Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Banner by TouchoftheWind)

Methos has a type when it comes to men, especially Immortal men. He's well aware of this fact. They're always domineering, self-assured, and a little too black-and-white in their views – even if it is in unique ways. The morality is changeable, but somehow always intrinsically tied to the era it originates in.

He thinks of Kronos keeping what was his the only way he knew how, of Byron's hedonism and obsession with death, and of MacLeod's notion of clan and clear-cut idea of chivalry. Each man was precisely a product of his time.

So Methos isn't too surprised when he's been dragged into one of Amanda's jobs and he comes across a dangerous pre-Immortal, and the thrill Methos feels is only partly an echo of the potential Quickening. The man growls at the obstruction, low and deep, as he stalks around Methos. He clearly recognizes a threat, no matter how innocuous Methos tries to appear, and it's all the best parts of Kronos and the worst parts of MacLeod. Methos can't help the smirk that twists his mouth.

Methos finds himself up against the wall, a hard thigh nudging between his legs and a hand gripping his throat. It's a confused mix of flirtation and threat that leaves Methos gasping for breath and turned on. Then a mouth is on his, firm and insistent. He yields, or at least pretends to, and one hand moves to a knife hidden in the small of his back and the other slides around the man's waist. There is a pouch attached to his belt, undoubtedly where the jewels are, and Methos considers lifting it – to stay in practice, to hold over Amanda, because he wants to, and any number of other reasons – but he doesn't.

An alarm goes off and the man pulls away abruptly. He grins at Methos like this is all foreplay and takes off. Methos hesitates a moment or two longer then takes off in another direction. He knows Amanda well enough to know she's already making her own way out and that she won't even think about him, but that's not an issue because he has at least three contingency plans he can put into action immediately.

…

Methos is at a café in Italy the next time they meet. He's reading Night Watch – in the original Russian – when the man settles into the chair opposite him. He's long since sensed the latent Quickening, but he makes a show of looking surprised.

"Adam," the man says in greeting. A tactic designed to leave Methos feeling wrong-footed and at a distinct disadvantage. But Methos has had more names than even he can remember, so finding out information on his current identity is hardly a monumental task. Methos smiles slowly, but makes no reply.

He eyes Methos predatorily and a shiver runs down Methos's spine. This man could spin him into his web, draw him inexorably into the heart of it, and destroy him, if he wanted to. But Methos has always played it close to the edge, in his own way.

He'd allowed MacLeod to do almost exactly that. There are times when Methos thinks it was pure luck he'd made it out alive and at least mostly whole. It's still better than how it'd ended with Kronos. Even thinking about it years later still makes Methos's chest clench painfully. He'd loved Kronos, more deeply than he'd ever loved anyone else. The Immortal had been part of his life for 4000 years, for good or ill, and it's impossible to just let that go.

"Eliot," the man tells him as he watches Methos from beneath hooded eyes. Methos already knows that and more besides, but it's stupidly irresponsible to give up an advantage so early on.

"So which should I be prepared to defend? My physical prowess or my virtue?"

"Might have designs on the latter."

"That so?" Methos says archly and sips at his coffee.

"Yep," Eliot says bluntly, his smirk just short of wicked.

Methos knows better, he really does, but he leans forward and openly appraises Eliot.

"You got a place nearby?" he asks, because there's no way he's taking Eliot back to his place. He's got more than a few artifacts that would be worth something to a retrieval specialist, especially one of Eliot Spencer's caliber, who has the skill necessary to recognize their true value.

Eliot raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing an alternate motive, but he acquiesces easily enough. Methos raises his hand to call for the bill.

…

Methos gets up from the bed when he feels the prickle of his Quickening under his skin as it heals the imprints of hands and teeth scattered over his body. He quickly slips on his boxers and t-shirt to cover marks he doesn't have.

He's tempted to stay, tempted to get back into bed and curl into the comfort of another person who doesn't yet know the Game, but he's not quite so nonchalant with his safety. Seducing someone to lower their guard is hardly a new tactic. Nor is using mortals to gain an advantage over an Immortal.

Dressing is a little awkward, but not nearly as hazardous as undressing. Methos straps his backup gun to his ankle – he's taken to carrying more weaponry since he's been associated with MacLeod, especially as an apparently new Immortal – and glances back at Eliot who's still reclined on the bed, hands folded behind his head. There's a knife under the pillow; Methos felt the outline of it when Eliot pinned his hands above his head and pressed him into the mattress with the weight of his body.

He glances across at where Eliot's clothes have been collected in a pile – not obsessively neat, but not strewn around either – Methos figures it's to provide Eliot easy access to his weapons; at least half a dozen from what Methos saw.

Methos pulls on his jeans and slips his knife into the sheath at his back. He hesitates and turns to face Eliot. If he leaves now it'll just be one great night – a bright point in some pretty shoddy years – but that's all and he doesn't want that. It feels like years, decades, since he's had anything solid to hang on to. Mortals are fragile, transient, and MacLeod has a disturbing habit of vacillating when things get difficult.

Eliot is strong where Methos is not, and worse – Methos can tell from Eliot's smug expression as he watches Methos watching him – Eliot knows it. Methos wants to give in to his pride and tell Eliot to shove it, but Eliot is standing, unashamed of his nudity, and approaching him.

Strong hands grip his arms and pull him close, then slide down his shoulders and back. They drift perilously close to the knife sheathed at his back and he tenses before they settle on his hips. Eliot edges him backward, a position of weakness, but Methos's at his most dangerous when he's cornered. Lips claim his in a surprisingly sensual move that has more than an undercurrent of ownership, especially when Eliot pulls away enough to nip at his jaw and then bite the crook of his neck. The mark won't stay, it never does, but the thought of it sends a shiver down Methos's spine.

"See you later," Eliot says, like he knows anything more is just as likely to send Methos running as it is to draw him closer. But then Eliot doesn't know about Kronos, the last person who tried to possess Methos so completely, and who Methos wanted to possess him more than was healthy.

"Yeah," Methos says a little hoarsely and slips away from Eliot. He grabs his coat, the weight of his sword on the left side and his gun on the right a comfort. "I'll call you." It sounds trite, even false, and he can't be sure if he really means it or not. He's never been one for honesty, even with himself.

"If you don't," Eliot tells him with a wicked smile, "I'll find you. You can't hide from me."

Methos laughs, truly amused, as he looks coyly across at Eliot.

"More dangerous men than you have tried to find me before."

"So then don't hide too well."

"Don't give up so easily," Methos says, then slips out the door.

Chapter Text

Methos pressed against the wall and glanced around the corner. He pulled up the hood of his dark grey jacket and moved quickly down the hallway. There weren't any cameras, possibly because they didn't expect anyone to get this far but probably because having a record of what went on wasn't a good idea.

There were more than enough guards to make up for the lack of technological surveillance, though, and Methos wasn't prepared to spend the next 50 years running from whichever Russian mob boss, ex-KGB agent, or corrupt politician was ultimately in charge of the operation.

Methos ducked into a doorway when two guards walked down the hallway. It was all very evil, underground fortress and Methos could never understand why people always had to go with the clichés. Kronos had been one of the worst. Instead of finding somewhere with an up-to-date laboratory and, heaven forbid, actual running water, Kronos had gone with creepy and abandoned underground base. Methos would have been very disappointed in him if he hadn't been fearing for his life, MacLeod's and Cassandra's lives too, and most of Bordeaux.

He slipped a hand behind his back and pulled out his knife. There were two of them so he couldn't afford to be as subtle as he would have liked, but he couldn't use a gun. He'd just attract more attention than he could deal with alone.

He held still, waiting until the guards were at his position before he lashed out, using all his momentum to stab up through the guard's chest and into his heart. He grabbed the other guard before he could yell or radio a warning, covering his mouth with one hand. The guard bit him and he winced, but refused to let go. The pain would only last moments. He raised the knife and slit the man's throat.

It should have shocked him more than it did; his ability to return so easily to this. He flexed his hand, the Quickening already sealing the skin, and wondered if he might regret more if his pain lingered. Shaking his head, Methos sheathed the knife – he'd have to clean and sharpen it later – and continued on. There was far more at stake than his conscience or lack thereof.

Methos uncoiled the wire from around his wrist as he moved silently down the grimy hallway. In a swift move Methos wrapped the wire around a guard's throat and yanked. The guard stumbled, adding his own weight to the pressure on the wire as it cut through his skin. His struggles lasted only a moment. Methos lowered him silently to the ground and quickly continued on.

There were sounds of a struggle and Methos hurried forward, irrationally worried about Eliot's safety. Even if they did kill him, Eliot would become Immortal. The idea that they had already killed him and he'd revived to the prospect of unending torture, spurred Methos on. He stopped short when he rounded the last corner.

"Oh," Methos said when he saw Eliot standing amidst a number of prone bodies, hands still tied behind his back. "Well this certainly makes things simpler."

"Adam?" Eliot's brow furrowed in confusion and he squinted at Methos.

-

Eliot cocked his head to one side, wondering if his concussion was causing him to hallucinate. There was no other reason he could imagine Adam there.

"You made me come to Russia. It's cold."

Adam folded his arms, looking very put out, and with the hood shadowing his features and the blood spattered across the front of his jacket, just a little sinister too. Eliot was having trouble wrapping his head around the incongruity of the whole situation.

"Sorry," Eliot muttered, sounding more distracted than apologetic.

"It's a little difficult to chase me if you're being tortured in a Russian prison," Adam told him as he unsheathed a knife and approached Eliot. Eliot let him, without too much concern, still half convinced he was a hallucination. Maybe it was the weeks of sleep deprivation, insufficient food and water, and less than stellar treatment.

"So you came to rescue me so I could stalk you?" Eliot asked as Adam sliced through the ropes binding his wrists.

"I never said I didn't have a few issues."

Eliot briefly considered slamming Adam against the wall and trying to get some actual answers or maybe just try to feel something other than tired and sore, but there were more important concerns at the moment. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. Adam shrugged, looking a little too innocent, and Eliot wondered once again exactly who Adam was.

"To be honest," Adam continued as he came forward to wrap an arm around Eliot's waist and support his weight before Eliot could even think to protest. "I was hoping the whole contradictory thing would create a kind of unpredictable mystique about me."

"Maybe you should try explain it to me when you're not covered in blood," Eliot said, allowing some of his weight to rest on Adam's surprisingly strong shoulders. Despite himself, Eliot relaxed a little. He couldn't help but associate Adam with warmth and pleasure, not the cold and pain that permeated his life for longer than he cared to remember. He shifted so he was standing in front of Adam and gripped Adam's face in his hands.

"You came for me."

Adam gave a half shrug, as though he hadn't had much else to do that day. Eliot smiled but didn't say anything. He felt unaccountably pleased with himself when Adam looked away, an embarrassed blush faintly dusting his cheeks. Eliot decided he was rather enjoying the contradiction Adam presented.

"The Butcher of Kiev is still somewhere around here," Adam told him tersely, taking up his position at Eliot's side once again. Eliot let the matter drop.

"Let's hope we can get away without him noticing."

"I've got a distraction," Adam said, pulling a remote detonator out of his pocket. They grinned at each other.

Chapter Text

Eliot is not happy. He's worried, curious and more than a little pissed off, but mostly he's not happy. There's a man following Adam and he has been doing so for at least a week.

Eliot's concealed in the shadows of an alley across the street from a café. Not the same café Adam was in when Eliot found him the first time, but similar enough. Adam really should know better than to form habits that are too predictable. Adam is seated at the window – beer in one hand, book in the other – and it makes Eliot smile fondly.

Adam can quote everything from Aristophanes to some ridiculous show about vampires that's apparently popular now, and it's impossible to guess what exactly he'll be reading at any given time, but Eliot enjoys perusing his extensive collection. Sometimes he can even coax Adam into translating some of the more obscure works in languages that Eliot doesn't understand.

It's the man watching Adam from three tables away that causes Eliot to frown. He's barely more than a kid with some scant training, so clearly Adam isn't a big target in whatever his agenda is, but it's the fact that Adam's a target at all that worries Eliot. He doesn't know what Adam really does, hasn't even come close to finding out where his resources come from, although Adam has a good cover as a professor at a local university. None of that explains Adam attempting to rob a museum or having the ability to rescue Eliot from a Russian prison.

The man's been typing notes on his laptop since he followed Adam in and Eliot's a little annoyed at Adam for being so oblivious. It's not at all like Adam to be so utterly inattentive. Although, Eliot finds it far less objectionable when Adam easily dismisses the young waitress blatantly trying to flirt with him in favor of his book.

When Adam leaves almost an hour later, the young man packs up his things and follows. Eliot pushes away from the wall and prowls after them.

…

Methos's eyes snap open abruptly at the sharp ringing of his phone and he relaxes almost immediately when he realizes it isn't a threat.

"Adam," Methos murmurs into his phone; face half mashed into his pillow.

"Is there any particular reason why a violent criminal is threatening your Watcher… on your behalf?" Joe asks.

Methos raises an eyebrow. There's only one situation he can imagine that would fit the facts. He hasn't seen Eliot in a few weeks and his Watcher is inconsequential and easy to avoid when necessary. He doesn't make a habit of it too often though, or they'd assign someone more competent to him. They might anyway, now.

But Methos doesn't really mind all that much because a fear he hasn't been willing to admit to loosens its grip on him. Eliot is proving to be a worthy investment and one that he finds himself, however foolishly, wanting to rely on. It's been a very long time since he's really relied on anyone else and he longs for it with an intensity that surprises him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he lies.

"Methos," Joe begins before heaving a sigh. "I would ask if you knew what you were doing, but I think I know the answer to that."

Methos chooses to view that as Joe having implicit faith in Methos's ability to look after himself.

"I'll swing by later this month," he says instead.

"Just… try to stay out of trouble."

Joe's tone is long-suffering and resigned. Methos grins.

"I make no promises." He hangs up on Joe's objection and immediately dials Eliot's number.

…

Eliot traces the taut muscles of Adam's stomach. They twitch under his fingertips and Adam moans and turns to kiss him. Eliot grips Adam's hip and pulls him closer. There are many things Eliot likes about Adam, but Adam's stamina ranks fairly high up there.

