The Parallel World Series: Part Five

                                 Resolution
                                by Alexandra
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(...Continued from Part Four)
MacLeod strode back to the table, standing over Methos, face flushed. "What
do you want me to do," he said angrily, "break my own code of honor? I
won't do that. Not for you, and not for anyone."
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Methos rolled his eyes. "You'd stop her from killing Kalas."

"Yes." MacLeod took a calming breath. "How can I put Brian Cullen and the
other victims in one category--unworthy of being slaughtered by her--and
put Kalas in another? If it's wrong to gun down our kind in order to kill
them, it's wrong. Doesn't matter who she kills."

"I see," Methos replied. He could understand Mac's logic, even if he didn't
necessarily approve of the results.

"Tell me something," MacLeod said. "Would you do it that way? If the
Watchers did find where he was, would *you* shoot him down and take his
head?"

Methos hesitated, and he could see by the instant flinch of Mac's
expression that this hesitation pained him. "No, I wouldn't," he said, and
he meant it, though he wished with all his heart that he had not paused a
fraction of a second before speaking.

"But it's all right to let her do it for you," Mac said with a hint of
sadness.

"No," Methos replied quietly. "It's simply expedient."

"Right. Such a handy word." MacLeod walked away, back into the kitchen,
where he set about fixing another pot of coffee.

Sometimes, Methos wished he could sum up five thousand years of survival
mentality into a simple, easily understood line of twenty-five words or
fewer. But he didn't know how. "Listen," he said to Mac's back, "I'm not
perfect and neither are you. When you face life-or-death decisions, you
weigh the costs and the balances, and you make your choice, and you live
with the results. That's how it works." He paused, wondering if that had
been the most optimum opening. He took a steadying breath and tried again.
"Look, the one thing I admired most about you from the start was your sense
of justice, and the strength with which you stuck to your principles. That
doesn't mean I'm always going to agree with your choices, and it doesn't
mean I'm going to act the way you do. I can't. It's not in my nature."

MacLeod turned around. "I didn't ask you to believe what I believe or to
behave as I do. All I want is to be able to do what I think is right
without being thought a fool by someone I'm falling in love with."

"I like the sound of that." Methos rose from the table. "And I don't think
you're a fool."

"Even though I'm not being 'expedient'?" Mac asked. "Survival is the most
important thing for you, isn't it? Over everything else?"

Methos sighed, and walked over to close the gap between them. "Mac, without
surviving, there wouldn't *be* anything else." He smiled. "Simple logic."

"Just because it's logical doesn't make it right," MacLeod replied.

"No, it doesn't." Methos found he was losing himself in those warm brown
eyes. "And just because it's right doesn't make it *good*." He touched
MacLeod's face, lightly caressing his cheek. "I want you to survive. I want
us both to survive. That would be good."

MacLeod closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. "We will," he said softly.
"I want that, too. But not at any cost. That's not in my nature."

"Yes, I know." Methos kissed him. "That's why I fell for you. And if we can
make this work, then anything in the world may be possible."

"Contrary natures," MacLeod said. "Or are they complementary?"

"Who cares?" Methos was already under the sway of arousal, and no longer
cared about philosophical discussions. "Just shut up and kiss me back."

MacLeod had the good sense to comply.

                                   * * *

A week passed, and then another.

Methos continued to go to Watcher HQ every day to check the database, and
he and MacLeod continued to practice at the gym every evening. MacLeod
slowly got used to having someone living on the barge, and they slowly
became more comfortable with each other. Still, Mac wasn't certain what the
future would hold for them. He wanted Methos in his life, and the feeling
seemed to be mutual. Yet their weeks together proved that their
temperaments did not mesh easily.

The man had a tendency towards pragmatism laced with cynicism, and an
ability to deliver sarcastic comments on Mac's dealings with the world with
unmitigated glee. When Methos stuck to light teasing, things were fine; Mac
could tease back with the best of them. But when Methos stepped over the
edge into taunting, Mac grew irritated, and fell back on asking him just
why he wanted to be in Mac's life.

"If my beliefs are nothing more than good entertainment value for you," Mac
would snap, "then why are you staying here?"

At which Methos would usually look faintly chagrined. "Sorry," he would
say, "old habits die hard."

