by Killaria
Pairing: Angel / Methos
Rating: R (slashy overtones)
Spoilers: Just to be safe, all the Methos episodes on Highlander.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. Methos and all things
Highlander belong to R: P/D. Angel(us) and crew belong to Joss Whedon
and Mutant Enemy. Don't sue me--I'm just playing.
Notes: A sequel is eventually coming.
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1996
Methos awoke restless, the constant itch beneath his skin turning into a stinging pain.
It was a sensation that he had grown familiar with over the millennia; the innate sense that it was time to leave. It always called and he always answered, sometimes with relief, sometimes with regret. This time, he wondered what took so long.
Ever since the little incident at Bordeaux, he had wondered if it was best to leave. MacLeod was barely talking to him, and for a while, he had seriously wondered if it would come to swords between them. MacLeod couldn't forgive, couldn't accept, and he'd refused to see that Methos wasn't the same man.
//After all I'd been through for him, the times I had put my very *life* on the line to protect him. After all those nights where I woke up afraid and couldn't go back to sleep--after *swearing* never to be placed in that position again... //
He snarled to himself, then sighed, shoving MacLeod out of his thoughts. No matter. Brooding over the past wasn't going to change anything, and it could seriously hamper his survival instinct. It was time to forget the Highland child and move on into the future.
He stretched out in the bed, thinking. First things, first: Adam Pierson *had* to go. He had held onto that cover for far too long to begin with, in hopes of a reconciliation with MacLeod, but now it was definitely time for a change.
//The penniless graduate student route is getting old–how about someone with money this time?//
He began mentally sorting through the list of new identities he had waiting. The lawyer was out; he wasn't up to playing games with the legal system. Maybe a doctor? He thought that one over, then quickly dismissed it. The last time he had been a doctor was in the 1950's, and the medical field had certainly changed since then. That meant more schooling, and he really didn't want that right now.
He snorted to himself. //Imagine, the world's oldest scholar not wanting anymore schooling. The shame, the horror...//
That left out about half of his identities–-really, he was going to have to create a couple more, ones that didn't necessarily need updating. Thank the gods for computers–that wonderful invention paradoxically made hiding easier and harder at the same time. It used to take a lot of effort and time to build identities that were as deep as Methos demanded of them. Nowadays, if one was good with computers and could spend a little time, then one could have a completely new, completely foolproof background.
//Wonder if Dawson ever suspected that the world's oldest man was also one of the world's best hackers...//
He chuckled, then cocked his head, considering. Computers? It would solve the problem–he was totally up-to-date on those, and anything to do with computers meant money. Bill Gates and Microsoft figured that one out early.
Great, one problem solved. Now, where to go? He didn't feel like hiding away in the middle of nowhere. The conveniences of modern life were definitely better appreciated in a big city. So which one? Paris and New York were out–he didn't fancy running into a MacLeod. He ran through some of his favourites: Istanbul, Sydney, Tokyo, London, Vancouver, Moscow, Los Angeles...
He paused, then gave a humourless smile. Los Angeles, the City of Lost Angels. How fitting. He had to be the oldest 'lost angel' after all. Perfect.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
2001
Methos studied the Hyperion Hotel with faint surprise. The pictures from the background check he had done really didn't do it justice. It was much more grand than he had expected, an aging beauty that spoke to him of architectural wonders of the past.
//Kind of conspicuous for a detective agency. Wonder how they explain it on the tax forms...//
What truly caught his attention, however, were the dozens of wards that covered the entire hotel. Invisible to the average eye, they positively *glowed* to anyone with even a hint of mage-power. He raised an eyebrow. It seemed that Angel Investigations' sorceror was a bit more powerful than he had originally been led to believe.
He shrugged, then calmly walked through the front door. A dark-haired woman sitting at a desk looked up at his entrance. "Hi," she said, rising to her feet with a bright, although slightly wary, smile. "Welcome to Angel Investigations. We help the helpless."
He stifled a chuckle at the slogan. "Miss Cordelia Chase, I presume," he murmured, offering her his hand. "Thane Alexander."
Her eyes immediately narrowed with suspicion. "How do you know who I am?" she asked flatly, ignoring his hand.
