Methos poured himself coffee in the kitchen area, drank deeply, and carried the mug into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers through hair that was getting long again, shaved, and brushed his teeth.

Duncan's wardrobe offered up jeans and a navy blue sweater that he'd actually given Duncan back in Paris. Methos tightened one of Duncan's belts around his waist. The long sweater hung down to the top of his thighs.

He glanced quickly through Duncan's stash of CD's and shook his head. Then he shrugged into his coat, carefully reloaded his Beretta, and headed out the door.

Joe glanced up as door to his bar opened. "Not open yet," he called out, then he grinned as he recognized Methos.

"Oh. Pity." Methos turned and started to go out again.

"Methos," Joe called out, laughing. Methos walked over and dumped three shopping bags behind the bar.

"Hi, Joe," he said, smiling widely.

"Hi, yourself, old man," Joe said happily. "You want some coffee? Or a beer?"

"How about one of each?" Methos said. He looked around the bar. Joe was setting up tables, limping from one to another. "You short on help?"

"My lunchtime waitress called in sick," Joe said.

Methos shrugged. "Joe, sit down," he said simply. "I can do this."

Joe looked at the Immortal with amazement. "You're going to work? You're not just going to sit on your butt and make smart ass remarks?"

"Oh, shut up. I have more energy than I know what to do with. Go do your accounts or something."

Joe sat down and started working on his bank deposit as Methos continued to clean and set up the tables. He looked up after a few minutes and chuckled. "Methos, what on earth are you singing to yourself?"

Methos straightened up and suddenly realized what he had been singing. He almost laughed aloud.

Joe shook his head. "Rodgers and Hammerstein?" he asked. "'I'm as corny as Kansas in August. High as the flag on the 4th of July?' Isn't the next line something about 'I'm in love with a wonderful guy'?"

Methos grinned. "How about you give me some quarters for the jukebox?" he said.

"Methos," Joe said. Methos stood in front of him with a hand out for the quarters. Joe sighed. "Put in a five, old guy. Hell, put in two fives." Joe handed over the cash. Methos went over to the jukebox, fed in the money, and started punching selections.

"Are you in love?" Joe asked.

Methos grinned again. "Me?" he said, casually. "I guess you'll find out one way or another, Watcher." The jukebox started to play the Rolling Stones' 'Gimme Shelter'.

Joe grinned as he watched Methos bouncing cheerfully around his bar, setting up the tables and cleaning. He had never seen the old Immortal so happy. He turned back to his deposit and his accounts.

Methos went behind the bar and started setting it up for the lunchtime crowd. The jukebox continued playing.

Joe grinned again as he realized that Methos obviously knew all the words to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." He limped to the door and turned on the 'Open' sign.

Methos grabbed a beer, opened it, and swallowed. He went on setting up the bar, finished the beer, and drank another.

Customers drifted in, and Methos played bartender and waiter. Suddenly he stopped and turned to Joe. "What time is it?" he asked.

Joe looked at his watch. "About ten after twelve, why?"

"Oh, shit," Methos said. He turned to the phone and then froze as he felt the distinctive buzz of another Immortal. He spun around to the door. Duncan walked in and nailed Methos with a glance.

"Oh, shit," Methos said again.

Joe looked back and forth between the two men and kept his mouth shut.

"You." Duncan's gaze was only on Methos. "Were going to get some sleep."

"Couldn't sleep."

"And I told you that if you left, I'd track you down and kill you," Duncan said quietly.

Methos' eyes widened.

Joe continued staring and still kept his mouth shut.

"I didn't leave," Methos said. "I just went out for a stroll. Oh, Christ, am I in trouble?"

"Big trouble," Duncan said clearly.

"Well, it's what I do best," Methos turned to Joe. "Isn't it what I do best? Getting in trouble?"

"I am not getting involved in this," Joe said clearly.

"Well, damn it, Joe, you are involved." Methos folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the bar, looking coolly at Duncan.

"And how is Joe involved?" Duncan asked.

"His lunchtime waitress didn't come in, and he needed me to help. Else I'd have been back before you knew I'd even gone out."

"And did Joe call the loft, explain his problems, and drag you out of bed?"

"I'm a big boy, Mac. I can wander around town and manage to not get lost. And I have some customers over there who seem to need refills." Methos picked up his tray and turned away.

Duncan looked over at Joe, who shrugged. "I don't have a clue what is going on between you two," Joe said. "Do I want to know?"

Duncan sat down on one of the barstools and waited for Methos to come back. "Lets wait and ask the 'big boy' when he gets back from playing waiter."

Joe nodded and went to handle several customers at the bar. He brought Duncan a beer and leaned on the bar in front of him. "You know the lunch crowd is just starting," Joe said.

"I know. He'll be busy for a while. And he'll keep himself busy as long as he can," Duncan grumbled.

"Are you actually angry with the old man or are the two of you playing?"

"Both actually," Duncan said with a halfhearted grin. "I have not one clue how long it's been since he slept. He never sleeps on airplanes. He might have napped for an hour at the loft last night. And it so happens that there's a headhunter out there probably looking for him."

"Oh?" Joe leaned forward with interest. Duncan told him the story of the three attackers the night before, with several pauses for Joe to tend to his customers.

By the time Duncan finished the story, Joe was laughing helplessly. "You, you of all people, were blowing up cars?" he sputtered.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Duncan found himself laughing too.

"And the old man took two quickenings?" Joe shook his head. "No wonder he's giddy today. Two quickenings, no sleep. And, no wonder you're worried about him being out on the town by himself. But Mac, really, Methos has taken care of himself for a long time."