"You don't have to worry about James," Adam tells him and Eliot stills.

"James?"

"The young man that follows me."

"Oh," Eliot says and sighs, full of relief and frustration. His trust in Adam, secured in the fact that Adam requires nothing from him, solidifies once again. Adam is possibly the most self-sufficient man Eliot has ever known, which is comforting in its own way. What Adam does want from Eliot, Eliot is more than happy to provide. He slides his hand to grip Adam's thigh and doesn't think about needing someone more than they need him.

"He doesn't mean any harm," Adam says, running his fingers along Eliot's forearm. Eliot allows himself to be distracted. He's not entirely sure he's comfortable with the direction his thoughts are taking.

"He's gathering information on you."

"Nothing of consequence."

"You don't know that."

Adam smirks and Eliot has to glance away if he wants to finish their argument. It's more than a little annoying how attractive Adam is when he's smug and self-satisfied.

"I may have had a hand in my own file; both of them."

Eliot snorts. He's not sure if Adam infiltrated the group, has an inside man, or has a backdoor into their electronic records, but he's sure that there is some sort of plan in place. Probably more than one. He relaxes a little.

"Why are they so interested in you?"

"I'm part of a secret organization," Adam says candidly. Eliot's not entirely sure if he's joking, not even when he searches Adam's face. There's something there – a lie, or at least an obfuscation – but nothing with Adam is ever straightforward.

"What kind of secret organization?"

"The secret kind."

Eliot rolls them so he's straddling Adam, pinning Adam's hands above his head.

"I see I'll have to use more convincing methods of persuasion," Eliot tells him. He shifts in place and swallows Adam's subsequent moan with a kiss.

"I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement," Adam says, eyes wide and too innocent. It doesn't entirely work, not with his kiss-swollen lips and the wanton sprawl of his body.

"I may be willing to consider it."

"I have considerable skill, I assure you."

Eliot lets Adam distract him, lets the whole thing drop, because his concern has been addressed and he can trust Adam to handle the rest. Besides, Adam does have considerable skill and Eliot is not above taking advantage.

Chapter Text

Eliot dropped into the seat opposite Adam and gave him a tired smile. It had been almost three months since they’d seen each other.

“Long day?” Adam asked. His sharp eyes swept over Eliot, hesitating momentarily over small injuries that he'd managed to accumulate in the interim since they'd seen each other. It was a familiar gesture and Eliot finally allowed himself to relax a little.

“We beat the bad guys… well, the worse guys, I suppose that’s all that matters.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Eliot snagged Adam’s beer and took a long swallow.

“You know,” Adam began softly. “I think this has been the longest we’ve spent apart. Usually, you follow me around a bit.”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“You were a bit obvious.”

“You’re just paranoid.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“It helps,” Eliot said softly. Adam raised an eyebrow and took the bottle back from Eliot. “Seeing you’re safe, it helps.”

Adam passed the bottle back after taking a drink and Eliot was grateful when he didn’t say anything, either sarcastic or saccharine. Eliot hated admitting to weaknesses, even if he was only admitting them to Adam, who had likely guessed most of them and had yet to use any against him.

“Hey Eliot,” Parker said as she slid into the seat next to them. Eliot rolled his eyes to the ceiling and bit back a growl. Adam's gaze swept over Parker and Eliot knew he was assessing her for threats.

“What are you going here, Parker?” Eliot snarled as he leaned forward aggressively. She didn’t seem to notice.

“You kept disappearing and I thought maybe you were doing something fun, ‘cause you wouldn’t keep doing it if it wasn’t fun, so I wanted to do it, too.”

Adam raised an eyebrow and glanced from Parker to Eliot. The look Eliot shot back was nothing short of aggrieved.

“Parker, this is Adam. Adam, Parker. She’s crazy.”

“Is he what you’ve been doing?” Parker continued innocently. Adam, who had just swallowed some of his beer, coughed. Eliot couldn’t help but wonder if Adam was faking it to avoid answering.

“No. Yes. No! It’s private, Parker.”

“Are you Eliot’s boyfriend?” Parker asked as she peered at Adam curiously. Adam entwined his fingers with Eliot’s and Eliot reluctantly settled down. Adam was definitely a bad influence on him. He was going to lose his edge at this rate.

“Sure,” Adam said casually. They hadn’t really put any labels to what they were, and neither was inclined to use that term, but they were as invested in the relationship as either was likely to get.

“Yeah Parker, he’s my…” Eliot paused, seeking the right word, and Adam raised a mocking eyebrow. “Partner,” Eliot eventually settled for. Surprise registered in Adam’s expression before it was quickly smoothed away, but something warm and contented lingered in his gaze. Eliot returned the look with the slightest quirk of his lips.

“You guys are so cute,” Parker told them with a delighted smile.

“There’s something wrong with her,” Adam said to Eliot with a sidelong look at Parker. Her smile didn’t waver at all and Eliot was sure that Parker was starting to see that phrase as a sign of affection.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“I did bury myself once,” Parker said thoughtfully.

“Told you she was crazy,” Eliot murmured. Adam shrugged.

“I’ve been buried a time or two myself,” he said when Eliot shot him an incredulous look.

Eliot’s grip on Adam’s hand tightened instinctively and Adam gave him a wry smile in return. Adam was fine, obviously, and he could look after himself but Eliot still hated the thought of Adam vulnerable and in danger. Although, he looked more beleaguered by the experience than anything else. Eliot couldn't help but wonder what would necessitate being buried, never mind being buried more than once.

“Do you like to jump off buildings, too?” Parker asked excitedly.

“Not by choice, generally, but it’s been known to happen.”

"We should steal something some time," Parker told Adam. That was what she'd suggested doing with that juror she'd tentatively befriended, which worried Eliot a lot more than it probably should. Especially when he wasn't entirely sure which of them he was more worried about.

"No," Eliot said decisively. "You shouldn't."

Parker's expression dimmed immediately and she frowned. He hated when she did that; he hated when any girl was upset, particularly when he'd made her that way.

"Don't worry," Adam said in a stage-whisper as he leaned toward her. "I'll sneak out when he's asleep."

"Won't he be mad?" she asked cautiously, her eyes darting to look at Eliot. He rolled his eyes. They didn’t even seem bothered by the fact that they were talking about him as though he weren’t there.

"Not for long." The look Adam shot him was positively wicked and heavy with suggestion. Eliot was almost tempted to let them wreak havoc together, for the realisation of the promise in Adam’s glance alone, if he wasn’t utterly terrified of the consequences.

“We’re keeping him, right?” Parker asked Eliot. He knew when to call a strategic retreat and this was one encounter he was not going to have any control over.

“Only if you promise to feed him and walk him,” Eliot said, deadpan.

“Can I call him Pooky?”

Chapter Text

“So, you gonna tell me what’s got you so preoccupied recently?” Joe asked. He leaned on the bar and casually twisted a cloth in a glass to dry it. He didn’t even bother trying to be discreet as he watched Methos absently peeling the label of a beer he’d barely touched.

“I’m never distracted,” Methos told him archly. “It’s all a cunning ploy to make my enemies underestimate me.”

“You not being distracted, that got anything to do with the guy that threatened your Watcher?” Joe asked.

There was no outright change in Methos’s expression or posture, but their corner of the bar suddenly thrummed with tension. Joe’s eyebrows rose and he inspected Methos a little more closely. The way the Immortal finally took a casual sip of his beer was a little too deliberate, a little too practiced, at appearing alright. Methos shot him an equally practiced innocently confused look when Joe’s expression remained dubious.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You in trouble, old man?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

Methos wouldn’t meet his eyes and Joe frowned. He leaned forward, resting his weight on the bar. It had been a long day and it looked like it was only going to get longer. He considered dropping the matter and going for a long soak in the bath, but Methos’s issues were never minor and Joe would prefer to nip this in the bud before anyone was put in danger.

“Maybe I should call Mac.”

Methos’s eyes widened with real fear for a second before his expression shuttered completely. Joe forced himself not to react openly to that revelation. Methos was afraid of MacLeod.

“No,” the Immortal said, voice carefully measured. He started picking at the label of his beer again. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Methos…” Joe started, not knowing how to pry information out of him that he wasn’t willing to part with. Methos’s phone rang, interrupting Joe before he could even think of how to start. Methos didn’t even try to hide his relief as he answered on the first ring.

“Adam.”

Methos turned away slightly as he listened to whoever was on the line, but Joe caught a subtle shift in Methos’s posture and his expression lightened. It wasn’t the same goofy grin as with Alexa, but there was a marked softening of his features.

Methos was in love.

Joe reappraised what he’d seen of Methos over the last year or so. He’d been less tense, his expression less drawn, than it had been for years before that. The last few decades certainly hadn’t been easy for MacLeod, but they hadn’t been easy for Methos either, and MacLeod was part of a lot of that.

Methos was afraid that MacLeod would destroy whatever he had, which meant it was probably something MacLeod wouldn’t approve of, which really made Joe worry. Methos’s friends tended to be dangerous, but the Immortal was also happier than Joe had ever seen him, with the possible exception of his doomed relationship with Alexa.

“You okay, El –?” Methos cut his question short, but Joe jerked as if he’d been struck. Pieces started to fall into place and he wasn’t sure what to do about the picture they formed.

Methos chuckled softly at something he heard. Joe watched in fascination as Methos’s guard seemed to lower, not entirely or even a lot, but enough that Joe could catch some of the array of emotions that flitted across Methos’s expression; there was concern, relief, humour. It was as open as Joe had ever seen him and he knew it was at least partially because Methos trusted Joe to see him like that, and Joe couldn’t betray that, not even if it would end badly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of ‘death by appetizer’ in quite that way before,” Methos said with a grin. “And where was Parker in all of this?” There was a brief pause and then a startled laugh. “You’ve got photos, right?”

Methos grin was playful and a little malicious as he snapped his phone shut, but he smoothed his expression over when he turned back to Joe.

“A friend had a run-in with an old acquaintance,” Methos said obliquely. “It’s a bit of a mess. I’ll be gone a few days.”

Joe shuddered at the look in Methos’s eyes. He doubted things would end well for the acquaintance.

“This friend wouldn’t happen to be Eliot Spencer, the violent criminal you know nothing about?”

“Leave it, Joe,” Methos said, voice level and expression serious. Joe hesitated a moment, then nodded. The Immortal shrugged into his coat and walked out the door.

Joe wondered what the hell he was going to do about MacLeod.

Chapter Text

Eliot leaned against the doorframe and knocked. Adam called something indecipherable from inside and when the door swung open over a few minutes later, Adam was breathing a little harder than usual and was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration.

“Starting without me?” Eliot asked.

“I was training,” Adam said absently as he looked Eliot over. He frowned, clearly not liking what he saw. “Ribs?” he asked.

“And concussion,” Eliot reluctantly admitted. He wondered vaguely if Adam was practicing with the sword he liked to pretend he didn’t carry around. It had to be one of the strangest weapons Eliot had known someone to carry.

“Strip and sit.” Adam pointed at the couch. Eliot raised an eyebrow and fought off the dizziness that made him sway in place.

“That’s a little more perfunctory than usual.”

Adam looked into his eyes for the first time and his angry frown shifted into a faint smile. Eliot felt Adam’s hand slide around his waist and take the majority of his weight. Eliot winced and bit back a groan as his broken ribs shifted.

“I think the fun stuff’s going to have to wait,” Adam murmured. He helped Eliot down on the couch and started to unbutton his shirt. “So what happened?”

The shirt was eased off his shoulders and Eliot concentrated on reigning in his emotions about Sophie conning the team, conning him. He’d even helped her convince Nate. He resisted the urge to shake his head, something his concussion would not appreciate. The only thing he really had any control over was himself and how he handled things, so it wasn’t too big a thing to let Adam take the lead.

“I got played.”

Adam eased Eliot’s undershirt over his head – a slow and painful process – before continuing.

“And the team let it happen?”

Eliot’s jaw clenched automatically and he had to force himself to relax. It was over for now, done and gone, and nothing was going to change what had happened.

“I see,” Adam murmured. He ran his fingers over Eliot’s ribs. The touch was firm but gentle and Eliot could tell that he knew what he was doing. Eliot couldn’t help the flinch when Adam reached the worst of the damage. “Any blood?”

“No.”

“Shortness of breath?”

“No more than is to be expected.”

“I’d prefer a visit to the ER, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Eliot gave him a crooked grin and Adam shook his head. Eliot avoided hospitals at all cost, but there had been times when he couldn’t deal with something himself or hadn’t been in any state to object, and he knew the feel of a skilled doctor’s hand. Adam’s were gentler than most, but no less skilled.

Adam stood and moved behind Eliot. Eliot started a little when fingertips brushed across his scalp, feeling for any injuries or irregularities. He leaned into the touch; he was tired and wound up, and Adam – dangerous and unpredictable as he was – was as close to safety as Eliot knew. Adam’s hand stroked through his hair, a caress, not a medical evaluation, and Eliot sighed.

“No vomiting? Memory loss? Issues with your vision?”

“No.” Then very reluctantly, “some dizziness.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’s immediately life threatening then,” Adam said, moving in front of Eliot again.

“Had worse, Doc,” Eliot said with a wry grin.

“I’m sure.”

They were quiet a moment. Eliot could see Adam wanted to know what had happened, but he didn’t feel ready to discuss the whole thing. Adam frowned a little then shook his head, as though resolving an internal argument, and went into the bathroom. He returned a little later with a bottle of pills. Adam hadn’t had any medical supplies when Eliot had first been over, but they’d appeared not long after Eliot arrived with a few scrapes from one of his fights.

“It’s just paracetamol,” Adam told him. “I don’t want to aggravate your concussion.”

Eliot accepted two of the small pills from him and swallowed them dry. It was just as well since Eliot wouldn’t have taken anything stronger anyway. He manoeuvred to lie down on the couch, too tired to even think of making it to the bedroom. The trip to Adam had taken all of his last reserves.

“So, is there anyone I should kill for getting you into this situation?”

