Happy Holidays, banbury!
Title: Relish the Day
Author: Ketchup Tomorrow
Written for: banbury
Characters/Pairings: Duncan MacLeod, Methos, Connor MacLeod
Rating: G
Wordcount: 2,600
Author's Notes: Naturally, everyone is aware of the 'old relish joke', which I shamelessly abuse here. And a big thank you to my beta!
Summary: Both Connor and Methos show up at Duncan's place, which wouldn't be a problem, except they don't trust each other, don't like each other, and neither of them are particularly inclined to communication.
In retrospect, Duncan supposed, he should have guessed everything would turn out satisfactory. But at the time, it had been a logistical nightmare.
Connor had unexpectedly dropped in to visit, looking characteristically melancholy and introspective, given that it was the month in which he'd lost both Heather and Brenda, though centuries apart. His eyes had been hooded and his mouth tight as he'd greeted Duncan, with little of the mirth and warmth that Duncan associated with him from the good days. Duncan would never turn away his family, nor his friends, and so he had welcomed Connor into his home.
And subsequently had to mention that he already had a houseguest in residence.
Methos had wandered by earlier in the week, also characteristically melancholy and introspective, as he was contemplating another anniversary being counted for the loss of his recent love, Alexa. Duncan had welcomed Methos in, and given him the guest bedroom. For three days, Duncan had cooked for him, and kept him company. It had been a balm, and pleasant, since they were still repairing their friendship after so many rough revelations in recent years.
Then, of course, he had two old Immortals in his home, neither of which knew the other, and only had Duncan as the connection between them. Which always meant potential cataclysm.
Connor's eyes had narrowed, and he'd radiated hostility and suspicion. Methos' face and body language switched to utter blankness, giving nothing away.
Duncan had introduced them carefully. Methos certainly knew who Connor was, and that for the most part, there was nothing to worry about, but there was always that 'for the most part' caveat. Connor would have known the legend of Methos, but Duncan had learnt that lesson. He introduced Methos as Adam Pierson, and then Adam had proceeded to make sure that Connor didn't mistake him for a new Immortal. He may not have wanted to be known as the world's oldest man, but Methos certainly didn't want Connor getting it into his head that there was a need to school a green, helpless Immortal.
Knowing Connor, Duncan was relieved. Connor never wanted to be helpful, but his better nature generally won out over his cynicism. Having Connor try to instruct innocent Adam in the ways of immortality made Duncan quake on the inside.
Duncan was immensely grateful that he'd already moved out of the loft above the dojo and into a very nice, suburban ranch-style home. It meant that his guest bedrooms were on opposite sides of the house, and that both Methos and Connor behaved because there were neighbors around everywhere, and all the time.
"You're surrounded by the neighborhood watch," Methos had groused the first night he'd been there. An evening stroll by the two of them through the neighborhood had been met with attention from no less than eight people and five dogs.
"Yes," Duncan said. "That was sort of the point."
"Bad people would just hurt them, you know."
"I know. I tried living on the edge of society, and it only seemed to encourage challenges. I'm going to give this a try. I've had neighbors before, and it mostly worked out."
"Not ones with cell phones and instantly accessible cameras." Methos hunched into his coat as soon as a pair of joggers were past them and turned away on a side street.
"Exactly. Even the most foolhardy of us generally don't risk scrutiny of themselves."
"Except for the suicidal, and the maniacal." Methos actively unhunched himself, and his movements suddenly contained an ease about them. His momentary furtiveness was erased, and all that remained was a nonthreatening young man.
"My location wouldn't affect that in any way," Duncan said. "Anyone intent on such behavior would do it regardless of the risk."
Methos smiled. "You're getting clever in your dotage, MacLeod."
A warm emotion suffused Duncan at the compliment. "Thank you." He tucked the memory of Methos' comment away, to be kept again for any dark days ahead. They were rare enough to be remembered and treasured.
