Love and Beyond, for hafital
Title: Love and Beyond
Author: pat_t
Written for: hafital
Characters/Pairings: Duncan/Methos, Methos/other
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Highlander - there be beheadings
Wordcount: 7,632
Author's Notes: Thank you to my beta (Ginger Snaps) for her expertise and words of encouragement.
Summary: Sometimes life is painful, but love is immortal.
Love and Beyond
It was one of those cold, dark nights when even the stars hid, refusing to shed light on the two men battling for their lives behind the decrepit warehouse overrun with weeds, rust and shattered windows. Despite the cold, both men had discarded their respective outerwear as exertion from the fight translated into over-heated skin. Droplets of sweat gathered into small pools under a woolen sweater despite the cold licking at exposed flesh.
Methos ducked as the other man's two-handed Claymore sliced through the frigid air towards his neck. If he had not been fighting for his life he would have marveled at the irony of the man's weapon and probable heritage. He might have even appreciated the beauty of the sword if he had the time to study it and place its origins. However, that was difficult to contemplate when the blade was welded by a master swordsman who was obviously determined to separate his head from the rest of his body.
With a grim smile, Methos stepped back, little puffs of frosty air escaping as he released the tension from his shoulders with a quick inhalation and exhalation of breath. His opponent stepped back as well, somewhat reluctantly from Methos' point of view, as he balanced his weapon and prepared for another strike. It happened so quickly, the razor-sharp blade a determined messenger of death, that Methos barely had time to react and strike back with his trusted Ivanhoe. Strike and parry, blades skidded together and pulled apart, while Methos grimaced and bristled with frustrated resolve.
The fight should have been quickly and efficiently brought to an end instead of the exhausting and mind-numbing battle that had lasted much too long. They had both sustained injuries which would have incapacitated their mortal counterparts. The term 'cluster-fuck' came to mind, eliciting a soundless giggle as the other man's superior strength forced Methos to his knees. The Claymore cut through the air with lightning speed toward his ancient neck.
******
ONE YEAR EARLIER
"Around three? Okay, sweetheart. I'll wait for you at baggage claim," Methos spoke into his cellphone.
"See you then. I love you, Neal." His wife's voice was light and sincere even over the halting phone signal in the Central Cascades.
"I love you, too." He clicked off his phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. A glance toward his friend elicited a prolonged sigh.
"What, Mac? You don't have to look so amused."
"Moi?" Duncan smiled innocently. With a chuckle, he opened the hatch of his late model dark grey Volvo XC90 and reached for their backpacks. Tossing Methos' pack in his direction, he hefted his own across his back and shoulders.
Methos caught his pack easily and shifted it into place, amused, despite his mock irritation only moments before. It was good to see Duncan smiling again.
The past few years had not been easy for either of them. But now life was good. Methos hadn't taken a head in almost five years. And, while he knew Duncan had been more active, the Game had finally quieted and slipped away, not far, he was sure, but at least far enough that both men had found peace and a chance at happiness. It had been too long coming.
"Come on, married man." Duncan chided as he pointed his remote toward his vehicle and waited for the tweet signaling it was locked and secure.
Methos grinned and fell into step beside his friend. "Hey, it's not my first time you know."
"Yeah, I know. Isn't this number 69?"
Methos chuckled. "You remember that, do you?"
Duncan halted his steps and turned toward him. "I remember everything you say, Methos."
Methos took that in, aware that an opening had presented itself in Duncan's gentle words. "I know." He smiled. With a wave of his hand he motioned them forward.
Duncan walked along beside him. Methos couldn't help glancing over at the other man as they reached the hiking trail. It had been one of their favorite past times so many years ago. Could it have been only ten years since they had explored the more intimate forms of their friendship? It seemed so much longer. He couldn't help but wonder if Duncan's thoughts had taken him to the same place.
Their time together had been good. The sex had been damn near fantastic. But they were both too headstrong and unwilling to compromise on their differing world views. When it was over, they had managed to maintain their friendship, both cherishing the time they had together and refusing to abandon the mutual affection and caring they had worked so hard to achieve.
While Duncan had had several romantic relationships over the past decade, the most serious lasting almost five years, he was currently without a significant other in his life. It was with smug amusement that he teased Methos about his newly acquired marital status.
It hadn't been something Methos was looking for. While he never lacked for company or sex when desired, there hadn't been anyone he was willing to give his heart to. He certainly had not expected to look into dark blue eyes and lose his heart the day he walked into the fashionable American owned boutique at 19 rue de Sèvres.
It had been unseasonably warm the day his phone rang as he was leaving the Paris Descartes University where he taught Linguistics. Being mildly amused as Tony, a Canadian friend --and Watcher -- had called him in a panic because he had forgotten his wedding anniversary; Methos had agreed to go to a small boutique that Tony's wife frequented and pick out a gift for him.
The shop was just closing as he arrogantly pushed his way in before the owner could turn the key and lock the door for the night. She glared at him, hands on hips, and unloaded a well delivered diatribe about his heritage and character. He fell hard. A year later he was calling Duncan to be his best man and arranging a first class seat for Joe to fly over for his wedding.
"A penny for them," Duncan said as they entered a small clearing and hefted their backpacks to the ground.
"Hm? Oh. Stop gloating, Mac. It doesn't become you." Methos smiled anyway. How could he not when Mac looked so damn smug and happy?
"You looked so far away." Duncan sat down on a small weathered boulder. "Pull up a rock."
Methos sat down across from Duncan and reached into his backpack to liberate two bottles of water. He threw one to his friend who caught it with a murmured, "thanks."
"Is there anything I can do?" Duncan asked him after they had both taken a hefty drink of water.
"No." Methos chuckled. "Actually everything is fine. Sorry, I seem to be lost in my thoughts today. It's rather rude of me, don't you think?"
"No, not if you need to think." Duncan waved his bottle toward the woods and hills around them. "This is the perfect place."
"I know. Actually, things couldn't be better."
"And you're not used to that." Duncan commented matter-of-factly.
Methos took a deep breath and looked away to collect his thoughts. It was so much easier if he wasn't looking at Duncan. And he wasn't about to examine that little fact too carefully. A moment of contemplation and his gaze fell back on his friend.
"Tell me about your move," Duncan prompted when Methos remained silent.
Methos shrugged. "We were going to stay in Paris for at least another five years before moving back to the States. I had thought about moving back to Seacouver to be close to Joe. But plans change. Autumn's mum got sick and her dad is already gone. She felt she needed to be here. So here we are."
"And?" Duncan put his empty bottle into his backpack and shifted into a more comfortable position on what Methos had already determined were decidedly too hard and uneven rocks.
"And, I love her. I didn't know I could be this happy again. If she needs to move back, then that's what we'll do. It's not like she has hundreds of years to do what she wants."
Duncan nodded his concession of the point while Methos continued to speak.
"I gave my notice at the university, checked the Watcher files for Immortal activity in the area and packed up. And here I am."
"What are the future plans for Neal Kirkland?" Duncan stood up and stretched, smiling when Methos did the same.
"Damn, I'm getting too old to sit on rocks. Remind me why we're out here again, Mac."
"Because you love it, Mr. Scrooge."
Methos shook his head. "Nope, wrong season."
"Sourpuss?"
"Where the hell did you nip that from?"
"Contrary?"
"Agreed. Shall we proceed, most amicable one."
They picked up their packs and hiked down the trail. They walked side by side, the area being wide enough to accommodate them easily. The air was crisp with the smell of grass and trees, and the heavy odor of damp wood from the rain the day before. Amazingly the trail was dry enough not to clog them down with mud for which Methos was grateful. He had dressed appropriately, of course, with a warm shirt, heavy denim jeans and heavy duty boots. Still, romping around in mud was among his least favorite activities.
"I got a job at the University of Oregon in Eugene," he continued as if he had never dropped the conversation.
"Linguistics?"
"History. Good department and they came highly recommended. Autumn's family lives outside the town, but it's an easy drive. I would rather stay in town, but we need to be close for the time being."
"I remember meeting her mother at the wedding," Duncan remarked kindly. "Nice lady. Sorry to hear she's sick."
"It's breaking Autumn's heart. She had hoped to keep the boutique open a few more years before selling it and relocating. Everything has changed and it's going to be hard for her. All I can do is be there and hope it's enough. So."
Methos sighed with a shake of his head. "This is much too maudlin. What are your plans?"
"Well, not all of us have access to Watcher files." Duncan looked over at him and grinned. "But, I think I'll stay in Seacouver awhile. Like you said, I want to stay close to Joe. He's getting older and I know he could use my help. I'm still in the antiquities business, more or less. Oregon isn't that far away. Only five hours by car."
"Is that an invitation?"