"Really," MacLeod agreed. He drained the last of his second beer. "He's quite talented at being on his own. All on his own. Tell him I said so. Use those exact words." Duncan got off the barstool. "See you later, Joe."

"Later, Mac," Joe said easily as Duncan headed for the door.

Methos was at Joe's elbow in moments. "Where's he going?" he asked.

"I didn't ask, but he told me to tell you that you're quite talented at being on your own. All on your own," Joe quoted the Scot easily.

"Oh, shit," Methos said for the third time. He put down the tray he was carrying. "Be back in a minute, Joe," he called out as he headed after the Highlander.

Joe shook his head and wondered why both of his friends were behaving so oddly. He had some suspicions.

Methos flew out the door and almost tripped over Duncan, who was leaning on the wall just outside, looking at his watch.

"Good timing," Duncan said. "I was going to give you one minute."

"How long did I take?" Methos asked curiously.

"About 22 seconds."

"Guess your departure made an impression, huh?" Methos grinned.

Duncan just looked back at him without expression.

"I just went out, for Christ's sake," Methos said with exasperation. "Was I supposed to have stayed at the loft and baked cookies?"

"I came home and found you gone with no note, no explanation, your lap top still open on my coffee table, and knowing that you'd had little sleep on top of two quickenings and jet lag. And knowing that there's a headhunter loose out here who thinks nothing of breaking the rules." With almost every word, Duncan moved closer to Methos, who backed away until he hit the wall. "And you promised to be there when I got back. I was frantic until I found you here. And you asked if you're in trouble? Are you asking if I'm seriously annoyed? What the hell do you think?"

Methos looked into at Duncan's face, about two inches from his own and glowering. "Notes, huh?" he said lightly. "What a radical concept. Hell, it's a radical concept that anyone might care where I am. I'm not used to anyone caring where I am. I don't usually care where I am. Sometimes I don't even *know* where I am. Or what day it is. Or month. Or year. I do often know the season. Environmental cues, you know." He looked down at Duncan's shoes and wondered how long the other man was going to let him keep babbling. Forever, apparently. He took a deep breath.

"Methos," Duncan said. He lifted Methos' chin with one hand and looked into his eyes. To the shocked surprise of both men, Methos' eyes immediately started to well with tears.

Methos blinked. Hard. "I'm not used to anyone caring where I am," he said again.

"You said that," Duncan pointed out.

"I changed the emphasis," Methos said. "The first time I said, 'I'm not. . ."

"Methos!" Duncan growled.

Methos shook his head, swiping at his eyes angrily with the sleeve of his sweater. Duncan grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Don't mess up my favorite sweater," he said gently.

"Your favorite sweater?" Methos repeated.

"Aye, you gave it to me," Duncan reminded him. The Scot looked carefully up and down the street before leaning over to kiss Methos. "It's okay. We'll work it out. In the meantime, I think Joe still needs you."

"Oh, yeah." Methos grinned at Duncan. "So, am I forgiven?"

"No."

"Fuck."

"I said we'd work it out. Later. Go help Joe. I'll be back in a couple of hours. That should get him through the lunch crowd."

Methos waited for a group of customers to walk into the bar, kissed Duncan, and turned to head back inside the bar. He wasn't at all surprised when Duncan landed a ferocious whack on his backside. He staggered and turned with a grin. "Is that a taste of things to come?" he asked with a glint in his eyes.

"Barely a hint," Duncan promised. "Barely. And, yes, there is a pun intended there."

Methos looked at him with some apprehension and a great deal more speculation and then whirled and went back inside. He fairly ran back to where he had left his tray.

Joe turned from the customers, crowding the bar. "Three new tables," he said to Methos, who nodded and turned toward them. "Hey." Methos turned back.

"You and the irate Scotsman get things worked out?"

Methos shrugged with a faint grin. "Sort of," he admitted. "But I have hungry humans to feed, Joe."

"Go to it, old friend. And thank you."

When Duncan got back, Methos and Joe were sitting at one of the tables, drinking a beer and a shot respectively.

Methos had his shoes off and was wincing as he rubbed one of his feet. Duncan sat down in the chair next to him, took the foot, and started to massage it. Methos sighed with pleasure, leaned back, and put the other foot up in Duncan's lap. He stretched and yawned.

"Are you finally starting to get sleepy?" Duncan asked acerbically.

"No, I think I'm just getting my second wind," Methos grinned at the exasperated expression that crossed Duncan's face.

"You mean your fourth or fifth wind, don't you, brat from hell?" Duncan growled.

"Whatever. Just don't stop doing that." Methos settled even more bonelessly into his seat and closed his eyes. "Besides, I wasn't being a brat. I was helping Joe."

"No," Duncan agreed. "You were being a very good boy. Be glad you collected some brownie points today. You need them badly."

Methos opened one eye, stared at Duncan's face, decided he was serious, and sighed. "Y'know, I think life was much easier when you thought I was old and wise." He closed the eye again.

"Yeah, now I just think you're old and a pain in the ass," Duncan grumbled. "And you get about five more minutes of this foot massage to reward you for being good to Joe, and then we go home."

"Home," Methos repeated. "That sounds nice. Sounds more than nice." He didn't open his eyes.

"Will one of you guys tell me what is going on between you two?" Joe asked.

Methos opened an eye again and looked at Duncan. He closed the eye again and thought. "Not yet," he decided aloud without opening his eyes again. "Sorry, Joe. I don't think Mac and I have quite figured it out yet. But I promise you'll be the first to know when we do. Is that okay, habibi?"

