Transcendence1

                             TRANSCENDENCE

                                        by Diana DeShaun
                                           Feb. 1998

           Standard Disclaimers:
           Rysher and Panzer/Davis Productions own the original characters.
           I'm only borrowing them for fun.
           Do not post, copy, publish or link to this material
           without the express permission of the author.

           WARNING: Rated: NC-17 Same-sex sexual content.
           Use the delete key now if you are under the legal age in your locality
           or if that isn't to your taste.

           Please let me hear from you. I appreciate all feedback. :-) [email protected]

Part One

   Duncan MacLeod looked like a thunderstorm, which was ironic considering the fact that he was striding blindly through the worst thunderstorm of the season with little conscious thought as to why. Ever since his final defeat of the demon that had caused Richie's death, and his return to Seacouver, he had been waiting for something. But what?

   Yes, he had accepted that he was not ultimately responsible for what had happened--despite the fact that his hand had dealt the fatal blow. God knew, Joe Dawson told him that often enough. He believed it. It didn't make him feel much better, but at least he no longer considered himself a murderer fit only for death himself.

   So, what was wrong? He felt better. He mostly slept better. He had fallen back into his easy relationship with Joe. He was again touching base periodically with Amanda. What else was there?

   A sudden loud crack of thunder masked an equally sudden intake of breath as an errant thought struck him. You know what else there is--who else there is... His face, revealed in the brilliance of the intermittent lightning, twisted in pain. He didn't want to know, didn't want to acknowledge the emptiness inside that had nothing to do with the ache left by Richie's absence.

   Where was Methos? After sticking by Joe the entire time Duncan was gone, at the first sign of Mac's return, Methos had vanished. Even Joe had no idea where he'd gone. It was as if he had fallen off the face of the planet, again. That was what had Mac walking and scowling in the night. If Methos chose to vanish, MacLeod was not at all sure he would be able to find the 5000 year old Immortal. And if he couldn't find him, if he couldn't talk to him, MacLeod didn't think he'd ever be able to pick up all the threads of his life again.

He had let Methos down yet again. Ever since he had cast himself as judge and jury over the Horsemen, things had never been quite the same between the two of them. Oh, they had technically made up, but still. The old, easy camaraderie was gone. And then, when he had looked up at Methos after taking Richie's head...after he had begged Methos to take his...Even a year later, Mac was still ashamed of the look of hatred he had flung at Methos as he strode off into the darkness of soul that he had been steeped in.

   Luckily, in the year that ensued, he had discovered many things. A lot of them were somewhat less than pleasant. For instance, he had always been sneakingly proud of the term Boyscout that Methos periodically hurled at him. Not anymore. He had learned that for him at least, Boyscout was just another name for inflexible. Once he realized that, he had finally put Methos' past into the perspective it deserved: it was past and was no more or less a part of who Methos was now than his own past was part of him. In fact, he had even come to realize that the Methos of today was who he was because of that past, and he wouldn't change him in the least.

   If only he could find him and tell him so. No, more than that, he had to find him to tell
him how sorry he was and to ask, beg his forgiveness.

   All these thoughts were rioting through Duncan's mind as he turned into a rainswept alley and found himself in a cul-de-sac surrounded by boarded up buildings. Staring around him in bemusement, finally coming aware of the weather and his dripping "oneness" with it, a rueful grin creased his face and he turned to leave. That was when he felt it. That frission of energy that signaled others of his kind were nearby.

   There were, in fact, four of them. They were blocking the end of the street and staring steadily at him in the dim street light. MacLeod, thanking God and Joe Dawson who had finally persuaded him to carry the katana again full-time, slid his sword out of his long coat and held it in a pose of casual readiness as the four slowly approached.

   After standing in silence for what seemed an eternity, the youngest looking of the four spoke. "Well, well, what have we here? You not very old in this are you? Those of us who are experienced in the Game know better than to wander into traps like this." And he drew his lips back from his teeth in what Duncan thought was the most feral grin he'd ever seen.

   "The Game? What does four on one have to do with the Game? Have you no honor?" Duncan was aghast.

   "I said we knew the Game, not that we always played it. We prefer our own rules: we take heads by any means necessary. We were actually on our way to find someone else, but you'll do for now."

   Slowly the four began to advance again. As Duncan backed slowly away, he cast about for an escape route. There was none. Very well, he would fight. And, though he doubted he could keep all four of them at bay, he would take as many of them with him as he could. He raised his katana...and then he felt it again. Searing along his nerves, singing in his brain, a presence so strong, so unique he knew instantly who it was.

   A moment later, the four thugs sensed it too. They turned warily to see the lithe figure
silhouetted at the entrance to the alley. "Hello gentlemen," the man said casually. "Got
room for one more?"

   "This one is ours. We don't need anymore help," snarled the apparent leader. "But, if
you'll stick around we can accommodate you in a couple of minutes."

   Suddenly with a swiftness that drew a sharp intake of breath from the Immortal thug on
Duncan's far right, the newcomer was...elsewhere. He now stood at MacLeod's side. "Adam," breathed MacLeod, "what..."

Methos shook his head at Mac's words and turned to the dumbfounded foursome still ranged across the way. "You misunderstood me boys. I don't want to fight with you. I want to fight against you. I don't care what rules you choose to play by, but four on one? I don't think so. Besides, you could say I have a vested interest in this. So, let's get on with the formalities, shall we?"

   MacLeod, an unquenchable light beginning to burn in his dark, dark eyes, shook his had
once as if to clear it and then executed a bow. "Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, at
your service. And you are?"

   Methos noted with grim satisfaction that their four adversaries had paled at the introduction. Once again, MacLeod's fame had preceded him. The leader gulped, firmed his shoulders and said, "Ian Corley, Steven Belk, Ryan Sims and John Lofts. We've heard of you, in fact we were eventually supposed to look you up. This changes nothing though. There are still four of us compared to you and your puny friend here." He turned to Methos, "Didn't catch your name."

   Duncan began to answer but stopped at the feel of a firm grip on his upper arm. "No, Duncan. Let me. I've had a year to think about a lot of things too, remember? I'm done with hiding and pretending to be something I'm not."

