Disclaimer: Highlander belongs to Davis/Panzer Productions. We aren't making a profit from this and promise to return Joe and Methos when we are finished - If they want to go back.

Authors' notes: This contains m/m sex. If it isn't your cup of tea, exercise the delete key now. Special thanks to our beta readers: Laurie Campbell, Toni, Cath and Lisa.

Fantasies and Reality

by: Heidi and "Q"

Paris

After Judgement Day

Methos had been sitting here beside this bed for three days, hardly moving except for the necessities of life. The little sleep he'd gotten, in the form of small naps taken at the edge of the low cot while sitting crossed legged on the floor. He was keeping vigil over Joe Dawson, friend, and fellow Watcher. Mortal. It had been three days since Joe had been shot and critically wounded in an attack on the Paris Headquarters of the Watchers. An attack by an unknown someone who had managed to kill most of the high command of the Watchers organization. Three days while Methos had used his medical skills, rusty as they were, to keep his friend alive. Now it was in the hands of the gods for Methos -- or "Adam" as his friend chose to address him -- had done all he could. Now he waited. He would not leave his friend while there was still a question of his survival.

MacLeod had brought the two of them together, here in the hidden basement of 'Shakespeare and Company', after he had found Joe on the ground among the dead Watchers. Not trusting the public hospital, the Highlander had brought him here to the damp basement of the American bookstore before tracking down the ancient Immortal to play doctor for their mutual friend.

He had found Methos wandering around the Ancient Egyptian section of the Louvre, looking at some of the pieces as if he recognized them. Any other day Duncan would have paused to ponder whether any of the artifacts were actually his. But not today. Today he needed to talk to his fellow Immortal; his friend had an important task in front of him, to keep Joe alive.

"Adam," he called softly, using the elder Immortal's alias while signaling for him to come out of the stream of tourists.

"MacLeod, what brings you here?" Methos said in a tired, uncaring voice.

"Looking for you."

"I'm not good company, MacLeod. I've been trying to forget that the bastards I work for killed a good friend," he hissed, slamming his hands down into the deep pockets of his overcoat.

"He's not dead, Methos," MacLeod whispered.

"I'm not in the mood for games," Methos answered tersely, his voice uncharacteristically loud.

"Joe's alive," MacLeod insisted.

"Joe's alive," the older Immortal parroted, his face a perfectly smooth mask, appearing not to recognize the meaning of the words he'd just repeated.

Duncan pulled his friend outside where they could talk and where the everyday hum of Paris would keep his words from the curious eavesdroppers. Quickly, he explained, relating the bizarre set of circumstances that had lead to the deaths of all the Watchers involved in Joe's tribunal, all except Joe, and ended with a plea. Joe Dawson needed medical attention, fast, and Methos was his only hope. Mac didn't dare trust anyone else. The Watchers were everywhere.

As he led Methos to where his Citroen was parked on a side street, MacLeod explained the condition of his Watcher, "He took a shot to the chest and he'd lost a lot of blood when I found him but, he's alive."

Methos released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank the gods," he whispered as he hurried to get into the car already pulling away from the curb.

"He's still unconscious and in critical condition. I called Amanda and she's sitting with him now. But he needs better care than I can give him," MacLeod spoke as he wove through the heavy Paris traffic.

Methos, finding it hard to talk, merely nodded as Duncan finished filling him in on the details. Joe had needed him and he'd been off in his own world. Sulking.

Duncan pulled into an empty parking spot two blocks from the bookstore and they used the back way into where Joe lay critically injured.

"You found him!" Amanda exclaimed as they came down the stairs. Methos acted as if in a trance as he went over to the cot against the far wall. Joe lay silent, pale and wan. A shadow of the man he knew.

Methos didn't seem to notice Amanda's presence until she touched his arm. He acknowledged her briefly, pulling her into a quick embrace, then released her to take a closer look at his patient. Taking off his coat, Methos threw it onto the floor then moved to stand next to the bed as he rolled up his sleeves. "I'm going to need a few things," he stated, finally shaking off the spell.