"Always open, old man. You know that." Duncan stopped and turned to Methos. The silence hung heavy between them, the air thick with unspoken words, until one of them moved and they were in each other's arms.
Methos breathed in the scent of the other man, felt the stubble against his cheek as they pressed close. Duncan's arms were comforting and safe. For one long moment he didn't want to let go. Then Duncan was taking a step back and Methos dropped his arms to his sides.
Duncan reached up to caress his cheek. "You know I will always love you."
Methos smiled as Duncan's palm slid away from his face. "I know."
"And I'll always be here for you."
"I know."
Duncan nodded and Methos felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he walked along, acutely aware of the beauty around him and Duncan's warm presence at his side.
*****
"Here, let me help," Duncan offered. He reached for Methos' suitcase and opened the front door of his newly renovated midtown apartment.
Methos nodded gratefully and hefted up the box he had shipped to Duncan prior to his trip to Seacouver. He would have liked to been able to travel with his wife, but she had to stay to sign off the lease on her boutique and Methos had to be in Eugene for an interview at the university. It only made sense to ship his journals and various weapons ahead to Mac before his arrival. It was hard enough getting his Ivanhoe through customs. He wasn't about to try and get his various guns and knives through. Not to mention the small fact that he hadn't told Autumn about his immortality as yet. He knew it wasn't fair, but he also knew her life would change forever and he didn't want that for her. So far he had been lucky and only had to fight off one very badly trained head hunter while they had been together. It had hardly been worth his time, and after calculating his risks, he had chosen to let the man go.
He slid the items into the trunk of his rented Mustang and checked his coat. His sword and gun were already in place with another firearm safely tucked into the glove compartment. He had a permit to carry and a well thought out lie about a robbery was all he had needed to explain the extra protection. He felt guilty lying to his wife, but sometimes the lie was kinder than the truth.
"Well." He turned and rubbed his hands together.
Duncan reached out to hug him. Methos hugged him back, both relieved and mildly disappointed when the other man let go of him quickly and stepped back. "Good-bye, my friend."
Methos studied Duncan's face, his heart breaking a little as he looked into concerned, brown eyes. What the hell. He stepped forward and pulled Duncan into a hard embrace. Drawing away, he felt the crisp air cool his skin where their bodies had fit together as if they still belonged. Familiar and not. But sometimes that, too, was enough.
He turned toward his car and grinned. "Later, Highlander."
Looking at the interior clock, he checked his speed and calculated his time. Autumn wasn't supposed to arrive until later that evening and he had plenty of time to check into the hotel and grab a bite to eat before going to the airport. They had decided to spend the night and rest before driving to Oregon. After all, family was already there and they would need the time alone.
It would be good to sleep in a real bed, he admitted. Duncan had offered his bed, but Methos wasn't about to kick the man onto his own couch. They could have slept together and kept their hands to themselves, but neither man was willing to put that to the test. So, Methos had happily taken the couch, keeping his fidelity as well as his sanity intact.
He was exhausted once he reached their hotel. A hot shower and good meal would go a long way to restoring his equilibrium as well as his energy. Once in the room, he plugged in his cell to charge and headed for the shower. A beep from his phone alerted him to a message and he detoured back to pick it up and flip over to his texts.
Neal, I'm between flights. Can't wait to be with you. Love you."
Methos smiled and headed for the bathroom. He had people in his life he loved who loved him back. Maybe life could be good after all.
Once clean and fed, he slid under the covers and turned on the television remote. Nothing was on except mindless entertainment, but the background noise was comforting and he settled back with his thoughts as he drifted off to sleep.
"I'm ready," the tall, slender woman announced as she swept into the room with a flurry of perfume and red satin. Her dress flared out at the hips, twirling naturally around her calves as she flitted around the room collecting her purse and turning off lights for the evening. Methos stood up from the small dark sofa and frowned. She was lovely, as usual, with her shoulder length blonde hair swept up off her shoulders with a golden clasp. His gaze roamed down her body until he realized what was wrong. Instead of the formal pumps he knew she owned she was wearing a pair of plain flat nondescript shoes.
He started to say something, but bit back the words until she approached him with a hug and light kiss to the cheek. Damn it! He gently pushed her away.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
She looked at him with clear bewilderment on her face. "Neal, I don't understand."
He took a deep breath and let it out. Reaching for her hand, he led her to the couch and sat down. Noting her worry, and feeling both annoyed and boorish, he reached up and soothed away the frown lines from between her eyes.
"Why do you always try to be less than you are with me? We're the same height, but you always scrunch down when we're together, trying to appear smaller than you are. And I know you own some lovely shoes that would go with that dress. Are you ashamed of how we look together?"
"Oh my God!" She grabbed his hand and held on tightly. "Of course not. I was afraid you were because I'm taller than you when I wear heels."
"Worried about my fragile ego, are you?" He stroked her cheek with his palm and smiled.
"A little, I guess," she admitted sheepishly. "Try to understand, Neal. It's not you, but in the past...."
Methos closed his eyes and cursed silently. "But other men have been intimidated?"
She nodded. "Oh yeah. Dropped like a bad penny." She laughed.
It sounded strained to Methos' ears although he smiled back to allow her the illusion. "Well, I'm here now and my ego has been shredded by the best of them. I can handle it. Now get on those shoes woman. The ones with the two inch heels I saw you buying at the boutique last week. I want you walking tall beside me. Always be what you are, Autumn - never what you think people want you to be."
She grinned and jumped up, pausing only long enough to lean over and plant a soft kiss on his lips. He popped her on the ass playfully and lightly pushed her in the direction of her bedroom. He smiled when he realized she was humming as she rummaged through her things to find her new shoes.
The alarm on his phone trilled and he cursed as he opened gritty eyes and debated throwing the annoying object out the nearest window. Coherent thought finally broke through a sleep fogged mind and he realized it was time to get up and head for the airport. A stop at the lobby's Starbucks did a lot to wake him and restore his faith in mankind. The concierge assured him traffic was running smoothly. Finding a seat in the lobby, he pulled out his iPad and found a local florist. He should have just enough time to make a stop on his way to the airport.
He climbed in his car and set the half dozen pink roses on the passenger side seat. Turning on the local rock station, he eased out into the early evening traffic and headed toward the airport.
He knocked loudly on her apartment door, a box of twelve long-stemmed red roses balanced under his other arm. She finally answered the door, hand on hip and a frown on her face.
He cleared his throat. "May I come in?"
She moved away from the door and he assumed that meant he was allowed to enter. She had yet to speak and that wasn't a good sign.
"I...here." He shoved the box in her direction.
She reached for it cautiously and peered inside. If she was pleased, he couldn't tell from her bland expression.
He followed her to the couch, watching her carefully as she apparently gave the roses little thought as the box was negligently set aside on the hall table.
He held out his hands in surrender. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call your friend an ass."
Her dark blue eyes flashed and he shifted back in reaction. Something dangerous was building behind those eyes.
"I see. And you thought a dozen red roses would make it all better and you could come over here and everything would be okay?"
"Well," he said with a long suffering sigh. "I had hoped." He shrugged.
She glared.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay. What will it take for me to make it up to you? Anything. Just tell me."
"Well...." She looked away in thought. "There is a new dress at the boutique I would really love to have, but it's a bit expensive."
He perked up. "Done."
"And," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "There's a new musical at the Théâtre du Châtelet I would love to see."
"I'll get tickets," he acquiesced easily.
"I want to go to London for my birthday."
"London is nice this time of year," he responded suspiciously. "Anything else?"
She grinned. "I don't know. How far can I milk this?"
"Damn you." He laughed and lunged at her.
She jumped up and ran from the couch with him close on her heels. Around the kitchen and halfway around the living room and he was gaining fast. She threw a pillow at his head; he ducked and tackled her to the couch. He found her ticklish spots and she was lost in laughter as she writhed and rolled to get out of his grasp.
He showed her no mercy as she kicked and tried to push him away. An inelegant snort, followed by muffled words had him chuckling uncontrollably. Finally, unable to control his laughter any longer, he let her up and grinned openly at her embarrassment.
"What did you say?" he asked innocently as she brushed her hair back from her face and tried to straighten her clothes into some semblance of order.
"I said," she said haughtily, "I'm about to piss my pants. Thank you very much." She got up with all the dignity she could muster and walked toward her bedroom with a large wet spot between her legs.
Methos sniggered. "What about your friend?" He called to her retreating form as she disappeared down the hall.
"Oh, he's an ass," her voice floated back to him. A beat passed and she peeked around the corner of the doorway. "And just for future reference - pink roses - six. Red roses are so cliché.
