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Duncan stood at the window of the loft, looking down at the street. It was full of lights. Strings of lights, revolving lights, lights twisted into candy-canes, lights shaped like snowmen, lit-up trees. A giant Santa and an oversized angel faced off across a street full of holiday shoppers. December in Seacouver.
Behind him, the phone rang. Duncan ignored it and went to his liquor cabinet. His cell phone jangled in his pocket. He took it out and shut it off without looking at it.
He sat down on the couch. One glass, two bottles. One bottle of the good stuff to start, one bottle for later.
---------------
"He's not answering his phone," Amanda said.
"Give the guy a break. Maybe he's busy."
"Something's wrong, Joe."
"Give him some time," Joe said. "Let him be alone for a while." He hesitated. "That last challenge. It was bad."
"I know."
"You could give Methos a call," Joe said, against his better judgment.
"Hm," Amanda said.
Something in her voice made him wince for Duncan. On the other hand, maybe it was what he needed.
---------------
"Mother Hubbard," Duncan mumbled, looking at the empty shelves. He'd have to brave the street. He needed supplies. Scotch. Gin. Rum. Vodka. Something to keep him from thinking in the dead hours of the night. And food. He sighed and pulled on his coat.
By the time he reached the corner liquor store he was in the mood for walking, so he kept going, following a meandering path that finally ended at the waterfront. He leaned against a rail, his hands in his pockets, watching waves lap against the pier. No holiday-makers here. No shops. Too cold to be walking for pleasure. The wind whipped his hair around his face and made his long coat billow out behind him, but he barely noticed. Why do people look to the sea for solace? He shook his head impatiently and just watched the water move in its currents and its tides, the way it had done for millennia. Best not to think.
Duncan's feet were heavy as he trudged toward home, bottles of cheap whiskey weighing down his pockets like stones. He looked at the sky. It was dark -- how long had he been walking? -- but the lights from the city obscured the stars, which made a wan show of light. Why do people seek solace in the night sky? He sighed and trudged on, but as his building came into view he stopped, suddenly alert. There was a light in the window above the dojo. He frowned and hurried up the street, weariness forgotten.
---------------
"Is that a sword in your hand or are you just happy to see me?"
Duncan relaxed at the sound of the familiar voice. "Methos."
"And moi!" Amanda stepped out from behind him, brandishing a champagne glass.
"Oh, good," Duncan said. "Both of you at once. Together. At the same time."
"You lucky, lucky man," Amanda beamed at him.
Duncan sighed. "I should have known you two would sneak in while I was out."
"I never sneak!" Amanda drew herself up. "It was an honest break-in!"
Methos shrugged. "I have a key."
Duncan frowned. "When did I -- never mind." He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm not in the mood for company."
"Of course you are, darling," Amanda said. "Don't give me that look. It makes you look like a grump. Doesn't he look like a grump, Methos?"
Methos looked Duncan up and down. "Not exactly Mr. Sunshine."
"What are you, Mutt and Jeff?" Duncan said sourly.
"Who is Mutt?" Amanda said. "Is he calling me a mutt?"
"Duncan's too chivalrous to call a lady a dog," Methos said. "You must be Jeff."
"I need a drink," Duncan said, reaching into his coat pocket.
"Why didn't you say so?" Amanda brandished a champagne bottle in her other hand.
Duncan eyed the bottle. "Something stronger."
"This is strong," Amanda waggled the full bottle, making him wince. "You just have to drink a lot of it."
"And how much have you two had?"
"Two, I think. Two?" She turned to Methos.
He held up two fingers.
"Two," she said to Duncan.
"Drinks?"
"Oh. Bottles?" she smiled widely.
Duncan sighed.
Amanda's smile faltered a bit, but she soldiered on. "I know it's midwinter, and we should have glogg and hot spiced cider and," she waved a hand, "buttered rum or whatever, but it's, well it's you. Which really calls for champagne. Right?" She elbowed Methos.
"Absolutely."
Amanda watched him expectantly, Methos with a bland innocence belied by a slightly ironic glint in his eyes.
Duncan pulled a bottle from his pocket and set it on the counter. "I'm not celebrating my birthday," he said.
"Wrong!" Amanda said.
---------------
"Put that down," Duncan said sharply.
"What? This?" Amanda held up a shirt she'd picked up off the floor. She wrinkled her nose. "It needs washing."
