Methos stirred a little restlessly, his hip having gone numb on one side where the two cushions of the couch came together. It felt so good to sleep, really sleep. Dreamless sleep. The three Immortals had returned to Mac’s barge after the tumultuous night, having dropped Joe and Paulo off at Watcher headquarters to get discreet and proper medical attention.

They had joked raggedly about having a beer, but Mac, ever the clan Chieftain, nagged both Amanda and Methos to first drink several glasses of orange juice to replace lost fluid and energy, and while a shower was just within the realm of absolute necessity, afterwards everyone collapsed into bed.

Methos contentedly lay with his eyes closed in the dark, knowing it was in the small hours of the morning, but that he had finally managed to sleep for over twelve hours solidly. He felt more at peace than he had in a long, long time. The secret dread he had carried for so long, his failure two millennia before, had been identified. He felt light, almost weightless, recognizing that a terrible burden he had unknowingly carried had finally been lifted from his soul. While his 5,000 years were weighted with far too many regrets and bad memories to ever allow real peace of mind, the resolution of an old pain, the redemption of an ancient failing, was a rare and welcome relief. Most of all, the release from the horrifying prospect of taking MacLeod’s head was positively uplifting and he luxuriously stretched his full length, his feet dangling off the edge of the couch, and turned over, letting himself enjoy the moment. The lights from the street filtered through the small portholes, casting dim shadows in the room, but it was both warmer and there was more light than he expected through his slitted eyelids. He opened them more fully. The light flickered and changed, casting odd shadows throughout the barge. It was coming from the fireplace.

The bulky shadow of MacLeod's broad back blocked his view of the crackling flames. Mac was seated on the floor facing the fire, arms hugging his knees. Even in the dim, uneven light Methos could read the tension in the neck and shoulders, and guessed that the Highlander was still caught in the emotional maelstrom of their long ordeal and had yet to tame his personal demons. Evidently defeating Ahriman was an insufficient catharsis to relieve the guilt and loss that had so burdened his mind and heart that he had sought his own death.

Methos cleared his throat gently, not wanting to startle his friend. Duncan’s head rose sharply from his knees at the sudden knowledge that he was being observed.

"Can’t sleep?"

"I slept."

"How long?"

"Awhile."

"Bad dreams?"

A shrug.

Methos slipped out from the warm covers, pulling the blanket down with him as he sat on the floor behind MacLeod, his back against the sofa.

"Here. Scoot back." He touched MacLeod’s shoulder.

"I’m fine, Methos. Go back to sleep."

"Come on, MacLeod, move closer so I don’t have to strain myself here." He tugged again at the dark shadow in front of him until, reluctantly, MacLeod moved a few inches backward.

Methos ran his hands along the thick shoulder and neck muscles. They were like iron, and vibrated subtly with an inner tension. He clamped down on them, kneading them with his long, strong fingers. Mac groaned and leaned into his hands, his head rolling back as pressure was exerted against the knots that had seemed to take up permanent residence.

"What were the dreams about?" Methos asked quietly.

"Oh, the usual," Mac replied.

"Come on, Mac," Methos insisted, working up the powerful neck and sliding his fingers into Mac’s thick, wavy hair, massaging the base of the skull, but all he got was a slight shake of the head, so he stopped.

Mac let out his breath as the welcome sensations ceased, and Methos could feel the muscles harden again under his hands. He grabbed the man by his shoulders and pulled him back until he was lying against his chest and he could at least partially see the Highlander’s face. Tears had made wet tracks down the dusky cheeks. Exhaustion was etched deeply into lines around his eyes and mouth. His eyes were shut and the face was closed tight against any intrusion.

"Damn you, MacLeod, let it go!" Methos whispered. "Remember, Ahriman was called the King of Lies. You don’t know that what he said about Darius and Tessa and the others was true at all. He was messing with your mind!" Methos wrapped his long arms around Duncan’s chest, holding him tight. "And even if it was true, the people you love were part of your life willingly, knowingly, understanding who you are, what you are. You can’t take responsibility for everything that happens to them. It was their choice. Don’t belittle it by thinking that somehow you are the center of the universe, that everything, all their choices, their life, their death, was about you."

