Glass under my feet, his presence fading. He told me he’s leaving because of what I’ve done, but I know that’s not true; it’s because of what I have not done. I should have judged him, turned him away, rejected him utterly. That was what he wanted, what he needed to justify leaving. Because leaving was what he did best. I should have remembered that. Maybe then it wouldn’t have felt as if my soul were dying, maybe then I wouldn’t have hated him. But it was far too late now; loving him was a regret I would never outlive.
Having never written a drabble, I don't know what the posting etiquette is, so suffice to say it's Highlander and Methos -- like that's a surprise :)
Later: you can find the 'sequel' here.