"I'll wash it. Those, too," he said to Methos.
Methos, who was holding a small stack of books, obligingly let them fall to the floor with a bang.
"This place is a pigsty," Amanda said.
"It's my pigsty. Leave it alone."
"Look at this!" She yanked at a snarl of blankets and clothing on Duncan's bed. "Not even room to sit, much less --" She stopped, sputtering.
Duncan glared at her.
Methos laid a gentle hand on Amanda's arm. "I think," he said, "that friend MacLeod isn't in the mood for company, much less --."
"But--"
"Come along."
Amanda protested, but Methos led her firmly to the lift. At the last moment, he reached out and snagged Duncan's bottle of whiskey and leaned in close. "You won't win, you know."
Duncan opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and stood with his arms crossed across his chest. As the lift descended, Methos raised the cheap whiskey in salute.
Duncan sighed, dropped to the couch and put his head in his hands. Why do people look for solace with booze and their own bad company? He reached for a bottle, but nothing was within reach but a half-empty bottle of champagne.
---------------
"You've made a mess of my kitchen," Duncan said mildly.
"It was already a mess," Methos said. Though Duncan had at least picked up his clothes and made his bed. That was a good sign. There were still DVDs strewn in front of his TV. Didn't the man have streaming video? He'd been watching silent films, it seemed. Mary Pickford. Methos wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Maybe Duncan had had a crush on her back in the day.
The counter was covered with bowls and bottles, spice jars and sugar bags, empty egg cartons and milk jugs, whisks, spoons, ladles, and cups. The focal point of all this clutter was a big stock-pot on the stove and a pitcher next to it.
"I said I wasn't going to celebrate my birthday," Duncan reminded him.
Methos hauled up a great ladle-full of thick, milky drink from the pot. Amanda dipped a smaller spoon into it and tasted it.
"We're not celebrating your birthday," Amanda said. She gave a thumbs-up to Methos.
"Then what's all this?" Duncan said.
"Get down some mugs," Amanda ordered. She pointed to a stand of bottles at the end of the counter. "And take those over to the coffee table."
"Madame," Duncan said ironically, bowing.
The three of them settled on the couch, the pitcher of eggnog and a bottle of brandy arranged on a low table. Amanda splashed a little of both into the mugs.
"So what are we celebrating?" Duncan said.
Methos and Amanda raised their mugs. Duncan made a face and raised his with an exaggerated show of cheer. Their mugs clinked together.
"We are celebrating," Methos raised his mug again. "Eggnog."
"Celebrating eggnog?" Duncan said.
"Fine old recipe," Methos said, as if his mug held the finest beer made by cloistered Trappist monks.
"December is national eggnog month," Amanda said. "Everybody knows that."
Duncan eyed his mug dubiously. "We're going to celebrate eggnog every day for a month?"
Methos looked sidelong at him. "If we have to."
Duncan took a drink from his cup and grimaced.
Amanda picked up the brandy bottle. "And, also, today we celebrate -- the repeal of Prohibition!"
"I'll drink to that," Methos said, refilling his mug.
Duncan held out his mug. "Just brandy, please."
----------------
The eggnog was gone. The brandy was gone.
Methos and Amanda were still here.
Duncan tried to think of a tactful way to tell them to leave.
"Are you two planning to stay here all night?" he said, and instantly regretted it.
"Why yes, thank you," Amanda said. She nudged Methos.
"Good idea," he said. "Do we throw him in the bath now?"
"Bath?" Duncan frowned. "I need a bath?"
"Well, eh, you could stand one," Amanda said. "But this is just for fun!"
Duncan looked from one suspiciously cheerful face to the other. "This is another celebration, isn't it?"
Amanda couldn't contain herself. "Bathtub day!"
Duncan groaned.
"It could be worse," Methos said. "The 5th is lousy with holidays."
Amanda nodded. "We were thinking of Krampusnacht, because Methos really wanted to have a go at you with a handful of birch switches, but I think this is better."
"No reason why we couldn't do both," Methos said. "I brought some switches. In case," he lowered his voice to a growl, "someone hasn't been a good boy."
---------------
Duncan's bathtub was large, even decadently so, but it wasn't big enough to hold three people.
Amanda was the odd man out. Duncan and Methos stretched out from either end of the bathtub, facing each other over a drift of bubbles, arms resting on the edges of the tub.
