Home and Hearth

by Rivana

Does Methos have any friends? Where does he go when life around the Highlander starts to get on his very last nerve? Gen/Preslash

Title: Home and Hearth
Pairings/Characters:Methos, OFC (friendship only) with hints of UST Methos/Duncan

Summary:Does Methos have any friends? Where does he go when life around the Highlander starts to get on his very last nerve?

Beta: Much love and thanks to Tray, a.k.a. elistaire for her quick, accurate and inspiring work on this. All remaining errors, inconsistencies and quirky wordings are my own.

Author's notes: Her name is Mary, not Mary-Sue. Trust me on that. May be followed by two related stories; one for Mer & Methos and one for Duncan & Methos. No promises when.

Further Details
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG13?
Words: ~10k
Completed: Yes
Crossover: Tiniest hint of the Arthurian mythology for those who really know their stuff, but otherwise nothing.
Archive: Ask first.
Spoilers: Takes place after series, ignores movies.
Warnings: Story contains mild references to non-con, slavery and torture.
Disclaimer: "Panzer and Davies and Rhyser own those Immortals who haunt us in Highlander shows."

Home & Hearth

It had been a perfectly dreadful few years since the day he met Duncan bloody MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. Heh, bloody, what a joke. Methos had been Death, but Duncan, Duncan was the Immortal Executioner! Methos snickered at his own fanciful thoughts and got a nervous look from the cab driver up front. Oh well, don't scare the children, Old Man, you've done that enough in your day. So he was a wee bit tired at the moment; his own fault really. He should have left directly after the Ahriman debacle. What had he been thinking?

Oh, that's right-Joe. Joe, Joe, Joe…your friendship comes at a steep price at times. But I guess we all pay for something, don't we? Methos hated trans-Atlantic flights. They beat crossing the pond in a wooden boat, but not by much. Especially not when he had been awake for the last 48 hours. And had taken heads. Plural. Who told people I was still around anyway? Adam Pierson's dead now, that's for sure. Hello Michael Weatherly, wealthy art dealer. Methos kept another snicker from escaping and instead scowled at himself for his behavior, restrained though it was. The last few years had made him soft in the head. No other explanation for it.

The taxi came to a halt in front of a large, cream colored building. Methos leaned back against the headrest for a moment, closed his eyes and gave up a great sigh. Finally. He tipped the cab driver generously and was awarded with some help carrying his bags to the front door. Not that he had brought many clothes or personal affects, but his journals were not safe in Paris any longer. He needed to have another batch locked away. After his visit with Mer he was going to the Island of Dreams to take care of it. The remote island in the pacific had been in his possession for generations and was one of his most closely guarded secrets. But first he needed some rest and relaxation. Mary was good for that.

He rang the doorbell and waited patiently for an answer. He did have a key to the place, but it was in a safety deposit box in town at the moment and the banks were closed. From inside he could feel Mer's quickening energies drawing near. A few moments afterward the door opened, spilling out a soft, golden light and the scent of herbs.

Opening the door and standing to the side to let him in was a woman, seemingly in her late 20s. Her light brown hair was fastened in an untidy bun with loose strands framing an oval face, sticking to her sweaty skin in some places like stitches on a doll. Her rounded and rosy cheeks were betrayed by a stubborn chin and a slightly larger than normal up-pointed nose. Methos could not really comment on noses though, live and let live, he had always figured in that regard.

Mary smiled at him and her blue yes sparkled with affection. She stood tall, though several inches shorter than Methos himself, even slightly hunched over as he was. Her body was the kind that wanted to be soft, all padding and curves, but it had been honed by extensive physical work-outs. It still gave soft hugs though. Something Mary demonstrated within seconds. She felt hot to the touch, and sticky. She wore simple clothes: a black top and a black, loose pair of pants that ended on her naked ankles, perfect for martial arts.

"Sorry to disturb your work-out." Methos said, the smile just a little bit less forced than it had been these last couple of days. "I didn't have my keys."

A smile acknowledged the feeble excuse while he was sure that she was already cataloguing all the signs that said he had seen better days.

"Maybe you'll work out with me tomorrow then. I could use a good spar. Now, are you going to come in or are we at the point where you think you need an invitation again?" One of her eyebrows rose in friendly irony and he shook his head in response, dispelling the last thoughts of MacLeod for now, with a slight feeling of embarrassment.

"Sorry, friendship's been a bitch the last couple of years. It's good to see you, Mer."

"Two apologies in just as many seconds. I'd say you need better friends, Methos."

She let him go and turned back to the hall, starting to walk toward the kitchen area.

"You'll have to air out your room I think, and flush the toilet. The cleaners are due in two days and I've been remiss in doing it myself. I'm making some tea, if you want."

With that she was gone from the hall and Methos got his bags inside. Deciding to carry them all upstairs in one go he ascended to the second floor of the small mansion. He noticed she had been redecorating again, nothing too fancy, just the replacement of some paintings and ornaments. The overall effect was a slight feeling of something new, yet still homey, and Methos could feel a sense of contentment seeping into him for every step he took. It would take a while for him to let go of this former life, it always did, but a few weeks of Mary's company, and the safety of this sanctuary, and he would be ready to start anew.

The wooden door to his room was closed and he noticed with amusement that she had changed the paintings on either side of it again. This time there was a tasteful depiction of the phoenix myth to the right and a painting of dancing young people on the left: a solstice celebration. Sometimes Methos wondered just how psychic his friend really was. Mary always maintained that she could not see the future as such; she just had good instincts sometimes and tried to act on them. Female intuition, she jokingly called it, when she did not feel like being serious. Vivien, her second teacher, had kept Mary with her for nearly two decades though, so it was probably a bit more than that. Still, Methos knew better than to press the issue. That was one area of the occult that Mary had never seemed very eager to explore and Methos could not fault her for it. Considering his own experiences with precognition he knew full well that sometimes not knowing really was bliss.

