Joe hid his smile and wiped at the bar with a damp cloth, discretely watching the two Immortals as they drank and laughed, gave each other lingering touches and searing looks that told Joe everything he needed to know about their relationship.

Methos and Eliot had become fixtures in his bar since they moved to town. Even their friends Hardison and Parker were becoming regulars. Joe liked the atmosphere they created, like family. It was something he'd sorely missed but greatly appreciated these days.

Methos threw back his head and laughed, long and loud, at something Eliot said and Joe could see, written plainly on his face, the devotion and affection Eliot had for the old man. Joe was glad. He wasn't getting any younger and he'd been worried Methos might isolate himself from the world again without anyone to force him to join it. Especially since MacLeod was an infrequent visitor these days. Although that might be a good thing.

The two Immortals stiffened and Joe joined them in looking to the door when it opened. They were still closed and Joe could guess who might be coming through the door, but none of his guesses would be good.

MacLeod stood there, hand in his jacket, resting on his sword and Joe sighed. He wondered if it would be possible to surreptitiously hide any breakable objects then MacLeod relaxed and nodded to Methos, glossing over Eliot, before making his way over to Joe. Joe noticed Methos hadn't relaxed at all and Eliot, picking up on Methos' apprehension, was just as tense beside him.

"Hey Joe," Mac said with a smile.

"MacLeod," Joe greeted, wondering if he shouldn't have taken the Scotsman aside years ago and warned him that killing people your friends were fond of tended to do irreparable harm to the friendship.

"We should get going," Methos said as the two Immortals stood. Methos rested a protective, possessive hand between Eliot's shoulder blades and Joe could see the moment it dawned on MacLeod what their relationship truly was in the way he gritted his jaw and the flash of possessive jealousy in his eyes. He should tell the Scotsman he'd had his chance, for five years all he'd had to do was say the word and Methos would have dropped everything for him, but he doubted MacLeod would listen to him. He doubted MacLeod even realised exactly what he was feeling. MacLeod's eyes narrowed as he searched Eliot's features then widened.

"You!" he said. "I did some research on you the last time you were in here. I thought there was something wrong about you."

"Mac," Methos said softly in warning.

"You sure this is something you want to do?" Joe asked.

"Joe?"

Joe frowned, wondering how to get his point across without the Immortal becoming defensive.

"Maybe try to get to know him first," Joe suggested. "People change and he seems like a good man."

Methos' gaze never left MacLeod's face but Eliot gave Joe a brief nod in thanks for his support.

"He's a murderer," MacLeod argued.

"So are you," Methos said, edging into cold and distant, impersonal.

"I didn't kill for money," Mac said tightly, insulted. Joe wondered what difference that made. Dead was dead. "I didn't kill children."

Eliot's already neutral expression shuttered and Methos splayed the hand that had lightly been touching Eliot's back firmly across his shoulder, giving him support. Joe had had time to sit and swap war stories with Eliot and knew he'd been to Africa and the Middle East, places where they put guns in the hands of terrified children and told them where to shoot. Joe knew what that was like, how what you were forced to do ate at you.

MacLeod drew his sword, pointing it at Eliot. Eliot looked at Methos and refused to retaliate. Joe was glad at least one of them was showing some maturity.

"You try it and I'll kill you," Methos said seriously, drawing his gun. Mac glanced briefly in his direction, frown marring his brow.

"Methos?" MacLeod questioned and Eliot didn't even blink at the use of Methos' name. Joe filed that away to think about when there wasn't about to be a murder.

"There is nowhere you could hide from me that I would not find you."

"You can't mean that," Mac said. "He's a mercenary. You don't know what he's capable of."

"I would make your death quick," Methos conceded, undoubtedly in deference to the friendship they'd shared.

Eliot rested a hand on Methos' arm but didn't put any pressure on it to drop the gun.

"Like you said, we should go," Eliot told him. Methos backed a few paces back to the door then lowered his gun and holstered it again.

"Be seeing you, Joe," he said before turning and leaving, Eliot close on his heels. Joe sighed.

"Really, MacLeod?"

...

MacLeod was barely even aware that it was an Immortal's presence dragging him from sleep before there was a weight on his chest and a katana– a Hattori Hanzo blade, his brain supplied – at his neck. He froze, his own sword out of reach on the floor next to the bed.

"Here's the thing," Spencer said conversationally. "I don't like to kill people. I've been trying very hard not to. But I could kill you and it wouldn't change anything. Methos," he said, emphasising the use of the name, "would mourn and he'd suspect it was me, but it wouldn't make a difference. You want to know why?"

"Why?" MacLeod forced the word out when it was clear Spencer was expecting a response.

"Because we fit. I know him," Spencer said and MacLeod could tell that he didn't just mean they swapped a few stories about their pasts. Spencer understood Methos. Probably better than MacLeod ever could.

"But I don't like it when he's sad, which he would be because he actually seems to care for you, so I'm giving you one warning. Do anything to hurt him and I will kill you before you even realise there's a target on your back. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," MacLeod said, struggling to swallow past the blade at his neck. "I understand."

"Good," Spencer said and then he was gone. MacLeod let out a shaky breath.