Stalking the Darkness
by Aislynn

See Part one (Prologue) for disclaimers and warnings!
Additional warning: SLASH (D / M), don't read it if you don't like it!

Chapter 3: Back at the Barge

Duncan MacLeod cursed silently under his breath as he stepped out of his car. No light. The barge was dark. More important, it was also empty. There was no buzz. The Old Man hadn't come home.

Or, worse, he'd had come home and had left again. The worst-case-scenario plaid itself out in Duncans head as he rushed to the door, nearly losing his keys while he fought with the offending lock. Finally the door opened, and he turned on the lights. Methos could not really have taken their misunderstanding at the party this seriously, could he? With caught breath, he looked around. He almost sighed with relief. No, Methos had not been in, his things laid around where he left them when they got out for the party this evening. The abandoned sweater which had been thrown at the couch, as had been the Jeans when Methos had dressed up for the party. Only the Jeans had been picked up by Duncan and neatly folded and placed on a chair. The three or four favorite books Methos was currently reading, spattered around at the barge where the old man had left them whenever he was distracted from burying his nose in one or the other. The seminar notes of one of his college courses that still sat on the desk he was sharing with Duncan, right near his laptop. And his old second duster he still preferred sometimes in odd reminiscence to his late graduate students persona, that had now changed into doctor for linguistics and college-professor.

These things still around indicated that the old man was not about to pull one of his famous disappearing acts.

Or would he? None of these things was of real value to Methos, nothing he would think twice about leaving behind... In a rush of cold panic Duncan did a quick search of the barge until, at last, he found what he was looking for. It was in fact where it belonged, in the drawer of Methos night stand. Carefully MacLeod took out the leather bound book and opened it. Yes, there they were, odd signs of script in the familiar writing of the old man, written in an old language probably only Methos or some other linguistic professor would know to read. Some passages, still, were in Greek, others in old English. His lovers latest Journal, the one he was currently writing.

Tenderly stroking over the cover, Duncan gently closed the book and put it back. Not gone, then. Methos would not disappear without his Journal, not even just for a week.

But if he wasn't going to disappear on him again, then where was he? It was two a.m., not necessarily a time when the town closed down, but at least he would have expected Methos to be home by now. Maybe he had hit a bar? Feeling uncomfortable again, Duncan scowled at himself. Right, as if there was much to worry. After all, the man was five thousand years old! Give it a break, MacLeod, Duncan thought. He is more than capable to take care of himself. Hell, he's probably just gone to his own apartment! But still he could not help to worry. Damn it, Old Man, all this mess just over a little misunderstanding! He thought, feeling more disappointed and uneasy by the minute.

Well, there was nothing he could do until morning, anyway. Tomorrow he could call he Old Man, try for a meeting over breakfast, find a way to mend fences and find out what, exactly, it had been that had Methos spooked...

Sighing again, he tiredly turned around to shrug out of his jacket.

It was then the backslash of the Quickening took him.

Duncan went pale as the energy surged though him, flooding his mind, and his knees gave way under him. In his mind, he could feel Methos pain, his shock, feel him scream under the onslaught of pulsing power. The Old Man had been in a fight! He survived, but for moments Duncan shared his agony, saw the shattering glass and the darkened alley through Methos unseeing eyes. Then it was over, and Duncan went to his knees in relief. Methos lived! He had been in a fight, but he'd won it! In a rush, he jumped to his feet, grabbed his coat and went out of the barge. The old man needed him now. If he could find out where the Quickening had taken place, if he could get to him... Methos cell phone would be fried, but perhaps the old man managed to find a pay phone...

He had just gotten out and to his car when the backlash of the second Quickening went through his veins and nerves and made his soul scream.

He went down, nearly unconscious, flooded by energy and pain. Fear screamed in his soul, followed quickly by rage. Two?! Who the hell were these challengers who fought two on one? Then the fear and rage changed to panic when the second Quickening finally subsided and with it his link to the old man faded to nothing. Cold dread grasped his heart and made him go up on his feet again. No! No!! The old man could not be dead, he could not... he would have felt.. then the first panic subsided and he willingly stilled himself, reached into himself and sought out the link, this quiet whisper of awareness that he never quite lost ever since the shared Quickening in Bordeaux. He doubled nearly over with relief when he found it. The ancient was not dead, he was only... unconscious, provided his mind, and he inwardly cursed again. The second Quickening had been too much; Methos had gone out on it.

He needs me, Duncan thought and made himself cross the last few feet to his car.

Then he heard the nearing sirens. From the sound of it, they were directed at the area of the university.

