Chapter Twenty-four
"You told me to hurry back," Duncan breathed, close by Methos' ear, while his big hands stroked up and down Methos' back. "So I did."
Methos melted back against the doorway, his limbs gone loose and his cock hard. Duncan went with him, his beard-rough jaw scraping deliciously against Methos' neck as he nuzzled close. "Never...." Methos had to stop to gasp for air before he could go on. "Never known you to be so good at taking..." another gasp, "orders."
"Motivation," Duncan growled just before his lips found Methos' mouth.
Duncan's breath caught as Methos' hands cupped his ass and pulled him closer. They kissed long and hard and deep, with more emotion than Methos could explain away by just two days' absence. Far, far more than just lust or chemistry -- lust was simple -- what he felt for Duncan was anything but. It was complex and deep, and dangerous. It was worth being careful with.
It was that thought as much as anything that made him pull away, laying his hand in the center of Duncan's chest over his racing heart.
Duncan nodded as if he understood. "We should get going," he said quietly.
Methos pressed one last small kiss to the corner of his mouth and whispered, "We've got a long way to go."
***
A pink and red dawn was spreading on the horizon dead ahead as Methos guided the truck around a long bend in the road. At least they had lights this time, which was a big improvement on the last time they'd had a truck. Mpande snored against the passenger-side door, and Duncan slept in the seat beside him; he'd been close to exhaustion by the time he'd arrived at the farmhouse.
A heavy head settled on Methos' shoulder and warm breath puffed damply on his skin. He smiled to himself. It was good to have Duncan back. He'd almost thought he was hallucinating when he'd felt him arrive last night. But it had been real, and it made up for a lot.
Lights glimmered between the trees up ahead to the left and Methos eased the truck to a stop. Beside him, Duncan shifted and sat up; Methos could feel the tension return to his body even before the sleep-roughened, "What?" rumbled out.
"Up ahead," Methos answered, keeping his voice low. "Looks like it might be a town." A town was what they were looking for, and Duncan had been sure there was one in this general area from what he remembered of the map. Looked like he was right.
"Come on then," Duncan murmured, his hand landing warm on Methos' thigh. "Let's check it out."
It was ridiculous how much that simple contact affected him. All his resolutions were close to flying right out the window. "Or we could park the truck, hop in the back and fuck like bunnies until it's actually daylight -- move your hand, Mac, it's not fair to tease." Methos was trying to keep his tone light and jokey, but even he could hear that a degree of his frustration leeched through. He wanted to do this right this time -- go carefully -- but Duncan was making it damn hard. So to speak.
"Oh. Sorry." Damn that MacLeod -- he didn't sound the least bit sorry. In fact he sounded insufferably pleased with himself. But he did remove his hand from Methos' leg. Methos moved to restart the truck but Duncan stopped him with a hand on top of his. "Wait."
Methos stopped what he was doing and glared at Duncan's hand as pointedly as he could. Duncan lifted it away with an apologetic murmur. "What?" Methos asked him, caught by the expression in Duncan's eyes.
"I like to touch you -- I don't want to stop touching you," Duncan said softly, shifting closer on the bench seat.
"That's just the problem," Methos admitted, looking back towards the sunrise again, away from Duncan.
A warm, hard finger under his chin insisted that he look back. "Am I supposed to keep my hands to myself for however long it takes us to get out of Angola?" Duncan whispered.
"It would be...easier," Methos said, riding roughshod over his inclination to drag Duncan into the back of the truck and fuck him blind. Damned difficult when Duncan was looking at him like that.
"Really?"
Fucking impossible man. "Yes," Methos hissed. "I--we have enough to deal with without adding this to it." All right, so he'd said that before, and he remembered perfectly how well it worked then. That was to say, not well at all. But now this was a whole other thing and he wondered if Duncan realized that.
"Too late. This is already a part of it."
And before Methos could pull away, Duncan had leaned in and was kissing him. Slowly, as gently as if he was made of glass. Which he wasn't. With a noise in the back of his throat that most assuredly was not a growl -- no matter what it sounded like -- Methos took control of the kiss, pushing Duncan back and flattening his body hard against him.