“She didn’t mean it,” Eliot murmured and he forced his eyes open to see Adam spread a blanket over him. The incongruence of Adam offering to kill someone, even jokingly and Eliot was never entirely sure, and covering him with a blanket should have been more significant, but he was tired and Adam was safe.

“Parker?”

Eliot grunted something approximating a negative reply and closed his eyes again. He briefly felt a hand flit across his brow and cheek, then smooth down the blanket, and then he was asleep.

…

Methos watched Eliot sleep for a moment before he fetched his laptop. He settled into one of the armchairs with a clear view of Eliot so he could monitor him for any worrying symptoms.

He started with IYS. Their files on Sophie Devereaux were the most complete – Nathan Ford’s almost obsessive pursuit of his targets was good for something. Methos really wasn’t happy with their file on Eliot, but trying to destroy it would only draw attention to Eliot and there was no guarantee that Methos would get all the backups and hardcopies.

Trawling through the information took time, although Methos’s appreciation for Sophie’s skill as a con artist did reluctantly ratchet up a notch. At least he had made a start: a list of about a half-dozen cities that she seemed to favour. He then cross-referenced her known aliases with Interpol and narrowed it down even further. A scan through local police databases and municipality records gave him the last of what he needed. He didn’t even bother with Hardison’s system. The kid was a genius with computers and way beyond Methos’s skill. Finally, he grabbed his phone and dialled.

“What can I do for you, darling?” Amanda asked when she picked up the phone. Methos grinned ferally.

“I might just know where one of Sophie Devereaux’s caches is.”

There was a brief pause as Amanda absorbed what he’d said.

“And it’s not even my birthday.”

“There’s just one thing I want you to do for me,” Methos added as he watched the rise and fall of Eliot’s chest. There was the occasional hitch when Eliot breathed too deeply and the pain of his ribs overwhelmed what little medication he’d taken.

“Now that’s just not sporting, Methos,” Amanda said. He could practically hear her pout. “Alright, what’s the catch?”

“I want you to clean her out.”

Amanda’s gasp was half-surprise, half-pleasure.

“Oh Methos, you say the sweetest things.”

He gave her the location and wasn’t too bothered when she immediately hung up on him.

…

Amanda eased the door open and stepped lightly inside. She had less than a second to notice movement before she was slammed into the ground, a knee digging in between her shoulder blades and a fist in her hair pulling her head back.

“It’s alright Eliot. She’s a friend,” Methos said from somewhere further in the apartment.

Amanda rubbed at the back of her head before she pushed herself off the floor. That was when she got her first good look at Methos’s companion.

“You!” she snarled. The damned retrieval specialist had beaten her to a more scores than she cared to think about. Including that one in which she’d involved Methos. Her eyes narrowed. “How long have you been working together?”

“I’m not too happy with this either,” Spencer muttered.

He stepped back to stand next to Methos so that their shoulders just barely brushed. Methos subtly looked Eliot over with what Amanda realised was concern and she stopped short. Despite Eliot’s strong stance she could see that his face was drawn with pain he was trying to hide. Methos edged the slightest bit in front of him.

Suddenly, she was very relieved that Spencer was a pre-Immortal who was ruthless and already knew how to fight. It prolonged his life-expectancy by decades, if not centuries. Amanda really didn’t want to see the old man after another Alexa.

“Oh,” Amanda said. “Well, that does change things a bit.” She grinned. “I brought gifts.”

She bent to retrieve the package she’d dropped when Spencer had tackled her and tossed it at Methos. He caught it effortlessly and opened the lid. He withdrew a gold sword sheathed in a gold scabbard. Spencer’s eyes widened.

“Is that…”

Methos drew the sword a little of the way out of the gold scabbard and saw corroded iron. The sword was 7th century, part of the Pereshchepina Treasure uncovered in the Ukraine. It was among the oldest of the artefacts and paintings Amanda had acquired and she figured Methos would appreciate it. Hell, as far as she knew, he might even have been there.

“This is supposed to be in Russia.”

“It’s been a widely kept secret for almost a decade now that what they’ve got is a very good replica,” Amanda told him. “I thought you might like it as a thank you.”

“Amanda,” Methos started.

“It’s not even a fraction of what I found and you can hardly pretend to be a paragon of virtue.”

Methos rolled his eyes and handed the sword off to Spencer who took it carefully. Spencer ran his fingers over the detailed geometric patterns with an interest that showed appreciation for the artwork, not just in the value.

“I’m not in the habit of keeping stolen items close at hand. It’s a little difficult to explain away.”

“So hide it away for a rainy day,” Amanda told him dismissively. Methos really was making the whole thing a lot harder than it had to be. Besides, it was rude to refuse a gift. “Honestly, Me–”

“Fine,” Methos said, overriding her. She smirked. Sometimes he was so easy and he was just so tetchy about people knowing his name. He glared and she was sure there would be some kind of payback eventually, but she could always hide behind MacLeod. Methos was ridiculously protective of the Scot.

“Now, what would it take for a girl to get a drink around here?”

…

Eliot settled onto the couch next to Adam and handed him a beer. He’d kept out of the way while Darieux was around. Adam had done a lot for him, and not just in the last few days, that it seemed unfair to put him in the middle like that.

Adam’s look was subtle when he discreetly examined Eliot, but Eliot had had more than enough practice catching them over the last few days. The only reason Eliot tolerated it was that Adam hadn’t done an examination after that first one and he didn’t really hover.

“When do you leave?” Adam asked. Eliot glanced sharply at him then turned back to his beer. He shrugged. It would have to be soon if he wanted to get back in time to do something about Blackpoole.

“What was Darieux thanking you for?”

“She did me a favour. It benefitted her, too.”

“A favour, huh.”

“Yep.”

Adam wasn’t going to elaborate and Eliot had yet to make him answer a question he didn’t want to. There were still so many things he didn’t know about the man.

“You and her ever…?”

“No,” Adam said, a look of horror flashing across his face. Eliot grinned; Amanda reminded him a little too much of a mixture of Sophie and Parker.

“But she’s someone you care for?”

“The people you care for, sometimes they’re like family and that means something, even when you wish it didn’t.”

Adam was about as serious as Eliot had even seen him, even when it involved breaking out of a Russian prison. He hummed agreement even as he wondered who else, besides the obvious, Adam could be referring to.

“Yeah,” Eliot said softly. “I’ll grab a flight first thing tomorrow.”

Adam nodded.

Chapter Text

Methos eyed his window once again. It had been almost an hour since Parker had dropped down to hang outside, but she hadn’t made any further moves. Finally, he went over and opened the window. Parker stared at him with wide eyes but didn’t say anything.

“You coming in?” he asked.

“You could come out,” she suggested. Methos looked over her rig; it was a little unusual, definitely not standard fare, but a good design. It wasn’t like the fall would kill him permanently anyway.

“I could,” he said, “but then the food would get cold.”

“What food?” Parker asked. There was a hopeful undertone and he supposed she hoped it was something Eliot had made, but Eliot was in Pakistan where neither of them could reach him.

“Just toasted cheese.”

“I like cheese.”

Methos opened the window a little wider and gestured Parker in. She still didn’t move. With a sigh, he climbed out onto his windowsill and sat, legs dangling over the edge. Parker stared unblinkingly at him. It would have been unnerving, but he’d spent more than 1000 years in Kronos’s, and for that matter Caspian’s, company. She smiled a little when he didn’t become uncomfortable and Methos assumed that there weren’t many people who weren’t put off by her.

“So, Parker, how can I help you?”

“Eliot’s not here.” It was a statement, so Methos waited for her to continue. “No one’s where they’re supposed to be.”

“Sometimes people have to be where they’re not supposed to be before they can know where they are supposed to be.”

Parker looked thoughtful for a moment before she nodded. She spun a little in her rig and Methos felt sympathetic dizziness.

“How can you be something other than what you are?” Parker asked him. She looked lost and a little scared, and she clung to her rig as though it was a lifeline. Which Methos supposed it was in a rather literal way. He sighed. She wasn’t even going to let him ease into conversation before she hit him with the big questions.

“It’s not a matter of being other than what you are; it’s a matter of what you are changing.”

If anything she looked more miserable, but then Methos knew just how scary and painful being forced to change was, even if it was something you wanted.

“I stole a diamond, the Hope Diamond, and then I put it back.”

Methos smiled a little and put it in terms she could understand, “People are like diamonds. They start out as carbon, raw and without shape. Then life exerts pressure on them, until they’re forced to form rough, uncut diamonds. It’s only with experience and the choices we make that the diamonds are shaped into each individual cut.”

“You know that’s not how it really happens.”

“I know, Parker, it’s a metaphor.”

“Oh. Does that mean I’m a diamond?” Parker asked, looking unaccountably pleased.

“You, Parker, are unique.”

She grinned.

“Where’s the cheese?” she asked suddenly. Methos climbed back inside and she jumped in after him, landing gracefully.

“Come on,” he said, leading her into the kitchen.

…

Once they’d eaten, a disconcerting experience with Parker silently watching him from where she perched on the stool at the counter, Methos settled on the sofa while Parker wandered around his apartment. There wasn’t anything too valuable or shiny on display, so he didn’t watch her too carefully. Besides, Eliot had said they were training her against ‘borrowing’ things from her teammates. He opened his book to the relevant page and continued on from where he’d left off. Finally, Parker settled next to him and curled into his side.

“Can you be bunny tonight?” she asked. Methos had only the vaguest inklings of who bunny might be but he agreed anyway.

“Want me to read to you?” he asked. Her brow creased in a frown, obviously trying to decide if she wanted to be offended he was treating her like a child or reassured that he was comforting her. “It’s something I occasionally do with Eliot.” She nodded briefly and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Of all our adventures this was the first in which I had played a commanding part; and, of them all, this was infinitely the least discreditable,” Methos began. “It left me without a conscientious qualm; I had but robbed a robber, when all was said. And I had done it myself, single-handed—ipse egomet!”

As he read, Parker began to fall asleep and Methos allowed himself to relax for the first time since Eliot had gone overseas. It was a horrible temptation, to feel needed, he thought.

“In the morning I’ll show you the world,” Methos said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, thinking of another apparently frail girl who hadn’t known where she stood either and who had come to rely on him to show her.

“But I’ve seen the world. I like it upside down the most.”

“Not like this,” he said.

Chapter Text

2x02

Eliot is surprised when Adam shows up at his place the day after he takes the dive. There hadn’t been any plan to meet up and Adam hadn’t called beforehand, which is a little unusual but not entirely unprecedented. Eliot lowers the icepack he’d been holding to his shoulder and they stare at one another.

“I saw the fight,” Adam says, giving Eliot a now-familiar cursory look over.

“Wasn’t a big deal.”

“I know that,” Adam says. “I know that, but…”

Adam’s difficult to read at the best of times, but now Eliot can’t even begin to imagine what’s bothering him.

“But?”

“I know you took a dive for one of your cons. That’s not the problem. At least that’s not the whole problem.” Adam runs a hand through his already ruffled hair and Eliot wonders if he’s had any sleep. “I saw you give up.”

“It wasn’t real,” Eliot is quick to assure him.

“I know that,” Adam says. He’s frustrated and maybe a little confused and Eliot doesn’t know where to begin to help him.

“I saw you give up,” Adam repeats helplessly. His eyes are shadowed with old grief and uncertainty. Eliot wonders who it was that did give up, that left Adam to clean up the mess. He moves to grip Adam’s chin and waits until he knows Adam’s entire focus is on him.

“I didn’t give up. I don’t give up, not ever. Not even in a Russian prison when I didn’t think anyone was coming for me. Especially not when I know you will be.”

Adam lets out a shaky breath and moves into Eliot’s space, skimming lightly across his injuries.

“I’m fine,” Eliot says, slightly aggrieved.

“Of course you are,” Adam replies with a smile.

“So, you want to tell me why Parker’s taken to calling Nate ‘Raffles’ and referencing kids’ shows?”

“We had a sleepover,” Adam says, without looking up.

Eliot tries to hide his smile.

“You throwing me over for her?”

Adam does look up then, expression blanked but his eyes glittering mischievously.

“Well, you aren’t getting any younger and she’s quite spry.”

“I think Hardison would kill you. Or at least, he’d do his technological magic and make you wish you were dead.”

“Guess I’m stuck with you then,” Adam says, rising to meet him. Eliot pulls Adam to him and slides an arm around his waist, ignoring the way his injuries twinge. It surprises him how easy it is to become used to this and how much he misses it when he’s away.

2x03

As Eliot watches the Marshal drive away with Randy in the front seat, he can’t help but feel a little guilty. When it comes to children, he always feels like there’s something more he should have done. His past weighs on his mind and settles in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. After a moment he manages to ease his fingers, knuckles white with tension, from the steering wheel and he pulls out his phone and calls the first number on his speed dial.

“Adam Pierson, will work for beer,” the jovial voice greets him and something like relief uncoils inside him.

“Adam,” he says before he cuts off, unsure what he wants to say or even what he needs from Adam.

“Eliot.”

Eliot sighs, a release of breath that eases all the way through him. He drops his head back against the headrest.

“Tell me something,” Eliot says. “Anything.”

“I finally tracked down that book I was looking for. The dealer in Istanbul pointed me to a collector in Athens,” Adam tells him.

Eliot closes his eyes and lets the smooth, strangely accented voice wash over him until he can’t even distinguish the individual words. It makes him almost think it’s worth it.

2x05

Methos has stopped being surprised when Parker drops in unannounced, but it still makes him a little antsy. Although, it’s a toss-up whether Parker showing up in his living room without warning or Amanda pounding on his door, yelling out his name, is more nerve-wracking.

“Eliot won’t tell me if he’s a member of the Council or not,” Parker says without preamble.

“The Council?” Methos asks, because he’s never heard of such a thing and Eliot hasn’t mentioned it. Although, there are plenty of things they haven’t told each other about what they’ve done.

“The secret council that runs the world.”

“If it’s secret, are you sure you should be looking into it or telling me about it?” Methos asks before he can stop himself. Parker’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, I didn’t think about that.”

Methos winces and tries to backpedal.

