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Rory V. Pascual |
CHAPTER ONE:
Any citizen of Seacouver who would walk past the dark alley not too far from the decrepit building which housed De Salvo’s Martial Arts would think that the man who sat slumped against the wall, head bowed low, was drunk. The fact that the man was clad in a ratty fisherman’s sweater and was weeping bitterly, mumbling pitifully to himself, would only lead the onlooker to conclude that he was indeed inebriated.
On the contrary, however, the man was not drunk, at least not from indulging too much in his favorite poison, namely beer. Neither was he "just an ordinary guy". He is an Immortal, supposedly the oldest living of his kind. His name is Methos and Methos was drunk on self-pity and grief, wallowing in a memory that was seven months old.
Indeed, seven months had passed since that awful day in Paris – the day when Duncan MacLeod nearly came close…so very damned close…to losing his head to Liam O’Rourke. When O’Rourke fatally shot MacLeod, for a brief instant before the light in his eyes was temporarily extinguished, Methos caught a glimpse of the Scot’s soul – the weariness that had cut deep into his heart, the overpowering guilt, the intense desire to sink into the comforting oblivion of death, and such great relief that that particular desire was, at last, going to be fulfilled. And it was that calm resignation that terrified Methos immensely.
<<NO!>> The oldest Immortal couldn’t recall if he had spoken that single word out loud. But his mind definitely had been screaming it as he shook his head in disbelief at Duncan’s seeming willingness to give it all up so easily.
<<Fight, you damned Scot! I didn’t teach you this! Live! Grow stronger! Fight another day! Don’t choose death, Duncan! CHOOSE LIFE!>>
Methos didn’t know if the Highlander had heard his mental plea. He was hoping against all hope that Duncan would feel it through the unmistakable bond they shared, a bond whose existence was confirmed and strengthened when they were caught in a Double Quickening. Methos wanted to believe it, especially when he saw the Scot get up and, later, ultimately dealt the final blow to the Immortal terrorist.
Yes, through some miracle, Duncan had chosen life that day. But he also made the decision to leave – his friends, his life, everything. To disappear. To think. To brood. To start anew. To find peace.
When the gallant Highland warrior walked away, Methos wanted to run after him. Hell, even Joe Dawson and Amanda. They knew, however, if Duncan were to pick up the shattered pieces of his life, he needed the time and the solitude to do so.
And so they each went back to their own mundane existence. God only knows where Amanda went off to, though Methos saw that there was a new fire burning in her eyes – a pure, bright light that he had first glimpsed in a certain stubborn Scotsman.
<<Gods!>>, he had mused, smiling inwardly. <<Being an Immortal superhero must be catching.>>
Joe, on the other hand, decided to take a little break from the Watcher business, concentrating more on his music and running his Blues bar. He even wrote some new songs, the Watcher told him then.
"I can’t believe missing a good friend was excellent fodder for the Blues," Joe had commented wryly as they raised a toast to the Highlander.
Methos couldn’t resist asking about Mac. To this, Joe replied he had kept his distance, out of respect for the Scot’s privacy. However, he’s been hearing a few things now and then, nothing definite, nothing that could be confirmed. Just rumors.
According to the Watcher rumor mills, Duncan stayed only for a month in Seacouver, sorting out the numerous businesses he had in the city. He couldn’t think of selling the dojo though, for obvious sentimental reasons, and hired someone to manage it in his stead. Having settled all his business affairs, the Immortal left the city for good and no one knows where he went.
But there was another set of rumors that caught Methos’ interest. These rumors asserted that MacLeod was still in Seacouver and had restricted his movements to his loft on the top floor of the dojo and to short jaunts in the city. Some Watchers had even insisted that they had seen the Highlander, strolling in the park, buying groceries, only to disappear quickly once they decided to pursue him.
Joe laughed then. "I guess after all those years of friendship, my Watcher abilities seemed to have rubbed off on Mac."
Methos laughed with him at that remark. But, secretly, he was elated by the possibility that the Highlander could still be in the city. <<If Mac is indeed here in Seacouver,>> he thought wistfully, <<then maybe, just maybe, I could find him.>>
Suddenly, an inner voice, one he reserved for introspective reasoning and argumentation, asked, << What if he doesn’t want to be found? After all, didn’t you yourself give him a perfect example to emulate and learn the fine art of disappearing without a trace?>>
The voice continued to nag him long after he left Joe’s, haunting him in the days that followed as he tried searching for the Scot.
His search, however, came to an abrupt and deciding end when he opted to go directly to the dojo. The absence of Duncan’s sensory signature told him already that the younger Immortal was not there. Ever the masochist, he had to hear it straight from the mouth of MacLeod’s caretaker that the Highlander was indeed gone from the city and out of his life forever.
Methos all but stumbled out in the darkened street, his eyes glossing over with the tears he tried in vain to stop. His heart felt like it was slowly but steadily being chipped away, piece by bloody piece.
<<I told you so!>>, that voice decided to pipe in.
"Shut up, damn it!", he cursed the tormenting mind voice that was his own conscience, unmindful of the fact that he had said the words out loud. People who saw him muttering to himself steered clear from his path.
"This is unfair!", Methos complained. "This is so unfair! Why is Duncan shutting everyone out? He shouldn’t be going through this alone!"
<<Would you look who’s talking!>>, the voice declared sarcastically. <<If it isn’t the world’s oldest living Immortal who once said, `I didn’t last 5000 years by worrying about anybody but myself.’ And what makes you think MacLeod is going to appreciate your company, when you have let him down so many times in the past when he truly needed you?>>
Methos covered his ears with his hands, shaking his head. "Stop it! I don’t want to hear anymore!"