It was just that Duncan hadn't expected some semi-dark, strained days quite so soon. He hadn't expected Methos and Connor to get along-that was a lesson that Duncan had learned the very hardest of ways. His friends would not necessarily be friends with each other. But he'd hoped for something better than the constrained, bristling circumspection.
So, a few nights after Connor had arrived, Duncan was trying to smooth the way at least for indifferent coexistence, instead of snarled suspicion. He was making a very nice dinner of pork bulgogi with leafy green lettuce, rice, and several condiment choices.
Methos spent the time rolling a single beer around in his hands as he leaned against the kitchen counter-top, never venturing into the living room. Connor spent the time prowling through the living room, never entering the kitchen, but calling out questions and suggestions. Duncan spent the time nursing a beer and a headache, and wondered which of the two would decide to leave first, and if he wouldn't be glad both of them left him alone.
Eventually, Duncan set the table and plunked down the food. Connor and Methos warily approached, chose chairs directly across from each other, and eyed their butter knives with rapt consideration.
"This is good," Methos said, halfway through dinner. "Really good."
Duncan chewed on a bite of food as he contemplated what more he could do. Connor was family. Methos was probably Duncan’s closest friend these days. He wanted them to get along. Perhaps a baseball game. Or a trip to the zoo…no, that was ridiculous.
Methos made a small, appreciative noise and Duncan looked up.
“Where did you get this?” Methos asked. He grabbed one of the containers that Duncan had placed on the table as an accompaniment to the bulgogi and held it up for Duncan to view.
“Yes, Duncan, where?” Connor said, voice low. He had a fork full of the stuff, and it was halfway to his mouth.
Duncan considered the jar. It was a clear mason jar, half-full of a vegetable relish of some type, and he had a vague recollection of purchasing it at a farm stand of some sort. Perhaps along a road. Or at a farmer’s market. Duncan’s specific memory of the jar narrowed down to the brilliant smile of the young girl who'd sold it to him, and the older grandmother resting in a lawn chair behind her. The tablecloth on the flimsy folding table had been red and white plaid, held down by the multitude of jars, and he recalled that he’d also purchased some honey-butter. He’d eaten that with a load of bread, and it hadn’t lasted the rest of the day as he’d greedily consumed it, licking his fingers in the car. He'd gotten the steering wheel and controls sticky, and the entire car had been fragrant with the sweetness of honey.
But of the specific location of where he’d purchased it, he had only a dim sense of a back road on a lazy afternoon, when he’d gotten himself lost on purpose, just to see the countryside around the city.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Doesn’t it say?” He thought there should be a label on the jar.
“No,” Methos said. “No label at all, although there is handwriting on the lid. You paid four dollars, and it’s labeled Persnickety Relish. Or at least, I assume so. The handwriting is terrible. But nothing at all about from whom you bought it.”
Duncan waved a hand. “Northwestish of the city. A farm-stand. I can’t remember if it was at the actual farm, or just along the side of the road.”
Methos and Connor exchanged glances. “I’ll help you,” Connor said, and Methos grunted in reply. He carefully replaced the lid on the jar and slid it over to Connor. “We can start at seven. And it might not hurt to call some local grocery stores. Sometimes they carry local products.”
“Agreed.” Connor wrapped his hand around the jar and glared at it, as if it would give up its secrets to him.
Duncan frowned. “What’s so special about the relish?” He’d tried it before, and found it to be nice. It wasn’t bad, but not particularly a flavor he enthused about.
“Man likes brussel sprouts and broccoli, raw,” Connor grunted.
“And often eats his bread without butter,” Methos added disparagingly. They shared a look, and for once it wasn’t wary or suspicious, but rather one of two people who understood the same thing. It would have been irksome, but Duncan was just too happy to have both of them find some common ground.
After dinner, and after the dishes had been washed and put away, Duncan found that Methos and Connor were conspiring together over maps and laptops in the living room. An itinerary was forming on a scrap of paper, with at least seven farms already plotted.
