New Wingfic...
Jan. 29th, 2008 05:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mogwai_doSo, as promised and before I have to dash off tonight...
Disclaimer: Highlander and its characters are not mine. I make no profit by this and mean no harm.
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: None or maybe thickening plot…
Pairing: Methos/Duncan
Notes: Part of the Building a Mystery series. Sequel to Anniversary Gifts. Thanks to Lferion and Sidhe_woman for all their help.
Summary: Some mornings are better than others.
Wake Up Call
Copyright Margaret Turner
7th February 2007
If Duncan were cornered and weaponless with a sword at his throat, he would have to admit that he had grown to like Methos’ home - now theirs - more than he ever had the Barge. One of the best things about it was the large windows: their bedroom was south-facing and, when the weather was good, everything was edged in gold. It made the whole room far more welcoming and comfortable than the small windows of the barge had ever managed. Duncan drifted to full wakefulness, slowly becoming aware of the familiar warmth of sunlight on his skin and an equally familiar though better-loved touch. Fingertips were lightly roaming his back, following the contours of muscle and bone with gentle affection.
"Like what you see?"
He could feel the unseen warmth of Methos' smile like a second sun, "Always."
Duncan grinned into his pillow, luxuriating in his lover's unusually honest affection. He stretched a little and felt energised. A good night's sleep, sunshine, Methos - if breakfast arrived within the next 10 minutes then he could count the day a good one without going any further. "Can I move or do you need more time to admire?"
A low chuckle, "So sure of yourself, MacLeod, but yes, you may move if you must."
Duncan grinned and twisted onto his back to look up at Methos, who had obviously been up long enough to slip into a t-shirt and shorts and collect some breakfast from the kitchen. Long fingers reached over and absently plucked a slice of apple from a bowl of freshly-cut fruit. Duncan watched with a content smile as his lover munched thoughtfully. "Was there any particular reason for the wakeup call or was it just general admiration?"
Methos raised an eyebrow, hand returning to the bowl and selecting a grape that he pressed to Duncan's lips. "No particular reason, just a good morning - the sun is shining, the wind is from the west and the air is fresh from last night’s rain."
Duncan raised an eyebrow of his own as he swallowed the grape, "I can see you as a weathergirl."
An orange segment shut him up, but Methos waited graciously until he'd finished. Duncan licked the escaping juice from his lips, eyed the large piece of melon that was poised speculatively, and chose his next words with more care, "Seriously, what brought this on?"
Methos' innocent confusion merely confirmed his worst suspicions and he flopped back onto the bed with a loud groan, "What?"
"What ‘what’? I am merely encouraging my layabout lover to make the most of a beautiful morning. The sun, the breakfast in bed - the peace and quiet."
Duncan covered his face with his hands, "Oh God, what?"
Methos chuckled wryly, "The Watchers want to meet us at Joe's tonight before he opens up."
Duncan heard the crunch of toast, "You're dropping crumbs in the bed again," he cautioned, opting not to comment on the other.
Methos shrugged, "My dear Duncan, I suspect that by the end of the day toast crumbs will be the least of your irritations."
Duncan sighed: he very much feared Methos was right.
*****
As it turned out, irritation proved to be too mild a term. In fact the only up-side to the whole scenario was that it was Adam Pierson they actually wanted to speak to and not Duncan MacLeod at all. Duncan sat at a table to one side, inwardly seething, and not sure that it was actually any better that their attentions had turned to his lover instead.
There were five of them all told, though it was obvious to him that three of them were functioning as bodyguards for the other two. Four men and one woman dressed in funereal suits and near-identical expressions of dour disapproval and vague distaste. In fact the only one who didn’t look as though she’d trodden in something unpleasant was the woman. Her expression remained as serious as her suit, but the splash of a red silk scarf at her throat won her a few points in Duncan’s opinion.
The bodyguards irritated him however: it was an implied slur on his character and a further insult that they actually thought three guards would be enough to stop him if he did take it into his head to attack them – something that was becoming more appealing with each passing minute.
He’d never liked the Watchers, not what they did, not how they did it, and not the people who chose to join. Joe was the sole exception; his Watcher was a good friend, but even then, Duncan couldn’t always find it in himself to like him. Joe at least understood the reality of their lives: that Challenges meant real people were living and dying. The Game was not something that should ever be reduced to statistics and tallies on some asinine scoreboard at Watcher Headquarters.
Duncan couldn’t entirely disagree with the principle behind their formation, but the execution was another matter and he very much doubted that their version of the truth was any better than that which Immortals kept and passed down the centuries by word of mouth from teacher to student. Most of all though, Duncan didn’t like being spied on: he didn’t like the thought that someone could read about some of the most private moments of his life without ever knowing him. Despite all that though, he might have learned to deal with it if he hadn’t too often seen that knowledge abused: he doubted that Horton and Shapiro were the only ones in all of Watcher history though he had no proof. As transparent as they felt Immortal lives should be, they were paranoid about their own secrecy. And now they were dictating to him – to them. It seriously pissed him off – and he clearly wasn’t the only one.
Duncan picked up his glass and, under pretence of taking a sip, he cast a long look at his lover. The Watchers couldn’t see it, or they just hadn’t yet made the transition in their own minds from Adam Pierson, harmless researcher, to Adam Pierson, new Immortal. They should have known better though, especially given the way they harped on about how dangerous Immortals were. Joe, as always, was the exception: he was studying Methos openly, probably waiting for the sign that meant it was time to dive for cover. Duncan was waiting for it too, but in the mean time Methos in a temper was a sight to behold – at least when Duncan himself wasn’t the cause.
“I’m sorry?” The arctic politeness should have warned them that they were treading on dangerous ground.
Apparently oblivious to the undercurrents, their spokesman elaborated, “It’s too much of a risk, Adam. As young as you are, even with MacLeod playing protector, your chances aren’t good. There are Immortals out there with hundreds, even thousands, of years of experience. Your time with us makes you unique …and valuable. You’re a prize in your own right for the information you carry. We can’t allow that information to fall into the wrong hands.”
