, not sounding the least bit sorry.
Uh, oh, Methos thought. He wasn't entirely certain he liked the look of the smile suddenly gracing Mac's face. Nope, he was quite sure he *didn't* like it. "Mac?"
"Yes, *Adam*?"
"You're plotting something."
"Am I?" Mac turned to face Joe. "Joe, am I devious? Do I *plot* things? Please, reassure this paranoid gentlemen over here that I'm harmless."
"Harmless! Oh Puh-leeeze!" Methos exclaimed, then watched Joe attempt to hide a smile before taking the time to answer.
"Well," he drawled thoughtfully. "I can't say as you're well known for it." He paused, cocking his head to the side, as he glanced appraisingly at Mac. "But then, you've been hanging around the old man an awful lot. It might have rubbed off. But confidentially," he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I have to agree with Adam here, about you being harmless, though."
Methos laughed as Mac sputtered.
"So, when do I get to find out what all this is about?" Joe asked again.
Mac smiled crookedly and turned to face Methos. "Oh, I'd say right about now."
"Why do I have the feeling I've been set up?" He asked warily. Edging his way off his stool, he spun and headed for the door. He wasn't quick enough. Mac snagged his arm and pulled him back toward the bar. Not having expected that particular action, it set him off balance and he tumbled back against the Highlander.
"MacLeod?!" he hissed, as broad, well muscled arms folded around him. He could see Joe Dawson trying to put of a freshly dried shot glass and valiantly trying *not* to laugh...again. He was only half successful about the laughter, but didn't manage to do anything other than not drop the glass. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with trying to figure out what, he was sure, Mac was plotting, he'd have dearly loved to come up with a scathing retort. "Let go of me," he ordered instead.
"Why?" Mac whispered. "I thought you wanted to find out what I was 'plotting'."
"Methos stilled instantly, his eyes narrowing once again. "If it has anything to do with your *manhandling*, I don't think I do," he retorted tartly, and tried to unobtrusively struggle free. Unfortunately, given their current positions, Mac had all the leverage.
He froze as he felt Mac's breath brush his ear. "Be still," the whisper ordered. "The only way you'll get loose, is if you want to make a scene. And judging by the comment you made as we came in here, I don't think you do."
"I won't forget this MacLeod," he whispered fiercely. "This isn't exactly keeping a low profile." Joe moving closer, giving up any and all pretense at doing anything other than listening, caught his peripheral vision. Some small portion of his mind was aware that the Watcher's eyes didn't miss much, and none of this was a good idea, but he couldn't give that concern as much attention as he would have liked. Too much was still taken up with his worry over what the Highlander was up to.
Sudden inspiration seized him and he grinned over at the Watcher. "What happened to that *so-called* watcher you had money on? I thought he was supposed to last at least a week." He frowned at the cagey grin his comment spawned.
"Oh, that 'so-called' Watcher, was at least partially responsible for the fact that I even remotely bought Mac's line."
"Oh."
"Don't look so down. I *told* you...'he'...was good. I'll bet you thought you didn't even have one on you today."
Methos didn't answer, just took a swig of his beer.
"Thought so," Joe grinned even broader at Methos' non-answer. "You know something else? 'He', has been with you for five days and counting."
"What?! No way. I *know* I lost my assigned watcher a full three hours before I hit the airport. I picked up another one, but lost *her* too."
Joe shook his head, and Methos began to wonder if the mortal's smile could *get* any wider.
"Oh, I know all about them," he replied, chuckling. "They were *furious* with you. They said, 'he used to be a Watcher. He should know better.' And then they asked me, and I'm quoting here, mind you; 'Would you please teach him some manners!'
Methos tried to stop it, but he couldn't. The laugh worked its way up from deep in his gut and past clenched muscles. He laughed until his muscles ached and he wrapped his arms across his stomach. and still he couldn't stop. Oh, gods, he *had* to get a grip. Bloody hell, he was starting to *giggle*...of *all* things. He took several gasping breaths. There, he thought, and took a deeper breath. Almost over.
"It isn't *that* funny, Adam! It's not like you couldn't stand to learn a few manners, even from me."