“What can I do?” Duncan asked, and the pair of them turned calculated gazes upon him.
Methos handed him another piece of paper. “Local grocery stores in the city that may carry farm products.”
Duncan took the paper. “Consider it done,” he said.
Methos and Connor returned to their planning, and Duncan went back to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, humming happily to himself.
In the morning, Connor and Methos set out exactly at seven, and Duncan watched them go. There was an ease to their body language now that he was pleased to see. The cold, barely concealed suspicion was gone. They weren’t easy with each other, and he suspected they each still carried a cadre of weapons, but it was a start.
Curious to double check his memory, Duncan pulled the relish jar out of the fridge. He scooped out a small amount with a spoon and tasted it. His recollection was accurate. The relish was tasty. It had a piquant flavor with a sharp bite, heavily hinting at clove, dill, and allspice. He liked it. But not enough to hunt it down. He supposed it was either a personal preference on Methos' and Connor's part, perhaps because the flavor was reminiscent of something from long ago, or else it was just a fluke that both of them found the flavor exceptionally desirable. It didn't really matter. He only cared that something had become the glue that would help to bind them together.
Dreaming of summer picnics and winter holidays, with his clan gathered around him, Duncan collected his piece of paper, and began his own search across the city. It was a little exciting, to be on the hunt, although his hopes of finding the treasured item in a grocery store was slim to none. Still, as he wandered the aisles of store after store, he enjoyed the mission, and found a few other foods that piqued his interest. He bought what looked tasty, and decided that he could make a lasagna for dinner that night as well. He could pick up the ingredients as he went.
By late afternoon, he’d canvassed all the stores, and had three jars of relish for Methos and Connor to try. The jars had been different, but the relish on the inside looked somewhat similar, and Duncan thought it couldn’t hurt to purchase the samples. A test taste would tell.
But Methos and Connor didn’t show by dinner, and Duncan grumpily ate lasagna alone, and then they didn’t show by bedtime, and then finally, very late into the evening, they finally dragged themselves in. There was a strange air about them, and Duncan couldn’t place his finger upon it. They weren’t disgruntled, though they returned empty handed, and they weren’t disparaging each other, although they’d spent the entire day in each other’s company. Goodness knew, either of them had enough sharp retorts to flay someone alive. Between the two of them, their acerbic tone and razor wit could reduce an opponent to a sniveling heap.
But they obviously hadn’t grown too weary of the other, because they yawned and waved good night.
The three jars of relish waited on the kitchen table, unopened, and Duncan just sat there. He'd wanted them to get along, but he just realized that he wasn't actually prepared for it when it happened.
In the morning, his houseguests were lively again, and filling their veins with jolts of caffeine in copious amounts.
“We have a few more places to try,” Methos informed him. “Want to come along?”
“Sure,” Duncan said, pleased to be included.
“None of these,” Connor decreed. He’d dipped a spoon into each of the three relish jars that Duncan had brought back. It spoke volumes, Duncan thought, that Methos didn’t even bother to try the relishes himself. He trusted Connor enough to believe him.
The road trip was ordinary. Duncan lounged in the backseat, letting Methos drive, and Connor navigate from the shotgun seat. The road stretched out ahead of them, and the first farm stand they came to had only apples and cider, and hardy cold-weather vegetables like dark-green kale. They moved on to the next, and discovered a bustling enterprise.
It was Sunday, and there was actual traffic at the farm, which had done its best to appear picturesque and wholesome. Hay rides were offered to trees in an orchard for apple picking. Pumpkins were gathered together on a well-tended scrap of yard. Mums in at least five different colors were for sale. The smell of cider doughnuts lingered in the air. Children romped, and parents called out for them to heel and behave.
“This looks promising,” Duncan said as they entered the yard.
“We’ll see,” Methos said. Connor only grunted.