MacLeod and Amanda left to collect the items Methos needed, leaving him to watch over Joe. Giving the older Immortal a chance to come to grips with his emotions. Anger at his friend for allowing the Watchers the right to execute him and relief that they had failed.

The anger stemmed from Joe's willingness to take a punishment meted out by peers who didn't understand his relationship with MacLeod and what it meant overall. So what if he'd become a good friend to his assignment? The close association he'd formed with MacLeod was more important than the Watchers. Their friendship had even helped the Watchers. So what if an oath had been broken? It had at times been necessary. Necessary to save the lives of Watchers from people like Kalas and from other Watchers bent on destroying all of the Immortals. For _that_ he had been sentenced to die? He had done nothing so terrible to warrant giving up his life. Nothing! And the relief he felt? That might be short-lived. Because the friend on the cot in front of him was still breathing, but barely.

Methos did what he could for Joe with the supplies MacLeod had already gathered. After 400 years, anyone was bound to pick up some lifesaving skills and by the looks of it, MacLeod had used all of his to get Joe this far.

Finally, Methos had sat down on the floor beside the bed, took his friend's hand in his and prayed to whatever gods would listen to bring Joe through this. He didn't know how long he sat there holding Joe's hand, rubbing the strong fingers as if by some divine intervention they would move on their own just because he wished it. Methos couldn't say when he fell asleep and his thoughts turned from wanting his friend to wake, to dreams more sensuous in nature...

"You like that?" Joe asked.

Methos groaned as Joe ran his hands across his chest, moving in circles, caressing. Hands that were strong and sure. Hands that bore many calluses from years of playing the guitar. The feel of Joe's callous-roughened hands sent tremors down Methos' spine, arousing him instantly.

"Your body betrays you," Joe chuckled, as he continued his sensual investigation. Dipping into all the hollows on Methos' body, looking for secret places that aroused.

Methos could have sworn that Joe purred his last comment. He inhaled sharply as he felt the musician's hands grasp his erection and begin to stroke slowly. And he continued to stroke as he nibbled on the Immortal's neck, teasing an ear lobe into his mouth only to bite it sharply then release it to go back to nibbling on the slender neck. He then began to move along Methos' jaw line, now tightened from the attention to the soft skin under his chin. He moaned as Joe continued his assault on his body...

...MacLeod and Amanda startled Methos out of his slumber by coming down the stairs, arms full of requested supplies. His body was still strongly reacting to the vivid dream he'd just had of Joe. It had been so - "real". Real enough to leave him aching with a desperate unfullfillment. This was not the first time he'd had this dream. But he'd never shared the contents of his dreams with Dawson , or this attraction he felt for his friend.

Amanda noticed that Methos had been holding Joe's hand while he slept. She had a question, but she said nothing.

Methos had a hundred reasons to give her if she dared to ask. But it all boiled down to one. The Immortal was afraid; afraid that even if he did succeed at giving his friend another chance at life, Joe might not accept it.

Methos had shaken off his arousal and unpacked the precious life-saving articles. The three of them, working together, had found a way to put Joe back together. That was three days ago. The naps he'd had during that time had all been interspersed with dreams, each one more erotic than the one before.

Joe was sleeping now. Not just unconscious from the pain or loss of blood. Methos had given him some heavy-duty painkillers, knowing that if the Watcher was awake he would fret about the cause of his injuries instead of taking it easy and getting well. He wasn't a good patient and Methos knew why, Joe had spent way too much time in hospitals after he'd lost his legs in Nam.

Mac and Amanda had left late last night, going to Amanda's apartment for a break. Now they were back. Time for him to go home, get cleaned up, and try to get some sleep. Sleep. Yes, he needed sleep. Something his dreams had not allowed so far.

Amanda came over to the cot, touching Joe softly on the cheek. "Is he better, Methos?"

"Yeah. Seems to be resting okay. I'm keeping him drugged for the pain so he's sleeping, but I think he's out of danger.

"We'll stay with him," Mac said, "you go get some rest. You look like you need it."

"Yes," Methos agreed, finally willing to leave Joe for a while.

"I'd offer the barge but I think it's being watched."