Thankfully, the concierge was correct and traffic was not backed up. He got to the airport in plenty of time to find a short-term parking space. Baggage was also easily found, and he plopped down on a hard, plastic seat, roses set next to him. Taking out his iPad, he switched over to his saved books and began to read.
The television was too loud as the ingénue screamed.
"Look behind you!" Methos yelled at the screen. The girl screamed as the grotesque villain knifed her from behind. "Told you." Methos laughed.
Beside him his lover was cowering, knees updrawn to her chest, while she covered her eyes and played with her toes.
He slapped at her hand. "Stop playing with your toes."
She peeked between two fingers and glared. "I can't stand these movies."
He grinned. "Next time you can pick the movie."
"That's what you said last time. And you still came home with...." She covered her eyes and shrieked when the malformed man knifed another teenager. She picked at her toe. "I hate you."
Methos laughed again and slapped at her hand. "No you don't. You love me."
Looping her arms around her legs, she leaned forward and closed her eyes tightly to block out the movie. "How long before I get to pick a movie? The whole time we've been dating you've been bringing these disgusting things home."
Methos muted the sound and turned toward her. "How about the rest of our lives?"
She lifted her head and looked at him in confusion.
Methos got up and reached for his coat. Pulling out a small box, he returned to the couch and faced her.
"Will you marry me, Autumn Myers? Will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Neal Kirkland?"
She gulped and stared at the box wild-eyed. "Marry?" She whispered breathlessly.
He reached over and took her hand. "I love you. Will you marry me? I promise you can pick the movies from now on. Well, as long as I get to pick one every now and then," he added with a wicked grin.
Thinking back to that night made him smile. In retrospect, he wasn't sure if she said yes before or after she had tackled him on the couch and covered him with kisses. And while it wasn't the way he had intended to propose, he wouldn't change a single moment.
Methos looked at the electronic display board and noticed Autumn's flight had finally landed. Waiting until he saw passengers enter the baggage area, he carefully picked up the roses and stood to face the entrance. It wasn't long before he saw her, long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in a comfortable blue checked long sleeve top, jeans and Nikes. She yelped and flew into his arms while he quickly moved the roses out of the way to keep them from getting crushed. Once the initial greeting was over she took her offering with a smile.
"I missed you," he told her as they walked toward the baggage carousel.
"I missed you, too. Did you have a good visit with your friend?"
"Yeah, it's been awhile since we've talked. It was nice catching up."
A moment later and her luggage was whisked away. He led her toward his rented car as she enthusiastically updated him on the latest gossip from Paris.
"I'm starving," she announced as they pulled into the hotel parking lot.
"I am too," he agreed slyly. Popping open the trunk, he reached in to pull out her luggage. "It's been almost a week since we've made love," he added with a wink.
She laughed. "Not that, you moron."
He stuck out his tongue childishly and she giggled. "Okay, not only that. How about room service and then I take care of you, big guy?"
"Hmm, I like the way you think," he whispered as they entered the glass doors.
"Big guy? Is that a compliment?"
"Stop fishing." She laughed and tweaked his nose playfully.
Morning came much too soon, Methos thought as he loaded the car with their luggage. Autumn met him at the car with two large coffees. "Guess that's everything," she announced.
"Does your family know we're coming this morning?" Methos inquired as he slammed the trunk closed.
They settled in and shifted into comfortable positions for the long drive before she answered.
"Yeah, I called mom before I got on the plane. She can't wait to see me." She sighed in resignation. "She sounded awful. I don't know what to do, Neal. How can I lose her now?" Tears welled up in her eyes and Methos reached over to tenderly brush one away.
"I'll be there with you. We'll make it together," he assured her soothingly.
Receiving a nod in response, and feeling mildly reassured, he started the car and pulled out onto the street. She smiled tentatively and reached for his hand.
They were miles away from the city when he felt it, a familiar chill that etched down his spine like nails on a chalkboard. Looking into the rear view mirror, he frowned as the dark blue pickup pulled up dangerously close to his back bumper. He sped up and scowled when the truck sped up as well. Autumn looked at him worriedly.
"What's wrong with that guy?" She turned in her seat to see what the truck was doing, just as it bumped their car, causing Methos to swerve dangerously. Clutching at the steering wheel, he cursed as he fought to right his wheels on the road. Beside him, Autumn cried out as the truck crashed into them again and they spun out of control. Methos fought to keep the car on the highway, but one more hard push from the truck and they were flying onto a rocky bluff. The car careened down, shaking and tumbling as it hit rock and gravel. Autumn was screaming beside him as she was jerked and flung against the windshield as it gave way. Methos tried to hang on, but the car hit a boulder and flipped over, sending it crashing down to land upright in the debris.
He was dazed and bloody when he came to. Reaching over to his wife, he cried out in anguish as he discovered glass embedded in her chest and neck, her head twisted at an unnatural angle. With a shuddering breath, he reached over and touched her face tenderly, only to have the moment abruptly shattered when Immortal presence slithered up his spine. His hands were slippery with blood, and he wiped them haphazardly on his jeans before reaching into the glove compartment to pull out his gun.
It didn't take long for the other Immortal to climb down to their car. Methos grasped his gun beside his leg, closed his eyes and waited until the man was a hair-breadth away from the driver side door. Obviously thinking Methos was either dead or unconscious, the Immortal sheathed his sword and pulled on the smashed car door until it opened, which pushed him back unsteadily with the effort. Righting himself quickly, he reached inside his coat. Methos peered between slit eyes as the Immortal pulled out his weapon. With deadly precision, Methos turned and shot him point blank in the face. He fell with a hard thud.
Methos reached for his coat and climbed out of the car wearily, his wounds slowly healing as he pulled himself up. Retrieving the Immortal's sword, he brought it down hard, and severed the man's head from his body. All went silent as the air bristled with a heavy aura of power. Then the quickening was rising up from the dead man's body and striking Methos relentlessly until the car exploded, catching on fire, and throwing him several feet across the rocky incline. The area was engulfed in flames almost immediately as Methos scrambled away and climbed the hill. He was relieved to find the Immortal's truck still idling safely on the highway away from the fire. Tiredly, he climbed in and drove away with one quick look back as his life went up in flames.
*****
He drove for hours, not knowing or caring where the highway led. His wounds had healed, although he was a bloody mess, a fact he scarcely noticed, as his mind was numb with both grief and anger. He had checked the Watcher files carefully before leaving Paris. Where the hell did this guy come from? The problem was that some Immortals were too dangerous to have a Watcher assigned to them. He suspected this bastard was one of them. Pulling into an out of the way service station, he went into the unlocked men's room and washed up as best he could. His wallet was in his coat pocket as well, which was at least one thing in his favor. He could fill up the truck with gas until he got to a motel to shower and rest.
He contemplated using one of his many new identities already set up in case of an emergency. The other possibility was to access one of his untraceable accounts for cash and let Neal Kirkland die. The problem was that he wasn't ready for Neal to die just because some son-of-a-bitch decided to ignore the rules and tear his life apart. Somehow it seemed a betrayal to his wife and the love they shared to just walk away.
He wasn't sure if he was being hunted, personally, or if the other Immortal had just come upon them by chance. However, he conceded, at this point it mattered very little. If they wanted Neal; let them come. It was time he re-entered the game, and they were in for a nasty surprise. He didn't play by the rules either.
It was well dark when he reached a motel. Pulling his coat around himself tightly, he went into the office and paid for a room. A shower washed the blood and gore from his body. He would have to stop somewhere to get clothes, but for the moment he was at least clean. He was weary and heart sick when he looked into the mirror, too empty inside to notice the hardness in his eyes or chiseled determination on his face.
Before he left the next morning, after a long and restless night, he dropped money into a nearby vending machine and pulled out several bags of chips and a soda. His first order of business was finding a town to buy clothes and a laptop. With that thought in mind, he started the truck and headed eastward.
He reached Albuquerque and pulled into a Walmart Supercenter. Once he had acquired several pairs of jeans, shirts and a new laptop, he drove to the nearest motel and logged on to the Watcher website. It wasn't difficult to find the names of the Immortals too dangerous to be followed. Even without a Watcher tailing them, many had been located and officially documented. Bless the Watchers, he mused.
******
Duncan Macleod stepped into Joe's Blues Bar. Mike cocked his head toward the back office when he noticed Duncan looking for his friend and Watcher. Duncan nodded his thanks and headed for the small room where Joe kept his records and files.
"Come in," the gruff voice invited.
"Joe."
The older man looked up from his computer, a scowl marring an otherwise handsome, if weathered, face. "Mac, glad you're here."
Curious, Duncan eased around Joe's chair and stared over his shoulder to the desktop.
"What's wrong? You made it sound like it's important."
"It could be." Joe sat back, prompting Duncan to step away as the computer chair squeaked with Joe's weight. "How are you holding up?"