But the voice was infuriatingly persistent as he ran blindly down the street and into a dark alleyway. <<Why don’t you just simply admit it to yourself that you are motivated by selfishness? That you want to take this 400 year old, STRICTLY heterosexual Scotsman into your bed?>>
"All right! ALL RIGHT!", Methos shouted to the rooftops of the buildings on either side of the alley. "I ADMIT IT! I want to fuck Duncan MacLeod out of his mind! I want to feel his body writhing in passion from the touch of my hands and my kisses. Is that what you want to hear?"
The voice didn’t answer this time, its silence serving as a smug affirmation.
A sob escaped the Immortal’s lips as he leaned against the wall and sank down to the ground. "Is it so bad to want that?", he asked, a single tear streaming down his cheek. "Is it selfishness to want to feel loved and to give love in return? After so many centuries, I never thought I could feel so alive again. How could I go back to the emptiness of my previous life? How could I survive without the light and warmth that has captured my heart and my soul? How could I LIVE without the friendship and love of Duncan MacLeod?"
With this painful admission, Methos buried his face in his bent knees, hugging his legs tightly to him, at last giving in to his bitter, lonely tears.
Not far away from him, just on the edge of Methos’ sensing range, a pair of sorrowful doe eyes watched the man who was crying in the alley. In fact, these eyes have been following Methos’ every movement since he stumbled out of the dojo.
He thought he had settled everything, put an end to this part of his life. But it seems he still had unfinished business left in Seacouver and, this one, the most important of all. A friend. A dear friend who had helped him in the past. A very dear friend who was pining over the loss of someone who, only now, he finally acknowledged to himself, was very precious to him.
<<"I ADMIT IT! I want to fuck Duncan MacLeod out of his mind!">> A smile curled up the corner of his full lips. That confession nearly made him want to run to Methos, to take him in his arms, to snuggle up cozily next to him in that dark, dank alley. To shout out loud, <<YES! Do what you will with me! TAKE ME!>> But somehow, he managed to stifle the urge to do all these things.
It’s not that he was homophobic. Four hundred years of "straight" living, plus the beliefs his father and his religion had hammered into him as he was growing up in Glenfinnan, made it extremely difficult for him to deal with such a thing as another man falling in love with him, especially if that other man was Methos. It was further complicated by the fact that he himself has fallen in love with the ancient Immortal as well.
He didn’t know exactly how and when it happened. All he knew was that the feelings were there and he couldn’t deny it. He knew these feelings existed through the bond they shared between them. They have been through hell and back so many times but the bond remained strong and true. And it made it very hard for him to just walk away, following that incident in Paris with Liam O’Rourke.
<<Why do things have to get so complicated between us?>>, he thought ruefully. <<Why couldn’t we just get it all out in the open?>>
The problem was it really wasn’t so easy. Methos loved him but he couldn’t reveal his feelings for fear of rejection, since he was well aware of the fact that his friend was straight. He couldn’t tell Methos he loved him because he didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to do. One wrong word, one wrong move, it could all go down the drain. From experience, he knew how many times they have hurt each other with such thoughtlessness.
Aside from this, he had to admit he was rather intimidated by the older Immortal. Without a doubt, Methos has loved other men during his millennia of a lifetime. At first, when he finally came to grips with his own emotions, he thought, <<What would Methos want with an innocent like me?>> Granted, he was already an expert on the fine art of loving and seducing women. But when it comes to loving and making love to another man, he was totally a virgin in that area. Surely, Methos wouldn’t want to be saddled with an inexperienced lover.
However, hearing the ancient Immortal’s heartfelt declaration of love to the starlit skies of Seacouver, he reflected, <<I can’t let this thing between us go unresolved.>>
Looking at the weeping man in the alley one last time before walking away, Duncan MacLeod arrived at a major decision.
It was near midnight when Methos trudged wearily to the front door of his apartment, his whole posture indicating resignation and defeat. He was so depressed that, at first, he didn’t notice the envelope tucked under the door. It was only when he accidentally kicked it a few feet away that he finally saw it.
Frowning, Methos saw that
the name "ADAM PIERSON" was neatly printed on the envelope. Tearing the
side open, he took out the small note inside. His eyes slowly widened as
he read its contents. The Immortal had to blink hard several times, wondering
if his eyes were just playing tricks on him. However, the words on the
note didn’t change.
- Adam,
We need to talk. Could you please meet meat David Markum’s grocery store tomorrowmorning at 10? Hope to see you again.
Duncan
Methos arrived at David Markum’s grocery store at a quarter past ten, cursing the day he had chosen a "poor graduate student" as a disguise.
He had been exceptionally prissy the minute he got out of bed, scrounging through his closet for something nice to wear for his meeting with the Scot. By the time he had showered and dressed, it was already 10 am and he had a hard time finding a cab from his place. Then, when he finally reached the grocery, Methos saw, to his dismay, that the two young men who just entered Markum’s were better dressed than he was.
<<In my next life,>> he mused wryly, <<I’ll be a "RICH graduate student" and be damned what people think. I’ll be as snooty as hell!>>
Though he was elated at the prospect of seeing MacLeod again, Methos was still afraid that he might have arrived too late. Getting out of the cab, he breathed in relief at the sight of Duncan’s Thunderbird parked near the curb, not too far from the grocer’s. Going towards the car, he saw that the T-Bird was empty, which means the Scot could still be inside the store. Methos was too far for him to be able to sense Duncan and for the younger Immortal to feel him.
