Notes: Takes place after Revelations 6:8 and pretty much scraps anything that happened afterwards.
"...Is what she said true?..."
"It wasn't me, MacLeod. Do something."
"...The times were different, MacLeod. I was different. The whole bloody world was different..."
"The world was how we made it..."
"...killing was all I knew, is that what you want to hear..."
"You can't stop him. I can't stop him. Nobody can!"
"...I killed a thousand, I killed ten thousand!..."
"The world was how you chose to make it!"
"...It was because I liked it..."
"Don't do this. You have a choice."
"...I was Death..."
"What I've done, you can't forgive."
"...when mothers warned their children that the monster would get them, the monster was me...
"Like you said, I go with the winner."
"...I was the nightmare that kept them awake at night..."
"I am the end of time!"
The sheets are tangled around Duncan MacLeod's legs as he jerks awake, the voices of the past days still reverberating in his mind. The moon shining in through the barge's porthole makes shadows dance on the ceiling, and at first, he thinks that the movement in the corner is just another trick of the light. Is almost certain of that until...
"Interesting dreams you have there, MacLeod."
Duncan is rolling out of the bed at the first word, fumbling for the sword he knows is there, kicking at the knot of sheets pinning his legs together. And it's only when his fingers are wrapped around the hilt of the katana that his hand reaches out for the lamp, hitting the switch and sending light flooding around the room.
But the intruder doesn't even blink at the sudden brightness, just stands there, hip resting against the old desk Duncan's had for over a century. Stands there, eyes pinned to Duncan, insolent smirk playing across his lips. "I'm sorry," the false platitudes fall from his mouth, "did I startle you?"
Startle is one word for it, horrify is nearer, though. And Duncan's fingers tighten on the katana, holding the sword so forcefully he can feel the dragon impression burning itself into his skin. "You're dead."
Kronos frowns slightly, before the smirk reappears. "I know," he replies, the words almost conversational in their tone. "I was there, remember."
That's when it hits Duncan, this is a dream, it has to be. Because there's no other way he could be kneeling next to the bed, looking at a man he killed less than a week ago.
"A dream? You think I'm a dream?"
Duncan can't stop the retort from spilling from his lips. "More like a nightmare." A nightmare he'd hoped had been buried in Bordeaux.
"Well, why don't you wake up then, MacLeod?"
Duncan finds himself nodding, because the sooner he's awake the sooner he gets rid of Kronos. But pinching himself isn't working, and all that's left is red mark on his arm that's rapidly fading.
"Having a bit of difficulty?" The voice is still smooth, tinged with humour.
Refusing to look at the apparition of the Horseman, Duncan raises his katana, placing the blade against his forearm and pulling it back sharply. But the moon is still shining, and Kronos is still there, and the red patch dripping onto his bed is steadily widening, before his healing starts and blue sparks dance across his skin, sealing the wound. And through it all Kronos is looking at him, with an almost anticipatory look, as though he's waiting for Duncan to realise... "Oh god, you're...?"
"Real?" And isn't it the kicker that Kronos can say the word that just can't seem to make it past the lump in Duncan's throat. "I'm as real as I've ever been, Highlander. If you ignore the dead thing, that is."
But Duncan doesn't hear him, because all he can focus on is the fact that Kronos is standing in his barge. His legs are moving before he realises it, covering the distance between them, even as his sword comes up. Only the katana moves through Kronos like he's not even there, like all its cutting through is the air that's seemed too heavy ever since Duncan realised he wasn't alone.
All Kronos does is look down at the sword sticking out of his stomach, gaze travelling along the arm holding the weapon and up to Duncan's eyes.
And Duncan can't stop himself from staggering backwards, katana clattering to the floor, because those eyes show him what he never wanted to see. He remembers the madness in Kronos' dark gaze well enough, saw enough of it when they fought. But the madness isn't there anymore. Or maybe it is, but it's hidden by something else. Something Duncan can't help but recognise, because it's something he sees every time he looks in a mirror. And that burns him to the core, that something as malevolent as Kronos could survive as part of him, could survive inside him.
But Kronos only laughs, the laugh that's haunted Duncan since he ran into Cassandra down on the docks and started on a course of events that led him to being a pawn in one of Methos' games.
"A game?" Duncan can't tell if Kronos' tone is more incredulity or anger. "You think this was a *game,* MacLeod?"
"Aye, because that's what it was." And Duncan's matching the other Immortal's anger with some of his own. "Methos, playing with people's lives and emotions, setting one side up against the other." Then the anger is replaced with confusion as Kronos' laugh rings through the barge again.
"Yes, he did, didn't he. Played us off to perfection." There's more than a little wistfulness in Kronos' voice, more than a little admiration and pride.
"You're... proud of him?" And Duncan's sure that this will all make much more sense in the morning. Because surreal doesn't even begin to cover a moon-lit conversation with someone who died at your hands four days ago, about the person who engineered said death.
"Of course!" comes the reply. "Two thousand years and Methos' mind is still the sharpest I've ever known."
"And I supposed that's what drew you to him." Because if this night is going to happen, then he may as well use it to answer some of those questions that he still has. Because, out of everything, he wants to know *why* most of all. Oh, he remembers Methos' words in Elysium, but the conviction that the world was different isn't enough to still the wondering that runs through him every time he thinks of the man he called 'friend'. He needs to know, needs to know if he was really *that* wrong about the oldest living Immortal, needs to know if his illusions about Methos really are shattered beyond promise, or if redemption is still hiding in the darkness.
The laugh that reaches him this time isn't quite so rich, and Duncan wonders if it's the echo of sadness he can hear permeating the sound. "Many things drew me to Methos. When I first saw him he was... salvation, deliverance."