"Not particularly well, but you already know that. Why don't you tell me what's going on."
"You know, we never were able to identify both bodies found in the accident."
"Joe, don't do this." Duncan paced to the couch and sat down heavily. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, his body already tensing from the implications of Joe's words.
"Look, I know it was his rental. And Autumn's body was identified through DNA. But Methos didn't have dental records or DNA to positively identify him."
"What's the point, Dawson?" Duncan asked, already disgruntled with the discussion.
Clearly not intimidated by his Immortal's annoyance, Joe pressed on. "Look, Mac. We know the man's head had been separated from the body. The coroner guessed the explosion had caused the decapitation prior to the fire. But I think we both know better. I got one of my guys to get his hands on the burnt and partially melted sword. Mac, it wasn't the Ivanhoe. And if that was Methos, where was his sword and whose sword was at the scene?"
That got Duncan's attention and he looked up to meet his friend's eyes. "When did you get the sword?" he asked suspiciously.
"Hold on, Mac. Just a few days ago. It took a little maneuvering to get our guy in there. And look at this." He pointed to his computer screen.
Duncan got up and walked around Joe's desk to, once again, look at the computer screen over Joe's shoulder. It took a moment to comprehend what he was seeing.
"These Immortals are on our too dangerous to assign list." He flipped through several screens, each highlighting a different Immortal. "We do have people keeping an eye on them, but not actively following them. That way we at least have an idea what area they are in."
"And?"
"And, someone has been hacking into my files. My system's been alerting me to a potential threat for several months. Last week I was contacted about a verified security breach by one of our guys at IT. It's one of the reasons I made sure we got a hold of the sword. Each one of these Immortals has been killed over the last few months. One by one they have been beheaded. Without a Watcher on them, we don't know who the Immortal is taking them out. But we found out that one of these son-of-a-bitches was in the same area Methos was in when his car went off the road. If Methos isn't the Immortal killed in the accident, the bastard has been using his ID to rent motel rooms. Interestingly enough, we've been able to track the Immortal in a straight line where every one of these bastards was killed."
"You think it was Methos?" Duncan asked cautiously.
"I don't know, Mac. But it's very damn strange that Methos' sword is missing, but the other Immortal's was found at the scene. Someone has been using Neal Kirkland's ID to buy gas, rent motel rooms and we even found where it was used at a Walmart in Albuquerque, New Mexico. And every one of the Immortals killed is on the same route this guy is taking."
"Who is left on the list and where is he located, Joe? We have to find out for sure."
"I thought you would ask. Here...." He flipped over to a different screen and a different Immortal's face appeared. "Jake Boston. A thousand years old and dangerous as hell. He's taken out some of the best swordsmen and doesn't care how he does it or who he has to kill to get to them either. A real sweet guy," Joe added sarcastically.
"Well, I guess that's where I'm headed."
"Be careful, man. I'm not overestimating this bastard. He's taken out some real tough Immortals."
"I know. But someone has to stop him. And I need to see who is using Methos' ID. It might lead me to whoever killed Autumn, or even if Methos somehow survived. We need answers, Joe. And so far this is our only lead."
Joe nodded and scrubbed at his beard in resignation. Evidently, there was nothing left to say.
******
Methos fell across the bed wearily. He had taken fifteen quickenings in the past few months. The power and hatred from the Immortals he had killed was searing him apart inside, yet nothing was taking away the pain and sense of loss he still felt. He thought revenge would ease the hurt. Just the knowledge that he had taken out the most evil of his race, and the fact that they couldn’t hurt anyone any longer, should have eased the pain. But it was still there, as raw and new as the day of the accident.
The last Immortal had been a bloody nobody named Jake Boston. His quickening had almost flayed Methos alive. That power should have made him stronger, but instead he only felt bruised and battered. Even the bottle of whiskey he had tried to climb into hadn’t eased the pain. He just wanted to go home, but didn’t know where that was any longer.
Going to sleep was difficult with the quickening still pulsating inside him. He tossed and turned most of the night. Shifting onto his back, he looked around. The moon was reflecting just enough light into the room to outline the stark emptiness of the grimy motel room. He sighed tiredly. It was time. He had worked out his anger and now it was time to work past his grief. The only problem was that he didn't know how. That thought elicited a giggle that quickly turned into a choked sob. He was five thousand years old. He had lost thousands of lovers over the years and he had survived every loss. Now he didn't know how he could go on. God, he was pathetic. Mortals survived the loss of their loved ones every day.
With determination, he thought out his plans. Tomorrow he would pack up and head back to Seacouver where the people he loved remained. With their support he knew he could get through this. Just a few more days, and with that thought he drifted off to sleep.
******
Two nights later he was crossing the border into Washington State. He thought about calling Duncan, but decided to wait until he reached Seacouver. He was exhausted and felt sick inside. What could he possibly say over the phone? And he honestly didn't know how he would be received. He hadn't even gone to Autumn's funeral or contacted her family. He truly was a bastard sometimes, he admitted. Would Mac think so as well? Maybe he wouldn't even be welcomed back. What if he was turned away? Where would he go if Mac didn't want him there? Truthfully, it was now time to let Neal Kirkland go and start over. Maybe it was better if he severed all ties to his past. Ironically, he knew in his heart he didn't want to leave his friends and wasn't sure he really could.
The warning light on his gas gauge alerted him to the fact that he needed to get fuel before coasting down the barren streets by the peer. Knowing there was a one- stop gas station not too far from his location, he headed in that direction. Unfortunately, the truck wasn't cooperating as it puttered one last time and pulled to a stop, the gas hand well past empty. Getting out of the truck with an angry slam of the door, he reached for the gas can he knew was in the back. He had only taken a few steps away from the truck when he felt Immortal presence. 'Fucking wonderful', he cursed irritably. His senses sharp, he looked around until he spotted the Immortal leaning against the wall of an abandoned, boarded up warehouse.
PRESENT DAY
The Claymore sliced through the air towards his neck. He kicked out, his heavy boots connecting with the other man's ankles, the Claymore slicing across his chest instead, as the man crashed to the ground. With a moan, Methos rolled away, his arm crossed protectively to his chest as he bled through his clothing. It was hilarious if he thought about it. He had been hunting and killing for almost a year. Now that he was determined to let his anger go, he was the one being hunted and would probably lose his head in this filthy, rotting hell-hole.
The other Immortal grasped his sword and climbed to his feet. Methos had already claimed his Ivanhoe from the pavement and was on guard before the man swung. Two slices across Methos' abdomen and the man grinned ferally, obviously assured victory was only moments away. Methos was exhausted. Giving up would be so easy -- finally to let the pain go-to find out what lay on the other side of true death.
Could he do it? Could he give up and let this bastard take his quickening?
Suddenly, the resolve he needed surfaced and he forced himself to stand up straighter and grasp his sword more firmly as the other man surged toward him with his blade. Methos twisted his body out and away, and swung with all his might with a powerful back-handed blow. The Immortal's head hit the pavement with a sickening thunk , and Methos fell to the ground bloody, exhausted and spent, as the quickening rose up angrily with a terrifying rush of power.
The last electrical charge entered him and died as he sat down heavily, using the brick wall to support his body. He tucked his legs up toward his chest and leaned forward until his forehead was resting against his knees. Someone was sobbing, a gut-wrenching sound that carried away on the wind. From far off, he felt the strum of another Immortal's quickening. The sobbing had gotten louder and he clung to his knees in desperation as the other Immortal approached.
Then gentle hands were pulling him up and toward a broad chest. Strong arms held him tightly and a familiar voice spoke words of comfort and support.
"Methos, it's okay. You're home and I've got you."
When he was helped up, he couldn't do anything but hold on, grateful that whoever was sobbing had now quieted. His ears were ringing and he had a headache. Thankfully, he was pushed into a car with a soft leather seat. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
******
Methos walked down the sidewalk toward Joe's Bar. The light breeze had pulled the moisture from the air as it caressed his skin, and he looked up toward the grey sky, silently noting that it would probably rain soon. The last few weeks had been a blur as he was nurtured and cared for by his friends. Mac had been taking care of Autumn's family, her mother's illness now improved, if only temporarily. They had a private memorial for Autumn so Methos could mourn her death with the love she deserved. He was improving slowly, knowing the mind and spirit were immune to Immortal healing. Duncan had been his lifeline and he knew he was lucky to have someone he trusted and loved no matter what life threw at him.
He wasn't surprised when he felt Immortal presence and heard rushed footsteps behind him. Slowing his pace, he felt the constricting bands around his heart loosen a little more as he was bathed in his friend's warmth and generous spirit as he drew near.
They didn't speak as they walked side by side. There was no need for words as Duncan took his hand.
