Happy Holidays, macgeorge1!
Title: To Die Again in Wales
Author: tansyhl, aka A livejournal spyware bot
Written for: MacGeorge/macgeorge1
Crossover: HL/Torchwood
Characters/Pairings: Duncan MacLeod/Methos
Rating: Adult 18, Male/male relationship.
Author's Notes: see end
Summary: Methos attempt to cut down on red tape goes awry.
To Die Again in Wales
I.
Methos peered out the window and watched the snowflakes fall on the grey city. For a moment he thought longingly of the beaches in Bora Bora, but though MacLeod would have to skewer him to get him to admit it, he much preferred the colder parts of the Northern Hemisphere for the winter solstice. And while he knew there was a winter solstice in the Southern Hemisphere, having it in June was just…wrong He smiled to himself as he thought about how Joe would pounce on the tidbit that even a 5000 year old man felt a tie to the seasons of the North. He guessed he had just never spent enough time in the southern latitudes for the opposition of the seasons there to feel right to him. So Methos was mostly content as he sat in the window seat of the Pierson homestead outside Cardiff and contemplated the demise of Adam Pierson.
The fact that it was past time to bump off Adam Pierson somehow didn’t make him feel any better. The problem was not only did he like Adam Pierson; Adam Pierson liked him. He sniggered at the thought of trying to explain that to Mr. “I Am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod”, but really, it was true. Adam Pierson liked Methos, so had Doc Adams. Death most definitely had not. He sipped his Wassail (yum! warm beer!) and contemplated how best to do in his buddy Adam, and tried not to think about his missing lover. Well, his lover wasn’t missing, just pissed off, and had hied off for Scotland after one of their periodic fights. Methos hoped he choked on his haggis. Okay, not really, but he was in a foul mood over Adam’s loss. He sniffed a bit at the thought. And it was Duncan’s fault he had to do Adam in.
They had been arguing (again), and as usual Duncan was driving him so far to the point of distraction that he had felt he needed to emphasize his point by gesticulating forcefully. Somehow he hadn't noticed the light had changed, and Duncan had grabbed for him just a millisecond too late.
God, he hated dying. Especially publicly. Most especially when he wound up in the bloody morgue after being road kill.
Methos sighed, sipped some more Wassail, and wondered when Duncan was coming back. He was not calling him. Just because he had been a complete and insufferable bastard since he had died was no excuse for Duncan to leave him alone and bereft to plan his own death; the second in a month no less. He swore he had no idea how his cell phone wound up in his hand...
“Duncan? Hi. It’s me. Just called to make sure you weren’t eating any of that nasty sheep’s guts…” Oh, boy, he had it bad.
“Yes, Highlander, I miss you too. Come home.”
As the darkness covered the view of the snowflakes, Methos smiled as he climbed into bed with the last of the Wassail, knowing he’d wake up to 200 pounds of horny, over-caffeinated, contrite Highlander. Double yum.
II.
Methos sighed in contentment. For once he was still in bed at a civilized hour. He’d also been fucked within an inch of his life by a very amorous Highlander when he’d finally arrived back in Wales several hours ago. He smiled lazily as he snuggled deeper into the duvet and closer to Duncan. Oh well, he guessed today was as good a day to die as any.
Duncan didn’t quite understand why he felt the need to knock off Adam Pierson again. The thing of it was, Adam Pierson had been born in Wales, and even though he’d attended some schools outside the country and had a few jobs, the Welsh government still considered him their own. He really didn’t want to go through the hassle caused by being so careless as to die on foreign soil. If you were immortal, really, it was much easier to just die again.
As they stood in the alley, the squabbling continued. MacLeod still argued it was redundant to have Adam die again, but Methos continued his argument that killing Adam off in Cardiff would considerably cut down on the paperwork since it was his country of birth. He further pointed out that if they did it in the house, the bloodstains would reduce the resale value. MacLeod finally shot him with the 9mm, mostly to shut him up.
III.
