May 28th 1980, 2am. London.

Hearing his R/T beep, Bodie jumped awake and hastily glanced around for the annoying device. He spotted his it on the coffee table and reached for it, checking his watch in the process. It was just after 2am in the morning and he figured it had to be either Turner or Brown reporting in from outside the Mayfair hotel.

"3.7," Bodie answered, covering a yawn and seeing MacLeod sit up and rub his eyes. They were both sitting in the dimly lit main room of the penthouse suite, with cold coffee on the table between them and a black and white movie playing on the television. No sound was coming from the TV so he assumed MacLeod must have hit the mute button sometime between the last lot of phone-sex ads and the time his R/T woke him.

"Bodie. Christ mate - you won't believe how glad I am to hear your-"

"Ray!?" Bodie interrupted the other man, instantly alert and swiftly standing while he grabbed his coat. "Where the hell are you!?" He saw MacLeod mirror his actions while the Scot made urgent hand gestures and mouthed Adam Taylor's name at him. He waved the Scot back and concentrated on what his partner had to say. Never had he been so relieved to hear Ray's voice.

"I'm not too sure."

Even via the static, Bodie could tell that his partner was not seriously hurt and he closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. A million questions flew into his mind and he started to wonder if this was a set up of for real. A trick? Was McKellen setting them up? "Listen mate-"

"We're at an old disused abattoir. I'm not sure but I'd say we're near the Surrey Docks."

"Trouble?" Bodie asked, needing to know and mentally calculating the quickest way to get across the City. He could get CI5 mobilized within ten minutes....

"Nah."

He could hear Doyle sigh into the bad connection, and from his partner's tone he knew there was no set up or real danger. Relaxing even more, he let his mind start to dwell on other issues. Like who took them, what had happened, if he was hurt in any way.... He felt all out of sync, like he was missing part of his soul and knew that this feeling was getting worse each time one of them got into trouble. Lifting his eyes to MacLeod, he saw the Scot's pinched expression. "Ray?"

"We're fine. Taylor's just a little knocked around. But McKellen's dead."

"What-"

"Look just get down here and then I'll explain. Oh and I suppose you had better call the Cow."

Hearing the connection go dead he stared at his R/T then back at MacLeod. "Can this get any weirder?" Changing the frequency button he was about to call CI5 HQ.

"Wait." MacLeod admonished.

"Cowley needs to know." Bodie informed him, softening his tone. Over the last few hours of enforced association he had gained a new insight into MacLeod's complex personality and could grudgingly admit to liking the guy. "I'm sorry, mate. It will take ten minutes for the forensic boys to swing into gear, that gives us a small window."

Knowing Bodie was technically correct in his assessment, MacLeod pulled on his coat and headed for the door. McKellen was dead? How? By Adam's hand or Connor's? And what had Doyle seen?

---

Half an hour later Bodie killed the ignition outside the old disused factory and abattoir area, scanning the darkness for any sign of trouble, snipers or Doyle. He had maybe 5 to 10 minutes at the most before other CI5 agents arrived and he wanted to find his partner and make sure Doyle was okay. Next to him he sensed the fact that MacLeod had tensed and he spared him a brief glance. Seeing a figure appear at the edge of his car's headlights, he flipped the high beam on. Automatically he took out his gun and exited the car, crouching down behind the driver's door to wait and see who it was. "Get down!" He growled at MacLeod. Shaking his head when the other man took a moment too long to react. Staring off in the direction of the approaching figure Bodie saw Doyle materialize in his headlight beam and beside his partner was Taylor. "Ray?" Bodie called, wanting to rush to his partner, but holding back out of instinct and training. MacLeod wasn't so particular and Bodie swore when the Scot stood up and jogged over to meet the two men. "Shit!" Bodie cursed.

"Bodie?"

Slowly standing, Bodie kept his gun ready and hurried over to his partner, running his eyes over his mate's figure and noting the bloodied wrists, swollen eye and wet clothing. "Christ, mate, what the hell is going on?"

"There's no one here. Taylor and I swept the building before I called you." Doyle explained tiredly. "McKellen is inside. Dead as a doornail." He turned and gestured back towards the building, seeing MacLeod drag Adam away.

Noticing the move also, Bodie was about to protest, but stopped when Doyle reached over and gripped his arm to get his attention. "Leave it mate." He advised.

Glaring after MacLeod, Bodie, centered his gaze on Doyle and gave his partner a small lopsided smile. "Shit, Ray, we'd better get these wrists treated." He said to cover his true emotions, taking hold of Doyle's injured hands and carefully studying the damaged skin. "You had me so Goddamn worried." Bodie carried on, not looking up from his inspection of the bruised and bloodied wrists. "Next time you step aside and let the bastards take what they want. You don't play hero - do you hear me, Ray!" Bodie hissed, lifting his head and glaring angrily at his partner. "Not when the bastards cut us out of the loop, we look after each other. Christ-"

"Hey," Doyle cut his partner's words off, turning his hands over to grip Bodie's ice cold fingers. It hurt, but at that moment he was more worried about his friend's mental state. It was always hard when one of them was at risk, but it wasn't like they hadn't been through this before. "You know the risks of this job as well as I do. We've been here before. Hell, we've even been in worse situations. Remember that time you got knifed and I-"

"That was then, Ray." Bodie whispered. "This is now. Things have changed."

Swallowing suddenly in a very dry throat, Doyle wasn't sure it was wise for them to continue this conversation. Too much could be said under stress and Bodie's eyes were always direct and telling. "Things don't need to change." He offered softly.

"Too late, sunshine." Bodie admitted. "I don't think I could go back even if I wanted to. This job is dangerous enough as it is without ignoring the few benefits that we have."

"Oh hell, " Doyle sighed, closing his eyes. This was the last thing he wanted to discuss at 3am in the Surrey Docks. "Can we discuss this later?"

"Sure." Bodie nodded, letting his mouth curve up in a smug smile. "Right after you get those wrists checked and I take you home to my place."

"You're presuming a lot, aren't you?"

"No." Bode stated simply. "Just making sure we discuss all angles before this becomes a problem within the partnership." He studied Doyle's scowling face. "I take it you still want the partnership?"

"Goes, without saying." Doyle mumbled, shocked that maybe there was still a chance for them to salvage the tatters of their relationship.

"Good." Bodie nodded. "Then my place it is." He checked his watch knowing that forensics would be here soon. "Now tell me what happened in there."

Releasing Bodie's warming hands reluctantly, Doyle winced and ordered his chaotic thinking. He just had to remember what Taylor had told him....

Dragging Adam off to one side, MacLeod hastily glanced back at the two CI5 agents and then turned his full attention to the man standing semi-naked before him. Adam looked drowned, even his jeans were wet, the dark stains of blood covering the thick denim. "What happened?" He hissed urgently. "Are you alright? Is McKellen 'dead' or permanently deceased?"

Exhaling sharply, Methos blinked at MacLeod drinking in his concern and traitorously trying to squash his rising hope at the fact that the Highlander genuinely cared. "Connor took McKellen's head." He stated simply.

"Connor-"

"And before you ask me where he is, I don't know." Methos interjected. "He said to say goodbye to you incidentally. Oh and by the way, Doyle knows about Immortals and all that crap."

Thrown by all the information he was given, MacLeod wasn't sure what to ask first. Doyle knew?!? Connor was gone.... but Adam lived and appeared healed. "I.... I-"

"I need a beer," Methos informed him, loving the way MacLeod's eyebrows climbed in confusion and how his eyes became impossibly big and beseeching. He could really sink deeply into a man like Duncan MacLeod. But the problem was he doubted he would ever surface again sane and be able to function independently. It would be best if he left....

"Then I'll take you home." MacLeod whispered. "But what will Doyle tell CI5?" He just had to ask.

"Nothing." Methos shrugged. "Besides who would believe him?"

"But-"

"Neither Raymond Doyle nor myself saw anything. We were drugged." Methos told him. "That is the official story."

Nodding, MacLeod instinctively took off his coat and placed it around Adam's shoulders, using the opportunity to touch the other man and assure himself that he was alive and safe.

Feeling the extra weight of the coat on one side, Methos lifted a brow and looked at the Highlander questioningly. "You have just handed me your sword, MacLeod." He stated stunned. "You should never give another Immortal that kind of power."

"I don't." MacLeod admitted. "I only do that for those I care about. And there are precious few of them. Three that I can think of, including yourself."

Scared now by the implications of that frank, honest statement, Methos blinked at the Highlander in utter awe. His mind was totally blank and he hardly protested when MacLeod slid a hand under the lapel of his borrowed coat and caressed his throat. "Duncan-"

"Come on, let me get you into the warmth of Bodie's car. We might even be able to harass the man to turn his heater on." MacLeod covered, a little shocked at his own forward announcement. He'd frighten Adam off for sure this way. Dammit!

"Don't count on it." Methos muttered.

---

Hearing his radio sound, Bodie went back to the Capri, seeing Taylor slide into the back seat and shiver in cold. "3.7." He answered.

"Putting you through to Alpha One. Go ahead 3.7."

Taking a deep breath, Bodie prepared himself, hearing the frequency change and Cowley's gruff voice sound out over the small speaker.

"What the hell is going on, Bodie!?"

"We've found McKellen, Sir. 4.5 called it in. He and Taylor were taken to the vacant abattoir near the Surrey docks earlier today. Both are safe, but it seems McKellen wasn't so lucky. He was beheaded at the hands of one of his associates. We're searching the area now for clues. Sir." He took his finger off the send button and held his breath waiting for the shit to hit the fan. He'd known that Cowley had wanted McKellen alive.

"Very good, Bodie. When you are finished up there, hand over to the night team and go home. I'll want your full reports on my desk by 10 in the morning."

Staring at the handset in his hand, it took Bodie a delayed second before he replied. "Yes Sir." Then he threw the radio back in the car and glared at Doyle who was standing at his shoulder. "That old bastard! It's after 3am in the fucking morning, how the hell are we supposed to get reports to him by 10am!"

"Not by complaining we won't." Doyle mumbled. He glanced into the Capri and saw Adam rugged up in MacLeod's coat. Standing up again he eyed his furious partner. "Who's on tonight?"

"Turner and Brown." Bodie said with poor grace, turning around when the CI5 forensic boys arrived and parked beside them.

"Then get them down here to take over so we can go and get some shut eye." Doyle suggested, walking around Bodie to direct the forensics team to the murder site.

Grumbling under his breath, Bodie picked up the radio again. What the hell would he do without Raymond Doyle infecting his life?

---

Duncan paused just inside the door admiring Adam's body as he moved towards the couch.... no doubt to fall into it in that inviting sprawl he seemed to have perfected. Checking the time he saw it was just after 4am now and he came to a decision on the dilemma that had been bugging him for most of the night and early morning. Shutting the door firmly, MacLeod slid the security chain home with a click. Last thing he wanted was to be disturbed by any more CI5 agents, or would be kidnappers. He and Taylor had a lot to discuss.

Hearing the bolt drop in the lock, Methos stopped halfway to the lounge and turned to raise an inquiring eyebrow at the other man. He wondered what this little development was leading to, fearing he already knew the answer. The damned Scot had been unusually silent on the way home in the back of the Capri, but his actions of an hour ago and his expression spoke louder than any words could.

Seeing the questioning look Duncan grinned back. "I've learnt from long experience never to trust the 'Do Not Disturb' sign." He answered. "And I definitely don't want to be disturbed," he growled, his voice deepening with suppressed desire as an evil grin curled itself around his lips. Slowly he advanced on his unsuspecting partner, wanting to hold him and reassure himself that the ordeal was truly over.

Oh Shit.... was the first thing that hit Methos' brain as he realized that the bigger man was bearing down on him with obviously dishonorable intent. Connor's words came back to haunt him and he backpedaled quickly to avoid the bigger man. He was exhausted and really didn't want to have an argument now with this beautiful Highlander. "Mac!" He squeaked when he was caught in the vice like grip of a pair of strong arms, the other man not fooled by his move. Hot demanding lips sought his in a bruising clinch whilst broad hands urgently caressed his back, seeking the flesh beneath his borrowed coat. He suppressed a moan, his half-hearted attempts to push MacLeod away became feebler with each passing second while the other man deepened the kiss demanding entrance. Large warm hands slid around to run feather light fingers across his abdomen and Adam moaned deeply in his throat. Gods.... but he wanted this, wanted it more than the breath in his lungs, and that was the best reason for giving it up. For two hundred years he had survived without this kind of madness, without the Game and he knew he would not survive now if he surrendered. He cursed wordlessly while he felt his traitorous body shiver in response to the blatant demands MacLeod asked of him.

MacLeod heard the low moan, felt the fight leave the body in his arms when his tongue forced entry into the moist warm cavern that was Adam's mouth. For over eighteen hours he had lived in fear of learning that McKellen had taken this man's head that now he had to release all that caged emotion and show this man how serious their relationship already was. Even though he knew Adam was scared of commitment. He'd seen the fear and knew with a dreadful certainty that this would be their last night together. And he felt helpless to stop the inevitable. This time. But he would never forget.... and next time he met this fascinating man he would not let Adam leave so easily, for he could feel Fate whispering in his ear that they would meet again.

When the Highland brat finally let him up for air, Methos hung almost limp in MacLeod's arms, but with a steadying breath he straightened and renewed his struggle, fighting the almost overwhelming impulse to throw the manipulating bastard down on the floor and fuck his brains out. "Mac, we can't do this," he gasped, pushing at the Scot's chest, needing distance from the other's over-powering presence and the responses it evoked in him so effortlessly. Gods, he could almost feel rational thought slipping from his grasp at the mere smell of this aroused warrior.

"Why?" Came the inevitable question.

Methos looked at the man in front of him helplessly. A million reasons flew to mind - starting with the obvious excuse about the Immortal Game and digressing to the final reason concerning his harrowing night with McKellen. But he said none of that. Instead he simply said - "Because." He stopped, licking his lips nervously and then gasping in a breath when his thoughts scattered like feathers in the wind. "Because we can't." He finished lamely, feeling a bubble of hysterical laughter threaten to engulf him. Oh yeah, full marks for eloquence on that one! He was furious with the exasperating Scot. Furious for what this child was able to do his rational thinking ability.

"Why?" MacLeod knew why, he had seen the trapped expression, had seen the look of an animal ready to flee that had flitted like an elusive silver fish in the green depths of Adam's eyes. With a sinking certainty he knew that if he did not let the other go voluntarily, then Adam would walkout the door and never return and he could not live with that. Could not live with the fear of not knowing if the other had left, or had been challenged and killed.

"Because I can't give you what you want, MacLeod. I don't do happy families. Okay!?" Methos finished harshly, closing his eyes and turning his face away, not wanting to face the hurt that was bound to be reflected in those big brown puppy dog eyes.

"I know." Came the soft reply as MacLeod gently claimed the angry mouth with his own, persisting until the stubborn resistance slackened. "I know you won't be here in the morning, but does that have to mean we deny each other tonight?" He asked quietly.

Methos' jaw dropped, this was the last response he had expected from the stubborn Highlander, and he was immediately suspicious of the man's motives. Placing his hands on MacLeod's chest he pushed him away to arms length, leaving them there as if to hold him at bay. Capturing the dark gaze with his, Methos found only acceptance tempered with regret and he relaxed. "What's the catch?" He demanded suspiciously.

"No catch." MacLeod replied, taking note of the disbelieving look that Adam shot him. He released his hold stepping back from the other man, opening his arms in a gesture of release, offering Adam control. "If you want to leave now, I won't stop you." MacLeod stated quietly, his voice flat, without inflection.