He didn't keep a shred of his hunger hidden as he devoured Duncan's mouth, letting him feel the frustration and need that had been tying him in knots for the last endless weeks. The love he'd been keeping alive all these years. When he finally pulled back, Duncan was gasping like he'd run a marathon and his mouth was wet and swollen. But it was his eyes that almost brought Methos undone, looking at him as if he knew every thought in Methos' head.
"That's why," Methos breathed when he could. He let Duncan go and turned back to the wheel, grasping it with hands that shook. "We need to get moving."
From the corner of his eye he saw Duncan rake his fingers through his hair, but he said nothing as Methos started the truck and drove on down the road. Methos willed himself into concentration and hoped he hadn't said too much.
The edges of the town appeared in the gray morning light as the forest dwindled into open ground and groups of tiny, haphazard houses. They kept the windows -- purposely obscured with extra dirt -- up and he drove as sedately as he dared. The last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves. The streets had been paved, once, though it was debatable whether this made driving on them any easier. Huge potholes gaped and Methos found himself dodging both them and the piles of rubble that spilled onto the road from bombed out buildings.
He could see the Portuguese influence here and there, in the vaguely Latin lines of churches and what public buildings remained. It might once have been a graceful and civilized town, but after so many years of war all that was left was a cracked and broken shell.
"Reminds me a little of Beirut in the old days," Duncan said somberly. "See any sign of a hospital yet?"
"Nothing." Methos' eyes swept up and down the street.
"There has to be something." Duncan shifted and gently shook Mpande awake. "We're here," he said. "Any idea where the hospital might be?"
Methos looked over and saw Mpande straighten in his seat, blinking hazily. "I've been here," he said scratching at his patchy beard and looking around. "Yeah, this is Chiume." He nodded, pointing to what had clearly once been a hotel and grinned. "They had the best girls in the whole province in that bar."
As much as he enjoyed a good reminiscence.... "The hospital?" Methos prompted.
"Man, we only seventy -- maybe eighty k from the border. I'm okay. I think that shit you made is workin', Doc. We should just keep going."
Duncan turned his head and raised an eyebrow at him, clearly asking Methos what he thought of the idea. Methos shook his head. "No, Mac. It's too much of a risk. Yes, his fever's down a little, but I'll bet his parasite count is still sky high and his hemoglobin's in the basement."
"He's right," Duncan said, looking back towards Mpande. "You know how long it's taken us to come forty or fifty kilometers, and how difficult it's been. We can't risk it taking that long again. We'll get you to medical treatment and then we'll think about getting across the border." Duncan's voice had that commanding tone that usually set Methos' teeth on edge, but at the moment was making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. He was fairly sure Mpande wouldn't appreciate that.
"Try down the next street on the right," Mpande grumbled.
***
"So, how do you want to play this?" Duncan asked as Methos pulled the truck to a halt on the side of the street a block from the hospital. There were a few people around already, mostly women with bundles held on top of their heads and small children clinging to their skirts.
"Very carefully," Methos replied.
Duncan saw him scanning the area, eyes narrowed in that calculating way he recognized all too well.
"If we send him in," Methos said after a short silence, "he could wait all day to be seen and even then they're going to want to be paid. I don't have a cent on me -- what about you two?"
Duncan patted his pockets, but he already knew he'd used the last of their emergency funds back at the village. "Nothing. Mpande?"
"Couple of kwanza maybe, nothin' they'd be interested in. Mac, what about the--"
Duncan cut him off. "How do you think I got the truck?"
Methos looked at him and blinked. "You bought it?"
"In a manner of speaking. It doesn't matter now, anyway."
Methos shrugged and tapped long fingers on the top of the steering wheel. "It's not the professional expertise we need, just the supplies." Duncan saw a small, catlike grin curve his mouth. "Leave it with me, I have an idea." He took the truck back out into the middle of the street and continued on past the hospital.
"What are you doing?" Duncan asked, looking back at the building they'd just passed. "The hospital's back there."
"I know, I know," Methos said blithely. "Have a little faith, MacLeod."
Duncan couldn't suppress a disbelieving snort at that little pronouncement, but he figured it was wiser not to say anything. This was what he got for letting Methos drive. He sat quietly as Methos turned down another side street and wove through a series of smaller, narrower streets that eventually led to the back of the hospital. Methos stopped the truck at the edge of the hospital grounds.
"So, what now?" Duncan asked him.