A flag popped up from one of the algorithms that ran on Torchwood’s computers. At first glance it didn’t seem remarkable, if unpleasant. An Adam Pierson had been found shot and apparently robbed in one of the worst sections of Cardiff. He had already been reported missing by his friend/partner Duncan MacLeod. The only problem was, and the reason for the flag, the same Adam Pierson seemed to have died three weeks ago in Seacouver, United States. Tosh pulled up the photos from both police reports and compared them digitally. They were a match. Could they be identical twins? But the names were the same… Tosh’s frown deepened as she read that both bodies had disappeared prior to autopsy from the morgues they had been placed in. Okay, this was getting a bit too weird. Time to get Jack and the rest of the team involved.
IV.
God damn it! What had gone wrong this time? What on earth was he doing in a morgue again? He was soooo not amused. That sheepherder had some fast talking to do. Oh, that was right, he had to be declared “legally” dead. Time to blow this gin joint before they started gutting him.
Methos sneaked out of the morgue and slipped off to the luxury hotel he had checked into earlier. He had to confess that he was rather pleased that Thomas Adamson had oodles of money. It made a nice change from impoverished Pierson. As he sat down with a contented sigh and a beer from the minibar, he smiled happily at the thought of Mac having to pack up all that stuff of his dearly departed lover.
V.
Duncan was whistling and smiling over some of the things his erstwhile lover, Adam Pierson, had collected over his relatively short life on earth. Some of it was definitely not the kind of stuff that would appeal to Methos. It always amazed Duncan how completely Methos absorbed himself in the persona of Adam, and how different in so many ways he had been from Methos. When he had first been allowed to get to know the real Methos it had been a bit of a shock. He was really looking forward to getting to know Thomas Adamson, and fervently hoped they got on.
As he taped another box closed, he heard a car pull up outside and looked out to see a black customized Range Rover pull up to the curb and four people get out. Hmmm, he didn’t like the look of that Range Rover. It had “secret government something with a whole lot of funding” written all over it.
Jack’s knock at the modest house was answered by a man even more stunningly beautiful in person than he had been in his pictures. “Are you Duncan MacLeod, partner of Adam Pierson?”
Even though the answer was in the affirmative, and was followed by a polite invitation to enter, there was a wariness in MacLeod’s eyes that Jack had seen before and had him on his guard.
VI.
Duncan was in a cell in an underground facility in central Cardiff. The whole thing had been a disaster. First there had been polite, then increasingly forceful questions about how his dearly departed lover Adam Pierson had managed to get himself killed twice. There had been pictures and diagrams, including some lovely CCTV shots. Methos had been more and more concerned about technology catching up with immortality; in fact it had been one of the main impetuses behind his wanting to die again here in Wales. He had agreed with Methos in principle, though he thought he was being a bit paranoid as usual, but neither of them had foreseen this scenario.
Duncan’s death had been purely an accident. In one of his very few moments of gracelessness he had fallen awkwardly going over a wall trying to escape the Torchwood team and broken his neck. Methos would have a good laugh over that one…or maybe not. His revival had been interesting. While it clearly wasn’t expected, these people were obviously used to dealing with some weird shit. Example A was in the cell next to him, and didn’t even bear thinking about. He was pretty sure they had called it a Weevil.
VII.
Duncan was supposed to have been at the hotel for a romantic supper. When he still wasn’t there by midnight, Methos reconnoitered his former residence and found a government team going over it. While he itched to get in there and question some of them personally, he knew it would most likely only result in him spending some quality time in a cell somewhere. He got out his phone, called Joe in France, and gave him a run down on what had happened.
Three hours later Joe was at his side. Joe’s Watcher connections in Britain had disclosed that Torchwood was a mysterious quasi-governmental agency with a lot of unquestioned funding and tied to a mysterious character known only as “The Doctor.” When Methos heard about the connection to The Doctor he looked speculative, and Joe asked if he had ever met him.
“No, I never did, Joe, but people I trust did. He claimed to be a Time Lord, a time traveler from another planet.”
“What?! And you believed this story?” Joe asked incredulously.
Methos smiled. “As I said Joe, they were people I trusted implicitly. And I am Immortal after all.”
