Stromata: Coping Mechanisms (NC-17| Duncan/Methos)
Title: Stromata: Coping Mechanisms
Author:Kijikun
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Leslie Fish
Characters/Pairing: Duncan/Methos
A/N: Based loosely on premises from, Changing Ways, a story I co-wrote with Ryenna.
Summary: Methos deals with the newly orphaned pre-immortal and Duncan omissions.
Methos sprawled across the couch enjoying his beer and a good book. The rain pelted the roof and he felt a twinge of pity for anything that had to be out in this weather. He was silently thankful that he had a roof over his head, one that would not suddenly cave in from the weight of the water or develop a leak mid-way through the storm.
The back of his neck prickled slightly, nothing like it would if another immortal was in sensing range but…Methos frowned and put his beer down. He lived too long not to pay attention to even small things like this and sure enough, a moment later the doorbell rang several times in short progression, as if the fingers pressing it were shaking.
Sword in hand Methos approached the door and opened it a crack. He inhaled sharply and pulled the door the rest of the way open. “What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded.
Rowan looked up at him, soaking wet and shaking. “I…” she started then her jaw started to trembled. She clutched the leather bound book tighter to her chest. “Gregory…
Methos realized he was still gripping his sword and carefully placed it against the wall before pulling the child inside. He ruthlessly killed the pity forming in his chest for the terrified girl and cursed Gregory. “Gregory is dead.”
She nodded. “At the flat. He told me to run,” there was a hysterical note to her voice. “I looked back and his head was gone…”
“You came straight here?” Methos interrupted. He couldn’t let her get hysterical; it wouldn’t do her any good. He couldn’t let himself think about who had possibly taken Gregory’s head, couldn’t yield to the swirling need to avenge a man he hadn’t seen in almost a century if not more.
Rowan nodded again, and let Methos take the book from her hands. She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself.
Not just from shock, Methos thought, she had to be freezing from the rain. The doctor part of his mind took over, prescribing a hot shower and a hot drink for her. The strategists said to call Joe while she was in the shower. “Nice hot shower for you I think,” he told her, keeping his voice even. He herded the girl towards the downstairs bathroom. “I’ll get you a sweatshirt to wear. It should be long enough on you.”
“But what about,” she paused and bit her lip before continuing. “What about the man that took Gregory’s head?”
Methos didn’t tell her that if the other immortal had wanted her dead, she probably wouldn’t have made it there. He noted almost absently that she wasn’t calling Gregory ‘papa’ as she had before, and thought perhaps it gave her the distance she needed to deal with what had happened.
“He can’t hurt you here,” Methos assured her.
He lingered outside the door until he heard the shower, and then busied himself with finding a sweatshirt of Duncan’s that would probably swallow the girl up. He opened the bathroom door only enough to put the sweatshirt inside before heading to the phone.
“Dawson,” Joe answered on the second ring.
“It’s Adam,” Methos said wanting to make sure the line was secure.
“I have caller ID you know,” Joe laughed. “You already bored without Mac around?”
Methos leaned against the wall, watching the bathroom door, hearing the sound of the shower. He’d give her fifteen minutes at the most before he went in. He’d have to watch her carefully for signs of shock, he thought, falling back into the physician’s role. “Gregory Mendel just lost his head. You might want to send a cleanup crew over to his place, if his watcher already hasn’t.”
There was silence for a beat. “How the hell do you know that?” Joe demanded on the other end of the phone.
“His kid showed up a few minutes ago on my doorstep. She not injured, but understandably shaken up,” Methos allowed. “I’m pretty sure she saw him lose his head.”
“Fuck.”
Methos closed his eyes for a moment. “It probably be better to keep the police very far away from this, given that there’s a kid involved. The press would have field day.” And the last thing Methos wanted was attention from the police or the press. Why in the name of the gods had she come there?
“You don’t have to tell me, Adam,” Joe sighed heavily. “The kid safe with you for the time being?”
“Much against my better judgment,” Methos allowed.
“Let me get my people on this and I’ll call you,” Joe told him. “Don’t traumatize the kid, hey?”
It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Methos appreciated it. He snorted and shook his head even though Joe couldn’t see him. “I’m sure she’ll have heard worse stories than I could tell from Gregory.”
He hung up the phone just as he heard the shower turn off. Methos paced the living room waiting for her to come out and wished Duncan was there to deal with it. This was Duncan’s sort of thing, taking care of strays and solving their problems. Methos normally ran from situations like this. Somewhere out there was an unknown immortal that had taken Gregory’s head in his own home, a man who might or might not be coming after the pre-immortal witness.
He picked up the book Rowan had been clutching. He opened it curiously, wondering why she’d been carrying it. A few pages into the text, written in ancient Greek in a rather difficult to read hand, Methos was even more puzzled. It was a copied text of rituals, a few he recognized, a few he didn't.
The bathroom door opened and Rowan stepped out clad in one of Duncan's oversized sweatshirts.
"What do you want me to do with my wet things?" she asked.
"Just leave them on the floor; I'll put them in the wash," Methos told her, still looking at the book.
"Hey! That's not yours!" Rowan protested snatching up the book. "It's my papa's….was my papa's…" she trailed off.
Methos leveled an even look at her and she squirmed under the weight of his gaze. "We're going to go into the kitchen and have a cup of tea. And you're going to tell me what happened and why you have this book with you. Understood?"
Rowan clutched the book to her chest and glared at him.
He folded his arms over his chest and glared back. "Understood?" He repeated.
Finally, she nodded and followed him into the kitchen.
***
Rowan had both hands wrapped around her mug as she drank a bit more. Adam had added milk and sweetened it with honey.
"Do you recognize Gregory's opponent?" Adam asked as she finished her story.
She looked up at the man and shook her head. "No, but he knew me."
Adam frowned slightly watching her with an intensity that scared her. "Why did you grab the book?"
Rowan shrugged not entirely sure why herself. "Papa has - had been working on it for a while; it was important to him. I saw it and I grabbed it." Her hands started to tremble. Gregory wouldn't work on the translating the book anymore. He'd never talk to her about how people used to live or teach her how to turn the page of an aging book just so that it wasn't damaged. A hot wet tear ran down her face.
"Rowan," Adam's voice was soft, almost kind as he placed his hand on her shoulder.
"I'd never seen him with a sword before," Rowan blurted out, mortified that she was crying in earnest now. "He…I looked away and when I looked back…his head…I should have done something…"
She heard Adam sigh heavily. "Rowan, if you had tried you'd be dead. An immortal that is willing to behead someone in their own home is probably only after one thing."
Rowan wiped her hand over her face. "Quickening, right?"
The corner of Adam's mouth kicked up slightly. "Or revenge, but yes: quickening. You, little girl, would have been dessert for someone like that." He paused, looking at her coldly. "You are a child. Nothing you could have done would have saved Gregory. Nothing."
She inhaled sharply, shocked out of the building hysteria that had been rising in her chest. "Aren't you supposed to be nice to me?" she accused.