"Now," Methos said, still smiling smugly, "you hand me one of those rifles you've got stashed under the seat -- you know, the ones you were a little unclear about the provenence of?"
"You aren't going to hold up the hospital?" Duncan burst out on top of whatever Methos had been just about to say.
Methos sighed and rolled his eyes. "No, I am not going to hold up the hospital. Give me credit for a little more subtlety than that, please." He held out his hand. "The rifle?"
Duncan reached under the seat and pulled out an AK with a folding stock, the best of the ones he'd confiscated. He held it out to Methos who took it with a tight smile.
"That should do nicely. Now watch and learn." He opened the door and slipped out of the truck. Duncan watched him fold the stock and tuck the rifle into the waist of his pants at the back. It didn't hide it very well from the back, but Methos probably already knew that. He shot Duncan an unreadable look before he stepped away and shut the door.
Duncan shifted behind the steering wheel, already plotting out their escape route if they needed one. Methos might think he had this all under control, but Duncan knew all too well how quickly that could change.
Methos strolled across the bare ground towards a man in a uniform that had once been white sitting smoking under a tree not far away. Duncan couldn't hear a word that was said, but he knew Methos' body language well enough to guess. Duncan watched him sauntering over to the man, as 'Adam Pierson' as he'd ever seen him, hands in his pockets and head slightly down. He stopped a little way from the nurse/orderly/whatever-he-was and nodded a greeting. Methos didn't touch the rifle still secreted against his back, but appeared to be chatting casually.
"What the hell is he doin'?" Mpande asked.
"Shhh..." Duncan hissed. "Just watch." He had a fair idea of what Methos had planned.
Mpande was silent and Duncan went back to admiring a master at work. The chatter went on for several minutes longer; Methos even accepted a cigarette from the guy, finally sitting down on the ground beside him to smoke it. He wasn't enjoying it, though. He was probably one of the few people alive, Duncan thought, who could make out the well-hidden distaste in the lines of Methos' body, the angle of his hand.
At last, Methos crushed the cigarette butt underfoot and Duncan saw the broad smile spreading across his face. He didn't smile like that nearly often enough. His unsuspecting accomplice didn't stand a chance. Duncan found himself smiling too, just with the sheer pleasure of watching him.
His smile faltered a little though, when Methos finally reached back and pulled out the AK. Now was when it could all go pear-shaped. Duncan realized he was holding his breath.
Methos unfolded the stock and held out the rifle in both hands. The other man reached out for it, but Methos shook his head and smiled once more, chidingly this time. Then he was asking what Methos wanted in exchange, that was obvious, because Methos began to talk very quickly and earnestly to him. It was another few minutes before the man nodded and Methos reached out to shake his hand. Duncan exhaled at last.
They stood and Duncan didn't miss the quick, triumphant smile Methos shot over his shoulder. As if there had ever been any doubt about the outcome.... Although he did wonder for a moment what Methos was playing at when he climbed up into the tree and shoved the AK firmly into the branches. Then he climbed down and headed into the hospital with the other man by his side. Of course he couldn't carry the rifle into the building without drawing attention to himself -- mystery solved.
The two men disappeared into a door near some kind of loading dock at the back of the decrepit single storey building. The hospital was as broken-down looking as the rest of the town, but it was a hive of activity all the same. No sign of soldiers though, much to Duncan's relief.
He scanned the dusty grounds surrounding the hospital. From their vantage point he could see a steady stream of people -- mostly thin and ragged -- heading along the street towards the front entrance. That meant there were going to be a lot of people milling about inside, considerably increasing Methos' chances of discovery.
As did every minute that passed. Worry stretched each minute into an hour and he found himself checking his watch far too often. His hands were sweating on the steering wheel and he wiped them on his pants more than once.
"What the hell is he doing in there?" Mpande asked, the sound startling in the strained quiet.
At that moment they appeared in the doorway and Duncan felt a fraction of his tension ease away. The other man was carrying a large cardboard box and Methos walked beside him. Whatever was passing between them looked friendly and relaxed. So far, so good. Duncan restarted the truck and let it idle while he watched the last act play itself out.
Methos followed the man with the box back to the tree where the rifle was hidden. He looked around quickly -- Duncan could have told him the coast was clear -- then he scrambled up to retrieve the weapon. He laid it on the ground and Duncan smiled as he saw how well Methos had set it up. The African couldn't pick it up without putting down the box, which was exactly what he did.