   With a devilish glint in his eyes, he too tilted his head in acknowledgment of his opponents and said, "I have gone by many names, all of which may be meaningless to you, but I am Methos."

If the foursome had looked pale before, they looked night to fainting now. "Methos is a myth, a legend. You are lying."

   Methos chuckled a mirthless laugh and said, "As you will."

   Suddenly, Duncan spoke up, laughter in his voice as well, "Now Methos, don't be so modest. There is one other name they might know you by. It's Death. Death on a Horse."

   Methos gasped and turned to look into Mac's eyes. Mac hated everything to do with Methos' life as a Horseman, why was he trying to hurt him by reminding him of it now? And yet, miraculously, there was nothing in the gaze MacLeod returned to his friend except warmth and humor. "I've changed too, Methos," Duncan murmured. "There's a lot I need to tell you." Methos could only nod past the sudden lump in his throat as they turned again to face their foes.

   "Ok, Methos, how many do you want?"

   "I feel generous. How about we split them half and half?"

   "Works for me."

   And with that, the fight was on. It really wasn't much of a fight after all. With Methos at his side, MacLeod felt his soul begin to sing even as his sword did. In no time at all, the other four men were lying at the feet of the world's two strongest Immortals. Only then, when all four were down, did they take their heads. The dead Immortals were fairly young, but they had done a lot of hunting. As the surprisingly powerful quickenings surged around and through them, Mac and Methos could only clutch each other as they endured.

   It was like a re-enactment of the double quickening they had experienced before. Not as much power individually, but there were four. It felt...peculiar. In addition to the essences of the newly deceased Immortals, Mac slowly became aware of another something behind and underneath all the rest.

   Even as the last wisp of external energy drained away, Mac's eyes widened and he leaned back and looked at Methos. The older man also had an amazed expression on his face. "What, what is that?" Mac whispered.

   "I'm not sure," Methos replied--that is he was going to reply, but he suddenly realized that MacLeod seemed to be in his head. "Can you hear me?" he thought.

   "Yes," gulped MacLeod. "Can you hear me?" he thought in return. Methos swallowed and nodded his head. "Oh gods," he finally said aloud a MacLeod staggered to his feet and drug Methos up with him.

   "Maybe it's just some residual effect from taking all four at once," mused Methos even as they started back into the night.

   "Maybe. Whatever it is we can talk about it at home."

   "Home?" thought Methos.

   "Home," MacLeod firmly replied. "Come on."

Part Two

   Methos looked around the loft as MacLeod busied himself with coat and sword. It was a bare image of the "home" Methos remembered.

   "Um, Mac?" he ventured, gesturing around him in bemusement.

   MacLeod grinned a tad sheepishly, "I, er, I needed a fresh start--I suppose I might've gotten a little carried away."

   Methos stepped up to his friend and searched his dark brown eyes for a long moment. Finally, he spoke, "I understand. I've been there myself--more than once. Besides," and a twinkle was briefly flitted over his face, "You kept the two most important pieces: the refrigerator and the bed."

   Mac gave a snort of laughter and said in mock-resignation, "Help yourself Methos, then we need to talk, about even more than I originally thought."

   Methos seemed to mentally square his shoulders and retrieved two beers from the fridge. Handing one to Mac, he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor facing the Highlander.

   "Look MacLeod..." he began but stopped as the other man threw himself to the floor beside him and placed a restraining hand on his arm.

   "Methos, let me." Methos found himself gazing fixedly at the strong brown hand on his arm and nodded in acquiescence. Seeming not to notice that he still grasped the other man, MacLeod began to speak.

   "It's important to me that you hear me out, Methos. I know I don't have the right to ask it of you, but, please, I have to say this. Methos, I am so sorry. I was such a fool...I never really told you before, but I had no right to judge you about the Horsemen. I had no right to ask you to take my head. I had no right to try to get you to make things easy for me. I know you can probably never totally forgive me, but Methos, you have to believe me--I wouldn't change one thing about your past, even if I could. Your past is what made you the man sitting here with me today. And, I'm thankful you wouldn't take my head. I just wish it hadn't taken me a year to get a chance to say it."

   MacLeod had been looking down at the floor as he spoke, but he now forced himself to look up into the ancient Immortal's bright eyes, still clasping the ivory-skinned arm like a lifeline.

   "I know it's asking a lot, and that we may never be the same, but Methos, I want you to know. You are...you'll always...oh God!   Methos, please. Can't we give our friendship another chance? I've missed you."

   And with that, Duncan MacLeod, Highland warrior, lay his head over on his hand, over
Methos' arm, and began to sob.

   For a long moment, Methos continued to sit, transfixed by what he had heard. Then, he slowly raised his free hand and began to stroke MacLeod's thick, dark hair.

   Leaning over the still weeping form, he whispered, "Duncan, look at me."

   Drawing a shuddering breath, MacLeod slowly raised his tear-streaked face to find Methos' compelling visage mere inches away. Blinking away his tears, Duncan gasped to find those beautiful gold-green eyes glittering into his. Even as he watched, a tear welled out and began to trace a path toward the lean jaw so mesmerizingly near.

   "Methos," Duncan whispered, and reaching out, he touched one fingertip to the shiny track, "God, don't cry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad."

   With a firm shake, Methos took MacLeod's hand from where it still rested against his face and placed it back in its owner's lap.

   "I'm not sad, Duncan. I'm happy. I've missed you too, you great oaf." And Methos playfully reached over and punched the younger man in the shoulder.

   Duncan started to speak but Methos placed his hand over MacLeod's mouth then jerked it back quickly as if it was burned. Clearing his throat, Methos said, "My turn to talk, Highlander. You listen."

   "I won't say your condemnation of my past didn't hurt--it did. That surprised me too, I didn't know I'd let you get that close. As for taking your head, you're right about that too. It was cruel of you to ask that of me. But, even at the time, I understood. I've done a lot of thinking lately, for lack of anything better to do. I've come to several conclusions. Some you already heard, others you're not ready to hear yet."

   MacLeod started to speak, but with a returning smile, Methos stopped him with a gesture.