Shit, he thought, as another fit of laughter took over. He felt Mac's arms tighten around him and realized it probably looked like he was hysterical. Well, maybe he was...just a touch. Even he had to admit it had been a strange day, full of both low, lows and high highs. He was entitled. Besides, it felt good. He hadn't laughed like this in...well, he couldn't remember the last time. No doubt the Highlander was concerned now.
A few more deep breaths and as long as he didn't look over at Joe Dawson, he was fine. "You really shouldn't worry so much MacLeod. Isn't a body allowed to laugh once in a while without scaring everyone?"
Behind him, Mac laughed low in his throat and gave a brief squeeze before he loosened his hold. "Of course, Methos."
Joe watched him knowingly as he slipped back onto his *own* barstool. And it was a day for firsts, well firsts 'in a long time', anyway. He blushed. Of course that just made the man grin again.
"I'll be right back," Methos mumbled and made a direct beeline for the restroom. He heard twin chuckles behind him and rolled his eyes. He was *never* going to live that blush down. Of that, he was absolutely certain.
Part Four
Joe watched Methos' hurried retreat, he laughed right along side Mac, but a small part of him was concerned about this new development. While he'd long known that Methos was interested in Mac, Mac had always seemed...oblivious to it. He had certainly never shown any return interest. This all seemed so...fast.
"Mac?"
It was a couple of seconds before Mac turned to him. "Yeah, Joe?"
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"What?" Mac asked, frowning in confusion. Then standing decisively, he continued. "If you disapprove, we can always leave."
"No," Joe exclaimed. "That's not what I meant at all. I've always thought, to each their own."
"Well, what's the problem then?"
"Adam's been in love with you for a long time, but you-"
Mac's face lit up, his smile full wattage. "He's in love with me?" He asked incredulously.
Oh shit! Methos would kill him for letting *that* cat out of the bag. "I thought you already knew? I mean, the way the two of you are acting..."
"No, I didn't know," Mac said, grinning and glancing toward the closed door Methos had disappeared through. "I've just caught on to all this today," he continued, ducking his head to hide a slight blush of his own. "I...hadn't thought that far ahead."
Joe shifted uncomfortably, casting his own quick glance toward the restroom. He wondered how long the old man would hide himself. "I don't mean to be blunt here, but..."
"Just spit it out, Joe. I can always reserve the right not to answer."
"What about your chronicles?"
"What about them?" Mac asked, shrugging slightly, then waved off Joe's response. "If I was concerned about this being mentioned, I wouldn't be so open, here, where any *other* Watcher and their brother could wander in and witness it, Joe."
He had 'just figured this out today' and he was already so comfortable with it that he didn't care who knew? But even beneath his confusion Joe felt a warmth. Mac had as much as said that even if he *hadn't* been comfortable with it, Joe, *his* Watcher, would know about it anyway. He shook that away for now, to consider later.
"Have you ever done this kind of thing before," he asked suspiciously. "Your chronicles don't mention-"
"I *am* over 400 years old, Joe," he replied, mustering his dignity. Then he laughed at Joe's expression. "Nope. This is a first for me."
"Um, well," Joe began, not sure how to phrase his next question. He really didn't want Mac to take it the wrong way. "Don't you think that maybe you should slow things down just a bit, in that case?"
"Why?"
Joe rolled his eyes, a touch of anger flaring in him at Mac's cavalier attitude. "He. is. in. love. with. you. Has been for a long time, Mac. What do you think this will do to him, if you both rush forward with this, then you suddenly decide it isn't for you, that it was all just a bit of immortal adolescent curiosity?"
Mac laughed. "You're the *only* mortal I know that would consider 400 years old adolescence."
Joe frowned.
"I'm sorry Joe. I *am* taking your comment seriously." He leaned forward, hands on the bar and continued intently. "In all my years, I've only fallen this hard and this fast, once before."
"Tessa."
Mac nodded. "Yep. If there's one thing I've managed to learn *and* have it stick, is that, just because something's new and different, doesn't make it wrong. And that, when something feels right, you grab hold and make everything of it you can. Missed opportunities don't return very often...even for immortals."
"Damn, that's...wow."