The End
Author: pat_t
Written for: hafital
Characters/Pairings: Duncan/Methos, Methos/other
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Highlander - there be beheadings
Wordcount: 7,632
Author's Notes: Thank you to my beta (Ginger Snaps) for her expertise and words of encouragement.
Summary: Sometimes life is painful, but love is immortal.
Love and Beyond
It was one of those cold, dark nights when even the stars hid, refusing to shed light on the two men battling for their lives behind the decrepit warehouse overrun with weeds, rust and shattered windows. Despite the cold, both men had discarded their respective outerwear as exertion from the fight translated into over-heated skin. Droplets of sweat gathered into small pools under a woolen sweater despite the cold licking at exposed flesh.
Methos ducked as the other man's two-handed Claymore sliced through the frigid air towards his neck. If he had not been fighting for his life he would have marveled at the irony of the man's weapon and probable heritage. He might have even appreciated the beauty of the sword if he had the time to study it and place its origins. However, that was difficult to contemplate when the blade was welded by a master swordsman who was obviously determined to separate his head from the rest of his body.
With a grim smile, Methos stepped back, little puffs of frosty air escaping as he released the tension from his shoulders with a quick inhalation and exhalation of breath. His opponent stepped back as well, somewhat reluctantly from Methos' point of view, as he balanced his weapon and prepared for another strike. It happened so quickly, the razor-sharp blade a determined messenger of death, that Methos barely had time to react and strike back with his trusted Ivanhoe. Strike and parry, blades skidded together and pulled apart, while Methos grimaced and bristled with frustrated resolve.
The fight should have been quickly and efficiently brought to an end instead of the exhausting and mind-numbing battle that had lasted much too long. They had both sustained injuries which would have incapacitated their mortal counterparts. The term 'cluster-fuck' came to mind, eliciting a soundless giggle as the other man's superior strength forced Methos to his knees. The Claymore cut through the air with lightning speed toward his ancient neck.
******
ONE YEAR EARLIER
"Around three? Okay, sweetheart. I'll wait for you at baggage claim," Methos spoke into his cellphone.
"See you then. I love you, Neal." His wife's voice was light and sincere even over the halting phone signal in the Central Cascades.
"I love you, too." He clicked off his phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. A glance toward his friend elicited a prolonged sigh.
"What, Mac? You don't have to look so amused."
"Moi?" Duncan smiled innocently. With a chuckle, he opened the hatch of his late model dark grey Volvo XC90 and reached for their backpacks. Tossing Methos' pack in his direction, he hefted his own across his back and shoulders.
Methos caught his pack easily and shifted it into place, amused, despite his mock irritation only moments before. It was good to see Duncan smiling again.
The past few years had not been easy for either of them. But now life was good. Methos hadn't taken a head in almost five years. And, while he knew Duncan had been more active, the Game had finally quieted and slipped away, not far, he was sure, but at least far enough that both men had found peace and a chance at happiness. It had been too long coming.
"Come on, married man." Duncan chided as he pointed his remote toward his vehicle and waited for the tweet signaling it was locked and secure.
Methos grinned and fell into step beside his friend. "Hey, it's not my first time you know."
"Yeah, I know. Isn't this number 69?"
Methos chuckled. "You remember that, do you?"
Duncan halted his steps and turned toward him. "I remember everything you say, Methos."
Methos took that in, aware that an opening had presented itself in Duncan's gentle words. "I know." He smiled. With a wave of his hand he motioned them forward.
Duncan walked along beside him. Methos couldn't help glancing over at the other man as they reached the hiking trail. It had been one of their favorite past times so many years ago. Could it have been only ten years since they had explored the more intimate forms of their friendship? It seemed so much longer. He couldn't help but wonder if Duncan's thoughts had taken him to the same place.
Their time together had been good. The sex had been damn near fantastic. But they were both too headstrong and unwilling to compromise on their differing world views. When it was over, they had managed to maintain their friendship, both cherishing the time they had together and refusing to abandon the mutual affection and caring they had worked so hard to achieve.
While Duncan had had several romantic relationships over the past decade, the most serious lasting almost five years, he was currently without a significant other in his life. It was with smug amusement that he teased Methos about his newly acquired marital status.
It hadn't been something Methos was looking for. While he never lacked for company or sex when desired, there hadn't been anyone he was willing to give his heart to. He certainly had not expected to look into dark blue eyes and lose his heart the day he walked into the fashionable American owned boutique at 19 rue de Sèvres.
It had been unseasonably warm the day his phone rang as he was leaving the Paris Descartes University where he taught Linguistics. Being mildly amused as Tony, a Canadian friend --and Watcher -- had called him in a panic because he had forgotten his wedding anniversary; Methos had agreed to go to a small boutique that Tony's wife frequented and pick out a gift for him.
The shop was just closing as he arrogantly pushed his way in before the owner could turn the key and lock the door for the night. She glared at him, hands on hips, and unloaded a well delivered diatribe about his heritage and character. He fell hard. A year later he was calling Duncan to be his best man and arranging a first class seat for Joe to fly over for his wedding.
"A penny for them," Duncan said as they entered a small clearing and hefted their backpacks to the ground.
"Hm? Oh. Stop gloating, Mac. It doesn't become you." Methos smiled anyway. How could he not when Mac looked so damn smug and happy?
"You looked so far away." Duncan sat down on a small weathered boulder. "Pull up a rock."
Methos sat down across from Duncan and reached into his backpack to liberate two bottles of water. He threw one to his friend who caught it with a murmured, "thanks."
"Is there anything I can do?" Duncan asked him after they had both taken a hefty drink of water.
"No." Methos chuckled. "Actually everything is fine. Sorry, I seem to be lost in my thoughts today. It's rather rude of me, don't you think?"
"No, not if you need to think." Duncan waved his bottle toward the woods and hills around them. "This is the perfect place."
"I know. Actually, things couldn't be better."
"And you're not used to that." Duncan commented matter-of-factly.
Methos took a deep breath and looked away to collect his thoughts. It was so much easier if he wasn't looking at Duncan. And he wasn't about to examine that little fact too carefully. A moment of contemplation and his gaze fell back on his friend.
"Tell me about your move," Duncan prompted when Methos remained silent.
Methos shrugged. "We were going to stay in Paris for at least another five years before moving back to the States. I had thought about moving back to Seacouver to be close to Joe. But plans change. Autumn's mum got sick and her dad is already gone. She felt she needed to be here. So here we are."
"And?" Duncan put his empty bottle into his backpack and shifted into a more comfortable position on what Methos had already determined were decidedly too hard and uneven rocks.
"And, I love her. I didn't know I could be this happy again. If she needs to move back, then that's what we'll do. It's not like she has hundreds of years to do what she wants."
Duncan nodded his concession of the point while Methos continued to speak.
"I gave my notice at the university, checked the Watcher files for Immortal activity in the area and packed up. And here I am."
"What are the future plans for Neal Kirkland?" Duncan stood up and stretched, smiling when Methos did the same.
"Damn, I'm getting too old to sit on rocks. Remind me why we're out here again, Mac."
"Because you love it, Mr. Scrooge."
Methos shook his head. "Nope, wrong season."
"Sourpuss?"
"Where the hell did you nip that from?"
"Contrary?"
"Agreed. Shall we proceed, most amicable one."
They picked up their packs and hiked down the trail. They walked side by side, the area being wide enough to accommodate them easily. The air was crisp with the smell of grass and trees, and the heavy odor of damp wood from the rain the day before. Amazingly the trail was dry enough not to clog them down with mud for which Methos was grateful. He had dressed appropriately, of course, with a warm shirt, heavy denim jeans and heavy duty boots. Still, romping around in mud was among his least favorite activities.
"I got a job at the University of Oregon in Eugene," he continued as if he had never dropped the conversation.
"Linguistics?"
"History. Good department and they came highly recommended. Autumn's family lives outside the town, but it's an easy drive. I would rather stay in town, but we need to be close for the time being."
"I remember meeting her mother at the wedding," Duncan remarked kindly. "Nice lady. Sorry to hear she's sick."
"It's breaking Autumn's heart. She had hoped to keep the boutique open a few more years before selling it and relocating. Everything has changed and it's going to be hard for her. All I can do is be there and hope it's enough. So."
Methos sighed with a shake of his head. "This is much too maudlin. What are your plans?"
"Well, not all of us have access to Watcher files." Duncan looked over at him and grinned. "But, I think I'll stay in Seacouver awhile. Like you said, I want to stay close to Joe. He's getting older and I know he could use my help. I'm still in the antiquities business, more or less. Oregon isn't that far away. Only five hours by car."
"Is that an invitation?"