"Yes, gradhach," Duncan said gently, knowing that Methos was deliberately dropping obvious hints to their friend.

Joe sighed. "Mac, you want a beer?" he asked. Duncan shook his head and started massaging Methos' other foot. Methos sighed. "Methos, you need another? I'm getting myself another shot."

Methos opened one eye again and looked at Duncan, who shook his head. "No thanks, Joe."

Joe shook his head as he limped to the bar. "You guys really think I don't know any Gaelic. . . or Hebrew?"

Methos started laughing. "Not likely to pull one over on our Watcher friend, are we?"

"No," Duncan said. He leaned over, grabbed Methos' Nikes and started to pull them on the other man's feet. "Get up, gradhach, it's time to go." Methos groaned and leaned further back in his chair.

"Are you coming or do I have drag you out of here?" Duncan asked.

"I'm coming. I'm coming," Methos said hastily. He rose to his feet, went behind the bar, and grabbed the packages he'd walked in with. "Later, Joe," he called out.

"Later, guys," Joe responded as he maneuvered himself back to his chair and sat, fairly certain that he knew exactly what was going on between the two Immortals. It was about damn time, he thought. He'd watched the two of them circle around each other for years.

Methos glanced over at Duncan as the Scot drove the T-bird through the streets of Seacouver. "So, where were we?" he asked. "Oh yeah, notes. Duncan, I don't do notes."

"So I noticed," Duncan said shortly.

Methos straightened up at the tone in Duncan's voice. "You're actually mad at me, aren't you?" His voice was incredulous.

"Methos, do you really need me to repeat myself about how I felt when I got home and found not one trace of you?"

Methos took a deep breath and decided it was time to lose his temper. "Dammit, MacLeod, I'm more than a few years old. I've been taking care of myself for a bloody long time," he said menacingly.

"You want to continue to do it on your own?" Duncan asked. He looked over into the glare directed at him. "Yes, I think you know how to take care of yourself. Do you know how to take care of being in a relationship? Or was last night just a one night stand?"

Methos shut his eyes, leaned over, and started methodically banging his head on the dashboard.

Duncan put a hand out and on the dash. "Stop it," he ordered. "I don't want or need another tantrum today."

Methos opened his eyes and stared at the other man. Duncan stopped at a light. Methos flung his door open and got out of the car. "I'll meet you back at the loft," he called out, slamming the door behind him.

Duncan swore loudly, waited through the light, and then pulled over to the curb in front of Methos. He got out of the car and walked toward the other man. "Get back in the car."

"I said I'd meet you back at the loft," Methos said flatly.

Duncan crossed his arms across his chest. "What part of my concerns about headhunters out here who're not following the rules did you not understand?" he asked. "Get in the car."

"And if I don't?"

"Then we'll both be standing here for a while, making a scene, while I get madder and madder and madder. You really want me even angrier than I am already?"

"I don't really care." Methos jammed his hands in his coat pockets and looked around. *Chances are that Mac and I might be right there for a while.* He sat down on some steps leading up to the doorway of an apartment building, leaned back on his elbows, stretched his legs out, and crossed his ankles.

"Methos," Duncan said furiously.

"I think I could easily make it back to the loft without losing my elderly head," Methos said easily. "I might even make it through the next few weeks without constantly being in your overprotective, overbearing presence. Or has it been your experience that sleeping with you makes others lose all vestiges of competence and thereby require your ceaseless and careful supervision?"

Duncan winced.

"No wonder Amanda always runs away after a few days of you," Methos went on. "The joys of being your lover seem far outweighed by your suffocating protectiveness."

Methos watched from under his lashes as Duncan winced again. He thought about twisting the knife a little, but decided that he didn't want to carry this fight into the realm of the unforgivable.

Duncan swallowed. "Methos," he said. "Will you, please, just get back in the damn car?"

"I'll think about it." Methos' eyes glinted with triumphant amusement as he watched Duncan spread his arms wide and turn in a complete circle with helpless frustration.

"What on earth do you need to think about?" he asked almost plaintively.

"Making sure you understand that even if get back in the fucking car, I am not capitulating. I am perfectly capable of getting back to the bloody loft on my own. I do hope you have some glimmering of the truth of that statement," Methos said, his eyes going hard

Duncan just stared at him for a moment. "Fine," he said. "You could get back to the loft on your own. I concede. Now, will you get back in the damn car?"

"You know this is only a fight one would have with a lover," Methos said, leaning back and putting his face up to the sun. "If we were still just friends, you'd let me walk back."

"Methos," Duncan said quietly and dangerously. "You may be right. But I am tired of standing on the street. Will you, please, get back in the car?"

"I'm not giving in." Methos looked back at Duncan.

Duncan threw his hands in the air, walked over to his car, and rested his butt on the hood. "Fine. Don't give in. Just get back in the car," he suggested, once again folding his arms over his chest.

"How can I get back in the car without giving in?" Methos asked, tilting his head to one side and grinning impudently.

Duncan closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. "Why don't you just pretend your feet hurt too much to continue walking home?" he asked with exasperation.

"I like that. But I can't use it because you came up with it." Methos looked at the rapidly gathering storm on the Highlander's face and considered. "How about I get back in the car because if I don't, you're going to kill me. Not that I care, much. And as long as you're clear that I'm not giving in." Methos met the storm with a stubborn glare.

"Works for me," Duncan said, sighing deeply.

Methos got back in the car. There was total silence for several blocks.

"You're right. I was being obnoxiously overprotective," Duncan said suddenly. "I'm sorry."