But sometimes MacLeod got the distinct impression Methos was testing
him--questioning his values, forcing him to look more closely at the
reasons behind his beliefs, simply because he enjoyed playing the Devil's
Advocate. And the more strongly MacLeod stuck by the rules and the morality
that he had set for himself, the more Methos admired him.

Mac had the distinct impression that while Methos might talk a lot about
the pragmatic way to deal with life, when it came to acting, he would do
what his heart dictated more often than not. After all, falling into bed
with *him* had not been the most practical move in the world for Methos,
yet he had. And MacLeod was very glad of that.

One evening of the third week, just after five-thirty, Methos phoned Mac
from Watcher HQ.

"Kalas has been found. He was spotted poking around a bookshop I once did
some research at, asking questions about 'Adam Pierson'. Seems he finally
figured it out."

MacLeod instantly reached for his jacket. "Do they know where he's
staying?"

"Yes." Methos gave the address. "And Kristin will have it too, by now. She
has to drive from Rouen, though. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes."
He rang off.

*And what are we going to do when we get there*, Mac wondered. In a matter
of seconds he was in his car and heading along the streets of Paris.

He felt the buzz as he turned onto the street for Kalas' apartment
building. As Mac pulled into the curb, he scanned the area and spotted
Methos sitting in his Volvo directly across from the address. Mac saw no
sign of their quarry. He got out and strolled casually over to the Volvo
and slid into the passenger side.

"No one's home," Methos announced.

"You went up there?" MacLeod didn't want him challenging Kalas. That was
*his* privilege.

Methos cast him a speaking glance which clearly said, *Do you really think
I'm that stupid?* "See that beggar next to the landing? He'll tell you
everything about who comes and goes for a few coins."

"All right." MacLeod studied the building. Three floors, simple red brick,
probably dated from the '30s, judging by the art deco entry way. "Which
apartment is his?"

"Top floor front. According to our informative friend, he's gone all day,
most likely searching for me, and he returns at seven each evening briefly
before going out again to the restaurant down at the end of the street."

Mac checked his watch. Nearly six. "If Kristin left Rouen immediately on
seeing the update, she could be here by seven."

"No doubt."

"And then what?"

"I should think that would be obvious," Methos replied. "Two of us, two of
them. Two challenges, two fights--and two quickenings." He paused. "Just
hope they're the right quickenings."

"Right. I'll take Kalas." Mac was prepared to brook no argument on this. He
and Kalas went back a long way. The man had used a monastery--holy
ground--as a refuge, as had others of their kind. But he had also used it
as his personal hunting ground, for whenever an immortal chose to leave,
Kalas would be waiting just outside, ready to take them while they were
unsuspicious of their "brother", and unprepared for combat. Easy pickings.
"I owe him."

"So do I," Methos replied. "For the real Adam Pierson."

MacLeod understood the desire to avenge a loved one. Yet he would not
relent on this, not when he didn't believe Methos could take Kalas, who was
a supremely skilled swordsman. "No. If you lost, he'd gain five thousand
years of power. If I lose, he only gets four hundred."

"That leaves me with Kristin," Methos replied, "And I have no reason to
fight her."

"You said yourself that I probably couldn't kill her," Mac said, trying for
a bit of Methos' own practical logic, "because of my outmoded devotion to
'chivalry', remember? You, on the other hand, wouldn't suffer from any such
compunction."

"Oh, so now you're asking me to kill her for you?" Methos laughed. "That's
a nifty way to avoid having to make a moral decision. 'I can't do it, so
I'll find someone who has no guilt complex to do my dirty work.' And then
afterwards, you'd no doubt chide me for doing it."

MacLeod sighed. He did not want to argue, and he was especially in no mood
for taunting. "You know, I would think that someone who had lived for five
thousand years would have learned not to be snide to a person he calls
'friend'." *Or lover*, he added to himself.

"Fine." Methos crossed his arms. "Just what are you asking me to do, then?
Do you want me to challenge her or not? Simple question. Yes or no."

"It's *not* simple." MacLeod felt frustrated at Methos' insistence on
boiling complex issues down to cut-and-dried problems. "If she shows up
here with a gun, ready to shoot Kalas, then she should be stopped."

"Then you stop her. I'm going after Kalas."

