Duncan sighed. "All right, Amanda. I yield to your superior logic and reason in this."
She smiled deviously. "Nab, Mac. You know you're just agreeing because, deep down, you want to! Now you may have finally accepted that..."
"All right, all right!" MacLeod laughed as he lifted his hands, hoping to make himself feel less terrified by acting cheerful and confident. He brushed past Amanda to go into the bathroom.
As he was washing his hands, he caught sight of the shower in the mirror. What the crap...?
A pile of soggy clothes were hanging haphazardly from the shower head, making a slight drip-drip noise that he hadn't noticed before with his preoccupation. He frowned.
"Hey, that's the sweater I lost a month ago!" he cried, rather upset. How had it ended up here, of all places? And now it looked as if it would be all stretched out.
And then he noticed the pants.
"My lucky slacks!" he bemoaned, clutching the almost ruined fabric.
What in the blackest of hells had happened here, the Fairy of Misplaced Favorite Clothing just dropped by to leave him a gift?!?
Confused, dazed, and bewildered, he exited the washroom, bringing the sopping wet offending articles along with him.
"Duncan?" Amanda raised an eyebrow at his handful of crunched up clothing.
"It seems someone dropped by to give me back my clothes," he muttered, dumping them in the laundry basket. He'd see if he could salvage them later, after he had dealt with the whole Methos Issue.
Damn it, he couldn't even refer to it as what it was! "Issue"! Hah!
"Methos?" she inquired.
"He must be furious if he's returning my clothes," he said despondently, sitting heavily on the couch.
Amanda came up behind him and put her arms around him. "Listen to me," she whispered softly in his ear. "You are going to fix this and get some nookie, okay?"
He smiled sadly. "You're too good for me, Amanda."
Back in the bedroom, Methos pulled away from the door in a panic. They were going to have sex? Right then?
Crap in his pants.
Where to hide, where to hide... he looked around the room in a panic. Immediately discarding under the bed as being too close to the action, he heard rustling at the door and dove for the closet.
Full.
Fine, under the bed then. He scrambled to the bed, rolled under, and found Duncan's personal dust bunny collection. Coming face to face with one as big as his head, he decided not to challenge it for authority and hoped Amanda and Duncan were planning on tangoing on the couch. He really was still tired... maybe they'd forget him if he just went back to sleep on the bed... Climbing back onto the really rather comfortable mattress, he laid his head down and hoped his trepidation was unfounded.
Crap on a crowbar.
Duncan looked up at Amanda. "Oh, yeah, by the way, 'Manda--I've got that painting of yours in my closet."
"Oh, Duncan!" she squealed, wrapping her arms around him. "Call Methos and go get it so I can scram!"
Grumbling, he nervously dialed the number and waited through the rings... until the machine kicked on.
Panicking, he hung up.
"He's not home," he excused himself lamely. "I'll go get your painting so you can catch your plane." Waving off all her excuses, he opened the door to his bedroom and ventured inside.
Methos heard someone approaching the door to the bedroom and panicked completely. Springing off the bed, he started to dash across the room. He was just even with the door when it swung open to reveal a shocked Highlander. He froze.
Crap in holy water.
Duncan found himself face to face with the one person he both most and least wanted to see right now: Methos.
The two men stood frozen in place, staring at one another, when Amanda's voice startled them out of their mutual reverie.
"Duncan? What's talking you so long?" Her voice, coming from right outside the door, made them both jump nervously. She walked in, and her mouth made a cute little 'o' of surprise for a moment. Then she calmly walked up, stopping next to Mac, and surveyed Methos from head to foot and back up.
"You've got something in your hair." She reached out and smoothed a few particles of dust out of his hair.
And Methos lost it.
He certainly didn't mean to loose it, but it had been a long, trying day, and this just seemed to be the perfect finish.
He burst out laughing in MacLeod's face.
All right, so it was hysterical laughter, but it was still a release that he desperately needed, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop.
MacLeod just stood there, shock melting into confusion, confusion into slight anger.
And still Methos laughed, but the hysteria was beginning to get the better of him. He knew that if he didn't get himself under control, he'd soon be sobbing out his sorrows at the Highlander -- which he could not afford to do.
Choking down the rest of his laughter, he strode back into the other room and grabbed himself something to drink -- something considerably stronger then his usual beer.
Amanda unobtrusively excused herself, and Mac sat down on the couch.
Angrily, he decided to ask the old timer something that would almost certainly preclude any real revelations on his part. "So, Methos, what are you doing in my bed?"
