Duncan came into the bar late, but they were still busy on a
Saturday night. From behind the bar Joe spotted him and waved,
distracted by customers, turning back to mixing drinks, the whine
of the two blenders cutting through the soft blues the new band
was playing onstage.
     Finding an empty stool at the bar, Duncan sat, shook his
head at the new waitress that headed for him. He watched in
amusement as the other woman, Sandy, who'd been here a while,
caught up with her and steered her away, no doubt explaining that
he was a favored customer and only Joe waited on him. That hadn't
been true when Alexa was here, but now she was gone...and he
hadn't heard from Methos in almost two years.
     He sighed. Once he had thought that Methos could be
something more to him that a friend, the way Connor had been -
was - but he'd been unable to reconcile his feelings with the
truth about the oldest Immortal when he'd learned it. It hurt to
think of Methos now.
     Thinking about almost anyone brought a share of pain and
guilt.
     He wasn't thinking about Connor.
     At least, he was trying not to.
     What had happened their last night together...he couldn't
understand it, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn't even decide
how he felt about it.
     His internal musings were disrupted by Joe as he came over
and leaned against the counter, looking weary. All the good their
vacation had done was gone, replaced by darker circles under his
eyes and an aura of palpable, unending tiredness.
     "Mac." he greeted warmly, putting hand on Duncan's shoulder
and squeezing once. Duncan smiled a little. Joe had become
somehow gentler with him. It was as if the distance created by
his Immortality had been shortened by knowledge of his
vulnerability. "Can I get you something?"
     "A beer." Joe's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he pulled a
draft and set it in front of him quickly.
     "Joe!" Sandy called from across the room. She didn't sound
frightened, so Duncan didn't turn, but Joe knew he had a problem
to take care of.
     "I've got something to tell you -- you gonna hang around
until closing?"
     "Go ahead. I'll be here." Duncan picked up his beer and
sipped.
     "JOE!!" Sandy's shout, scared now, brought Duncan out of his
chair. He saw the petite redhead grappling with a large man, and
several men from other tables were noticing as well. Joe didn't
have a bouncer, he relied on human decency, but Duncan was
feeling like a brawl and crossed the room before any others had a
chance to react fully, while Joe was still on his way.
     One grab got the man's arm behind his back, another freed
Sandy, who looked truly frightened, and then a shove got him
going toward the door.
     "Hey!" he objected, too drunk to speak clearly. "What'ya
think you're doing?!"
     "Kicking you out." Duncan was aware that he was smiling
grimly. The crowd cleared a path and he shoved the guy out,
sending him sprawling on the sidewalk with a rush of adrenalin.
     "I'll be back for you!!" the drunk threatened uncreatively
as his friends came out after him, gathering him up, pulling him
away, one with an apologetic glance at Duncan.
     "Anytime!" Duncan called after him.
     He turned back and got a few handclaps, and the singer
winked at him with an inviting grin. The male singer. Duncan went
over to Joe, who was talking to Sandy, wondering. Had men always
done that and he'd never noticed? After four hundred years, it
was strange to think he'd been that blind.
     "You okay?" he knelt in front of Sandy, who nodded. She
wasn't crying, but her hands were shaking and she was pale, so he
took them in his own. "Deep breath with me." he said, smiling
gently, breathing loudly. "Okay? Another..."
     She followed his lead and some color returned to her face.
Duncan sat with her while Joe went back to the bar, things were
still busy but he'd told her to go home as soon as she felt up to
it and Duncan offered to drive her, knowing she usually took the
bus.
     A half-hour later he was driving her down a narrow
residential street, chatting about her kids, two little girls,
five and six, and school...she was a divorced mother trying to
finish college and raise her kids with no help from her ex. She
only worked at the bar on weekends, when her mother could watch
them, and spent her days cooking at the university cafeteria when
she wasn't in class. He'd met her there when he was teaching,
bought her lunch a few times, told her about Joe's when she was
job hunting.
     "I just hope they understand." she said as she indicated the
tidy little house. Duncan saw it and winced, it was a crackerbox,
way too small for three people. "That I'm doing it for them, so
they can have better." she saw his look and understood. "It's
this or the projects." she shrugged. "I'd rather be crowded than
have them waking up to gunfire."
     "You've got a point." he smiled, being charming, and came
around to open her door, handing her out gracefully. "I'm sure
they'll appreciate it when they're older."
     She stood and looked up at him. She really wasn't very big,
only 5'1" or so and maybe 100 pounds, nicely curvy, her
prettiness underlined by a vivid strength of will.
     She put her hand on his chest, letting it lie there, looking
at him, a question in her eyes.
     "The kids won't be home until morning." she was also
straightforward, a quality he admired. "You can stay if you'd
like." then her mouth quirked in a smile. "I don't have any
homework."
     He covered her hand with his own and actually considered the
offer. His body was interested, but...
     "I'm sort of involved with someone." he said softly. "It's
hard right now, but I want to try to patch things up with him."
     He saw understanding dawn in her grey eyes and she shook her
head, giving his chest an affectionate pat.
     "Why are the good ones always gay or taken?" she was
teasing. "How about some coffee?"  
      He wanted to protest, to say that he wasn't gay, but
decided that it wasn't worth the effort. It was semantics anyhow.
If he was sleeping with a man, then he was gay. That's how most
people would see it, and he couldn't blame them. Without the
experience his Immortality had given him he'd probably see it the
same way.
     "I'd better get back, I need to talk to Joe. You sure you're
okay?"
     "I'm fine. Just a little shaken."
     "Curl up with some cocoa and a good book." he recommended.
"For fun." he stressed. Then he leaned and gave her a soft kiss
on the cheek. She turned her head and brushed her lips over his
and he heard her sigh.
     He watched her go inside and waited until he heard the
deadbolt thump, and then he drove back to Joe's, thinking.
     Would he be willing to go public with Connor? To live with
him as a couple, to let everyone he knew know what they did at
night?
     Was Connor? Had that been part of what drove him away?
     He shook his head as he parked. No, Connor's pain had driven
him away. He was searching for a way to express it without
hurting someone, especially Duncan.
     *That's what I believe*, he told himself as he went back
into the bar. *He'll come back to me*.
     *Or maybe it's time to go after him*.

