Part Four:
For once Methos didn't run straight to Joe's. It was true that alcohol took his mind off things, but, even for him, it was still early, and he would only drink too much. He'd just end up musing over his problems again rather than forgetting them. And for just a short while, he really wanted to be able to forget about Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. So instead he took himself to his favourite bookshop. He spent a pleasant hour rummaging through the new acquisitions. Having selected a couple, he bought a coffee at the store's little coffee-shop and settled into one of the comfy armchairs for the afternoon. Methos had long ago decided that books were great places to escape into and forget about things for a while.
It was some time later when Methos was dragged back to reality by the feel of presence. 'Why now?' he wondered, whilst at the same time glanced around for a possible back-exit to the shop. After a second, though, he realised the presence was the one he knew almost as well as his own.
"Damn!" he said aloud, "Can't MacLeod just leave me alone!"
Mac glanced around the cosy little shop, searching for Methos. He'd never visited this place before, it was a little out of the way from the areas around by the barge that he knew so well. Yet he knew Methos even better and somehow had had the feeling that this was where he would now find the older man. The sense of presence confirmed his suspicions.
'Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away. Is it too late to make a run for it', Methos wondered, 'I can't do this twice in one day. I didn't realize earlier how hard it would be.'
Then, the other man was there, standing in the doorway of the back room where Methos was sitting, a small smile playing around his lips as if he had just won the Scout's annual treasure-hunt. Something inside Methos snapped. Did Duncan really think he knew him so well, he could just waltz in and expect to carry on as usual? And how dare he invade his last-kept sanctuary? Maybe it was time to let Duncan know exactly what he had gotten himself into.
Duncan saw Methos tense as he entered the room. He wondered what he'd unwittingly done that morning to scare the oldest Immortal. Things had just started to return to normal. Maybe better than normal. He knew that Methos may not feel the same way he did but surely he was experienced with unrequited…What? Love, passion, lust…? Duncan wasn't sure how to define it. He only knew he had to let Methos know that he felt more than friendship for him. He knew he couldn't not have the older man in his life - in whatever capacity Methos was happy with. As long as he just didn't disappear. And as long as there was some chance, some small hope, however minuscule, that Methos may return his feelings. If he didn't, he would have to live with being friends only. And, he would. Once he knew. It was true that Methos had stayed whilst the Highlander wasn't even paying him the time of day. When he was selfishly, foolishly trying so hard to get to the bottom of what was in his head that he ignored everything and everyone. He'd really been stupid, hadn't he? He wouldn't blame Methos for having nothing to do with him. But, as long as he was able, he would try his hardest to see that wouldn't be the case.
"MacLeod, will you just leave me alone for once", he hissed, as Mac approached.
"No".
"God, save me from infuriating Scottish Boy-Scouts. Seriously, Mac, just go. I think we said everything this morning".
"Did we? I didn't think so. We need to finish this…"
" 'Finish this?' Fine, but not here. Let's go outside".
Methos ran a hand through his hair, trying not to notice the slight tremor there, and strode out of the shop and into a quiet ally, not once looking to see if Duncan was following him.
As he saw Duncan appear he drew his sword.
"What? Methos, I didn't come here to fight you!"
"No, but isn't that the only way to 'finish' things between Immortals, Mac? Maybe we should just get it over with."
"Noh! I don't want your head."
"You sure about that? Besides, maybe I want yours."
"Noh…" The response was whispered, but Duncan had no more time to say anything before Methos advanced on him, a feral grin on his face. Duncan slowly backed up, until he was against the wall. Then, in desperation, he drew his katana, just in time to block Methos' first parry.
"Still sure you don't want to fight, Highlander?" Methos lunged again, and Duncan had to work hard to block it. He wondered where this had come from.
"Methos, stop…"
"Uh-uh, MacLeod. You know the rules. No interfering in a challenge once it's been issued."
"You really want to do this?"
"What, you don't trust me? You nearly had me convinced that you did, earlier. Think I'm not serious? Who knows? Never can trust Death, you know."
"Methos, Death isn't you! I know that now!"
