by Maxine Mayer, 12/28/97

The snow was falling steadily in New York City, but that was outside. Inside St. Vincent's Hospital, in the private room occupied by Joe Dawson, it was warm and cozy, and crowded. There were three people grouped by the ailing Watcher's bed. Joe's former assignment - the Immortal Duncan MacLeod - sat in a stuffed plastic chair, very close to the Watcher, his head resting on the edge of the old man's bed, his hands gripping the sheet. Joe's personal physician, MacLeod's lover of twenty years past, Dr. Anne Lindsey, who'd flown in from Cape Cod, stood nearby, her gaze shifting between Dawson and Duncan, a concerned expression on her face. Methos, the oldest living Immortal, MacLeod's current lover, stood on the other side of Joe's bed, the window side, checking the Watcher's pulse.

"It's official," Methos said in a relieved tone, "he'll live."

"Yes, I agree," Anne replied, placing her hand on Duncan's shoulder and squeezing gently. "He needs a lot of rest, and he shouldn't be moved for a few days. But he's okay now, Duncan. I agree with the doctors - and Methos. He's going to pull out of this."

"Thank you, Anne. Thanks for coming," Duncan replied, lifting his head and pulling himself together. He stood and turned to his old friend and hugged her. Then he glanced at Methos. "You ready for breakfast?"

"I'll stay with Joe. You and Anne go get a bite. You'll need to leave the hospital. I don't think the cafeteria's open yet," Methos replied. "Last I heard, it was snowing."

"Duncan, why don't the two of you go? Bring me back some coffee, maybe a danish. I'll watch Joe. I need to freshen up, anyway, throw some water on my face."

"You sure, Anne?" Duncan asked with concern. "You've been up all night too."

"I'm okay, Duncan. Really. I don't eat so much nowadays, gotta watch my figure," she replied, grinning. The doctor was Mortal, and fifty-five years old. She hadn't gained an ounce since her affair with Duncan MacLeod twenty years earlier. Nevertheless - and although he hadn't noticed it - she no longer looked like a credible lover for the attractive Immortal. She looked her age.

Duncan squeezed Anne's hand. Glancing at Methos he said, "Come on, then. The sooner we go the sooner we'll be back. I don't like to leave him for very long."

The Immortals left the hospital and started walking downtown, looking for an all-night diner. After a while they came upon one, went in and took a booth. They ordered coffee and breakfast and sat back. They both sighed heavily.

"Damn close call," Methos said, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

Duncan took the older Immortal's hands in his own and held them gently, stroking the long fingers. "Too close for comfort." He blew on Methos' hands. "Always freezing, your fingers," he said with a smile.

"Always hot and dry, yours," Methos replied, looking at his friend and lover speculatively. "What'll happen, you think, when he does go? I mean, he's seventy-five - I checked his chart. He's strong as a bull but -"

"Nobody lives forever. That's what you're saying, isn't it?" Duncan asked. "I don't know. Nothing. He'll be dead and you and I will bury him and mourn. What else could happen? He's got no one else left but us."

"I meant, with us."

Duncan frowned. "With us? I don't understand the question. We'll do what we always do, when they go. We'll - move on."


"Yes. It's what we do." When his friend didn't answer, Duncan repeated, "Methos, it's what we do. Who we are. It'll be hard. He's been a close friend to both of us for a very long time. But we both knew going in that we'd outlive Joe, in the normal run of things."

"Outlive him."

"Yes." Duncan repeated exasperatedly. "Yes. Outlive him! My God, you - you've been around for five thousand years! Don't try to tell me this is a shock to you. That you've never considered the possibility. That you didn't think about it. He's Mortal. We've been friends with him for over twenty years. When he dies, we're gonna suffer. But we're also going to survive."

"I think I am telling you that I never considered it. I never have. Not with Joe. Wives, sweethearts, yes. But Joe -"

"Methos, Joe's our friend, but he gets older and closer to death every day. You didn't notice?"

"No." The older Immortal took his hands away from Duncan's long enough to run them through his hair. Then he grasped his companion's hands again. "Maybe it's because I've lived so long - I don't even notice how old they are, anymore. When I look at them, I just see -"

"What do you see when you look at them, Methos?" Duncan asked earnestly.