Methos almost overbalanced at the sudden loss of support, not having realized how much he had leaned into the other man's strength. The irony of it was not lost on him and he cursed himself for being fifty kinds of fool, for not comprehending what was happening to his own heart. He had been so wrapped up in the Highlander's supposed feelings, and the avoidance of those feelings, that he had been unaware of what his own were doing. He had not even recognized that the overbearing, overprotective, brat of a boy scout had wormed his way into the empty place in his soul where he kept his loneliness under lock and key. Serves you right you idiot! That's what you get for isolating yourself for so long! He glanced back to MacLeod who was standing patiently before him, his face impassive, the once obvious desire banked down now behind opaque eyes. When he left, Methos knew he would hurt this magnificent warrior and he admitted silently that he would also hurt himself. But he also knew he couldn't stay. Not now. Not after what had happened with McKellen. Staring at the Scot he was stunned to realize that MacLeod seemed to understand this too and Methos acknowledged that maybe Duncan MacLeod was not such a child after all. Maybe he could be proved wrong. So now he had to hurriedly revise his preconceptions and he came to a decision. Honestly he did not want to deny either of them the pleasure of this last night together. He would need the memory of it, to hold close, to keep out the cold chill of the loneliness that would wrap its familiar icy claws around him when he left the burning heat that was Duncan MacLeod. So, making his decision, Methos closed his eyes and sighed, knowing he would regret this in the morning, but for one more night he would not care. He would live to the full and make sure Duncan lived the few hours they had left to the full as well. He wanted this beautiful man - however brief their time together. Placing a hand on either side of MacLeod's face he pulled the slightly taller man down to him and took the passive mouth in a gentle undemanding caress. It was an invitation and for the briefest of seconds he agonized that the other would not accept. Then to his eternal joy he felt two strong arms enfold him in a crushing embrace as the mouth against his own became aggressive and demanding.

MacLeod skimmed his hands over the slender back, smiling inwardly at the shudder of pleasure that rippled through his lover's body and the moan that escaped into his mouth. Gently he pushed the coat from the bare shoulders, glad that the damp flesh was now warm and dry. Placing the coat down carefully he smiled at Adam, remembering the trust he had placed in Adam's hands by giving him his precious katana. Skimming hands over the white skin, he looked for blemishes, but found only a few flakes of dried blood and wondered again what McKellen had done to this man. If he asked Adam might tell him, but at present he didn't want to break this spell of desire. Taking a deep breath he shelved all his worries and he glided his hands down to the tab on Adam's jeans, his own breath catching as Adam attacked his shirt with equal vigor. When they were both naked, MacLeod took Adam in a fierce hug, storing up the feel of this incredible man against him for the famine that was to come. When his lover returned the hug with equal strength MacLeod knew with a bittersweet surge of joy that Adam felt the same way. Unwilling to let this last night turn maudlin, Duncan tilted his head up and proceeded to lick kiss his lover's exposed neck, knowing that this was a sensitive area for Immortals, and in particular for this sensual being.

Methos tilted his head back to allow better access, moaning as darts of pleasure spiked through his nerves and his body shuddered. Fuck.... but Duncan knew how to reduce him to near incoherence faster than almost anyone else he had known in his long life. And that, my foolish friend, is why you have to leave, a small annoying voice in the back of his mind shot back pointedly. Oh shut up! He snapped peevishly. Just this once you can go to hell.... he snarled to himself, slamming the door on the demon voice of survival. Taking deep uneven breaths and trying to keep his quickly weakening legs beneath him, Methos broke the heavy silence. "Mac - Duncan, this room has a perfectly good bed in it. Can we use it before my legs give way, or do you want to use the floor? I hate carpet burns," he complained.

Sniggered into Adam's neck MacLeod nodded. "Your wish is my command." He teased breaking the embrace, and dragging Adam by the hand to the bedroom, where he took the slender frame in his arms and sought out the tantalizing mouth again. He was convinced that this strange man, whom he knew almost nothing about, had him under some sort of spell and when he allowed Adam to leave the separation was going to be one of the hardest, most soul destroying things he had ever endured in his life.

Methos shuddered as he was drawn close into another embrace by his lover, the other's powerful presence washing over him like a hot wave, engulfing his mind just as the hot full lips engulfed his mouth. He could not stop a moan from escaping, feeling the Highlander's straining erection brush his own burning shaft, before large hands slid down his back to cup his buttocks and pull him closer. Desperate to gain some distance from the feelings that were swamping him Methos broke away from the fierce mouth gasping for much needed oxygen, but found his eyes caught in an intense brown gaze. Oh Gods but this Highland barbarian was the most beautiful creature he had ever known, his eyes deep pools of undisguised emotions and if he wasn't careful he'd be pulled into those bottomless depths and drown.

Sensing the hesitancy, MacLeod moved away, pulling his lover onto the bed with him, he pushed the other man gently down onto his stomach, ignoring the questioning glance. Straddling the slender hips he lent down and placed his lips on the exposed neck. "Relax Adam, you're too tense." He breathed, letting his warm breath feather across the pale skin, eliciting a shiver and a moan from the man trapped beneath him. MacLeod reached over to the side table and picked up the small bottle of oil that he had taken from the bathroom that morning, pouring a small amount of the contents into his hand and putting the bottle back. He rubbed his hands together, warming the oil before placing his hands on the tense shoulders and beginning to massage them slowly.

Methos sighed, amazed at how easily MacLeod's hands found the knots of tension in his muscles, mercilessly kneading them into submission. What ever else he might think about the exasperating Scot, he had to admit that Duncan had the most wonderfully talented hands.

Duncan felt the change in the body under him and his caress became more sensual as he reveled in the feel of the warm silky skin, and the muscles beneath, under his fingertips. Looking down at the long slender back, he was again surprised at the lean muscles that were hidden so well under the baggy clothes that Adam insisted on wearing. He marveled at the way those muscles moved beneath the pale skin as his lover squirmed under his touch. Adam seemed to have perfected the look of innocent helplessness, but there was a hidden strength now that belied that image. And it was this contrast and the occasional glimpses of something much deeper in Adam's personality that made for a puzzle that MacLeod knew he would one day have to solve. A murmured protest bought him out of his revere and without warning MacLeod found himself tumbled from his perch as Adam caught him off guard with a twist of his hips. He found himself pinned beneath the slighter man, the other holding his hands to either side of his head, the grip on his wrists shockingly strong.

"Day dreaming can be dangerous," Methos whispered into MacLeod's ear, his voice a low growl.

"Then it's a good thing you're not armed, isn't it?" Came the nonchalant reply.

"Who said I wasn't armed?" Methos growled, a feral grin on his lips as he suggestively rocked his hips causing his aching erection to rub against MacLeod's own hardened shaft. His grin widened at the answering gasp from the prone Highlander, feeling the other man arch upwards. Bending, he found the strong dark column of MacLeod's neck and proceeded to nip along its length, soothing the small red marks he'd made with his tongue. Reluctantly leaving the Highlander's neck he slid his hands down the muscled arms, admiring the darkly tanned skin - such a stark contrast to his own - the rising moans from MacLeod causing his own breath to quicken. Placing his hands to either side of the broad chest for support he lowered his mouth to a dark nipple and enclosed it in his mouth, nipping gently with his teeth. He felt the body under him tense and gasp and repeated the move on its twin, before he slid further down the beautiful form leaving hot wet trails with his tongue. Stopping briefly to toy with the Scot's navel he resumed his southward journey, encouraged vocally by MacLeod's hoarse groans of pleasure. Reaching the Highlander's proud erection Methos grasped the base and proceeded to tease the swollen head with his tongue, lapping at the leaking fluid before taking the entire length into his mouth and sucking hard.

MacLeod cried out in ecstasy as he was engulfed in the hot, wet heat of his lover's mouth. A man who seemed to have turned into a demon, a demon determined to draw his very soul from his body. He moaned, reaching down and running shaky fingers through Adam's short silky hair, holding the other man's head as he thrust into the inviting heat.

Methos found a rhythm that seemed to please the Highlander, and he gently fondled and squeezed the precious sacs with his other hand, causing the other to moan and shudder. Noting how close his Highlander was, Methos released the hard shaft from his mouth ignoring MacLeod's cry of protest. Instead he slid up the now sweat soaked body to capture the open lips with his own, whilst he reached for the small oil bottle. When he had it safely in his hand he captured MacLeod's petulant gaze with his own. "I want you, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." He whispered huskily, slipping a probing tongue into his lover's ear suggestively.

"Oh Gods yes.... Please-" MacLeod moaned, arching his body closer to the sensuous, inviting heat above him.

Grinning at the plaintive tone of MacLeod's voice Methos moved back down and positioned himself between the Scot's spread thighs. Pouring out the remaining oil into his hand he tossed the empty bottle negligently aside, keeping his eyes centered in his prize. Warming the oil between his hands, he glanced up at his lover's face, to find the other man regarding him with a desperate pleading expression. Gliding his finger tips down the muscled thighs with feather light caresses, he worked his hands down to the Highlander's firm buttocks slipping a finger between his cheeks until it reached the small tight opening, causing his lover to gasp and buck.

"Adam?!" MacLeod protested, the teasing becoming unbearable.

With a wicked grin Methos used the remaining oil to lubricate himself, before easing into the inviting heat, stilling momentarily to allow them both to savor the feelings. Then he placed his hands on the Highlander's hips and began a long, slow rhythm.

MacLeod groaned as he felt Adam slide into his body, fire coursing along his nerves, the slow sensual rhythm enough to set him alight but maddeningly below what he needed for release. He felt engulfed in his lover's presence, the faint buzz of his immortality an ever-present sensation in the back of is mind. It was something he had never felt before, not even with Amanda, and it was another reason why letting this incredible man slip away was going to be so hard. Having Adam next to him, with him, in him was a feeling he was fast becoming addicted to.

As he slowly increased the rhythm of his thrusts, Methos felt his control slipping and knew he could not last much longer. The gasping cries of his lover's building climax spurring him on. Slipping his arms beneath MacLeod's bent knees, he lent forward in order to deepen the penetration. "Duncan?" He called softly, willing the other man to move with him, to become in tune with him. Duncan look at me, I want to see you - to remember this always. But he could not bring himself to say the words out loud. For that would confirm his need for this feeling - this intimacy - to fill the void in his life. And that was something he could never admit out loud. Because that would then give this wonderful, exasperating man the excuse he needed to try and make him stay. And Methos knew that if Duncan MacLeod used his considerable powers of persuasion on him now, he would cave in and stay.

Through the clouding fog of pleasure that Adam was creating in him, MacLeod somehow heard his name called and opened his eyes to find himself falling into a pair of vivid green pools. Reaching out a hand he brushed the flushed face before him, tracing the open lips with his fingertips, smiling as a warm wet tongue flicked out to lick them before the tip of his finger was caught between very white teeth. "Adam.... Oh Gods-" MacLeod moaned feeling the last of his control fly away in tatters, as he panted out his release.

Methos shuddered at the sound of the name on MacLeod's lips, closing his eyes he imagined that deep silky voice crying out another name. And for the first time in centuries he wished fervently that it could be his true name spoken with such feeling and passion. What would it sound like for MacLeod to say 'Methos'? Opening his mouth to ask - he found his voice gone, like it had been stolen by his own personal survival demon and he gave a silent sob of frustrated regret. It was not fair, and he closed his eyes feeling the Scot's shuddering contractions drag him over the edge into completion and he spilled his essence into his lover's warm depths. Collapsing onto MacLeod's abdomen in a boneless sprawl, the sticky evidence of his lover's pleasure warm against his skin, Methos fought desperately to control the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. But he could not hold back as another sob forced its way past the knot in his throat. Oh fuck the Gods - fuck Fate, if he did not leave now he never would! But his body once again betrayed him as it shivered in the aftermath of its pleasure and his strength deserted him. In the end all he could do was listen to the beating of the Highlander's powerful heart as its frantic pace slowed gradually and they both came down from their high.

MacLeod heard the strangled sob that came from his lover and reached down to run gentle fingers through Adam's silky hair. "Adam? Are you alright?" When he got no reply he became concerned. And he forced himself to move. He sat up and reached for Adam, wanting to give comfort, needing to know what had caused his lover pain.

Methos felt the bed move as the big Scot sat up and slipped a hand under each arm, before he was dragged up MacLeod's cooling body to lie within two strong arms. A hot mouth claimed his in a demanding kiss whilst he felt MacLeod's legs entangle with his own in a full body hug. Instinctively he felt trapped and his body tensed as an uncharitable thought wormed its way into his brain. The damned stubborn Highlander wasn't going to let him go.... and he started to panic and struggle for freedom.

MacLeod felt the body he held tense and struggle, but this time, instead of letting go as before, he tightened his hold, guessing what the other must be thinking. "Shh Adam. Easy," he soothed stroking his lover's head, as if calming a frightened animal. Damn, but he hadn't expected a reaction like this to a simple embrace. "It's okay, you're not trapped." He whispered gently, appalled at the tremors running through the spare frame in his arms. When the tremors did not lessen he loosened his hold on the other man allowing him to move if he wished, unsurprised when Adam rolled off onto his side and curled into a tight ball. His first instinct was to move closer and give comfort, but he crushed that urge, instead he reached out a tentative hand and laid it on the pale skin of his lover's arm, stroking lightly. "I'm sorry, Adam. I didn't mean make you feel trapped. Hell, I already said you could go when you wanted."

"Not your fault, Highlander." Methos replied, his voice harsh with suppressed emotions. "Just my over active survival instincts." He finished bitterly.

"Are you saying that I am a threat to your survival?" MacLeod asked withdrawing his hand, shocked at such an accusation even a vaguely implied one.

"Yes, MacLeod, that is precisely what I'm saying." Methos retorted bluntly, uncurling from his protective posture and moving to sit on the edge of the bed with his back to the stunned Scot.

MacLeod stared at the slim naked back, the tense shoulders still shacking. He was torn between anger at being accused of such a thing and compassion for his lover's obvious distress. He reached out a hand, but seeing the other tense as if reading his intention, he withdrew it letting it drop. At that moment he felt utterly helpless. "Why?" He hated to ask, but needed the answer.

A choked sob forced its way between clenched teeth. Gods - but that question was one he was beginning to hate with a passion. Especially coming from the mouth of this Highland child. Taking a deep mental breath, Methos decided charitably that it was not really MacLeod's fault. Maybe he could blame McKellen for this entire mess, or Connor. Now that was more workable.... But then he sighed. In fact it was his own fault, for not leaving at the first opportunity. He was a fucking idiot. Sensing the other was still waiting for an answer he took a deep steadying breath. "I've learned through long painful experience MacLeod, that to become involved with our own kind is a short road to tragedy and loss. And it's a road I won't willingly walk down again." He finished shortly. It wasn't the real answer, not all of it anyway, but it was what the other would expect to hear. So it should suffice. The truth was so ugly that he did not even want to look at it himself, let alone show it to this moral and upright Scot so he could be judged unworthy yet again of a love that was being offered so freely.

Although MacLeod could hear the bitterness of the words spoken, he also suspected that there was much more not being said out loud. He suspected that Adam was hiding something very dark and very painful in his past that he did not want him to know about. So be it. This time he did reach out with his hand, laying it gently on the cool pale skin and feeling the muscles twitch under his touch. But he refused to pull away, gliding his hand up to Adam's shoulder and tugging firmly. "Come here," he coaxed, putting all the reassurance and need he felt into his voice.