     He waited patiently for the bar to close. With Sandy gone
Joe was shorthanded, so Duncan helped stack tables and chairs and
swept while Gina, the new girl, oggled him from behind and did
the washing up. Joe ducked into his office to tally receipts and
count the cash.
     It was well past three when he came out, to find Duncan
gently fending off Gina's questions, most of which were of a very
personal nature.
     Joe sat, a bottle of scotch in his hand.
     "Get us a couple of glasses, honey." he told the woman --
barely more than a girl, really. Looking at Duncan he shrugged.
     "Good help is hard to find?" Duncan quipped, getting a
smile.
     "She's a hard worker." Joe smiled. "If she didn't spend so
much time flirting..."
     Gina came back just then and put down three glasses.
     "Sorry, honey, we need to talk privately." Joe said. She
pouted, and Duncan felt sorry for her.
     "Look, it's not you." he said as she turned away, looking
dejected. She turned back brightly, but her face fell with his
next words. "I'm seeing someone. A man."
     Her face changed much the same way Sandy's had. She looked
at Joe for confirmation, and he nodded.
     "What a waste." she flounced.
     "I don't waste it." he couldn't believe he was joking about
this, and found a smile waiting to be used. It wasn't so hard.
     "I should hope not!" her smile was sudden and appealing, and
then she left without further comment. 
     "What are you doing, Macleod, coming out of the closet?" Joe
was teasing, but Duncan reached for the bottle and poured them
both a shot.
     "I guess so." he sounded surprised, even to himself. "I want
Connor back, Joe, and that would make it that much easier to have
him as part of my life."
     "You want him back?!" Joe's shout brought Roger, the
backboy, from the storeroom, but Joe waved him away. "After what
he did to you?" he lowered his voice.
     Duncan downed his drink and poured another.
     "I told you why he did that. He's hurting too much to do
anything else. I can't let him go on like that."
     "You don't know the half of it." Joe shook his head,
following Duncan's example with the scotch.
     "You heard something?" Duncan went on alert.
     "We found him, but you're not going to like it." Joe poured
them both a third drink, but Duncan didn't reach for his. He
wanted a clear head. "He's in San Francisco. We don't have
anybody there full-time, there aren't any Immortals living there,
but one of us was passing through on business and just happened
to spot him. He thought he recognized him, so he called
headquarters and found himself reassigned pronto."
     "How is he?" Duncan had to hold himself in check, to keep
himself from running from the bar and right to the airport.
     "Not good." Joe shook his head. "Drink that."
     Wanting to protest but knowing Joe wasn't going to tell him
anything until he did it, Duncan swallowed the fiery liquid in a
gulp and then another after Joe poured it. The fifth he held in
his hand, staring intently at Joe over the rim.
     "Tell me."
     "Well," Joe started. "he looks like hell. He hasn't found
anyone to fight, but, Mac, he's taken a lover. A guy."
     Duncan flinched, feeling dreams shatter and fall. He closed
his eyes and sucked down the drink.
     "A mortal, Mac." Joe's voice was low and angry. "A boy who
looks like you. Some poor kid who hates himself enough to let
Connor abuse him."
     For a long minute Duncan couldn't breathe. Joe thought he
might pass out, poured him another drink, pressed it into his
hand.
     "MacLeod. Mac!" he shook his shoulder and Duncan took a
deep, shuddering breath.
     He drank what Joe gave him and then stood.
     "I'm going to San Francisco, Joe." he said, his voice
dangerously soft. "Don't follow me. I'll tell you about it when I
get back."
     "Mac, you can't. He might kill you this time."
     "Connor won't kill me."
     "You thought he'd never hurt you too, didn't you?"
     Duncan's eyes narrowed.
     "That was a cheap shot."
     "He raped you, Mac. Nothing you can say or do will ever
change that. And I'll never forgive it."
     "It's not for you to forgive." the words grated out from
between gritted teeth. "Are you going to stay out of this or will
I have to take drastic measures?" the anger on his face gave Joe
some idea of what those drastic measures might entail. Joe threw
up his hands in defeat.
     "I won't follow you. But I will tell our man there that
you're coming. If he thinks you need me, I can't say what I'll
do. I'm not promising anything."
     Duncan sagged, the energy flowing out of him in a rush. "I'm
going straight to the airport. Will you call Richie for me and
ask him to lok after the dojo?"
     Joe nodded. He knew there was nothing he could say that
would change his friend's mind.
     So he let him go. Then he called the watcher in San
Francisco to lecture him about what he should do if trouble
arose.

*****************************************************************

     Duncan got off the plane the next afternoon. The only thing
he had with him was his sword, which he had retrieved from
security and stored securely in his coat.
     He was tired, hungover, and needed a shower.
     But first things first.
     He was going to find Connor.
    

     He saw the tall, thin man out of the corner of his eye and
turned suddenly when he realized he was following him.
     "Uh...Mr.MacLeod?" the man seemed nervous, but held himself
like he thought he could handle any trouble that developed. He
was taller than Duncan and thin in a gangly way, but moved with
strength. A long way from the vulnerable norm of Watcher. "Joe
said I should talk to you."
     "You don't seem too happy about that." Duncan held himself
in the same pre-fight mode.
     "When I became a Watcher I never expected to be playing
matchmaker." the man snorted and offered his hand. "I'm Phillip.
Phillip James."
     "Duncan MacLeod. But you already knew that." they began
walking toward the exit.
     "I've been following Connor for two weeks now." Duncan
stared for a minute, then shrugged. Joe had waited to tell him,
obviously. "From what I've gathered he's been here for six weeks
or so. This boy he's picked up, he might be a pre-Immortal --
we're hoping you can tell us that -- "
     "Does he look like me?" Duncan stopped, grabbed his
shoulder, felt him tense before he answered, meeting his eyes,
speaking slowly, surely.
     "Surperficially, yes. Long dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin,
and he's pretty big. But his features don't have your -
refinement. He looks like an - unfinished version."
     "Sorry." Duncan released him, stepped back. Phillip rubbed
his bruised shoulder and shrugged.
     "I know you feel strongly about this. Just remember that I
don't heal like you do." he didn't sound resentful and Duncan
gave him an appraising glance. Maybe this was a man - a Watcher -
he could trust.
     "Why don't you get a room and I'll call the bars and see
where he is tonight."
     "Bars?"
     "He's been spending most of his time in bars, getting drunk
and starting fights. I'm surprised the cops haven't picked him up
yet."
     Duncan winced.
     "Oh, and another thing." Phillip led him to a plain blue
Honda Accord and unlocked the passenger door. With a hard look at
him Duncan got in. "He hasn't been carrying a sword, unless he's
got it down his pantsleg, and his jeans are so tight I don't
think so."
     Duncan groaned and buried his face in his hands. He stayed
that way while Phillip started the car and then he felt a hand
gently patting his back.
     "I know." Phillip was smiling sadly at him. "I've read all
about both of you, and I don't want to see him die either."
     Duncan looked up and saw something in his soft brown eyes.
     Something he didn't see often.
     Compassion. Understanding.
     It moved him so that he allowed the man to drive him to a
hotel near Connor's and leave him there to shower and rest while
he searched for the strayed Immortal.

     "Yeah, that's right. Fifteen minutes?  Thank you." Duncan
sat back on the bed and then lay down, stretching. His body was
tight with supressed emotion, taut with unreleived desire. He
spared a brief thought for the bellboy who would have to go
shopping for him. He hadn't asked for much, just new jeans and a
black silk shirt, clean socks and underwear. Things he could have
gone out and gotten himself if the idea of donning his dirty
clothes after his shower wasn't suddenly so repellant.
     He was just tired. There was a shop in the hotel, they would
just send things up from there and charge it to the room.
     The door buzzed and he shook his head. That was fast.
     Shrugging into the hotel bathrobe he padded over to answer
it, startled to find Phillip there.
     The tall man gave him a once-over and shook his head.
     "He's at a place called Benny's." he said shortly. "Been
there most of the day already."
     "Connor drinks when he's unhappy." Duncan said, a sigh of
resignation.
     "I know."
     "I'm just waiting for some clothes." Duncan let him in and
sat on the bed, legs wide, clasped hands dangling between them.
He noticed that Phillip looked uncomfortable. "Sit down, I won't
bite."
     With a shrug the man did, at the table.
     The silence stretched, became awkward.
     The door buzzed again and Phillip muttered wryly.
     "Saved by the bell."
     Duncan aknowledged it with a breif smile as he answered it
and accepted the package of clothing.
     "Be right back." he ducked into the bathroom to change.
     The briefs were right, he only liked the one kind now, the
tight ones with long legs, but the jeans were a tad tight.
Perhaps he should start working out more. He'd slacked off since
Connor left, let himself go down to two hours a day and skipping
his morning run as often as not.
     Dressed and ready, his hair pulled back at the nape of his
neck in a silver clip Tessa had given him, he came out, his face
grim.
     "I'm ready."  
     "I hope so." Phillip said, shaking his head. "I really hope
so."
 

     The bar he took Duncan to was large and noisy. A crowd of
men milled around the front, waiting to get in. The bouncer, a
huge nordic type, was turning them away one by one.
     Duncan got in line, looking over the crowd. Most were young,
good-looking guys in suits.
     "How does Connor get in a place like this?" he hissed at
Phillip.
     "You're asking me?" Phillip gave him a hard stare.
     Actually, Duncan realized, there were many people staring at
him, all appreciatively.
     "Well," he shrugged, choosing to ignore them and think about
that later, "Connor is verra interesting to look at."
     "If you say so." Phillip did not seem comfortable in this
atmosphere.
     "You don't have to come." Duncan said as they got closer  to
the door.
     "I have to record this, MacLeod. People are going to be
asking about the two of you for the next hundred years."
     "I don't have to like it." Duncan snapped, and then they
were at the door.
     The doorman barely glanced at Phillip, but he gave Duncan a
long once-over, and then did it again, deliberately. Duncan stood
it, but when the man reached to touch his face he moved, faster
than Phillip could see, and caught his hand in an unbreakable
grip, squeezing just tight enough to let him know he could hurt
him if he wanted to.
     "Like what you see?" he crooned it, and that made it sound
all the more dangerous.
     "Oh, yeah." the guy nodded. He didn't seem intimidated, but
interested. "You want in?"
     "Would I be here if I didn't?" Duncan retained his grip but
lessened the pressure. From the flush on his ruddy face the man
was attracted to him.
     "Sure thing." he stepped aside and Duncan pushed Phillip
ahead of him before the doorman could react. When Duncan stepped
past, releasing his arm, he lowered it and gave Duncan's butt a
firm rub.
     "Save me a dance later?" he sounded hopeful and horny.
     "Sorry." Duncan managed not to grimace. "I'm taken."
     He missed the man's last comment as they stepped inside.
     He was surprised that it wasn't as crowded as he'd thought
it would be. There was a dance floor filled with gyrating couples
and trios surrounded by tables and an empty stage at the far end
with a bar running the length of one side.
     It was full, but not too dark and he could easily pick out
faces.
     "In the corner on the right." Phillip whispered at his side.
"I'll wait at the bar."
     "You're gonna have to find your own way home." Duncan said
softly and the Watcher nodded.

