Disclaimers and Notes: This scene was originally intended for What Might Have Been, back when it was in its initial stages of construction and I hadn't yet decided whether it was being written in first person or third. It got cut from that, and relegated to the sequel since I didn't (and don't) want to end the tale where I did, although the story ends perfectly there. So for the first time ever, I found myself planning a sequel, before the first story was done even! Hence, this teaser. Unfortunately, it's stalled and I'm not going to finish this, but I thought someone might like to read it anyway.
What Is
"Mac." The single word was wary, echoed with unspoken tensions.
"Methos," Mac returned, reaching out his hand. Methos dodged it, not wanting that touch, not now. He was having enough trouble fighting his memories without tactile reinforcements from their object. Mac dropped his hand, hurt showing in his eyes. Kicked puppy look #3, Methos mentally labelled it, and sighed.
"What?" he demanded, exasperated.
"You've been avoiding me." Mac's voice was sad, resigned, vulnerable. Methos gave him points for atmosphere.
"No, you think?" Edgy, he prowled the room. Mac trailed after him, like the kicked puppy whose look he'd pre-empted earlier. "Will you stop that!" he snapped, whirling on him, barely stopping himself from reaching for a weapon to make his point with. Raising placating hands, Mac retreated.
"All right, all right, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"
Methos snarled wordlessly and turned away from the earnest look Mac was directing at him now. Stalking to the couch, he flopped back down, consciously forcing his limbs into their usual sprawl. "All right, MacLeod, I'm here now. What is it you want?" he asked, hostility dripping from the words.
"I thought we--" Mac began.
"NO". Methos growled,
completely out of patience. He leapt up, the tension coiling through him
demanding an outlet. "Don't think, MacLeod; you don't do it very well."
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