“I’m sure he was just teasing you, Parker. Making a joke of it, you know.”

Parker stares at him blankly for a moment before she winks elaborately at him.

“I get it. Your secret, and his, is safe with me.” She punches his arm in what he imagines is supposed to be an affectionate gesture, but it’s a little too hard.

“No, Parker, really. Neither Eliot nor I are members of this Council.”

“Of course.”

“Parker.”

She grins at him and Methos considers, for a moment, killing Eliot when he next sees him. It’d only be temporary.

2x07

“Honey, I’m home,” Eliot calls out jokingly.

“How was your day, sweetie?” Adam calls back cloyingly. Eliot chuckles and hangs up his jacket. He sprawls on the couch next to Adam and drops his feet into his lap.

“We had a funeral for Sophie and I spent more time that I cared to cuffed to another hitter.”

Adam unlaces Eliot’s boots, then removes them and his socks. Eliot sighs and rests his head against the armrest as Adam begins to massage his feet.

“I suppose Sophie enjoyed that,” Adam says, to which Eliot snorts.

“Insisted no one would recognise her when she showed up because she was acting.”

“And the hitter?” Adam asks when he stops laughing.

“She was good. Almost as good as me.”

“She, huh?” Adam asks teasingly. It has just enough of a mocking undertone, even though Adam knows not to underestimate women, that Eliot kicks him with his loose foot. Not too hard because he doesn’t want to dissuade Adam from continuing the massage.

“She was hot, too,” he adds, just to be disagreeable.

“So you got down and dirty with a hot female hitter that can kick your arse and you still came home to me?” Methos asks with a raised eyebrow. Eliot shrugs.

“She was straightforward. It’s not nearly half as interesting without the mystery.”

“I’m not sure how mysterious I can be while rubbing your feet after a long day at work,” Adam says and Eliot groans when he hits a particularly sore spot.

“You could be reading the phonebook and still be mysterious. Case in point, what the hell accent is that?”

“Well travelled.”

“Exactly.”

They’re silent a moment before Eliot shifts so he can remove the handcuffs which are growing uncomfortable at his back. He doesn’t need to look to know Adam is smirking. Eliot dangles the handcuffs and smirks in return.

“What say I go put on that cop uniform and put these handcuffs to good use?”

“I say I’m invoking my right to remain silent, officer. You can rough me up all you want, I won’t talk.”

2x12

“What are you doing here?” Eliot asks when he steps out of his hotel room and sees Adam. It would be bad enough if the entire team knew about Adam, the less he was involved in that side of Eliot’s life, the less of a target he was, but if Sterling caught wind of Adam and his relationship to Eliot there’d be no going back.

“You’re in Kiev, as in ‘The Butcher of’,” Adam says as though it explains everything.

“I can look after myself.” Eliot has, after all, beaten the Butcher twice.

“You’ve got whatever case you’re working on to focus on, I’m just here to make sure there aren’t any distractions.” Adam’s grin is completely unrepentant.

“Adam.”

“Eliot,” Adam says in exactly the same tone of voice. He sighs. “Just because you can do it yourself, doesn’t mean you should have to.”

“Adam,” Eliot says again, his tone softer.

“Eliot,” Adam replies with an exasperated eye-roll. Eliot finally nods even though he knows Adam would go ahead without his consent. Besides, there’s a part of Eliot that really wants to see Sterling
and Adam go head-to-head.

2x14

“Twice in two weeks now. You stalking me?”

“You’re Roy Chappell,” Adam says, looking coyly at Eliot. “I watched your game. You were very… impressive.”

“You did, huh?” Eliot says, but he’s more than a little pleased because he surprised himself with how much he enjoyed the game and good he was at it. It’s nice to have some kind of validation.

“Can I get your autograph?” Adam continues. Eliot raises an eyebrow when Adam actually hands him a permanent marker and he can’t help but wonder how far Adam’s going to take this little act.

“Sure,” he murmurs and uncaps the pen. Adam sends him a filthy smirk and begins to unbutton his jeans. He slides the denim off his hip and the look he sends Eliot is pure challenge. Eliot’s never been one to back down, so he kneels down and presses the nib to skin. The name he writes isn’t Roy Chapman but Eliot Spencer. Adam grins.

Eliot looks up at Adam through his lashes and blows softly on the lettering. He feels muscle shift and twitch under his skin as Adam fights not to react.

“So, you ever had sex with a groupie?” Adam asks brazenly.

“Reckon I’m about to,” Eliot replies as he rises to push Adam against the wall.

2x15

Eliot eyes the agents surrounding them and his eyes widen when he spots Adam in full FBI gear with a gun pointed at him. Adam winks at him and jerks his head in Sterling’s direction. Eliot raises his eyebrows and nods briefly. Adam returns the gesture.

“You don’t have a case on anybody, unless you arrest me. And only me,” Nate says and Eliot tenses, ready for a fight, because Nate’s an idiot and he’s not letting him go down for this. Not when he’s already injured. Nate may be trying to hide it, but Eliot knows just about every kind of injury intimately, and he knows what trying to hide it because you need to look strong looks like, too. Eliot glances in Adam’s direction again and Adam shifts his stance, angling himself to better make a move on the agents.

“Nate,” Eliot says, “I can take these guys.” They wouldn’t go for Nate, who’s their only chance of making a case. He can trust Sophie to grab Hardison and get out of there and Parker’s getting good at defending herself. He also has Adam for backup. It’s not the greatest option, but it’s a doable plan. Maybe about an M, only Hardison doesn’t die.

“It’s just ten more yards to the chopper,” Hardison says.

“Listen guys,” Nate tells them, “I got you into this mess, this is the only way to get you out.” There are some days Eliot wants to punch Nate, even if the man is injured. But Nate’s determined to martyr himself and there’s not much Eliot can do for the moment. They’ll have time to regroup and come up with a plan later though, as long as Nate isn’t injured too badly.

As he’s turning to go, Eliot makes eye contact with Adam again. His eyes cut briefly to Nate and Adam nods grimly. He’ll make sure the man’s alright. Eliot’s been a hitter for a long time, and anyway in his line of business anyone that doesn’t know when to cut their losses doesn’t last long, so he nudges Parker, makes sure they’re all going, and trusts Adam to deal with things.

Chapter Text

Methos was settled against a tree with one of the books he’d been meaning to read for a while now, on recent scientific discoveries and their possible impact on the way people lived. Eliot was a few feet away, reclined on a chair, fishing pole held loosely in one hand. The contented smile he couldn’t help faded when he felt the thrum of an Immortal presence. He stilled, waiting to see if it would disappear, but it lingered at the edge of his awareness.

So much for the quiet weekend Methos had hoped for. Eliot had been working himself hard since Nathan Ford’s incarceration and since he liked the outdoors and fishing so much, Methos was inclined to indulge him. Although, he could have done without the rustic cabin by the lake. At least there was running water.

Eliot looked over to him and tilted his head in question. Methos raised his hand and signalled for Eliot to wait. Eliot set his fishing rod down and stood slowly. Methos indicated an enemy then shrugged. Immortal etiquette dictated friendly Immortals vacated the area when they sensed another Immortal or introduced themselves. Eliot raised an eyebrow at the use of military hand signals but nodded and shifted his stance in preparation for a fight.

It was obvious that Eliot questioned Methos’s knowledge of military hand signals, but knew it would have to wait until after the situation was resolved. Methos had the feeling that it was the least of what he would have to explain by the end of this.

Methos slid a hand inside his jacket to rest on his sword and he moved to the edge of the clearing, back against a tree. The Immortal would be able to sense him, but that didn’t exactly preclude the element of surprise. Eliot mirrored his movements.

“I know you’re there,” an accented voice called out. Methos picked out elements of an Italian accent, under laid with traces from a variety of European countries. He remained silent. A man walked into the clearing, sword already drawn. He was followed by three mortals. Methos smoothly unsheathed his sword and held it in front of him.

“You’re breaking the rules.”

“I’m not here for you. I’m only interested in your pet.”

“Come and get me, Kadjic,” Eliot snarled. Methos stepped forward.

“He’s my student. His protection is my responsibility.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow, but didn’t relax his guard. This wasn’t exactly how Methos wanted to introduce Eliot to Immortality, but that couldn’t be changed now.

“He’s not one of us yet.”

“He’s still mine.”

“I have no quarrel with you,” Kadjic insisted. Methos sighed. Since MacLeod’s disappearance from Immortal circles over 10 years ago, Methos hadn’t fought a single duel. He’d appreciated the quiet, but it didn’t look like it was going to last very long. Eliot was definitely going to make as many enemies as MacLeod had, although hopefully he’d be more pragmatic about how he dealt with them.

“His quarrels are my quarrels.”

“Then your challenge is met.”

“What are you doing, Adam?” Eliot growled.

Methos risked a glance at Eliot through which he hoped to convey the seriousness of the situation. He didn’t know why Kadjic wanted Eliot, or why Eliot was so eager to fight him – clearly there was bad blood there – but at least Eliot understood that there was more going on here.

“No matter what happens, Eliot, you can’t interfere.”

“I’m not making that promise,” Eliot told him, jabbing a finger in Methos’s direction.

“Your ‘student’ has not been taught our ways,” Kadjic said.

“It’s a process.” Methos caught Eliot’s eye once more. “I’ll explain everything later, but for now you cannot interfere.”

Eliot stared at him for a long moment before he nodded. As a soldier and a hitter, Eliot knew that sometimes you had to put away emotion to deal with later because the distraction could kill you.

Methos was just glad that the Immortal was an enemy of Eliot’s. Methos’s own enemies had the tendency of dredging up bits of his past that he preferred forgotten. The last thing he needed was for Eliot to learn precisely who and what Methos really was. The hitter may have done terrible things and hurt a great many people, but Methos’s cruelty spread over continents and almost a millennium.

The hitter was also trying to reform, slowly but surely. He no longer carried any weapons and Methos didn’t think he’d killed anyone, even accidentally, in at least two years. There were many things Methos was dreading about Eliot’s eventual induction into the ranks of Immortality, but chief among them was that Eliot was going to have to become a killer again to survive.

Kadjic gave his men a small jerk of his head in Eliot’s direction and they moved to surround the man. Eliot turned in a slow circle, keeping them all in sight.

Methos moved to put himself between Kadjic and Eliot. Eliot could take the three men. Hell, he’d taken more than that after weeks being tortured and his hands tied behind his back. The problem was Methos wasn’t sure Eliot could take an Immortal with possibly hundreds of years of training. No matter how good Eliot was.

“So, is there any particular reason you want to kill him?” Methos asked conversationally.

“He and his team destroyed my life.”

“So start a new one.”

He must be young then, no more than a few hundred years, but he probably hadn’t even reached double digits in the number of identities he’d taken on. By the time Immortals hit 500, they were used to moving on and starting again, especially after everything had fallen apart. By the time they hit 1000, it seemed like a waste of effort to get angry about something that was inevitable anyway, give or take a few years.

Kadjic snarled and lunged at him, which had been Methos’s intent. Methos easily knocked the other Immortal’s sword to one side, spun into his reach and elbowed him. Kadjic’s head snapped back and Methos took a moment to see how Eliot was doing. One of the men was laid out of the ground, moaning and Eliot was punching a second man in the solar plexus. Methos grinned when the second man doubled over and gasped.

Kadjic came back at him and Methos ducked, stumbling a bit. He raised his sword to parry another blow and kicked out at the Immortal’s knee. Kadjic roared as he dropped to one knee and slashed wildly in Methos’s direction.

“So tell me, kid, does terrorising mortals excite you?” Methos asked tauntingly. “Four on one doesn’t seem like a fair fight.”

“Who cares about fair,” Kadjic snarled. Methos agreed, but that wasn’t the information he needed. He circled the other Immortal, waiting for the right moment. Kadjic was good, methodical, but easily riled and he focused too much on his sword.

Kadjic leapt at Methos, stabbing at him. Methos thrust the Immortal’s sword to one side. They went back and forth for some time before Kadjic broke off and backed off a few steps to circle Methos warily.

“You send this many guys after the others?”

“I wasn’t foolish enough to go after them without taking care of the hitter first.” Methos didn’t let his relief show, but it was a weight off his shoulders. Parker was okay; and the rest of them as well, he supposed. “Besides,” Kadjic continued with a dark smile, “I wanted to see them suffer myself.”

“How arch,” Methos said with a roll of his eyes. “I hope I wasn’t this melodramatic at your age.” He hadn’t been, he’d been too scared of what he was and what people would do to him for it, but then he’d more than made up for it with the Horsemen.

“Your Quickening will be powerful then,” Kadjic said as he lunged. “Maybe enough of you will linger long enough to see me kill your pet.”

“Even if you did manage to take my head,” Methos said, sliding his sword against Kadjic’s until they were locked at the crossguard, “there wouldn’t be anything left of you afterwards.” Methos gave his sword a brutal twist and Kadjic’s went flying.

“Who are you?” the Immortal asked with wide eyes.

“Adam?” Eliot said.

Methos pressed the tip of his sword into Kadjic’s neck, wishing that it could be simple, just once. He sighed.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Methos told him. He looked over at Eliot, who had a split lip and cut above his left eye. The men were scattered around him, unconscious. The justice system wouldn’t be able to keep Kadjic from Eliot and Parker. “They won’t be able to hold him.”

Eliot’s expression hardened and his jaw clenched. He nodded. Methos nodded in return, relieved that Eliot understood at least this much. He swung smoothly. Kadjic’s head rolled to a stop not far from Eliot’s feet and Methos fell to his knees. Eliot stepped forward, but Methos shook his head.

“Stay back.”

Eliot took several hesitant steps back as mist rose from Kadjic’s body. Lightning arced from the body and then slammed into Methos. He didn’t have a chance to warn Eliot again because he was lost in a sensation that balanced precariously between pleasure and pain. He thought he might have screamed.

When it was over he was left panting on the ground. For such a youngling, Kadjic had managed to take a fair number of strong Quickenings. Eliot slowly approached him and crouched beside him. Methos was grateful when Eliot didn’t touch him; Quickenings always left him feeling twitchy and like his skin was too small.

