by Westwind
Methos rolled over and looked at the alarm clock and groaned. Nearly 6:00 in the morning. Damn! He was late. Rolling out of bed, he stretched his long, lean form as he went to the bathroom. Methos went through his usual litany as he shaved--English, Adam Pierson, October 14, 2000. Though Adam Pierson would have to go soon; twenty years was just about the limit for one identity. He didn't know how to convince Macleod to call him Benjamin, or Matthew, or whatever.
Dressing in sweats, he walked into the kitchen to put coffee on, and then started a series of stretching exercises. His mind wandered, drifting over nothing. After thirty minutes of steady movement, Methos stopped and poured a mug of coffee. That would have to do. The first mile or so of the race would have to count as more stretching. Despite his reputation for indolence, especially with Macleod, Methos tried to keep a regular schedule of exercise. He ran almost every day. Mostly just a few miles, but every so often he'd run a full marathon, and once in a very great while he'd run a super marathon, and that very great while was today.
Wandering to the window, he looked out at a hazy day with the sun just barely up. How many mornings had he watched the sun rise, while the haze flowed out of the ground and reached for the sky? That was the time of day when Kronos was the most approachable; when, especially in the last years of the horsemen, he was most sane. Methos shivered. Somewhere something thrummed.
Methos put his mug down and went to brush his teeth. There would be pasta for carbo-loading at the start, so he wouldn't have to worry about breakfast. But he'd have to hurry now. He picked up the duffels he had packed last night, got his keys, and went to his truck. Even knowing that time was short, he stood a few minutes and stared at the brightening sky. Why was he thinking about Kronos this morning? Shaking off his lassitude, he got in and started off.
He arrived at the start with minutes to spare. The Seacouver University Track Club held this race once a year. It started at the university track, wound through the city and out into the foothills, then up and down Grapevine Mountain, really just an overgrown hill with a pretentious name. You had to get through the hilly part of the course in the daylight; it was just too dangerous to run up and down those rocky halls in the dark. In the long dark of the night, the course went over back trails and dirt roads. The finish during the day tomorrow would be over mostly level ground, but strewn with very many small streams. The last 25 miles you had to run with a friend for safety. Adam had run as Bob Matthews "rabbit" last year and this year Bob would do the same for him.
Throwing his duffels into one of the equipment trucks, Adam went to get his pasta then to the start line to stretch for the ten minutes that were left. Bob came up to him to help with the exercises. "You Nervous?" Bob said. "Now why would I be nervous," Adam laughed. "It's not every day that I try to commit suicide by running." He ducked into one of the tents to change into his running gear, and then ran to the start.
With the blast of an air horn the race started. Methos started with a leisurely pace; this was an endurance race after all. There were about twenty-five runners, about that many support people, plus a number of medical people who volunteered their time. Sometime the doctors had to intervene to make a runner stop. By then the endorphins took over their brain; they didn't feel the blistered feet, the scrapes and bruises from falls, or the exhaustion of the long hours of running. And that was what Methos sought. The oblivion, the peace that came when you hit the zone.
Around the track and through city streets, he ran. Methos jogged slowly at first. He was watching the other runners; most looked all right. But a few of them already looked like they were in some difficulty and the race had just gotten started. That was one of the reasons the track club required proof of successful marathons; the runner had to have finished one within the prior six months. This race was one hundred miles long--plenty of time to get in trouble.
Methos ran on. He ran with regular food and water stops and regular rest stops where he faced the doctors' scrutiny. He kept himself somewhere in the middle of the pack. It wouldn't do to win and he had too much pride in his ability to lose. He felt the edge of the zone just as they ran out of the last of the city streets and into the first gentle rises of the foothills. He drifted along the boundary not quite willing to go in just yet.
The first inkling he had that someone might know about his little exertion was at a rest stop just into the hills. The hardest part of the course was next. Grapevine Mountain was 1000 feet of vertical rise with no rest stops either going up or coming down. The constant series of switchbacks made the distance you had to travel many times what the crow would fly. He was just about to take his first mandatory two-hour rest stop. He looked up from changing his socks to see Dr. Anne Lindsey coming his way. She had a backpack over her shoulder and juice and a few power bars in her hands.
It was just past noon on a day with the sky shaded with blues as deep as a jewel. The weather must seem chilly to the support people, but to the runners it was perfect. "Well, Adam, I guess you aren't having any trouble with blisters. Have some juice and a power bar." "Thanks. Are you here alone? Are have some other members of the clan just happened by?" Methos asked. "I wouldn't be surprised," she said as she walked away. Methos glanced up at the sky with a heaven-help-me look. With Macleod in San Francisco checking on an antique auction, he had thought he was on his own. Maybe he still was and it was just Anne here. He hoped.