"Back off, MacLeod." Methos growled, shrugging his shoulder to try and dislodge the caressing hand that was making a mockery out of his efforts at control. It didn't work as the other tightened his grip. Oh Gods how he wanted to relent, to sink back down into the hot sensual embrace that would envelope him like a blanket. The heat of MacLeod's spirit would thaw that part of himself that he had long ago placed in the deepest darkest coldest recesses of his mind and locked the door on in order to survive. "I said, BACK OFF!"

"No!"

Methos whipped around to glare at the man behind him, the implacable tone in the refusal like a slap in the face. Was MacLeod now denying his feelings and rights?

MacLeod grinned inwardly at the deadly gaze leveled at him. My, my - if looks could kill he'd be reduced to ashes on the spot, but at least he now had Adam's complete attention. "Adam," he started, injecting seriousness into his tone. "I know nothing about you and although I would be lying if I said that I don't want you to stay, I am also not going to go back on my word and force you to remain." The 'this time' he left unsaid, hoping that the other could not hear the unspoken promise and threat. "Now stop acting like a child and come here." He finished, grinning openly at the outraged expression on the others face.

"Child!" Methos sputtered, torn between laughter and outrage at the well-calculated dig. "Oh Mac, what am I going to do without you?" He laughed, then seeing the brown eyes once again turn serious he reached out a hand and placed gentle fingertips over the full lips. "Have you not heard of rhetorical questions, MacLeod?" He interrupted with mock exasperation, forestalling the reply he could see forming.

MacLeod took the slender hand in his, turning it he placed his thumb in the palm and with gentle pressure he rubbed small circles, smiling when Adam closed his intense green eyes and sighed in pleasure. Then with a slow forward pull he tried to coax his skittish lover back into his embrace.

Methos felt the gentle pull and this time he relented, ruthlessly squashing his instincts to run. He knew he could trust the Highlander, he just wasn't sure he could trust himself. The longer he spent in this man's presence, the harder it was to contemplate leaving. But leave he must. With a small sigh he slid back onto the bed, stretching out beside the beckoning heat to be once more embraced by his lover's strong arms.

---

Not believing he had allowed Bodie to talk him into returning to his partner's spacious flat, Doyle paced away from his shadow and went into the kitchen to turn the kettle on. He checked his watch, remembering too late that it was smashed, and pulled a face, not bothering to look up when Bodie walked over to lean on the kitchen counter next to him. In a strange way the action was very reminiscent of their entire eighteen month partnership so far, Bodie the antagonist of the team, him the pacifier. Bodie the pursuer, while he preferred to wait.... So did he now want the dynamics of the teaming to change? "What time is it?" Doyle asked to cover his apprehension and worry.

"Quarter past four - in the morning."

"Christ," Doyle muttered. "We have to get a report on the Cow's desk in less than six hours."

"Ray, forget Cowley." Bodie said softly, crossing his arms and staring at the polished tiles under his feet. "Forget MacLeod, Taylor and this whole damn case for a moment and just talk to me. Please?"

Lifting his head, Doyle glanced at Bodie from under his damp curls, noting his partner's serious expression and direct gaze. Suddenly the simple fact that they were about to have the most important conversation of their lives and careers seemed unbelievable and so dangerous, that his breath caught and he felt a fit of unstoppable giggles rise up from his chest. Then he was laughing, stepping away from Bodie and cracking up. He knew it was stupid, but his mirth was uncontrollable, a reaction to the stress over the last few days, to the drugs, to the half truths he was forced to tell, to the secrets he was cursed to hide from his partner, lover and friend. Doyle didn't know any longer what was up or down, he only understood that he needed a release outlet. Unfortunately that was Bodie. Always would be Bodie.... and that thought sobered him, driving home a point he had been too blind to see. "God, aren't we a sick pair of idiots," Doyle wheezed, wiping his eyes and grinning at his partner.

Studying the other man with a dubious expression, Bodie hadn't moved an inch during his partner's fit of giggles, well used the odd way the other man dealt with issues and pressure. He'd just never seen Doyle crack up at the mention of their relationship before and that was a worry. "You feel better now?"

"I dunno." Doyle sighed, spooning tea into a pot and pouring in the hot water. "Ask me after I've slept."

"Ray-"

"Listen Bodie, this thing between us is never gonna work."

"Why?" Bodie asked belligerently.

"Because I refuse to be the convenient lay you can throw a leg over when you can't find a bird." Doyle stated bluntly, letting his eyes watch Bodie's expression change from stunned disbelief to insulted outrage in the space of a second. There - he'd finally said it. Admitted what had been eating at him since he woken next to his exasperating partner. Was it only the previous morning? Less than twenty-four hours ago? Shit....

"Is that what you think I want?" Bodie demanded hurt.

"Isn't it?"

"No. Aw hell mate! What do you take me for?" Bodie growled angrily. "We're partners for Christsakes, Ray! We're a team. What you do affects me and visa versa! What I want from you I can't get from a bird and what I want to give to you I guarantee you won't get from any of the females you chase!"

Hearing the heavily emotion laden tone, Doyle blinked at his partner, startled. "It sounds like you've given this some thought-"

"Too bloody right mate!" Bodie spat back, sticking his chin out and challenging Doyle to back away. "I know you want meaning in your life, Ray. I watch the way you search for it with each female you bed and fuss over. I hate to see you hurt when every bloody time they leave, and you turn all subdued on me. It scares me that one day I'll lose you to some toffee-nosed bitch who won't understand you like I do. So I'm offering you an alternative. I'm offering you a chance - only you have to tell me if this is what you want."

Absolutely speechless, Doyle could only stare at his partner and friend. Everything Bodie was feeling was strikingly clear in the vivid blue eyes and Doyle had to look away. For the second time in less than twelve hours he was shocked and he covered his mild panic by reaching up and taking down two mugs. He poured the tea automatically, stirring in the sugar and milk before handing one to his partner. His actions were pure habit and he stopped, staring at Bodie's hand when his partner took the mug off him. Those sure, capable hands.... and Doyle closed his eyes. In all honesty he couldn't turn away now. The door of possibilities Adam Taylor had opened refused to close and he accepted the fact that he wanted to see where this madness would lead. Coming to an instant decision, he took the mug back off Bodie and reached up instead to cup his partner's pale face. "Treat me like one of your easy lays, and I'll kill you myself!"

"Never-"

Not waiting for a response he moved and claimed Bodie's open mouth, taking the initiative and tasting the other man's relief. Regardless of what happened in the future, they needed to live in the present and that was one lesson he intended to adopt from Adam Taylor's cynical philosophy on life. Besides, surely a five thousand-year-old man had gained some insight into human nature....

---

Awaking with a start Methos welcomed the awareness seeping back into his satiated mind and body with a languid slowness that drew a contented sigh from him. He was surrounded by the warmth of a solid body and the now familiar buzz of his lover's presence. He felt the weight of a strong arm draped across his waist and the feathery exhalation's of his lover's warm breath caressing his neck. All was right with the world. McKellen was gone. The threat to this beautiful Highland child was gone and he grinned at the memory of last night. Then another memory surfaced and his smile faded as if it had never existed. Last Night - the irony of those words like a knife in his heart, for it had been their 'last' night. Suddenly he felt like a condemned man savoring the memory of his last meal while he was sentenced to return to the safe but dull and cold existence of Adam Taylor - forever exiled from the warmth and light that was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

Lifting a hand, Methos caressed the smooth warm skin of MacLeod's arm, marveling at the solid muscle beneath. So strong and yet so gentle when they held him. A small sob escaped before he could suppress it and the pit of dark loneliness that had disappeared briefly in the Highlander's presence cracked open. Despair threatened to engulf him and he battled to exercise his familiar controls to banish the darkness into the background.

He had to leave now, before the barbarian child woke and pleaded with those soulful brown eyes for him to stay. He knew MacLeod would not say a word to make him stay, but oh those eyes, the brat could melt glaciers and break even a saint's resolve with those pleading eyes, and Methos knew he was no saint.

Lifting the arm that banded his waist so possessively, Methos slipped out of bed replacing his body with his pillow. He watched how MacLeod curled about the still warm pillow with a contented sigh and was almost undone by that simple act of trust.

Quickly and quietly, Methos set about getting dressed and gathering his things. He dreaded what would happen if the Highlander should wake, while a small traitorous part of him wished that he would. In his haste to be gone, Methos failed to notice the small furry face that peeked out from under the bed, a puzzled expression in the clear green eyes. Instead he stood in the doorway of their shared bedroom, unable to drag his gaze from the sleeping form that was just visible in the not quite darkness of the early hours. It was just gone 6am.... His traitorous mind kept replaying images of their passion from the few hours before and unbidden he felt something warm and wet slide down his face. Shocked Methos reached up an unbelieving hand and touched the wetness, bringing it to his lips as if he needed the salty proof that they were real tears. Tears? He hadn't cried in longer than he could remember, and if that wasn't proof enough that he was too involved for his own good, he didn't know what was. Alright! You've won! He cursed the snide little voice deep in the back of his mind. Now leave me alone!

Taking a shuddering breath Methos stole one last look at his Highland prince and called softly - "Is fhea'r teicheadh math na droch fhuireach. I'm sorry Duncan-" He whispered a second time, his voice breaking on the last word. Abruptly he turned and let the tears flow, slipping out the door soundlessly while the icy fingers of despair and loneliness wrapped around his heart in cold familiarity. He felt dead inside before the Highlander's presence even faded from his sensing range.

---

MacLeod felt the sting of hot tears, but he struggled to remain still. To keep his breathing to the slow even rhythm of sleep, when all he wanted to do was leap up and drag his contrary lover back to bed where Adam belonged and never let him go. But he had given his word to Adam, and he never broke his word, no matter the cost. Even if the pain would cripple him. And he had felt his lover's eyes on him, had heard the whispered words - 'Better a good retreat than a bad stand'.... He had heard the pain behind those huskily whispered words and knew that Adam was suffering also. A small nasty part of him was glad that Adam suffered, for why should he suffer alone? He was a little ashamed of those thoughts, but they were there and there was nothing he could do about them. Then he heard the door close and held his breath as the precious buzz of Adam Taylor's presence faded for the last time.

Closing his eyes, MacLeod lay for what seemed an eternity, his face buried in the pillows, feeling the last of the heat left by Adam's body subside also. He inhaled the unique scent, imprinting it on his memory along with the images of the last few hours they had spent together, desperately trying to remember the sound of that soft smooth baritone before it too faded from his mind.

---

Later that same morning MacLeod woke with a start, groping blindly for the warm body that should be beside him. When he encountered nothing but cold empty sheets, memory returned and he groaned with feeling, the loss cutting through him afresh. He flopped onto his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling and began to curse Adam, Connor, McKellen and CI5 loudly and graphically.

MacLeod nearly jumped out of his skin when his verbal tirade was rudely interrupted by a small black and white body that landed on his pillow with no warning. Turning his head he was confronted by a pair of forlorn emerald eyes. Instantly his heart went out to the tiny creature and he reached up a finger to gently stroke the delicate head, rewarded for his efforts by the beginnings of a purr. "So.... he left you too did he?" He was answered by a subdued meow before a small, pink tongue flicked out to lick his finger. Then the tiny feline proceeded to make herself comfortable on his chest. She curled up into a tight ball, tail neatly draped over her small perfect nose while a half-hearted purr vibrated down through his chest bones. "I know exactly how you feel," MacLeod murmured placing his hands behind his head. A small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the pain that still echoed through him. At least he still held a part of Adam....

Unwilling to disturb his new friend, MacLeod resigned himself to an extended stay in bed. In truth he figured it was the perfect excuse to give in to the urge to do nothing but mourn the loss of his lover. Because no matter how much he thought he had prepared himself for this morning - knowing that he would wake up alone - Adam's absence still cut like a sharp knife. The thing he missed the most already was that constant buzz in the back of his mind that had become a comforting presence. It was almost like the physical sensation, similar to the cat's purring. Never again.... would he let Adam walk way when he found him a second time. And he would find him!

Glancing at the time MacLeod saw it was almost 11.45am and he wondered when Bodie and Doyle would show up. Sooner rather than later he imagined. Settling his eyes on the cat he watched her sleep, seriously considering what to do with her. As much as he wanted to keep her for Adam's sake, at present he had no real address. He'd just bought a barge in Paris but it needed work and he really needed to travel the auction circuits if he wanted to seriously get back into the antique business. So what was he to do with the cat? Frowning, he wondered if Bodie liked animals?

---

Three hours later, MacLeod opened the door to his hotel room and invited the two CI5 agents in. All morning he had been silently praying that Adam would return, but deep in his heart he knew that was a false dream. "Come in gentlemen. I trust this is only a social visit?"

"Tying up loose ends." Doyle said pleasantly, glancing around. He saw no sign of Taylor and raised a brow. "Mr. Cowley would like to have a word with Nash."

MacLeod sighed, not surprised. "I don't know where he is. Last time I saw him was yesterday morning." He offered honestly, assuming an open and innocent expression. He slid his gaze to Doyle, wondering what was going on in the agent's mind, remembering that Adam had warned him about Doyle witnessing the Quickening between Connor and McKellen. Could he be trusted? Adam seemed to think so. Yet it was a risk.... "Surely you don't think Nash is a suspect?"

"We would just like a word with him." Bodie restated his manner and tone vastly different to what it had been over the last few days. Now he appeared more relaxed. At ease with the world and his surroundings.

Looking at the taller agent, MacLeod regarded Bodie with interest. "I wish I could help, but-" he shrugged.

"And your plans, Mr. MacLeod?" Doyle asked, returning from his brief survey of the room to pin the other man with shrewd eyes. He and Bodie had endured a grueling de- briefing in Cowley's office and he would be bloody glad when this operation was finished. Forensics was already having a field day with McKellen's sword and the decapitated body. And he prayed that Adam was as experienced in covering evidence as the man was in fabricating lies.

"I intend to return to Paris in a day or so." MacLeod stated.

"All finished with the auctions?" Bodie asked, softening his tone with a small smile. "You never did tell us how much you paid for that book."

Remembering the book, MacLeod felt a pain start under his heart, glancing around and seeing that the old book was still sitting on the table by the phone where he'd left it two days ago. He'd offered it to Adam and suddenly he could hear Adam's voice in his mind. Could almost smell him and see him - hear his sarcastic reply about the merits of that book. 'Paradise Lost' - too damn right....

"Mr. MacLeod?"

Blinking himself back to the present, MacLeod sucked in a deep breath, shelving his regrets and pain and noticed that both Bodie and Doyle were regarding him with worry. Oh hell.... "I paid too much," he stated, dragging his mind back to the question Bodie had asked. "Adam though it was a piece of junk."

"Which reminds me, where is Taylor?" Doyle asked.

"Gone." MacLeod stated, finding it was very hard to verbalize the truth. "You may catch him at the University." In a century or two.

"We'll do that." Bodie nodded, turning away and going to the door. "Stay out of trouble, Mr. MacLeod."

Lifting his lashes, MacLeod was not surprised to find Doyle still watching him, half expecting the other agent to have already known that Adam would leave. What connection was it that these two vastly different men shared? He was no longer jealous of the friendship, rather he was now curious. Not breaking eye contact with Doyle, MacLeod forced a smile, losing it a moment later when Doyle walked closer. He had the sudden impression that Doyle could read his thoughts.

"He'll be back." Doyle offered in a softer tone, turning slightly so that he kept their conversation private from Bodie.

"How can you be so sure?" MacLeod asked, knowing he should keep quiet, but he wanted to know what Doyle knew. Any comfort.