“You up to taking care of the body?” Eliot asked softly. He sounded so damn reasonable, but Methos could see him distancing himself. Methos gave a short nod and levered himself to his feet using his sword to support him.

They worked in silence, disposing of the body in the lake and packing up their gear. The men they left to sort themselves out. They weren’t going to continue their job without the promise of pay and neither Eliot nor Methos wanted the attention handing them over to the police would produce. They’d been unconscious for the Quickening, so at least Methos didn’t have to worry about Immortals being exposed.

When it was over, they sat side by side on the cabin steps. Methos was quite happy to put off the whole thing for as long as he could, so Eliot was forced to make a start. Eliot wiped a hand down his face and sighed.

“So that secret group you’re part of involves decapitation and lightning storms.”

“Something like that.”

“Adam,” he said, somewhere between a request and a demand.

Methos started with the bare bones of what Immortals were, the general rules, and how the Game worked. Eliot listened without comment, but his entire body was tense and his jaw clenched repeatedly.

“So you get a chance at living forever, but you have to kill people to survive because they’re obsessed with something that may or may not exist.”

“That’s a fairly accurate summation.”

“And I’m like you?”

Methos winced. He’d hoped Eliot hadn’t caught that, but he should have known better. He steeled himself and did something he’d never done with Eliot before. He lied.

“No.”

It wasn’t an outright lie, not by Methos’s definition. Eliot was pre-Immortal, not Immortal like Methos, but the line was so fine that even Methos had trouble keeping the distinction in mind when it came to Eliot, who was so very much like him in so many other ways.

Eliot stared piercingly at him for a long while before he nodded. Methos couldn’t read the stoic expression, couldn’t tell if Eliot believed him, or just knew Methos wasn’t going to give him a straight answer. Methos was surprised when his chest ached at the new distance in Eliot’s eyes.

“Right,” Eliot said. “So, what now?”

And that was the question. Methos had no clue. After Kronos and the other Horsemen he’d tried to avoid getting too involved with other Immortals and pre-Immortals. There had been a few exceptions, like Byron and MacLeod, but they never worked out so well, so he didn’t really know how the whole thing was likely to work out.

“I could do with a beer.”

He looked at Eliot and smiled crookedly. Eliot’s lips briefly quirked in a return smile.

“A beer sounds good.”

The rest would have to sort itself out.

Chapter Text

3x01

Eliot managed to make it all the way to the door of his apartment before he slid down the wall. He clenched his hands until his knuckles were white and his short nails dug into his palms, but they finally stop shaking. Damien Moreau. They were going after Damien fucking Moreau.

It terrified him, how vulnerable the others are, how little they know about what they’re getting into, and Eliot can’t tell them. Nate is just stubborn enough that he would consider it a challenge, would consider himself good enough, to confront Moreau before he was prepared, and the others would follow him because they trusted him. Eliot couldn’t let that happen.

Finally, Eliot pushed himself to his feet and unlocked his front door. Adam was there, feet up on the coffee table, book in hand, but the look he was giving Eliot was intense and penetrating. If Eliot were a lesser man, if he hadn’t faced worse, he might have given in to the demand in Adam’s look.

“Eliot, is everything alright?” Adam asked, putting the book to one side and dropping his feet to the floor. An aggressive move, to take a firmer position before confrontation, Eliot realised. He was so tired. Tired of not just watching his own back, but the team’s as well. Tired of the guarded steps he and Adam danced.

Eliot turned to hang up his jacket as he considered the question. It would be easy to tell Adam about Moreau, about working for him, about everything he’d done. Adam would understand, he knew, because he could see the shadows in his eyes mirrored in Adam’s. He wasn’t worried about Adam attracting Moreau’s attention. Adam knew better and knew what to do even if he did. Eliot wanted to tell Adam everything, but then he thought about the cabin and the fight and the lightning storm. He thought about ‘Not yet’.

“Everything’s fine,” Eliot told him as he turned back around.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just been a long day,” Eliot said as he settled down next to Adam. He smiled. If it was a little wan, Adam would no doubt assume it had to do with one of their jobs.

“I have just the thing,” Adam told him as he pulled Eliot’s feet up into his lap and untied his boots. Strong hands began to firmly massage the arch of his foot. Eliot leaned back and allowed his world to narrow to the pressure of fingertips on skin.

“You have magic hands.”

“I have some tricks yet,” Adam told him as he slid his hands up Eliot’s calf. Eliot could hear the smirk in his voice. Despite himself, he smiled.

3x02

Eliot was too controlled to slam the front door, but it still closed more loudly than usual. Sophie was a conwoman, he knew that, and she thought nothing about manipulating people, but he thought after what happened with the two Davids, she’d have learned that manipulating him was a bad idea. It had been easier when he worked on his own. He didn’t have to worry about who was lying to him about what. Now it seemed as though there was no direction he could turn with coming face-to-face with deception.

He was so distracted that he only now caught the smell of something burning and the faint sound of music. He spun around to see Adam lighting candles. He thought the singer was Brian or something. Adam always looked introspective and a little regretful when he played it.

“Parker called,” Adam said, “and I know things haven’t been easy recently.” Something like remorse flashes across his face, gone almost instantly, but Eliot has had practice, especially recently, at reading his face and can see it clearly. Eliot has long figured remorse to be a useless feeling. Either something was worth the consequences or you learnt from the error and moved on. Adam had never seemed particularly inclined to indulge such sentiments, but Eliot was beginning to realise that he’d never really known Adam at all.

“It’s nothing serious.”

“Eliot,” Adam began, then shook his head. Eliot felt the gulf between them. It was strange, how he could know so much about Adam and nothing really at all.

“It’s alright, Adam. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Adam moved towards him then and slid his jacket off his shoulders. He draped it over the back of a chair and took Eliot’s hand in his. He slid his other arm around Eliot’s waist.

“Maybe I can help,” Adam suggested as he began to sway to the music. Eliot pulled Adam closer to him and rested his forehead on the taller man’s shoulder.

“I just had an issue with Sophie. More of the usual.”

“Should I call Amanda again?” he asked. Eliot grimaced a smile.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Probably just as well,” Adam agreed and he rested his cheek to Eliot’s. “I wish...” He trailed off and Eliot pulled away a little to look at him. “I wish,” he repeated with a sigh.

“I know.”

3x03

“Archie,” Parker said, a little uncharacteristically hesitant, “I met someone.”

“Is this about that boy of yours?” he asked, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Oh no, he’s Eliot’s boy. Only he’s not a boy. And maybe Eliot’s his instead. Only it’s complicated at the moment.” She frowned, trying to puzzle out what had changed between the two men because it was like when Sophie left. It was all wrong and she didn’t know what exactly had broken or how it could be fixed.

“Parker,” Archie said, trying to forestall what he could see becoming a rather confused digression. “You met someone?”

“Oh, Adam. He lets me call him Pooky and pretend he’s bunny. He thinks I’m a diamond.”

“Sounds interesting,” Archie said indulgently.

“He’s been teaching me, like you did, only different.”

“Oh?”

“He says I haven’t played with my inner child enough. I got to watch Ghost Busters the other day.” She said ‘Ghost Busters’ with emphasis. Archie smiled. “And I went to a carnival. And I’m learning to play Uno.”

“Sounds like you’ve been having a lot of fun.” Parker’s smile was radiant.

“I just thought you should know. I mean, he’s not family either, not really, but he’s like you,” she added, looking at Archie earnestly.

“Thanks, Kiddo. I’m glad to know you’ve had someone you can go to.”

3x06

Hardison frowned as he scanned the information on the screen. They were back at Nate’s place and Hardison was doing his usual post-job cleanup.

“Eliot,” Hardison said, hesitant and a little skittish. Despite how familiar they’d all grown with each other, there was a point over which none of them would step. It was just more obvious when it came to dealing with Eliot. “You know how you were saying about being seen being a bad thing...”

“Yes.”

“Would someone finding you be on the level of ‘you have an errand to run for an hour or so’ or ‘oh my god, we’re all going to die, flee for our lives’?”

“Hardison,” Eliot growled.

“Oh my god,” Hardison started before Eliot advanced on him enough to intimidate him into silence. “It’s totally ‘flee for our lives’ isn’t it?”

“Hardison, what have you found?” Eliot asked, hoping to focus the distractible man.

“Someone’s been tracking your appearances online and removing what they could. They’re good. Not as good as me, obviously, but, you know, not unskilled,” Hardison rambled.

“They’re deleting everything? Not using it to narrow down my location?”

“Looks that way,” Hardison said, tapping away at his keyboard. Eliot leaned over Hardison’s shoulder watching as he worked, even if he didn’t understand a thing. He was a little horrified by the number of windows Hardison had open with fansites and videos of him, but they were slowly disappearing, coming up with error messages instead. It had Adam’s stamp all over it. He’d never hear the end of this. Surprisingly, it didn’t concern him all that much.

“Make sure they get everything.”

“So no running and screaming and dying?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

3x12

“Adam, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Adam said immediately and Eliot stopped short for a moment, startled by the answer.

Things hadn’t been right between them for a while now, not since the cabin. Eliot looked at Adam, judging his expression, from the sardonic twist to his mouth to the warmth in his eyes. Leaning forward Eliot pressed a kiss to the other man’s lips. He rested his forehead against Adam’s. Finally, he was able to look at him without automatically thinking about ‘Not yet’.

“There’s a little girl who’s been taken into custody for smuggling.” Adam simply looked at him expectantly. “I was hoping you could pull out a law degree from the magic bag of skills you seem to have.”

“I think I can arrange something,” Adam said with a wicked grin. This was the Adam Eliot had grown to love; enigmatic, dark and dangerous. Adam had his own past and his own secrets, just like Eliot – Moreau weighed heavily on his mind. It wasn’t fair to condemn him for what Eliot did himself, for what Eliot loved about him.

3x14

Eliot folded his arms across his chest and scowled as he listened to Nate lay out the plan. He was supposed to have some time off, he was supposed to be with Adam, he was supposed to get back to where they used to be. He had been considering, for some time, telling Adam about Moreau, but he wasn’t sure how to at this point, wasn’t sure how to lay bare that part of himself. First, he’d have to deal with this stupid Christmas mission, spurred on by Parker’s irrepressible enthusiasm. As soon as Nate sent them all off on their own missions, Eliot pulled out his phone and dialled Adam.

“I’m not going to be home tonight,” Eliot told him. He hesitated. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“How prepared do I need to be? Standard arsenal or do I need to dig into the special items?” Adam asked.

Eliot had never had that before, blanket acceptance and support. It didn’t matter what Eliot was planning, Adam would be there, by his side. Surely the least Eliot could do was give Adam the same?

“Nothing like that. Not yet.”

“You spoil all my fun,” Adam said. Eliot could almost hear the grin in his voice. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Eliot exhaled slowly, still not entirely sure what to do with the solidity of Adam’s presence in his life.

“Unless you’re at Joe’s.”

“Well I can’t very well let an open bar tab go to waste.”

3x16

Moreau rose to his feet when he noticed something moving in the shadows.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

“Who I am isn’t important,” Methos said, stepping out into the meagre light, grey hoodie casting his face in shadow. “What I am, is.”

“And what’s that?” Moreau asked with a scoff.

“Death.”

“You think you frighten me?”

“I should. When all the known world had nightmares, it used to be about me. When they told stories around the campfire, they were about me. I was Death on a pale horse and hell followed in my wake,” Methos said with a chilling smile as he moved steadily toward the bars even as Moreau backed away from them.

“You know why I stopped?” he continued. “It wasn’t because I felt bad. It wasn’t because I grew a conscience or because I loved,” he added with a sneer. “It was because I was bored. I had nothing worth fighting for anymore. That’s no longer the case.”

Methos stopped just in front of the bars and stared unnervingly at Moreau until Moreau had to avert his gaze.

“I would bring the world to ruin for Eliot. Starting with you.”

Moreau’s eyes widened at the reference to Eliot, then he smirked.

“He’d never stand for it. He’s one of the good guys now.”

Eliot had his secrets, had his own dark past, but there was nothing there that Methos couldn’t accept, hadn’t done himself at one point or another. Because of that Eliot knew him better than anyone alive, even if Eliot didn’t know the specifics. Just like Methos knew Eliot better than most. He smiled, slow and easy.

“I have time on my side.”

Chapter Text

Eliot had a Hardison. Well, Hardison considered, whomever Eliot had wasn’t nearly as good as he was, so it was more like Eliot had a Hardison-lite. What worried Hardison was the fact that he still couldn’t track him. Everyone they associated with, worked with, came into contact with, Hardison had vetted, whether it was client, rival or co-worker. Hardison didn’t like not knowing. The group’s electronic security rested on his shoulders as much as their physical security rested on Eliot’s. Besides, they all had fairly dodgy acquaintances, but Eliot’s always seemed more-so. Hardison tapped at the keys, so focused on following the trail of their stalker, that he missed Parker settling down near him, eating her latest cereal obsession straight out of the box.

“Is that Era of the Dragon?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Hardison said distractedly. He’d managed to trace the hacker to one of his guild members, which wasn’t worrying at all. Really.

“I like him,” Parker said, pointing to the hacker’s avatar. “He’s sneaky.”

“He’s a bard,” Hardison scoffed.

“That’s just what he wants everyone to think,” Parker said with an impish grin.

“You know who he is?”

“Adam. He makes really good toasted cheese.”

“How do you know who this is?”

“It’s Adam,” she said with a shrug. Hardison figured that made some sort of sense in her head, even if it didn’t in his.

“This is very important, Parker. I need to know who Adam is.” He’d been stalking the team for almost two years, at least, tracking their movements, cleaning up after them. There was no way someone knowing that much about them could end well.

“He’s my friend. Only I’m not supposed to let anyone know.” She paused and cocked her head to one side. “Oops.”

“Your friend?” Hardison asked, and he couldn’t help be a little sceptical. She’d never mentioned him before and her ability to make and keep friends seemed to extend only to Peggy. He didn’t count the team. They weren’t friends, they were family.

“He makes food and pretends to be bunny sometimes, so I can sleep.”