It was while he was contemplating whether or not to go inside the grocery store that a very familiar buzz shot through his entire body, like being struck by Cupid’s arrow.
To Methos, everything around him seemed to be moving in slow motion as his attention was focused on the opening door of the store. The mischievous sun chose that particular moment to lay its gentle beams of light on the gorgeous angel that stepped out of Markum’s grocery.
At last, here was the man Methos was searching for for the past seven months and his breath caught in his throat at his first glimpse, in what seemed like a very long time, of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.
Duncan was wearing a black thigh length coat and jeans of the deepest blue. Underneath, his shirt was of a much lighter shade of blue. What was different about him, however, was that the Highlander had grown his hair long, very long. In fact, to the older Immortal, it seemed that Duncan’s waist length hair was a cascading waterfall of chocolate waves and curls down his back. When the breeze lifted it up, it looked like the Scot was wearing a rich brown mantle around him.
For a moment, there was a frown on Duncan’s face as he looked warily around him, clutching the bag of groceries tightly in his arms. But when their eyes finally met, a most beatific smile curled up his roseate lips that Methos, indeed, felt like he had died and gone to heaven.
<<If this is a dream, I wish I’d never wake up!>> Lifting his eyes heavenward, Methos prayed, <<If any of you gods I worshipped in the past are listening to me, please make this right for me. Please give me a clean slate so I could be able to start anew with Duncan MacLeod. I promise I won’t make a mess of things this time.>>
"Adam!", that rich baritone called out to him happily. Methos could swear there was such great relief in those dark brown eyes.
"Hello, MacLeod!", the ancient Immortal said in turn as the two men began walking toward each other.
Methos didn’t know exactly how it happened. Everything seemed to move in a blur and, yet, at the same time, in his mind’s eye, it still registered in a grotesque slow motion.
He was still a little way off from Duncan when he saw those two men who entered the store earlier run right out. The shrill alarm pierced the morning air, catching their attention. Methos saw Duncan stop and began to glance back at the store. At that same moment, one of the men pulled out a gun from inside his jacket, raised it and aimed at the Scot.
"DUNCAN!", Methos shouted in warning as he made a quick dash toward his friend.
The shout caused MacLeod to look back at the Immortal so abruptly that he failed to see the gun that was pointed at him.
Methos was a fast runner…but he wasn’t fast enough. When the gun fired, the ancient Immortal’s fingers were just about to reach the younger man’s arm. As Methos took Duncan into his embrace, the Highlander’s head suddenly whipped forward and back from the force of the bullet, splattering the older Immortal’s face with blood and brain tissue.
"DUNCAN, NO!", Methos screamed as the Scot collapsed in his arms, dropping the bag of groceries, spilling its contents on the ground. With shaking hands, he tried to wipe away the blood that continued to flow from the gaping wound on Duncan’s forehead, just above his hairline.
The sound of the police siren somehow pierced the shock and confusion inside his mind. Lifting the Highlander in his arms, taking extra care so that he will not be accidentally skewered by the katana hidden inside the Scot’s coat, the Immortal carried him toward the T-Bird and gently laid Duncan on the backseat. Getting into the driver’s seat, Methos headed off to the only person he knew who could be able to help him.
Joe Dawson was sleeping in late, having had a very busy night at the bar the previous evening, when he heard the sound of frantic knocking on his door.
"Go away!", he snarled, putting his pillow over his head. But the knocking was very insistent.
Growling to himself, the Watcher got up, easing himself out of his bed and into his wheelchair. "Hold your horses!", he yelled as he wheeled towards the door, flinging it open angrily.
"OH MY GOD!", Joe declared, stunned by the sight that greeted him at his front door.
Before him stood Methos, his face and clothes streaked with blood. In his arms, hanging limply like a rag doll, was the dead form of Duncan MacLeod.
"Joe, I’m sorry!", was all Methos could say as the tears began to flow from his eyes. "I don’t know who else to turn to!"
At these plaintive words, Joe shook himself out of his initial shock. Smiling reassuringly, the Watcher waved him inside. "You came to the right place!"
They had laid the Scot on Joe’s bed. As Methos cleaned the blood away from Duncan’s head, he told the Watcher everything that’s happened.
The Watcher grimaced at the sight of the ugly gash that was the healing bullet wound on MacLeod’s forehead.
"That looks bad," he couldn’t help but comment out loud.
"I know," Methos had to agree with him. He gently ran his fingers through the Highlander’s blood-soaked hair.
"Adam?", Joe began hesitantly. "Not to get your hopes down or anything but…you know there are a lot of blanks in the Watcher chronicles and…I was wondering if…have you…"
"You’re wondering if I have ever encountered an Immortal surviving…whole…well, mentally…a head injury like this." Methos stated this in a point blank manner.
Joe didn’t have to reply in the affirmative. The troubling question was written all over his face.
The ancient sadly shook his head. "No. I’m afraid I haven’t." Methos breathed in deeply. "But I guess we’re going to find out now, won’t we?"
The Immortal and the Watcher took turns watching the Highlander as he healed. Joe decided to call up the bar, despite Methos’ objections, and told his man Frank to take care of the place for him.
Over twelve hours had passed since Duncan MacLeod was shot. Already, no trace of the bullet wounds could be found on his head. But still, the Scot hasn’t awakened. He lay curled up, facing one side of the bed. Seeing his position, the two men decided to seat themselves on that side, just in case MacLeod woke up.