"I see - humor. Concern. Steadfastness. Courage." The older Immortal shrugged, gripping Duncan's hands more tightly. "I see - the look on Joe's face when I left in my van to go cross-country with Alexa. The look on his face when Richie died. The look on his face, when I blamed him for Jacob Galati's death, and walked away. And the look on his face when he sees you coming."

"You see love," Duncan said, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm not surprised you didn't notice how old he's getting. You wouldn't."

"Mac, I don't think I'll deal with it at all well, when he goes. I feel I should warn you of that. I might -"

"What?" Duncan asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I might - run away." The older man clamped his lips shut, taking his hands away from his friend's, balling them into fists.

"And leave me alone with it? The grief?"

"It's a distinct possibility. I don't do mourning well. You'll be angry, I expect, if I leave. I'm apologizing in advance."

Duncan pushed back against the booth, took a deep breath, but said nothing.

"Mac? It's not on purpose. I'll try to stay. I just - I wanted you to know, beforehand, in case I can't. So you won't be taken by surprise."

"I understand. I got it," Duncan responded, a slight edge to his voice. "It's your way."

"Yes, yes, that's exactly it! It's nothing personal - it's not that I don't love you, or know you'll be grieving too! Or that I don't care! It's just my way!"

"I see. It's okay." Duncan sighed. "I suppose I haven't done much better myself. I left Richie alone when Tessa died. I suppose it's my way, too. It's okay, Methos. I understand. I won't be angry, if you leave."

"Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it." Methos took a sip of his coffee, changing the subject. "Let's get the waitress and see if she'll put together a meal for Anne, and coffee, something we can bring back with us. If we hurry, it'll still be warm."

"Sure. Sure." Duncan called the waitress and ordered food for Anne, paid the check, and left the diner with his friend, without commenting further on Methos' warning.


"Well, that's that," Duncan said, taking off his gloves and his overcoat and tossing them on a chair in the living room of the New York City condo he shared with Methos. "A good idea, yours, to have the reception in Brazilito's, rather than here."

"Yeah. Kinda gives it closure. How long can people spend in a restaurant? In and out, that's the ticket. Get rid of 'em."

"Right. Get rid of 'em," Duncan echoed. "Like a beer?"

"I'll get it, Mac." Methos took Duncan's coat and his own and hung them in the hall closet. Then he went into the kitchen and poured a scotch for his friend. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and joined Duncan in the living room, taking a seat in an easy chair across from the younger Immortal who sat on the sofa. "Here you go," he said, handing a glass to Duncan.

"Twenty people," MacLeod mused, sipping his drink. "Considering his age, how many friends he's buried, I suppose that's not too bad."

"Nope. Not bad at all. You, me, Anne and Amanda. And sixteen Watchers, every one of them eyeing us as if we were freaks. You know what that bastard of a Regional Coordinator, Sid Hamilton, said to me?"

"What did he say?"

"That we shouldn't be there - Amanda, you and me! Can you believe it? The man had the nerve to come up to me - me - at Joe Dawson's funeral, which you and I bought and paid for, and tell me that we shouldn't be there! Immortals shouldn't be there!"

"What'd you say, Methos?" Duncan asked with a smile. "I hope you told him where to go."

"In no uncertain terms, Mac. I told him the Watcher Society gave Joe more grief than you or I ever did. That it was kind of them to show up for his funeral, but it would have been kinder still if they'd shown him some friendship while he was alive."

"That's all?"

"Well, I bit my tongue." Methos grinned. "I didn't tell him they weren't worthy to lick Joe's boots, or Amanda's, or yours."


"Well, I didn't! I know I should have. At the moment, I'm sorry I didn't." Methos stood. "Another scotch, Mac?"

"Yeah, and fill 'er up, this time."

Methos called from the kitchen, "I thought we'd fly to Paris tonight."


"Fly to Paris. Have breakfast on the barge."

"Methos, we haven't been in Paris in years. The barge is sold -"

Handing a fresh drink to MacLeod, the older Immortal said, "Nope. I never put through your sell order. I just rented the barge out."

"You rented it? To whom?"

"A few different people. Students, mostly. It's empty now. When the last renters moved out, I didn't advertise for others. Just got a cleaning service to check on the place once a month."

"When was that, Methos?"

"I dunno. About a year ago, as I recall," Methos replied, going to the window with his beer. He looked out over the city, his back to MacLeod.

