Adam would have objected over the metamorphosis of his apartment into a hospital for the sick and irritating but his throat was too sore and, by the time it had stopped trying to do an impression of sandpaper, it was too late. Death hadn't been enough, no, he then had to catch a cold from the enforced dips in the Seine.

Joe, as the worst affected, had taken over the main bed. For Greta, MacLeod had unceremoniously turfed out all the papers and research notes from the guest room and unearthed another bed. Richie had joined her and Adam had decided to avoid the room in case nauseating displays of affection were also catching.

Amanda, despite having a cold at the very worst, took possession of the couch. This left him with an old chair with stealth springs he was reasonably sure were only biding their time before claiming his head.

The only bright point was MacLeod's continued failure to catch anything. While it had initially led to the Scot being roundly, and rightly, cursed by all, they'd soon discovered the advantages of having an indentured servant.

Everyone was finding almost anything else to talk about other than recent events, which suited him perfectly. News reports held it was a mutated 'flu virus and there had been blessedly few fatalities; order had been restored with surprising speed.

Or maybe it wasn't that surprising.

Richie's voice called from the guestroom, he felt the croak was perhaps a little overdone but after two days of being run ragged, MacLeod probably wouldn't notice. "Tissues!"

On its tail came Joe's, more convincing, rasp from the main bed. "Cough syrup"

He called out as MacLeod attempted to go in two directions at once. "Morphine"

A low mutter from the man warmed his heart. "I hate you all."

Still, this gave him the perfect opportunity. While MacLeod disappeared into the guestroom, possibly to force feed Richie a box of tissues, Adam stood and quietly retrieved his packed bag from the closet, congratulating himself yet again on the wisdom of keeping one to hand at all times.

The apartment door opened quietly and he stepped into the hall, only to find he couldn't pull the door closed again behind him. After a short tug of war, MacLeod pulled it back and leant against the frame.

"Where are you going?" The man's tone was careful; they'd been careful with each other since the crisis was over. It was worse than being glared at, much worse.

"The bakery?"

MacLeod looked down, then up once more with something that wasn't quite a smile but was closer than it had been. He hadn't asked any more questions but then he hadn't had the time, playing Florence Nightingale to his Clan. It was better to leave while that was still the case, before questions he couldn't answer ensured trust could never be regained.

"That excuse didn't work the first time, what makes you think it's going to work when you're actually carrying a suitcase?"

"Well, at this point it has tradition on its side." The MacLeod eyebrow raised and Adam rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to decide whether to flee the country or just the city."

"Why?"

Here he could be utterly honest, the trick was not to be completely truthful. "I told Stefan I'd meet him soon."

"That's bad?"

"He wants my head, so I'm inclined to think so." He shrugged to show recognition that his perspective on the matter was somewhat subjective.

"You can beat him."

"That's beside the point. I can fight him, MacLeod. I just don't want to."

"So you're going to run again."

"Of course."

"Then leave the country."

He'd braced for scathing disappointment, but that seemed a little harsh. "Charming."

With a real smile, MacLeod held up a key he must have had in his palm since opening the door.

"Hit the gym. Don't give the manager any hassle and don't drink all my beer."

They watched each other for a long moment before Adam reached forward to take the offered key, aware of how pathetically hesitant he must have looked.

Finally he tucked it away and grinned, Adam Pierson settling back over him.

"You know, life is like an empty bottle of beer."

MacLeod jerked his thumb back inside the apartment. "Joe said something about it leaving a lingering taste of bitterness."

Methos pretended to think, raising his eyes and turning them to meet the other man's. "It's green and slightly see-through." He grinned and called over his shoulder as he walked away. "See you around, MacLeod."