Repacking many bottles of water and a supply of bananas and power bars in the backpack Ann had given him, he also put a stiletto into a slit in the lining. He did not think that any other immortal had managed to trace him to this place, but it was silly not to take precautions. This was the last rest stop till the other side of Grapevine; he'd better rest while he could.
Methos started up the long grade of Grapevine Mountain. He had settled into the groove quickly. He began to be aware of a gentle hum coming from all around him. It was the hum of humanity, not of immortals. So far as he knew, he was the only one who could sense it, but it had to be on days like today when he was isolated and alone.
Methos kept a steady pace as he listened. Finally his mind zoned out and his body moved with the mindlessness of a machine. His feet kept a steady, slow jog up the mountain. Gradually he began to sense a baritone line joining the bass hum he was hearing. Immortals. It suddenly became hard to swallow. All of mankind was singing. They spoke with different voices. But it was the same kind of sound. He remembered trying to tell Kronos that they were all brothers. Not about the hum, his brother really would have reason to accuse him of going soft. That was at the beginning of the Horsemen of course. When they could still talk. Methos shook himself mentally. What in the world was he doing? Kronos and the rest of his brothers had been dead for four years. Why was he so obsessed now?
Methos tried to clear his mind. He was running on this beautiful day. The sky was a deep blue. You could see off into the lower levels for many miles. It was clear, just not as clear as skies two or three thousand years ago. One time he and Kronos were riding toward Samarkhand and the reunion with his brothers, when the sky had started to darken to a sapphire. No. Stop. He wasn't going there. He ran doggedly onward keeping his mind on nothing at all.
And here was the crest of the mountain. Pausing to eat a banana and drink one of his bottles of water, he realized there was no one in front of him. He glanced over his shoulder. There in the distance was the man who was supposed to win the race. Damn! He had outrun the field.
There was no help for it now. Methos started down Grapevine Mountain at a leisurely pace. Maybe he could start limping-when the others got close enough to see him. As soon as he reestablished his regular jog, his mind floated free. Breathing deeply as he ran, Methos felt the first tendrils of a discordant, jangling buzz. He stopped and looked around. There was no one in sight.
When he concentrated on the familiar noise, it went away. He looked back up to the crest and even Dan, the once and future champion, hadn't come across yet. He was about a third of the way through the race and he was hallucinating. From now on he would concentrate on a particular subject. When he let his mind off on its own, it kept going back to Kronos. And he didn't want to go there.
He started his slow jog again. Methos looked around at the trees and wondered how old they were. Probably no more than two hundred years. They were evergreens, but there was an under story of hardwoods. At this height they were just showing the first pulse of coming fall color; further down they would be wearing many shades of green. He remembered once when they were taking a break from raiding, he and Kronos had ridden in the direction of the mountains. As they rode into the high country, the leaves of the trees had changed gradually until they were riding through a world of orange and red, but primarily yellow. The horses seemed to pace forward without sound, hooves muffled by the fallen leaves. That night when they built their fire, the beauty of the place, the smell of fall all around them, brought him the first peace he had known since he had started with Kronos.
Fuck. Methos could not keep his mind off of Kronos. He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, Dan was a good third of the way down. Methos slowed to a walk. Maybe if he let Dan catch up, his presence would help to keep the ghosts at bay. As he waited for Dan to come up, he found his mind wandering where he didn't want it to go. Only by using every bit of mental discipline he had learned in five thousand years, could he keep his mind focused on the now.
"Hey, Adam. Are you all right? Man, when you went by me back there, I thought you were running a sprint. You ought to know that pace would just kill you before the end. Why'd you do it," Dan said as he jogged along. Methos couldn't think of an answer he could give Dan. He did it because he could, because immortal physiology would regenerate anything that he did to himself. He did it because his mind had broken free of the tight controls he kept it under. He did it because, crazy as it seemed, he missed Kronos and he didn't even get to say goodbye. And he didn't know why he was doing it. He usually had more discipline.
When Methos realized that Dan was talking to him, he tried to pay attention. "Come on. Just a little more to go then you can rest. Come on, Adam. We just have this little rise to go then we'll be at the rest station." Dan sounded worried. Well, hell, he was worried too. The good thing would be if he were hallucinating; the bad thing would be if he wasn't and somehow Kronos was coming back. Methos shuddered. Dan grabbed his arm and held it as they jogged through the twilight to the next rest station.