"I've rendered you speechless," Mac grinned. "That's two in one day. I must be on a roll."
Joe rolled his eyes.
"Listen, I need to go run an errand. Keep Methos here, until I get back."
"How long are you going to be gone?"
"I'm not sure," Mac replied stepping away from the bar.
Joe sighed. "Okay, *where* are you going then?"
Mac grinned over his shoulder at him. "To make sure I don't repeat my mistakes."
"Oh *that's* enlightening, Mac," Joe muttered sarcastically, just as Methos stepped back into the room.
"What is?" Methos asked, glancing between the two men.
"Nothing," Mac answered, striding toward him. Cupping his face in both hands he pulled Methos toward him and seduced his mouth.
Methos moaned low in his throat and leaned into the kiss, parting his lips breathlessly.
Joe watched them, unable to tear his eyes away from a scene he *never* thought he'd see.
Mac pulled back then placed a gentle kiss on each corner of Methos' mouth. "Wait here for me. I'll be right back."
"What? Where are you going?" Methos asked dazedly of the Highlander's back.
"Just wait here." Mac asked, pausing his exit to turn back and face Methos. "Trust me. Please?"
Methos nodded, not entirely certain why.
Mac grinned and raced out the door.
Methos meandered back to his stool and absently picked up his beer, swallowing the remainder. He sighed.
Joe grinned, crookedly. "I've seen that look on you once before, you know."
Methos jerked his head up, to stare at him, surprised. "What?"
"When you were falling for Alexa," Joe explained. "You had that same goofy expression."
Methos wilted right in front of him, dropping his head onto his hands. "I'm doomed."
Joe's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't realized it was quite *that* bad. He grinned, suddenly. "So," he asked conspiratorially. "Is he as good a kisser as they speculate?" That ought to distract him, he thought mischievously.
Methos' head popped up and his jaw fell open. "JOE!"
"What? You know as well as I do, that a lot of the Watchers, not all of them female, have wondered *that* for the last several decades. You're the first Watcher with empirical data to share. So *share*!"
Methos smirked, well, he tried to anyway. It turned into another soft smile instead. "Oh, Yes."
Part Five
Methos fidgeted on his stool one more time and glanced at the door, even knowing he'd feel MacLeod's arrival long before the door opened. He frowned at himself. He was being an idiot, *that* he knew; waiting here, simply because the highlander had asked him to. Not that he minded being in Joe's bar; he was usually here, this time of day anyway. That wasn't the point.
'Making sure he didn't repeat past mistakes.' That's what Joe said he'd given as an answer to where he was going. What the hell did that *mean*, anyway. He had to agree, whole heartedly, with Joe's assessment. It didn't 'enlighten' a damn thing. What past mistakes?
A slight tremor passed down his spine, not for the first time tonight, as his mind came up with all sorts of ideas of what it could mean. For immortals it took on whole new proportions. Could he, even now, be out there facing a challenge that neither he nor Joe knew about?
No, he told himself firmly. When MacLeod had left, he'd been smiling...no not smiling, grinning; like he had some kind of secret or something. Unless of course he'd met up with a random challenge. They wouldn't know about that...yet.
Methos blew out a frustrated breath, before downing the last of his beer. This was getting him nowhere. He stood hastily, coincidentally drawing Joe's attention.
"Getting antsy?"
Methos grinned ruefully. "You could say that," he admitted. "Look, Joe," he continued, only to be interrupted by the phone ringing.
"Hold that thought," Joe commented as he reached for it. "Joe's, Joe speaking."
"What?" A pause. "Are you sure?"
Methos' eyes narrowed as he listened to the one-sided conversation, with increasing alarm as Joe slowly grew more and more agitated.
"I'll be there as quick as I can," Joe said finally and hung up the receiver. It connected with the base with a resounding bang.
"What?" Methos demanded.
"It's MacLeod."
"Bloody hell, I *knew* it!"
"Come on," Joe said, starting for his office and the back door.