"No. I have a place," Methos assured them, "I'll be back late afternoon." He left instructions for Joe's medication, then retrieved his coat, still on the floor where he had thrown it when he'd arrived three days ago. After one last check on Joe, he climbed the stairs to the storefront. Making sure he was not being watched, Methos eased through the front door of 'Shakespeare and Company' and faded into the sidewalk crowds without a trace. He was used to this, slipping out of sight. He was good at it. He'd had 5000 years of practice, give or take a few hundred.

Methos did have a place. A place he'd negotiated long and hard to own some four years ago. Actually, it consisted of the entire third floor of a building previously used for offices, now in serious need of repair and remodeling. His goal was to turn it into one huge open living space. A space big enough to hold most of his possessions, now held in storage at different points of the globe.

When he felt especially melancholy, he found a need to have around him familiar things. Things that meant a lot to him. The thought of losing himself in the older memories had given him some solace when he thought Joe was dead. Now finishing the remodel would give him an outlet to pour his frustrations into about Joe's condition and his own unresolved feelings, feelings about the Watcher that were threatening to rage out of control.

He remembered meeting Joe for the first time in Don Salzer's living room. He'd been 'Adam Pierson' then, lowly researcher for the 'Methos' files. He remembered thinking that Joe had struck him as being someone he'd like to get to know better. Since Methos' secret had become known to Joe, that this lowly researcher was in fact the object of his research, they had become closer.

When in Paris, the two Watchers were often found in smoky jazz clubs together enjoying the music, testing the beers, and talking. Talking about history, nature, books, pretty much anything and everything. Methos never ceased to be amazed at what the mortal knew, how insightful his viewpoints were. This last was what had first attracted him to Joe Dawson. Joe appeared to be an ordinary man but there was so much more underneath, if you took the time to find it. There was something very special in the eyes of this man that saw so much and said so little. It was special when Joe decided you were his friend, when he decided you deserved his trust. Because only then he would allow you inside to let you see him as he really was.

Methos arrived at his third floor flat with his mind full of concerns and questions. Did the surviving members of the Tribunal still want to execute Joe? And what of the Immortal who had gunned down the others? Were the Watchers looking for MacLeod as a suspect? MacLeod had been working to find those answers since he'd found Methos to watch over Joe. He'd been so unstrung by his emotions, he'd forgotten to ask MacLeod the latest on his investigation. He'd ask tomorrow.

Methos also needed to decide whether he was going to remain a Watcher or whether 'Adam Pierson' was going to have an accident. Did he want to stay with an organization that could harbor members like Horton and Shapiro? Or was that reason enough in itself? To be around to counteract their moves?

Methos used a sledge hammer as he did his thinking, demolishing the remaining interior walls of his current residence. But all his work accomplished was the demolition and making his arms sore. Insight eluded him.

Barely managing to strip off his clothes before exhaustion overtook him, he collapsed onto the king-sized platform bed. In his sleep he tossed and turned, twisting in the sheets while images of his fantasies about Joe came back to haunt his dreams again...

Methos whimpered as the mortal's hand brought him closer and closer to the release he sought. Then suddenly it stopped. "Joseph, what are you trying to do to me?" Methos cried out, bereft of his friend's touch on his throbbing erection.

Joe's mouth continued to explore the silky skin of his lover's neck instead of replying to his lover's pretended outrage. He finally left Methos' neck to close briefly on his lips before he began to work his way down the Immortal's lean body.

Methos moaned with pleasure as Joe took one nipple into his mouth, sucking at first then with a gentle pull of his lips and then a sharper nip with his teeth, as he moved on to the other. After an equal time for this nipple, Joe's exploration continued, following the fine hair until it ended in a dark patch of curls surrounding a straining erection. He continued to kiss and nip along the insides of the slender but muscular thighs, using both hands to press open his friend's body, giving him access to Methos' heat but not yet touching where Methos wanted, needed him to touch. Driving his friend crazy with anticipation...

...Methos woke from his dream in a cold sweat and a raging hard-on. The tingle of awareness at the approach of another immortal had drawn him from sleep had lessened some of the pressure in his groin, but not much. Rising from his low platform bed, he threw on his robe and grabbing his sword, he headed to the door to meet the intruder. No Immortal he felt safe around knew of this place. So who was at the door?