     Duncan felt his presence immediately and wished he could
have hidden that from Connor. He wanted to watch him for a
minute, to study him.
     If Connor was drunk enough he might ignore it as a false
alarm, particularly if the boy was Pre-Immortal.
     No such luck. When he was within a yard of the table the man
he'd been watching, he turned.
     Of course it was Connor.
     Three other men sat at the table with him. They all turned
and stared and one drew in an audible breath of shock.
     Duncan stopped a few steps away. Connor's face was blank,
controlled, but he reached over and patted the nearest man on the
head, ruffling his hair like a dog's. Duncan focused on him and
saw that he did bear some resemblance to the face he saw in the
mirror. Right now that face - the boy's - was tightened with fear
and something like lust as Connor continued to pat him.
     Duncan knew his face was expressing rage.
     "Connor." the single word came hard to his lips.
     His clansman didn't answer, just slipped his hand under the
table and the boy flinched, Duncan could guesss what Connor was
doing and it angered him further.
     "What, brother?" he sneered at his first teacher. "You
couldn't keep up with the real thing?"
     The boy opened his mouth to protest and Connor slapped him
gently before standing, pushing his chair away.
     The others at the table were whispering and Duncan could
hear them.
     "He must be the one."
     "The one he's been waiting for."
     "He's gorgeous."   

     "What kept you?" Connor asked, but the old line, a reminder
of their shared past, was sour now.
     Duncan ignored the question. He was going to have a talk
with Connor if it killed both of them. He was acutely aware of
the weight of his sword against his side, and the fact that
Connor didn't have one on him.
     "We need to talk." he tried to be calm, to sound friendly.
     "Nothing to talk about." Connor shrugged. Duncan thought his
eyes were unnaturally bright. Tears? Or something worse?
     "Why did you leave?" Duncan tried the direct approach.
     "What, you missed me? I never took you for a masochist,
Duncan." There was a suspicious flush to his skin, too.
     They were closer now, a foot apart. Their words echoed in
the space between them like it was miles.
     "When I said 'anything' I meant it, Connor."
     "Even rape?" so Connor thought of it that way too.
     "Even that." Duncan's voice was soft, his emotional pain
showing through the mask of anger.
     "Go fuck yourself." Connor said it flatly, and turned back
to the table and the boy's face brightened.
     "No, fuck you." Duncan growled, grabbing him and turning him
around, gathering him close. "Connor." he spat it out before he
kissed him, brutally, bruising his mouth, forcing his lips open
so he could dig into it with his tongue, invading him.
     Connor's arms went around him and he kissed him back with a
passion like none Duncan had ever felt and Duncan thought *okay,
it's going to be okay...* and then Connor began to fight him.
     He brought his knee up and Duncan blocked with his leg, he'd
half-expected this, and then they were going at it all out.
     Connor wasn't as well trained in the martial arts as Duncan
was, but he was fast and he was angry and he didn't care if he
got hurt.
     Duncan was trying not to hurt him.
     The dancing stopped and the crowd spread back to give them
room and an audience as they broke apart and faced off.
     After a furious exchange of blows they were both bleeding
from cuts on faces and Duncan was too aware of the people
watching.
     "Connor," he pleaded. "Just come home with me. Don't make me
do this."
     "Think you can, brother?" Connor was taunting him, stepped
in for a quick exchange and out again before Duncan could land a
blow. "You're slow, Duncan. Don't you want to win?"
     "I don't want to hurt you!" Duncan shouted, but this time he
struck back when Connor attacked, landing a solid blow to
Connor's head that staggered him back.
     It happened so fast he wasn't sure how it happened. He heard
Phillip cry out from the bar - "Duncan! Behind you!" and then
something crashed over his head and he was on the ground, Connor
straddling him, his hands around his throat.
     He was choking, gasping for air, lungs burning and Connor
was grinning. Looking down at him with something wild in his
eyes, something that frightened Duncan more than anything else
he'd ever seen.
     Something evil.
     Was this all the result of a Dark Quickening Duncan didn't
know about? Had Connor killed someone who'd been strong enough to
overwhelm his personality? Was he so stoned on some drug he
didn't know what he was doing - or didn't care?
     It didn't matter right now. Right now Duncan was choking to
death.
     "connor..." he gasped, then looked into his face, met his
eyes, made a decision. "if this is what it takes..." he couldn't
say anything more, just  gurgled and his body shook with the
effort it took not to fight back..."connor...." he sounded again
like that little boy of so long ago.
     "Hold it! Police!"
     Connor sat back suddenly, shocked, as a uniformed officer
pulled him off and away from Duncan, a second prying his fingers
loose from his kinsman's throat. They weren't gentle with Connor,
throwing him up against the bar and spreading him, four of them
holding him as he struggled in incoherent rage.
     A hand appeared before Duncan, who took it and stood,
coughing violently, trying to catch a breath.
     "We need a medic over here!" the cop put an arm under his
shoulder and helped him to a seat. Duncan shook his head but
couldn't respond. His throat was raw and felt like he'd been
eating fire. He rubbed his neck gingerly, feeling the bruises,
grateful that they could heal in the darkness and no one should
notice them.
     "na - no - No." he grunted out. "No doctor. I'm fine." the
words tore out of him and triggered a fresh bout of coughing, but
the cop waved off the EMT who had appeared, speaking quietly to
Duncan, gently.
     "Are you sure? He almost killed you. Can you stand?" he
helped Duncan up. Near them Connor was still fighting them and
one of them grimaced. Finally they got the cuffs on him and began
dragging him out to the car.
     Connor's eyes focused on Duncan when they passed, he was
still fighting, but his eyes...Duncan closed his eyes at the pain
in his eyes. It seemed to reach across to him and suck him into
it.
     "Where are they taking him?" he choked out.
     The cop stared at him like he was nuts.
     "To the station. He's going to be charged with attempted
murder."
     "no...." Duncan breathed. "you canna do tha'..."
     "Why don't you come downtown and we'll talk about it." the
cop gently steered him to another car.
     As the door closed Duncan heard Connor's scream.
     "Duncan! Dunnnncannn!"
     He closed his eyes and let the tears slip down his face
while the cop looked on in sympathy.

