Part Five:

Methos snapped back to reality as they entered the barge. He stared at Duncan, who, catching his gaze, just smiled at him.
"Why are you doing this, MacLeod. I just tried to kill you?"
"No you didn't."
"I didn't?!"
"No."
"So, are you going to tell me what did I do, oh wise one?"
"No". And that maddening smile widened in response. Methos groaned as he recognised it as one of his favourite annoy-MacLeod-smirks. So, the boy scout did pay attention to his elders, he realised.
"Now, you're staying on the couch tonight. We can talk in the morning."
"Mac, do you know how many of my marriages ended with such words. It is not a comfortable feeling."
"Maybe so, but say you'll stay. Please. Just for tonight?"
The intensity of Duncan's gaze and his sudden switch from joking to begging nearly undid Methos, and he nodded mutely. He was too tired to go anywhere further this evening anyway, he reasoned, as he settled back into the familiar feel of the sofa. He didn't have any more fight left in him.


Methos was still asleep when Duncan rose the next morning, later than usual. He had spent much of the night contemplating the events of the day, wondering why Methos seemed so eager to run all the time, and when not able to run, to fight, like a wild animal backed into a corner. Had life really been so hard to the Old Man that he felt that he had to fight for everything, he'd wondered in amazement. Watching his reluctant flatmate, he noted again how young he looked when asleep. He often tried to imagine what it would be like to survive for 5000 years. In the end he had admitted that he just couldn't. He'd also had to then tell himself that, by that same reasoning, he couldn't expect to understand Methos, couldn't hold him to the same values and ideals he himself held dear. Even he had changed much over 400 years, just how much had Methos changed over 5000 years? How much had he had to endure, just to survive? How confused must he feel, how lost?
"I really hope you have something to ground you from time to time, Old Man," he whispered now, and in an impulse, leant forward and brushed his friend's hair from his forehead. Methos shifted slightly, but didn't wake.
Yesterday Duncan had began to hope that perhaps he might be the thing to help ground Methos, but now he knew that even he couldn't hope to contain the oldest Immortal. It was like trying to tame a wild animal. One that used humans for food, and put on a show for keepers and visitors but was kept alone, was stamped handle with care, no-one knowing when it might turn on them. It would be cruel to expect Methos to stay with him, especially after he'd betrayed him, again. Duncan knew that Methos had depended on him to help him with Kronos, and if it hadn't been for Cassandra, who knows what may have been. But he had acted just like predicted and forced Methos into a corner.