Kronos is talking about him with such purity that Duncan can't help but be enraged. If Methos was all of that, then why didn't Kronos let him be, or did the other man need that desperately to taint his 'salvation' in order to be able to touch him? "So you dragged him into your life? Covered your *deliverance* in the blood of innocence? Tell me, were Caspian and Silas already with you, or did the idea only hit you when you had Methos?" But further words die on Duncan's lips as Kronos looks at him, taken aback, surprised somehow.
"Methos told you this? That I created the Horsemen?"
"Well, no." Because he hadn't. Methos had admitted that Kronos had been his friend, his brother, and when Duncan had accepted Kronos' turbulent Quickening into him he'd confirmed his suspicions that the relationship between the two men ran much deeper than that. Methos had told him that they had killed, had ridden across the land and decimated what stood in their way, but he had never said how it had started. Looking back, Duncan doubts if he would have listened, doubts if words could have penetrated the wall of hurt that had been erected at knowing his friend's past contained the kind of evil he's spent his life fighting against.
"Then why?" But then Kronos just *looks* at him. "I see. It had to be me because someone Duncan MacLeod saw fit to call friend would never even consider the idea."
And Duncan can't help but curse the lamp that's shedding light on the room, because he knows that Kronos can see the flush he can feel spreading over his face. Because that's exactly what he'd thought, exactly what he'd assumed. It had taken a long night filled with scotch after he'd returned from Bordeaux to even begin to open himself to the possibility that Methos had lived through 5,000 years, some of it the darkest in civilisation's history, and that there was no way he would have come out of it unscathed. But he also needs to cling to the image of the Methos he had met, of the man he had seen cross-legged in his apartment, headphones over his ears and journal in his lap. The image of scholar, historian. The image of an Immortal that hadn't fought in two centuries. Needs to lay the blame at someone else's feet if he's ever going to have a hope of being able to resolve the man he's called friend for three years with the man who was called 'Death' by those who feared him.
"Well, MacLeod," Kronos continues, either unaware or uncaring of the thoughts running through Duncan's head, "I'm hating to ruin your little illusion, but I didn't band the Horsemen together, Methos did."
And with those words Duncan discovers that the only thing hiding in the darkness is even more darkness.
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
"Yes." He has to be. Because if Kronos is telling the truth then every justification that's gone through Duncan's head since Cassandra first pointed her sword at Methos is all for nothing. Every thought that Methos was only a victim of circumstance is moot. Because Duncan had wondered, wondered just what it was that Kronos had over his friend that could have possibly made Methos stay with him. But if it's nothing, if Kronos not only didn't force Methos to stay but the entire concept of the Horsemen was Methos' to begin with, then Duncan has his answer. That the Methos he knew was nothing more than a lie, a facade. And part of him just isn't prepared to accept that, isn't prepared to blindly take Kronos at his word. Because Duncan saw something in Methos, saw it on that first day when their eyes met across the room and Duncan knew, just *knew,* that Adam Pierson was the man he'd been looking for. He saw it in Methos, knows it's in there, knows he couldn't have been wrong.
"MacLeod, don't be so obstinate." And it sounds like he's chastising a child. Although, considering how much older Kronos is than Duncan, maybe that's exactly what he's doing. "You know I'm telling the truth."
"And how do I know that?" Because even if Kronos gives his word he'd never believe it. Wouldn't trust Kronos as far as he could throw him. Or at least could have thrown him when he was actually substantial, alive.
"You know, because *I* know."
Only Duncan would never have expected Kronos to be one for existentialism, but he guesses a person's entire belief system could change after they've died. And then he realises what Kronos is saying, because if Kronos is inside him, then so are the answers he so desperately wants. Only he doesn't know how to do this, how to access the sense memory of a Quickening he fought to bury as soon as it hit him. Doesn't know if he should access it, because what happens if it gives Kronos the opening he's looking for? It was hard enough in Bordeaux. It had been a battle for dominance as soon as Kronos' Quickening had hit him, trying to absorb an essence that didn't want to be absorbed, and Kronos had fought him every step of the way. And the thing that frightens Duncan the most is that, even though Kronos had lost the physical battle, he'd almost won the spiritual one. But Duncan had blanked it down, and he doesn't know if he can willingly open himself up to that again.
Then the choice is taken out of Duncan's hands, because Kronos is striding towards him, closing the gap between them quicker than Duncan can escape. And he thinks he screams when Kronos' hands grasp his head and his mind feels like it explodes, thinks he screams because he's sure his mouth is open but the only sound he can hear is the roaring rush of the blood running through him. And just when he knows he'd give anything for it to be over Kronos' hands move and the fire in his mind is gone.
"Open your eyes, MacLeod."
Only Duncan didn't realise he'd closed them, had barely even noticed the darkness when the pain had hit him. And as his eyes open it's blatantly obvious they're not in the barge anymore.
The material of the large white tent is enough to shield them from the harsh glare of the sun that Duncan can see shining in through the open entrance. And even now the sounds of swords clashing against each other reaches his ears and the shadows of two opponents outline themselves against the stark white that blocks Duncan from seeing who it is who's fighting. He's two steps closer to the entrance, wanting to know what's going on outside before a sound stops him. Takes him even longer to realise that the pile of rags huddled in the corner is actually another man. He's barely moved towards him before the silence falls outside. But the silence lasts for only a second before the air is rent by the crash of lightning. And even though Duncan knows this is only a memory, knows that he can't really sense the Quickening taking place, his skin still tingles, still feels like a million fingers are running over him. But it's the moan that rises in his throat that snaps his attention back to where he is, back to the fact that he's standing next to Kronos in only a pair of shorts, body almost thrumming with pleasure. Only Kronos isn't looking at him, isn't paying him the slightest bit of attention. All of the other man's focus is fixed on the entrance to the tent. The entrance of the tent that falls into shadow as a figure blocks the sunlight.
"Methos." The name is almost a breath on Duncan's lips. Because even though the hair is longer and the face is cast in darkness due to the cruel sun behind him, Duncan still recognises the wiry grace with which he moves towards them, towards the other occupant of the tent.