Methos stared at the other man incredulously. "Oh, no," he said. "You're not supposed to apologize."

"I'm not supposed to apologize?" Duncan said blankly as he parked the car.

"No." Methos grabbed his shopping bags and headed into the dojo, walking backwards in front of the other man. "We were having a perfectly lovely fight. It could have gone on for much longer. And if you apologize to me, then I have to start thinking about whether I said or did anything I have to apologize for. Not ready for that. Damn, Mac, a premature apology is worse than premature ejaculation. Well, maybe not that bad, but almost. . ." Methos backed into the elevator.

"Methos," Duncan said, grinning slightly. "Shut up." He slammed the elevator door shut. "And I thought you were the man without guilt and without a conscience."

"I work on it," Methos conceded. "It requires constant vigilance." The elevator started up.

"You don't have to worry about apologizing to me," Duncan offered. Methos raised an eyebrow. "You can beg for forgiveness while I paddle your mean, sarcastic butt until you're screaming."

"Oh? Is that event coming up soon on the agenda?" Methos' eyes sparkled with unholy glee.

"What do you think?"

"And it involves screaming? Me, screaming?"

"Almost certainly. Why?" The elevator stopped.

"Just wanted to know." Methos tossed his shopping bags at Duncan and ducked under the opening elevator door. He ran for the stairs, laughing, and flew down them with Duncan right behind.

Methos jumped from the final landing to the ground below, flung open the door to the dojo and almost managed to slam it in Duncan's face. He ran behind the exercise equipment and deliberately knocked over a weight bench in Duncan's direction.

"Whoops," Methos sang out.

Duncan jumped over the bench and almost had him, but Methos ran for the door.

"Anyone ever tell you that you run like a girl?" Methos taunted. "Maybe it's because you wore skirts through most of your formative . . . Oophh. . . ."

Duncan tackled Methos and brought him to the ground, both of them laughing helplessly.

"You don't say 'whoops' when you knock over something intentionally," Duncan said as he rolled Methos under him and stared down into his face.

"I'll say whatever--" Duncan shut him up by closing his mouth over the mouth of the other man. He kissed him thoroughly and reached down to unfasten the belt and jeans.

Methos unbuttoned the fly of Duncan's trousers.

Duncan sat up abruptly, flipped Methos over, ripped his pants halfway down to his knees, and sat on his thighs. Duncan raised his hand high and brought it down with a smack on Methos' bare butt.

"Hell, Mac," Methos said, still laughing. "Can't you do better than that? Hardly felt it. Or that one. Isn't all that working out you do supposed to develop some upper body strength. Now, that was a little better but not much. . .Never though you'd be such a wuss. . .OWW. . ."

"Wuss," Duncan said flatly. "You wait till I get you upstairs, brat from hell. I'll show you wuss." He proceeded to paint Methos' butt a bright flaming red while the other man yelped and giggled.

He stopped spanking, reached between Methos legs to the hardness beneath, and started to caress. Methos groaned and writhed. Duncan took his hand out, covered it with saliva, and reached under again, stroking hard, then soft and then hard. Methos writhed harder and tried to buck the other man off.

Duncan slid off of Methos' legs and stretched out on the floor beside him, still stroking and caressing. Methos rolled to his side and put his mouth over Duncan's. Methos explored the other man's mouth with his tongue and then started to lick down the neck of the Highlander, pulling up Duncan's shirt and stroking the hard muscles of his torso. Methos' mouth and tongue traveled to Duncan's nipples, and his hands moved to the waistband of Duncan's trousers again, pushing them and his underwear down and out of the way.

Methos finished swallowing and ran his mouth back up Duncan's body to his face.

"That was not bad at all," he said with a grin.

"No," Duncan admitted, with an answering grin. "And now we go back upstairs."

Duncan pulled his pants back up and dragged Methos to his feet. Methos just kicked off his jeans and shoes, pulled the shorts back up, and followed to the elevator, wearing only Duncan's sweater and his blue boxer shorts. Duncan pinned him to the wall, kissed him again, and continued kissing him into the elevator, up to the loft, and out.

"I think I promised you that I'd show who was a wuss up here," Duncan said lightly, reaching down to his waist and starting to pull off his belt. Methos' eyes widened, and he backed away from Duncan who looked up with concern.

"Not your belt," he said. "Not a belt, Duncan. No." To his own amazed surprise, his eyes filled with tears. Methos blinked hard. A tear leaked out and fell.

Duncan paused. He caught the tear on his thumb and stroked Methos' face. "No belt, gradhach," he agreed. "What scares you so badly about a belt?"

"I'll tell you later. Not now," Methos said. Duncan caught the other man in his arms and held him for a moment. Methos sighed deeply and relaxed into the hug, putting his face in Duncan's shoulder. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he mumbled.

Duncan started backing Methos toward the bed still holding on tightly and sat both of them down when they got there. Duncan reached his hand under Methos' chin, lifted his face and looked at him carefully. Tears were still brimming in Methos' eyes.

"I don't think you want to play any more," Duncan said.

"Oh, hell," Methos said. "I don't know what I want. I don't even know where this is coming from." He pulled himself out of Duncan's arms, sat cross-legged, and grabbed a pillow to hug against his chest.

Duncan asked, "Did you sleep on the flight from Paris?"

"No."

"And you've not slept since you got here?"

"About an hour last night."

"How long had you been up in Paris before you got on the plane?"

"I dunno. Maybe for about two days."

"Methos, you're so tired and sleepless that it's no wonder that you're weepy as hell and making little sense." Duncan said with annoyance. "And you want me to not worry when there's a headhunter out there?"

