Happy Holidays, jamwired
Title: Awakenings
Author: dswdiane,aka Methos? Who’s Methos?
Written for: jamwired
Pairings/Characters: Duncan, Methos, Joe, Ceirdwyn
Rating: R
Warnings: pre-slash, some violence, not much
Author's Notes: This story takes place after the end of the series “Highlander”
Summary: A heating outage sends Methos seeking warmth at Mac’s barge.
Methos glared balefully at the heater vents in his apartment which were releasing no heat at all. He pulled another blanket over himself and cursed his very cold nose.
What on earth had possessed him to stay in Paris for the winter? Yes, there was a position open at the university that he was qualified to fill with his new doctorate. Yes, MacLeod had continued to keep the barge. Yes, he still wanted Mac in his life. Why? Why the hell did he want to keep the idiotic man in his life?
Yes, they saw each other, usually more than once a week. They played chess. They chatted about nothing much in particular. The tension between them remained unresolved. Nothing changed. Methos had no bloody idea whether the tension was the from unresolved sexual attraction, although he was quite sure that was the tension on his part, or whether it was because Mac had never come to terms with the fact that Methos had once, a very long time ago, been a mass murderer when he rode with the Horsemen.
Methos sneezed, grabbed a kleenex, sneezed again, shrugged, picked up the phone, and dialed.
“Hello,” Mac answered.
“I’m freezing,” Methos replied. “The blasted building in which I’ve made the bad choice of living has had a furnace failure. There is no heat in my flat, it is below freezing outside, and it is getting to be close to that in here.” He stopped just short of asking for help. He sneezed again.
Mac chuckled. “Poor Methos,” he said indulgently. Methos considered throttling him. Mac went on, “Come on over and sleep on my couch. I promise I won’t bite.”
Methos stared at the phone receiver for a moment, wishing he could convince Mac to bite. It didn’t matter. He managed to strangle out a “Thank you,” and hung up.
Methos unwound himself from his blankets, glared again at the useless heater vents, put on his coat, grabbed his backpack, and drove to Mac’s loft.
*****
Mac greeted Methos at the door, yawned, and pointed to the couch which was already made up with sheets and blankets and several pillows. “It’s late, “ Mac said briefly. “I need to sleep. Help yourself to anything you want.” Mac headed for his bed, curled up in his blankets and turned off the light near his bed.
Methos nodded and wondered if helping himself to anything he wanted included Mac’s body. He decided that the invitation probably didn’t include sex with the host. He made himself a stiff drink of single malt scotch, sipped it slowly, went to bed on the couch, and quickly fell into an exhausted sleep.
****
Methos woke up, with a sharp indrawn gasp, in the darkness in the middle of the night, sweat all over his body. Another nightmare. He wished he could start to find them boring. He unwrapped himself from the blankets, laid motionless for a moment, and felt the cool air of the barge drying the moisture on his skin. He got up, moving quietly so as to not wake Mac, used the loo, and came back to the couch. He looked at the clock. It was 4:00 am.
He was fairly certain there would be little or no sleep left for him this night. He got his laptop out of his backpack, plugged it in, and started to check his email.
“Methos? “ Mac mumbled sleepily, goggling drowsily at the other man. “You all right?”
“I’m fine, Mac,” Methos said quietly. “Just insomnia. Go back to sleep.”
Mac looked at Methos for a moment, then rolled over, and went back into a deep slumber.
Methos sighed, pulled up his journal, and started to write.
*****
Methos was still writing in his journal at 5:30am when there was thunderous knocking at the door. Duncan stirred and sat up, as Methos went to the door, feeling the buzz of a quickening on the other side.
“Who’s there?” Methos asked sharply.
A frantic and despairing voice gave an answer, “Ceirdwyn. Mac, please let me in.”
Methos opened the door and stared at one of his oldest friends. “Ceirdwyn?” He looked at her with utter puzzlement, and was even more confused when she stared at him, went utterly pale, and looked as if she were about to faint. He put an arm around her and led her to the couch, pushing his bedclothes to the side.
Duncan got out of bed and joined the two of them at the couch. “Ceirdwyn?” he asked gently. “What on earth is wrong?”
Methos went into the kitchen, made coffee, and brought three mugs back to them, as Ceirdwyn shuddered and took deep breaths. She took one of the coffee mugs and drank deeply, ignoring the sugar and cream on the tray that Methos had brought.
“I adopted a child,” Ceirdwyn said carefully, measuring her voice as if it would betray her. “I adopted pre-Immortal child after my husband was killed.” Her voice shook slightly. “I thought it would give me a reason to go on . . .” She hesitated and put the coffee mug down. Her hands were shaking, slightly, and she stared at them as though surprised at the sight. She picked up the mug and took another sip.
“The child?” Mac encouraged her to go on.
“She’s been kidnaped,” Ceirdwyn blurted out. She looked quickly around the room as if the child would suddenly appear, and tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them back.