And Duncan knows, knows that if this is Methos, then the figure trying to back as far into the corner as he can must be...
"I thought he was a god made flesh." Kronos' voice is softer than Duncan has ever heard as he watches Methos kneel before his earlier self, hand outstretched.
"You were...?"
"A slave, MacLeod? That surprises you?"
And he doesn't want to admit it, but yes it does. Because everything he's seen of Kronos has told him that this man would never willingly submit to anyone. Although maybe he's only now seeing the reason. He turns away from Kronos, suddenly feeling like he's watching something very personal, feeling like a voyeur that shouldn't be there. And when he turns his eyes fall on Methos. He can't hear what he is saying, can only hear the tone, the soft cadence. Watches as the memory Kronos finally raises his face to look at Methos. And even though Duncan knows that Kronos hasn't changed physically he still can't help but notice just how different the man crouched in the corner of the tent looks from the man he first knew as Melvin Koren. Shaggy dark hair that threatens to cover his face completely, but still can't hide the expressive eyes. Eyes that look at Methos like he's not quite sure if the other man is there to save him or damn him. Eyes that dart from side to side and yet keep coming back to rest on Methos' features. Eyes that are marred only by the long scar running over one of them. And this makes Duncan frown, because if Kronos had his scar when Methos found him then he was...
"You were already Immortal."
"Yes. Immortal with no idea of what I was. All I knew was that he had the power to kill me and make me live again."
Duncan doesn't need to ask who 'he' is, knows that privilege belongs to the body lying outside. And he can't help but think what it would be like, having an Immortal charge, able to take whatever you gave them. But even as his mind is reacting with horror at the concept of being able to use someone else with no regard, he can feel his body shift at the thought of it. There'd be no fears, no concerns, because no matter what you did to them they'd always survive. They'd be the perfect whipping boy, the perfect partner, taking all your frustrations with not a mark to show for it.
"It's a seductive thought, isn't it?"
And the horror crashes down on him as he realises Kronos knows what he's been thinking, prays he doesn't know that the image Duncan's mind presented him with was the image of a supplicating body that kept flicking between Methos and Kronos.
"Don't be embarrassed." But the throaty laugh that accompanies the words tells Duncan that the other man knows exactly what was going through his head. "You're not the first to think it and you certainly won't be the last."
And that's when he realises the tableau has changed. That Methos is now on his feet, leading Kronos out of the tent. His hand reaches out as Methos walks past them, moving through his fingers like air, as insubstantial as any memory can be.
"And that's why you went with him?" Because he wants to know. Because he'd never asked Methos the one question he should have, never asked him 'why'. And if he can't ask Methos, then he can ask Kronos, can at least get the answers from someone who was there.
"You've never been nothing, have you, MacLeod?" And Kronos' eyes are still on the tent's entrance, even though Methos and his younger self have already left. "Never lived knowing your very existence was dependant on the whims of another. I'd been nothing, Highlander. For far longer than I would care to remember. So, when Methos gave me the choice it was simple. I was never going to be nothing again."
As Kronos' hand rests on his arm, Duncan looks down at the fingers curled around his flesh, and all he can think is whether a dead man should feel that warm. When he looks up again the brightness of the tent has gone, replaced by the dimmed light in the barge. And he has to stop himself from reaching out when Kronos moves away, because there's so much more he needs to know, so many more questions that he still has.
"But I can't answer them for you, MacLeod."
It's disconcerting how Kronos can read him so well, but he guesses it's easy when you exist inside someone. "Then who?" Because, even though he wants this to be over, he knows it never will be until he has the answers he so desperately craves.
"Who do you think, Highlander?"
And Duncan knows Kronos is right, knows that the only person who has the answers he needs is the one person he finds himself not wanting to face. He thought he'd laid the events of the past days to rest and then Kronos appeared and so many questions came bubbling back to the surface, bringing friends with them. Because if he'd had questions he'd wanted answered before, then it was so much worse now. Now that he knows that the justifications he'd told himself are nothing more than a lie. Methos banded the Horsemen together, Methos led them on a trail of destruction, and Methos ended it all. Because, as much as he'd like to think that he was the reason Kronos' plan failed, Duncan knows that ultimately he was just the instrument Methos used. And Duncan wants to know why, wants to know it now so badly that it burns inside of him. Wants to know why and how and a multitude of others he can't even give voice to. And, even though it galls him to admit Kronos is right, there's only one person that can satisfy his desire to know. He doesn't even think about it as he starts to move towards the barge's door, because he needs to do this now, needs to do it before he finds an excuse not to. And it's only Kronos' mockingly amused voice that stops him, fingers curled around the barge door handle, ready to step out and get the answers he needs.
"MacLeod, not that I want to stop you from your crusade, but wouldn't clothes be a good idea first?"
Kronos didn't follow him out of the barge, and Duncan's absurdly grateful for that. Doesn't think he could have handled the other man's closeness as the Citroen weaves in and out of the Paris streets, barely occupied as the sun peeks over the horizon. And part of Duncan is glad for the near desertion of the city, because he knows he's not paying enough attention to the road, is making the trip to Methos' almost on automatic.
He's not sure how long it takes him to reach the apartment block that houses Adam Pierson's life, just knows it took too long, or was it not long enough. He doesn't bother locking the car as he gets out, only barely remembers to take the keys out of the ignition instead of leaving them there, an invite for any passing thief. He takes the steps up to the main door two at a time, absently thanking whatever god had made Methos give him a spare set of keys to the apartment. The older Immortal had handed them to him one night in 'Le Blues' with instructions that if anything serious ever happened, Duncan was to go to the apartment, take the key for the cellar where the journals are kept and the laptop and leave everything else to fend for itself. He's also praying to the same god that Methos hasn't changed the locks since they got back from Bordeaux. But no, the key slides in and the door opens with a small 'snick' as it always has. A flight of stairs later sees Duncan standing outside Methos' apartment. And he's been here a hundred times before, but he still pauses before he knocks, knowing that whatever is said when he goes through that door will make or break their friendship.