"Well, bully for you, Mac. Now tell it to someone who cares."
"I thought…never mind." Duncan's whispered comment was almost lost to the wind, but Methos just caught it, and wondered at the sadness in the tone, then disregarded it. He needed to fight, needed to re-establish who and what he was. Needed to reassure himself that he didn't need Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.
"Methos, I don't want to fight you." But Duncan found himself blocking more and more of Methos fast flurry of strikes, and beginning to go on the defensive himself, his centuries of training coming into instinctive use despite his words.
"Fine, I'll just take your head then, shall I?"
"You wouldn't…"
"Really. Just watch." Methos snarled as he suddenly changed tactics, his strikes becoming, if possible, even faster and more unpredictable. The fight had gotten very serious very quickly, and with a sinking heart Duncan realised that, for whatever reason, Methos was fighting to win - and to take his Quickening.
Blades struck and both fighters moved with a grace and agility rarely seen. To an outsider this would like some kind of orchestrated dance. For what seemed like hours they parried back and forth, fairly evenly matched. However, Duncan was started to breathe heavily; the fight was taking all his concentration and speed. Meanwhile, Methos seemed to be hardly raising a sweat. Although Duncan was the stronger one, Methos was just as clearly the faster one, and he continued using that speed against the Highlander. Duncan had finally stopped his pleas of Methos to stop. He was still unsure why his friend had picked this fight with him, but he could now do nothing but see it through to its conclusion.
With a start, Duncan felt Methos' sword pierce his thigh.
"First blood, Highlander". The smirk on Methos' face was no different to that Duncan had seen millions of times before - in far more pleasant situations - except that this one didn't reach his eyes. Methos' eyes remained as they had since the start of the fight - cold and hard.
"Happy now?" Duncan asked, panting for breath.
"No. Not really."
"Enough, Methos! If you really want my head that badly, for God's sake, take it!"
"Tsk, tsk, MacLeod, where's your honour?"
"Thought you didn't care about honour…"
"I don't. Now fight!"
And so it continued. Duncan could see how outmatched he was becoming. He was blocking less and less of Methos' strikes. So far, all wounds inflicted, all on Duncan, were superficial. Methos was playing with him, he could tell. Duncan was loosing all sense of time, all sense of why he was doing this. He knew that he wasn't about to win this one. There was reason why Methos had survived 5000 years, after all. All that remained was the rush of adrenaline, the blood rushing in his eyes, the world narrowing to himself and his opponent, and the heat of battle between them. His eyes were locked on Methos' and the dance continued. It became more and more intense, Duncan becoming more and more willing to surrender to the amazing man fighting him, in more ways than one. And again he wondered, just what was this connection drawing them together? The pull he felt to Methos was almost magnetic, and the battle so intense that he had long ago become aroused.
With a sharp pain, he felt Methos' sword slice through the lower part of his arm, cutting a nerve. He dropped his sword as his hand spasmed. Breathing heavily, he looked up into Methos eyes. The older Immortal raised his sword to Duncan's neck, but Duncan still couldn't believe Methos would take his head. He didn't think he had the power to stop him, though, if that was what he wanted. He probably didn't have the power to refuse Methos anything at this moment.
Methos placed his sword under Duncan's chin, drawing the steel along that tantilising skin. With the heat and intensity of the battle still ringing in his ears, and Methos standing so close, the touch of the blade was deadly erotic. Duncan leaned into the caress, closing his eyes.
"There can be only one", Methos whispered. Duncan opened his eyes, looking at his opponent.
"So strike…"
Something flashed in Methos' eyes, and he took his sword, pulling back to strike at Duncan's neck, whilst the Highlander kept his eyes locked with Methos' once again.
He swung, fast, and came to rest once again at the side of Duncan's neck. The blade had drawn blood, where Methos had stopped it with a jerk. With a small, wordless cry, Methos throw his sword to the ground, and turned away from Duncan, facing the wall of the alley and leaning against it with both hands for support.
Duncan let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and reached out to touch Methos' shoulder.