"Always open, old man. You know that." Duncan stopped and turned to Methos. The silence hung heavy between them, the air thick with unspoken words, until one of them moved and they were in each other's arms.
Methos breathed in the scent of the other man, felt the stubble against his cheek as they pressed close. Duncan's arms were comforting and safe. For one long moment he didn't want to let go. Then Duncan was taking a step back and Methos dropped his arms to his sides.
Duncan reached up to caress his cheek. "You know I will always love you."
Methos smiled as Duncan's palm slid away from his face. "I know."
"And I'll always be here for you."
"I know."
Duncan nodded and Methos felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he walked along, acutely aware of the beauty around him and Duncan's warm presence at his side.
*****
"Here, let me help," Duncan offered. He reached for Methos' suitcase and opened the front door of his newly renovated midtown apartment.
Methos nodded gratefully and hefted up the box he had shipped to Duncan prior to his trip to Seacouver. He would have liked to been able to travel with his wife, but she had to stay to sign off the lease on her boutique and Methos had to be in Eugene for an interview at the university. It only made sense to ship his journals and various weapons ahead to Mac before his arrival. It was hard enough getting his Ivanhoe through customs. He wasn't about to try and get his various guns and knives through. Not to mention the small fact that he hadn't told Autumn about his immortality as yet. He knew it wasn't fair, but he also knew her life would change forever and he didn't want that for her. So far he had been lucky and only had to fight off one very badly trained head hunter while they had been together. It had hardly been worth his time, and after calculating his risks, he had chosen to let the man go.
He slid the items into the trunk of his rented Mustang and checked his coat. His sword and gun were already in place with another firearm safely tucked into the glove compartment. He had a permit to carry and a well thought out lie about a robbery was all he had needed to explain the extra protection. He felt guilty lying to his wife, but sometimes the lie was kinder than the truth.
"Well." He turned and rubbed his hands together.
Duncan reached out to hug him. Methos hugged him back, both relieved and mildly disappointed when the other man let go of him quickly and stepped back. "Good-bye, my friend."
Methos studied Duncan's face, his heart breaking a little as he looked into concerned, brown eyes. What the hell. He stepped forward and pulled Duncan into a hard embrace. Drawing away, he felt the crisp air cool his skin where their bodies had fit together as if they still belonged. Familiar and not. But sometimes that, too, was enough.
He turned toward his car and grinned. "Later, Highlander."
Looking at the interior clock, he checked his speed and calculated his time. Autumn wasn't supposed to arrive until later that evening and he had plenty of time to check into the hotel and grab a bite to eat before going to the airport. They had decided to spend the night and rest before driving to Oregon. After all, family was already there and they would need the time alone.
It would be good to sleep in a real bed, he admitted. Duncan had offered his bed, but Methos wasn't about to kick the man onto his own couch. They could have slept together and kept their hands to themselves, but neither man was willing to put that to the test. So, Methos had happily taken the couch, keeping his fidelity as well as his sanity intact.
He was exhausted once he reached their hotel. A hot shower and good meal would go a long way to restoring his equilibrium as well as his energy. Once in the room, he plugged in his cell to charge and headed for the shower. A beep from his phone alerted him to a message and he detoured back to pick it up and flip over to his texts.
Neal, I'm between flights. Can't wait to be with you. Love you."
Methos smiled and headed for the bathroom. He had people in his life he loved who loved him back. Maybe life could be good after all.
Once clean and fed, he slid under the covers and turned on the television remote. Nothing was on except mindless entertainment, but the background noise was comforting and he settled back with his thoughts as he drifted off to sleep.
"I'm ready," the tall, slender woman announced as she swept into the room with a flurry of perfume and red satin. Her dress flared out at the hips, twirling naturally around her calves as she flitted around the room collecting her purse and turning off lights for the evening. Methos stood up from the small dark sofa and frowned. She was lovely, as usual, with her shoulder length blonde hair swept up off her shoulders with a golden clasp. His gaze roamed down her body until he realized what was wrong. Instead of the formal pumps he knew she owned she was wearing a pair of plain flat nondescript shoes.
He started to say something, but bit back the words until she approached him with a hug and light kiss to the cheek. Damn it! He gently pushed her away.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
She looked at him with clear bewilderment on her face. "Neal, I don't understand."
He took a deep breath and let it out. Reaching for her hand, he led her to the couch and sat down. Noting her worry, and feeling both annoyed and boorish, he reached up and soothed away the frown lines from between her eyes.
"Why do you always try to be less than you are with me? We're the same height, but you always scrunch down when we're together, trying to appear smaller than you are. And I know you own some lovely shoes that would go with that dress. Are you ashamed of how we look together?"
"Oh my God!" She grabbed his hand and held on tightly. "Of course not. I was afraid you were because I'm taller than you when I wear heels."
"Worried about my fragile ego, are you?" He stroked her cheek with his palm and smiled.
"A little, I guess," she admitted sheepishly. "Try to understand, Neal. It's not you, but in the past...."
Methos closed his eyes and cursed silently. "But other men have been intimidated?"
She nodded. "Oh yeah. Dropped like a bad penny." She laughed.
It sounded strained to Methos' ears although he smiled back to allow her the illusion. "Well, I'm here now and my ego has been shredded by the best of them. I can handle it. Now get on those shoes woman. The ones with the two inch heels I saw you buying at the boutique last week. I want you walking tall beside me. Always be what you are, Autumn - never what you think people want you to be."
She grinned and jumped up, pausing only long enough to lean over and plant a soft kiss on his lips. He popped her on the ass playfully and lightly pushed her in the direction of her bedroom. He smiled when he realized she was humming as she rummaged through her things to find her new shoes.
The alarm on his phone trilled and he cursed as he opened gritty eyes and debated throwing the annoying object out the nearest window. Coherent thought finally broke through a sleep fogged mind and he realized it was time to get up and head for the airport. A stop at the lobby's Starbucks did a lot to wake him and restore his faith in mankind. The concierge assured him traffic was running smoothly. Finding a seat in the lobby, he pulled out his iPad and found a local florist. He should have just enough time to make a stop on his way to the airport.
He climbed in his car and set the half dozen pink roses on the passenger side seat. Turning on the local rock station, he eased out into the early evening traffic and headed toward the airport.
He knocked loudly on her apartment door, a box of twelve long-stemmed red roses balanced under his other arm. She finally answered the door, hand on hip and a frown on her face.
He cleared his throat. "May I come in?"
She moved away from the door and he assumed that meant he was allowed to enter. She had yet to speak and that wasn't a good sign.
"I...here." He shoved the box in her direction.
She reached for it cautiously and peered inside. If she was pleased, he couldn't tell from her bland expression.
He followed her to the couch, watching her carefully as she apparently gave the roses little thought as the box was negligently set aside on the hall table.
He held out his hands in surrender. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call your friend an ass."
Her dark blue eyes flashed and he shifted back in reaction. Something dangerous was building behind those eyes.
"I see. And you thought a dozen red roses would make it all better and you could come over here and everything would be okay?"
"Well," he said with a long suffering sigh. "I had hoped." He shrugged.
She glared.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay. What will it take for me to make it up to you? Anything. Just tell me."
"Well...." She looked away in thought. "There is a new dress at the boutique I would really love to have, but it's a bit expensive."
He perked up. "Done."
"And," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "There's a new musical at the Théâtre du Châtelet I would love to see."
"I'll get tickets," he acquiesced easily.
"I want to go to London for my birthday."
"London is nice this time of year," he responded suspiciously. "Anything else?"
She grinned. "I don't know. How far can I milk this?"
"Damn you." He laughed and lunged at her.
She jumped up and ran from the couch with him close on her heels. Around the kitchen and halfway around the living room and he was gaining fast. She threw a pillow at his head; he ducked and tackled her to the couch. He found her ticklish spots and she was lost in laughter as she writhed and rolled to get out of his grasp.
He showed her no mercy as she kicked and tried to push him away. An inelegant snort, followed by muffled words had him chuckling uncontrollably. Finally, unable to control his laughter any longer, he let her up and grinned openly at her embarrassment.
"What did you say?" he asked innocently as she brushed her hair back from her face and tried to straighten her clothes into some semblance of order.
"I said," she said haughtily, "I'm about to piss my pants. Thank you very much." She got up with all the dignity she could muster and walked toward her bedroom with a large wet spot between her legs.
Methos sniggered. "What about your friend?" He called to her retreating form as she disappeared down the hall.
"Oh, he's an ass," her voice floated back to him. A beat passed and she peeked around the corner of the doorway. "And just for future reference - pink roses - six. Red roses are so cliché.
Thankfully, the concierge was correct and traffic was not backed up. He got to the airport in plenty of time to find a short-term parking space. Baggage was also easily found, and he plopped down on a hard, plastic seat, roses set next to him. Taking out his iPad, he switched over to his saved books and began to read.
