Between Love and Obsession

by Gillian Leeds

Not saying a word, Methos drew her into his arms, silently hoping that he was.

Methos spent much of the morning explaining to Bryn the implications of being immortal, and the rules of the Game. He held her as she cried after being told that she would never have children, not his or anyone's, feeling the sadness in his heart too. Their children would have been beautiful.

Later, Tara and MacLeod left to meet with the fire marshal and deal with the insurance on the house.

Bryn needed some time to herself, and headed for the bathtub, leaving Methos to doze on the couch, alone with his thoughts. She startled him an hour later when she emerged. He hadn't felt her at all. She was dressed in one of his sweaters and a pair of his jeans. Both articles of clothing were impossibly large on her, a belt being the only thing preventing the jeans from sliding completely to her ankles. Her hair was wrapped in a towel.

"I hope you don't mind, I kinda had to raid your closet," she asked hesitantly.

Methos looked at her and began to laugh. "I think I need to take you shopping."

"Tara and Duncan said they'd stop and buy some stuff. Tara will get me something."

"I could take you, you know." He looked up at her, wincing at the fear he saw in her eyes at his suggestion they go out.

Bryn smiled a little. "Yeah, but ... not today."

Methos sighed. "You have to go outside sometime Bryn, love. You can't stay inside forever you know." He stood and moved toward her, reaching for her and pulling her close. "I told you, you will be fine, I'll make sure of that. We are going to live for a very long time and we are going to be very happy." He hoped he sounded more optimistic than he felt.

Bryn relaxed into his arms, wishing she could perpetuate the feeling of protection and safety she felt when he held her. She pulled her head back and looked up at him. His lips were on hers an instant after their eyes met, tasting, nibbling, devouring. Bryn wondered how Methos always managed to taste of cinnamon.

Methos ran his hand down her body, cupping her bottom and pulling her firmly against the length of him, wondering how much longer he could continue to be a gentleman. Couldn't she tell just how much he wanted her?

Bryn felt his hardness pressing against her, felt the strength of his muscular thighs. His tongue thrust into her mouth as though he would devour her completely. It wasn't difficult to tell where this kiss was leading. I want him ... kissing me, touching me, inside me. Her heart skipped a beat as images of making love to this man wandered through her mind, not for the first time. He's right, it should be more than some quickie on the couch. And that's exactly what this would be, warned a voice. But I *want* him ... now. The voice came again. But what if he knows, what if he can tell?

In the end, the voice ruled. "Duncan and Tara will be back soon," she murmured into his open mouth.

The kiss relaxed into a soft, sensuous joining, ending with an "mmmm" from Methos as they broke apart. "Uninterrupted, I could do that all day," he told her, grinning. Except it wouldn't involve just kissing.

Bryn smiled back at him, knowing from the look in his eyes the ideas that were running around in his head. "Tea?"

No, preferably you ... on the couch, on the floor, on the bed, on top of the refrigerator ... any bloody where. Barring that, a cold shower ... a very, very long one. Methos struggled to gain some control of himself. His body had moved far ahead of the kiss. Backtracking would be difficult, especially with Bryn in the room. Hell, all she had to do was walk by him, one whiff of her perfume and he was hard as rock. "Tea ... would be nice," he managed.

As she turned he noticed the healed wound down the back of her neck. Her clothing and hair would normally hide it, but it was plainly visible now. A mark as thick as a pencil, running from the point where her neck met her shoulders upward, disappearing under the towel around her head. His hand reached out and grabbed her.

Bryn looked at him, alarmed by his sudden movement. She watched as turned her away from him slightly, feeling his finger trace the line down the back of her neck.

"What happened?" The words were spoken before he could check himself. Bloody fool! Stefan DeWinter is what happened.

Bryn's hand flew to her neck. "Ahem ... he ... did that." She turned toward him, biting her lip. "He used something sharp, I don't know what. I don't remember." Her eyes avoided his. "The doctor told me that whatever he used, he cut down to the bone. I was lucky, he could have ..." She took a deep breath. "If he had decided to start jamming around in there, I would have been paralyzed. I think that if the police hadn't come when they did, that would have been next."

"Jesus Christ, Bryn!" Methos exploded. She wouldn't have been paralyzed; she would have been dead. DeWinter would have taken her head off, inch by agonizing inch. His head swam at the thought.

"I guess in some ways he did paralyze me," she continued. "He stopped me dancing."

"I thought you said you were working on it?" Methos asked.

She nodded. "A bit. But why bother? It's not the same. It will never be the same."

"Why, what's different?" The old man asked out of curiosity more than anything. Bryn, despite the scars, didn't seem hampered by any lingering injury or deformation. He couldn't see any physical affliction that stopped her from continuing what she obviously loved.

"He sliced my Achilles tendons," she retorted. "I can't hold pointe as long, I can't extend my kicks as well, I get tired faster. The form ... it's just not there ... and it never will be."

"And form is important to you?"

She stared at him, wondering how he could be so dense. "YES! Every workout I've done, every class I've taken, every practice and rehearsal session I've attended. All the hours I spent working, making it perfect ... it's gone. And nothing I can do will change it. No matter how hard I try. It's gone."

"So do you dance to be perfect or dance for the enjoyment?" He studied her, waiting for her reply, seeing her reaction to his question in her face. She had spent so many years trying to be perfect, it had never occurred to her that she didn't have to be.

