Work Text:
Methos lay awake in the warm darkness, contemplating the varied meanings of sounds.
Usually and universally, the sound of loneliness was that of one's own breathing.
Tonight, the sound of insanity was the quiet lapping of water against the hull of the barge. Most likely it was also the sound of impending doom.
"Hrn-hrggghhh!"
His train of thoughts was interrupted by a near-perfect imitation of a rabid bison with a headcold. Automatically, Methos jabbed his elbow hard into the cocooned shape beside him, which subdued the noise into a softer snoring.
Quite possibly, snoring could be the sound of love.