A/N: I'm worried because I've barely got any reviews for chapter 13. :/ (Yes, I'm (very) insecure...) Hope people are still reading and enjoying the story... I have 1 more chapter as a buffer and then I've got to get cracking on chapter 16... Just need to find my inspiration again. :)

Touch of lime in this. A very very small touch. :)

Chapter 14

Duncan watched as his partner left the room, already worrying about the effects their words would have on the young man. No one should find out about Immortality that way, let alone that they would become Immortal at their first death. That usually ended in disaster, and he already considered the pilot a friend. Friends didn't let friends have disasters.

Then he turned to Methos.

The older man shook his head, "We'll talk at the hotel, MacLeod. It's too cold here and I'm getting fed up with the dust." Raking a critical look over his body, the hazel eyes narrowed at the bloody hole over his chest. "Do you think you can keep that covered until we get there? I doubt my spare clothes would fit you."

He nodded, wrapping his coat around him, his sword digging slightly into his side as he drew it closed. "My car's a couple of blocks away."

"What are the chances of your protege following us?"

"He already knows where I'm staying, and unless he's bugged my room, which I highly doubt, the room's secure," he replied with a small shrug as Methos led him out the back, carefully moving around the edge of the fence on a narrow path that Duncan hadn't spotted. Why was he not at all surprised that the old man had a bolt hole which he took pains to ensure looked undisturbed?

They made their way in silence to the car, both of them watching out for any signs of unusual activity, both well aware that being seen with the other could have serious repercussions for their separate work. Once in, Methos scrunched down in his seat, causing his hair to fall over his face again, disguising him as the ambiguous figure from the CCTV cameras once again.

The drive was also silent, although Duncan couldn't help glancing over at his friend every few minutes, unable to resist checking that the man really was there, really was alive and sitting in his car. The hazel eyes were unreadable when the hair slipped for a moment and he grimaced, it looked like it would take some time to recover the easy friendship they'd once had, if that was even possible any more.

Regret. That was the emotion he felt most strongly, regret that he'd lost contact with the man, regret for the way they'd parted, regret that he'd not tried harder to find him over the years. God, it had been almost double his lifetime from when they'd first met again since they'd last seen each other, and he wondered how much they'd both changed in the intervening years.

Studying the oldest man out of the corner of his eye, he noted that he'd hardly changed physically. Apart from the shoulder length hair, the thin body wrapped in a thick jumper, the elegant face and distinctive nose were all the same familiar features he'd become accustom to in their years of friendship. Maybe the brown eyes were a little harder, the only thing that ever seemed to change physically in an Immortal, but living did that to you. Even for someone who had lived for almost six millenia, over 800 years was still a long time.

Making their way through the lobby of the Queen Catherine de Medici Hotel, Duncan nodded politely to the reception, the young lady on duty smiling back as they headed to the lift. He noticed a small smirk darting over his companion's lips, fading quickly as they stepped into the small box which rose up to the appropriate floor.

As they stepped into the small single room, he closed and locked the door, slipping his coat off and hanging it on the back, purposely avoiding removing his sword as he turned to the other man, suddenly unsure what to say. "Methos..." That felt good, being able to finally address his friend by his name. "It's good to see you again."

"MacLeod, MacLeod, you couldn't have gone for a slightly better room?"

The sardonic voice shocked him out of the uncomfortable moment, and he replied without thinking, "Preventer won't exactly stretch to a three bedroom suite. At least it's better than your little bolthole."

"That 'little bolthole' is not somewhere I'd choose to spend the night if I could help it." Methos replied, already digging into the tiny mini bar in one of the cupboards, seemingly falling into the old comfortable routines between them without any trouble.

"Well it's not like I have a choice in the matter, it would look rather strange if a Preventer agent upgraded their room - our salaries aren't that good and I hope you're going to pay for that," he shot back, raising one eyebrow as the other man made himself comfortable by sprawling on the bed, one hand holding an already opened bottle of beer.

