Shades and Echoes, Chapter Seventeen

Feb 12, 2014 20:25

Here's the next bit!


"Feeling better, cousin?" Duncan asked Connor, who had just stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still wet.

"A little," Connor admitted.  "Adam, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Methos answered.  He wished that both Highlanders would stop asking him that question.

"You did a good job today," Connor told him.  "You kept a clear head; that's most important."

"Thank you."  Methos feigned Adam's shy pleasure at the compliment, and Connor gave him a smile that probably wasn't meant to be as patronizing as it looked.

"Will you stay for another few days?"  Duncan asked his cousin, who shook his head, feigning reluctance.

"I need to get back to New York," he said.  "There are things I have to do there."

"And I have to go home," Methos added.  "We've been pushing it.  If I stay any longer, I'll get into serious trouble."  Duncan looked at him, clearly startled.

"I thought --"

"I can't stay," Methos said.

"All right.  Do you need help getting your things back to your apartment?"  Duncan asked.

"No, thanks.  I can take a taxi."  Methos smiled at both of them, Adam-awkward.  "I suppose I ought to go pack."  He got up and left the room.

As he went, he heard Duncan asking, "When is your flight out, Connor?"

It didn't take Methos long to pack, as he hadn't brought much with him in the first place.  By the time he'd finished, Connor, too, was getting ready to leave.  Their taxis pulled up at almost the same time.

"It was nice to meet you," Methos told Connor, holding out his hand.

"You, too," Connor said.  "If you ever need anything, Duncan has my number."

"Thanks."  Methos turned to Duncan.  "See you tomorrow."  Connor pulled Duncan into a hug.

"I'll call you when I get home," he promised, then turned and followed Methos, who was already stowing his bag in the closest taxi.  Connor got into the second, and both taxis pulled out and drove away from the barge.

Fifteen minutes later, Methos got out at his own door, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he walked up the steps.  Unlocking his front door, he stepped inside and closed it behind him, reveling in the sensation of being alone and in his own place once again.

He unpacked slowly, then settled onto the floor by the bed with one of his literarily worthless thrillers.  Two hours later he'd finished the book, and his stomach was loudly suggesting lunch.

He made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, since he wasn't sure how safe most of the contents of his refrigerator were after two weeks, and washed them down with a beer.  Taking a second beer back over to his spot on the floor, he selected a Tom Clancy book and made himself comfortable again.  He'd almost finished with it when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Adam, it's Joe.  I tried you at MacLeod's, but he said you'd gone home.  I'm hoping that means that Quince is dead."

"It does.  Connor got him this morning.  I might have been seen."

"I'll check and see.  Don't go anywhere near HQ for now."

"I've been avoiding HQ for some time," Methos reminded him.  "I'm not about to start now."

"Good to hear -- but that's not why I called.  James is in a series of meetings that will keep him tied down for at least four hours.  You're clear to visit Darius if you want to go."

"Thanks, Joe," Methos said.  "I appreciate it."

"Yeah, yeah," Joe said.  Methos could hear the smile in his voice.  "Just be careful, okay?"

"Always," Methos told him.  "Bye, Joe."

"Bye."  Methos hung up.

***

Despite knowing that Horton was safely occupied, Methos took the back way to Darius's church, then went around the back side of the church and sneaked in through the small door there -- after picking the lock.  He could feel Darius the moment he stepped through the door, and called out for him.

"Darius!"

"In here," Darius called.  Methos went down the hallway looking in each room, and finally found him in his office.

"How have you been?" Darius asked, putting aside the papers he'd been working on and retrieving two glasses from a desk drawer.

"It's been a long couple of weeks," Methos said, settling into the chair in front of the desk.  "Slan Quince was in town and came sniffing after me because he thought I was Duncan's student.  The Highlander insisted that I come and live with him until the threat was dealt with.  Oh, and halfway through my stay, Connor MacLeod showed up.  I haven't had a minute to myself since the first time I felt Quince's presence."  He narrowed his eyes at Darius.  "Are you smirking at me, priest?"

"No, no," Darius said, trying to keep a straight face.  After a moment, though, he gave up and let himself laugh.  Once he'd stopped, he cleared his throat.

"My apologies," he said, rising and crossing the room to the liquor cabinet.  "It's just that it's deeply amusing to see you tangled in your own web, my friend.  I've told you as much before.  You're certainly in no danger, so long as you keep up your facade.  Even if you don't, I doubt Duncan would take your head."  He returned with a bottle of good whiskey, and poured a generous amount into each glass.

"That's a risk I'd rather not take, thank you very much," Methos said.  He picked up his glass as Darius sat down, and held it out in the priest's direction.  "To surviving."

"To living," Darius corrected him, smiling gently.  They clinked glasses and drank; Methos took a small sip and rested his glass on the arm of his chair without letting go of it.

"If you say so," he said.

"I do say so," Darius told him.  "And you know I'm right, even if you're too stubborn to admit it."

