Storm Warnings
by heidi

Duncan walked from the building glad his school week was over.  He had returned papers earlier in the day to the students of his two classes and spent the previous hour justifying the grades he had given to 5 of those students.  Although he was satisfied with the outcome of his discussions, he couldn't help but feel a certain unease of something coming.  What unnerved him even more was the certainty that his uneasiness was centered around his house guest of the previous three weeks.

Methos had been acting odd lately, or at least odder than usual.  The old man had become progressively quieter during his stay with MacLoed, to the point of even refraining from his little jabs at Duncan's expense that usually so amused him.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Duncan looked to the sky and smiled.  At least the weather was beautiful: unseasonably warm for this time of year and incredibly dry, providing more of a feel of late spring/early summer than the beginning of December. 

A light wind had kicked up from the northwest, causing the curls of Mac's hair to swirl around his face.  Facing into the wind, Duncan allowed the breeze to clear his troubled thoughts, and cleanse his soul, before heading to his convertible for the drive home.

With only a quick stop at the store to restock his supply of beer, he was home in no time, pulling the T-Bird up along side the dojo.  Parking, he grabbed his briefcase and the bag of groceries.  Heading up the stairs, he was a little surprised when he had not yet felt any other presence.

Upon entering the loft, he was relieved to see the various antiquated books still laying about indicating that Methos was still around.  He was not real sure why he was worried that his friend would leave without warning because the older man was surprisingly constant with letting Mac know where he was going at all times, even after the debacle with the Watchers several years back.  But with his strange behavior, it was as if Methos was working out some hidden problems, almost unaware that others may also be affected.

Putting the groceries away, Mac proceeded to move about the floor, checking to see if there were any notes or indications from the older immortal, letting him know where to find him if needed.  When he approached the bed, the internal sensation sang out to him, announcing that Methos was near.  He waited, but the buzz remained constant.  Moving around again, it occurred to him that it was he that initiated the contact, and not Methos.

Taking a chance, he climbed the spiral staircase in the corner that led to the roof.  As he opened the door, he knew his instincts were right.  Cautiously, he climbed through the opening, once again worried about the thoughts that had assailed him while at school.  He knew something was wrong, and the unease was growing exponentially.

Once on the roof, it was easy to spot Methos.  The older man was facing the northwest, sitting about 10 feet from the edge.  Although his position was relaxed, it was one that Duncan did not associate with the older immortal.  His knees were pulled up towards his chest, yet his ankles were still crossed, as if he had been sitting cross legged earlier and just lifted his knees up and in as his thoughts became deeper.  His arms rested casually on his knees, with his hands clasped between them, almost holding the legs in place. 

Mac stood there for a few minutes studying his friend.  Methos had to have known of his presence, yet he made no move since Duncan's eyes first glanced upon him.

Eventually, MacLoed walked to his friend, sitting down beside him, mirroring his position down to the sword being placed to the side at an easy reach.

No words were spoken as they stared out before them.  It was easy to see why Methos had chosen this location to think.  The low edge of the building rose just high enough to block out all vision of the other buildings, but was more than low enough to provide a clear view of the mountains to the north and northwest where they reached out to the sound.  The sky was still mostly clear and blue, with only a few white clouds wisping through.  The breeze that Duncan had noticed at the school blew seductively into their faces.

They sat for some time saying nothing, each immersed in his own thoughts.  Mac slowly began to relax, releasing the nervous tension that had been building for weeks.

"The winds have changed."

It was a simple statement, but Mac read so much more into his friends words, and all the worry he had released instantly returned.

"A storm is brewing."

Nodding, it became clear to Duncan what was being said.  Methos was restless and needed to leave, even though he had practically just arrived.  Fighting the desire to ask, if not beg, his friend to stay, he continued to nod, before finally responding. 

"How much longer?"

Methos simply closed his eyes and raised his face.  Taking a deep breath, he just sat there, glowing in the rays of the sun.  Eventually he opened his eyes, and turned to face Duncan.  "I think tomorrow."

Again, all Duncan could do was just to nod, feeling the tightness in his chest turn into a vice grip.  He said nothing, unwilling to voice the sudden pain he felt.

"I think this storm will cause the weather to change enough so that Seacouver will actually get its white Christmas after all.  I was starting to wonder with all the warm days we've had lately." Methos was once again facing the wind, and missed the pained relief that crossed over Mac's face as the words slowly penetrated his psyche.  Methos' words were exactly as they had appeared.  They were about the weather, no hidden meanings.

Mac once again began the steady releasing of fears that had gripped him, using techniques he had learned over the years to relax.  Achieving that inner balance, he noticed that the other man's posture had changed ever so slightly, becoming a little more erect, as if a decision had been made.

Methos began to talk once again, his voice barely over a whisper, almost as if he was talking to himself.

"Have you ever felt yourself unraveling?"

Mac could not respond.  He just sat, looking out into the distance, trying to avoid peering into his own soul, which was once again be rented apart. 

"As if being you were being pulled into thousands of directions all at once, and not knowing where to go?"

Mac's hands held each other, their grip squeezing the blood away, as if the pain in his heart could be banished along with it.

"I've had my own storm brewing, almost as if my emotions were swirling around, lashing out, on the verge of striking me with a vengeance." 

He almost grunted an agreement, understanding full well what Methos meant, and probably would have if the muscles in his chest had not already been knotted up along with the rest, on the verge of exploding.

"But somehow . . . somehow I managed to heed the warnings this time, and found myself a shelter."

Slowly Mac began to feel the penetrating gaze that Methos had turned upon him, "I only hope my shelter is strong enough to bare the storm along with me."

He sat, watching the clouds that were building in the distance, noticing that the wind was progressively become stronger.  This time he knew the words held a deeper meaning and felt his world righting itself.  "I can take it, Methos."  Turning his head, he met the eyes that were the window to the other half of his soul.

An understanding had been reached.  Both men relaxed, unaware that as they did so, their bodies moved closer together.  Returning their attention to the brewing storm in the distance, they felt warmed by the knowledge that they no longer had to worry, as peace settled into their world.

the end
 

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