Duncan sat up straight, banging his glass on the table. This was ridiculous. “So… what? You want to kill him yourselves? Cut out the middle-man?” he countered angrily. He’d seen the way the Watcher Council operated and he wouldn’t trust them with a pet rock, nevermind the eldest Immortal.
A sour expression crossed the smooth features: obviously the man didn’t like the interruption. His response did nothing to defuse the situation however, “There are some who suggested it.”
Duncan was halfway out of his chair before the man could continue, the bodyguards reacting a beat too slow, and the Watcher’s voice stuttered in startlement and fear as he continued hastily. “But you do still have friends with us, Adam. You have extensive knowledge and it would be foolish to lose it unnecessarily. We want you to go to Sanctuary – it’s Holy Ground, it’s protected and it’s safe.”
Methos snorted derisively, “It’s a death sentence. It’s just slower than a bullet and a beheading. You know as well as I do that there are Hunters who target Holy Ground looking for the weak, the frightened, and the woefully out of practice. Sooner or later one of them would find me – that is of course, if you didn’t have a change of heart yourselves. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You’d be safe, Adam.” Duncan looked at the woman with the red scarf, her plea was surprisingly earnest.
“I’d be a prisoner,” Methos spat back and Duncan blinked. He knew Methos didn’t take well to being told what to do - well, apart from under very specific circumstances - but it didn’t usually garner such a vehement reaction. Duncan agreed with his lover completely, but it was rare to see Adam Pierson so confrontational – that was more Methos, and it was equally surprising that he had let ‘Adam’ slip in company. They must have really hit a nerve; God knew they were hitting enough of Duncan’s.
“Observe, record and interfere? So this oath you take is really more of a guideline then?” Duncan interjected to buy his lover a bit of space to recollect himself.
It got a black look from Joe, but the man could hardly argue the point as many times as he’d interfered himself. At least it appeared to hit the other Watchers as well - offended their professional sensibilities no doubt. They got up as one, “Think about it Adam. We’ll be in touch.”
Duncan waited until he heard the outer door of the bar close behind them before opening his mouth again, “We’ll be in touch? How much clearer do we need to make it? Do they think we’re going to wake up tomorrow and see the light, then wait repentantly by the phone until they deign to repeat the offer?”
Methos’ lips curled in a sneer, “It means they’re not going to fuck off until we come to our ‘senses.’”
“Don’t be so harsh, Adam. They’re only trying to help. Probably once the war is over and everything dies down they wouldn’t care if you left Sanctuary.” Joe’s attempt at conciliation fell flat into the silence.
Methos’ voice was bitter, “It’s not going to die down Joe, not for a long time yet.”
Joe straightened, a kind of aggressive optimism in his voice, “How can you be so sure?”
“Seen it before, Joe. Seen it so many times before.” It was a tired answer, Methos’ age showing through the cracks in his voice, but it didn’t make it any less true. The elder Immortal seemed to deflate then, curling in on himself, shoulders hunching. He looked tired.
Duncan resisted the urge to put his arms around his lover; accepted in their home, it smacked of vulnerability in public. Even if Joe was the only audience, Methos would not appreciate the gesture – he didn’t like having his independence doubted. Ever.
Duncan curled his hands into fists and stretched them wide again, resisting the urge, though it went against every instinct he had save self-preservation. Unbidden he remembered a few nights ago when he had woken suddenly in the early hours of the morning. He’d turned over and seen that Methos was awake, staring unseeingly into the shadows of the ceiling. He knew enough of Methos’ nightmares to know that hadn’t been the cause, but he had been uncertain as to what had woken his lover and left him so pensive. It could have simply been that his subconscious had reached some obscure conclusion that it had to bring to his attention immediately - it had happened before. Last time it had been a decision on a share option, the time before that it was a recipe that had gone out of fashion with the Romans.
Duncan had had similar midnight awakenings himself and he didn’t have half the accumulation of experience for his subconscious to draw on that Methos did. This time though, Methos’ silent thoughts had chilled him with superstitious dread. Like an echo of an echo – the sound itself had gone, but the memory of it still shivered in the air. He had half-expected the morning to bring with it a silver-edged envelope and the news of a friend’s death, but nothing more untoward had happened than burning Methos’ toast at breakfast. Although given the way Methos had reacted, that was clearly disaster enough.
Duncan shook his head to dispel the recollection; it was unsettling and he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been this meeting with the Watchers that Methos had realised was coming. “We should get back: we’ve got an early appointment tomorrow.”
Methos nodded silent agreement and with only a slightly strained farewell to Joe they left.
The weather outside had turned damp and cold after the promise of the morning, but Duncan felt that was entirely appropriate given the way the day had gone. Methos had hunched his shoulders against the drizzling rain, so Duncan waited until they were in the car, the Thunderbird’s headlights cutting through the descending darkness, before he spoke. “Should we be packing?”
Methos continued to stare out the windscreen, “I don’t think so, not unless you want to. There’s no pressing need.” Methos looked over at Duncan and smiled with grim good humour. “The Watchers can be pretty irritating, but they can’t make me go anywhere I don’t want to go. Since I’m happy where we are, I guess they’re shit out of luck.”
Duncan found himself returning the smile with some of that same determination and the rest of the drive home took place in a companionable silence.
By the time they got back to the house Duncan felt tired, more from the earlier tension than any exertion, but it still felt too early to go to bed, so he left Methos channel-hopping and took himself down to the salle.
Aside from their bedroom, the salle was probably Duncan’s favourite room in the house. Light and airy, it had the same tall windows and high ceiling as the rest of the house and Duncan had wasted no time in moving some of his swords from storage to display them alongside Methos’ own collection. He knelt, facing what in the Orient would be the kamiza: no calligraphy hung there, no portrait, not even a weapons rack. Instead a tall, stained glass window faced west, looking out onto the garden and the woodland beyond. In the evenings, if the weather was right, the plain white walls were a shifting kaleidoscope of colour, simple but beautiful. Duncan had made it his own task to ensure that there were always fresh flowers on the low table beneath the window.
Tonight the colours were sullen as Duncan worked through several kata, letting his mind drift free while his body followed the familiar patterns of movement.