Adam snorted. "Finish your tea. You can sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. I'll figure out what to do with you in the morning."
Her hands shook. "I don't like you," she hissed, blinking hard.
"I'm truly shattered," Adam said with what sounded like a laugh. "Now finish your tea."
***
Methos leaned against the guest bedroom door and closed his eyes. He could hear Duncan in his head horrified at how he'd treated Rowan, but the last thing she'd needed was to be smothered by kindness and sympathy. Sympathy and kindness had their place, and he was sure that whatever guardian Gregory had arranged for her would give her all she needed.
From what he'd seen of her on her little nighttime visit earlier, she was the type that, if left to think that she could have done something or could do something, would be trying to hunt down her father's killer as soon as she was able. She'd already been trying for that with her mother, and he didn't even want to think about how close together the two deaths were. If she weren't steered away from that, she'd be headhunting the moment she woke to immortality in her young adult years. If not before.
Or she'd wind up a child immortal like that little bastard Kenny.
Methos ran a hand over his face. Maybe he had been a little harsh on her. Duncan certainly would have thought so. He wished the other man was there now, and then cringed when he realized Duncan would want to find out who'd taken Gregory's head. He rubbed his face again.
He needed a drink.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and Methos moved away from the door, heading down the stairs.
"Pierson."
"It's Joe," the familiar voice said.
"No. I thought it was Santa," Methos quipped.
"Cute, Adam," Joe sighed.
He sat down in the kitchen opening the book again. It was such an odd thing for a child to take when fleeing for their life. "I try."
"How'd the kid?" Joe asked.
"Asleep in the guest room. Doesn't like me much at the moment, but I'll live," Methos told him.
Joe was quiet for a moment but didn't comment. "Did she give you any details on what happened?"
"A few. She saw his head hit the floor and the start of the quickening before she got out of there. Any ID on Gregory's dancing partner?" Methos asked, closing the book. He needed better light and a notepad to do any sort of serious translation of the text. He wondered if Gregory's notes would be salvageable.
"Gregory's watcher didn't get a good look at him, and whoever it was either doesn't have a watcher or manage to lose his," Joe sighed. "The place is a mess, I'm told. Luckily, with the storm we'll be able to pass it off as a lightning strike. It's not surprising Gregory lost; his watcher didn't even know he had a sword."
Methos sat up straight. "You're kidding me, Joe. The man used to sleep with one. Wasn’t any good with it, but he still carried one."
There was a silence and Methos cursed himself for letting that slip. "Friend of yours, was he?" Joe asked carefully.
"Of sorts. More Mac's than mine," Methos grumbled.
"His wife Caroline seemed to do the sword carrying for them both, and they stuck to holy ground pretty much after taking on the kid," Joe sighed. "Poor girl. First her mother, then her father."
Methos rubbed his temple. "Do you have his lawyer on file?"
"Yeah, why?" Joe asked.
"I'm hoping Gregory hadn't turned into such a fool that he didn't have guardians named for Rowan," Methos explained.
"Afraid Mac will want to take her in, are you?" Joe managed a laugh.
"Just let me know, okay, Joseph?" Methos sighed. He'd been trying not to think about that angle.
"Goodnight, Adam. Call Mac," Joe told him.
"Yes, dad. Whatever you say dad. Goodnight dad," Methos muttered rolling his eyes.
***
"At least she didn’t come armed this time," Duncan said in a tried voice.
"Small mercies," Methos sighed, before taking another drink of coffee. Methos wasn't sure which of them was more exhausted: Duncan for driving all night, or him for staying awake just in case.
"Poor kid," Duncan murmured. "First her mother, then her father. I'm glad one of us was home to take care of her."
Methos stood up to refill both his and Duncan's mugs. "I'll be glad when Joe gets back to me with who Gregory's lawyer was, so we can find the kid's guardian. The whole situation smells of trouble, and I don't want any part of it." It would be one more complication that he didn't need in his life. He was barely calm with Duncan living under the same roof.
Duncan made an odd noise and Methos turned back to look at him. The expression of Mac's face was half guilt, half… "You didn't," he said in shock. "MacLeod, you didn't."
"I signed the paperwork right after Gregory visited the Dojo. I couldn't say no, Methos," Duncan protested.
Methos sat the mug down with care, his hands shaking. "You very well could say no," he told Duncan, fighting to keep his tone even. "You could have very easily have said no, but you didn't want to. No, you took another chance to plan Clan Chieftain."
"Methos, I didn’t think Gregory would be losing his head anytime soon," Duncan argued.
"Well he did, or he wouldn't have come here," Methos growled throwing his hands up.
Duncan had folded his arms over his chest. "Maybe that's true, but I wouldn't have changed my answer."
Methos hands curled into fists against his side, and he struggled to rein in his anger. "Damn it, MacLeod." He banged his fists against the cabinets behind him. "Did you even think of talking to me about it? Asking me? Never mind that you've moved into my home: go ahead agree to responsibilities that might involve me without giving me the heads up!"
"I didn't think it would happen!" Duncan shot back.
"Well it did!" Methos fumed. "There has to be someone else that can take her."
Duncan snorted. "What, like Amanda? "
Methos gave him a dirty look. "What about Connor? Robert and Gina? Your doctor friend Annie? Anybody but you!"
"She's just a kid, Methos," Duncan protested. "You're acting like she's an immortal ex-girlfriend I'm bailing out of trouble."
"She's trouble. She's dangerous," Methos spat out through gritted teeth.
Duncan shook his head. "She's eleven. She's a child."
Methos turned his back on Duncan, gulping in a lungful of air. Every instinct was screaming at him. He braced his hands against the counter and closed his eyes. "Please don't ask this of me," he whispered.
Methos could hear Gregory in his head, pleading with him: 'I can't do it, I can't kill my son,' an echo from those long ago days he'd spend in the man company.
"Methos," Duncan's voice was as soft as his touch that glided along Methos' sides. "I'm sorry, but I gave my word to raise and protect her if something happened to him." A kiss was placed to the back of his neck.
"But I didn't," Methos forced out between clenched teeth.
Duncan's touch fell away. "I know. I won't hold you to my promise." His voice was shaky.
Methos clenched his eyes tighter, and then slumped slightly. "Damn you, MacLeod. And damn you, Gregory," he whispered mostly to himself.
"I'm sorry," Duncan repeated.
"I know," Methos sighed and turned around to look at him. "I'll try. That's all I can give you. "
Duncan stepped in closer and cupped Methos face. Methos couldn't remember any other lover he'd let do that.
"Thank you," Duncan whispered. His hands were warm on Methos' face as he leaned in for a kiss.
Methos opened his mouth, deepening the kiss as he wrapped an arm around Duncan's waist. He was insane. Duncan was going to be the death of him.
"I missed you," Duncan murmured moving closer so that there was no room between their bodies.
"You were gone less than two days," Methos told him as he pressed his hips against Duncan's.
Duncan nipped at his bottom lip and rocked against him. "Still missed you."
