Happy Holidays, Keenir!
Title: Ups and Downs
Author: Lindsay/bittersweet325 aka The Sugar Plum Fairy
Written for: Keenir/rodlox
Characters: Methos, Duncan, mentioned: Methos/Alexa, Richie
Rating: PG, gen
Summary: Duncan asks Methos about how he's managed to go on for so many years. Just because Methos has always been good at avoiding Duncan's questions, doesn't mean he hasn't thought about them.
Ups and Downs
MacLeod had an annoying habit of asking Methos the types of questions he didn't have the answers to. Every once in a while Methos had a fleeting desire to have those answers. Maybe that urge came once or twice a century. For Duncan it appeared to be every other week. It was getting to the point that Methos could sense the questions coming. The Highlander couldn't even be other than predictable in how he asked a damn question. A lull in conversation followed by a deep breath every time.
"How do you do it?" Bloody Highlander.
"How do I do what exactly?"
"Keep going, year after year, decade after decade,"
"Century after century?" Methos suggested. "Sorry, I thought I'd save us some time and just jump in."
"How about loss after loss?" MacLeod amended. At this point, Methos would do what he always did. He'd finish his beer.
"Must it always come back to that?" Normally, he would stand and leave. But, for the moment, he decided to see what kind of follow-up Duncan could muster.
There were a lot of things Methos would like to tell Duncan. He though of telling him that he didn't just keep going. It was bloody hard! Just because Methos was still standing didn't mean there weren't times, decades even, where he went practically into seclusion, living like a hermit. MacLeod hadn't known him long enough to realize that, he hadn't witnessed Methos truly withdrawal no matter what he might think.
If he did have the grand answer to life, the universe and everything, Methos was fairly certain it wasn't the type of thing he could possibly articulate.
"I'm speaking in purely hypothetical terms."
Methos merely snorted. There was no such thing as hypothetical when it came to loss. Duncan would always be thinking of Tessa or Little Deer or the person he hadn't even met yet, but would invariably lose. Methos, for his part, would always be thinking of the Horsemen or Byron or Alexa.
Alexa...
A girl like her comes along once or twice in a lifetime. So did the loss. It was so easy to think about the end-the tubes, the machines, the mechanical way her chest moved up and down. Up and down...
"I find it hard to believe that you've never thought about it...."
Up and down...
"Well, I am such an anamoly. Besides you seem to do enough thinking about it for us all."
Up and down.
Methos thought about Duncan, that's the one factor in this whole mess that he thought about. He wondered if Duncan's four hundred years felt longer than his own five thousand. The Highlander felt too much, too deeply. Methos wondered if MacLeod would ever make it to the Gathering or if his pain and feelings would eat him up. During one of these obnoxious, soul-searching conversations, Methos thought about saying as much. Stop feeling so much, Highlander. There's your answer. Be a cold, unfeeling bastard, like yours truly. But then he heard the sweet tones of Alexa's voice in his head as clear as day telling him all that he had felt for her.
Up and down.
"I'm not your fortune cookie, MacLeod. Don't expect me to give you your lucky numbers." Methos was as always striving for levity.
He remembered Alexa the first time they had to stop at a hospital on their world wind tour, running against the clock for the first time in his long life. All the doctors were going to do was check her over, maybe change some of her meds, and send them on their way. That's all they could do. Methos remembered every detail-the sterility of the room, the patients in the waiting room, that look on the doctor's face when he inevitably looked through her chart and saw that she was terminal. And he had variations of that memory for every town and country they visited.
But those details went to the back of his mind.
Her smile, the way the sun would shine on her hair through the window, the way he made her laugh-that's what always came first, every time.
Did MacLeod understand that? Or when he thought of Tessa, did he only see her body lying in the street? If Methos told him the truth would he understand the difference at all?
"I find it hard to believe--"
"I find it hard to believe you won't let this go." Methos was beginning to get genuinely annoyed. It was all fun and games until Duncan latched on for dear life and refused to be distracted. In fact, this kind of reaction seemed to happen a lot around Duncan. "Don't you find it exceedingly obnoxious when Richie comes along begging for advice?"
