For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it's illegal for you to read this where you live, please don't read it! For those




НазваниеFor m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it's illegal for you to read this where you live, please don't read it! For those
страница1/46
Дата конвертации27.10.2012
Размер1.16 Mb.
ТипДокументы
  1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   ...   46
This story is SLASH, rated Adult for m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it's illegal for you to read this where you live, please don't read it! For those extremely rare Highlander: The Raven fans who pay attention to timelines, I've fiddled with this one a little. This story takes place after "The Manipulator," but before "The Ex-Files." Bert is still in Paris, however, and it's still April, which is a slight bending of canon. In X-Files canon, this takes place in the middle of season six, some time after "One Son."


A huge thank you to everyone who helped beta read this over the years. Most especially, thanks to elynross and MacGeorge, who did most of the heavy lifting and encouraging, and to dswdiane who stepped in to help with the last few difficult chapters.


Dedicated to elyn and Deb, who make it worthwhile.

* * *



CHAPTER ONE


Georgetown University

District of Columbia

April 19th, 1999


The insistence of the phone in the small hours brought Methos no panic -- only mildly murderous thoughts directed at whatever drunken fraternity boy had accidentally dialed his unlisted number -- until he heard Joe Dawson's voice at the other end of the line.


Lying in the semi-darkness, staring at a crack in the plaster overhead, he let the words wash through him and didn't believe them. Not for a second. Some part of him maybe, the thinking part, but he was still able to function and to ask the right questions, so he knew that he didn't really believe it, not where it counted. He went on not-believing, went on talking and moving and doing the things that were necessary: hanging up the phone, getting up, covering his nakedness and finding keys, starting his sensible, oh-so-practical car. It was a valuable skill, and had gotten him far, that ability to function like a normal, rational person in moments of destruction. He was good at it. No one could match Methos for calm in a crisis.


No flights this time of night, and no way in hell he could have waited for morning, or borne the close quarters of a train. He would drive. Would go on running on automatic pilot, and wouldn't think of what awaited him at the other end of the dark road that stretched between Washington and New York.


He lost a space of time between the front walk and M Street. Just a minute or two, but it was enough to make him get it together, focus his formidable will on performing the functions needed to operate the car without killing anyone.


Only when the Volvo's headlights were counting reflectors on the Beltway did Methos at last let his mind escape into the relative safety of the not-so-distant past.

* * *



Paris

December 24th, 1998


It was a testament to the dismal state of their friendship that Methos didn't think first of MacLeod, when he felt the approaching buzz.


Time had been when he could have placed a bet on it being Mac, and been reasonably certain of winning. Time had been when the first thrum of Immortal presence would have been enough to touch off a predictable chain of split-second responses. First, the tiny spark of excitement. Anticipation at seeing the Highlander. Curiosity about what would bring MacLeod to him on that particular day: a problem to solve or a question to answer or just the urge to hang out together for a while. Then the answering twinge of disgust at himself for being so eager to see him, no matter the reason. A barely acknowledged thread of apprehension, wondering if something might have happened. And only then, the wary caution he'd lived with for such a very long time.


Those days were past. It had been more than a month since the last time he'd seen MacLeod, the night after Liam O'Rourke had come for the Highlander's head. Since then Methos and MacLeod been living less than five miles apart, and Mac had made no further effort to contact him. It was too much to hope that after so much time, he'd had a change of heart.


Barring Mac, the list of Immortals Methos would have welcomed at this hour was vanishingly short, and he was off the couch within seconds, sword in hand, palming the lights off. Only the television cast light to see by; a fey Alec Guinness warned Albert Finney about the lonely fate of bitter old men as Methos glided silently toward the back entrance and the fire escape. This cold night, Christmas Eve in the City of Lights, he barely spared thought for the hope that the approaching buzz might be anything but a threat.


At least it had stopped snowing, but the wind was bitter, picking up speed as he slipped out onto the landing. Hunched against the cold, he waited, watching through the window from his place of concealment in the shadows.


He could hardly blame MacLeod for the distance, the awkwardness. That night on the barge, Mac had tried to hold out an olive branch, but Methos hadn't known how to answer in kind, not with Dawson and Amanda looking on, not when he was still cold and numb inside from watching Mac go to his knees in front of that pissant O'Rourke. He'd taken Mac's awkward attempt at peace-making badly, had felt it like a rejection, when in truth Mac had probably been trying to heal some of the damage between them, offering Methos only the simple acceptance he'd asked for. No, Mac was right. Far better they should stay apart, as they had for the past two years. Safer, in more ways than one. Never mind that Methos still played that night over and over in his mind, that he could hear MacLeod's voice sometimes as if it were in the room with him. No one else dies because of me. Never mind that he was still here, still in Paris in December, when all sane people were in the Bahamas or the Mediterranean or someplace equally warm.