Damn! No way to get there before the police did! And it was all he needed being caught in a Street control near a murder scene with two beheaded victims, carrying a sword... Cursing, he went into the car and drove off to the area where the sirens seemed to be heading to.

o o O o o

Half an hour later, Duncan found himself back in front of the barge, gunning the cars engine. As he went out of the Citroen and headed to the boat, he swore under his breath. He had not made it in time, the police had been there before him. And they had closed off the whole area, there was no getting through. MacLeod had been just stopped long enough to check his papers, then he'd been shooed off along with bunch of bystanders, tourists and other curious nightly crowd. No sign of Methos.

That was the good part, though; the police hadn't got him, then. Somehow, the old man had managed to escape in time. So all Duncan could do now was stay put and wait. Methos would get home eventually. No point at chasing around, not being there when he made it and probably drawing the wrong kind off attention. Damn! He already could count on a visit of some inspector or other in the next days or so, questioning him what he was doing at this time of the night near the university...

Duncan gritted his teeth, pacing the long living room of the barge like a caged animal, struggling for patience. He nearly went down with relief when finally the unmistakable caressing surge of his lovers Immortal presence hit him.

o o O o o

By the time Methos and his helpful new acquaintance finally made it to the barge it was nearly three a.m. Although the way itself had not been that long, Methos' shape and exhaustion as well as the need to dodge both the police cars and possibly curious tourists or bypassers had slowed them down considerably. When they crossed over to the side of the boat, Duncan already waited for them at the deck. He made a move as if to hurry to the side of his lover, then stopped cold when he realized Methos was not alone, and a stranger was with him. For a moment, he froze, then he simply went down the gangplank and to Methos' side.

Duncan took his lover's arm. Methos was obviously tired and the effort it cost him to hold himself on his feet was palpable. MacLeod felt the Quickening energy of the two taken heads still humming around him, surging through the Old Mans presence like a current. And he was tense, tightly leashed as if he was about to snap any time now.

Quickening, Duncan thought, well familiar with the signs and already planning how to deal with them. He steadied his grip on Methos body, giving support. Methos looked terrible; his clothes under the dirty coat were shredded and bloody.

"Adam!" Duncan grated out, all too aware that they were not alone so he could not use Methos true name. "What happened? Are you all right?!"

He gave a startled look to the stranger who had accompanied his lover, frowning when he only now recognized the man at the party who had started their argument.

Methos gave a relieved sigh and relaxed a bit into his hold.

"I'll live," he said. Then he went on with some effort:

"Duncan, this is Hybert de la Mare. He saved my life tonight. It's all right; he knows what we are. Monsieur de la Mare, this is Duncan MacLeod, a... very close friend of mine."

He sighed again. His voice was raspy. All he wanted to do was lose the other man -Vampire? - and take Duncan into the barge, screwing his brain out. After a hot, long shower, preferably in his Highlanders company. But first they had to speak to the man, find out what a measure of danger he was going to be... within, he still felt the foreign Quickenings racing across his nerves, refusing to settle, the extra energy making him restless. Violent. He took a deep breath and calmed himself with effort.

At his side, the blond stranger, who had politely stayed back during his and MacLeods reunion, gave a small bow and extended his hand to the Highlander.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. MacLeod," he offered. "However, since there are currently a lot of busy policemen out and about looking for the participants of a sword fight, may I suggest that we take this inside? I belief Monsieur Pierson would like to have a few questions answered before he is comfortable with letting me leave."

His calm, schooled voice held a slight undercurrent of amusement. Duncan unconsciously registered the slightly French accent and the soft, light baritone of the man.

MacLeod gave him a startled look, frowning at the mans impertinence. Then he cast a questioning look at his lover. Methos gave an exhausted shrug.

"He saw the fights, Duncan," he quietly said. "He saw me take them."

Duncan briefly stared at him, startled by the unusual use of his given name almost as much as by the words. A sign of Methos exhaustion? This is important to him! He thought.

He shrugged and turned to the other man.

"Come inside!" he offered, already helping Methos along the plank up to the boat.

The stranger stood for a moment, cocked his head and regarded the barge, then the Highlander with an intent look. A nearly imperceptible smile played across the corners of his mouth. Then he gave a shrug, shook his head slightly in some kind of bemused amusement and followed his two hosts on the deck of the boat and into the living room.

Once inside, Methos shrugged out of his bloody, torn coat and threw it carelessly at the floor in the small pantry of the barge, where it would not leave bloodstains that couldn't be removed. Then he went straight to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Opening it and gulping half the bottle down, he leaned himself against the counter. Taking another gulp, he turned to face his lover.