**
Methos and Joe spent most of the drive in a tense silence, Joe having explained what details he knew as soon as they'd gotten in the vehicle. It wasn't good, that's all Methos knew. He'd heard of the immortal that had challenged MacLeod. In fact, Mark Anderson, (current name, not original), was one of the immortals that he had tracked during his tenure with the watchers; tracked to make sure he avoided him.
Anderson was good, too good. Even now, with all the renewed practicing, Methos wasn't sure he'd win against him, dirty tricks included. Well, minus the gun. That didn't bode well for MacLeod's chances. The thing was, the man wasn't a head hunter. He usually only sought out combat for specific reasons.
It wasn't until Joe turned a quick, concerned glance toward him, that he realized he'd been mumbling the curses he was thinking, out loud.
"Can't you drive any faster?" He snapped.
"No," Joe replied shortly. "It really won't help if we're stopped by the cops, now will it?"
Methos refused to answer, simply slouched further into his seat and continued worrying.
It hadn't been a random challenge. According to the other immortal's Watcher, MacLeod had been challenged by that pompous name of his, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.
"Anderson's good, isn't he?"
"Yes, Joe, he is."
"How good?"
Methos turned to face Joe's profile. "Good enough that I don't want anything to do with him."
"Damn!" Joe replied, tightening his grip on the controls. "I just wish that once in a while, Mac would try just a little harder to avoid these challenges."
Methos groaned dropping his head back against his seat. "Me too, Joe. Me too."
A flash of lightning beginning far too low in the sky drew their immediate attention. Joe pulled to a stop amid screeching tires and locked brakes.
Methos was out of the vehicle, before it came to a full stop.
Joe's "Damn it, Adam! Don't do that," chased after Methos as he ran forward, skidding around the corner and into the alley.
He felt his heart nearly stop in his chest, when he saw MacLeod on his knees, breathing heavily. And it was all he could do, at first, to start moving again, to head toward that tableau, frozen in front of him. Then he was.
"Are you okay, MacLeod?"
"Yeah, the quickening wasn't all that powerful."
"It wasn't?" Methos asked, blurted out, actually.
"No."
Methos pushed that aside for the moment, they could talk about that later. For now, he was simply glad the stubborn Highlander had survived another battle. "I just wish you'd be willing to change your name. If you did that, you might be just a little harder to find, even if you *did* continue with all your idiotic heroics!" Methos snapped angrily. He was angry that MacLeod had been challenged yet again. He was angry that *he* had been worried about it. He was angry that-
"Okay," MacLeod offered suddenly, looking Methos directly in his eyes. "How about I change it to Pierson?"
Methos suddenly found himself flat on his ass in the dirty alleyway, with no idea how he'd ended up there. He blinked twice. His mouth opened and closed several times, but all that emerged was a tiny little squeaked, "What?"
MacLeod grinned broadly, pulling Methos up to his feet. "You heard me, old man," Mac replied, yanking Methos against him. "So what say you?"
He tried to reply, but couldn't as Mac's mouth claimed his, demanding his acquiescence. For several long moments he could only respond, humming low in his throat. "Mac," he tried again, pushing against the broad chest pressed against his. He pulled back from the embrace, and succeeded only to the point that Mac transferred his talented mouth to his neck.
He moaned and resisted the incredible urge to melt against Mac, *really* he did, but he knew exactly what Mac was going through right now and just what that could lead to. For several seconds he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around why he should resist the incredible temptation holding him.
"Mac, the Watcher," he protested finally.
"He left when Anderson did."
"Joe, then. I'm not sure he's ready to- WHAT?" Methos demanded, surprise finally giving him the impetus to resist.
"What, what?"
"If Anderson left, then just who's quickening was that we saw when we drove up," Joe asked, startling both immortals.
"I don't know."
"Okay, that's going to take some explaining," Methos said frowning.
"Agreed," Joe responded drily. "But *after* we get out of here."
Part Six
"I tried to get him not to continue with the challenge, but he was bent on it. It seems one of the challenges I took recently was a student of his, and someone told him I'd used an accomplice, that shot him first. He wasn't about to give up."
Methos eyed MacLeod suspiciously. Something wasn't adding up.
'And there's that *other* little tidbit you're conveniently forgetting,' whispered his ever present conscience.
He ignored it.
