Disclaimers: The characters in this story originate from Highlander: The Series, and are used without permission. This story contains an m/m relationship so don't read it if you don't like that. Thanks to all the people from the DMSG group who gave me advice while I was working on this.
This is an M/DM slash rewrite of the episode Comes a Horseman. As if there wasn't enough angst in this episode already...oh well. It picks up from after Methos leaves Kronos the first time (After Kronos stabbed him. After Methos says: "Well when you put it that way, welcome back, Brother.") After that, everything changes. Some scenes don't occur, others happen out of order, or they are very different.
Methos:
I have barely gotten my shaking under control by the time I reach my apartment. Kronos! It is impossible. A nightmare. I am lucky to be alive, I realize. I barely pause before beginning to gather my belongings. Instinct and long habit guide me through the motions, for my mind is too stunned to further process the events of the last few hours. Not healthy, old man, I think. Pull it together.
If Kronos doesn't think I'll run, he is seriously overestimating my enthusiasm for joining his venture. I wonder if his paradigm is really that flawed. I wouldn't stake my life on it.
Bags stacked neatly by the door, I pause for the first time. I stare at the door for several minutes. Maybe I am in shock, I decide. I know I should clear out of town immediately and permanently -- bury myself so deep Kronos won't find me for another two thousand years. I don't doubt I can do it.
I find myself making plans to say good-bye to MacLeod. I must be insane, but I can't stop myself. The man will be disappointed in me for running. Will I tell him it is forever? Maybe I can just go to see the man one more time -- one last memory before my long exile.
I curse myself for spending my energy contemplating this when I should be focusing on making my get away clean. Well, I have never been as good at cold calculation as everyone seems to think I am -- or as I lead them to believe.
I am out the door and heading to MacLeod's before I can consider further. This is what I need, and I'll deal with the consequences later.
Methos:
I hesitate a moment outside MacLeod's door, but he has already sensed my presence so I gather my relaxed facade and push through the door. He has his sword up and he looks tense. All warrior. He has no idea the effect he has on me when he is like this.
"Methos," he says in relief.
Who was he expecting, I wonder.
"MacLeod," I greet him.
I watch him put up his sword and go back to the kitchen. He is cooking something. I'm glad he's occupied. He won't be watching too closely, for my mask seems none to steady. Besides, I'd like to remember him this way.
"Decide it was safe to come out?" he asks, sounding faintly irritated.
I nod, for once not interested in making my point or arguing.
He looks at me for a moment. I think he is going to say something else, but he says, "You want to cut some vegetables?"
And I am put to work chopping carrots. I don't mind. There is something sweet in this quietness. Besides, I am feeling melancholy, and I am afraid he will notice that if we converse. I needn't have worried. His mind is elsewhere.
"Methos, have you ever heard of a group of Immortals called the Horsemen?"
I am grateful my back is to him. Does he know? No, this is not the conversation we would be having if he knew. I shrug.
He sighs. "A friend of mine encountered them once, a longtime ago. She's in town hunting one of them now."
He doesn't have to say the name. Cassandra. I know from the Kantos entry in his chronicle that they are friends. I move on to the green pepper, trying to force my hand not to shake. I had hoped to disappear quietly from his life -- to remain always the mysterious Methos to him. But now there is no way he will not know. I curse myself for a sentimental fool and know it is true.
Oblivious to my turmoil, MacLeod has obviously moved on to another subject, for when I begin to hear his voice again he is talking about a visiting art exhibit. His voice is soothing and I bring myself back under control.
"So do you want to go next Tuesday?" he asks.
"Sure," I say. I guess I'm not going to tell him I'm leaving after all. I finally turn around to hand over my vegetables. He is smiling, pleased that I agreed. He has a smile that -- when it reaches his eyes -- almost makes me forget everything I have ever learned. For some reason, he has always valued our friendship. And he is smiling at me like that now -- as a friend, with affection. And suddenly I know it is a good thing I am leaving, for after Cassandra tells him the truth, he will never look at me like this again. It is not something I want to have to bear.
Something of my pain must show on my face because concern enters his features. And then I am doing something I never expected, never planned. I lean forward to kiss him full on the lips. I don't know if I do it to forestall any questions, or because his smile is so sweet, or because all the sadness in my heart is bearing down on me, but I do it. And the next thing I know, he is kissing me back. One big hand creeps up to cradle my head and hold me to him. I reach out, resting my hands on his biceps. This isn't a good idea, but I think I have reached my saturation of sadness and reach for the comfort in front of me. This is a good-bye that may break my heart, but also one that can give me strength for the future.