"There's no couch," was the only response as Duncan sat down in the only chair in the room, stripping off the ruined shirt as he tossed a few other clothes onto the floor to make room. They watched each other warily for a few moments before Methos sighed, "So, MacLeod, would you prefer to continue your rant on the organisation that I'm part of, or shall we catch up on the last 800 years before you decide to yell at me?"

"I think I'd prefer to catch up before we argue and end up not seeing each other again for almost a millenia." He leant over grab his own bottle of beer from the fridge before settling back, putting aside his anger in the other man aside for a chance to "So, what have you been doing since you went off that night? Last I heard from the Watchers you were in Asia on holy ground."

Methos raised one of his own eyebrows, infinitely more elegantly than he ever could, "Why am I not surprised that you're still in contact with them?"

"And you're not? My current one is in Preventer, although I've never really had a friendship with my Watcher since Joe..." He trailed off, seeing a matching spark of sadness in his friend's eyes. They'd both been to the old Watcher's funeral, watching as his ashes had been scattered across the waves and he wasn't afraid to admit that he'd shed more than a few tears for his mortal friend. "I don't have the contacts that I used to, but I have to admit it's nice to know who's following you if you need to avoid them, even if I have to send him the occasional email to update him if something happens.

"I assume that I am not going to be something that happens?" And the older Immortal was right back to his dry comments, the sadness gone as if it had never been there.

Duncan shook his head, taking a sip from his beer, "You are never something that happens, Methos."

"Good."

"You're usually the cause of something happening though." He avoided the pillow that his old friend threw at him, batting it across the room. "Don't worry, I wasn't even considering mentioning you."

"Even better. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, catching up. So, how's Amanda?" Methos lent back with a smile.

He sighed, looking away, his eyes closing as he felt the fresher grief well up again, touching his chest above his heart. "She's in here."

There was a long silence, and he looked up to see his friend looking at him curiously, a hint of concern in his expression. "I assume you didn't finally take her head out of sheer frustration?"

"No. No I didn't. I took the head of the bastard who killed her 500 years ago," he shrugged, trying to smile, although he felt his lips just twisting in a grimace. "She finally stole something that came with a very pissed off Immortal owner."

"I'm sorry," the other Immortal raised his bottle in salute, "I know you loved her."

Lifting his own drink, he nodded, the smile coming more naturally, "To the Lady Amanda, master thief, lady of leisure and a damn fine lover."

"Well, I'm afraid I never knew about the last, but I'll take your word for it."

They both took a long drink, sitting in silence for a few moments before Duncan broke it, "So, I suppose it's my turn to ask a question. Where have you been all these years? You avoided the question the first time."

"Here, there, everywhere. You know me, MacLeod, staying in the same place too long gets you killed."

"Apparently so does being in OZ." the Scot replied with a raised eyebrow. "Mind explaining that one?"

Methos raised one finger warningly, "Uh, uh, MacLeod, you're getting into ranting territory already. Fine, I spent a hundred odd years in Asia on various religious retreats, then generally just wandering the world for 400 years, fell in and out of love a few times, took a couple of heads, had a generally relaxing time without you, and then headed out to space for a while, even spent some time on that colony you sponsored."

"I thought you didn't like space?"

"Oh, I don't mind space, it's rather peaceful up there. You know, when I was younger, much, much younger, we thought the stars were placed there by the gods? That they covered the Goddess Nut? The Mayans believed the Milky Way was Xibalba, the road to the underworld. And now we harness the lightning and walk amongst them."

"Very poetic," Duncan said dryly, "I assume you then came back to Earth and decided to go on your little crusade?"

"You just can't drop it, can you? Fine, yes, then I came back to Earth and joined Romerfeller. I made a rather good aristocrat, if I do say so myself. You'd be surprised of how many of us were in that little club. I hoped that they'd keep Earth under the control of those who hadn't abandoned it. Turned out they wanted control of the colonies and Earth, and Duke Demail was clever about getting it. I'd 'died' a few times by then, and got a nice cushy little office job working out tactics for OZ until your new partner decided to ruin it for me."

"He was doing his job, you know that."