     They identified themselves as being with victim services.
     They brought him coffee, offered sandwiches, candy. The man
who had helped him and a woman in a suit with the title of 'human
services agent' named Betty. Then they tried to *help* him.
     "This department was set up three years ago to adress the
growing problem of abuse in homosexual relationships." the man
spoke quietly, calmly. "We think you might be in that category."
     He shook his head. Were they reading some sort of subtle
clues from his body language? He had never seen himself as a
victim...well, not often. There had been a few times he'd fought
with other Immortals that might have fit that category...
     "He would never hurt me." he said, and it sounded like a lie
even to him.
     "I don't understand, Mr.Macleod." she was kind and peaceful
and quiet. "He tried to kill you."
     Duncan just shook his head.
     "No charges."
     "You don't think he loves you, do you?" the cop, Albert, was
sitting across the table from him sipping coffee.
     "That's not love, Duncan." Betty smiled at him. Under other
circumstances he would have found her attractive. "Can I call you
Duncan?"
     He nodded, tired and sore and heartsick.
     "We see a lot of this." Albert added. "I know it's hard for
you guys to talk about this, but you don't deserve to be abused
any more than anyone else."
     "Everyone said that he attacked you and you barely tried to
defend yourself." Betty.
     "I didn't want to hurt him." Duncan muttered.
     "He sure wanted to hurt you. And I'm willing to bet he's
hurt you before." Albert looked at him shrewdly and Duncan was
unable to meet his eyes, and that hurt. He couldn't meet the eyes
of a man he didn't know and defend Connor. Because what they were
saying was true.
     "It's still abuse, even when it's between men." Betty sat on
the table and looked down at him, her face friendly and
concerned. "You know that, don't you?"
     "You don't understand." Duncan was fighting to keep from
crying. He hadn't cried in public in hundreds of years, but he
was close now. They could tell from his voice, because they
started to push.
     "Has he hurt you before?" Betty's voice was so kind.
     "You're a big guy, I know, but that's no reason to be
ashamed." Albert was trying to reassure him. Duncan shook his
head, making his hair fly around his face and into his eyes. He
pushed it back with a hand that shook.
     "It's not like that...Connor..." he didn't even know what
name Connor was using here, but made a guess. "Russel...we had a
fight. We lost someone and he hasn't been able to handle it." he
wanted them to understand but didn't know why. "He loves me. An'
I canna live wi'out him." he lapsed into the brogue under the
stress.
     "I'll keep telling you until you believe it, Duncan." Betty
put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched. "That's not love. If
he loved you he couldn't hurt you like that."
      Phantom aches flared in Duncan's body, reminders. He
ignored them, tried to ignore what the police were saying.
     "I need ta see him." he stood, unsteady. Albert came around
and offered him a hand, Duncan leaned on the table instead. "I
need to talk to him." he looked at them, his eyes clouded with
pain, his voice desperate. "Please."
     Albert shrugged, exchanging a look with Betty. A look that
said 'I think we've lost this one'.
     Betty stood in front of Duncan. She sounded serious and
worried. About him.
     "Please, Duncan. I don't want to find you in a case file one
day, or lying on a morgue slab. I don't want to have to arrest
your friend for your murder."
     "It won't happen." he stared at her, willing her to accept
what he said at face value. "It won't. He won't kill me."
     "But he can do so many other things." she sighed. "You don't
have to live like that."
     "It's my choice." he remembered saying the same to Joe that
awful morning months ago. The words rang as hollow now as they
had then.
     "I'll take you to see him." she opened the door. "But I want
you to listen to me on the way."
     The only answer she got was a mulishly stubborn look.
     They walked through institutional grey corridirs,past bust
offices. Cops and others looked up as they passed and Duncan felt
a blush spread over his face, ducked his head, let his hair fall
forward to hide it.
     They knew this woman. They knew what her job was.
     So they knew what he was.
     He found a grim smile that only lasted a second.
     Well, he'd told Joe he was going to come out. He just hadn't
meant to do it this way.
     Betty talked when they were alone.
     "I can tell you what he's going to do." she sounded sad.
"He'll tell you he's sorry. That it will never happen again.
He'll tell you that he loves you."
     "He won't." the words were out of his mouth before he
realized he'd spoken them, shaking his head, looking young. "He
won't say he loves me."
     Her eyes told him that she thought he was indulging in
wishful thinking, but then they turned a corner and Duncan felt
him.
     He would have known they were close anyhow, because he heard
him as well.
     Somewhere ahead of them Connor was screaming. At the top of
his lungs, an incoherent explosion of rage and pain.
     The effect on Duncan was electric. He suddenly became alive,
pushing past Betty and rushing through the door in front of him
only to be stopped by a secured gate.
     Connor was screaming. Duncan screamed back, feeling Connor's
pain as his own.
     "Connor! Connor! Let me in, let me in!!" he grabbed the bars
and shook them as Betty came up beside him and nodded to the
officer sitting behind the partition.
     Another officer, who had been watching through the small
window on the door Connor was behind, turned and came over to
them, recognizing Betty.
     "This the other one?" he nodded at Duncan, who was staring
at the door in horror. He went past them to stare in the small
window.
     It was appalling. Connor was still handcuffed, in the middle
of the room on his knees, head thrown back, screaming, his eyes
closed as he gave himself over to pain that ruled him, pain of
the heart, death of the soul. There was blood on the floor where
he'd thrown himself, on the wall where he'd hit his head.
     "Let me in." Duncan turned to the cop urgently. "I have to
talk to him."
     "No way. The doctor is on the way down. We figure he's on
something. PCP or Ecstasy, or something stranger. He's been
screaming like that for the past hour and he hurts himself and
doesn't even seem to notice it."
     "Does he take drugs regularly, Duncan?" Betty asked softly.
     "He doesn't take drugs!" Duncan knew it was a mistake to be
so vehement about it but couldn't help it. "Just let me talk to
him, he'll be okay."
     "You can talk through the window." the cop shrugged. "I'm
not going to be responsible if you go in there and he hurts you."
     It wasn't enough. He had to get Connor out of here before
the doctor got to him.
     The window was opened a crack and the full force of the
noise Connor was making almost knocked him down.
     "Connor." he tried a quiet call and got no response.
"CONNOR!" he shouted, wanting to break through to him, knowing
words wouldn't be enough. "CONNOR!"
     Abruptly the screams stopped, but Connor didn't open his
eyes or move at all.
     "There." Duncan turned to Betty, beseeching. "He's stopped.
Let me talk to him, please....I can make him understand." he felt
shame welling at the begging tone, pushed it down ruthlessly. He
would do - would be - whatever Connor needed.
     She traded a look with the cop, who shrugged less than
gracefully.
     "He's not pressing charges." she told him.
     "We can't get him for possesion, just UI." he shot back.
     "Then I guess he can see him."
     "I guess." he opened the door, but stopped him as he went
in. "If he tries to hurt you I'll be right here, okay?"
     Duncan nodded, not up to a reply. Just looking at Connor
hurt so deeply he thought he would never breathe again. Yet he
did.
     He breathed, and he went into the small cell. He dropped to
his knees in front of Connor, reached for him, putting the
audience out of his mind, and gathered him close, feeling
Connor's body stiffen against him.
     He put his lips on Connor's neck, closing his eyes, and let
the tears flow as he whispered.
     "It's me, Connor. It's Duncan. Oh, God, Connor..." he fell
into the ancient Gaelic of their childhoods, the rythym
comforting, familiar, didn't realize that he was rocking his body
in time to it. He talked on, soothing, begging. "Connor, love,
come back to me, don't leave me like this. We can fix this,
together we can fix anything. Think of Ramirez, think of Heather
and Brenda, they wouldn't want you to be like this..."
     Outside the door Betty nudged the cop.
     "What language is that?"
     "I've never heard anything like it." he was staring at the
embraced men swaying in the middle of the nasty little room,
somehow rising above it.
     "Perhaps there's something else going on here." she was
talking mostly to herself.
     "Connor, Connor, come on, talk to me, let me take you out of
here, they've got a doctor coming, we need to go, Connor,
please..."
     Duncan felt a tiny movement in the man he held, pulled his
head back to look at him, found his eyes open, met them.
     Connor's eyes were clouded and confused.
     "Duncan? Where am I?"
     "Do ye noh' remember, Connor?" Duncan rolled the words out,
afraid to let him go, afraid to watch when he remembered.
     Connor closed his eyes again.
     "I killed you."
     "Ye did not." Duncan objected. "You got a little carried
away, is all."
     "Why did you come, Duncan? Why didn't you leave me here to
rot."
     "Because I love you, you jerk." Duncan switched to english -
some words just didn't translate. "I couldn't sit by and watch
you self-destruct."
     "How did you find me?"
     Duncan smiled and Betty sighed with envy.
     "Joe."
     "Ah." Connor relaxed and slumped forward into Duncan, laying
his head on his shoulder. He whispered brokenly, hiding his face
in Duncan's hair. Duncan stroked his head, soft hair rough with
dried blood.
     "I want to go home."
     "Where is home now, Connor?" Duncan stood, pulling Connor up
with him, still holding him.
     "Wherever you are."
    

     The cop came in after a minute and removed the handcuffs.
     "You'll have to sign for his things."
     "Leave them." Connor sounded too weary to speak.
     "Can we get them later?" Duncan asked.
     "Sure. They aren't going anywhere."
     Duncan turned and, keeping one arm around Connor's waist,
Connor's head still on his shoulder, they walked out of the cell.
     Betty stopped them giving Connor a hard look that he didn't
even register,
     "We have your adress and I'll be by to check on you
tomorrow." she told Duncan.
     "You don't have to." it was a warning that she ignored.
     "It's my job." her smile was still kind, but she didn't
understand. Unless he told her everything she never would. How
could mortals understand what it meant to be friends with someone
for four hundred years? To have someone who had found you when
you wanted to die and gave you a reason to live? To know that
they someday you might have to fight them to the death?
     How could she understand what it meant to have a lover who
wouldn't age and die before your eyes?
     Duncan sighed.
     "Whatever you have to do."
     He walked out with Connor tight to him, ignoring the looks
he was aware of. Another day he might care, but not tonight.