Duncan let them head over to the jar section of things. It looked quite large, with pickled-everything. Onions, green beans, cucumbers, carrots, and more. Sweet, hot, dill, and curried. They’d be awhile, looking the options over, trying to find the needle in a haystack.
Duncan drifted back outside. The farm was elevated, and the views weren’t bad, although he had to peer between some trees. The day was sunny, and the sunlight felt warm and welcome on his skin. He basked in the atmosphere, just liking the ebb and flow of families gliding past him.
Waiting there, Duncan felt mellow and easy. The breeze was carefree against his skin, and for the moment, nothing pressed against him, dark and unknown. There was only the joy of being alive, and outside.
He saw Methos and Connor approaching him, their arms straining against the full sacks they carried.
“This was it,” Methos said. “The proverbial jackpot.”
Duncan gauged the sacks. They each had to be carrying at least fifteen jars of the relish.
“You bought them out?”
“Everything on the shelves, in the back, and a few of their reserve jars as well,” Connor said, and laughed smugly.
“Plus the recipe.” Methos grinned, and he and Connor shared a look of triumph that made Duncan warm with the knowledge that they had finally, finally found common ground.
They would be friends now. Perhaps not the best of friends, nor soulmates, nor two sides of the same coin. But friends enough, to visit and enjoy each other’s company. And Duncan would have the members of his clan together, and there would be no fighting.
Well, no immediate fighting.
Duncan shook his head. “What exactly is it about this relish that has both of you so excited?”
Connor snorted. “When you’ve eaten fetid potatoes-“
Methos shrugged. “One of my wives made it just like-“
They both stopped short, grinned at each other, and then each handed Duncan a bag laden with relish. “Memories, MacLeod,” Methos said. “And trust us, this relish is worth it.”
Lugging the bags behind his now unburdened friends, Duncan had to agree. The relish would have been worth its price a thousand-fold, if for nothing else than providing opportunity for Connor and Methos an avenue to avoid bloodshed. Then he sighed, and waddled forward, the heavy bags smacking him in the shins. What price harmony?
END
Author: Ketchup Tomorrow
Written for: banbury
Characters/Pairings: Duncan MacLeod, Methos, Connor MacLeod
Rating: G
Wordcount: 2,600
Author's Notes: Naturally, everyone is aware of the 'old relish joke', which I shamelessly abuse here. And a big thank you to my beta!
Summary: Both Connor and Methos show up at Duncan's place, which wouldn't be a problem, except they don't trust each other, don't like each other, and neither of them are particularly inclined to communication.
In retrospect, Duncan supposed, he should have guessed everything would turn out satisfactory. But at the time, it had been a logistical nightmare.
Connor had unexpectedly dropped in to visit, looking characteristically melancholy and introspective, given that it was the month in which he'd lost both Heather and Brenda, though centuries apart. His eyes had been hooded and his mouth tight as he'd greeted Duncan, with little of the mirth and warmth that Duncan associated with him from the good days. Duncan would never turn away his family, nor his friends, and so he had welcomed Connor into his home.
And subsequently had to mention that he already had a houseguest in residence.
Methos had wandered by earlier in the week, also characteristically melancholy and introspective, as he was contemplating another anniversary being counted for the loss of his recent love, Alexa. Duncan had welcomed Methos in, and given him the guest bedroom. For three days, Duncan had cooked for him, and kept him company. It had been a balm, and pleasant, since they were still repairing their friendship after so many rough revelations in recent years.
Then, of course, he had two old Immortals in his home, neither of which knew the other, and only had Duncan as the connection between them. Which always meant potential cataclysm.
Connor's eyes had narrowed, and he'd radiated hostility and suspicion. Methos' face and body language switched to utter blankness, giving nothing away.
Duncan had introduced them carefully. Methos certainly knew who Connor was, and that for the most part, there was nothing to worry about, but there was always that 'for the most part' caveat. Connor would have known the legend of Methos, but Duncan had learnt that lesson. He introduced Methos as Adam Pierson, and then Adam had proceeded to make sure that Connor didn't mistake him for a new Immortal. He may not have wanted to be known as the world's oldest man, but Methos certainly didn't want Connor getting it into his head that there was a need to school a green, helpless Immortal.