MacLeod lapsed into silence, angered at Methos' intractability, yet
unwilling to fan the flames any higher. He needed to stay calm, focused.
There seemed little point in continuing the discussion; he would have to
wait until either Kalas or Kristin--or both--arrived, and try to get to
Kalas before Methos could. And hope Kristin didn't shoot everyone in sight.

The next hour ticked by with excruciating slowness. After a quarter-hour,
MacLeod said, "Does he always come in by the front door?"

"There's no back door," Methos replied. "Just a fire escape down to the
alley."

Silence resumed. At the half-hour, Mac had another query. He had watched
the street long enough to know that while quiet, it was almost always
occupied by at least a few people. "We can't fight out here. Any
suggestions?"

Methos nodded at the narrow passage running along the left side of the
building. "That leads to the alley behind, and the building across from the
apartment is the warehouse for a charity. There is no staff nor guard at
the warehouse after five, and I already took the precaution of breaking the
lock on the back entrance."

"You were busy before I got here." Mac should have known he would be
thorough. Methos didn't like to leave things to chance. "Anything else I
should know? Did you go inside?"

Methos nodded. "The light switch is just to the right of the door. One
large room, with garage doors at the other end. No windows. Some furniture
stacked against the right-hand wall and a few bags of clothes against the
left. Lots of open space in the center."

"Good." That would do. Kalas was smart enough to have scoped out the
potential fighting areas near his apartment, and should know about the
warehouse. There wouldn't be any problem getting him to go there, for Mac
knew Kalas would want to fight. The only real problem would be keeping
Methos out of the way.

Another fifteen minutes passed. As Mac's watch hand moved nearer and nearer
to seven, his anticipation grew. He wanted this over with. He wanted to try
being with Methos under more normal circumstances, without this cloud
hanging over them. Perhaps then they could work on their relationship, if
they were going to stay together. And he definitely wanted to try.

At two minutes after seven, MacLeod felt the presence of another immortal.
He and Methos both scanned the area. Mac spotted Kalas across the street,
walking along the sidewalk towards his building. Then Kalas paused and
looked around as well. He zeroed in on the Volvo. He smiled when he saw
them, and made a little "come and get me" gesture. MacLeod leaped from the
car at the same time as Methos. "Leave him to me!" he shouted.

But as he started to cross the street, Mac felt another buzz nearby. A car
swerved towards him, and Mac leaped backwards to keep out of its way. The
car came to a skewed stop against the curb, and Kristin jumped out. "I knew
you'd be here, you bastard." She slammed the door and strode towards him.

Methos had already dashed over to where Kalas waited; MacLeod had no chance
now to get there first. *Damn*. "Go home," he snapped, "if you know what's
good for you." Then he started across the street.

"Why?" Kristin followed him. "Have you come to fulfill your promise? Well,
it's not going to happen the way you want."

He had no time for this. Mac saw Kalas and Methos glide swiftly down the
alley, heading towards the rear of the apartment and the warehouse behind.
He hurried to catch up, not sure what he would do when he did. But as he
entered the narrow alley, he heard Kristin still behind him, and then he
heard a familiar metallic *click*.

Mac whirled around. Too late. She already had the gun aimed, a
nasty-looking 9mm with a silencer. "You're in my way," she said coldly, and
fired. In the same moment, MacLeod tried to jump aside.

The bullet struck him in the shoulder, and he fell into a pile of boxes.
She fired again, this time wide of the mark, the boxes providing some
cover. MacLeod waited until she stepped closer, then went into a well-timed
diving roll as she fired once more.

The bullet whizzed just over his head. He came out of the roll close enough
to knock her down, and the gun flew from her hand. Mac stood, pulled her up
roughly, and shoved her against the wall. "*Go*!"

Her eyes flashed with fury. "I did warn you. I want to see you *die*." She
pulled out her sword, and moved to block the way they had come from. Then
she lunged.

MacLeod rapidly backed away towards the rear of the building. He drew his
katana. "Don't make me do this."

She lunged again, and he parried the blow. She came after him over and
over, and Mac worked on defensive moves only, reluctant to attack. He
continued going backwards until he reached the cross alley running between
the buildings.

He glanced behind him and saw a cracked-open door to the warehouse, and he
heard the sounds of fighting from within. He had to know what was happening
in there. But Kristin would not give in. She was strong, and a much better
fighter than when he had known her before. If he wanted to stop her, Mac
realized he would have to hurt her. Yet he still did not wish to kill her.