"I don't dance at all, not anymore," Bryn replied hoarsely, looking away.

"Well, maybe you should start," Methos said softly. He walked over to the stereo and turned on the CD player. Irish music filled the apartment. He had found the cd in the Rover, forgotten after their shopping trip. Curiosity had finally gotten the better of him and he had played it, rather enjoying it.

Methos turned back to her, noting the tears in her eyes. "Don't let him win, love," he encouraged, walking past her. He paused to kiss her lightly. "I'll make the tea."

He left her in the living room, alone with her music.

At Tara's insistence, the two immortals left the sisters for the afternoon, with promises of not answering the door to anyone. Slowly, the subject came round to Methos.

"What am I going to do?" Bryn asked quietly.

"About what?" Tara responded.

"Adam ... Methos."

Tara looked at her, debating what to say. She had hoped what everyone hopes for their sibling: that they meet someone wonderful, fall in love and live happily ever after. But happily ever after took on a whole new meaning when you were immortal. No matter what Tara felt about immortals, her sister was one. Despite her reservations, Tara wouldn't deny Bryn a chance for happiness. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Bryn dropped her head and bit her lip. "Is it that obvious?"

"To me it is." Tara paused, eyeing her sister. "And you were quite vocal about it earlier this morning when you thought he was dying."

Bryn waited for the lecture that didn't come. She raised her eyebrows. "What? You're not going to lecture me that I've only known him a few days? That I know nothing about him?"

Tara shook her head. "No, I'm not. Besides, you wouldn't listen. And neither would he. Adam strikes me as the kind of guy who pretty much does or gets what he wants. Quite frankly, he scares the hell out of me. But I think he wants you. I think he's as much in love with you, as you are with him."

Bryn snorted. "Yeah, well, it's not that simple anymore."

"Really? I don't see a problem here. He'll look after you, protect you, and you need that right now. The fact that you are both immortal changes nothing, not really."

"It changes everything," Bryn exploded. "He is five thousand years old! I am twenty five."

"Okay, so it is a bit of an age difference," Tara admitted.

"ERRRR. Think of all the experiences he has had. Think of all the things he has seen, the places he has been to. The wives. The lovers he has had." Bryn bit her lip.

"Sixty eight."

"What?"

"Sixty eight wives, a bit more than one every hundred years. Duncan told me. I don't know about the lovers, I didn't ask." Tara realized that this tidbit of information wasn't going to make her sister feel any better.

Bryn sighed deeply. "And somehow I'm supposed to take comfort in that number? How can I compare with that?"

"Who's going to compare you? Adam? I don't think so," Tara counseled. "If ... when ... you and Adam become ...," she stumbled over the words. Despite her being immortal, this was still her baby sister.

"Lovers," Bryn supplied. She remembered the kiss earlier and her heart flip-flopped.

"Yes. Will you compare him to someone else?"

"No, but then again I haven't had sixty eight husbands have I?" Just one ex-lover who wants to kill me.

Bryn again thought of the kiss they had shared earlier. "It's just that ... I'm not very ... well, I don't have a lot of experience ... in the bedroom. What if I disappoint him?"

"What if he disappoints you?" Tara shot back.

Bryn rolled her eyes. "He's had 5,000 years to practice, I sincerely doubt he'd disappoint anyone ... even on a bad day!"

"Bryn, he loves you for you. He's not going to compare you to anyone anymore than you're going to compare him to someone from your past."

Bryn shrugged and turned to the window. "If Adam and I. When." She stopped again and took a deep breath. "If things should progress. What ... how much do I tell him? About Stefan. About what he did." She turned and faced Tara.

The sisters eyed each other in silent mutual understanding.

"Have you told Duncan?" Bryn asked, looking away again.

"No. I just told him about the beating. Not about ... the other." Tara hesitated, studying her sister. "Adam doesn't need to know Bryn, not if you don't want him to. But I think you should tell him, I think he'd understand. It won't change how he feels about you, you know."

"Yes, it will!" Bryn turned back to her sister, grabbing her by the arm. "He must never know ... promise me you won't tell him, promise!" she pleaded.

Tara put her arms around her and hugged her. "I promise. But I think you're wrong."

The four met at Joe's later. The man was already aware of what had transpired earlier in the day and was not surprised to see the look of distrust on Bryn's face as he greeted her. She still didn't know about Watchers, but until her 'death' she couldn't tell the mortals from the immortals. That was bound to make someone take a closer look at the people around them. Joe could only begin to imagine her shock at what she had been told. Like Tara, he wasn't sure if he pitied or envied her.

It was between the first and second set that they felt him. Methos turned to the door, his hand slowly reaching under the table for his sword. Bryn caught his movement and followed his gaze. A tall, very handsome man of about forty entered the bar, dressed in an expensive suit with an equally expensive long coat over it. Female heads turned in his direction, and the hum of the bar picked up. He looked around casually and upon spying Bryn and her table, smiled.

Methos heard the strangled cry from Bryn and looked more closely at the man approaching. His eyes widened as he recognized him from a photo he had seen earlier. Stefan DeWinter casually sauntered over, arrogance emanating from him. Bryn went white, and Methos felt her hand grip his knee.