Mac gasped as Methos’ eyes narrowed. “What do they want?” Methos asked blankly.
Ceirdwyn stared at Methos for a moment, took a deep breath, thought for several moments and admitted, “They want you , Methos. They want you tied, bound, helpless, and delivered so they can take your head.”
Mac’s mouth dropped open, and Methos shook his head slightly to try to clear his mind and blinked. “And you came looking for me, here ?” he asked incredulously.
Ceirdwyn shook her head and took another swallow of coffee, draining the cup. Duncan took it from her and went to get a refill. “No,” she said tightly. “I came looking for Duncan. I wanted his advice and help. I had no idea you’d be here. I didn’t even know you two knew each other.”
Duncan came back with the coffee mug, handed it to Ceirdwyn, and took a seat in the chair opposite the couch. He looked at Methos and said, “I’d suggest you sit down.” Turning to Ceirdwyn, he said, “Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened.”
Methos simply stared at Duncan and remained standing. This was his head that was part of the topic under discussion. He walked over to the windows and paid sharp attention to Ceirdwyn as she began to explain.
“I took Becca to the park to play,” Ceirdwyn started. “I was sitting on a bench near the playground where she was playing with two other children. I swear I barely took my eyes off of her . . .” She stopped, shut her mouth tightly, and swallowed hard.
Duncan reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you didn’t Ceirdwyn. This is not your fault.”
Ceirdwyn nodded, raised the mug to her mouth, took another swallow of coffee, and calmed herself. Her voice was steadier when she continued. “There was an accident on the street next to the park. There was a loud crash as a car went into a tree. I looked over at Becca, and she was fine, still sitting on the playground, but looking over at the accident as everyone was doing.”
Ceirdwyn took another deep breath and went on, “There was a man, getting out of the car and telling everyone he was fine, though his head was bleeding. Other folks had their cell phones out, and I was sure the police were being called, and that I didn’t need to do anything.” She swallowed again.
Ceirdwyn put her mug down on the nearby coffee table next to Methos’s laptop and said, “When I looked back for Becca, she was gone.”
“Damn,” Methos said explosively. “One of the oldest tricks in the book. Create a diversion and snatch the victim. I suppose the man driving the bloody car disappeared?”
Ceirdwyn nodded. “And the car was stolen,” she added. She picked up her mug again, took yet another deep swallow, and said, “I swear I didn’t feel an Immortal presence during any of this. It has to have been mortals who did it.”
“Perhaps mortals hired by an Immortal,” Duncan said thoughtfully.
Ceirdwyn nodded. “Almost certainly. I can’t imagine why a mortal would want Methos.”
“I can,” Methos muttered. “Hunters. Watchers gone bad. Horton’s group. I’m sure they’d love to waste my quickening.”
Ceirdwyn looked puzzled, and Duncan quickly filled her in on who the Watchers were and who the hunters were. Ceirdwyn looked horrified. “They want to kill all of us?” she asked with astonishment. “What have we ever done to them?”
Duncan stroked her shoulder again and explained quietly. Then he looked back and forth between Methos and Ceirdwyn. “I gather that the two of you know each other?”
Methos stared at Duncan and said, caustically, “No. She just guessed who I was when I opened the door.”
Ceirdwyn smiled despite her anxiety and worry. “Oh, aye, I know this man. I’ve known him since before you were born, Donnchaid.”
Methos looked at her warningly. He didn’t want his history with her discussed. “Why don’t we get back to the kidnaping?” he suggested.
Ceirdwyn shrugged and went back to topic at hand. “I called the police. They put a trace on my phone. They said a ransom would probably be demanded. At 4:00 am, I received the call on my cell phone, demanding that I deliver Methos to them. It was a man’s voice. The call couldn’t be traced. They said if I involved the police they would kill my daughter and then take her head. I told them I had not a clue where Methos was. He suggested I ask my friend, Macleod. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn, so I came here to ask for help.”
“They asked for me by the name, ‘Methos’?” Methos asked sharply. Ceirdwyn shook her head.
“No, no,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just the name by which I think of you.”
“By what name did they call me when they asked you to bring me?”
Ceirdwyn thought about the question carefully and replied, “Adam Pierson. They told me to bring Adam Pierson. I knew that was the name you’re going by now since we met on the street and had lunch before my husband . . .died,” She closed her eyes for a moment, obviously trying to gather her strength.
Duncan stood up and started to pace, “Where and when, Ceirdwyn? Where are you to deliver Methos?” he asked tightly.
Ceirdwyn put her mug down on the table again, once again drained of coffee. “In a parking lot of a cathedral on the outskirts of Paris. I’m supposed to do it by noon. The parking lot is not holy ground.”
Methos stared out the port and muttered, “Not a lot of time.” He turned his attention back to Ceirdwyn. “How old is she, your Becca?”
Ceirdwyn smiled very slightly as she thought of her little girl, “She’s just turned four.” Her smile faded completely as she went on grimly. “And she must be frightened out of her wits.”