"It's me, Methos," came the muffled but definitely female greeting. He cautiously opened the door, sword raised to meet the visitor.

"Methos? No, it's me! Amanda," she hastened to assure the still sleepy-eyed Immortal.

Methos lowered his sword. "Amanda! How did you find me?"

"I followed you this morning. I was worried about you. Thought you might want to talk. But I chickened out when I saw you pounding on the walls."

Reluctantly, he motioned for her to come inside. "Make yourself at home," he said sarcastically.

"Gee, Methos. You've been living here? It doesn't seem like your style." she said with a grimace, carefully making her way across the threshold, moving cautiously through the rubble, looking around at the destruction with distaste as she followed Methos across the room. "You know you could have come to me or to Duncan ."

"No offense Amanda, but if I remember correctly you are currently persona non-grata at your latest abode. Something to do with bullet holes in the room and a broken sign. And well MacLeod... I wore out my welcome long ago." He smiled to himself, remembering the breakup and patch up of Gina and Robert.

"Oh Methos..." Amanda moved closer to him, took the sword out of his hands and set it aside on the bed, then wrapped her arms around him from behind. "I know it's hard for you now."

"Ahhhh. Amanda, you have no idea," Methos sighed, taking the solace she offered. "First Alexa, now Joe..."

"You listen to me." Amanda said turning him around to face her. Giving him a hug. "Joe Dawson is not going to die because we aren't going to let him. Do you hear me? We -- you, me, Duncan -- aren't going to let him die." Amanda stopped speaking as she became aware of his state of arousal feeling his erection pressing against her through the thin silk robe. Looking up at him in surprise she asked, "For me?"

Methos shook his head. "How simple things would be if it were," was all he was willing to tell her.

Amanda was curious, but Methos' closed expression made her decide not to push the issue. They'd become friends of a sort after the episode with Rebecca's stone but she knew when to back off. "Come on, go get showered and dressed, and I'll treat you to "breakfast" before we go relieve Duncan ."

Methos nodded and gave her a quick hug and a silent thank you for dropping the subject. For now. He knew her well enough to know, she wouldn't rest until she knew the whole story. He left Amanda standing alone and walked toward the only still enclosed area of the loft for his shower.

Amanda stood in the middle of the huge room, hands on hips as she surveyed the destruction of Methos' home. He'd obviously had some excess energy to spend. Every wall in the place had been reduced to rubble. What was left was obviously there only to keep the roof above their heads. Whatever was bothering Methos, she would find out. If it was something she could help him with, she would. He was a good friend. She hated it when her friends were unhappy. She'd find a way.

Half an hour later, Methos came out of the bathroom, hair still wet but neat, dressed in jeans and fisherman's sweater. Amanda was standing at one of the huge windows overlooking the park.

"Incredible view," Amanda commented, not taking her eyes from the sunset as she felt his presence behind her.

"Yes, it is," he answered quietly.

"You know, Joe is incredibly open-minded and reasonable. For a mortal," Amanda offered.

"Yes. I know," Methos answered, then turned to find his boots, hoping Amanda would take the hint. He wasn't ready to talk about what she had obviously guessed was his dilemma.

They left the building together, stopping at a little cafe` for coffee and pastries before going back to the bookstore.

Duncan was sitting near the sleeping patient reading a book when they arrived, Ella Fitzgerald playing softly on the boom box in the background. He rose and greeted them at the foot of Joe's bed. Nodding to Methos, he put an arm around Amanda as he updated the 'Doc'. "He never woke up. But he's breathing easier and no fever. All yours, Methos," he finished his report then turned to Amanda. "Are you staying?"

"I thought I might," Amanda said hesitantly, looking at Methos. If he needed to talk, needed to confide in someone, she wanted to be here for him.

"No," Methos told her as he examined Joe's wounds. "Go tuck MacLeod into bed, I'll see you two later," Methos told them.