Joe handed Methos a cold bottle of beer. The elder Immortal has been very quiet during the last couple of hours. The Watcher didn’t think it would be possible for Methos to look his age. For a 5000 year old Immortal, Methos resembled a very handsome man who was in his late twenties to early thirties. But, sitting here beside the Highlander, each and every one of the millenia he had lived was finally revealed on his face.
"You’ve been hit that bad, huh," Joe said casually.
That question caused Methos to gaze up at him in bewilderment. "What?"
"You don’t have to hide it from me, Adam. I’m a Watcher, remember? I see things."
Methos smiled wanly. "Was I that obvious?"
"Not really." Joe grinned as he took a drink of his beer. "In fact, you were very subtle. Besides, I read your chronicles. Yes, you had sixty-eight wives. But you also spoke very fondly of a few men in your past. Nestor, Virgilius, Amadeo Cerrano, Marcus James. They weren’t just friends, were they?"
Methos simply shook his head.
The Watcher let out a sigh. "You know you’re fighting a lost cause with MacLeod."
"Probably," the Immortal began, "but I can’t help but feel there’s something there, Joe."
"It could be just friendship," Joe suggested.
"Even if it’s ‘just friendship’, I’m willing to accept it. Mac is…special. No man or woman has ever made me feel this way before, not even my former lovers. After 5000 years of living, you get weary of it all. But Duncan has opened up a whole new world for me. He taught me how to care again, how to love. After so many centuries, he brought me back to life with his smile, his warmth, his honor and his dignity. I am but a mere flame to Duncan’s fiery blaze. If I lose him, I will surely be extinguished."
Joe gazed down at the figure lying on his bed, a broad smile slowly forming on his face. Looking at Methos, he said, "Maybe there’s still some hope for you yet!", pursing his lips at the Scot.
Looking down, Methos breathed in relief. Duncan’s eyes were open, blinking hard as he peered at them through long lashes.
"Mac, thank God!", he exclaimed, getting down to his knees, caressing the young Immortal’s brow soothingly. "How are you feeling?" He felt a deep flush of embarrassment go up his cheeks, thinking that the Scot may have heard everything he said. "Listen…about what you heard…I can explain…"
Methos was practically babbling when he felt Joe’s hand on his shoulder. There was a frown on the Watcher’s forehead.
"Adam?", he queried softly, cutting off the Immortal’s words. "I…I think…I think something’s wrong."
Hearing this, Methos looked more closely at the Scot. At first, he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. But when his gaze locked with the Scot’s, he saw that there was nothing in the chocolate brown eyes. It was a total blank.
Then, his jaw dropped
down in shock. As Methos watched, Duncan turned his gaze away from the
ancient Immortal. Pulling the pillow close to his body, the Highlander
curled up in a tight ball, placed his thumb inside his mouth and settled
down to sleep.
CHAPTER TWO:
Despite the gravity of the situation, Joe Dawson couldn’t help but feel very amused.
Duncan had planted himself on the floor beside him, watching wide-eyed as the Watcher put on his prostheses. Releasing his thumb from its seemingly perpetual position inside his mouth, he gingerly raised an inquisitive finger to touch the smooth finish of the prosthetic leg.
Seeing that those full lips were slightly parted, Methos at last seized his long awaited opportunity by putting a spoonful of oatmeal inside the Scot’s mouth. A grimace formed on Duncan’s face, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Turning to the older Immortal, he pursed his lips together and spat out the cereal, scoring a direct hit on Methos’ nose.
At this comical sight, Joe burst out laughing. "That’s a good boy!", he praised the Highlander, taking his other leg Duncan was holding in his hands.
There was a puzzled expression on the Scot’s face as he twiddled his fingers in open air. With an innocent shrug, he put his thumb back inside his mouth and plopped down on the carpet.
"It’s not funny, Joe," Methos growled, wiping the cereal from his face.
"Hey! Don’t look at me!", the Watcher declared defensively as he tightened the straps of his prostheses to his thighs. "You’re the one who wished you could have a relationship with Mac. Remember the old saying…"
In unison, the two men recited, "’Be careful what you wish for. You may get what you deserve.’"
"Yeah! Yeah! I know!", said Methos, very upset. Raising his arms helplessly, he added, "But I didn’t ask for this!"
Joe looked fondly at the erstwhile avatar and demon slayer lying contentedly on the floor, rocking playfully on his back while he indulged in such a pleasurable infantile pursuit as thumb-sucking.
"He’s just like a baby, isn’t he?", Joe said thoughtfully. Quickly, however, he pointed an emphatic finger at Methos. "He’s YOUR baby though, Adam!"
"Mac’s also YOUR Immortal, Joe," Methos countered dryly. "Aren’t you supposed to ‘watch’ him?" He made two quotation marks in the air at the word "watch".
"But you got him into this mess! You get him out of it!"
"How?"
Joe shrugged his shoulders. "How the hell should I know!"
The Watcher slowly got to his feet. "Listen, I’m going over to the dojo to talk to Mac’s new manager. Maybe I could get him to open up the flat for me so I could pick up a few things. I also think it would be a better idea to take MacLeod over there. There’s a lot more room in that loft of his than here."
"Oh no you don’t!" Methos also stood up, waving an accusing finger at him. "You promised you’d help me give him a bath."
Joe tapped the Immortal’s cheek reassuringly. "Don’t worry! With your 5000 years of experience, I’m sure you can handle it. I mean, LOOK AT HIM! He’s just a baby!"