Methos gasped softly and widened his stance. "Parts of you certainly did." He tried to remember the last time they'd fucked in the kitchen. They had fucked in the kitchen, hadn't they? Or was it the kitchen at the loft?
Then Duncan was pulling back and Methos made a noise of complaint. "We should stop," Duncan said breathlessly.
"You started it," Methos told him pulling him back.
"The kid could walk in…"
"The kid has walked in, and ewwwww. People eat in kitchens, you know," Rowan complained from the doorway.
Methos groaned and separated from Duncan. "This is why I don't like kids around," he muttered.
"Did you sleep alright last night?" Duncan was asking her.
She shrugged slightly. "I guess."
"Would you like some breakfast?" Duncan tired again.
Rowan crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not hungry."
Methos inwardly sighed. "Mac, why don't you make chocolate chip pancakes," he suggested. Even if the kid didn't like them, he certainly did and he deserved them.
"You're just saying that because you like them," Duncan pointed out.
"True," Methos admitted, picking up his cell phone. "I'm going to call Joe."
***
Duncan watched Rowan out of the corner of his eye as he mixed up the pancake batter. "Well, I hope you like chocolate chip pancakes."
"Everyone likes chocolate," Rowan said, with an exasperated tone that reminded Duncan of a young Richie.
"Not those allergic to it," Duncan pointed out.
Rowan opened her mouth then closed it. Duncan was aware of her watching him spoon batter onto the griddle. "Can I ask you a question?"
Duncan nodded. "You can, but I can't guarantee I'll have an answer."
"What happens to me, now?" Rowan asked.
It wasn't the question Duncan had been expecting, but maybe it should have been. "Did your father tell you about…any worst case scenario plans he might have made?" Duncan responded carefully.
Rowan fiddled with her hair. "You mean did he tell me what plans he'd made for me? No. Just that if, while we were here at least, if something happened I was to come here," she paused for a moment. "Well. after I broke in. Before that, he never said much about it. Mum was the one with plans about what I was supposed to do and stuff, but that was in England."
"Your father asked me to look after you," Duncan told her.
"Oh," Rowan said in an odd tone. "Oh. No wonder he was so mad after I… uhm…"
"Practiced your breaking and entering skills?" Duncan supplied.
Rowan frowned. "The window was open."
"Ah, the Goldilocks defense," Methos commented as he came back into the room. "Did you plan to eat our porridge, break furniture and sleep in our beds?"
Duncan smiled slightly and concentrated on the pancakes. He was glad to see Methos was keeping some of his sense of humor around him. He'd been worried the ancient immortal would be too brisk with the mourning girl. Not that, he admitted to himself, the girl seemed to be doing much obvious mourning. He knew she had to be hurting, though.
"One, I've never liked porridge, two, any chair that breaks when you sit on it is kind of lame, and three I've only slept in one of your beds," Rowan said ticking the point off on her fingers.
Methos pulled three glasses out of the cabinet and sat them on the table. "Have you even had porridge?"
"No," Rowan admitted.
"Then how do you know you don't like it?" Methos shot back. Duncan flipped over several more pancakes watching Methos pour orange juice into the glasses.
"Because I like cream of wheat," Rowan protested.
"I'm detecting a fallacy in your argument," Methos snickered.
"A what?" Rowan asked.
Duncan stacked the pancakes onto a platter and took them to the table. He had to admit watching Methos go back and forth with someone that wasn't himself could be very amusing. He pulled three plates out, and set the table.
"A flaw. How do you not know what fallacy means?" Methos wondered. "What is the modern education system coming too?"
"I'm eleven. I'll be you didn't know what fallacy meant at eleven," Rowan groused. "And I've never been to school."
Methos sniffed. "You assume I remember being eleven."
Before Rowan could react to Methos' words, Duncan interrupted. "As much as I'd like to listen to you two bicker like pre-schoolers, breakfast is ready."
Methos laughed softly and took a seat at the table. "No coffee, MacLeod?"
"I think you've had enough coffee," Duncan told him.
Rowan sat down as well and reached for her juice glass.
"There is no such thing as too much coffee," Methos declared, and reached for the platter of pancakes. "And what do you mean you've never been to school?" He asked switching his attention back to Rowan.
Duncan chuckled to himself. Of course, Methos would have picked up on that.
"Gregory teaches me at home. He knows-- he probably knew more than any other teacher I could have. That what he used to say," Rowan trailed off uncertainly.
"Arrogant," Methos muttered. "But probably true, expect for swordplay. He was always rubbish at it. I told him he'd be better off becoming a priest."
Duncan glared at Methos, unable to believe he could be so heartless. Methos looked back at him steadily and shrugged.
Rowan didn't say anything until she'd finished eating, then declared she was still tired and retreated back to the guest room.
"You shouldn't have said that," Duncan told him as soon as Rowan had left the room. He was vaguely aware that Rowan had no clothes there what so ever, and that someone would have to either buy her some or take her back to Gregory's flat to get some. "It was cruel."
Methos' face was set to a neutral mask. "It was the truth."
"Didn't make it any less cruel. The man just lost his head, and you're taking pot shots at his fighting skills," Duncan said.
"Which were obviously lacking, since he lost," Methos pointed out calmly.
"That doesn't mean you tell his grieving daughter that!" Duncan just managed not to yell.
"I suspect she already knew it, Duncan," Methos sighed. "What the hell was the man thinking breaking his own oath to himself."
Duncan started at his lover. "Want to explain yourself?" he pressed, fairly certain that Methos wouldn't.
"No, but you won't quit nagging until I do, so I'll tell you," Methos sneered. "Gregory once upon a time had another family. A wife, a son."
"Methos…" Duncan said warningly. He didn't like the way this was headed. If Methos said one word about Tessa or Richie…
Methos continued as if he hadn't heard Duncan. "He loved them very much, but was foolish enough to leave them unguarded one day when he went into the city to do some trading. When he came back, home was burned and his wife dead."
"And his son?" Duncan asked despite himself.
"Woke up," Methos answer. "Not even ten winters and he was immortal. It took one more winter before Gregory could be convinced to take the boy's head. After that he swore never to take on a child again, mortal or pre-immortal. And swore that if he ever saw the one that made him take his child's head again, he'd kill him. Imagine my surprise when he didn't even try. Though forcing me into being responsible for a child of his again is probably a fitting revenge. Not that he can enjoy it."
Duncan watched Methos' face closely as he spoke and was frustrated that it gave away nothing. "I'm not even sure if I should believe you," Duncan told him softly. "But I doubt Gregory knew you were…with me…when he decided to ask me to be Rowan's guardian."
Methos snorted. "You really are naïve, aren't you?" he sighed. "And you realize you'll be having to help her make all the arrangements?"
Duncan blinked in confusion for a moment. "Arrangements…oh, the funeral."
"Yes, ’oh, the funeral’," Methos said, in that same infuriatingly even tone. "And what to do with the body afterwards. Not to mention dealing with the flat and whatever home they had in England. Oh, and you might want to see about getting the kid some clothes, since she certainly can't run around in your sweatshirt for long."
