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There will be a follow-up that deals with the mysterious quickening-control-thingy, I promise.

"If it wasn't for me, MacLeod, you'd be dead right now. And if you regret that she did not take your head, when you slipped in that warehouse, there is surely something we can do, to set it right." Methos lunged forward without another word, attacking Mac, who had instinctively grabbed his sword and parried Methos' first blow with some difficulty.

Joe still stood there, thunderstruck. It seemed to take an eternity before he came back to his senses, turned around and started to frantically search for the gun he kept under the bar.

He had to stop this lunacy! Who had ever thought that he was to shoot the two idiots one day. And for heaven's sake, they deserved it! Was he the only one who was not batshit crazy around here? He had barely ended this thought when the sight of the fight caught his eye again. He forgot to breathe, let alone to aim his gun at the two opponents.

This really was insane on so many levels.

Methos was insane. His fighting skill was insane. Joe could not find another word to describe what was going on in front of his eyes.

He had never seen anybody wield a sword like this.

Methos really fought like an immortal. His age and power obviously allowed him to take cuts and stabs which would incapacitate others for hours at least. He on the other hand did not even wince as Mac's katana sliced trough his upper arm and parted the muscle strands. The cut healed immediately and seemed to have no visible effect on the older immortal. And this was Methos' weapon of choice. He used this unbelievable healing ability as a tactic to surprise his opponent. And it clearly worked on Mac. Joe was staring open-mouthed.

At first Joe had thought that Methos got cut and slashed because he made mistakes, after all he had claimed not to have participated in the game for centuries, but then Joe realized that the old bastard was just playing with Mac. He let the younger immortal believe to have gained an advantage, just to turn on him and destroy this illusion.

This seemed to dawn on MacLeod as well because for the first time since he had started watching the Scot, Joe actually saw him look distressed, and yes, even frightened.

Just as Joe had decided to put an end to this cruel cat-and-mouse game, Methos stopped playing around and attacked in earnest. The blows raining down on Mac were almost to quick to discern and the big broadsword Methos used made impressive clanking noises when it clashed with Mac's slender and more elegant katana. Then there suddenly was a nasty sucking wet noise as Methos tore open Mac's gut with one vicious stroke. Mac cried out and within seconds he was on his knees, breathing heavily. He had grown awfully pale and although his head was hanging, Joe could clearly see that his face was twisted in pain.

Methos' bastard gently touched Mac's neck as the older one was staring down at him with eyes that seemed to blaze with that strange green-yellow colour again. Joe blinked and hardly dared to breathe. His heart was stuttering. Really, Jesus! He was getting too old for this. What was next? Methos would not..., he could not. Mac was his friend! He surely would not take his head, would he?

When Methos started to speak, his voice had become deceptively calm again.

Nevertheless his next words made Joe's hair stand on end.

"Don't ever do that again, Highlander." Duncan's head snapped up in surprise but he quickly stopped this movement as he cut himself on the blade of Methos' sword.

"When you are challenged, I expect you to fight your opponent with everything you've got. In future you will not hold back because of some stupid sense of chivalry because it will get you killed." He had spat out the last words with so much fury that Duncan had visibly flinched. His friend's words seemed to cut deeper than the sword at his neck. But Methos was not done yet. All the rage he had kept under control until now was finally breaking through.

"And if you get yourself killed, I swear to whatever gods you care to believe in, I swear that if you die on me because of your fucked up sense of honor or some similar asinine idea of heroism, I'm going to dig your sorry dead ass up, find a way to bring you back to life and kill you all over again. Just for the fun of it."

MacLeod and Joe were both staring at the oldest immortal in utter astonishment. Neither of them had expected this. Hell, Methos was not usually known for his emotional outbursts. He really seemed to be bothered by the fact that Mac had almost died in this last fight. He really seemed to care.

But before on of them could react in any way, Methos had drawn back his sword and left without another word.

After he had left the bar, Duncan, who was still kneeling on the floor, looked up at Joe. "Why are you grinning, watcher? This funny or what?" He still had not healed completely.

Joe chuckled, "For starters, seeing you being chewed out by Death personified was damned scary and now I'm just relieved that you still got your head on your shoulders. And then,...well, if I were you, Highlander, I'd try really hard not to die before he does. I believe every single word he just said, you know."

Duncan's eyes grew wide, as he seemed to imagine being dug up and killed anew by a furious Methos, but then he started to smile weakly.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. He never tries anything, he just does it, doesn't he?

And we wouldn't wanna tempt him."