"Sleeping."
"Why--"
Methos cut him off. "MacLeod, do you know what has happened to me today? First, I woke up in my roach-infested flat -- which doesn't have running water, by the way--then I stumbled--through the pouring rain--to get some coffee, only to have some bitch challenge me--and to realize that I didn't have my sword! So, I get chased across campus, still in the pouring rain, and manage to lock myself in the bathroom with that horny asshole, Ryan. He, of course, comes on to me, so I go out the window, and hide in a telephone booth, only to realize I'm forty-five minutes late for the staff meeting! Then I go there, in time to sit through the last, like, ten or fifteen minutes, only to find out that so many people had called in sick that I couldn't go home! By then I have a real kick-ass cold, and still incredibly soggy--and I can't change clothes. I go to my office, only to find that I'm locked out, and the only janitor that I can find is a little old lady who only speaks Spanish and who won't let me in until she's done cleaning everything else! So, I try to break into my office, only to be caught by Security, who assume that I'm the Campus Thief, and am dragged off to the police station. Kick is, though, my class wasn't even going to need me, today! They had a guest lecture! The bitch who challenged me gave me the hairy eyeball and I had to spend three hours of this bloody awful day in the bloody police station locked in a bloody cell with two pimps, a drug dealer, and a big, beefy guy named Buddy with too many bloody tattoos who kept coming on to me!!"
The Highlander looked at him, completely dumbfounded and not a trifle amused.
Methos took a swig from his bottle.
"So I come back here and collapse into your bed--after the Head Prof. finally comes to bail me out of jail -- and just what do I wake up to, but you and Amanda coming back here, and I quote, 'going to get some nookie'!??!!"
"'Some nookie'...?" Mac repeated, sounding a bit overwhelmed. "We weren't--"
"Oh, don't try to make your excuses to me, Highlander! I've had it up to here with this crappy day--" he sneezed. "Damn it!"
Mac blinked. Methos was sick? Maybe that would explain the earlier nonsensical rant. Carefully approaching him, he lifted one hand to the old man's forehead. "You're hot," he murmured, checking it against his own head.
"This is just bloody wonderful!" Methos moaned, sitting heavily on the couch.
"When was the last time you ate something?"
"I mean, has today been my day for being propositioned by assholes or what?"
Duncan thought for a minute. "Unless you had something when you went to the coffeehouse this morning, it would have been dinner yesterday, right?"
"Plus, that bitch with the sword probably followed me here. She'll be knocking on the door at any second--"
Loud pounding came from the door, and the unmistakable surge of presence surrounded them.
Methos threw his head in his hands and groaned. "It's days like this that I wonder why I bother to save my own miserable life."
"I'll get the door," Mac comforted, not quite sure what to say, and pulled out his katana to answer the knock. Methos followed a few paces behind, resigned to his fate.
"Can I help you?" he asked the woman with a terrible makeup job and stringy red hair.
She looked over his shoulder to Methos in the distance. "I've come for him."
Duncan wanted to say "Well, tough -- he's MINE!", but decided better of it. Well, actually, that could work...
As reasonably as he could, he asked her, "Why are you after him? Is it anything pressing and personal? Or are you simply after his head because There Can Only Be One? Because, I have prior claim on him..."
Obstinately, she jutted out her chin. "What do I care if you have prior claim? You're just some two-bit, too-pretty SOB of a new Immortal."
Mac decided he really didn't like this woman. He gave her a once over, and said, very coldly, "I'm very sorry, ma'am, but you've made a mistake. My name is Duncan MacLeod, and I have a prior claim on this man." He thought violently, "Get in line!" but again refrained from saying it. Dumb bitch'd probably take him literally.
She went white. "Duncan MacLeod..." She faltered. "The... Duncan MacLeod? The Highlander?"
He sighed in aggravation. "As far as I know, there is only one of me..."
She almost tripped over herself in her haste to apologize and leave. "Oh, I'm very, very sorry, sir..."
The door clicked shut behind her.
"Lackey..." he muttered, disgusted, and locked the door.
Methos was leaning against the wall, and he brought his head back to rest against the white plaster with a thump. "What a wonderful display of macho posturing," he intoned. "You really out-testosteroned that bitch, let me tell you."
Mac looked at him, a little annoyed. "Did you want her to take your head?"
Methos rolled his eyes. "Oh, come off it, MacLeod. She couldn't kill me, not even on today." He paused, pondering. "You know, I think my planets are misaligned." For some reason, he kept hearing Ryan's voice: "Oh, Adam, we all want you to give head." He shuddered and stifled a cough.