Duncan nodded, grimly thinking about how much practice at arranging funerals he been given the past several years. Another dead friend to bury. He should have kept better track of Carol and Gregory, or at least have kept his meeting with Carol.
"You don't have to do this, Duncan," Methos' voice spoke in a softer tone. "If not an immortal you know, then a mortal. Anne Lindsay would probably take her. Or the Watchers. Joe would certainly make sure she was well taken care of, if not her father's watcher."
Duncan shook his head. "I've raised a child before, Methos. You seem to forget that."
"How old was Richie when you and Tessa took him in?" Methos asked.
"I don't see how it matters…" he protested.
"How old?" Methos insisted again.
Duncan sighed heavily. "Just shy of eighteen."
Methos was quiet for a moment. "This won't be like that, Mac. She's not an almost fully-grown adult. She's going to have a very long time before her first death -- and it shouldn't be closely followed by her final death."
For a moment Duncan felt as if all the breath had been knocked from him. The thought of killing a child, any child, was gut-wrenching. Even when the child hadn't been a child for a very long time, like Kenny. "Connor raised Rachel just fine," he managed to protest.
"Rachel wasn't going to be immortal!" Methos snapped. He looked as if he would say something else but the doorbell rang. "That'll be Joe."
Duncan nodded glad for the interruption.
***
Joe, as it turned out, had brought clothing for Rowan. More precisely, Gregory's watcher had grabbed some from the apartment. Duncan was thankful to the unknown man for such foresight.
Duncan had taken the bag up to Rowan, who declared to his inquiries that she was 'fine' -- which anyone could see was not true. He didn't push though, and left her alone. By the time he'd made it back downstairs, Methos had disappeared into his study with the leather-bound book Rowan had brought with her.
"He's not very happy with you right now, Mac," Joe said mildly.
Duncan threw his watcher a dirty look. "I'm aware of that, Joe." He sat down in on the kitchen chairs, half tempted to call Connor and plead his case. Connor might just be sympatric. Or he might just fly to the states just to kick Duncan's ass.
Joe shook his head. "You should have told him."
"You could have told him; you knew," Duncan pointed out. If they could just get through the next few weeks maybe Methos would warm up to the idea of having a pre-teen around, Duncan hoped.
"Of course I knew; I'm your watcher. It's my job to know," Joe told him. "It's not my job to play marriage counselor between you two, or tell you things you both should have the sense to tell each other."
Duncan winced. "So how pissed at me is he?"
Joe leaned back in his chair. "I'd say you're damn lucky he didn't take off last night."
He wasn't sure what hurt more, that what Joe said was true or that Joe knew it. "I know," he took a deep breath. "And I know he might take off if I keep Rowan."
"There are other people that can take her in, Mac. You don't have to do this," Joe reminded him.
Duncan shook his head. "I made a promise, Joe."
Joe nodded as if he’d known Duncan would say that. "Yeah, I know."
***
He heard her footsteps on the stairs. Not the sound of bare feet against wood, but the soft sound of the rubber soles of sneakers.
He was fairly certain to what she was doing.
And he couldn't blame her, not really. It should good survival instinct. Strange place, strange men, and her parents dead. She had no reason to trust them or to want to stay.
Methos listened as her footsteps stopped as she reached the office door. She'd have to walk past the open door and him to reach the front door.
He knew she was thinking. Could she creep past without him noticing her? Could she open the front door without if making a sound?
And where would she go?
The question had caused him to stay his hand more times than he cared to remember. Instincts said to run, but where to? It had kept him with his brothers until he finally stopped caring where he ran just as long it was away.
Methos listened to her footsteps as she climbed back up the stairs, listened for the soft sound of the guest bedroom door closing. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed heavily.
Opening them, he closed the leather-bound book and stood. He flicked the study light off as he left the room, his sword in one hand. Climbing the stairs, he let himself reach into the connection he shared with Duncan. The one he never spoke of: the one he prayed to whatever gods were left that Duncan didn't know about. Duncan was awake but barely.
He paused outside the bedroom door, hand hovering over the doorknob. It wouldn't be much trouble to find the next flight out of town. He was the expert at leaving in the middle of the night, or the early hours as it was.
Methos opened the door and walked quietly inside, pretending he thought Duncan was asleep. He placed his sword in its spot by the bed and quickly shed his clothes. Sliding between the covers, he finally let himself look at Duncan.
Duncan was watching him silently and Methos swallowed convulsively.
"Methos…" Duncan's voice was a hot breath against Methos neck.
Methos turned over to face Duncan. He kissed Duncan to stop any further words."Don't."
Duncan opened his mouth to speak again and Methos used the opening to slip his tongue into Duncan's mouth. His tongue ran over Duncan's teeth then over his tongue. Sliding an arm around Duncan's waist he pulled the other man closer. He didn't want to talk.
Methos moaned softly when Duncan started kissing him back in earnest, sucking at his tongue. A large calloused hand skimmed down Methos' back, settling against the small of his back. Duncan pulled them together so that they were flush against each other, groin to groin. His growing erection rubbed against Duncan's thigh as Duncan's pressed against his stomach.
Duncan sucked on his tongue spending threads of lightening running down his spine. Methos fingers sought out and found one of Duncan's flat nipples, so he could rub the pad of his thumb over it. Duncan's hips jerked against his and he released Methos' tongue.
When Duncan's mouth latched onto his long vulnerable throat and sucked, Methos whimpered loudly. It was like being pumped full of molten liquid that rushed straight to his groin.
'I'm not giving this up," Methos told the voices. It wasn't just how mind-blowingly great Duncan's hand felt as it wrapped around both their cocks; it wasn't thrill that shot up his spine and went straight to his groin at every little sound Duncan made. He'd had sex before, lots of very, very good sex. Five thousand years of sex.
It was that sometimes he could feel what Duncan felt, taste how much the other man needed and wanted him. It was addictive.
"Duncan," Methos moaned, reaching down to join Duncan's hand in stroking them both. It wasn't going to last long; it never lasted long enough. But they had time, and he wasn't going anywhere.
Methos bit his lip as their joined hands moved, he couldn't tear his eyes from Duncan's face: a mask of need and concentration as they worked together to send each other into oblivion. Then Duncan was pressing his mouth to Methos', not so much as kissing as breathing each other in. All Methos could see was Duncan's eyes, so dark and deep Methos would gladly fall in and never come out.
Duncan came first, biting at Methos' lips to keep himself quiet. The warm wetness coated their fingers and their stomach. Methos was so close he could taste it, and then it was there and he was spilling his cries into Duncan's mouth and his seed over Duncan's hand.
Duncan recovered first and slipped from the bed to get a washrag, mostly because Methos didn't even want to think about moving. When Duncan returned to the bed, Methos took the rag from him and cleaned himself. "I'm not going anywhere just yet, MacLeod," he said vaguely, and threw the rag in the direction of the bathroom.
"You hate this," Duncan whispered.