"Are you sure?" Amanda asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. Now get the hell out of here," Methos replied with a slight smile to take the sting out of his sharp words. Amanda had good intentions but he couldn't be in the same room with her questions while trying to deal with his feelings for Joe.

Duncan raised an eyebrow but Amanda just ushered him out of the room, reassuring Methos with just a glance; she would keep his secret until he was ready to share.

*****

Methos finished his examination, checked the IVs and gave Joe his scheduled dose of painkiller before settling into the chair vacated by Duncan . He listened to the soft blues as he watched over his friend. "Just breath, Joe. Just keep breathing. We'll keep you safe," Methos pledged. Then moving the chair closer to the bed, he took his friend's hand in both of his. The Immortal's silken voice only hinting at the depth of emotion he felt for the man on the cot. "You just get well and leave the hard stuff to me and MacLeod."

He continued, changing the intonation of his voice, trying for as much light-heartedness as he could find, "I guess it'll be a while before we can go find some trouble to get into, you wouldn't want me to have to go it alone would you?"

No answer came from the still-unconscious Watcher, but none was expected.

Methos had known Socrates and Plato and the times in Greece when loving a man was an accepted way of behavior. He'd lived in Rome as a prostitute when men of high social status paid dearly for his attentions. Throughout his long life, Methos had loved. Loved without regard to gender. Because gender wasn't important, it was the soul of the other person that fascinated, aroused, made him feel whole.

So why was he balking at this feeling for Joe? Because of his own uncertainty of Joe's reaction? Because it frightened him? Because the reaction from his friend might be to push him completely away and out of his life forever?

Yes.

But, he'd almost lost Joe this time. Lost the chance to let Joe know how he felt. Did that change things? Was he willing to take that chance now?

Methos shook his head. He wasn't ready to answer that question yet.

He settled down to his thoughts...

Joe finally gave Methos what he wanted, sort of... he closed his lips over the tip of his friend's shaft, circling the tip with his tongue, pausing to collect the bit of cum that had already escaped. Then moving downward again, running his tongue up and down the sensitive underside of his lover's erection, Joe continued to tease Methos, until the immortal was moaning with each breath.

Joe stopped to look up from his 'playing', "Something you want Methos?" Joe teased.

Methos growled a warning, "Joe..."

"Yes?" Joe asked innocently. Just before he took Methos completely into his mouth.

Methos groaned as he felt himself surrounded by the hot wetness of his friend's mouth, the warm moist breath of his lover against his scrotum...

..again Methos was startled out of his dreams by the awareness of an approaching immortal. He was surprised to see Amanda and Duncan back so soon, then looking at his watch, he realized it was later than he'd thought. The past eight hours had gone by without his hardly noticing.

Methos slid his hand from Joe's but not before Amanda noticed and gave him an encouraging smile.

"Good. You're both here. I need to slip out for a while," Methos said as he put on his coat and brushed past them on his way to the stairs.

"Methos, wait," Amanda called.

"What?" he said tersely, continuing to climb the stairs.

Amanda followed him outside and around to the alley. "Methos, I want to help," she said, stopping him with a touch of her hand on his arm.

Methos sighed, "I can't talk about this right now Amanda. Maybe later, okay?" He gave her a quick hug before slipping out of her embrace and walking off.

"If you want to talk you know where to find me," she called after him, then returned to where MacLeod waited in the basement.

"Amanda, what was that about?" Duncan asked, obviously concerned about his friend.

"He's having a hard time, that's all," she said quietly.

MacLeod nodded, he'd noticed something too..

*****

"I need to check on a few things, Amanda," MacLeod explained. "Need anything?"

"No thanks Duncan , we'll be fine. We're going to talk about baseball."

"We are, are we?" MacLeod said, amused. "Just what do you know about American baseball?"

"Nothing," Amanda was undeterred. "But this Seacouver newspaper has a lot in it about baseball."

"Where'd you get that?"

"I know people, MacLeod, and they know people." she quipped while settling into the bedside chair. Turning to the sports page, she started reading the baseball statistics and scores to the sleeping patient.

Duncan stood at the foot of the stairs shaking his head as he took in the scene. Amanda in her Paris finery, sitting in a dark, damp basement reading the box scores to an unconscious man.