Methos came over to the couch, sat down beside Ceirdwyn, and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in and holding her closely. “If need be,” he said roughly, “we’ll deliver me bound and seemingly helpless and you’ll get your daughter back. I can’t think of anything else that might help at this point. I can’t think of any way to rescue her without giving me up.”
Ceirdwyn looked him, utterly appalled and paling again.
“I said, seemingly helpless,” Methos said reassuringly. He looked at Duncan. “I assume we can devise a way to make my bonds easily breakable.”
Duncan nodded slowly. “How do we make sure the child doesn’t get slain while you are breaking free and wreaking havoc?”
“I think that’s your job, Mac,” Methos said lightly. “Yours and Ceirdwyn’s. Maybe we should call Joe. He’s a good shot . You guys rescue Becca and let me worry about how to keep my head.”
Duncan looked at Methos. “You have any ideas about who might be behind this? Have you recently met up with any more of your old friends ?”
Methos shook his head. “I’ve not seen or sensed another Immortal except the ones who are a regular part of our lives, Amanda, Robert, Gina, and haven’t seen much of them recently.”
“Cassandra?” Duncan asked grimly.
Ceirdwyn looked shocked. “I can’t believe Cassandra would kidnap my child. She and I have been friends for centuries.”
Methos shrugged. “And she and I have been so not friends for more centuries.” He shrugged again “Hell, I don’t know who took your child.” He pulled Ceirdwyn into a tight hold and said gently, “We’ll get the girl back. With her head on.”
Methos looked at Duncan, looked at the clock which now read 7:30 am. “I think we have to get to a hardware store.”
******
Methos was delivered, chained and bound, by Ceirdwyn who got out of the SUV and shouted, “I want to see my child before I take Pierson out of the car. I want to see her NOW!”
A couple of thugs brought the child out of the cathedral and into the parking lot with a gun held to her head. She looked stunned and confused.
Ceirdwyn pulled Methos out the vehicle and left him on the asphalt of the parking ground.
Methos crept forward in his chains. “Take me,” he said loudly. He sensed an Immortal presence , pulled against the chains, felt them give way and rested. He waited for Duncan, Joe, and Ceirdwyn to rescue the child.
An explosion sounded loudly from the side of the church. Almost simultaneously, as the two thugs jumped and looked, Duncan swept in from behind the cars in the lot, knocked the gun out the kidnapper’s hand, and took the girl, whisking her away. Cierdwyn pulled out a gun and held both the men at bay as Joe appeared with ropes that were soon being used to bind the kidnappers.
Methos shrugged off the rest of his chains, rose, and pulled out his sword.
A man came out the cathedral, holding a sword. “I am Bruce Williams. I was a student of Walker, and I claim your head,” he announced.
“Oh come on,” Methos said with a slight grin as they started to engage, “Wouldn’t this be a lot more entertaining if you said, ‘My name is Bruce Williams. You killed my teacher. Prepare to die’?” His exaggerated Spanish accent was appalling.
Williams simply looked confused. Methos shrugged. “I see we are not very conversant with popular culture as well as being a fool of a kidnapper of small children. I suppose almost nothing about this sordid little affair is going to be very entertaining.”
The fight was short and not very exciting. Methos disarmed the man, put him on the ground, and held a sword to his throat.
“Walker didn’t take students,” Methos said grimly. “Who the hell are you and how did you get involved in this?”
“I am Bruce Williams,” the man protested, “and Walker was my teacher.”
“Joe?” Methos called out.
Joe limped out from the trees near the parking lot, consulting his blackberry. “He is Bruce Williams. The watcher we had on him lost him about three weeks ago. He was one of Cassandra’s students.”
Cierdwyn gasped and held her daughter tightly. “No,” she said grimly.
“Is Becca all right?” Methos asked tightly.
Cierdwyn nodded, holding the small child, and murmuring comforting noises.
Methos took a deep breath and took the sword away from Williams’ neck. “I suggest,” he said grimly, “that you tell Cassandra I’m not so easy to kill. I also suggest you tell her that now she has made an enemy of at least one old friend, if not two.”
He looked at Cierdwyn who nodded, her face set with anger and determination. “Tell Cassandra she is no longer welcome at my hearth or in my home.”
Williams nodded, struggled to his feet, ran to a nearby SUV, and climbed in. He called out from the doorway of the vehicle, “We were ordered not the harm the child under any circumstances.”
Cierdwyn simply stared at him as Joe muttered softly, “Yeah, well, as if that made a hell of a lot of difference.”
“You tell Cassandra,” Cierdwyn said with quiet menace, “that the harm was done when the child was taken, and I was left insane with worry. You tell her that she had best be watching the safety of her own head.”
Williams nodded briefly, shut the door, and drove away.
Joe looked at the two, bound mortals. “What are we going to do with these yahoos?” he asked.