*****************************************************************

     Phillip was waiting at the hotel. Duncan frowned at him as
he explained.
     "I'm staying here to." he shrugged. "Unlike most of us I
have some money I got from my father when he died."
     "Invest it." Duncan advised sharply. "And go away for now."
     "Everything okay?" he followed them into the elevator.
     Duncan looked at Connor, who was leaning heavily on him,
eyes closed, breathing unevenly.
     "It will be."
     "I'm in 228." Phillip said as the doors opened. "Call me of
you need me."
     "I won't." Duncan almost laughed. All these people were
worried about him. Then he had a thought and called out.
"Phillip!"
     He hurried back and looked stunned when Duncan reached
beneath his coat and handed him his sword.
     "If Joe hadn't vouched for you I would never do this." he
warned. "You come after either of us and I will kill you."
     "I'm not one of them, MacLeod." Phillip knew what he was
talking about. "You can trust me."
     "Good." Duncan nodded."Because I am."
     The doors closed. Connor had been oblivious to the whole
conversation.
    

     Duncan got him into his room and sat him on the bed. Connor
didn't object when Duncan undressed him, no carnal thoughts in
his head, and dressed him in a pair of hotel-provided cotton
pajajmas. Duncan really preffered silk but didn't feel like
calling down to get any, and these were clean and soft and
smelled good.
      He put Connor to bed and watched him for a while. He seemed
to be sleeping, so Duncan called room service and forced himself
to eat a hamburger and fries, then opened the wetbar and downed
two hits of Jack Daniels, grimacing at the harsh taste.
     Then, hesitantly, he crawled into the bed beside Connor.
When his friend didn't move he rolled to his side and curled
around him, wanting to feel his warmth, to smell him.
     His head on Connor's chest, one hand in his thick hair,
Duncan cried silently until he slept, exhausted, trying not to
think of the morning and what it would bring.

     He woke abruptly, feeling Connor move beneath him, rolled
away in sudden, inadmissible fear, sitting up and staring at him.
     Connor stared at him, then climbed out of the bed and padded
to the bathroom. Duncan waited for him to get back, heard the
sound of retching through the open door and winced.
     Connor reappeared in the doorway, wiping his face with a
washcloth. He finished and dropped it to the floor, his eyes
still on Duncan's.
     "Come to bed, Connor." Duncan said at last, holding up the
covers for him.
     "Are you sure, Duncan?" the whisper carried across the room.
     "Of course." Duncans aid it softly, trying to put everything
he felt into those two words. All the pain, the fear, the love
and the anger. And maybe Connnor heard it because he came over
and climbed in beside Duncan, who slid down and turned to catch
him close.
     Connor resisted but Duncan held on and Connor settled,
accepting the embrace.
     "How can you?" he asked, his rough voice plaintive. "After
what I did to you?"
     Duncan shut his eyes for a minute and then opened them
again. He cleared his throat, searching his mind for the words
that would make Connor well again.
     "I tried to take Richie's head once." he said finally. "He
forgave me. I can forgive you anything, Connor."
     "That's the word that got you in trouble." there was almost
a joke in the words and Duncan smiled, pulling him closer.
     "Connor." he sighed against his hair. "You will always be a
part of me, no matter what happens between us."
     "You shouldn't say such things." Connor sounded serious. "To
be that vulnerable is a weakness for one of us."
     "Only for you." Duncan echoed the words he'd said the first
time he'd kissed him. "Only if it's you, Connor."
     He kissed him gently, but Connor stiffened and pulled his
head away. Duncan wasn't aroused, he just wanted to make that
contact.
     "Duncan, don't." Connor shook his head fractionally.
     Duncan raised an eyebrow but pulled his head away and
nuzzled it back into Connor's neck, inhaling deeply. He'd missed
this, so much. Missed Connor.
     Eventually they slept again.

     Morning found Duncan waking alone. He turned over, checked
the room, didn't see him, but the message light was blinking on
the phone so he picked it up and called the front desk.
     "Mr.MacLeod. Your friend left you a message. Shall I read it
to you or send it up?"
     "Read it." Duncan swung his legs off the bed and sat up,
still tired, feeling an ache in his muscles that shouldn't be
there.
     The desk clerk's voice was polite and informal, as if he
were reading a newspaper article he didn't care much about.
     "It says; Don't panic, I just went to collect my things,
I'll be back soon, Connor."
     "Okay." Duncan sighed. "Thank you." He hung up the phone and
went to take a shower. Maybe it would make him feel better.
     After ordering breakfast from room service he dressed in the
clothes he'd arrived in, now washed and pressed by the hotel
laundry service, and called Joe, waking him.
     "I know, I know." Joe said as soon as Duncan said hi.
"Phillip called me. You're okay?"
     "Yeah, Joe." all this worry was getting to him.
     "Good." Joe was silent.
     "I'm okay, Joe. Connor's just verra unhappy right now."
     "Serves him right."
     There was a knock at the door.
     "I gotta go, Joe. The food's here."
     "Keep in touch, Mac."
     "I will." it wasn't quite a promise.
     He answered the door and stared, mildly surprised, at Betty.
     "Can I come in?"  she was looking around the room. He
stepped back and gestured.
     "Sure." Duncan felt heat in his face, knew he was blushing.
"Connor went down to get his stuff. He'll be back soon."
     She was staring at him, studying him, appraising.
     Another knock on the door signalled the food. Duncan waited
while the waiter brought it in and laid it out on the table.
Betty looked on in appreciation.
     "I've done some homework on you, Duncan MacLeod." she said
as he pulled out a chair for her.
     "Have you eaten?" he poured a glass of orange juice, set it
in front of her, then a plate from the stack.
     "Do fritos count?"
     He shook his head with a faint smile.
     "No." he sounded amused. "There's plenty here. What would
you like?"
     He'd ordered things he liked, in the hope of feeling hungry;
sausages, bacon, eggs, muffins, croissants, and porridge. While
she took a muffin from the basket he offered he busied himself
fixing a bowl of porridge just the way he wanted it, with brown
sugar and cream and pieces of dried fruit. No raisins.
     "You're not out typical case, Duncan." she glanced, checking
that it was still okay to call him that. "You have money, you
live internationally, you give money away like you're made of
it." she took a bite of the buttered muffin and smiled widely.
"You have taste and sophistication. Why can't you see what he's
doing to you?"
     "Connor is the most important person in my life." he said
simply, not meeting her eyes. "He saved me from myself more than
once. I have to do the same for him."
     "But at what price? He's proven he can hurt you."
     Duncan felt the Buzz and became still, waiting to see who it
was. He was unarmed and not looking forward to explaining a
running battle to a cop...then Connor opened the door and walked
in.
     He carried a large shopping bag from a name-brand department
store, and looked surprised to see Duncan eating with a woman.
     Duncan stood, blatantly staring at him, searching for clues
to his mental state. 
     "I picked you up a few things." Connor shrugged, holding out
the bag. "I know how you hate not having enough clothes." he
smiled, twisted self-mockery.
     "You saying I'm vain, now?" Duncan tried to tease and it
almost - almost - worked.
     "As well you have reason to be." Connor held it out until
Duncan took it. He looked pointedly at Betty while Duncan
investigated the bag.
     "This is the human services officer, Connor. She's here to
check up on us after last night."
     Connor didn't answer, just sat at the table and studied her
while Duncan delved into the bag.
     "I saw you hadn't brought a suitcase." he added to Duncan.
     Duncan pulled out another pair of jeans, soft stonewashed
ones this time, more underwear, but in colors, not white like he
preffered -- he gave Connor a long look that he returned blandly
-- and several shirts, three blousy silk ones in shades of grey
and blue and green, and an exquisitely soft cashmere sweater in
cream. He held it to his face and closed his eyes, enjoying the
sensation.
     "Sensualist." Connor muttered. Betty blinked and ate her
muffin.
     "Ye wouldna have me any other way." Duncan dropped the
clothes on the bed and sat beside him.
     "So a few gifts and everything's fine?" there was more than
a touch of sarcasm in Betty's words as she looked from one to the
other.
     "It will never be 'fine'." Connor said, angrily but softly.
Duncan put a hand on Connor's leg, and Connor remained still.
"There is no forgiveness for what I've done."
     "There is." Duncan corrected loudly. "There iz, Connor. I
have forgiven yew."
     "You should not, Duncan." Connor stood, pulling away. "I
won't let you." he went to stand by the window, staring out at
the fog that rolled in from the bay.
     Duncan stood as well, giving Betty a hard look.
     "You've seen all you need to. I think you should go."
     Unwillingly she stood and went to the door. Duncan didn't
move to show her out.
     "I'll be back to check on you." she warned.
     Duncan didn't answer. He was focusing his attention on
Connor and the look in his eyes took her breath away. What she
wouldn't give to have a man look at her like that. Any man.
     She closed the door behind her as Duncan started to move and
she heard his whisper.
     "Connor..."
     Duncan came up behind Connor and wrapped his arms around his
waist, pulling him back against him. Connor stood stiffly, but
Duncan rubbed his face in Connor's hair and traced his tongue
round his ear and Connor shivered, his hands coming to cover
Duncan's on his waist. Duncan breathed into his neck, a warm
blast of longing.
     "You're still tired." he said after a while. "Come back to
bed."
     Connor turned in his arms and faced him, his hands resting
lightly on Duncan's hips.
     "That's not a good idea, Duncan."
     "Just to sleep." Duncan murmured, kissing his neck,
butterfly kisses, feeling Connor's heart pound.
     "Only if you come with me." it was a shaky whisper, and
Duncan raised his head to let their eyes meet. Connor's soft
hazel was worried, darkened. Duncan's dark brown was resolved,
serene.
     They undressed apart and put pajama bottoms back on and then
climbed into bed together. Duncan reached to hold Connor, but
Connor shook his head and turned Duncan to spoon around him,
holding him tightly.
     Duncan felt him against his back, butt, and thighs, and
shivered a little in memory, but Connor was stroking his hair and
gentling him with his hands. He closed his eyes and slept,
feeling not-quite-safe, but closer than he'd been in months.