Since the Watchers really didn’t want Torchwood taking Duncan MacLeod apart piece by piece, especially if they weren’t going to be willing to share the information, a deal to release MacLeod was brokered by the Watchers who held high positions in the British Government. The quid pro quo was that MacLeod, Methos and Dawson would meet with the Torchwood team and assure them that Immortals were not a new phenomenon spilling through the rift in space and time that exited in Cardiff, had no designs on human domination, and that there was already a group of mortals watching over them.
VIII.
Methos shoulders itched just walking into this kind of secure facility. He had to admit that while it was Duncan who had gotten caught; it was him that had brought attention to Immortals. At least they weren’t taking away his weapons- idiots.
Duncan was waiting for them in Jack’s office, along with the Torchwood team.
“Highlander,” Methos acknowledged with a nod as he sprawled casually in the closest chair.
Joe, on the other hand, went up to MacLeod and drew him into a fierce embrace. “Are you alright Mac?”
“I’m fine Joe,” he replied with a smile while returning the embrace.
Methos turned to the Torchwood team. “Alright, fire away,” he said in his best bored voice, as if they were about to discuss linoleum.
“How many Immortals are there?” Tosh asked.
“I don’t know, though Joe might have some idea.” Duncan replied. “But I can tell you our numbers are decreasing. It is the time of what we call The Gathering, in which Immortals have what seems to be a genetic imperative to kill each other off until there is only one of us left, and they win The Prize. As the time of The Gathering approaches these encounters are increasing.”
“The twenty-first century, when everything changes,” Jack said softly to himself.
Methos looked sharply at Jack out of the corner of his eye.
“But you’re both Immortals and you’re lovers, not trying to kill each other,” Gwen pointed out to Duncan.
Joe grinned. “Depends on the day.”
“Ha, bloody, ha.” Methos groused.
“It’s not an insurmountable imperative,” Duncan explained. “I actually have quite a few Immortal friends.”
Methos rolled his eyes. Joe may have choked a bit on the coffee Ianto had provided.
“You didn’t die when you fell, but you can obviously die, from what you said. How can you die, and can only another Immortal kill you?” Owen asked.
Methos made a slicing motion across his throat. “Decapitation and it can be by anyone. The French Revolution and their bloody guillotine scared the hell out of me.”
It was Duncan’s turn to roll his eyes. His lover was such a drama queen sometimes.
“Decapitation!” All of the team had expressions of distaste, but Gwen was recalling some of the mysterious unsolved crimes on the Cardiff police logs.
“Just how long can you live? Do you age?” Jack asked.
Duncan and Methos looked pointedly at Joe. Duncan wasn’t going to touch a topic that might give away Methos age; and Methos wasn’t going to touch one that might hint at his own age. Dawson could hold up his end and handle this hot potato.
“No, they don’t age,” Joe replied. “As far as how long they can live, no one knows for sure. The oldest Immortal we know of is over 5000 years old, but he generally keeps a pretty low profile, and he’s damn good with a sword.”
“Five thousand years?” Jack asked in a stunned voice.
“Good with a sword?” Ianto queried interestedly.
“Are there female Immortals?” Tosh asked.
Duncan held out his hand in a stop sign with a chuckle, “One at a time children. Yes, 5000 years is possible, but unusual. I was born in 1592 in Glenfinnan, Scotland. And yes, Tosh, there are female Immortals, though fewer than males. The swords have to do with The Game. We challenge each other to single combat with bladed weapons. It’s one of the few rules we have. It’s also why there are fewer young Immortals and women.”
“But how does a new Immortal survive at all? Where do you come from? How do you recognize each other?” Gwen asked.
“Tsk, Tsk. What did I say about one question at a time?” Duncan teased. “We don’t know where Immortals come from. They are always foundlings, raised by adoptive mortal parents. They do not become Immortal unless they die by violent death, when their immortality is somehow triggered. We can recognize each other by a sort of subharmonic buzz we give off that only we can hear. Pre-immortals have one also, but it is softer. As far as how young Immortals survive, once they die, they must leave their mortal lives and families, and generally the first Immortal they meet takes them on as their teacher, or arranges a teacher for them. They are taught sword work and the Rules of the Game.”
“What are these rules you keep talking about?” Owen asked.