"Kristin, please." He tried to look her in the eyes. But all he saw there
was blind rage. "You can't beat me. Give it up!"

"*No*." She thrust low at him, and her blade slashed across his thigh. Mac
took a stumbling step back, and his foot hit a sewer grate. He slipped and
fell.

He instinctively kept his katana up across his chest as he landed on his
back. Kristin, however, had more than the gun in reserve. She struck his
blade once, hard enough to deflect it, and then leaped to straddle his
thighs, a dagger in her other hand. She drove it into his belly up to the
hilt.

Mac gasped from the pain. He kept a firm grip on his katana with his right
hand, and with his left he grabbed her right forearm as she raised her
sword for the killing blow. Shooting fire laced through his abdomen as Mac
struggled to stop her swing. Kristin grabbed at his right wrist with her
left hand to keep him from taking his own swing at her. The dagger still
stuck in his gut, and MacLeod fought through the pain. He could not give in
to it.

They remained locked in their battle, holding back each other's swords, for
but a few seconds before MacLeod's greater strength began to win out, even
past the debilitating pain. He had no choice. He knew she would not give
in, and she might yet have more deadly tricks to play. Mac could not take
the chance. This was life or death, and he would live.

And then suddenly the air around them was rent by a lightning flash,
shooting out from the warehouse doorway.

A quickening...more flashes, more sound and fury echoed from within the
building. *Methos*. MacLeod had no more time to waste on Kristin. He had to
find out if Methos lived. With a renewed surge of power, he broke Kristin's
hold on his wrist, and quickly swung his katana, slicing through her neck
in one clean move.

He managed to yank the dagger out just before the quickening hit him.
MacLeod rode out the mental storm on his knees, clutching his gut, trickles
of blood seeping between his clenched fingers. The healing began before the
racking spasms of the quickening ended, and by the time it was all over,
the wound had closed, as had the cut in his thigh. Still, he felt drained,
and with a supreme effort, he rose to trudge towards the warehouse door.

Inside, feeble light from fluorescent bulbs high overhead left the large
room in gray shadows, and the silence chilled him. Evidence of the fight
lay all around--scattered clothes from where a bag had been ripped open,
broken furniture strewn across the floor. Mac swallowed, took a few steps
further in, and called out. "Methos?"

From behind an overturned sofa he spied fluttering fingers. MacLeod strode
quickly to it, then rounded it more cautiously just in case. He nearly
tripped over a pair of legs nonetheless, and pulled up short. It was Kalas,
his body lying on the ground in front of the sofa. On the back of the sofa
itself, Methos lay curled up, moaning softly.

Relief flooded through Mac as he went to Methos' side. "Hey," he said
gently, touching his shoulder, "are you all right?"

Methos nodded. Then he slowly uncurled and rolled over onto his back,
revealing a shirt covered in blood. He shuddered. "Still healing..." he
murmured, his voice a breathy rasp.

"My god." Mac lifted the sliced-up fabric aside. He could see the sparks as
the cuts knit back together, what looked to be at least three very deep
wounds to abdomen and chest. And Methos had survived this? He glanced down
at Kalas, and saw even more blood on his clothing. As his eyes adjusted to
the poor light, Mac realized that the red stains and pools were everywhere
around them, splattering furniture, floor, walls. "What on earth--"

Methos took a few tentative deeper breaths. "He didn't go easily," he said,
his voice more normal now.

"I can see that." MacLeod looked into Methos' eyes and saw the utter
depletion there. "Best get you home." He leaned down to kiss his forehead.
"I'll be right back with the car."

Methos smiled and nodded. "Thanks."

Mac ran down the alley to the street, and quickly drove the Volvo around
the block to the alley behind the warehouse. He pulled up right at the
door, and when he went inside, Methos was slowly walking towards him,
unsteadily. Mac put an arm around his waist and helped him out to the car.

"I'm fine," Methos said as he sank into the passenger seat.

"Sure you are." MacLeod put the Volvo in reverse and backed out to the
street. "That's why you have that healthy gray pallor." He tore off towards
the river.

Methos closed his eyes. "It's a good color on me," he murmured, and then he
didn't say another word until they reached the barge.