Methos was flying off to Zürich next week to sort out some of his longer-term holdings, that was why they had the meeting tomorrow morning – to finalise the set-up of a series of dummy accounts for off-loading dividends away from the Watchers’ beady eyes. Duncan had been surprised to learn in the process that the Watchers had actually provided the money for Methos, or rather Adam Pierson, to buy this house. As far as he could gather, it had been severance pay of sorts since as a new Immortal Adam could no longer remain a Watcher. Of course it had also meant that they could keep close tabs on him - protecting their investment so to speak. Duncan would have paid good money to have seen their faces when Methos’ first act on moving in had been to strip out every piece of surveillance equipment and install a state of the art security system that meant they couldn’t even get beyond the garden walls without triggering an alarm.
Duncan hoped Methos would be alright on his own in Switzerland, but there was no reason to think he wouldn’t be. True, the Watchers had one of their main headquarters there and while Duncan didn’t *think* they’d try anything, it wasn’t completely impossible. Still, if they were going to try to kidnap Adam, they’d have as many chances here in Paris where routine and the familiar would arguably make them complacent. Duncan took a deep breath and reminded himself that his lover had been taking care of himself since long before Duncan was born; he wasn’t going to stop now just because Duncan was around and he worried.
Ending the kata, Duncan settled himself with a few simple breathing exercises and stretched out his muscles. Turning out the lights in the room he realised it was now completely dark outside and the house sat silent and still. He wondered just how much time had passed unnoticed and forcibly dismissed the feeling that he was taking his time with Methos too much for granted. It was a private fear that lingered at the back of his mind, surfacing from time to time when anything threatened whatever happiness he’d managed to find. Immortality was no guarantee of having any more time than a mortal might, less if the Game intervened, he had seen it happen with Tessa and Richie and others before them, and he had no intention of forgetting such hard-learned lesson.
Duncan showered slowly, trying not to dwell on past losses, then padded naked into the master bedroom, towelling his hair dry as he went. The only light came from the banked fire in the hearth and he smiled. It wasn’t something that would have occurred to him these days, but it was strangely comforting. It harked back to the simpler days of his youth and he wondered if it was for his benefit, for Methos’, or purely coincidental.
Methos’ eyes were closed and his bare skin was a fire-lit gold against the rich, dark colours of the pillows and quilt. There was a Victorian luxury to the room: the dark colours and rich fabrics were not really Duncan’s preference, but he didn’t mind, there were other rooms that were as plain as this was not. Carefully he slid into bed and spooned up against his lover, who wriggled back against him and rested his arms over Duncan’s where they wrapped around his waist.
“Worked out your frustrations then?” Methos’ voice was soft and sleepy.
Duncan smiled and nudged his hips closer, “Maybe not all of them.” Sleepy or not, the slow, sinuous movement of Methos’ body back against his suggested a certain amenability to his proposal for the surest method of banishing his nebulous fears.
****
For the second morning running Duncan woke slowly; it was a nice thing to get used to. When he had lived alone he had always woken quickly and completely, this was the first time since Tessa that he had relaxed enough to take his time about it. This morning the weather was not so bright, but to make up for it his cheek rested against something a lot warmer and firmer than a pillow. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the tempting curve of his lover’s ass. Duncan grinned: he was never quite sure how they seemed to end up in these improbable positions and he doubted Methos knew either, but it was pretty much guaranteed every time. He stretched forward and dropped a kiss onto the smooth curve before him.
“Having fun down there?” Methos’ voice was muffled but entirely awake.
“Always,” Duncan replied, grinning as he deliberately mimicked Methos’ words of the day before. He rolled onto his back, retaining his unconventional pillow. Methos lay on his stomach, but had somehow turned in the night so that his head was now at the foot of the bed, however with the Ancient’s typical presence of mind he’d managed to drag a pillow with him. Duncan himself lay at right angles to his lover, half-curled up to stop his feet hanging off the side of the bed, his head resting in the small of his lover’s back.
Methos looked back over his shoulder with an amused smile, but no words. Duncan opened his mouth to speak and was startled when the phone began to ring. Methos’ mouth twisted in a wry smile, “Well, I can’t get up to answer it.”
Duncan grinned back and glanced at the clock, a little surprised to realise it was already well after 8.00am.
The phone clicked over to answering machine and a vaguely familiar feminine voice filled the room. “Adam, I know you are there. Pick up.”
Duncan looked up at Methos whose expression was rueful as he silently mouthed ‘Watcher’.
“Fine, act the child, and you wonder why they treat you as one.” Duncan almost laughed out loud, but managed to stifle it. Listening carefully, he picked out a faint Italian accent beneath the impeccable English.
“That MacLeod is a bad influence they say – you are not supposed to be standing up to them.” Now it was Methos’ turn to suppress a smirk.
“But do not be so quick to judge, Adam: they are worried. They have lost many agents in the East and the few reports we get are not good. Chi’en Mai Cho and her students have been taken out of the Game and we do not know by whom. The Council are terrified by the possibility that it was a unit from either army and that the existence of Immortals will soon become common knowledge, but they are just as afraid that it is an Immortal they have missed. Please, Adam, think about Sanctuary. I know it is a risk either way, but at least among us you have friends. How many Immortals can you say the same of – even in MacLeod’s circle? But do not take too long, Adam, I do not know how long the offer will remain open. You know my number if you change your mind. Take care, Adam, ciao.”
Duncan met Methos’ eyes; he didn’t think he needed to tell his lover that they needed to talk. There was a long sigh, “Breakfast?”
Even good coffee and freshly-baked croissants weren’t enough to put off the conversation for long.
“Her name is Silvana Giannatale, Silvi to her friends. She’s regional head for southern Europe – the tall woman with the red scarf last night,” Methos began.
Duncan leaned against the table and took a slow sip of his coffee, “So how does a lowly researcher meet a regional head?”
Methos shrugged, “Researchers aren’t that lowly in the Watchers: they take their history seriously remember. Anyway, she was a field agent when I met her. She had been mentored by Don Salzer before he retired to research, so as his next protégé she considered me a younger brother of sorts. Italians take their family seriously and she’s always looked out for me.” He laughed softly, “She was on the panel that decided I should be allowed to ‘retire’ from the Watchers without prejudice after Adam Pierson became Immortal.”
