June 1999
"What do I call you?" Methos asked, a comradely arm around Duo's slim shoulders. "What about 'Squirt'? You're small enough."
Duo shot him a venomous glare. "Duo Maxwell, Adam Pierson. You call me 'squirt', and you join your other friend all over again."
"How -" Methos started, pushing Duo away with alarm. He grabbed at the boy's arms, pulling up his sleeves, one after the other as he turned each wrist this way and that.
Nothing. Methos let out a sigh of relief. The thought that the Watchers were once more actively after him gnawed at him every day of his long, long life. It had faded somewhat in the last few decades, especially now that civil wars and unrest erupted every once in a while in one colony or another. It had faded, but it never completely disappeared. And the appearance of a boy who seemed to know too much for his age brought back his suspicions thousandfold. Though, truth be told, he should have realised that the boy knew nothing of the Game or immortals. Either that or this Duo Maxwell was one hell of a brilliant actor.
"What the fuck?"
Methos' eyebrows crawled up a space at Duo's colourful question, letting the boy pull his hands away from his examination. "Who's the potty mouth now, eh?" Methos admonished, grinning.
"What were you doing?" Duo growled, his deep voice reflecting clearly his appoaching manhood. Face flushed, Duo pushed up his sleeves, inspecting for himself the wrists that the darkhaired man had found so fascinating.
"I was looking for tatoos."
"Tatoos?"
Methos shook his head, delightfully amused at the contraditions he found in the boy. Why was he even considering telling the Maxwell boy about the Watchers? Or even the immortals, for that matter? With a little twisting of words and a little vocal aerobics, he could definitely persuade the boy to believe that he had just been unconscious, not dead. He wouldn't have to explain the dynamics of beheadings and how that figured so importantly in an immortal's lifespan. But the boy just kept looking at him with curious eyes, all such a perfect picture of childish innocence and blind trust that he could barely just remind himself that the boy was as much a killer as he was.
Oh, Methos had seen the bullet hole in Mikhail's head -- just as clearly as he smelled the lingering scent of ozone and sulphur on the boy's clothes. There was no doubt about it in his mind. This guileless-looking boy with the wide violet eyes had shot Mikhail right between the eyes, point blank. While the man was probably readying himself to smite his head from his shoulders.
And yet he balked at cutting a dead body.
Smiling, Methos reached out, ruffling Duo's hair affectionately.
"Aww man," Duo groaned, batting his hand away, "not the hair. Don't mess with the hair."
Methos laughed, and tugged at Duo's hair lightly. And promptly fell silent when he felt the boy's hair *give*. "What the hell?" Methos pulled carefully, ignoring Duo's protests. Until the sight of the long braid brought a smile once more to his lips. "Now why would you want to hide this?"
Duo just frowned back at him, snatching the braided hank of hair away from him and stuffing it once more under his collar. "None of your business," he mumbled gruffly.
"Okay, okay," Methos chuckled, hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. Oh yes, this boy probably held as many secrets as he did. It would be interesting to find out just what -
"Shit!"
It started as a soft caress, but now that he was no longer occupied with the boy, that soft caress had developed into a full-blown punch. It was a buzzing that was strong and unmistakeable. A sonorous grating on his consciousness that gained clarity with each passing millisecond.
"Get down!" Methos swept Duo into his arms, pulling the boy away from the lurching figure that had suddenly swept down with powerful arms that ended in blood-tinged spikes of certain death.
End Part Ten
Shirin
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