“Leave them here,” Cierdwyn said quietly. “I’ll call the police and tell them we recovered my Becca and left the kidnappers here. I just want to go home and take care of my child. They can come and get a statement later.”
Methos was still just standing where the fight had ended, breathing deeply and looking disturbed. Cierdwyn approached and gathered him into a hug. “I can’t begin to thank you, old friend.”
Methos hugged her back and said lightly, “It was the least I could do for you, one of the last left of my old friends.” He turned to Duncan, “Take the woman home, why don’t you, Mac?”
Duncan nodded, loaded Cierdwyn and Becca into the back seat of the SUV, and drove away.
Joe came over to Methos, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Why don’t you let me take you home?”
Methos shrugged and took a deep breath, his breath blowing out in a white stream in the cold air. “Not much point,” he said lightly. “The furnace is out at my building. I’m staying with MacLeod.”
Joe nodded. “Fine. Then I’ll take you there.”
Methos said nothing as Joe led him to the vehicle and sat silently as Joe drove through the streets to Mac’s quay.
“Y’know,” Joe said conversationally, “it’s not really your fault that Cassandra can’t get over what happened a couple of thousand years ago.”
Methos looked out the window. “It’s hard for me to believe that she is so consumed with hatred that she would use a child to try to get to me. Not to mention using Cierdwyn.”
“It’s more than a bit hard for me to believe, too, Methos,” Joe said quietly. There were a few moments of silence, then Joe spoke again. “I have a feeling that Cassandra isn’t the only thing bothering you.”
Methos continued looking out the window. “I helped to kill my brothers,” he said tonelessly. “I sicced Duncan on them. I killed Silas myself.” He took a deep breath. “I loved Silas. He was a monster and a psychopath and he loved killing, but he also loved little furry things and adopted pets and children, and he loved me without condition or reason.”
Joe drove the car and said nothing for several minutes. Then he spoke hesitantly, “When I was in Nam, one of my closest friends was a homicidal maniac when we were in battle. He killed women, children, goats, chickens-whatever and whoever got in the sights of his guns.”
Joe paused a moment and turned into the streets leading Mac’s quay. “Then back in camp, he was one of the warmest and nicest guys I ever knew. Hell, even in battle, if one of us were wounded he would be the first to give aid and call for help.” Joe paused, thinking about Larry who had finally been killed.
“Methos,” Joe said gently. “Do I need to tell you, of all the folks in the world, that people are complicated?”
Methos’s head was still turned to the window, but he managed to grin slightly. “No, Joe,” he said lightly. He looked up again and out through the windshield to the sun and clouds in the sky. “We are all complicated. Do you think MacLeod understands that fact? I think for him, it is all black and white.”
Joe sighed and steered the car around another corner. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I think Mac understands more than you might think about shades of grey. He’s been through a lot in the last few years. I’m just not sure he knows exactly how to evaluate how shades might change in hue over many centuries.” He made a final turn and looked over to grin at Methos. “You know, he might yet end up surprising you.”
“One would hope, Joe,” Methos said lightly as they drove up to the quay. “One can always hope.”
********
Methos slept again in Duncan’s barge. Again, the nightmares came and woke him. He sat up and looked at the clock. It was 3:00 am. He sighed, went to the loo, came back to bed, and looked around for his laptop so he could cruise the net.
Duncan woke and got out of bed. Methos took a deep breath and pretended not to notice.
Duncan sat down beside him on the couch. “Methos,” he said patiently. “You have to tell me what these nightmares are about.”
Methos glared at him and reached for the glass of single malt scotch he had been drinking before he went to sleep. “I don’t have to tell you a damn thing,” he said grumpily, taking a sip of the drink.
“No,” Duncan agreed, “but I’ve been watching you for months now, and I don’t think you’re sleeping well. And now you’ve been in my barge for two nights and on each night you’ve awakened in the middle of darkness. What the hell is going on?”
Methos took another swallow of the single malt scotch, finished it, and got up to get another drink. With his back turned to Duncan, he said quietly, “I keep dreaming about Silas and my brothers with regret and grief. I keep dreaming about Cassandra with regret and remorse. I keep dreaming . . . .and I wake up from the dreams, and I can’t sleep again.” He finished making his drink and sat back down on the couch.
Duncan nodded. “I thought that maybe was a part of it.” He stood, went over to the bar, and poured himself a glass of the Maccallan. While his back was still to Methos, he said quietly, “Would it make any difference to you, if I told you that today as I watched you risk your life to save a little girl that it finally became completely and utterly clear to me that you really are no longer the man who rode with the Horsemen?”
Methos took a sharp breath, thought about several caustic replies he could make, and then said simply and tiredly, “Yes, Mac. That means a great deal to me.”
Duncan sighed with what sounded like relief and brought the bottle over to refill Methos’s glass. “Well,” he said with a hint of mischief in his voice. “That being the case, why don’t we finish these drinks, and then see if you can sleep any better if you share my bed?” Methos stared at him and almost choked on the swallow that had just gone into his mouth.