Duncan nodded, not surprised that Adam Pierson had acquired protectors in his time with the Watchers, but it left him slightly wrong-footed that she had obviously stuck by Adam since the revelation of his Immortality. “What about her message then?”
Methos shrugged and picked at his croissant, “Not sure.”
Duncan put his mug down, “Well, who’s Chi’en Mai Cho then?”
Methos looked up, obviously surprised, “I thought you knew every Immortal worth knowing and half of those who weren’t?”
Duncan shrugged as he poured himself more coffee, “Not all of them then, obviously.”
Methos abandoned his croissant in favour of an orange; he began to peel it and the sweet-sharp scent filled the kitchen as Methos reeled off what sounded very much like a summary of a Watcher database entry. “She’s Chinese, coming up on 700 if the records are accurate. She hasn’t travelled much outside of Asia, certainly not in the last couple of centuries. She has strong ties with the Chinese Government and a fairly hefty power-base outside of Chongqing. Her students have all been Asian and she picks them up early – pre-Immortal mostly – and keeps them close.”
Intrigued to hear about an unknown Immortal, Duncan couldn’t help but ask the obvious question, “Was she any good?”
Methos popped a segment of orange in his mouth and when he’d swallowed, he gestured vaguely. “Couldn’t say. She won enough Challenges but…”
“But?”
Methos abandoned the mess of half-eaten orange, “The Watchers suspected that her students were more than moral support.”
“Ah. And no-one stopped her?”
Methos raised an eyebrow, “Who? The Immortal Police? Her Challenges had few witnesses and no survivors, Duncan. Besides, as I said, she didn’t move around much so anyone not actively looking for a Challenge could avoid her fairly easily.”
Duncan snagged the remains of Methos’ croissant and began to spread some jam on it; he always thought better when he wasn’t hungry. “So what you’re saying is that it wasn’t an opportunistic Challenge?”
Methos shrugged, “It’s not impossible, but it is unlikely, yes.” He returned to his orange, “It’s more likely than a mortal unit strong enough to raid the place getting that far behind enemy lines undetected and then happening to accidentally behead both her and her students, anyway.”
Duncan finished off the croissant with his last swig of coffee, “So why’d your friend Silvana mention it then?”
Methos sighed and dumped his mug in the sink, “Probably just to demonstrate that no Immortal is ever safe and perhaps to warn you.”
Duncan blinked, “Me?”
Methos nodded, “Cho had an established territory and power-base: if the Immortal who took her out was a Hunter, and not just extremely lucky, then they’re probably strong enough and ambitious enough to go after the ever-so-tempting target of the noble Highlander and his not-so-noble student.”
Duncan digested that piece of information and wished he hadn’t had Methos’ croissant for the way it sat like lead in his stomach now. “Do you think that’s likely?” Duncan himself didn’t: they were a long way from China after all, but he’d feel happier if Methos agreed with him.
Methos tipped his head from side to side, considering, “That it was a Hunter? No, there are much easier targets to try first and the Watchers pick up active Hunters pretty quickly since they tend not to bother with subtlety.”
Duncan handed Methos his dishes for the sink and waited for the rest he was sure would come. Methos ran some water onto the crockery and then turned back to Duncan, “I think whoever went after her probably had good reason to do so, had to have really, to go to that level of risk - maybe a deathwish even. And if Cho was a specific target then whoever it was is unlikely to go on a Hunting spree afterwards.”
“Not impossible though,” Duncan corrected. They both knew Immortals that had been out of the Game for a while then taken a head and the rush of the Quickening had sparked a craving that rarely burned itself out before the Immortal lost their own head. It was rare, but it did happen and it wasn’t something any sane Immortal liked to think about.
Methos tilted his head in acknowledgement, “No, not impossible. But, even so I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Silvi probably worked that out as well, but it made her point.”
Duncan grabbed a towel and began to dry the dishes as Methos passed them to him, so it took him a moment to realise when Methos stopped, hands still in the water, eyes focused on some distant horizon. It was strongly reminiscent of that odd early morning awakening and this time Duncan didn’t resist his instincts. He put the towel aside and wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist, resting his chin on Methos’ shoulder. “What are you thinking?” he asked softly.
Methos half-turned his face towards Duncan and there was a pause, “I’m wondering exactly what Cho’s relationship was with the Chinese Government.”
“Is it important do you think?”
Methos shook his head, “I don’t know, but it might tell us why she was targeted.”
“Which in turn might tell us who?”
Methos shrugged without dislodging Duncan, “Possibly.” He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink as he stared into the dishwater and seemed to see something else entirely – something he didn’t like. “There are only so many options, Duncan. To take her out the Challenger had to be very good or very lucky. Between the pair of us and the Watchers’ files, we know most of the former.”
Duncan shrugged, “It could still have been a new Immortal, there’s not a lot that will stop someone if they’re determined enough, regardless of skill.”
Methos shook off the dark introspection, but Duncan could hear the reluctance in his tone, “True.”
“You think you know who it is.” It was a statement and Methos shrugged off Duncan’s loose hold, turning to face him.
“No, I don’t, not really. But… it feels like a puzzle. As though we’ve got the pieces and they should fit together if only we knew what the picture was supposed to be.”
Duncan felt his lips curve into a smile, finally understanding, “And you hate not knowing.”
Methos gave him a long look, “I just like to be prepared is all.”
Duncan chuckled, relieved. He was more than happy to put his faith in Methos’ judgement and ability to figure it out before it became a problem for them, if it ever did. “Assuming you find a corner piece and work out which bits are sky – is this going to affect us?”
Methos gave a quick shake of the head, “I don’t see why it should. Contrary to common Watcher belief, the whole world does not revolve around the noble Highlander.”
Duncan grabbed Methos’ waist and squeezed in punishment, “And what about you?”
Methos grinned, his mood finally dispelled, “My life doesn’t revolve around you either.”
Duncan laughed at the wilful misinterpretation, “Point taken. And now that we’re both quite astonishingly late for our appointments – do you want to blow them off completely?”
Methos’ grin turned wolfish, “I’d rather blow you.”