Knowing Connor, Duncan was relieved. Connor never wanted to be helpful, but his better nature generally won out over his cynicism. Having Connor try to instruct innocent Adam in the ways of immortality made Duncan quake on the inside.
Duncan was immensely grateful that he'd already moved out of the loft above the dojo and into a very nice, suburban ranch-style home. It meant that his guest bedrooms were on opposite sides of the house, and that both Methos and Connor behaved because there were neighbors around everywhere, and all the time.
"You're surrounded by the neighborhood watch," Methos had groused the first night he'd been there. An evening stroll by the two of them through the neighborhood had been met with attention from no less than eight people and five dogs.
"Yes," Duncan said. "That was sort of the point."
"Bad people would just hurt them, you know."
"I know. I tried living on the edge of society, and it only seemed to encourage challenges. I'm going to give this a try. I've had neighbors before, and it mostly worked out."
"Not ones with cell phones and instantly accessible cameras." Methos hunched into his coat as soon as a pair of joggers were past them and turned away on a side street.
"Exactly. Even the most foolhardy of us generally don't risk scrutiny of themselves."
"Except for the suicidal, and the maniacal." Methos actively unhunched himself, and his movements suddenly contained an ease about them. His momentary furtiveness was erased, and all that remained was a nonthreatening young man.
"My location wouldn't affect that in any way," Duncan said. "Anyone intent on such behavior would do it regardless of the risk."
Methos smiled. "You're getting clever in your dotage, MacLeod."
A warm emotion suffused Duncan at the compliment. "Thank you." He tucked the memory of Methos' comment away, to be kept again for any dark days ahead. They were rare enough to be remembered and treasured.
It was just that Duncan hadn't expected some semi-dark, strained days quite so soon. He hadn't expected Methos and Connor to get along-that was a lesson that Duncan had learned the very hardest of ways. His friends would not necessarily be friends with each other. But he'd hoped for something better than the constrained, bristling circumspection.
So, a few nights after Connor had arrived, Duncan was trying to smooth the way at least for indifferent coexistence, instead of snarled suspicion. He was making a very nice dinner of pork bulgogi with leafy green lettuce, rice, and several condiment choices.
Methos spent the time rolling a single beer around in his hands as he leaned against the kitchen counter-top, never venturing into the living room. Connor spent the time prowling through the living room, never entering the kitchen, but calling out questions and suggestions. Duncan spent the time nursing a beer and a headache, and wondered which of the two would decide to leave first, and if he wouldn't be glad both of them left him alone.
Eventually, Duncan set the table and plunked down the food. Connor and Methos warily approached, chose chairs directly across from each other, and eyed their butter knives with rapt consideration.
"This is good," Methos said, halfway through dinner. "Really good."
Duncan chewed on a bite of food as he contemplated what more he could do. Connor was family. Methos was probably Duncan’s closest friend these days. He wanted them to get along. Perhaps a baseball game. Or a trip to the zoo…no, that was ridiculous.
Methos made a small, appreciative noise and Duncan looked up.
“Where did you get this?” Methos asked. He grabbed one of the containers that Duncan had placed on the table as an accompaniment to the bulgogi and held it up for Duncan to view.
“Yes, Duncan, where?” Connor said, voice low. He had a fork full of the stuff, and it was halfway to his mouth.
Duncan considered the jar. It was a clear mason jar, half-full of a vegetable relish of some type, and he had a vague recollection of purchasing it at a farm stand of some sort. Perhaps along a road. Or at a farmer’s market. Duncan’s specific memory of the jar narrowed down to the brilliant smile of the young girl who'd sold it to him, and the older grandmother resting in a lawn chair behind her. The tablecloth on the flimsy folding table had been red and white plaid, held down by the multitude of jars, and he recalled that he’d also purchased some honey-butter. He’d eaten that with a load of bread, and it hadn’t lasted the rest of the day as he’d greedily consumed it, licking his fingers in the car. He'd gotten the steering wheel and controls sticky, and the entire car had been fragrant with the sweetness of honey.
