A/N: Wow, next chapter I'll hit the 100k word barrier... This is a rare Methos PoV chapter... Hopefully it'll work. :)

I'm currently feeling insecure as I'm in the midst of reading an amazing HP fanfic (try writing Methos when you've just read Snape... Funfun...) and the writing is blowing me away... I know I probably just have a different style, but... :/ I worry my writing style is more 'fanfic' than novelist... :/ And while I'm technically a published author, the book is a non-fiction photo book of 300 photographs with a few captions (yes, it has an ISBN and solely my name on the cover - it's not self-published!). Not the novel I'd love to see on bookshelves! If I can get a thrill from seeing a non-fic book, I'd get a bigger thrill from a novel!

With regards to 'Fei not being the angry guy in canon - there are logical reasons. :)

Chapter 18

Methos nodded to himself as he inspected his new house, it hadn't been cheap, but then Adam Unas was a wealthy antiques dealer with a vast portfolio of items and lesson one of how to survive with a new identity was that appearances had to be maintained. He knew he'd slipped up a bit, OK, a lot, with the apartment in Paris and was determined to ensure that his cover story was watertight this time. If MacLeod and the whelp could find inaccuracies in his back story, any Immortal with half a brain could. And that just wouldn't do. It had just been so much easier when everything was based on paper, and even better when there were only oral communication. Modern technology made everything so much easier, and yet so much more difficult.

He'd heard from the Scot over the last few days that they were going through his old aliases to look for more connections to GAEA, not that the Highlander was aware of the name. Yet, anyway. He scowled slightly, wishing someone had come up with a better acronym, but it wasn't as if most people were aware of the meaning. Great Alliance of Earthen Authority indeed. He strongly suspected whoever it was had come up with the name and then shoved suitable words to make the acronym. But then, OZ, Organisation of the Zodiac, and their constellation naming theme wasn't much better.

He'd already come to the conclusion that MacLeod and Maxwell would eventually find the heart of the organisation, he'd just have to ensure he came out on top. Not that he couldn't have some fun in the meantime. He'd missed watching his friend go the long way round when finding solutions.

Stepping into the old ballet studio, the light air-conditioning ruffling his now short hair, the main reason he'd brought the house several years ago under a different name, he checked the display cupboards that he'd had installed around the edges. At least the cover of being an antiques dealer meant that he could actually show off some of his weaponry for a change. It also had meant that he'd been able to move almost all of his main library into the house's library for once, although a significant amount of books and journals were still in storage in various places around the world.

With a few changes, the high ceilings made the studio a perfect practise room for sword work, something that he at least tried to do occasionally, especially once the headhunters all gravitated to Earth. The small incident with Kalas all those centuries ago had reminded him of just how rusty his skills could get over the years and he refused to let himself get into that situation again. Granted, practising on his own was not the best option, but there was no one he trusted to spar with. That would give away all his tricks.

Now he'd reunited with MacLeod however, it was possible that the Highlander would be available to train with, and then of course, there was Duo. He grimaced. How the hell he'd been talked into training Maxwell he had no idea. Oh, wait, he told himself sarcastically, that little obsession you had with the bloody Scot still hasn't gone away. He'd avoided the man for years, shamelessly making use of that cursed technology to keep an eye on Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and making it his mission to stay far away from him, hoping that the attraction would lessen over the years and that MacLeod's anger at his proposition would fade.

Oh, he'd been insulted by the things his friend had said, but to be honest, he'd not been surprised. They'd grown up and lived through different eras with different morals, and his uptight and heterosexual Highlander had still been stuck in his roots. The oldest Immortal snorted at his thoughts, since when was MacLeod his Highlander? The man was no more his than he could touch the sun. One kiss didn't make the Scot interested, it could have even made him decide that he definitely was not.