“You sleep with him!?” If anyone asked, Hardison would deny the way his voice went up on ‘sleep’.

“Only when Eliot’s not there.”

“You sleep with Eliot, too!”

“No silly, he does.”

“Eliot has a boyfriend?” Hardison was sure there was a portal that he’d fallen through. There was no way that this was really happening.

“Partner,” Parker corrected.

“Partner,” Hardison repeated, deadpan.

“Wait a minute. If Eliot’s shacking up with a hacker, what’s with the attitude towards me?”

“Adam’s not a hacker.”

“Then what is he?”

“Leverage.”

-

“Come on,” Parker said, dragging Hardison by the hand. As much as he dreaded the situation, he couldn’t help but appreciate her small hand in his. It was callused and strong, but somehow still delicate; it was everything Parker was.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Why shouldn’t we?”

“Because there’s at least one dangerous man in there who won’t like the fact that we’re barging in like this.”

“Don’t be silly, they love me. I’m their favourite,” Parker argued, pulling him forward.

“It’s me I’m worried about,” Hardison muttered.

Parker pushed open the front door of the apartment and grinned back at him.

“Pooky, I’m home!”

“Pooky,” Hardison squeaked. They were so going to die for that.

“Hey Parker,” Eliot said from where he stood in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove, “make yourself at home.”

Parker immediately launched herself over the back of the sofa and settled into the seat. Hardison stood awkwardly in the entryway, straps of his backpack gripped tightly in his hands, wondering what about Eliot was different, because there was definitely something indefinably different about him. It had to have something to do with the tall, thin man leaned casually against the counter, watching Hardison as though he were a particularly difficult firewall.

Hardison risked a look around, surprised at what he saw. This wasn’t Eliot’s place. Hardison knew that if only because he’d made sure to know where everyone stayed in case there was an emergency. Yet, Eliot’s jacket was casually draped over the back of a chair as if he was at home here and there were Eliot’s knives on the kitchen counter, Eliot’s guitar resting against one of the chairs in the lounge and, most noticeably, Eliot’s katana resting on a stand next to the bookcase.

Eliot turned then, pot in hand, and stared at Hardison. Eliot shifted somehow that had nothing to do with muscles or stances and Hardison realised that that was what had been different. This was the Eliot he was used to. Somehow tense, even when he was relaxed.

Oh, he thought.

“Oh.” Hardison only realised he’d said it out loud when everyone looked at him, but that was the least of his worries, because all he could think was that Eliot still didn’t trust them. Or didn’t trust himself with them and that was equally bad. Though, strangely, Parker seemed exempt from that, because it was only when Eliot realised Hardison was there that he’d changed. Was it the same for Nate and Sophie?

“C’mon kid,” Adam said. “You show me how you tracked me down and I’ll show you what I’ve been up to.”

“I already know what you’ve been up to,” Hardison said, but it lacked his usual confidence. He followed Adam anyway, still caught up in thoughts of Eliot.

“Do you?” Adam asked mildly, but there was cunning in his eyes that made Alec wary. He remembered that this was the man who’d been cleaning up after Eliot and him, to his chagrin, for quite some time now and if Alec was even a little less spectacular at what he did then it would have gone completely unnoticed.

“What?” Hardison asked when they were out of Eliot’s earshot. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted an answer to. The man, Adam, smiled at him, but it was sharp and severe. Hardison gulped.

“Come on, Daragh,” Adam said, indicating the computers he had setup. “Let’s kick ass.”

“You’re on, Athanas,” Hardison said, because this was familiar territory. Hardison paused, thinking back over the games they’d played and the questions he’d always had. “You’re the bard. How on earth haven’t you died yet?”

“Dual specialisation.”

“As what?”

“Try and find out,” Adam said with a crooked smile.

Hardison rested his backpack on the floor and pulled his laptop out of it.

“Oh, you have no idea who you’ve challenged.”

Chapter Text

Joe wasn’t sure what made him look up when the door opened. It was a busy night and people had been coming and going all night, but there was something, some shift in the air, which made him uneasy. In the doorway stood a short man, at least compared to Joe’s usual company, but he was broad-shouldered and carried himself like a fighter. The man took a single, expert glance around the room before settling on Joe. Joe was considering calling it a night and handing the bar over to Mike, maybe deal with this all another day, when Eliot Spencer settled in opposite him.

“Joe Dawson.”

“Eliot Spencer.”

Joe was surprised. Spencer had offered his real name or at least what passed for his real name in his file. The Watchers thought Spencer was taking advantage of new, and apparently relatively inexperienced, Immortal Adam Pierson. Both Mac and Amanda had a number of valuable artefacts that might interest a retrieval specialist; there were even bets as to which one Spencer might be after. Joe knew better.

“Something I can get you?” Joe asked as he wiped his cloth over the counter. He was keenly aware of the pistol hidden on the shelf beneath the counter. He tried to calculate if he’d be able to reach it if Spencer made a move.

“What’s going on with Adam?” Spencer said more bluntly than Joe would have anticipated, though he supposed, given what he knew, he really shouldn’t be surprised.

“Why don’t you ask him?”Joe asked, though he’d noticed something off about the old man as well. He’d been distant and mostly unreachable the last few weeks.

“Tried that.”

Joe knew how difficult it was to get a straight answer out of Methos. The only answers he gave were the ones he wanted you to know and they were never straight-forward.

“For the last few weeks, he’s been anxious and tense,” Spencer continued. “Adam doesn’t do anxious.”

Of course, Joe thought, Spencer hadn’t seen Methos when the Horsemen were in town or Byron, or any of the stupid stunts Mac had pulled that had put the Scotsman in danger. Joe doubted Mac had even seen the half of it. It was easier for Methos to open up to mortals, without the constant thought of the Game or Dark Quickenings or any old enemies (or allies or both) coming out of the woodwork to threaten whatever kind of peace he’d built. Joe wondered how it was that this man who would one day threaten all of that, had come to mean as much as he had to Methos.

It always seemed to come back to Mac, somehow, and Joe wondered if the Scotsman’s renewed presence in their lives was the cause. It was the only significant change and Joe still remembered that conversation all those many months ago. The one where Methos had been afraid of Mac. Joe often wondered if Mac knew the man he considered one of his best friends was so wary of him.

And here was Spencer, the man Methos was clearly trying to protect by avoiding MacLeod, in the one place MacLeod was likely to wander in. Sometimes the old man was way too secretive for his own good.

“I think I know what the issue is,” Joe ventured. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

Spencer nodded once then stood up to leave. Joe’s relief was short-lived as MacLeod chose that moment to enter. Spencer automatically looked MacLeod over, noted his caution and hidden weapon, and shifted his stance a little so he’d have better balance in a fight.

MacLeod glanced over the crowd in the bar before settling on Spencer. There was a tense moment when Joe thought they might come to blows, but they knew nothing about each other, and MacLeod’s gaze slid past Spencer to Joe and he smiled. Spencer walked past him and out the door. Joe couldn’t hold back his sigh of relief. He turned to MacLeod as the Scot slid onto one of the barstools.

“Who was that?” Mac asked and Joe made a split second decision.

“We’re feeling him out about joining the organisation.”

Mac glanced back at the direction in which Spencer had left and frowned.

“Is he close to an Immortal?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, frowning as well.

“You don’t want him, Joe. Someone’s grooming him for a student.”

Joe eyebrows shot up and he had to revise everything he thought about Methos and his relationship with Spencer. He still wasn’t sure what was going on there, but now wasn’t the time to puzzle it out.

“Well that does change things then. Thanks for the warning.”

“Someone we need to be worried about?” Mac asked, though he didn’t seem entirely focused on the problem.

“No, small fries, out of the Game entirely it looks like. The Watchers are just looking to expand their membership again after the last few years.”

“Alright then. Hey, what’s Methos been up to? I haven’t seen him around much recently.”

“I think he’s been working on a translation for the university.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll surface eventually for beer.”

“Right,” Joe said faintly, not nearly so certain.

Chapter Text

4x01

Eliot paused in laying out his equipment when Methos closed the front door and came to stand in the bedroom doorway. Adam stopped there, saying nothing.

“I have to head to Alaska,” Eliot said, looking up when he heard Adam sigh to see relief flash briefly across the other man’s face.

“I thought you had to lay low for a while,” Adam said, frowning.

“Something’s come up,” Eliot told him, double-checking he had everything gathered that he’d need before he packed it. Adam leaned casually against the doorframe, watching Eliot closely. Eliot wished he could stay and figure out what was going on with Adam, what had him spooked, but Nate needed him and if he didn’t go Nate was likely to do something idiotic without backup. Adam he could trust to look after himself.

“How long will you be?” Adam asked, coming forward to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know, probably not more than a week.”

“Alright,” Adam said, a little distractedly, before he focussed again on Eliot. “Good.”

“Good?” Eliot asked, eyebrows raised. Adam smiled but Eliot could still see the anxious, wary look just behind his eyes.

“Good,” Methos repeated, voice firm, though his expression turned coy and his mouth curled in a smirk.

“Getting bored of me already?” Eliot asked with a smirk of his own. He’d only just come back from San Lorenzo and Adam’s greeting had been enthusiastic, to say the least.

“Absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

Adam settled back on the bed, carefully avoiding Eliot’s meticulously folded garments and other supplies. Eliot smiled and stalked forward. He only had to leave in a few hours anyway.

4x02

It was the pin stripe grey suit that Eliot noticed first, fitted to the whipcord thin body. The mussed hair came next. It was only when the man turned that Eliot realised it was Adam and his heart stopped for a moment. They were trapped on an island with a murderer and Adam was stuck with them, but Adam could protect himself. What really caught Eliot’s attention was the way the suit emphasised Adam’s thin waist and long legs. It must have been tailored to him. Adam only ever wore jeans and baggy sweaters, and while Eliot knew what was beneath those clothes, seeing Adam on display like this made him feel all kinds of pleased, because Adam was going home with him.

It was only late into the evening, when they’d caught the murderers and Adam had spent the evening diverting the attention of the security guards, that Eliot finally got a moment alone with him.

“Case closed, Siringo?” Adam asked, playing with the collar of Eliot’s coat.

“Who are you, exactly?” Eliot asked, settling a hand on Adam’s hip and pulling him closer.

“The Doctor.”

“Doctor who?”

“Exactly,” Adam said with a grin. Eliot had no idea what he was talking about, but was more than willing to drop it, when Adam pushed him against the wall and nimble fingers went to his belt.

4x03

Someone was tracking them, listening to them. He knew who they were, where they lived and what they did. He’d called Nate just to prove it, to show his superior position, and he did have the higher ground. They knew nothing about him, nothing about what he wanted or what his endgame might be, which left them all feeling vulnerable.

Eliot had no idea what this man might be capable of, how far his resources might extend, which made him reluctant to head home to Adam, not unless he’d used every technique he knew to lose a trail. He was on edge, constantly trying to keep alert to any threat and it showed.

“Everything okay?” Adam asked, looking up from his book. Eliot watched him for a moment, seeing tension in his frame. The realisation was sudden, a shock of understanding. Eliot wasn’t the only one dealing with an unknown variable and Adam had been dealing with it for months.

“Someone knows about the team,” Eliot told him.

“Need some help?” Adam asked, grin wicked. Eliot shook his head but couldn’t help but smile back. Adam closed the book in his lap and hesitated, smile fading to a pensive expression. “There’s something you should know,” he said finally.

“Yeah?” Eliot asked, keeping his expression neutral.

“A friend is in town,” Adam started, looking ill at ease and somehow hollowed out. Eliot wondered who had done that to him and how Adam could stand calling him a friend. “He tends not to approve of my friends.”

“Okay,” Eliot said softly, fighting all the other things he wanted to say, the accusations he wanted to make, but this guy was clearly not good for Adam. He kept his silence.

4x07

Eliot was sitting at the kitchen table when he heard a soft knock at the door. It was late, beyond the time for most people to be up, but neither Eliot nor Adam needed much sleep. Eliot listened with half an ear as Adam answered the door. There was a soft murmur of voices and then Adam entered, followed by a rather despondent Hardison. Eliot couldn’t hide his surprise. Adam looked at him and shook his head once, so Eliot kept his seat and his silence and left the situation to Adam.

“I was looking for Parker,” Hardison murmured but Adam simply steered him to the living room.

He kept half an eye out as Adam settled Hardison on the couch and disappeared for a moment before returning with a pillow and some blankets. Hardison simply sat on the edge of his seat, forearms on his knees, head hanging low. Adam then sat on the edge of the coffee table and rested his hand on Hardison’s shoulder.

“You’re going to have nightmares,” he said very seriously. “You’re going to think you can’t breathe and you’re going to think you’re dying. But you’re not. They will fade and you will either get over it or learn to live with the fear.”

While Eliot appreciated the sentiment, he knew Hardison wasn't like them, and he wondered if maybe Adam was being a little to hard on him. Hardison took a shaky breath and raised his head to look at Adam. The look in his eyes made it seem like Adam was all that was keeping him sane.

“It’ll help if you leave a light on when you go to sleep, maybe some music too. That way, when you wake up, it’s not dark and quiet and so oppressive you don’t know where you are or what’s happening. There are ways you can deal with this,” Adam assured him. “And ways to manage until you can deal.”

“I...” Hardison said. “Thanks.”

“Get some sleep,” Adam said. “Eliot’s got to finish cleaning his sword and I want to finish my chapter.”

Hardison lay down on the couch and pulled a blanket over him. He watched Adam intently for a moment before he closed his eyes and slept, Eliot and Adam watching over him.

4x11

Eliot woke with a start, heart pounding in his chest as images of fire and blood and death slowly faded. He opened his eyes to see Adam sitting up against the headboard, as far on the edge of the bed as he could get, and watching him with concern. Eliot knew he wasn’t always rational when he woke from nightmares and if Adam had touched him then, he was sure he could have hurt him. But Adam knew these things, knew them just as personally as Eliot, because there were nights when Eliot had to watch him toss and turn and mutter in languages Eliot didn’t understand, while Eliot was forced to do nothing.

“I’m okay,” Eliot told him. Adam’s smile was small, but genuine.

