Chapter 24

A/N: Reviews are begged for - especially long in-depth criticism. It's the only payment I get. :D Not that I check my reviews morning, evening and at 5am this morning or anything... I'd love to get my first 100 reviews for this fic with this chapter! I thought I'd do Methos's PoV of The Talk... Please yell if I repeat too much of the boring 'and this is how it works' spiel... Also, do I do too much description/interior monologue? And I don't use 'said' enough... :P

I've been asked if there's any fanart yet for 'Til Death - sadly I've never had anyone do me that honour... :/ There is, however, now a Facebook page for the story at /TilDeathUsDoPart if you're interested in update news, chat, etc. :)

Aurora: Thank you for your lovely detailed review. :D Have a naked 'Fei and a Duo as well! :)

Other reviewers: Also have naked Duos! Thank you!

It was a pity Bora Bora had been lost to rising sea levels several centuries ago. That said, Nevada was said to be very nice this time of year. Maybe he could find a nice quiet cabin in the mountains and spend the next hundred years or so there. Yes, now definitely would be the perfect time to take a sabbatical from the world.

Except he couldn't suppress the worry that he still felt for the infuriating, idiotic imbecile that he currently called his student for some inexplicable reason. If it wasn't bad enough that he had to deal with the Highlander's bouts of stupidity and noble crusades, it appeared that the whelp had both a death wish and curiosity and now existed purely to make his Immortal life a living hell. Not to mention the insane ex-Gundam pilots the mortal called friends that he suspected would proceed to turn the hell into a torture worthy of Tartarus. Being chained to a rock and having vultures eat his liver for eternity while he still lived was actually sounding rather pleasant by comparison.

Methos was still staring out of the window when they pulled up by the canal, and only the glare he could feel directed at him from MacLeod forced him to sit up and leave the car, grabbing his longsword from beneath the seat. Bloody Highlander. It wasn't often the Scot lost his temper, but when he did it was best to just follow along with whatever inane plan he had until he calmed down. Well, unless it risked his neck. Except most of them did, and he still ended up going along with them. Yes, Methos, you're still lusting over him, well done.

Ignoring the mortal behind him, he headed up the gang plank,

He'd not had the pleasure of visiting the Highlander's new barge before now and the similarities to the one once moored in Paris hit him with the force of a blow. There, a sculpture done by Tessa in the corner, there, a collection of old books, the sword stand for the katana, the coat rack, the layout of the couch and chairs... Taking a deep breath he centered himself, purposefully picking out the differences in the room before the familiarity overwhelmed him. A different bed. A different, more modern, kitchen. Newer furniture. The couch was a different style but it looked just as comfortable as the old one.

Deciding that that was as good a place as any to start, he tossed his soaking coat onto the rack and made his way to the fridge. Pulling out a beer, he noticed Chang was still standing in the doorway as he moved over to collapse bonelessly onto the couch, placing his sword on the coffee table next to him. "Come in, Chang, make yourself at home."

"You certainly have," the Scot's voice was amused as he looked up from where he'd been digging out towels from a drawer. "It took you all of a minute to find my beer."

"What can I say MacLeod, old habits die hard." Raising the can towards his host who promptly threw a pink towel towards him, he kept his eyes trained on the mortal. "Are you coming in, or just going to stand there and drip all over the floor?" What the hell was the Scot doing with pink towels?

His words seemed to spark something in the Chinese youth, probably some drivel about politeness from what he remembered of his time in Asia, and the boy finally seemed to realise he was causing a small river to run down the steps from the door. The white, how tasteful, coat was swiftly removed and added it to the coat rack which was quickly gaining a small lake underneath in the tub it had been sensibly placed in. The dao that the mortal had been carrying had been slipped back into a sheath at his side.

"Make yourself at home, Wufei," Another towel, this one dark blue, flew towards the boy who caught it easily, if albeit automatically. "Tea? Or have you had enough of the stuff for tonight?"

"If you have European tea, I wouldn't object to a cup."