"Don't". The word was quiet, soft, as if it made no difference whether it was said or not. But Duncan withdrew his hand as if Methos' body was too hot to touch.
"Methos, it's ok…"
"OK? No, Duncan, I don't think it is." Methos replied without looking at Duncan, but he could hear the tension in the elder man's voice.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" The word became a chant, getting gradually louder and louder, and Methos drew back and punched into the wall, breaking his hand in the process, needing some other pain to focus on, but still not able to stop the words flowing, or his hand repeatedly hitting the hard stone.
"I can't…I can't do this! Damn you, Duncan! Damn you, damn you…"
Duncan watched, wishing he knew how to help his friend. He approached cautiously, and once more reached out a hand towards Methos. He caught his fist about to strike the wall again, and turned the other man to face him. There were tears in the old man's unfocused eyes, and for a minute it was as if Methos didn't even realise Duncan was there. Then his eyes cleared a little and he looked at Mac.
"Methos, stop…"
"Mac, let me go."
"No, Methos. Not this time."
"Oh, God, why can't you just let me be? What do you want from me now?"
"Nothing. Can't you understand that?"
"It's too late for nothing", Methos whispered.
Duncan wondered what that meant but decided there were more important things for the moment. He pulled Methos close and put an arm around him. The old man was shivering now, and Duncan belatedly realised that Methos had come out into the snow without a coat. The light had long since left the alley and it was much later than Duncan had realised.
"Mac…"
"Shhh." Letting go of Methos just long enough to slip his own coat off, he slipped it around the other man's shoulders.
"Let's go home".
The fight having left him for the moment, Methos numbly allowed Duncan to lead him back to the barge. He was freezing cold - he'd always hated the snow - and the only warmth seemed to be from Duncan's arm around him. He sagged against the other man, and savoured the feel of the close comfort and warmth of Duncan MacLeod.
Neither man noticed Joe Dawson huddled in a corner opposite the bookstore. He had watched the entire scene open-mouthed, wondering just what he'd started.
"I think I've created a monster", he mumbled to himself as he left, determined to make things right with his friends this time.
For once Methos didn't run straight to Joe's. It was true that alcohol took his mind off things, but, even for him, it was still early, and he would only drink too much. He'd just end up musing over his problems again rather than forgetting them. And for just a short while, he really wanted to be able to forget about Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. So instead he took himself to his favourite bookshop. He spent a pleasant hour rummaging through the new acquisitions. Having selected a couple, he bought a coffee at the store's little coffee-shop and settled into one of the comfy armchairs for the afternoon. Methos had long ago decided that books were great places to escape into and forget about things for a while.
It was some time later when Methos was dragged back to reality by the feel of presence. 'Why now?' he wondered, whilst at the same time glanced around for a possible back-exit to the shop. After a second, though, he realised the presence was the one he knew almost as well as his own.
"Damn!" he said aloud, "Can't MacLeod just leave me alone!"
Mac glanced around the cosy little shop, searching for Methos. He'd never visited this place before, it was a little out of the way from the areas around by the barge that he knew so well. Yet he knew Methos even better and somehow had had the feeling that this was where he would now find the older man. The sense of presence confirmed his suspicions.
'Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away. Is it too late to make a run for it', Methos wondered, 'I can't do this twice in one day. I didn't realize earlier how hard it would be.'
Then, the other man was there, standing in the doorway of the back room where Methos was sitting, a small smile playing around his lips as if he had just won the Scout's annual treasure-hunt. Something inside Methos snapped. Did Duncan really think he knew him so well, he could just waltz in and expect to carry on as usual? And how dare he invade his last-kept sanctuary? Maybe it was time to let Duncan know exactly what he had gotten himself into.