Methos picked up the box and glanced over at Duncan at last, giving him a small nod. He didn't need it -- he'd already changed gears and was easing the truck forward as Methos walked towards them. In another few moments he was beside the truck and Mpande opened the door for him. He passed the box to Mpande, who took it with a grunt, then he hauled himself in.
"Well that went well," Methos said brightly. "Shall we?"
Duncan pushed the gearshift into reverse, backing the truck away from the hospital. "Get everything?"
"Sure did. And then some." Methos certainly sounded very pleased with himself. 'A very productive morning's shopping."
Duncan glanced into the box before he turned the truck back out onto the street. Productive was an understatement. The box was more than half full of medical supplies, IV fluids, tubing, drugs, and other assorted bits and pieces. "You old horse-trader," Duncan said affectionately, "how'd you scam all that in exhange for one beat-up old rifle?"
Methos leaned one elbow against the windowsill and sighed gustily. "Trade secret, MacLeod. Now do you think we can get out of here?"
"Sure," Duncan said easily. "Any thoughts on where?"
"We need somewhere to hole up for a couple of days. We could also use some food and water," Methos said.
Duncan sent him a look that said, 'No, really?' as clearly as he could without actually saying it.
"Okay, okay," Methos shot back with a laugh in his voice. "So that was a bit redundant. Any more specific thoughts?"
"Must be plenty of abandoned buildings," Duncan said. "Mpande?"
"I dunno, Mac. Lot of refugees coming through here...."
"So, we scout around -- see what's about. Food and water first?"
"Sounds good to me," Methos put in.
Duncan drove slowly along the rough streets. There had to be a bore or a public pump somewhere around. He wasn't keen on using the river water this close to town. It was a lot less dangerous out in the bush, but this close to a population without sewers? It was asking for trouble and the last thing Mpande needed was a bout of cholera on top of malaria.
A small, thin woman was walking along the street towards them, a heavy-looking plastic water bottle balanced easily on her head. The water had to have come from somewhere.... He braked gently before she was level with the truck.
"Mpande?" Duncan said. "Ask the lady where she got the water."
"Yes, baas," Mpande shot back.
Duncand didn't miss the deliberate insolence. "Please?" he added.
"Certainly, Mac."
Prickly bastard. "Why don't you two change places?" Duncan suggested to Methos. It would be far easier -- not to mention safer -- if she only saw an African face in the truck.
Methos climbed over into the middle of the bench seat. When he was only halfway through the maneuver, Duncan seized the opportunity to pull him close. Methos stiffened and the beginning of an outraged hiss escaped his mouth before Duncan clamped his hand across it and cut it off. "So she doesn't see you," he whispered into Methos' ear.
Methos pulled back as much as he could, which wasn't much, and sent him a glare full of the retribution to come. Duncan grinned back. At the same time he could hear Mpande and the woman talking quietly. Duncan held onto Methos and listened as Mpande thanked the woman and said goodbye, giving her a coin from his pocket as he did.
Duncan supposed it was time to let Methos go -- especially since not one, but two men were staring at him: Mpande looking exasperated and Methos looking vaguely murderous. Well, it really wasn't a very dignified position for him to be in, almost sitting in Duncan's lap. Even if Duncan was enjoying it more than he was willing to admit.
But before he could be let go, Methos pushed free and sat down properly in the seat.
"Let's move on out, MacLeod," Mpande said.
Duncan was already accelerating away when he heard Methos say under his breath, in Italian for some reason, "Hope it's been a nice four hundred years, MacLeod."
If he didn't know Methos as well as he did, he might have taken the threat seriously. "So where to?" he asked instead.
"Turn around, go left and to the end of the road. There's a pump," Mpande said. "We got something to hold water?"
"No problem." Duncan mentally sorted through all the rubbish that was stored in the back of the truck. He was sure there were a couple of things back there they could use. He hauled the truck into a U-turn and began to follow Mpande's directions.
***
Methos slid out of the truck behind Duncan, following him around to the back. Mpande was looking exhausted and they left him in the front seat to rest; the little energy he'd had earlier hadn't lasted long. He really needed to get his treatment started, even if they had to do it in the back of the truck.
