He turned over, letting the warmth of the soft, old quilt soothe him back into dreams. He could hear Connor softly quoting Ecclesiastics, “To everything, there is a season…” and he knew that the time for mourning was over.

He was with Richie in back of the Antique Store, working on the car. They were laughing about the rumbling exhaust “making a statement,” and he knew that he would always remember the boy with love. If only… but Rich was always his own person, exasperating, affectionate and stubborn. He needed to be what he wanted to be and he was Mac’s friend, never his shadow.

Darius was explaining the tactics of an old battle over a bottle of good wine. He’d learned so much from the warrior priest. Their friendship was a cherished part of his life. Accepting his loss had been hard, too.

Tessa called to him to come and see the piece she’d finished and he drew her into his arms again. He smelled the heavy leather apron and the hot metal, her perfume and the sweat the work had needed. Her face, flushed and happy, pressed against his and he heard her laugh and her heart beating against his. Her temper and her beauty were still a joy to him. She would always be tucked safely in his heart.

Then he was standing on a rooftop, shuddering with the force of a Quickening and hearing the echo of his clansman’s voice, “…and it has to be you!” The sense of Connor’s presence faded then and he knew that with Kell’s death, Connor was finally free to join his beloved Blossom. That pain too, eased, accepted and the memories of their times together returning without the anger at the cost Connor and he had paid to win.

The sun was casting a golden path across the floor of the cabin when he woke again. He stretched, then let himself just listen to the sounds of the life all around him. It didn’t take long to get the coffee on and he put the cabin to rights as he waited for it. The heat of that first cup warmed him. He showered and shaved, dressed and packed the few things he needed to carry with him, and left for the city.

There was a flight available to London and he spent most of it remembering his first meeting with Methos. Had he known, seeing the awkward, youngster sitting on the floor with a walkman and a six-pac of cheap beer that the chameleon would be so much a part of his life? Only now could he admit just how important Methos was to him.

London was busy, noisy and crowded, but he finally got a cab and shortly, was deposited at the curb beside the grand old house. Joe had assured him that Methos was still living there and the whisper of presence confirmed it. The door was opened by a young woman with an apron on over a skirt and blouse.

“Mr. Adamson is expecting you, sir. Please follow me.”

She led him down the hall to a heavily carved door, and knocked. A familiar voice called, “Come in.” and there he was.

The library table was stacked with books and papers. A wide screen monitor was almost buried at one end of it. Methos turned, smiling “Thank you, Colleen. You can take the rest of the day off. I think Mr. MacLeod and I can fend for ourselves for a day or two. Take that new husband of yours off somewhere and enjoy yourself. I’ll call you as soon as I need you back.”

The girl colored slightly, nodded, grinned at Methos and practically flew out of the room. Methos went over to the antique bar and took some time deciding on the bottle and glasses.

MacLeod stood there for a moment, just looking at his friend. The sweater fit better and was a cashmere blend. As Methos stood, he could see that the jeans were newer and his hair was a little longer. He handed Duncan a glass and lifted his own in salute.

Duncan took a sip, “Very nice… You look good, Methos. The “Lord of the Manor” thing works for you.”

“Well, Mark Adamson’s favorite nephew, Sean, inherited his holdings. I’ll probably have to kill him off fairly soon. He’s an insufferable prat.”

Duncan laughed and reached out to draw Methos into a bear hug. “I’ve missed you. Thank you for understanding, letting me work things through.”

Methos looked him over carefully. Yes, Duncan needed a little more sleep, but the dark, bruised areas around his eyes were gone and his gaze was direct. Methos nodded. “You look fit. You know, you could have come back here with me…”

Mac shook his head. “I needed some distance, Methos. Even from you. Your help, getting Connor home, was appreciated, more than I can say.”

Methos looked down, his eyes hidden by long eyelashes.

“I didn’t want anyone around me until I knew I wouldn’t harm them. The dark Quickening scared me. I didn’t know if I could handle the combined power of Connor and Kell and not go over that edge again.”

“Oh, I understand,” Methos said, nodding, “It’s just that …”

Duncan took his hand and gently pulled him into an embrace. “I admit, I could have used some of your ‘wisdom’ a couple of times.”

The look Methos gave him was somewhere between incredulous and hopeful. Duncan leaned forward a little more, until he could brush his lips against Methos’.

The sudden flush on Methos was encouraging. “I hope I didn’t misread the signals.” This time he pressed a little harder. They stood there for a minute, knowing that the next move would change things forever.

Methos slipped his hand around Duncan’s neck and drew him close enough to feel the rising heat in his body. “I’m glad you’re here, Duncan.”

For a long moment, the only thing heard in the room was the ticking of an ornamental clock on the mantle. Then a log popped in the fireplace and both of them started breathing again. “Bring your drink, and I’ll give you the haypennie tour.”

MacLeod followed, sipping the Scotch and looking at the antique furnishings through the halls, dining room and parlors. The kitchen appliances were cutting edge modern but the cupboards were filled with copper pots and cast iron.

“Does the tour include the master’s bedroom?”

For a moment, Methos stopped cold, hardly daring to breathe. “That depends…"

The kiss took his breath away and as soon as Methos could stand, he started up the stairs to the massive four poster, and a proper welcome home for MacLeod.