Methos drew him down and kissed him thoroughly. He didn’t dispute it, though.
Author:Kijikun
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Leslie Fish
Characters/Pairing: Duncan/Methos
A/N: Based loosely on premises from, Changing Ways, a story I co-wrote with Ryenna.
Summary: Methos deals with the newly orphaned pre-immortal and Duncan omissions.
Methos sprawled across the couch enjoying his beer and a good book. The rain pelted the roof and he felt a twinge of pity for anything that had to be out in this weather. He was silently thankful that he had a roof over his head, one that would not suddenly cave in from the weight of the water or develop a leak mid-way through the storm.
The back of his neck prickled slightly, nothing like it would if another immortal was in sensing range but…Methos frowned and put his beer down. He lived too long not to pay attention to even small things like this and sure enough, a moment later the doorbell rang several times in short progression, as if the fingers pressing it were shaking.
Sword in hand Methos approached the door and opened it a crack. He inhaled sharply and pulled the door the rest of the way open. “What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded.
Rowan looked up at him, soaking wet and shaking. “I…” she started then her jaw started to trembled. She clutched the leather bound book tighter to her chest. “Gregory…
Methos realized he was still gripping his sword and carefully placed it against the wall before pulling the child inside. He ruthlessly killed the pity forming in his chest for the terrified girl and cursed Gregory. “Gregory is dead.”
She nodded. “At the flat. He told me to run,” there was a hysterical note to her voice. “I looked back and his head was gone…”
“You came straight here?” Methos interrupted. He couldn’t let her get hysterical; it wouldn’t do her any good. He couldn’t let himself think about who had possibly taken Gregory’s head, couldn’t yield to the swirling need to avenge a man he hadn’t seen in almost a century if not more.
Rowan nodded again, and let Methos take the book from her hands. She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself.
Not just from shock, Methos thought, she had to be freezing from the rain. The doctor part of his mind took over, prescribing a hot shower and a hot drink for her. The strategists said to call Joe while she was in the shower. “Nice hot shower for you I think,” he told her, keeping his voice even. He herded the girl towards the downstairs bathroom. “I’ll get you a sweatshirt to wear. It should be long enough on you.”
“But what about,” she paused and bit her lip before continuing. “What about the man that took Gregory’s head?”
Methos didn’t tell her that if the other immortal had wanted her dead, she probably wouldn’t have made it there. He noted almost absently that she wasn’t calling Gregory ‘papa’ as she had before, and thought perhaps it gave her the distance she needed to deal with what had happened.
“He can’t hurt you here,” Methos assured her.
He lingered outside the door until he heard the shower, and then busied himself with finding a sweatshirt of Duncan’s that would probably swallow the girl up. He opened the bathroom door only enough to put the sweatshirt inside before heading to the phone.
“Dawson,” Joe answered on the second ring.
“It’s Adam,” Methos said wanting to make sure the line was secure.
“I have caller ID you know,” Joe laughed. “You already bored without Mac around?”
Methos leaned against the wall, watching the bathroom door, hearing the sound of the shower. He’d give her fifteen minutes at the most before he went in. He’d have to watch her carefully for signs of shock, he thought, falling back into the physician’s role. “Gregory Mendel just lost his head. You might want to send a cleanup crew over to his place, if his watcher already hasn’t.”
There was silence for a beat. “How the hell do you know that?” Joe demanded on the other end of the phone.
“His kid showed up a few minutes ago on my doorstep. She not injured, but understandably shaken up,” Methos allowed. “I’m pretty sure she saw him lose his head.”
“Fuck.”
Methos closed his eyes for a moment. “It probably be better to keep the police very far away from this, given that there’s a kid involved. The press would have field day.” And the last thing Methos wanted was attention from the police or the press. Why in the name of the gods had she come there?
“You don’t have to tell me, Adam,” Joe sighed heavily. “The kid safe with you for the time being?”
“Much against my better judgment,” Methos allowed.
“Let me get my people on this and I’ll call you,” Joe told him. “Don’t traumatize the kid, hey?”
It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Methos appreciated it. He snorted and shook his head even though Joe couldn’t see him. “I’m sure she’ll have heard worse stories than I could tell from Gregory.”
He hung up the phone just as he heard the shower turn off. Methos paced the living room waiting for her to come out and wished Duncan was there to deal with it. This was Duncan’s sort of thing, taking care of strays and solving their problems. Methos normally ran from situations like this. Somewhere out there was an unknown immortal that had taken Gregory’s head in his own home, a man who might or might not be coming after the pre-immortal witness.
He picked up the book Rowan had been clutching. He opened it curiously, wondering why she’d been carrying it. A few pages into the text, written in ancient Greek in a rather difficult to read hand, Methos was even more puzzled. It was a copied text of rituals, a few he recognized, a few he didn't.
The bathroom door opened and Rowan stepped out clad in one of Duncan's oversized sweatshirts.
"What do you want me to do with my wet things?" she asked.
"Just leave them on the floor; I'll put them in the wash," Methos told her, still looking at the book.
"Hey! That's not yours!" Rowan protested snatching up the book. "It's my papa's….was my papa's…" she trailed off.
Methos leveled an even look at her and she squirmed under the weight of his gaze. "We're going to go into the kitchen and have a cup of tea. And you're going to tell me what happened and why you have this book with you. Understood?"
Rowan clutched the book to her chest and glared at him.
He folded his arms over his chest and glared back. "Understood?" He repeated.
Finally, she nodded and followed him into the kitchen.
***
Rowan had both hands wrapped around her mug as she drank a bit more. Adam had added milk and sweetened it with honey.
"Do you recognize Gregory's opponent?" Adam asked as she finished her story.
She looked up at the man and shook her head. "No, but he knew me."
Adam frowned slightly watching her with an intensity that scared her. "Why did you grab the book?"
Rowan shrugged not entirely sure why herself. "Papa has - had been working on it for a while; it was important to him. I saw it and I grabbed it." Her hands started to tremble. Gregory wouldn't work on the translating the book anymore. He'd never talk to her about how people used to live or teach her how to turn the page of an aging book just so that it wasn't damaged. A hot wet tear ran down her face.
"Rowan," Adam's voice was soft, almost kind as he placed his hand on her shoulder.
"I'd never seen him with a sword before," Rowan blurted out, mortified that she was crying in earnest now. "He…I looked away and when I looked back…his head…I should have done something…"
She heard Adam sigh heavily. "Rowan, if you had tried you'd be dead. An immortal that is willing to behead someone in their own home is probably only after one thing."
Rowan wiped her hand over her face. "Quickening, right?"
The corner of Adam's mouth kicked up slightly. "Or revenge, but yes: quickening. You, little girl, would have been dessert for someone like that." He paused, looking at her coldly. "You are a child. Nothing you could have done would have saved Gregory. Nothing."
She inhaled sharply, shocked out of the building hysteria that had been rising in her chest. "Aren't you supposed to be nice to me?" she accused.
Adam snorted. "Finish your tea. You can sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. I'll figure out what to do with you in the morning."