He opened the door and dragged the bags inside, depositing them by the walk-in closet. He removed his coat and hung it on the hangers on the inside of the door, his shoes already having been removed the moment he stepped inside the house. The sometime American custom of keeping footwear on while inside the house was not something Mary appreciated.

His next stop was the windows and small balcony. Every step felt weary, but Methos was used to weary. Life, as a whole, was made up of small things after all. Love, death, betrayal, those things stood out in a lifetime of seeing humanity at its best and worse. But even if the Library of Alexandria had burned to the ground you still needed to put supper on the table. Even if the Once and Future King had died you still needed to feed the cattle and the horses. With this in mind he went about the small things that still needed to be done, even if you had just taken multiple heads. He pulled open the brown, green and gold drapes and opened the balcony door fully. It might have been starting to cool outside, but the room really was feeling stuffy. A headache in the morning would do nothing to improve his mood.

After having taken a deep breath of clean air, he went to the private bath and dutifully flushed the toilet and turned on both the sink faucet and the shower. Little things: even if your heart had just been broken you still needed to visit the facilities just like every other day. Swearing colorfully he stumbled back as the icy cold water of the unused shower drenched his sweater. He removed the garment, ignoring his shoulders as they smarted, and went to hang it beside the door. Muscle ache after a hard day he was also used to. But you still had to take care of Master's things.

He went and got a soft, large bath sheet from the wooden storage facility in the room, which he used to soak up some dampness from his body before hanging it up beside the bathroom door. Never leave things on the floor; unless you plan to, slipping on a towel is a stupid way to die. His last Master learned that. Though it had not been a bath sheet, but a veil drenched in oil. Bath sheets really were a novel concept for him still-simple, but so useful and comforting. He opened the cabinet of the storage facility facing the sink, to bring out a fresh toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, soap, shower lotion and shaving gear. Luxuries in all other centuries he had endured, but in this one they were only little things, though certainly vital.

He put most of the items on the wooden shelves between the sink and the tub. The toothbrush, toothpaste and soap he put on their allotted places above the sink. Preparation was key in all things; what you prepared in the evening you would be thankful for when your eyes were too full of the Sandman's magic to open fully in the morning. Noticing the steam starting to rise in the room, he turned off the sink faucet and the shower before exiting the bathroom.

A short moment of indecision found Methos standing just outside the bathroom. Sending thoughtful looks toward both the softly inviting bed and the door leading back to the hall and Mary's cheerful company, Methos decided that lying down for just a few moments would not hurt any. A few moments later he lay fast asleep on top of the quilted cover.

~oOo~

An hour or so after Methos had ascended the stairs found Mary roaming the house, on her way upstairs to check on her old friend. The bedroom door had been left slightly ajar and a cool breeze came from inside the room. Entering, Mary noticed the sleeping form on the bed and the draft coming from the completely open balcony door. She went to close the door, so that only the slightest bit of fresh air would enter the room, before walking over to the bed. He does look very tired, she noted and went to get a winter blanket from the closet.

Returning to her friend's side she very gently draped the blanket over his still clad body. Noticing the goose-bumps on his naked, pale arms and the dark rings below his eyes, only slightly concealed by those long eyelashes, Mary sighed softly. Welcome home, my friend, she thought before walking out of the room. If Methos wanted to talk tomorrow she would be here, if not, she would still be here. For now, she did have some writing to do. Leaving the door slightly ajar once more, Mary headed for the downstairs office and her waiting thesis. I think we'll take a trip to the theater tomorrow. That play based on Byron's poetry is still going strong. I think he'd like that.

~oOo~

Methos awoke, feeling rested and very much at peace for the first time in a really long while. He stretched languidly on the bed. Guess I went out cold last night. Speaking of cold, he could remember the room having been warmer. Burrowing deeper under the thick blanket with the rest of his body Methos ventured out with his nose again and realized that, yes, it was cool out there, and yes, he did need to go to the bathroom despite this fact.

Groaning, he gathered the blanket even closer for a moment before resolutely throwing it off and quickly rolling to his feet.

Making his way to the slightly open balcony door Methos closed the source of the chill before heading towards the bathroom. He started the shower and went to relieve himself while the unused pipes grudgingly agreed to carry hot water again. Not that they should need much work this morning, but still. Avoiding looking in the mirror, knowing full well what he would find there, Methos stripped and entered the luxurious bath tub, closing its glass doors behind him. Heaven. After a quick wash he closed the drain and sat down in the rising water. Leaning against the back rest he closed his eyes and relaxed further.

One hour later Methos descended the stairs. A man with a mission, he headed for the kitchen. The house was silent. Checking the clock, 2pm, as he entered the ultra modern, yet homely, she does have a talent for decorating, kitchen, Methos went straight for the fridge. Of course it was well stocked; anything else would have been a serious cause for alarm.

Methos whipped up a mouth watering omelet in record time. There were definite advantages to having been a cook once or twice in his lifetime. Mundane tasks like making lunch were just so much easier when you had done it professionally for years.

He put a lunch tray together with the omelet, some fresh bread, salad and a glass of ice tea, topping the whole thing off with a small piece of dark chocolate. Mary, sometimes I think you're a worse hedonist than me, but I do love your ways. Then he picked up the tray and headed for the smaller living room of the house, the one not overlooking the garden and distant lake out back.

After having put the tray down on a table Methos went and opened a wooden cabinet, revealing a state of the art entertainment system, including a wide screen TV and a DVD player. Opening another cabinet he quickly located a movie he was interested in watching and, after having put the DVD to play, he went back to the table and seated himself in the comfortable couch.

~oOo~

He was still caught up in the science fiction movie on screen when he felt an immortal presence closing in. Tuning his quickening slightly he recognized Mary's signature and went back to his movie watching. It was very useful being able to separate one immortal presence from another. Unfortunately you did need an affinity for magic in order to become proficient in using your quickening. Or you could just be really old. Perhaps that was something he should have told the Highlander at some point, but all things considered there were just some things he really would rather keep to himself, and those he trusted without any real reservation. After these years, he wondered if the Highlander would ever really make that cut. He was a good man, but a righteous man could turn on you faster than a snake if you stepped off the path he deemed just. Methos forced away the unwelcome philosophizing with a mental push and greeted his friend with a smile as she entered the room. Mary smiled back before turning back toward the door.