His mouth devours mine, disintegrating me, but I don't mind -- for a moment I can be a part of him. He is leaning against the counter now, and he pulls me up close, between his thighs. It is selfish, perhaps, but I want to leave a good memory of myself with him, so I burry my sadness, and give him tenderness instead.
His hands move over my body, and mine over his. He is a magnificent man, my Duncan, I think as I help him remove his shirt. I rest my head on his shoulder, licking and teasing at the veins of his neck as he slowly undresses me.
I close my eyes because I cannot bear to look at him, but at some point he pauses until I open them. I concentrate on all that he means to me and I let that be what shines through on my face.
I am strangely passive as he leads me to his bed. Maybe I feel I owe him, for I know what my betrayal will do to him. It is not guilt exactly, but regret. And indebtedness -- indebtedness for what he has made me feel these last few years.
He presses me into the mattress, smiling down at me. Oh yes, the boy can be sweet. Briefly I regret that I will never see him playful or wild or seductive. But if I can only have this once, I decide sweet is good. We are kissing again. The need between us has a desperate tinge, and I know this can't last long. But I knew that anyway. I sigh, and some of my sadness slips out.
Duncan hears, dear boy. He pulls back a couple of inches, concern all over his face.
"Is everything alright?" he asks.
I smile convincingly. "Yes. Yes, everything is wonderful." I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back down to me.
When he enters me it seems both inevitable and impossible. I cry out, but it is not from physical pain. He is whispering nothings in my ear -- but to me they are everything. I moan as he moves in me, strangely disconnected, but feeling everything. Too soon, he is emptying his seed into me, and I have to let go as well. He is still whispering in my ear as he sags against me, saving me from his weight with his elbows. So considerate.
Finally he rolls off of me to lay by my side, his breathing evening out. We are so close. And for a precious little while I pretend I have all the time in the world and lie beside him.
I feel Duncan roll onto his belly, his clasped hands coming to rest on my shoulders and his chin on top of that. When I open my eyes, I find him smiling happily at me.
"We should have done this sooner," he says.
Yeah, no kidding. I am mesmerized, looking into his eyes as they twinkle with his widening smile.
"I love you, you know," he says softly.
The words freeze my heart. I must be staring at him with something close to horror, given the confusion that comes over his face. Does he realize the pain he is causing me? No, of course not. How could he?
I am out of the bed before I even really realize I am moving, grabbing my clothes and yanking them on savagely. Duncan is speaking. He's calling my name, asking me to stop. By the time I am tugging at my shoes, he is out of bed as well, pulling on his own clothes. I am hurting him, I can tell. But what else can I do?
Duncan:
I watched him dressing, shocked. I had obviously made a mistake. What I felt had been so intense, I had needed to tell him. Now he was leaving. There was real pain on his face. It hurt that I had caused it; it hurt more that he did not feel what I felt.
Realizing he was almost dressed snapped me out of my stupor. I began throwing on my clothes. I couldn't let him leave.
I caught up with him downstairs in the dojo. He was retrieving a coat he had left in the office when the weather had turned warm. He wasn't paying any attention to me as he headed toward the door.
"Methos, wait! Please!" My voice surprised me. I had thought myself more in control than that.
He turned to face me, shrugging into his coat as if he was putting a barrier up between us. He looked tired and ill, as if he were trying hard not to be here at all. I was still trying to figure out what to say to him when a sense of presence washed over us.
I whirled to see Cassandra burst into the dojo. Her eyes lit on Methos.
"You," she growled, charging at the man.
"Who's this?!" Methos exclaimed.
Methos looked decidedly panicked. Cassandra had her sword out, I realized with shock.
"Draw your sword," she demanded.
The old man was backing away.
"Cassandra, what are you doing!" I demanded, stepping between them.
She told me to stay out of it and then payed me no more attention. I was startled but I kept her back. He was telling her she didn't know him, but she was unswayed.
"Do you think I could ever forget you?" she demanded.
I stared at her. There was genuine rage on Cassandra's face. This was insane. Methos' appeal for my help brought me out of my daze.
"This is crazy! It wasn't me MacLeod! Do something!" he said.
Cassandra lunged toward him. "This is between you and me Methos."
I grabbed the enraged woman in a bear hug and told Methos to run. We could sort this out later, when swords had been put up and tempers cooled.
I watched Methos flee, then Cassandra chase after him even though it was too late to catch the man.