The television was too loud as the ingénue screamed.
"Look behind you!" Methos yelled at the screen. The girl screamed as the grotesque villain knifed her from behind. "Told you." Methos laughed.
Beside him his lover was cowering, knees updrawn to her chest, while she covered her eyes and played with her toes.
He slapped at her hand. "Stop playing with your toes."
She peeked between two fingers and glared. "I can't stand these movies."
He grinned. "Next time you can pick the movie."
"That's what you said last time. And you still came home with...." She covered her eyes and shrieked when the malformed man knifed another teenager. She picked at her toe. "I hate you."
Methos laughed again and slapped at her hand. "No you don't. You love me."
Looping her arms around her legs, she leaned forward and closed her eyes tightly to block out the movie. "How long before I get to pick a movie? The whole time we've been dating you've been bringing these disgusting things home."
Methos muted the sound and turned toward her. "How about the rest of our lives?"
She lifted her head and looked at him in confusion.
Methos got up and reached for his coat. Pulling out a small box, he returned to the couch and faced her.
"Will you marry me, Autumn Myers? Will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Neal Kirkland?"
She gulped and stared at the box wild-eyed. "Marry?" She whispered breathlessly.
He reached over and took her hand. "I love you. Will you marry me? I promise you can pick the movies from now on. Well, as long as I get to pick one every now and then," he added with a wicked grin.
Thinking back to that night made him smile. In retrospect, he wasn't sure if she said yes before or after she had tackled him on the couch and covered him with kisses. And while it wasn't the way he had intended to propose, he wouldn't change a single moment.
Methos looked at the electronic display board and noticed Autumn's flight had finally landed. Waiting until he saw passengers enter the baggage area, he carefully picked up the roses and stood to face the entrance. It wasn't long before he saw her, long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in a comfortable blue checked long sleeve top, jeans and Nikes. She yelped and flew into his arms while he quickly moved the roses out of the way to keep them from getting crushed. Once the initial greeting was over she took her offering with a smile.
"I missed you," he told her as they walked toward the baggage carousel.
"I missed you, too. Did you have a good visit with your friend?"
"Yeah, it's been awhile since we've talked. It was nice catching up."
A moment later and her luggage was whisked away. He led her toward his rented car as she enthusiastically updated him on the latest gossip from Paris.
"I'm starving," she announced as they pulled into the hotel parking lot.
"I am too," he agreed slyly. Popping open the trunk, he reached in to pull out her luggage. "It's been almost a week since we've made love," he added with a wink.
She laughed. "Not that, you moron."
He stuck out his tongue childishly and she giggled. "Okay, not only that. How about room service and then I take care of you, big guy?"
"Hmm, I like the way you think," he whispered as they entered the glass doors.
"Big guy? Is that a compliment?"
"Stop fishing." She laughed and tweaked his nose playfully.
Morning came much too soon, Methos thought as he loaded the car with their luggage. Autumn met him at the car with two large coffees. "Guess that's everything," she announced.
"Does your family know we're coming this morning?" Methos inquired as he slammed the trunk closed.
They settled in and shifted into comfortable positions for the long drive before she answered.
"Yeah, I called mom before I got on the plane. She can't wait to see me." She sighed in resignation. "She sounded awful. I don't know what to do, Neal. How can I lose her now?" Tears welled up in her eyes and Methos reached over to tenderly brush one away.
"I'll be there with you. We'll make it together," he assured her soothingly.
Receiving a nod in response, and feeling mildly reassured, he started the car and pulled out onto the street. She smiled tentatively and reached for his hand.
They were miles away from the city when he felt it, a familiar chill that etched down his spine like nails on a chalkboard. Looking into the rear view mirror, he frowned as the dark blue pickup pulled up dangerously close to his back bumper. He sped up and scowled when the truck sped up as well. Autumn looked at him worriedly.
"What's wrong with that guy?" She turned in her seat to see what the truck was doing, just as it bumped their car, causing Methos to swerve dangerously. Clutching at the steering wheel, he cursed as he fought to right his wheels on the road. Beside him, Autumn cried out as the truck crashed into them again and they spun out of control. Methos fought to keep the car on the highway, but one more hard push from the truck and they were flying onto a rocky bluff. The car careened down, shaking and tumbling as it hit rock and gravel. Autumn was screaming beside him as she was jerked and flung against the windshield as it gave way. Methos tried to hang on, but the car hit a boulder and flipped over, sending it crashing down to land upright in the debris.
He was dazed and bloody when he came to. Reaching over to his wife, he cried out in anguish as he discovered glass embedded in her chest and neck, her head twisted at an unnatural angle. With a shuddering breath, he reached over and touched her face tenderly, only to have the moment abruptly shattered when Immortal presence slithered up his spine. His hands were slippery with blood, and he wiped them haphazardly on his jeans before reaching into the glove compartment to pull out his gun.
It didn't take long for the other Immortal to climb down to their car. Methos grasped his gun beside his leg, closed his eyes and waited until the man was a hair-breadth away from the driver side door. Obviously thinking Methos was either dead or unconscious, the Immortal sheathed his sword and pulled on the smashed car door until it opened, which pushed him back unsteadily with the effort. Righting himself quickly, he reached inside his coat. Methos peered between slit eyes as the Immortal pulled out his weapon. With deadly precision, Methos turned and shot him point blank in the face. He fell with a hard thud.
Methos reached for his coat and climbed out of the car wearily, his wounds slowly healing as he pulled himself up. Retrieving the Immortal's sword, he brought it down hard, and severed the man's head from his body. All went silent as the air bristled with a heavy aura of power. Then the quickening was rising up from the dead man's body and striking Methos relentlessly until the car exploded, catching on fire, and throwing him several feet across the rocky incline. The area was engulfed in flames almost immediately as Methos scrambled away and climbed the hill. He was relieved to find the Immortal's truck still idling safely on the highway away from the fire. Tiredly, he climbed in and drove away with one quick look back as his life went up in flames.
*****
He drove for hours, not knowing or caring where the highway led. His wounds had healed, although he was a bloody mess, a fact he scarcely noticed, as his mind was numb with both grief and anger. He had checked the Watcher files carefully before leaving Paris. Where the hell did this guy come from? The problem was that some Immortals were too dangerous to have a Watcher assigned to them. He suspected this bastard was one of them. Pulling into an out of the way service station, he went into the unlocked men's room and washed up as best he could. His wallet was in his coat pocket as well, which was at least one thing in his favor. He could fill up the truck with gas until he got to a motel to shower and rest.
He contemplated using one of his many new identities already set up in case of an emergency. The other possibility was to access one of his untraceable accounts for cash and let Neal Kirkland die. The problem was that he wasn't ready for Neal to die just because some son-of-a-bitch decided to ignore the rules and tear his life apart. Somehow it seemed a betrayal to his wife and the love they shared to just walk away.
He wasn't sure if he was being hunted, personally, or if the other Immortal had just come upon them by chance. However, he conceded, at this point it mattered very little. If they wanted Neal; let them come. It was time he re-entered the game, and they were in for a nasty surprise. He didn't play by the rules either.
It was well dark when he reached a motel. Pulling his coat around himself tightly, he went into the office and paid for a room. A shower washed the blood and gore from his body. He would have to stop somewhere to get clothes, but for the moment he was at least clean. He was weary and heart sick when he looked into the mirror, too empty inside to notice the hardness in his eyes or chiseled determination on his face.
Before he left the next morning, after a long and restless night, he dropped money into a nearby vending machine and pulled out several bags of chips and a soda. His first order of business was finding a town to buy clothes and a laptop. With that thought in mind, he started the truck and headed eastward.
He reached Albuquerque and pulled into a Walmart Supercenter. Once he had acquired several pairs of jeans, shirts and a new laptop, he drove to the nearest motel and logged on to the Watcher website. It wasn't difficult to find the names of the Immortals too dangerous to be followed. Even without a Watcher tailing them, many had been located and officially documented. Bless the Watchers, he mused.
******
Duncan Macleod stepped into Joe's Blues Bar. Mike cocked his head toward the back office when he noticed Duncan looking for his friend and Watcher. Duncan nodded his thanks and headed for the small room where Joe kept his records and files.
"Come in," the gruff voice invited.
"Joe."
The older man looked up from his computer, a scowl marring an otherwise handsome, if weathered, face. "Mac, glad you're here."
Curious, Duncan eased around Joe's chair and stared over his shoulder to the desktop.
"What's wrong? You made it sound like it's important."
"It could be." Joe sat back, prompting Duncan to step away as the computer chair squeaked with Joe's weight. "How are you holding up?"
