The Graveyard by AD absolutely
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Author's Notes:
Thanks to methos_fan and holde_maid for beta duty.

MacLeod passed slowly through the graveyard, exhausted from his search. The feel of holy ground touched his core, warning his bloodlust not to fight here. He always felt old in these places, filled with the bones of mortals. He glanced from side to side, wondering about the lives of the individuals memorialized here. Such short lives.

There it was — finally.

He followed the faint buzz to the very back of the cemetery to an embankment where an old mausoleum stood the passage of centuries. MacLeod climbed the embankment carefully, placing each foot just so. Still the loose gravel and dirt caused him to slide every third step. “How did that old fool get up there in his condition?” he wondered, sighing as he scrambled the last bit and grasped a stone pillar. He was now well within range of the ancient’s jittery buzz. Normally a head rattler, Methos’ buzz was bloody impressive with the new quickening discordance — giving MacLeod a jarring headache. He threw himself up the pillar, grasping for hand holds, vaulting to the ledge top where his friend huddled. Methos was filthy, smelling of vomit, his eyes tiny slits.

“There you are.” He crouched down next to the ancient. After waiting an appropriate amount of time for a response he asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Looking up into Mac’s eyes, Methos drew a ragged breath and replied after the exhale, “I’m collecting myself.”

MacLeod gave him a weary smile, nodded. “Will you be done soon?”

“No.” Methos fidgeted under Macs steady gaze. “How did you find me?”

“Father Liam called me.”

Methos frowned. “Father Liam?”

“He’s an immortal priest.”

“I know who he is. How — why?”

“Amanda.”

“Oh. Damn her.”

“Shush! She’s just doing her thing.”

“Which is?”

“Pretty much the same thing you do — interfering.”

“Oh.”

“Come on.”

MacLeod grasped his friend, pulling him to his feet, then stopped and thought about the logistics of getting them back off the monument as they teetered on the ledge. “I guess we jump, or do you prefer scrambling back down the stone?”

Methos sighed, answered honestly, “I don’t want to go back through the cemetery.”

MacLeod nodded, understanding. “Come on.” He turned them around to face the uphill side, and giving Methos no time to protest, grabbed him by the elbow and jumped to the ground on that side. The fall was short, but painfully rocky at the end. Methos grumbled in Latin, then gave a short brittle laugh as his friend hauled him to his feet and helped him climb up the hill, never looking back into the valley of death.