Fic: Curse of the Albatross (Highlander, D/M) PG-13
Title: Curse of the Albatross
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Highlander
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Summary: Learning to let go.
A bit of explanation: I'm trying this out here before I post it in the picfor1000 community. The idea was to write exactly 1000 words inspired by the picture. Mine's below the cut. If you think this is out of character or has some mistakes, let me know.
This is actually a prequel to my Highlander/Firefly crossover (that's still being edited). You don't need to know anything about Firefly to appreciate this, though. It's pre-series Firefly, post-series Highlander, set in a future where "the Earth got used up".
Methos pushed the air filter off of his face, rubbing at the itchy sweat and stubble under his nose and around his chin. He hated the damn thing. He would toss it into the nearest rubbish pile if he had his druthers, but going without would mark him as different. Or suicidal. Either would draw attention to himself, and he tried to avoid doing that as much as possible. Attention was bad for survival.
Right now he was alone, though, so he let the damn thing dangle around his neck while he started in on the drop shipment. The heavy crates descended like clockwork every Tuesday, usually within the designated radius. This one had gone a bit astray, however. He had drawn the short straw to retrieve it.
The large plasteel crate was half-buried in a pool of rancid water. Methos wrinkled his nose; he might lose a pair of boots over this. He grabbed his crowbar and levered the box open. It was usually easiest to unload them on site rather than cart the whole damn crate around. It wasn't like leaving the thing where it landed made a damn bit of difference, anyway.
He got the first smaller box out and onto the power mule. He had the second halfway out when his fingers slipped. The box hit the ground with a messy splash and a crack like a melon bursting open.
Methos swore. He wasn't sure how many languages he wound up using, because they all seemed appropriate to the situation. Finally he trailed off, then took stock of the mess he would have to clean up.
Giggles rose up, slightly hysterical. His life was a lesson in irony.
Bottles of fresh water had spilled out of the box. Some of them were lying on the muddy ground, but most of them had ended up in the puddle. The Blue Sun label winked up at him, proclaiming the contents to be the best tasting water since Earth-that-was.
With a snarl he reached for a bottle, ripping at the label with his fingernails. The puddle water stung his skin, but he was glad of its presence. The acidity softened the glue that sealed the hated logo in place.
He was on his third bottle when MacLeod arrived. Methos didn't look up, didn't pause in his task. Duncan could buzz at him all day for all he cared. It wouldn't change the fact that the only potable water on the planet came from outer space.
"Methos."
A warm hand closed around his own chilled and frantic ones. He stopped, staring at the bottle in his hands.
"Methos, what are you doing?"
He looked up into warm brown eyes, eyes that cared so much. Duncan wanted to fix everything, but he couldn't fix this.
"I don't know," he said. He giggled again. "What are we doing, MacLeod? This is crazy. Abso-fucking-lutely crazy. She's dead, Mac. The Earth is dead. My world is dead!"
His voice had risen out of control. Duncan only looked back at him, calm as ever, always understanding.
Duncan finally sighed. "I know you don't want to hear it, Methos, but I think it's time."
Methos closed his eyes. He clenched his jaw, grinding teeth together with the force of his anger. "I am not leaving," he hissed. "You know that."
A sudden loud splash made him open his eyes, just in time to see Duncan hurl a second bottle. The motion was full of impotent fury.
"Do you think I want to leave?" Duncan asked, his voice soft and deep. And angry. "This is my home, just as much as it is yours. It breaks my heart to see it this way."
Methos stood, dropping the bottle he was still clutching. He stepped forward so he was face to face with Duncan.
"It must not mean that much if you're willing to leave forever," he spat. "Do you have any idea what this world is, Mac? She is Mother. The bones we are built from, the blood that runs through our veins. She's in me, MacLeod. Everything I've done, everything I've seen, everyone I've known, has been birthed and swallowed by her."
He drifted off, unable to find words for the connection he felt. He stepped back, but Duncan grabbed his arm.
"I know, Methos," he said sadly. "I know. Do you think my soul doesn't feel the burden when I think of Loch Shiel? When I think that the places I wandered as a child are nothing but mud and burnt stone? I ache, Methos, I do, but that doesn't change anything."
They stared at each other for a long minute. Ice cracked inside of him, the truth finally pushing its way through delusion. He shook his head, but it was too late. A sob tried to claw out of his throat, but he choked it back down. He stepped forward into the surety of Duncan's arms.
"I'm scared," he confessed against the warmth of Duncan's neck. "What if immortality is tied to the planet?"
The warmth of Duncan's hand rested between his shoulder blades, drawing the pain from him.
"Living off world hasn't seemed to hurt any of the others," Duncan said. His voice was a warm rumble. "Amanda's been out there for a century. She's been doing just fine."
Methos smiled despite himself. "Who would notice with her anyway?" Duncan snorted. "Besides, a hundred years is nothing in the measure of immortal-kind."
"Now you're just making excuses, old man."
Methos sighed and stepped back. "It's strange. For so much of my life, I never thought of any place as home. There was no single spot I claimed for my own. But now I realize that's because it's all the same, Mac. It's just been me and her for over five thousand years. How do I say goodbye to that?"
Duncan grasped his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm.