“There are only a few, and some of us see them more as guidelines,” he replied dryly looking pointedly at his lover. “Combat is one on one only, and once engaged no one is allowed to interfere. Bladed weapons and your body only, no guns or other automatic weapons. Holy ground is neutral territory, and it can be anyone’s holy ground. And before you ask, those who cheat tend to get hunted down by those who don’t.”
“Are you aliens?” Tosh asked hesitantly.
Duncan looked at Methos.
“Who knows?” Methos replied. “There have been some theories we’re from some faraway planet called Zeit or Geist or something. But really, who knows where the human race itself originated from? Maybe we’re all aliens. We certainly consider ourselves human.”
Owen looked thoughtful.
“No,” said Methos looking at Owen.
“What?” asked Owen.
“No one has ever found any differences in our blood or any other fluid or tissue, or DNA; and no, you can’t have a sample.”
Owen gave him a sour look.
“Joe, what do the Watchers do?” Jack asked.
“We’ve observed Immortals for centuries. We observe and record, but never interfere.”
Methos had a sudden coughing ft into his coffee.
“Alright smartass, we don’t usually become involved with the Immortals we watch, but Duncan found out I was watching him, and things got complicated…” Joe explained as he scratched at his beard.
“And you’ve never seen them try and dominate the mortal race?” Jack asked bluntly.
“Well, no more so then any other group of humans,” Joe replied thinking of the Horsemen. “Just like the rest of us, there are good and bad. But with Immortals, the good ones are pretty ruthless about culling the bad ones from the ranks. They understand the potential for problems if an Immortal megalomaniac got control.” It took Joe’s best poker face not to show in his expression just how close that had come to becoming reality.
“Okay kiddies, I think you have more than enough to chew on for awhile. Only four more shopping days ‘til Christmas. Things to do, presents to buy.” Methos said briskly as he jumped up.
Somehow, everyone else found themselves standing also.
“Ah, Adam, I had some questions of my own…like about those things in the cells next to me,” Duncan interjected.
“Later Highlander,” Methos said firmly.
As everyone headed to the office door, Jack gently grabbed Duncan by the arm and held him back. Methos automatically stopped with him; he wasn’t letting Duncan out of arm’s reach.
Jack looked intently at Duncan, and then at Methos. “I need to speak to you again, there’s some, personal things I need to discuss,” he stumbled awkwardly.
“You’re Immortal, but not like us. From the future I’d guess,” Methos stated matter of factly.
Both Jack and Duncan stared at him in amazement.
“I never met him, but I know about The Doctor,” he explained. “Don’t worry Jack, we won’t disappear completely. We’ll talk again. You’re not alone,” he said with kindness in his voice.
Jack’s smile could have lit cities. Duncan looked thoughtful.
IX.
Methos, Duncan and Joe heaved a collective sigh of relief as they exited the Torchwood complex. Methos then proceeded to drag Duncan right in front of one of the CCTV cameras and snogged him until his knees melted. He swore he could hear the applause from inside the Torchwood complex. Joe was practically bent double with laughter.
Methos looked up in satisfaction at the softly falling fat snowflakes.
“Come on Highlander, it’s time for you to buy Joe and me a pint for your birthday.”
“What do you mean, it’s my birthday, you’re supposed to be buying Joe and me some nice expensive scotch, you old cheapskate,” Duncan replied laughing.
Methos considered, and realized that Thomas Adamson could actually afford a river of good scotch. He smiled, “You’re on, Mac; Happy Birthday Duncan.”
END
Author's Notes: A million thanks to Amand-r for the fabulous beta help, unfortunately she can’t wave a magic wand and turn me into a writer. All mistakes are my own except formatting errors which are due to the ferrets jumping on the keyboard.
Part of the inspiration for this story actually came from Mr. Peter Wingfield. I was lucky enough to attend the PWFC convention in Philly this September, and one of the highlights for me was listening to PW talking about playing different roles, and how different characters he played had different feelings towards him and vice versa. For example, he thought Methos rather liked him, but Dan Clifford from Holby didn’t. It was an absolutely fascinating insight into an actor’s mind, and something I’ve been thinking a lot about since then. If Methos likes Peter, how does he feel about Adam Pierson, Doc Adams, Death?