   "I said not yet, Duncan. Someday, soon, I promise I fully intend to apprise you of them." And for a brief moment, his eyes seemed to melt into MacLeod's puzzled brown ones. The Highlander felt a strange fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

   Then, the moment passed. The smile was back in place, and Methos continued, "If you hadn't come around MacLeod, well, let's just say, I was prepared to beat some sense into you if necessary. Boy, am I relieved!"

   He and Duncan shared a brief chuckle then Methos said, "You are my friend, MacLeod. I felt incomplete without you. That will never change. The truth is I don't need your apology Duncan, I just need you--my friend."

   Rising to get another beer, he finished, "Now that that's settled, I have a suggestion for our next topic of conversation. What are we going to do about this?" Reaching out with his mind, Methos searched for and found the answering touch of Duncan's.

   "Oh yeah," the Highlander gulped, "that."

Part Three

   Duncan MacLeod began to pace. "All right, what do we know? Number one: we've been linked ever since we shared Kronos and Silas' quickenings."

   "Right, and ever since, through this link, even though I didn't usually know where you were, I have known that you were alive and kicking."

   "Same here. Plus, I now can recognize when you are approaching as opposed to any other Immortal."

   The Highlander continued, "Number two: now we've shared an even stranger quickening."

   "And the results of this new group hug seem to include an even stronger link. Not only can we sense each other like before, we are experiencing flashes of what would seem to be telepathy."

   "Methos," said MacLeod, "I have an idea." He sat down in the center of the room and gestured to Methos. The oldest Immortal approached slowly then sank into position facing the other man.

   "I think we need to try a little experiment. Give me your hands."

   "Why?" frowned Methos.

   Quirking his lips, MacLeod tugged Methos' hands until they rested loosely in his.

   Methos stared at their joined hands for a moment. They felt so warm. Then, he looked askance at MacLeod. "What are we doing, Mac?"

   "First, I want you to relax. Try to keep your mind stress-free and open. Let's see how well I can sense you. Then, it'll be your turn."

   "I don't know about this, Highlander. What if I don't want to open my mind to you?" But, even as he spoke, he could feel MacLeod's quickening, his essence, arching into his. It was as simple as that.

   "Relax," MacLeod murmured again. As their quickenings entwined, MacLeod began to feel what Methos was feeling. The first thing he sensed was...fear. What was Methos afraid of here and now? But then, it was gone. Almost as if it never was, or as if it had been closed off behind a door. In fact, there were other closed doors...

   Hmm...time enough to worry about them later, right now he was content with what Methos was willing to allow. Let's see...Methos mind was suddenly filled with a morass of emotions: caution, humor, respect...there was that flash of fear again, and...something else...a lot of 'something else's' headed by...desire...

   "Enough!" roared Methos as he broke contact and surged to his feet. "This is not a good idea, MacLeod!"

   Duncan's mind was spinning. Desire. Methos felt desire--for him. That probably explained the fear, too.

   A smug look appeared on Duncan's face. Well, well, well, so the Old Man wanted him. Who'd have thought it?

   Duncan swallowed a grin then yelped as Methos swarmed toward the door. "Wait! Wait!" MacLeod lunged in front of the other man. "It's your turn."

   "Get out of the way, MacLeod."

   "Methos, it's an experiment, remember? We have to establish some parameters on this thing."

   Methos heaved a deep sigh. "You're right. We do need to get as much information as possible. Fine. Let's get this over with." And, he threw himself back down onto the floor.

   MacLeod slowly sank back as well, his mind working furiously. He had to decide, and quickly, exactly what he wanted Methos to see during his little excursion. Then, as he felt Methos mind once more beginning to touch at his, he knew that Methos would find exactly what he was supposed to: the truth. They would see what happened from there.

   Reaching out for Methos' hands again, this time Duncan slid his palms on up until he grasp Methos' wrists, forcing the Old Man to grip his wrists as well. Then, muttering something about "Vulcan Mind Melds", Methos began in earnest.

   Duncan's mind seemed to reach out to draw him in. Methos sensed laughter and sadness, happiness and sorrow, desire and...Desire? Desire?

   Methos' body jerked in surprise as Duncan tightened his grip on the other's wrists trying to maintain their contact, but, "MacLeod, what is this? Is this your idea of a joke?" Again, Methos rose to leave, this time short of breath and red of face.

   "For Heaven's sake, Methos, can't you even believe what your own 'Vulcan Mind Meld' tells you?" Duncan said softly as he advanced, slowly forcing the other to retreat until his back was to the wall.

   Desperate hazel eyes searched bottomless brown ones. "If you don't let me go now MacLeod, my fist is liable to meld with your jaw."

   "Oh come now, Methos. Are you sure that's what you really want to do? Wouldn't you much rather meld like this?"

   As he spoke, Duncan closed the last little bit of space between them and pressed his lips briefly, softly to Methos' own.

   He could feel a shudder shake the slender body trapped against his own, then the desperation in Methos' gaze seemed to melt away into wonder as he breathed, "Duncan," and reached forward to frame the Highlander's face in his hands.

   Their lips met again and this time the kiss deepened. Suddenly, both men were clasping each other desperately as the kiss turned bruising with tongues and teeth clashing again and again. MacLeod fairly crushed Methos into the wall. As he began to kiss and bite his way down the slender neck, the ancient Immortal ran his hands down Duncan's back to knead his buttocks.

   MacLeod growled deep in his throat and bit Methos hard at the base of his neck. Methos yelped even as he arched his back to allow Mac greater access.

   The heat between their two bodies was incredible, and it was still on the rise. As were other things. Both of them seemed to become aware of this at the same instant, their quickenings once again surging around and through them. MacLeod ceased his nuzzling long enough to open his mouth to speak. He took a deep breath, but before he could say anything both men leaped apart in a panic as they heard the elevator begin to move.

   Then a familiar voice echoed up the shaft. "MacLeod? Anybody home? It's me, Joe!"

Part Four

   As Mac and Methos exchanged a look of amused frustration, Methos reached out to run a finger over Mac's swollen lips then whirled away to the opposite end of the room to try to bring his breathing and his body under some semblance of control. Mac hastily tucked his shirt back in (how had that happened--the Old Man was sneakier than he looked), then called out, "We're here, Joe."

   "We?" asked Dawson as he came into view. "I hope I'm not interrupting something." He chuckled fondly at the thought of MacLeod's devastating effect on women.