Her hands shook. "I don't like you," she hissed, blinking hard.
"I'm truly shattered," Adam said with what sounded like a laugh. "Now finish your tea."
***
Methos leaned against the guest bedroom door and closed his eyes. He could hear Duncan in his head horrified at how he'd treated Rowan, but the last thing she'd needed was to be smothered by kindness and sympathy. Sympathy and kindness had their place, and he was sure that whatever guardian Gregory had arranged for her would give her all she needed.
From what he'd seen of her on her little nighttime visit earlier, she was the type that, if left to think that she could have done something or could do something, would be trying to hunt down her father's killer as soon as she was able. She'd already been trying for that with her mother, and he didn't even want to think about how close together the two deaths were. If she weren't steered away from that, she'd be headhunting the moment she woke to immortality in her young adult years. If not before.
Or she'd wind up a child immortal like that little bastard Kenny.
Methos ran a hand over his face. Maybe he had been a little harsh on her. Duncan certainly would have thought so. He wished the other man was there now, and then cringed when he realized Duncan would want to find out who'd taken Gregory's head. He rubbed his face again.
He needed a drink.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and Methos moved away from the door, heading down the stairs.
"Pierson."
"It's Joe," the familiar voice said.
"No. I thought it was Santa," Methos quipped.
"Cute, Adam," Joe sighed.
He sat down in the kitchen opening the book again. It was such an odd thing for a child to take when fleeing for their life. "I try."
"How'd the kid?" Joe asked.
"Asleep in the guest room. Doesn't like me much at the moment, but I'll live," Methos told him.
Joe was quiet for a moment but didn't comment. "Did she give you any details on what happened?"
"A few. She saw his head hit the floor and the start of the quickening before she got out of there. Any ID on Gregory's dancing partner?" Methos asked, closing the book. He needed better light and a notepad to do any sort of serious translation of the text. He wondered if Gregory's notes would be salvageable.
"Gregory's watcher didn't get a good look at him, and whoever it was either doesn't have a watcher or manage to lose his," Joe sighed. "The place is a mess, I'm told. Luckily, with the storm we'll be able to pass it off as a lightning strike. It's not surprising Gregory lost; his watcher didn't even know he had a sword."
Methos sat up straight. "You're kidding me, Joe. The man used to sleep with one. Wasn’t any good with it, but he still carried one."
There was a silence and Methos cursed himself for letting that slip. "Friend of yours, was he?" Joe asked carefully.
"Of sorts. More Mac's than mine," Methos grumbled.
"His wife Caroline seemed to do the sword carrying for them both, and they stuck to holy ground pretty much after taking on the kid," Joe sighed. "Poor girl. First her mother, then her father."
Methos rubbed his temple. "Do you have his lawyer on file?"
"Yeah, why?" Joe asked.
"I'm hoping Gregory hadn't turned into such a fool that he didn't have guardians named for Rowan," Methos explained.
"Afraid Mac will want to take her in, are you?" Joe managed a laugh.
"Just let me know, okay, Joseph?" Methos sighed. He'd been trying not to think about that angle.
"Goodnight, Adam. Call Mac," Joe told him.
"Yes, dad. Whatever you say dad. Goodnight dad," Methos muttered rolling his eyes.
***
"At least she didn’t come armed this time," Duncan said in a tried voice.
"Small mercies," Methos sighed, before taking another drink of coffee. Methos wasn't sure which of them was more exhausted: Duncan for driving all night, or him for staying awake just in case.
"Poor kid," Duncan murmured. "First her mother, then her father. I'm glad one of us was home to take care of her."
Methos stood up to refill both his and Duncan's mugs. "I'll be glad when Joe gets back to me with who Gregory's lawyer was, so we can find the kid's guardian. The whole situation smells of trouble, and I don't want any part of it." It would be one more complication that he didn't need in his life. He was barely calm with Duncan living under the same roof.
Duncan made an odd noise and Methos turned back to look at him. The expression of Mac's face was half guilt, half… "You didn't," he said in shock. "MacLeod, you didn't."
"I signed the paperwork right after Gregory visited the Dojo. I couldn't say no, Methos," Duncan protested.
Methos sat the mug down with care, his hands shaking. "You very well could say no," he told Duncan, fighting to keep his tone even. "You could have very easily have said no, but you didn't want to. No, you took another chance to plan Clan Chieftain."
"Methos, I didn’t think Gregory would be losing his head anytime soon," Duncan argued.
"Well he did, or he wouldn't have come here," Methos growled throwing his hands up.
Duncan had folded his arms over his chest. "Maybe that's true, but I wouldn't have changed my answer."
Methos hands curled into fists against his side, and he struggled to rein in his anger. "Damn it, MacLeod." He banged his fists against the cabinets behind him. "Did you even think of talking to me about it? Asking me? Never mind that you've moved into my home: go ahead agree to responsibilities that might involve me without giving me the heads up!"
"I didn't think it would happen!" Duncan shot back.
"Well it did!" Methos fumed. "There has to be someone else that can take her."
Duncan snorted. "What, like Amanda? "
Methos gave him a dirty look. "What about Connor? Robert and Gina? Your doctor friend Annie? Anybody but you!"
"She's just a kid, Methos," Duncan protested. "You're acting like she's an immortal ex-girlfriend I'm bailing out of trouble."
"She's trouble. She's dangerous," Methos spat out through gritted teeth.
Duncan shook his head. "She's eleven. She's a child."
Methos turned his back on Duncan, gulping in a lungful of air. Every instinct was screaming at him. He braced his hands against the counter and closed his eyes. "Please don't ask this of me," he whispered.
Methos could hear Gregory in his head, pleading with him: 'I can't do it, I can't kill my son,' an echo from those long ago days he'd spend in the man company.
"Methos," Duncan's voice was as soft as his touch that glided along Methos' sides. "I'm sorry, but I gave my word to raise and protect her if something happened to him." A kiss was placed to the back of his neck.
"But I didn't," Methos forced out between clenched teeth.
Duncan's touch fell away. "I know. I won't hold you to my promise." His voice was shaky.
Methos clenched his eyes tighter, and then slumped slightly. "Damn you, MacLeod. And damn you, Gregory," he whispered mostly to himself.
"I'm sorry," Duncan repeated.
"I know," Methos sighed and turned around to look at him. "I'll try. That's all I can give you. "
Duncan stepped in closer and cupped Methos face. Methos couldn't remember any other lover he'd let do that.
"Thank you," Duncan whispered. His hands were warm on Methos' face as he leaned in for a kiss.
Methos opened his mouth, deepening the kiss as he wrapped an arm around Duncan's waist. He was insane. Duncan was going to be the death of him.
"I missed you," Duncan murmured moving closer so that there was no room between their bodies.
"You were gone less than two days," Methos told him as he pressed his hips against Duncan's.
Duncan nipped at his bottom lip and rocked against him. "Still missed you."