"He's taking his time."
But Duncan pays no attention to Kronos' comment as the other Immortal leans next to the door. Pays no attention and knocks again, trying to ignore the cold chill that runs down his spine as he realises what's missing. And the key is jammed into the lock and twisted as Duncan pushes open the door. The morning sun is starting to shine in through the windows, illuminating the barren apartment.
"Well, Methos has been a busy little Immortal, hasn't he." And Kronos smirks at him as he walks over to the window, looking down onto the street. "Hmm, nice view."
But Duncan isn't listening to Kronos' opinions about the real estate. He just wants to know how Methos managed to clear out the entire apartment without him knowing about it. Although, if he's honest it wouldn't have been that difficult. The last person he wanted to see when he got back from Bordeaux was Methos. Only knew the other Immortal was in Paris because Joe Dawson told him. And with that name still ringing through his mind, Duncan is out of the apartment, out of the building. If anyone would have an idea as to where Methos is it's Joe. Because he still wants to find him, still needs to find him. But this time he's got one more question to ask. He wants to know why Methos ran. The only problem is, he's afraid he already knows the answer.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Duncan knows he's not being fair to Joe, turning up on his doorstep this early in the morning and expecting him to have the answers he needs.
"What part of 'I don't know where he is' didn't you understand, Mac? I'm not Adam's social secretary." But Duncan doesn't want to accept that, Joe has to know where Methos went. "You'd better come in. If we're going to do this, I'm doing it with coffee." And the sigh that pre-empts the Watcher's invitation tells Duncan that Joe Dawson would rather be a hundred other places doing a hundred other things at this moment in time. But he backs the wheelchair up slightly, allowing Duncan to enter. "I'll get dressed. Make yourself useful and get the coffee." The words are thrown over his shoulder as he moves away, not even looking to see if Duncan follows.
And Duncan does follow, steps into the ground floor flat Joe keeps in Paris and watches as the other man goes through into the bedroom, closing the door behind him before he walks into the kitchen. He's been here often enough to know where the coffee is kept, and he busies himself with making it. So there's a steaming mug waiting on the bench when Joe comes out of the bedroom, fully dressed this time, but still in the wheelchair, instead of on his prosthetics. Part of Duncan hates seeing Joe in the wheelchair, would much rather see the other man standing, able to look him in the eye without having to look down. Would much rather ignore the fact that his Watcher is mortal, fallible.
Joe doesn't say anything until he's drunk half of the coffee, and then his gaze pins Duncan. "So he's gone then." And Joe doesn't sound surprised, sounds as if he almost expected Methos to run.
"Did you know?" He hopes he didn't, can't believe that Joe wouldn't have told him that Methos was leaving, even if he had reacted to the information that Methos had come back to Paris with the comment that he couldn't care less where the manipulative bastard went.
"No."
"But?" Because he can hear the word, even if Joe hasn't said it. Can see the 'but' in every tense muscle.
Joe just looks at him, and he's inexplicably reminded of the look Kronos gave him back in the barge. "Do you have any idea what's happened these past few days?"
He shakes his head because he doesn't. Hasn't even given a thought to anything except how betrayed he felt, how Methos had taken his friendship and laughed at it.
"Jesus, Mac, it's been... hectic." But the barked laugh that escapes Joe's lips tell him that that's probably the softest word he could have used. "I'm not surprised he left. Hell, I can't even count the amount of times *I've* considered it over the past couple of days."
It's only when he looks closer that Duncan realises that Joe looks different, older somehow. That he has lines that weren't there the last time he saw him. And with that realisation comes guilt, because Joe has always been there for him when Duncan needed something, even though it betrayed his oath as a Watcher, and now it seems like Duncan wasn't there for Joe when the positions were reversed. "What happened?"
"The Watchers know, Mac. They know that Adam is Methos. And to say that they're pissed about it is the understatement of a lifetime."
They're not the words that Duncan expected to hear, but he should know better, should know that, even gone, Methos is still affecting their lives. "How?"
"The Watcher I had put on Cassandra recognised him. Wondered what one of our researchers was doing throwing an Immortal off a bridge." Joe sounds tired, and Duncan's sure it's not just the fact that he woke the other man up. A hand runs over his eyes before he looks back at Duncan. "I thought he'd left, you'd said he'd gone. What the hell was he doing back there?"
That's one question Duncan would like the answer to himself. One more question to ask Methos if, when, he tracks the other man down. "I don't know."
"That's easy, he just couldn't stay away from me."
But Duncan ignores the figure sitting cross-legged on Joe's kitchen table. Can hardly acknowledge him when Joe is there. After all, how to explain that he's speaking to the man he killed in Bordeaux without becoming a notation in the Watchers' list of insane Immortals?
"Mac?"
And Duncan realises that Joe must have said something to him, is looking at him with a half expectant, half concerned gaze. "So, what happened when they found out?" Because he wants that gaze off him, finds himself not wanting Joe's concern.
"Jesus, what didn't they do." A snort accompanies the words. "The Council was apoplectic for about three hours and then they started kicking the safeguards in. Changed the computer passwords, confiscated pretty much all of Adam's research. The reason the apartment's empty is probably less to do with Adam moving everything out and more to do with one of the Council's teams descending on the place." And Joe takes another drink of the coffee before a slight smile crosses his lips. "Oh, and they suspended me."
But the words are spoken so softly that Duncan is sure he's misheard. "Suspended?" Because Duncan's sure that's got to be wrong. Joe is one of the more senior North American Watchers. But he also knows that there are factions of the Watchers Council that would love to see Joe out of the organisation, factions that decided Joe was compromised the minute Duncan walked into 'Shakespeare & Co.' and was told a tale about a secret society who have observed Immortals for centuries. And it's just one more person whose life has been affected by just knowing Duncan MacLeod.
