Five Things II by Killa
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Five times Methos turned up unannounced at Duncan's

* * *

February, 1994. Methos had been intrigued by stories of the younger MacLeod for years, and Darius had been telling him for almost as long that Methos should let Darius introduce them, but Methos always pretended not to take him seriously. Then Darius was killed and MacLeod went after Horton.

When MacLeod came back to Paris, Methos found himself altering the route of his walks sometimes to pass the Quay de Tournelle without really meaning to -- not Watching, per se, just... allowing for the possibility of a chance meeting.

It was a sunny, crisp afternoon after a couple of weeks of this, when he'd just about made up his mind to take a more direct approach, that he happened by just in time to see MacLeod practicing a standing kata. Methos stood in the shadow of a tree above the quay and watched without making his presence known; it was that afternoon that he first heard Xavier St. Cloud was in town, and he decided the time wasn't right after all.

* * *

April, 1996. Gina and Robert invited him to the wedding, of course, because they were insane, and of course he'd made regretful excuses. He didn't think Mac was speaking to him yet, for one thing, and he hated parties, for another. Then the day came, and he found himself doing the unthinkable -- showing up at MacLeod's door two hours before the wedding looking like he'd given more than five minutes' thought to what he was wearing, an actual wrapped gift under his arm. He supposed it was some sort of apology; as it turned out, maybe he should have tried wool gabardine and silk before, because he and Mac were very nearly late.

* * *

January, 1997. A clear, cold night, two months after Kronos and Silas died at the sub station. Maybe it was too soon; maybe it wasn't soon enough. He waited under the bridge for almost half an hour before he admitted it had been a stupid idea, and went home to change into clothes Adam Pierson would never wear. He left immediately and went straight to a club Adam Pierson had never been in, and he remembers very little else of that night, which he considers to be a good thing.

* * *

December 21, 2003. Connor was a month in the ground; Duncan had left New York, but hadn't come home to Paris, and hadn't shown up in London, either, which Methos half expected. On a hunch, Methos called up Rachel MacLeod in Glenfinnan and asked if she'd seen a certain broody Scot lately. He's upstairs as a matter of fact, she said, do you want me to get him for you? Tell you what, said Methos, why don't I make it a social call? and when he showed up ten hours later, scruffy and tired and rather desperate for a beer, the look on Duncan's face was worth it.

* * *

March, 2016. They hadn't seen each other in almost ten years. Duncan looked good, fit, when he answered the door chime, like he'd made a life for himself among the young, urban throng of artists and writers and theater types. He looked like he'd done okay for himself, like grief wasn't a constant companion in his life any more. Like he'd remembered how to live as though death wasn't looking over his shoulder all the time. "Candygram," Methos said, as if it were nothing, him showing up like this. As if his heart wasn't racing to beat the band. Before he could say anything else, Duncan had his arms around him, breath warm against Methos' ear. "It's good to see you," Duncan said, and the truth of it was written all over him, like the sun breaking over the clouds.