Author: tansyhl, aka A livejournal spyware bot
Written for: MacGeorge/macgeorge1
Crossover: HL/Torchwood
Characters/Pairings: Duncan MacLeod/Methos
Rating: Adult 18, Male/male relationship.
Author's Notes: see end
Summary: Methos attempt to cut down on red tape goes awry.
To Die Again in Wales
I.
Methos peered out the window and watched the snowflakes fall on the grey city. For a moment he thought longingly of the beaches in Bora Bora, but though MacLeod would have to skewer him to get him to admit it, he much preferred the colder parts of the Northern Hemisphere for the winter solstice. And while he knew there was a winter solstice in the Southern Hemisphere, having it in June was just…wrong He smiled to himself as he thought about how Joe would pounce on the tidbit that even a 5000 year old man felt a tie to the seasons of the North. He guessed he had just never spent enough time in the southern latitudes for the opposition of the seasons there to feel right to him. So Methos was mostly content as he sat in the window seat of the Pierson homestead outside Cardiff and contemplated the demise of Adam Pierson.
The fact that it was past time to bump off Adam Pierson somehow didn’t make him feel any better. The problem was not only did he like Adam Pierson; Adam Pierson liked him. He sniggered at the thought of trying to explain that to Mr. “I Am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod”, but really, it was true. Adam Pierson liked Methos, so had Doc Adams. Death most definitely had not. He sipped his Wassail (yum! warm beer!) and contemplated how best to do in his buddy Adam, and tried not to think about his missing lover. Well, his lover wasn’t missing, just pissed off, and had hied off for Scotland after one of their periodic fights. Methos hoped he choked on his haggis. Okay, not really, but he was in a foul mood over Adam’s loss. He sniffed a bit at the thought. And it was Duncan’s fault he had to do Adam in.
They had been arguing (again), and as usual Duncan was driving him so far to the point of distraction that he had felt he needed to emphasize his point by gesticulating forcefully. Somehow he hadn't noticed the light had changed, and Duncan had grabbed for him just a millisecond too late.
God, he hated dying. Especially publicly. Most especially when he wound up in the bloody morgue after being road kill.
Methos sighed, sipped some more Wassail, and wondered when Duncan was coming back. He was not calling him. Just because he had been a complete and insufferable bastard since he had died was no excuse for Duncan to leave him alone and bereft to plan his own death; the second in a month no less. He swore he had no idea how his cell phone wound up in his hand...
“Duncan? Hi. It’s me. Just called to make sure you weren’t eating any of that nasty sheep’s guts…” Oh, boy, he had it bad.
“Yes, Highlander, I miss you too. Come home.”
As the darkness covered the view of the snowflakes, Methos smiled as he climbed into bed with the last of the Wassail, knowing he’d wake up to 200 pounds of horny, over-caffeinated, contrite Highlander. Double yum.
II.
Methos sighed in contentment. For once he was still in bed at a civilized hour. He’d also been fucked within an inch of his life by a very amorous Highlander when he’d finally arrived back in Wales several hours ago. He smiled lazily as he snuggled deeper into the duvet and closer to Duncan. Oh well, he guessed today was as good a day to die as any.
Duncan didn’t quite understand why he felt the need to knock off Adam Pierson again. The thing of it was, Adam Pierson had been born in Wales, and even though he’d attended some schools outside the country and had a few jobs, the Welsh government still considered him their own. He really didn’t want to go through the hassle caused by being so careless as to die on foreign soil. If you were immortal, really, it was much easier to just die again.
As they stood in the alley, the squabbling continued. MacLeod still argued it was redundant to have Adam die again, but Methos continued his argument that killing Adam off in Cardiff would considerably cut down on the paperwork since it was his country of birth. He further pointed out that if they did it in the house, the bloodstains would reduce the resale value. MacLeod finally shot him with the 9mm, mostly to shut him up.
III.