She came flying back into the room, practically ready to spit, accusing me of interfering when it wasn't my place. I had to sort this out.
"He didn't even know you," I told her.
"He's a liar," she hissed. "Don't come between us again."
The threat from Cassandra shook me.
"Cassandra, he's my friend," I told her.
"Your friend," she sneered the word, "rode with Kronos, killed and raped along side him. He was one of the Horsemen!" Her words still echoed after she had gone.
I felt as if I had been pole-axed. For a long moment after that I couldn't feel anything at all.
Methos:
Mac must have come to me directly after the messy scene at his dojo, because I've barely had time to carry my bags down to my vehicle.
"Going somewhere?"
Already I can hear the pain in his voice. But that is no great gift of perception. A complete stranger to our drama would hear the pain in his voice. I suddenly feel almost too weak to lift my pack into the back of my SUV. I say: "You shouldn't be here."
And I mean it. He isn't supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to see him. I'm not supposed to have to look at those eyes. The combination of hurt, doubt, and anger that resides there is almost enough to sap the will from my limbs. If the pain of looking in his eyes wasn't keeping me rigid, I probably would crumple to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.
"What are you running from, the question or the answer?" he asks.
Damn you, MacLeod. Don't ask me this. Go to Cassandra for your answers. I'm sure she'll be glad to tell you everything. Just don't make me say it. Not one bloody word of it. "There is no 'answer,' MacLeod. Let it be." God, I am so tired.
"Is what she said true?" Those eyes may very well destroy me.
"I'm out of here," I say, slamming down the hatch.
"No you're not. You're not out of here," he says getting between me and the door of the vehicle. I nearly jump back at his touch, so different now from my memories of earlier this afternoon. As if that never happened. Maybe it didn't. Maybe it was all a dream to get me through this dark night.
"Is what she said true?" There it is. Point-blank. For a moment I can't find words. Am I really going to try and make him understand this? I can only try: "The times were different, MacLeod," I say. "I was different. The whole bloody world was different, okay?" Can't he leave it at that? He must know it is over, why can't he just let it go? Why does he need this one final 'truth' from me? He knows it. I know it. Why must he hear it? He is like that sometimes.
Duncan looks as if he might cry: "Did you kill all those people?"
I stare at him. He is too involved now, I realize. Cassandra will bring him and Kronos together. The thought of losing MacLeod to Kronos is unspeakable. My plan for flight shifts in an instant. I won't make it so clean a getaway. I will lead Kronos in a chase, away from these people I care about. A part of my mind -- the hard-core survivalist part -- is aghast at what I plan, but it is a plan from my heart. All that is left is to keep MacLeod from following as well. Sometimes he can be like a dog with a bone, worrying it until he is absolutely positively sure he has made the right decision. Let him have no doubts about this one. I open my mouth to lay the final destruction to everything that has come between us: "Yes."
"Is that what you want to hear?" I continue. "Killing was all I knew. Is that what you want to hear?"
"It's enough," he says and starts to walk away. Trust him to decide now -- now! -- that he has had enough. I grab him and throw against the SUV. I have never handled him like this before. He has never seen me handle anyone like this before. I see the shock of it in his eyes. Just another confirmation for him that everything that has come before is a lie.
"No. It's not enough..." I hear the horrible, hateful words pouring out of my mouth. It is small comfort that I know I am doing the right thing. When I am done, the hatred outshines even the pain in his eyes. Yes, this is how I knew it would be.
When I hear MacLeod say, "We're through," I think I'm going to fall dead on the spot. But I remain silent, nod, as he walks away.
Duncan:
The first thing I wanted to do was find some corner to crawl up in. My life seemed that shattered. But I went to Joe instead. He had known Methos. My Methos. A man very different from the one I'd just left by his car. It felt like he was dead, and I was mourning him. The suspicion that he had never really existed was too much to face at the moment.
To my surprise, Joe actually tried to come to his defense after I brought him my confirmation. "Joe, you can't defend it."
"I'm not defending it. I'm trying to understand it."
Unfortunately it was all too easy to understand. The man was murdering bastard who killed for pleasure. I tried to tell Joe that. Joe was a good friend, loyal to the end, but his trust was as misplaced as mine had been. He even brought up Vietnam, which I knew was painful for him. But the words Methos had uttered kept playing in my head. And it wasn't for vengeance. It wasn't for greed. It was because...I liked it. His voice laughing, mocking, as he said it. Rubbing my nose in it.