“I know,” he said, as he slid under the blankets again and wrapped himself around Eliot. Eliot allowed Adam’s warmth to ease away that chill that seemed to have settled in his bones.

“The things I did...”

“I know,” Adam said again, pressing his face into Eliot hair. Eliot sighed and closed his eyes.

4x13

Methos looked around the ballroom again, thoroughly bored. Eliot owed him for this. Especially since Eliot was playing his poker game while Methos had to spend the evening watching two grifters. Admittedly, they were two very attractive and talented grifters, but Methos had better things to do with his time.

He did what he usually did when Eliot called him in on these situations or Methos decided Eliot needed a hand; distracted security so they could do their thing. Honestly, the amount of disruption they caused, he was sure they thought security the world over was ridiculously incompetent.

Stepping smoothly in front of another guard and spilling his drink all over him, Methos caught Sophie watching them closely. She smiled coyly when she caught his gaze, which was practically grifter for ‘You’ve been made’. She sidled over to him once the guard had gone to clean himself up.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a light laugh. “I know this seems ridiculous, but have we met before?” She rested a hand on his arm, trailing her fingers down to his elbow.

“I do travel quite a bit,” Methos told her, leaning into her.

“Oh,” she said with a pleased smile. “Another expatriate.”

“London?” he asked, picking up on the slight inflection beneath the accent she presented.

“Wales?” she retorted with a raised eyebrow. It was where he’d spent a fair amount of his downtime in the last century or so. No one looked for the oldest Immortal in Wales and the weather generally meant no one questioned him when he kept to himself.

“Sophie!” the blonde grifter called and Sophie frowned briefly before giving him an apologetic look.

“Please excuse me,” she said before turning to leave. Her hips swayed as she moved and she cast a single, lingering glance over her shoulder, but Methos knew that was more habit than anything else.

Eliot owed him so much.

4x17

Sophie stood at the window, looking down at the street, just watching people go by while she tried to ignore the clink of glass on glass as Nate poured himself another drink. At least he hadn’t resorted to drinking straight from the bottle yet. The death of his father and the discovery that Dubenich was behind everything had shocked the team to their core and they were each trying to cope in their own way.

Her spine stiffened and her mouth pursed when she saw a familiar face loitering outside the bar. It was the man she’d seen just over a week ago, the one she’d been seeing at their cons for years now, though she’d only realised it when she’d spoken to him at the embassy. She was about to call out to Nate when she saw Eliot leave the bar and walk straight up to him.

She held her breath, waiting for the violence that usually oozed out of Eliot’s pores, expecting it, but nothing happened. Eliot walked within arm’s reach of the man and stopped, just looking at him. The man raised a hand and brushed away a strand of Eliot’s hair and the gesture was tender.

They said a few words to each other, softly, she knew, because Eliot’s stance was the same one he used with children, careful and tightly reined in. This wasn’t a man he needed to intimidate, violence had no place between them, and that was something that surprised her, though she knew she shouldn’t be.

Eliot cupped the man’s jaw and ran his thumb over his bottom lip before pulling him into a kiss. It had the ease and comfort of something long-practiced and well-familiar and that, perhaps, was more shocking than anything. She’d never known this about Eliot, had never guessed that he was in a relationship, especially not one that seemed to have lasted years from what she could guess about the man’s appearances on their cons.

The man said something as they separated, smirking as he did so. Eliot gave him a grumpy look and said something in return, to which the man laughed. They were comfortable with each other, at ease in ways she’d never seen Eliot before. They walked away together, shoulders touching, and she smiled.

4x18

“It’s over,” Eliot told him, dropping his bag in the doorway. Adam looked up from the desk where he’d been scribbling in his latest journal. Eliot had tried reading one once, when Adam had left it open on his desk, but Adam’s gift with languages shone through and while Eliot had occasionally recognised a word here or there, Adam either used obscure languages or obscure dialects and it was unreadable.

“You okay?” Adam asked and Eliot shrugged before he nodded. Nate's father was dead, they were burned in Boston, and Eliot wasn’t entirely sure that Nate had planned not to pull the trigger himself, but they were all alive and free.

“We have to go,” Eliot said, looking away from Adam. “I don’t know where to, yet.”

“Got any plans?” Adam asked neutrally.

“A few,” Eliot said, finally looking at him again. “I’ve got a friend that needs a hand with a job.” He didn’t give any further details because it really was safer all around if he kept things quiet. “When I know where I’m going to be...”

“You’ll let me know. I know,” Adam said with a hint of a smile.

Eliot didn’t know how to ask because he’d already made Adam move twice in four years, and Adam had his job at the university and he was close to getting tenure, but Eliot couldn’t come back to Boston, not for a good few years.

“You’re an idiot, you know that,” Adam told him, smile widening. Eliot stared at him, frowning, for a long moment, before his expression cleared. He had to finish the job with Vance first, but...

“Come with me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

Methos closed the door, deliberately turning the lock, shrugged out of his jacket, and hanging it on the coat rack just inside the door before slowly turning around. The apartment was bathed in shadows, the light from the moon barely filtering through.

“Nathan Ford,” he said by way of greeting.

The standing lamp by the bookshelf turned on and washed the mastermind in pale light.

“This meeting is long overdue,” Ford said.

How dramatic, Methos thought. He toed off his shoes and socks, leaving them in the doorway before he made his way to the kitchen. He pushed up the cuffs of his baggy jersey.

“Beer?” he asked as he opened the fridge and grabbed one for himself.

“No thanks,” Ford said, as he swirled the tumbler in his hand, ice clinking against the glass. “I hope you don’t mind, but I helped myself.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” he said with an ironic twist of his mouth as he seated himself in the armchair opposite. Ford raised his glass to Methos and he returned the gesture with his bottle. “You’re here to see if I’m a threat,” Methos said finally.

“Are you?”

“I could assure you that I care for Eliot, that I’d never do anything to hurt him.”

Ford looked at him steadily, expectantly, but didn’t say anything. Methos took a long swallow of beer before he met Ford’s gaze just as steadily.

“The truth is, I could care less about your little crew. Except for Parker, I like Parker.”

The only sign of tension was a slight tick in Ford’s jaw, but he had impressive control otherwise for one so young. Methos took another long swallow of beer and put his feet up on the coffee table. He wriggled his toes.

“So what is it that you want?”

“That should be obvious,” Methos told him. Ford raised his eyebrows in question. “Eliot. I want Eliot.”

“Why?” Ford demanded. It was rather charming that he thought Eliot needed protection from him, that Ford thought he could protect Eliot from him.

“That should be even more obvious.”

“Because you love him?” Ford said, barely a trace of mockery in his tone.

“Because he’s mine,” Methos corrected. They were wrapped up in each other now, for better or worse. Ford paled, but kept his expression remarkably blank. He really was quite good. The things Methos could do with him, the man he could create.

“I think Eliot would have something to say about that.”

“He does,” Methos agreed easily, mouth stretching into a grin. He was Eliot’s, too. They couldn’t escape each other now. Whichever way this thing between them fell, they were stuck with each other, until it all came to a bloody end, one way or the other.

“I can’t do anything to stop you,” Ford said, expression hollowed out and voice flat.

“It would be safer if you didn’t try.”

Ford nodded slowly, the tick in his jaw jumping again. Methos dropped his feet to the ground, rested his half-finished beer on the table and stood smoothly.

“Well, it’s been nice chatting with you,” Methos said with his most insolent smirk. “Be sure to lock up when you leave.”

Methos made sure to memorise the way Ford’s mouth dropped open, just a little, and his eyes widened as Methos turned and went to bed.

Chapter Text

5x01

Methos settles at the bar, pointedly ignoring the way Ford glares at the back of his head.

“Adam, my man,” Hardison greets, shaking his hand in a complex sequence of grips that Methos follows easily. “You got the new expansion pack?”

“Just waiting for the rest of the guild,” Methos says.

“Try our thief juice,” Parker interrupts, pushing a mug of beer at him.

“Suggestion box,” Hardison says pointedly with a tight smile.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Eliot says, sitting down next to him, knees touching. Eliot leans on the countertop, glaring at Hardison in the way that usually means he’s actually enjoying the company. Methos smiles a little and draws the mug closer.

“I’m never one to say no to free beer,” he says with a shrug and takes a sip. Eliot winces on his behalf when he coughs a little at the strong alcoholic taste. “The temperature was too high during fermentation.”

Hardison looks surprised, then pulls his ever-present pad towards him and taps out some notes. He pours another mug and pushes it in front of Methos. He tries to look uninterested, but there’s an air of expectation about him, and Methos realises that as casual as Hardison wants to appear, he really wants this to work. Parker just looks eager and he finds himself reluctant to disappoint her.

“Alright,” he says, leaning forward and looking intently at Hardison. “I’ll be your taste-tester, but I eat and drink for free.”

“Sure,” Hardison says easily, to which Eliot shook his head but didn’t actually say anything. Methos grinned. Hardison really had no idea what he was letting himself in for, but Methos figured it just made for good life experience.

5x04

“I need passion,” Parker says from where she’s perched on his balcony.

He refuses to admit that part of his reason for purchasing his latest apartment is that it provides both easier access and more of a challenge for Parker. There’s a skylight over the open plan kitchen, dining room and lounge, and a balcony leading off the study. Neither of which provide access to the bedroom because, while Methos doesn’t particularly care about those kinds of things, Eliot still does.

“You’ve got plenty,” Methos says as he bookmarks his page and closes the book, giving Parker his full attention.

“I do?” Parker asks, surprised, as she slips silently in the door.

“What’s this about?”

“I like things, I think,” she says. “Food and art, but I don’t think it’s passion. I need to find passion.”

“Passion isn’t something you find,” Methos tells her. “It’s something you have.” Immediately, her expression turns downcast and he wonders what’s got her tying herself up in knots like this. Part of the reason he’s so fond of Parker is her ability to accept things as they come, no matter how unusual, and roll with it. There’s no reason she should be questioning herself.

“Eliot has cooking, Sophie has acting, Hardison has his games, Nate has being creepy. I don’t have a thing that’s not a work thing. I need a not work thing.”

“Why?” Methos asks, genuinely perplexed. Parker frowns, too.

“Because,” she says with a shrug. “It’s a thing normal people have.”

“Parker,” Methos says, having a little more trouble than usual following her thought process. “Only a few, very lucky people get to work doing what they love.”

“I don’t understand.”

“History isn’t my passion, Parker. It’s just convenient. There have been years at a time,” he says – decades, centuries, “when I didn’t know what my passion was.”

“But you do now?”

He shrugs. It isn’t exactly a simple question.

“I like teaching,” he tells her, thinking briefly of his students at the University but, more importantly, of Eliot, Parker and even Hardison. “I like learning,” he says. Languages, medicine, technology. There is never an end to the things he could study and it was always that thought that had kept him going when nothing else had. Because nothing stays the same, the world is always moving on, and that gives him hope.

“And Eliot.”

“And Eliot,” he agrees. “What about you?”

“I like money,” she says automatically. “And stealing things.”

“Why?”

She frowns again and he’s sure she’s never bothered to question it. It’s always just been what it is and that’s part of the way she just accepts things.

“It’s fun. And easy.”

“But it’s more fun when it’s difficult?”

“Well, yeah,” she says, like that should have been obvious.

“So you enjoy pitting yourself against complex problems and challenging yourself mentally and physically?” Methos asks. Parker tilts her head to one side, contemplating that for a moment, before she smiles slowly.

“I guess I do,” she says and she straightens, looking more sure of herself, as the tension slips from her shoulders.

5x05

“He’s up to something,” Eliot says, moving a pawn forward, eyes intent on the board.

“Ford?” Adam asks mildly, countering with a pawn of his own.

“I don’t know what it is but he’s definitely up to something,” Eliot repeats. Adam hums noncommittally and that’s what Eliot loves about him.

Adam is patient, in his own way, and, even if he has no shortage of opinions about the small things, is never judgemental about the big things. He’s beginning to understand that there is just about nothing that could make Adam turn from him in disgust or fear. It’s a novel experience and a little frightening, because it takes all kinds of experience to get to a place like that and Eliot isn’t entirely sure he’s there himself.

“Do you trust him?” Adam asks as Eliot moves a knight.

“Yeah,” Eliot says with a shrug. He trusts Nate on the job, trusts him to want to do the right thing, but he’s not always sure he trusts Nate to know what that is or how to go about it. It’s not like Damien Moreau where Eliot had trusted him completely right up until he hadn’t trusted him at all. This isn’t history repeating itself.

“I had...” Adam begins, then frowns. “I had a brother,” he says and Eliot senses there’s much more to it than the word itself encompasses.

“He was charismatic and intelligent. And very persuasive,” Adam says, mouth curling in a wistful little smile Eliot was sure Adam wasn’t aware of. He feels inordinately glad for the use of the past tense, not just because he isn’t sure he could compete with that, but because he isn’t sure anyone is strong enough to resist that kind of pull forever.

“He found me when I was floundering,” Adam says, not raising his eyes as he moves a knight across the board. “When I didn’t have direction, didn’t have anything really.

“He had a vision for the world and our place in it. It was... compelling,” Adam admits.

The parallels are clear and undeniable. This man was Adam’s Damien Moreau. It doesn’t excuse their crimes; Eliot knows that he, like Adam, made his own choices, but they both understand the allure of men like that.

“Together, there was no one who could stand in our way, nothing we couldn’t accomplish. It was amazing and intoxicating, the power we wielded. Until it wasn’t enough anymore.”

There are a wealth of implications Eliot could read into that, not least that things hadn’t ended well.

“For years, everything was coloured by that relationship,” Adam tells him, looking him in the eye. It’s as honest as Eliot has ever known him.

“Then what?” Eliot asks, moving his bishop.

Adam shrugs, a wry smile curving his mouth, as he moved his knight, taking the piece.

“Time,” Adam says. “Distance.”

And Eliot understands. There’s only so long you can remain alert and afraid before it becomes normal, commonplace, and you begin to move on because that level of anxiety simply isn’t sustainable.