Considering his words carefully, Doyle glanced over at his partner and saw Bodie lift a brow in question. He shook his head and turned back to MacLeod, trusting his partner to respect his privacy. So much had changed in the last twenty-four hours that he owed MacLeod an explanation. Maybe even his thanks. "I'm sure, because no one would put up with what McKellen did to them if they didn't love the person they were protecting. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I'm starting to." MacLeod breathed. What had McKellen done? And why had Adam not told him? Why?!? "Doyle-"

"Give him time."

Biting back on more questions, MacLeod reluctantly nodded. He would have to track down Connor and get the information out of his clansman, though Connor very rarely discussed challenges. Especially if they involved old friends still alive. Then another thought hit him and he briefly glanced over at his partially opened bedroom door. "Doyle, do you like cats?"

A little perplexed by the change in subject, Doyle frowned. "Depends on its size."

"Wait here." MacLeod said, coming to an instant decision and walking over to his room. He went inside and swiftly found the small bundle of fur curled on Adam's pillow. The sight of Nefertiri cuddled into the softness of the pillow produced another pang of regret and loss, and MacLeod exhaled strongly forcing himself to suppress the useless emotions. Adam was gone. There was nothing he could do about that fact and later he would grieve. But now he needed to make some decisions and he went over to the bed and gingerly picked up the cat. She was warm and soft and he smoothed down her fur when she protested the movement before carrying her out to the waiting CI5 agents. "This is Nef, or I think Adam called her Nefertiri."

"After one of the Egyptian Queens." Doyle said with a laugh.

"Probably. He liked his history." MacLeod agreed. He stroked her ears back one last time then thrust her at the other man. "She needs a home and I know Adam would trust you to find her one."

"Now hang on a minute." Bodie interjected ambling over. "What the hell are we supposed to do with a sodding cat?"

Hearing the tiny animal start to purr, Doyle sent his partner a sly smile. "I think I know the perfect home."

"Don't even think about it." Bodie growled. "Cowley won't sanction it, so forget it."

Grinning wickedly, Doyle said his good-byes to MacLeod and preceded his partner to the door.

Throwing his hands in the air, Bodie stopped at the door and glanced back at the forlorn looking Scotsman and softened his scowl. "Have a safe trip back to Paris."

"Thanks," MacLeod called, closing his eyes when the door whispered shut. Now he was truly all alone. Again.

"Ray!" Bodie hissed, catching up to his partner and modifying his glare when an elderly couple took a step back away from the lifts. Yanking on Doyle's arm he dragged his partner into the stairwell. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Lay off," Doyle muttered, starting down the steps ahead of his partner. "I didn't say I was going to keep her indefinitely, just until I found her a decent home."

"Oh." Bodie stopped, all the ire draining away. He watched Doyle disappear down the step, then hurried to catch up. "Just remember I'm allergic to the bloody thing."

"Then you'll just have to sleep on the couch."

"Doyle!!" Bodie spluttered in outrage, his scowl turning to a mischievous grin when he heard Ray Doyle's husky, wicked chuckle echo up to him. Things were certainly on the improve.

---

June 4th 1980. Paris.

Returning to Paris a week later, MacLeod tried to sink himself into the early summer warmth by remembering what he loved most about Paris in the summertime. The warmth, romance, elegance of the city that attracted young love.... But he was now almost as depressed with life as he had been before McKellen had turned up. He had stayed in London an extra four days, hoping against hope that Adam would return, praying that Adam would realize how stupid this unnecessary separation was. But the infuriating older Immortal seemed to have vanished.

He had even gone back to Oxford only to be told that Adam Taylor had pulled out of all his classes and returned home. 'A family crisis' - and MacLeod had rolled his eyes. How often had he used that excuse, or heard it used by another Immortal to escape a painful situation? Too often. But then maybe Connor was right? Maybe Adam had not returned his feelings and he was deluding himself? Yet what had Raymond Doyle told him?

'-no one would put up with what McKellen did to them if they didn't love the person they were protecting-'

Another lost opportunity. How many more lovers would he lose before he managed to find his soul-mate? Either way, MacLeod was now back in Paris, oblivious to the sunny weather, mourning over a lover he had barely learned how to touch. Yet a lover that was burned into his memory so strongly that if felt like they had been together for centuries, not mere days.

Shelving his brooding thoughts abruptly, MacLeod scanned the immediate area when the sweeping sense of an Immortal presence feathered over him. In that instant everything around him stopped, his complete concentration focused on the Immortal presence - the drone of the traffic dimmed, the laughter of the tourists faded, even the warmth of the sun diminished while his entire being located the direction of the buzz. In the back of his mind a desperate little voice was begging for it to be Adam, but he knew that dream was impossible and his heart sank when his eyes fell on a tall menacing figure on the other side of the busy street. A glory seeker? Not feeling up to the aggravation of an unnecessary challenge, or the exposure in front of so many witnesses, MacLeod swiveled on his heels and hastily crossed the busy road, mingling with the tourists along the riverside stalls. Glancing back he saw he still had his unwelcome visitor and he grinned, detouring across the Rotal Bridge towards the Louvre. Glancing down at the Seine, he saw a tourist barge drift slowly under the bridge and on impulse swiftly vaulted over the edge of the old stone railing to land on the open decking of the barge. His landing was met with numerous stares as tourists turned to gawk and MacLeod mumbled an apology, before finding the first vacant chair and sliding into it. Lifting his head he found a petite, pretty blonde Tour-guide glaring at him and he sent her a charming smile. She started to demand what he was doing and if he were mad, and MacLeod let his smile increase, admiring her passion and spirit. His smile only seemed to upset her more, so he tried to look suitably chastised, pointing out that she was neglecting to tell them all about the Louvre which was passing on their left.... His boldness seemed to impress her and she spluttered, her cheeks turning a very becoming shade of pink and MacLeod smiled. Around him other tourists were laughing.

Then he felt the resurgence of Immortal presence and MacLeod glanced up at the bridge they were approaching, not seeing his persistent opponent anywhere. He frowned in annoyance. The buzz of presence didn't ease until they were moving away from the Carrousel Bridge and MacLeod glanced back, puzzled by the fact the Immortal remained hidden. A different Immortal? A new challenger? Two Immortals? Paris obviously was not as it used to be.... He was positive it was not the same Immortal whom he had originally seen, for that brash challenger would have made a point of showing himself. So who was it?

Dismissing the problem when the feisty little French Tour- guide asked his name, MacLeod turned his complete attention and charisma on the pretty female. She was gorgeous and he saw her blush a second time under his obvious appraisal. Maybe summertime in Paris wasn't so bad after all?

---

Sucking in a breath from shock and admiration when MacLeod had jumped from a Rotal Bridge to the open aired tour boat, Methos pressed back against the cold wall of the Carrousel Bridge and swallowed nervously. MacLeod was going to kill him at this rate, and he let his eyes close, not believing the younger Immortal's luck. He had seen the other Immortal stalking MacLeod and for an instant had been so tempted to interfere and warn the precious Highlander, but Fate had now removed his chance.

So he would back away again and pick the Scot up outside his newly renovated barge. It was the least he could do until he was in a position to safeguard the Highlander's head properly. Once his new identity was secure he intended to make himself known to one of the well-respected historians' at the Paris University - a Donald Salzer - and from there make sure he was sponsored into the Watcher Organization. For once he was back in the secretive halls of the Watchers' vaults he could not only check up on his own chronicles, but he could make sure MacLeod stayed alive.

As plans went it wasn't perfect or what he craved, but for the moment he had no other options. Besides, he was a patient man.

Very patient.

---

Epilogue

August 16th 1995. London.

Methos stood at the edge of the road gazing somberly at the loan figure crouching before a granite headstone with a hand outstretched as if to caress the cold stone. His heart went out to the man who had so recently buried a friend and lover. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward when he saw the other man stand and take a step back.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, Doyle turned and was a little stunned to see who it was that approached him, but glad all the same. "Adam." He greeted his old friend, holding out his hand.

Methos paused, appraising Doyle's emotional state, cataloguing the changes that five years had made to the other man since their last meeting. The face was a little more lined the hair now salt and pepper, but the eyes were the same clear direct green, although they were undeniably sad. Taking the outstretched hand in his, Methos pulled the younger man into an embrace, offering the comfort of one who knows what it is like to lose a loved one. "I'm so sorry Ray," he whispered. "I would have been here sooner, but I only just heard." He finished, feeling the tightening of Doyle's arms around his back before the other pulled away, unshed tears bright in those green eyes.

"I know. Thanks for coming." Doyle replied, turning back to the headstone for one last look before resolutely turning his back and gesturing for Adam to accompany him.

The two friends walked in silence, absorbing the quiet peace of the cemetery while Methos waited for Doyle to begin talking in his own time.

"It was so pointless," Doyle eventually began, before falling silent again.

"It always is." Methos interjected quietly, more to himself than to his companion.

A small smile tugged at Doyle's lips when he heard the words, knowing the man beside him was 'Methos' rather than the softly spoken Adam Pierson. It still amazed him at how different Pierson was even to Taylor and again how different both were to the real man now offering him unconditional comfort. Yet he liked Pierson, had known Pierson for over thirteen years, but cherished the moments when they were alone and he was given a glimpse of Methos' true personality. For over sixteen years he had known this ancient Immortal's secret and he had come to respect him greatly, but also to be wary of Methos' warped sense of humor and cynical attitude. He remembered the many times that they had enjoyed baiting Bodie, and abruptly a new sense of loss swept over him as he remembered whom he had just buried. Bodie.... and the reality of it crippled him anew, the pain just as devastating now as it had been three days ago.

Methos heard the in-drawn breath and out of the corner of his eyes saw Doyle stop then tense. Turning to Doyle he placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremors that ran through the too slim body.

"Oh God Adam, I can't believe he's gone. Everyday I expect to see him walk through the door, and I want to tell him what a stupid bastard he's been for leaving me!"

Methos registered the strain in Doyle's hoarse voice, listening to the familiar words - words that he had heard from so many others, words that transcended time itself in the agony they caused. Words that he had uttered so many times. The denial, however woefully inadequate still sheltered the soul from the full brunt of the loss, but also somewhat cruelly, forced the mind to relive the loss over and over again. Perhaps, he thought cynically, repetition numbed one's mind and spirit eventually.

"It was better this way," Doyle said cryptically after regaining his composure. "He would have hated being.... It was a car accident." He whispered abruptly, closing his eyes briefly to shut out the images. "Some stupid punk, drunk driver.... It broke his neck," he sucked in a breath. "If he had survived he would have been a paraplegic. Could you picture Bodie in a wheelchair?"

Methos winced at the rage behind the quiet words, feeling some of it himself for whoever had caused his friend so much pain and anguish.

"We were supposed to go out together this weekend and.... and-"

Wincing in sympathy at that Methos shook his head, letting himself experience the emotions, identifying with the sentiment. Bodie had complimented Doyle perfectly. They had been a team, a partnership in everything possible and Methos cursed Fate on his friend's behalf.

"So, how's life in the Watchers?" Doyle asked taking a deep breath, needing to change the subject. He glanced sidelong at the other man and noticed the transformation from Methos the Immortal to Methos the avid historian and researcher. It wasn't anything obvious, but he had been watching this ageless man for years and saw the small changes- the way Methos stood up straighter when he wasn't being Pierson and the way his eyes lit up when he had an innocent to corrupt or tease. Seeing the affectionate twinkle enter Methos' eyes now, Doyle was bloody grateful for the change as it numbed his grief. He needed his friend desperately now, needed to be reminded that there was a reason behind everything, needed Methos to carry him for a while and inspire him. It wouldn't be hard, for he had liked this man for years and was as equally awed by him. Offering a slight smile, Doyle noted how Methos' gold-green gaze lit up with enthusiasm, and how Methos' broad grin increased.

"Guess what project I'm working on?"

Doyle shrugged, amused at the open ingenuous manner, guessing this must be the 'Adam-Pierson-Grad-Student' persona he was seeing now. Christ, but when Methos sunk himself into a roll he really transformed. Doyle had never ceased being fascinated by the complex enigma that was Methos. "Don't tell me, the Methos Chronicles?" Doyle replied laughing. "How did you swing that? I seem to remember you saying they all thought you were far to young to be looking after such an important project." He finished with a smile, remembering how outraged Methos had been at the time.

Methos just grinned evilly. "I came up with some research I found in some old texts that I just happened to find in a private collection. It seemed that this anonymous collector was in possession of some lost diaries of a supposed Watcher, proving that Methos was present at the first Crusade in the Holy Land. They patted me on the head and assigned me to Don Salzer. I was mildly offended by that." Methos finished after a pause.

Doyle snorted. "But it is what you wanted. I couldn't think of a better way to make sure you're never found. And I suppose those diaries were yours?"

"Of course," Methos smirked. "I always write in the third person. It's safer that way."

"Must make for one hell of an identity crisis." Doyle quipped.

"You have no idea." Methos returned with a role of his eyes.

They walked in silence again for a short time, before Methos stopped and turned to face Doyle his face serious. "Ray, I didn't just come for a social call, I also came to make you an offer."

"Go on," Doyle prompted, when Methos hesitated, guessing what the offer might be.

"Remember what I said to you years ago, one cold morning in a disused abattoir? Well now I've come to offer you a place in the Watchers, as a field agent - if you're interested. Of course you'd have to start in the academy, but with your skills they would soon move you into the field." Methos finished, meeting the other's gaze squarely. "You don't have to give me an answer right away," he continued while he tried to find a reaction in his friend's guarded expression.

"Why?" Doyle asked.

"Why?" Methos hesitated a second, wanting to tell his friend, because you need something to do to keep you busy. Because I don't want to lose another friend to grief.... but knowing that was the answer Doyle expected and would probably dislike the most, he said instead - "Because we need more men like you in the field. Look, we've been losing agents since the Watchers began. It's a dangerous job. There are some fairly nasty Immortals out there-"

Doyle snorted at the vast understatement of that remark.

"..and I think you have what it takes to do the job." Methos finished ignoring the interruption.

Doyle stood lost in thought for several minutes, silently grateful to Methos for not stating the obvious reason for the offer, but also intrigued by the idea of the Watchers. He had nothing to lose by taking up the offer and it was almost like a second chance to become a student again. A student of history, to enter this man's intriguing world, and if he had his way he would not be doing fieldwork only, there would be some research in there as well. "Alright. So what do I have to do to get into this Organization?" He asked softly.

Methos let out the breath, unaware he had been holding it and clapped Doyle on the back. "You had me worried there for a minute." He joked.

"What? Don't tell me I worried you? That I might actually have surprised you? The great student of human nature? I'm flattered." Doyle quipped in return.

"Very funny, Ray. I'll put you in touch with a friend of mine. He's a field agent, historian and general good-guy. His name is Joe Dawson. I'm...." he hesitated, wrinkling his nose up in disgust. "I'm too young to have known you all these years, so it will have to be Joe that brings you into the Watchers." Methos finished with a grin.

"Uh huh," Doyle laughed. "Joe Dawson, isn't he MacLeod's Watcher?"

"The very same."

Doyle noticed the tension behind the words and caught the other man's gaze with his own, but as usual he could read nothing from the poker expression. "So.... how is MacLeod?" He asked, not really expecting an answer, but interested in seeing if he could catch any reactions.

Methos opened his mouth, then closed it, catching Doyle's shrewd expression and knowing Ray would read behind his hesitation. But his heart was still so undecided about the beautiful Highland child. "He lost Tessa just over a year ago." He answered heavily.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Have you seen him?" Doyle pushed, glad to have the chance at thinking about something else. He knew Methos had purposely distanced himself from MacLeod after the London incident and he also knew that Methos kept tabs on the Scottish Immortal and tore himself apart with worry on occasions. Many a night he had listened to Methos cry in his sleep when his friend had imposed on his and Bodie's hospitality during the long years when MacLeod had moved to America with the talented French artist. Methos might like to fool himself, but Ray had seen under his masks too many times to miss the way Methos now hedged around the subject of Duncan MacLeod.