In a way, it was too much to comprehend. Ten thousand? It was absurd. The weight of it almost surreal. But the look in his eyes when he told me...that had been real enough. The pleasure...the pride...in being "the nightmare that kept them awake at night"...in being Death. The blatant disdain in his voice when he had said "Cassandra was nothing. Her village was nothing."
I felt real hatred for the man, and it almost tore me down. For a moment, the image clashed with another image of Methos' face, one from when I watched him after we had made love. From a moment when I had felt my heart fill for love of the man. It was impossible. It almost made me sick. The sense of betrayal I felt made my stomach churn.
Why had he done it, I wondered briefly. Was it all part of some plan that had been interrupted by Cassandra's arrival?
Joe's phone rang with a lead on Kronos. He seemed to fidget a moment before getting around to the fact that Cassandra was there, too. My worry for her flared, but most of all I wanted Kronos. I needed the fight. Somewhere to take out my pain.
Methos:
I make my way back to the power station where Kronos has holed up. I need to bait my trap, after all.
"So, you're back," he says to me.
I smirk at him, "What'd you think I'd do? Run and hide? Go somewhere you couldn't find me?"
"No, you're too smart for that. You know that I'd track you down, no matter how long it took. And then I'd kill you."
"Well, it's nice to feel wanted," I say. Kronos seriously overestimates my fear of him in this regard. Or else he seriously underestimates my ability to 'run and hide.' I have had much practice these last millennia. Besides, I have a better chance of survival hiding than cooperating with him in the long term. For all his cunning and intelligence, he seems not to grasp the full significance of the modern age. We Immortals are vulnerable in a way we never were before. Earlier, he expounded on his plans, pleased to have an audience, sharing his ideas on how we could 'take up the old ways' in a 'scientific age.' He doesn't understand that this is the information age not the scientific age. We'd be tracked, hunted, killed -- easily. I've always suspected that there are groups -- government groups, other shadowy groups -- that know about us. Even if there aren't, someone would tell our secret as soon as we took action, be it an outraged Immortal or a Watcher. Mortals are unified like they never have been before. It wouldn't be us against the thousands of Saharan Africa or Asia minor, but us against five billion.
He is telling me now that "There was never a band like us. Never in all history." He doesn't understand that we could only exist in that point in history. Here we would be petty criminals or dead. And Kronos never thinks 'petty.'
"I want you to kill MacLeod," he says.
I burst out laughing. I can't help it. He must hear the hysteria in my laugh because he gives me a long hard look.
"He's better than me," I finally say.
"And that's stopped you before?" Kronos asks. "You'll find a way, Brother."
"Fine," I say, feigning anger. I give him an address. "If I don't make it back, check here." Trap baited, I hope. He should find enough evidence at that address to surmise I have run and which direction to look. He smiles one of his maddening smiles at me.
Methos:
I know it is all going to hell the minute I see Cassandra approaching the power station. I know MacLeod can't be far behind. I decide the first order of business should be to take Cassandra out of the equation. It is amazing how easily she is dealt with. Why she ever thought she had a chance against Kronos is beyond me. Maybe this lesson will convince her to give up her quest. Her death would be pointless in all of this.
When I return to the station, I find MacLeod and Kronos already engaged as I expected. I only let myself dwell on my disappointment in the fact that they are so evenly matched for a moment. I had briefly hoped MacLeod would be manifestly better and I could let them fight it out. But he's not. Kronos, always an excellent swordsman, has become magnificent in the centuries we have been apart. Now I need to stop the fight. This isn't the first time I have interfered in a challenge like this, nor is it likely to be the last.
When it is over, I find myself at the docks with Kronos' blade at my throat. I know my life is on the line like it hasn't been since Kronos disrupted my little paradise. I need something to assuage him. The Horsemen are the first thing that comes to mind, and I say it.
"What are you saying?" he demands. It is the most human emotion I've seen from him yet: fear of believing that the one thing he wants is within his grasp, lest the hope be false.
"Silas and Caspian are alive," I say.
"You're lying."
"I can take you to them," I promise, knowing I've doomed myself to a course of action I never wanted to take. I now know that I will have to rely on MacLeod to finish this off properly. It seems I can never be done with the Scot. Is it some cruel quirk of fate? At this point, there is no way to keep him out of it. He will come after Kronos, and possibly myself as well. So be it. New plan: Use MacLeod to finish off the Horsemen and then disappear. In a way, it is much better than being on the run from Kronos, but I know I will have to use my friends and sacrifice my brothers to make it work.
It is not guilt I feel, I tell myself, but regret.