Methos gasped softly and widened his stance. "Parts of you certainly did." He tried to remember the last time they'd fucked in the kitchen. They had fucked in the kitchen, hadn't they? Or was it the kitchen at the loft?
Then Duncan was pulling back and Methos made a noise of complaint. "We should stop," Duncan said breathlessly.
"You started it," Methos told him pulling him back.
"The kid could walk in…"
"The kid has walked in, and ewwwww. People eat in kitchens, you know," Rowan complained from the doorway.
Methos groaned and separated from Duncan. "This is why I don't like kids around," he muttered.
"Did you sleep alright last night?" Duncan was asking her.
She shrugged slightly. "I guess."
"Would you like some breakfast?" Duncan tired again.
Rowan crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not hungry."
Methos inwardly sighed. "Mac, why don't you make chocolate chip pancakes," he suggested. Even if the kid didn't like them, he certainly did and he deserved them.
"You're just saying that because you like them," Duncan pointed out.
"True," Methos admitted, picking up his cell phone. "I'm going to call Joe."
***
Duncan watched Rowan out of the corner of his eye as he mixed up the pancake batter. "Well, I hope you like chocolate chip pancakes."
"Everyone likes chocolate," Rowan said, with an exasperated tone that reminded Duncan of a young Richie.
"Not those allergic to it," Duncan pointed out.
Rowan opened her mouth then closed it. Duncan was aware of her watching him spoon batter onto the griddle. "Can I ask you a question?"
Duncan nodded. "You can, but I can't guarantee I'll have an answer."
"What happens to me, now?" Rowan asked.
It wasn't the question Duncan had been expecting, but maybe it should have been. "Did your father tell you about…any worst case scenario plans he might have made?" Duncan responded carefully.
Rowan fiddled with her hair. "You mean did he tell me what plans he'd made for me? No. Just that if, while we were here at least, if something happened I was to come here," she paused for a moment. "Well. after I broke in. Before that, he never said much about it. Mum was the one with plans about what I was supposed to do and stuff, but that was in England."
"Your father asked me to look after you," Duncan told her.
"Oh," Rowan said in an odd tone. "Oh. No wonder he was so mad after I… uhm…"
"Practiced your breaking and entering skills?" Duncan supplied.
Rowan frowned. "The window was open."
"Ah, the Goldilocks defense," Methos commented as he came back into the room. "Did you plan to eat our porridge, break furniture and sleep in our beds?"
Duncan smiled slightly and concentrated on the pancakes. He was glad to see Methos was keeping some of his sense of humor around him. He'd been worried the ancient immortal would be too brisk with the mourning girl. Not that, he admitted to himself, the girl seemed to be doing much obvious mourning. He knew she had to be hurting, though.
"One, I've never liked porridge, two, any chair that breaks when you sit on it is kind of lame, and three I've only slept in one of your beds," Rowan said ticking the point off on her fingers.
Methos pulled three glasses out of the cabinet and sat them on the table. "Have you even had porridge?"
"No," Rowan admitted.
"Then how do you know you don't like it?" Methos shot back. Duncan flipped over several more pancakes watching Methos pour orange juice into the glasses.
"Because I like cream of wheat," Rowan protested.
"I'm detecting a fallacy in your argument," Methos snickered.
"A what?" Rowan asked.
Duncan stacked the pancakes onto a platter and took them to the table. He had to admit watching Methos go back and forth with someone that wasn't himself could be very amusing. He pulled three plates out, and set the table.
"A flaw. How do you not know what fallacy means?" Methos wondered. "What is the modern education system coming too?"
"I'm eleven. I'll be you didn't know what fallacy meant at eleven," Rowan groused. "And I've never been to school."
Methos sniffed. "You assume I remember being eleven."
Before Rowan could react to Methos' words, Duncan interrupted. "As much as I'd like to listen to you two bicker like pre-schoolers, breakfast is ready."
Methos laughed softly and took a seat at the table. "No coffee, MacLeod?"
"I think you've had enough coffee," Duncan told him.
Rowan sat down as well and reached for her juice glass.
"There is no such thing as too much coffee," Methos declared, and reached for the platter of pancakes. "And what do you mean you've never been to school?" He asked switching his attention back to Rowan.
Duncan chuckled to himself. Of course, Methos would have picked up on that.
"Gregory teaches me at home. He knows-- he probably knew more than any other teacher I could have. That what he used to say," Rowan trailed off uncertainly.
"Arrogant," Methos muttered. "But probably true, expect for swordplay. He was always rubbish at it. I told him he'd be better off becoming a priest."
Duncan glared at Methos, unable to believe he could be so heartless. Methos looked back at him steadily and shrugged.
Rowan didn't say anything until she'd finished eating, then declared she was still tired and retreated back to the guest room.
"You shouldn't have said that," Duncan told him as soon as Rowan had left the room. He was vaguely aware that Rowan had no clothes there what so ever, and that someone would have to either buy her some or take her back to Gregory's flat to get some. "It was cruel."
Methos' face was set to a neutral mask. "It was the truth."
"Didn't make it any less cruel. The man just lost his head, and you're taking pot shots at his fighting skills," Duncan said.
"Which were obviously lacking, since he lost," Methos pointed out calmly.
"That doesn't mean you tell his grieving daughter that!" Duncan just managed not to yell.
"I suspect she already knew it, Duncan," Methos sighed. "What the hell was the man thinking breaking his own oath to himself."
Duncan started at his lover. "Want to explain yourself?" he pressed, fairly certain that Methos wouldn't.
"No, but you won't quit nagging until I do, so I'll tell you," Methos sneered. "Gregory once upon a time had another family. A wife, a son."
"Methos…" Duncan said warningly. He didn't like the way this was headed. If Methos said one word about Tessa or Richie…
Methos continued as if he hadn't heard Duncan. "He loved them very much, but was foolish enough to leave them unguarded one day when he went into the city to do some trading. When he came back, home was burned and his wife dead."
"And his son?" Duncan asked despite himself.
"Woke up," Methos answer. "Not even ten winters and he was immortal. It took one more winter before Gregory could be convinced to take the boy's head. After that he swore never to take on a child again, mortal or pre-immortal. And swore that if he ever saw the one that made him take his child's head again, he'd kill him. Imagine my surprise when he didn't even try. Though forcing me into being responsible for a child of his again is probably a fitting revenge. Not that he can enjoy it."
Duncan watched Methos' face closely as he spoke and was frustrated that it gave away nothing. "I'm not even sure if I should believe you," Duncan told him softly. "But I doubt Gregory knew you were…with me…when he decided to ask me to be Rowan's guardian."
Methos snorted. "You really are naïve, aren't you?" he sighed. "And you realize you'll be having to help her make all the arrangements?"
Duncan blinked in confusion for a moment. "Arrangements…oh, the funeral."
"Yes, ’oh, the funeral’," Methos said, in that same infuriatingly even tone. "And what to do with the body afterwards. Not to mention dealing with the flat and whatever home they had in England. Oh, and you might want to see about getting the kid some clothes, since she certainly can't run around in your sweatshirt for long."