"I'm not that desperate." Methos muttered.

"I never said your were."

Eyeing the ex-agent, Methos considered Doyle's neutral expression and nodded to himself. Doyle would make and excellent Watcher. "I'm not good at visiting-"

"Tell me about it." Doyle said under his breath realizing that they had almost reached the parked cars. Would this changeable man vanish now they were back at the vehicles, or could he con Methos into returning with him to his and Bodie's.... his.... flat? It would be nice just to escape the loneliness of the four empty walls. To just stop thinking for a few hours and relax with a friend who truly understood his feelings.

"What do you want me to do? Turn up on MacLeod's doorstep and say 'I heard about Tessa so I'm here to take your mind off things?!?'" Methos asked with twisted amusement. "Or, I could just add, 'by the way MacLeod, I'm a Watcher into the bargain.... so we can't see each other apart from this once. Besides, remember I'm this cruel tease you once screwed.... wanna do it again?'"

"Okay, you've made your point, professor." Doyle said with a smile, remembering how Bodie used to always call Adam that. It was an affectionate term. A cherished memory.

"MacLeod's big enough to look after himself."

"So that's it?" Doyle asked genuinely interested. It had always baffled him as to why Methos had taken off sixteen odd years ago especially when it had been so obvious MacLeod was smitten with him. That time in London when he was in CI5 was a filled with fond memories and he could easily recall the day he'd first met Taylor and MacLeod. Watching the pair fall in love had forced him and Bodie into taking the final step in their own stressed out relationship. Sixteen years of contentment - to now be ended by a stupid drunk driver who got off on a good behavior bond and a thousand-pound fine!

"Yes-"

Coming back to the present, Doyle blinked at Methos hating to imagine the lost possibilities Methos ignored by always walking away. How quickly hope could die, how easily an Immortal could die just as Bodie had died. At least he had memories, what did Methos have except a desperate hope? "You'll never see him again if you don't-"

"Never is a relatively short period of time for me, Ray."

"Moron."

Trying to look hurt, Methos turned to Doyle and let his grin widen. "No, I'll probably meet MacLeod again the same way I met him the first time. While he's chasing some deranged, lunatic psychopathic Immortal. He'll probably lead the bastard right to my doorstep and demand to protect my 'innocent honor'."

"You know this or you hope?"

"Know." Methos said with a straight face. "It fits his profile."

"You're a dead set lazy bastard, do you know that, mate?" Doyle stated with mock disgust. "You always take the easy road. Well one day you are going to be forced to actually participate in life again."

Scoffing at that, Methos laughed, taking out his keys and studying them. "I am participating you young, hot-blooded- "

"Watch it," Doyle warned as he leaned closer. Letting his gaze travel over the impossibly young looking man next to him, he was hit with a strong feel of deja vu. A man too young for this world, but too old to live. Methos needed a balance and Doyle let his eyes become speculative. Methos needed MacLeod's balance. Needed his fire, his passion for life, just as he had needed Bodie's ire and cynical abrasive personality to force him to live and survive in the world Cowley had thrown them into. "So tell me, besides brooding, what else is MacLeod currently doing?" Doyle asked shrewdly.

Glad they were off the less personal topic, Methos relaxed and saw how Doyle had read him. This man was the only mortal in a long time that he actually trusted with more than just his name. "He's on a Scottish hunt."

"A what?"

"A good friend of his was killed by this bad head-case Immortal a few weeks ago. So MacLeod is playing judge, jury and executioner." Methos wiggled his eyebrows as Doyle just blinked at him shocked. "See why I don't want to get involved? Look what happened last time-"

"Yeah, you ended up in his bed."

"Shut up Doyle," Methos laughed good-naturally. "Besides it's all part of the high intrigue driven world of Watchers, better than any movie I guarantee."

"Be serious-"

"I am."

"So does this 'bad head-case' Immortal have a name?"

"Why?" Methos asked puzzled.

"Just in case I end up in the Watchers I want to know who to avoid." Doyle gave a wolfish grin.

"Kalas." Methos muttered and shrugged. "It's an old dispute between MacLeod and Kalas, goes back to the 1650's. It involves, honor, a female and stubborn Scottish pride." Methos listed in mild humor. "Not necessarily in that order."

"You're a fraud."

"Now you injure me."

"You're more involved than you want to admit." Doyle carried on, pinning Methos with his eyes and reading him expertly. "I bet if I asked, you could tell me exactly where MacLeod is at this very moment."

Lifting a brow, Methos checked his watch and shrugged. "He should be arriving in Paris in two hours. His flight was delayed in New York."

Letting his eyes linger on Methos' face, Doyle waited until all the humor faded from his friend's expression and gave the other man a knowing smile. "I think you're right."

"About what?" Methos asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. Somehow Ray had managed to show him how pitiful he was for hanging on to the past. And how much he still wanted MacLeod.

"I do want to meet this Joe Dawson." Doyle declared.

"I can arrange that."

"If only to keep an eye on you."

"Ray?" Methos asked perceptively. "Remember you can only ever watch, never interfere. No matter what you see. Neither of us can."

Taking a deep breath, Doyle let himself meet the clear hazel eyes and read the truth of Methos' quiet words. "Maybe I can't but you can."

"No." Methos shook his head. "Don't do this for me. Do it for yourself."

"I will." Doyle whispered, thinking suddenly about Bodie again and about how his lover, partner and friend had never balked at any challenge. "I think it's becoming a necessity. I have to understand this thing, your world-"

"Ray, it can be dangerous," Methos warned. "And no one must ever know what you do for a living. Nor can you tell anyone inside the Watcher's what you already know about MacLeod or me. Not even Dawson."

Considering it all, Ray let his eyes touch the silent gravestones, thinking suddenly how Bodie would have been appalled by these types of restrictions - how his lover would have been appalled by the world of Immortals if he'd ever learned the truth. "I kept your secret from Bodie-"

"I know." Methos acknowledged. "That was why I didn't visit often. I didn't want to make it harder for you."

"He was a pussycat really. A marshmallow," Doyle broke off, his eyes suddenly filling with tears as it hit him that he would never be able to tease his lover again. Never see him again or hear Bodie complain about the weather, the price of petrol or the new Soccer team. Lifting his eyes he saw the genuine compassion in Methos' face and nodded, not backing away when Methos reached out and drew him into a fierce supportive hug. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to fall into the promise Methos' warm body and firm hands offered. Wanted the oblivion of peace, to feel loved, to be cherished and to give up control for a single night. Turning his face into Methos' neck he accepted the comfort, letting long, slender fingers travel up his spine and tangle in his curls to massage the back of his head soothingly.

"Ray?"

"I'm sorry-" Doyle started, pulling away and finding he was prevented from going far as warm, hazel eyes held his own.

"Nothing to apologize for. I was just thinking we should go back to your place. Get out of the cold." Methos murmured.

Floundering for a second, Doyle stopped and stared at Methos, reading the silent invitation easily in the unblinking gaze. He could accept or reject the offer of companionship, and he remembered Bodie, remembered what he had learnt from his partner. There were many different types of love and what Methos was now offering was the sharing of memories, the gentleness of comfort and the warmth of a friend who cared and wanted to help him remember the good times. Nodding slowly he gripped the hand sliding down his arm and pulled Methos a little closer. "I...."

"Shh," Methos breathed, closing the distance between them and lightly kissing Ray's lips. "You need this, and I think so do I. If I have learnt anything in five thousand years it is to never turn away from the pearls of friendship."

"I'm not," Doyle whispered, closing his eyes when Methos' lips brushed his own, opening his mouth to sink into the feel of being alive and being desired. Nothing would ever replace the fire he felt inside for Bodie, but this would warm his heart and remind him why living was so important.

"Then let me help you celebrate Bodie's life.... his love for you."

Feeling his eyes fill with new tears, Doyle totally surrendered himself into Methos' strong embrace.

---

September 26th 1995. Seacouver.

Checking the address on the slip of paper Methos had given him, Doyle looked at his watch and released a tense breath. Everything Methos had said had sounded logical when the other man had explained about this meeting with Joe Dawson. But then he had been receptive to almost anything at that point while he had lain in Methos' arms and soaked up the other man's calming presence and warmth. There was just something so addictive about the man, even Methos' annoying smug superiority was likable and Doyle shook his head wondering at his own sanity. Methos had manipulated him into meeting Dawson and it was only his training and good manners that now kept him standing in the main foyer of the library in Seacouver awaiting an interview with a man whom he knew little about. Christ, but Methos had even convinced him to travel to Seacouver.... He felt strangely exposed and Doyle shivered wondering if it was because he no longer had a trusted partner at his back, or because his life was now taking an unexpected turn. Bodie would turn in his grave.

Glancing around he took another breath and checked his watch again. Maybe Methos was right. Maybe this would be just what he needed, a job that kept him active, his mind alive so he could live in tribute to Bodie's memory. But then on the other hand, it would also be a way for him to keep tabs on the infuriating Adam Pierson and make sure the annoying son of a bitch kept his head and eventually faced his own fears. He really wanted to see Methos and MacLeod meet again in his lifetime and he wanted to be around long enough to tell the old bastard 'I told you so.' It was a goal and one he intended to realize, especially after the few days he had spent with Methos in London after Bodie's funeral. The man was an experienced lover and he now understood why MacLeod had looked so dazed after that first night he'd spent alone with the irascible Adam Taylor.

Smiling fondly, Doyle turned, hearing the approach of another person and eyeing the man who stopped three feet away. Old habits died hard.... Steel grey eyes met his own and Doyle was swept with a sense of intelligence and strength while he assessed the man watching him. Dawson? He wasn't sure, but the man was taller than himself, older by at least ten years and the man was leaning on a cane and he appeared to have either one or two artificial legs. From the war, or from the dangerous work inside the Watchers?

"Raymond Doyle?"

"Joe Dawson." Doyle returned, holding out his hand and smiling when Dawson's handshake inspired confidence. "Adam told me you would be here."

"This isn't exactly correct protocol," Dawson muttered, as he looked around then gestured to a secluded bench and table in the far corner of the library.

Foregoing to comment, Doyle saw Dawson limp forward and re- assessed the man again, wishing Methos had told him more about this Dawson.

"I take it you know about the Watchers." Joe stated in a resigned tone, sitting down before glaring up at Doyle.

"Adam-"

"Pierson has a big mouth." Dawson interrupted, then gave a small smile. "Aw, hell, forgive me, it's just been a hell of a week."

Accepting that, Doyle frowned. Debating his choices, he decided to see what Dawson had to offer and slid into the seat opposite the older man.

"So what has Pierson told you?" Joe Dawson asked, studying the man across from him and seeing how Doyle frowned, those green eyes giving nothing away. Adam had told him little about Doyle except the fact that the man was ex-CI5 and that Adam had met the English agent in Oxford a few years ago when he had attended an Ancient History seminar. Since then Joe had tried to pull some information on Doyle. He'd learned that Raymond Doyle had an impeccable record in the Police Service and the Intelligence community before he had retired eight years ago with his partner. A male partner who had been tragically killed in a fluke accident only a month ago. Doyle's profile looked good, but Joe wasn't sure this man was ready to face a new job so soon after burying a loved one - but the Directors in Geneva had different ideas. Grimacing slightly he watched how Doyle's frown increased and Joe remembered that one of the Directors had telephoned him personally to stress their interest in this ex-CI5 agent. But how the Watcher Board had found out that he was going to meet Doyle, Joe never learned, but the Director had told him that Doyle probably knew about Immortals.

From the brief file Joe had acquired on Doyle, Joe learned that sixteen years ago Raymond Doyle had been photographed in Duncan MacLeod's presence while MacLeod had been hunting an Immortal named Bruce McKellen in London. The case was unfamiliar to Joe, for at the time - sixteen years ago - he had been in Washington completing a refresher course on the new Watcher Policies. He'd only been watching his assignment for a few years and Duncan MacLeod had traveled to London under the care of a relieving Watcher. Then because MacLeod had not been responsible for beheading McKellen, Joe had not followed up the facts. It was assumed Connor MacLeod had taken the Quickening, but there was no proof. Except maybe Doyle knew....

"Dawson?"

Giving a small smile, Joe nodded slightly to himself, deciding to give this ex-English agent the benefit of the doubt. If Raymond Doyle knew about Immortals - then he was already a risk, which was probably why the Directors wanted this man either brought into the Organization or tracked. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"I have an interest in history and Adam suggested I talk to you. He indicated the possibility of a job." Doyle stated, remembering all that Methos had told him.

"Let me ask you Mr. Doyle-"

"Ray," Doyle interjected.

"Ray," Joe repeated, giving a slight smile. "Let me ask - where were you in the spring of 1980?"

Taking a deep breath, Doyle didn't answer immediately, letting his eyes remain on Dawson's face, noting how the American's eyes slowly crinkled up in amusement. "I think you probably already know the answer to that one." He answered seriously.

"You met this man." Joe continued, not willing to give anything away yet. Instead he placed a photograph of Duncan MacLeod on the table between them. "Do you remember him?"

Debating his answer, Doyle rejected the idea of denying all knowledge, then reminded himself that it was no longer necessary. Rather he was worried that Adam's cover might have been compromised. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Doyle said deliberately, sending Dawson a tight smile when he saw the grey eyes widen in surprise. "Or I think that was how he used to announce himself before pulling out a bloody great big sword."

"Son of a bitch-"

"Yes Mr. Dawson, I do know who he is and what he is."

"Joe," Dawson said absently as he reassessed Doyle again. "You have known this for what, sixteen years?"

"And I have never told another living soul."

"Not even your partner?" Joe asked incredulously.

"No. Not even my lover and partner." Doyle clarified, remembering how hard that decision had been. But Bodie had never asked.... never pushed him to talk about what had happened in that old disused abattoir so long ago. And now he wished he had told his partner.

"Except Pierson."

Doyle shrugged. "You didn't hear that from me."

"That manipulative little bastard."

"I don't want Adam to get into trouble." Doyle said instantly, reaching over to grab Dawson's arm and stop the man from moving away. He let his expression convey his seriousness. "It was not his fault I found out."

"Don't worry, I'm not in the habit of divulging secrets either." Joe assured him. "But Adam has one hell of a lot of explaining to do!" Joe groused. "I'll wring his scrawny neck."

"He does provoke that type of response, doesn't he?" Doyle quipped, relaxing when Dawson grinned then laughed softly.

"But he's a damn good researcher." Joe added.

"He's had a lot of practice." Doyle said cryptically.

"So I take it you know about Immortals and about Watchers?"

"Only that Immortals exist and that you record their histories." Doyle explained. "Adam thought I would make a good Watcher with my background experience."

"Well you have the skills," Joe admitted. "..but it's not as easy as it sounds."

"Neither was working for CI5."

"Point taken." Joe said, coming to a decision. "Why don't we go somewhere else to discuss this further."

Agreeing, Doyle waited for Dawson to get up, knowing that the next part of the process was probably going to be even more difficult. He just had to remember that he knew nothing. Thinking about that he waited for Dawson to catch up and eyed the older man up and down again. "By the way, do you know where Adam is at present?"

"Why?" Joe asked instinctively.

"I have a few research books he was looking for." Doyle said off-handedly.