Duncan saw Methos tense as he entered the room. He wondered what he'd unwittingly done that morning to scare the oldest Immortal. Things had just started to return to normal. Maybe better than normal. He knew that Methos may not feel the same way he did but surely he was experienced with unrequited…What? Love, passion, lust…? Duncan wasn't sure how to define it. He only knew he had to let Methos know that he felt more than friendship for him. He knew he couldn't not have the older man in his life - in whatever capacity Methos was happy with. As long as he just didn't disappear. And as long as there was some chance, some small hope, however minuscule, that Methos may return his feelings. If he didn't, he would have to live with being friends only. And, he would. Once he knew. It was true that Methos had stayed whilst the Highlander wasn't even paying him the time of day. When he was selfishly, foolishly trying so hard to get to the bottom of what was in his head that he ignored everything and everyone. He'd really been stupid, hadn't he? He wouldn't blame Methos for having nothing to do with him. But, as long as he was able, he would try his hardest to see that wouldn't be the case.
"MacLeod, will you just leave me alone for once", he hissed, as Mac approached.
"No".
"God, save me from infuriating Scottish Boy-Scouts. Seriously, Mac, just go. I think we said everything this morning".
"Did we? I didn't think so. We need to finish this…"
" 'Finish this?' Fine, but not here. Let's go outside".
Methos ran a hand through his hair, trying not to notice the slight tremor there, and strode out of the shop and into a quiet ally, not once looking to see if Duncan was following him.
As he saw Duncan appear he drew his sword.
"What? Methos, I didn't come here to fight you!"
"No, but isn't that the only way to 'finish' things between Immortals, Mac? Maybe we should just get it over with."
"Noh! I don't want your head."
"You sure about that? Besides, maybe I want yours."
"Noh…" The response was whispered, but Duncan had no more time to say anything before Methos advanced on him, a feral grin on his face. Duncan slowly backed up, until he was against the wall. Then, in desperation, he drew his katana, just in time to block Methos' first parry.
"Still sure you don't want to fight, Highlander?" Methos lunged again, and Duncan had to work hard to block it. He wondered where this had come from.
"Methos, stop…"
"Uh-uh, MacLeod. You know the rules. No interfering in a challenge once it's been issued."
"You really want to do this?"
"What, you don't trust me? You nearly had me convinced that you did, earlier. Think I'm not serious? Who knows? Never can trust Death, you know."
"Methos, Death isn't you! I know that now!"
"Well, bully for you, Mac. Now tell it to someone who cares."
"I thought…never mind." Duncan's whispered comment was almost lost to the wind, but Methos just caught it, and wondered at the sadness in the tone, then disregarded it. He needed to fight, needed to re-establish who and what he was. Needed to reassure himself that he didn't need Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.
"Methos, I don't want to fight you." But Duncan found himself blocking more and more of Methos fast flurry of strikes, and beginning to go on the defensive himself, his centuries of training coming into instinctive use despite his words.
"Fine, I'll just take your head then, shall I?"
"You wouldn't…"
"Really. Just watch." Methos snarled as he suddenly changed tactics, his strikes becoming, if possible, even faster and more unpredictable. The fight had gotten very serious very quickly, and with a sinking heart Duncan realised that, for whatever reason, Methos was fighting to win - and to take his Quickening.
Blades struck and both fighters moved with a grace and agility rarely seen. To an outsider this would like some kind of orchestrated dance. For what seemed like hours they parried back and forth, fairly evenly matched. However, Duncan was started to breathe heavily; the fight was taking all his concentration and speed. Meanwhile, Methos seemed to be hardly raising a sweat. Although Duncan was the stronger one, Methos was just as clearly the faster one, and he continued using that speed against the Highlander. Duncan had finally stopped his pleas of Methos to stop. He was still unsure why his friend had picked this fight with him, but he could now do nothing but see it through to its conclusion.
With a start, Duncan felt Methos' sword pierce his thigh.
"First blood, Highlander". The smirk on Methos' face was no different to that Duncan had seen millions of times before - in far more pleasant situations - except that this one didn't reach his eyes. Methos' eyes remained as they had since the start of the fight - cold and hard.
"Happy now?" Duncan asked, panting for breath.
"No. Not really."
"Enough, Methos! If you really want my head that badly, for God's sake, take it!"
"Tsk, tsk, MacLeod, where's your honour?"
"Thought you didn't care about honour…"
"I don't. Now fight!"
