April 14, 2005, 730AM, Le Blues Bar
When Duncan arrived at the bar again the following morning, someone already waited for him. A tall, lanky Immortal of dark hair, he lounged against the front door, arms crossed against chest. "A sword, MacLeod? Is that any way to greet an old friend?" he smirked.
"A bit early for you, isn't it, Adam?" Duncan mused, but he sheathed his sword again, and reached around Methos' middle to unlock the door.
"I wanted to talk to you," he shrugged. "Alone," he added significantly.
"So, no following lap dog with you this time? Decided Samuel Clarke had sniffed out enough details for our little scheme?"
"I deserved that," he sighed, and Duncan was aware he had hurt the oldest Immortal. "But, no. He had other matters he needed to attend to. Gone, but not for good, just yet. I really do want to talk to you, Duncan."
"So, talk," he chided, now with own arms crossed against his chest, but the use of his Christian name burnt his ears.
Methos sighed again, (not his usual style), and raked a hand through his hair. "Sit, Duncan, please. You're making me nervous."
Hesitantly, Duncan did as asked, perching on a barstool opposite of Methos' normal post. Two uses of his Christian name coming from Methos' lips in the past two minutes -this was serious.
"I had hoped," continued Methos, but he cut his thought short. "Sam told me you are planning to sell the bar."
"To Richie, I hope," nodded Duncan.
"When I said what I did yesteryear, I did not mean for -why do this, MacLeod?"
"I thought it time to choose. Yesterday, surrounded in death, I realized," his voice trailed. "It was no coincidence we ended up at Joe's grave."
"Quite not. What did you realize?"
"I realized -I suppose I always knew I loved you, but yesterday I knew I also needed you." Methos' posture visibly relaxed. "Damn you, Methos," swore Duncan. "You leave for seven bloody months, walk back in, and expect me to melt in your arms?"
"You were doing a fairly good job there just a moment ago."
"So, what do you propose we do now?"
"Start anew," suggested Methos, as thought the suggestion was the most natural in the world. "With the free time we will have after you sell the bar, we shall travel the world together. Just you and me. Tell me, ever woken to the sight of the pyramids?"
"Can't say that I have?"
"Perfect. We leave in May," decided Methos, and he leaned in to steal a kiss.
When Duncan arrived at the bar again the following morning, someone already waited for him. A tall, lanky Immortal of dark hair, he lounged against the front door, arms crossed against chest. "A sword, MacLeod? Is that any way to greet an old friend?" he smirked.
"A bit early for you, isn't it, Adam?" Duncan mused, but he sheathed his sword again, and reached around Methos' middle to unlock the door.
"I wanted to talk to you," he shrugged. "Alone," he added significantly.
"So, no following lap dog with you this time? Decided Samuel Clarke had sniffed out enough details for our little scheme?"
"I deserved that," he sighed, and Duncan was aware he had hurt the oldest Immortal. "But, no. He had other matters he needed to attend to. Gone, but not for good, just yet. I really do want to talk to you, Duncan."
"So, talk," he chided, now with own arms crossed against his chest, but the use of his Christian name burnt his ears.
Methos sighed again, (not his usual style), and raked a hand through his hair. "Sit, Duncan, please. You're making me nervous."
Hesitantly, Duncan did as asked, perching on a barstool opposite of Methos' normal post. Two uses of his Christian name coming from Methos' lips in the past two minutes -this was serious.
"I had hoped," continued Methos, but he cut his thought short. "Sam told me you are planning to sell the bar."
"To Richie, I hope," nodded Duncan.
"When I said what I did yesteryear, I did not mean for -why do this, MacLeod?"
"I thought it time to choose. Yesterday, surrounded in death, I realized," his voice trailed. "It was no coincidence we ended up at Joe's grave."
"Quite not. What did you realize?"
"I realized -I suppose I always knew I loved you, but yesterday I knew I also needed you." Methos' posture visibly relaxed. "Damn you, Methos," swore Duncan. "You leave for seven bloody months, walk back in, and expect me to melt in your arms?"
"You were doing a fairly good job there just a moment ago."
"So, what do you propose we do now?"
"Start anew," suggested Methos, as thought the suggestion was the most natural in the world. "With the free time we will have after you sell the bar, we shall travel the world together. Just you and me. Tell me, ever woken to the sight of the pyramids?"
"Can't say that I have?"
"Perfect. We leave in May," decided Methos, and he leaned in to steal a kiss.