But of the specific location of where he’d purchased it, he had only a dim sense of a back road on a lazy afternoon, when he’d gotten himself lost on purpose, just to see the countryside around the city.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Doesn’t it say?” He thought there should be a label on the jar.
“No,” Methos said. “No label at all, although there is handwriting on the lid. You paid four dollars, and it’s labeled Persnickety Relish. Or at least, I assume so. The handwriting is terrible. But nothing at all about from whom you bought it.”
Duncan waved a hand. “Northwestish of the city. A farm-stand. I can’t remember if it was at the actual farm, or just along the side of the road.”
Methos and Connor exchanged glances. “I’ll help you,” Connor said, and Methos grunted in reply. He carefully replaced the lid on the jar and slid it over to Connor. “We can start at seven. And it might not hurt to call some local grocery stores. Sometimes they carry local products.”
“Agreed.” Connor wrapped his hand around the jar and glared at it, as if it would give up its secrets to him.
Duncan frowned. “What’s so special about the relish?” He’d tried it before, and found it to be nice. It wasn’t bad, but not particularly a flavor he enthused about.
“Man likes brussel sprouts and broccoli, raw,” Connor grunted.
“And often eats his bread without butter,” Methos added disparagingly. They shared a look, and for once it wasn’t wary or suspicious, but rather one of two people who understood the same thing. It would have been irksome, but Duncan was just too happy to have both of them find some common ground.
After dinner, and after the dishes had been washed and put away, Duncan found that Methos and Connor were conspiring together over maps and laptops in the living room. An itinerary was forming on a scrap of paper, with at least seven farms already plotted.
“What can I do?” Duncan asked, and the pair of them turned calculated gazes upon him.
Methos handed him another piece of paper. “Local grocery stores in the city that may carry farm products.”
Duncan took the paper. “Consider it done,” he said.
Methos and Connor returned to their planning, and Duncan went back to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, humming happily to himself.
In the morning, Connor and Methos set out exactly at seven, and Duncan watched them go. There was an ease to their body language now that he was pleased to see. The cold, barely concealed suspicion was gone. They weren’t easy with each other, and he suspected they each still carried a cadre of weapons, but it was a start.
Curious to double check his memory, Duncan pulled the relish jar out of the fridge. He scooped out a small amount with a spoon and tasted it. His recollection was accurate. The relish was tasty. It had a piquant flavor with a sharp bite, heavily hinting at clove, dill, and allspice. He liked it. But not enough to hunt it down. He supposed it was either a personal preference on Methos' and Connor's part, perhaps because the flavor was reminiscent of something from long ago, or else it was just a fluke that both of them found the flavor exceptionally desirable. It didn't really matter. He only cared that something had become the glue that would help to bind them together.
Dreaming of summer picnics and winter holidays, with his clan gathered around him, Duncan collected his piece of paper, and began his own search across the city. It was a little exciting, to be on the hunt, although his hopes of finding the treasured item in a grocery store was slim to none. Still, as he wandered the aisles of store after store, he enjoyed the mission, and found a few other foods that piqued his interest. He bought what looked tasty, and decided that he could make a lasagna for dinner that night as well. He could pick up the ingredients as he went.
By late afternoon, he’d canvassed all the stores, and had three jars of relish for Methos and Connor to try. The jars had been different, but the relish on the inside looked somewhat similar, and Duncan thought it couldn’t hurt to purchase the samples. A test taste would tell.