And so it continued. Duncan could see how outmatched he was becoming. He was blocking less and less of Methos' strikes. So far, all wounds inflicted, all on Duncan, were superficial. Methos was playing with him, he could tell. Duncan was loosing all sense of time, all sense of why he was doing this. He knew that he wasn't about to win this one. There was reason why Methos had survived 5000 years, after all. All that remained was the rush of adrenaline, the blood rushing in his eyes, the world narrowing to himself and his opponent, and the heat of battle between them. His eyes were locked on Methos' and the dance continued. It became more and more intense, Duncan becoming more and more willing to surrender to the amazing man fighting him, in more ways than one. And again he wondered, just what was this connection drawing them together? The pull he felt to Methos was almost magnetic, and the battle so intense that he had long ago become aroused.
With a sharp pain, he felt Methos' sword slice through the lower part of his arm, cutting a nerve. He dropped his sword as his hand spasmed. Breathing heavily, he looked up into Methos eyes. The older Immortal raised his sword to Duncan's neck, but Duncan still couldn't believe Methos would take his head. He didn't think he had the power to stop him, though, if that was what he wanted. He probably didn't have the power to refuse Methos anything at this moment.
Methos placed his sword under Duncan's chin, drawing the steel along that tantilising skin. With the heat and intensity of the battle still ringing in his ears, and Methos standing so close, the touch of the blade was deadly erotic. Duncan leaned into the caress, closing his eyes.
"There can be only one", Methos whispered. Duncan opened his eyes, looking at his opponent.
"So strike…"
Something flashed in Methos' eyes, and he took his sword, pulling back to strike at Duncan's neck, whilst the Highlander kept his eyes locked with Methos' once again.
He swung, fast, and came to rest once again at the side of Duncan's neck. The blade had drawn blood, where Methos had stopped it with a jerk. With a small, wordless cry, Methos throw his sword to the ground, and turned away from Duncan, facing the wall of the alley and leaning against it with both hands for support.
Duncan let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and reached out to touch Methos' shoulder.
"Don't". The word was quiet, soft, as if it made no difference whether it was said or not. But Duncan withdrew his hand as if Methos' body was too hot to touch.
"Methos, it's ok…"
"OK? No, Duncan, I don't think it is." Methos replied without looking at Duncan, but he could hear the tension in the elder man's voice.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" The word became a chant, getting gradually louder and louder, and Methos drew back and punched into the wall, breaking his hand in the process, needing some other pain to focus on, but still not able to stop the words flowing, or his hand repeatedly hitting the hard stone.
"I can't…I can't do this! Damn you, Duncan! Damn you, damn you…"
Duncan watched, wishing he knew how to help his friend. He approached cautiously, and once more reached out a hand towards Methos. He caught his fist about to strike the wall again, and turned the other man to face him. There were tears in the old man's unfocused eyes, and for a minute it was as if Methos didn't even realise Duncan was there. Then his eyes cleared a little and he looked at Mac.
"Methos, stop…"
"Mac, let me go."
"No, Methos. Not this time."
"Oh, God, why can't you just let me be? What do you want from me now?"
"Nothing. Can't you understand that?"
"It's too late for nothing", Methos whispered.
Duncan wondered what that meant but decided there were more important things for the moment. He pulled Methos close and put an arm around him. The old man was shivering now, and Duncan belatedly realised that Methos had come out into the snow without a coat. The light had long since left the alley and it was much later than Duncan had realised.
"Mac…"
"Shhh." Letting go of Methos just long enough to slip his own coat off, he slipped it around the other man's shoulders.
"Let's go home".
The fight having left him for the moment, Methos numbly allowed Duncan to lead him back to the barge. He was freezing cold - he'd always hated the snow - and the only warmth seemed to be from Duncan's arm around him. He sagged against the other man, and savoured the feel of the close comfort and warmth of Duncan MacLeod.
Neither man noticed Joe Dawson huddled in a corner opposite the bookstore. He had watched the entire scene open-mouthed, wondering just what he'd started.
"I think I've created a monster", he mumbled to himself as he left, determined to make things right with his friends this time.