“Not,” Duncan went on hastily, but still with a hint of mischief in his eyes and voice, “that I’m inviting you to do anything except sleep.”
Methos continued to stare at him, the shock in his eyes fading to be replaced by the beginnings of outrage.
“Well,” Duncan went on with great innocence. “At least not to do anything except sleep, at least to begin with-NO, Methos, no, don’t risk spilling The Maccallan.” Duncan rose and protected his glass, backing hastily away from his annoyed friend who seemed to be on the edge of swatting him.
“You do know that this single malt costs about as much per ounce as gold bullion?” Duncan said pedantically.
Methos sighed and leaned back against the couch cushions. “Yes, MacLeod, I know how much the bloody whiskey costs.” He paused and looked up through his lashes. “I even know that this is the 30 year old variety that may very well cost more per ounce than gold. Now are you finished playing with my head?” and my heart? his thoughts continued.
“Um.” Duncan looked down and then hastily went on. “I did mean the invitation about sharing my bed . . .I just thought that maybe sleeping only would be a good starting place.”
Methos started to laugh. “And what did you have in mind as the ending place?”
Duncan went on looking away. “Well, in the best of all possible outcomes, maybe there wouldn’t have to be an ending place.” His voice was hesitant. “That is to say . . . “ his voice trailed off.
“You’ve said enough for now,” Methos said firmly. He stood. “Let’s go to bed, Mac.”
***********
Morning light was pouring into the barge when Methos woke, feeling the warm weight of Duncan’s body curled up against him. He smiled, feeling rested for the first time in weeks, or maybe months. Duncan stirred, opened his eyes and looked at his companion in the bed.
“Sleep well?” Duncan asked sleepily.
Methos nodded. He hesitated a moment before speaking and then said in quietly and quickly “I dreamed of Silas again . . .but Mac, for the first time, in any dream, it was clear he had forgiven me.”
Duncan’s eyes widened, and then he smiled and gathered the other man into a rough hug. They both ignored the tears that gathered in Methos’s eyes and spilled silently down his face, and simply laid in each other’s arms and enjoyed the warmth and affection.
end
Notes: The quote is from The Princess Bride “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Author: dswdiane,aka Methos? Who’s Methos?
Written for: jamwired
Pairings/Characters: Duncan, Methos, Joe, Ceirdwyn
Rating: R
Warnings: pre-slash, some violence, not much
Author's Notes: This story takes place after the end of the series “Highlander”
Summary: A heating outage sends Methos seeking warmth at Mac’s barge.
Methos glared balefully at the heater vents in his apartment which were releasing no heat at all. He pulled another blanket over himself and cursed his very cold nose.
What on earth had possessed him to stay in Paris for the winter? Yes, there was a position open at the university that he was qualified to fill with his new doctorate. Yes, MacLeod had continued to keep the barge. Yes, he still wanted Mac in his life. Why? Why the hell did he want to keep the idiotic man in his life?
Yes, they saw each other, usually more than once a week. They played chess. They chatted about nothing much in particular. The tension between them remained unresolved. Nothing changed. Methos had no bloody idea whether the tension was the from unresolved sexual attraction, although he was quite sure that was the tension on his part, or whether it was because Mac had never come to terms with the fact that Methos had once, a very long time ago, been a mass murderer when he rode with the Horsemen.
Methos sneezed, grabbed a kleenex, sneezed again, shrugged, picked up the phone, and dialed.
“Hello,” Mac answered.
“I’m freezing,” Methos replied. “The blasted building in which I’ve made the bad choice of living has had a furnace failure. There is no heat in my flat, it is below freezing outside, and it is getting to be close to that in here.” He stopped just short of asking for help. He sneezed again.
Mac chuckled. “Poor Methos,” he said indulgently. Methos considered throttling him. Mac went on, “Come on over and sleep on my couch. I promise I won’t bite.”
Methos stared at the phone receiver for a moment, wishing he could convince Mac to bite. It didn’t matter. He managed to strangle out a “Thank you,” and hung up.
Methos unwound himself from his blankets, glared again at the useless heater vents, put on his coat, grabbed his backpack, and drove to Mac’s loft.
*****
Mac greeted Methos at the door, yawned, and pointed to the couch which was already made up with sheets and blankets and several pillows. “It’s late, “ Mac said briefly. “I need to sleep. Help yourself to anything you want.” Mac headed for his bed, curled up in his blankets and turned off the light near his bed.
Methos nodded and wondered if helping himself to anything he wanted included Mac’s body. He decided that the invitation probably didn’t include sex with the host. He made himself a stiff drink of single malt scotch, sipped it slowly, went to bed on the couch, and quickly fell into an exhausted sleep.
****
Methos woke up, with a sharp indrawn gasp, in the darkness in the middle of the night, sweat all over his body. Another nightmare. He wished he could start to find them boring. He unwrapped himself from the blankets, laid motionless for a moment, and felt the cool air of the barge drying the moisture on his skin. He got up, moving quietly so as to not wake Mac, used the loo, and came back to the couch. He looked at the clock. It was 4:00 am.