"Adam went up the hill too fast. He was not answering on the way down Grapevine. He had a little incident just back there--kind of a shuddering," With that report Dan was off to his tent.
Anne looked at Adam with worry in her eyes. "Adam, what's wrong. This isn't like you."
"I'm fine, Anne. I just ran out of fuel. Let me get something to eat and I'll be fine. Really. Don't worry." Adam ducked away from her and into the tent. He missed the look of real concern on her face.
This stop was mandated as two hours. Adam found time to shower and change clothes. He and Bob ate a quick meal together. Bob tried to project a cheerful unconcern, but it was hard going. Adam seemed to be somewhere else. When he finally lay down to nap a little, Bob left to speak to Anne. "Doctor, you know Adam, don't you." Ann nodded. "He just doesn't seem right. He's just shut up. And a quiet Adam--well, it's just weird."
"Let me talk to him at the end of this rest period. But I don't know how we will get him to stop if he doesn't want to. He can be very formidable."
At the end of two hours Adam came out into the darkness of early evening. He had been unable to meditate. To let go of his control now did not seem wise. Anne was waiting for him. As he came toward the checkpoint, putting his backpack on, she said, "Talk to me, Adam. Tell me if you're okay."
"Anne, I am physically okay. I had a little trouble with some memories. That's all."
Anne looked doubtful, but he did seem to be in top shape. He was as disheveled as usual, but a quick check with a stethoscope yielded a resting heartbeat of 50. With a lift of his eyebrows and a wink from one twinkling hazel eye, he was gone--running into the darkness.
Anne pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. It rang several times before it was answered. "Duncan Macleod"
"Duncan, I'm sorry to bother you. But Adam may be in trouble." "What's the matter? Is there an immortal hunting him? I knew it was a mistake to let him run that stupid race."
"Duncan, I don't think you 'let' him do anything. Anyway it's not another immortal. He ...well he seems to be seeing, or hearing things. I don't know. Physically he's fine--better than fine, in fact."
Duncan was already packing, his phone tucked under his ear. "Hold on. I'll be there in about eight hours.
. As Methos ran through the darkness he began to consider what he was doing. The hum was just under his hearing. If he let go and went inside his own mind, would Kronos be waiting on him? Why did he feel that he had to finish this race? Dear gods, he was clearly demented.
Methos kept his mind strictly on what he knew to be real. He ran in the funnel of light given out by the miner's lamp on his head. He was wearing running shorts and a shirt with sweats pulled on over them. He felt the bump of the light he wore strapped around his waist, so someone coming up behind him would see him. His provisions were in the backpack he wore; he also had a long stiletto hidden under the lining. He had to have some protection. There were few checkpoints during the night hours. That's why the last medical tests were so thorough. At least ten of the runners had already dropped out.
As the time passed he conjugated Assyrian verbs, conjugated every Greek verb he could remember in both ancient and modern Greek. Jogging down a rutted dirt road, Methos was just about to start on Old English when he missed his step and rolled down a small hill. Jarred by the fall and still too stunned to get up, he lay there waiting for the scrapes and bruises to heal and he listened. The air sang with the sound of every one alive today. It was so beautiful. Then in the middle of all that glory came the sound of that jangling, discordant quickening. He rolled over, got up, and started to run.
When Methos came to himself, he was breathless. His heart pounded high up in his chest. He still had his headlamp, but somewhere in his panic he had lost the light around his waist. Methos also had reacquired the scrapes and bruises he had just healed. Suddenly, he heard the off key quickening. As he tried to get up, his left leg wouldn't take his weight. Looking around wildly, he tried to crawl under a small bush, but as he turned around the light of his lamp caught the dark feet of Kronos.
Methos felt his heart stop. He apparently had run to Kronos not away from him. Well what did you expect if you acted from panic? He tried to get up, but his ankle hadn't finished healing and he fell back. As he looked up at Kronos he realized that he could not be carrying a sword; he had on black jeans, a black t-shirt, and sneakers. He had come back from the dead in sneakers.
Kronos smiled, then bent and kissed Methos on the head. Then he sat beside his brother and reached over and took his hand. They sat together in the darkness with Methos headlamp pointed forward, away from the very real immortal holding his hand. "Methos, I've missed you. Tell me that you missed me at least a little." From somewhere deep inside of him the sobs came up and he threw the lamp aside and buried his face in Kronos' lap.