     A gentle kiss on the back of his neck woke him this time. He
opened his eyes, seeing first the sky beyond the window, dark and
moody, and then the hand of the arm that he was using as a
pillow.
     With a sigh, deliberately relaxing his body, he closed his
eyes again, feeling Connor's lips warm on his skin, his other
hand resting lightly on Duncan's muscled waist.
     "Connor..." he whispered.
     "Shhh, Duncan. Be easy." Connor's breath wafted over his ear
and he trembled.
     "Ahh." he sighed and forced himself to relax further.
Whatever came, whatever happened, he told himself, he wanted
this.
     Connor spent long minutes seducing his neck, ears, and
shoulders with lips and tongue, until Duncan could feel a
response growing in himself. He moaned softly and shifted, taking
Connor's hand off his waist and bringing it to his groin.
     Connor stroked him through the cotton and Duncan groaned,
not trying to be quiet.
     "Shhh." Connor breathed. "I will not hurt you."
     Duncan sighed and groaned again, pressure settling in his
belly, a fire starting, but his body remembered other things and
he trembled more visibly this time, a tremor running from head to
toe.
     Connor pulled his hand away and sat up, gently rolling
Duncan off his arm. Duncan lay on his back and looked up at him,
one hand reaching for him.
     "Not yet." Connor shook his head slightly, his face serious.
"You don't trust me yet."
     "I trust you, Connor."
     "Not all of you." Connor gestured and Duncan gave him a
small smile.
     "Tha's na in charge."
     "It is tonight." Connor rolled out of the bed and stood. "Do
you want to get some dinner?"
     "Aye." Duncan followed him, and shook himself like a large
dog, trying to relieve the tension he felt. "Where d'ye want to
go?"
     "Tonight we only do what you want, Duncan." Connor's eyes
were dark and unreadable. Duncan caught his hand and held it to
his lips before speaking.
     "You don't have to make it up to me, Connor."
     "I can't. I know that. But it will make me feel better if I
try." Connor drew their hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to
Duncan's. Duncan felt a faint shiver.
     "Then I want to go dancing." he heard the words leave his
mouth and could hardly believe he'd said them.
     "Dancing?" Connor couldn't believe it either.
     "I haven't been dancing since Tessa...died." Duncan
muttered. Connor smiled wryly.
     "If you want to go dancing, we'll go dancing." he shook his
head.
     "You remember what I taught you?" Duncan had always loved to
dance and Connor had always hugged the wall, but one drunken
night long ago Duncan had pressured him into learning, in the
privacy of their rooms.
     "She taught me as well."
     Saraid had loved to dance.
     "Then that's what I want." Duncan grinned suddenly. "No
backing out."
     "I won't back out."

     Duncan took the first shower, Connor not following him,
understanding that Duncan was just a bit nervous around him now,
wanting to give him his privacy. When Connor came out Duncan was
dressed, wearing the cashmere sweater over the new jeans that fit
just right, molding and shaping his butt so well Connor had to
look away.
     "I need a jacket." Duncan said as he watched Connor dress.
Connor had no qualms about Duncan seeing him. He remembered all
those times they had lived in the same room, dressing and
undressing and bathing in front of each other and it hadn't meant
anything. Not until Saraid woke them to the possibilities.
     "We'll stop and get you one." though he teased Duncan about
being a clotheshorse, the truth was that Duncan usually couldn't
care less about what he was wearing, often making do with old
sweaters and ragged jeans and worn t-shirts. He certainly didn't
dress as well as he could afford to. No Armani suits ot Italian
leather loafers. Sturdy boots and comfort were his requirements.
But he had developed a certain style of his own, mostly with
well-cut slacks and silk shirts and the occasional tuxedo.
     So they left, catching a cab to the same department store,
which was within minutes of closing. Connor trailed Duncan to the
men's sections, where he spent an aggravating thirty minutes
trying to find a jacket off-the-rack that would span his broad
shoulders comfortably and still hang properly. The saleswoman was
very helpful, steering him to a brand that cut larger and
checking in the back several times to find somethng he wanted to
try in a particular color.
     He finally chose an off-black thigh-length suede with no
belt and only two buttons down low. Connor couldn't restrain a
grin when he saw him in it. Over the cream sweater it defined his
coloring, made him even more striking.
     The saleswoman got a call while she was checking him out,
waiting for his credit card to clear. This late there weren't
many lines open and it took a few minutes.
     Her conversation was clearly with someone she was worried
about, she urged the person on the other end to eat and to rest
and promised to pick up some ice cream on the way home, her voice
forcing cheerfullness.
     "Sick child?" Duncan asked sympathetically.
     "Sick husband." she sighed as she hung up. "He has cancer."
     "Treatable, I hope." Duncan was embarrassed to have brought
it up.
     "No." she said it like she'd accepted it. "He's only got a
couple of months left." she looked at them and smiled. "It could
be worse. When we found out last year he lost his job and
suddenly we couldn't pay the bills. If our church hadn't helped
out we would have lost the house and everything. I finally found
this job - I had never worked before - but we wouldn't have made
it through that first six months of treatment without their
help."
     "That's a blessing." Duncan smiled a little. "What church do
you attend?"
     "First Baptist." she smiled as the card cleared and handed
him the receipt to sign. "Thank you."
     "Sorry to make you late." they left and Duncan looked at
Connor.
     "Remind me to make a contribution to that church tomorrow."
     "We both will."                   
    