"This isn't about Richie."
"I didn't say that it was." Methos assured Duncan. This wasn't an attempt to deflect the spotlight off of himself onto the youngest, honorary member of the Clan MacLeod. Truth be told, Methos quite enjoyed watching the kid meander through his formative years. It was entertaining and a pleasant reminder of some of the long distant years that Methos had lost. "We were speaking in hypotheticals, weren't we?"
"Yes, but..."
"You have to be willing to give as well as you can take."
"I don't remember being given much." Duncan rolled his eyes.
"If you'd play along."
"Ok, ok, fine!" Duncan relented. "Yeah, it can be annoying. Some things he's got to figure out for himself. As long as it isn't something that could cause him to lose his head, he can give it time."
"And there's your answer." Methose said cheerfully. "You are to me what Richie is to you. Young and inexperienced, for all practical purposes."
"So you have no answers? That seems convenient."
"It certainly is." Methos chuckled. "We'll compare notes in 5,000 years."
MacLeod was amused enough to drop the subject at that. He felt a little bit better and maybe Methos was right. He needed to take his time or what would their be worth living for? It's all ups and downs, isn't it?
Methos was content that MacLeod was no longer pestering him. His thoughts though were fixed on Alexa. Not even Alexa, but the idea of her. Tessa might have been that idea for Duncan. Richie hadn't had anyone like that yet. It would do him goo, remind him of the fragility of life, keep him a bit more grounded. That was the answer.
It had taken him 5,000 years, but there was his answer, a small waitress from a Washington bar. Methos had understood it all in watching the motion of a dying mortal's chest. You never got over it and you never forgot it. You keep going because it would be disrespectful not to. Methos sighed.
"What?"
Should he tell him? Make it easy?
"Nothing." Methos paused. "I could use another drink."
MacLeod could figure it out for himself. He could also pay for the drinks.
END
Author: Lindsay/bittersweet325 aka The Sugar Plum Fairy
Written for: Keenir/rodlox
Characters: Methos, Duncan, mentioned: Methos/Alexa, Richie
Rating: PG, gen
Summary: Duncan asks Methos about how he's managed to go on for so many years. Just because Methos has always been good at avoiding Duncan's questions, doesn't mean he hasn't thought about them.
Ups and Downs
MacLeod had an annoying habit of asking Methos the types of questions he didn't have the answers to. Every once in a while Methos had a fleeting desire to have those answers. Maybe that urge came once or twice a century. For Duncan it appeared to be every other week. It was getting to the point that Methos could sense the questions coming. The Highlander couldn't even be other than predictable in how he asked a damn question. A lull in conversation followed by a deep breath every time.
"How do you do it?" Bloody Highlander.
"How do I do what exactly?"
"Keep going, year after year, decade after decade,"
"Century after century?" Methos suggested. "Sorry, I thought I'd save us some time and just jump in."
"How about loss after loss?" MacLeod amended. At this point, Methos would do what he always did. He'd finish his beer.
"Must it always come back to that?" Normally, he would stand and leave. But, for the moment, he decided to see what kind of follow-up Duncan could muster.
There were a lot of things Methos would like to tell Duncan. He though of telling him that he didn't just keep going. It was bloody hard! Just because Methos was still standing didn't mean there weren't times, decades even, where he went practically into seclusion, living like a hermit. MacLeod hadn't known him long enough to realize that, he hadn't witnessed Methos truly withdrawal no matter what he might think.
If he did have the grand answer to life, the universe and everything, Methos was fairly certain it wasn't the type of thing he could possibly articulate.
"I'm speaking in purely hypothetical terms."
Methos merely snorted. There was no such thing as hypothetical when it came to loss. Duncan would always be thinking of Tessa or Little Deer or the person he hadn't even met yet, but would invariably lose. Methos, for his part, would always be thinking of the Horsemen or Byron or Alexa.