"Get to the point, Mac," Joe asked, impatient to get to the point of this roundabout story. "How did you avoid the fight, if he was so set on it?"
Methos nodded gratefully to Joe, he'd saved him having to make his own outburst. It so helped his cynical, detached reputation when he stayed calm and patient.
"That's just it; that's the strange part. We started fighting. He was good, by the way, *very* good. And then, in the heat of the fight, I just *had* to try again." MacLeod shrugged. "I don't know what it was I said that got him to change his mind, but something did. We even parted civilly, if you can believe that."
Methos remained quiet. That *was* odd.
Joe shook his head disbelievingly. "So, that's half the story. What's the other half?"
Duncan rolled his eyes. "The foolish idiot attacked out of nowhere. He was on me almost as soon as I sensed him. He was young, very. I'd say he hadn't hit half a century yet. He didn't even know who he was attacking."
"Some people never learn, MacLeod. If he had that much excess bravado, he wouldn't have lived much longer even if he hadn't come across you." Methos paused and took a deep breath. "Don't take this the wrong way, but isn't that just the type you usually spare when it gets down to the wire?" Methos asked. He had to get to the bottom of...something. It was nagging just beyond his reach to figure it out. All he knew, right now, was that MacLeod was the key to it. He held the answer.
MacLeod ducked his head and quickly took a rather large swig of his drink.
"*You* didn't tell us everything, did you?"
"No."
"You were gonna let him live after being *that* stupid, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"You and you're stupid heroics," Methos spat angrily. "They're gonna get you killed. You know that, don't you?"
"Methos," Duncan began.
Joe reached out and lay a hand on his shoulder. "So what happened that changed it?"
"As I was walking away-"
"He got back up and attacked from behind," Methos said flatly.
"Yes."
"Damn you MacLeod! Will you *ever* learn?"
"Adam-"
"No, Joe. I can't do this. I swear, every time I turn around there's some new challenger and MacLeod *NEVER* walks away, never."
"Methos, if I'd started that way, I could do it now, but since I didn't, if I start now, all it will do is create *more* challenges. Can't you *see* that?"
"No, I don't."
"Uh, Mac, I don't either, care to explain it to me?"
Mac shook his head, regretfully. "You said it yourself, I don't walk away from challenges. What do you suppose that looks like to an outsider?"
"Well, leaving out name calling," Joe replied, with a pointed look toward Methos. "I suppose it would appear that you are confident in your abilities. Of course your track record assists with that."
"Exactly," Duncan nodded toward Joe, never taking his eyes off the still irate Methos.
Methos simply glared. He wasn't about to give an inch. This was simply another excuse to continue abiding by that, far too rigid, code of honor of his. Oh, it wasn't that he wanted MacLeod to give it up, far from it. It was part of what made MacLeod the man he was. All he wanted was to have the man...trim the edges of it a bit. Relax the edges so everything wasn't quite so black and white.
"And what would it look like if I suddenly changed that and started running from challenges?"
Methos watched as Joe slumped visibly. He frowned. He *really* didn't like where this was headed.
"It would look like you'd lost your nerve. Just like..."
"Yeah, just like him," Mac concluded.
"Alright, MacLeod," Methos snapped. "I see your point."
"So that means you forgive me for accepting the challenge in the first place," Mac wheedled, pulling Methos toward him.
He resisted, stiffening his muscles against the pull. "I said, I see your point, Mac. That doesn't mean I have to like it."
"Okay," Mac agreed readily. "We've agreed to disagree, now we can put it aside. Now, come here."
Methos rolled his eyes, dropping his head back in disbelief. "Mac, you are *impossible*."
"Yeah, I know. I've been told that before."
Methos closed his eyes this time. How was he supposed to resist those eyes and that grin? It wasn't fair. As he grudgingly, relaxed his guard, he felt himself pulled toward the Highlander. His eyes snapped open as he felt himself being trapped between two very strong legs.
He shot a quick glance at their friend, and was surprised to see an amused grin on the man's face. Well, it seemed he wasn't too old to be surprised after all. It had been happening an awful lot lately.
When he felt Mac's hand on his cheek, he returned his attention back to the man holding him.