He waved his hand to the Scot at their feet. Duncan had his head under the covers and was engaged in a lively telepathic conversation with the dust bunnies under the bed.
"Joe," the Immortal began in growing exasperation, "I’ve been in sixty eight marriages, some of them with women who have kids. And I’m telling you THAT is NOT a baby!"
"And like I said, I know you can handle it. I have faith in you, man!"
As Joe ambled to the front door, Methos followed him, hoping he could still be able to dissuade the Watcher from leaving. "Joe, my dear friend! Surely you won’t desert me in my time of need?"
But Joe simply ignored him as he opened the door. "I’ll be back in a couple of hours." Gazing back at the figure on the floor, he groaned. "After you finish giving him a bath, clean up my carpet, will ya?"
Methos whirled around to see the wet stain growing on the seat of Duncan’s pants and on the carpet. When he turned to look at Joe again, to his dismay, the Watcher had used his momentary distraction to make a quick getaway. Closing the door, he gaped at the Scot who was looking at him innocently, sitting right on top of the golden puddle he had just created.
"Come on, Duncan!", he said, trying to sound nice and gentle but the words came out as a low growl. "Time for your bath!"
In answer, the Highlander raised a beseeching arm up.
Methos stared at him aghast. "You want me to carry you? But…but…you’re bigger AND heavier than I am!"
Duncan, however, was very insistent. He pulled his other hand out of his mouth that, now, both arms were eagerly reaching out to him, his hands opening and closing, sweet chocolate eyes begging earnestly.
"Oooh, all right! I’ll carry you!", Methos, grudgingly, surrendered to that irresistible entreaty.
With a huff and a puff, the ancient Immortal lifted Duncan up in his arms, taking extra care that his arm would not touch the wetness on the Scot’s bottom.
Seeing Duncan looking at him curiously with left thumb pressed between his full lips, Methos declared sarcastically, "You should be glad your Uncle Methos is an Immortal. Otherwise, he would have died from a broken back."
Somehow, the Highlander seemed to notice Methos’ discomfort. As a small gesture of gratitude, Duncan smiled at him so sweetly that Methos felt a gentle tug on his heart.
<<Gods! What is this?>>, he was so close to exclaiming out loud, disarmed by that innocent yet beguiling smile.
If that wasn’t enough, Duncan wrapped both arms around him, laying his head on the hollow between Methos’ neck and shoulder.
<<Gods, give me strength!>>, he prayed earnestly as he let out a soft moan, That affectionate gesture caused a delicious tingle to blossom from his groin, radiating all over his body. To Methos’ dismay, his member has shown it has a mind of its own by saluting in earnest.
Realizing that he’d better get MacLeod into his bath so that, afterwards, he too could take a shower, <<A very cold shower!>>, Methos lugged the Highlander inside the bathroom.
However, once he had set the Scot back down on his feet, the Immortal was immediately presented with another major dilemma.
"Duncan?", he sheepishly asked the young Immortal before him. "You do remember how to take a bath now, don’t you?"
But Duncan just stared at him blankly, swaying his body from side to side.
With a pathetic groan, Methos slowly went toward the younger man and began removing the buttons of his shirt, trying to keep his eyes focused on Mac’s face with much effort. This done, he peeled the shirt off. Only the jeans were left. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned the jeans at the waist and slowly began pulling down the zipper. However, the zipper’s teeth got caught on Mac’s briefs, pinching a bit of his skin, that a whimper escaped those full lips.
"I’m sorry, Duncan!", Methos apologized profusely, seeing a tear fall down from the Highlander’s eye. "I didn’t mean to hurt you! I’ll be careful! Promise!"
Taking a deep breath, he got down on one knee and freed the zipper. With the jeans opened, he yanked the pants and the briefs down in one quick tug.
Methos nearly staggered back as he beheld the stunning beauty of Duncan’s naked form. He gazed longingly at the broad, muscular chest with its sprinkling of velvety down. The tiny rose nipples have hardened into points that Methos licked his lips, wanting to press his mouth on those sweet peaks. His eyes descended to the lean abdomen, going further down to the sable nest of curls that cradled an impressive, uncircumcised penis.
The elder Immortal leaned against the wall, panting for breath as he closed his eyes. However, the magnificent beauty of the Highlander has burned a vivid image inside his mind. Already, his own cock was straining within the tight confines of his denims.
Slowly, Methos began to count from one to ten. But with each number, he envisioned various positions he would want to put the Scot in.
Snapping his eyes open, he saw that Duncan was looking at him with that same innocent expression on his face, only making his already intense hunger worse.
<<CONTROL!>>, Methos screamed inside his mind. <<Control yourself, damn it!>> The Immortal buried his face in his hands. The urge to take Duncan was overpowering.
Then, the voice of his conscience spoke out strongly, <<Even if he has the body of a grown man, if you take him now, with his child’s mind, you are nothing more than a filthy pedophile! If he recovers, Duncan would never forgive you for taking advantage of him while he was in this vulnerable state!>>
Methos desperately tried to cling to that voice. In his turmoil, he didn’t notice Duncan take a tentative step into the tub. However, the hot water the Immortal had filled the tub with had already cooled down considerably. At the sudden bite of coldness, the Highlander snatched his foot back, shivering.
Before Methos could move, Duncan went streaking past him and out the open bathroom door.
"Shit!", the ancient Immortal cursed out loud as he ran after the flasher, managing to grab a robe off the hook. "MacLeod! You come back here!"
Running into the living room, he saw the bare-assed Scot tinkering with the knob of the front door.