Methos cried. He cried for the emptiness of his life without Kronos and for the fullness of has life with Duncan. Through the whole lengthy time Kronos gently stroked Methos' hair. And he didn't ask for any explanations; unlike Mac who had to have everything nailed down.
"Will you kiss me?" Methos sat up and placed his lips against his brother's mouth. The kiss soon turned serious. Kronos ran his hands over Methos chest and back with great gentleness as if he were handling fine porcelain. Then Kronos began to kiss him starting with his long neck. Removing his clothes and laying him down, Kronos moved down the rest of his lean body. Methos found himself caught by the thought that Duncan made love like this; Kronos was more a slam, bam, thank you ma'am type. His brother gently went over him in a thorough examination. Methos shivered. It was like Kronos had just found something or someone he had greatly missed. If he had only been this gentle, at least some of the time, but Kronos had descended into madness, more and more often.
Kronos leaned over, "You always did think too much. Here I'm trying to fuck you and you're off somewhere making plans." He smiled down at his brother.
Methos pulled Kronos down to him and kissed him long and deeply. "I'm sorry. I'm here now. Let's fuck." And all resemblance to Duncan Macleod vanished.
Kronos took Methos' member in hand and began the sweet friction. Methos closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. His brother took Methos into his mouth and began a heavy sucking. It had Methos writhing and, very shortly, coming with a shout. He knew what came next; this was patented Kronos.
On his hands and knees he waited for the pain then the pleasure. Kronos lubricated a little than drove in. The pain was exquisite. A heavy pounding started and Methos knew it would continue until Kronos came. It was up to him to try to get what he could out of this. In the middle of the pain the pleasure suddenly bloomed. Methos tried to savor this. A dead man was fucking him. And that dead man was his brother.
Kronos roared "Methos!" He grabbed a fist full of short dark hair and twisted. His other hand went down and around his brother's neck. Methos tried to drop his head, but the pressure against his neck kept him from going too far. As the stricture to his breathing continued, he found his penis starting to grow again. The pounding went on and on until suddenly Kronos screamed and came. As he filled Methos up to overflowing Kronos reared back and the pressure on Methos' throat grew more intense.
Kronos continued to choke Methos pulling back on his head until the long throat was strutted and Methos penis strained upward. The pressure kept increasing until stars of blood began to bloom behind his eyelids. As he crashed down into darkness, he came with a great rushing roar. Just before he fell over the edge, he heard his brother say, "Methos, my brother. I love you. I will always love you. Remember me." And Kronos was gone.
Methos woke up so sore at first that he couldn't move. It was just the beginning of dawn. He scrambled around picking up his clothes. He found his headlamp under the bush he was going to use to hide. He would need it for the first hour. Looking about he knew approximately where he was and he knew exactly where he was going. Now he had to run. He was running into the light.
Macleod paced the finish area. Almost every runner had already checked through. Methos had passed the next to last check point, but not the last one. Maybe he'd gotten lost and missed it. But Methos had a near perfect sense of direction so where was he. He thought about going after him, but where would he go to find his errant lover?
Methos meanwhile had swung around to get to the last checkpoint. He sauntered up to the line with a smirk on his face. All traces of his tumble in woods were gone, of course. He brazened his way through with misdirection and a Mona Lisa smile. He got water and a power bar. Thankfully he was running to the next rest stop and food. He found that as his body warmed up his aches went away. The ache in his ass slid into oblivion somewhere on the road between here and there.
The rest stop was just down the road. Methos had really run this last section trying to make up time. He arrived at the rest stop looking for all the world like a Greek god. He had stripped off his clothing item by item. Now wearing only running shorts, his muscles showed clearly through the layer of sweat. With the sun shining from in front of him, he seemed to glow with an inner fire. Macleod was frozen in place by the apparition that ran into the light.
Methos saw Macleod doing his statue imitation. Why wasn't he in San Francisco? Then Anne walked out from behind him. Well maybe it was just as well; he could get the explanations over with and get something to eat.
Jogging up to both of them, he was surprised when Mac hugged him. "Awfully bold of you, isn't it Mac? What are you doing here? I thought you'd be gone till next Friday."
"Just a minute here. Sit down, Adam. Let me just check your blood pressure." Anne wrapped the cuff around his upper arm then put her stethoscope to her ears. "110 over 70 with your heart at 70 beats per minute. You are perfectly healthy. Maybe you'll tell Duncan the truth." Then to his surprise Anne hugged him then walked away.