"Go on," she said, stopping her recitation to motion MacLeod up the stairs with a wave of her hand. "We'll be fine," she promised.

*****

Methos was tired. He'd been taking the night shift with Joe for the last few days on top of the initial three day stand. He should be ready to sleep for a week, but he still could not find peace. Every time he tried to sleep, the dreams came back Plus he still had no idea what he would do once Joe recovered.

Methos had to face the demons that had been haunting his dreams. The feelings and the emotions had been there for a long time but had only recently become so overwhelming His attraction to the 'older' man as a lover. Part of him wanted to play it safe. Just go on as things had been. Joe's friendship was precious to him, he shouldn't do anything to risk losing it.

But another part of Methos wanted to take Joe away and keep him to himself. Show him what 5000 years of life had taught the Immortal about loving someone. He needed to make a decision. Or did he? He rubbed his hands over his face, groaning in frustration.

Methos continued to work in his new home. Piling up the debris from the demolished walls, carting it downstairs and out back to a trash bin he'd set up in the alley. When he finally thought he'd exhausted himself beyond the ability to dream, he allowed himself to collapse onto the bed, falling into a tormented sleep just as the sun was setting in the sky...

Methos felt Joe's mouth on his shaft. Sucking, licking, stroking the sensitive underside and probing the small opening with his tongue. Methos, unable to hold back, pushed himself deeper into the hot mouth of his lover. When he thought he couldn't stand anymore, he felt Joe grasp his testicles and begin to caress them, his scrotum tightening with anticipation. Joe reached behind with his other hand to rim him. Pressing a finger inward to apply pressure to his prostate. Methos gasped with this added stimulation, trying to force himself to hold back his orgasm, wanting to prolong the incredible feeling. But Joe was overwhelming him with his touches. He brought Methos to the brink several times before finally allowing him to reach a shattering completion.

Joe held him afterwards, running his hands up and down Methos' back. Trying to calm the sexual spasms wracking the slender body...

Methos woke in a cold sweat, a quick check of the clock told him it was 9pm. He reached down to ease the raging hard-on. He'd fallen asleep wearing his jeans and this erection was causing him pain. Lowering the zipper, he slipped his hands inside and began to caress his hardened penis, stroking himself until he came. He may have been fulfilled in his dream but reality had left him seeking some form of completion, even if barely adequate.

He got up, took a shower and made some coffee. He should go back over to the bookstore and sit with Joe. Maybe MacLeod and Amanda could get some rest anyway.

Before the coffee had finished making, the presence of another Immortal pulled him towards the door, "Amanda, I told you..." he started as he opened he door.

"It's me," his visitor said, hands slipped into his jeans pockets, long coat tail pushed back behind him.

"MacLeod!" Methos was surprised. "Come in," Methos finished as he stepped back to allow Mac entrance to his home.

"I'm impressed," MacLeod exclaimed, looking up into the bare rafters of the old building and around at what Methos had done to the place, noting also the amount of work still needing to be done.

"How are you coming on the Watcher thing?" Methos asked him.

"I have a few leads. But I'll wait until Dawson is back on his feet. Then I'll have both of you to help me."

Methos nodded. He stood in the middle of the room, eyes focused somewhere in the distance.

"What's wrong, Methos?" Duncan asked, turning to confront his friend.

"What d'you mean?" Methos answered, walking toward the kitchen area, suddenly finding a counter that needed to be wiped off.

"Why have you been avoiding us except to take your shifts with Joe? Why do you run off so quickly when we arrive? Why you are beating the hell out of walls?"

"Mind your own business, MacLeod." Methos said, his attention still riveted to the cabinet top he was working on. "This is not something the Boy Scout can come to the rescue on. So, butt out."

"Look. If it's uncomfortable for you to be around Joe, I'm sorry. He needs his friends or at least those he thinks are his friends, to be around him. Your 'I don't care' attitude is not acceptable. Let him recover first before you decide he's not up to par, for whatever he's done. When he's stronger it won't matter as much when you leave."