The Highlander frowned. "Come on, Old Man, I'm putting you to bed."
"I'm not a child, Mac," he protested.
"Come on, you know we only get sick when we're run down." Taking Methos' hand, he gave it a tug, surprised when the old man actually allowed himself to be pulled back to the bedroom. Pushing Methos down on the bed and pulling the covers over him, he met the sarcastic look with a gentle one of his own. "I'm sorry," he said sadly.
"For what?" Now that his head was actually on the pillow, Methos was actually feeling weights pull his eyelids over his eyes. He struggled, trying to decipher what the child was brooding over now.
"Yesterday, and everything that led up to it. I didn't mean to snap, I just..."
Methos struggled to understand. "Sleep!" his body cried with glee. "You're a nice, clean bed, you idiot! Sleep!"
"Shut up," he replied, "I'm trying to think."
"Look, Mac, you don't have to explain--"
"Yes," the Highlander said furiously, "I do! I've been looking within myself and doing a lot of thinking lately, and I've finally decided that I want to do this. I'm going to do this."
Methos blinked, confused. "Do what?"
"Methos... I love you."
Methos fell out of bed.
When he finally pulled the tangled bedsheets from his face, he found the Highlander hovering over him, less then a foot from his face. He was smiling, but there was a worried glint in his eyes.
"You know, that wasn't quite the reaction I was hoping for..." Of course, he thought to himself, it wasn't the worst one that the Old Man could have had. Or still could...
Methos was seriously considering having a psychiatric evaluation. He thought the Highland Child had just declared love for him. And was now joking about it.
Well, a day in the life of a 5,000-year-old man. Leaping (from) tall buildings in a single bound, saving maidens in distress (and then being saved from them), and making Scottish womanizers swoon at his feet (or him swooning at theirs).
Lifting the bed skirt, he peered under the bed.
"What are you doing?" Mac asked him with amusement, eyes sparkling.
"Checking for pod people," he retorted, head spinning. "Let me get this straight: you come home to have sex with your incredibly sexy girlfriend, find your annoying freeloader--who you just had a fight with, incidentally--sleeping in your bed, and say, 'hey, screw the hot chick, let's go for the old fart'. Did I get that right?" He shot a glare at the other man.
Duncan squirmed. "Well, yes and no." His face looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but in the room with Methos, having this conversation. "I mean, Amanda and I didn't... I mean, we came here to... I mean, I tried to call you, but... and then, Amanda was going to leave... but you didn't answer the phone, so I... I don't want to screw Amanda. I mean... you got that all wrong!" He was flushing deeply at this point.
Methos raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"
Duncan sighed and sat down on the floor next to him, hand reaching absently for Methos'. "I called Amanda here because I realized I was having these... feelings, and she's good at helping me understand them. Accept them. I... God, Methos, I can't look at you when I say this. It's too hard."
Methos blinked, sat up, and pulled the bedspread over his head.
MacLeod couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, that's one way to deal with it!" He sobered quickly. "What I'm trying to say, Methos, is that I love you. And that I want you--and nobody else BUT you. And am absolutely miserable without you." He held his breath, waiting for the old man to answer.
The phone rang.
Methos started, knocking the bed table next to him with his head. "Crap!" he exclaimed, holding his head with one hand and ripping the comforter off his face with the other. He shot MacLeod a look that screamed annoyance. "Aren't you going to get that?"
Mac shook his head. "Whoever it is can wait."
The phone rang again. "It might be an emergency," he said, uncomfortable at being put on the spot.
Pulling Methos' head in swiftly, he planted a gentle kiss on the other's lips. Methos blinked, looked at the phone, and picked it up. "Call back later," he told the person on the line, and hung up. "Mac, I..." he swallowed, trying to think of what to say.
The phone rang again.
Methos groaned and started to pick it up again.
MacLeod beat him to it.
"What part of 'Call back later' don't you understand?" he growled. "Oh. Hi, Richie."
Methos almost screamed.
"Uh, Richie, this is kind of a bad time...... Uh, yes, that was Methos. No, I don't think I'm going to Joe's tonight. Yes, I mean it that this is a bad time. I'll talk to you tomorrow, all right?" MacLeod hung up without waiting for an answer. Then he unplugged the cord.
Methos raised an eyebrow.
"Now, as you were beginning to say...."
"As I was beginning to say," Methos repeated, trying to catch his original train of thought, "is... Mac, I..." he rubbed his head in frustration. Crap on a fork, this was hard. "This can't work."
