Fandom: Highlander: The Series
Pairing: DM/M
Word Count: 1283
Beta: Darkmoore
Disclaimer: HL:TS doesn't belong to me, never did belong to me and never will. It is the sole property of Panzer/Davis. I am not making any money of this, it's just a work of love.

Please do not copy or post my stories without contacting me first. Thank you.

"Not Enough"

Moving restlessly around the barge, MacLeod was only too aware of the fact that he had made quite a huge faux pas. What had ridden him, he had no clue. One moment he had been snuggled up to Methos, his lover warm and satiated in his arms, the next he had said the most inappropriate words. Well, inappropriate if your lover was a skittish five thousand year old Immortal with issues.

Why on earth had his inner censor taken a back-seat on that one? Oh yes. The mind-blowing orgasm had probably been responsible for that. "Damn it," he hissed, kicking himself inwardly for his own stupidity. He had probably driven him away. "I love you, Methos." He was such an idiot.

The way Methos had stiffened in his arms had been more telling than anything. The warm body turning away from him, muscles that had been relaxed up to that point, tensing.

If there had been a way to take the words back, MacLeod would have done so. Instantly. Without hesitation. What they had worked. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't what he really wanted, but it worked. Commitment was something that was very important to him. When he loved somebody, he wanted to be able to show it, say it and even shout it from the nearest rooftop.

Not being able to voice his affection for Methos had been hard. To hold back like that, to keep the feelings inside, completely private. Naturally he had shown Methos how much he cared, in deeds more than words, especially when they were in bed together. In his looks, when he was sure the old Immortal wasn't paying attention. But he had held his tongue, held back words of endearments unless they were in bed together.

Maybe that had been why his mouth had run away with him? In bed Methos hadn't seemed to care at all what he said, never mind how silly it sounded, never mind how emotional they were. It had worked up to that moment when MacLeod had professed his love in a fit of stupidity.

Methos hadn't taken off immediately, but he hadn't stuck around very long after that, either. They had showered separately and MacLeod had already felt the chasm between them. From closeness to strangers in 4 words.

Knowing Methos as well as he did, MacLeod had realised he needed to let him go. How far that letting go would reach, he didn't know. Hopefully, if he gave him space, back paddled like mad, and let the other Immortal win a few rounds, Methos wouldn't feel the need to change continent. There had been something in Methos gaze as he had looked around the barge. Something final, and that scared MacLeod more than he dared admit to himself.

The only thing he had left to do, was let him go. As hard as it was, as painful as it was. If he didn't bring some kind of distance between them and instead clung to Methos like an insecure lover, the older Immortal would run. He'd run fast and far.

There were only two constants that MacLeod could depend on when it came to the ancient Immortal. Methos loved him. He knew that. Loved him more than MacLeod had ever been loved. To a point that he would die for him, risk falling out of favour to protect him. And the second one was, that Methos would always return. Like a bad penny he would turn up again and again on MacLeod's doorstep.

In a way, both those facts went a long way to ease MacLeod's mind. He had seen the love in Methos' eyes, had heard him whisper loving words into his ear in the throes of passion. Words in languages MacLeod couldn't understand or even name. However, the meaning was crystal clear and it warmed his heart.

If there was one thing they had, it was time. It wasn't like Methos wasn't enough, but MacLeod wanted more. He needed something stable to balance the dangers he had to face every day.

The sudden intrusion of a Presence was as much a blessing as it was a curse. He knew it was Methos. After the Double Quickening MacLeod had been able to identify the ancient Immortal without fail. Forcing himself to sit on the couch, he hid his fears and reached for the book he had been reading the night before.

When the door opened and Methos stepped in, MacLeod's heart sank at the closed expression on his lover's face. That was never a good sign. How did the saying go? "If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it was, and always will be yours. If it never returns, it was never yours to begin with?" Steeling himself for what was to come he smiled more for his own benefit than Methos. This wasn't going to be easy.

"You're back early did Joe run dry on your beer?" MacLeod decided that keeping it light would be the best for both of them. Reproaches, or the mere sign of brooding could only be counter-productive.

Methos barely looked at him, but hung up his coat and approached the couch anyway. When he was firmly lodged beside MacLeod, crowding him into a corner with a lot of empty space on the other side, he met his gaze.

The decision was there to read and for a moment MacLeod seriously considered begging Methos to stay. The notion passed and he nodded to himself, "I see." He felt the flinch more than he saw it, could feel the tension in his lover's body once more. Methos is scared, MacLeod thought in amazement.

"It's just so cold here," Methos said, the pained lines around his eyes growing deeper.

Forcing a small smile at that, MacLeod nodded again, "Aye." He saw the pain transform into annoyance. Somehow Methos was displeased with his easy acceptance. "You don't like the cold."

"That's true, I don't like the cold," Methos answered, his voice underlined with a sharp edge, daring MacLeod to twist that into a chain.

Closing his eyes for a moment, MacLeod scraped every bit of resolve together. You can do this. Remember: If you love something, set it free. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and allowed Methos to see some of the pain he was feeling. "Send a postcard when you get to that warm place?"

For a moment they just looked at each other, a whole conversation taking place between them, without words. The annoyance faded from Methos' eyes and he reached out to touch Duncan's face almost reverently. "I'll send postcards," he whispered and leaned in to seal that promise with a kiss. It was sweet and way too short - a goodbye kiss.

Fighting his urge to hold Methos back, to run to him as he put on his coat and ascended those few steps to the door, MacLeod just looked down at his hands. He was still holding the book he had used as a font. "Methos?" he asked as the old Immortal hesitated at the door. Waiting until his lover looked back at him, he cleared his throat, "Methos, I love you. And you'll always be welcome back. Just remember that."

The smile that he received was sad, but Methos didn't answer. MacLeod didn't expect an answer, but he knew his message had reached his lover. The pain had vanished completely from around those eyes he knew so well. He watched helplessly as Methos left, the sound of the door snapping into the lock had something so final to it. I set you free, Methos.

"Just come back to me. Just come back."