Amanda sat on a cushioned chair, wearing nothing but a satin dressing gown she kept in Duncan's closet. Duncan had once observed, much to her satisfaction, that it slid all over her in interesting ways. She was polishing her nails and pretending not to notice that Methos was bedeviling Duncan under the bubbles. One of his knees was bent in such a way she was sure his foot was in Duncan's crotch.
Duncan made a small noise, coughed, and turned to Amanda. "What color is that?" he said brightly, through tightened lips. Methos looked innocent.
"Red," Amanda said.
"Just red?" Not Russian Red or Cherries in the Snow or No. 311?"
"Red," Amanda spread her fingers and eyed her nails critically. "Very red."
Methos was smiling at Duncan.
"What?" Duncan said.
"You know a lot of names for lipstick," Methos observed mildly.
Duncan splashed at Methos and squirmed in the bath. "I know a lot of girls."
Methos's knee wavered but held firm. "A lot, eh? And how many is a lot to a randy Highlander?"
Duncan looked sideways at Amanda. She moved slightly to make the dressing gown slide down her shoulder.
"Millions," he said. "And that's just Amanda."
Methos laughed.
"Hey!" Amanda said.
Duncan grinned.
Amanda's heart leaped. Their plan was working.
---------------
The bell for the dojo rang. Amanda, Duncan was sure. He briefly considered not answering. He didn't know why she even bothered hitting the bell. She had keys, she had lock-picks, she had every password to every electronic security system he had ever touched.
He pushed aside the hope that Methos was with her. The two of them did seem to be pretty thick these days. Not that he was jealous. But he was ready to put a pox on both their houses by the time he'd stomped down the stairs to the dojo, the lift too passive a conveyance for his mood. A sudden burst of noise hit him as he entered the dojo and he stopped.
She hadn't, as it turned out, bothered to wait for him to open the door. She was already inside. And ushering in a crowd. A noisy, laughing, colorfully-dressed crowd, many of them holding instruments, some already playing them. A sensuous, irresistible beat lightened his heart and his feet.
For a moment the past swam before his eyes: Paris -- the Eiffel Tower -- unlikely tango music coming from a boombox -- Amanda in his arms, laughing. "Forget the damn rules! Let's jump!" He shook his head to clear it. Damn these flashbacks. Then Amanda was holding both his hands, smiling up at him.
"You remember?"
"How could I forget?" He smiled crookedly down at her. "Let's dance."
Amanda threw back her head and laughed.
"What's the joke?" Methos came up behind her, both hands in his pockets.
"Not hitting the ground at a hundred and twenty-five miles an hour," Duncan said.
Methos smiled. "Ah, romance."
Duncan waved at the crowd. "What's all this?"
"World Tango Day," Amanda said.
Duncan rolled his eyes. "What else?"
The crowd had divided itself into band and dancers. The band started a song, the dancers started pairing off, and Duncan, his body already swaying to the music, was somewhat at a loss.
The tango is not normally a dance for three people.
But he needn't have worried, because his partners hauled him into a tango with some new rules -- and some unconventional but strangely satisfying three-way moves. At first Duncan found himself being passed back and forth between the two of them, but he quickly learned to turn the tables, laughing and cutting in when he pleased, complicating the rhythm of their triangular dance.
Later -- Duncan wasn't sure if it was hours or minutes or an interval of time without beginning or end -- Methos danced him into a corner and kissed him until Duncan rested against him, their bodies moving to a slower rhythm. Amanda slid into their embrace. Around them the music wavered, then gathered itself into one last energetic burst, and ended. There was clapping and laughing, and the sound of weary feet over the threshold and people scattering under the streetlights.
The door closed on silence, but the three in the dojo danced on.
----------
"Come on, Duncan. You have to come with us."
"Why?" Duncan was feeling mulish. "You two are the ones who want to celebrate every day of the damned month, you go on."
Amanda sighed. "You're missing the point."
"Which is?"
"Which is, it's a party celebrating Pansexual and Panromantic Day."
"So?"
"So, there are three of us!"
"What, pansexuals --"
"And panromantics," Methos said from the couch.
"-- have to go everywhere together?"
"Well, not to the grocery store or to court," Amanda stopped.
Methos looked up from his book. "You were in court?"
Amanda waved a hand dismissively. "Parking tickets."
"Ah." Methos went back to reading.
"But this party is to celebrate more than just the usual--," she flapped a hand, "sexual and gender binary."