There was still a long line of people, mostly women and children, waiting for their turn at the pump, but they still needed to find something in which to carry the water. Duncan let down the tailgate and jumped up into the back, turning around to help him up.
"Coming?" he asked. Methos didn't miss the glint in his eyes.
"I'll wait, thanks." His fragile self-control didn't need a close encounter with Duncan in a small, dark place. That really would be asking for trouble. More trouble. If that was possible. "I'm sure you can manage."
"Sure you don't want to give me a hand?" If Duncan's voice had been any more suggestive he could have been starring in a bad porn film.
"Pass." Methos could have done without the inviting grin on Duncan's face, too.
"Suit yourself." Duncan flipped the canvas flaps back, giving himself more light, and disappeared into the depths of the truck.
He was left standing guard at the back of the truck, a steady stream of African people coming past with their loads of water, while Methos wondered what the hell he was playing at.
He wasn't left to wonder long; Duncan soon reappeared with a jerrycan in his hand. He jumped down and Methos couldn't help but ask: "Didn't that have gas in it?" even though he knew Duncan wasn't that stupid. That was what happened when his mind left his mouth unattended.
Duncan sent him a look that told Methos very clearly what he thought of the foolish question without ever saying a word. Methos didn't bother to reply.
The ground was mud and slush -- slippery underfoot as Methos walked beside him the short distance to the pump. They had to wait in line, the subject of more than one curious stare, and Methos was starting to feel uncomfortably vulnerable and exposed by the time it was their turn at the pump. His feet were itching by the time the jerrycan was finally filled.
It took more than a measure of self-control not to bolt back to the truck the second they were done. As it was, when they did get back in the truck he couldn't help tapping the dashboard impatiently while he waited for Duncan to get it started again.
"Do you mind?" Duncan snapped at him when the truck didn't start on the third try.
"Sorry." Methos curled his fingers into his palms and stopped tapping.
The engine caught on the fourth try and about bloody time too. He wasn't looking forward to having to get out and push.
"You got ants in your pants, Doc?" Mpande said as Duncan backed the truck away from the pump.
"Just wondering how long it'll take for the entire town to know that there were two white guys in a truck at the water pump this morning," Methos said flatly. "And then to connect that to me at the hospital. And then there are those not-very-happy chaps who originally owned this bucket of bolts...." The feeling that they had just made a big mistake would not leave him and he leaned heavily against the door and stared out through the rust-red dirt covering the window.
"It's done now," Duncan said, guiding the truck back out onto the main street. If he was as worried as Methos was, he was hiding it well. "Food next?"
"Yeah, man." Methos could hear the hunger in Mpande's voice; hadn't eaten much of anything for three days now.
"Might as well," Methos put in. "They know we're here now anyway." He picked up his rifle from the floor and held it across his lap. It never hurt to be prepared.
Even here there had to be some kind of marketplace, trading post -- something. "Any ideas, Mpande?"
"I wouldn't worry too much, Doc, they prob'ly just think you guys are black market or somethin'."
"I meant about the food." Although the black market was an interesting thought to put away for later.
"Not sure. Been ten years since I was here...." Mpande trailed off, leaning forward to peer through the dirty windscreen. He shook his head. "Sorry. There's a lot that's gone."
Methos looked over at Duncan. He was staring at something on the right-hand side of the truck and Methos followed the line of his gaze. A tall, extremely well-proportioned woman was swaying along the street, her ragged skirts twitching with the roll of her hips. Typical MacLeod.
Methos cleared his throat. Duncan glanced back at him and Methos raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Think she's shopping?" Duncan asked.
"I think she's selling, rather than buying, actually."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
***
It took them another half hour to find a rough marketplace -- just an open field where food and goods were being sold and traded. There were a few trucks, but mostly the food was simply spread out on cloths on the ground and hands and woven grass fans waved the millions of flies away.
Duncan had managed to trade one of the older rifles for a handful of American dollars not long after they'd arrived. The man who bought it didn't look like a local; there was something vaguely Arabic-looking in his features as if he came from north Africa. His eyes were hard, giving nothing away as he haggled over the deal and Duncan got as little as he'd expected for the old gun. Duncan wasn't displeased to see the back of him.
But they had some cash -- that was the important thing.