The breath taken underneath his arms was shaky and uneven. "I tell myself that," the voice was hoarse and choked. "But every time I close my eyes I see their faces. I see Richie’s face, accusing me." Duncan pulled away, shaking his head, wiping his face with his hand. "Damn, I’m sorry, Methos. I promised myself I was going to stop this. . . this . . . wallowing." He pressed his hands to the floor, rising angrily to his feet but stumbled and wavered when his exhausted body at last rebelled. With a cry of warning, Methos half rose, catching the heavier man as he fell, almost succeeding in taking his weight, except for his head which struck the floor with an alarming thud.

Methos chuckled sympathetically at the pale, damp, and now unconscious face. "You are such a pain in the ass, MacLeod." Methos could feel the heart in the big chest pumping fast and thready under his hands as he pulled the bulky form back into his lap. A shadow passed over his face as Amanda knelt at his side.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"Oh, just a little bit of overdoing it, I think. Tried to get up too fast, then smacked his head pretty solidly. In his case, that’s the most protected part of his anatomy and I doubt he’ll even notice," Methos said, adding a little more sympathetically. "I don’t think he’s slept for a week."

Amanda ran the back of her hand along Duncan’s face, leaning down to kiss the bruise that had formed momentarily on his temple, placing her hand on his chest to feel the rapid beat of his heart. He murmured something unintelligible at her touch and Amanda’s eyes met Methos' in a long, intimate look, then her lips made a slow transition into a mischievous smile.

"What?" Methos asked.

"Our Highland friend needs to relax, n’est ce pas? To let go of all his tension? To accept a little kindness, maybe even a little love?"

"Amanda, what . . .?"

"Hush." She moved her face up to Methos, brushing his lips with hers, opening her mouth over his, tasting his teeth, his tongue, then pulling away. She moved down, now holding Duncan’s face in her soft hands, kissing his forehead, his eyes, moving to his ear and down his neck. He was barely aware, but she saw the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed in a subconscious reaction to the stimulation. She sank lower, running her mouth gently over his pectoral muscles, flicking her tongue, teasing his nipples until they hardened. He murmured, shifting his weight uneasily. Then she rose again, stretching her back as she pulled her satin nightgown over her head and dropped it on the floor beside her.

Methos watched, his own heart beating faster as her perfect small breasts were exposed to view. Then she moved to him once again, but this time her mouth was rough, closing over his, accepting his tongue as it made its exploration. They both felt MacLeod move beneath them, turning his head like a child towards nourishment as her soft warm breasts brushed his cheek.

"Mmmm," she murmured. "This is more fun than I could have imagined." She moved back to MacLeod, her hands traveling the length of his torso. His eyes were now half open, and he hissed with an intake of breath as she tugged at the fabric covering his hips, pulling them down and away, leaving him naked, his dark smooth skin reflecting golden in the firelight, a distinct contrast to Methos’ alabaster coloring. Her hands inevitably traveled to the darkness between his thighs, stroking the wiry curls, the soft, velvet skin that was quickly hardening, tightening.

"Amanda?" Duncan whispered. His voice was slurred, confused.

"Just relax," Methos whispered in his ear, tightening his arms around MacLeod’s chest, actually wanting him to remain unconscious while he was busy watching Amanda as her nipples hardened and her skin glowed with the sweaty flush of her excitement. She was clearly entranced with the idea of having two men at her mercy. MacLeod’s erection throbbed as she stroked him and his hips began to move involuntarily. He moved again to escape the firm hands that bound him, but was obviously torn, wanting to escape, wanting to stay, still not entirely aware of what was going on.