     They had dinner at a quiet Italian place, sitting outside.
They had a surprisingly good wine list and Duncan ordered from it
expansively.
     "Don't get drunk on me." Connor warned.
     "It might help." Duncan shot back, opening the second bottle
of expensive rose'.
     "If you need wine to spend the night with me then we
shouldn't be doing this."
     Duncan leaned across the table, a smile lingering on his
exquisite mouth.
     "I don't need the wine, Connor. I just like it."
     "Are you going to spend the night with me?" Connor's voice
was quiet and rough and Duncan knew he wasn't talking about
sleeping.
     He put his glass down and leaned across the table to cover
his hand with one of his own. He spoke low and smoothly.
     "Aye, Connor. I want us ta be together agin'."
     Connor didn't look at him, just stared at their hands as if
trying to find some hidden meaning in the words.
     "Together tonight or together like in always?"
     "Together as in 'as long as you'll have me'."
     Connor pulled his hand free and wouldn't meet Duncan's eyes,
picking up his fork and playing with the food left on his plate.
Duncan studied him with a raised eyebrow and leaned back in his
chais, sprawling his long legs out to the side and sipping his
wine.
     "It's not that hard a decision, Connor." he said at last,
keeping his voice light. He knew there was a good chance Connor
would say no, and Duncan could handle that. He just didn't want
to have to. "Either we want to be together or we don't. We've
danced around this for centuries...neither of us has anyone else
now and we always end up together."
     "So do you and Amanda but I don't see you asking her to play
house." Connor still didn't look up.
     "I don't love Amanda the way I love you."
     Duncan finished the glass, and the waiter came to take their
plates, Duncan shaking his head at the suggestion of desert. He
poured himself more wine and contemplated the half-empty bottle,
ready to finish it alone...and Connor's hand stole softly over
his on the cool glass.
     He turned his head, very slowly, hoping that was the answer,
afraid it wasn't.
     Connor's face didn't give anything away. Unlike Duncan's;
Duncan knew that everything he was feeling and thinking was
written on it. And Connor knew how to read it.
     Suddenly Connor smiled. Then he laughed, that strange, soft
staccato that sounded like 'heh, heh, heh'. It had occurred to
Duncan on more than one occasion that he sounded a bit like the
MTV morons Beavis&Butthead when he did that.
     "I'm thinking and you're not smiling." Duncan was confused
by the comment and then remembered their meeting when Slan came
for him.
     "You're not going to punch me now, are you?"
     "Is this a conversation?"
     "I'm not trying to end it." now Duncan smiled back.
Something eased inside him and he felt like he could take a deep
breath for the first time in months. "But it's not an argument."
     "We'll still argue."
     "We don't have to hurt each other."
     "I won't hurt you."
     They leaned across the table at the same time, meeting in
the middle for a kiss - soft and warm and full of promise. When
they came apart they were both smiling.
     "I know it's hard, Connor." Duncan came around the table to
wrap his arms around his friend. "But being together should make
it easier. If you ever feel like that again...we can talk about
it before it gets so bad. Find a way to deal with it."
     Connor returned the embrace and they stood pressed to each
other, staring at each other, re-establishing the boundaries that
seperated them.
     "We can be together and not be the same." Duncan was trying
to be serious when all he wanted to do was shout and dance -- a
little. What he felt wasn't the sudden rush of joy that had made
him propose to Tessa in the restaraunt, but a quieter sense of
homecoming, belonging. In a way, this was where he'd always been
meant to be.
     "Do ye feel it?" he asked in a whisper.
     "Aye." Connor met his eyes as he found his lips. "We're part
of a whole, Duncan."
     "I never thought I'd love anyone again." Duncan sighed and
briefly closed his eyes against the memories.
     "We've always loved each other. That isn't a betrayal of
them." Connor's words sank into Duncan's mind with the weight of
truth.
     "I loved ye first." he agreed.
     "You love me best." Connor's tongue probed and Duncan opened
his mouth, welcoming him in, meeting him with his own wet warmth.
     "Ahem." the sound of someone clearing his throat behind them
caused Duncan to jump, but he kept an arm around Connor as he
turned. He was going to be completely public about this
relationship now, and damn the consequences.
     The waiter smiled politely and offered the check on a silver
tray. Duncan pulled out his credit card and Connor made a joke as
he handed it over.
     "Good thing there aren't any smoke alarms out here - that
thing's gonna catch fire."
     "I already have." Duncan's low words sent a surge through
his own groin and he resisted the urge to yank Connor to him.
They would have to go slow for a while, redevelop the trust
they'd had.
     "Want to skip the dancing?" Connor sounded hopeful, but
Duncan squeezed his waist and nuzzled his ear.
     "Dancing is foreplay, Connor. If you do it right."
     "And you do it right, of course." Connor smiled at him and
the world righted itself.
    

     They found a quiet jazz club and a secluded table. There was
a moment of confusion when they reached the dance floor, then
Duncan took over. He was the better dancer, after all.
     He didn't try anything fancy. There was a live band, called
"Not Necessarily the Nerds", which struck him as an odd name for
a jazz band, but when the older woman in the blue dress stepped
up and starting singing scat he forgave it. The pace picked up
and Duncan guided Connor expertly over the dance floor. He didn't
usually think of dancing as a dominance/submission ritual, but
soon it felt like he was in charge.
     Connor grinned at him and let him do it. He was a fair
dancer and with Duncan's guidance he rapidly improved, so Duncan
got a little carried away.
       They turned a few times and then the song ended and Duncan
dipped Connor over his arm just like he would have done with
Amanda, not realizing how odd that would look between two men.
     He pulled Connor back up but his friend was quietly laughing
at him, at the expression on his face.
     "I guess women are just better at some things, ah, Duncan?"
     In the middle of the dance floor Duncan pulled him close and
kissed him, his voice husky.
     "Not at anything that counts."
     He released him and looked around nervously. No one was
paying any attention to them and that suited him. The band
started another song and they swang back around.