   MacLeod, effectively blocking his view of Methos, queried, "What do you mean, Joe?"

   "You know, Mac," twinkled Dawson as his gaze played over the Highlander, "mussed hair, swollen lips, glazed eyes (and his eyes swept swiftly down then back up), other things... interrupting something."

   As MacLeod slowly reddened, from behind him came an inelegant, decidedly non-feminine snort. Pushing past Mac, Dawson did some snorting of his own as he collapsed into helpless gales of laughter. "Methos! Ha ha! I thought--I mean from the looks of MacLeod--Ha ha! I mean..." slowly Dawson trailed off as he got a good look at Methos. By God, if he didn't look as bad as MacLeod. And the Old Guy's neck, what was that on his neck?

   Methos' eyes widened slightly as the meaning of MacLeod's frantic gestures behind Joe's back became clear. Grabbing the neck of his sweater, he tried to tug in over the offending area. Then, he attempted to place his hand casually under his chin as Joe continued to study him. Finally, giving up posing, Methos stalked over to a pile of pillows. Flinging himself into one corner, he brought his knees up, placed his elbows on them and finally felt both comfortable and covered. "So, Joe, what brings you here?"

   "MacLeod invited me."

   "I did? Oh yeah, I did. You want some coffee, Joe?"

   "Got any beer?"

   "With Methos here? You're kidding right? Ok, Methos, you got it." This last seemingly
out of the blue comment drew another puzzled look from Joe. However, he was already having enough trouble processing what it had almost looked like he was interrupting without worrying about MacLeod seeming to answer questions that hadn't been asked.

   Duncan came back carrying four beers. One for Joe, one for himself, and two for Methos. As Joe sat on a trunk, MacLeod flung himself to the floor beside the other Immortal. Right beside the other Immortal. In fact, Dawson mused, the Old Man was lucky MacLeod hadn't landed in his lap!

   Methos drained beer number one and reached for beer number two. "I do not," he retorted to...whom?

   MacLeod looked at him with a grin on his face as Methos' lips slowly quirked in return. Then, as Joe watched in mesmerized silence, MacLeod's hand came up to rest on top of the free hand Methos had lying across his upraised knees and...stayed there.

   "Um, excuse me, but what is going on here?" Both Immortals jumped as if they had been shot. The neck on Methos' sweater was falling away again (what was that?) as MacLeod squeaked, "What do you mean, Joe?"

   "You two have been in some kind of fog ever since I got here. I'm not even gonna ask you about...well...but, do you realize you have both been carrying on imaginary conversations with each other? MacLeod, you answer. Methos, you answer. But, nobody asked any questions!"

   Mac and Methos looked at each other. "We have been, haven't we?" Methos asked quietly. He looked at MacLeod again, and nodded.

   "Joe, something has happened," Mac began. "You remember, I told you how Methos and I seem to be linked after the double quickening?"

   "Yeah," Joe joked. "I didn't need another watcher on you Mac. I just checked with Methos periodically to sure you were okay."

   "Right," Mac smiled quietly at the thought of his two friends keeping an eye on him. "Well, it's happened again."

   Quickly, they filled Joe in on the four Immortals they had dispatched.

   Joe whistled. "Four at once! Even if they were young in the Game, that must have packed quite a kick. I wish I'd seen it."

   "I wish you had too Joe, because we need some help on this," said Methos. "You see, we seem to have 'upped' the, um, power of our link by several levels."

   "Several levels, how?" Joe asked, even though he thought he might know.

   "Joe, Methos and I, we're having flashes of, that is sometimes we seem to be..."

   "We can read each other's minds," blurted Methos.

   "No way," Joe retorted, more for form's sake than because he really doubted. "Prove it."

    Methos thought a moment. "Duncan, go into the bathroom."

   "I don't need to go to the bathroom."

   "Just go in there and don't come out until I tell you to. You can fix your hair while you're in there." This was said with a private little smile as he tugged at the shirt that still hung half outside Mac's pants in the back.

   MacLeod colored as he growled, "Methos." Then in an instant his face cleared as he looked down at his friend and said wickedly, "Why Methos, what's that on your neck? It looks like blood." He turned and sauntered, he was sauntering, to the bathroom.

   "Don't worry, I'm not asking," said Joe. "Not now anyway. About this proof?"

   "Tell me something MacLeod doesn't know Joe. Anything. A riddle, a secret, whatever."

   Joe grinned immediately. "How about this? You know the Watchers are like any other organization--things circulate. Rumors, betting pools, you name it. A couple of weeks ago, there was a vote on "The Immortal You'd Most Like to be in a Compromising Position With". MacLeod won hands down among both male and female employees."

   Both men erupted into a storm of laughter. "Next you'll be telling me the Highlander is the favorite pin-up in the Lady's Lounge," Methos gasped. Dawson just looked at him until that sent them both off again.

   "Now what?"

   "Now I get MacLeod." But, Methos didn't get up. As Dawson watched in amazement, he merely looked nonchalantly off into space as the bathroom door slowly opened and the Highlander emerged.   He looked at Methos, "You want me now, right?"

   Methos looked back at him steadily until MacLeod realized the double entendre of his words, then the old Immortal grinned and said, "Come on in, Duncan. Tell Joe what I told you."

   And, MacLeod proceeded to repeat word for embarrassing word exactly as Joe had told it to Methos, finishing hotly with, "And I'd just like to know how, Joe Dawson, my supposed friend, how did they get a nude picture of me to put up in the first place?"

   "Nude picture!"

   Methos rolled on the floor. "Sorry," he gasped. "I couldn't help myself."

   "Very funny Old Man."

   Joe shook his head, stood, and said, "Back to the matter at hand, gentlemen. Sounds like I have more research to do. As you know, there is nothing in the Watcher files about double quickenings, let alone quadruple ones. But, I didn't search for anything like telepathy. My God, telepathy. I feel like I'm in a science fiction movie," he turned to leave, stopping at the elevator.

   "Oh, by the way Methos, just how did you get that blood on your throat? And MacLeod, you may have combed your hair, but your shirt's a mess." And with that, he left two rather chagrined Immortals staring at each other across the floor.

