Private Universe
                                                                   

In motion be buzz like water
buzz At rest like a mirror
Respond buzz like an echo
Be subtle as... buzz

"Methos!"The ancient Japanese verse was given up in frustration.

"Yes Mac?" The oldest immortal entered the office with an expression of angelic innocence, hazel eyes wide.

"Will you stop doing that?" MacLeod's exasperation was threatening to boil over into real anger. "I'm trying to meditate here -- which you well know because I told you not five minutes ago that I was coming in here to meditate! You've been hanging around where I can just sense you, going in and out of range, and I can't relax and I can't concentrate. Will you just either go out or stay in!"

"I'm sorry, Mac, I wasn't aware you were having so much trouble concentrating." The look on his face didn't budge and his voice was reasonable and apologetic but mischief sparkled in his eyes all the same. You should see your face, MacLeod.

"Yes, well I wouldn't be if you weren't hanging about distracting me." Whatever relaxation Duncan had attained was rapidly fleeing under the onslaught of the world's most annoying immortal.

"You really should be able to block out outside influences. If you were doing it right it wouldn't bother you what I did." Ha-ha Mr Self-control. Methos was thoroughly enjoying baiting his lover, Duncan took himself far too seriously.

"I was doing it right. I'd. Only. Just. Started." The words were ground out through gritted teeth; Methos could push his buttons faster than anyone he'd ever known.

"You know Duncan, meditation's supposed to be relaxing -- you look very tense." Methos knew he was skating on thin ice and didn't care a bit. Five, four....

"Of course I'm tense, you'd drive the Dalai Lama to distraction!" Mac bellowed, temper flaring.

"If I were you, Mac I'd think about taking up some kind of relaxation, you're way too tightly wound." Much more of this and he wouldn't be able to stifle the laughter bubbling up inside. Three, two....

"Aaargh!! That's it, you're impossible!" Duncan jumped to his feet and stormed out of the office; the slammed door reverberating throughout the dojo.

One. Methos couldn't hold back the laughter another second and it rang out maniacally around the empty room. Everyone needs a hobby.

MacLeod stalked out of the dojo, fuming at Methos' latest prank. The man was utterly impossible, an eternal teenager with a frequently sophomoric sense of humour and no sense of boundaries. Anything and everything was fair game for his warped humour. It was possibly his most irritating trait. Or it would be if he didn't have so many other irritating traits. Untidy, inconsistent, sarcastic and irreverent, he seemed to take unending joy in upsetting the carefully ordered rhythms of Duncan's life. In the six months since they'd started sharing the loft, Methos had managed to push MacLeod beyond the bounds of restraint so many times he'd lost count. If he didn't love him so much…

Methos finally managed to quell the peals of mirth wracking his body. He wiped a stray tear from the side of his nose and took a deep breath. Mac was so damn adorable when he was angry. With a final quiet chuckle he followed Duncan outside. Time to kiss and make up. This is the best part.

He found Duncan sitting on the front steps in the sun, his arms folded and resting on his knees. Duncan's head didn't turn as his lover sat down beside him.

"Still love me?" The question was punctuated by a puckish half smile.

"Maybe." Mac finally looked across at Methos, the man had altogether too much charm for one person.

"Don't be mad, I was only teasing. You're the dour Scot too often these days. You need to laugh more, lighten up. The bug up your butt has developed a serious bug up its butt. You're too young to be so serious."

At last a smile began to appear on Duncan's mouth, "Only someone as elderly as you could say something like that to a four hundred and eight year old man."

"You're not four hundred and eight yet, not 'til the end of the year. And yes I am older than you and you really should pay attention to those older and wiser than yourself." Methos' ironic tone was matched by the smirk on his face.

"When I find someone who's both older and wiser than me maybe I will," Mac parried.

"Are you implying I'm lacking in wisdom? I'm here with you aren't I? That must count for something." The teasing lilt was suddenly absent and Methos' hand stole up to the back of Mac's neck, fingers combing through the thick hair.

Duncan leaned into the touch, eyes closing as the clever fingers stroked and caressed. "Why do I feel as if I'm being got around again?"

The choirboy look was back in a flash; "I can't imagine…Love you."

"Love you too, I suppose." MacLeod rose from the step and turned to go back inside, "Coming?"

"Not yet," Methos joked as he followed Mac inside.

Neither man noticed the small woman in the doorway across the street, watching them intently.

***

"Gods Mac, do we have to have Puccini again? We had opera on last night and the night before, and every night last week. Do you own anything that's from this century?" Methos was going to overdose on opera if he had to listen to much more. It's just as well you're not this inflexible in bed, my friend.
"What's so great about this century's music, anyway? Most of it's just noise. What would you rather listen to, rap music?" Duncan walked over to the stereo and rifled through a box of Methos' CD's. You'd think someone his age would be more cultured, there's more culture in a piece of cheese.

"Mac, you say that like I want to listen to fingernails on a blackboard, this century has quite a lot to offer if you'd ever drag yourself into it properly." He went to join his lover, taking the box from Mac and choosing a disc. Mellow blues softly drifted into the room, "See I can compromise. Isn't this better?" Methos turned and draped his arms over Duncan's shoulders, looking into his eyes with unmistakable invitation.

"Maybe…" Duncan was moving gently with the music, and slipped his hands up to rest on Methos' hips, pulling him close so their groins fitted snugly together.

Methos leaned into Mac, resting his head on the highlander's shoulder, "This is definitely better…" he breathed softly.

Duncan bent his head into the crook of his lover's neck with a low rumble of pleasure deep in his throat.

The shrill noise of the phone shattered the peaceful moment, Mac went to pull away but Methos tightened his arms around him saying, "Leave it, the machine'll get it."

The phone finally stopped as the answering machine picked up the call, but the caller hung up without leaving a message.

"I hate it when they do that," MacLeod commented and tilted his head to capture Methos' mouth in a gentle kiss that flared quickly into a brushfire of passion. They were so lost in the moment that at first they didn't notice when the phone shrilled to life once more.

"Dammit," Methos pulled away, annoyance plain on his face. He stalked over to the phone, snatching it up. "Yes?" he snapped. Once more the caller disconnected. Methos slammed the phone down in disgust, "Bloody nuisance."

Duncan went to him, drawing him close, "Hey, now who needs to lighten up? Turn the ringer off and come sit with me. We need to talk."

"Let me guess -- you're joining the priesthood," Methos laughed as they sank into the sofa.

"Nothing so drastic," MacLeod snorted at the image. "I was just thinking, now that you've finished your ‘piled higher and deeper' we might take a vacation. You know, go somewhere together and get away from it all. Maybe somewhere warm?" Mac brushed the backs of his fingers over the high plane of Methos' cheekbone.

"Watch how you cast aspersions on my academic achievements, MacLeod, that Ph.D was hard earned." Methos relented, "But yes, a vacation somewhere warm sounds perfect."                                    

***

The woman slammed the phone down in disgust; did those bastards never answer the telephone? Still they won't be able to ignore the next phase.  She smiled, but the effect brought no look of happiness to her face. She got back in her car and drove away.

***

"Mykonos? You've got to be kidding. It's crowded and touristy, not to mention all those desperates cruising the bars and beaches. You'll be hit on every five minutes." And where does that leave me? Methos hit the next link on the computer, they'd rejected so many places already and the whole thing was becoming a little tedious.

"Well where would you like to go? There are plenty of places where we'd have to be pretty low key, have separate beds and so on. There'd be a lot of sneaking around. You know how I hate that." MacLeod was trying to be reasonable but his lover was making it difficult, as always.

"I'm aware of that MacLeod, I don't live under a rock you know. What about Australia?" He brought up a new web page; Methos was trying to be reasonable but his lover was so stubborn, as always.

"It's a hell of a long way to go, twenty-something hours on a plane. There'd have to be a good reason to go all that way."

"Here look at this one - there's this island in the far north, it's very secluded and private, we could have it to ourselves if we wanted. The owners are willing to vacate the island for a little extra. They have a guesthouse that looks pretty good," Methos added as Mac stood.

"Well maybe, that at least sounds worth looking into," and Mac went downstairs to finally get some work done, turning the dojo back into a profitable business after all his recent neglect was proving to be a time consuming exercise. A couple of weeks in the sun were just what they needed. Methos naked on a secluded beach in the sun, hmm, now there's a thought worth hanging on to.

Methos watched him go, feeling a tiny ripple of arousal as he watched his lover stride away. Oh yes, Duncan naked in the ocean, tasting the salt on his skin… It was such a good mental image that Methos was forced to put it away for a more opportune time.

***

"Well hey there, get you a drink?" Joe greeted Maeve Kincaid as she entered the bar. His eyes flicked over her features, wincing inwardly at the delicate webwork of burn scars that disfigured the right side of her face; hoping the pity he felt wasn't showing.

"Sure Joe, give us an Irish whisky straight up," she sat at the bar, resting her elbows on it. "How's business?"

"Not bad. You get a new assignment yet?"

"No, the council's takin' it's time on it. Still the rest's done me good, you know with the accident n' all." Her Irish accent thickened over the last part of the sentence and she ducked her head, pretending to study her fingernails intently.

"Yeah it was a real shame you had to get caught up in that explosion when Pierson took out O'Neal. Still O'Neal can't have been that great an assignment to start with. Guy was a drug trafficker after all. Maybe you'll do better this time." Joe pushed the glass in front of her and watched as she picked it up in a hand that shook with a fine tremor.

"It's the risk we run, isn't it? We can't all watch someone like MacLeod, can we?" You've no idea what you're talking about, old man. Callum was the finest man I ever knew. And she sank the shot in a single gulp and returning the glass, dropped a few bills on the bar and rose to leave. "I'll get going Joe. See you later." Maeve left the bar, glancing at her watch as she went.

Hurrying away from Joe's, Maeve drove a short distance to a multi-storey parking garage. She parked the car in a deserted corner and waited, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. The minutes moved by on leaden feet.

"Waiting for me?" The speaker was young -- a college kid perhaps -- scruffy and poorly dressed, but there was something cold, almost reptilian, in his eyes that repulsed her.

"You're late," she spat, "Got my package?" and as quickly as he had appeared they had exchanged money for product and he was gone.

Maeve tossed the heavy rectangular package on the passenger seat and left. She drove carefully away from the garage so as not to attract anyone's attention. This ought to attract their attention, though…Boom!  Maeve sniggered at the thought.

***

"Mmm, oh yes…right there…"

"Here?"

"Yesss…harder!"

"God Methos you feel so good…"

"Faster…oh…Mac…"

"You like that…?"

"Ohh…yes…more"

"Maybe like this…?"

"Oh fuck…yes…"

"Methos…I can't…"

"Oh ahh…I'm…coming…"

Maeve Kincaid hit the ‘mute' button of the surveillance unit with a savage stab of her finger. Enjoy it while you can boyo's, your days are seriously numbered. Methos? Where do I know that name from?

***

Duncan collapsed across his lover's back, gasping and pushing the sweat-matted hair from his face as he slid over on to his side, resting his head on his hand.

Methos turned to face him, stroking the damp skin softly, "It just keeps getting better…doesn't it," the love on his face made Mac's heart turn over.