The buzz of another Immortal approaching stopped his train of thought, and he tensed for a moment before the doorbell rung. Usually people after his head weren't polite enough to announce themselves. He glanced at the clock on the wall as he realised the likely identity of his visitor before wrapping himself up in the mild mannered and innocent mask that he wore so easily. He paused before adding a touch of arrogance to go with his new role and pushing his shoulders back out of the slouch of a postgraduate.

Checking the screen by the door before opening, he observed the slight figure of his new student for a moment. The boy was scratching his head nervously and the violet eyes betrayed his wariness, looking for all the world like hundreds of reluctant students did year in, year out. He had to admit though that the whelp was striking with the long chestnut braid that coiled down his back and round slender hips encased in a comfortable tight red poloneck and loose black combat trousers, a casual black jacket over the top of it all. For a moment he wondered what that mass of hair would look like loose when the child was not in the midst of trying to kill him. Methos, stop admiring the kid and just let him in? His mind reminded him, and he grimaced, schooling his features into neutrality as he opened the door to his guest.

Duo was turning to leave as the door swung open, and he couldn't help his lips quirking upwards at the look of surprise on the whelp's face. "You were hoping I wouldn't be in, I assume?"

"Actually, I was expecting that you'd changed your mind 'bout teaching me," the pilot drawled, the fire returning to his eyes.

"Expecting or hoping?" He gestured into the hallway without waiting for a response. "Are you coming in or not? I'm not about to start waving swords around in the street."

The boy muttered something under his breath about irritating old men who didn't deserve to live, which he promptly ignored, leading the younger man through the lounge and into the studio. Turning, he waited for the child to follow him to the center of the room and carefully place the sword case on the floor before crossing his arms.

"Before we start, there's a few things I need to get clear." He ignored Duo's mouth opening, carrying on over the whelp's voice. "One. We will be practicing with live weapons. You can't learn the balance of your swords with wood. And, be assured, if you take my head, MacLeod will not be happy with you in the slightest. Two. While I am your teacher you will at least attempt to show me a modicum of respect. I have been fighting for my life for centuries and, believe me, I know what I'm doing far better than you do. Three. You will not go anywhere without your swords from today onwards. I refuse to lose a student to his own stupidity until I let them loose." As he spoke, he moved over to a low table, picking up the back harness that he'd adjusted to fit the boy and throwing it over to him. "Put that on."

The younger man raised a mahogany eyebrow, glancing at the tangle of straps lying on the floor next to him before looking back up. "First, I've got a few conditions of my own, pal. First, my name is Duo. Not Maxwell, not whelp, not Pilot 02. Du-o. Second, I'm not an idiot. You might've survived for a few more years than me, but I was brought up to fight and survive myself and coped with being one of only five fricking guys - aged 15 years old for god's sake - who had the fate of the bloody world on their shoulders. Three, I'm not a kid either, so stop treating me like one."

The Immortal sighed, rolling his eyes upwards as he approached his new student. "Is that all, Maxwell?" He ignored the vicious look and bent down to pick up the harness, untangling it and before holding it out for the pilot to slip on. "You'll need to take your jacket off if you're going to wear this."

"It's Duo." The scowl was audible as the coat was slipped off and tossed to the side. "Look, Adam, I'm enjoying this just as much as you are, so could we hurry this up?"

Shrugging, he smiled inwardly, the child was so easy to rile up. And if he left of his own accord, then MacLeod wouldn't be able to accuse him of not keeping his word. Except that the Highlander would probably take verbal insults with the intent to chase the whelp off as breaking his promise. Damn.

He helped the pilot slip his arms through the appropriate holes, pointing out where each strap connected with a snap buckle and making a few clinical adjustments to ensure it fit snugly. "You'll get used to putting this on. We'll look into getting a long coat adjusted to hold both the swords if this doesn't suit you, but for now it'll do." He stepped back to allow Duo to shift the contraption into a final position, his shoulders twitching as he slipped the straps into a comfortable place. He'd judged well - the whole thing sat neatly on the youngster's back and allowed the whole range of movement that would be needed in combat.