"When Joe was in the hospital, last time around?"

"I dunno. Yeah, I guess so. Around that time, anyway."

"Methos, come here." MacLeod said, putting down his drink and standing.

His friend turned and looked at him. "Why?"

"I want to hold you, is why."

"Okay." Methos walked to the sofa and put his arms around Duncan, relaxing into his lover's embrace for a moment. Then he kissed MacLeod quickly and said, "But we should pack. Our flight's at seven. Don't want to miss it, with this snow."

"We won't miss it."

"We will, if we don't get a move on." Methos pulled away from Duncan. "Now."

MacLeod smiled. "Sure. Whatever."



"Good idea, Methos, coming back here. Like to go for a walk?" Duncan asked, after they'd breakfasted on the barge. They'd picked up coffee and croissants on the way in from the airport.

"Sure. But get the dishes, would you? I've an errand to run first."

"We can go together -"

"No. I'll be back," Methos replied, running quickly up the barge steps to the door. "Just wait here."

"Fine. I'll wait."


"You're back," MacLeod said in a low voice.

"Here," Methos said, handing his friend a large box. "This is for you."

"What's this?"

"The Highlander Chronicles. Ones Joe kept on you before the two of you met."

"Really!" MacLeod's voice was light, joyful. "Where'd you get these - you didn't steal them, did you?"

"I've had them in the vault at my bank here for years. They're copies Joe made from the transcripts of his tapes. Then he'd sign off on them and pass 'em along to the Society. They cover your years with Tessa and Richie, in the main. He asked me to hang onto this batch, arrange for you to get it, when he died. If I could. If you -"

"If I was still alive. I see." MacLeod sat down, taking the lid off the box. It was filled with neat stacks of copy paper - individually bound volumes - tightly packed. He ran his hands over the topmost journals. "Thank you."

"It was Joe's idea. He thought you should know how great he thought you and Tessa, and later, Richie, were, as a team. As a family. How happy it made him to watch you together."

"You've looked at these?" MacLeod asked.

"No, of course not. They're Watcher Chronicles about an Immortal, a - competitor in the Game. Not my place. Not cricket, to read them."

MacLeod chuckled. "Such a sense of honor, Methos! Not what I'd expect from you."

"I keep the Methos Chronicles, Mac," the older Immortal replied seriously. "My own experiences, my memories. Dealings with our kind. Sometimes, after one of us is lost to the Game, I learn something about him, and make a note of that. But I've never studied the Watchers' records about living Immortals. Even those I know personally. That's an unfair advantage, from many points of view."

"You never cease to surprise me, Methos," Duncan said with a smile, lifting the box off his lap and putting it on the floor near the couch. "Thank you for preserving these for me."

"My pleasure."

"So, ready for that walk yet? I'll look at these later."



They walked for hours, until well past midnight. At last, their feet led them back to the barge and they went in.

"I think I just might be able to sleep, Methos. At least, my feet will sleep."

"You don't want to read the Chronicles?"

"Not now. Maybe tomorrow. I'm beat." MacLeod undressed for bed and went into the bathroom calling out, "You can look at them, if you want to. You've got my permission."

"Thanks, Mac. I'd like to read them."

"Kinda like looking at my baby pictures?" Duncan asked with a grin when he got into bed.

"Something like that." Methos was still dressed, although he'd taken off his coat. He stood near the bed. "Mac -"

"What is it?" Duncan sat up and pushed a pillow behind his head. Concerned, he said, "You must be exhausted, Methos. We've been on the go for seventy-two hours. Don't you think you can sleep?"

"I guess." The older Immortal turned and looked around the barge. The cleaning service had kept it in good order, and he'd had friends stock the refrigerator and bar before they'd arrived. "The couch. I think maybe I'll take the couch."

"I see." MacLeod got out of bed, walking quickly to the bar and fixing himself a drink.

"What's wrong? I thought we'd sleep better if we don't keep knocking each other on the nose when we dream."

"Methos, you can go. I'll be all right. You don't need to stay with me, do anything more. You've done your bit."


"You've done your bit. You can go off on your own, if you like. Mourn. Whatever you do. You don't need to stay with me. I'll be okay. Joe's dead. I'm still around. I'll survive. I always do."

"Where do you want me to go?" Methos asked, sounding bewildered.