"I once took out the best swordsman in Sparta when I hadn't slept for a week," Methos said quietly. "I'm not an idiot, Duncan. I do know how to survive."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Why are you crying?" he asked.

"I said I didn't know," Methos said irritably as tears started to trickle down his face. Duncan sighed in exasperation as Methos again swiped at his face with the sleeve of his sweater, grabbed a box of kleenex, handed it to the other man, and flopped down against the pillows.

"Use these. Not my damn sweater."

Methos grinned and blew his nose. Duncan reached out and pulled Methos, pillow and all, into his arms. Methos kept his arms around the pillow, but put his face into Duncan's shoulder.

"Do I have to play twenty questions?"

"Might work," Methos said.

"Well, let's see," Duncan laid back on the pillows, making himself thoroughly comfortable, and pulled Methos close. "We've just become lovers. What demons could that possibly be bringing up for you? Just sniffle loudly if I get close, okay?"

Methos snorted and bit Duncan on the collar bone. Hard. "Ouch," Duncan protested with a grin. "Okay, you can nod or send up a signal flag or even talk if you're so inspired. Just don't expect me to read your face as long as you keep hiding it in my anatomy, okay?" Methos nodded.

"Memories?" Duncan guessed. Methos nodded. "Memories about love lost?"

Methos was still and then nodded.

"Hmm," Duncan said. "Anyone I know?" Methos nodded again. "Alexa?" Methos shook his head. "Baby, I haven't known any other of. . . Oh. Oh, damn. Methos, are we back there again? Twelve of the ten stupidest moments of my life? The time I said 'we're through', huh?"

Methos' breath caught hard. He pulled himself away from Duncan, sat up, and grabbed the box of kleenex. He did not let go of the pillow he was still clutching.

"Oh, fuck me," Methos said. "This is just stupid. 5000 years old and I'm having the vapors like the fucking heroine in a fucking romance novel. I lived just fine without you for millennia. Don't stare at me like that. I did." Methos drew his legs up to his chin, pinning the pillow against his chest, and put his forehead down on knees.

"You're tired. You're sleep deprived. And pardon me if I don't properly defer to your vastly overrated stores of wisdom, but I don't remember that falling in love gets any easier with age. It's just as damn scary every time I do it. Of course, I've only a few centuries to draw on. Maybe by the time I'm your age, I'll be just blase as all hell about the whole thing. . . Ouch." Methos kicked him, savagely, in the ribs, and Duncan grinned.

"What makes you think you'll even make it to my age, you headhunter's magnet idiot?" Methos asked acerbically and cursed himself as the effect was ruined by his voice catching again.

"Headhunter's magnet idiot?" Duncan repeated. "Am I a magnet idiot or a headhunter's idiot or hell, I'm not even going to try to figure that one out. Though, what is a magnet idiot? Someone who can't even see the front of their refrigerator?"

Methos snorted and fell right over on the bed, chortling helplessly. Duncan reached out, snagged him, and pulled the other man back into his arms. Methos continued to hold on to his pillow but curled back around the Highlander's body and put his face back into his shoulder.

"Methos," Duncan said with a sigh. "I know I hurt you like hell when I said 'we're through.' Do you know how bad it hurt me to say it?"

Methos' breath caught again. "I saw your face," he said.

"Did I ever tell you that I was blinking back tears when I walked away?"

Methos shook his head. "I was drivin' and cryin' myself," he mumbled. "And much as I kinda like the band, I've never been real thrilled with the activity."

"There's band called 'Driving and Crying'?" Duncan asked, bemused, and heard another chuckle.

"Yes, you ignorant opera queen," Methos said.

"There's a lot of music I like besides opera," Duncan protested with a grin. "Shall we get back to the subject at hand?"

"Which hand is that?" Methos asked grumpily as his breath caught hard again. "Why don't we just drop the whole issue and do something else with our hands?" He let go of the pillow with one hand while still clutching it with the other, reached up to the hair clasp at the back of Duncan's neck, unfastened it, and began to run his fingers through Duncan's hair.

Duncan sighed with pleasure and put one of his hands on the back of Methos' head that was still on his shoulder. "Why did this issue even come up? What brought up this particular memory?"

"I like it long," Methos said, ignoring the questions and continuing to gently comb Duncan's hair with his fingers.

"Methos," Duncan growled.

Methos sighed, turned over to his back, holding the pillow hard, and said, "Belts. Whips. Kronos. You. There. Satisfied?" He winced slightly at the sharp intake of breath from Duncan, and his breath caught again.

"Methos," Duncan said.

Methos rolled away, his back to Duncan. "I do not want to talk about it," he said.

"Methos." Duncan curled up behind him, spooning against his back and putting his arm around, to meet the. . .pillow. "Dammit, Methos, will you let go of the damn pillow?"

Methos took several shuddering breaths, turned over, looked at Duncan, and grinned. "I can't let go of the damn pillow. I need it."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "You need the damn pillow," he said flatly.

"Desperately," Methos said. "It's like a 'transitional object.'"

"What is a transitional object?"

"It's an object used by a child to replace the loved object when the loved object is not available. Like a teddy bear."

Duncan looked at him askance. "You've turned a pillow into a teddy bear?" he remarked blankly.

"Only metaphorically speaking," Methos said blithely. "I'd look pretty damn silly with a real teddy bear, wouldn't I? And you don't seem to have one available any way. Not that I'd be caught dead with a teddy bear. A stuffed pikachu, maybe. At least pikachus are dangerous as all hell."

"What is a pikachu?" Duncan demanded.