"Well, well, well. What have we here? Swapping war stories are we?" DeWinter looked around the table as he removed his gloves. "Why, Bryn, fancy seeing you here. I didn't realize you were in town too. How are you? And Tara, the always meddling sister. How sweet." He smiled again, showing white, even teeth that contrasted with his tan.

"Let's take this outside," Methos hissed, rising from his chair. Any question he might have had about taking this man's head was gone.

"Pleased to meet you as well, I'm sure. No, no, sit down, sit down." DeWinter pulled up a chair and dropped into it elegantly. "No need for hostilities. Just a group of people getting together for a drink, talking about old times ... old lovers, the pleasure, the pain." He absently ran a hand through his blonde hair and looked directly at Bryn. She looked away, trembling.

Methos remained standing. "You don't talk to her. You don't look at her. You don't even think about her," he growled.

DeWinter chuckled. "Oh, but I do think about her. I think about the lovely times we had together. It was quite a scream, wasn't it Bryn?"

A soft whimper from Bryn was the only indication that she had heard him. She kept her gaze firmly on her drink, afraid to look up and meet Stefan's gaze. This isn't real, this isn't happening. The memory of all the pain she had suffered, along with a wave of nausea, swept through her. She felt Tara's hand take hold of hers.

"Leave her alone, DeWinter. This is between you and me now. Let's just go outside and get this over with." The coldness in the old man's stare was absolute, even unsettling MacLeod. Any lesser immortal would have been disturbed by the complete lack of humanity in those green eyes, but Stefan didn't even seem to notice.

"Oh, I'm sure that would be lovely, but I'm not here for you, dear boy." DeWinter grinned wolfishly. "I'm here for her." He looked back at Bryn.

"Then you're about to be disappointed." MacLeod drew DeWinter's gaze from Bryn.

"I don't think so," the man replied softly. "Anyway, not tonight, I'm pressed for time. I was just passing through and *felt* the need to pay my respects, as it were. I shan't keep you from your delightful evening." He stood. "Bryn, I must say, you look as beautiful as ever. The miracle of modern medicine."

Methos took a step toward the man. "That's it. Outside. NOW!" The tone was ice. This bastard was going to die, tonight, and Methos intended to take great pleasure in being the one to execute him.

DeWinter grinned. "Oh, dear, Romeo here appears to be feeling chivalrous." He laughed softly. "Don't lose your head over her, 'boy', she's isn't worth it."

"Step outside, then we'll see who loses their head," Methos snarled.

DeWinter fixed an angry glare on the immortal. "Let's get one thing clear, this is my game, we play by my rules. I'm in control here. *I* decide when we fight, and I decide where. Don't worry. You'll be the ...," he paused and looked over at Bryn, "second to know. I suggest you enjoy the little bitch while you still can."

"I think I just decided for you." The thin thread of control Methos had maintained up to this point snapped, and he grabbed DeWinter by the collar and began to push him out the door. Bar patrons turned to stare.

Bryn rose quickly. "Mac, stop them. Don't let him ... please," she pleaded.

MacLeod grabbed her arm. "Let them be Bryn. Methos has to do this. You said it yourself; you can't go on like this. DeWinter has to be stopped. Let Methos take care of him."

She shook his arm off, "NO!" and ran after the two immortals. MacLeod and Tara followed her.

Outside, behind the bar, the two men circled each other, swords drawn.

"She really isn't worth all this you know," DeWinter sneered. "Or maybe you don't. But I do ... I had her ... lots and lots of times. Pity you won't ever get that chance now. Not that you're missing anything, although she is rather good at begging. At least when motivated."

"Shut up and fight you bastard." Instinct kicked in and Methos lunged forward, his sword striking DeWinter's.

Bryn ran down the alley toward them. "Please stop. Don't do this. I'll go with you Stefan, just leave him alone. Please."

The two men continued to battle, ignoring her, the clash of metal hitting metal echoing off the walls.

MacLeod and Tara came up behind Bryn; MacLeod took hold of her arm. "Bryn, leave them. Let's go."

She shook him off angrily. "NO! I'm not going to let him die for me."

"He won't die," reasoned MacLeod, hoping he was right.

Bryn turned to him fiercely. "I outgrew fairy tales years ago, Duncan. I *know* the good guy doesn't always win."

Suddenly the scream of police sirens filled the air. Joe came awkwardly toward them. "Sorry guys, one of my staff called the cops. He figured there was gonna be trouble." He eyed Methos and DeWinter, who had heard the sirens and now circled each other warily.

"Well, it seems our fun has been ended prematurely. Pity, I think taking your head would have been enjoyable." DeWinter laughed.

"You assume too much," spat Methos.

"I think not." The sirens were getting closer. "Time to go, before the police start asking too many questions." DeWinter put his sword into his coat and moved away. He smiled suddenly at Methos. "What the hell, she's yours. Consider it my gift to you. She really wasn't my type anyway -- no passion. A positive ice maiden." He turned to go.

Methos moved toward Bryn and the rest of the group, sword still drawn. Bryn threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head into his chest.

"Oh God, I thought you were dead!"

"Your belief in my abilities is overwhelming," he murmured, kissing her head. He held her for a brief moment before releasing her and stepping back, trying to rein in his anger, his hatred and all the other emotions that were running through him. He was disappointed that the fight had been interrupted. He wanted to kill this man with a determination and enthusiasm he hadn't felt since ... since ... No, don't go there, an inner voice told him.