Duncan nodded, grimly thinking about how much practice at arranging funerals he been given the past several years. Another dead friend to bury. He should have kept better track of Carol and Gregory, or at least have kept his meeting with Carol.
"You don't have to do this, Duncan," Methos' voice spoke in a softer tone. "If not an immortal you know, then a mortal. Anne Lindsay would probably take her. Or the Watchers. Joe would certainly make sure she was well taken care of, if not her father's watcher."
Duncan shook his head. "I've raised a child before, Methos. You seem to forget that."
"How old was Richie when you and Tessa took him in?" Methos asked.
"I don't see how it matters…" he protested.
"How old?" Methos insisted again.
Duncan sighed heavily. "Just shy of eighteen."
Methos was quiet for a moment. "This won't be like that, Mac. She's not an almost fully-grown adult. She's going to have a very long time before her first death -- and it shouldn't be closely followed by her final death."
For a moment Duncan felt as if all the breath had been knocked from him. The thought of killing a child, any child, was gut-wrenching. Even when the child hadn't been a child for a very long time, like Kenny. "Connor raised Rachel just fine," he managed to protest.
"Rachel wasn't going to be immortal!" Methos snapped. He looked as if he would say something else but the doorbell rang. "That'll be Joe."
Duncan nodded glad for the interruption.
***
Joe, as it turned out, had brought clothing for Rowan. More precisely, Gregory's watcher had grabbed some from the apartment. Duncan was thankful to the unknown man for such foresight.
Duncan had taken the bag up to Rowan, who declared to his inquiries that she was 'fine' -- which anyone could see was not true. He didn't push though, and left her alone. By the time he'd made it back downstairs, Methos had disappeared into his study with the leather-bound book Rowan had brought with her.
"He's not very happy with you right now, Mac," Joe said mildly.
Duncan threw his watcher a dirty look. "I'm aware of that, Joe." He sat down in on the kitchen chairs, half tempted to call Connor and plead his case. Connor might just be sympatric. Or he might just fly to the states just to kick Duncan's ass.
Joe shook his head. "You should have told him."
"You could have told him; you knew," Duncan pointed out. If they could just get through the next few weeks maybe Methos would warm up to the idea of having a pre-teen around, Duncan hoped.
"Of course I knew; I'm your watcher. It's my job to know," Joe told him. "It's not my job to play marriage counselor between you two, or tell you things you both should have the sense to tell each other."
Duncan winced. "So how pissed at me is he?"
Joe leaned back in his chair. "I'd say you're damn lucky he didn't take off last night."
He wasn't sure what hurt more, that what Joe said was true or that Joe knew it. "I know," he took a deep breath. "And I know he might take off if I keep Rowan."
"There are other people that can take her in, Mac. You don't have to do this," Joe reminded him.
Duncan shook his head. "I made a promise, Joe."
Joe nodded as if he’d known Duncan would say that. "Yeah, I know."
***
He heard her footsteps on the stairs. Not the sound of bare feet against wood, but the soft sound of the rubber soles of sneakers.
He was fairly certain to what she was doing.
And he couldn't blame her, not really. It should good survival instinct. Strange place, strange men, and her parents dead. She had no reason to trust them or to want to stay.
Methos listened as her footsteps stopped as she reached the office door. She'd have to walk past the open door and him to reach the front door.
He knew she was thinking. Could she creep past without him noticing her? Could she open the front door without if making a sound?
And where would she go?
The question had caused him to stay his hand more times than he cared to remember. Instincts said to run, but where to? It had kept him with his brothers until he finally stopped caring where he ran just as long it was away.
Methos listened to her footsteps as she climbed back up the stairs, listened for the soft sound of the guest bedroom door closing. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed heavily.
Opening them, he closed the leather-bound book and stood. He flicked the study light off as he left the room, his sword in one hand. Climbing the stairs, he let himself reach into the connection he shared with Duncan. The one he never spoke of: the one he prayed to whatever gods were left that Duncan didn't know about. Duncan was awake but barely.
He paused outside the bedroom door, hand hovering over the doorknob. It wouldn't be much trouble to find the next flight out of town. He was the expert at leaving in the middle of the night, or the early hours as it was.
Methos opened the door and walked quietly inside, pretending he thought Duncan was asleep. He placed his sword in its spot by the bed and quickly shed his clothes. Sliding between the covers, he finally let himself look at Duncan.
Duncan was watching him silently and Methos swallowed convulsively.
"Methos…" Duncan's voice was a hot breath against Methos neck.
Methos turned over to face Duncan. He kissed Duncan to stop any further words."Don't."
Duncan opened his mouth to speak again and Methos used the opening to slip his tongue into Duncan's mouth. His tongue ran over Duncan's teeth then over his tongue. Sliding an arm around Duncan's waist he pulled the other man closer. He didn't want to talk.
Methos moaned softly when Duncan started kissing him back in earnest, sucking at his tongue. A large calloused hand skimmed down Methos' back, settling against the small of his back. Duncan pulled them together so that they were flush against each other, groin to groin. His growing erection rubbed against Duncan's thigh as Duncan's pressed against his stomach.
Duncan sucked on his tongue spending threads of lightening running down his spine. Methos fingers sought out and found one of Duncan's flat nipples, so he could rub the pad of his thumb over it. Duncan's hips jerked against his and he released Methos' tongue.
When Duncan's mouth latched onto his long vulnerable throat and sucked, Methos whimpered loudly. It was like being pumped full of molten liquid that rushed straight to his groin.
'I'm not giving this up," Methos told the voices. It wasn't just how mind-blowingly great Duncan's hand felt as it wrapped around both their cocks; it wasn't thrill that shot up his spine and went straight to his groin at every little sound Duncan made. He'd had sex before, lots of very, very good sex. Five thousand years of sex.
It was that sometimes he could feel what Duncan felt, taste how much the other man needed and wanted him. It was addictive.
"Duncan," Methos moaned, reaching down to join Duncan's hand in stroking them both. It wasn't going to last long; it never lasted long enough. But they had time, and he wasn't going anywhere.
Methos bit his lip as their joined hands moved, he couldn't tear his eyes from Duncan's face: a mask of need and concentration as they worked together to send each other into oblivion. Then Duncan was pressing his mouth to Methos', not so much as kissing as breathing each other in. All Methos could see was Duncan's eyes, so dark and deep Methos would gladly fall in and never come out.
Duncan came first, biting at Methos' lips to keep himself quiet. The warm wetness coated their fingers and their stomach. Methos was so close he could taste it, and then it was there and he was spilling his cries into Duncan's mouth and his seed over Duncan's hand.
Duncan recovered first and slipped from the bed to get a washrag, mostly because Methos didn't even want to think about moving. When Duncan returned to the bed, Methos took the rag from him and cleaned himself. "I'm not going anywhere just yet, MacLeod," he said vaguely, and threw the rag in the direction of the bathroom.
"You hate this," Duncan whispered.
Methos drew him down and kissed him thoroughly. He didn’t dispute it, though.