The Goodnight Kiss



"Sad about Joe."

Duncan looked up from where he'd been studying his feet as they walked toward the Thunderbird. "Pardon?"

"Getting old, losing his mind, etcetera."

Duncan nodded, but wasn't sure if he agreed with Methos's assessment. Just because he and Methos didn't see "dinner at Joe's" as a date, and Joe did, didn't mean that they were right and Joe was wrong. Many people came to Joe's on dates, so Joe knew what a date looked like. He and Methos had gone to Joe's as friends many times and Joe had not called it a date. Why was Joe--a date expert--suddenly seeing a date where there wasn't one…unless it was one? Sure, he had planned on having a date with Methos. But things went wrong, and so it became a non-date. Right?

Hmm. When had the four hundred been subtracted from his age?

"Let's go back to your place."

What? That was a--"date'y" thing to say, wasn't it? Did Methos-- "Why?" he asked, knowing the futility of trying to follow Methos's thoughts.

"Because I have no alcohol at my place, remember?"

Oh. Alcohol. Of course.


"So, what do you have that I might tolerate while plastered?" Methos asked, flipping through Duncan's CD collection. "Did you know that I once listened to opera while imbibing and ended up fleeing the room because I thought aliens were attacking?"

"Ha ha," Duncan said dryly. "Want a beer?"


Duncan felt his face flood with warmth. Why did hearing the word "harder" come from Methos's mouth embarrass him? Except, he wasn't exactly embarrassed, was he? Ignoring his errant brain, he poured Methos a drink and kept the bottle for himself.

"Aha! Joe's latest. He must have gifted you with a copy because, heavens forefend, that you buy anything sung in English."

Duncan stepped out of his loafers, defiantly put his feet up on the sofa, and sipped his scotch.

"Are you sulking, MacLeod?"

"No." He wasn't sulking. He was just afraid to say anything, afraid of what might come out of his mouth as he watched Methos's lithe body sway to Joe's earthy, sensual tones.

"Is it about the trousers? We can go shopping tomorrow."

Ah, something he could use as a distraction. "And hit all the thrift shops?" he said scathingly. "I think not."

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of this wonderful shop up on the Point. According to the frat boys, it even has its own tailor on the premises. They all shop there."

"I'm not a frat boy."

"You're the 'frattiest' of boys, MacLeod."

Duncan made the mistake of looking up and found his eyes captured by hazel ones which housed a devilish twinkle.

"Dance with me, MacLeod. I'll even let you lead."

Duncan opened his mouth to say, "No way," but found himself reaching for the hand extended toward him instead.

They swayed together in silence. Duncan was surprised at how well they fit. With all the angles they had between the two of them, they should have clashed like edges of separate broken bottles. Instead they slid together like a lock and key.

"Joe's not losing it," he whispered against Methos's shoulder.

"His music still has it," Methos agreed.

"I'm not talking about his music."

Methos pulled away and Duncan felt lost.

"It's time I went home," Methos said, reaching for his coat.

Duncan sighed and walked to where he'd left his shoes. "I'll take you."

"I'll walk."

"Methos, it's three in the morning."

"I'll be safe. I have my Luger," he pulled out said gun, "a tazer, a switchblade, brass knuckles, can of pepper spray, and of course, my trusty sword." He patted the side of his coat fondly.

"What? No dynamite?" Duncan asked dryly.

"No, but…" Methos pulled out what looked like a wad of chewed gum. "Would you settle for plastique?"

Although he felt miserable, Duncan couldn't help but laugh. "My God, man, just how paranoid are you?"

"Paranoid enough to survive for over five thousand years."

Duncan instantly sobered. "How do you live with such fear?"

"Many a time fear has kept me alive long after courage has deserted me."

"But how do you live?" Duncan urged.

"One day at a time like anyone else."

Duncan knew this to be true, because he'd seen it, because he'd been with Methos when it had been Methos living for both of them. "Are you going to run?" he asked softly.

Methos shook his head. "No matter how many times I've tried, I am always inexorably drawn back to you. Even I tire of bashing my head against the same brick wall."

"Then, why?"

"Rumor has it that there's a Game in play."

"Rumor has it that the oldest Immortal is also the wisest."

"Obviously rumor has its drawbacks," Methos murmured, stepping toward the elevator.

"Methos." The man stopped. "Are you afraid you won't be able to kill me when the time comes?"

Methos turned and gave a sad smile. "I'm afraid you won't be able to kill me."

Duncan paled, before walking over to Methos, grabbing his face, and kissing him. It was the kiss of a conquering warrior which soon became the kiss of a wanderer who's longed for home and has finally arrived. It only ended because Methos pulled away and stepped into the elevator.

"This isn't over," Duncan warned as the safety gate came down.

"From your lips to the gods' own ears, Highlander," Methos called as the lift sank. "Pick me up some time after the noon hour. And be prepared to feed me."

"Wine and peeled grapes?" Duncan yelled. Although the elevator had arrived on the ground floor, he could still feel Methos's Presence.

"Does that come with a toy?" Methos shouted back.

"Only if you're a good boy."

"Your neighbors are going to kill us. Goodnight, MacLeod."

The Presence faded. Duncan sighed, then smiled. It wasn't the first time he'd slept alone after a date.

But it might be the last.