Now he and Methos were trying to get the most supplies for the little they had. Methos never ceased to surprise him, haggling away in fluent Umbundu with the locals and Ovambindu with a couple of big Ovambo men from further south selling tsamma melons. He was doing too well for Duncan to even think about doing anything but watch Methos work his charm as he worked his way down the lines of sellers.
Duncan ended up with an armful of produce: a sack of mealie meal (paid for with five dollars and what he was sure was a dirty joke for the graybeard standing beside the truck), a sack of yams (three dollars and a flirtatious exchange with the farmer's daughter), and a couple of tsamma melons the size of soccer balls (also three dollars and some medical advice about a personal problem that involved Methos having to peer down the front of the Ovambo's pants and nod seriously).
He was going to have to ask Methos about that one later.
But for now they had three of the four things they'd come to town for: food, water and medical supplies. All they lacked was somewhere to stay. And as Duncan loaded their booty into the back of the truck, he wondered whether they might already have that too. The truck was as much shelter as they really needed, and it had the advantage of allowing a quick getaway if needed.
"Ready?"
Methos voice came from close beside him and Duncan turned to face him. "Any time you are."
Methos' mouth quirked at one corner, acknowledging the flirting, but he didn't reply, he just nodded and headed for the front of the truck. The driver's side, Duncan noticed. He smiled and shook his head. Nothing was ever going to be easy with Methos, but he wouldn't have it any other way.
Mpande was looking weary when Duncan slid into the passenger seat beside him, purple shadows under his eyes and a deep furrow between his thick brows. He moved carefully to make room for Duncan, as if it hurt him. They really needed to get him treated, sooner rather than later.
"I think we should just stay in the truck," Duncan said as Methos pulled the truck away from the marketplace. "If we clean out the back you could treat him in there."
Methos glanced over at Mpande and nodded, the look in his eyes telling Duncan they saw the same things there. "Fine, we'll find somewhere to camp down near the river."
"Good idea," Duncan said.
Methos looked at him questioningly for a second before turning his eyes back to the road. Duncan wondered at the question, but said nothing.
***
It had taken a little longer than he'd expected to find somewhere to set up camp, Duncan thought as he pushed the yams further into the glowing coals so they would cook slowly and well. But they'd done all right with this place. It was flat and reasonably dry, good shade and cover from the trees on both sides. They'd be okay here for a few days.
They'd been almost an hour on the corrugated excuse for a road before they'd found it. All along the riverside, small groups of refugees were clustered; ragged, wounded people who turned fearful eyes on the truck as it passed. He'd be seeing some of them again -- the ones that made it -- back at the camp, if they made it. When they made it.
The truck springs squeaked and Duncan looked up, Methos was climbing down from the tailgate. Duncan watched him walk the twenty feet or so to where he sat by the fire. Square, thin shoulders slumped a little, but he still smiled when their eyes met in the golden firelight.
"How's he doing?" Duncan asked.
"Better. He's had no reaction to the transfusion." Methos sat down, somewhat less than gracefully, next to Duncan and warmed his hands over the fire.
"You were worried about that." Methos hadn't let on, not in so many words.
"It's always a possibility, and Immortal blood...." He shook his head. "It was a risk."
"But less than using the local supply," Duncan put in. "Good thing we're both O neg -- do you think maybe all Immortals are?"
A frown tightened Methos' mouth. "I have no idea."
"Maybe when we get back, Grace could--"
"What? Chase down strange Immortals and ask them for a blood sample?" Methos sneered. "I thought you liked her."
"But think what we could do for the world, if they had a clean, continuous supply of blood compatible with any type--"
Methos cut him off again. "Feel like being milked like a cow for the rest of your unnatural life, do you, MacLeod?" he spat. "How about donating some of those regenerating organs of yours as well?"
"Christ, Methos -- it was just a thought." Duncan wasn't sure where the venom was coming from. He had his own fears about being a lab rat, but it didn't stop him from wanting to help.
Methos looked at him and sighed; Duncan could see the fight draining out of his too-thin frame. "I know...." He sounded tired, worn ragged.
Maybe, another time, Methos would tell him what was behind all this -- but more than likely not. And there were going to be a lot of times like this, he realized; loving a five thousand year old man was never going to be easy. "Come here," he said instead, lifting an arm to beckon Methos closer. He hesitated. Another prickly bastard; his life was full of them. He persisted, beckoning again with a gesture and a smile and Methos shuffled over until he was pressed up against Duncan's side. He wrapped his arm around Methos and hugged him close.