The black eyes were still watching both of them suspiciously, but thankfully the car ride seemed to have taken the immediate fire from the child. He wasn't stupid enough to think it was anything other than banked however.

With a nod and a gesture towards the seating area, MacLeod stood up, rubbing a pale yellow towel over his wet hair. "Sure. Adam?"

He leveled a dry look at the other Immortal, raising the beer again. "I think I'll need something stronger to get through this little discussion of yours."

Chang finally made his way to one of the armchairs, perching on the edge, his entire posture screaming that he expected to spring into action at any moment even when he was toweling his hair dry. With an inward smirk - his relaxed pose seemed to be disconcerting to the boy - the Immortal allowed himself to sink further into what was an exceptionally comfortable sofa, his longsword propped again the side.

They sat in silence for several minutes while the Highlander clinked cups loudly and whistled tunelessly as he made tea. After a minute or so he began to notice the dark eyes watching him before flicking away when he realised he'd been seen, and made it a game to see how long he could watch the mortal watching him before he was noticed.

The cups clanked down on the table with slightly more force than necessary. At the sharp look in the chocolate eyes he switched on his most guileless face causing a those eyes to roll in disbelief. He had a sneaking feeling that MacLeod had noticed his attempt to bait his other guest.

Settling down in a chair between him and the boy, MacLeod's gaze swung between them for a few seconds before breaking the silence. "Adam, you're not a child. Stop acting like one."

He knew the look on his face did nothing to counter his so-called friend's argument and he took another swig from his drink. "Can we just get this over with, Highlander?"

"Highlander?"

Right. That should start the Scot off and hopefully leave him alone for at least half an hour. Maybe he could even get a nap in. Following Maxwell was a task in and of itself, and he was, to put it bluntly, exhausted from the Quickening he'd taken. Seften hadn't been young and the energy hadn't fully settled, the stress of Duo's injury delaying it.

A breath and then the familiar, almost ritualistic words flowed into the room. "My name is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. I was born in the Highlands of Scotland in 1592 and I cannae die." The accent deepened at the end. "I am Immortal."

It was actually quite amusing to see Chang's entire body stiffen in confusion, his eyes blinking rapidly as he stared in sheer disbelief at the Scot. It was one of the more sane reactions to the revelation he'd seen to be honest, apart from those from lovers which tended to be all calm and loving and full of I-don't-really-understand-but-if-you-say-so, and he suspected the boy's mind was racing through the facts and information, trying to piece something logical together out of impossibilities.

He was really starting to regret not looking into more than just the brief notes on the Gundam pilots. From the war he knew pilot 05 was ruthless, passionate and a competent warrior who had had a distinctly Chinese view of justice and honour. He only hoped that sense of honour would restrain any anger towards MacLeod. Or himself.

How had he gotten roped into this again?

He was surprised when Chang's eyes abruptly snapped closed, and then the deep breaths and relaxation told him that the boy was lightly meditating. Well, that was a good sign, he supposed. It didn't involve weapons - and said louder than words the trust placed in MacLeod. He wondered how that had happened.

Almost a minute later, the black eyes opened to fix on MacLeod. "1592. Assuming that is what is historically named the AD era, you claim to be over a thousand years old. 1262 to be precise."

It appeared the boy was actually vaguely intelligent.

"That's right." The Highlander replied, taking a calm sip from his cup and he realised that the Scot was going to let Chang direct the conversation.

The mortal nodded once, sharply. "If what you say is true, how was your... immortality... achieved?"

"No one knows."

"No one? That implies there's more than one of your... kind?"

The fact the boy glanced across to him wasn't missed. Damn, it seemed reports had neglected to mention that not only was pilot 05 highly intelligent, but also extremely logical. "I've not fallen off my chair in shock, have I?"

"Adam."

The warning tone was clear. It seemed that the bloody Scot was going to be all masterful and not put up with his innocent little comments. If he didn't find the man so sexy when he was trying to be in control of a situation... Settling back on the couch he took a mouthful of beer before beginning to study the ceiling in detail. He could be half way to the airport by now.