"Always…" and Duncan caught up Methos' long hand in his, circling his thumb over the hollowed palm. "You have the most amazing hands, you know. I've always loved them."

"Just my hands?"

"Well, there's one or two other bits I'm fairly fond of too."

"Oh yes?"

"Fishing for compliments again?"

"Who me?"

"No, the other five thousand year old man I sleep with, the good looking one."

"Oh him, tell him ‘hi' from me next time you see him." Methos yawned and stretched, catlike.

"Sure no problem."

"Hmm?" Methos took back his hand and curled sleepily away from Duncan, leaving only the length of his back pressed along Mac's side.

"Go to sleep lover."

"Love you…" and with a speed that always amused Duncan, Methos was asleep. Shortly afterwards, they both were.

***

Outside the dojo, in the early hours of the morning, a small figure slipped from shadowed doorway to alley. The shadow paused and scuttled to where the black SUV gleamed in the pale moonlight. The light caught on the unnaturally livid patch of skin on the face of the shadowed figure, highlighting the scarred landscape cruelly. She knelt beside the vehicle, removing a square object and a roll of duct tape from the bag she carried. She secured the small block of Semtex to the underside of the chassis with a few lengths of tape and attached the detonator and timer expertly to the high explosive, taping them into place also. She stood, brushing the gravel from her dark clothing and glancing about furtively. Satisfied she was unobserved; Maeve disappeared as quickly as she had arrived, blending into the shadows once more.

***

"Fuck!" Methos looked at the clock in horror, "Fuck!" He rolled out of the bed, clipping his elbow on the bedside chest, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Something wrong?" Methos wasn't the only one who could do wry amusement and ironic understatement.

"I'm fucking late, that's what's fucking wrong you great fucking haggis," Methos snapped as he dived into the bathroom.

"Temper, temper," MacLeod chuckled, it wasn't too often his lover really lost it and he so rarely rushed to do anything that it was quite worth watching. He eventually took pity on Methos, though, and got out of bed to make some coffee.

A bedraggled Methos soon emerged with a towel around his waist, "Is that coffee I smell? You are a lifesaver," he gifted his lover with a rare smile, "I take back the haggis remark."

"What's the big rush today? It's not like you've never been late before, in fact I'm fairly certain you're famous for it." Duncan handed him a mug of very black coffee.

"Big staff meeting with the Dean -- we were all ‘commanded' to appear at eight-thirty sharp, no excuses and a special note to Dr Pierson not to be late, if you don't mind." Methos swallowed the coffee and burned his mouth, setting him off on another round of obscenities.

"Well you are going to be late -- you'll never make it by eight-thirty now."

"Oh fuck!"

The morning set the tone for the rest of the day for the oldest immortal; he was late to absolutely everything. His lateness to the dean's meeting was poorly received and the whole meeting was acutely tedious into the bargain. By the end of the day he was in a thoroughly poisonous mood. He was almost out the office door when the phone rang.

"This better be good!" he snapped as he answered it.

"I should hope so," a warm, lightly accented voice purred in his ear, "Have you had a bad day?"

"What was your first clue MacLeod?" The tone was still prickly but Methos felt the familiar shiver of pleasure as the brown sugar voice seeped under his defenses.

"Hey don't take it out on me, I'm the guy who loves you -- remember?"

"Hmm…vaguely recall something like that," Methos' foul mood began to slowly evaporate as he thought back to the previous night, the mental images lifting his mood considerably. "Did you want something or did you just call to hold me up?"

"Just wondering when you thought you might be home. My classes have finished for the day and I thought maybe you'd want to go out."

"So long as it has nothing to do with this place I'm all for it. Remind me again why I bother to do this?"

"Satisfaction? Mental stimulation? Keep you out of trouble?"

"Maybe, maybe not…I'll see you at home soon, Mac."

Methos left the office as quickly as he possibly could. The day could only get better from here on in.

He was wrong.

***     

The noise at the center of the blast was so very intense that it almost seemed to be no noise at all. He was lying on the ground wondering stupidly what had knocked him down, when, with a distant sense of surprise, he watched the door of his SUV go flying past, spinning frisbee-like over his head. Then shrapnel caught him high in the chest and he died before he even realized he'd been hit. He was just reviving as the paramedics arrived; he gasped for air, feeling the metal expelling from his body with relief.

"Just lie still, please sir, let me check you out." The young paramedic's earnest voice reached him as if through a long tunnel.

"No, I'm all right, really. I'll be fine in a second." I really will, he thought as he fended off the officer's hands, feeling the healing energy spark over the wounds and realizing for the first time how close he'd come to losing his head to the shrapnel.

"Sir you're bleeding, let me look at you," the young woman insisted.

Methos glanced down at his blood-soaked sweater and then at the carnage surrounding him, "It's not mine…" he lied, trailing off as he recognised the nearest body as one of the English Lit professors. Oh no…Ruth…

The bomb had exploded just as the campus was emptying for the afternoon; the parking lot had been full of staff and academics hurrying to leave. He had been one of the last to leave his office, due to Mac's phone call. If he'd been two minutes earlier, he realised with a jolt; he would have been driving the SUV when it had exploded, vastly increasing his chances of a permanent death. Someone really had it in for him - again. The last time he'd been a target, his office building had been bombed and four people had died. Now it looked like it was starting all over again. The man responsible for that attack couldn't possibly have been behind this one, he was dead, he thought confusedly. Pushing the questions aside for the moment in favour of more urgent priorities, he hurried after the paramedics to see if there was anything he could do.

***

Maeve laid aside the glass and sank back into the chair, the alcohol spreading a heavy warmth through her limbs. After refilling her glass from the scotch bottle, she returned to listening to the rest of the surveillance tape from the night before. Talk, talk, sappy love stuff. Boring…Hang on a second... She hit the rewind button, then pressed ‘play' and listened intently.

"No, the other five thousand year old man I sleep with, the good looking one."

The connection finally seeped through her consciousness, "Methos! Five thousand years old, no wonder he was able to take poor Callum like that. Supposed to be just a myth. Filthy sneakin' bastard. Still if there's any justice the slippery little fucker'll be confetti by now. There was enough Semtex in that bomb to blow half a dozen immortals into tiny little chunks," and Maeve chuckled at the thought. He'll pay for killing Cal, one way or another. I'll see to that.

***

MacLeod rushed into the emergency room his senses straining for Methos' signature. Ah, there he is. Thank God. Disregarding Methos' usual dislike of public displays of affection, he threw his arms around his lover, pulling him into a desperately relieved embrace.

"Was it bad?" he whispered close to Methos' ear.

"Can I tell you later?" The hunted look in the hazel eyes spoke volumes.

Duncan turned and with one arm still firmly encircling Methos, walked him out of the ER, "How did you end up here anyway? It's not like you needed treatment."

"I rode in the ambulance with David Gordon. You know the professor from Sociology I wrote that paper with? You met him at that party last month." Methos tried to remember the man as he was and not as the ruined wreckage of a human being to whom death had been a merciful release.

"Did he make it?" Mac asked the unavoidable question.

"Died before we got here." And the silence hung heavily.

Methos didn't speak on the way home, was silent in the lift and when they entered the loft he drifted over to the couch and sprawled there, staring into space. Duncan was disconcerted by this uncharacteristic withdrawal by his normally verbal lover. He walked to the kitchen and snagged a couple of beers, handing one to Methos.

"You want to tell me about it?" he began as he sat down opposite his lover.

"There was a bomb in my car," Methos answered baldly.

"Are you sure it was a bomb? Why would someone bomb your car? It doesn't make sense." Duncan couldn't stem the flood of questions that poured out at the response.

Ignoring Duncan, Methos looked down at himself, suddenly realizing that he still wore the torn and blood-caked sweater. Grimacing in distaste he rose from the sofa and tore it off, crossing into the kitchen to stuff it in the trash saying, "I need a shower, all I can smell is blood."

MacLeod watched gravely as Methos hurried into the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went.

Methos was still in the shower when Duncan heard the knock at the door. He opened it to find two women standing there, their air of wary formality marking them as police officers.

"Dr Pierson?" the taller one asked.

"No, I'm Duncan MacLeod. Adam Pierson is my partner, can I help you ladies with something?"

"I'm Detective Simmons and this is Detective Green, Seacouver P.D," the cop continued, flashing a badge, "We'd like to speak to Dr Pierson about the explosion earlier today. May we come in?"

Duncan stood aside. "Please, Adam's just in the shower, I'll let him know you're here." And warn him not stroll out of the bathroom naked like he usually does. "Have a seat, please, I won't be a minute."

The detectives watched as MacLeod strode to the bathroom and entered, "What did I tell you? All the cute ones are married or gay," Green whispered.

"Shh. He'll hear you." Simmons was always shocked by her outspoken partner.

"You think he doesn't know, Andie?" the other detective joked under her breath.

"I think you should remember why we're here - five people are dead and this is the second bombing in a year connected to this Pierson guy. Try to stay focused, Lisa -- and not on the boyfriend, no matter how cute he is."

Methos reappeared dressed in clean sweats, still rubbing the towel over the black spikes of his hair, closely followed by his lover.

"Detectives, how can I help you?" The facade was all helpful charm but inside Methos was wondering how little he could get away with revealing.

Very little, as it turned out. The fact that he genuinely didn't know why he was being targeted this time; coupled with his appealingly clueless inability to answer any of their searching questions, meant the interview was over almost before it had begun. The two detectives stood and went to the door no better informed than when they had arrived.

"Thanks for your time, Dr Pierson, we'll be in touch. Goodbye Mr MacLeod."

Duncan followed them to the door, closing behind them as they left, "So what do you really think? Who's behind it this time? Who would have the knowledge and the means to set a timed plastic explosive?"

"I truly have no idea. I wish I did. Someone, who doesn't find me all that charming I suppose," the gallows humor fell flat. "Maybe it's time to move on, start a new life. Maybe Adam Pierson has had his time."

MacLeod had a moment of panic as he remembered the last time Methos had decided to leave, "When we have to move on, we will decide that together. Isn't that what we've always said? There was always going to be a limit on our life here. But are you really ready to give up everything we've got here and start over? Maybe we won't have to, not if we can find who this is and stop them before they do any more damage. Are you sure you can't think of anywhere to start?"

"No. The guy who set the bomb last time - guy called Callum O'Neal - is dead, I took his head. But you know that." Methos' face was grave as he remembered that battle. Callum O'Neal had abducted Methos and he had been forced to face him armed only with a dagger. He was quiet as he suddenly found himself reliving the fight as clearly as if it had just been fought…

The Irishman had swung his broadsword in a vicious arc using the same opening he'd tried before. Methos stepped neatly into the circle of the arc, too close to be in danger from the blade. Methos plunged his dagger into O'Neal's gut, twisting it briefly before pulling it free, ripping through the abdominal wall and then going for the sword arm once more. The old one grasped the arm left-handed, driving the dagger in through the Irishman's shoulder joint paralysing the arm and catching the sword as it fell from the motionless hand. Methos looked into the face of the challenger and knew he had won; O'Neal was disarmed, partially eviscerated and losing blood rapidly, there was no way O'Neal could fight on now. Methos wasted no last words on his opponent, but swinging the sword in a high singing blur cleaved the head neatly from the neck. As the quickening began to curl around his body, Methos had the brief sensation of being watched, as if someone else was in the warehouse, then the energy took over and the sensation was lost in the chaotic whirlwind of the quickening.

