Fandom: Highlander: The Series
Pairing: DM/M
Word Count: 1134
Time frame: 1 hour and 10 minutes
Beta: Darkmoore
Disclaimer: HL:TS doesn't belong to me, never did belong to me and never will. It is the sole property of Panzer/Davis. I am not making any money of this, it's just a work of love.

Please do not copy or post my stories without contacting me first. Thank you.

Author's Notes: Only recently darkmoore, hisgirlspacey and myself have revised one of those huge tables. 100 words/phrases to inspire you. Well, now we have our own inspiration table! It really does work, and this little thing was pretty much sparked by the prompts. I didn't think I'd ever return to the Highlander: The Series fandom. Obviously I was wrong.

"Too much"

Nursing the same warm beer he had started out with three hours ago, Methos studied the label. The edges were soaked, peeling off on their own and curling inward. He had ignored the curious stares he had received from Joe the moment he had set foot into the bar. Naturally his completely out of character behaviour drew the attention of the Watcher like nothing else. Right then and there Methos couldn't care less. His mind was occupied somewhere else.

"I love you, Methos."

Sighing in frustration the ancient Immortal shook his head to free it from the little voice that kept repeating those words over and over again, like an endless loop on his MP3 player. Why did MacLeod have to spoil everything? Why did he have to go and say those words out loud?

Of course Methos had known what MacLeod felt for him, it was obvious every time they made love, every time the other Immortal looked simply at him or touched him. However, to voice it was an entirely different matter. A serious matter. Why couldn't MacLeod leave alone what was working; why did he have to go and destroy everything? Methos tugged on the upper right corner of the label and frowned darkly when it ripped a bit.

"What crawled up your butt and died?"

Startled Methos looked at Joe, who was just settling into the chair next to his. The Watcher's eyes were trained on the stage, where the live-band was performing. "Nothing," Methos ground out shortly and went back to staring at his bottle. He had been perfectly happy where he was, staring at his drink, tuning out the band and the noises from the crowd. Perfectly happy. Positively chipper.

"You've been sitting here for nearly four hours, glaring at your beer like it tried to kill your best friend. No wonder everyone is giving you a wide berth," Joe replied offhandedly. "So give. Sometimes it's good to get it off your chest."

Contemplating that advice, Methos tugged on the label again, absent mindedly ripping a little piece of it off on purpose this time. "He said he loved me," he finally muttered. He braved a quick look at Joe. The amusement evident on the Mortal's face nearly unhinged Methos. "He had to go and ruin everything." Even to himself that sounded petulant, deepening his feeling of ... unhappiness? Desperation? He couldn't even put to words how MacLeod had made him feel. How could the Highlander talk of love and make him feel like crap?

"Yeah, how dare he tell you how committed he is. I mean, the gall of the man," Joe said lightly.

Bristling, Methos glared at Joe, "It's not like that." It was amazing how Joe could always make him feel better. Not. It was like the Mortal could always find the one place in his defences that wasn't properly fortified.

"No, you're scared. You just realised, that now, if you leave, he won't forgive you. You're scared shitless that if you up and run, he won't take you back. You know, for someone so old you're incredibly stupid sometimes."

That wasn't what Methos had expected from the Mortal. They had been friends first. Friends shouldn't tell each other that they were stupid. They were supposed to tell you that everything was okay and that you shouldn't worry. "You don't understand, Joe, it's just..." He trailed off, trying to find the right words to describe just how he was feeling while trying not to sound like he was looking for an excuse.

"Too much?" Joe supplied helpfully, still way too cheerful. Like he was enjoying this tremendously.

Methos looked at Joe, "Yeah, that's right. It's too much." Joe's intense gaze made Methos fidget in his chair, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Ass, he thought viciously, willing Joe to feel his wrath. Right now he didn't have the energy to actually do something about the way Joe was getting under his skin.

"So now you're sitting here, scaring off my patrons, thinking about what to do?"

His ire drained away slowly. The truth had a chilling effect on him sometimes. Especially when it came from outside of his own head. Smiling without humour at the irony of that, Methos looked back down at his beer again in an attempt to hide his unease, "I guess so."

"Well, okay. If you decide to break Mac's heart just because he actually feels comfortable enough with himself to tell an old bastard like you what exactly he thinks of you, try and tell me in advance so I can stock up on his scotch," he got up and started walking away. "Oh yeah, one more thing. You do know that just because someone actually voices something, it doesn't really change it. Considering you already knew that he loved you, what does it matter that he actually told you?"

Glaring at the Watcher as he walked away slowly, Methos had to admit that there was even more truth to what Joe had said, than he had strictly wanted to tell himself that night. When exactly did I become that predictable?

He had been happy, damn it. Methos had actually been happy. Comfortable where he was. Content with what MacLeod had offered, without demanding everything in return.

And now it was too much.

With 4 words Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had demanded something in return. Unvoiced commitment. Unspoken loyalty. Within the span it took to take a deep breath Duncan MacLeod had demanded everything of Methos that he couldn't give.

Everything he had sworn to never give again.

His inside in turmoil, Methos got up and slipped on his coat. Maybe it was best to avoid more thinking - and especially more talking to nosy Watchers - for the day. The cold air outside was refreshing, but made him painfully aware of how he had ended up in Paris yet again. At one point he had to teach the Highlander that central Europe wasn't a good place to stay in winter.

What was he thinking about? As it looked, he wouldn't be around long enough for this winter. Nevermind any others. Joe was right. He was afraid of how MacLeod would react when he took off. What would he say, when Methos disclosed that he intended to leave?

Heedless of where he had gone, Methos only realised his feet had betrayed him when he felt the Presence. "Damn," he muttered as he looked down at the barge. The homely light giving the impression of a warmth he needed so badly. Wanted so badly.

Well, there was no time than the present. Did it really matter if he told MacLeod that he was leaving today, or tomorrow? Squaring his shoulders he started down the stone steps.

Too much. It was simply too much.