And really, Duncan had no argument for that.
FIN
29th January 2008
Comments appreciated
Disclaimer: Highlander and its characters are not mine. I make no profit by this and mean no harm.
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: None or maybe thickening plot…
Pairing: Methos/Duncan
Notes: Part of the Building a Mystery series. Sequel to Anniversary Gifts. Thanks to Lferion and Sidhe_woman for all their help.
Summary: Some mornings are better than others.
Wake Up Call
Copyright Margaret Turner
7th February 2007
If Duncan were cornered and weaponless with a sword at his throat, he would have to admit that he had grown to like Methos’ home - now theirs - more than he ever had the Barge. One of the best things about it was the large windows: their bedroom was south-facing and, when the weather was good, everything was edged in gold. It made the whole room far more welcoming and comfortable than the small windows of the barge had ever managed. Duncan drifted to full wakefulness, slowly becoming aware of the familiar warmth of sunlight on his skin and an equally familiar though better-loved touch. Fingertips were lightly roaming his back, following the contours of muscle and bone with gentle affection.
"Like what you see?"
He could feel the unseen warmth of Methos' smile like a second sun, "Always."
Duncan grinned into his pillow, luxuriating in his lover's unusually honest affection. He stretched a little and felt energised. A good night's sleep, sunshine, Methos - if breakfast arrived within the next 10 minutes then he could count the day a good one without going any further. "Can I move or do you need more time to admire?"
A low chuckle, "So sure of yourself, MacLeod, but yes, you may move if you must."
Duncan grinned and twisted onto his back to look up at Methos, who had obviously been up long enough to slip into a t-shirt and shorts and collect some breakfast from the kitchen. Long fingers reached over and absently plucked a slice of apple from a bowl of freshly-cut fruit. Duncan watched with a content smile as his lover munched thoughtfully. "Was there any particular reason for the wakeup call or was it just general admiration?"
Methos raised an eyebrow, hand returning to the bowl and selecting a grape that he pressed to Duncan's lips. "No particular reason, just a good morning - the sun is shining, the wind is from the west and the air is fresh from last night’s rain."
Duncan raised an eyebrow of his own as he swallowed the grape, "I can see you as a weathergirl."
An orange segment shut him up, but Methos waited graciously until he'd finished. Duncan licked the escaping juice from his lips, eyed the large piece of melon that was poised speculatively, and chose his next words with more care, "Seriously, what brought this on?"
Methos' innocent confusion merely confirmed his worst suspicions and he flopped back onto the bed with a loud groan, "What?"
"What ‘what’? I am merely encouraging my layabout lover to make the most of a beautiful morning. The sun, the breakfast in bed - the peace and quiet."
Duncan covered his face with his hands, "Oh God, what?"
Methos chuckled wryly, "The Watchers want to meet us at Joe's tonight before he opens up."
Duncan heard the crunch of toast, "You're dropping crumbs in the bed again," he cautioned, opting not to comment on the other.
Methos shrugged, "My dear Duncan, I suspect that by the end of the day toast crumbs will be the least of your irritations."
Duncan sighed: he very much feared Methos was right.
*****
As it turned out, irritation proved to be too mild a term. In fact the only up-side to the whole scenario was that it was Adam Pierson they actually wanted to speak to and not Duncan MacLeod at all. Duncan sat at a table to one side, inwardly seething, and not sure that it was actually any better that their attentions had turned to his lover instead.
There were five of them all told, though it was obvious to him that three of them were functioning as bodyguards for the other two. Four men and one woman dressed in funereal suits and near-identical expressions of dour disapproval and vague distaste. In fact the only one who didn’t look as though she’d trodden in something unpleasant was the woman. Her expression remained as serious as her suit, but the splash of a red silk scarf at her throat won her a few points in Duncan’s opinion.
The bodyguards irritated him however: it was an implied slur on his character and a further insult that they actually thought three guards would be enough to stop him if he did take it into his head to attack them – something that was becoming more appealing with each passing minute.
He’d never liked the Watchers, not what they did, not how they did it, and not the people who chose to join. Joe was the sole exception; his Watcher was a good friend, but even then, Duncan couldn’t always find it in himself to like him. Joe at least understood the reality of their lives: that Challenges meant real people were living and dying. The Game was not something that should ever be reduced to statistics and tallies on some asinine scoreboard at Watcher Headquarters.
Duncan couldn’t entirely disagree with the principle behind their formation, but the execution was another matter and he very much doubted that their version of the truth was any better than that which Immortals kept and passed down the centuries by word of mouth from teacher to student. Most of all though, Duncan didn’t like being spied on: he didn’t like the thought that someone could read about some of the most private moments of his life without ever knowing him. Despite all that though, he might have learned to deal with it if he hadn’t too often seen that knowledge abused: he doubted that Horton and Shapiro were the only ones in all of Watcher history though he had no proof. As transparent as they felt Immortal lives should be, they were paranoid about their own secrecy. And now they were dictating to him – to them. It seriously pissed him off – and he clearly wasn’t the only one.
Duncan picked up his glass and, under pretence of taking a sip, he cast a long look at his lover. The Watchers couldn’t see it, or they just hadn’t yet made the transition in their own minds from Adam Pierson, harmless researcher, to Adam Pierson, new Immortal. They should have known better though, especially given the way they harped on about how dangerous Immortals were. Joe, as always, was the exception: he was studying Methos openly, probably waiting for the sign that meant it was time to dive for cover. Duncan was waiting for it too, but in the mean time Methos in a temper was a sight to behold – at least when Duncan himself wasn’t the cause.
“I’m sorry?” The arctic politeness should have warned them that they were treading on dangerous ground.
Apparently oblivious to the undercurrents, their spokesman elaborated, “It’s too much of a risk, Adam. As young as you are, even with MacLeod playing protector, your chances aren’t good. There are Immortals out there with hundreds, even thousands, of years of experience. Your time with us makes you unique …and valuable. You’re a prize in your own right for the information you carry. We can’t allow that information to fall into the wrong hands.”
Duncan sat up straight, banging his glass on the table. This was ridiculous. “So… what? You want to kill him yourselves? Cut out the middle-man?” he countered angrily. He’d seen the way the Watcher Council operated and he wouldn’t trust them with a pet rock, nevermind the eldest Immortal.