"Are you okay?' he asked gently.
"I'll live," Methos answered easily. "Just a sore spot, you know?"
They all had them. He shifted a little so he could get both arms around Methos and hold him properly. "Yeah..." he whispered against Methos' hair. "I know."
They stayed like that for a long while, arms tight around each other. Methos' head came to rest on Duncan's shoulder and he could feel the corded muscles around him relaxing. He could have stayed like that a lot longer. But Methos was tired; Duncan could see that without even needing to look. Hungry too, judging by the way he sniffed the air. He wasn't the only one. The baking yams did smell damn good. Duncan's stomach rumbled, loudly, and Methos snickered.
He leaned back and there was mischief in the eyes inches from Duncan's own. "Didn't get enough of that melon before, Mac?"
The three of them had polished off one of the tsamma melons sitting on the tailgate before they'd even thought about setting up the camp. It had been sweet and messily perfect, sitting in the sun beside Methos, chowing down on pale wedges of melon and teasing each other about the mess the juice made on their filthy skins.
"I could eat a horse." Leaning away from Methos and letting him go fairly reluctantly, Duncan picked up a stick and prodded the yams but they still weren't done.
"Two horses," Methos sighed. "Are they done yet?"
Duncan looked back at him over his shoulder. "Of course they are. I just get off on torturing you."
Methos blinked at him.
"Not quite. But soon."
"Thought I told you not to tease." There was the hint of a pout in Methos' voice; Duncan knew he was being played with.
Well, two could play.... Duncan turned away from the fire and looked at him. The uncertain light flickered shadows over the planes and hollows of his beautiful face. Duncan fell in love with him all over again in the space of a breath. Had to touch him, reassure himself that this was real. He reached out and laid cupped his hand along Methos' cheek, stroking his thumb just below the curve of his bottom lip. "Think I'm teasing now?" he whispered.
Methos dipped his head a little and sharp teeth grazed Duncan's thumb. "Yes."
The shock of the little sting turned warm and slithered through him. Not playing anymore.... Tracing the shape of Methos' long mouth, still just with his thumb, Duncan breathed, "Do you mind?"
A hard, warm hand settled against the side of his neck, fingers just barely stroking his skin. Methos' eyes were large and dark, fixed on Duncan's with a rare intensity. "No."
"Will you think I'm teasing if I tell you I love you?" And suddenly his chest had gone very tight, the words coming out on a deep, taut whisper.
Methos' hand curved around the back of Duncan's neck and drew him in closer until their mouths were a hairsbreadth apart. "No."
Then Methos' mouth was on his, sweet and tender...loving. The tightness in his chest receded and he could breathe again, Methos' breath in his mouth and the world gone dark because his eyes had drifted shut with the sheer pleasure of the moment. Even when Methos' mouth stilled and he pulled back a fraction, Duncan could still feel him, hot every place their bodies were close.
Methos looked into his eyes again. "The yams are burning," he said softly.
He knew those words, but they just weren't making any sense at that particular moment. "What?"
"The yams, MacLeod. They're burning."
Oh. Yams. Fire. Dinner. If he hadn't been so damned hungry he could have cheerfully left them to turn to charcoal. But he was starving and Methos was too. Time to be practical. Regretfully, he let Methos go and turned back to the fire.
***
Mpande staggered a little as Methos helped him down from the truck, but he kept his feet and once he was down was actually walking under his own steam. The change in just two days was a less tribute to his clinical skills than to Mpande's tenacity, he thought. Though the blood had made a difference, he conceded. Once he'd had a couple of units on board he'd begun to pick up straight away. And the anti-malarials had started to work too.
Now he was beginning to look a lot more like himself again. Which was good news for all of them; they'd lingered here far too long. His instinct for knowing when to move on had been niggling at him for more than a day now. They needed to keep moving -- it was just too risky to stay.
Duncan was smiling broadly at them as they walked over towards him. "Should I be applauding?" he asked. "Looking good, Mpande."