"Not particularly well, but you already know that. Why don't you tell me what's going on."
"You know, we never were able to identify both bodies found in the accident."
"Joe, don't do this." Duncan paced to the couch and sat down heavily. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, his body already tensing from the implications of Joe's words.
"Look, I know it was his rental. And Autumn's body was identified through DNA. But Methos didn't have dental records or DNA to positively identify him."
"What's the point, Dawson?" Duncan asked, already disgruntled with the discussion.
Clearly not intimidated by his Immortal's annoyance, Joe pressed on. "Look, Mac. We know the man's head had been separated from the body. The coroner guessed the explosion had caused the decapitation prior to the fire. But I think we both know better. I got one of my guys to get his hands on the burnt and partially melted sword. Mac, it wasn't the Ivanhoe. And if that was Methos, where was his sword and whose sword was at the scene?"
That got Duncan's attention and he looked up to meet his friend's eyes. "When did you get the sword?" he asked suspiciously.
"Hold on, Mac. Just a few days ago. It took a little maneuvering to get our guy in there. And look at this." He pointed to his computer screen.
Duncan got up and walked around Joe's desk to, once again, look at the computer screen over Joe's shoulder. It took a moment to comprehend what he was seeing.
"These Immortals are on our too dangerous to assign list." He flipped through several screens, each highlighting a different Immortal. "We do have people keeping an eye on them, but not actively following them. That way we at least have an idea what area they are in."
"And?"
"And, someone has been hacking into my files. My system's been alerting me to a potential threat for several months. Last week I was contacted about a verified security breach by one of our guys at IT. It's one of the reasons I made sure we got a hold of the sword. Each one of these Immortals has been killed over the last few months. One by one they have been beheaded. Without a Watcher on them, we don't know who the Immortal is taking them out. But we found out that one of these son-of-a-bitches was in the same area Methos was in when his car went off the road. If Methos isn't the Immortal killed in the accident, the bastard has been using his ID to rent motel rooms. Interestingly enough, we've been able to track the Immortal in a straight line where every one of these bastards was killed."
"You think it was Methos?" Duncan asked cautiously.
"I don't know, Mac. But it's very damn strange that Methos' sword is missing, but the other Immortal's was found at the scene. Someone has been using Neal Kirkland's ID to buy gas, rent motel rooms and we even found where it was used at a Walmart in Albuquerque, New Mexico. And every one of the Immortals killed is on the same route this guy is taking."
"Who is left on the list and where is he located, Joe? We have to find out for sure."
"I thought you would ask. Here...." He flipped over to a different screen and a different Immortal's face appeared. "Jake Boston. A thousand years old and dangerous as hell. He's taken out some of the best swordsmen and doesn't care how he does it or who he has to kill to get to them either. A real sweet guy," Joe added sarcastically.
"Well, I guess that's where I'm headed."
"Be careful, man. I'm not overestimating this bastard. He's taken out some real tough Immortals."
"I know. But someone has to stop him. And I need to see who is using Methos' ID. It might lead me to whoever killed Autumn, or even if Methos somehow survived. We need answers, Joe. And so far this is our only lead."
Joe nodded and scrubbed at his beard in resignation. Evidently, there was nothing left to say.
******
Methos fell across the bed wearily. He had taken fifteen quickenings in the past few months. The power and hatred from the Immortals he had killed was searing him apart inside, yet nothing was taking away the pain and sense of loss he still felt. He thought revenge would ease the hurt. Just the knowledge that he had taken out the most evil of his race, and the fact that they couldn’t hurt anyone any longer, should have eased the pain. But it was still there, as raw and new as the day of the accident.
The last Immortal had been a bloody nobody named Jake Boston. His quickening had almost flayed Methos alive. That power should have made him stronger, but instead he only felt bruised and battered. Even the bottle of whiskey he had tried to climb into hadn’t eased the pain. He just wanted to go home, but didn’t know where that was any longer.
Going to sleep was difficult with the quickening still pulsating inside him. He tossed and turned most of the night. Shifting onto his back, he looked around. The moon was reflecting just enough light into the room to outline the stark emptiness of the grimy motel room. He sighed tiredly. It was time. He had worked out his anger and now it was time to work past his grief. The only problem was that he didn't know how. That thought elicited a giggle that quickly turned into a choked sob. He was five thousand years old. He had lost thousands of lovers over the years and he had survived every loss. Now he didn't know how he could go on. God, he was pathetic. Mortals survived the loss of their loved ones every day.
With determination, he thought out his plans. Tomorrow he would pack up and head back to Seacouver where the people he loved remained. With their support he knew he could get through this. Just a few more days, and with that thought he drifted off to sleep.
******
Two nights later he was crossing the border into Washington State. He thought about calling Duncan, but decided to wait until he reached Seacouver. He was exhausted and felt sick inside. What could he possibly say over the phone? And he honestly didn't know how he would be received. He hadn't even gone to Autumn's funeral or contacted her family. He truly was a bastard sometimes, he admitted. Would Mac think so as well? Maybe he wouldn't even be welcomed back. What if he was turned away? Where would he go if Mac didn't want him there? Truthfully, it was now time to let Neal Kirkland go and start over. Maybe it was better if he severed all ties to his past. Ironically, he knew in his heart he didn't want to leave his friends and wasn't sure he really could.
The warning light on his gas gauge alerted him to the fact that he needed to get fuel before coasting down the barren streets by the peer. Knowing there was a one- stop gas station not too far from his location, he headed in that direction. Unfortunately, the truck wasn't cooperating as it puttered one last time and pulled to a stop, the gas hand well past empty. Getting out of the truck with an angry slam of the door, he reached for the gas can he knew was in the back. He had only taken a few steps away from the truck when he felt Immortal presence. 'Fucking wonderful', he cursed irritably. His senses sharp, he looked around until he spotted the Immortal leaning against the wall of an abandoned, boarded up warehouse.
PRESENT DAY
The Claymore sliced through the air towards his neck. He kicked out, his heavy boots connecting with the other man's ankles, the Claymore slicing across his chest instead, as the man crashed to the ground. With a moan, Methos rolled away, his arm crossed protectively to his chest as he bled through his clothing. It was hilarious if he thought about it. He had been hunting and killing for almost a year. Now that he was determined to let his anger go, he was the one being hunted and would probably lose his head in this filthy, rotting hell-hole.
The other Immortal grasped his sword and climbed to his feet. Methos had already claimed his Ivanhoe from the pavement and was on guard before the man swung. Two slices across Methos' abdomen and the man grinned ferally, obviously assured victory was only moments away. Methos was exhausted. Giving up would be so easy -- finally to let the pain go-to find out what lay on the other side of true death.
Could he do it? Could he give up and let this bastard take his quickening?
Suddenly, the resolve he needed surfaced and he forced himself to stand up straighter and grasp his sword more firmly as the other man surged toward him with his blade. Methos twisted his body out and away, and swung with all his might with a powerful back-handed blow. The Immortal's head hit the pavement with a sickening thunk , and Methos fell to the ground bloody, exhausted and spent, as the quickening rose up angrily with a terrifying rush of power.
The last electrical charge entered him and died as he sat down heavily, using the brick wall to support his body. He tucked his legs up toward his chest and leaned forward until his forehead was resting against his knees. Someone was sobbing, a gut-wrenching sound that carried away on the wind. From far off, he felt the strum of another Immortal's quickening. The sobbing had gotten louder and he clung to his knees in desperation as the other Immortal approached.
Then gentle hands were pulling him up and toward a broad chest. Strong arms held him tightly and a familiar voice spoke words of comfort and support.
"Methos, it's okay. You're home and I've got you."
When he was helped up, he couldn't do anything but hold on, grateful that whoever was sobbing had now quieted. His ears were ringing and he had a headache. Thankfully, he was pushed into a car with a soft leather seat. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
******
Methos walked down the sidewalk toward Joe's Bar. The light breeze had pulled the moisture from the air as it caressed his skin, and he looked up toward the grey sky, silently noting that it would probably rain soon. The last few weeks had been a blur as he was nurtured and cared for by his friends. Mac had been taking care of Autumn's family, her mother's illness now improved, if only temporarily. They had a private memorial for Autumn so Methos could mourn her death with the love she deserved. He was improving slowly, knowing the mind and spirit were immune to Immortal healing. Duncan had been his lifeline and he knew he was lucky to have someone he trusted and loved no matter what life threw at him.
He wasn't surprised when he felt Immortal presence and heard rushed footsteps behind him. Slowing his pace, he felt the constricting bands around his heart loosen a little more as he was bathed in his friend's warmth and generous spirit as he drew near.
They didn't speak as they walked side by side. There was no need for words as Duncan took his hand.
The End