Amanda had come to see him once, and he'd embarrassed himself with how glad he was for her company. Glad because he was alone too much these days and she was a breath of fresh air -- but also for the news she'd brought of Mac, which he'd absorbed too eagerly. She'd told him she was leaving Paris soon. She'd tried to urge him to go see MacLeod, of course. Her gentle appeal, so irresistible -- what could it hurt, to give it one more try? He'd resisted, though. In the end he'd made her understand that he'd gone as far as he could.


Across the darkened flat, a shadow fell on the pane of frosted glass above the front entrance; the guy was out in the hallway, probably about to kick in the door, the bastard. Methos was in no mood. Whoever this was, they were about to get a nasty surprise.


But instead of the door splintering inward, there came a familiar pounding -- and Methos knew, even before he heard the voice, who it was.


"Adam? It's me, MacLeod."


Relief washed over him. Then in its wake came apprehension of a different sort. For a long moment, he didn't move. Unexpected, this late night visit, to say the least, and he wasn't ready for it. He didn't want to talk to MacLeod when he was this vulnerable. No matter how his heart was pounding, opening that door was almost certainly a bad idea.


But the edge of desperation in Mac's voice compelled him to climb down to the landing, go back inside.


"Adam? Please, I need to talk to you. It's urgent."


Unlocking the door and pulling it open, Methos sighed. "Kinda late, isn't it, Mac--?" The carefully calculated, casual greeting died on his lips when he got a good look at the man before him. "Good lord, what happened to you?"


MacLeod glanced down at his attire with a grimace and peered past him, into the darkened flat. "You alone?"


"A shock, I know." He stepped back from the doorway. MacLeod came inside, and Methos shut the door, locking it again. He laid his sword on the counter and immediately went and fetched the drink he'd been nursing earlier. MacLeod looked like he needed it more than Methos did. Mac was shivering violently, wearing the bloody, shredded remains of a white silk shirt and no coat. His cropped hair was wet, his lips blue with cold.


"Thanks," MacLeod said hoarsely, taking the liquor and downing it immediately.


"Help yourself to another if you want it." Methos hurried to get the duvet off his bed. Coming back with the comforter, he gave the other man a swift, critical once over, not liking what he saw. He'd obviously come some distance in the snow, and there was a great deal of blood, mostly dry now. From the looks of things, MacLeod had been shot by a powerful firearm, half a dozen times at close range. The wounds were gone, but the telltale bruising was still evident, and it looked like he'd scrubbed blood off his face and neck without benefit of a mirror. The prickle of gut-reaction fear Methos felt didn't surprise him; its intensity did. The visceral reminder that it didn't always come down to skill jolted him in a way he didn't want to think about. A katana made a poor defense against a bullet.


"Here, let's get you warmed up."


Shedding what was left of his shirt, MacLeod let Methos drape the down coverlet around his broad shoulders, then wrapped himself up in it, clutching it tight across his chest. For a few minutes he just stood there, gritting his teeth against the uncontrollable shivers as his body started to acclimate. "Thanks," he said again, at last, meeting Methos' gaze this time and saying it with his eyes, too.


Not trusting himself, Methos nodded, and went to start a fire in the grate.

  1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   ...   46

Добавить в свой блог или на сайт

Похожие:

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\Ян (мужское, доминирующее, твёрдое) и пренебрегают инь
Сейчас это слово обозначает социальный пол, в отличие от биологического пола – "sex". Интересно, что в толковом словаре "Random House"...

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\You can choose which advantage modules to read in the 1AC, making sure you read pg. 2 and 29-31

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\In our busy lives, it is hard to carve out time to read. Yet, if you are able to invest the time to read about the region where you travel, it pays off by

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\This is where the teens Three Rivers can write reviews of books they have read and find out about new books they would want to read

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\Why people don’t read the bible?
Ибо излил на вас Господь дух глубокого сна, и сомкнул глаза ваши: пророков и правителей ваших, провидцев он накрыл

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\Note: This document contains separate readmes for the 07, 06, 05 and 04 versions. Please make sure to read all pertinent information in all four readmes in your language

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\#204) Things don’t always work out the way we want them to, or the way we think they will. Sometimes we don’t even see it coming. We get hit with some form

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\Sex, Family & Fertility in Haiti

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\Studies in the Psychology of Sex, Volume 5 (of 6)

For m/m sex, m/f sex, violence and language, so if such things offend you or it\Stress Response Lessons from the Opposite Sex


Разместите кнопку на своём сайте:
lib.convdocs.org


База данных защищена авторским правом ©lib.convdocs.org 2012
обратиться к администрации
lib.convdocs.org
Главная страница