"If no one knows how you became immortal, then how did you achieve it? Your file stated you are 30 years old, and Adam looks to be in his mid-thirties. Logically you must have aged at some point."

"I was born mortal. There was a disagreement with another Clan and I was mortally wounded at age thirty. When I awoke I was Immortal. Another Immortal found me and taught me what I needed to know to survive."

Thank you for not mentioning me, MacLeod.

"Adam?"

Great.

"No. I met Adam much later."

A moment of silence. "You said that Seften was dead. But if he is like you then is he not also immortal?"

"There is a way to permanently kill an Immortal..."

"No." He was sitting up before he realised it, and he knew his voice was low and dangerous. "MacLeod, it is one thing explaining as a teacher, but you cannot tell a mortal all our secrets."

The infuriating Scot just looked him. "It's called trust, Adam."

"It's called sanity and a sense of self preservation."

The mortal was watching their exchange calmly and he sent a glare towards the pilot before he stood up to replenish his beer supply. Maxwell would probably explain the whole story to his friend, but he would prefer to be nowhere near at the time - his erstwhile student had mentioned Chang's prowess with a sword. Mortals with swords and knowledge were always a bad idea.

He was surprised when the boy seemed to accept his outburst, moving onto another question. "Can you prove it?"

"Seften's death or my Immortality?"

"Both."

"I suppose I could stab you again if you want, MacLeod?" The irritated look on the Scot's face told him that he was pushing his luck and he hid a smirk as he settled comfortably on the sofa again, placing one beer can by the side and popping the other one open to take a drink.

"That will not be required, thank you. Wufei, if you would draw your dao?" The request and following sound of a blade being unsheathed made him look over at the pair again. The idiot Highlander had rolled his shirt sleeve up and placed his arm on the table on the yellow towel, a grimace clear on his face. "If you could cut my arm. Deeply."

Chang's expression was priceless. "MacLeod?"

He sighed, letting the can swing between his fingers. "Oh, just do it before he changes his mind. He'll be fine. Just don't slice his hand clean off - that's a right pain to heal from."

The black eyes studied the tense face of his colleague for a moment before seeming to see the confirmation he needed. Bringing the weapon down in a clean slice across the forearm, blood began to spurt violently over the table.

"An diabhal mise!"

He was surprised the Scot had limited himself to 'bloody hell' given the man's face had paled drastically and it was only the fact that the blood loss probably wouldn't kill his friend that stopped him leaping up to staunch the vicious wound. He was, however, watching his friend carefully, it looked like the sword had cut the cephalic vein, not the quickest injury for an Immortal to heal, and he doubted MacLeod had intended to actually die from the exercise.

The mortal however had other ideas, standing up to try and press the towel to the Highlander's arm, his usually stoic face flushed with what was easily readable as a mixture of shame and worry, which only increased when he was weakly pushed away.

There was almost desperation in the pilot's voice when he spun around angrily. "Adam, you said he'd be fine! You're a doctor - help him, or I swear..."

"He'll be fine, Chang. Give him a moment." He was faintly amused at the rage that flared again in the boy's eyes. "Even Immortals don't heal instantly, we do however," he allowed a sardonic smile to twist his lips as he saw the tell tale weak flickers of Quickening across the now almost white skin, Thank god, and tilted his head back towards the other Immortal, "heal quickly."

As the wound closed up in front of their eyes, leaving only smooth pale skin, a puddle of blood and the sound of the Scot's rasping breath as evidence, he took advantage of the silence to sit up again and check the Highlander's pulse, pleased to note it was stable and colour was returning to the flesh. "MacLeod, you're an idiot."

A wane smile touched the full lips and the arm was pulled away, the now red towel used to wipe up the remaining congealing liquid on both table and skin. "I didn't feel like dying again."