If Eliot was more romantic, he might consider that their histories drew them together, prepared them for each other, but he’s more practical than that. He knows there are terrible people in the world and good people who do bad things. He are Adam are hardly unique. It’s a nice thought, though.

“Checkmate,” Adam says, triumph brightening his eyes and wiping away the bitter evidence of their conversation.

“Guess I owe you a forfeit,” Eliot says, smirking. He begins to unbutton his shirt as he rises to his feet.

5x09

Eliot clenches his teeth as he opens the door to his hotel room. He can’t relax just yet, can’t show vulnerability. Not when someone is there. It takes him a moment to recognise the shoes at the door and the coat over the back of a chair.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” he teases, tension easing out of him and making him feel the ache of the gunshot. Adam is sprawled on the bed, barefoot and tempting, book in hand. His smile is warm and affectionate and Eliot breathes out the last of the fear and dread that had been his companion all day.

“You alright?” Adam asks, already scanning Eliot for injury.

“Yeah,” Eliot says, because he’s already been looked over by the paramedics. Adam raises an eyebrow and Eliot sighs, settling on the edge of the bed. Carefully, Adam helps Eliot remove his shirt and peel off the undershirt, sticky as it is with drying blood. His skin is littered with scars where Adam’s is smooth, but Adam has never been shocked by what he sees. Eliot has the feeling that there are scars beneath his smooth skin, scars that Eliot can only see because of the proximate effects. Adam carefully peels back the dressing and prods at the edges of the wound before covering it back up again.

“Why don’t I order room service.”

Eliot doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more perfect suggestion. He eases himself down onto the bed and briefly closes his eyes as Adam picks up the phone.

"I foiled a terrorist plot today,” he says without bothering to open his eyes.

“That so,” Adam muses, settling on the bed next to Eliot.

Eliot can’t help his hum of contentment as Adam pulls his head into his lap and begins to massage his scalp and uninjured shoulder.

“It’s been a long day,” Eliot says with a sigh.

“But that’s not the only thing that’s been worrying you,” Adam prompts, shifting to card his fingers through Eliot’s shorter hair.

“I think someone’s been following me,” Eliot admits, feeling a little foolish, because he isn’t entirely sure and he can look after himself even if it is the case.

“Be careful,” Adam says, voice weighed down with all the things they don’t talk about. “I’m not ready for you to die.”

“Me either.”

Chapter Text

Eliot wakes with a gasp, the copper taste of blood on his tongue and a persistent, piercing ache in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Adam says softly, fingers stroking through Eliot’s hair, and that’s when Eliot remembers.

-

They hadn’t stuck around DC long. Not when Eliot couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed and Adam would often tense and look around before finally relaxing. They were being hunted, that much was clear.

It continued for almost a week, both of them growing tenser with each passing day, until finally their hunter confronted them. She stepped out of the shadows, gun aimed at Eliot and she fired before either man could react. Eliot fell to the ground, blood filling his lungs.

“Two for the price of one,” she said with a smirk.

“By the time you realise what a colossal mistake you’ve made, it’ll be too late,” Adam said, darkly dangerous as he drew his sword and then Eliot’s vision greyed out and he choked, blood spotting his lips.

“Hang on, Eliot,” Adam told him and that was the last thing Eliot heard.

-

“I died,” Eliot says, sitting up. His fingers probe the hole in his shirt and run over the smooth skin underneath. The woman’s body lies only a few feet away, her head a few feet further, and there’s the now all too familiar lightning damage all around them. Adam still looks wrecked.

“I didn’t want this for you,” Adam says, reaching out to touch Eliot before dropping his hand. Eliot grabs Adam’s hand and intertwines their fingers together before pulling him closer. Adam presses his face to Eliot’s hair and breathes in deeply. Eliot holds him close and waits for the ache to ease.

“I know,” Eliot says.

“Everything’s going to be different now,” Adam says, still tense in Eliot’s arms and Eliot, from what he’s been able to piece together, knows exactly what he’s worried about.

“Not that different,” Eliot tells him even if it’s a lie. Because Immortals kill each other and that’s what Eliot is now. He’s been trying so hard to leave that part of his life behind.

“I tried to keep you from this,” Adam says and Eliot wants to be angry about that all over again but he can’t because he understands the awful weight of it.

“It’s okay,” Eliot says, giving Adam’s hand a squeeze and Adam squeezes back, just as hard. “I’m okay.”

“Come on,” Adam says, rising to stand and Eliot lets Adam pull him up. “We need to get out of here.”

“How about an early night, tonight?” Eliot asks, sliding a hand to settle in the small of Adam’s back as they walk away from the scene.

“I could order in some food,” Adam offers, close enough that they brush against each other as they walk.

“Sounds perfect.”

Chapter Text

5x11

Eliot settled down on the couch next to Adam and leaned back, resting an arm along the back of the couch. Adam automatically shifted into his embrace and shut his book, looking at Eliot.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Eliot hesitated, not sure how much he was ready to reveal to Adam just yet.

“I went to see my father,” Eliot said, even though he wasn’t really, not if Eliot was a foundling, but Eliot had never felt the difference.

“How did it go?” Adam asked, carefully neutral as he waited for Eliot’s reaction. He shrugged.

“I didn’t see him,” Eliot said, not wanting to tell Adam that he hadn’t had the courage to stick around and try again when his father hadn’t answered the door the first time.

Adam didn’t say anything and Eliot appreciated it. He wasn’t sure he could handle someone trying to push him into feeling better about it or putting himself on the line again just yet.

“What was your family like?” Eliot asked, because he needed to think about something else. “You don’t ever talk about them.”

“I don’t remember,” Adam said easily and Eliot could tell that it was distant enough that it really didn’t bother much him anymore.

“What was it like then, when you were young?”

“I was never young,” Adam said with a smirk then shook his head and sighed. “Dirty and loud and crowded when it wasn’t empty and lonely. Be very grateful for indoor plumbing”

And that was possibly the biggest hint Eliot had had to Adam’s age. He added it to the others and let his mind turn over the puzzle, allowing himself to be distracted.

5x12

Eliot plucked at his guitar, humming snatches of songs as he thought about dreams and heart’s desires and that fact that they’d almost driven a man to commit suicide. Adam was sprawled the other end of the couch, book dangling loosely from his fingertips, eyes drifting shut as he drowsed.

He played, snatches of songs he vaguely remembered and half-forgotten lullabies, wherever his mind took him as he tried to drown out the thoughts screaming that this time they’d gone too far. No matter how it had worked out, they’d driven a good man, a highly traumatised man, almost to insanity.

Eliot trailed off, fingers still strumming softly, and he was surprised when Adam started humming before he softly sang a few lines in a language Eliot couldn’t even hope to recognise, it was entirely foreign, exotic even, though the cadence was slow and soothing.

“Where’s that from?” Eliot asked when Adam finished and Adam opened his eyes, frowning.

“I don’t know,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. “I think it’s from my youth.”

He seemed surprised and Eliot couldn’t help but wonder just how old he was.

5x13

“Wine’s overrated,” Adam said disparagingly.

Eliot shrugged, immediately comparing the merits of either with certain dishes, and figured it ultimately came down to preference.

“I remember well my first beer. Of course, it was lumpy and sweet, but that’s all that was going in those days. And it was years before I came across wine.”

Eliot thought of everything he’d ever learned or heard offhand about beer. The process itself was thousands of years old, but beer like that probably hadn’t been widely made in at least a millennia.

“That’s, what, two, three thousand years,” Eliot said, unable to keep the awe from his voice.

“5000 actually,” Adam corrected, apparently nonchalant, but Eliot could see the significance of what he was saying in the way he held himself and watched Eliot through hooded eyes. “I don’t remember my mortal life or if I had any name other than Methos.”

“Methos,” Eliot said, testing out the name.

“The oldest Immortal.”

5x15

Methos felt the already familiar buzz of Eliot’s Immortality at the back of his mind when he entered the apartment and closed the door behind him. Arrayed around the living room were Eliot, Parker and Hardison, all looking a mix between serious and excited.

“We’re leaving Portland,” Eliot said and Methos nodded. Clearly, another job had gone sideways then. He made plans for packing up all his and Eliot’s things. They could have them sent to a destination later. He’d have to give notice at the university as well, especially if he was considering going into any other similar fields any time soon.

“It’s just us now,” Eliot told him. “Nate and Sophie are out.”

“Really?” Methos asked, because he couldn’t imagine those two living straight.

“They’re getting married and going away,” Parker said, dropping down from the back of the couch and approaching Methos with a wide smile. “And I’m okay with that.”

“Good,” Methos told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. She curled into him and he wondered at how far she had come. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he had generations of daughters.

“A lot of cons we can’t run with three,” Eliot ventured, meeting Methos’ gaze evenly. Methos looked to Hardison who wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“And Nate won’t be there to glare at the back of your head,” Parker added.

“There’s always that,” Methos said neutrally still looking at Hardison who finally rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, throwing up his hands. “We want you on our crew.”

“All you had to do was ask,” Methos told him, grinning.

Chapter Text

Joe hid his smile and wiped at the bar with a damp cloth, discretely watching the two Immortals as they drank and laughed, gave each other lingering touches and searing looks that told Joe everything he needed to know about their relationship.

Methos and Eliot had become fixtures in his bar since they moved to town. Even their friends Hardison and Parker were becoming regulars. Joe liked the atmosphere they created, like family. It was something he’d sorely missed but greatly appreciated these days.

Methos threw back his head and laughed, long and loud, at something Eliot said and Joe could see, written plainly on his face, the devotion and affection Eliot had for the old man. Joe was glad. He wasn't getting any younger and he’d been worried Methos might isolate himself from the world again without anyone to force him to join it. Especially since MacLeod was an infrequent visitor these days. Although that might be a good thing.

The two Immortals stiffened and Joe joined them in looking to the door when it opened. They were still closed and Joe could guess who might be coming through the door, but none of his guesses would be good.

MacLeod stood there, hand in his jacket, resting on his sword and Joe sighed. He wondered if it would be possible to surreptitiously hide any breakable objects then MacLeod relaxed and nodded to Methos, glossing over Eliot, before making his way over to Joe. Joe noticed Methos hadn’t relaxed at all and Eliot, picking up on Methos’ apprehension, was just as tense beside him.

“Hey Joe,” Mac said with a smile.

“MacLeod,” Joe greeted, wondering if he shouldn’t have taken the Scotsman aside years ago and warned him that killing people your friends were fond of tended to do irreparable harm to the friendship.

“We should get going,” Methos said as the two Immortals stood. Methos rested a protective, possessive hand between Eliot’s shoulder blades and Joe could see the moment it dawned on MacLeod what their relationship truly was in the way he gritted his jaw and the flash of possessive jealousy in his eyes. He should tell the Scotsman he’d had his chance, for five years all he’d had to do was say the word and Methos would have dropped everything for him, but he doubted MacLeod would listen to him. He doubted MacLeod even realised exactly what he was feeling. MacLeod’s eyes narrowed as he searched Eliot’s features then widened.

“You!” he said. “I did some research on you the last time you were in here. I thought there was something wrong about you.”

“Mac,” Methos said softly in warning.

“You sure this is something you want to do?” Joe asked.

“Joe?”

Joe frowned, wondering how to get his point across without the Immortal becoming defensive.

“Maybe try to get to know him first,” Joe suggested. “People change and he seems like a good man.”

Methos’ gaze never left MacLeod’s face but Eliot gave Joe a brief nod in thanks for his support.

“He’s a murderer,” MacLeod argued.

“So are you,” Methos said, edging into cold and distant, impersonal.

“I didn’t kill for money,” Mac said tightly, insulted. Joe wondered what difference that made. Dead was dead. “I didn’t kill children.”

Eliot’s already neutral expression shuttered and Methos splayed the hand that had lightly been touching Eliot’s back firmly across his shoulder, giving him support. Joe had had time to sit and swap war stories with Eliot and knew he’d been to Africa and the Middle East, places where they put guns in the hands of terrified children and told them where to shoot. Joe knew what that was like, how what you were forced to do ate at you.

MacLeod drew his sword, pointing it at Eliot. Eliot looked at Methos and refused to retaliate. Joe was glad at least one of them was showing some maturity.

“You try it and I’ll kill you,” Methos said seriously, drawing his gun. Mac glanced briefly in his direction, frown marring his brow.

“Methos?” MacLeod questioned and Eliot didn’t even blink at the use of Methos’ name. Joe filed that away to think about when there wasn’t about to be a murder.

“There is nowhere you could hide from me that I would not find you.”

“You can’t mean that,” Mac said. “He’s a mercenary. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I would make your death quick,” Methos conceded, undoubtedly in deference to the friendship they’d shared.

Eliot rested a hand on Methos’ arm but didn’t put any pressure on it to drop the gun.

“Like you said, we should go,” Eliot told him. Methos backed a few paces back to the door then lowered his gun and holstered it again.

“Be seeing you, Joe,” he said before turning and leaving, Eliot close on his heels. Joe sighed.

“Really, MacLeod?”

-

MacLeod was barely even aware that it was an Immortal’s presence dragging him from sleep before there was a weight on his chest and a katana– a Hattori Hanzo blade, his brain supplied – at his neck. He froze, his own sword out of reach on the floor next to the bed.

“Here’s the thing,” Spencer said conversationally. “I don’t like to kill people. I’ve been trying very hard not to. But I could kill you and it wouldn’t change anything. Methos,” he said, emphasising the use of the name, “would mourn and he’d suspect it was me, but it wouldn’t make a difference. You want to know why?”

“Why?” MacLeod forced the word out when it was clear Spencer was expecting a response.

“Because we fit. I know him,” Spencer said and MacLeod could tell that he didn’t just mean they swapped a few stories about their pasts. Spencer understood Methos. Probably better than MacLeod ever could.

“But I don’t like it when he’s sad, which he would be because he actually seems to care for you, so I’m giving you one warning. Do anything to hurt him and I will kill you before you even realise there’s a target on your back. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” MacLeod said, struggling to swallow past the blade at his neck. “I understand.”

“Good,” Spencer said and then he was gone. MacLeod let out a shaky breath.