He was fairly certain there would be little or no sleep left for him this night. He got his laptop out of his backpack, plugged it in, and started to check his email.
“Methos? “ Mac mumbled sleepily, goggling drowsily at the other man. “You all right?”
“I’m fine, Mac,” Methos said quietly. “Just insomnia. Go back to sleep.”
Mac looked at Methos for a moment, then rolled over, and went back into a deep slumber.
Methos sighed, pulled up his journal, and started to write.
*****
Methos was still writing in his journal at 5:30am when there was thunderous knocking at the door. Duncan stirred and sat up, as Methos went to the door, feeling the buzz of a quickening on the other side.
“Who’s there?” Methos asked sharply.
A frantic and despairing voice gave an answer, “Ceirdwyn. Mac, please let me in.”
Methos opened the door and stared at one of his oldest friends. “Ceirdwyn?” He looked at her with utter puzzlement, and was even more confused when she stared at him, went utterly pale, and looked as if she were about to faint. He put an arm around her and led her to the couch, pushing his bedclothes to the side.
Duncan got out of bed and joined the two of them at the couch. “Ceirdwyn?” he asked gently. “What on earth is wrong?”
Methos went into the kitchen, made coffee, and brought three mugs back to them, as Ceirdwyn shuddered and took deep breaths. She took one of the coffee mugs and drank deeply, ignoring the sugar and cream on the tray that Methos had brought.
“I adopted a child,” Ceirdwyn said carefully, measuring her voice as if it would betray her. “I adopted pre-Immortal child after my husband was killed.” Her voice shook slightly. “I thought it would give me a reason to go on . . .” She hesitated and put the coffee mug down. Her hands were shaking, slightly, and she stared at them as though surprised at the sight. She picked up the mug and took another sip.
“The child?” Mac encouraged her to go on.
“She’s been kidnaped,” Ceirdwyn blurted out. She looked quickly around the room as if the child would suddenly appear, and tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them back.
Mac gasped as Methos’ eyes narrowed. “What do they want?” Methos asked blankly.
Ceirdwyn stared at Methos for a moment, took a deep breath, thought for several moments and admitted, “They want you , Methos. They want you tied, bound, helpless, and delivered so they can take your head.”
Mac’s mouth dropped open, and Methos shook his head slightly to try to clear his mind and blinked. “And you came looking for me, here ?” he asked incredulously.
Ceirdwyn shook her head and took another swallow of coffee, draining the cup. Duncan took it from her and went to get a refill. “No,” she said tightly. “I came looking for Duncan. I wanted his advice and help. I had no idea you’d be here. I didn’t even know you two knew each other.”
Duncan came back with the coffee mug, handed it to Ceirdwyn, and took a seat in the chair opposite the couch. He looked at Methos and said, “I’d suggest you sit down.” Turning to Ceirdwyn, he said, “Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened.”
Methos simply stared at Duncan and remained standing. This was his head that was part of the topic under discussion. He walked over to the windows and paid sharp attention to Ceirdwyn as she began to explain.
“I took Becca to the park to play,” Ceirdwyn started. “I was sitting on a bench near the playground where she was playing with two other children. I swear I barely took my eyes off of her . . .” She stopped, shut her mouth tightly, and swallowed hard.
Duncan reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you didn’t Ceirdwyn. This is not your fault.”
Ceirdwyn nodded, raised the mug to her mouth, took another swallow of coffee, and calmed herself. Her voice was steadier when she continued. “There was an accident on the street next to the park. There was a loud crash as a car went into a tree. I looked over at Becca, and she was fine, still sitting on the playground, but looking over at the accident as everyone was doing.”
Ceirdwyn took another deep breath and went on, “There was a man, getting out of the car and telling everyone he was fine, though his head was bleeding. Other folks had their cell phones out, and I was sure the police were being called, and that I didn’t need to do anything.” She swallowed again.
Ceirdwyn put her mug down on the nearby coffee table next to Methos’s laptop and said, “When I looked back for Becca, she was gone.”
“Damn,” Methos said explosively. “One of the oldest tricks in the book. Create a diversion and snatch the victim. I suppose the man driving the bloody car disappeared?”
Ceirdwyn nodded. “And the car was stolen,” she added. She picked up her mug again, took yet another deep swallow, and said, “I swear I didn’t feel an Immortal presence during any of this. It has to have been mortals who did it.”
“Perhaps mortals hired by an Immortal,” Duncan said thoughtfully.
Ceirdwyn nodded. “Almost certainly. I can’t imagine why a mortal would want Methos.”
“I can,” Methos muttered. “Hunters. Watchers gone bad. Horton’s group. I’m sure they’d love to waste my quickening.”
Ceirdwyn looked puzzled, and Duncan quickly filled her in on who the Watchers were and who the hunters were. Ceirdwyn looked horrified. “They want to kill all of us?” she asked with astonishment. “What have we ever done to them?”