Part Five

   As the elevator ferried Joe back out into the night, Mac and Methos exchanged bemused stares. Methos' features were carefully schooled to reveal nothing as he waited for MacLeod to react. Suddenly, the Highlander stalked into the bathroom, turned his back to the mirror there and twisted to look over his shoulder at the faulty tuck job that had betrayed him.

   It did look odd--like a drunken man had hastily tried to get dressed...well, he had to chuckle, in a way he had been drunk. "That should never have happened," he called back to the other man.

   Still keeping the emotionless mask in place, Methos nodded, "I thought you might say that." And, he began to gather his things.

   Coming back out to stand in front of his friend, MacLeod said softly, "I should have remembered to lock off the elevator." His earlier chuckle turned into a full blown guffaw. Soon Methos began to snigger and his laughter joined the Scot's.

   "You're a sight, Duncan."

   "Yeah, well, maybe you'd better go have a look in the mirror, too."

   Methos did just that and shook his head in chagrin as he saw what looked for all the world like a particularly bloody hickey. Even though there was no mark, of course, the dried blood had still effectively branded him for all the world, or at least Joe, to see. Hastily he scrubbed at the offending spot, then strolled casually back to MacLeod. "I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to."

   "Oh really?" MacLeod purred in mock menace as Methos' eyes widened. "I guess I'll just have to show you again." And with that, he roughly pulled the ancient Immortal to him and crushed the other's mobile lips beneath his own.

   It wasn't long before both men found themselves in an even greater state of dishabille than Joe had walked in on, only this time, there were no interruptions.

   As the two alternately pulled at each other's clothing and stumbled toward the bed, a heat even greater than that generated by the escalating desires of their bodies enveloped them both. When they finally tumbled nude onto the bed, Methos gasped and stopped his slow exploration of Duncan's rather magnificent torso to ask, "Do you feel that?"

   "I feel a lot of things," MacLeod moaned, "but yes, I know what you mean. What do you suppose it is?"

   It was light--a golden warmth that seemed to surround both men with a feeling of well-being, of...love.

   "I think it's us. Not you, not me...us!"

   "It feels wonderful." Duncan stretched luxuriously and suddenly grinned, "Gives a whole other meaning to the phrase 'and the two became as one'. Of course, there's nothing wrong with the traditional meaning of those words either."

   Methos' eyes narrowed as 'became as one' struck a chord from somewhere far back in his memory. But then, MacLeod grabbed the other man and flipped him over so that MacLeod's long hot body was pressing against his. All coherent thought fled in what followed.

    Duncan pressed Methos down into the mattress. He couldn't seem to get enough of the way the Old Man felt, skin to skin. He was so warm, so hot, everywhere. If they never went any further physically, Mac thought, as long as they could stay just like this, he could die happy. Being pressed against this man just felt so right.

    A low laugh rumbled up from underneath the Highlander, causing interesting vibrations to shiver across Duncan's chest. "Oh no, Duncan. If you think this is good, just wait..." Methos had heard his thought, and long-fingered hands were suddenly pushing up, up, until Duncan lay on his back, bereft of the other's heat.

   But not for long. Mac felt a searing flame of contact in the bend of first one knee and then the other, as Methos nipped and tongued his way with excruciating slowness back and forth between the two limbs. The younger man hadn't even been aware he'd spread his legs, much less that Methos had knelt between them. Now, he let out a shuddering sigh of contentment as hands paved the trail for lips and tongue to follow.

    Slowly, so slowly that Duncan had to fight the urge to pull the other man up by the hair to where he really wanted him to be, the world's oldest Immortal traced electric fire up, up like a mountain climber striving for the summit. Finally, in a rush of heat, with the quickening pulsing around them, Methos gently, softly placed his lips on the very tip of Duncan's tumescence. Then a swirl of Methos' tongue brought a gasp from the Highlander as he nearly abandoned himself totally to the feelings coruscating not only through him, but also through Methos, as their link provided a conduit that left no doubt that the heat, the emotions, were mutual.

    Fighting for coherence as Methos attacked his shaft in earnest, Duncan gasped again, "Methos, wait, wait! Not yet..."

    Raising his head, Methos smiled at the younger man, then traced a quick line of nips and kisses up MacLeod's chest until he was able to growl hotly in his ear, "You're right." Reaching into the bedside table, Methos' hand closed around the lube he knew he'd find there.   Placing it in Duncan's hand, he continued, "Your turn."

    The Highlander hesitated. "Methos, I want to, God, I want to, but I've never..."

    Understanding immediately, Methos took Mac's other hand in his and placed it on his own arousal. Closing his eyes in pleasure, he said, "You won't hurt me, Duncan. Trust yourself. If it feels good to you, it'll feel good to me."

    Hearing the absolute certainty with which Methos spoke, Duncan relaxed. After that, details began to blur as the heat and pleasure of the moment rose to consume them both.

    Duncan found himself thrusting deeply into the other man whose eyes were locked with his own. His control slipped away as unadulterated, almost animal lust gripped him. Again, he surged forward, forcing Methos' body deeper into the mattress and burying himself totally within the other man.

   Methos groaned in satisfaction and deliberately clenched his anal muscles, forcing Mac
over the edge.   Holding himself rigidly, Duncan convulsed forward and bit Methos' shoulder--hard, as he came with an abandon he'd never allowed himself before.

   It took long moments before Duncan could gather himself and his thoughts as, with a stunned expression on his face, he slid himself off Methos and onto the bed beside him, trying to assimilate one of the most intense experiences of his life. Utterly replete, fighting waves of languor, he rolled onto his side to face his partner. Reaching down, he encircled Methos' straining erection with his big, warm hand and breathed, "Your turn."

   Raising up on one elbow, Methos eyed the other man speculatively.   This, too, would be a first for Duncan, and Methos was determined that he be awake and stimulated enough to enjoy it. He rubbed himself sinuously against the Highlander,gathering him tightly into his arms. The two rolled about on the bed for several moments, stroking, reveling in each other's strength. Then, with one finger lightly pressing on Mac's anus, Methos searched the face beneath his own. Duncan's lips were still quirked in a cocky half-smile, but a flicker of nervousness was visible in his eyes.