"Well then, don't go slicing your the main vein in your arm open to prove you're Immortal. You do realise you could've just asked me to show that I'm injury free again? Why do you always have to do everything the dramatic way?" He smiled and raised his can again at the other Immortal's scowl.

"So, this immortality means you live forever and heal quickly?" The mortal seemed to have recovered his thoughts, the panicked anger seemingly disappeared, although he was watching both of them almost warily. "I can accept that you're telling the truth, although I would need some more proof to believe that you are truely over a thousand years old," the dark eyes flicked to the now clean, healed and scar free skin, "but I'm surprised I haven't heard about this before. You would seem to be ideal soldiers in a war."

MacLeod nodded, casually slipping his sleeve down again and sitting back in his chair. "I've been in many wars in the past, but Immortality has its downsides and weakness though, which could be disastrous for us if they were known" The brown eyes caught his for a moment and he rolled his eyes in assent. It wasn't as if he could stop him. "All Immortals - and, again, no one knows why - are in the Game."

"The Game?"

The Highlander sighed tiredly, "On a basic level, it means that Immortals kill each other until only one remains." A hand flew up before the surprised mortal could speak, "Wufei, I promised you that I'd explain what happened to Qian and from your description, he could only have been Immortal. The lightning, the method of death, it all adds up to he lost a Challenge."

"The lightning?"

God, the pilot was starting to sound like a parrot, and he just knew that the Scot had given the intelligent child enough information to work out how to kill him. Permanently. Damn. Now would be a good time to disappear. "MacLeod, I think I'm going to head home, get some rest."

The chestnut eyes were amused and he had the feeling that his intentions had been far too obvious. "Adam, you've slept on my couch often enough. I'm sure I can dig out a spare blanket and pillow." Yes, he really needed to work on his subtlety if he could be read that easily. The idea of sleeping in the same room as the Highlander however was really rather tempting. Down boy.

"The lightning you saw today, and on L5, is what happens when an Immortal dies permanently. It's not well understood, but essentially the winner takes the loser's power in the Quickening."

"You don't seem to understand very much about your own condition," the pilot observed coolly, absorbing the alien terminology with surprising ease. "I assume that that method of death would be something to do with decapitation? Hence all the murders around the city? And if the aim is that only one of you survives, why are you friends with Adam, Minister Sete and Ms. Novi?"

MacLeod had met with Andrew? Now that could be interesting.

And he was right - the mortal was far, far too intelligent. If he ever was involved in another war it appeared he would have to make sure that someone actually competent did the briefings on the enemy. And he'd had quite enough of show-and-tell for the evening - Seften's Quickening was still flickering in the vague recesses of his mind. Making a snap decision he decided to just get it over with and then maybe the boy would let him get some rest. Finally. "Yes, Chang. The so-called murders are pretty much exclusively Immortal fights. It's what happens when many of us gather in the same place. Seften was probably one of the head hunters, but his Quickening wasn't powerful enough for all the recent kills to be his - and yes, I can tell. No, I don't get involved in Combat if I can avoid it, MacLeod only gets involved when he's feeling all noble and self-sacrificing, and I'm sure you can ask Maxwell what he was doing there when he wakes up."

The mention of the whelp made the mortal's head fly up. "Sally hasn't called yet."

"Stomach surgery and stabilisation will likely take more than," he glanced at the clock, "an hour." Had it only been an hour? "And I, for one, am certain he'll recover and your doctor is probably expecting us to be asleep at 2am in the bloody morning. Given I have not only been trailing Maxwell around the city for half the night, I've also taken a Quickening and I am exhausted, I would rather like to go to sleep. Now." Standing up, he made his way over to the drawer where the towels had been extracted from and started digging around for a blanket. This was getting ridiculous.

"Adam's right," he was pleased to hear MacLeod admit as he found a suitable cover and moved over to steal one of the pillows from the large bed. For a moment he was tempted to just crawl under the duvet and have done with it. Except he wasn't sure that waking up next to someone he was very attracted to who didn't return that interest would be a particularly good idea. That was if the Scot didn't just take the sofa, which he wouldn't be able to stretch out fully on, and read him the riot act in the morning. The couch was probably the better plan.