"But if anyone is pan-whatever," Duncan said. "It's you two."
"There are three of us! We should celebrate--" she threw her arms open "--what we have."
Methos looked up. Duncan rolled his eyes.
Amanda put her hands on her hips.
"What we have here is -- what's that old, sexist term?" Methos snapped his fingers. "Got it."
"What?" Duncan said, when Methos didn't say anything further.
"What? Oh," Methos said, opening his book again. "Henpecked."
Amanda threw up her hands. "Fine, be that way. I'm going out."
"Where are you going?" Duncan said.
Amanda pulled on her coat. "To find a woman."
In the end, they all went to the party to celebrate Pansexual/Panromantic Day, and had a good time, too, though Duncan rather went against the spirit of the thing by pussy-blocking every female-presenting person Amanda tried to chat up.
---------------
Duncan didn't get up when Methos opened the gate to the lift and let himself in.
"Candygram?" Duncan said.
Methos held up a bag. "Take-out." He lifted the other bag. "Beer. Shawarma."
"Is this international shawarma day?"
"No. You like shawarma."
It wasn't a question. Duncan was sometimes amazed at all the trivial things Methos knew about him. "I'm not hungry," he said, sounding childish even to himself.
"Suit yourself." Methos sat down next to Duncan and started pulling food out of the bags.
Duncan tried to ignore how good it smelled. "What's the celebration for today? Where's Amanda?"
"So many questions. Have a beer."
Duncan unbent enough to take the bottle Methos slid in his direction.
"There is no celebration scheduled for today," Methos continued, in a tour-guide voice. "And Amanda isn't coming. She says we need a quote, 'bro day' unquote, to get it out of our system."
"Get what out of our system?"
"An overdose of testosterone, is what she called it," Methos said.
Duncan snorted. He took another swallow from the bottle.
"Anyway," Methos said, smiling and unwrapping a shawarma. "Tonight it's just you and me." He scooted over a bit closer to Duncan.
Duncan kept his eyes on the bottle, turning it in his hands.
"I don't bite," Methos said cheerfully. "Here, take this. You're starving."
"I'm not starving," Duncan said.
"You are. You're starving yourself. You need to eat, MacLeod. I'm not just talking about food."
Duncan didn't bother to answer. Methos waved the shawarma before his face as if to hypnotize him. Duncan's eyes followed it briefly, then he resignedly took the shawarma from Methos.
When he bit into it, the explosion of heat and spices was almost too much to bear. He ate slowly, his face turned away from Methos as if ashamed to be caught doing something so intensely personal. The meat rolled in thin bread was spicy, succulent, and warm. Comfort food. Comfort me with apples, he thought wryly. Beside him, Methos ate steadily, drinking from his beer and saying nothing. Duncan stole a glance at him. He was stretched out on the couch, in the familiar boneless slouch, contemplating something unseen. The rest of the scripture came to him. For I am sick of love.
He took another bite of the shawarma. "This is good," he said. It wasn't love making him sick.
Methos smiled.
Later, he let Methos take him to bed. He didn't offer but neither did he argue. He simply followed where Methos led. To another kind of comfort.
Duncan was grateful for Methos's straightforward lovemaking. "Don't you want to try this?" he'd asked him once, "this" being a toy Amanda left behind, a sort of Houdini contraption that Duncan had found quite stimulating, especially when he wasn't the one wearing it.
But Methos had demurred. "I've done everything," he said. "With everyone. In every dungeon, alley, four-poster bed and Canadian shack. Props just make me tired, MacLeod."
Which hadn't, of course, meant Methos wasn't above improvising when he took a notion to. Duncan had a favorite sweater with the sleeves stretched beyond repair to vouch for that.
Tonight, though, Methos was in a more subdued mood, which suited Duncan.
"You're sure she's not coming?" After the third time he'd said it, looking worriedly towards the lift, Methos had laughed.
"Relax, MacLeod. She's not coming anywhere near the loft tonight. Cross my heart." He took Duncan's hand in his and made a criss-cross sign over his chest. He kissed Duncan's fingers.
"It's not International Surprise Day? Jump Out of a Closet Day?"
"No surprises," Methos promised. "And no special reason to celebrate except," he tumbled Duncan over on the bed and stretched his body over Duncan's. "I want you and -- you want me, right?" He shimmied his hips against Duncan's, pressing him into the bed. "Hm. It feels like you do."