"I haven't seen that one yet, so don't tell me about it," she threw over her shoulder as she walked off. Methos flipped off a salute to her back, then sighed contentedly and went back to lounging.

~oOo~

Later, it was Methos' turn to roam the house as he looked for his friend. Predictably enough he found her in her study, absentmindedly nibbling on a sandwich while surfing the net.

"You know that messes up the keyboard, Mer."

She shot him a smile, its teasing nature accentuated by the habitually raised eyebrow.

"Like you don't eat by the computer all the time, Mr. Perpetual Graduate Student. How was the movie?"

"I think you'll like it."

"Good. So are we back with the living again? Want to go out and do something?"

"Like what?"

"They're doing a play based on some of Byron's work."

Methos could feel his face shutter at the name and his eyes drifted to one of the paintings in the room. The serene ocean landscape was no help and he sighed.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that, just yet."

"All right. Then how about going to the movies? Or we could hit a jazz café or something. Oooh, there's this wonderful little café that has troubadours playing almost nightly. There's probably something there tonight."

Methos felt his freezing heart melt a little more at her infectious joy.

"The troubadour thing sounds good. I hope."

"Great. I think the show starts at eight thirty so we could get some dinner before."

"Chinese?"

"Unless you object?"

"No, that's fine. Want to spar before that?"

Mary looked down at the half eaten mega sandwich in her hand and frowned.

"Give me an hour and I'm good to go. We could play video games if you've managed to get over your last defeat."

"My defeat? Yeah, that'll be the day, but sure. What do you have?"

"Lots." Mary grinned and got up from her chair, bringing her food with her as she accompanied Methos to the 'play room'. Methos matched his long strides to her quick promenade as they walked the corridors. This was exactly what he needed: pure friendship and uncomplicated diversion. A few weeks with the Mer de la Tranquilité and he would be able to look back at his relationship with a certain pigheaded Scot with more exasperated affection and less broken-heartedness.

"Haec olim meminisse iuvabit,"* he muttered.

Mary shot him a look.

"Well, you would know-better than anyone. But for now, let's have some fun!"

They entered the play room and soon they were both lost in the simple joys of playing video games; solving riddles that did not involve thousand year old curses coming to pass, fighting enemies that had not been lovers centuries before. Methos could almost forget his worries for a while, forget his broken heart.

~oOo~

They were standing in the large workout area of the mansion. Not yet facing off, just warming up with their respective method of choice.

"How do you want it?" Methos asked.

Mary's eyes did not so much as flicker towards him as she did her yoga exercises.

"As usual, I need to work on my technique. I was offered a spar with the local swords master, but said I had to think about it. It's been too long since I sparred for technical purposes, I'm afraid I might hurt him."

"Hm," Methos acknowledged and concentrated on his own warm up: the ancient moves, nameless and so ingrained in his body that they might as well just be the breathing that accompanied them. A breeze on the wind, a striking hawk….

Some time later and they were facing off with staffs. Methos noted that Mary's grip was picture perfect as always. If only she trusted herself more.

They started out slowly at first, building up the tempo as they became used to each other's sparring technique once more. Mary was holding back a little too much, as she usually did when she had not sparred with a master for a while.

"I'm not made of glass, Mer, you know I'm not."

Sighing in frustration with herself Mary closed her eyes before executing a flurry of strikes, of which the last one, had it landed, would have quite possibly caved in Methos's ribcage, and maybe pierced his heart at the same time. As it was, she stopped just in the nick of time, offering the slightest touch with her staff before retreating. She was already breathing hard though, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on her body, not before noticeable.

"That was good. Now relax a little, you know how your arms are going to feel in a while otherwise." Mary had on her blank fighting expression, but a glimmer in her eyes told him she had acknowledged his point.

They continued their spar and, true to form, Mary's technique got better the further they brought the game, till they were moving at an almost inhuman speed.

At an opportune moment Methos signaled with his eyes that they should lower their speed once more. A minute after that and Mary called a halt.

"Thanks, Methos, I needed that."

"You wouldn't need it as badly if you weren't so worried about hurting people all the time. You're not the one untouchable tower in the world you know. Other people have strengths too."

Wincing at his own words, Methos offered a sheepish smile at the same time as Mary's eyebrow rose again.

"Uhuh."

"Sorry, I think I'm still stuck in teacher-mode."

"Yaha." She gave an exaggerated nod. "I can hear that. Your Highlander has given you a lot of trouble recently has he? I mean, more than usual."

Methos eyed the sets of katana on the right hand wall, his mind momentarily cast back to a certain barge and the friends inside it. 'You did teach me one thing.' Scoffing at the memory, he repeated the incident verbatim to his friend.

Mary rolled her eyes and went to get a sword.

"Obviously your manipulations worked a little too well with that one."

"At least he's alive."

"Hm." Mary sounded doubtful, but Methos knew she was just playing devil's advocate, mostly. It was not like she had not been guilty of manipulating people in the past, or present. For their own good of course, or the world's.

They faced off over swords; Mary used her preferred hand and a half sword, a bit lighter and shorter than Methos' own. Methos caught the twin of his own Ivanhoe, which she threw his way, and the spar was on. It started off slow and steady, and then faltered a little as Mary held back a bit too much once more. This time she caught herself, though, and the next slash only just missed drawing blood.

"I promise we'll do an all out workout tomorrow, Methos," she said with a slightly apologetic smile as they sped up the still strictly technical and rules based spar.

"It's fine, Mer, I didn't expect you to go for the jugular on my first day here. You haven't spent the last few years at Immortal Central after all."

"No, I haven't. Though there was this trip to Turkey a few months back-"

"What happened?" Methos asked as he marked up another point. If they had been competing he would have won already, but that was not what the spar was about.