Reaching for the sword case, he opened it to remove the scabbards containing the short swords, relatively modern ones with the appropriate attachments to attach to the black mesh. Flipping the lock on the top of the sheathes, he turned them upside down before walking behind his student and starting to attach them to the straps.

"You're sure you've got those the right way up, right?" The pilot glanced over his shoulder to try and watch and he growled, pushing the offending shoulder blade back into place.

"Will you stand still? And, yes, they're meant to go like this so you can draw them easily. Unless you can dislocate your shoulders?" The other man crossed his arms and he could feel an answering irritation in his student's tense stance as he clipped the last few straps into place before pulling on the scabbards to check they were secure. "Comfortable?"

Stepping away again and moving back round to the youngster's front, he watched as Duo shifted again, obviously getting used to the weight of the swords on his back, reaching his hands round to brush the hilts where they rested just about the curve of his buttocks. "Yeah, I think so. No worse than the gun harnesses I used to wear for missions, though I'll have to try to fight before I really know if it'll interfere with my movement."

"In which case, we should probably start with you learning to draw them then."

"Er, how about using the things?" the Deathscythe pilot shot back, "Isn't that kinda the point of all this?"

Methos groaned to himself, was the child a total idiot? "And how, exactly, are you going to use them if you can't draw them?"

He could see the realisation bloom in the amethyst eyes, even though the eldest Immortal could tell that he was trying to hide the acknowledgement that his teacher was right. "Huh." He watched as the slender long fingers reached round to probe at the catches on the scabbards, moments later clicking them open. Holding back a smirk, he saw the blades slip from their sheathes, those elegant hands scrabbling to grasp the hilts and ending up catching the dark metal. "Ow!"

A few drops of blood followed the blades that went clattering onto the floor before he remembered that the mortal didn't have his healing capabilities. Before he could help the pilot, the man had picked up the swords, glancing over them before placing them carefully into the case before turning his palms over to study the wounds. "Do you have a first aid kit anywhere?"

He found himself quietly admiring the youngster's actions as he went to dig out a bandage and some antiseptic from the sparsely populated medicine cupboard - not everyone, including Immortals, would have checked the weapons before attending to their own injuries, When he returned to the studio, he handed over the tatty package containing the bandage and the full tube of antiseptic cream almost sheepishly, for someone that had been a doctor in the past he'd suddenly realised he was remarkably unprepared for wounded mortals. He'd have to remedy that if he was going to be training one.

His student was cleaning the few dots of his own blood off one of the short swords with one of the cloths that had been left on the side when the items were handed over, and Methos was relieved to see the cuts were only shallow. Heaven forbid that MacLeod thought he was abusing the boy.

"Thanks. I should know not to grab at sharp metal objects," the pilot said with a small wry smile, "it's probably a good thing that no one's figured out how to make energy weapons human-sized yet. Now that'd be painful."

Remembering the devastation that he'd witnessed being caused by the various Gundams he just about managed to stop the wince showing on his face. "It probably would," he replied with a nod, watching as the child massaged the cream into his hands. "Will you be alright to continue?"

The disbelieving look on the young face was accompanied by an arch of an eyebrow. "Look pal, I have fought with far more injuries than this minor scratch. Try piloting a fricking Gundam with broken ribs, a sprained ankle and a gunshot wound in your arm."

So, maybe the pilot was tougher than he thought he was, but that didn't mean he wanted the boy to continue if it would cause him pain. He might not like his student, but he'd never really been sadistic. Masochistic, maybe, but he didn't enjoy making others hurt. "If you're sure, then put the swords back into their scabbards and let's try that again."

Nodding, Duo turned gracefully to place the tube of cream on the table before returning to pick the swords up, a quirk of his lips was the only hint that the wounds on his hands stung. Twisting his arms, he slipped them back into their sheathes easily, clicking the locks easily before bouncing slightly on his heels to check they wouldn't fall out. With a grin, he reached back again to unlock the swords with one finger, this time grasping the hilts as he did so to pull them out smoothly and easily. Obviously he learnt quickly. Good.

