The Elvis Minutes 03: Finale I
I should have known.
My excuse is that I'm still off-balance from Amanda's announcement that Kalas is on the loose. Freed by her own hands!
"I kept thinking about all the times that you came through for me and I thought...'Now it's my term,'" she'd offered meekly.
"To do what?" I'd yelled, jumping to me feet. "Die for me? You stay away from him! You can't fight for me, and I won't allow you to die for me! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
She'd rushed out of the barge then. Maybe I'd been too harsh with her, but, God, what she'd done. Trying to kill Kalas for me. How stupid. How foolish. How...Amanda. The woman schemes big, but never thinks it completely through. I know everything was done out of love, but dammit, she's made a mess of things. Kalas is now free and--
I should have known.
I lower my sword in relief. I'd felt the Immortal signature close on the heels of Dawson's arrival and I'd feared the worst. A mortal with limited mobility caught between two sword-wielding arch enemies battling in the small confines of a barge. But it's not my arch enemy with Joe. It's a friend, one of short of acquaintance, but a friend nevertheless.
Why hadn't I considered the possibility? Maybe Amanda was the fool who'd rushed in where angels feared to tread, but it's my own personal angel who saunters into my home with a wry, knowing smile on his face.
Angel, with those angel eyes,
Come and take this earth boy,
Up to paradise.
"I'm sorry about the reception. I wasn't expecting you," I say as I get my guests drinks.
"Yeah, well I wasn't expecting to come, not until this morning," Joe answers.
Not exactly who I wanted to reply, but I go with it, watching Methos inspect my chess set. "What brings you to Paris?"
"I called him."
I'm startled. Methos, the man who'd fled Paris without a word to me, had called my Watcher? And Joe had come? "I know you wanted to see Methos, but six thousand miles is a long way to travel for a social visit."
Joe shrugs. "Yeah, well, it's Watcher business. It really doesn't concern you, Mac."
Then why are you here on my barge? I hand Methos his drink and I try to care about the answer to that question. But all I can focus on is that Methos is back and the connection bewteen us is still very much alive. Even with Joe here as a buffer, I'm drawn to him. "Whatever," I tell Joe.
"I mean if it did, I would tell you."
I don't care, Joe. Your Watcher problems don't mean a thing to me, other than the fact that they've obviously drawn Methos back into the open, back into my life. He looks good, real good.
Angel, may I hold you tight?
Never kissed an angel.
Let me kiss one tonight.
Of course, kissing is only one thing I want to be doing with--Damn. Amanda. And Kalas. I reluctantly suppress my fantasies. "It's all right, Joe. I've got my own problems right now."
My angel doesn't like that. His eyes impale me. "I don't suppose this problem has a name, does it?"
Not just my angel, but my guardian angel. For a moment I think I can see his wings unfurling majestically as he prepares to protect me. "Kalas," I say.
"Well, he's in prison," Joe says gruffly.
"Not since last night."
Methos doesn't take the news well. He almost drops his glass. "You want to explain that, MacLeod?"
I tell them what Amanda has done.
"That stupid chit!" Methos begins.
I agree, but I won't have a woman friend of mine spoken of in that manner. "She meant well."
Methos just stares at me, then begins muttering in some language that probably hasn't been heard on the planet for a while. I understand his agitation, but how can I soothe him with Dawson staring on?
"Don't you have some Watcher business to attend to, Joe?" I ask firmly.
Joe is by no means slow. "Fine. C'mon, Adam."
I raise my hand. "Methos stays," I tell him, emphasizing the name. "Immortal business. It really doesn't concern you, Dawson."
Joe glares at me, then looks at Methos. The Ancient merely shrugs. With an annoyed huff, Joe leaves.
"You'd been dying to say that to him," Methos accuses with an amused snort.
"I'm not sure how I feel about the Watchers," I admit. "I'm not sure how I feel about you being a part of them."
Methos tries for a frown, but merely looks perplexed. "Why should you feel anything about my associations?"