Mary did not compete at swords, when she fought it was mostly deadly and very much not of the playing variety. That was why sparring with her was such a challenge at times; either she did not go all out within the rules, or she slipped up and drew blood without meaning to. Which was obviously fine for him and any immortal she might be sparring with; drawing blood was not very unusual in those circumstances after all. It was not often that one had the luxury to spar with immortals though, and Mary was all too aware of mortals' frailty at times. She did have much better control than she often gave herself credit for, but Methos had long ago accepted that sparring for exercise, and nothing more was not something that would be coming easily to the other immortal any time soon.

The speed of their sparring had increased tenfold before they halted once more. The last ten minutes had been pure joy as Mary finally returned to the fine flow of form that Methos knew she had in her once she got going.

"Change of weapons?" Mary asked, a bit out of breath.

He nodded and she went to get another sword, letting him pick his own weapon this time. He picked a rapier which brought out a giggle from his companion as she returned with a heavy bastard sword.

He groaned and went to get a one handed sword and a dagger.

"You owe me for this," he muttered as they squared off.

"Nonsense, you don't think my arms are hurting already?"

"Yes," he retorted while attacking, "but you're not the one having to take three quickenings just two days prior, now are you? All on the same day, I might add."

Mary's eyes betrayed concern for a moment before returning to their usual glittery delight.

"Good, then I might prove a challenge to you yet."

He snorted and attacked again.

This spar only lasted a few minutes, as the bastard sword really was too heavy for a woman to fight with for any length of time, especially after a fresh workout. That was, of course, the reason why Mary had chosen it for the end of the spar. Like Methos, she was ever the survivor and she knew that in a real fight you could not always choose your weapons. Oh yes, Mer knew more than most about desperate fighting conditions. Which was why sparring did not come as easily for her as it did for people who'd been brought up with that sort of training, or whose first introduction to fighting had been under the careful supervision of their immortal teacher.

"Last one?" Mary asked, as they lowered their weapons for the third time. Methos checked the clock on the wall and nodded.

"We'll have to hurry to dinner later."

"I need 15 minutes and getting to the restaurant takes 10 so we still have, say 10 minutes? Before stretching."

Methos' muscles were a bit sore and he knew Mary's must be fairly screaming by now, despite immortal constitution, but that was also part of the game. A woman had, and always would have, a physical disadvantage when facing a man on the battle ground. There were exceptions, but exceptions were not something you should bet your life on and Mary did not, neither did Methos.

"My choice this time," he said.

Mary nodded in acquiescence.

He went to get two rapiers and handed her one.

"En garde."

It was Mary's least favorite weapon, but she just went into position and looked at him steadily.

"If I put your eyes out, I'm not going to apologize."

"No you'll scold me and nurse me back to health, Mary. But I reserve the right to be cross with you still."

"Fair enough." She sighed and touched her sword to his, and the fight was on.

~oOo~

Half an hour after their spar found Methos and Mary seated in a car headed for one of Mer's favourite Chinese restaurants.

"You'll like this one, and it's just a few blocks from the café so we can walk over there."

Methos was looking out through the passenger side window as his friend spoke, idly noting the various changes to the scenery since last he had visited this town. Or rather the second to last time. The actual last time he had barely left the mansion grounds all two weeks. After having orchestrated the deaths of the horsemen Methos had been a wreck. Well, as close to a wreck as he ever got without enduring some serious torture, and he had spent the weeks in the Mansion just soaking up Mary's unobtrusive love and attention. Of course that had been after he had flown out to the horsemen's old hunting grounds-what was left of them, and held his own ancient grieving ceremony.

~oOo~

It was night when he arrived at the mansion, but Methos had procured the key from his safety deposit box weeks before. The curse of foresight was good for planning ahead after all. He opened the sturdy wooden door and quickly made his way to the alarm panel where he entered his personal override code. There was a slight stirring of the air a few moments later as Mary's quickening reached out in her sleep to catalogue the nearing intruder as friend or foe. Methos allowed his own quickening to meet with the other and offered a soothing caress. The Mer de la Tranquilité's waves lapped gently against his walls once in response and then the power withdrew slightly as the tide of quickening energy returned to a blank and calm sea.

Methos made his way up the stairs to his room and got the shower running despite the late hour. For a while he just stood under the spray, leaning with his hands against the cool wall tiles as the warm water beat down on his body. Later he opened a non-descript glass bottle and poured out some of its contents. A scent of places and people long lost teased his senses as he used the home made shower gel to wash the dust and grime off his body.

A while later Methos made his way out of the bathroom and was greeted by the sight of a steaming cup of tea sitting on his bedside table. Debating whether he was ready for this conversation or not, Methos decided on an action and picked up the teacup. Carefully he walked out of the room and made his way to the library, knowing Mer would be there waiting for him all night whether or not he ever showed up. He could enter the room, take a seat by the crackling fire and not say a word and she would be there to be quiet with him. He could hand her a harp and she would sing him a lullaby, put his head on her knees and be petted to sleep, or bring out the chess set and have a challenging game to help him re-sort his scattered thoughts. Or, he could take a seat curled up in one of the large chairs and just start talking. Mer would listen and offer her own view on things, or just listen and let that be enough.

The library was lit by the fire and some candles, just as he knew it would be. Mer sat curled up on the comfortable couch, nursing her own cup of tea. The table in front of the couch was decorated by a tea pot, milk, sugar and an assorted selection of finger food. Mer's eyes came to search his face as he entered the room and she smiled softly as he met her gaze. Letting a sad smile touch his lips in return, Methos went to seat himself in the lounge chair to the left, leaving Mer quite a bit away from him since she was seated in the right hand corner of the couch. That was all planned of course. If he had wanted he could have chosen the left chair, the other side of the couch, or even the floor. A look would have been all that it took for her to move somehow closer to his position, whatever it was he needed. Mer did not know everything about Methos, no living being could, but she knew enough for these sorts of situations to become effortless. As effortless as the emotional unburdening of either of them could ever become. That could never be easy, never should be. It was a necessary evil however, so Methos pulled his legs under himself in tailor fashion and rested his hands in his lap. His eyes went to the crackling fire and then he started talking.