"Again."

He had his student repeat the motions seventeen more times, judging when the boy's irritation with the repetitive movements was just about to peak and then calling a halt. He'd been right, the pilot was an incredibly fast learner, mastering the motions after his third attempt. Maybe he wasn't a total idiot. "Good. You'll need to practice that every time you put the harness on until it's second nature."

The boy grimaced, "Fair enough, it'll take me a while to get used to grabbing for these before the daggers."

"Well, a dagger will stop an Immortal as well as a sword, it just won't kill them," he pointed out, "And you can always take the head of a dead or unconscious Immortal. Unless you're inheriting MacLeod's sense of honour and fairness." He smirked, allowing his familiar sarcasm to slip into his voice.

The violet eyes glittered with faint amusement, "Given that the reason I'm having to endure having you teaching me is because of that honour and fairness, I don't have any problem with that." The pilot shrugged, reaching behind to unclip the swords again to heft them in his hands. "After all, if an Immortal can sense me, from what Mac said, they probably won't leave me alone until I lose my own head."

Well, well, it seemed the whelp could listen after all. He nodded smoothly, "When you were trained in daggers, what methods of teaching were used?"

Duo looked away then and Methos was surprised to see the distance in the boy's gaze. There was a long pause before the child spoke. "I grew up on the streets of L2 V-08744, even in these times, guns aren't always readily available and you have to be quick on your feet or," his lips curled wryly, "die. Although from what Duncan said, I'd have just ended up Immortal as a kid." He shrugged with a casualness that didn't fit his eyes, "I suppose if that had happened I'd never had ended up with 'Scythe or here. Probably would've ended up losing my head even with the supposed truce."

"There's very few child Immortals, but the few that have lived out a mortal lifetime tend to be manipulative little bastards who use their innocence to great effect," the Immortal replied, "You'd have probably done remarkably well actually." He smirked, allowing his tone to slip into amusement, especially with his student looking at first indignant before nodding in wry agreement, the violet eyes almost laughing. "Now, I'm assuming that you picked up some knife skills on the streets?"

"Yeah, as I said, cheaper than guns, and less bother to repair. I mean, I helped maintain the gang's little arms supply, but then Solo..." He trailed off with a grimace, those eyes growing distant again. "Anyway, when I stowed away with the Sweepers, they found me and I joined up with them. You learn a lot with a bunch of guys who collect broken machinery - they tend to have back-up weapons that can't jam or collapse at a moment's notice." His lips quirked, "Probably why the Gundams were as stable as they were mechanically with Howard involved. I mean, mobile suits are complex things you know?"

He allowed a genuine smile to trickle across his face for a moment. "You have no idea. I'm over a thousand years old remember." And then some, "Back then computers couldn't even be imagined, so a 16 meter high mechanical monstrosity that interfaces with the human brain is far more than just 'complex'"

Duo grimaced for a moment, "Luckily the bloody ZERO system wasn't installed into 'Scythe. If Q can destroy a colony when he goes nuts, I'd hate to see what I'd have done if I let Shinigami out," he shrugged, obviously dismissing the thought. "Anyway, once it was clear I was going to be 'Scythe's pilot, G made sure I was trained in pistols and tossed in the daggers, garrote and the lockpicks as an extra as he guessed I'd be good at the stealthy stuff. Couldn't take big weapons into the cockpit anyway. Generally just had the best fighters in the Sweepers take me on, and some VR training system he cooked up from somewhere which gave me 'live' targets. The training with the beam scythe helped as well I suppose."

He nodded calmly, keeping his face neutral, although his opinion of the boy rose again. Self trained and good enough to hold his own against him. He hoped that once the whelp was trained to fight Immortals he never had to face him, he wasn't entirely sure who'd win. Although he wouldn't be revealing all of his tricks - that would be stupid. After all, in the end, there could be only one.