Mac gathered Methos up with his arm around the slender waist. "Let's get you inside the tent so you can change. I'll go get you something to eat. Then we'll talk." Just great, Methos thought. He wants to talk and I can't decide whether to tell Mac that Kronos was a figment of my concussion or if he was really there.
"Here you go." Duncan came through the flap with two plates in his hands. "I was too distracted when you didn't come in to have them keep something hot for you. Sandwiches will have to do. While you eat you can tell me what happened."
Methos took a bite of the sandwich to give him a minute to think. He was also very hungry. Sex with Kronos usually left him that way. He mused about Duncan and what he would think about the truth. And whether he would believe it. Because it was Kronos, he had felt his quickening. He had felt his penis ravaging Methos in the kind of pounding, take-no-prisoners sex that was his brother's specialty.
"Methos, do you mean to run the last section of the race. I'm afraid Bob gave up and went home. I'll run it with you if you want."
Methos was startled. Why had Bob left; it wasn't like him. Then the rest of what Mac had said registered. "What do you mean you'll run the last section with me. Have you ever run a marathon, Mac?"
Duncan acted truly insulted. "I run all the time. I just didn't know that you were capable of this. When Bob told me about the race being a hundred miles long and that you had entered it, I just laughed."
Methos went from placid to enraged in a heartbeat. "What do you mean, Bob told you. And I've run in more marathons than you've had years including the original one"
"The original one! You mean--just a minute. I know when you're trying to distract me," Mac said. "Let's not argue. Please. I told Bob I'd run the last part of the race with you. Can you tell me what happened to you out there? I'm not pressuring you. Tell me if you can."
Methos was quiet while he struggled with tears. Mac had never spoken to him like that before; usually he wanted precise details. And he wanted to know 'why'? He badgered Methos until he told truth, or until he exploded. Mac realized that Methos was crying. "Oh no, don't cry. We'll talk about it later. Or we won't talk about it at all. Just don't cry." He moved over and took the plate from Methos' hand. Mac put his arm around Methos and pulled him against his chest.
Methos lay there for a minute and listened to Mac's heart beating steadily. Sometimes you just had to take a chance, so he told Mac the truth. He had fallen on the trail and then had heard a strange quickening. It had frightened him and he had run wildly through the night only to find his brother. There was Kronos alive again and wearing sneakers; he had never worn sneakers. He had the little knowledgeable smile that was reserved for Methos alone. That he had ravaged Methos in a very familiar manner; he even told Mac that he had enjoyed it. He told Mac that Kronos was gone and he had taken his backpack with his favorite stiletto in it. Mac said, "I'll buy you a new knife."
"I was telling you the truth and you make a joke." Methos cried in a hurt voice, but he didn't move. It was plain that Mac didn't believe him and maybe that was for the best. He hadn't intended it that way at all. He knew that it was Kronos, his beloved brother. It was.
A voice outside the tent said, "Pierson, you have ninety minutes. Is there anything you need?" The race director walked in on Adam lying in the arms of a scandalously handsome man. He stood frozen for a moment, and then started to back out mumbling something about the time sheets.
Mac and Methos both laughed. Mac said, "Just get comfortable. I'll wake you in time. You'll need a few minutes to stretch and get dressed."
"Mac, that was the truth." Methos voice was almost breathless with sleep.
Mac was quiet for a minute slowly stroking his lover's hair. "Shh, shh-just sleep. We'll talk about it when we get home."
Mac was lazily stroking Methos hair when he leaned down to kiss his lover's head. He gripped him tighter. Methos' hair smelled of something old. Methos muttered something, but it wasn't in English, or any language that Mac had ever heard. Macleod laid his head down against Methos' hair. Now was not the time.
Finis.
Notes: To my surprise while I was thinking about Ladonna's res-fic (I'd never think of anything to write. I just didn't have time for this. I'd embarrass myself.) when in walked this handsome man with a devilish glint in his eye. He walked straight by me and began to rummage in my refrigerator muttering in some foreign language. When he came back in the living room he had a bottle of water in his hand and a disgruntled look on his face. (Sorry, no beer. I don't drink alcohol) My Methos muse had arrived. He started talking and didn't stop for a week. Toward the end of the week I noticed a man (tall, dark, and handsome) with the newspaper in his hand watching Methos stretch with real admiration. This had to be Duncan. And I realized that they came as a pair. Now that Methos is asleep in my bed with my two cats, Duncan has started to tell me his version of the story. Sigh.