Sixty to zero in two seconds flat. The humor flittered out of Duncan's features and was replaced by confusion and pain. "But... why not?"
"MacLeod..." He struggled to explain it to the Highlander. "You're a great guy, and I really like you, but you live in an Immortal zoo. For example," he began to warm to his own subject, "take the phone call a few seconds ago. An immortal calls you up to find out if you're going somewhere tonight. So he can meet you there. And you do this often!"
Mac shook his head, still confused and hurt. "It's just Richie, Methos."
"But, you see, it's not just Richie! It's Amanda, and Kalas, and Cassandra, and your long string of lovers returned to haunt you, and Richie on top of that! Immortals know you! They hunt you and visit you on a regular basis! I... it's too much in the spotlight, MacLeod." He gave the Scot a sad look.
"Methos--"
"Plus, Immortals argue amongst themselves for the honor of challenging you."
"Oh, that's not--"
"It's true, Duncan. You have challenges all the time, and I don't want to come home one night to a short call from Dawson." He looked at his hands. "I just... I can't do that."
"Oh, Methos....." Duncan felt his heart begin to rise when he realized what the old man had said -- that he really liked him that way. That it wasn't that he didn't care for the Highlander. It immediately sank again as soon as he realized that it didn't matter--he was still being rejected. And for what? For being who and what he was. MacLeod tried to gather some feeling of righteous anger to protect himself with, but it wouldn't work. He couldn't be mad at Methos for being who he was, either. He sighed.
"Methos...." He took a deep breath. "Methos, is it because you're afraid to lose me? Is that why?" That's what Mac thought he had heard, but he wanted to make sure... to be sure....
Methos nodded a little. "That's a large part of it..." He bit his lip.
Duncan let out his breath. "If it's that important to you, then I could... I could drop out of sight. Be a little less 'in the spotlight'." He thought for a moment. "Or even a lot less." He shifted so he was sitting next to Methos, leaning against the bed.
The old man closed his eyes. "No more old flames with nice breasts and complicated problems? No more immortals with grudges lurking in the shadows?"
Mac shifted uneasily. "I can't change the past... but I will try to warn you ahead of time."
"Scout's honor?" He opened his eyes and turned his head to find Duncan's own warm, welcoming gaze just inches away from his face.
Mac laughed gently, eyes crinkling. "Scout's honor," he confirmed in a whisper.
Leaning in the couple inches, Methos' eyes flickered down to the other's slightly parted lips and back up. Gently, he moved in for a brief, tingly kiss before pulling back a bit to look at his friend.
Screw the planets' alignment.
A few minutes later, Mac felt that he had to do something about getting Methos fed--he wouldn't want his love to get sick. My love? he thought, I like the sound of that...
So he was quickly cooking some spaghetti and had just leaned towards the old man to capture a kiss when they felt the presence of another immortal.
Someone knocked on the door. MacLeod groaned.
"Mac, I know you're in there; I can feel you! Let me in!"
Someone--make that Richie--jimmied the lock open.
Mac groaned and started to pull away.
"He better have an insane immortal chasing him," Methos muttered, stepping away from the Highlander. "Just kick him out so we can continue."
Silently, Mac agreed. Of all the--"Don't you dare move," he warned the suddenly skittish Methos. Handing him the spoon, he fixed him with a firm look. "Stir.
Richie ran in, looking around as if he expected mass mayhem to come at him.
Well, he wasn't utterly disappointed.
"Richie," Mac greeted, unable to keep an annoyed tone out of his voice, "you decided to drop by." And break my lock, he silently added.
Richie eyed him cautiously. "Yeah, I--"
"What don't you understand about the words 'this is a bad time', the nouns, the verbs, or the adjectives?" Methos gave the sauce a vicious stir. "Or maybe I should try to find smaller words."
The young immortal surveyed the scene, leveling a glare at the old man. Methos was cooking, and Mac was--he glanced over to the table, where a book and a bottle of gin sat. Reading a book? "Doesn't look too bad to me."
"Richie," Duncan began delicately, feeling peevish that his seduction had been interrupted, "Methos and I have some stuff we need to work--"
"Crap!" the old immortal yelled, yanking his hand away from the saucepan, which teetered on the suddenly cracked burner and, in seemingly slow motion, spilled the boiling-hot tomato and basil sauce all over the man.
There was a pause as Methos drew breath to scream.
This Fic sucks too bad to read anymore. Take me back to the beginning