Amanda straddled MacLeod, not taking him into her yet, just letting the friction of their bodies feed her own needs, to build her desire and excitement even further. Methos couldn’t resist. He reached out to her, touching her breasts. She leaned into his hand, her dark eyes glittering with excitement. Their eyes met, and Amanda was drawn again to the Oldest Immortal’s pale, hard-planed face. She took it in her hands, kissing him hungrily until Duncan, his arms suddenly free, reacted solely on instinct and desire, pulling her down to himself, tasting her, his mouth trailing a hot, moist path down her neck to suckle at her breasts. The multiple sensory input was only adding to his muddled mind, touch and feeling and sensations inconsistent and confusing. He could feel an erection throbbing against his lower back, could feel powerful hands sliding along the muscles of his shoulders and chest even as Amanda used mouth and hands to stimulate his chest and groin. Amanda had immersed all three in a tide of sensation, each of them drowning in their need.

Amanda shifted her weight, taking MacLeod into her slowly even as he instinctively arched up to meet her, both of them moaning at the sudden, new level of stimulation, but Amanda wouldn’t let him speed the pace, wanting to make this last. She rocked gently back and forth, watching MacLeod’s face as he responded automatically to a wave of pure animal sensation, knowing that the friction of their rhythm also served to feed Methos’ heat until his groin burned hard and hot.

MacLeod groaned and struggled again, confused, excited, thoroughly aroused. His breath was coming in short gasps, and Methos smiled conspiratorially at Amanda, enjoying their almost cruel game as he hooked his arms over Duncan’s elbows, pinning him tightly, feeling the Highlander’s broad back ripple against him again and again as Amanda moved and the Highlander moved with her. Amanda’s head went back as she rode MacLeod, gasping as he filled her completely, marveling at the power she exerted over these male creatures so totally under her control, listening now only to her inner voice, feeling it sing as the warmth grew and expanded outward. She moved faster, leaning into Duncan, hands on his broad chest, her hips grinding into him, wanting to drive him as wild with desire as he frequently drove her.

He twisted underneath her, finally fully conscious. "Amanda! For God’s sake! Stop it!" he gasped.

She looked down at him, her eyes gleaming. "Do you really want me to stop, Duncan?" she asked, slowing her movement, leaning close, letting her breasts brush against his chest, running her tongue along the edge of his ear.

"You . . . don’t . . . understand. I’ve been . . . I don’t think I can . . ." his words were lost as she bit his nipple hard and he arched back with a cry.

Methos looked into the strained, exhausted face and belatedly understood Duncan’s objection. MacLeod had held himself under iron control for so long, fearing he would do harm to his friends, that he wasn’t certain he could relinquish it. If so, it would make this amusing, erotic, harmless game an exercise in painful frustration. "It’s okay," he whispered softly. He let go of Duncan’s arms and again wrapped his own around the bigger man's chest, pulling him close. "It’s time to let go. You're safe, Duncan. We're all safe." He stroked the sweaty face, feeling him writhe uncomfortably against him. Amanda was unaware of his distress, too far lost now in her own world as she rocked against him to her own beat, her eyes closed. Methos continued to hold MacLeod gently, murmuring breathlessly in his ear as control of his own needs became more and more marginal.

Duncan moved with Amanda, carried by Methos’ soft, steady voice, his breath quickening to uneven gasps, his hands reaching up to hold her tiny waist, until he arched up with a gasp and a cry almost of pain, suddenly, violently climaxing, muscles seizing, his body vibrating like a piano wire too tightly wound. Methos held the Highlander tightly as the Scot’s face reflected more anguish than pleasure, then heard Amanda cry out in surprise as Quickening energy erupted from MacLeod, burning along his skin, entwining around the three Immortals like a living entity. The heat and electric energy pulsed into every pore, magnifying every sensation, pushing each of them over the edge into a shuddering orgasm that went on and on and on…until the sizzling waves of energy sputtered and died, leaving them gasping and trembling in sated exhaustion.