Duncan laughed and ran his hands down Methos's back to his ass. "Busted," he said.
"Oh, not yet," Methos said, smiling.
Duncan was in the mood for sex that was easy and uncomplicated. Which, paradoxically, Methos -- the most difficult and complicated person Duncan knew -- could give him. Methos knew that Duncan liked to be kissed, and so he kissed him. Kissed him while giving a hand job, kissed him all the way from the end of his nose to his cock when he went down on him, kissed his back when he was fucking him. Duncan knew Methos liked to pretend to wrestle for domination in bed, so he wrestled him (and won, or lost, depending).
They knew each other's bodies "like an old married couple," Duncan had said once, not sure if it was a good thing or not.
"That's what marriage is for," Methos had replied. "Well, you know, apart from the urge to procreate and establish dynasties. To know someone all the way down to bedrock as it were. Blood, bone and heart."
"Are you thinking?" Methos demanded now, pinching Duncan's thigh to distract him.
"Sorry," Duncan said, coming back to the present.
"Well, stop," Methos said, touching his tongue to Duncan's nose
Duncan cupped Methos's face in both hands and kissed him fiercely.
"Better," Methos said against his cheek. He drew Duncan closer.
Duncan closed his eyes and relaxed into Methos's embrace. Under Methos's hands he didn't have to think, only to feel. He had only to yield -- to Methos, to pleasure, to the solace of their two bodies entwined together. Blood, bone and heart.
Methos snored softly next to him. Duncan relaxed into the warmth of Methos's body and smiled, content. If this was a 'bro day,' he was all for celebrating it.
---------------
The loft was empty, and blessedly silent. Soon enough it would be noisy with celebration. Duncan had no idea what they might be celebrating next. Maybe there was a National Beer Day or a day to celebrate llamas.
Talk Like a Pirate Day had already passed, he was sure.
Pearl Harbor Day? He frowned. What could they possibly do for Pearl Harbor Day? It wasn't a day one celebrated, but observed. He had a sudden image of the three of them in their wartime garb, though he doubted Methos had worn a uniform.
There was always Christmas, he supposed. And Christmas Eve. Hogmanay. Chanukah. Kwanzaa. New Year's Eve. Boxing Day.
Anything but his birthday.
---------------
"They're ganging up on me, Joe."
"They mean well," Joe said, leaning back in his chair. The bar wasn't closed, but it was almost empty, just a few other lonesome souls huddled at tables, letting the blues soak into their troubled bones.
"Well, the road to hell and all that," Duncan said.
The two men sat drinking, silently.
"It's working, though?" Joe said.
Duncan made a face. "Yeah. That's the most annoying thing about it."
Joe laughed.
"They've got a two-pronged attack. Amanda bats her eyelashes, Methos hits me with some old memory. Methos snarks, Amanda is sympathetic. Amanda—" He stopped, watching the scene reeling out before his mind's eye. Amanda plied him with soft kisses, Methos shoved him up against the wall. Or, he thought, smiling a little, vice-versa.
Joe watched Duncan think. "You don't have to tell me about that part."
Duncan shook his head. "Sorry. And then they come up with the damnedest holidays. World Monkey Day. Barking Day. Festivus. Have you heard of it?"
"Roman?"
"Geek," Duncan said wryly. "Then there's World Tango day and Global Orgasm day."
Joe shrugged. "Let the good times roll," he said. "Sounds like you're getting a good deal."
"I just wanted to be alone," Duncan complained.
Joe smiled and took a sip of his scotch. "And now?"
Duncan slid his glass over for another refill. "Now I'd just like to get some sleep."
---------------
"You can sleep when you're dead," Methos said. "Come on, upsy daisy."
Duncan groaned. He batted at the clock on the nightstand. "It's 2:00."
"P.m.," Methos said.
"Ach." Duncan put the pillow over his head. Then he shot up into a sitting position, roaring. Something horrible and cold had attacked his nethers.
"Good god," Methos said to Amanda. "I thought you were just going to sprinkle some in his face."
Amanda held an empty tumbler. It had previously held ice water. "More effective," she said.
"Women are the crueler sex," Methos shook his head. "Right?" he said to Duncan.
Duncan was wildly rubbing at his crotch with the bedclothes. He bared his teeth at them.