A burst of harsh laughter draws Duncan's eyes back to Kronos. "My god, Highlander, how the hell do you and your ego manage to fit in that small barge?"
Only Duncan knows he's not over exaggerating, knows that if Joe had never met him then none of this would have happened.
And Joe carries on speaking, unaware of the by-play going on in his kitchen between Duncan and a dead man. "I was lucky that's all they did. They told me to my face they're sure I knew from the beginning that Adam's Immortal. They're also sure I know he's Methos, they just don't have any proof. Which I suppose is something to be thankful for."
"Thankful?" Because Duncan has his doubts whether Joe has anything to be thankful for, especially when he could lose everything.
"Yeah." But the confusion must still show on Duncan's face because Joe continues. "Hiding the fact that Adam's Immortal is one thing, Mac. Hiding the fact that he's Methos, another thing entirely. I was lucky enough to survive one Watcher trial, I doubt if it'd hold true for a second."
The image that assaults Duncan is one he'd rather not see again. Joe, unconscious, covered in blood, lying among a plethora of Watcher corpses. "Oh." And even then Duncan had arrived to late to do anything but try and stop the flow of blood from the bullet wound. It had been Methos who had saved Joe's life, Methos who had patched him up, Methos who had ultimately been instrumental in stopping the escalating violence between the two sides by handing over Jacob Galati to the Watchers. And every path seems to lead to the same place. "I need to find him, Joe."
Joe doesn't ask him why, doesn't ask why it's so important, so vital. "Wish I could help, Mac, but I'm the last person the Watchers are gonna tell."
"Can't you check the records?" Because what's one more nail in Joe's coffin with the Watchers? "If they've put someone on him, then they'll know where he is."
"And if they hadn't deleted my access after they'd thrown me out on my ass, I'd help, I really would." And it's good that the bitterness is starting to show, because bottling that much up just leads to it exploding when you least expect it.
"Isn't there anything?" Because Joe's his last chance short of searching the entire globe for him, and Methos has had too much practice at just disappearing for Duncan to hold any illusions about finding him without help.
Joe shakes his head a couple of times before the movement trails off and he gets a thoughtful look in his eyes. And Duncan wants to ask what but Joe is moving away, over to a desk. He can't understand the muttered words as Joe searches the drawers, but he hears the exclamation of triumph as he holds aloft a floppy disk. "I'm not promising this'll work mind," Joe tells him as he wheels over to the table and starts to boot up the laptop.
But Duncan doesn't care, will take anything as long as it gives him a lead, a chance. "What is it?"
"A little something Adam cooked up a couple of years ago." The disk slides into the machine, seconds passing before the image on the screen changes to that of the Watchers symbol. "It's a backdoor into the system." Joe's fingers fly across the keyboard and then an e-mail comes up, a report from a Watcher Duncan's never heard of before. "He's in the Black Forest, a chateau built on holy ground."
And Duncan's surprised when he feels the relief wash over him. The relief that, even if Methos had to run, he still had enough sense to run to holy ground. He doesn't even realise he's part way to the door before Joe's voice stops him.
"One thing, Mac. Why?"
And Duncan can almost hear the concern that he's only looking for Methos to take his head, but that's the furthest thing from Duncan's mind. Why is he looking? Because he needs answers. Because they all have secrets. Because they all have darkness. Because he needs to know that redemption is possible. Because Methos was his friend. Because... because he's so much more. And that's the one makes him feel like he's hit the ground running with no idea of where he's going, just the innate knowledge that he *has* to get there. "Why, Joe? Because." Because at this moment, it's the only reason he can voice.
The nearest Duncan can get to the Black Forest is a flight to Berlin, with a promise that there will be a flight for Frankfurt leaving only three hours after they touch down. And it's surprisingly quiet, with only a few people scattered through first class. Part of his mind is telling him that he should use this time to get some sleep, that he's been awake most of the night. The rest of him is trying to figure out exactly what he's going to say to Methos when he finally gets there.
"So many questions, so little time. But then, that's not exactly true is it, MacLeod. If there's anything our kind have it's time."
Duncan doesn't want to look at what had been the empty seat beside him, had hoped that he'd left the spectre of Kronos in Paris.
"Leave me behind? Not going to happen, Highlander." And the smile Kronos is throwing at him has Duncan's fingers itching to be wrapped around his sword. But the katana is nestled safely in the hold, Duncan only just having the presence of mind to remember to get the antique dealer's licence that got it through customs when he swung by the barge on the way to Charles De Gaulle to collect his passport. "After all, MacLeod, you should understand that you and I are going to be together for a very, *very* long time."
But Duncan knows this, has known it from the moment he saw Kronos standing in the barge. Knows that Kronos will never leave him alone as long as Methos is in his life. Knows, somehow, that the connection between Methos and Kronos is something deeper than he could have ever imagined either man having with anyone. Especially Methos. Methos, with his aloof ways and closed-off body language. It's a difference Duncan noticed from the off. Adam Pierson is warm and friendly, Methos holds himself back. He can't imagine being two people, a dichotomy of ways in one form. There are times he wonders whether Methos truly knows who he is anymore.
"Of course he knows who he is. He's always known who he is."
But Duncan finds that hard to believe. That Methos could have lived for more than five thousand years without ever doubting himself, without ever once questioning who he was.
"Doubts are for the weak, for those easily intimidated by their own sense of self."
"And I suppose you've never doubted."
The answer comes quickly, without hesitation. "Never."
"Even when you were a slave?" Duncan knows the retort is a bitter one, but wants to see it hit its mark, wants to see if Kronos is capable of being hurt, wants to see him vulnerable. But Kronos meets his eyes with absolute resolution.
"*Because* I was a slave, MacLeod. When you live a life knowing your sense of self is to be nothing but someone else's property, it makes everything else so much clearer. I've been many things throughout my life, but through them all I've known who I was. It's what makes Methos and I so alike."