Alexa...
A girl like her comes along once or twice in a lifetime. So did the loss. It was so easy to think about the end-the tubes, the machines, the mechanical way her chest moved up and down. Up and down...
"I find it hard to believe that you've never thought about it...."
Up and down...
"Well, I am such an anamoly. Besides you seem to do enough thinking about it for us all."
Up and down.
Methos thought about Duncan, that's the one factor in this whole mess that he thought about. He wondered if Duncan's four hundred years felt longer than his own five thousand. The Highlander felt too much, too deeply. Methos wondered if MacLeod would ever make it to the Gathering or if his pain and feelings would eat him up. During one of these obnoxious, soul-searching conversations, Methos thought about saying as much. Stop feeling so much, Highlander. There's your answer. Be a cold, unfeeling bastard, like yours truly. But then he heard the sweet tones of Alexa's voice in his head as clear as day telling him all that he had felt for her.
Up and down.
"I'm not your fortune cookie, MacLeod. Don't expect me to give you your lucky numbers." Methos was as always striving for levity.
He remembered Alexa the first time they had to stop at a hospital on their world wind tour, running against the clock for the first time in his long life. All the doctors were going to do was check her over, maybe change some of her meds, and send them on their way. That's all they could do. Methos remembered every detail-the sterility of the room, the patients in the waiting room, that look on the doctor's face when he inevitably looked through her chart and saw that she was terminal. And he had variations of that memory for every town and country they visited.
But those details went to the back of his mind.
Her smile, the way the sun would shine on her hair through the window, the way he made her laugh-that's what always came first, every time.
Did MacLeod understand that? Or when he thought of Tessa, did he only see her body lying in the street? If Methos told him the truth would he understand the difference at all?
"I find it hard to believe--"
"I find it hard to believe you won't let this go." Methos was beginning to get genuinely annoyed. It was all fun and games until Duncan latched on for dear life and refused to be distracted. In fact, this kind of reaction seemed to happen a lot around Duncan. "Don't you find it exceedingly obnoxious when Richie comes along begging for advice?"
"This isn't about Richie."
"I didn't say that it was." Methos assured Duncan. This wasn't an attempt to deflect the spotlight off of himself onto the youngest, honorary member of the Clan MacLeod. Truth be told, Methos quite enjoyed watching the kid meander through his formative years. It was entertaining and a pleasant reminder of some of the long distant years that Methos had lost. "We were speaking in hypotheticals, weren't we?"
"Yes, but..."
"You have to be willing to give as well as you can take."
"I don't remember being given much." Duncan rolled his eyes.
"If you'd play along."
"Ok, ok, fine!" Duncan relented. "Yeah, it can be annoying. Some things he's got to figure out for himself. As long as it isn't something that could cause him to lose his head, he can give it time."
"And there's your answer." Methose said cheerfully. "You are to me what Richie is to you. Young and inexperienced, for all practical purposes."
"So you have no answers? That seems convenient."
"It certainly is." Methos chuckled. "We'll compare notes in 5,000 years."
MacLeod was amused enough to drop the subject at that. He felt a little bit better and maybe Methos was right. He needed to take his time or what would their be worth living for? It's all ups and downs, isn't it?
Methos was content that MacLeod was no longer pestering him. His thoughts though were fixed on Alexa. Not even Alexa, but the idea of her. Tessa might have been that idea for Duncan. Richie hadn't had anyone like that yet. It would do him goo, remind him of the fragility of life, keep him a bit more grounded. That was the answer.
It had taken him 5,000 years, but there was his answer, a small waitress from a Washington bar. Methos had understood it all in watching the motion of a dying mortal's chest. You never got over it and you never forgot it. You keep going because it would be disrespectful not to. Methos sighed.
"What?"
Should he tell him? Make it easy?
"Nothing." Methos paused. "I could use another drink."
MacLeod could figure it out for himself. He could also pay for the drinks.
END