Mer had offered her own, unique, perspective on events. She never said she was sorry or offered her condolences; he did not want them and she knew that. She just somehow always made it seem like she understood where he was coming from, infant though she was in comparison to him.

He had reminisced for some time by the fire, cursed, condemned and in the end, forgiven himself and his brothers. At least a little bit. The last piece of the puzzle completed, for now. Self-recriminations and sorrow would come again, but they would fade more and more with time. And, most importantly right now, he would not return to MacLeod full of resentment for what they had both had to do.

After a few hours, or an eternity-who could tell with these things? Methos had grown quiet, content to just stare into the fire and remember his brothers. Mer sat with him for a while longer before rising from her position on the couch. On passing his chair on her way out of the room she had bent down and kissed him on the top of his head. She had also offered the gentlest caress of her hand on his cheek, before leaving him alone with his thoughts and his memories.

~oOo~

"Methos."

The voice dragged him back from his contemplation.

"I'm here," he answered. "Just lost myself in thought for a while."

"Hm," Mary acknowledged while parking the car.

"Well, we're here now. Welcome to Shinja La, the Asian oasis."

Methos blinked and looked at her incredulously.

"I know." She shrugged. "But, they've got the most wonderful fried fruit compote and home made ice cream. Not to mention that sinful chocolate cake and-"

"Mer, you do realize we're here to eat actual food, right?"

She smiled shamelessly in response.

"The food's good, too."

"Uhuh." He shook his head in mock exasperation and exited the car. Mer and sweets, wonder how I'm going to survive the night….

~oOo~

They sat in a warm and well-lit booth out of the way from most of the guests. Methos could see Mary frowning at the Cantonese part of the menu before she seemed to resign herself to the English listing instead.

"Your studies not going very well?"

That earned him a frown.

"Yeah, well, we can't all be older than dirt and knowledgeable of all things in the universe now can we?"

"True enough," he said in a bland tone.

"Hmpfh."

They returned to perusing the menus, but it did not take long for Mary to continue the conversation.

"The problem is that I've a hard time keeping apart the Japanese and Cantonese. Add to that all the different systems and, well, I decided to let this one rest. I have other things to concentrate on that feel more urgent at the moment."

Methos looked up from his menu, closed it and put it away on the table. He knew what to get after all; he was just waiting for Mary to decide. Such decisions were not easy for her, bundle of contradictions that she was. Stifling a smile, he levelled a serious look at her instead.

"Urgent?"

"Huh? Um, yeah. Nothing too serious." Her eyes went to the approaching waiter and Methos held his tongue while the man was close enough to hear their conversation. When he left however, all bets were off. Mary was never that close mouthed unless it was really serious business.

"Mary…." He entreated.

"You can't fight my battles for me, Adam."

Methos deflated a bit at Mary's all too familiar words, just like he was sure she had planned. Yes, he had used them against the Highlander, but that whole Kalas thing had been a scheme from start to finish, mostly. He would have been able to take care of that brute if Duncan had not been part of it. As it had stood he had needed an in with the younger MacLeod and what better way than to need his protection? Not ask for it, no, but the Highlander respected pride and self-sacrifice so that's what Methos had showed him. Mary was not Methos, though, and she was not MacLeod, so what was her game? She did not have millennia of fighting experience under her belt after all, though she did have a trick or two up her sleeve. She was not a newborn, but damn it, she was a friend and Methos did not have too many of those.

"Mer," was all he said.

"Adam. Drop it, okay; I'm not going to die."

"You can't know that."

"Yes I can, I've decided and it's final. It's just going to be hard, but I've done hard before, hell-I've been hard before. It's going to be fine, Adam. All's well that ends well, after all. "

"Yes, but how much will you suffer to reach your goal?" You're so stubborn, Mer, I don't want to lose you. "And no one can assure success, everyone has an off day once in a while. All it takes is a bullet, a slip on some rubble and you're history."

"God, Adam, don't give me that speech again. I know those things. You forget how alike we are, I'm not your Highlander. Don't start this with me."

I know you're more like me, Mer, but I would not wish half the suffering I've gone through in my life on anyone, especially not a friend.

As if she could sense what he was thinking Mer calmed down from one moment to the next.

"I'm sorry, Adam. It's not that I want to suffer, and I really don't want to die, but you won't always be there and I need to be able to handle this situation on my own."

She looked at the painting on the wall above their table for a while before continuing.

"But I am worried, so how about this? Give me a month after you've left, then if I'm not dead, or have resurfaced-come find me. I really hope it won't come to that, but you're right that I'm not as good as you are with these things. I might need you to bail me out at that point, but I really need to try it by myself first. Can you understand that?"

The terrible thing was that Methos did understand. He knew all too well the price you would pay at times for trusting someone to guard your back, or take a fight for you. When you least expected it they would have turned their back, stabbed you in yours, were dead, disabled, or otherwise just not available, and you were left with nothing. Weakened, disillusioned, disappointed, unprepared…. And even though Methos knew he would never willingly turn his back on Mary, he also knew that there might come a time when he had to, or when he simply was not there, just as she said. Knowing this did not make the acceptance of it any easier though.

"One month?"

"One month."

And that was the end of it, as they turned to more pleasant conversation topics.

~oOo~

They were at dessert before Mary raised the topic Methos knew was coming.

"So, did you leave directly after that whole 'change' conversation, then?"

It was spoken casually, but Methos knew there was nothing casual about it. He also knew he could refuse to answer, but no matter what Mer's issues were at the moment he had actually come here to talk, so talk he would.

"I stayed in town after that, despite the great send off it would have been." Letting a hint of irony seep into his words, he continued. "I spoke to MacLeod again as well. He told me what had happened while he was dead."

"Excuse me?"