Methos had stopped what he was doing to look over at the Highlander, trying to follow his words. "Is that what you think? That I don't care about Joe?"

MacLeod's accusation made him feel as if he'd been gut-punched. Methos dropped to the floor yoga style, holding his head in his hands. He looked up at his friend, "You come in here accusing me of not caring about Joe when in fact, I care so much that it's killing me to see him laying in that bed not moving. Not telling me his baseball stories. Not giving me hell about my attitude."

Methos breathed deeply, put his head back and looked up at the ceiling before closing his eyes as he continued his explanation to his accuser. "I can't close my eyes without seeing him, feeling him touch me, without wanting him so much that I wake up so aroused it hurts."

Duncan looked stunned. "Methos, what are you saying? You and Joe are lovers?" MacLeod asked him quietly.

Methos exhaled sharply. "If that were the case, I wouldn't be acting like a lovesick teenager," Methos said, giving his friend a smile. He shook his head, "No Mac, we are not lovers." Methos got to his feet and walked toward the coffee pot. "Want some coffee?" he asked his shell-shocked friend, wanting to give him some time to absorb what he'd been told.

"Uh, yeah." MacLeod answered him.

*****

The two men sat in the huge window seat with their coffees, watching the lights of the Paris night.

"Amanda knows, or at least she suspects?" MacLeod said slowly. It wasn't really a question.

Methos wasn't looking at him. He seemed to be entirely fixed on some internal point.

"He has no idea, am I right?" MacLeod went on, working it out. He looked to Methos for confirmation.

Methos nodded.

"Methos, what are you going to do when he wakes up?" MacLeod asked quietly.

"I don't know." Methos was silent for a moment. "I could just leave before he wakes up," Methos smiled slightly, not entirely joking, "or not tell him at all. Just keep on as we are. At least then I'd have the pleasure of his company."

"I wish I could help, but this is something you're going to have to decide, Methos. Just don't sell Joe Dawson short."

Methos squinted his eyes as he remembered something, "Amanda said something to me today. She said 'Joe is incredibly open-minded. And reasonable. For a mortal.' Do you suppose she thinks..."

MacLeod stood and looked down at his friend, a smile on his face as he answered, "I think you should ask _her_ what she thinks." Mac walked over and put his empty cup on the counter, then headed for the door, "I'm going back to stay with Joe for the rest of the night. I want you to try and get some sleep. We'll see you in the morning." He paused once more, "Answers often come to you in your sleep."

"Advice from youngsters," Methos smiled, shaking his head. "Goodnight, MacLeod."

"Goodnight, Methos," MacLeod said, closing the door behind him.

Methos sat a while longer, watching the traffic on the street below, thinking. Then giving himself a shake, he straightened up his small kitchen area and fell into bed.

*****

Methos slept better than he had for over a week, waking rested and at ease. He knew things would happen the way they were destined to happen. He just needed to give the fates a chance.

He got to the bookstore just before 9am. MacLeod was awake, Amanda leaning against him sound asleep. "You two go home, I'll take it from here," Methos said, keeping his voice down for Joe's sake.

"He's looking a lot better, Methos, I reduced his pain medicine as you suggested. Maybe he'll wake up today," MacLeod filled him in on their patient.

"Yes, it's time," he said as he started to examined Joe.

"Goodnight," Amanda mumbled as they climbed the stairs, MacLeod almost carrying the sleepy female.

Methos laughed, a rarity for him lately, "Goodnight," he called, watching her stumble up the stairs, before returning his attention to Joe.

'Doc' made Joe as comfortable as possible. He bathed him, trimmed his beard and changed the bedclothes. Then he sat down to read to him from a book he'd found upstairs.

*****

Late afternoon and still Joe slept. Still no fever. That was a good sign, but still, it was time he woke.

Even after last night's uninterrupted sleep, exhaustion from lack of sleep over the past week finally won out and Methos put his head down on the bed next to Joe's arm and he closed his eyes. His ever erotic dream returned full force...

Methos smiled up at his lover and proceeded to nibble his way down the musician's body, combing his fingers through the gray hair sprinkled across Joe's chest and finding the hidden nipples, pinching both. A quick brush of his tongue across one of them earned Methos a sharp intake of breath from Joe. Another flick across the other hardened nub earned a groan.