"Oh, one last thing before I go." DeWinter stepped back into the light behind the bar. "A little something to remember me by, princess." He pulled a gun from his coat pocket, took aim at Bryn, ... and fired.

"NO!" Tara reacted instinctively, moving to push her sister down. The first bullet pierced Tara's body with a sickening thud, the second her head, shattering the skull like an eggshell. Tara's blood and brains splattered Bryn and the pavement. Another shot ricocheted off the wall, hitting Bryn in the stomach as she tried to help her sister, and she also sank to the ground.

Methos yelled and leapt toward DeWinter, but he was gone, slipping into the darkness, his laughter echoing behind him.

Methos turned to where Bryn and Tara both lay on the pavement. "Oh no, God, no." He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, lifting Bryn's head onto his lap, momentarily forgetting that she would survive this. He looked up at MacLeod who cradled Tara in his arms. She lay motionless; the left side of her head showing exposed gray matter. Blood bubbled from her lips. Eyes stared up, lifeless.

Methos met MacLeod's eyes. He didn't need to ask.

"The cops will be here any minute." Joe looked around frantically, not sure how to help.

"Oh God it hurts, it hurts," Bryn moaned. She looked up at Methos. "Tara ... what happened? Is she okay? Is she hurt?" Her voice was hoarse with pain and emotion. She placed a hand, wet with her own blood on his arm. "Where is she?"

"She's fine, she's going to be okay," Methos lied.

"Oh I hurt, I hurt. Please ... help me ... make it stop," Bryn cried, her face a mask of pain.

"Methos."

Methos turned and looked at MacLeod.

Their eyes met.

"Do it. You have to," MacLeod told him gently. "Don't make her go through all that pain again."

Methos closed his eyes, then nodded. He hesitated before shifting slightly, tenderly laying Bryn's head against the pavement. I *don't* want to do this. He gritted his teeth, then reached for the small dagger tucked in the back of his jeans. His hand clenched and re-clenched the hilt as he looked down at Bryn. "Forgive me, love," he whispered.

Bryn's eyes opened wide as she realized what he was about to do.

Looking away so that he didn't have to see her face, Methos plunged the blade into her heart.

"We commit to you, Our Lord, the body of our beloved sister and friend, Tara Michelle O'Neill. Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust." The minister's voice droned on, at times drowned out by the cracks of thunder from the storm that seemed imminent.

Bryn stood beside the grave, her face a stony mask. Methos held her hand. She shed no tears. She had none left inside her to shed. It had been a week since Tara had died, the tragic victim of a drive by shooting according to the police report. In that week Bryn had run the range of emotions. Anger and resentment at Methos for starting the fight, for killing her and thus forcing her transition from a normal, everyday person to a normal, everyday immortal. Despair and heartbreak that her sister was gone. Hatred for DeWinter and his ability to bring so much pain into her life again. She had sat in the apartment and cried for hours, sobbing until she thought that her heart would break.

Methos had comforted her the best he could, holding her when she needed to be held and leaving her when he sensed she needed time alone. He never defended himself, either verbally or physically, when she screamed at him. Even the time when she had grabbed his sword and threatened to take his head then and there, damning him and all immortals to eternal hell. He had simply palmed the sword to the side, put his hands over hers, and calmly removed it from her grasp. All the while he had looked into her eyes, silently telling her that he shared her pain. For Bryn O'Neill, there were no more tears to cry, only a numbness that reached the very depths of her soul.

After the funeral they gathered at Joe's. He had shut the bar, knowing instinctively that they would congregate there later. He poured scotch for everyone.

"Bryn, I'm sorry. I ..." Joe didn't know what else to say. Another immortal to be watched; another life to be chronicled.

"Thank you, Joe." Bryn smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

They all sat quietly.

"He's gone, by the way." Joe broke the silence.

"How would you know?" Bryn asked suspiciously. When she had questioned Methos why Joe knew all about immortals, even though he wasn't one, the old man had just shrugged and said that Joe was simply a good friend. Bryn suspected this wasn't quite the truth.

"Ahem ..." Joe searched for a plausible explanation.

"Joe has friends in the police department and at the airport. I had him call them and ask them to keep an eye out for DeWinter." MacLeod came to Joe's rescue, giving the first answer he could think of.

Bryn nodded but said nothing. She knew a lie when she heard one.

After a moments thought she looked at Methos. "Do you think he'll ..." She left the sentence unfinished, swallowing the fear that rose in her.

"Come back?" Methos supplied. He shook his head. "I don't think so. He only likes young immortals, ones who don't know what has happened to them. He likes to make sure they don't know the rules, don't know what they are. You know what you are. And you have me. He won't come back."

Bryn sighed with relief.

Methos turned back to the bar. He pursed his lips, debating whether to tell her his plans. "Amanda is going to move into my place for awhile. She's going to keep you company while I'm gone," he stated quietly. She had to know sometime.

Amanda had arrived in town the morning after Tara's death. Much to the surprise of the two men, she and Bryn had become fast friends. They had watched in amazement as Amanda had taken on an almost motherly role with Bryn.

"Where are you going?" Bryn asked. She already knew the answer.

"After DeWinter."

In an instant Bryn was off the barstool, standing before him, legs slightly apart, ready for the confrontation she knew was coming. "You are not to go after him, do you hear me? I don't want anyone else dead because of me."