"Because of this." I stand next to him and drag a finger across his jaw. A jolt of desire screams along my spine.
He shivers and pulls away. "Are you ready for Kalas this time, MacLeod?"
I'm not surprised to find my angel is a skittish one. "I haven't been idle since his incarceration."
"I know." I raise my eyebrow and he shrugs. "Being a Watcher is not without benefits."
His golden eyes shine impishly and suddenly my world shifts.
If I said I love you,
Would I be speaking out of turn?
I'm only human, but I'm willing to learn.
Angel, make my wish come true:
Let me be in heaven on earth with you.
I shake my head and try to get my bearings. I'm not a virgin when it comes to men. There's need after a long battle. There's expediency when women are not available. There are extensions of friendship, of shared joy. But love? No, love is an emotion that's been set aside exclusively for women--at least for me.
"I best leave before Amanda returns," Methos says when I continue to just stand there, my jaw probably unattractively scraping the floor.
Yes, Amanda. A woman. I love her. I'd do well to remember that. As well as something else. "Uh, Amanda, she knows," I tell him hesitantly.
"Knows what, Highlander?"
Shit. When he calls me that, all my blood rushes to one place. Good. That's lust, not love. Lust I can handle. "That you're Methos. It just, uh, slipped out."
"Post-coitally, no doubt," Methos murmurs and I flush. It had indeed happened in that manner. Instead of being angry, he grins. "Talkative in bed, huh? I shall endeavor to remember that."
For when we're in bed together? I shiver at the thought. When we'd first met, he'd spoken of want and fire and passion. I thought I'd had it then, but now I know what the words truly mean. "No interference this time, Methos. My reasons for wanting Kalas out of the way are even greater than before."
"And your abilities?" he challenges.
"Would you like to spar?" A lean, sweaty Methos standing across from me with an upraised sword. I jerk away from him, seeking control of myself.
"I've had your sword at my neck once; twice might prove to be too tempting."
"You think I want your quickening, Old Man?"
Methos' gaze is an appraising one. "I think you want something."
"Aye. And I think you want it too." My eyes dare him to lie, to deny the desire that smolders in this too small room. Why on earth had I chosen to live on a barge? But then again, a mansion wouldn't be big enough to contain what I feel for this man.
"Perhaps," he says coyly, his eyes meeting mine steadily. "But there is Kalas."
I nod, acknowledging that he is an obstacle at the moment.
I have never denied her my bed unless I'm involved with someone. And I'm not--yet. Another reluctant nod.
"And as Joe said, there is Watcher business, and whether you approve or not, it is my business too. Have a pleasant night, MacLeod."
He moves to leave, and I know it's the proper course of action. Too many obstacles. But-- I swear I only mean to stop him with a hand to the lean, but powerfully muscled shoulder. Maybe my move is too aggressive, or he's startled by my boldness, but for whatever reason, he stumbles, and my arms go out to catch him. I'm not a weak-minded man, but the temptation is too great. Methos. In my arms. His lips parted in astonishment.
I kiss him.
I'm not sure which startles me more: that there is none of the first kiss awkwardness--no confusion in which way to tilt my head, no last second mental argument about the wisdom of this intimacy-- or that with this one small gesture, I am home. The sweetness of his mouth, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, his heartbeat against my chest where we touch, the heat emanating from our groins as we step closer together.... My body craves this not as a want, but as a need, as something it lost but now has back.
I physically ache when he pulls away with a sad shake of his head.
"God," I say as I continue to hold him in a light embrace. "God."
"I have to go, MacLeod."
I nod and reluctantly drop my arms. "We're not over, Methos," I murmur defiantly.
He smiles and sidesteps around me. Just as he reaches the door he turns and gives me a seductive look. "We haven't even started, Duncan MacLeod."
The door closes and I find myself grinning at it.
Haven't started, indeed.
Angel, make my wish come true,
Let me be in heaven here on earth with you.
Angel ~ words & music by Sid Tepper - Roy C. Bennett
Continues in Elvis Minutes #04: Who Are You, Who Am I?