Archive: No.
Summary: See title.

Methos. Standing in the field, eyes raised to the sky, long dark hair blending into the background of dark trees and dark sky. He was wearing white clothing; Duncan was unable to tell the style or the century.

Methos. The grasses whispered around Duncan's ankles as he stood in the shadows of the forest, unnoticed. He was watching Methos, Methos was watching the stars. There was no sound other than Duncan's breathing, the gentle breeze soughing through the trees, and Methos' footsteps over the grass, walking away into the center of the starlit meadow.

In the center of the field, Methos stopped silent. The moon slid the clouds aside and Duncan watched the meadow grow less dim, light striking Methos' face, bringing his expression into sharp relief -- not a smile, not a frown, a mere look, neutral, beautiful.

The moment stretched out almost to the breaking point before Duncan slipped out into the field, walking quiet as possible toward Methos, who did not look at him. There was no sign of Immortal Presence between them, no awareness of each other.

Duncan followed the line of Methos' gaze up to the sky, to the clouds and constellations circling above them. Methos seemed to be waiting for something, Duncan concluded, and stopped walking toward his friend.

Still more moments passed and they stood silent as statues, together under the stars and in the gentle breeze.

At last Methos moved again, as though he had heard a signal. And suddenly he was dancing -- Methos dancing! -- under the stars, arms upraised, the strange wild dance of thousands of years ago, lightness and beauty and grace and power all combined
together.

Duncan gasped aloud at the sight and the suddenness of the motions. The movements of the ancient man were enchanting, beguiling, seductive.

Methos seemed to hear the quiet gasp, reached out a hand, approached the Highlander, and took him by the hands, leading him through the meadow. Methos' fingers were cold under his, Duncan noticed.

Dancing with Methos was perfect; there was no other way to express it. Methos knew every move, knew somehow the way to show Duncan every step before he took it. The dance was ancient, primitive, wild, not modern in any sense of the word.

They danced through the meadow 'til the moon disappeared behind the clouds again. Methos' fingers gently released his, and for the first time that night, he acknowledged Duncan's presence with a soft smile.

"Thank you," Duncan said -- it seemed the only thing he could say.

And promptly woke up, the sunlight pouring into the windows of the room. The birds were chirping merrily outside, and Duncan breathed in a long sigh, remembering just how it felt to dance with Methos, before getting out of bed.

END