                                   * * *

All the reasons why he hadn't taken a head in two hundred years came
flooding back to Methos. He stretched out on Mac's couch, a large pillow
beneath his head and a bottle of beer in hand. He had barely managed to
strip out of his blood-soaked clothes, wash up a little, and put on a robe
before collapsing there. Every bone and muscle in his body ached, even now,
a good half hour after the fight. His head sang with remnant emotional
chords from the quickening, and all his senses were heightened, tingling
with a synesthesia overload.

Mac was at the stove, fixing a light supper of soup and bread for them.
Methos wasn't certain he cared to eat yet; mainly he just wanted the beer
to dull the chaos inside his mind. He took a long drink, emptying the rest
of the bottle. "Hey," he called out, his own voice sounding like a
megaphone to his ears. "Do you have another beer in there?"

"Sure." MacLeod brought an opened bottle over and took the empty from him.
"Don't you want something to eat? Soup's ready."

"Later," Methos replied. He chugged at the beer. The more he drank, the
more the din faded. "Just need to rest a little first."

Mac brushed his fingers across Methos' forehead. "It really took it out of
you. The fight, the quickening--you truly do hate taking one of us, don't
you?"

Methos nodded. "I could live without ever experiencing that again, if
that's what you mean. I've had enough of that." He smiled ruefully. "Well,
come to think of it, I've had enough of a lot of things."

"But not life," MacLeod said.

"No." There would never be enough time for him, Methos thought. He never
wanted to leave the world behind.

"And not love," Mac added.

Methos looked up at him. "No." Being with Duncan MacLeod these past few
weeks had brought passion into his life again, and he had been pleasantly
amazed by how much he had missed that. He wanted the feeling to remain,
wanted to let MacLeod bring out the highest heights in him, even if that
meant occasionally hitting the lowest depths as well. *Without strong
darkness, there can be no strong light.*

He touched Mac's arm. "Go eat your supper, okay?"

Mac smiled and walked back to the stove. He returned with his bowl of soup
and a hunk of bread and sat in the armchair across from the couch. Methos
watched him eat while he finished off the beer. By the time the bottle was
empty, the lingering effects of Kalas' quickening had dissipated, though he
still felt very tired. He set the bottle on the coffee table and closed his
eyes.

"You're not going to fall asleep there, are you?" MacLeod asked.

"It's easier than moving," he murmured.

"Yes, but there's a perfectly good bed, and you're going to sleep in it
tonight."

He vaguely heard Mac shifting about, and then suddenly a pair of strong
arms slid under his body. Methos opened his eyes. "Don't drop me," he
warned. "I have enough sore spots as it is."

"I might be able to do something about that." MacLeod lifted him up.

Methos allowed himself to be transported to the bed. Mac gently deposited
him, then said, "Be right back," and padded off towards the bathroom.

He returned a short time later, showered and sleekly naked, with a small
plastic bottle in hand. He set it down between them and climbed onto the
bed. He untied Methos' robe.

"I'm not in the mood," Methos said.

"Too bad." MacLeod deftly stripped the robe off, raising him up briefly to
whip it free. "Turn over."

"MacLeod--"

"Just trust me." Mac picked up the bottle and poured out the liquid into
his hands.

Methos slowly rolled over onto his stomach, cradling his head on his arms.
He did trust MacLeod, in the simple things, in the complicated things...not
for a long, long time had he felt so comfortable with another person, so
relaxed in the knowledge that this man would always be honest with him. If
he could be as open with MacLeod in return, they might have a genuine
chance to make this work.

He closed his eyes. "What have you got in mind?"

"This," Mac replied, and Methos felt warm, soothing oil on strong, supple
hands and fingers slide across his shoulders.

"Ah...." Methos let out a deeply satisfied moan as MacLeod massaged his
aching back, rubbing and kneading away the kinks. The tension eased as Mac
expertly worked over each muscle, his touch firm yet soothing.

"Good, is it?" Mac whispered near his ear.

"Yes...." He stretched his shoulders and back, luxuriating in the heat from
the strokes. "Keep going."