"Bryn ...," Methos began.

"NO! You're not going, I won't let you!" She glared at him, her body tense, hands bunched at her side.

"You can't stop me," he answered turning away from her.

"You're right, I can't. But if you go after him, I won't be here when you get back ... IF you get back," she replied evenly.

Methos turned back toward her. "Bryn, I'm doing this for you."

"No, you're doing it for you. Don't. Please. I'm asking you not to. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me. He's gone. You just said it yourself; he only likes young immortals. He's finished with me." She placed her hand on his arm. "I don't want to lose you. Not like I lost Tara. I can't. I won't." She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. They broke apart. "Please. I have never asked you for anything, Methos, but I am asking you for this."

Methos looked at her and then nodded miserably. One day he and DeWinter would cross paths again, and when that day came ...

Bryn turned to MacLeod. "This goes for you too."

"He has to pay, Bryn. He killed her, and he has to pay," MacLeod seethed.

"And pay he will. One day. But she was my sister. The debt he owes is mine. Promise me you'll leave him be. Promise?" Bryn had no intention of ever meeting Stefan DeWinter again if she could help it, but she knew that she had to reason with MacLeod somehow.

MacLeod also nodded. He accepted that this was Bryn's fight and her revenge to seek. But somehow he didn't believe that she'd ever actually do it.

The phone rang and Bryn jumped nervously. Four weeks and I'm still jumpy.

"Hello?"

Methos smiled as he heard her voice. "Hi Bryn, how are you?"

"I'm fine. Where are you, I thought we were going out to dinner?" Her eyes scanned the apartment. She was almost ready but still needed a few more minutes. This was to be their first real 'date'. Funny word, given that they had hardly left each other's side since meeting a month ago. The past few weeks had been difficult for Bryn. She missed her sister, which wasn't surprising. After the initial shock of Tara's death had worn off, she had talked about finding a place of her own or rebuilding the house. But for some reason she had never quite gotten that far. She continued to stay with Methos, sleeping in the spare bedroom. He realized both her need for the security of having him there, and her need for space and time to grieve, and accepted the arrangement without comment.

"I'm at Joe's. I'm just having a quick beer with Mac and then I'll be home. I told them that we'd stop by after dinner, okay?" Methos sounded worried. This was the first time since Tara's death that he had left for longer than a few minutes, and he had only done so at her insistence. She wanted to get ready, she had told him. Alone.

"Fine." With any luck, you won't make it to Joe's or dinner, she thought, hanging up the phone. She sighed. Back to work.

Methos hung up the phone and went back to the bar.

"How's Bryn?" Joe asked. "I haven't seen her in a while."

"Better I think. She doesn't seem to have that haunted look in her eyes. She's even started to laugh again." Methos drank his beer slowly.

"She's gonna have to learn how to take care of herself soon you know." MacLeod pushed the issue gently. In the four weeks since Tara's death, Methos had taken no steps to teach Bryn how to defend herself. He simply went everywhere with her.

"I know, I know. And I will. I just wanted to give her time." Methos realized that MacLeod only pushed the issue because he cared.

"How are ... things between the two of you?" Amanda asked innocently. She was well aware that Bryn was still sleeping in the spare room and wondered how much longer this would continue.

"Things, as you put it, between the two of us are none of your damn business!" Methos retorted, eyeing her. "Bryn is fine. I am fine. WE are fine!"

"Okay, Okay. Just asking," she shrugged. Obviously from the tone of his voice, nothing had changed.

"Actually, if you want to know the truth we are going out to dinner tonight. Our first real date when you think about it." Methos smiled at the thought. "I gotta go. I'll see you guys later. Bryn and I will stop by after dinner." He sauntered out of the bar, leaving a half-full beer behind.

Perfect. Bryn looked around the room and smiled. And just in time too, if I'm not mistaken, she thought as the buzz overwhelmed her senses, signifying that another immortal was close by.

For the first few days after her 'death' the feeling had left her gasping in pain. Now she had better control over it. She took a deep breath, trembling slightly. It was time to move on, time to move past Stefan and all that he had done. Time to forget that horrible night three years ago. Time to replace horrifying memories with beautiful ones.

Hearing the key in the lock, she turned and held her breath.

Methos opened the door and gazed around in surprise.

Candles. Everywhere. Hundreds of them, casting light and shadows on the walls, bathing the apartment in a warm, yellow glow. He looked at Bryn, amazed.

"What ... what's going on?" He smiled at her, hoping his suspicions were true.

"Hmmm, I don't know ... candlelight ... music," she turned on the stereo as she walked by it, "wine ... it's in the fridge. ... What makes you think something is going on?" She moved toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing his head down to hers for a long, deep kiss.

"Bryn, are you trying to seduce me?" he asked her in wonderment, as the kiss ended.

"What would you say if I said yes?" she replied, pushing his coat from his shoulders, down his arms and onto the floor where it landed with a thud.

"I'd say it was about bloody time," he breathed, returning her kiss enthusiastically. He hadn't been sure he could endure another night of knowing she was simply on the other side of the wall from him.

She leaned into him, kissing him with a hunger that both surprised and excited him. He felt his body respond in a way he hadn't felt in centuries and moaned softly into her mouth. He equaled her passion and tasted her deeply, feeling warmth move through his body down to his groin. His hand moved to cup her bottom, and he slowly lifted her off the ground, pulling her tight against his arousal. He tore his mouth from Bryn's lips to kiss her cheek, her chin, her throat.