They danced until the club closed. On the way back to the
hotel they talked, awkwardly, about what they were going to do
now.
     "I'm ready to leave Russel Nash behind forever." Connor
admitted. He took Duncan's hand as they walked down the dark
streets.
     "What about Rachel?" Connor's adopted daughter and personal
confidant had run his antique store with him for years. She knew
everything, except this.
     "I will leave her the store to do with as she likes. She has
her family, her grandchildren. We haven't spent much time
together since I met Brenda, she has her own life now."
     "Will you tell her?" Duncan was really asking 'what will she
think?'
     "Rachel's primary goal in life has always been to see me
happy." Connor smiled crookedly.
     "Will this make you happy?" Duncan held their clasped hands
up between them. Connor didn't answer, just stared at him before
finally speaking.
     "I don't want to be alone anymore."
     "I'll be with you as long as you want me." Duncan promised,
bringing the hands to his mouth to kiss Connor's.
     The tender moment was interrupted by a rude shout.
     "Hey you! Fag!"
     Connor staggered as something hit him in the head. Duncan
stepped in front of hinm, searching the darkness for their
atacker. Another brick flew past him and he ducked, pulling
Connor, dazed by the blow, down with him.
     "We don't want your kind around here!" a different voice.
There at least two of them. Though he knew they couldn't really
hurt either of them, Duncan was suddenly terribly angry. A red
wash of rage flowed over him.
     A shape moved, just past his vision. With a smarl he
launched himself at it, tackling it to the ground and holding the
struggling form there ungently. He felt a sharp pain in his back
and knew he'd been hit with something, but it wasn't until he
turned that he saw the man with the baseball bat. He threw his
captive down, slamming his head against the pavement hard enough
to knock him out, and turned to engage the new adversary.
     A quick glance told him that Connor was likewise facing off
with one of them, who also had a weapon.
     "Connor!" he called, the rage clearing as he heard Connor's
strange laugh. "Don't hurt him too bad!"
     "Pansy fag ain't gonna hurt me!" the voice was young, Duncan
figured both of them to be about Richie's age.
     His opponent took a swing with the bat - hard and fast, but
he telegraphed it with seconds to spare and Duncan ducked,
stepped under it, and shoved an elbow into his ribcage, hearing
his gasping noises with pleasure. He snatched the bat from his
hands and gave him a foot on the chest, sending him sprawling,
moved to stand over him with the weapon, smiling down at him
cheerfully as he watched Connor's fight.
     Connor didn't have Duncan's grace or beauty, but he was
quick and deadly when he needed to be. He had the man down and
out in less than three minutes, then came to stand beside Duncan
and join in his smile.
     "Do we have a new toy, Duncan?" he asked, putting one hand
on Duncan's chest and rubbing suggestively, fingers finding flat
nipples beneah the soft sweater and teasing them to hardness. The
bulge at Duncan's groin grew noticably and Connor laughed again.
     "Connor - " Duncan warned, his hand stopping his clansman's
when it would have dropped lower. "Do'ye want me to come right
here?" he said it plaintively.
     Their captive's eyes widened and he looked disgusted, but
the other two men were too caught up in their exchange to notice.
     "Are ye that ready, then?" Connor pulled his hand from
Duncan's and brushed it over his erection, lightly. Duncan
groaned, breath hissing between his clenched teeth.
     "You guys are gross." the attacker observed.
     "You don't know until you try." Connor teased him and he
paled.
     "What are you gonna do?" he pushed himself to a sitting
position against the wall, hands up to defend himself.
     "Nothing." Duncan shrugged. Connor's hand settled on his
thigh and the warmth there was making it hard to think. He
decided that a bit of payback was in order and put a hand on
Connor's shoulder, one finger delicately tracing his ear. Connor
shivered. "We don't force ourselves on anyone who's not
interested."
     The captive looked like he wanted to argue but wisely kept
his mouth shut.
     "We could take you to the police." Connor said and he
shrugged.
     "Won't be the first time, won't be the last." he quipped.
     "Don't you have anything better to do with your life?"
Duncan nudged him with a booted foot and he scooted further away.
"School or a job or something? You're not a skinhead, why would
you do something like this?"
     "He's just a stupid bored kid, Duncan." Connor said, running
his hand slowly up and down his friend's leg. "He'll get what's
coming to him eventually."
     Duncan squatted down on his haunches and studied the young
man. Connor's hand moved to his long smooth hair.
     "You better think long and hard about the direction you've
chosen for your life." Duncan gestured toward the unconscious man
a few feet away. "We could have killed you and no one would have
batted an eye. Self-defense." he knew that wasn't entirely true,
but this kid didn't know that they were both trained fighters and
that would counted against them under circumstances like these.
"Next time you might hit someone who doesn't value life as much
as we do, or has a looser hold on his temper. I almost lost it,
and I would have killed you if I hand't recovered." he stared,
looking to see if anything he was saying was sinking in. "I'm
sure you can find other things you can do. Better ways to spend
your time."
     He stood again, his arm going around Connor's waist,
sighing. "Whether you learn anythiing from this is your decision.
But if I ever meet you under these circumstances again you won't
walk away."
     Sensing that he was going to get off, the kid inched himself
up the wall until he was standing.
     "Show some balls." Connor said as he began to siddle around
to run. "Protect your friends until they wake up."
     The kid's face twisted with confusion as they turned
together and began to walk away. Connor looked back over his
shoulder once and saw that he'd sat himself on the ground beside
the man Duncan had knocked out and put his folded jacket under
his head.
     "He has a chance." he told Duncan, who only grunted a reply.
His hands were roaming over Connor's body as they walked and
Connor caught them, stilled them, stopping in the middle of the
sidewalk, looking at him with curiousity and something else.
     They had returned to a busy street and even this late there
were people walking, it was a bar district and music could be
heard from the nearest one.
     "Don't do anything you don't want to, brother." Connor said
quietly. "I can wait until we are alone."
     "I don't want to wait." Duncan lowered his head to kiss him,
plundering is mouth with his tongue, urging him to let go, to
forget their surroundings.
     After a breif hesitation Connor closed his eyes and kissed
him back, their arms going around each other, Duncan's hands
settling firmly on Connor's butt, Connor's hands going up his
neck to twist in Duncan's hair. Duncan pulled away to catch a
breath and whispered softly.
     "I'm going to treat you the same way I treat everyone I
love..." it was a warning and Connor smiled.
     "Aye, Duncan, do."
     They made out on the sidewalk like a pair of horny
teenagers, a sensation Duncan had forgotten since Tessa died. As
he kissed Connor and pressed himself to him, feeling his
erection, he sent a prayer up to her asking for her blessing,
knowing that he had it, almost heard her soft laugh.
     The music from the bar changed, became louder with a driving
rock beat but Duncan found himself listening to the words, words
that spoke what he was feeling more clearly than he ever had.

     I liked the way my hand looked on your head,
     the presence of my knuckles. 
     But the beauty of this vision alone...

     He lost the lyrics as Connor's hands lowered to his butt and
squeezed, pressing them tighter, their erections rubbing
together, heat rising from them in waves.
     "Wait." he pushed Connor away from him, panting, trying to
control his reaction. "Connor, please. Give me - a minute..."
          Conor smiled at him and shook his head. They stood
panting and listening to the song.

     I liked the way my hand looked on your head,
     in the presence of my struggle
     But the beauty of this vision alone,
     I can't shake from my tree just yet
     It keeps invading my private moments
     Listen to me now.

     The feelings of your truth will always break it
     The Iris of your eye will always shake it
     Until I take the prize
     Until I take the prize

     The singer howled out the last lines, repeating them, and
the two Immortals exchanged glances.
     "Nah." Duncan shook his head. "Couldn't be."
     "Let's go to bed." Connor took his hand and they continued
walking.

*****************************************************************
    

     The room was lit by the lights of the city shining in
through the window and a single tall taper burning in front of
the mirror on the dresser, its flame reflected on the shining
bodies lying on the blue comforter of the bed.
     Duncan groaned and tugged Connor's head away from his
crotch, his mouth off his engorged penis, dragging him up to his
mouth to kiss him desperately, hungrily.
     "I canna take much more, Connor..." his whisper was raw with
need. "I want to feel you..."
     "Are you sure, Duncan?" Connor's voice was just as hungry
but better controlled. "You have to be sure."
     "Please, Connor..." Duncan moved away from him and turned
over, sliding down the bed, spreading his legs, his hands
clenched in the soft satin of the comforter. "I need you."
     Connor slid down to the end of the bed, reaching for
something in the nightable drawer as he did, and lay himself on
Duncan, covering him like a blanket, kissing the back of his
neck, nibbling and caressing his flanks with strong hands,
listening to Duncan's sighs and moans as he worked his tongue
lower, to Duncan's butt, where he ran it tantilizingly across the
well-rounded muscles, and then delved between them, tasting this
most private place, sucking and stroking until Duncan bucked in
his arms and his groans reached a desperate pitch.
     "Connor...now, Connor, please..." Duncan was sobbing, unable
to breathe.
     The sudden cold caused him to jump and stifle a scream into
a pillow, then he looked back with a question in his passion-
clouded eyes.
     "Wha' was tha'?"
     Connor grinned and held up the tube of lubricant, tossing it
to the bed beside Duncan, who looked confused.
     "We never used it before." it was really a question.
     Connor slid his penis between Duncan's butt-cheeks and
stroked over him, holding Duncan's hips firmly as he groaned and
pushed back against him, panting, his words almost a chant.
     "Oh god, oh god, oh god, Connor, oh god, please, do it now,
Connor, oh god..." he was beyond begging.
     "No pain." Connor whispered as he slid home.
     Duncan's scream of fulfillment shook the air and Connor had
a second to hope that the hotel staff didn't call the police
before his body asserted itself and he gave over to the passion
driving him.
     He took Duncan with love and strength, controlling his
strokes until all Duncan could do was howl, one long continuous
groan, his face flat on the bed, his arms spread wide, unable to
think or move or do anything but feel.
     When he saw that his friend had gotten to some state of
grace, that he was so far gone he couldn't even move, Connor
reached around to his front, squeezing his hand, wet with
lubricant, between them, and wrapped it firmly around Duncan's
shaft, so large and hard he wondered if it hurt. As soon as he
touched it Duncan made a strangled sound of desperation and
pushed back against him one last time, impalling himself, coming
in Connor's hand, his muscles clenching so tightly around the
older Immortal that Connor thought he might pass out from the
force of his orgasm, and came himself, but Duncan kept coming,
his body arching in spasms. Connor lay over him, wrapped his arms
around him and felt the spasms reduce to tremors that continued
for long moments. He didn't think Duncan breathed once during
that time.
     The candlelight flickered over their reflection; two men,
one heavly muscled, golden-olive skin shining with a coat of
sweat as he flopped over onto his back, deep eyes closed, well-
furred chest heaving with the effort to draw breath and, beside
him, a pale reflection, leaner and more finely drawn, his
coloring lighter and more average, cuddling close, under one dark
arm, sandy head resting on the magnificent chest, gleaming hazel
eyes staring at the other's face with something like awe.
     The candle couldn't hear the words spoken, but their lips
moved in mirrored silence behind it.
     "I love you, Duncan." it was such a simple thing.
     "Aye, Connor." a gasped whisper. "I know ye do."
 

The End

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