"Yes, and so was I. Took me a few months to clean up the files, get a new position in a different base, and then he goes and does it again!" Methos scowled, leaning off the end of the bed and replenishing his beer supply before lying back again. "Revived just before he destroyed the base with that bloody Gundam of his and spent the next month in my wardrobe until the rubble moved enough for me to get out."

The Scot blinked, "Wardrobe?"

"Lined with gundanium. Took the damage and kept me and several very valuable papers intact. Since then I've, well, I think that's plenty of information for now."

"Methos..."

The older Immortal growled, "Don't 'Methos' me, MacLeod. Your turn. What have you been up to for the last 70 decades?"

Duncan smiled, "Oh, this and that." At his friend's look he shrugged, "Same as you for most of it - loving beautiful women, taking some heads, a few years in a Buddhist retreat loathing modern technology. Then I sponsored the L4 colony, travelled around the other colonies, fought in the Oil Wars, and eventually ended up working for the Alliance. Eventually I joined Preventer and that's where we are now. I also tried contacting you quite a few times, with no success I might add."

"The eternal boy scout." Methos's eyes held a glint of amusement, even as he ignored his last comment. "So, is that it? I give you an entire resume, and you give me a few sentences."

Leaning forward, the Highlander placed his empty bottle on the floor, clasping his hands. "Methos, there's something else we need to talk about before I start trying to talk you out of this, this thing you're involved in."

"And what would that be? The fact that the Asian post service is useless?"

"Duo." He met the hazel eyes firmly, his own brown ones intense. "We need to talk about Duo."

The other man placed his bottle on the bedside table, raising his hands as he started to stand up. "Oh no, he's your problem. You wanted to tell him, you're the one who insisted, you like having mortals around who know about us. You deal with it."

"Methos..."

"Oh no, I'm not getting involved in your latest pet project." Grabbing his coat, the long-haired Immortal started towards the door, abruptly finding himself blocked by the Scot's taller form. "Let me past, MacLeod."

"Not until you hear me out. For some reason, Duo sets off your senses like a full Immortal, right?"

"And?"

"And I think you know why." Duncan sighed, releasing his friend's arm. "You were Death."

Methos pulled away, looking away from the Scot and turning back into the room, before pulling a miniature bottle of whisky from the fridge and examining it carefully. "I need something harder to deal with this discussion. Again. I thought we were past that episode of my past." The words were almost spat out.

"It's not about your past, it's about your Quickening. And his." He shook his head, lifting it to watch as the oldest Immortal downed the spirit in one shot. "Duo was the God of Death for a reason. You met Shinigami, didn't you?"

"If you mean the fact the boy fought like he was possessed, yes, I met him."

"Let me give you a bit of background on him then."

The other Immortal shook his head, tossing one hand to the side. "I was an OZ tactician, MacLeod. I'm well aware of pilot 02's history. Born on L2, recruited by Professor G, became the pilot of the Gundam Deathscythe, what else is there to know?"

"Oh, I don't know. The fact he was an orphan who lived on the streets? The fact the church that took him in was blown up by rebels against the Alliance? The fact that he called himself the God of Death because he saw so much death in his youth? Your research missed out on some rather important points."

Methos shrugged, "Not relevant at the time."

"Well, it might be relevant now." He looked up at the ceiling, searching for the right words. It wasn't as if he'd had time to fully reason out the logic behind what he was about to suggest. In fact, he was half hoping the older man could help him with that. "Duo spent most of his life running, hiding, training to become an assassin, an infiltrator, a master thief better than an Immortal of thousands of years. I think that the fact that stealth was so important to him, so young, meant that he suppressed his pre-Immortal Quickening to a state where it can barely be sensed."

"Nice theory, but there's been pre-Immortals that have relied on stealth before. And what does that have to do with my not-so-happy past?"

"I think that the part of him that he calls Shinigami, the darkness within him, resonates with the darkness within you." He stared at the lightbulb and waited for the sardonic laughter from the bed. When there was silence, he looked over to see the elegant eyebrows furrowed in thought. "That's my theory anyway."