"He's in Paris." Joe growled not wanting to be reminded of the problems befalling the Watchers in Paris. He wanted to be there himself, but the Directors wanted him in Seacouver to assess Doyle and bring him into the Organization. Damn awful timing and if he lost Mac.... "He's working on a confidential research project."

"Is there a problem?" Doyle asked concerned and seeing how Dawson's expression darkened with worry.

"Nothing that needs concern you," Joe started, then stopped when his cell phone rang. "Excuse me." He muttered, taking his phone out and listening. He closed his eyes and thanked the caller then swore furiously under his breath. This was the last thing he needed now! Glancing around he saw they were standing by the main lifts and Joe limped towards the far window before dialing a new number. He waited impatiently for his call to be connected. "Come on, come on...."

Not missing Dawson's agitation, Doyle followed the other man to the far window, hearing his muttered curses and guessing the previous call he had received had not been good news. From Dawson's reaction he guessed it was Watcher business and he unashamedly eavesdropped, hearing Dawson's gruff tones as he mentioned the name 'Mac' more than once. Duncan MacLeod? Doyle didn't believe in coincidences like that and inched closer just catching Dawson's tense tones, he seemed to want this 'Mac' to be careful. Someone had gone missing.... and Doyle missed the rest of the discussion when a group of young college students noisily exited one of the lifts. He didn't catch anymore of the hissed conversation and tried to look bored when Dawson turned back to him and glared around in impotent fury.

"Aw hell...."

"I take it that wasn't good news."

"No." Dawson snapped, then relented. He looked at Doyle again and came to another decision, one that he hoped would not get him into more trouble. "I need to chase up something immediately, so you are about to get a hard introduction into the Watchers. I hope you can handle it."

"You'd be surprised."

---

September 26th 1995 - morning. Paris.

Methos struggled with his five thousand-year-old conscience, battling the effects of MacLeod's powerful quickening while he stupidly waited for the Highlander to 'discover' him. Fuck, after sixteen years he had been a hopeless fool to think that he had gotten over the remarkable Scot! "Well," Methos intoned, striving for a measure of nonchalance when he saw the tall Highlander step into view. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Have a beer." Finding himself stunned beyond measure when he actually managed to sound both calm and only slightly interested, Methos forced himself to smile. If the Highlander could only see the turmoil that seethed below his calm exterior, then the other man would know him for the fraud he was.

MacLeod stood transfixed, gaping at the figure sprawled on the floor in front of him. The splayed posture a blatant provocation and challenge to every one of his shocked senses. He remembered to close his mouth while his stunned brain caught up with what his ears were registering and he blinked, hearing the achingly familiar baritone wash over him like a verbal caress. That voice sent spikes of heat straight to his groin. Adam Taylor.... now Adam Pierson.... was - was.... "Methos?" The word forced its way past his numb brain to his lips.

Methos felt a shudder pass through his body at the sound of his true name being spoken by the man who had stolen his heart without his even realizing it. He was suddenly flooded with memories of a night sixteen years ago when he had wished futilely to be able to hear his name spoken by MacLeod in the heat of passion. Maybe Fate would be kinder this time around? And maybe he'd finally met his match and now would lose his head? Battling again for calm, Methos reached down to the six pack that sat beside him and picked up a can. "Mi casa es su casa." He said, tossing the beer at the still gaping Highlander, before favoring him with his best innocent look. He allowed a slight hit of mischief to play around the corners of his mouth.

MacLeod caught the tossed can by reflex, his mind still disengaged from reality as the softly spoken words threw him back to a similar moment in London - sixteen years ago. Then to the man before him had greeted him with those very same words and a beer. Releasing a tense breath, MacLeod drank in the face before him, noting the smile and the teasing look that was evident in the changeable green eyes that gazed up at him from beneath the long dark lashes. God, but that smile had the power to melt his bones and he had to lock his knees in place before he ended up on the floor. But suddenly it didn't seem important anymore that he was chasing Kalas and he took several steps closer to his former lover. Suddenly sixteen years of ruthlessly suppressed feelings and memories almost overwhelmed him and he sank to his knees in front of the startled man. He instinctively reached out a hand with a desperate need to touch, to know that the body in front of him was real and not some twisted trick of his imagination. Since losing Tessa he had found it was becoming harder and harder to suppress the memories of past loves. Past regrets.... The longing for what he had found with this man, however briefly, had become a pain like an old wound. A wound that had never healed. Covered - but not forgotten.

Methos drew in a sharp breath when MacLeod approached him, a sliver of fear slicing through him as he took in the expression of longing on the tall Scot's face. Oh Christ, this was not good. Methos cursed himself, abruptly finding himself face to face and at eye level with the Highlander, seeing a pair of chocolate brown eyes boring into his own. And Mac's scent.... it assaulted him. Smothered him. The heat in the hand that lifted to touch his face almost burnt and Methos sucked in a breath, seeing MacLeod stop the action and just stare at him.

"Methos."

The soft exhalation of breath feathered over his skin and Methos read the frantic need for confirmation in the depths of Macleod's brown gaze. Helpless to deny the man before him he reached up and cupped the raised hand, pressing the palm to his lips and placing a kiss at its center.

MacLeod shuddered at the first tentative touch of the velvet soft lips, feeling a similar shiver pass through the slim form under his hand. He felt a smile tug at his lips as a wave of pure joy rolled through him and he fought the uncharacteristic urge to laugh out loud at the sheer happiness that engulfed him. This was the chance he had wished for all those years ago, the chance he somehow instinctively knew he would get, and this time he was not going to let Adam - Methos - walk away. He caught the instant shuttering of the green eyes and with an inward sigh knew without a doubt that nothing had changed, Adam Taylor, Adam Pierson, or Methos.... whatever this man chose to call himself - he was still a mystery that would never be easily solved. Finding him again had been a chance, keeping him would be a battle, but it was a battle that MacLeod would never walk away from. Not again and he certainly would not he let Adam walk away from it either.

Methos fought the urge to bolt when the Highlander's warm hand slid behind his neck and with gentle but irresistible force drew him close for a kiss, and what a kiss.... Methos was unable to stifle the moan that gave voice to the white hot need that flared in his blood, drowning out the tiny voice in his head that shouted at him to beware of what MacLeod would do to him emotionally, mentally and physically. Category number bloody five.... and he shivered when the sensual mouth that was playing havoc with his vaunted self-control demanded entry. A soft tongue brushing his lips and he found himself pushed back against the bed end behind him.

MacLeod was thrilled by the needy moan that issued from Adam's - Methos' - mouth and gently demanded entry into the remembered haven of this man's warmth. Pushing forward, he deliberately trapped the slender male against the bed, feeling one of Methos' hands come up to weakly try and push him away. Reluctantly remembering why he was here - who he was chasing - MacLeod broke the kiss and moved back. Slowly a smile played around his lips when he heard the other man curse under his breath and gasp for breath. Under his hand he could feel the erratic pulse beat and let his fingers curl possessively around the slender neck.

"Fuck! MacLeod!" Methos growled, sweeping away the hand that rested on his shoulder, desperately needing some air and room to gather the tattered shreds of his composure before he could face the Scot.

"That's it!?"

"That's it.... what?" Methos snapped back, looking down at the floor and therefore failing to notice the sly smile that spread itself across MacLeod's lips.

"Five thousand years and all you can come up with is - 'Fuck MacLeod'?"

"Screw you, MacLeod. Is that better? What did you bloody well expect? Shakespeare?!" Methos snarled, before he caught the look that the other man was throwing at him. "Damn you to hell, Highlander."

"Already been there." MacLeod answered somberly.

Methos cursed his sharp tongue and reached out a hand cupping the other man's face, remembering the many friends MacLeod had lost in the last few months. "I'm sorry Mac. Truly sorry about Tessa." He murmured, putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

MacLeod shut his eyes on the wave of pain that swept through him at the sound of her name, finding no anger inside him for the man in front of him. Then what Methos had just said hit him and his eyes flew open, fixing the older Immortal with a suspicious glare. "How did you know about Tessa?"

Methos snorted. "Adam Pierson. Remember? Researcher extraordinaire for the 'Methos' Project. I've read your chronicles." He stated in a perfectly matter of fact tone that implied there was nothing wrong with doing so. "Besides, I was there when you met her. Tell me, do you always pick up women in such a dramatic fashion? I thought you only did that with men." He finished with a sly grin, ignoring the outraged sputtering coming from the Highlander.

MacLeod forgot his outrage and he took in the sly smile, sorting through the rest of what the exasperating man had said. "You were there when I.... that was you?!"

"What do you mean - what was me?" Methos snapped, cursing his big mouth.

"I felt an Immortal that day. I thought it was Kuyler." He caught the hooded gaze before Methos glanced away. "But it was you, wasn't it? You were the one watching me from the bridge. Why?"

Methos looked down, refusing to meet the questioning gaze. Fuck, this was not how things were meant to be going. All he'd originally wanted to do that day was see the Highland barbarian - throw him on the nearest flat surface and fuck his brains out to get that crazy insane craving out of his system before he disappeared for good. But another Immortal had ruined his plans. Yeah right Old Man, keep telling yourself that and you might start to believe it. He was a thrice-damned fool for thinking he could get away with such an obviously idiotic plan. Would he never learn! Apparently not, and now he was stuck again with the overprotective brat, because Joe had told him that MacLeod was coming to see him about Kalas, to protect him from the psychotic Immortal. Now where had he heard that before? And why had he chosen to stay?

"Methos?"

The sound of his name and the gentle hand on his cheek made him jump, and Methos found his chin raised and his gaze captured by a pair of knowing brown eyes. Fighting a losing battle with his unruly body, Methos flinched when MacLeod leaned forward, the grip on his face tightening as a pair of soft possessive lips engulfed his in a brief but thorough kiss.

"It's okay. It doesn't matter." MacLeod soothed before he reluctantly released the soft, warm mouth beneath his. He had seen the trapped expression on the other man's face and remembered from their brief time together that this man did not like to be pressed for lengthy emotional explanations.

"Unfortunately MacLeod, it does matter." Methos replied softly, reaching up to push an errant strand of silky hair aside. Taking a deep, bracing breath he let his gaze fall again to the floor, fixing it on a neutral spot between them as he recalled that fateful day in Paris. It had been the beginning of summer.... when he had resigned himself to watching the Highlander from a distance. "Well, before you left London, it seems you'd given Nefertiri to agent Doyle and he used his damned contacts in a most inappropriate manner and tracked me down." Methos started, the outrage in his voice conflicting with the laughter in his eyes. "He told me I had been a fool to walk out on you. He took a leaf out of your book and used blatant sentimentality and emotional blackmail to persuade me to make contact with you and 'give things another go' as he termed it."

"Blatant sentimentality and emotional blackmail?" MacLeod repeated with a laugh. "You mean he bullied you." He stated ignoring the sour glare from the other man.

"Whatever. Do you want me to continue or do you want to carry on with the hilarity?" Methos groused testily. Taking MacLeod's silence as a hint to proceed Methos started again. "Anyway, not wanting to hurt his feelings-" he ignored the snort from his audience, "...I decided I would at least check up on you. Make sure you hadn't gotten yourself in trouble with any more insane Immortals. By the way, is attracting every power-hungry psychopath a regular thing for you? Or do you just do it on special occasions?"

"What do you mean?"

"This penchant for crossing paths with deranged Immortals."

"You've read my Chronicles, you tell me." MacLeod replied blandly. "Now get back to the story." He demanded, not willing to let the other man get away with so obvious a change of subject.

Methos muttered something about 'pushy barbarians' which was ignored by its intended target and sighed. "Well, as it turned out you were running true to form when I caught up with you. Kuyler could be persistent. Then I saw you jump off the bridge and land on the tour-barge. Do you swing from the chandeliers as well, MacLeod?"

MacLeod chose to ignore the dig.

Failing to get a rise out of the Scot, Methos continued. "I made my way to the next bridge and that's when I saw you with Tessa Noel." His voice trailed off to silence as the emotions he had experienced that warm summer day rolled back over him. He was back on that bridge watching Duncan charm a young, beautiful Tessa, and he knew he was too late. He could not intrude on Duncan now and the loss hit him in the most unexpected place - his heart. He had lost his last chance to be with the powerful Highland child, at least in this lifetime. So he had bidden his lover a silent farewell, feeling for the last time the wash of MacLeod's tantalizing Quickening when the barge passed under his bridge.

"Why Methos? Why did you leave again? Tessa and I had barely spoken to each other."

The urgency in MacLeod's voice startled Methos out of his revere and he looked up. "I'm five thousand years old MacLeod, I can recognize love at first sight when I see it. Even at that distance." He snapped, afraid that he might have revealed too much to the deceptively perceptive Scott.

"Really? Then it's a great pity that you didn't learn to recognize it at closer range." MacLeod replied quietly, leaning in and claiming the open mouth before the other could reply or protest.

An anguished moan escaped around the skilful mouth invading his, while a warm hand sought to worm its way beneath the sweater he was wearing. It sent his senses spinning. Methos shuddered at the heated sensations that the exploring fingertips were causing in his overcharged nerves. Abandoning the last of his excuses he gave himself over to the waves of pleasure that were crashing through his body, his legs spreading to slide either side of his kneeling Highlander. Letting himself sink into the support of the bed behind, he tilted his head back in an open invitation to MacLeod, hoping the other would explore further. He was disappointed when MacLeod pulled away.

MacLeod shivered at the open need that was embodied in the eyes that pinned him, delighting in the surrender he could feel in the slender body relaxed beneath his touch. This was what he had wanted, and with a last longing sweep of his fingers across the taunt belly he broke the kiss, sitting back on his heels. Seeing Adam - Methos - was a shock, but now he was starting to remember his original purpose for coming here.

Methos groaned in protest at the sudden abandonment, his body shivering with thwarted arousal. "Fuck MacLeod, you are a bloody tease!" He rasped between breaths, shifting uncomfortably and trying to ignore the painful tightness in his jeans. He threw a disgusted glare at the seemingly calm and collected Scott. "You're a bastard. You planned this, didn't you?" He snarled.

"Don't be stupid. I didn't even know you were here, so how could I plan this?"

"Whatever," was the snappish reply. "So why are you here?" Methos asked a moment later.

MacLeod knew damn well that Methos hadn't forgotten the reason he was here, but found himself explaining anyway. "Does the name Kalas ring any bells?" He asked, turning a blind eye when the scowl directed at him got colder. "Look, we need to get out of here. Kalas will know where you live by now, and I don't want you involved in this." MacLeod continued his voice losing all playfulness.

"MacLeod, I'm not a child. I can take care of myself." Methos growled. He needed to distance himself from the effects of the Highland child's overwhelming presence and resurrect his protective shields.

"That, my dear Methos, is a fact of which I am very well aware." MacLeod teased wanting to sooth the anger from his companion's face. Reaching up he slid a hand along the nape of Methos' neck and attempted to draw the other closer.

Fighting the urge to give in, Methos forced himself to break the clinch and half glare at the pouting Scot. "Will you stop doing that!"

MacLeod didn't bother to answer the accusation for he knew what he was doing. "Look, you were the one who decided to stay here. You could have pulled another disappearing act and left before I arrived. I know Joe rang you - Adam Pierson - to say I was coming." MacLeod finished, placing a pointed emphasis on the name.

Methos chose to ignore the pointed statement.

"So, let's just call a truce." MacLeod continued. "We need to talk. But that can wait until we get out of here."

"And where would we be going?" Methos queried, casting a suspicious glare at MacLeod. He wouldn't put it past the barbarian to kidnap him and spirit him away somewhere. Oh Gods.... don't go there. Methos groaned to himself, dismayed to find himself not entirely disliking the idea.