"Best we back away from this maddened beast," Methos said. "Let him gather his ba- - his wits. We can warm up the oatmeal."
Duncan sat shivering, glaring at them from under lowered brows. Oatmeal?
---------------
Every day, they brought him food. They fed him persimmons and pomegranates, they fed him latkes and donuts filled with strawberry jelly, they fed him tea and muffins. They cheerfully laid out pans of noodle rings, plates of French-fried clams, bowls of beans and rice, platters of biscuits and gravy. They brought spiced cider and pitchers of sangria. They brought waffles, they brought pizzelles, they brought pumpkin pie and fruitcake. They lugged in a big Advent calendar with chocolates behind each window. They brought chocolates without an Advent calendar. They brought chocolate in boxes, in cones, in bags; chocolates in the shape of reindeer, chocolate in the shape of oranges that fell into sections when you smacked the top.
They brought cookies without end, amen.
Methos told him bicarbonate of soda day wasn't until the end of the month, but as far as Duncan was concerned, they could celebrate it every day.
"What are these?" Duncan picked up a spoon.
"Dumplings," Amanda said, her mouth already full.
"I know that," Duncan said patiently. "But what are they for? What are we celebrating?"
"Oh. Right. These are for Dongzhi. It's Chinese. They're supposed to, um. Keep your ears warm."
Duncan frowned at the dumpling in his spoon. "Ears?"
Amanda glanced at Methos. He took on a professorial air. "There was an eminent doctor named Zhang Zhongjing, who lived in the last years of the Han Dynasty. He was out on a cold winter day and happened to see poor people suffering in the streets. Cold, hungry, with chilblains on their ears. Distressed, he ordered his apprentices to cook up vats of dumplings in soup and dish it out to the unfortunate, to keep them warm. And ward off chilblains. It became a tradition."
Duncan looked thoughtful. "I've heard of that. Wasn't it for the solst--umph." Methos had hurriedly shoved a dumpling into Duncan's mouth.
"Eat up. Don't want your ears to freeze."
---------------
Duncan let Methos and Amanda drag him out of the dojo and into the thick of things. He wasn't sure what day it was, what with celebrating Have a Bagel Day, Bo Diddley's birthday, Marconi's first transatlantic radio signal, the premiere of A Streetcar Named Desire, and Finnish Independence Day.
The streets were full of shoppers, revelers, and thieves. Much the same as any big city as far back as big cities went. Duncan felt like a bystander to it all. Not that he wasn't enjoying himself. The holiday spectacle was a distraction, at least. But he still felt a little apart from the holiday-makers.
Methos and Amanda seemed to fit in just fine, eating hand-pies and peering into shop windows full of toys, exclaiming over trains and dolls as if they were children, singing along with canned carols playing on outdoor speakers. Now they followed a stream of people making their way down the noisy streets busy with shoppers, traffic, and small children who raced around, their excitement, as Methos said, dialed up to eleven. The stream of holiday humanity fetched up at a small park with a large decorated tree. The square was lined with crowded shops and coffee bars. Amanda planted Duncan and Methos at one of the latter, while she disappeared into the former.
Duncan bought coffee, and Methos snagged a tiny table on the sidewalk as a pair of elderly women in Dalek hoodies got up and headed for a game shop.
"Today is my birthday," Duncan said, warming his hands around his coffee cup.
Methos smiled wryly. "I told Amanda it wouldn't work."
"What wouldn't work?"
"She's been trying to scramble your wits so you lost track of it."
Duncan smiled grimly. "I thought you two were just celebrating every other holiday in the world to--" he stopped.
"Teach you a lesson?"
Duncan sipped at his coffee. "Yeah. Were you?"
"Pretty much. I have to admit, it was a pleasure to watch you try to be huffy while being stuffed with gingerbread."
"Glad you enjoyed it," Duncan put his coffee down and rubbed his temples. "Does she have something planned? For today?"
"You mean like a surprise party? God, I hope not."
Duncan sat silently for a few moments. Finally, he said, "I scared her, didn't I?"
Methos smiled thinly. "You scared me, MacLeod."
"I just wanted to be alone for a while after--," he sighed. "He was a friend, once."
"I know," Methos said. He was silent for a moment, looking away. "I know."
"So why all this -- this intervention?"
Methos regarded him with his head cocked to one side. "You stayed in Seacouver."
Duncan frowned. "Right."