Methos sighed heavily as he came back to the present; "Maybe Cassandra blew my cover, you know how she took the news about us, she was not a happy girl when you told her. Who knows who she could have told?"

"She promised me she wouldn't tell anyone. I believed her. She was just shocked, that's all, she wouldn't really do anything to hurt us." MacLeod sat down beside his lover, sliding an arm around Methos' shoulders.

"I'm glad you believe her, Mac…I'm not so sure. I don't think she'd hurt you -- but me? She'd have me hung drawn and quartered as soon as look at me if she had her way. She's sure I've corrupted you. Still maybe it's not her at all; maybe it's someone else altogether." He paused for a long silent moment; "I just don't want to think about it any more right now. I don't want to think about anything…" He turned to Duncan and leaned in to kiss him, lips parted, his tongue darting out to flicker over Duncan's. Desperate need flamed suddenly, the urge to bury himself deep in his lover's body and shut out the pain, became irresistible. "I want you…" he rasped as he pressed Duncan back into the sofa cushions.

Mac took in the look of barely restrained lust and it sent a sharp thrill of expectation through his system. He loved this side of Methos, this dark unstoppable urgency that would take them both far into the place where there was only sensation, only ravenous desire. He opened his mouth to his lover's tongue and surrendered to the onslaught.

Methos felt the precise moment when Duncan pushed the world aside and joined him in the rush of seething desire. There was a small noise -- a rumble of desperation -- deep in the solid chest as the highlander roughly shoved aside Methos' clothing, his hands grasping voraciously over the sculpted torso. Methos deepened the kiss and his hands tore at the t-shirt Mac wore, a frantic craving to press his skin to his lover's taking hold. He slithered down biting and sucking at Duncan's chest and belly as he went.

"Love your skin…ahhh," he sighed as he arrived at the tented bulge in Mac's loose trousers and quickly uncovered it.

MacLeod lifted his hips up off the sofa, wordless passion fuelled by the need in his partner's face. He sank back again as Methos took hold of the swollen shaft, his tongue flickering delicately over the glans, tasting, teasing. The teasing didn't last long, the urgency still burned brightly; and Methos circled the glistening head with his lips softly at first and then more firmly, sucking the tip into his mouth rhythmically. Lost in the rushing sensation, Duncan could only lie there, writhing and gasping.

"Methos…so good…don't stop…ohh…" Breath hissed in Mac's throat as Methos sank his mouth down taking the full length of him inside. "Ohh, yes…"

Slowly he slid his mouth up and down the shaft, over and over, sucking firmly all the while. A thought seeped through the desire-saturated nerve pathways of Methos' mind and he scrabbled down the back of the sofa for an object he recalled leaving there.  Ahh, there it is… Having found the lube, Methos covered his fingers in the gel, still maintaining the relentless rhythm on Mac's cock.

Duncan gasped again as two slippery fingers worked their way into him, twisting and scissoring. His hips bucked in ecstasy, thrusting into Methos' mouth frantically.

"Fuck…that's…good," MacLeod breathed as a third finger slid into him, stretching the tight passage, working the lubricant into him deeply. "Methos…please…" he begged.

"Wait…" Methos slipped the shaft from his lips as he spoke, then traced the pulsing vein with the tip of his tongue. With his fingers still driving Duncan to distraction, he mouthed the heavy sac, drawing the balls into his mouth one by one.

"Methos…please…" the urgency rose another notch.

Methos lifted his head just enough to look into his lover's face, "No. Wait…" and he drew the cock into his mouth once more, tasting a drop of pre-cum. Methos swirled his tongue around the head sensuously teasing along the corona before sinking his mouth down again to the sound of the highlander's moans.

"Can't…wait…" and he thrust more urgently into the clever mouth.

Methos slid the shaft from his lips once again to the sound of Mac's groans, "Yes…You…Can…" And his fingers closed around the cock with his thumb pressed firmly over the slit, all the while the fingers of his other hand slipped relentlessly in and out of Duncan nudging his prostate. Methos held him like that for long endless minutes, loving the abandoned ecstasy contorting the highlander's beautiful features. It was only when his own need became unstoppable that Methos released his hold on Duncan's cock and withdrew the fingers.

Rising up on his knees, Methos pushed down the sweat pants letting his cock spring free, savoring the naked desire on his lover's face, "Do you want something?" he teased darkly.

Mac didn't answer; instead he reached up and tried to take hold of Methos' rigid length, but Methos swatted the hand away, "Do you want something?" he repeated, his eyes burning into MacLeod's.

"Yes, dammit. Now give it to me," Duncan bit out, his voice husky with need.

"Give you what?" Methos teased as he caressed his own shaft coating it with the lubricant, his eyes never leaving Duncan's.

"Please…Methos," the entreaty was more than he could resist and Methos relented at last.

Methos, his hands supporting his bodyweight, slid his hips slowly forward with Mac's legs draped over his shoulders, letting him guide the entry. His hazel eyes devoured the unalloyed pleasure that filled MacLeod's face. Beginning slowly, the rhythm soon escalated to a frenzied thrusting that had Mac crying out in elation. Methos felt his lover spill his semen between them, and increased the pace even further. The slapping sound of flesh on flesh was the only noise in the room as Methos buried himself deep inside Duncan again and again. The pain, the anxiety, the shock of the day belonged in another world as Methos ploughed into his lover giving himself over to sensation, letting it wash over him. At last he felt the climax gathering at the base of his spine and he let himself go, shooting his orgasm into Mac. Exhausted and gasping for breath, Methos gently pulled out of Duncan's body and sank down along his side. For a long while they lay silently, wrapped around each other on the sofa, unwilling to break the fragile peace.

***

Several days later, Methos and Duncan stood at a gravesite, heads bowed, as they listened to the minister deliver the funeral service. It was the last of the funerals for the five people killed in the blast. They had attended all of them, Methos had insisted on it; Mac wasn't sure why, but he'd gone along with him to every one anyway, watching silently as the tension in his lover grew day by day. He'd been distant, preoccupied, given to long bouts of silence. Duncan, unsure what to do to help, could only watch and wait for the dam to break. The minister concluded the service and they walked slowly from the cemetery.

"Do you want to go to Joe's for a while? We could both use a drink," Duncan asked as they got back into the T-bird.

"Sure," Methos answered vaguely as he stared out the window.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine Mac, just bloody tired of funerals, that's all, don't fuss." Methos' irritation was plain and Duncan retreated into his own brooding silence once more.

There were ten or fifteen minutes of strained silence and then they pulled up outside the bar. As they walked in they noticed two uniformed police officers speaking to Joe at the bar. Choosing discretion they went to a corner table and sat down. The cops left after a long discussion with Joe that left the bar-owner looking none too happy.

Duncan walked up to him, "Hey Joe, what did the cops want? They investigating the bombing still?"

"The bombing? No, they're from missing persons." Joe grabbed two glasses and poured a couple of beers for his friends, still preoccupied.

"Who's missing?" Duncan asked as he picked up the drinks.

"Sandra Cooper, that new waitress I hired a few weeks ago. Did you meet her? Nice kid, new in town, hardly knows anyone here. No one's seen her in about three days. We're all pretty worried."

"Yeah, I think she waited on us last week. Blonde, tiny? I think I remember her, sweet girl. Hope she shows up." MacLeod turned and went back to the table.

"Here, Adam," Mac passed him the beer and sat down.

"I am so sick of that name," Methos spat with sudden heat.

"Hey, you want to tell me what's going on with you? You've hardly said a word to me in days." A nameless worry nagged at the back of Duncan's mind.

The concern and confusion on his partner's face pierced through Methos' melancholy for a moment and taking a deep swallow of the beer, he looked across into the expressive brown eyes, "I don't think this is the place for this discussion, can we go home?" Without waiting for Duncan to agree, he stood and strode out to the car.

They came back to the loft, Methos still silent, waiting for them to get inside before he began to talk. They sat at opposite ends of the sofa, facing one another. Finally Methos spoke:

"You know I love you, don't you?"

The words should have pleased Duncan but the tone and expression Methos gave them just added to his mounting dread. Where is this going?  "Yes of course I know that, Methos, and I love you. What's that got to do with the way you've been acting lately?"

"I think it's time Adam Pierson died. If Cassandra's involved then it won't be long until the headhunters start arriving on the doorstep. If I go now you can join me later, wherever we decide to go, okay?" If someone's coming for me I want to be well away from you. The hazel eyes skipped away from Duncan's, avoiding seeing the pain that would surely be there.

"No it's not okay, Methos! If we go anywhere we go together, if Adam has to die then I will too. We've already talked about this - you're not going alone. I don't believe it is Cassandra-"

Methos broke in, "Why? Because she's a woman? Because she was your lover?" he hissed in quick, hot anger.

"No, because if it were Cassandra, it wouldn't be bombs, it would be witchcraft and the Voice and the headhunters would be here already. If an immortal wanted you dead you'd know who it was by now, I'm sure of it." MacLeod reached out to his lover, caressing the dark hair.

Methos looked back at Mac finally; "O'Neal tried a bomb. He was an immortal; it didn't stop him from killing four people to get me off balance before he tried for my head."

"Cassandra's not O'Neal and this bomb was meant to kill you not scare you. If you'd been in the car when it went off you'd probably be dead right now," and the thought sent a stab of fear to Duncan's heart. "The more I think about it, the more I think it must be a mortal behind this, but someone who knows about us, about immortals."

"Like a watcher, you mean?" The thought took root as Methos spoke, making more sense as he thought about it.

"Possibly, or someone who's lived with an immortal -- a spouse, a lover, something like that perhaps?" Mac was pleased that at last they had glimmer of something to go on.

"Wait a minute… O'Neal had some woman with him that night he came to my apartment. I really didn't take much notice of her to tell you the truth. Amanda may have noticed more, I don't know. But I can't see a girl like her in this day and age having the know-how to put together an explosive device like that." Methos could see the holes in his argument the minute he spoke.

"O'Neal could have taught her…"

A lightning-fast connection of memory made Methos break in suddenly, "Mac, I'm almost certain there was someone else there the day I killed O'Neal, I remember thinking that there was someone watching me just before the quickening started. I just always assumed it was his watcher, but if she saw him die, she might have got caught up when O'Neal's stash exploded the same as I did -- there was never any other body found was there?"                                

***

"Joe, what do you know about the woman O'Neal had with him when he came for me? Is she still around?" Methos had arrived at the bar before opening time the following morning to catch Joe before he got too busy.

"I don't even know who she was, Adam, I never got much of a report on her. Apparently the girl disappeared before the fight, his watcher didn't know where. That's the last I heard of her. What's up, anyway?" The watcher's keen eyes searched Methos' face.