Mac stood nearby, carefully avoiding to touch him in front of the stranger, but hovering close. The third man had just shrugged out of his coat and placed it carefully at the coat rack. He had closed the door behind him and now slowly entered into the main room.

"So, what happened?" Duncan asked softly, trying to tune down his apparent annoyance and uneasiness at the presence of this stranger and the thought that this man witnessed a Quickening, or Methos taking a head. It would not do to bank down on Methos while the other Immortal was wired on the effects of an unsettled Quickening, much less two. Not that he himself was feeling much calmer.

Methos leaned himself more firmly against the counter, barely holding himself upright. He wanted a shower, and he needed to get these Quickenings settled. He wanted to get his hands on Duncan, now! Another part of him wanted to lash out, destroy something, anything, or somebody, he didn't care. Quickening effect, he knew, the last struggle of the two alien souls he'd just taken in against her death. But knowing it, having experienced it a thousand times, did not make it a tiny bit better endurable or comforting. It just reminded him why he hated taking Quickenings so much and avoided it nearly at all cost.

'It will pass' his mind provided him, 'It will pass!' and he held to that thought like a drowning man. But the knowledge didn't made the feelings easier.

Tiredly and exhausted, he reined himself in and concentrated on his worried lover.

"There were two of them, Mac;" he offered, although he knew that his lover, of course, knew this. But the stranger didn't, and he saw no need to share this information with him.

"They worked together. Trapped me between them. I tried to talk them out of it, but I couldn't. They left me no choice."

He shook his head.

"Student attacked me from behind while his teacher fought me. Without this Misters intervention, I'd probably be dead."

The stranger smiled.

"My pleasure," he said nonchalantly. "You're welcome!"

Duncan faced the stranger.

"I have to thank you, then, Monsieur... de la Mare, was it?" he said, studying the man, and hardly capable to hide his distrust. What had the guy doing around Methos near enough to walk into a challenge, in the first place?

"You warned him?" he asked.

The stranger smiled again. "Well..."

Beside Duncan, Methos drained the beer bottle, then shook his head.

"He killed him," he interjected. "Killed the student. By throwing a knife, I might add."

Duncan stared. The stranger shrugged.

"As I said before, it did not look exactly fair to me," he said. "I couldn't bring myself to avoid intruding."

Duncan's eyes narrowed.

"You do that often?" he asked, a bit more hostile than he wanted to let out.

Methos voice brought him back into rein.

"MacLeod, he saved my life," he stated quietly. "And the other guys attacked first."

Then he added:

"I could not avoid to take the teachers head, to end the fight."

Duncan nodded. Of course, if he could, Methos would have made sure to avoid having a stranger witness a Quickening.

Quietly he asked: "And the student?"

"I offered him to walk away. When I turned my back, he attacked," Methos offered.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not," The Highlander said. "At least you are still alive!"

'And the other guys broke the rules first' he added mentally, to calm his qualms about a mortal intervening into an Immortal fight.

He turned to the stranger.

"As I said before, I have to thank you, then," he repeated. "You saved a man who means a lot to me. I owe you."

He paused a moment.

"Are you with some kind of Secret Service?" he asked then, a bit uncomfortably. At the short, amused look of the other man, he added: "Special Forces?"

The stranger shook his head. His amused smile grew deeper.

"Not exactly, no," he answered. "I just happened to be nearby."

Duncan threw a questioning look at his lover. Right! he thought, with growing frustration. As if!

He wished Methos, or at least the stranger, would quit playing games and finally tell him what's going on. Also, he wished nothing more than get rid of the guy, so he could take care of Methos. On the other hand, if the man would have been police, or pose a threat of exposition, Methos would never have risked bringing him to the barge. And Methos was right, the man had witnessed a Quickening and knew about Immortals. They needed to know more about him before they could allow him walking off.

He shook his head and finally decided to play along for a bit longer. He made a gesture as if he was remembering just now his duties as a host.

"But I seem to forget my manners! Take a seat. Can I offer you something to drink?"

De la Mare smiled. "Thank you!" he said, "but no, I'd rather not drink anything at this time."

Inwardly, he thought with some regret that MacLeod would probably not uphold the offer if he knew what kind of drink his guest would prefer - pity, that, but not to be changed, of course.

He decided to turn down the offer of a seat as well and rather came over to lean comfortably against the corner of the wall near the stairs, beside the fireplace.

Mac, in the meantime, had gotten himself a scotch and offered Methos a double one. Anything to numb this edge of the Quickening...

Then he turned back to his guest and studied him with a long look. He certainly did not trust him, and his being around when the two Immortals attacked seemed a little bit too convenient.

Time to ask the stranger some questions!

TBC