<<I’ve got you now, Mac!>>, Methos grinned wickedly, getting ready to grab the Highlander.
However, Duncan managed to open the door. Methos’ eyes widened in alarm, seeing the Scot run out into the garden in his birthday suit, laughing in glee.
Just as the Scot emerged on the sidewalk, swiftly, the Immortal tackled MacLeod, wrapping the robe around his naked form. He was about to thank all the gods he has ever known that no one saw them when a sharp voice declared, "HEY YOU!"
Spinning around with the Highlander still in his arms, Methos saw a red-faced, middle-aged lady storming towards them.
"What the hell are you doing?", she demanded angrily. "You’re a couple of perverts, aren’t you?"
"It’s not what you think," Methos argued weakly.
Whirling around, the woman exclaimed, "I’m calling the cops!"
Hearing this, the Immortal was momentarily speechless. Regaining his wits about him, he followed the woman, pulling Duncan with him. "Please! Don’t call the police! Let me explain!"
The lady once more turned to utter a retort. However, she took a closer look at him, pushing her glasses up her nose.
"Wait a minute! I know you!", she exclaimed suddenly, a warm smile forming on her face. "You’re Joe Dawson’s young friend, Adam Pierson. Don’t you remember me? I’m Ethel Grimes!"
Methos made a quick mental check of the people Joe had introduced him to and finally came up with a match. Mrs. Ethel Grimes. Resident Nurse. Joe’s next door neighbor.
"Ethel!", Methos grinned at her. "I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you! You look very pretty today." That comment brought a blush to the woman’s cheeks. "Are you going to the hospital?"
"No. I’ve retired just a couple of months ago." She then turned to the Highlander. "And who’s this?"
"Uh…this is…Joe’s nephew…Duncan MacLeod."
The former nurse looked at them suspiciously. "You boys aren’t doing any…er…hanky panky now, are you? It’s not everyday I see a good-looking young man flashing out in the street."
"Oh no, no!", said the Immortal, shaking his head. "Duncan’s been in a terrible accident. I’m afraid he suffered a serious head injury and he kind of…regressed…to childhood because of it. I’m helping Joe take care of him. I was about to give him a bath but Duncan got away from me."
To Methos’ surprise, the Scot visibly shuddered all over before thrusting his thumb back inside his mouth.
"Oh, you poor thing!", cooed Mrs. Grimes, caressing Duncan’s cheek. "You don’t like a bath? Was it cold?"
The Highlander pursed his lips in a sullen pout.
"It must have gotten cold. But he needs to take a bath." Methos then pointed out, "He wet himself, Ethel."
Duncan gave him a sour look that screamed, "YOU SNITCH!"
"Is that so?" The nurse tapped Duncan’s nose with a playful finger. "Sorry, young man, but you must take a bath. How would you like a nice, warm bubble bath? You could play with the bubbles and make animals out of the fluffy suds."
Duncan smiled shyly. Even with his wits not the way they were before, the Scot still had the ability to charm the socks off women.
<<It must be in his genes,>> Methos deduced firmly.
But the Immortal had a lot to be thankful for the Highlander’s winning charms. To his surprise, he saw Mrs. Grimes leading the young man back inside the house, all the while chattering happily.
"Are you coming, Adam?", the nurse called back at him.
"I’m right behind you, Ethel!" Methos looked up into the heavens. Pressing his hands together, he whispered, "Thank you!"
The day turned out to be a very hectic one for Methos. After Mrs. Grimes finished giving Duncan a bath, the ancient Immortal was faced with the daunting task of feeding the younger man. For the life of him, Methos never figured Duncan to be a finicky eater…until the Highlander pelted him with a plate of beans. Poor Methos spent most of his time either washing himself up or Duncan when the Scot wet himself.
It was only when night fell that Methos, at last, found some peace and quiet. The elder Immortal lounged comfortably on Joe’s couch, both legs stretched out on top of the coffee table. A much nicer smelling Highlander lay curled up lengthwise on the couch, his head cradled on Methos’ lap.
Methos gazed down fondly at Duncan. A glossy sea of brown silk covered his lap. A portion of the Scot’s mane languidly crossed over a shoulder, covering his upper body like a shawl, and fell just below the edge of the couch. Duncan’s chocolate orbs were focused on the pictures on the television screen while his mouth continued its futile attempt to suck out any juices from his thumb.
The Immortal had been channel surfing when he chanced upon the TV premiere of "Aliens". Methos just loved horror films! Of course, the same could not be said of the younger man lying on his lap.
Methos couldn’t help but feel perversely amused as he watched Duncan’s reaction. Whenever the suspense was building, he noticed the Scot’s eyes would get as round as saucers and immediately close shut during a scary scene. If it wasn’t his eyes, Methos noted that Duncan would suckle on his thumb at an agitated pace. At one point, the Highlander even pulled his hair over his eyes.
During the scene where the alien burst out from the chest of its hapless victim, Duncan let out a mewling cry. Quickly, he turned to the other side, putting his back to the TV screen as he buried his face hard in Methos’ belly, shaking in fear.
Feeling tears wetting his T-shirt, the ancient laughed. "What are you so afraid of, Duncan? It’s only a movie!"
With much effort, he cupped Duncan’s chin and made the terrified Scot look up at him, ignoring his cries of protest. When, at last, their eyes met, kind gold green eyes comforting frightened, tearful brown ones, Methos smiled reassuringly.
"Don’t be scared," he said gently. "I’m here! I won’t leave you!"
Abiding an irresistible urge, Methos pressed his lips to Duncan’s brow. At this gesture, a tentative smile curled up the Highlander’s mouth.