"When I wish to hire a company, I do research," he answered with a charming smile. "Is...Angel in?"
She stared at him grimly. "Why?"
Methos dropped the charm in his smile a notch since it was clear that she wasn't going to buy it. Intelligent woman. "As I said," he answered calmly. "I wish to hire him--or rather all of you. I need some help."
Cordelia watched him carefully, then suddenly relaxed. He stiffened slightly, sensing someone coming up behind him, no doubt the reason for her sudden calm. A faint warning chill shivered down his spine, one he recognized immediately. Vampire.
"You must be Angel," he said, not turning around.
The vampire stepped out of the shadows and moved into Methos' range of vision. Methos mentally raised an eyebrow in interest. Although he had received photographs of the other members of Angel Investigations when he had ordered the background check, he didn't have one of the agency's namesake and hadn't known what Angel looked like; a vampire apparently didn't cast an image for a camera to capture.
What he saw was a very pleasant surprise: Angel was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a body that Methos just itched to get his hands on. Vampire or not, he was one *fine* piece of work.
//Down boy,// he told himself with a silent chuckle. //Business, remember?//
"You know me, but I'm afraid that I don't know you," Angel said, calm but reserved.
Methos eyed him carefully. The vampire's stance was casual, but Methos could sense the tightly leashed power beneath the innocuous facade. Darkness edged him like a black aura, held only in check by sheer will. It was a darkness that Methos immediately recognized; it was one he knew well.
It was same one he saw every time that he glanced in a mirror.
//Seems that "Angelus" is only buried as deep as Death is...//
But like Methos, there was humanity overlying the darkness. If one looked hard enough, it was easy to see the sorrow and regret that emitted from the vampire. The demon was part of Angel, but it wasn't the *only* part. That was what MacLeod could not, *would* not, understand: every living creature had more than one side. Just because a person could kill, did not mean that they could not love.
Methos could understand though. He could emphasize with the vampire because he had been there. Was still there. He knew the hunger that Angel must constantly feel; knew the battle that raged inside when the dark urges came. He could understand the temptation give in to them, to reach out and simply *take* what he wanted.
Oh yes, he understood all too well.
And maybe he had just found the one being in the world who could understand, could accept *him* just as completely...
Showing none of his thoughts, Methos smiled and extended his hand. "Thane Alexander," he replied softly.
Unlike his employee, Angel didn't hesitate in shaking the offered hand. "Angel."
Methos' smile grew. "I think I gathered that," he said dryly, not bothering to hide his amusement.
Angel grimaced slightly in embarrassment, then smiled back in apology. "Sorry."
//Damn,// Methos thought in admiration. // And I thought he was bloody gorgeous *before* he smiled...//
Angel straightened suddenly, and met Methos' eyes as if he had heard. Methos held the vampire's gaze without blinking, then allowed his control over his own darkness to slip a touch and let Angel *see* what was inside him. See that the vampire wasn't alone, that he needn't *be* alone.
Angel's eyes widened momentarily, then flared with recognition. Methos knew that he could now see beneath the masks that Methos daily wore, see the familiar darkness, pain, regrets. Could see the loneliness, the self-disgust, the fear, the need for redemption. Could see into his very soul.
The vampire froze suddenly, and those beautiful dark eyes drifted closed. Methos felt himself freeze as well. Was he wrong? Did he risk too much? Could Angel actually understand, accept?
Angel's eyes abruptly flew open--and Methos found himself sinking into...warmth. There were suddenly so many emotions in the vampire's eyes; lust, need, understanding, undemanding acceptance, and...the beginnings of affection.
It was everything that Methos had dreamed of for the last three thousand years. It was *far* more than he had hoped for. In the space of mere minutes, Methos had found something he thought he'd never be able to: someone who could not only accept everything that Methos was, but also *understand*. And perhaps, love him anyway.
He cocked his head, unable to prevent the grin spreading across his face. "I don't know," he said, a soft purr edging his words. "Are you sure that you don't know me? You look very familiar."
A soft answering smile crossed Angel's face. "Maybe you're right," he answered, immediately understanding what Methos meant. "Maybe I do know you."
"Yeah," Methos agreed softly. "I think you do."
~end