Mpande wasn't the only one. Despite all their hardships Duncan seemed to be thriving, his smooth, golden skin tanned even darker by all his time in the sun, making his smile very white. He'd taken his t-shirt off and tucked it into the waistband of his pants at the back while he worked at chopping firewood with his machete and his body was as perfectly sculpted as Methos had ever seen it.
Irresistibly beautiful. And all his, apparently, hard as it was to believe sometimes. Even when they were sleeping -- in the odd exhausted moments they found to sleep together -- and Duncan's body was wrapped around his, he couldn't bring himself to completely believe it was real. He couldn't remember ever being this close to having everything he'd ever wanted. And it was a little terrifying.
A low buzzing noise was coming from the west, Methos realized with a start, his head snapping back so he could track the sound. There in the sky, coming in out of the early afternoon sun, was a helicopter. "Mac? Company." He grabbed Mpande's arm and began propelling him back towards the truck.
Duncan glanced up for a second, then he was at Mpande's other side; they were practically carrying him between them as they bundled him into the truck just as the chopper flew low overhead. Methos caught a shoulder in the chest and grunted as they crashed onto the truckbed.
"Well, that was close," Methos said, sitting up as the sound faded away.
Duncan helped Mpande sit up."Think they saw us?"
"Hard to tell," Methos said.
"Time to get out of here, guys," Mpande put in.
"Oh yes." Past time, but that was a moot point now.
They'd kept the camp small and neat, so it didn't take them long to break it and load the truck with the little they had. Methos couldn't help the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he noticed Duncan racing for the driver's side; he really did hate to be a passenger. But Methos was happy enough to let him drive.
The truck started first time for once, the roar startling after the quiet, and Duncan had them barrelling down the road to the east in no time at all. Methos would have preferred them to be better provisioned for the rest of their journey over the border, but it was far too dangerous to go back to town now. They'd manage, and there really wasn't that far to go.
The road ahead disappeared around a sharp bend and Duncan slowed the heavy vehicle to navigate it. Methos had his eyes fixed on the road in front of them, on edge, unable to shake the feeling that the shit was going to hit the fan any second. He was so focused on what was in front of them that when the truck shuddered and slewed sideways he was taken completely by surprise.
Duncan was grabbing the wheel, fighting for control. "What the hell?" he shouted.
"We've been hit!" Methos could smell smoke and gunpowder; the rear of the truck been hit by something, maybe a mortar, but he couldn't tell any more than that.
"No shit!" He was still hauling on the wheel, but the truck was headed off the road, tilting as if a tire was blown.
Between them, Mpande was cursing and craning his neck around, looking for the threat, just as Methos was. "Slow it down, Mac!"
"I'm trying!" Duncan ground out.
But it wasn't working, the truck was lurching to the side of the road, where it fell away to a deep gully. They were going to crash -- no avoiding it now. Methos braced himself and hung onto Mpande while the truck shook and bounced beneath them.
Then it was over the edge of the road, slipping down the slope, tipping sickeningly slowly, then crashing onto its side with a bone-rattling thud. Methos landed against the door with Mpande sprawled all over him. He couldn't move his head, couldn't see anything but the ground beneath the window.
"Methos?" came Duncan's voice from somewhere above him. "You okay?"
"Define 'okay'."
He heard Duncan's chuckle. "You sound okay."
Mpande kicked and squirmed against him. "Come on, Mpande," Methos heard Duncan say, 'let's get you out of here first."
A boot pressed into his shoulder as Mpande climbed out after Duncan. But once he was out, Methos could move again, turning himself around painfully so he could climb out the same way Duncan and Mpande had gone, out the driver's side window. He was trying to find his footing on the dash when Duncan's face reappeared in the window. Methos grabbed their rifles from where they lay in the cabin and passed them out first.
"Come on," Duncan said urgently, taking the rifles from him. "We have to get out of here."
Methos wasn't going to disagree. He took the hand Duncan extended to him and pulled himself out of the truck. "You know, MacLeod, you really do have the worst luck with motor vehicles."
"Oh, ha ha," Duncan shot back. "Let's go."
"What about the rest of the weapons?"
"I don't think you'll be needing those," a voice said from behind them. There was a shuffle of feet on gravel and the ominous click of weapons being cocked. Methos froze. Beside him, Duncan spun around to face their attackers. Methos didn't need to. He already knew who it was; he'd recognized that voice the second it he'd heard it.
Allessandro.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~