"Who was O'Neal's watcher, anyone I know?" Methos appeared relaxed and unconcerned but inwardly the wheels were turning, planning ahead to his next move.

"I don't think so, she's from the British office. I don't know that she ever got to Paris. Her name's Maeve, she's not long out of the academy. Nice kid, Irish girl originally."

The description clicked in Methos' head, "Irish? About so tall?" and he indicated a height about five feet from the ground. "Red hair? Looks about twenty-two or three?"

"Yeah - but she's a bit older than that - so?"

"So if I believed in coincidences I would think it was a pretty big one that the girlfriend and the watcher of the guy who tried to kill me, have about the same description." Methos smiled but the effect was chilling.

"But it still could be a coincidence," Joe maintained.

"Do you know where this woman lives, Joe?" Methos insisted, a venomous undertone in his voice.

"She might not be the same girl, you know. Don't go rushing in until you've got the full story."

"Her address?" Methos' patience was wearing thin.

"She's just a kid-" Joe started.

"Who may have tried to kill me and ended up killing five innocent people. What about them?" Methos wasn't above using any means to extract the answer.

The watcher's resolve crumbled before Methos' eyes; "She's been staying at that fleabag motel on the corner of Fifth and North. Don't know the room number."

"Thanks Joe, I'll be going. Seeya." And the immortal was gone before Joe could tell him to take it easy on the kid.

As he got back in the T-bird, Methos decided to call Mac and fill him in. The office phone rang and rang. Mac must still be teaching. The answering machine picked up instead, Methos left a quick message and hung up. Then Methos started the car and hurried away.

***

In the tiny motel room, Maeve was still livid over her failure to eliminate Methos. She was sullenly checking through the various frequencies of the listening devices that she'd planted in the loft and dojo. Most were silent, as she'd expected, given the patterns of the previous week, but there was some kind of conversation going on in the office. She turned up the volume and listened.

"…I think I've found our bomber. She's a watcher and O'Neal's former girlfriend, Joe's given me the address of the motel she's been staying at and I'm heading over there now."

Maeve shut off the tape. Damn! Time to move onto plan B. A bit earlier than I expected, but that's okay. I'm ready.  She knew it would be only a matter of minutes before the immortal reached her. Throwing her few belongings into a bag, she cleared the surveillance tapes out of the machine, and hurled them in as well. In her frantic haste she failed to notice the single cassette that skittered away and dropped under the bed. With a final glance around the room, Maeve picked up the heavy receiving and recording unit, eased out the door and sped away in her car.

Minutes later, Methos pulled up at the motel.

"Hi," he smiled persuasively at the middle-aged woman behind the desk. "I'm looking for a friend of mine," he lifted his hand slightly letting her see the fifty it held.  "Young woman, red hair, has an accent?"

The clerk's acquisitive eyes took in the amount, "Room seven -- on the end," and she snatched the bill from his hand.

As soon as Methos neared the room he knew he was too late -- the door hung open and the interior of the room showed all the signs of being vacated hastily. Dammit! Still maybe she's left something behind that'll tell me where she's gone. He went in and began to search. The bathroom was first. Unfortunately, the bathroom yielded nothing more than pathetic personal detritus. Methos moved into the main part of the room, it was too small to take long to search. There was nothing of note in the wardrobe, or on the bed. He bent down on his knees to check the floor.

"Eureka," He slipped in under the bed, reaching for the small flat object lying against the wall. "Well, well, well and what do you think you are?" he addressed the tape, turning it over in his hand.

Slipping the cassette into his pocket, Methos continued to search, trying the bedside drawers next. In the last drawer sat the final damning piece of evidence; two small chemical detonators and the remains of what had obviously been a much larger block of one of the Czech Republic's more dangerous exports -- Semtex. Seizing the items, the immortal left, flooring the T-bird in his rush to get home.

***

"Ohh…yes…more."

"Maybe like this…?"

"Oh fuck…yes…"

Duncan snapped off the tape player, anger boiling volcanically inside. "Oh. My. God. She bugged us. How long do you think she's been at it?"

"I've no idea, the little bitch's gone now though, the room was empty. Except for all this," Methos answered sweeping his hand across the table littered with the evidence of the watcher's attempt on his life. "We're going to need to get someone in to clear out the bugs. Do you know anyone who'd have the equipment?" Methos' fury simmered, but he pushed it down. One thing at a time, old man.

"Yeah, Amanda's friend Nick Wolfe. He's in security, now, since he left the police force, I'll call him soon." MacLeod stalked back and forth around the loft. "I still can't believe she was taping us, listening to us every day- oh shit!" He stopped suddenly, struck by a horrific thought.

"What?"

"Your name - I call you Methos when we're alone. She knows who you are." Duncan's face was ashen as the implications of the realization set in.

Their lives in Seacouver were over; there was no way they could stay now. Once word got out about Methos' whereabouts, it would only be a matter of time before the headhunters came. If they stayed Duncan would feel duty bound to defend his lover and Methos would hate what that implied when he was more than capable of defending himself. There was no choice; they had to leave as soon as possible.

Stark agony bloomed in the hazel eyes, a humorless smirk tugged at the side of his mouth, "Wherefore art thou Methos? It always comes down to me, doesn't it? I'm sorry Mac I know how happy you've been here."

"That doesn't matter. It was only ever going to be temporary -- we'll be fine. It doesn't matter where we live." Duncan stopped pacing in front of Methos and wrapped his arms around the narrow waist, "Really."

Methos returned the embrace but said nothing.

"I should let Joe know what's going on. Want to come with me? Say goodbye?" Duncan's shoulders stooped with the weight of repressed sadness.

"Yeah," Methos looked away.

They were quiet as they drove to Joe's bar, each man preoccupied with his own thoughts. As the immortals entered the bar they realized that Joe was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Mike, where's Joe?" Methos asked the bartender.

"Disappeared into the office a while ago. Go on back there, Adam, I'm sure he won't mind seeing you guys."

"Thanks," Methos and Duncan went behind the bar and out to the office.

The watcher's shoulders were slumped as he sat with his back to them, Duncan touched his arm and Joe turned to them at last, "Hey you two."

Methos saw the tension in his old friend's face, "Joe? What's going on?"

His words were met with a grimace, "That watcher you were looking for, Adam? She's dead. The cops found her in her wrecked car about half an hour ago. A watcher contact at the station just filled me in. The coroner's going to have to ID the body, though; the car caught fire in the crash and there's not much left of her. They're sure it's Maeve, apparently her driver's license was in some baggage that was thrown clear of the wreck. Poor kid."

Duncan was appalled at the satisfaction that flowed through him at hearing of the woman's death.

"Joe, "Methos pounced on the watcher's apparent sympathy for their tormentor, "It seems pretty clear that she's the one behind the bombing and we just found out she had the loft bugged. No bloody wonder she knew where and when to set the bomb. She taped us, every minute for who knows how long. She killed five innocent people. Unfortunately for us, she was a great deal more than a poor kid."

"What are you talkin' about, Adam?" Joe couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Duncan's voice betrayed only a hint of the anger he felt. "She set the bomb - we have the evidence - and we have a tape that's obviously been recorded at our place. She found out ‘Adam's' real name. The fact of her being dead changes nothing. We can't stay here now; there's no knowing who she told before she died. We can't just sit around and wait for the headhunters to show up."

"How do you know she told anyone?" Joe asked simply, meeting Duncan's eyes.

"We can't take the risk, I'm sorry Joe but we came here to say goodbye." It was not how the highlander had wished to farewell their friend but Methos would always come first.

***

"Can I get you gentlemen anything else?" the flight attendant asked quietly in the darkened aircraft.

MacLeod smiled up at him; "We're fine, thanks."

You certainly are. Lucky bastard, the attendant thought as he walked out of the first class section.

The plans had been surprisingly easy to arrange considering the short notice, the island was available, the owners -- who were the only permanent residents -- were happy to have a couple of weeks on the mainland with their young family. Nick Wolfe was coming to clear out the surveillance devices while they were away and a few phone calls had taken care of their individual commitments. The two days of tense hypervigilance passed quickly and now the immortals sat in the cabin of a jumbo three-quarters of the way to Australia. It had been Methos' idea, surprisingly, to take their vacation now rather than simply drop their whole lives and run. This drastic change in Methos' reflexes went unremarked but not unnoticed by his lover. Duncan had enlisted Joe's help and the watcher would let them know if the immortal population of Seacouver was suddenly increased by an influx of headhunters.

Methos sprawled a little deeper into the seat, pulling up the blanket, "Mac, how much longer now?"

"Less than six hours to Sydney, then there's a four hour flight to Cairns, then a short hop up to a place called Cooktown where we get a boat out to the island. It's not surprising that no-one knows about this island, it's a hell of a long way to come." Duncan was quiet for a moment as he stretched his long legs as much as he could in the confines of the compartment; then he looked across to his lover, an eyebrow raised.

"What? What are you thinking now MacLeod? What's going on in that twisted Scottish brain of yours?" Methos' lip curled in amusement.

"Just thinking of ways to pass the time," Mac replied innocently.

"No way MacLeod, not a chance. Absolutely not. There is no way on earth that you're trying any of that Mile High Club nonsense with me - no way." Methos had no desire to be thrown off the plane at the nearest airport, even if it did seem an age since they'd last made love.

"Oh I'm a charter member of the club," Duncan teased.

"Do tell…" Methos refused to be drawn in.

"I think Amanda and I might have invented it back when flying was just new, but I don't think we were always a mile high, some of those light planes flew fairly low. But Amanda's one adventurous lady, hell of a pilot too…" Mac closed his eyes and leaned back, his fingers laced behind his head, waiting for his ancient lover to make the next move.

Methos heard the challenge as clearly as if it had been a battle cry, "Are you daring me MacLeod? How very childish." He wore his most superior smirk, but inwardly the battle lines had been drawn.

"Would I dare to dare you?" Duncan asked, the angelic innocence returning to his face.

"Not if you don't like to lose," Methos replied in a low dangerous purr close to Mac's ear.

The hot breath against his ear sent tendrils of warmth curling through the highlander's body. And so it begins.

"You know MacLeod," Methos continued in a low murmur, "If I wanted to I could make you make you very hot without even touching you. By the time we get to Sydney you'll wish you'd never brought this up, so to speak."

Don't think so, lover.  "Is that a threat or a promise?" he murmured, turning his face to his lover, traces of a smile lurking about the lush mouth.

"Oh definitely a promise, Mac, definitely a promise…" and the silky whisper shot straight from Duncan's ear to his groin.

"Do your worst…" Duncan smiled lazily. But I won't be the only one getting horny.

Methos rolled onto his side in the reclined seat so he could look more easily at his lover, he began to speak -- very quietly -- in deference to the few other passengers scattered about the first class cabin, "Can you hear me?"

"Uh huh," Duncan rolled to face Methos, deliberately parting his lips and moistening just the inside edge with his tongue, very aware of the fascination Methos had for his mouth.

***

"Shh!"

"Don't do that and tell me to shh…"

"How did I let you talk me into this?"

"Talk you into this? You practically dragged me in here."

"Shh!"