But Methos and Connor didn’t show by dinner, and Duncan grumpily ate lasagna alone, and then they didn’t show by bedtime, and then finally, very late into the evening, they finally dragged themselves in. There was a strange air about them, and Duncan couldn’t place his finger upon it. They weren’t disgruntled, though they returned empty handed, and they weren’t disparaging each other, although they’d spent the entire day in each other’s company. Goodness knew, either of them had enough sharp retorts to flay someone alive. Between the two of them, their acerbic tone and razor wit could reduce an opponent to a sniveling heap.
But they obviously hadn’t grown too weary of the other, because they yawned and waved good night.
The three jars of relish waited on the kitchen table, unopened, and Duncan just sat there. He'd wanted them to get along, but he just realized that he wasn't actually prepared for it when it happened.
In the morning, his houseguests were lively again, and filling their veins with jolts of caffeine in copious amounts.
“We have a few more places to try,” Methos informed him. “Want to come along?”
“Sure,” Duncan said, pleased to be included.
“None of these,” Connor decreed. He’d dipped a spoon into each of the three relish jars that Duncan had brought back. It spoke volumes, Duncan thought, that Methos didn’t even bother to try the relishes himself. He trusted Connor enough to believe him.
The road trip was ordinary. Duncan lounged in the backseat, letting Methos drive, and Connor navigate from the shotgun seat. The road stretched out ahead of them, and the first farm stand they came to had only apples and cider, and hardy cold-weather vegetables like dark-green kale. They moved on to the next, and discovered a bustling enterprise.
It was Sunday, and there was actual traffic at the farm, which had done its best to appear picturesque and wholesome. Hay rides were offered to trees in an orchard for apple picking. Pumpkins were gathered together on a well-tended scrap of yard. Mums in at least five different colors were for sale. The smell of cider doughnuts lingered in the air. Children romped, and parents called out for them to heel and behave.
“This looks promising,” Duncan said as they entered the yard.
“We’ll see,” Methos said. Connor only grunted.
Duncan let them head over to the jar section of things. It looked quite large, with pickled-everything. Onions, green beans, cucumbers, carrots, and more. Sweet, hot, dill, and curried. They’d be awhile, looking the options over, trying to find the needle in a haystack.
Duncan drifted back outside. The farm was elevated, and the views weren’t bad, although he had to peer between some trees. The day was sunny, and the sunlight felt warm and welcome on his skin. He basked in the atmosphere, just liking the ebb and flow of families gliding past him.
Waiting there, Duncan felt mellow and easy. The breeze was carefree against his skin, and for the moment, nothing pressed against him, dark and unknown. There was only the joy of being alive, and outside.
He saw Methos and Connor approaching him, their arms straining against the full sacks they carried.
“This was it,” Methos said. “The proverbial jackpot.”
Duncan gauged the sacks. They each had to be carrying at least fifteen jars of the relish.
“You bought them out?”
“Everything on the shelves, in the back, and a few of their reserve jars as well,” Connor said, and laughed smugly.
“Plus the recipe.” Methos grinned, and he and Connor shared a look of triumph that made Duncan warm with the knowledge that they had finally, finally found common ground.
They would be friends now. Perhaps not the best of friends, nor soulmates, nor two sides of the same coin. But friends enough, to visit and enjoy each other’s company. And Duncan would have the members of his clan together, and there would be no fighting.
Well, no immediate fighting.
Duncan shook his head. “What exactly is it about this relish that has both of you so excited?”
Connor snorted. “When you’ve eaten fetid potatoes-“
Methos shrugged. “One of my wives made it just like-“
They both stopped short, grinned at each other, and then each handed Duncan a bag laden with relish. “Memories, MacLeod,” Methos said. “And trust us, this relish is worth it.”
Lugging the bags behind his now unburdened friends, Duncan had to agree. The relish would have been worth its price a thousand-fold, if for nothing else than providing opportunity for Connor and Methos an avenue to avoid bloodshed. Then he sighed, and waddled forward, the heavy bags smacking him in the shins. What price harmony?
END