A flag popped up from one of the algorithms that ran on Torchwood’s computers. At first glance it didn’t seem remarkable, if unpleasant. An Adam Pierson had been found shot and apparently robbed in one of the worst sections of Cardiff. He had already been reported missing by his friend/partner Duncan MacLeod. The only problem was, and the reason for the flag, the same Adam Pierson seemed to have died three weeks ago in Seacouver, United States. Tosh pulled up the photos from both police reports and compared them digitally. They were a match. Could they be identical twins? But the names were the same… Tosh’s frown deepened as she read that both bodies had disappeared prior to autopsy from the morgues they had been placed in. Okay, this was getting a bit too weird. Time to get Jack and the rest of the team involved.
IV.
God damn it! What had gone wrong this time? What on earth was he doing in a morgue again? He was soooo not amused. That sheepherder had some fast talking to do. Oh, that was right, he had to be declared “legally” dead. Time to blow this gin joint before they started gutting him.
Methos sneaked out of the morgue and slipped off to the luxury hotel he had checked into earlier. He had to confess that he was rather pleased that Thomas Adamson had oodles of money. It made a nice change from impoverished Pierson. As he sat down with a contented sigh and a beer from the minibar, he smiled happily at the thought of Mac having to pack up all that stuff of his dearly departed lover.
V.
Duncan was whistling and smiling over some of the things his erstwhile lover, Adam Pierson, had collected over his relatively short life on earth. Some of it was definitely not the kind of stuff that would appeal to Methos. It always amazed Duncan how completely Methos absorbed himself in the persona of Adam, and how different in so many ways he had been from Methos. When he had first been allowed to get to know the real Methos it had been a bit of a shock. He was really looking forward to getting to know Thomas Adamson, and fervently hoped they got on.
As he taped another box closed, he heard a car pull up outside and looked out to see a black customized Range Rover pull up to the curb and four people get out. Hmmm, he didn’t like the look of that Range Rover. It had “secret government something with a whole lot of funding” written all over it.
Jack’s knock at the modest house was answered by a man even more stunningly beautiful in person than he had been in his pictures. “Are you Duncan MacLeod, partner of Adam Pierson?”
Even though the answer was in the affirmative, and was followed by a polite invitation to enter, there was a wariness in MacLeod’s eyes that Jack had seen before and had him on his guard.
VI.
Duncan was in a cell in an underground facility in central Cardiff. The whole thing had been a disaster. First there had been polite, then increasingly forceful questions about how his dearly departed lover Adam Pierson had managed to get himself killed twice. There had been pictures and diagrams, including some lovely CCTV shots. Methos had been more and more concerned about technology catching up with immortality; in fact it had been one of the main impetuses behind his wanting to die again here in Wales. He had agreed with Methos in principle, though he thought he was being a bit paranoid as usual, but neither of them had foreseen this scenario.
Duncan’s death had been purely an accident. In one of his very few moments of gracelessness he had fallen awkwardly going over a wall trying to escape the Torchwood team and broken his neck. Methos would have a good laugh over that one…or maybe not. His revival had been interesting. While it clearly wasn’t expected, these people were obviously used to dealing with some weird shit. Example A was in the cell next to him, and didn’t even bear thinking about. He was pretty sure they had called it a Weevil.
VII.
Duncan was supposed to have been at the hotel for a romantic supper. When he still wasn’t there by midnight, Methos reconnoitered his former residence and found a government team going over it. While he itched to get in there and question some of them personally, he knew it would most likely only result in him spending some quality time in a cell somewhere. He got out his phone, called Joe in France, and gave him a run down on what had happened.
Three hours later Joe was at his side. Joe’s Watcher connections in Britain had disclosed that Torchwood was a mysterious quasi-governmental agency with a lot of unquestioned funding and tied to a mysterious character known only as “The Doctor.” When Methos heard about the connection to The Doctor he looked speculative, and Joe asked if he had ever met him.
“No, I never did, Joe, but people I trust did. He claimed to be a Time Lord, a time traveler from another planet.”
“What?! And you believed this story?” Joe asked incredulously.
Methos smiled. “As I said Joe, they were people I trusted implicitly. And I am Immortal after all.”