"...get a cab home and we'll meet you at HQ tomorrow to check on Duo and answer the rest of your questions," the other Immortal had continued speaking while he'd been searching. We? Oh, thank you MacLeod. He seriously debated digging his own dagger out of his boot and giving Chang even more proof of Immortality.

The boy stood, re-sheathing his sword before he hesitated and slowly turned towards him. "Adam." the youth swallowed almost nervously, "Or whatever your name is. I know you don't trust me and I don't particularly trust you. But you helped Duo and MacLeod trusts you. I won't mention that name again if it will cause issues."

He was well aware that he didn't look very intimidating where he still stood with an armful of blankets and a pillow, but leveled a serious stare at the mortal anyway. "I have my reasons, Chang." He shifted his burden, "Thank you." And just in case he hadn't got the earlier message... "I don't think I need to tell you that it would be an exceedingly bad idea for you to share any of this information with anyone, do I?"

"Would anyone believe me? The explanation, while it makes sense of several things for me, is somewhat unbelievable," the pilot said calmly, "and I still require some time to fully absorb it. I regret I will probably have far more questions tomorrow."

"Your word, Chang."

The mortal hesitated before nodding. "My word." Moving towards the coat rack and lifting his still soaking coat from the rack, he again paused before turning to face them with a appraising look on his face. "Does Duo know about all this? Is he immortal too?"

"Duo is mortal," the Scot confirmed quietly, "But he is aware of Immortals. The rest is his story to tell."

At least it appeared the Highlander had finally also adopted that attitude when it came to his story.

With another sharp nod and a bow in their direction, the pilot finally swung the coat on, drops of water splattering across the room.

Pausing in his attempt to arrange a temporary bed, he allowed himself a smirk as he executed a proper, and perfect, formal bow, watching the elegant black eyebrows raise in surprise. Just because he didn't want to explain his past to every mortal that MacLeod adopted didn't mean he didn't like using his knowledge for his own amusement.

The other Immortal had also performed his own bow and exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries and then, finally, the boy was gone.

Almost as soon as the door shut, he was dragging his sweater off, letting it to the floor, followed swiftly by shoes and trousers. Ignoring his friend's annoyed comments at the wet pile of clothing, he placed the dagger which had been in the small of his back under the pillow before quickly slipping into the warmth of the blankets. Before his brain woke up and his cock realised that he was almost naked in the same room as the man he'd fallen in love with years ago.

Closing his eyes, he snuggled down into the warm cocoon. While it wasn't ideal, it was a damn sight better than sleeping on a dirt floor. Springs had been a very welcome invention. "Good night, MacLeod."

He could feel the brown eyes watching him curiously, and ignored them, one hand twisting out to pull the sword closer to him. Highlander or not, he wasn't going to sleep without at least two weapons close by.

"Methos..."

His name, spoken in that deep familiar accent, almost undid him and he summoned up all his self control to just shift as if to comfortable. "Good night, Macleod."

The sound of the Scot moving away was both a blessing and a curse. Especially once he recalled that the other Immortal usually slept in boxers and the sounds of cloth were signs of the tanned and muscled body being revealed. It took most of his willpower to resist opening his eyes even a sliver to watch. Instead he concentrated on banishing the remnants of the Quickening from his mind, the familiar mental exercise pushing away the oh-so-tempting images.

The lights flicked off. "Good night, Methos." And that was the sound of MacLeod's bed creaking as he settled into his own bed

It was only when he heard the soft deep breaths, interspersed with gentle snores, that he allowed himself to open his eyes, dropping the mask on his face and feelings. Well aware of the soft look in his eyes as he gazed at the indistinct shape under the duvet, he lay there watching the other man. "Cadal sàmhach, Duncan." The murmur was almost a breath before exhaustion overtook him. Peaceful dreams, Highlander.