"So, in other words, I'm probably not the only Immortal who can sense him. Any Immortal who has a dark past should be able to. Or had you forgotten Kalas? Kuyler? Kirin? Coltec? Or, I don't know, any of the other hundred or so truely evil Immortals you've taken the heads of over the years?" And the sarcasm was right back. "You've taken enough heads that your Quickening should 'resonate' too, if that's true." The quotation marks around the word were obvious.

Duncan grimaced, knowing that his friend was enjoying this conversation just as much as he was. "Ah, but I've never been death. Not in the way you have."

The hazel eyes burned. "Oh, in the slaughtering innocent men, women and children way? I thought we agreed never, ever to bring that up again."

"Dammit Methos. I was tryingnot to bring it up, well, not in that way. That's my theory anyway. Take it or leave it." He gestured towards the door, "If you're going to be a bastard about this, you might as well go, but I actually wanted your help with him."

"Well, apart from taking his head for you, I'm not entirely sure what I can do. And I'm not sure why I should do anything for you, or that kid." The other Immortal didn't move through, apart from an slight shift of the shoulders.

And now for the big one. He'd thought about it on the way over, and it really was the best option. Not that he expected either Methos or Duo to see it that way. "I want you to train him."

It wasn't often he got to see the oldest man alive doing a good impression of a goldfish, even all those years ago.

"You want me to what?"

"I want you to train him."

"You. Want me. To what?" Methos's voice was rising dangerously high.

"You're right, I don't know that you're the only Immortal who senses him like that. You know how many headhunters there are on Earth, and I have no idea how many of them might qualify to sense , what did you say, a weak and new Immortal?" He stood, beginning to pace in the small room. He was hoping that he could pull this off, the older man was, after all, the one who wrote the book on manipulation.

There was a look of sheer incredulity in the green-gold gaze that was darting around the room, before it came to rest on him again. "MacLeod, in case you'd forgotten, a, I don't do students nowadays and b, I have no reason to want to train that..."

"I can't do it." Duncan interrupted quietly. "He's an assassin, an infiltrator..."

"And, of course, your high moral standards won't permit you to teach someone like that."

He spun round to glare at the other man. "That's not it. He needs someone who knows all the tricks, who can teach him to protect himself against Immortals. I know how to be sneaky, but you're the master of it."

Methos returned the glare with equal intensity as he sat up, the relaxed figure of the postgraduate student turning into the more deadly ancient. "That is what they call a backhanded compliment, and it's not working MacLeod."

"How are you with dual short swords?" He changed the subject abruptly, deciding to try a different tack. "Duo's an expert with dual daggers, but that won't help him take heads. And there's no way an Immortal targeting him is going to leave him alone unless he does."

"And of course you aren't trained in dual wielding short swords, right?" The other Immortal paused, tilting his head curiously, "Remind me, why am I even having this conversation anyway? I am not going to train your whelp."

The Scot lifted his eyes to the heavens, "Well, I can't do it. He's my partner at work. I was going to teach him sword skills for us both to get some exercise, but this is different. I can't be his partner and his teacher. That's if if I could even teach him everything he needs to know."

"I'm sure you can manage. Now, if we're finished with that little debate, I'd quite like to get some food. You're paying." Methos smiled brightly, his body relaxing once more as he rolled off the bed, slipping his coat on and adjusting the sword within.

"This discussion isn't over." Duncan warned, grabbing his own coat and leading the way out of the door. "There's still a little matter of... What did you say your organisation was called again?"

The older man turned, the grin still on his face, although it didn't manage to touch his eyes. "I didn't. Shall we go?"

Several hours later, and with a much lighter credit account, Duncan found himself in the unusual position of sitting on Methos's couch, drinking Methos's beer, while the older Immortal paced around him. As had been pointed out, it wasn't as if Preventer weren't already well aware of his home address if they were sending children to follow him. The fact that the 'child' had only been given away by the fact he was pre-Immortal was beside the point apparently. No wonder they'd not been able to get clear shots on the CCTV though, the other man was an expert in dodging them, he'd almost mapped the entire city's system out in his head and with a cheap hat and a scarf, it was easy enough to hide his own hair and features.