Duncan stroked her shoulder again and explained quietly. Then he looked back and forth between Methos and Ceirdwyn. “I gather that the two of you know each other?”
Methos stared at Duncan and said, caustically, “No. She just guessed who I was when I opened the door.”
Ceirdwyn smiled despite her anxiety and worry. “Oh, aye, I know this man. I’ve known him since before you were born, Donnchaid.”
Methos looked at her warningly. He didn’t want his history with her discussed. “Why don’t we get back to the kidnaping?” he suggested.
Ceirdwyn shrugged and went back to topic at hand. “I called the police. They put a trace on my phone. They said a ransom would probably be demanded. At 4:00 am, I received the call on my cell phone, demanding that I deliver Methos to them. It was a man’s voice. The call couldn’t be traced. They said if I involved the police they would kill my daughter and then take her head. I told them I had not a clue where Methos was. He suggested I ask my friend, Macleod. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn, so I came here to ask for help.”
“They asked for me by the name, ‘Methos’?” Methos asked sharply. Ceirdwyn shook her head.
“No, no,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s just the name by which I think of you.”
“By what name did they call me when they asked you to bring me?”
Ceirdwyn thought about the question carefully and replied, “Adam Pierson. They told me to bring Adam Pierson. I knew that was the name you’re going by now since we met on the street and had lunch before my husband . . .died,” She closed her eyes for a moment, obviously trying to gather her strength.
Duncan stood up and started to pace, “Where and when, Ceirdwyn? Where are you to deliver Methos?” he asked tightly.
Ceirdwyn put her mug down on the table again, once again drained of coffee. “In a parking lot of a cathedral on the outskirts of Paris. I’m supposed to do it by noon. The parking lot is not holy ground.”
Methos stared out the port and muttered, “Not a lot of time.” He turned his attention back to Ceirdwyn. “How old is she, your Becca?”
Ceirdwyn smiled very slightly as she thought of her little girl, “She’s just turned four.” Her smile faded completely as she went on grimly. “And she must be frightened out of her wits.”
Methos came over to the couch, sat down beside Ceirdwyn, and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in and holding her closely. “If need be,” he said roughly, “we’ll deliver me bound and seemingly helpless and you’ll get your daughter back. I can’t think of anything else that might help at this point. I can’t think of any way to rescue her without giving me up.”
Ceirdwyn looked him, utterly appalled and paling again.
“I said, seemingly helpless,” Methos said reassuringly. He looked at Duncan. “I assume we can devise a way to make my bonds easily breakable.”
Duncan nodded slowly. “How do we make sure the child doesn’t get slain while you are breaking free and wreaking havoc?”
“I think that’s your job, Mac,” Methos said lightly. “Yours and Ceirdwyn’s. Maybe we should call Joe. He’s a good shot . You guys rescue Becca and let me worry about how to keep my head.”
Duncan looked at Methos. “You have any ideas about who might be behind this? Have you recently met up with any more of your old friends ?”
Methos shook his head. “I’ve not seen or sensed another Immortal except the ones who are a regular part of our lives, Amanda, Robert, Gina, and haven’t seen much of them recently.”
“Cassandra?” Duncan asked grimly.
Ceirdwyn looked shocked. “I can’t believe Cassandra would kidnap my child. She and I have been friends for centuries.”
Methos shrugged. “And she and I have been so not friends for more centuries.” He shrugged again “Hell, I don’t know who took your child.” He pulled Ceirdwyn into a tight hold and said gently, “We’ll get the girl back. With her head on.”
Methos looked at Duncan, looked at the clock which now read 7:30 am. “I think we have to get to a hardware store.”
******
Methos was delivered, chained and bound, by Ceirdwyn who got out of the SUV and shouted, “I want to see my child before I take Pierson out of the car. I want to see her NOW!”
A couple of thugs brought the child out of the cathedral and into the parking lot with a gun held to her head. She looked stunned and confused.
Ceirdwyn pulled Methos out the vehicle and left him on the asphalt of the parking ground.
Methos crept forward in his chains. “Take me,” he said loudly. He sensed an Immortal presence , pulled against the chains, felt them give way and rested. He waited for Duncan, Joe, and Ceirdwyn to rescue the child.
An explosion sounded loudly from the side of the church. Almost simultaneously, as the two thugs jumped and looked, Duncan swept in from behind the cars in the lot, knocked the gun out the kidnapper’s hand, and took the girl, whisking her away. Cierdwyn pulled out a gun and held both the men at bay as Joe appeared with ropes that were soon being used to bind the kidnappers.
Methos shrugged off the rest of his chains, rose, and pulled out his sword.
A man came out the cathedral, holding a sword. “I am Bruce Williams. I was a student of Walker, and I claim your head,” he announced.