   Resolving to go slowly, at least this time, Methos said, "Remember what I told you Duncan. It goes both ways. If it feels good to me, it'll feel good to you. Relax." And with that, he pushed his finger inside the tight opening. The Highlander's eyes opened wide in astonishment as he involuntarily clinched up. Then, remembering Methos' admonition, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Like I thought, a fast learner," Methos murmured approvingly as he added a second finger, rimming gently until the younger man was stretched. Removing his fingers, Methos positioned himself at the entrance, then began to push inside. Duncan tensed at the incredible fullness, but again, after a moment, he relaxed.   Pushing slowly but steadily, Methos soon found himself encased in a tight, hot prison. He held still, trying to give his partner time to become accustomed to him. But then Duncan began to move, trying to bring Methos even more deeply inside. And, in that moment, Methos' iron control was lost.

   Pounding into the the younger man, a dim part of his rational mind was grateful that Duncan was meeting him thrust for thrust. It seemed no time before the first waves of orgasm began shuddering through Methos. It was intense despite its swiftness and went on forever in wave upon crashing wave that surged through the link between the two men. His fingers dug with bruising strength into the Highlander's arms as he rode out the storm but at last, Methos collapsed atop Duncan's broad chest, panting raggedly. Finally, he moved to Duncan's side. He turned to the Highlander. Seeing the bruises still lingering where his fingers had pushed deeply into flesh, Methos pursed his lips and looked at Duncan.

   The Highlander just smiled in limp exhaustion, and touched a finger to Methos' swollen lips. Then, pulling Methos against him, he settled the covers over them both and closed his eyes, totally content.

   The Old Man fitted his head on Duncan's broad shoulder and warm laughter rippled through the link as he thought, "You were right, Duncan. As long as we could stay just like this, I could die happy."

   Then he, too, drifted off to sleep.

   Several hours later, the insistent clamor of the phone roused the lovers from a sated sleep. From the angle of the light, it appeared to be early afternoon. MacLeod stretched for the phone, careful not to dislodge the tousled head from its spot on his right shoulder.

   "MacLeod," he answered quietly, stroking Methos' jawline as he too began to stir. Methos reached a hand up to pull MacLeod's face to his in a deep, soul-searing kiss.

   "Mac--you there? Mac?"

   "Who is it?" came Methos sleep and sex drowsed voice over the line.

   "Methos!" squawked Joe. "I thought I was talking to MacLeod."

    Duncan's voice again, "You are. What (gasp) can I do for...unh...you?" Carrying on a sensible conversation while a determined 5000 year old Immortal's skilled tongue trailed down your body was just about impossible.

   Clearing his throat loudly, Joe said, "Look Mac, I think you and Methos had better get over here. I've got a lot of news. Some good, some...not."

   "MacLeod..." Joe heard Methos saying in the background. Next what sounded like a growl and then, dear God, a giggle? MacLeod said, "Hang on a minute, Joe." As he made little attempt to muffle the connection, Dawson clearly heard MacLeod's throaty chuckle as he said, "Stop that Old Man. We've got to go see Joe."

   "Now? I suppose at least his timing is improving."

    Timing? Joe rolled his eyes. His curiosity was going to kill him, but this development-- whatever exactly it was-- was far down the list of important topics the three of them needed to discuss.

   "Guys? Hey, Guys!" he finally roared into the phone.

   Methos answered with what could only be described as a gasp, "Joe, we'll be there in 30 minutes, er...an hour. Bye."

   Joe Dawson shook his head and stared at the receiver in his hand. A shadow of a grin crossed his face but quickly vanished. Talk about lousy timing, Methos didn't know the half of it.

Part Six

   Entering Joe's, the two Immortals were struck by the total absence of customers. After being informed by a departing Mike that Joe had rather abruptly decided to shut the place down for the day, Duncan and Methos exchanged concerned glances and headed for the back office. There they found Joe sitting staring into the distance, tapping a pencil on his desk.

   "Joe," said Mac quietly. With a start, Joe convulsively snapped the pencil in two and came back into focus. Without any preamble, he indicated a couple of chairs and said, "Sit down."

   Rubbing a hand distractedly over his silvering thatch of hair, Joe heaved a loud sigh and said, "Of all the Immortals in all the world, I would have to get you two." At the affronted expressions on the two, he chuckled a bit, "Come on, you know I wouldn't have it any other way. You have to admit, though, you're just more troublesome than any dozen others. It's not easy 'watching' the two most powerful Immortals in the world while trying to pretend half the team doesn't even exist...Which brings us to Problem Number One: When you two decided to have that group rumble, I assume the usual formalities were exchanged?"

   "Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod always observes the formalities," Methos drawled.

   "And what about you? Mr. 'You can call me Methos'?"

   "You're the one who told them they could use 'Death on a Horse' if they preferred!"

   "Boys, boys! I can't believe you did that! Have you two forgotten that other Immortals have Watchers too?"

   Duncan paled as Joe yelled this last. "Oh no," he whispered half to himself. "Their Watchers heard Methos' name, didn't they?"

   "Yes, they heard Methos' name! We're called 'Watchers', but we're not deaf. Methos, you used to be one--how could you, of all people, throw away 5000 years of self-preservation in one stroke just because you and MacLeod decided to act like a couple of half-assed smart-alecs?"

   Drawing a deep breath, he prepared to continue his tirade, but Methos held up his hand and said calmly, "Joe, it's not a big deal."

   "Not a big deal!" Joe sputtered. "You two were acting as giddy as a couple of teenagers on their first date! I know! I've read the preliminary reports! I'm holding them here for now, but I don't know if I can contain this--too many people already know. And when Methos is connected to Adam Pierson, and he will be, all hell is gonna break loose."

   "Oh God, Methos. I am so sorry!" Duncan unconsciously echoed his words of the night before as he reached over and took Methos' hand. "I've put you in danger, and I'll never forgive myself."

   "MacLeod, stop being so melodramatic," Methos automatically stroked the warm brown hand that still clasped his. "You didn't do anything but follow my lead. I chose to reveal my true identity, remember?"

   Unable to prevent his glance from flitting back to the joined hands facing him, Joe finally managed to croak, "Why?"