"I don't know," he said. "But I'll be with you when you do."
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Highlander
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Summary: Learning to let go.
A bit of explanation: I'm trying this out here before I post it in the picfor1000 community. The idea was to write exactly 1000 words inspired by the picture. Mine's below the cut. If you think this is out of character or has some mistakes, let me know.
This is actually a prequel to my Highlander/Firefly crossover (that's still being edited). You don't need to know anything about Firefly to appreciate this, though. It's pre-series Firefly, post-series Highlander, set in a future where "the Earth got used up".
Methos pushed the air filter off of his face, rubbing at the itchy sweat and stubble under his nose and around his chin. He hated the damn thing. He would toss it into the nearest rubbish pile if he had his druthers, but going without would mark him as different. Or suicidal. Either would draw attention to himself, and he tried to avoid doing that as much as possible. Attention was bad for survival.
Right now he was alone, though, so he let the damn thing dangle around his neck while he started in on the drop shipment. The heavy crates descended like clockwork every Tuesday, usually within the designated radius. This one had gone a bit astray, however. He had drawn the short straw to retrieve it.
The large plasteel crate was half-buried in a pool of rancid water. Methos wrinkled his nose; he might lose a pair of boots over this. He grabbed his crowbar and levered the box open. It was usually easiest to unload them on site rather than cart the whole damn crate around. It wasn't like leaving the thing where it landed made a damn bit of difference, anyway.
He got the first smaller box out and onto the power mule. He had the second halfway out when his fingers slipped. The box hit the ground with a messy splash and a crack like a melon bursting open.
Methos swore. He wasn't sure how many languages he wound up using, because they all seemed appropriate to the situation. Finally he trailed off, then took stock of the mess he would have to clean up.
Giggles rose up, slightly hysterical. His life was a lesson in irony.
Bottles of fresh water had spilled out of the box. Some of them were lying on the muddy ground, but most of them had ended up in the puddle. The Blue Sun label winked up at him, proclaiming the contents to be the best tasting water since Earth-that-was.
With a snarl he reached for a bottle, ripping at the label with his fingernails. The puddle water stung his skin, but he was glad of its presence. The acidity softened the glue that sealed the hated logo in place.
He was on his third bottle when MacLeod arrived. Methos didn't look up, didn't pause in his task. Duncan could buzz at him all day for all he cared. It wouldn't change the fact that the only potable water on the planet came from outer space.
"Methos."
A warm hand closed around his own chilled and frantic ones. He stopped, staring at the bottle in his hands.
"Methos, what are you doing?"
He looked up into warm brown eyes, eyes that cared so much. Duncan wanted to fix everything, but he couldn't fix this.
"I don't know," he said. He giggled again. "What are we doing, MacLeod? This is crazy. Abso-fucking-lutely crazy. She's dead, Mac. The Earth is dead. My world is dead!"
His voice had risen out of control. Duncan only looked back at him, calm as ever, always understanding.
Duncan finally sighed. "I know you don't want to hear it, Methos, but I think it's time."
Methos closed his eyes. He clenched his jaw, grinding teeth together with the force of his anger. "I am not leaving," he hissed. "You know that."
A sudden loud splash made him open his eyes, just in time to see Duncan hurl a second bottle. The motion was full of impotent fury.
"Do you think I want to leave?" Duncan asked, his voice soft and deep. And angry. "This is my home, just as much as it is yours. It breaks my heart to see it this way."
Methos stood, dropping the bottle he was still clutching. He stepped forward so he was face to face with Duncan.
"It must not mean that much if you're willing to leave forever," he spat. "Do you have any idea what this world is, Mac? She is Mother. The bones we are built from, the blood that runs through our veins. She's in me, MacLeod. Everything I've done, everything I've seen, everyone I've known, has been birthed and swallowed by her."
He drifted off, unable to find words for the connection he felt. He stepped back, but Duncan grabbed his arm.
"I know, Methos," he said sadly. "I know. Do you think my soul doesn't feel the burden when I think of Loch Shiel? When I think that the places I wandered as a child are nothing but mud and burnt stone? I ache, Methos, I do, but that doesn't change anything."
They stared at each other for a long minute. Ice cracked inside of him, the truth finally pushing its way through delusion. He shook his head, but it was too late. A sob tried to claw out of his throat, but he choked it back down. He stepped forward into the surety of Duncan's arms.
"I'm scared," he confessed against the warmth of Duncan's neck. "What if immortality is tied to the planet?"
The warmth of Duncan's hand rested between his shoulder blades, drawing the pain from him.
"Living off world hasn't seemed to hurt any of the others," Duncan said. His voice was a warm rumble. "Amanda's been out there for a century. She's been doing just fine."
Methos smiled despite himself. "Who would notice with her anyway?" Duncan snorted. "Besides, a hundred years is nothing in the measure of immortal-kind."
"Now you're just making excuses, old man."
Methos sighed and stepped back. "It's strange. For so much of my life, I never thought of any place as home. There was no single spot I claimed for my own. But now I realize that's because it's all the same, Mac. It's just been me and her for over five thousand years. How do I say goodbye to that?"
Duncan grasped his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm.
"I don't know," he said. "But I'll be with you when you do."