Since the Watchers really didn’t want Torchwood taking Duncan MacLeod apart piece by piece, especially if they weren’t going to be willing to share the information, a deal to release MacLeod was brokered by the Watchers who held high positions in the British Government. The quid pro quo was that MacLeod, Methos and Dawson would meet with the Torchwood team and assure them that Immortals were not a new phenomenon spilling through the rift in space and time that exited in Cardiff, had no designs on human domination, and that there was already a group of mortals watching over them.
VIII.
Methos shoulders itched just walking into this kind of secure facility. He had to admit that while it was Duncan who had gotten caught; it was him that had brought attention to Immortals. At least they weren’t taking away his weapons- idiots.
Duncan was waiting for them in Jack’s office, along with the Torchwood team.
“Highlander,” Methos acknowledged with a nod as he sprawled casually in the closest chair.
Joe, on the other hand, went up to MacLeod and drew him into a fierce embrace. “Are you alright Mac?”
“I’m fine Joe,” he replied with a smile while returning the embrace.
Methos turned to the Torchwood team. “Alright, fire away,” he said in his best bored voice, as if they were about to discuss linoleum.
“How many Immortals are there?” Tosh asked.
“I don’t know, though Joe might have some idea.” Duncan replied. “But I can tell you our numbers are decreasing. It is the time of what we call The Gathering, in which Immortals have what seems to be a genetic imperative to kill each other off until there is only one of us left, and they win The Prize. As the time of The Gathering approaches these encounters are increasing.”
“The twenty-first century, when everything changes,” Jack said softly to himself.
Methos looked sharply at Jack out of the corner of his eye.
“But you’re both Immortals and you’re lovers, not trying to kill each other,” Gwen pointed out to Duncan.
Joe grinned. “Depends on the day.”
“Ha, bloody, ha.” Methos groused.
“It’s not an insurmountable imperative,” Duncan explained. “I actually have quite a few Immortal friends.”
Methos rolled his eyes. Joe may have choked a bit on the coffee Ianto had provided.
“You didn’t die when you fell, but you can obviously die, from what you said. How can you die, and can only another Immortal kill you?” Owen asked.
Methos made a slicing motion across his throat. “Decapitation and it can be by anyone. The French Revolution and their bloody guillotine scared the hell out of me.”
It was Duncan’s turn to roll his eyes. His lover was such a drama queen sometimes.
“Decapitation!” All of the team had expressions of distaste, but Gwen was recalling some of the mysterious unsolved crimes on the Cardiff police logs.
“Just how long can you live? Do you age?” Jack asked.
Duncan and Methos looked pointedly at Joe. Duncan wasn’t going to touch a topic that might give away Methos age; and Methos wasn’t going to touch one that might hint at his own age. Dawson could hold up his end and handle this hot potato.
“No, they don’t age,” Joe replied. “As far as how long they can live, no one knows for sure. The oldest Immortal we know of is over 5000 years old, but he generally keeps a pretty low profile, and he’s damn good with a sword.”
“Five thousand years?” Jack asked in a stunned voice.
“Good with a sword?” Ianto queried interestedly.
“Are there female Immortals?” Tosh asked.
Duncan held out his hand in a stop sign with a chuckle, “One at a time children. Yes, 5000 years is possible, but unusual. I was born in 1592 in Glenfinnan, Scotland. And yes, Tosh, there are female Immortals, though fewer than males. The swords have to do with The Game. We challenge each other to single combat with bladed weapons. It’s one of the few rules we have. It’s also why there are fewer young Immortals and women.”
“But how does a new Immortal survive at all? Where do you come from? How do you recognize each other?” Gwen asked.
“Tsk, Tsk. What did I say about one question at a time?” Duncan teased. “We don’t know where Immortals come from. They are always foundlings, raised by adoptive mortal parents. They do not become Immortal unless they die by violent death, when their immortality is somehow triggered. We can recognize each other by a sort of subharmonic buzz we give off that only we can hear. Pre-immortals have one also, but it is softer. As far as how young Immortals survive, once they die, they must leave their mortal lives and families, and generally the first Immortal they meet takes them on as their teacher, or arranges a teacher for them. They are taught sword work and the Rules of the Game.”
“What are these rules you keep talking about?” Owen asked.