"I think there was one more item on my wish list," Methos murmured, nuzzling Bryn's ear. Stooping slightly, he lifted her off her feet and into his arms, kissing her all the while. As they passed through the living room, her foot caught the phone, sending it crashing to the floor, but the lovers were too absorbed in each other to notice.

Slowly they made their way into the bedroom. There, Bryn had lit more candles.

"Did you buy out every damn candle shop in town?" Methos asked her huskily as he placed her on the bed.

"Yes, you told me you wanted it to be perfect, remember. But you had better not take a close look at your credit card statement next time it comes in," she said giggling.

"Are you sure about this, Bryn?" he breathed, not entirely convinced he could stop if she asked him to.

"Do you think I would have bought all these candles if I wasn't sure?" she replied, pulling him down to her.

It was all the invitation Methos needed. He nuzzled her neck, trailing hungry kisses over her as he slowly undid the buttons on her blouse. She wore nothing underneath. Seeing her in the candlelight, Methos held his breath. He could still see the scars, one running from under her left breast down toward her right hip, another across her sternum, like a very large, lopsided cross over her body. Another scar, this one as wide as a finger and about six inches long, ran down the valley between her breasts. Despite the disfigurement, she was beautiful, and he needed to let her know this. He leaned over her body and slowly followed the line of the scar on her ribcage with the tip of his tongue. Methos heard Bryn's sharp intake of breath. The scars were part of her, and it was important that she know he accepted them.

He kissed her again, a long, hot, wet kiss that made him wild for more. When his hand moved to her breast and his thumb brushed across a sensitive nipple, she let out a low moan of pleasure. He finally dragged his mouth away from hers and shifted lower to taste the lush swell of her breast.

Bryn's breath caught in her throat as Methos flicked his tongue over one coral tip and gently sucked. Her hands threaded into his hair, holding him there, offering herself, so he lingered long over the velvety peak, bathing it with hot caresses, until he finally pulled away to give equal attention to its twin.

When she could no longer endure it, Bryn took his face in her hands and drew him back up to her, kissing him, thoroughly exploring his mouth with her tongue. Her hands tugged at the Henley, and Methos broke free of her kiss to remove it. Her fingers trailed over his chest, his shoulders and his back. He was solid and powerful beneath her touch, pulsating with heat, life and desire. She wanted him with an intensity she had never felt before.

Bryn's hands moved down to the waistband of his jeans, and she began to fumble with the buttons there. His hands moved to help her. When Methos was free of his clothing, he began to help get rid of hers. A soft moan escaped her lips as he placed featherlight kisses on her stomach. He moved down, tracing the path of her jeans and underwear as he removed them. He took her foot in his hand and slowly began to suck on her toes.

"NO!" she pulled them out of his reach. He looked at her, surprised.

"Sorry, I hate people touching my feet. It's a dance thing." She smiled apologetically.

"What about elsewhere?" Methos asked her, looking up from the end of the bed.

"Oh, anywhere else is just fine," she breathed.

"Anywhere?" He stroked her legs, then, slowly pulling her toward him, he began to kiss the inside of her knees, delicate velvety kisses.

"Well ... maybe not there either," she gasped.

Methos laughed, but didn't leave off his attentions. He pulled her closer, languidly moving to the inside of her thighs, kissing them softly, moving higher and higher.

Bryn abruptly realized where this was going. "NO, you can't ...," she stammered, eyes wide.

He paused, looking up at her with a wicked grin. God she was innocent. There was so much he wanted to teach her, to show her, to share with her. This would be just the beginning. "Yes, I can, and what's more, I fully intend to." He turned back to his task.

She watched him move himself over her. Their eyes met once, twice, the look he gave indicating that he would not be deterred. Methos leaned over, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. He heard her gasp as his fingers began a more exacting exploration, finding what they most sought. Gently he began to stroke her, reveling in her wetness and how tight she felt.

Bryn arched against him, the rhythmic motion driving her wild. He took her to the brink of fulfillment, then pulled away, bringing his hand to his mouth to sample the sweetness she had covered him in. His eyes never left hers, telling her silently how much he wanted her. A low rumble of desire erupted from his chest as he slowly licked her exotic taste from his fingers.

His hand slid once again down her flat, smooth belly, through soft damp curls. His mouth captured hers at the same time as his fingers slowly penetrated the tight, slick opening. The pad of his thumb rubbed against the very spot he knew would drive her wild.

Before Bryn realized it, his mouth replaced his fingers, bestowing upon her the most intimate of kisses. A wicked, wonderful kiss that left Bryn trembling and pleading for him to stop, while at the same time hoping he wouldn't. She would have screamed with pleasure if she'd had the strength. Her hands clawed the sheets unconsciously, as if striving to hold onto some shred of sanity, and she let out a low whimper of ecstasy.

He ran his hands under her bottom, lifting her, easing his access to her and intensifying her pleasure. His tongue flickered into her again and again, drinking in her essence. The taste of her was intoxicating.

Bryn felt the pressure mounting, while a strange warmth spread through her body. The orgasm took her by surprise, rippling over her, pleasure and ecstasy coursing through her. She arched against Methos with a deep moan of satisfaction.