The meal had been pleasant, filled with general chit chat about places they'd been, things they'd seen, in the more recent years of their separation. Avoiding any contentious issues like the recent wars, of course. He'd discovered that his friend was enjoying the renaissance in classical music that was currently occurring and that they'd both visited the new Museum of Ancient Art in the Americas, and both had found it entirely amusing when several photographs and a replica of Tracey Emin's My Bed was in the next room from a Van Gogh. Most of the 20th to 23rd century art had been to be shown by photography in fact; light displays and cracks in floors didn't transfer well over a thousand years. The 24th century had returned to a form with more longevity.

He was snapped out of his recollections as Methos spun again, his voice sharp, running along the edge of sarcasm. "I have no idea how you plan on resolving that 'little matter' as you put it earlier, MacLeod. As I said earlier, I refuse to give up my opinions because they don't mesh with yours." The brown hair was loose around his shoulders again, although it kept flying wildly every time the man spun, and covered his eyes every time he turned to shoot a glance towards him.

"You could at least give it a couple of years, or decades even, before causing another war," he insisted, sitting forward, "The world needs time to recover before anything else happens. You know as well as I do that you'll kill the very planet you claim to love if it's resources are drained again so soon."

"After, of course, everyone's perfectly happy with the status quo."

"Oh, come on, you know as well as I do that no one's happy with the status quo, as you put it, after a few centuries. Although that is not an excuse to start a war."

The other Immortal paused for a moment, "I have to say Status Quo weren't an entirely bad band for their time."

"That's not the point. Wait, what? You liked Status Quo?" He watched as a smirk crossed his friend's lips and he shook his head, "Oh no, you're not distracting me that easily. Look, Methos, what do you want me to do? I can't turn you in to Preventer, you know that as well as I do. I'm not going to take your head, you know that as well. And I can't sit by and let you kill innocent men and women because you have this grand idea about who should control the bloody planet!"

The object of his annoyance growled, beginning to pace again. "So, we're a little stuck, aren't we?"

Duncan glanced away, his lips tight as his eyes flared in anger. This was getting nowhere. Methos wasn't going to budge an inch, and he couldn't either. Time to try something else. "What about what Duo said? That the colonials aren't all bad. Some of them truly love Earth. The Winner Corporation, for example, pours hundreds of thousands of dollars into protecting the few oases of natural beauty left on this planet. Quatre Raberba Winner was born on the Colonies. Don't you dare say he doesn't deserve to have a say."

"Pilot 04 only wants to control the ESUN. Hundreds of thousands is nothing to him," came the scathing reply, "I suppose next you'll say that pilot 01 donates to homeless charities?"

He would not kill his friend. He would not kill his friend. Although temporary death was sounding increasingly tempting. "Quatre is an exceptionally kind and generous man. He genuinely cares about this planet and is one of the nicest people I've ever met. Unlike you at the moment."

"No one ever said I was nice, MacLeod." Methos sneered, finally collapsing onto the armchair in the room, "I believe your earlier point was that I could sense Duo because I wasn't."

Time for another change of subject. He didn't want to start on that particular argument again. "Talking of Duo, have you reconsidered teaching him?" If looks could kill, he'd be dead. "What would it take to convince you?" He just knew he'd made a mistake when the anger in the hazel eyes faded to amusement, the sneer turning to a smirk. He was getting slightly worried as the head tilted, watching him thoughtfully, the silence dragging out. The other man was likely thinking of something truly difficult, like an original copy of an obscure book, or an ancient usable bronze age sword.

"Oh, that's easy. A kiss."

Now it was his turn to do a goldfish impression, and he knew that he was blinking in disbelief, even as his body tensed. "A kiss. For who?" he added hopefully, maybe he didn't mean what the Scot thought he did.

"Me." Now the green-gold eyes were serious, almost wary. "A kiss to me, from you."