"Ohh Mac…"

They were, predictably, in the tiny aircraft bathroom desperately trying to tear each other's clothes off. The challenge had been well fought but in the end they had both given in to the craving, and one at a time, slipped into the restroom. It was not an elegant or leisurely coupling but the need their teasing had evoked would not wait. Duncan had opened Methos' jeans pushing them down and seizing the rigid shaft in a frantic hand as they kissed hungrily. Methos snaked his hand to the front of Duncan's pants deftly loosening the belt and unzipping the fly. The loose-fitting trousers pooled around Duncan's feet and he stepped out of them.

"Ahh…" Mac gasped as Methos' cool hand closed over his burning flesh.

"Fuck…where's the lube?" Methos hissed.

"Shirt pocket…left…ohh Methos…keep doing that…" Duncan thrust forward into his lover's hand, shockwaves of sensation scrambling his senses.

"Turn around, Mac," Methos' voice was a desperate whisper as he pushed MacLeod to face the wall.

Keeping his hand slipping over Duncan's erection he squeezed a generous amount of the lubricant over his own, spreading it quickly. Methos pressed in close against Duncan and the younger man lifted his knee and hooked his foot behind Methos' leg, allowing Methos access to guide the tip of his cock into the tiny starred opening. Duncan slowed his breathing and relaxed so that with only the most cursory preparation, the shaft slid easily inside and MacLeod had to bite down on his lip to stop himself moaning out loud with the sheer mind-blowing pleasure of it.

"Mac…push back for me," Methos breathed into his lover's ear and Mac shifted his hips back, shuddering as the movement sent Methos' length even deeper into him.

"Ahh Methos…faster…ohhh…" Duncan head dropped back and he braced his hands on the wall, breath coming in rapid gasps as Methos' cock pressed into the sensitive spot. "So…close."

"Shhh, lover…shhh," Methos soothed as his thrusts grew more fierce and his orgasm became imminent.

Methos closed his hand over Mac's mouth, as the highlander's cries became more vocal, sinking his own lips against the broad shoulder to stifle his moan as he climaxed violently. As Methos collapsed into Duncan's back he felt Mac's shudders and felt the hot rush of cum spill over his hand as it stroked the straining cock to completion. For long precious seconds they stood slumped against the wall, bodies buzzing with endorphins. But the lovers had no time for a leisurely aftermath; they had already been in there long enough to arouse suspicion. Quickly they cleaned up and dressed, still a little unsteady on their feet. One at a time, again, they slipped silently from the bathroom and returned unnoticed to their seats.

***

The rest of the journey had been a little dull in comparison, Methos thought as they prepared to board the boat for the final leg of their trip. He smiled at the memory of that frenzied quickie on the plane, and anticipated more languorous pursuits on the island. The weather was clear and brilliant, the hot sun melting the last vestiges of northern chill from his body. He sighed softly and turned his face up to the sky, eyes closed in pleasure behind his dark glasses.  

MacLeod grinned at his lover's obvious delight in their surroundings; Methos loved the heat, was rarely happier than when he was basking in the sun. It warmed Duncan from the inside, too, to see the old guy so relaxed. Duncan watched Methos lean forwards against the railing of the jetty, his arms folded on the top rail, the tail of his white shirt whipping in the strong seabreeze. He turned as the boat's skipper called them to come aboard and with a pleased look at one another the immortals crossed the gangplank.

***

"Welcome to Haggistone Island, if you'll come this way gentlemen, Rob and I will show you around the island before we take off for the mainland." The island's young co-owner led them down the path through the thick rainforest to the guesthouse.

The tropical afternoon was fast closing in, the shadows lengthening and the heat fading ever so slightly. The immortals were quiet, listening intently as Natalie Hall explained the arrangements she'd made for their stay; absorbing the natural beauty of their home for the next two weeks. The rainforest cool made a pleasant change from the baking heat of the beach where the boat had landed.

"Now about the local wildlife, "the island's other owner began as they reached the accommodations, depositing their luggage on the verandah, "There are no poisonous snakes on Haggistone, so any snakes you do see please don't disturb. There's a three metre python who's very fond of that spot over there by the back door, you'll probably see him in the mornings. Don't feed the birds, it only encourages them. Everything else is pretty much a live and let live sort of deal. Okay?"

"No problem, we're very much live and let live kind of guys," Methos replied with such a straight face Duncan almost laughed.

"Oh another thing," he added, "Because it's September you should be okay swimming in the ocean, the stinger season doesn't officially start until October but occasionally they're early. We'll be keeping in touch on the radio, so if there are any reports we'll let you know. And if there are any problems just call us, the frequencies and instructions are by the set."

The group went inside the guesthouse, "This is amazing, it's like something out of Borneo crossed with a five star hotel," Duncan marvelled.

The little guesthouse was all one room of rough-hewn timbers, in the style of an islander dwelling with huge open spaces where the windows should have been that instead had shutters sitting open to catch every breath of breeze. The primitive illusion ended there though, from the huge net-draped bed to the well-stocked kitchen, the effect was five star all the way. There was even a hammock strung between two trees, that Methos could see at the back of the house. The young couple finished showing the men around then said their goodbyes and hurried off to rejoin the motor-cruiser and get to the mainland before the tide turned. The lovers quickly unpacked and did what little they needed to in order to settle in.

"Well MacLeod, so here we are…" Methos smiled, "Wanna get naked?" and he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively at his chuckling lover.

"Is that all you ever think about?" Mac laughed.

"What can I say? I'm inspired by the view," Methos' voice was still light but his eyes met Duncan's and held.

"Time to check out the beach then?" Mac threw off his shirt and raced down the short track to the beach, Methos hot on his heels.

The highlander shed the rest of his clothes above the water line and dived into the warm, clear sea. Methos paused for a moment, enjoying the view of that gorgeous body slipping under the water, and then lost the rest of his own clothes and joined him.

"Well hello," Duncan grinned as his lover popped up out of the water next to him, "The people you meet…"

"The water's incredibly warm and it's so clear you can see…everything…" Methos smirked, looking down to Duncan's cock floating free in the gentle current.

"Well yes you can," Duncan teased, returning the look with one of his own, stroking his lover's frame with his eyes.

They reached for each other, pressing close in the deep water, toes curling into the soft sand. Methos dipped his mouth to taste the skin of Mac's shoulder, his teeth grazing the point of the collarbone.

"You know, I've been waiting for weeks to do exactly that. You taste so good…" Methos lifted his head to look into Duncan's face again, there was a definite devilish glint there that augured no good.

He was right.

"Sure you wouldn't rather go for a swim?" and with that Mac's foot hooked behind Methos' ankle and he shoved Methos off balance and sent him splashing clumsily into the water.

Methos rose to the surface hissing and spluttering, "You're gonna regret that one, MacLeod. You are in so much trouble…" and he dived after Mac who was swimming quickly away, backstroking and laughing.

"Gotta catch me first!" Duncan challenged.

An hour or so later the battle had been called a draw, MacLeod was attempting to remove the sand his lover had so thoroughly massaged into his hair and Methos was still gasping and trying to regain his breath after being nearly drowned by the big Scot's horseplay. They collapsed breathlessly onto the beach, falling into each other's arms. The laughter stilled and their mouths met finally, cool salty lips slipping open to hot salty tongues. Mac pressed his lover back into the sand, moving partially on top of him. The sand-encrusted torsos rubbed uncomfortably against one another and the men moved apart reluctantly.

"Looks more fun in the movies doesn't it?" MacLeod sat up with a rueful smile.

"So many things do. There is always that rather decadent outdoor tub we have yet to try out, we could adjourn there," Methos offered as he rose to his feet.

"Have I mentioned that I love how your mind works?" Duncan stood too and the immortals picked up their discarded clothing and walked back to the house through the sweetly earth-scented rainforest.

***

They formed a pattern to their days after that, nights spent in each other's arms, followed by lazy mornings on the beach, simple meals of the delicacies left for them by their hosts - supplemented by the visits from the supply boat and their occasional fishing -- long hot afternoons of swimming or walking or just sitting on the verandah enjoying a beer and talking. Methos lost his city pallor and turned almost brown after a week of wearing the least amount of clothing possible, Duncan watched him relax little by little, easing the wary watchfulness that was as much a part of him as the boneless sprawl that camouflaged it.

He was covertly studying the older man as Methos lay face down on a huge towel on the beach, soaking up the early morning sun. Mac's eyes travelled over the well-loved surfaces of his mate's body, taking in the strong lean lines of the sharply delineated back muscles and shoulders tapering to the hollows of pelvis and the gentle slopes of high small buttocks, and down to finely honed legs so deceptively strong and wiry. The memory of the feel of those legs wrapped around him as he drove into that willing body sent a dart of need straight to his groin. As if he could sense he was being observed Methos turned his head to face his lover.

"See anything you like?" he pushed onto his side offering Duncan an even more interesting view.

"One or two things," he parried, moving closer to Methos' body with a wicked grin, reaching a hand out to brush a few sugar-fine grains of sand from Methos' face.

***

After they were sated, they lay still and silent dozing in each other's arms, until Duncan eased away from his lover and stood.

"I think I'll take a walk around down the beach some," he said as he tied the length of batik cloth, which he'd taken to wearing in the style of an Islander man, low on his hips.

Methos watched him begin to walk away, dark and strong and all but naked, so at ease with himself and his surroundings, he might have belonged here, to this place. Suddenly he was filled with the compulsion not to let him out of his sight, the feeling coming out of the blue, blindsiding him with its intensity. Don't go getting all weird now, old man. He didn't consider himself particularly prescient but the feeling would not be ignored and he knew better than to try.

"Duncan, wait up! I'll come with you," he called as he rose and donned the ragged cut-offs he'd been wearing earlier.

Duncan? What is he up to now? He hardly ever calls me that, even after all this time. Something's going on… the highlander thought uneasily.

He pushed the feeling aside, choosing instead to smile a dazzling greeting at Methos as the older man reached him. MacLeod made no comment but slipped an arm around the newly sun-browned shoulders as they made their way down to the waterline. Warm foaming water licked at their toes as the lovers strolled slowly along the shore. A gentle seabreeze tugged at hair and clothing. The strengthening sun kissed their skin and promised to bite if the warning was ignored. They turned up the beach again and disappeared into the damp green gloom of the rainforest, finding a path they hadn't yet explored.

"Is everything all right, Methos?" the note of concern in Duncan's voice was kept deliberately low-key.

"Does something need to be wrong for me to want to take a walk with you?" he returned lightly, the ghost of a smirk playing about his lips.

"Of course not, but there was a moment back on the beach when you looked so odd, like there was something you wanted to say, and then didn't." MacLeod turned his head to gauge his partner's reaction as he spoke.

Methos almost let the mask slip; sometimes he forgot how intuitive Duncan could be, especially when it came to him. They knew one another so well now that almost every expression, every tone of voice was like a billboard announcing the meaning. Still, it wasn't perfect and he could always bluff MacLeod when he needed to.

"Nothing but the raging desire to join you on your walk O Lover Mine," and Methos punctuated the half-joking declaration with a squeeze of his arm as it rested around Duncan's waist.  Close enough to the truth.