"Apparently he had some kind of hallucination while he was under. You know how messy head injuries can be."

"Go on."

"To hear MacLeod tell it, apparently he was visited by a dead friend who took him on a journey to an alternate reality where he had been able to see what the world would have been like without Duncan MacLeod of the blessed clan MacLeod."

"I take it this was quite the little revelation?"

"And then some. Apparently in addition to being the millennial champion Duncan was also the deciding factor in every life that he ever touched. The one thing in the whole world that led all of his friends from darkness to light."

"You're kidding me?"

"Not at all, the conceit of that child is amazing. And I admit I may be responsible for some of that, but after the Ahriman thing I really did try to help him get on the right path again."

"I'm sure you did. So, do I want to know what happened specifically in this vision of his."

"Oh you're going to love this. Apparently, without MacLeod's unwavering love and support I succumbed to Kronos' machinations and became a scared and gutless, snivelling wreck of a man, though still a killer. I went out of my way to kill MacLeod's student, Richie, after all. Of course Duncan, that absolute paragon of virtue, could not allow that to go unpunished so somehow he was able to interfere in this parallel universe, or what have you, to challenge and kill me."

Oh yeah, that one still hurt like a bitch.

"Wow, I'm not really sure what to say to that." Mer looked at him with a sympathetic glitter in her eyes. "That's absolutely horrifying, the way he just transferred blame for Richie onto your shoulders, like you were some kind of sin eater. No wonder you want to get away from him."

Methos tried to smile, but he could feel it come out more like a grimace.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I ever thought we'd be star-crossed lovers or anything."

"Lovers? Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

He waved a dismissive hand.

"Not ready to talk about that either."

"All right. Anything else you are ready to talk about?"

He shook his head tiredly and conversation resumed in a different direction.

~oOo~

Methos sat at the bar counter, staring into the same glass of beer colored soda he had been looking at for the last few hours. This had become almost a nightly ritual since he left Mer three weeks, one day, two hours and seven minutes ago. Methos had been supposed to start his new life as Michael, at least set it up. But this thing with Mary disturbed him and he did not want the added hassle of settling into a new identity. Besides, there was something to be said for familiarity in these kinds of situations.

Joe came around again. This time he did not even pretend to wipe the bar down, he just stood in front of Methos and waited, less than patiently perhaps, but he waited. Methos weighed the pros and cons of ignoring the bar man yet again, but figured this was his last round before Joe lost patience.

"How can I help you, Joe?"

He looked up from the liquid and tried on sincere Adam expression number five.

Joe scowled.

"You can start by telling me why the hell you've been drinking nothing but soda for the past month."

"Aren't bartenders supposed to always offer a non-alcoholic beverage to all their customers?"

Joe's scowl got deeper and he crossed his arms over his chest. Not a good sign, since it meant he was highly irritated. He did tend to avoid putting all his weight on the prostheses after all.

"Don't mess with me, Adam. What's going on?"

Methos raised the glass.

"I'm taking a white month, Joe, cleansing the system and all that jazz."

He toasted with a smile and took a sip of the liquid. It really did not taste bad at all. He took another mouthful before putting the glass down again. Meanwhile, Joe put his hands on the counter and leaned down.

"We both know that's not true, Methos, now tell me what the hell's going on, damn-it! Is there someone dangerous in town, someone after Mac?" he hissed.

"No one's after your precious Highlander Joe, relax."

The old bartender huffed and looked highly doubtful.

"Like you don't save his ass every chance you get. I don't get you, Adam. You disappear for weeks, then you're back and suddenly you're not even drinking any beer. And you haven't been around the barge, not even once. I know Mac's one stubborn son of a bitch, but if you've had a fight I thought for sure you would have made it better by now. You haven't even tried."

Methos looked up toward the heavens for a moment. No help there, but it was at least a calm place to rest his eyes.

"Not everything's about Mac, Joe, and we haven't fought. As you say-I haven't been to see him."

"And why haven't you?"

"I think the Highlander and I need a break from each other, Joe, it's been an intense few years. He knows how to find me if he wants to."

"Yeah, and how's that?"

"He asks you, of course."

Methos smiled cheerfully and took another sip of his drink.

Joe's sigh was long suffering, but a customer drew him away before he could prod any more.

He did not return again until the last guest had left and this time Methos knew better than to continue being evasive, besides, Joe deserved better.

"It's to honor a friend, Joe, leave it be."

The white haired Watcher shot him a piercing look before his expression softened and he nodded.

"All right, Adam, thanks for telling me. I'll stop pestering you now."

Methos nodded and stood up to help Joe clean up the place.

When they were done he gestured towards the soda fridge.

"Have a drink with me, Joe?"

Joe shot a longing gaze toward the whiskey before taking a glass and filling it up with soda from one of the tanks.

Methos went to seat himself by a table and the Watcher soon followed. He let Joe seat himself properly before raising his own glass.

"To courage," he said.

Joe looked a bit puzzled, but raised his glass nonetheless.

"Courage," he said and Methos could tell from the veiled look in the old eyes that Joe was miles away.

He smiled softly and let himself think about Mer for a few seconds. The way she had been when they first met, back in the 18th century. The way that she still was, when she was not out risking her life for no good reason at all. Methos cut that line of thought off right there, before he got to the present day, and whatever horrors she might be facing right in that very moment. He brought himself back to the bar and his friend at the table.

"And to friendship," he said solemnly and met Joe's eyes.

The Watcher smiled back and nodded.

"To friendship."

~oOo~

The next evening found Methos at the Blues Bar once more. It was moderately quiet, the early guests were leaving and the late-nighters had yet to show. Methos sat in a booth close to the restrooms, his back firmly against the wall. He was feeling antsy tonight, nervous. There were still a few days to go before he could stage a rescue for Mer and he was going stir crazy waiting. Patience, he was a patient man, but there were certainly limits, and permitting his best friend to put herself in harm's way like some kind of suicidal masochist had him teetering close to the edge.