"You are *nothing* like Methos." He says it with a certainty he's really not sure of. Because if you'd asked him that at the start of this then he would have been able to stake his life on it. Because Methos has a heart, a conscience. But now, maybe it's just what he wants to believe, instead of it being the truth.
"Aren't I? Methos and I were together for over a thousand years, MacLeod, and yet you, a man who has known him for less than 3 years claim to know him better than I?"
And the fact that Kronos may be right is what hurts so much. Compared with how long Methos and Kronos were together, the friendship Duncan has with the other Immortal may as well be a fleeting second. If either one of them knows Methos' heart, then surely it must be Kronos. But part of him rails against this, tells him that if Methos truly is the person Kronos believes him to be then he would never have set into motion a plan that would bring about the downfall of the Horsemen, that he would never have effectively engineered the deaths of three men he once called 'brother'.
"But don't you see, that's exactly why I *am* right."
But Duncan doesn't see, isn't sure what Kronos is implying.
"Do I have to spell it out for you, Highlander? Methos was threatened, and what did he do? He did what he had to in order to ensure his own survival. Family, brother, lover, didn't count in the end. *That's* what makes him more like me, MacLeod."
Maybe he's right, maybe Methos *is* too much like Kronos, too willing to throw his promise, his word, by the wayside if it means living. Only this is something Duncan can't understand. If a man doesn't have his honour then what else is there? Duncan was brought up in a time when a man's word was his bond. Millennia separate him from Methos, is a friendship between two such diametrically opposed people possible? He'd thought so, thought it for the past three years. Thought it right up until Cassandra levelled her accusations, right up until Methos confirmed them. And now he doesn't know if he can really resolve the Methos he calls his friend against the Methos who formed the Horsemen. Doesn't know if he'll be able to look at Methos knowing 1,000 years of darkness exists within him.
"So judgmental, Highlander. It's a wonder you find anyone... good enough to call friend."
But Duncan ignores the softly taunting words. Knows that Kronos has no idea of the moral code Duncan was raised with. Methos used to mock it, call it a 'misplaced sense of chivalry', but it's so much more than that. It's his life, his family, it's how he still knows he's Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. "Being opposed to a millennium of death and destruction is hardly being judgmental." The words are ground out between clenched teeth.
"A millennium that happened more than 2,000 years before you were even born, MacLeod. Methos forgave your darkness, and much more recently, I might add. What makes this so different?"
Kronos' knowing smirk all but knocks the breath from Duncan. Although he should have realised, should have known that if Kronos could seek out any memory of his it would be that one. And he wants to deny it, to ignore it, to leave it locked away in the little box he built in his psyche, but the images won't stop flashing through his mind. The vision of what happened at Le Havre refusing to leave him. It still pains him how easily, how violently he reacts to the memory of Methos lying between his thighs, wrists pinned above him in one of Duncan's hands. Still pains him how his body shifts at the thought of the battered and bloody body that had been under him.
"What's wrong, Duncan, finding out you still have a little darkness of your own in there."
"It wasn't me." The words are hissed out, denial lacing every syllable. Because it wasn't him, couldn't have been. What happened in that church was the blame of the Dark Quickening. He is still Duncan MacLeod, and he would never even contemplate using Methos' body against his will, taking in force what would otherwise be given in love.
"So why do you still jerk off to the thought of it? To the thought of Methos, beaten, pinned beneath you?" And Kronos' voice is soft, seductive almost. "Why are you hard now, just thinking about it? You want him, Highlander. Wanted him since you first laid eyes on him. Want him beneath you, writhing, whimpering. Want to hear the noises he makes as you push into him. Admit it, MacLeod. You. Want. Methos. Want him more than you've ever wanted anybody else."
"NO!" The word explodes from him, hand coming up to grab at Kronos, growl rising in his throat as his fingers slip through the other man to bash against the back of the seat.
"Ah, ah, ah," Kronos wiggles a finger at him before pointing at the air steward coming to see what the commotion is. "Let's not make a scene, Highlander, people are starting to look."
And all Duncan can hear as he apologises for the outburst is Kronos' mocking laughter.
Duncan checks the address of the chateau against the small piece of paper he's holding, part relieved and part terrified to find that they match. Kronos has been suspiciously absent for this final stretch of the journey, and he's more than grateful for the fact. Has enough on his mind trying to sort out what he'll say to Methos when he sees him without dealing with the other Horseman. He's sure he can see curtains twitch as he manoeuvres the car up the drive and parks it. Now he's here he's really not sure what he's going to say. Resting his head on the steering wheel, the leather cool against his forehead, he takes a deep breath before looking back up and getting out of the car.
It's just a short walk up the steps before Duncan's standing in front of the large wooden door, fingers hovering over the knocker. And then he can't help but close his eyes as he feels the Presence of another Immortal wash over him. And he recognises Methos' signature, he doesn't know how, but he *knows* it, instinctively, absolutely.
"Ah, Methos."
Duncan's eyes snap open as he turns to look at Kronos, the other man's face a mixture of satisfaction and pleasure as the buzz rolls over them. And he doesn't have time to ask how it is he can recognise the signature before the door opens and sharp eyes fix with his.
"If you've changed your mind about me losing my head I feel obliged to tell you this is holy ground."
"I'm not going to take your head, Methos." Did the other man really think he would? He'd told Cassandra he'd wanted Methos to live, that hadn't changed. Even at his most angry, he'd never wanted Methos dead.
"Well, then, thanks for stopping by."
His hand slaps against the door to stop it from closing. "We need to speak."
"We've said enough." But Methos isn't closing the door, is still looking at Duncan like he's expecting something.
"Please."
"You could always get down on your knees, MacLeod. He always liked it when I did it."