Dismissing his own thoughts, he began to walk around the child, stopping him with a glare when Duo began to turn to follow him. "How would you hold the swords then?"

He was pleased to notice that his student had remembered his quick repositioning in the hotel room and after a moment was standing in at least an approximation of a fighting stance for short swords. There were obviously some bad habits in the posture, but given he was almost self-taught, that wasn't unexpected and should easily be correctable. He found himself planning exercises that would help the pilot transfer his dagger skills to the swords, the weapons were close enough that many of the motions would still be valid, once the added weight was taken into account, but different enough that some moves would have to be scrapped entirely, or re-learnt.

He continued walking around his student, slightly tweaking his stance to suit the dual swords better and ended with a long stare at the now uncomfortable looking man. "You can relax now," he allowed abruptly, turning to scan his weapon collection. "And do you think you could remember to bring my longsword next session?"

"Um, yeah, sorry, it's on my couch," Duo sounded even more uncomfortable for a moment from behind him and he shook his head, watching the boy shift in the glass as he selected a broadsword, lightly running his finger along the end with a frown. Some of these really did need sharpening. "I know it's probably not the best place to put it..."

Turning back round with a few practise sweeps that reminded him that he was out of practice with the larger two-handed weapon, he raised an eyebrow at the other man who was darting in and out of the stance that he'd been put in. "It's been in far worse places than your couch, Duo," he said, allowing his body to get used to the heavy blade as he walked back to his student. "Now, given you seem to be someone that learns by doing rather than drills..." With a sudden dark grin, he brought the sword around.

The pilot managed to bring one of his own blades up, although it was sloppy, and he immediately reversed his swing to slap his opponent on the side. Hard.

"Hey!" the violet-eyed child darted out the way, bringing the short swords up properly this time and warily balancing on the balls of his feet, a shadow starting to darken across his eyes. "Not fair!"

"Life isn't fair," he replied with an equally quick step, swinging the sword round and into a neat block by the pilot. He decided that maybe a broadsword that he hadn't wielded for, oh, a while was not the best thing to test his student's abilities with, but he wasn't about to back down now.

They danced around the studio for a short while, the eldest Immortal ignoring the weight of the sword as it pulled at his arms as long as he could while desperately searching for an excuse to rest. After Duo blocked another strike with a weak parry, he stepped back, bringing the weapon down slowly to signal a halt before leaning the large blade against a wall. "That at least shows me that you have some clue what to do with the weapons, but your wrists are too weak and you're forgetting you have the extra reach," he analysed coolly, neglecting to mention his own problems and making a mental note to dig out his hand weights before touching a two handed sword again. Turning to another cabinet, he pulled out a pair of thin and plain short swords in an old European style, twirling them easily in his hands. Much better.

He realised he'd been out of practise at teaching too after a few minutes of trying to demonstrate exactly what the boy's problem was. Well, it had been over a thousand years, one thousand and thirty seven, no, thirty eight since he'd began to teach Byron, but even so, if Duo hadn't been as astute a student as he was, he suspected at least one of them would have been bleeding heavily by the end of the lesson.

By the time he called a halt, they were both dripping with sweat and he'd picked up on several things that he needed to work on himself. He'd also mentally written a training plan for his new student, which probably accounted for the scratch on his cheek, although the swift healing of the cut had distracted the mortal for long enough for him to bring his own blade up to the slender neck with a irritated look and a biting comment.

"Beer?" he asked, placing the blades back into their places as the pilot slipped the swords back into their sheathes. He promptly ignored the small MacLeod-sounding voice in his head that reminded him that Duo was only seventeen.

"Sure," the pilot grinned, his braid sweeping the floor as he bent to lift the case. "Just don't tell Mac, OK?"

