Title: Wings of the Morning—Methos
Author: Figlia Della Musica
Series: Wings of the Morning 7/?
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Timeframe: Whenever (either before or rejecting Archangel)
Summary: Richie returns from a vacation in Greece and finds a surprise in Paris
Warnings: slash, mush, angry Richie
Rating: PG for a very enjoyable kiss
Archive: anywhere sure but just ask me first
Author’s comments: I had so much trouble writing this one. I couldn’t make Richie believable.
Disclaimer: These gentlemen do not belong to me, unfortunately, and I don’t make any money off of this. I’m just having some fun with them.
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“Now, MacLeod,” I say, picking at the label on my beer bottle, “I didn’t expect you to truly understand the subtlety involved in a good beer. You Scots spend all your time numbing your palate with whiskey, it’s a wonder you can tell the difference between red and white wine after four hundred years,” I sigh theatrically. “You don’t taste anything unless it’s hundred-proof. In fact—“
“You talk too much,” my lover responds, then kisses me full force, long and hard. It’s his favorite way of making me shut up, and I’m not exactly in the mood to argue—ever. After a month, we’ve managed to fit into a very comfortable relationship. I haven’t given up the lease on my apartment yet, but I only stop in there if there’s something I really need to pick up. Somehow, without my noticing, I seem to have managed to relocate most of my possessions to the barge, despite what Duncan said about “staying” not being the same as moving in. Not that I mind. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve never really enjoyed waking up alone, and, well, I love my Highlander.
For a few seconds, I just enjoy the kiss, letting my lover control, but then I start to take over, pressing back with demands of my own. My tongue slips into his mouth, investigating the warm sanctuary there, pushing him backwards slightly as he yields to me, his fingers combing through my short hair. He runs his hands down to rest on my shoulders as I press more and more demandingly.
That’s when I feel the Presence, but I don’t aknowledge it at first. Who would, when the alternative is to kiss Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod senseless? His mouth is far more interesting than a stranger’s blade.
“Mac? What the hell?” It’s not a Challenge. It’s not a stranger. It’s Richie Ryan.
Duncan breaks the kiss and spins around to face him. “Richie,” he says unsteadily, “when did you get back?”
“Just now,” his student replies. “I got bored and decided to come back to Paris. And look what I found.” He shifts slightly to glare at me. “So tell me, old man, did you suggest that trip to Greece to get me out of the way, or was this a spur-of-the-moment decision?”
He thinks I seduced Duncan. He’s clearly not happy with it. The look on his face… that’s not just surprise, not just something that can be talked through. He’s disgusted, horrified. He’s homophobic.
I have to go, I have to leave before Duncan realized the obvious way to fix this breach. I can see it now, in my mind’s eye; he won’t say directly, but when Duncan suddenly decides tomorrow that our relationship is maybe a little too much for him, what he will mean is that he can’t stand being alienated from Richie and can we just go back to being friends?
If I have to hear that, I’ll die. I stand up. “See you tomorrow, Highlander,” I say casually. “I’ve gotta be rested up for my class tomorrow.”
Duncan nods quietly. “Tomorrow, Methos,” he says softly, and I feel my heart start to tear. He’s already started pushing me away.
I can’t drive back to the barge: my car is there and Duncan and I came in his. Fortunately, it’s a warm night so I can walk. When I get there, I let myself in, grab a large duffel bag, and stuff my things into it. I’d been staying mostly in the barge, but what I’d brought over all fit in one bag. My SUV is parked by the barge, so I stuff the bag into the backseat and climb in. Slowly, painfully, I drive back to my flat.
Gods, I’d hoped it would last longer. I’d been so happy, so contented, but, I remind myself harshly, all good things must come to an end. Face with Richie’s intense disapproval, Duncan wouldn’t be able to go on. The approval of his Clan is too important to him.
My flat is overwhelmingly empty. I don’t even bother taking my clothes out of the bag; I just tug out my journal so I can record the latest in a series of regrets. Curling up on the bed, I start writing.
What happened? One minute, I’m happy. My life is going well, I have a lover I adore, he adores me, everything’s good. Now, suddenly, his student comes back and everything’s gone. Duncan—no, MacLeod hasn’t been particularly known to like men; I should have been more surprised, more cautious when he and I got into this. But now, I fell into his arms like a lovesick puppy, and now I’m paying the price. It’s like that song says, how does it go?
And misery was all I knew
Trying so to keep my love from
showing
All the while not knowing you loved
me too
Then one day we cast away our
secret longing
The raging tide we held inside
would hold no more
The silence at last was broken
We flung wide our prison door
Ev’ry joyous word of love was
spoken
And after all that’s been said here
we are my love
Silent once more and not far my
love
From where we were before
Yeah, that’s us all right. I wonder where I should go. Tibet is a good place to be. Fifty or a hundred years of meditation should make my heart retreat back to its usual corner. It’s really been getting out of hand recently, making me do all sorts of crazy, suicidal, Boy-Scoutish things. No, don’t think about the Boy Scout, think about anything but him; think about him and you’ll go and do something stupid, now, won’t you, Methos? Probably get your head chopped off. And it’s be no more than you deserve…
Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll leave and never come back. MacLeod can go back to being his happy heterosexual self, with Richie’s complete approval, and “Adam Pierson” will die… car accident, maybe. Or how about falling off a bridge?
Thinking about how to kill off my current incarnation provides an odd, morbid sort of relief. Maybe I can fake Immortal Adam’s death as well. It won’t be the first time; I’ve faked my own beheading before. Be nice to be a fly on the wall when MacLeod finds out. He’ll probably go to Joe’s and drink himself to death.
Joe. Oh, damn. I can’t leave without letting Joe know. I’ll write him a letter, maybe. He’ll understand, surely. He knows how empty life can be. Maybe I’ll even let him in on the big secret, that he’s pre-Immortal. I don’t know why MacLeod hasn’t told him yet. Maybe my… the Highlander can’t tell. I wasn’t sure for a long time, and I’ve had more experience sensing pre-Immies than he has. Yeah, I should tell Joe. It would be cruel not to.
Then I’ll leave. I’ll catch a plane to Tibet and stay there until the pain goes away.