   "Because I'm tired of running. I'm tired of hiding. It finally occurred to me that everytime I had to leave town, or even just sneak around so I wouldn't be seen with any of you too frequently, I was saving my life by losing my life. I've been more or less out of the game for a long time. Until the other night, 'Methos' hadn't openly taken a head in half a millennia. I had no motivation to do so. I was alive, but just treading water through the ages."

   "You Duncan, and you Joe, changed all that. Oh, I'll admit you may've had to drag me kicking and screaming, but I feel alive again. You two are my friends. I feel alive with you, and I have decided to keep it that way. No more hiding. I am Methos, and I plan to stay here and live!" As he said this, Methos' eyes met Duncan's and he concluded, "That is, if it's okay with you," glancing at Joe, "both of you."

   Joe just snorted while a suspiciously bright-eyed Duncan said, "How could you even ask?"

   Still gripping the other's hand firmly, Methos said quietly, "Joe's right, you know. It'll get messy. You are already a target for every glory-hunting Immortal in the universe. When they find out I'm here with you, they'll be lining up at the planes."

   "I'm beginning to think there's nothing the two of us can't handle together, but, if it gets overwhelming and you do have to disappear again...do you suppose your bolt hole is big enough for two?" Suddenly the office was very still as Duncan looked at Methos with his heart in his eyes. Joe nodded as if in confirmation as he looked from one to the other.

   "You'd give up everything? Your life...for me?"

   "Methos, you just said it yourself--my definition of living includes you too."

   "Then, yes, if I beat a quick exit, it will be for both of us. But," and he relaxed and turned with a smile back to Joe, "what'll we do with Dawson here? Carry him off in a trunk?"

   The serious mood broken, Joe took back up the thread of the conversation.

"Well, so be it. Eureka! Methos has been found, and in the company of Duncan MacLeod, no less. That solves Problem Number One, although, MacLeod, you better go buy that trunk and put it on standby."

   "Unfortunately, this leads us directly to Problem Number Two. I can't see that it has anything to do with Methos so soon, but there are several Immortals en route to Seacouver. And, gentlemen, these aren't thuggie kids. We're talking seasoned, blooded fighters. I might as well tell you, I think someone is sending them after you MacLeod, and if it is about you too, Methos, it just confirms my suspicions about who's behind it."

   All three men said the name at the same instant, "Cassandra."

   Joe nodded, "She may not have been willing or able to kill you herself, but she apparently has no qualms about having someone else do it. The Immortals who are coming are hardened killers with no compunction with regards to rules or honor. They'll stalk you and try to take you out just like those kids, only these guys will be good at it."

   MacLeod seemed to digest the information for a moment then said, "Yet another reason for the phone calls I was going to ask you to make, Joe. I need to contact Amanda...and Connor. Methos and I need their expertise on this little matter, and apparently, we could also use them to even up the odds. That okay with you, Old Man?"

   "Sure," Methos shrugged. "The more the merrier."

   "I'll get on it as soon as we finish here," Joe assured them. "Now for Problem Number Three..."

   "Number three! How many problems are there anyway?"

   "Four, although this one is not really that kind of problem, and Number Four is really my problem."

   "Okay, so what's Number Three?"

   "This telepathy thing you two claim to have. Poor choice of words, you two do have... something. I saw it myself. The only mention of telepathy I could find in the chronicles was from a couple of thousand years ago. This Greek Immortal named Aquillan began to proclaim to any other Immortal who would listen that he and his Immortal lover could communicate on the 'Plain of the Gods'. He was universally dismissed as a lunatic because of all the wild ideas that he began tossing out. It doesn't really say about what, then..." Methos interrupted with a gasp. Turning, MacLeod saw that his friend had turned even whiter than he normally was.

   "Methos, what's wrong?" Methos leapt to his feet causing MacLeod to do the same.

   "Aquillan, of course! That's where I heard it before. Aquillan! Duncan, if he was right...the Game. It could be the answer to the Game!" Visibly forcing himself to calm down, he continued, "Quick, MacLeod, give me the keys--you stay here and help Joe with Problem Number Four. I have to go do some work in my personal files...Duncan, do you know what Aquillan used to say about himself and his lover?" Methos grabbed the Highlander's shoulders as he shook his head bemusedly.

   Pressing his face up against MacLeod's, Methos fairly hissed, "'We are one' MacLeod. He used to say 'we are one'. And, by the gods, maybe he was right!" He pressed his lips bruisingly to the other man's, grabbed the keys and ran out.

   As MacLeod collapsed back into his chair, Joe began to laugh. MacLeod glared at him for a moment then he began to laugh too. Several beats later, Joe managed to say, "Well, I'd say that pretty well addresses Problem Number Four."

   "What?"

   "I told you. Problem Number Four wasn't the same kind of problem, it was really a problem of my curiosity and needing confirmation of the facts that seemed to be coming my way. Now, I want you to think before you answer this, young man," Joe's mouth was twitching again. "What exactly is going on between you and Methos?"

   MacLeod turned bright red for a moment, then shrugged fatalistically and said, "Why Dad? You don't think he's too old for me do you?"

   "On the contrary," Joe chortled, "I would've assumed you were too straightlaced for him."

   "Thanks a lot."

   "Sorry, Mac. I take it that's not the case?"

   "It might've been at one time, but not anymore. As far as what's between us, we haven't
exactly gotten that far out loud, but...I love him, Joe."

   "You love him. Well, hallelujah! I never thought I'd see the day. Congratulations Mac. You two deserve each other."

   "Thanks, I think."

   Dawson proceeded to make the necessary phone calls, and between himself and MacLeod got both Amanda and Connor to promise to come as soon as possible. Then, the two indulged in more speculation about Cassandra, who had apparently vanished after setting the hunt. An hour or so passed with MacLeod becoming more visibly restless all the time. Finally he stood and said, "I'm going to go see what Methos was so hot about."

   MacLeod's leave taking was interrupted by the ringing of Joe's phone. A funny expression crossed his face as Joe's hand moved to pick it up. Mac said, "It's Methos."

   "Hello." Joe's head shot up as he stared hard at MacLeod who shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. Okay." He hung up.