It was nearly 10:30 and Duncan had already dozed off when Methos heard the front door open.
"Honey, I’m home!", Joe greeted cheerfully as he stepped into the living room, carrying a big shopping bag.
"So nice of you to show up…TRAITOR!", said the Immortal sarcastically. "I thought you’ll only be gone for a couple of hours?"
But the Watcher paid him no mind and, instead, grinned at the young Scot who had sat up and was trying to shake off the cobwebs.
"Hello, Duncan!", cooed Joe, making awful baby sounds that Methos couldn’t help but groan in disgust. "Uncle Joe has a nice surprise for you!"
At these words, the Watcher pulled out a tiny, beat-up looking green and brown patchwork teddy bear. It had shiny black buttons for eyes, a pugnacious nose and a stupid grin on its face. Around its neck was a green satin ribbon. It was also wearing a plaid diaper, an obvious sign of maternal mending of a worn toy. Methos could hardly stifle his snicker. The Immortal found it amusing that the plaid underwear was the deep blue and green of the Clan MacLeod colors.
To Methos, the teddy bear was a pitiful looking thing. Duncan, however, didn’t seem to agree with him.
Letting out a squeal of delight, the Highlander bolted out of the couch and grabbed the bear Joe was waving enticingly in the air. The two men grinned at the sight of Duncan whirling around and around like a top, the teddy bear raised in both hands. Then, to Methos’ consternation, Duncan hugged the Watcher tightly and gave him a slobbering peck on the cheek.
Joe was surprised at what happened, rubbing his cheek in disbelief. "Did he just kiss me?"
Methos let out a disappointed snort. "You should be soooo lucky!"
Duncan had plopped down on the floor, rocking the bear in his arms, with his right thumb back inside his mouth.
"Give me that!", declared Methos enviously, grabbing the paper bag. "What else have you got in here?"
"I got some of Mac’s clothes. We’re in luck. The manager of the dojo told me he’s just finished renovating the place and he won’t be opening it up until next week. So you and MacLeod could have the entire building all to yourselves." Joe then asked in amusement, "Is he still thumb-sucking?"
Instead of answering, Methos glowered at him, a colorful packet in his hand. "A pacifier, Joe?"
The Watcher shrugged nonchalantly. "I figured, with the way he’s got his finger stuck inside his mouth all day, he might wear his thumb down."
"Very funny, Joe. And what’s with the bear?"
Joe glared at the Immortal in righteous indignation. "How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice! For your information," the Watcher began proudly, looking at the toy in Duncan’s arms, "Teddy and I go a long, long way!"
"I could see that!", Methos said derisively. "Teddy looks like he’s been in a lot worse battles than I have. Where does he keep his sword, Joe?" As the Watcher looked at him sulkily, Methos added, "Why couldn’t you just get him one of those cute, fuzzy bears? Or how about that 'Tickle Me Elmo' doll?"
"You want me to give MacLeod 'Tickle Me Elmo'?", Joe blurted out in disbelief. "Do you even know how much one costs?"
"Well, it would’ve been a hell of a lot better than beat-up old Teddy there."
As the two men argued, they didn’t notice that Duncan had stopped playing and was watching them quietly. With the toy balanced on his knees, the Scot had propped his chin on top of the bear’s head. He listened to them quarrel though he could barely understand what they were saying.
Out of the corner of their eyes, Methos and Joe noticed the Highlander’s attentive stare that they stopped abruptly, gazing at Duncan as he sucked lustfully on his thumb.
Looking at each other once more, Joe grimaced. "We should get him to stop doing that."
Methos glanced pointedly at MacLeod. "Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s kind of cute. I never thought Duncan could do ‘cute’. Exasperating, yes. High-minded moralist, yes. Exceptionally stubborn, a BIG yes. But cute?"
"Come on, Adam!", Joe teased him. "Women find him cute." Then, he quirked an eyebrow up and down. "And aren’t YOU attracted to him as well?"
"Please!", Methos moaned, recalling his daytime adventures with the childlike Scot. "Don’t remind me! Giving him a bath truly tested my self-control! Thank heavens for Ethel!"
"Ethel? ETHEL GRIMES? MY NEIGHBOR?" Joe eyed him suspiciously. "What have you two been doing?"
"Nothing!", the ancient Immortal exclaimed defensively. "I was about to give him a bath this morning when he escaped from me and ran out into the street stark naked. Ethel saw us. She almost called the police. I’m just glad she recognized me. She even helped me give Mac a bath."
"MacLeod must have given her an eyeful!"
"He gave HER an eyeful? MY eyes almost bugged out of their sockets and…" Methos was red-faced in embarrassment. "Well, you know." Wanting to change the topic, he queried, "What were we talking about earlier?"
"How the hell should I know?", the Watcher declared. "I’ve completely forgotten! You keep on changing the subject!"
"I keep on changing the subject?"
"SEE!", Joe waved an exasperated hand at him. "You’re doing it again!"
Snarling at each other like a couple of angry puppies, they just found themselves glancing back at the Highlander. Seeing their intense stare, Duncan first blinked innocently at Joe and then at Methos.
Remembering at last what they had forgotten, they nodded at each other and announced in unison. "THE THUMB!"
"Let me handle this!" Methos then went toward the Scot, slowly opening the packet. Duncan was looking at him suspiciously but the colorful thing Methos had dangling between his two fingers was constantly distracting his attention.
"Lookie here, Duncan!", the Immortal said temptingly. "I’ve got a nice little pacifier for you."