Methos frowns softly, before shaking his head slightly. And Duncan's almost sure that Methos heard Kronos' words, almost asks him if he did. But if there are guaranteed ways to get the door slammed in his face, then asking Methos if he can hear his dead ex-lover has to be up there in the top five. Probably right next to admitting the fact that *he* can hear said dead ex-lover.
"Methos?" He's positive that the other man is about to close the door on him, but then a small sigh escapes Methos' lips and he moves back.
"You'd better come in then."
And he steps into the foyer, waiting as Methos closes the door behind him.
"So, tell me, are the Watchers still out there?" Methos asks the question as he leads Duncan through into the main room, motioning to a chair as he sits on the couch, body immediately assuming the boneless sprawl Duncan has seen so often on his own furniture.
"Yes." He'd spotted the young man sitting in a car in full sight of the front gate almost straight away, it was only a small leap of logic to surmise that he was a Watcher.
"Thought so. They've been rotating in shifts watching me. I suppose I should be honoured, it's not every Immortal who rates five Watchers and 24 hour surveillance." A slow, lazy smile trails across Methos' lips with the words.
And now Duncan's facing Methos he knows there are a hundred things to say, a hundred things he wants to ask him. Why did you form the Horsemen? Why did you spend a thousand years with them? Why was your life so wrong that you felt the need to destroy everything around you? Why didn't you tell me what was happening? Just why? But all he can think is, "You lied to me."
"I lied to you?" Methos' voice is incredulous.
"You could have told me." Because surely if their friendship means anything, it means that Methos could have told him, warned him. Could have trusted him enough with the truth.
"And when should I have told you, Highlander? Just after you walked into my apartment? How about when we were painting that house? No, I know, how about just after Joe was shot, would that have been good for you?"
"Methos-" But the words are coming from the other man now, coming and not seeming to stop. And isn't this what Duncan wanted, to hear how and why, to hear it in Methos' own words, own voice.
"I thought it was over, MacLeod. I didn't know Kronos was still alive, sure as hell didn't know he was going to come after me."
"You should have. I always promised I would never leave you." And Kronos' fingers are so close to Methos' cheek Duncan thinks they might be touching.
"You think I didn't want to tell you? I tried, Mac. I walked into that dojo wanting to tell you. And then you asked me if I knew who Kronos was." And maybe Methos can't stay still any longer because he's on his feet, pacing. "What was I meant to say?"
Even though he doesn't want to, he can't help but feel a pang at the pain that crosses Kronos' eyes as Methos' form ghosts through his fingers, before it's locked away behind the coldness Duncan is more used to seeing there. Before Kronos walks away, leaning against the desk next to the window, watching them both impassively. But it's not Kronos he needs to speak to, not Kronos he needs answers from. "You could have tried the truth." Because he still wants to know why Methos didn't.
"Ah, but you'd already heard the truth. Heard it from Cassandra's pretty little mouth." A sneer that's disturbingly reminiscent of Kronos' crosses Methos' face. "No doubt replete with tears and quivering. So, tell me this, MacLeod, how was my truth meant to stand up to hers?"
And even though Duncan had promised himself he'd stay calm, he finds himself meeting Methos' words with anger. It's Cassandra who is the victim here, Cassandra who lost her family, her people, and Methos can do nothing more than make it sound like she turned the results of a massacre to her own ends. "You killed her people, Methos."
"Yes, I did." The words are eerily calm, gentle, like he's discussing the shopping list, instead of the annihilation of an entire village.
"Is that all you can say?" There has to be more. Methos had said that Cassandra was one of a thousand regrets, why isn't he showing it?
"What else do you want? Do you want me to prostrate myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness? Not in this lifetime, Highlander, not in any." Methos sighs, runs lean fingers over his face before looking back at Duncan. And his voice is still soft, still calm, still the same voice he's heard a hundred times laughing and joking and complaining about the beer at Joe's. "This is the truth of living, you can't change the past. I was one of the Horsemen, and no tantrum is going to alter that. You can't change it, so you might as well accept it."
But it's difficult for Duncan to understand how Methos can so easily accept this part of himself. And maybe it's something to do with having 2,000 years to come to terms with what the Horsemen did. But for Duncan the wound is still raw, open. This *isn't* ancient history for him, it's the events of the last two weeks, it's Cassandra crying in his arms, it's Kronos threatening to poison an entire country, it's his friend turning out to be everything Duncan has stood against for 400 years. And something must show in his face, because Methos' eyes narrow and a small puff of breath escapes him.
"*That's* what this is all about. That I disappointed you. That I didn't live up to the expectation of the wise, old man." And maybe Methos and Kronos have this in common as well, being able to read him so well. Methos is shaking his head now, stepping closer to him, bodies scant inches apart. "Is *that* it, MacLeod?"
"No." But even he can hear the lie in the word, so he's more than sure Methos can hear it, too.
A shuddering laugh runs through Methos' body as he turns away, muttered voice barely reaching Duncan. "May the Gods protect fools, small children and Immortals who don't live up to Duncan MacLeod's standards."
"Methos-"
"I think enough has been said, don't you." Methos' tone is sure, final.
Only Duncan hasn't followed Methos this far to be dismissed now. "No, it hasn't."
"MacLeod-"
But it's Duncan cutting off the words this time. "No, Methos. You've had your say, now I'm going to have mine." And he's only peripherally aware of Kronos looking up, suddenly more interested in the proceedings. "You were right, I *was* angry, and disappointed. And a hell of a lot more other things. I had one friend telling me that another friend wasn't the man I thought he was. And that hurt, Methos. And maybe it *was* my fault. Maybe I *had* assumed too much since I first met you. My god, Methos, I was meeting a *legend.* Do you have any idea of the stories people tell about you? Methos, the world's oldest living Immortal."