MacLeod smiled inwardly not fooled by the show of ire. Standing he held his hand out to the still seated Immortal. "Truce for now?" He offered, much preferring those changeable eyes when they were smiling slyly at him.

Methos sighed his most resigned sigh and looked up into the sparkling brown eyes of his erstwhile lover. Damn it all and to hell with category five warnings! If he was honest with himself, this was what he wanted, at least at this moment. Reaching up he grasped the offered hand, shivering when his own hand was enveloped by the Scot's firm grip.

"It's just a walk Methos. You're not going to your execution." MacLeod said, hauling the slender Immortal off the floor.

"That's a matter of opinion." Came the muttered retort as the older Immortal followed him from the apartment.

---

September 26th 1995 - evening. Paris.

"Methos? You found Kalas?" MacLeod studied the ancient Immortal seeing the wet clothing even in the dim lighting under the Tournelle Bridge. Methos looked like a drowned rat, exhausted and breathing heavy, his sword shining dully in the muted light and MacLeod shook his head enchanted by the sight. He could still not believe that this man - Adam Taylor/Pierson - was Methos. The Methos. The man he had fallen in love with so many years ago in London. Nor could he believe that he had run into this man in Paris of all places - and that Methos had been keeping tabs on him for sixteen years! It was enough to make him hope for the future. Squinting as the evening mist thickened, MacLeod studied the other man noting how Methos approached, easily seeing the way Methos' shoulders slumped in defeat and how his eyes reflected a strange resignation and MacLeod found his awe turned instantly into worry. What had happened in the few hours since they had talked and walked along the Seine? Had Kalas found the other man? "Is Kalas dead?"

"What do you think!" Methos returned, lifting his sword and swinging at MacLeod's undefended figure. The Highlander was far too trusting and sentimentally big- hearted. It was a trait that would get the brat killed, Methos decided silently. Allowing that destructive thought to grow in his mind he swung a second time at the unprotected Scot, noting how MacLeod jumped back before grabbing his arm with lightening fast reflexes and thrusting him back against the cold wall of the bridge. The maneuver winded him, and if anything it only increased his determination to safeguard this precious child of Scotland. Especially after their intimate 'chat' in his apartment.

"Why?!" MacLeod demanded in a hurt tone. He couldn't believe this man would ever seriously attack him with no reason. His instincts could not be that wrong surely and he took out his sword, turning it into the light and making sure Methos saw its edge before raising a hand to calm the situation.

"Why?!?" Methos spat back in disbelief and exhaustion. "Because there can be only One!" He snarled before attacking again, lunging forward and forcing the Scot to defend himself.

"Adam - Methos," MacLeod gasped, easily deflecting the blow. "Don't do this."

"I have no choice."

Hearing the words, MacLeod stared harder at the other man wishing there was more light to see Methos' but hearing the defeat coloring the soft baritone.

"I can't kill Kalas - I tried. And he's not the type to give up!"

"So this is your solution?" MacLeod asked incredulously as he blocked a series of well-angled strokes. "Kalas wants me! He is only after you because he thinks by taking your head he can defeat me."

"He's good." Methos admitted. "Possibly better than you."

"A risk I am willing to take."

"No." Methos decided, taking a deep breath then going after MacLeod again with grim determined. He wanted to force the other Immortal to fight him properly. MacLeod was fast and strong, and Methos let himself admire the economy of the Highlander's movements. He watched the gracefulness, enjoying the dance and getting lost in the thrill of facing such an expert fighter. Suddenly his mind filled with the images of sixteen years ago when he had watched this man perform his kata in the gym at the Mayfair. MacLeod was sheer poetry in motion.... Mentally shaking himself, Methos blinked up at MacLeod and saw his confused expression and silently said his apologies for what he was about to do to this man's life. Then he deliberately let one of his own strokes cut down a little further than necessary. He covered the deception with a gasp of surprise, playacting the moment well as he faltered and allowed his body's momentum to carry him into the line of MacLeod's next stroke. The maneuver worked surprisingly well and suddenly he had the sharp edge of the katana against his damp, clammy throat. He closed his eyes tightly, holding his breath and feeling his long life abruptly flash before him - images of his joy and regrets filled his mind and disturbingly he was shocked to picture Duncan MacLeod's face so imprinted on his memory. Utterly dismayed at how blind he had been, Methos sank into the moment, surrendering completely to the surge of emotion that rushed up to engulf him while he waited for the finality of death. To co-exist within this magnificent warrior suddenly became a very exciting prospect.

"Noh!" MacLeod hissed, stepping back as anger and fear vibrated through him. Without thinking he cut down on Methos' sword and disarmed the other man, seeing Methos stagger under the blow while that long neck was extended further towards him. Methos' eyes were tightly closed and MacLeod breathed out his rage in a forceful growl, shaking his head and glaring at the man whom he had come to cherish. "Why!!" He spat. An intense hurt now swept up into him his chest and he watched how Methos dropped his head forward to sag even more in defeat.

"Because I can't take Kalas alone and I don't think you can either. But together-"

"Noh."

"Mac - Duncan," Methos licked his lips and let his eyes lift to look at the angry man scowling at him with such vibrancy and with so much life and passion. "You think I want to die after all this time? After five thousand years?"

"Then don't do this."

"If not Kalas then it will be someone else like him." Methos told him, his voice resigned. "I don't have the fire, the passion anymore. The desire to win. You do. You want Kalas," he stressed softly in a persuasive whisper. "And with my Quickening you can take him."

"Aye, I do want him, but noh like this."

"There is no other way, Highlander." Methos petitioned, letting his gaze hold MacLeod's for a long moment to convey his sincerity and convictions. "Trust me." He whispered, slowly reaching down and taking MacLeod's sword arm to raise it and place the cold katana blade against his throat once more. He felt the polished steal kiss his icy skin where MacLeod's lips had once caressed him and he shivered, allowing his fingers to brush over MacLeod's warm hand before meeting the Scot's confused gaze and giving him a small affectionate smile. "Listen to me Duncan - you have so much in front of you, so much goodness, power and love for life that I need you to do this. For both of us. Live Highlander. Grow stronger and fight another day."

Staring at Methos, MacLeod felt almost hypnotized, his eyes focused on the changeable gold-green eyes while his body was focused on the fingers embracing his own hand. Then Methos released his hand and closed those over-bright eyes a second time, breaking the hypnotic spell. Between them a powerful emotion churned, locking them soul to soul for a terrifying instant and MacLeod was so tempted to do as the other asked, but then he remembered how final such an action was. How devastatingly brutal.... and he winced, knowing it could not end like this. Shaking his head slightly MacLeod found himself automatically stepping closer and reaching out to cup Methos' nape with his free hand before he lowered the katana. He felt Methos exhale sharply releasing a tense breath and MacLeod leaned forward to rest his forehead against Methos' damp forehead, mingling their breaths and shaking his head in answer to the silent question. "Noh, Methos. I canna.... not like this."

"Mac," Methos protested slightly, his pulse traitorously speeding up at the unlooked for intimacy and he lifted his lashes to stare at the man so close. He could taste MacLeod's breath, could feel his warmth and smell his distinctive scent all around him and Methos laughed weakly at his own erratic thoughts and responses. "I would have killed you-"

"Noh." MacLeod informed him knowingly. "You would have made another mistake and let me take your head." He slid his fingers further up into Methos' damp hair and smiled, then leaned forward and lightly kissed the open mouth when Methos gaped at him bemused. "Or are you forgetting that I do know you."

"You know nothing about me," Methos started, totally disconcerted by the Highlander's boldness, then his surprise turned into confusion when MacLeod started to frisk him expertly. "MacLeod!" He spluttered as the Highlander found firstly his concealed gun and then his pocketknife. He saw the Scot send him a look of mock reprimand and narrowed his own gaze, daring the man to comment. In another time or place he would have at least carried a second blade or even a third but at this point in his life he had not expected trouble. Had not expected to find Kalas waiting for him so soon. Slack, he was definitely out of practice.

"I know more about you than you give me credit for." MacLeod returned, dropping the confiscated items into his coat pocket. Then he reached over and patted down the front of Methos' damp coat.

"Do you mind!"

"Noh." MacLeod said simply before dragging Methos closer by his coat collars and smiling smugly when the other gave him a harassed glare. "I think its time we took this discussion inside." Saying that he gave Methos a shove towards the barge which was docked only a short distance away.

"MacLeod, I'm warning you-"

"Shut up and walk." Glancing around in the fog MacLeod hurriedly got them into the barge, ignoring the muttered curses while he switched on the interior light and closed the door. It was going to be a cold night and he wanted to light the fire and get his unexpected guest out of those wet clothes. "By the way, how'd you get so wet?" He asked off handedly, noting that Methos had not moved from his position at the bottom of the entry steps. Last time he had seen this man, he been bone dry and safely on his way home - away from the Seine River.

"I went for a swim. Courtesy of Kalas."

"I see," MacLeod said, reaching over to tug on Methos' coat, dragging it off the other man and not missing how Methos shivered in reaction to the drop in temperature.

"I see your manners haven't improved." Methos grumbled half-heartedly.

"And I see you still haven't learnt to trust me." MacLeod shot back, turning to hang their coats by the door.

"What?" Methos asked in mock confusion. He glanced around at the interior of the tastefully decorated barge. Somehow the elegance and earthy feel of the place fitted all his fantasies and impressions about this man perfectly. "So what now Highlander? Do we wait here for Kalas to show up or do we-"

"You," MacLeod said breaking into the cynical tones. "..you are going to sit down and tell me why you didn't tell me the truth in London."

"Truth?" Methos repeated sarcastically while he watched MacLeod amble down the steps and brush past him to go and kneel down in front of the open fireplace and light the tinder. He could tell this was going to turn into a long night and he wasn't sure he had the energy left to fight Duncan MacLeod's stubborn personality, so he glanced tiredly away. He felt a little disconcerted by how quickly his plans had been changed, at how swiftly his world had been turned upside down and at how desperately his treacherous heart wanted to accept the wordless offer of friendship from Duncan MacLeod. Seeing MacLeod again had been exciting - too exciting - for he had forgotten how beautiful the Highlander was in person as compared to the glossy photographs he had seen of this man in Watcher headquarters. He'd forgotten how devastating MacLeod's Quickening was, how it impacted on his senses, how erotically powerful Duncan was, how exhilaratingly sexy and dynamic the Highland child looked and how he wanted him. Burying that need deep, Methos shivered in unconscious acknowledgment of his weak resolve. The thrill, the passion, the wildness of having this man focus his entire attention on him for a single second was....

"You're wet."

Blinking when that sultry accent brought him back to the present with a jolt, Methos found that MacLeod was standing closer than he remembered. Involuntarily he could not suppress a second shiver and cursed his hungry responses. Trying to cover the lapse Methos lifted his lashes and tried to frown at the gorgeous man studying him, wanting to tell MacLeod to back off. But the words died on his lips when MacLeod reached forward and started to undo his belt buckle. "Duncan," Methos started, his protest coming out like a strangled cry of pleasure instead of a reproach.

"I won't allow you to die!" MacLeod hissed back suddenly, feeling the despondency surrounding Methos and seeing clearly the exhaustion and defeat permeating this tantalizing man's aura. If anything that attitude angered him even more and he savagely yanked the belt loose and pulled it out of Methos' jeans tabs. Why hadn't he seen this when he'd found Methos in his apartment earlier? Because the damn older man was an expert at wearing masks....

"Allow-" Methos gasped, stunned when MacLeod stripped him of his belt. He wanted to find some semblance of anger, some valid protest, but again he lost the upper hand when MacLeod glared at him determinedly. It was a beautiful, seductive sight designed to melt his resistance and he groaned in fear and anticipation.

"I won't let you commit suicide!" MacLeod hissed a second time, clutching the belt in his hand painfully hard before throwing it across the room in frustration. After living for five thousand years it scared him to think that this incredible man would now give up life in order to protect him from Kalas. It was an irrational rage, but MacLeod let it flow through him, seeing Methos shiver again when he growled out his displeasure a third time. He tried to banish the image of Methos lying dead at his feet or at Kalas' feet. Noh! He would not allow that to happen and he freely acknowledged that yes he did love this man, had loved him from the first moment he'd met him in London - and noh - he would not let one egotistical Immortal bastard separate them again! He had lost so much, too much, already that he could not lose.... "Noh!" MacLeod breathed, sucking in a ragged breath. "I will noh let yew kill yewrself. Not over Kalas!!"

"Wow," Methos mouthed stunned. He held perfectly still, putting up little resistance as MacLeod stood before him and literally shook with rage. The image was a powerful turn-on and he lifted his eyes to study Duncan's face, frowning slightly when he read the underlying emotions behind the fiercely whispered words and dangerous expression. Desire and love? Methos felt his own eyes widen in shock at how easily he recognized the driving emotions, finding that his own mind, body and heart mirrored the dangerous emotions. It was like a potent drug and he blinked dazed, lost utterly and he swayed closer to this alluring Highland barbarian.

"You will noh die. Not because of me."

Sighing Methos closed his eyes, breaking the spell between them with effort and re-gathering his chaotic thoughts. Think friendship.... Then suddenly he felt large, warm hands start to pull his damp shirt free of his jeans and he snapped his eyes open wanting to glare at the presumptuous Scot. "Mac - Duncan - you cannot fight my battles for me. You cannot protect me. Or any of us for that matter. We each must decide our own path-"

"Aye," MacLeod breathed, his hands stilling on the damp shirt, feeling Methos steady strong heart beat through the layers of damp clothing. "I let you chose your own path last time and look where it got us. I can't live like this." He whispered, begging Methos to understand. He could read the fears in the slender Immortal, and prayed he would be given a new chance and he let his eyes, body language and smile convey his honest emotions. "Don't answer yet," he added, watching Methos stare at him bemused and lost. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes and warmed up before we both say any more."

Sighing heavily Methos wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that he was saved from admitting the awful truth, but instead he lowered his eyes and nodded minutely. For sixteen years he had purposely stood back and observed Duncan MacLeod's life from a discreet distance, watching him silently and envying him the loves he had found, then grieving over the losses. But never once did he permit himself to think or believe that Duncan would remember him, telling himself that it had only been a few days of temporary insanity, a brief interlude brought on by stress and pressure. But now.... now he was both gratified and terrified to see the longing reflected in MacLeod's warm brown eyes and to find his own desires were so easily rekindled.

"Move," MacLeod ordered gently, not missing the confusion in the hazel eyes when he tried to lighten the atmosphere between them with affectionate humor. Last thing he wanted was to scare Methos off. Shepherding the complaint man into his small bathroom, MacLeod caught the stark paleness of Methos skin in the harsh bathroom light and was again reminded of the deep exhaustion permeating Methos' system. "Are you going to help here, or do I have to do all the work?" He asked lightly while starting to unbutton Methos' damp shirt.

"Alright," Methos muttered. "Enough with the caveman routine." He stopped the Scot's hands, pushing them aside and tried to send the other man a disproving glare. "Do you have something I can change into, or am I to parade around here naked?"

"Now there's a thought." MacLeod muttered, sending Methos a mock leer before leaving the bathroom.