“There are only a few, and some of us see them more as guidelines,” he replied dryly looking pointedly at his lover. “Combat is one on one only, and once engaged no one is allowed to interfere. Bladed weapons and your body only, no guns or other automatic weapons. Holy ground is neutral territory, and it can be anyone’s holy ground. And before you ask, those who cheat tend to get hunted down by those who don’t.”
“Are you aliens?” Tosh asked hesitantly.
Duncan looked at Methos.
“Who knows?” Methos replied. “There have been some theories we’re from some faraway planet called Zeit or Geist or something. But really, who knows where the human race itself originated from? Maybe we’re all aliens. We certainly consider ourselves human.”
Owen looked thoughtful.
“No,” said Methos looking at Owen.
“What?” asked Owen.
“No one has ever found any differences in our blood or any other fluid or tissue, or DNA; and no, you can’t have a sample.”
Owen gave him a sour look.
“Joe, what do the Watchers do?” Jack asked.
“We’ve observed Immortals for centuries. We observe and record, but never interfere.”
Methos had a sudden coughing ft into his coffee.
“Alright smartass, we don’t usually become involved with the Immortals we watch, but Duncan found out I was watching him, and things got complicated…” Joe explained as he scratched at his beard.
“And you’ve never seen them try and dominate the mortal race?” Jack asked bluntly.
“Well, no more so then any other group of humans,” Joe replied thinking of the Horsemen. “Just like the rest of us, there are good and bad. But with Immortals, the good ones are pretty ruthless about culling the bad ones from the ranks. They understand the potential for problems if an Immortal megalomaniac got control.” It took Joe’s best poker face not to show in his expression just how close that had come to becoming reality.
“Okay kiddies, I think you have more than enough to chew on for awhile. Only four more shopping days ‘til Christmas. Things to do, presents to buy.” Methos said briskly as he jumped up.
Somehow, everyone else found themselves standing also.
“Ah, Adam, I had some questions of my own…like about those things in the cells next to me,” Duncan interjected.
“Later Highlander,” Methos said firmly.
As everyone headed to the office door, Jack gently grabbed Duncan by the arm and held him back. Methos automatically stopped with him; he wasn’t letting Duncan out of arm’s reach.
Jack looked intently at Duncan, and then at Methos. “I need to speak to you again, there’s some, personal things I need to discuss,” he stumbled awkwardly.
“You’re Immortal, but not like us. From the future I’d guess,” Methos stated matter of factly.
Both Jack and Duncan stared at him in amazement.
“I never met him, but I know about The Doctor,” he explained. “Don’t worry Jack, we won’t disappear completely. We’ll talk again. You’re not alone,” he said with kindness in his voice.
Jack’s smile could have lit cities. Duncan looked thoughtful.
IX.
Methos, Duncan and Joe heaved a collective sigh of relief as they exited the Torchwood complex. Methos then proceeded to drag Duncan right in front of one of the CCTV cameras and snogged him until his knees melted. He swore he could hear the applause from inside the Torchwood complex. Joe was practically bent double with laughter.
Methos looked up in satisfaction at the softly falling fat snowflakes.
“Come on Highlander, it’s time for you to buy Joe and me a pint for your birthday.”
“What do you mean, it’s my birthday, you’re supposed to be buying Joe and me some nice expensive scotch, you old cheapskate,” Duncan replied laughing.
Methos considered, and realized that Thomas Adamson could actually afford a river of good scotch. He smiled, “You’re on, Mac; Happy Birthday Duncan.”
END
Author's Notes: A million thanks to Amand-r for the fabulous beta help, unfortunately she can’t wave a magic wand and turn me into a writer. All mistakes are my own except formatting errors which are due to the ferrets jumping on the keyboard.
Part of the inspiration for this story actually came from Mr. Peter Wingfield. I was lucky enough to attend the PWFC convention in Philly this September, and one of the highlights for me was listening to PW talking about playing different roles, and how different characters he played had different feelings towards him and vice versa. For example, he thought Methos rather liked him, but Dan Clifford from Holby didn’t. It was an absolutely fascinating insight into an actor’s mind, and something I’ve been thinking a lot about since then. If Methos likes Peter, how does he feel about Adam Pierson, Doc Adams, Death?