"But the stories are only that, stories." His voice sounds tired. "I'm just-"
"A guy, I know." Duncan's heard him say it so many times that he can finish the sentence without thinking. "But that's just it. Not many 'just a guy's have seen entire civilisations rise and fall. Not many 'just a guy's have spoken with both Aristotle and Einstein. You're not only part of history, you *are* history, so forgive me if I fixated on the researcher who hadn't fought in 200 years and forgot that history is sometimes dark and bloody and violent." And he doesn't know if he has any more words, doesn't know if he has the right words to say what's left, but he has to try, because if he doesn't say it now then he'll never say it. And it has to be said, has to be out in the open. Because he did a lot of thinking on that flight from Berlin to Frankfurt, a lot of thinking about what Kronos had said to him. He doesn't want to admit that Kronos is right, that Kronos took the one part of him he's denied since the beginning and made him look straight at it. "It hurt when I found out about the Horsemen. It hurt because the man who rode with them, the man who destroyed villages, he wasn't the man I met. He wasn't the man who sat in Joe's bar with me steadily working his way through the imported beers. It hurt because..." And this is what it's all been building up to. This is what the past three years have led to. This is what every choice that had been made and every path that had been taken has been going towards. "It hurt because he wasn't the man I fell in love with." And the words are out now, hanging between them, heavy in the silence.
"Mac?" The voice is questioning, not quite believing and... hopeful, or maybe that's just him projecting what he wants to hear.
But it's easier to say the words now, gets easier with each passing second. "Aye, Methos, that's why it hurt."
"How long?" Soft and curious.
"From the moment I saw you. I think I fell in love with the legend, only to find that the 'just a guy' was so much more appealing, after all." Because it wasn't the legend he talked all night with, wasn't the legend that continued to be a friend, even knowing the danger. Knowing that any one of the Immortals who came after Duncan could have turned on him for just being his friend, knowing that every day he spent with Duncan put his cover with the Watchers at greater and greater risk.
"Do you have any idea what we'd be in for?"
Of course he does. Once the Immortal world finds out that the legend of Methos isn't as much of a legend as they'd first thought, they'll come from all over. Add to that the Immortals who seem to want to take out Duncan anyway, and any life together is bound to be interesting. "I'm willing to chance it. The question is, Methos, are you?"
Methos looks at him, soft, easy smile crossing his features. "All life is chance, Duncan." And the pleasure flares in him as his name falls gently from Methos' lips. "But 5,000 years leaves a lot of skeletons in the closet. Can you really accept that?"
Yes. No. He doesn't know for sure, just knows one thing, "I love you enough to try. Can you love me enough to let me?"
The answer is given as Methos closes the distance between them, tangling fingers in Duncan's hair and pulling their faces together, lips clashing in a meld of heat and fire and want. Need uncurls deep within him, as his hold tightens on Methos' body, drawing them closer together, until only the need for air breaks them apart. Methos is breathing heavily, eyes so dilated Duncan can barely see a ring of colour.
"Bed." Duncan all but growls the word, needing to get there before he just damns it and fucks Methos on the floor.
Methos' lips are back on his as the other man manoeuvres them towards the door, fingers fumbling at Duncan's shirt as they go, bodies pressed so close together he can feel Methos' hardness pushing against his.
And all Duncan can think is that he hopes the bedroom's not too far away.
The moon shines in through the open balcony doors, illuminating the rise and fall of Methos' chest. Duncan's never noticed before just how young the other man looks when he's asleep, it makes him wonder how old Methos really was when he experienced his first death.
"He doesn't know."
The quietly spoken words cause Duncan's head to snap up, only for him to find Kronos looking back at him across Methos' form.
"How old he was," Kronos explains further. "He doesn't remember." His eyes drift back down to the pale expanse of Methos' skin. Lifting his hand, he carefully lays it on the sleeping man's body and closes his eyes.
Duncan's not sure if it's the gentleness on Kronos' face or the softness of his words when he speaks about Methos but the truth has never been more apparent. "You really love him." But the words must have been too loud in the silence, because Methos shifts, murmurs. "Shh, love." And Duncan strokes Methos' arm, waits until the other man is restful again before he carefully slips out of the bed and makes his way over to the balcony, sure that Kronos is following. He waits until the other man is next to him. "I never realised."
"Of course you did, MacLeod. You knew how I felt about him the moment my Quickening hit yours. You just didn't want to believe it."
And maybe that's the truth, after all. Because Duncan remembers the Quickening in Bordeaux. Remembers Kronos' force hitting him, overwhelming him, consuming him almost. And he remembers that split second before his own Quickening had subdued the intruder, remembers the moment of pure clarity he felt, the moment when he knew everything there was to know about Kronos. Remembers his wants, his needs, his hatred, and his love. Perhaps he just didn't want to believe it, didn't want to believe that a man capable of poisoning a world could also be capable of the deepest love, of feeling as connected to someone as Kronos feels with Methos.
"In more ways than one."
"How do you mean?"
"That part of you that recognises him, that knows what he feels like. That's me. It always will be. And understand this, MacLeod, I made a vow, a promise that I would protect him for all time. The promise hasn't changed, even if the players have."
But Duncan knows that, feels it inside him as surely as his own Immortality. He *knows* Kronos will never leave Methos, knows that he will always be there. "I know." The same way he knows that Kronos will now do his damnedest to ensure that Duncan survives. Because Kronos' continued survival, his link to Methos, depends on Duncan living through the Game. So he has little doubt that he'll soon know every trick in Kronos' book. The way he knows that if it ever came down to him and Methos, Kronos would do whatever it took to make sure Methos lived. The way he knows that *he* would do no less.
"So long as you know."
"I do." Knows it, accepts it. Accepts that he's not the only one who loves Methos, not the only one who will do what it takes to protect him. And at Kronos' nod, Duncan turns away and glances back through the windows to the bed, the moonlight still falling on Methos' gently moving chest. When he'd told Joe he had to find Methos, 'Because' had been the only reason he could voice. Now, looking at the sleeping form of his lover, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it's the only reason he really needs.