Methos stared at him. "Are you totally oblivious to popular culture, MacLeod?" he asked pityingly. "A pikachu is a pokemon, a pocket monster. Japanese anime, sort of. It's an unbearably adorable little animated creature with deadly electric charge when it's pissed off."

"I am so delighted to be in possession of these facts. But why, oh old one, do you think the loved object is not available?" Duncan decided to play this one out.

"Only metaphorically speaking 'not available.'"

Duncan got it. "You mean in your memories."

"Not bad," Methos conceded. "For a stupid, sheep fucking Scot, sometimes you're not too slow on the uptake."

Duncan groaned. "Methos, trying to follow the workings of your byzantine, labyrnthine head is like trying to make sense of an Escher painting."

Duncan suddenly rolled on top of the other man and his pillow and stared down into his face. "I am truly and profoundly sorry that I ever uttered the words 'We're through.' I'd been listening to Cassandra, and I ignored everything I knew about you. I didn't even bother to remember how many times you'd risked your own life to take care of me. I wasn't listening when you told me that the times were different and that you were different. I'm sorry."

Duncan looked down at Methos, lying totally still and expressionless, took a deep breath and continued. "I know we've never talked about this. Not any of it. But do you remember that you hurt me, too? Damn it, Methos, have you conveniently forgotten that you slammed me into the side of your car and yelled in my face for about a hundred and thirty-three hours?"

More tears welled in Methos' eyes, and he started sobbing, almost silently. "No," he said quietly. "I do remember that. And I wasn't yelling."

"Felt like you were yelling."

"Maybe so," Methos conceded. "And I knew you were going to say we were through. I just thought I'd make it easier on you."

Duncan sighed with long suffering exasperation, rolled off Methos, glared at the ceiling, and screamed. Methos sat up and stared at him, still holding the pillow, still crying very quietly. Duncan took a deep breath.

"Methos," Duncan said evenly. "I know we've never talked about any of this and I guess we need to, but what is your point? And why do you still have that damn pillow in your arms?"

"What happens when you find out that I did something a thousand years ago you don't approve of? What happens when you find out that I did something five hundred years ago you don't approve of? What happens when you find out I did something last week you don't approve of? Hell, what happens when you find out that I've done something next week you don't approve of?" Methos somehow had managed to get not only his arms but also his legs curled around the damn pillow as he stared at Duncan. Tears ran down his face, but his voice was calm and curious.

Duncan continued to stare at the ceiling. "You don't seem to realize that we crossed that bridge last night," he said quietly. "I gave you my heart. You own it, now."

Methos stared, his eyes wide. His breath caught hard and his sobs became audible. Duncan caught him in his arms and held him tightly, pillow and all.

Duncan went on. "If I find out any of those things, we might have a horrendous fight, but I'll be here." He sat up and grinned viciously at the other man, still holding him hard. "And if you misbehave on purpose just to shake my tree, I'll take that damn hairbrush that still seems to be on the damn floor, and I'll blister you. But, from now until eternity, I will never again say the words 'we're through.' Now, will you put that damn pillow down?"

Methos pulled himself out of Duncan's arms, put his head to one side, still sobbing, and considered. He clutched the damn pillow as if it were a life preserver in a treacherous sea. Duncan's face was about a foot from his, and they were staring at one another like two Sumo wrestlers about to engage in combat. Except that Sumo wrestlers did not often have tears streaming down their face.

"No belts, gradhach, not ever," Duncan said gently. "And someday, you're going to have to tell me about you and Kronos, but not today."

Methos gulped out three more deep shuddering sobs and then flung the damn pillow into Duncan's face. He tumbled off the bed and ran with Duncan pelting after him, hurling pillows.

Three pillows hit Methos in the back of his head before he threw himself over the back of the sofa, grabbed the ammunition, and started hurling them back. Duncan dodged the first two, took the third full in the face, and tossed all three back as he leaped over the top of the sofa, trying to land on Methos who toppled away, laughing.

Methos seized several pillows, bopped Duncan on top of the head with one, rolled to his feet, jumped on the table, slammed another pillow into Duncan's face, and bounced off to the other side of the table. He dodged a throw pillow from the couch that Duncan slung at him, sprinted for the bed, and hopped to his feet on top of it, flinging pillows the whole way.

Duncan dodged and caught pillows, slinging them back, vaulted back over the couch and dove for the bed. He snagged Methos by one ankle and brought him down, bouncing. Methos was laughing so hard that he was gasping. Duncan pulled himself up Methos' body, gazed down into his face, and kissed him.

"I love you, Methos," Duncan said.

"Love you, too, you idiot refrigerator magnet." Duncan started to pull his sweater off over Methos's head, and Methos cooperated fully.

"Umm, Duncan," Methos said as Duncan's mouth started moving down to his neck. "There's something I didn't say."

Duncan sighed. "What?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry," Methos mumbled. His breath caught in an after-sob.

Duncan was puzzled. "What? Sorry about what?' he asked.

"Mostly sorry about what I said about Amanda. And for just generally being mean and sarcastic." Methos' breath caught again.

Duncan laughed. "Baby," he said. "I do appreciate the apology and thank you, but mean and sarcastic is one of the things you do best." He was gratified to hear a chuckle.

"I also do brat from hell awfully damn well," Methos said, as Duncan's mouth again fastened on his neck.

Duncan looked up. "Yeah," he said. "I've noticed. I like it when you play brat from hell. It's another of the things you do best."

Methos pushed Duncan away and stared at him. "Hell, Duncan, it's more complicated than that. I may act like a brat, but I'm still a control freak."