"I dunno. Wherever you want to go. Your old flat, if you've still got a lease on it. Or a hotel. Maybe India. China. I dunno. Where do you usually go, when they die, Methos?"

"I don't remember."

"Well, think about it. Then go there. You don't have to take care of me. I understand. I'm not angry. Come back when you're ready. I'll be around where you can find me." MacLeod smiled at the older Immortal in an encouraging way. "Thanks for all you've done. The funeral arrangements. The barge. The Chronicles. Thanks."

"Mac -" The older Immortal took a shallow breath and started toward the door, grabbing up his coat. He put his hand on the doorknob. "Mac -"

"I'm okay. Really. Cross my heart." Duncan held up two fingers in the peace sign.

Methos put his coat on slowly. "Right. Well, then, if you're certain -"

Duncan smiled. "I'm certain. Go on."

"Okay, then." Methos left the barge.


MacLeod had a coat on over his dressing gown when he came up on deck. He studied the older Immortal before he spoke. Methos was leaning against the railing, looking up at the sky, shivering. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Your buzz just stayed. I waited for it to disappear. Ten minutes. Methos -"

"I'll be gone in a minute. Go back in, it's cold up here."

Duncan walked to where Methos stood and put his arm around the older Immortal. "Why?"

"Why what, MacLeod?" Methos asked crossly.

"Why haven't you gone? Why didn't you go, after the funeral? You apologized in advance, last year. What are you still doing here?"

Methos bit his lip. "I think - I think I want to be here," he replied slowly, his voice reflecting his confusion. "With you."

"But you don't know?"

"I'm not sure. I don't understand -"

MacLeod pulled Methos around and held his face lightly. "Don't you?"

Methos shook his head. "No."

The younger Immortal kissed Methos' mouth gently. "No?"

"I suppose you do?" Methos inquired sarcastically.

Duncan kissed his friend's eyes. "Yes. I do."

"I suppose you're gonna explain it to me?"

"Come below. We can talk about it," Duncan said with a smile. "At length."

"I'm tired, Mac. I'm so tired." Suddenly, Methos started to cry, lifting his hands to hide his eyes.

"Then come below. Get into bed. I'll hold you. We'll sleep." MacLeod took Methos' hands and pulled him gently toward the door leading back into the barge. He met with no resistance.


MacLeod held Methos through the night. The older Immortal didn't sleep. He cried all night. Duncan drifted off a few times, only to waken again when Methos moved. Finally, at dawn, Methos turned around and put his arms around his lover, resting his head against the younger Immortal's chest.

"Forgive me. That was an awful thing to do to you, Mac," he murmured. "Won't happen again."

"I think it will," MacLeod replied, his lips moving against Methos' hair. "I think so."

"I promise, Mac. I'll be out of here after breakfast."

"Don't even think about it."

"It's not fair. Joe was your Watcher, your friend. I know how you feel -"

"I don't think so."

"Mac -"

"I miss Joe. And I suppose I'll miss him more and more the longer he's gone. When it sinks in, that he's gone forever."

"Of course. Of course you will," Methos replied.

"But that's not all I feel."

"I know you're remembering the others you've lost -"

"Methos, I feel relief," Duncan declared. "Relief."

"What?" Methos made to get up, but Mac held him more tightly. The older Immortal didn't struggle. His body went limp again, only his arms evidencing his strength as he clung to MacLeod.

"Yes, relief. All I could think of, when I heard about Joe, and every minute since, was you. When you'd go, when you'd disappear. Leave me."

"I was waiting for that too," Methos muttered.

"When you left the barge last night, I thought to myself, well, that's it. He's gone. I don't think I really felt the weight of my grief until that minute. A grief I knew I couldn't survive."

"I don't seem to be able to go. I've tried."

"I promise I won't call you lazy, if you don't work at it," Duncan replied, grinning.

"It started with Alexa. I've never gone to anybody before, after someone I loved died. Never. Yet I found myself making a beeline for you. Got as close as I could get without actually creeping into your bed." Methos chuckled. "I'm surprised I didn't do that as well - in a friendly way, of course."

"I don't even want to think about what I'd have done, if you had crept into my bed."

"Probably held me, like last night."

"Maybe," Duncan murmured thoughtfully. "Maybe more."

The older Immortal disentangled himself from his lover's arms and sat up. "You hungry, Mac? We haven't eaten anything except croissants since the reception at Brazilito's."