Methos continued his descent across the muscular stomach, trailing his oh so talented mouth down along his lover's hips, his thighs. Methos was intent on finding every sensitive spot on his lover's body.

Inhaling the scent he knew to be solely Joe's, he nuzzled the salt and pepper curls surrounding the straining organ. Finally, he ran his tongue up Joe's shaft and closed his mouth around it, but only quickly before he left to continued his all out assault on the mortal's body and senses. He moved to Joe's testicles, playfully pulling the loose skin before taking first one, then the other into his mouth. Joe tried to stop his teasing. It was too much!

Methos moved back to the thick shaft and resumed nibbling his way back up the underside to the tip and then back down again. Methos felt the strong hands combing through his hair as his mouth teased Joe's erection...

Something roused Methos from his dream, but he was too caught up in the sensations of the dream to notice what was trying to get his attention. He continued to lay with his head against Joe's arm, wanting to stay in this dream of being caressed, enjoying the feel of Joe's hands in his hair. Slowly, he realized he really did feel a hand in his hair. Slowly massaging his scalp. Caressing.

Methos raised his head to find himself looking into Joe's clear gray eyes. Raising his left hand, he brushed his hand over the soft beard. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Joe," he said in a slow drawl. Methos brushed the pad of his thumb across the full lips of the man he cared so deeply about. "We almost lost you, Joe," he said, voice cracking. Then as if he suddenly realized how intimate his actions were, he sat up and tried to pull his hand back.

Joe had caught his hand up in his and wouldn't let him go. "What happened, Methos?" Joe asked. Not accusing, just curious. "Did you and MacLeod come to my rescue?"

"Later. MacLeod is out investigating that now. You concentrate on getting well first." Then the Immortal had his own questions, "Why, Joe? Why did you stay? Do you value your life so cheaply? You should have escaped with MacLeod. Sometimes you are just as much of a Boy Scout as he is."

"I'm no Boy Scout, Adam. I love life. My life as it has been. I don't have the luxury of starting over as you and Mac do. As far as I was concerned, my life as I knew it was over. What would be the difference if I stopped breathing?" Joe grimaced, holding Methos' hand tighter in his grip. The twinge of pain passed, and he continued. "The Watchers would never have allowed me to continue my life. My music, my place in Seacouver, my friends - Mac, Richie, Amanda. You. I can't start over alone. I don't want to."

"Joe, you'll always be part of our lives," Methos tried to assure him.

"No," Joe argued, his voice gruff with emotion. "Not with the Watchers hunting me." Joe took a deep breath, garnering the last of his strength, pressing to make his friend understand. "I can't live in the shadows as you have. I know, you've learned it as a way to survive. But the loneliness would kill me. I need the light, the companionship, the music." Joe finished, his strength for the moment gone. His eyes closed again, slowly, fighting the slide back into drugged, healing sleep, and losing.

It was quiet for a while as Methos watched the face of the man he loved, sleeping peacefully. The age lines on his face not as distinct now that the lines of pain were not etched as deeply. Methos was thankful. Joe was going to live through this. Now he would just have to find a way to make Joe _want_ to continue to live.

"Just keep me in your light, 'old man', let me share it with you," Methos whispered, his voice almost lost to the emotion of his plea.

"You can count on it," came the low-timbered reply. Joe brought the surprised Immortal's hand up to his lips and planted a long soft kiss in the cupped palm before cradling the hand under his, on top of his blanket covered chest.

Methos started and quickly looked up into the smoky eyes of Joe Dawson. As realization dawned on him, he regained his ability for speech. "I love you, you know."

Joe smiled, tightening his grip on his friend's hand, then closed his eyes as he finally surrendered to the powerful drugs coursing through his blood.

Methos nodded at his friend, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. It gave him hope, something to hold onto. Joe was going to be fine, and he wasn't frightened.

Archivist's note: unfortunately, there are two sequels (an epilogue and an actual sequel) to this story that I'm aware of; neither of them are available online as of March 7, 2007.

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