Fandom: Highlander: The Series
Pairing: DM/M
Word Count: 1346
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. Commitment

Throwing clothes into an old duffel bag and stowing his sword in a transport case, Methos felt elated and sad at the same time. He couldn't fathom why, he had gotten what he wanted, hadn't he?

"And you'll always be welcome back. Just remember that."

Duncan had let him go, he had set him free. The walls that had been closing in around him after those 4 fateful words had vanished completely.

Methos looked around, a little lost. His apartment had not been a home, but it had been a haven in a lot of storms. He had been here too long, if it was so hard to leave it. It was probably for the best that he was heading somewhere warm. Greece, maybe. Or Egypt. He hadn't been in Egypt for nearly half a century.

With his journals securely stashed away in various deposits, Methos had nothing that held him there. The apartment had come furnished, he could cancel his rental agreement from overseas easily. Fairly bouncing he ran down the steps to his car. He could call one of his contacts in Paris tomorrow to have it collected from the airport and sold.

The way to the Charles de Gaulle airport seemed quite long, but it was his own impatience that made it seem like he'd never get there. Parking in a long term parking slot, Methos paid for a week in advance and entered with a light heart. Finally. Some place warm. He studied the charts for a moment, trying to find a city he felt like wintering in.

For a moment he thought he saw Duncan MacLeod standing there under the board, looking at him with that annoying acceptance. "For the love of ..." Methos muttered to himself and superimposed happiness over the sudden twinge of sadness he felt. It's not like Duncan had fought for him very hard, was it?

So why should he feel anything but happiness? He didn't dare question why MacLeod had let him go so easily, because if he looked at it closely he needed to address why it hurt so much that he didn't say anything. The expected painful accusations and the quarrel had been absent entirely. No begging, no questioning both his loyalty and his feelings. It had been almost eerie. Eerie and damn annoying.

He pushed the thought away. MacLeod letting him go was something good. Something to be happy about. His eyes settled on one word. Athens. A direct flight. Perfect.

Finding the right desk was easy, purchasing a ticket was expensive and getting them to allow his sword onto the plane was almost a catastrophe. Naturally he had the right paper work with him at all times, but people were so nitpicky when it came to weapons on board of a plane nowadays.

Giving up the case with the sword was always hard on him. It wasn't so much a feeling of vulnerability, he just felt whole without its reassuring weight. He had left the short sword and the gun in the security deposit box, even before he had gone to MacLeod. So this was it. He was unarmed.

The only thought that was a comfort from this point forward was, that no other Immortal he could possibly encounter would be armed either. That, and the crowds at the airports didn't give enough privacy to even consider a challenge.

Still, it would have eased his mind even more, if MacLeod had been there with him.

Ticket and duffelbag in hand, Methos approached the first security check. He was going to go straight to the gate. Two different sets of metal detectors went a long way to make him feel safe in a rather fundamental way.

Settling on a chair close to the desk at the gate Methos stared at it with unseeing eyes, his mind focussed on the way MacLeod had looked when they had talked earlier. Talked? MacLeod had practically shoved him out the door. If it hadn't been for the reminder that he was always welcome Methos would have felt like he had been kicked out. Be honest, old man. It did feel like he kicked you out, Methos thought darkly.

The seats started to fill up now and Methos threw a glance at the clock above the gate. It was almost time for boarding now. He'd feel better once he was in the air, on his way to Athens.

Why had MacLeod not said a word about his staying? Why hadn't he asked him not to leave? Maybe he had misinterpreted MacLeod's intentions and there really wasn't anything there but post-coital idiocy. Too little blood left in the brain or something like that. Maybe in the light he had looked like someone else for a moment and MacLeod had just muttered something in confusion.He said "I love you, Methos". How confused can he be?

He didn't hear the boarding call, but when everyone else started to get up and form a loose line to the desk, Methos did the same.

How can he say he loves me and then not fight for me? The memory of the pain on MacLeod's face was a strong one. Those hands cramped around the book he had been reading. A book that had been upside down. Methos swallowed. Damn it ... Duncan...What are we doing to ourselves?

"Monsieur?"

The stewardess looked at him worriedly, her hand outstretched towards the ticket Methos was crumpling in his hands. Duncan... The way he had looked. What he had said. The expression on his face when he had asked for postcards. The way he had thrown worried glances at him that morning, after the 4 word fiasco. Like he wanted so badly to take them back. As if he had known how terrified Methos was, how scared of the whole thing between them. This relationship. His own feelings and the way he needed and wanted MacLeod.

"Monsieur? Comment-allez vous?(1)"

Gods, what am I doing here? "I-" What the hell am I doing here? He didn't know. "I changed my mind, I can't go on this plane. Fear of flying ... therapist said I should try and get on one." He backed away. There wasn't even a need to try and act, he was terrified of what he had nearly done. The way he had come close to throwing away everything in his own stupidity. "I... I can't get on this plane," he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else.

One of the stewardesses approached him, clearly worried and maybe a bit relieved at not having this conversation at maximum altitude and half-way to Athens. "Sir, please calm down. No-one is going to force you to board the plane," she said soothingly in barely accented English and led him to one of the chairs. "I will have your luggage unpacked immediately, please wait here."

Next Methos knew he was handed the case with his sword and his bag, and led out by the stewardess, who kept looking at him worriedly. The car journey to the barge went by in a blur, his thoughts fretfully focussed on what Duncan would say and do when he turned up again like a bad penny. He had just left the man.

Quietly entering the barge, Methos hung up his coat and moved towards the bed. There was no possibility of Duncan sleeping through the intrusion of Presence, but he was lying in bed, curled up on his side, eyes closed. It was a sign of utter trust that made Methos shiver involuntarily. Without hesitation Methos discarded his shoes and crawled onto the bed behind Duncan, moving to hold him tightly. "I think I found my warm place," he said gently. Relief flooded Methos when Duncan's turned, hugging him back tightly.

"I'm glad you finally realised."

No rancour, no accusation, just a profound happiness that Methos had come back. I love you, Duncan. Methos closed his eyes, trying to say the words, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. Not yet. It didn't make it any less true.

The End.

(1) Are you okay?