"Feel free, anytime…O Centre of My Universe." Mac returned the gesture in the same light tone and they continued to walk.

As they went deeper into the rainforest the heat was left far behind and the wet chill of the air cooled their skin and the sweetly pervasive smell of the rotting undergrowth overpowered all others. Thick ropes of lawyer vines hung beside the path, murderous thorns waiting to catch the unwary. Scrub turkeys scattered as they neared, running to defend their hilly nests, the lovers smiled at the birds' antics and walked on past. In a lone pool of sunlight from a break in the rainforest canopy, a huge goanna rested basking in the warmth; hearing the human invaders the lizard took flight, running for the nearest tree, startling the immortals as it powered past them like three feet of scaled down dinosaur.

The analogy occurred to both of them at about the same time, Duncan chuckled and opened his mouth to speak, but Methos beat him to it.

"If you say that's one of my dinosaur relatives I shall quite possibly have to punish you quite severely, MacLeod. There will be no dinosaur jokes, are we perfectly clear?"

The teasing smirk in the older man's face and the glint in his hazel eyes, drove any lingering worries from Mac's mind, everything was fine. "Would I do a terrible thing like that?"

"Give up the innocent act, MacLeod-" he stopped and cocked his head, listening to a faint insistent throbbing in the distance. "Wait, did you hear something? The supply boat's not due today is it?"

"No it came yesterday, it's probably fishermen or tourists who don't know that the island's private. Want go make sure, just in case?" MacLeod was already hurrying towards the house.

"Probably nothing…" Methos couldn't even convince himself with that one as he moved quickly after him.

They reached the house and everything seemed just as they had left it.

Pushing the vague unease away Methos turned to his partner, "We may as well check the beach while we're at it -- just to make sure there are no lost tourists about to invade us. Don't want them showing up at an inconvenient moment, do we?"

MacLeod's small snort of laughter was all the reply he got for that little mental image.

The beach in front of them was as undisturbed as the rest of the area and they stood down their concerns and relaxed visibly once more. If they had gone to the leeward side of the island however, it would have been a different story.

***

Maeve pulled the small inflatable boat up the beach and hid it amongst the undergrowth, taking out the equipment she'd brought along. The razor-sharp machete wrapped in cloth, she placed carefully to one side, and then unpacked the rest of the gear. Setting up the simple camp took barely any time at all and then she rested, waiting for the cover of nightfall. The last week and a half of preparation and planning was coming to a climax and a shiver of anticipation shook her emaciated frame.

Killing the waitress and leaving her in the wreck had been the masterstroke, Maeve decided, they were close enough to the same size and shape. The medical examiner would take time to discover that the burnt body in the car was not Maeve Kincaid but little Sandra Cooper, late of Nebraska. By the time that happened, the immortal formerly known as Methos would seriously and permanently dead. She would be long gone and the watchers would always wonder what had happened to their good little Irish lapdog. He'll pay for your death, Callum. I promised you that, my love.  The thought had hot tears springing unbidden to her eyes and she knuckled them away impatiently. You soft thing, what would Cal say to all that?  Wrapping her arms around her knees as she sat on the ground Maeve closed her eyes and went over the plan one more time.

***

Methos dragged the driftwood log from its resting-place above the waterline and added it to the growing pile he'd been working on. A restless energy coursed through him and he found a degree of comfort in the manual labor.

"I thought I was supposed to be the boyscout around here? Why then are you the one building the fire, Methos?" The indulgently amused tone in Duncan's voice made Methos want to stick his tongue out at him, or some other equally mature response.

"I thought we could have a bonfire tonight, sit out under the stars," he answered calmly, ignoring the urge.

"Going back to our pagan roots are we? What's brought this on?"

"Only one of us actually has pagan roots MacLeod, and do I really need a reason?" he sniped as he finished stacking the wood and returned to the house.

"Guess not," and Duncan went back to drowning his bait, in a subtle imitation of actual fishing. He eased back in the deck chair on the hard-packed sand and closed his eyes. Life was good.

As the sun sank slowly at his back and the sky turned to violet, the lengthening shadows merged to close the night around him, the silky fingers of the tropical night stroked his skin. MacLeod gave up on fishing and lugged the gear back to the guesthouse, finding Methos in the kitchen being uncharacteristically industrious.

"Cooking tonight?"

"No, I thought I'd chop all this up and feed it to the python." Methos' lip curled wryly as he continued to work.

"So, what is it?" Duncan asked, not reacting to the heavy-handed sarcasm.

"It is, quite obviously, a fish to be grilled and a salad," Methos replied impatiently.

"No, what's the problem? You haven't been this tense since we left home. Has something happened?" Mac looked for the reason in his partner's face, but found only puzzled denial.

"You know as well as I do nothing's happened. What's the matter, missing the angst of everyday life already? Too much perfection? Not enough snakes in this paradise?" and so deflecting attention from his non-specific premonition, Methos went back to preparing the meal.

Shrugging the vague worry away, Duncan left the house and went to light the fire.

***

Maeve awoke as darkness fell, she started and for a second wondered where she was. Remembering, she smiled grimly and took some rations from her pack and began to eat. She would wait, too early yet to visit her targets. The early hours of the morning when resistance was low and attack was most unexpected, then she would enact the last stage of her revenge. Her sketchy meal complete, Maeve went over the plan in her head once more, mentally walking through each step in precise detail.

***

The snap and fizz of the fragrant native timber burning rang out as the night deepened into the full darkness of the new moon. The lovers sat together - a gulf between them - to one side of the blaze on an old blanket, gazing into the flames.

"Do you remember that first day we were together, the fire?" Methos kept his voice low, as he rested his arms on the top of his bent knees.

"The warehouse? When you took out that big guy, whatshisname? Yeah, I remember that and afterwards," Mac smiled faintly with the memory. More than a year ago.

"I think sometimes what our lives would be like if we'd made different choices that day." Methos tossed a twig onto the fire and watched it burn.

"Are you having regrets, Methos?" Duncan folded his arms tightly around his bent legs and stared into the flames, "I realize you never promised me forever."

"Gods Mac, no, nothing like that." Methos turned to him, face open and unshuttered, "I thought you'd know by now I don't regret any thing about us. You have been a wonderful and unexpected…" he searched hard for the word he wanted, "I think the word I want is joy, trite as it sounds. You have brought a joy to my life I didn't expect and truthfully didn't believe I deserved. How could I regret that? How could I regret making the choice to have you in my life?"

The agony erupted from Duncan like a lanced wound. "Then why does everything you say sound like goodbye?"

"Not goodbye -- just recognising that our lives are uncertain, we never know what may come around the next corner. If something happened to me there are things I need to say to you, that I wouldn't want to die without having said."

"No!" Mac stood and whirled away into the surrounding blackness, "Dammit Methos! I will not sit here and calmly discuss your death. Do you think I'm made of stone?" His eyes stung with unshed tears and he forced them away, giving his anger free rein instead. He stood staring out to sea, arms folded tightly across his chest, tension pulling at the lines of his body.

Methos was horrified by the turn the conversation had taken; the last thing he wanted was to cause his lover pain. "Duncan - please - come and sit down, I'll try to explain if I can."

The war waged in his heart for an endless pause until love won over hurt and MacLeod reluctantly came back to the fireside and sat as far he could from his lover on the rug, facing him, "Okay I'm here. Now what the hell is wrong?"

"Our lives are such uncertain things, a one minute phone call between life and death; one unlucky slip, one challenger who doesn't play by the rules and it could be all over-"  I'm not explaining this very well.

"It's the same for all of us, Methos, the same as it's always been. What's changed now?" Duncan reached a hand to grasp his mate's arm.

"Only me," and he placed his hand lightly over Duncan's. "I need to tell you what you mean to me, Duncan, you tell me all the time and I've wanted to, but something has always held me back. I've told you that I love you, but it's so much more. I need you to understand how much." He caught his partner's troubled gaze, "Loving you and being loved by you transforms me, changes me, lifts me above what I am. You are my love and my heart and my soul, Duncan MacLeod." His heart hammered in his chest, feeling terrifyingly exposed and at the same time relieved by the revelation. Methos gently pressed the hand that lay under his, his expressive eyes saying as much as his words had.

"Forever…" Duncan leaned in close to his lover catching the angular face in his hand and tilting to his own, the kiss a promise and a benediction.  

The passion that always simmered just below their skins blazed into life once more at the touch and the lovers melted into each other.

"I want to make love to you, Methos…" Mac breathed into Methos' ear, feeling a shiver run through the slender body against his chest at the words.  

Duncan pressed his lover back against the blanket, feeling the heat of him radiating up through his skin, feeling the hard muscles under his own. The kiss was sweet and deep and dizzying in its intensity, Mac's senses spun as the corners of the world tilted beneath him. His hands seemed to float of their own volition to catch Methos' hands, the strong fingers interlacing -- dark and light. If he could hold this moment in time, Duncan thought, then he could banish the rest of the world for a while longer yet, hold this man that he loved so much and refuse to let go. Duncan persisted in his insistent exploration of his lover's mouth, his tongue dipping and darting against the other's. Loosing his hold on Methos' hands, Duncan's hands slipped along the sinewy arms, revelling in the silken skin thinly covering the steel muscles. Methos gave a small gasp and arched beneath his lover as Duncan's lips travelled over his jaw and stopped to bite softly at the sensitive spot on his throat, soothing the sting with a sweep of his tongue. The generous mouth retraced its path as Duncan moved to take possession of his partner's lips once more. Tasting the arousal as Methos began to writhe against him, the highlander stroked his hands down the slender body coming to rest on the arching hips, trapping them and holding them still, the swollen flesh grinding into his own sending bolts of pure pleasure to his fevered brain.

Freed, Methos's hands began their own journey, groping blindly for the tail of Duncan's t-shirt trying to lift it and reach the bronzed skin he craved. The shirt was trapped between them, though, and in sheer frustration, Methos grasped it in both fists and tore it from hem to collar. Methos luxuriated in the bared skin under his fingers as they rubbed and teased. Methos' clever hands roved up to tangle in the thick waves of his lover's hair, pulling the dark head down to increase the pressure between their mouths. Methos' hips twitched upwards as he frantically sought to ease the growing need in his groin, but was frustrated by the firm grip of Duncan's hands holding him still.

Duncan felt the rising need of the slender figure beneath him as he tried desperately to thrust against him, felt the strain as his lover pushed against his hands. With a knowing snicker he tilted his pelvis slightly -- just enough to heighten the friction and escalate Methos' desire even further. The younger man swallowed the sharply hissed inhalation as their groins pressed more closely. The overwhelming need Duncan felt to prolong this, to show Methos with his body what words could only approximate, guided his actions. Finally releasing his hold on the narrow hips, Mac sat back on his folded legs and threw off the tattered remains of his shirt, then rose and slipped off his shorts catching the hungry look his lover shot him with a dark smile. Lying down beside Methos once more, Duncan stroked down the thick, spiky hair watching the flames light the planes and angles of the face he loved so much. Lowering his mouth to recapture his lover's again; Mac kissed him deeply - full of the promise of what was yet to come.