Methos leaned forward. "Whenever you lose the will to live --"
"I've never lost the will to live," Duncan protested.
"All right. Whenever you go into one of your blue funks, you head for holy ground. You don't mope around town with a take-my-head-please sign on your back."
"It wasn't that dire, Methos. You could have left me to my own devices for a week."
"I could have, yes. Amanda, no."
Duncan sighed. "I guess not." He turned in his seat. "So where is she now?"
Methos pointed across the park. "Last time I saw her she was going into the pet store. Probably not for a goldfish."
"They have shops for that now," Duncan said.
"There's nothing like the real thing."
"Ach," Duncan said, picking up his coffee again. "I don't know if I'm up for that tonight."
Methos shrugged. "It's your birthday. You can do whatever you want."
Duncan snorted. "Except be alone."
Methos nodded. "Except that. And on that note, here she comes."
Duncan was surprised. He'd expected Amanda to be laden with bags and boxes, but she carried only one bag. Even more surprising, she looked a bit subdued.
She walked up to the table, swinging the bag. "Follow me," she said, and turned away.
Duncan raised an eyebrow at Methos who only shrugged and stood, picking up his coffee cup and following after Amanda.
The streets were thinning a bit; it was later than Duncan had thought. It's too dark. Tomorrow would be brighter. Not a lot brighter. Just enough to feel it in your bones. After the longest night of the year, the light returns.
Amanda turned off the main street. Here it was quieter. She turned again, and they were deep in the Old Town. Duncan could see the spire of the old church. Amanda stopped and pointed to it.
"There," she said.
The church looked dark from the street, and rather forbidding, but as they drew closer, Duncan could see lights deep inside. Amanda, however, passed the church and led them through a small gate.
Duncan stopped with his hand on the cold iron. "A graveyard?"
"Come on." Amanda walked slowly through the headstones. She didn't seem to have a particular grave in mind, but finally stopped at an elaborate tombstone. A grieving angel perched there, bowed and desolate. Amanda sighed and gave the angel an affectionate pat on the shoulder.
"Someone you know?" Methos said.
"No," Amanda said. She shook herself and reached into her bag, pulling out small holly wreaths for Duncan and Methos. And one for herself.
"Ah," Methos said. "Evergreen on a grave."
Duncan clutched his wreath. "I don't know anybody here."
"It doesn't matter," Amanda said. "Just -- pick a grave. Think of someone you miss."
Duncan's indrawn breath was like a hiss. "I can't --"
Amanda put a finger across his lips. "Shh. Here. Lay it here."
Methos faded into the darkness, his wreath dangling from his fingers.
Duncan laid the wreath on a small, plain tombstone. He didn't look at the name, or the dates chiseled into the stone. His hands were shaking.
Amanda knelt down to lay her wreath on a gravestone that had fallen in the grass. Duncan felt his legs start to give, and knelt beside her. He stared at the tombstone in front of him but it was the faces of the dead he saw before his mind's eye. Tessa. Darius. Hideo Koto. Brian Cullen. Ian. Mary. Deborah. People whose names he thought he'd forgotten, but which came to him like the ringing of a struck bell, like the whisper of a prayer. He wasn't sure if he said them aloud as he knelt among the strange -- and yet familiar -- graves, holding fast to fading images of the faces, the remembered touch of his beloved dead. But he knew them, and that was enough.
Finally, his head bowed, he let out a ragged breath and got stiffly to his feet, wiping his face on the sleeves of his coat.
"Better?" Amanda stood up next to him.
"Yeah," He said. He looked down at the epitaph on the headstone. "He was a real cool cat."
"This place isn't as old as I thought," Methos said, suddenly close to them. "That guy hasn't even begun to be dead."
Despite himself, Duncan smiled. He kissed the top of Amanda's head. "This is one hell of a birthday party."
"Oh, it's barely started." Amanda rummaged in her bag, which still held one surprise, and produced a dog collar.
Duncan groaned. "You shouldn't have." He turned towards the gate and offered Amanda his arm.
Methos took his other one. "Home, MacLeod. It's the longest night of the year. Let's make the best of it."
People might look for solace in the constant and familiar tides of the sea, or in the constellations in the night sky. They might seek it in solitude, or with a bottle for company. They might even find a measure of peace by laying a symbol of immortality on a grave. Duncan had done all of these things. But tonight, he would celebrate the day that marked his birth, and find solace in the company of his friends.