Feeling his jaw drop, Methos glared at the closed bathroom door, feeling bereft at being suddenly alone in the small room. Closing his eyes he battled to regain his lost equilibrium, exhaling strongly and dragging his mind back to the main objective. He didn't want to die, but if he had to face Kalas again he would. Unless.... and he shook his head to dismiss the idea. Vanishing now should be his main goal, but leaving Duncan would be harder than what it had been sixteen years ago. Surrendering his head was no longer an option, and he cursed under his breath, feeling stupid and disorientated by the last few torrid hours of fighting and drowning. Was he losing his mind? Roughly he ran a hand up into his drying hair and groaned, then yanked the shirt free of his jeans and started to strip. Regardless of what his body and heart wanted, his mind screamed caution and he knew that staying in MacLeod's presence would just expose him to other Immortals like Kalas and that in the end it could kill them both. That was the reason why he had left the first time.... he reminded himself pointedly. Unzipping his jeans he heeled off his soggy runners and pulled the T-shirt off over his head and threw it on the floor. Seeing MacLeod had been a calculated risk, but facing Kalas had been a mistake. And the consequent encounter with Kalas had done little to aid his irrational thinking, except push him over the edge into a dangerous exhaustion where impulses took over. One such impulse had been to give his head to the Highlander.... "Shit," he whispered, wondering why his life always got so complicated. Yet hadn't Ray Doyle told him to face his fears and to go and see MacLeod? But he doubted Ray had envisioned this scenario and he let a small smile form just imagining how Ray would roll his eyes up in exasperation. Thinking about the ex-CI5 man he turned on the shower and gratefully stepped under the hot spray hoping that with the heat his rational thinking would also return. Only his mind traitorously returned to the image of Duncan when the man had scowled at him with such open longing and desire. Turning his face up into the hot spray, Methos groaned, letting the Highlander's presence surround him and giving in to the sweep of pleasure while he let the hot spray drown his numb senses.

"Are you trying to drown a second time?"

Snapping his eyes open, Methos blinked the water from his vision, not having sensed MacLeod's approach and he stared at the Scot stunned. He was positive he was going to lose more than his mind now.... then a towel was thrust at him when MacLeod turned the water off and Methos knew he was gaping in disbelief at the man watching him so patiently. "I was trying to relax," he tried to say with confidence, confusion assaulting him again when MacLeod only held out a glass. How long had he stood under the hot spray? Five minutes?? Ten??

"Then try this." MacLeod suggested, waiting for Methos to accept the balloon glass of brandy before he backed away. Being this close to Methos hurt for he wanted to shake some sense into him, but then he also wanted to grab him and hold him until the other man agreed never to leave.

Totally bewildered, Methos glanced down at the glass in his hand then back up at the closed bathroom door and wondered what he had missed now.

Pacing angrily into the kitchen area, MacLeod cursed under his breath, his eyes darting around the dim interior of the barge and seeing nothing but hopelessness beckoning. Restlessly he went back to the fire and added a few more pieces of wood, stirring the embers and praying for patience while he waited for Methos to re-emerge from the bathroom. Methos - Adam - Methos - when he thought about it logically he was not surprised, in fact thinking back he remembered how he had almost gotten this tantalizing being to admit his name in a vulnerable moment. His eyes suddenly lost focus and he remembered the first night they had spent together.... Yet the name made little difference for he had fallen in love with the man and MacLeod closed his eyes, opening them a moment later when he heard the bathroom door whisper open and steam herald his guests reappearance. Methos exited and MacLeod stared shamelessly noting how the dark towel was dropped on the floor and how Methos picked up the few items of clothing he had left on the bed. He watched how economically Methos dressed, each movement flowing and graceful as the pale limbs were systematically covered and MacLeod had to look away, dropping his head down to stare into the bright fire before him. It would be so easy to rekindle the love, and he sighed, waiting poised to see whether Methos would allow him the chance to try.

"So...."

Sucking in a steadying breath, MacLeod plastered on a friendly smile to cover his nervousness and apprehension then lifted his head to look at the man standing only a few feet away. Briefly he caught a glimpse of regret, fear and nervousness in the wide hazel eyes before Methos narrowed his gaze and MacLeod suppressed a tiny flare of hope. He'd seen that same expression sixteen years ago and remembered that even back then it had hidden a precious, bruised soul that was scared to reach out. "I don't want you going near Kalas." MacLeod stated, deciding the best place to start would be on the non-personal issues.

"Going near Kalas wasn't my first choice, trust me." Methos returned while he folded his arms and looked away from the kneeling Scot. It was too tempting a sight. "But he now knows I exist and that is a dangerous piece of knowledge."

"I take it he also knows where you live?" MacLeod asked as he slowly stood and walked towards his guest.

"Bright boy."

"So you'll have to stay here tonight."

Pinning the Highlander with a distrusted look, Methos tried to read behind the warm smile directed at him, and gave up when MacLeod walked past him to go into the spacious kitchen area. "I don't think that's wise."

"Why?"

Turning to stare at the Scot in exasperation, Methos let his expression answer him. "Oh, let me think if I can recall what happened the last time you talked me into staying with you."

"I regret none of it."

"Of course you wouldn't!" Methos quipped sarcastically. He felt better talking about the past like it was a dead topic. Safer. "But then you weren't the one tortured and killed-"

"I wasn't talking about that." MacLeod informed him as he moved back towards his stubborn friend.

"Then you have a very selective memory."

"Adam - Methos," MacLeod started again before he reached out and curled his fingers into a fist when Methos predictably stepped back out of reach. "If I could have stopped McKellen then I would have. You know that!" He snapped.

"That's comforting," Methos found himself saying automatically and wishing he could bite his tongue when MacLeod's expression darkened.

"I won't let the same happen with Kalas!"

"Shit," Methos breathed, not wanting this discussion. He held up his hands to forestall the arguments. "Listen-"

"Is that why you left me?" MacLeod demanded, his voice dropping down and becoming suddenly gruff. "Because I failed to protect you from McKellen?"

"No," Methos started to protest giving up at maintaining a distance between them as he felt himself hit the back of the lounge. Instead he captured MacLeod's searching hands and imprisoned them in his own, shaking his head gently. "Wrong choice of words." He whispered. "I never blamed you for McKellen, just like I would never blame you for Kalas. If he comes after me again then it will be my fight, not yours. Understand this MacLeod. You cannot protect everyone. You could not protect Fitzcairn from Kalas - he made the choice to fight. Just as I will."

"Not if I find Kalas first!" MacLeod whispered back fiercely. "You know about Fitz?"

"I'm a Watcher. Well a researcher," Methos amended, giving the Scot a small, soft smile. It gentled the tension between them and he felt MacLeod relax under his hands. Slowly he released his hold on the large warm hands and was only mildly surprised to feel MacLeod entwine their fingers.

"You are also exhausted."

"Dying a couple of times from drowning has that effect." Methos admitted, dropping his gaze to focus on the possessive fingers embracing his own. Light and dark, velvet and steel and he closed his eyes remembering too easily the cherished past.

"Stay," MacLeod breathed, inching closer and lightly brushing his lips over Methos' hair covered forehead. He smelt the soap and brandy, and MacLeod inhaled deeply, remembering how Adam - Methos - smelt of the sun warmed earth after rain and so glad that he could now absorb that heady scent again. Instantly he was aroused and MacLeod released his breath with difficulty seeing how Methos' eyes had darkened to a vivid green.

"Mac-"

"Can't you feel it?"

Holding MacLeod's gaze Methos studied the other man's sincere expression and felt his own heart constrict with the same desires. "I have always felt it," he admitted in a moment of pure honesty.

Relieved and scared, MacLeod reached forward and kissed the parted lips, delighted when he was met with no hesitation and he found his mind instantly transported back to the morning. Just like sixteen years ago, the kisses he had taken were devastating from this extraordinary man. The desire heartfelt and genuine and he again savored the thrill of tasting that elusive quality that filled his senses and mind with such longing. How long they stayed like that MacLeod didn't know, but he eventually pulled back from the intense sharing to find they were no longer standing apart - his fingers were now threaded in Methos' soft hair while his other hand pressed them closer.

"This is insane," Methos muttered lifting a hand to separate them, sweeping his fingers along MacLeod's cheek before fingering a strand of long, dark curling hair.

"Not as insane as you walking out again would be."

"Mac-"

"At least stay the night." MacLeod asked, petitioning with his eyes. "No obligations, no promises...."

Stepping back, Methos moved away from the lounge and regarded the other man. How he wanted to accept the offer, to experience the fire and he found he was nodding without realizing it. Then he was instantly swept up into another fierce embrace and he laughed, hearing MacLeod echo the emotion and allowing himself to give in to the irrational desires. His hands immediately caressed up MacLeod's broad back, his fingers buried in the long thick hair, where all the warmth, strength and vitality of this magnificent warrior seemed to be mirrored. Yet oddly he felt utterly safe, a rare condition and he remembered how MacLeod had made him feel this safe in the past, and he gave up protesting completely. "You are unbelievable. Totally irrational, and undoubtedly insane-"

"But you love me none the less." MacLeod finished for him, seeing how Methos' eyes widened and how the startling truth of that was clear to see before the lashes fell masking the emotion.

"You are a brat," Methos spluttered, feeling his cheeks warm and frowning harder at the presumptuous Scot.

"I'll take that as a yes." MacLeod grinned, very pleased with himself now. After all the years of fear and uncertainty in losing this man by a cruel twist of Fate he was now starting to appreciate that the separation had changed nothing. If anything it had strengthened his feelings and he idly wondered what the last sixteen years had been like for Methos. He had been blessed with finding Tessa, then Anne and Amanda and he suddenly frowned, remembering what Joe had told him about Adam Pierson. Adam had worked in the Watchers for ten years.... so had Methos avoided him because he had found Tessa? Was that why the other man had stayed away from him for so long? Abruptly it all started to make a weird type of 'Adam' sense and he tightened his hold on the slender Immortal captured in his arms. "Please promise me that you won't disappear again as soon as I take Kalas."

Breaking MacLeod's firm hold, Methos backed up a step and searched the Highlander's dark, troubled gaze. Reaching up and cupping MacLeod's face in his hands, his thumbs caressed the full lips even while he shook his head. "This type of relationship is too dangerous."

"I'm sick of being safe." MacLeod whispered hoarsely. "Life is too short, even for us, to simply ignore how we feel. Don't walk away again, Methos. Please...."

"Mac I can't promise the impossible-"

"I'm not asking you to." MacLeod told him earnestly. "Just don't leave without telling me why. Without saying goodbye. Without giving me the option to follow or a way to at least contact you."

Closing his eyes firmly, Methos tried to deny how those words tugged at his heart and his resolve, but he couldn't banish his own needs and desires where Duncan MacLeod was concerned. "Duncan-"

"Surely I am not asking the unacceptable?" MacLeod asked, his tone breaking slightly.

"No. But-"

"Then what is the problem?"

"The Watchers will know." Methos offered. "They'll relocate me after this attack. After what Kalas has already done."

Nodding, MacLeod remembered all that Joe Dawson had told him and not told him about the secretive Watcher Organization and he let his eyes fall shut.

Seeing the expression of despair, Methos came to an impulsive decision, reaching out to touch MacLeod's chest very softly with his fingers. "But, I could ring you. Keep in contact-"

"Anything." Mac responded, lifting his lashes suddenly and feeling the first stirrings of hope in his heart. "Just don't walk away again without a word."

"Alright." Methos agreed feeling buoyant by his decision. This was dangerous, but he didn't care. "In that case I should probably go and-"

"No." MacLeod said instantly. "Stay the night. Please?" He interjected. "No pressure, just sleep. Then in the morning we can decide what to do about Kalas."

"If you're sure...." Methos trailed off.

"Positive."

Letting his hand drop Methos nodded, suddenly very tired, feeling both defeat and exhaustion rise up to swamp him and knowing that MacLeod could read him expertly. Again he felt both honored and cherished that this man would put his concerns before anything else and he almost capitulated to his baser desires that whispered to hell with the Watcher Organization. But that would place them both in unwarranted danger.

"Get into bed," MacLeod urged, watching Methos absently amble up to the sleeping area and stare down at the bed. He didn't want to know what convoluted ideas and objections were now forming in that ancient mind and MacLeod wondered how many sacrifices Methos had made over his long life in order to survive. How lonely such an isolated existence could be and he silently vowed to correct that situation. He trusted his own skill well enough to protect them both and prayed Methos would eventually come to trust him like he already trusted the older Immortal. Locking up the barge for the night he switched off all the lights, leaving the barge illuminated only by the fire burning in the hearth and one bedside lamp. Quietly he went to the bed and stopped behind Methos, seeing the other jump as if Methos had just woken from a dream to become aware of another's presence. "You need sleep," MacLeod encouraged, reaching over to fleetingly caress a finger down Methos' neck to shoulder. Then just as quickly he stripped off his own clothes, placing them over a chair before getting into bed and holding the bed covers up in open invitation.

Watching the display before him, Methos slowly sat down on the mattress, positive this was not wise but pushing all regrets aside while he gave in to his wants and his bone- deep exhaustion. To just relinquish control for a short while would be wonderful and he stripped off his borrowed clothing and slid into the coolness of Duncan MacLeod's bed. For one night he could pretend that they were safe, that nothing else mattered. That the Watchers didn't exist and that Kalas was only a figment of his over worked imagination.

Turning on his side MacLeod pulled Methos closer, snuggling up to his side, sharing body warmth, inhaling sharply when the glide of skin against skin ignited so much pleasure. He was entwining their limbs without knowing it, reaching down to capture the open mouth of his lover without thought and finding that nothing but acceptance welcomed him. Strong fingers threaded into his loose hair, a muscled thigh slid over his hip, sending a shiver of delight along every nerve ending. The kiss deepened, the urgency replaced by a gentle reaffirmation of the intimacy that already existed between them while their bodies molded together so easily. Both comforting and exciting.

"You said sleep," Methos murmured, his breath shuddering in his chest as he watched the Highlander lean over him and devour him with passion darkened eyes. Such beauty, rendering him so helpless that he arched up in unconscious response to the wordless questions asked in the velveteen brown gaze. Oh yes, he would give this man everything eventually. So why fight the inevitable?

"Aye." MacLeod acknowledged, pleased with the instinctive response he received to his silent questions. "You need sleep." Gently he reached down and kissed Methos temple, lingering over the contact, muttering a Gaelic vow while his lips feathered over dry skin. "In the morning we will talk more."

Barely catching the muttered words, Methos closed his eyes, replaying the sound of the Gaelic phrases and the emotion behind the tone over in his mind a few more times. It sounded suspiciously like an old Scottish betrothal vow and he felt stunned by that, defenseless in this man's consuming presence, instinctively curling in on himself and never realizing when his waking thoughts turned into dream images.

Feeling Methos' limbs grow heavy in his embrace, MacLeod carefully turned the other man on to his side so he was resting more comfortably. He heard Methos sigh, then mutter in his sleep and he watched fascinated how Methos' face relaxed and MacLeod was again swept with the impression of how young this man looked with no masks. An ancient mind forever caught in a young man's body. Impulsive, vulnerable.... yet so jaded and cynical. It was one of the reasons why the man brought out every one of his protective instincts, even though he knew it was probably unnecessary. Still, he wanted to shelter him and MacLeod leaned up on an elbow and carefully turned off the bedside light. Dimness enshrouded the barge and he looked down at the man sleeping in his arms, his heart melting all over again as the warmth of the firelight highlighted Methos' high cheek bones, lashes and longish hair. In the quiet moments like this he could embrace the concepts of forever and he settled a hand over a pale shoulder, sliding his fingers down until he could cradle one of Methos' curled hands. Rarely had he been happier and MacLeod shifted closer to his charge, watching Methos sleep and preparing himself to stay awake all night if necessary to safeguard this man's slumber. He wanted to burn this memory into his brain, to drink in the perfection of the moment while he held this strangely defenseless yet powerful Immortal in his arms.

Before him now stretched a future of endless possibilities and MacLeod smiled. He could live with that

-- THE END --

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