Methos gazed up into his partner's face, seeing the flames reflected in the fathomless dark eyes tasting the desire as their mouths met once more. Duncan's chest settled over his own and the rough hair scraped over his nipples sending tiny tremors of arousal shooting directly to his groin. At last Methos felt the highlander's hand tug at his clothing and Methos shifted restlessly to allow it, impatient to have Duncan's skin against his own, unimpeded. Finally naked, Methos moaned and writhed beneath Duncan, his urgency growing with every touch. Methos' hands glided over his lover's back tracing the ridges and hollows of the muscles, feeling them tense and relax under his fingers. The need roaring through Methos drove him to clutch at the highlander's shoulders, frantic for more intimate contact, his hips rising to grind into Mac's. The desire filled him, compelled him, flowed through every vein and nerve, fogged his mind. The only conscious thought Methos could recognise was he had to get as close as he could to the heavy body above him, merge with it, melt into it, become one with it. He groaned out loud.

MacLeod heard the groan and grinned ferally as he slowly slithered down his mate's body, his mouth tracing a line over the shallow valley of the sternum, dipping into the navel, nipping and sampling the skin as he went. At long last he reached the shaft lying against the pale belly and took it in his hand. It was hot and hard and pulsed with life and Mac bent his head to taste it, his lips circling the head, a caress of his tongue sweeping away the first salty droplet. Methos arched his hips up seeking more and Mac let the thrust push the cock into his mouth. He swallowed it deeply, taking it in until his lips reached the coarse curls surrounding the base. The shaft filled his mouth, tasting faintly of salt and some indefinable other that was uniquely Methos. MacLeod opened his throat wide and took Methos deeper inside, feeling him quiver as the strong throat muscles closed around him. Lying between the spread ivory thighs with his hands roaming over the smooth skin of his lover's hips, Duncan's mouth slipped up and down the cock, sucking firmly.

"Ohh…Mac…so good…" Methos was close to being incoherent with the dizzying pleasure.

The tension gathered at the base of Methos' spine, his head buzzed and his breath came in heaving gasps as his orgasm built and he arched up into the mouth that possessed him so completely. The tiniest of increases of pressure was enough to push Methos past the limits of restraint and into a shattering climax. With a cry and a heave of hips towards the maddening mouth, the spasms wracked Methos' body as his essence spilled into Duncan's throat. Mac paused as the fluid shot into him then as the convulsions ceased he slipped the flagging member from his mouth and sat up once again. Spitting a little of the fluid into his hand Duncan coated his own cock in his lover's essence as he rose up on his knees. He slipped a single slippery finger inside Methos even before he had recovered from the orgasm, joined by a second moments later. Mac's own desire was rapidly growing past being controlled and he needed Methos ready for him.

Grasping the long thighs and pressing them back toward his lover's shoulders; Mac leaned in over Methos and guided his cock into the tight channel. He paused for the briefest of moments as Methos' body adjusted to the intrusion, then with agonising slowness began to thrust. The pressure against his prostate meant that Methos was soon aroused once more and Duncan felt his lover's heavy shaft fill and rise between them. Methos reached up to cup the younger man's face and bring it down to his own, tasting himself on Mac's tongue as their mouths met again while Mac continued to move into him. The firelight caught the details of the lovers' bodies as they moved as one. Methos tightened his legs around Duncan's back as the thrusts grew more forceful and drove even deeper into him. Sweat beaded their bodies and ran away in tiny rivulets, the fires inside and out combining. The older man looked up into the face of the man that he loved and saw the signs of the imminent orgasm written there clearly. When it came Mac's climax came it was quiet and sudden, almost surprising him like a sneeze, his arms tightened about his love and he buried his face in the curve of Methos' neck as the spasms overtook him. Methos' completion sent him careering out of control and he thrashed wildly beneath Duncan. Long minutes followed as the men regained their breath and their senses, holding fast to one another.

Duncan looked down at the man he loved more than his own life, his face glossed with sweat and thought that his heart would break with the force of all that he felt. Unable to articulate just how much Methos meant to him, Duncan could only kiss him again, using the gesture to replace the inadequate words. Slipping his quiescent shaft from Methos' spent body at last, Mac slid to lie against Methos' side, the highlander's arm and leg resting protectively over his love. Exhausted, the men soon slept, still locked together as the humid tropical night buzzed with life around them and the fire burned lower as the time crept by.

***

Methos woke as a chill breeze blew in from over the ocean, the fire was almost out - slipping on his shorts and rising - he went to add more wood to it. Duncan looked so perfectly at home sleeping naked by the fire that Methos was loath to disturb him; with its simple pagan beauty it could have been a scene from his earliest memories. He rekindled the blaze and sat, finding himself unwilling to sleep, Methos watched over his love instead, seeing the flames painting the bronzed skin with shades of red and gold. After a long while his head grew heavy and he fell into a light sleep.

Methos' head jerked upright as a noise entered his consciousness.  Must have dozed off.  There was definitely an alien noise, human among the myriad rainforest sounds. Millennia of his life depending on keen senses guided his ears to the approximate location of the sound and with adrenaline beginning to throb through his system he crouched beside his lover.

"Mac wake up, now!" he hissed under his breath.

Sleeping as lightly as the soldier he'd always been, Duncan was awake in a moment. "What is it? he asked as he pulled on his pants and squatted beside Methos.

A shot rang out, catching MacLeod in the center of the chest, killing him instantly. Methos threw himself on top of his fallen lover as the shots flew above them. There was a silence as their unseen assailant emptied the magazine of the semi-automatic all around them. Methos was torn between staying by Duncan's helpless body or making a run for the house and their weapons. They were only able to bring blades with them into the country and he could only hope that he could get close enough to use one. He heard the distinctive click of the clip being rammed into the butt of a pistol and then the volley of gunfire began again. The decision made itself in the end - flipping facedown into the sand, the immortal readied himself for flight. With a last glance at Duncan's still form, he took off like a sprinter, the soft sand spraying up behind him as he ran. He stumbled as the sting of a bullet creased the back of his leg, but he ran on regardless through the dark rainforest relying on his memory to guide his steps.

***

Maeve crouched behind a fallen log and reloaded the pistol with rapid, practised movements, changing the ammunition to the hollow point bullets that would cause the most damage. Her head felt crystal-clear and her focus needle-sharp even as her heart hammered wildly in her chest. The first shot taking out Duncan like that had been lucky, she admitted to herself, taking out her primary target could be a little more difficult. As the clip rammed home she began to fire at the flurry of movement in the pooled firelight. The fleeing figure vanished into the forest, but not before Maeve heard the grunt and saw the stumble that meant at least one of her shots had hit home. Picking up the cloth-wrapped bundle, she left the cover of the rainforest and chased after the immortal.

***

Duncan choked back into life in time to hear the shot that hit Methos. The sound of his lover's stifled gasp of pain spurred him on as the highlander struggled to his feet and stumbled down the path after him. MacLeod burst into the house to find Methos already armed with his sword and in the process of tucking his long-bladed dagger into the inverted sheath in the harness that he'd brought but hadn't worn since they had come to the island.

"Hey, good to have you back," Methos' voice was unemotional as he thought ahead, trying to plan his next move. "Grab a blade and let's get moving."

"Thanks." Duncan accepted his katana from Methos as they crouched on the guesthouse floor. "Who do you think it is, one of us?"

"I haven't sensed anyone -- you?" Methos stayed low as he moved across the room to stop just under the window.

"No, nothing. Why would mortals be hunting us? It doesn't make sense."

"Right now it doesn't matter who the hell it is. We have to stop them, now."

The immortals dropped to the floor as another volley of shots thudded into the wall beside them.

"Here, Mac, take these as well -- you never know -- you might need them." Methos passed Duncan a pair of small throwing knives he'd put in on a last minute impulse.
Slipping the knives into his waistband, Mac crouched against the wall once more and quickly peered out the window into the inky dark. A single shot narrowly missed his head and Mac ducked down, a quiet curse in Gaelic escaping his lips. Signalling silently the immortals separated, Mac slipping out the back door and Methos out the front.

MacLeod paused in the doorway and caught his lover's eye, whispering, "Stay careful out there, okay?"

"Always…" and with an ironic little half-smile, Methos disappeared out the door.

In the moonless pre-dawn hours their visibility was so limited that neither man could see more than a few feet in front of him. Methos circled around through the thick vegetation, carefully avoiding the grasping thorns and clinging vines, to close in on the shooter. Methos could see the muzzle flash as the weapon discharged, smell the cordite heavy in the air as he came around behind their assailant. A grim smirk set his face as he realized his theory had been correct. Adjusting his grip on his sword, Methos stepped up behind the shooter.

"Hello Maeve, looking for me?" His tone was sardonic as he strolled into the clearing where she stood.

The woman turned and in one smooth movement, took aim and fired a single shot.

Duncan sped through the forest as quickly as he dared - his only thought to reach their unknown attacker before Methos did. With a sudden grunt of surprise he found himself face down in the forest floor; MacLeod's foot had caught in the curling tendrils of a vine and he'd gone down hard knocking the breath from his lungs. As he struggled he heard the rapid fire cease and then a single shot followed by the sound of Methos' cry of pain in the near distance. Fear's icy claw gripping his heart, Duncan tore his leg free of the thorns and ran heedlessly towards the noise.

Methos lay bleeding amongst the thick forest undergrowth, the hollow-point round had caught him high in the leg mushrooming through his thigh ripping away a large chunk of muscle, shattering the bone and slicing open the major artery which was now pumping his life's blood into the ground below. His broadsword had spun away as he'd fallen and it was lost amongst the undergrowth. Unable to rise he looked up into the face of his death. It was a girl, a small red haired girl -- thin and wasted-looking with huge dark circles under eyes that held no remnant of sanity -- and she held a machete high above him in hands that shook violently.

"You don't have to do this you know," Methos rasped, feeling his head spin and his skin grow cold as he lost more and more blood. He twisted his arm behind his back -- desperate to grasp the second weapon hidden there, but his fingers were clumsy and uncooperative as his strength drained into the ground.

"Are you stupid or somethin'?" She raised and lowered the machete, aiming it at Methos' throat, touching it to his skin. "Of course I have to do this, I promised Cal. He loved me and you killed him…I promised him that you'd die and now you will." Her tone was oddly rational and it jarred with the wildness in her eyes.

"It's what we do…you're a watcher you…know that," Methos' voice was a broken whisper, he was dying, there was no stopping it now, the blood loss was too great. The blade rose again, high above his head.  Dammit! I'm not ready...  He closed his eyes and the last of his life bled away.

MacLeod saw the shadow lift the blade high, caught the faint gleam of a pale arm but the thick forest left him no room to use his katana to stop it. Reaching into his waistband he drew out the razor sharp butterfly knives Methos had given him, seeing the figure slash downwards with the blade, Mac quickly aimed and threw, the second knife an instant later. Time telescoped as the knives flew through the air and the machete seemed to take an aeon to fall. The knives hit home and the shadow toppled over with a sigh.