He let the look that he bestowed on his student say everything as he lead the way into the lounge area. At least he'd unpacked the beer. As long as Duo didn't ask for a glass, he'd be fine.

Digging in the fridge, he grabbed two cans, one eye on the door in case the whelp decided that now was a good time to take him out. When nothing happened, he moved to the door to see the braided man perched on a chair, shifting occasionally to prevent the sword hilts digging into the chair. Obviously Duo had taken him rather literally on keeping the straps on at all times. "You know, you can take the webbing off when you believe you're safe. The clips are quite easy to undo, and swords can be perfectly fine sitting on a couch."

The amythyst eyes fixed on him even as one hand caught the tossed can of beer. "Am I safe, Adam? I have only your word and Duncan's that you won't try anything, and Mac ain't here if you try something."

"Given that I only have yours and the Highlander's word that I am safe, then I hope that's good enough," Methos muttered, cracking his drink open and tipping it down his parched throat. "Gods, what did people do before someone discovered the wonders of fermenting stuff?" Apart from drink water, milk and other non-alcoholic beverages that is. And I hate goat milk, he thought wryly, relieved to see his companion leaning his own head back to drink.

"I wouldn't know..." Duo tailed off, looking thoughtful, "You know, I never did learn much history, not exactly something a street kid needs to know and it's not required to pilot a Gundam either. But you've lived it, you've been there... What was it like?"

He should have known that would come up. "Generally cold and damp, with a lack of food and limited transportation and communication," he replied casually, "I wasn't complaining when useful things like central heating and supermarkets were invented." Studying his beer can he shrugged and took another long swallow. "If only for a sensible place to buy beer and keep it cold. Warm beer is an abomination." As he lowered his head, he noticed the whelp's eyes flicking away from his neck, the lilac eyes looking slightly irritated as they dipped to the table. Obviously the boy still wanted to kill him.

"Yep," Duo replied, one long finger tracing a drop of water down the metal of his can, "You should've heard Q when a new guy at his place served the white wine at room temperature. He ranted for a good half hour."

"'Q' would be Quatre Raberba Winner, I assume?"

"Yeah," his face turned wary, "Though I guess you'd know everything about the man, pilot 04 and everything."

"Actually, our mutual friend reminded me that tactical reports don't always tell everything about our targets," he sprawled out over his chair, calculating that the relaxed pose would help relax the pilot. "I wouldn't mind meeting the kid at some point - he's on the ESUN board isn't he?" He noticed the narrowed eyes as they were forming and deliberately let the pause drag out before meeting the intense glare. "Oh, for goodness sake, I'm not going to attack the head of Winner Corporation. It's bad for appearances and I don't want MacLeod getting pissed with me."

"Why do you care about what Duncan thinks anyway?"

"Because he's one of the few people I know that isn't aiming for my head," he snapped back, "And I don't particularly want the Highlander trying to - you've not seen him fight properly have you?"

"He's good?" The whelp frowned, leaning forward, "I mean, I've sparred with him, and seen him against 'Fei - Chang Wufei, but..."

Methos sighed, judging how much to tell the Preventer, "I suspect that MacLeod has been clearing out the head hunters that he tends to attract from the area since he came, nice of him to warn me by the way. Yes, he's that good." It almost hurt him to admit it. But he had always known, after reading about the man for years in the Watchers, and after that meeting in his apartment, that Duncan MacLeod would be the one to win the stupid Game they were all caught up in. And to be the one, you had to beat the rest, including him. Maybe in his fantasies he'd dreamed that he and the Scot would be the last two alive, and decide that the Prize wasn't worth the pain, but his lovely cynical realistic voice kept reminding him just how unlikely that dream was every time he'd fought another Immortal.

Duo nodded, pursing his lips in thought, "You said he attracts Immortals?"