A sour expression crossed the smooth features: obviously the man didn’t like the interruption. His response did nothing to defuse the situation however, “There are some who suggested it.”
Duncan was halfway out of his chair before the man could continue, the bodyguards reacting a beat too slow, and the Watcher’s voice stuttered in startlement and fear as he continued hastily. “But you do still have friends with us, Adam. You have extensive knowledge and it would be foolish to lose it unnecessarily. We want you to go to Sanctuary – it’s Holy Ground, it’s protected and it’s safe.”
Methos snorted derisively, “It’s a death sentence. It’s just slower than a bullet and a beheading. You know as well as I do that there are Hunters who target Holy Ground looking for the weak, the frightened, and the woefully out of practice. Sooner or later one of them would find me – that is of course, if you didn’t have a change of heart yourselves. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You’d be safe, Adam.” Duncan looked at the woman with the red scarf, her plea was surprisingly earnest.
“I’d be a prisoner,” Methos spat back and Duncan blinked. He knew Methos didn’t take well to being told what to do - well, apart from under very specific circumstances - but it didn’t usually garner such a vehement reaction. Duncan agreed with his lover completely, but it was rare to see Adam Pierson so confrontational – that was more Methos, and it was equally surprising that he had let ‘Adam’ slip in company. They must have really hit a nerve; God knew they were hitting enough of Duncan’s.
“Observe, record and interfere? So this oath you take is really more of a guideline then?” Duncan interjected to buy his lover a bit of space to recollect himself.
It got a black look from Joe, but the man could hardly argue the point as many times as he’d interfered himself. At least it appeared to hit the other Watchers as well - offended their professional sensibilities no doubt. They got up as one, “Think about it Adam. We’ll be in touch.”
Duncan waited until he heard the outer door of the bar close behind them before opening his mouth again, “We’ll be in touch? How much clearer do we need to make it? Do they think we’re going to wake up tomorrow and see the light, then wait repentantly by the phone until they deign to repeat the offer?”
Methos’ lips curled in a sneer, “It means they’re not going to fuck off until we come to our ‘senses.’”
“Don’t be so harsh, Adam. They’re only trying to help. Probably once the war is over and everything dies down they wouldn’t care if you left Sanctuary.” Joe’s attempt at conciliation fell flat into the silence.
Methos’ voice was bitter, “It’s not going to die down Joe, not for a long time yet.”
Joe straightened, a kind of aggressive optimism in his voice, “How can you be so sure?”
“Seen it before, Joe. Seen it so many times before.” It was a tired answer, Methos’ age showing through the cracks in his voice, but it didn’t make it any less true. The elder Immortal seemed to deflate then, curling in on himself, shoulders hunching. He looked tired.
Duncan resisted the urge to put his arms around his lover; accepted in their home, it smacked of vulnerability in public. Even if Joe was the only audience, Methos would not appreciate the gesture – he didn’t like having his independence doubted. Ever.
Duncan curled his hands into fists and stretched them wide again, resisting the urge, though it went against every instinct he had save self-preservation. Unbidden he remembered a few nights ago when he had woken suddenly in the early hours of the morning. He’d turned over and seen that Methos was awake, staring unseeingly into the shadows of the ceiling. He knew enough of Methos’ nightmares to know that hadn’t been the cause, but he had been uncertain as to what had woken his lover and left him so pensive. It could have simply been that his subconscious had reached some obscure conclusion that it had to bring to his attention immediately - it had happened before. Last time it had been a decision on a share option, the time before that it was a recipe that had gone out of fashion with the Romans.
Duncan had had similar midnight awakenings himself and he didn’t have half the accumulation of experience for his subconscious to draw on that Methos did. This time though, Methos’ silent thoughts had chilled him with superstitious dread. Like an echo of an echo – the sound itself had gone, but the memory of it still shivered in the air. He had half-expected the morning to bring with it a silver-edged envelope and the news of a friend’s death, but nothing more untoward had happened than burning Methos’ toast at breakfast. Although given the way Methos had reacted, that was clearly disaster enough.
Duncan shook his head to dispel the recollection; it was unsettling and he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been this meeting with the Watchers that Methos had realised was coming. “We should get back: we’ve got an early appointment tomorrow.”
Methos nodded silent agreement and with only a slightly strained farewell to Joe they left.
The weather outside had turned damp and cold after the promise of the morning, but Duncan felt that was entirely appropriate given the way the day had gone. Methos had hunched his shoulders against the drizzling rain, so Duncan waited until they were in the car, the Thunderbird’s headlights cutting through the descending darkness, before he spoke. “Should we be packing?”
Methos continued to stare out the windscreen, “I don’t think so, not unless you want to. There’s no pressing need.” Methos looked over at Duncan and smiled with grim good humour. “The Watchers can be pretty irritating, but they can’t make me go anywhere I don’t want to go. Since I’m happy where we are, I guess they’re shit out of luck.”
Duncan found himself returning the smile with some of that same determination and the rest of the drive home took place in a companionable silence.
By the time they got back to the house Duncan felt tired, more from the earlier tension than any exertion, but it still felt too early to go to bed, so he left Methos channel-hopping and took himself down to the salle.
Aside from their bedroom, the salle was probably Duncan’s favourite room in the house. Light and airy, it had the same tall windows and high ceiling as the rest of the house and Duncan had wasted no time in moving some of his swords from storage to display them alongside Methos’ own collection. He knelt, facing what in the Orient would be the kamiza: no calligraphy hung there, no portrait, not even a weapons rack. Instead a tall, stained glass window faced west, looking out onto the garden and the woodland beyond. In the evenings, if the weather was right, the plain white walls were a shifting kaleidoscope of colour, simple but beautiful. Duncan had made it his own task to ensure that there were always fresh flowers on the low table beneath the window.
Tonight the colours were sullen as Duncan worked through several kata, letting his mind drift free while his body followed the familiar patterns of movement.