"Hungry?" MacLeod thought about it. "Hungry. Yes. I think I could eat now."

"You'll look at the Chronicles after breakfast?" Methos asked. "Because if you do, I think I'll go down to Darius' church, spend a little time there."


"No. Not alone. I imagine he'll put in an appearance. Always does, when they go."

"Who'll put in an appearance?" MacLeod asked, with a frown.

"Who do you think? Darius, of course. Reminiscing about the departed - his or mine - is a practice we started centuries ago. Got to be a bit of a tradition with us. I don't think he'll desert me now, do you?"

"No. If you didn't desert me, Darius certainly won't desert you." Duncan smiled, remembering his deceased friend.

"You know, Mac, I just figured something out."


"I was wrong. I don't go it alone, when they die. Never have."


"Really." Methos sounded remarkably pleased with this new take on his behavior.

"So, then, staying with me isn't anything out of the ordinary after all, is it?" MacLeod asked carefully.

"Of course not. Nothing out of the ordinary. Routine." The older Immortal got out of bed and dressed. "I'm gonna skip breakfast, Mac. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," MacLeod replied evenly. "I'm fine." He gestured toward the box of Chronicles. "Got a lot of reading here. I won't shoot until I see the whites of your eyes."

"Then, I'm off." Methos waved to MacLeod when he got to the door, then went out.

"You're off," Duncan murmured, sinking down on the bed and burying his face in his hands when he'd felt the older Immortal's aura disappear. "My God! You're off! Damn you, Methos! Damn you to hell! Nothing out of the ordinary about us, nothing special at all! Damn you!"


"I brought Chinese, Mac. But if you've already eaten, it'll keep."

"Where've you been? It's nearly midnight. I was worried about you!"

"You shouldn't worry. I can take care of myself."


"That's right. I was where I said I'd be, in Darius' church. Afterwards, I went for a walk. Then I went to Joe's old bar, had a drink, listened to some music. There wasn't a soul who recognized me. I think we could move back here, if we want to. It's only been five years, for you, but -"

"You want to move back to Paris? Why? The place is crawling with Immortals! In New York, we're safe! As safe as we can be, if somebody isn't actually hunting us!"

Methos stared at Duncan. Finally, he asked quietly, "What's wrong, Mac?"

"Nothing - what could be wrong?"

"I'm asking you."

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing special." MacLeod got up and grabbed the sack of take-out from Methos, going to the kitchen area and slamming it down on the counter.

"You thought I wasn't coming back."

MacLeod didn't reply.

"Is that it? Mac? Talk to me."

"The thought did cross my mind."

"You're angry."

"Yeah. I guess I am," MacLeod admitted.

"Why? Because you thought I'd left without a word?"

"Something like that. I guess."

Methos stared at the younger Immortal, his eyes narrowing. "It's because I said we're nothing out of the ordinary," he stated.

"Methos -"

"We're not, Mac. I guess I've always found somebody's shoulder to cry on, when one of them died, a Mortal I loved. It seems, that's my way. Sometimes, it was Amanda. Later on, I'd look for Darius, wherever he was holing up, and talk to him -"

"I don't need to know -" Duncan said quickly, turning away.

"You want me to go farther back? Kronos used to hold me in his arms while I cried myself to sleep."

MacLeod looked up. "Kronos?"

"Yes. Unbelievable to you, I know. Well, incredible as it sounds, yes. Oh yes! I've lost a lot of people in my time, MacLeod. Had a lot of nightmares. I wasn't always the happy-go-lucky fellow you see before you now. When I could find someone to help me make it through the night, I didn't shove him away. So, it's true. We're nothing special. You're nothing special."

"Is there anything else I should know, Methos? Like, the reason why you're working so hard to make me furious?"

"I'm just telling you the truth. You always want to hear the truth."

"Your timing is terrific, I've gotta hand it to you. Marvelous. Joe's dead. You dragged me away from home, back to Paris, where I've got more lousy memories than I can shake a stick at. Back to the barge - always a wonderful memory evoker. Then you tell me all this - this - garbage, about how we're nothing special! Absolutely terrific! Anything more? Anything else? Because I'm up for it, up for the whole load!"