"Me, stubborn?" Methos asked, letting himself smile faintly.

"Yes, you," Darius said pointedly, and Methos subsided.

"How have you been?" he asked instead, and listened with enjoyment to Darius's story about one of his more eccentric parishioners, sipping at his whiskey as he listened.  The anecdote and Methos's drink ran out at the same time, but Darius refilled their glasses and started in on a second story, correctly interpreting Methos's desire to listen rather than to talk.  Darius was one of the few people still living who could consistently read Methos's mood, and he was the only one with whom Methos still had contact.  He was also currently the only person with whom Methos could be himself.

"Better?" Darius asked after his third story and Methos's third drink.

"Yes, actually."  Methos smiled.  He wasn't drunk -- he couldn't permit himself that luxury -- but he could feel the warmth of the whiskey in his chest, and the burn of it in his stomach.

"Have you eaten yet?" Darius asked.

"Not yet," Methos answered.

"Join me for dinner?  I'm having chicken and rice and peas -- nothing fancy, but it will fill you up."

"I'd be glad to," Methos decided, preferring dinner with Darius to dinner alone, no matter how badly he'd been craving solitude after his stay on the barge.

"In that case," Darius said, standing up, "follow me."

Methos had been in Darius's living quarters before, though that had been years ago.  Not much had changed, with the exception of the electricity that had been put in earlier in the century, and perhaps some moved furniture.  Methos followed Darius into the little kitchen, where the smell of cooking chicken already permeated the room.  Darius looked in the oven, then turned on the two burners underneath the two pots that already sat on the stove.

"Everything should be ready in about fifteen minutes," he said.  "Time enough for another drink."  He led the way to the parlor and, while Methos settled comfortably into one of the armchairs, got fresh glasses and another bottle of whiskey out of the liquor cabinet.  Since Methos was about to eat, he didn't object when Darius poured him another drink.

"How was life with the MacLeods?" Darius asked, sitting down in the other armchair with a drink of his own.

"Crowded.  Tense, at least for me; I don't think either of them felt that way."  Methos took a sip of his drink, considering.  "It was interesting, though.  Both of them are honorable, decent men, but Connor doesn't let that blind him to the faults of others, not when it affects his safety.  Duncan does."

"Well, Connor is older."

"True -- but I think he's also warier by nature than Duncan is.  In all honesty, I'm surprised that Duncan has lasted as long as he has."

"He's very good," Darius pointed out.

"You and I have both been around long enough to know that's not the only thing that matters.  Duncan's too trusting, too careless with his own safety."  Methos remembered the night that Duncan had run out into the darkness after Slan Quince, armed only with a sword.  "I don't think he ever carries a gun."

"Not all Immortals do."

"Connor does; I'm sure of it."

"That doesn't mean that Duncan should do the same."

"No -- common sense means that Duncan should do the same."  Methos sighed.  "Not that he would listen to me if I told him as much -- not even after seeing how useful it was with Quince."

"What happened to Quince?" Darius asked.

"He came after me, but I shot him -- with a gun Duncan gave me, let me point out.  Connor and Duncan carried him into an alley and waited for him to revive before Connor challenged him and won."

"Were you seen?"

"Not that I know of.  Joe is checking into that for me."

"You're very lucky to have him as a friend."

"He's more than I deserve."

"That's not what I meant, Methos, and you know it." Darius skewered him with a look.

"I know it wasn't.  It was what I meant, however," Methos replied.

"You also know better than that," Darius said, still looking at him.  Methos dropped his gaze.

"Sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," Darius said.  "You are.  You're too hard on yourself, my friend."

"I have good reason to be."

"No.  You're no longer the man who did those things.  Stop treating yourself as if you are."

Methos looked up, but the understanding in Darius's face made him look away again.

"It's hard to accept," Darius continued, relentlessly gentle, "but I swear to you that it is the truth."  He rose.  "I must go check on dinner," he said.  Methos followed him into the kitchen, preferring that to being left alone with his own thoughts.

"A few more minutes," Darius decided, after looking at the chicken and checking the rice again.  He caught Methos's expression and smiled.  "Don't worry.  I've finished tormenting you for the evening."

Darius was true to his word, and dinner was passed in conversation on more pleasant topics -- old reminiscences, mutual acquaintances, 'where were you whens', and the like.  They lingered over the meal until Methos, after a glance at his watch, was forced to end it.

"I hate to cut this short, but your Watcher will be back soon, and he knows me.  I could only come tonight because I knew he was elsewhere."

"Then you must go," Darius said understandingly.  They embraced, and Methos slipped out into the night through the same door by which he'd entered.

***

Author's Notes: Thanks go to the wonderful lferion, beta-reader extraordinaire!  Any remaining mistakes are mine.  As always, feedback rocks my world.

au, shades and echoes, methos, highlander, fic

Previous post Next post
Up
[]