"Now that we've got *that* business out of the way, I believe I asked you a question earlier. You never answered me. Don't tell me you forgot."
Did they have to do this here, with Joe listening to every word? He'd seen Joe come to attention at Mac's comment. "Yeah, that. No, I didn't forget. It was a rather...unexpected question. I mean, I don't see why you'd want to do that, I mean," Methos hedged. He knew he was babbling, which was *so* unlike him, but he couldn't seem to stop. "If a guy didn't know better, it could sound, well, like it had additional meaning. Of course, I *do* know better, so-"
"Do you? And suppose I *did* mean it that way?"
"Mean what, what way?" Joe asked.
Both immortals graced him with a look.
"Sorry."
"So, what do you say?" Mac asked him again, leaning forward and giving him a light kiss. "Throw caution to the wind," he whispered in his ear then lowering his voice even further he continued. "Besides, I've got this quickening rolling around inside me that I'd just *dearly* love to work off with you."
"Damn! Mac!" Methos exclaimed, Mac's words having just the effect he was certain the other immortal had intended. "You're *serious*! About *all* of it, I mean."
"As a head hunter."
Methos wrinkled his nose. "Well, *that* was romantic."
Mac laughed. "Quit avoiding the subject, Methos."
"I am *not* avoiding the subject, MacLeod!" Methos retorted indignantly.
"Shhh. It's okay, but *yes* you are."
"What the hell did he ask you, Adam?" Joe asked suddenly. "You're acting like he proposed or something."
The two of them turned their gazes on Joe. Mac grinning ear to ear and Methos blushing slightly.
"Nobody can accuse you of being slow, Joe," Mac said.
"Well, I'll be damned!"
"Probably," Methos agreed, his familiar smirk back in place. He could feel it. It felt right. Suddenly, taking advantage of Mac's distraction, he scuttled back out of reach. "Look, I've got to go." And before either man could protest, he was out the door.
Mac turned a bemused look on Joe. "I think I rattled his cage a little," he said with a playful grin.
Joe snorted indelicately. "A little," he agreed sarcastically.
"He never *did* answer my question, though." He turned a thoughtful look toward the door. "I wonder how long it'll take for him to calm down. I'd really like his answer."
"What makes you think he'll even *be* back, to give you that answer."
"Oh, he won't run, at least not far. He'll be back."
"Think you're all that, huh?"
"What?" Mac asked in surprise turning to stare at his friend, only to see him glaring, with arms stiff and braced against the bar. Fortunately, before his surprise at the comment could actually turn to hurt, he saw the tiny smile trying to show itself on the Watcher's face. "No, of course not," he responded with a laugh. "But if he were to actually leave, you know he would still be back...at some point, right."
Joe nodded.
"Well, in that case, I'd never let him live it down."
"Live what down?"
"That he'd been run out of town by a marriage proposal."
Joe laughed. It started small and built, turning into a belly laugh that wouldn't quit. It didn't take long before Mac joined in, unable to resist the infectious sound. Before they managed to calm themselves, tears were running down both of their faces.
God, it felt good to laugh that hard, Joe thought, especially with the way this evening had looked like it was headed. "Here, Mac, have a scotch, on me. I haven't laughed that hard in far too long."
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Joe turned serious again. "Mac, I don't mean to be a wet blanket or anything, but you seem awfully sure that you're gonna like his answer. I seem to recall him making a comment once or twice about immortals being too much of a commitment."
Mac shrugged. "Actually, I'm pretty sure he's gonna turn me down...at first. But I'm gonna persuade him."
"Oh? And just how do you intend to do that?"
Mac leaned forward resting his elbows on the bar. "Pour me another drink, Joe, and I'll tell you that tale."
"I'll make you a better deal. Grab our glasses, I'll get the bottle and we'll adjourn this to a corner table where we'll both be comfortable.
"Deal," Mac answered, striding away from the bar.
Joe followed more slowly, absolutely certain he was in for a treat. His only concern was just how much of all this was going in the chronicles and how much in his personal journals. It wasn't always easy balancing what he discovered through simply being a Watcher and what he was told as friend.
The end
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