Methos' eyes suddenly flickered open, and Duncan stood back, his face aflame, knowing he'd just given Methos lifetimes of tease material for being caught staring so close and so tender. The thought made him smile, though, at least it might make Methos stay around.
"Something I can help you with, MacLeod?" The voice was lazy, slow, but Duncan could still sense the tension behind it. The tension that hadn't really left since Kronos had appeared.
"No, nothing, just…nothing." Duncan turned away, aware of Methos eyes on him as he walked away to make coffee.
Methos blinked, watching him go, and let his mind wander to the events of the previous evening. Why was he still at the barge? Why had Mac persuaded him to stay? Not that he ever took much persuading where the Highlander was concerned. That was probably the only answer he had about the previous day's events. He'd turned on the Highlander again, hadn't he? Why hadn't Duncan just taken his sorry excuse for a Quickening when he had the chance? And why hadn't the patented boy-scout lecture still not occurred?
"Coffee, Methos?"
"Sure…Mac, what's going on?"
"Coffee…"
"I know coffee, but else?"
"You want some breakfast?"
"I want…" 'I want to go back to sleep, with you beside me', he thought to himself. He licked his dry lips, and tried again.
"I want you to come over here and talk to me."
Without a word, Duncan was by his side.
"Sit". Duncan sat, staring at him. Again.
"What…what do you want to talk about?"
"Gods, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want us to talk. Really talk. Honest talk. This could be a one-off offer Mac, so I'd take it if I were you. Why? Don't ask. Maybe I'm not fully awake yet, maybe I'm just confused, and I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whatever I seem to do at the moment, I end up on your couch. So, what's going on?"
"I-I told you, yesterday. The double quickening."
"Yes, you said something about that. That was before you changed the rules on me. Again. And before I tried to kill you."
"You think I changed the rules on you?"
"Mac, stop evading."
"I'm not…"
"You are. I can sense your nervousness. Through this strange connection you seem to be so interested in. And, yes, you changed the rules. It makes me nervous! That honest enough for you? I tried to tell you yesterday - every time I think I've got our relationship figured out, you change it. Now more then ever. Will you just get it over with, already!"
"Get what over with?"
"The lecture! The let's try to impart some sense of responsibility and morals and honour into poor Methos. Or even, the let's get angry at Methos for pulling a sword on me yesterday. Anything!"
"You want me to be angry with you? Now I'm confused."
"Good! Be confused!"
"No! Stop. You're doing it again. Running. Going on the defensive. When will you learn that I won't hurt you? I thought we had come to some understanding yesterday."
"MacLeod, what nonsense are you going on about now?"
"Damn, of course you can't believe it, when I keep hurting you. Letting you down…" He turned away from the other man.
"Mac, I'm the one that keeps letting you down, or have you forgotten."
"You don't believe that anymore than I should have. I should have listened to you, helped you. I wanted to be your friend. I wanted you to open up to me, and when you do, I lose it. I am so, so sorry Methos."
There was silence for a second before Mac heard a strange sound coming form beside him. He looked back round at Methos. He was sitting with his face huddled into his hands. Was the Old Man crying? No, wait; he was laughing?
Slowly Duncan reached over and pulled Methos' hands away, not breaking his contact even when Methos looked up at him and Duncan saw his second guess was correct.
"You're laughing at me, Old Man?"
"Oh, Gods. Ok, I believe you're sorry. Maybe you have learnt something. Do you know how stupid we've been, Mac? You've being trying to apologise to me for the past two days, haven't you? And, I didn't want to listen. Didn't want to believe it was true. I can't forgive myself so why should you forgive me? But, I have changed. Even I know that. Maybe you have as well…I don't know. Here I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it made me make things worse. You thought you'd betrayed me and I thought I'd betrayed you. Well, whyever you chose to let things go about Bordeaux, I am grateful…"
"Maybe I have changed, but that would have only been because you taught that things aren't so black and white, but I've also realised that I had no business being angry with you. I saw inside you Methos. The depth of you, the age of you, scared me. But then I found there was something that scared me more than that. The truth."
"The truth?"
"Yes, the reason why I was so angry, the reason I felt so betrayed."
"Oh, and what was that?"
Duncan just smiled, and stared down at their still-entwined hands.
"Why do we always have to fight, Methos?"
"Because you're the hero…and I'm the villain?"
"You're noh villain!" Duncan's passion and accent increased as he responded instantly.
"Glad someone thinks so."
This time Duncan took a deep breath before answering.
"Methos, you can't really believe that."
"Well, I suppose if the great Duncan Macleod says it, it must be true". But there was a lightness in his tone that had been missing earlier.
"I can think of much better things for us to do besides fight, you know," Duncan murmured, knowing he may not get a another chance to tell his friend how he felt.
Methos just arched an eyebrow and studied his friend. Breaking the gaze, Duncan let his eyes rest on their clasped hands again - he couldn't do this with Methos staring at him. That look took his breath away.
For whatever reason, conscious or subconscious, Methos had allowed Duncan to continue grasping his hands, curling into the touch. The elder man now followed Duncan's gaze with his own, watching as Duncan raised Methos' hands to his lips and lightly kissed it. It was such a light touch but Methos couldn't stop his gasp.
Encouraged, Duncan leant over the small distance separating them.
"Much better things," he whispered, before catching Methos' still-open mouth in a much-longed for kiss.
Methos eyes widened at the touch of Duncan's mouth on his, before he gave in completely and leant into the caress. Hundreds of clichés ran through his mind at once. He'd wanted this for so long, it was hard to believe this wasn't another of his Duncan dreams. Well, even if it was, he was nearly too far gone for him to care, anyway. Duncan tasted like Scotch, his lips soft and tender. Like water to a man dying of thirst, and other silly sayings Methos had never believed in until now.
And then, coming back to himself, Methos pulled away, aware of going too fast, getting in too deep.
Duncan's eyes were wide with desire, his mouth swollen. Methos swallowed, knowing he should stop this, but wondering how on earth he could. It was too dangerous. But, wasn't everything worth something also risky?
"Wait," he managed.
"Why?" Duncan mummered, reached over to stroke Methos' cheek and down his jawline.
"Mac, you're not making this any easier."
"Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you really want me to stop, and I will."
"I…I…"
"You can't, can you". Duncan kissed him again. Deeper this time, his tongue meeting Methos', the intimate touch almost electric. Gods, thought Methos abstractly, talk about a connection!
Reluctantly he pulled away.
"Duncan, stop."
"You don't mean that?"
Methos looked at him. It would be so easy to give in. It was what he'd wanted for years. But that was when it was a nice little fantasy, when Duncan didn't know, when they were just friends. That was bad enough. But he see himself completely loosing himself, heart and soul, to Duncan MacLeod. And that was dangerous. Was terrifying. The fact that Mac was an immortal magnet was only the tip of the iceberg. The only part of himself that he still seemed to have, after 5000 years, was the small piece right in the centre of him. The part very few people even saw, or touched. Now it was in danger of being lost to Duncan MacLeod. Could Methos allow that? He just didn't know. Even for Duncan? The Highlander was right. Whether it was the shared Quickening or something else, there was a connection between them that could only get deeper if their relationship developed this way. Now may be his only chance to stop it. So, steeling his heart, Methos took a deep breath, looked Duncan in the eye, and lied to him.
"I do mean it, Duncan. This isn't what I want."
"Noh…"
"I'm sorry…" It was woefully inadequate, and the look in Duncan's eyes almost made him take it all back. Duncan dropped his hands and moved from the couch, not looking at the other man. Methos' heart dropped. He honestly hadn't realised that Duncan felt so strongly. Was he just being a selfish idiot to pass this up? To deny both himself and Duncan like this?

Hearing the bathroom door slam close a moment later, Methos quickly grabbed his clothes, and dressed in record time.
He hesitated only a second before scribbling a quick note and then slipping quietly out of the door.

Duncan emerged from the bathroom some time later. He had felt Methos leave some time ago, and hadn't been ready to leave the shelter of the bathroom and face the truth. He'd been so sure. How could he have misread what he'd seen in Methos' heart? And felt in those brief but amazing kisses. But, if he hadn't wrong, it meant that Methos had lied. Again. Had run again. Damn. He noticed a scrap of paper on the sofa, and picked it up:
'Duncan,
I'm truly sorry. Live, grow stronger, flight another day; and watch your head.
Your friend,
M'.

'Friend'. He tore the note into tiny pieces in anger. No, he was not going to do this. Not again. Grabbing his jacket, Duncan rushed out of the door, hoping to catch Methos before it too long.