Methos was flying off to Zürich next week to sort out some of his longer-term holdings, that was why they had the meeting tomorrow morning – to finalise the set-up of a series of dummy accounts for off-loading dividends away from the Watchers’ beady eyes. Duncan had been surprised to learn in the process that the Watchers had actually provided the money for Methos, or rather Adam Pierson, to buy this house. As far as he could gather, it had been severance pay of sorts since as a new Immortal Adam could no longer remain a Watcher. Of course it had also meant that they could keep close tabs on him - protecting their investment so to speak. Duncan would have paid good money to have seen their faces when Methos’ first act on moving in had been to strip out every piece of surveillance equipment and install a state of the art security system that meant they couldn’t even get beyond the garden walls without triggering an alarm.
Duncan hoped Methos would be alright on his own in Switzerland, but there was no reason to think he wouldn’t be. True, the Watchers had one of their main headquarters there and while Duncan didn’t *think* they’d try anything, it wasn’t completely impossible. Still, if they were going to try to kidnap Adam, they’d have as many chances here in Paris where routine and the familiar would arguably make them complacent. Duncan took a deep breath and reminded himself that his lover had been taking care of himself since long before Duncan was born; he wasn’t going to stop now just because Duncan was around and he worried.
Ending the kata, Duncan settled himself with a few simple breathing exercises and stretched out his muscles. Turning out the lights in the room he realised it was now completely dark outside and the house sat silent and still. He wondered just how much time had passed unnoticed and forcibly dismissed the feeling that he was taking his time with Methos too much for granted. It was a private fear that lingered at the back of his mind, surfacing from time to time when anything threatened whatever happiness he’d managed to find. Immortality was no guarantee of having any more time than a mortal might, less if the Game intervened, he had seen it happen with Tessa and Richie and others before them, and he had no intention of forgetting such hard-learned lesson.
Duncan showered slowly, trying not to dwell on past losses, then padded naked into the master bedroom, towelling his hair dry as he went. The only light came from the banked fire in the hearth and he smiled. It wasn’t something that would have occurred to him these days, but it was strangely comforting. It harked back to the simpler days of his youth and he wondered if it was for his benefit, for Methos’, or purely coincidental.
Methos’ eyes were closed and his bare skin was a fire-lit gold against the rich, dark colours of the pillows and quilt. There was a Victorian luxury to the room: the dark colours and rich fabrics were not really Duncan’s preference, but he didn’t mind, there were other rooms that were as plain as this was not. Carefully he slid into bed and spooned up against his lover, who wriggled back against him and rested his arms over Duncan’s where they wrapped around his waist.
“Worked out your frustrations then?” Methos’ voice was soft and sleepy.
Duncan smiled and nudged his hips closer, “Maybe not all of them.” Sleepy or not, the slow, sinuous movement of Methos’ body back against his suggested a certain amenability to his proposal for the surest method of banishing his nebulous fears.
****
For the second morning running Duncan woke slowly; it was a nice thing to get used to. When he had lived alone he had always woken quickly and completely, this was the first time since Tessa that he had relaxed enough to take his time about it. This morning the weather was not so bright, but to make up for it his cheek rested against something a lot warmer and firmer than a pillow. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the tempting curve of his lover’s ass. Duncan grinned: he was never quite sure how they seemed to end up in these improbable positions and he doubted Methos knew either, but it was pretty much guaranteed every time. He stretched forward and dropped a kiss onto the smooth curve before him.
“Having fun down there?” Methos’ voice was muffled but entirely awake.
“Always,” Duncan replied, grinning as he deliberately mimicked Methos’ words of the day before. He rolled onto his back, retaining his unconventional pillow. Methos lay on his stomach, but had somehow turned in the night so that his head was now at the foot of the bed, however with the Ancient’s typical presence of mind he’d managed to drag a pillow with him. Duncan himself lay at right angles to his lover, half-curled up to stop his feet hanging off the side of the bed, his head resting in the small of his lover’s back.
Methos looked back over his shoulder with an amused smile, but no words. Duncan opened his mouth to speak and was startled when the phone began to ring. Methos’ mouth twisted in a wry smile, “Well, I can’t get up to answer it.”
Duncan grinned back and glanced at the clock, a little surprised to realise it was already well after 8.00am.
The phone clicked over to answering machine and a vaguely familiar feminine voice filled the room. “Adam, I know you are there. Pick up.”
Duncan looked up at Methos whose expression was rueful as he silently mouthed ‘Watcher’.
“Fine, act the child, and you wonder why they treat you as one.” Duncan almost laughed out loud, but managed to stifle it. Listening carefully, he picked out a faint Italian accent beneath the impeccable English.
“That MacLeod is a bad influence they say – you are not supposed to be standing up to them.” Now it was Methos’ turn to suppress a smirk.
“But do not be so quick to judge, Adam: they are worried. They have lost many agents in the East and the few reports we get are not good. Chi’en Mai Cho and her students have been taken out of the Game and we do not know by whom. The Council are terrified by the possibility that it was a unit from either army and that the existence of Immortals will soon become common knowledge, but they are just as afraid that it is an Immortal they have missed. Please, Adam, think about Sanctuary. I know it is a risk either way, but at least among us you have friends. How many Immortals can you say the same of – even in MacLeod’s circle? But do not take too long, Adam, I do not know how long the offer will remain open. You know my number if you change your mind. Take care, Adam, ciao.”
Duncan met Methos’ eyes; he didn’t think he needed to tell his lover that they needed to talk. There was a long sigh, “Breakfast?”
Even good coffee and freshly-baked croissants weren’t enough to put off the conversation for long.
“Her name is Silvana Giannatale, Silvi to her friends. She’s regional head for southern Europe – the tall woman with the red scarf last night,” Methos began.
Duncan leaned against the table and took a slow sip of his coffee, “So how does a lowly researcher meet a regional head?”
Methos shrugged, “Researchers aren’t that lowly in the Watchers: they take their history seriously remember. Anyway, she was a field agent when I met her. She had been mentored by Don Salzer before he retired to research, so as his next protégé she considered me a younger brother of sorts. Italians take their family seriously and she’s always looked out for me.” He laughed softly, “She was on the panel that decided I should be allowed to ‘retire’ from the Watchers without prejudice after Adam Pierson became Immortal.”