Methos felt her body shudder beneath his touch and tasted her climax. He smiled to himself, marveling at how much pure joy he felt at knowing he had satisfied her. But he was far from finished yet.

He lay quite still, taking his cue from her ragged, choppy breaths, listening for her breathing to return to some degree of normal. When it did, he began again.

Bryn damn near came off the bed, her control slipping farther and farther away with each erotic stroke. The intimate sparing of his rough tongue rubbed against the most sensitive part of her. She implored him to stop and at the same time she begged him not to. She felt the passion rise in her again, the power of the orgasm making her forget to breath.

Again Methos allowed her to regain some control before beginning again ... and again ... and again, only stopping when he knew she neared complete exhaustion.

It was with regret that he pulled away, retracing his path back up her body, kissing and nibbling as he went. He saw the look of intense pleasure on her face as he kissed her lips.

Bryn stared up at him, eyes smoldering. "No one's ever ..."

"Well, now *I* have," Methos replied, slanting his mouth over hers, tasting her completely. He lay his body down beside her, half covering her.

Bryn's hand moved to around the nape of his neck, her fingers gliding over his shoulders, marveling at the smoothness of his skin and the power beneath it. Any inhibitions she had felt were gone, and she wanted to love this man as completely as he had loved her.

She allowed her hands to do a little exploring of their own. Methos closed his eyes and groaned as her hands wandered down his back and across his hips to his stomach. Soft, light fingertips tracing muscle and bone and skin.

Bryn let her hands run over him. She relished the flinches he gave and the soft sounds he made, all indicating to her what excited him and how he liked to be touched. Her hand moved across his stomach, touching the dark line of hair that ran from his navel downward. She traced it delicately with her fingertip, smiling at the gasp her actions produced. She felt him hold his breath when her fingers gently ran the length of his arousal, caressing the silky smooth skin. Slowly closing her hand around him, she felt him shiver. Then she began to stroke him.

His growl was deep and guttural. "Don't. Hold. Squeeze. But ... God's sake ... DON'T do that." Methos was starting to have difficulty stringing a sentence together.

She continued her exploration, watching his face for signs of having found the right spot or done the right thing. Then, without warning, she pushed against him, taking him by surprise and rolling them onto their sides. The force of her push carried them farther, with Methos landing flat on his back, Bryn on top of him.

"Well, isn't this a lovely turn of events," he murmured gazing up at her with a smile.

"Mmmm, I hope so," she replied, kissing the hollow of his throat. She lingered there for a few brief seconds before shifting her body onto the bed beside him.

He looked at her, puzzled that she had moved away from him. "Where are you going?"

Her amused eyes met his. "I'm going here," she whispered, placing a kiss on his stomach, running her tongue lightly around his navel. He gasped.

"And here." A kiss on his hip elicited another gasp.

"And here." With the last comment she touched the tip of him, partaking in a little erotic tongue-play before taking his arousal full into her mouth, savoring the salty sweetness of him.

"Sweet Jesus, Bryn!" Methos let out a primal groan, his composure shattered. Sweat beaded from every pore as he buried one hand in Bryn's hair, the other fisted at his side. Her boldness surprised him. He hadn't expected it, not like this.

Bryn continued her ministrations; seemingly unaware of the delectable purgatory she was causing. One hand gently cupped the underside of him, stroking and squeezing in turn, extracting another moan.

When she gently scored the length of him with her teeth, Methos almost lost himself. What began as a groan quickly became a yell. Perhaps he had been wrong about the innocence. The glorious hell she was putting him through was certainly not the work of any innocent.

This has to stop ... now, thought Methos frantically. He wanted to find his release inside her, but not this way, not this time. He wanted her to find fulfillment first. Even if it killed him.

"Bryn, love, don't," he barely managed to rasp as she began to torture him again. When she didn't respond, he was forced to tug on her hair to gain her attention. The tug became a yank as Methos felt all control beginning to slip away.

"Don't," he cried out.

This time she listened. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this," she offered resting her chin on his chest and looking at him with apologetic eyes.

He gaped at her in amazement. Was she serious? "Hell, Bryn, if you were any better I'd have completely disgraced myself. And you'd have more in your mouth right now than your teeth and your tongue!"

"Oh," she stammered, catching his meaning and blushing.

Methos drew her up to him, devouring her with his mouth and rolling her onto her back. The kiss was ravenous, unending and consuming. His fingers tickled a path down her body, and when his fingers slipped inside her again, she let out a low groan. He made love to her with his fingers, extracting wave after wave of tremors as pleasure tore through her.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, staring at her, delighting in the ecstasy he saw in her face.

Bryn's eyes opened wide.

"Tell me," he repeated, continuing to stroke her.

"You," she gasped. "I want you ... inside me ... now."

Methos grunted in agreement, rolling his body over hers. He came to settle on top of her, separating her thighs with one of his own. His knees nudged her thighs wider and one hand slipped under her hips to hold her close. His forehead was covered with perspiration and he knew he'd go completely insane if he didn't bury himself deep inside her soon.

Methos felt his passion take control. He needed to take her, to possess her in both mind and body. He tried to slowly ease inside her, but her tightness drove him beyond the brink of agony. He had wanted to be gentle. But he couldn't. His body demanded completion, and he was powerless against the primitive instinct to bury himself inside her. He heard her gasp and felt her body arch as he gave in and completely joined her body to his, a melding of flesh and blood and soul. He paused in an effort to regain some control of himself. Then he began to move gently within her.