"Mac -"

"I'm a bull, Methos! You can't keep a bull like me down!" He stretched out his hand and curled his fingers, gesturing for Methos to come closer. "How about it? Let's hear the rest of it! All of it! I love your garbage - kinda missed it, really! Haven't heard a whole helluva lot since the Horsemen! Tell me more about 'your way!'"

"You don't understand, MacLeod! I can't do what you want me to do! Be who you want me to be! I can't 'do' for you! Take care of you! There's nothing here - nothing left! I'm wiped, Mac! You wanna spend another night listening to me cry? You wanna spend another decade listening to me cry? Because that's what you'll end up doing, if I don't leave! I can't take care of you - I can't take care of me! Let it be, Mac! Let me go! You don't need this! You're better off on your own!"

"No!" Mac shouted, slamming his hand on the kitchen counter. "No! I'm not better off on my own! I love you, you bastard! I'm not better off on my own! Our best friend is dead! I don't want to lose you too! If all you can do is cry, then cry. I don't need you to take care of me. I need to do whatever it takes - anything at all, anything - that'll keep you with me! You gotta cry? Then cry! For a decade, a century - you think I give a damn?"

"Adam Pierson didn't cry," Methos said quietly.


"I said, Adam Pierson didn't cry. I came to you under false pretenses. You didn't sign on for this."

"For what? I didn't sign on for what?" MacLeod shouted the question. "For Methos?"

"That's right. For Methos."

MacLeod shook his head, expelling a breath. "Oh boy," he said, his tone of voice a low gravel-like expression of disbelief. "Oh boy." He leaned his hands on the counter. "My God."


"How long's it been, Methos, since you were Adam Pierson to me?" Duncan said, looking up. "You think I even remember what you were like, back then, or what I thought you were like?"

"You loved him," Methos insisted.

"I love you!"

Methos continued to talk right over Mac's response, "Maybe I've been a little different, since you found out about the Horsemen, but at least I didn't cry."

"For better or worse, Methos. That's how they take each other - two people who love each other enough to want to join their lives for keeps. For better or worse."

"Have you noticed the divorce rate lately?" Methos asked seriously.

"I've noticed the together rate - our together rate. Pretty high. Considering."

"Considering what?"

"That I've spent more time with you than with anyone I've ever known, except Tessa. Even people I've known for centuries," MacLeod asserted. "Don't think I've spent more than a year, all told, with Amanda. Maybe five with Richie. A year studying with Connor. Maybe six months, if you string the days together, with Fitzcairn."

"We've only been together eight years, if you don't count the breaks -"

MacLeod smiled. "Exactly. Seems pretty special to me."

"It's not such a very long time," Methos mused.

"It's not over yet." When Methos didn't reply, MacLeod repeated, "It's not over yet. Is it?"

"You're such a pain in the ass, MacLeod."

"I try."

"Eight years. It's a drop in the bucket."

"That's what I've been saying, Methos."

"You don't know what you're in for."

"That's true. I don't know. Not enough time to find out, in only eight years. I'll need more time. A lot more. Will you give it to me? Time?"

"Haven't even got started, in eight years -"

"But it's not over yet, is it?" MacLeod waited for a reply, then repeated, "Methos. Is it?"

"Dreadful waste of Chinese food, if it is," Methos remarked at last.

"That's right."

"I can't believe you're really willing to put up with me, when you're in the same boat."

"Believe it. More than willing."

"It'll be - very bad, Mac. Worse than last night, sometimes."

"More than willing, Methos," Duncan repeated. "I love you. I want you with me. And I want you to be whoever you are. Not hiding it or fighting it. Or running away. Not Adam Pierson. Methos."

The older Immortal closed his eyes for a moment. "Last night - it was such a relief, to let go -"

"For me too. Such a relief - to have you with me, in my arms. You. Such a wonderful relief."

"It's not quite the same, with you, as with - others," Methos said softly. "It's -"


"I think maybe it is."

"Then you'll stay?" The older Immortal didn't protest further. Finally, holding back a sigh, because Methos hadn't agreed, simply stopped disagreeing, Duncan asked, "So, how about it? You hungry yet? We should eat before the food freezes."

"I'm always hungry."

"Then let's eat," Duncan said with a smile. "Afterwards, we can look at my baby pictures."


"Anything to up 'the together rate,'" MacLeod replied.

"In bed?"

"Damn straight, in bed!"

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