   "I probably don't even have to tell you this, but Methos says to sit tight. He's on his way back here with new information, and he said it was big. Mac, he sounded happy, but I'd swear, he was crying."

Part Seven

   It was only about twenty minutes later that MacLeod's head snapped up. Joe knew it was Methos by the smile on Duncan's face as he moved toward the door. He and Joe had adjourned to their usual table in the deserted bar as both had felt the need for a drink. Of course, that was probably just round one, Joe thought dourly, although his mood had to lift as he saw Methos enter and stride up to where MacLeod stood. Mac reached to fold the other Immortal to him. Methos resisted for the barest instant, glancing toward Joe, then loosed a dazzling smile and melted into his lover's arms. He could feel the Highlander's concern through their link and hastened to try to project reassurance in return. He was new to this too, but it seemed to work as MacLeod relaxed against him and kissed him gently.

   "Duncan, it's not that I mind or anything, but we have an audience."

   "You mean Joe? You pretty much told him everything he needed to know when you tore out of here earlier, remember?"

   "Oh yeah, well, that's fine then," he grinned. "But, tell me, Youngster, what exactly did
you tell him?"

   Pulling back to look deeply into the other man's eyes, Duncan attempted some link projection of his own. There was only one word to describe what began to flow from him into Methos' heart, into his soul: love. Methos felt filled with the knowledge, the certainty of it, and he did the only thing he could do, he sent his love back.

   The Highlander smiled the smile of someone truly blessed and whispered, "I thought so. I hoped so. But it's so much nicer to know."

   He and Methos didn't know how long they stood there wrapped, entwined within the other. Finally, Joe brought them back to reality, "Guys, I am sincerely happy for you both, but I'm gonna have to go get a box of tissues if this goes any longer."

   Laughing gently, Duncan and Methos slowly pulled apart and, still clasping hands, they took their usual places at the table.

   "Sorry, Joe," Methos said. "So much has happened so fast, it's a little overwhelming."

   "You're telling me! Tell us though, what's your big news?"

   "Yes, I can tell you're excited, maybe even a little scared, but I can't tell about what. What did you go looking for, Methos?"

   "I didn't just look for it Mac, I found it. The secret, the real answer to the Game!"

   Methos unconsciously took on his 'Adam Pierson, Lecturer' persona, as he began. "Consider some of what we actually know about the game:
   One--Immortals take each other's heads for the power, the quickenings
   Two--In the end there can be only one, and
   Three--That one will win some mysterious prize.
   Are you with me so far?"

   Exchanging amused glances, MacLeod and Dawson answered in their best school boy voices, "Yes, Teacher."

   "Very funny, you two. This is serious. Now, those are the so-called rules. But what are they actually saying? I submit that the rules as we have come to interpret them are incomplete. They are basically thought to mean one thing: a lot of death for a lot of Immortals. Aquillan, though, took them an entirely different direction."

   During this narrative, Methos had begun to pace. Whirling now, he leaned over Duncan, "You said it this morning, Mac, 'we are one'. Somehow, it doesn't really matter, Aquillan and his lover's quickenings had merged, just as ours have. Their quickenings became so intertwined that they could sense each other, read each other's thoughts.

   Now remember, this was 2000 years ago. Aquillan began to study and search for information on the Game--I'll tell you the truth, I wasn't paying much attention at the time--I dismissed him as having a few arrows short of a quiver-full, if you will, so I don't actually know if he located more information or just figured it out. But, it all fits. I think, I know, he was right!"

   "Aquillan said that the power of other quickenings could be shared as he and his lover shared theirs. He also said that 'in the end there can be only one' really meant that in the end all quickenings were to be combined, shared. He seemed to think that there was no reason more than two people couldn't be linked. That an immense link was possible. And after that...well, that's as far as his speculations seem to go, but the possibilities are obvious."

   MacLeod and Dawson let out a breath neither had been aware he'd been holding as Methos went to the bar, grabbed a beer, then came and sat down. Joe spoke up, "Did Aquillan try? Did the two of them try to merge quickenings with a third person?"

   "I don't think so. His lover's head was taken soon after Aqullan advanced his theory, and Aquillan, well, he..."

   "What happened to him?"

   "According to the records, he well and truly descended into madness after that, claiming that his lover still lived. Finally, someone put him out of his misery."

   Duncan still looked perplexed, but Methos forestalled any questions with one of his own. "Don't you see? If quickenings can be shared as our apparently are, it's conceivable that we could add others. I don't think it will be easy, and I don't think the link will be so complete, but 'in the end there can be only one' may not have to mean only one of us will survive while those we care about, those we love, must die. If we can expand our link to others, in the end, maybe we can all be 'the one'. Duncan," Methos' voice dropped until it was painful in its intensity, "I can stay with you! We can survive together!"

   A ferocious frown appeared on MacLeod's face. Methos drew back slightly as Joe, tears suddenly coursing down his face, stood and went back into his office.

   "Duncan?" Methos asked uncertainly. "I'm sorry. I just assumed, I mean, if you don't want us to be together like that, that long...I didn't mean to presume."

   "Methos! What exactly do you mean you can stay with me? When was there any doubt that you would stay with me?"

   "MacLeod, if the Game does end the way we were always told it would, eventually you would have to take my head," Methos began as if making a simple statement of fact.

   "Take your Head!" MacLeod roared, swinging to his feet and toppling his chair in the process. Grabbing Methos by the throat, Mac hauled the other up against him. "Get this straight Old Man. I'll only say it once--I will never, NEVER take your head! If it comes down to us in the end, well then I guess the Prize, if there even is such a thing, will have to be lost, because it won't be coming to me. Do you understand me, Methos? Don't you ever devalue your worth to me, to yourself, again." MacLeod's voice broke as he roughly pulled the man even closer, "I wouldn't want it without you, Love."

   "Ahh...Highlander, what gods were smiling on me the day I met you? You're right, no Prize would be worth losing each other." He pressed himself lips and soul to the younger man. After a long while, he spoke again, "Let's go home, Duncan. We can continue to dissect all this tomorrow."

   Suddenly as weary as if they'd just fought a pitched battle, and indeed, perhaps they had, the two Immortals called farewells to Joe, and left for the loft.

                                                                                   on to part 1b