Duncan ran towards the two prostrate figures as the first rays of dawn edged out over the horizon. He leapt over the first fallen body without really seeing it and sank to the ground beside Methos. Thank you God. Relief -- sudden and intense -- filled Duncan as he clasped Methos tightly to his chest. How long they sat like that Duncan would never know but some time later, Methos jerked in his arms and gasped back into life.

"Back with us then?" His words were casual but his true emotions were written in the unshed tears that shimmered in his eyes.

"That was a little closer than I'd generally like," Methos whispered, wincing as the healing energy sparked over the massive leg wound.

"It's good to see you," Mac smiled as the diffused light of the dawn lit the beloved face.

"It's good to be seen. Is she dead?" Methos looked around, not seeing the body that lay screened by MacLeod's big frame.

Duncan finally let go of his lover long enough to turn around and see the dead woman lying behind them her small, thin body and white skin making her look like nothing as much as a discarded porcelain doll. Except, Duncan thought to himself, dolls rarely came with burn scars marring their skin. In death Maeve Kincaid looked every one of her twenty-eight years and then some, the thin mutilated flesh of her face moulding to the shape of the bones beneath to give her the look of a death-mask.

"Yeah, she's dead…" MacLeod shuddered and looked back to Methos, reminding himself why had done this awful thing.

Methos read the expression on his mate's face as clearly as if he had said the words aloud. "No Duncan, absolutely not. I will not allow you to get the guilts about this. You only had one choice to make and I, for one, am very glad you made the one you did. She brought it on herself, don't give her another moment's thought. Good riddance to bad rubbish and all those appropriate cliches. Help me up and we'll ditch the body before it gets any hotter, in this weather she'll be ripe in a few hours." Methos struggled to his feet, a cold hand squeezing his gut as he saw the look on his lover's face, "What, what is it now?"

"Shit, Methos do you have to be quite so cold about it? A human being is dead, in case you hadn't noticed, and I killed her. Try to have a little respect."

"Do you listen to yourself, MacLeod? She killed five innocent people, bugged our home, shot both of us and was about a hairs-breadth from cutting my head off and you're lecturing me about respect for the dead! Times past we would have had her head mounted on a pike to deter anyone else from trying the same stunt," Methos' fury was in full flight now and even though he knew he would regret the harsh words later, they would not be repressed.

"Yes well you probably would have. But I'm not you and I think I'm just beginning to realize how very different we really are." MacLeod's voice was icy cold and his eyes were black obsidian.

"What would you rather have done, MacLeod? Sat her down and explained to her the error of her ways? Would that have been before or after she had a fucking machete at my throat?" Raw scorn dripped from every word, but the memory of the touch of that blade on his skin made Methos' stomach lurch ominously and a cold sheen of sweat cover his skin despite the rising heat.

"Christ you're a cold hearted prick!" Duncan hurled back - too blinded by his own rage to see the hurt he'd inflicted.

"At least I'm not so frigging sentimental all the time!" Methos roared.

"You'll never understand…" as if MacLeod had cornered the market on regret.

"Understand? Understand what, that now you've invented another neat excuse for pushing me away? Or that my life means so little to you?" That's the part that really hurts. "What is it that I should understand?" Methos managed to infuse the word with more venom each time he spat it at his lover.

"You don't understand what it does to me to have to kill them, how could you?" Duncan bellowed.

The carelessly phrased question cut Methos to his soul and he hissed defensively, "That's right, because an evil bastard like me couldn't ever hope to understand someone as perfect as you, could I?"

"I never said I was perfect, I'm just not like you!" MacLeod stabbed a finger towards Methos, punctuating the accusation.

"A fact, for which I should get down on my knees and thank the gods daily," Methos had stopped shouting and his voice was an arctic wasteland.

 "As if you believe in anything," MacLeod matched the venom in Methos' tone precisely.

"I can't believe I was so wrong about you -- you hypocritical son of a bitch!" Methos advanced on the highlander, rage burning in his eyes.  

That stung. "At least I'm not a callous, devious, secretive bastard who couldn't tell the truth on a bet!" MacLeod's fists were clenching and unclenching as his fury hit critical mass.

"If that's all you know of me then we really are just too different!" Methos flung the words at MacLeod, turned on his heel and strode away before the highlander could think of a suitable retort.

Without even thinking about it MacLeod turned and stalked off in the opposite direction, snatching up his katana from the ground as he went, thrusting it deep into the heart of a palm tree as he passed, sublimating the fierce urge to impale his lover.

For hours Duncan paced the beach in front of the guesthouse, his mind a chaotic cyclone of fury and pain. He replayed the argument over and over again in his mind; for a few awful minutes it had been as if the past year and a half had never happened -- as if they had never been lovers at all. Surely if Methos loved him he would never have been so indifferent to his feelings about killing mortals, especially women. How could he not know that after all this time? They had gone through so much already, travelled a long hard road to be together; had it all been for nothing? Weren't they stronger than that? Could they really let it all go so easily? The thought of a life without Methos in it drained all the color from his vision and left the taste of bitter ashes in his mouth. But pride and hurt were high walls to climb and the anger stayed his feet.

The sun was high overhead by the time the anger had gradually melted away with glacial slowness, and the guilt at having killed a mortal woman came into perspective. It had been a necessary evil, his only choice was really no choice at all -- Maeve Kincaid had chosen her own path and paid the toll. MacLeod was left hollowed as the emotions faded and the empty space was flooded with a strength-sapping fear. Duncan's legs almost gave way as the memory washed over him; he saw the blade slashing down towards his lover's throat and almost retched. It had been so close, another few seconds and the bitch would have… Oh God… She could have…Methos would have been… The cacophony of half-completed thoughts spun in his head as Duncan sank down onto the sand, sobbing with exhaustion.

The high shrill cry of the sea eagle sent a piercing note of reality through Duncan's endless self-flagellation. The memory came to him, unbidden, of the first time they had seen the pair of magnificent birds riding the high thermals. The men had been lying in their bed early one morning, Mac's arms wrapped loosely around Methos -- the net draping giving the scene the misty air of a dream -- and they'd watched the eagles silently through the open window until Methos had offered into the silence:

"They mate for life you know…"

MacLeod had thought for a moment before replying, "Aye, they're not the only ones."

"Oh yes?" Methos' tone had been diffident, the one he used when he didn't want seem too needy.

"Yes Meth-os," Duncan had used the lightly teasing tone so as not to overwhelm his lover with the force of his feelings. "You are my mate, in every way, now and for the rest of my life. However long or short it be." And Duncan had drawn his love closer and sealed the declaration with hands and mouth and body confirming the truth of his words.

Methos was his mate, his partner, his other half, and MacLeod had treated him worse than a stranger, throwing insults and accusations without any regard for the hurt he caused. He'd seen the flash of fear on Methos' face as he revived, before it was replaced by relief as he realised it was Duncan who held him. Mac knew only too well how his lover reacted to fear -- pushing it away with seeming callousness or tasteless humor to hide his vulnerability. And he, Duncan berated himself, had let Methos fool him, let him drag him into an argument that neither of them really wanted. The highlander rose to his feet and left the beach to search for his love, suddenly frantic to find Methos and apologise, make it right between them and never, ever cause that look of utter betrayal to appear in those beautiful eyes ever again.

Methos stormed through the forest until emotional and physical exhaustion took their toll and he sank down into the deep litter of leaves in a miniature Stonehenge amongst tree ferns and strangler figs. The old places like this that had not changed in tens of thousands of years were always a solace to his battered soul, an island of constancy in the tumultuous sea of change that was his life. Duncan was supposed to be that too -- his immortal love -- constant, an anchor to hold him, a raft to buoy him. Instead Duncan had left him drowning. A quick death by the blade would have been kinder than this slow sinking beneath the waves, an apathetic lassitude dulling his senses. Why do I bother? Why didn't I just find a nice safe warzone somewhere? It'd be a walk in the park compared to being flayed alive like this time and again.

Methos rested his forehead on the top of his bent knees and relived the nightmare. His empty stomach roiled as he again felt the sensation of cold steel kissing his throat, the bone deep helplessness as his life bled away, the dizzying relief of reviving in Duncan's arms and then the soul-destroying desolation as Duncan regretted his choice. That memory opened the wounds anew and his heart haemorrhaged misery until it seemed the only sensation he would ever feel.

It was a small island but finding one man amongst all the wild places would never be easy. Particularly when that man didn't want to be found, Mac thought bitterly. Eventually though his persistence was rewarded by the welcome note of Methos' presence singing in his head. Methos didn't even turn around as MacLeod approached; he just sat -- a motionless study in hurt and rejection -- half hidden by a group of boulders among the towering trees.

"Come to finish the job?" Methos' voice was thin and taut under the strain.

"Methos?" There was a tremor to the word.

Slowly Methos uncurled himself, stood and faced his lover…and read the fear, the contrition, the pain in Duncan's expression. "Mac?" Methos' body visibly slackened as the antagonism bled out of it.

Whatever words Duncan had planned to use were forgotten, as suddenly the only thing he needed was to hold this man and assure himself that he was real. Assure himself that this was real. And so he did. For a moment or an eternity the lovers clung to one another, a reaffirmation that needed no words and was stronger without them.

Finally though, MacLeod did speak, "I nearly lost you…How could I have come so close to losing you and then treated you like that, said those things to you? God, Methos can you ever forgive me?" He held Methos away from him a little to look into Methos' face, "Please forgive me?"

The hurt had been deep and real, all the more so because the one inflicting it held Methos' heart in his hands. Methos drew a shuddering breath and exhaled, releasing the hold the pain still held on him, he felt it gradually fade into insignificance, banished by the healing simplicity of touch and forgiveness asked…and given. No matter what the crime, Methos could deny this man nothing. He was imprinted, branded for life and his soul would be forever entwined with Duncan MacLeod, whatever the cost.

"Only if you forgive me. I was too harsh before…I'm sorry for how it sounded. I was angry…and afraid, but I meant it when I said it's not your fault. Whatever madness possessed her wasn't your doing, you made the only choice she left for you to make, if you hadn't killed her I'd be dead. And I'm really rather attached to my life as it happens. There's this adventure I haven't finished, and I find I'm not ready for it to end yet." He paused and stroked a single finger down Duncan's cheek. "Are we okay?" Do you still love me? Will this finish us? Can you get past this? Do you still love me?

Duncan closed his eyes for a moment. They were so different, so opposite in many ways - their feelings, their reactions, their experiences made them who they were, but could sometimes set a wide gulf between them, if they allowed it. And yet as he opened his eyes and looked at Methos, all he could think of was the all-consuming passion -- so close to obsession -- that he felt for this extraordinary man and he smiled.

"Yeah, we'll be okay, I'm sorry too. I just hate having to kill them, you know? But when the choice is between you and them, I'll choose you every time, without reservation or hesitation. I love you, Methos. Nothing else matters." Duncan drew his love to him closely once more.

Methos' relief was sudden and powerful, flooding through him as Mac's arms encircled him, the heat of his body reassuring in its familiarity and Methos melted into it gratefully. "I love you too, Mac." He sighed heavily. "Paradise has been great and everything but I think I'd really rather go home."

"Home sounds like a great idea." Mac claimed his love's mouth in a soul-stealing kiss.

The end

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