For a moment, Duncan’s sweet doe eyes just followed the pacifier as Methos waved it in the air before him. Unable to contain his curiosity, however, he let go of the teddy bear and reached out for the pacifier with his left hand…the right thumb still stuck between his lips.
"Wrong hand," Joe said sarcastically.
"I could see that! Distract him, will ya, Joe? Get the bear!"
Inching towards the Highlander, the Watcher raised a hand to the teddy bear sitting on Duncan’s lap. "Hello, Duncan! Uncle Joe would like to borrow Teddy for a few minutes."
As Joe’s fingers touched the bear’s paws, Duncan quickly wrapped both arms around it, baby chocolate eyes flashing angrily, his lips parting to release an outraged cry.
Seeing his chance, Methos swiftly pressed the pacifier between his lips, effectively cutting off Duncan’s exclamation.
"Gotcha!", the ancient Immortal said in glee, bursting into laughter.
Joe gave the Highlander a dubious glance, trying, in vain, to control his giggles. "Oh, I don’t know, Adam. I think he looks cuter with the thumb."
True enough, Duncan’s eyes had crossed as he glared and glowered at the thing inside his mouth.
"Oh, he’ll get used to it!", the ancient Immortal commented. Methos and Joe bent down toward the seemingly placid figure on the floor. "How do you like the pacifier, Duncan? Tastes better than your dirty little old thumb now, does it?"
The only warning the two men had was the angry spark in the Scot’s eye as he snapped his head up to look at them. Quickly, he spat out the pacifier, scoring another direct hit on Methos’ nose. Then, grabbing the bear, he whacked Joe hard on the head. The two men nearly tumbled to the floor in surprise. As they tried to regain a certain semblance of dignity, Duncan got up and stormed past them, going to the bedroom. Pausing at the doorway, he glared at them indignantly, thrusting his thumb spitefully back into his mouth and slammed the door with a resounding bang.
"We should do something about his aim?" , Methos grumbled as he rubbed his aching nose.
"Forget about his aim!" Joe whined pitifully, "Where am I going to sleep?"
"Don’t worry, Joe!", Methos reassured him, patting his back. "You take the couch. I’ll sleep on the floor."
At the word "floor", the Watcher glanced down and groaned at the sight of the wet stain between them. "Damn! He wet my carpet…AGAIN! Haven’t you potty trained Mac yet?" Then, his eyes widened. "MY BED!"
Methos immediately ran inside the bedroom…and stopped at once.
Duncan was just standing there with tears in his eyes, clearly unable to move, totally disgusted by the wetness of his pants. However, Methos saw a hint of defiance in them, not wanting to ask help from his two "uncles" who had laughed at him.
Methos felt a gentle tug in his heart at the sight of the poor Scot. "Oh, Duncan!" He opened his arms to him, motioning to the young Immortal to approach.
Duncan meekly went into Methos’ arms, his body shaking with sobs.
"I’m sorry, Duncan," the ancient apologized sincerely. "So’s Uncle Joe. We didn’t mean to laugh at you. Promise! You can suck, chew and gnaw on that thumb of yours. No more tricks."
Methos wasn’t sure if the Highlander understood him but he was glad when the trembling of his body stopped. Pulling away, he smiled, wiping the tears from Duncan’s eyes and cheeks. "Let’s get you cleaned up!"
After putting Duncan to bed, the Immortal and the Watcher had a quiet dinner and some light conversation before deciding to hit the sack themselves.
Before turning in, Methos couldn’t help but look in on the sleeping Scot. Duncan was lying on his side, arms wrapped around the pillow. Tucked under his chin was the teddy bear. The Highlander had kicked off the blanket that his long legs were bared. Though Methos had earlier tried to teach him how to work the toilet bowl with a small measure of success, the Immortal opted not to put the pajama bottoms on him. Bad move, he thought, because the shirt had hitched up to the Scot’s hip. Methos had to wipe the sweat from his brow at the tantalizing view of Duncan’s rounded buttocks.
Swallowing hard, with trembling fingers, he pulled the blanket up that only Duncan’s and Teddy’s heads were exposed.
Methos remembered how Duncan kissed Joe earlier. <<Lucky son of a bitch!>>, he mused in jealousy. Caressing the Highlander’s cheek, Methos whispered, "When are you going to kiss me like that, Duncan?"
Carefully, the ancient leaned down and lovingly pressed his lips to Duncan’s cheek, very close to the corner of the full mouth. He could almost swear that a small smile formed on those beautiful lips.
"Sweet dreams, my Celtic angel!", Methos said softly, remembering the times he had tucked his own adopted children into their beds. "Let no nightmares disturb your sleep tonight."
Saying this, the Immortal carefully stood up and went into the living room, closing the door with a soft click. Joe was already fast asleep on the couch so he settled down on the carpet.
Sometime during the night, Duncan woke up. Rubbing his eyes drowsily, he picked himself up from the bed and trudged outside the room, teddy bear in tow. The Scot glanced briefly at Joe before his eyes fell upon Methos’ sleeping figure on the floor.
Getting down on his hands and knees, Duncan crawled up to the Immortal, easing himself close…very close…to Methos’ body. Unconsciously, Methos’ left arm went up and hugged the Highlander, pulling the young man close to him. Duncan peered at the ancient through sleepy eyes. Pursing his lips, he sweetly kissed Methos’ thin lips. The unwary Immortal let out a pleased sigh.
Yawning, Duncan snuggled up to Methos and fell into peaceful slumber.