Methos glanced toward the TV-screen over the bar and noted that Joe beat a hasty retreat to the back office. He frowned. Had to be Watcher business, or MacLeod. Nothing to do with him probably and he had other things to worry about. He let his eyes leave the closed door behind the bar and ventured to the TV once more. The headlines showed a picture of a burning chateau somewhere in the wine district. Nothing terribly interesting surely, yet he could not tear his eyes away.

Something niggled in the back of his head-that unpleasant sensation he got whenever there was some second sight business trying to get his attention. Usually Methos ignored those powers, much like Mer did. There was such a thing as knowing too much. Mer. Methos watched the angry flames reflected in the non-descript news anchor's face. It had to be her, why or how he did not know, but she was connected to that chateau, to that fire.

He rose from his seat and walked toward the bar. It was not a long news clip; by the time he had reached the TV a new story had taken its turn. Methos scowled in frustration. She damn well better be alive. He should know if she was not, but then again the Fates had a lousy sense of humor at the best of times.

"Something wrong?" Joes asked as he returned from the office. That was quick.

Methos smoothed his features and gave his old friend a blank look.

"I'll know in a few days," he said, turning around and walking out the door without a second glance. Perhaps he should take the long way back to his flat today. He nodded grimly to himself and turned right instead of left outside of the bar.

The Fates, however, were unkind.

"Adam, hey, wait up!"

He really should not have returned to Paris so soon. He should have stayed in London, with his new life and his new friends. Well, as soon as he made any new friends. Which he would have to be in London to do. He just had not been able to stomach the idea of those extra hours should a sudden mayday appear from Mer before the allotted time. Sentimental, old fool, he scolded himself, momentarily considering making a run for it. On the other hand, the Highlander was nothing if not distracting. Yes, distraction would be good.

He halted on the sidewalk and looked back questioningly. Mac strode towards him with purposeful steps."

"Hey," he said again. "I didn't know you were back in town."

Methos shrugged.

"Thought you needed some space."

"What made you think that?" MacLeod asked, all wounded eyes and confusion.

"So maybe I needed some space," Methos said, before he started walking. He could not do this right now. Not with Mer in trouble. Being back in Paris was one thing, but apparently he was just not ready to deal with the Highlander quite yet.

"Hey!" MacLeod grabbed his arm.

Methos sent a look his way that would have reduced a lesser man to a shivering puddle on the ground. MacLeod just looked even more confused, and maybe a little bit pissed off. Great, that did not take long.

"I can't do this right now, Mac," Methos said.

"Do what?"

"The world does not revolve around Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, Highlander," Methos said. "I said: Not. Now!" He yanked his arm away and hurried down the street. Mary, Mary, where are you? He felt no presence at his back, and for that he was grateful.

~oOo~

Methos went from asleep to fully awake the moment his phone rang. He lifted the receiver with some trepidation.

"I'm safe," said the voice he had been waiting for, and then with a click Mary was gone.

For the first time in a month Methos felt the tension in his body melt away. He sank down onto his pillows while still staring at the phone in his hand. Part of him wanted to get dressed and hop on the next flight out, but willpower, and his promise, kept him in place. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Mer would not appreciate him being early this time. She needed to reclaim her space, and probably take 15 showers. At least she had water, cleaning yourself with sand was a bitch. Congratulations, he thought, hope it was worth it.

~oOo~

The night of the 21th of October Methos took a flight out to see Mary. It was a midnight flight; he would be arriving after one month, just as agreed. Not a day earlier, but certainly not a day later. Mary had just managed to beat her own deadline. If she had not called him, Methos would have descended on the town with a vengeance. As it was he simply took a cab to the house and kept his grim thoughts to himself. No use giving the driver a scare.

As they drove up to the door, Methos extended his quickening to forewarn of his arrival. There was no response from inside the mansion. With his quickening so extended he should be able to sense Mary by now, unless she was practicing dampening her signature. Something he had taught her, student though she might claim not to be. Could be she just was not home of course, but he doubted it. He paid the driver and walked up to the door. Still no signature. He sighed and tried the door. Locked. He opened it with his key and stepped inside. He let his quickening extend even farther until he was sure it would cover the whole house and the yard outside. He felt no response. Sighing, he tuned it to be able to detect even the tiniest flicker of power in the house. And of course there she was, in the parlor, not the bedroom. He took off his shoes and his coat and picked up his bag. No hurry now.

He headed up the stairs to his bedroom, letting his quickening roam free still. Perhaps it would be better if she felt it all the time instead of it flickering in and out of her awareness. He did not know what had transpired this month past, but whatever it was it must have had a significant impact on Mer if she had not come to greet him, even with her quickening. He gave himself time to unpack and take a much needed shower before venturing downstairs once more. Mary was still in the parlor, her signature as mute as before. At least she had not fled the house, and the parlor was their chosen locale for difficult conversations. A good sign, far as it went.

~oOo~

The parlor was lit by a fire. Mary stood in front of the fireplace, turned halfway between that and the door. Defensive position, not good. She was staring into the fire however, as if mesmerized by the flames. Aware, or not? Methos let his quickening pulse slightly to herald his arrival before he stepped through the door. Mary tensed in response and blinked a few times, as if to clear her sight, before turning from the fireplace to face him squarely.

"Methos," she greeted, her face impassive as her voice.

"Mer." Methos nodded where he stood, having halted on the floor a few paces away. Something told him he should approach with caution.

Mary gestured toward the sofa, but remained standing. So it was like that? Methos mentally frowned, but went to seat himself in the corner farthest from his friend.

She put a hand on the back of the chair next to her, but did not otherwise move.

"Since you're here so promptly, just after midnight, I guess you know about the fire?"

No avoidance then, that was promising.

"Impressive work," Methos said. "Whole chateau went up in flames. How did you manage that?"

"He had explosives. And lots of alcohol. And tar. He said he always wanted to see what burning tar did to an immortal." Her voice managed to sound dead, yet strangely amused, at the same time.