"Oh, please, " Duncan said. "You think maybe I didn't know that? Methos, can we, please, stop analyzing and dissecting. I just want to have wild, insane sex. Look, if you tell me to jump, I'll ask how high. I won't argue. I trust you." Duncan pulled the other man back into his arms.

Methos suddenly turned the Highlander, rolled him over on the bed, and stared down into his face. "What if I think you need your butt paddled, gradhach?"

Duncan just laughed. "You think you're the only guy on earth who wants to be a little boy sometimes, one who gets taken care of and spanked when needed? Methos, don't be more of an idiot than you can help. Ouchhhh," Duncan yelped out as Methos rolled them both to their sides and savagely smacked his butt. He turned Methos to his back and grinned down at him.

"But, right now," Duncan said, "we're on our honeymoon, yes? And I know how damn tired you are of being the oldest man in the world. I know that you want to feel young and in love. You want to be a brat and have me take care of you, don't you?"

Duncan started to tickle the older man. Methos yelped and gasped out, "Yes, yes, yes." He grabbed Duncan's hands and held them away, capturing both hands in one of his and again smacking the Scot on the butt. Duncan yelped and grinned.

"Yes, I wanna have at least a few weeks of being an obnoxious brat and have you put up with it," Methos went on. "Can you put up with it? I warn you. I'll be worse than you can imagine."

"Oh, please, Methos, you've been worse than I can imagine since the first minute I met you," Duncan chuckled out. "I've wanted to spank you about two hundred times. If you keep acting like that for the next ten years, I think I'll manage. I love you."

Methos captured Duncan's mouth with his and started to take his clothes off. Duncan cooperated fully.

Duncan's tongue started licking down Methos' body, playing with each nipple and then sinking down toward his crotch.

Methos felt himself get harder than he could ever remember being as Duncan's mouth came down on the hardness. He gasped.

About ten minutes later, Methos gasped out, "Me inside of you or you inside of me?"

"Your choice. I don't care."

"Me in you," Methos said. "Where's the damn lubricant?"'

"Drawer, right beside your elbow," Duncan said. "And hurry, will you?"

Methos thrust open the drawer, got out the oil, put it on his fingers, and started to stroke gently, pushing in one finger and then another. Duncan gasped and almost sobbed out his need for the proceedings to continue. Methos rolled him over again and pushed in.

"Hold it a minute," Duncan said. "I don't want to have to take another shower." He grabbed a wad of Kleenex and held them ready so that when he began to come, so he didn't explode all over their stomachs.

Methos grinned. "You think too much," he said, kissing the other man as he started to push in. Duncan caught his breath hard and pushed back to meet him.

Methos paused, not moving, and then grabbed Duncan's hands, caught them both in one of his, and pinned them to the bed over Duncan's head.

He kissed Duncan savagely and hard. "I am going to make this last a very long time, Duncan," he said quietly. "And I am going to make you scream."

"Works for me." Duncan grinned.

Methos stared down into Duncan's face, still breathing hard. "Well?" he said.

"I like screaming," Duncan said.

Methos chuckled, let go of Duncan's wrists, kissed him hard, and collapsed on Duncan's chest. His eyes started to close and he yawned deeply. "I am too tired," he said.

Duncan rolled them both over and kissed Methos on each eyelid. "Sleep, baby. Please, get some sleep," he said gently.

"And what are you gonna do?"

Duncan sighed. "What do you want me to do? Lie here and stare down at you? Put my whole life on hold to be at your beck and call?"

"Sounds good," Methos said with a chuckle.

"Right, and do you want a shrubbery, too?" Duncan asked, rolling his eyes. Methos started laughing helplessly.

"No, I just want you to say 'Nihkt'," he gasped out.

"Fine. Nihkt, Nihkt, Nihkt," Duncan said, laughing.

"Good," Methos said. He curled up in Duncan's arms, closed his eyes, and within minutes drifted off to sleep. Duncan held him tightly and breathed a sigh of relief.

He left Methos sleeping soundly on the bed, wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He put in sugar and cream, tasted it and made a face. It had been sitting all day. He carried the coffee mug over to his wardrobe, began to dress, and started when the unmistakable sound of the elevator vibrated through the loft.

Duncan put the coffee mug down, grabbed his sword, and went to wait by the elevator. He relaxed when Joe's face appeared.

"Hi, Joe," he said casually, turning away to finish pulling on his dark blue shirt. "Want some coffee? Or a beer? Or even a Coke."

"Coke sounds good," Joe agreed as he clumped off the elevator. "Where's Methos?" he asked.

Duncan poured a Coke into a glass with ice and gestured. Joe took in the sight of the oldest Immortal snuggled in Duncan's bed.

Even as he looked, Methos took a shuddering breath, shaking with an after-sob, and stirred restlessly. Duncan put a finger to his lips and moved quickly and silently to the bed, sat down beside Methos and stroked his back.

"Duncan," Methos murmured. He rolled over and put his arms around Duncan's waist.

Duncan held the other man tightly. "I love you, Methos," he said quietly. Methos sighed, took another shuddering breath and settled into deep sleep. He rolled away, hugging a pillow.

Duncan looked over at Joe and sighed as he realized that there was no easy way to explain this.

Joe raised both eyebrows high.

Duncan waited a moment, got up, motioned Joe to follow him and led the way into the elevator and down into the dojo. They sat in the office.

"Well?" Joe said.

"Well?" Mac repeated. "Well, what?"

"What is going on with you and Methos?"

"He's sleeping. I'm down here with you."