MacLeod's hands roved over the length of him, from head to toe, pausing
here and there to briefly caress his skin. Then he took Methos' left foot
in hand and flexed it before rubbing the top. His hands moved on to the
calf, encircling it, kneading the muscles there, slowly working up to the
thigh. Then he stopped and repeated the motions on the right. Next Methos
felt an open palm working up the back of each thigh in tandem, firmly
stroking his flesh. He moaned again as the hands cupped his buttocks,
squeezing them before moving on to his lower back. There MacLeod took up a
rhythmic circular stroke, adding more oil, and rapidly rubbing it in to
heat him, to continue soothing away the aches, which vanished beneath his
sure touch.

Methos drowned in the warm depths of MacLeod's loving. For though he felt
only faintly aroused and had no interest in pursuing sex at the moment, he
felt as if Mac were making love to him with every caress. He let himself
drift into careless, easeful rest, let his mind free itself of concern, and
let his soul sink into surrender.

After floating in this hazy sea of pleasure for a timeless age, Methos rose
back to the surface of reality, his body free of pain and his heart
content. He rolled onto his side and pulled MacLeod into an embrace, and
then drew him into a long, slow kiss. When their mouths parted, he said
softly, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." MacLeod drew the covers up around them. "Sleep would
probably be a good idea." He settled back on the pillows, one arm draped
lazily over Methos, who nestled alongside him.

"Yes, it would," Methos agreed. "Can talk in the morning."

"About what?" Mac asked. "We're alive, we're together, and we're not
bickering. So what's there to discuss?"

Methos heartily wished they could remain in this state, with those three
seemingly simple requirements, for at least a century or two. Yet he knew
it wouldn't be simple. "Oh, I don't know. Kalas, for one. I thought you
might be irked about my going after him."

"Over and done with," Mac replied. "Yes, I would rather have challenged him
myself, but you had just as much cause. And you were right about Kristin--I
had to face her, not you. I couldn't let you kill her for me. That was my
fight."

"I'm glad to know you can be sensible once in a while."

MacLeod laughed. "I must be picking up your bad habits."

Methos smiled. "Could be. Being in close quarters can do odd things to some
people." Which reminded him of another critical question. "Speaking of our
current living arrangments...you, know, it's no longer dangerous for me to
go back to my own place now."

"No, it isn't. Do you want to?"

"Not sure." On the whole, Methos liked the barge, liked being here with
MacLeod, though they did get under each other's feet a bit. "It's a little
cramped in here."

"Yeah, I know." Mac idly brushed his fingers along Methos' arm. "Don't want
us to start getting up each other's noses just because we don't have enough
space."

"No." They'd already done that. "What's your loft in Seacouver like? Any
bigger?" He wouldn't mind leaving Paris for a while. Especially as the
tourist season was looming.

"It's got more room, yes," MacLeod said. "Plus the dojo downstairs. And I
do usually go there this time of year. Good idea."

"Yeah. And you can update your friend Dawson on our adventures," Methos
pointed out. He frowned as a thought struck him. "Say, does he keep track
of all your sexual encounters?"

He felt Mac's body tense. "God, I hadn't thought of that. I suppose he'll
want to add this to my chronicle." Mac let out a small sigh, and then his
body relaxed again. "Doesn't matter. Not to me, anyway. What about you?"

"Me? Hey, nobody's adding anything to the Methos Chronicles except Adam
Pierson. And as far as he's concerned, Methos is still a myth."

"Ah. And myths don't have sexual encounters, I take it?"

"Nope."

"Never made love to a myth before," MacLeod said. "Feels pretty real to
me."

"You're talking too much," Methos murmured, drowsiness fast overtaking him.
"We were supposed to be going to sleep, remember?"

"Just one more thing," Mac replied. "This is more than an encounter." He
paused, and Methos could sense a world of hope and fear hovering on the
edges of Mac's words. "Isn't it?"

Utter contentment flowed through him at the hope in MacLeod's voice, but
Methos knew Mac couldn't see his smile in the dark. So he answered the hope
with a touch of his lips on MacLeod's soft-bristled cheek, and banished the
fear with a whispered reply.

"Much more," he said simply. "So much more."

MacLeod kissed his lips. "I'm glad," he whispered in return. "I can be
quiet now."

Methos closed his eyes, relaxing into MacLeod's hold, and as they both fell
into silence, he let sleep come.

***************************************************************************
                                  The End

Send email to the author: alexa@aa.net