"He tried it on you?"

"Just on my breasts. They healed, as you can see." She gestured towards her chest.

Methos knew the feeling all too well. Sometimes not being able to show a scar somehow made having endured torture even worse.

"I wasn't conscious enough to play with then, so he decided it wasn't worth the added waiting period," Mer continued.

"How long did he have you?"

"Two weeks and four days. The tar was an aberration though. A game gone awry, a lesson brought too far, whatever you would like to call it. What he wanted was a pet, someone to break and rebuild. Mostly he wanted sex though. I'm lucky he did not have enough insight into the human psyche to understand breaking. I managed to fool him into thinking I was beaten. I guess the tar was pretty awful to smell."

Torture was nasty business. He had not known that Mary had it in her to survive it, let alone be able to speak of it so soon after the fact. Babbling a bit, but then she did have that tendency at times.

"Revenge is best served hot," she summarized, a grimace on her lips.

"How did you escape?"

"Night in his bed, he forgot to lock me up. I wore him out with my 'feminine whiles'."

Methos could practically hear the quotation marks. Well, it was bound to happen that she would meet one of those. Every immortal woman did, sooner or later. A few of the men as well-especially the older ones who had been around when a slave was a slave, a hole was a hole, and no one cared about perceived homosexuality.

"The quickening, though?"

"No one noticed. His bedroom was in the cellar, see. He did not want anyone to hear me scream. My screams belonged to him, apparently."

"So no one heard the quickening?"

"Nope." Her smile was beatific.

"And the explosives?"

"He had entertained guests the evening before. Showed them his merchandise. It was all just lying around in his conference room. You should have seen it. Can I just say that I am very grateful that the universe gave me such an arrogant ass for a tormentor?"

"And you did not have any trouble with the detonation?"

"I placed a Molotov cocktail right next to the stuff and then I just ran for it. Jumped out of a window. Broke a few bones, died of a punctured lung. Slept through the explosion, if you can believe it. "

Methos could. She must have been exhausted.

"They said on the news that 22 people lost their lives in that fire. As far as they could tell. Might have been more." No use sugarcoating it, Mer rarely appreciated coddling.

"Might have been." She shrugged and went to sit on the sofa next to him. Not relaxed, but certainly determined to be.

"So," Methos started, just to be clear, "you don't want to talk about it."

"I don't care how many died; the more the merrier. And talking about what happened will only make me relive it. I could tell you how it happened though; I was stupid."

"Mer," Methos tried.

"Shut up." Her eyes flashed. "Remember who you're talking to."

That was, of course, the thing; Methos knew who she was. He had found her all those years ago, after all. Had found her again after both Rebecka and Vivien had done their parts, but it was not easy changing from one of his personas to just Methos. Not even in her presence, especially not when she was hurt. The scars were on the inside, but they were there. Always would be. His certainly were.

"I'll try." He smiled apologetically.

She rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. The point is, he used a mortal. I knew someone was after me, I knew he was immortal, I had a feeling it was more than just your average headhunting business. But I failed to be as paranoid as I should have been. Because, and here's the rub–I wanted to get caught. I needed to get caught, precisely for the reason I told you–I needed to know that I could still get out of the mess I'd land in. On my own. "

She gazed into the fire fixedly before turning to Methos again with steely eyes.

"I hated myself more than I hated him, I think. Those days when it was all too unbearable, when I wanted to die. I hated myself because I knew it was my own fault."

Methos said nothing. What could he say? He would have hated himself if he had put himself in a similar position. Had, come to think of it.

"Bet it felt good to watch him fry though," he added eventually.

She bared her teeth in response.

"Well, we have to take our pleasures where we can."

They were both silent after that. Methos watched the fire. Mer watched some distant part of the universe that only she could see.

Time ticked on, the flames began to falter.

From one moment to the next Methos could feel Mary slump her shoulders, as if getting rid of a steel rod that had been buried along her spine. She shuffled closer across the pillows and he sat silent. She picked up his right hand and pushed his arm upwards. He obligingly raised his arm to lie on the headrest. She moved the rest of the way until she was nestled close. A soft half purring, half whining sound had him securing his arm over her shoulder. She nuzzled into his chest and breathed deeply.

"I hate men," she said, finally.

"Me, too," Methos said. "And women, too."

"People suck," Mer agreed.

"Life sucks," Methos played along.

She huffed a laugh against his shirt and went quiet. After a few more moments she pushed against his side again and he released her without complaint.

"If you're not gonna be my blanket, we need to stoke the fire."

Mer patted his shoulder.

"Poor Methos," she said. "Read me a book and I'll be your blanket."

Methos faked a put-upon sigh and stretched languidly, though making sure to keep his movements contained at the same time.

"Fine," he said. "I'm too tired to move upstairs." Actually he would dearly love some tea, and maybe a sandwich. It had been a long flight.

"How was the flight?" Mer asked. Reading his mind? No, he would have noticed. She was just being Mer.

"Worried," Methos said.

"Sorry," she sighed and hugged him close for a moment.

"I'm just glad you're safe," he said, stomach rumbling just moments after.

Mary laughed.

"Didn't eat, did you?"

"Hey, I had lunch yesterday."

"I'm sure you did."

She rose from the couch and stepped away a bit.

"After you," she said. "I'm gonna be jumpy for a while."

Methos nodded and rose slowly from his seat.

"That's all right; I'll still love you if you stab me in the heart by accident. You'll owe me a sweater though."

"I thought Michael was a suits kinda guy?"

"What can I say? I've gotten comfortable in comfort clothes. And Michael can wait."

"You just don't want anyone to get too close a glance at that Olympian physique," Mary joked.

"Got it in one," Methos said. "There are still statues and paintings, you know. Don't want people getting any ideas."

Mary's laugh followed him out of the parlor and he relaxed.

It would be all right.

* "Haec olim meminisse iuvabit" is latin and means something like: "One day I will remember this as being pleasant." The modern equivalent would probably be: "In the future we will look back on this and laugh."