Joe looked at Duncan skeptically. "He came to my bar this morning, obviously up earlier than our usual Methos, singing Rodgers and Hammerstein. . ."

"Rodgers and Hammerstein?" Mac sputtered.

"Yeah, the one with the chorus about being in love."

"That narrows it down."

"Corny as Kansas in August," Joe said shortly. Mac choked on his coffee.

"Methos?"

"Yes, Methos," Joe said firmly. "He's happy. He's singing. He's bouncing all over the bar. You walk in the door, and I swear, you became the entire focus of his existence. And then I get here and he's crashed out, dead to the world, and he's obviously been crying and crying hard. What on earth did you do to Methos to make him cry?" Joe couldn't stop the tone of protective fierceness in his voice.

"Crying?" Duncan tried to look blank.

Joe snorted in exasperation. "Dammit, Mac, I heard the breaths that he shuddered out. He's been crying, and he's been crying hard. No one makes that sound unless he's been sobbing his guts out."

"His business, Joe," Duncan said flatly. "I'm not talking about it."

"And you're stroking his back when he's about to wake up from a bad dream? He's throwing his arms around you. You told him you love him. What's that about?"

Duncan sighed again and ran his fingers through his long brown hair. "I do love him, Joe," he said. "And he loves me. Is that a shock to you?"

"Not really. I've been wondering how long it would take you idiots to figure it out. I've been watching you for a lot of years, Mac. I've never seen anyone else, besides Tessa, make you laugh so much. And I've not seen you flirt and play so much with anyone since Tessa. When did you finally get it?"

Duncan was staring at Joe with his mouth open. "I don't think I got it completely until yesterday. But dammit, I think I've been in love with him since the first moment I saw him."

"The first moment?" Joe asked skeptically.

"I was in lust with him from about the first moment I saw him," Duncan corrected. "I wanted him."

"Did you know that then?" Joe was in full Watcher mode, collecting data about his Immortal.

Duncan rolled his eyes and groaned. "Of course, I knew it. He's one hell of a gorgeous man, my friend." Duncan closed his eyes for a moment and thought about just how gorgeous Methos was, especially naked and in his bed. He grinned evilly.

Joe groaned. "I don't even want to know what you're grinning about," he announced. "And since when did you start noticing that a guy was 'gorgeous?'"

"Joe, where do you guys get the idea that I'm some kinda dyed in the wool hetero?" Duncan asked with exasperation. "It may not be in my chronicles, but I've served in armies half my life. You think I never fooled around with another guy?"

"Maybe fooled around, Mac, but never a relationship. Not that we've ever recorded."

"Oh. You think Brian Cullen and me were always just drinking buddies. Or me and Warren Cochrane?"

"Mac, you never gave up women for any of those guys."

"Point taken," Duncan said. "Okay. I was in lust with Methos. Maybe just for fooling around. But I know him, now. And I love him, Joe. For Methos, I might well give up on women. God knows he's a handful. I'm not sure I could handle anyone else in my life while he's in it. And I think he'd be worth it." He looked intently at Joe over the top of his coffee mug as he drained the last of it.

Joe chuckled. "He is a handful. And yes, I think he'd be worth it. But what in hell did you do to make the world's oldest and greatest cynic cry so hard? I'm serious, Mac."

"Dammit, Joe, you sound like a protective father." Duncan shook his head. "I didn't make him cry. He needed to cry. And I'm not going to tell you anymore about it. It's his business. You ask him."

Joe took another swallow of his Coke and looked down. "Mac," he began hesitantly. "Oh, hell, I may sound like an idiot, but do you have any clue about how difficult that man could be?"

"No, Joe, you don't sound like an idiot," Mac said quietly. "But I don't think you have a ghost of a clue how much I love him and how much I am willing to put up with his shit until he settles down and agrees to be loved." He put his mug down, folded his arms over his chest, and again gazed seriously at the other man.

Joe sighed with relief. "Okay," he said. "We're on the same page. You know as well as I do that loving him is gonna be a chore."

MacLeod laughed aloud. "Oh, yeah," he agreed. "Joe, you have no idea what a chore it's been. And it's only been for a day and a half."

"I can imagine," Joe said as he finished his Coke and stood up. He checked his almost photographic memory of the area around Mac's bed and noted the hairbrush on the floor. "I have to get back to the bar. And, Mac, if you've been paddling his contrary butt, watch out."

"What?" MacLeod demanded, suddenly flustered.

"He'll push you to paddle him harder and longer. He'll push hard. Period."

"Joe, what are you talking about?" Duncan stared down into his coffee cup.

"I'm talking about our problem child, Mac," Joe said patiently. "Methos. You left a hairbrush on the floor beside the bed. I suppose Methos could have been running it through your long, silky tresses. . ."

Duncan snorted.

"Yeah," Joe agreed with a chuckle. "On the other hand the thought of you spanking that manipulative holy terror makes sense and fills me with great joy."

Duncan started laughing helplessly. "Joe," he tried to divert him. "What on earth do you mean that he'll push me?"

"Exactly what I said. He'll push you. Damn it, Mac, you know exactly what I mean." Joe started limping toward the door. "I'll see you later. Take care of the old man."

"Yeah, I plan to," Mac said. "Later, Joe. And Joe."

Joe turned.

"I do know exactly what you mean. So does he. It doesn't scare me."

"Bet it scares him," Joe said.

Mac grinned. "Yeah, it does. He'll get over it. I'll make sure of that."

"I hope so, Mac," Joe said. He thought for a moment. "And I think I believe you. God help you. He's gonna drive you mad."

"It'll be worth it, Joe," Duncan said softly.

To be continued. . .