"Well, they come to hunt the famous Duncan MacLeod. I believe his relative, Connor, had the same problem. Something about being the noble Highlander attracts people wanting his head. He's also bedded and pissed off enough Immortal women that I'm surprised one hasn't turned up by now," his lips quirked, "He also has a habit of acting like a bloody boy scout and helping anyone in any form of trouble." At Duo's frown, he sighed, adding, "Most decent Immortals would have offered you training, you just happened to end up with MacLeod. And me." Before the child could comment, he continued in a more clinical tone. "Talking of training, I'd suggest that you work with some hand weights and general upper body strength. You've got the speed on your feet, but you're obviously not doing a full body workout."

They drifted into a casual chat of exercise techniques, and he was pleased to find that Duo was able to hold his own in an active debate on the merits and flaws of different methods, although the pilot was sorely lacking in technical knowledge and his anatomy knowledge was abominable. Except for the vulnerable spots, he was very well versed in those. The older man was careful to present any knowledge that the thousand year old Adam wouldn't have as second hand, occasionally attributing it to an Immortal that had been around at the appropriate time, although he noticed the man's gaze sometimes narrow in thought. MacLeod had been right - the boy was extremely perceptive.

Eventually the Immortal noticed that his student was swinging the now empty beer can loosely between his fingers and glanced at the time. Had he really been that starved for a relaxed discussion with someone who knew of Immortality that he'd managed to talk to the mortal for over three hours? He met the surprised purple eyes that had drifted over to the clock at the same time with something akin to a genuine smile.

"Maybe I can... tolerate you."

"Why, thank you."

The American's drawl was evident in his sarcasm as he tossed the can towards him, and he allowed his reflexes to send his hand out to catch the missile. Making a quick decision, he balanced the container on his palm as he spoke. "Shall we say tomorrow evening, about seven for our next lesson?"

"Mac wants me out the way for his date then?" Duo muttered, flipping his braid back behind him.

Methos paused from standing and turning to place both beer cans in the bin, "Date?"

"Yeah, with Q's older sister, well, one of them, he's got 20-odd of them, Dree."

He heard the couch springs moan as the slender boy stood, and the few footsteps on the soft carpet were barely audible as his student approached him and he tried to release the tension in his back. Bloody Gundam pilots. Fucking Highlander.

"Adam?"

The accented voice was soft and he managed to get his muscles to obey, suddenly realising he'd been frozen for several long seconds. Damn. It appeared that he had to get better control over himself if he was to work anywhere near the whelp, let alone before he met up with MacLeod again. What was it about the Scot that made him lose all his caution and control? His self preservation instincts were already hounding him to leave Brussels, head to Australia or, he felt his mouth attempt to twist, even one of the space colonies, anything to put the most miles between himself and his weakness as possible.

He summoned up his familiar relaxed mask, dropping the cans away with a metallic rattle before turning to see the boy looking at him with a puzzled expression. Ignoring it, he allowed a sardonic expression to cross his face, "Tell him to try not to break her heart," he replied casually, "And if he tries to explain Immortality to her, make sure he leaves me and you out of it - I prefer not to be involved in MacLeod's love life." Unless I'm involved in it personally...

"It's common to explain Immortality to a mortal then?" the pilot frowned, "But, if it's such a big secret..."

He shook his head, herding the other man towards the door, picking up his black jacket and sword case as he passed the sofa, "If you're in a serious relationship," his heart twitched, "then they will age, while you..." He tailed off with a shrug even as the memories of his past mortal loves, past wives, men who he would have called husband if it had been permitted, welled up within him.

Before the mortal could comment, he handed the boy the case for his swords, placing the jacket over his shoulders to hide the weapons and opened the door, "And if you could remember my own tomorrow?" he asked, nodding at the box. "I'll see you then."

For a moment as the door swung shut on the child struggling to put his jacket on over the sheaths, he reveled in the lingering echo of Duo's fingers brushing his own as he passed the case over. Methos, you have been celibate for far too long, he thought with a grimace, shaking the feeling off as he set the alarm and checked his locks.