Bryn ran her hands across his straining shoulders, the gentle slope of his spine, the firm curve of his hips. Her breath was a series of tiny, fragile whimpers, and she experienced a mounting hunger and passion she had not thought possible. She felt him become a part of her with every thrust, and kiss and touch, not knowing where her body ended and his began. Her body gripped him, and all he could think about was pleasing her, pleasuring her and finding absolute joy together. The reality was far greater than the fantasy had ever been.

Desire took over. He thrust into her again and again, the bed rocking with his forcefulness. Bryn lifted her hips to take more of him. He heard her moan with pleasure but was still able to hold back that thread of control he always had when he had been with others, but Bryn snatched that away from him with four little words.

She looked up into green eyes. Eyes, she told herself, that she could get lost in for weeks. "I love you, Methos," she whispered, running one hand tenderly down his face.

They were words he had heard a thousand times before. But this time said with a sincerity that made him shudder. Her eyes held so much emotion and trust; he could see the love in them. Absolute desire ran through his body. He crushed his mouth against hers and drove himself deep inside her, feeling her cries of passion echoing in the back of his throat. He thrust into her again and again, losing himself completely in their lovemaking. Every shred of control he had was gone, and he could only think of loving her completely. She washed away the years of bitterness and darkness and allowed him to show her all the love and passion his heart possessed.

Bryn's nails dug deep into his shoulder, fighting for the control she knew was gone. Just as she thought she was about to die from the incredible feeling rising up inside of her, it emerged. Like a firework bursting in the night sky, it reached into her very soul, carrying her on waves and waves of intense pleasure. She cried his name, a cry of joy and wonder, clinging to him, feeling whole and safe and protected.

Deeper and deeper Methos buried himself in her, feeling himself become a part of her and wanting to stay that way forever. Finally, as she found her release, he could bear it no more. He wrenched his mouth from hers as pleasure consumed him. He called her name out loud, knowing that after this, he could never let her go.

The bedroom fell silent except for the hoarse rasp of their breathing and the soft tap of the rain against the window. Gentle shudders ran through both of them, as they lay entwined together, afraid to speak for fear it would break the bond between them. Bryn felt Methos' heart beat against her breast as he lay over her, complete exhaustion gripping both of them. Nothing in the world had ever been so glorious, so consuming.

Methos lay trying to recover his breath and his sanity. He felt Bryn shift beneath him and knew he should move, but was unable to find the energy. He was well aware that he must be crushing her, yet he lay spent and exhausted.

Finally he raised his head to look at her, smiled and rolled onto his side. He reached down and dragged the covers over the both of them before bracing himself on one elbow. He gently traced her face with his fingertip, marveling at how beautiful she was.

And now she was his completely. Forever.

Bryn gazed up at him, not quite knowing how to ask but unable to deny the questions inside her head. Would he compare her to others? Would he know?

Methos answered her with a kiss, seeing questions in her eyes. "That was the most ... wonderful ... amazing ... satisfying ...," he kissed her again, "of my life. My *entire* life." He stared into her eyes, willing her to understand what he was trying to tell her. "Never has it been so perfect, Bryn, not with anyone." And he meant it.

He pulled her close to him and held her tight. Say it, he scolded himself. Tell her. What the hell else are you waiting for? "I love you, Bryn. You are my heart, my world, my soul. You are here," he placed her hand over his heart, "and you always will be."

Her heart soared. Bryn knew that she loved him, but how he felt about her had bothered her. She knew he cared, deeply. But just *how* deeply was something she had vainly tried not to contemplate. Bryn suspected that love, or at least admission of love, was not something Methos was comfortable with, despite 5,000 years of practice.

She had told herself that hearing him say the words didn't matter, didn't really change anything between them. But now that the words had been said, she knew how wrong she had been. He had told her he loved her, and it had meant the world to her.

They lay silent, holding each other.

"Bryn." Methos had wondered how to broach the subject of her staying. Now seemed like the right time. "I don't want you to leave."

She wrinkled her nose. "Well, it's not exactly like I have anywhere else to go at the moment is it? I mean if I decide to rebuild the house, it will take a while."

"I mean ... always." Methos took a deep breath. He had contemplated this for days, questioning himself if it was the right thing to do. The answer had always been 'yes'. "I want you to live here ... with me ... us, together. Married if you like, or not, whatever it takes. I just ... I just don't want us to be apart ... not ever." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "I want you. In my life. In my home. In my bed." He punctuated each statement with a kiss. "Will you stay?"

Bryn turned to look at him. She had not dared dream that he would ask her, but she also could not imagine leaving. "Are you sure this is what *you* want? I heard something about you once vowing never to get involved with another immortal, that it would simply complicate things too much."

Damn MacLeod, he really should learn not to tell tales out of school, Methos thought, suddenly annoyed. "Yes, I said that once. But I can't imagine you not being here; I don't want to imagine it. I want to show you forever."

"You're sure you can handle the comments about May-December romances and having a 'child bride'?" Bryn teased.

"Very sure." Methos kissed her deeply, pulling her beneath him.

She felt his body stir again and began to giggle. "You can't be serious?"

"Oh, yes, I'm very serious." He grinned at her. "I told you I recover fast, didn't I."

She laughed out loud as his head disappeared under the covers.