Their sweat and their fluids and breaths and bodies mingled until they could hardly tell which leg and which arm belonged to whom, but finally Methos managed to disentangle himself as Amanda rolled over on her back, still gasping.

They lay there in silence for a long moment, the only sounds their irregular breathing and the gentle crackling of the fire.

Finally, Amanda sat up on her elbows, an unabashed and self-satisfied smile warming her face as the firelight danced along her lovely, flushed, naked body. She looked up at Methos, who had leveraged himself up onto the couch.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Methos looked down at his damp shorts with a grimace. "If you’re asking whether I enjoyed that, I don’t think I can reasonably deny it," he said with a crooked smile, then looked down at MacLeod's inert form spread on the floor. "I guess Duncan finally, truly let go -- and of more than just tension. Has that happened before? It brings a whole new and very interesting meaning to the term Quickening," he smiled.

She lay back on her folded arms. "No, sex with Duncan is always somewhere between good and spectacular, but that was completely new. Maybe we could knock him out and try it again just as he starts to wake up. I’d be willing. In the interests of scientific inquiry of course."

"Right. You’ve always been so interested in scientific inquiry," Methos observed wryly.

They both turned their focus to MacLeod, who had instantly fallen sound asleep, his face still flushed and sweaty. They carefully covered him with a blanket, slipped a pillow under his head and retreated to the bed. Methos slipped out of his damp, stained shorts and enclosed Amanda in his long arms, the two Immortals cuddling close to ward off the chill night air. Against the vast sea of exhaustion that had dogged them for so long, the twelve or so hours of rest they had already gotten seemed merely like a good start as they folded against each other and once again fell asleep.

When they awoke it was midday, and MacLeod was gone. They found only a brief note left behind, weighted down by the ancient katana, cleaned and gleaming in the afternoon light.
 

Dear Adam and Amanda,

I am deeply humbled by your kindness and fortitude in putting up with me. I am truly blessed to have such friends.

It should come as no great surprise that I need some time to sort things out. I am leaving the katana behind, not because I am seeking death, but because I need life -- a life without killing. Please tell Joe not to worry if he doesn't hear from me for awhile, and that I am deeply grateful to him for all he has done, both recently and over the years.

The barge is yours for as long as you may want or need it. I have no idea how long I'll be gone.

Be well.

Love,

Duncan

"Leaving?" Methos asked, his voice almost a monotone as he picked up the paper and rubbed it between his long fingers.

"Yes, Methos. I'm sorry, but…"

"I understand."

"What about you?"

Methos read the note once more and took a deep breath. "I…wanted a chance to talk to him, to make sure he was alright. To make sure I'm alright," he added softly.

Amanda came up behind the tall, lean, ancient man. "He loves you. You know that, don't you?"

A small, derisive bark escaped the thin lips. "He loves everyone, Amanda. It's his gift and his curse."

She wrapped her arms around him, laying her cheek on the smooth skin of his back. She turned Methos around so their eyes could meet. "If there is one blessing in our cursed existence, Methos, it's that there will be time and opportunity. You will see him again."

He dropped a soft kiss on her forehead, holding her close.

Joe had called the barge several times but not gotten any answer. Once the doctors had relinquished their iron grip on him, the Watcher found himself on the small gangplank leading across to MacLeod's home. He knew before he boarded that the place was empty. Not an Immortal in sight. Joe folded the note he found and put it in his pocket, then carefully wrapped the katana in a cloth and made his way back to the Quay.

Amanda's watcher reported her retreat to the Greek Islands.

Methos, of course, didn't have a Watcher and as far as Joe knew, had found some comfortable bolt-hole in Bora Bora.

And other than the note and his precious katana, MacLeod had vanished without a trace. Joe set the Watchers to looking for the Scotsman, but somehow he doubted the man would be found until he was ready to be found. It seemed The Chosen One had chosen to disappear. Hopefully to heal. Hopefully not to get caught without his sword by someone after his head. Hopefully to find the strength and desire to live again.
 
 

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