As the silence stretched again, those eyes looked away, the wariness fading to something Duncan had rarely, if ever, seen on the other man's face. Vulnerability. The silence continued, only broken by their breathing until Methos spoke again.

"Never mind." The usually sarcastic voice was empty, as his friend stood, chucking his trenchcoat over to him. "Just go. You'd think after six millenia, I'd learn."

He sat still, his coat in his lap, the sword in it preventing it from falling off his knees. His mind, however, was racing. Methos, obviously, was still attracted to him, and, this being Methos was getting what he wanted with his usual manipulation. Strangely, for all his insistence to his partner that he wasn't interested in men, he didn't find the idea as distasteful as seven hundred years ago. That didn't mean he found men attractive. It just meant that he didn't find the idea of same sex relationships as... abhorrent as he did seven hundred years ago. That also didn't mean that he wanted to kiss his friend. But, it was just a kiss. And it wasn't as if he'd not done worse in the past.

The elder Immortal was still looking away, his face controlled and tight as he spoke again. "What are you waiting for, MacLeod." Then shock bloomed on the empty expression as the Scot stood, but instead of walking towards the exit, he placed the trenchcoat on the couch and moved towards the armchair, taking a deep breath and summoning up every ounce of Scottish courage he owned.

Moving round in front of the other man he purposefully invaded the shorter man's personal space, Slowly, he brought his fingers up to place them under the slightly pointed chin, pulling it gently round so that he could see the other man's eyes, which were doing a good impression of a rabbit in headlights. Then the jaw under his hand clenched and Methos looked away again. "You must really be desperate for me to teach your whelp." The almost panicked tone was a shadow of the usual sardonic voice. "Look, MacLeod, this was a bad idea. Fine, I'll teach him if it's that important to you."

Taking another slow breath, the Scot closed his eyes for a moment, "Oh no, Methos, you asked for it." He allowed his whisper to slip over the tensed lips in front of him, feeling the answering brush of air as those same lips parted, the sound of his friend whetting them and swallowing loud in the room.

He opened his eyes to see hazel eyes staring straight into his, the panicked look still there, tinged with a slight look of confused hope. He gave up trying to read them, and lent forward, allowing his mouth to gently press onto the other man's.

It didn't feel like a woman's mouth, it was harder, yet still yielding. It was surrounded by a faint stubble that he could feel on his own cheeks as he explored the differences further, unable to pull away. If this was the first time, and the only time, he was to kiss the older man, then in the spirit of investigation it was worth exploring.

He was almost surprised when he felt a tentative tongue creep out and sweep across his lips. For a moment he pulled back, before feeling strong arms wrap around him and pulling him back into the kiss. He found himself opening his mouth, still cataloguing the differences, such as hard abs under his chest rather than soft pliant breasts. The tongue slipped inside and then it didn't seem that different any more.

Moments later he found himself being pushed back as the arms unravelled, shoving him away violently, and he found himself staring into the panting, confused and almost angry face of his best friend. "Why, MacLeod? I said I'd train him without that. Was it out of pity? Or curiosity? Or just because you felt oh so nobly obligated to?" The snarl was back.

Duncan blinked, stepping backwards. He hadn't actually allowed himself to think that much about why he'd done it, or he was pretty certain he wouldn't have. "Actually, it was because... I don't know, alright?"

"Forget it." And that was the ancient Immortal back under control, the only evidence of their actions the slightly kiss-stung lips. "So, I suppose you'll want me to come with you to talk to him?"

Accepting the fact that his friend didn't want to talk about it, and unwilling to think about the emotions that simple touching of lips had swirled up in him, he nodded. "I was thinking I'd swing by the hotel tomorrow, give him the night to think him about it and get used to the idea."

"What if he runs?"

"He won't." Moving back towards the couch, he swiped another beer off the table, popping it over as he collapsed back down. He was well aware that both of them were settling back into their usual careful habits to avoid the topic of their actions. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd quite like to get roaringly drunk."

Grabbing another beer the other man also removed the top, tipped it towards him before taking a long sip. "I think I'll join you."