Duncan nodded, not surprised that Adam Pierson had acquired protectors in his time with the Watchers, but it left him slightly wrong-footed that she had obviously stuck by Adam since the revelation of his Immortality. “What about her message then?”
Methos shrugged and picked at his croissant, “Not sure.”
Duncan put his mug down, “Well, who’s Chi’en Mai Cho then?”
Methos looked up, obviously surprised, “I thought you knew every Immortal worth knowing and half of those who weren’t?”
Duncan shrugged as he poured himself more coffee, “Not all of them then, obviously.”
Methos abandoned his croissant in favour of an orange; he began to peel it and the sweet-sharp scent filled the kitchen as Methos reeled off what sounded very much like a summary of a Watcher database entry. “She’s Chinese, coming up on 700 if the records are accurate. She hasn’t travelled much outside of Asia, certainly not in the last couple of centuries. She has strong ties with the Chinese Government and a fairly hefty power-base outside of Chongqing. Her students have all been Asian and she picks them up early – pre-Immortal mostly – and keeps them close.”
Intrigued to hear about an unknown Immortal, Duncan couldn’t help but ask the obvious question, “Was she any good?”
Methos popped a segment of orange in his mouth and when he’d swallowed, he gestured vaguely. “Couldn’t say. She won enough Challenges but…”
“But?”
Methos abandoned the mess of half-eaten orange, “The Watchers suspected that her students were more than moral support.”
“Ah. And no-one stopped her?”
Methos raised an eyebrow, “Who? The Immortal Police? Her Challenges had few witnesses and no survivors, Duncan. Besides, as I said, she didn’t move around much so anyone not actively looking for a Challenge could avoid her fairly easily.”
Duncan snagged the remains of Methos’ croissant and began to spread some jam on it; he always thought better when he wasn’t hungry. “So what you’re saying is that it wasn’t an opportunistic Challenge?”
Methos shrugged, “It’s not impossible, but it is unlikely, yes.” He returned to his orange, “It’s more likely than a mortal unit strong enough to raid the place getting that far behind enemy lines undetected and then happening to accidentally behead both her and her students, anyway.”
Duncan finished off the croissant with his last swig of coffee, “So why’d your friend Silvana mention it then?”
Methos sighed and dumped his mug in the sink, “Probably just to demonstrate that no Immortal is ever safe and perhaps to warn you.”
Duncan blinked, “Me?”
Methos nodded, “Cho had an established territory and power-base: if the Immortal who took her out was a Hunter, and not just extremely lucky, then they’re probably strong enough and ambitious enough to go after the ever-so-tempting target of the noble Highlander and his not-so-noble student.”
Duncan digested that piece of information and wished he hadn’t had Methos’ croissant for the way it sat like lead in his stomach now. “Do you think that’s likely?” Duncan himself didn’t: they were a long way from China after all, but he’d feel happier if Methos agreed with him.
Methos tipped his head from side to side, considering, “That it was a Hunter? No, there are much easier targets to try first and the Watchers pick up active Hunters pretty quickly since they tend not to bother with subtlety.”
Duncan handed Methos his dishes for the sink and waited for the rest he was sure would come. Methos ran some water onto the crockery and then turned back to Duncan, “I think whoever went after her probably had good reason to do so, had to have really, to go to that level of risk - maybe a deathwish even. And if Cho was a specific target then whoever it was is unlikely to go on a Hunting spree afterwards.”
“Not impossible though,” Duncan corrected. They both knew Immortals that had been out of the Game for a while then taken a head and the rush of the Quickening had sparked a craving that rarely burned itself out before the Immortal lost their own head. It was rare, but it did happen and it wasn’t something any sane Immortal liked to think about.
Methos tilted his head in acknowledgement, “No, not impossible. But, even so I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Silvi probably worked that out as well, but it made her point.”
Duncan grabbed a towel and began to dry the dishes as Methos passed them to him, so it took him a moment to realise when Methos stopped, hands still in the water, eyes focused on some distant horizon. It was strongly reminiscent of that odd early morning awakening and this time Duncan didn’t resist his instincts. He put the towel aside and wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist, resting his chin on Methos’ shoulder. “What are you thinking?” he asked softly.
Methos half-turned his face towards Duncan and there was a pause, “I’m wondering exactly what Cho’s relationship was with the Chinese Government.”
“Is it important do you think?”
Methos shook his head, “I don’t know, but it might tell us why she was targeted.”
“Which in turn might tell us who?”
Methos shrugged without dislodging Duncan, “Possibly.” He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink as he stared into the dishwater and seemed to see something else entirely – something he didn’t like. “There are only so many options, Duncan. To take her out the Challenger had to be very good or very lucky. Between the pair of us and the Watchers’ files, we know most of the former.”
Duncan shrugged, “It could still have been a new Immortal, there’s not a lot that will stop someone if they’re determined enough, regardless of skill.”
Methos shook off the dark introspection, but Duncan could hear the reluctance in his tone, “True.”
“You think you know who it is.” It was a statement and Methos shrugged off Duncan’s loose hold, turning to face him.
“No, I don’t, not really. But… it feels like a puzzle. As though we’ve got the pieces and they should fit together if only we knew what the picture was supposed to be.”
Duncan felt his lips curve into a smile, finally understanding, “And you hate not knowing.”
Methos gave him a long look, “I just like to be prepared is all.”
Duncan chuckled, relieved. He was more than happy to put his faith in Methos’ judgement and ability to figure it out before it became a problem for them, if it ever did. “Assuming you find a corner piece and work out which bits are sky – is this going to affect us?”
Methos gave a quick shake of the head, “I don’t see why it should. Contrary to common Watcher belief, the whole world does not revolve around the noble Highlander.”
Duncan grabbed Methos’ waist and squeezed in punishment, “And what about you?”
Methos grinned, his mood finally dispelled, “My life doesn’t revolve around you either.”
Duncan laughed at the wilful misinterpretation, “Point taken. And now that we’re both quite astonishingly late for our appointments – do you want to blow them off completely?”
Methos’ grin turned wolfish, “I’d rather blow you.”
And really, Duncan had no argument for that.
FIN
29th January 2008
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