“Oh come on,” Methos said with a slight grin as they started to engage, “Wouldn’t this be a lot more entertaining if you said, ‘My name is Bruce Williams. You killed my teacher. Prepare to die’?” His exaggerated Spanish accent was appalling.
Williams simply looked confused. Methos shrugged. “I see we are not very conversant with popular culture as well as being a fool of a kidnapper of small children. I suppose almost nothing about this sordid little affair is going to be very entertaining.”
The fight was short and not very exciting. Methos disarmed the man, put him on the ground, and held a sword to his throat.
“Walker didn’t take students,” Methos said grimly. “Who the hell are you and how did you get involved in this?”
“I am Bruce Williams,” the man protested, “and Walker was my teacher.”
“Joe?” Methos called out.
Joe limped out from the trees near the parking lot, consulting his blackberry. “He is Bruce Williams. The watcher we had on him lost him about three weeks ago. He was one of Cassandra’s students.”
Cierdwyn gasped and held her daughter tightly. “No,” she said grimly.
“Is Becca all right?” Methos asked tightly.
Cierdwyn nodded, holding the small child, and murmuring comforting noises.
Methos took a deep breath and took the sword away from Williams’ neck. “I suggest,” he said grimly, “that you tell Cassandra I’m not so easy to kill. I also suggest you tell her that now she has made an enemy of at least one old friend, if not two.”
He looked at Cierdwyn who nodded, her face set with anger and determination. “Tell Cassandra she is no longer welcome at my hearth or in my home.”
Williams nodded, struggled to his feet, ran to a nearby SUV, and climbed in. He called out from the doorway of the vehicle, “We were ordered not the harm the child under any circumstances.”
Cierdwyn simply stared at him as Joe muttered softly, “Yeah, well, as if that made a hell of a lot of difference.”
“You tell Cassandra,” Cierdwyn said with quiet menace, “that the harm was done when the child was taken, and I was left insane with worry. You tell her that she had best be watching the safety of her own head.”
Williams nodded briefly, shut the door, and drove away.
Joe looked at the two, bound mortals. “What are we going to do with these yahoos?” he asked.
“Leave them here,” Cierdwyn said quietly. “I’ll call the police and tell them we recovered my Becca and left the kidnappers here. I just want to go home and take care of my child. They can come and get a statement later.”
Methos was still just standing where the fight had ended, breathing deeply and looking disturbed. Cierdwyn approached and gathered him into a hug. “I can’t begin to thank you, old friend.”
Methos hugged her back and said lightly, “It was the least I could do for you, one of the last left of my old friends.” He turned to Duncan, “Take the woman home, why don’t you, Mac?”
Duncan nodded, loaded Cierdwyn and Becca into the back seat of the SUV, and drove away.
Joe came over to Methos, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Why don’t you let me take you home?”
Methos shrugged and took a deep breath, his breath blowing out in a white stream in the cold air. “Not much point,” he said lightly. “The furnace is out at my building. I’m staying with MacLeod.”
Joe nodded. “Fine. Then I’ll take you there.”
Methos said nothing as Joe led him to the vehicle and sat silently as Joe drove through the streets to Mac’s quay.
“Y’know,” Joe said conversationally, “it’s not really your fault that Cassandra can’t get over what happened a couple of thousand years ago.”
Methos looked out the window. “It’s hard for me to believe that she is so consumed with hatred that she would use a child to try to get to me. Not to mention using Cierdwyn.”
“It’s more than a bit hard for me to believe, too, Methos,” Joe said quietly. There were a few moments of silence, then Joe spoke again. “I have a feeling that Cassandra isn’t the only thing bothering you.”
Methos continued looking out the window. “I helped to kill my brothers,” he said tonelessly. “I sicced Duncan on them. I killed Silas myself.” He took a deep breath. “I loved Silas. He was a monster and a psychopath and he loved killing, but he also loved little furry things and adopted pets and children, and he loved me without condition or reason.”
Joe drove the car and said nothing for several minutes. Then he spoke hesitantly, “When I was in Nam, one of my closest friends was a homicidal maniac when we were in battle. He killed women, children, goats, chickens-whatever and whoever got in the sights of his guns.”
Joe paused a moment and turned into the streets leading Mac’s quay. “Then back in camp, he was one of the warmest and nicest guys I ever knew. Hell, even in battle, if one of us were wounded he would be the first to give aid and call for help.” Joe paused, thinking about Larry who had finally been killed.
“Methos,” Joe said gently. “Do I need to tell you, of all the folks in the world, that people are complicated?”
Methos’s head was still turned to the window, but he managed to grin slightly. “No, Joe,” he said lightly. He looked up again and out through the windshield to the sun and clouds in the sky. “We are all complicated. Do you think MacLeod understands that fact? I think for him, it is all black and white.”
Joe sighed and steered the car around another corner. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I think Mac understands more than you might think about shades of grey. He’s been through a lot in the last few years. I’m just not sure he knows exactly how to evaluate how shades might change in hue over many centuries.” He made a final turn and looked over to grin at Methos. “You know, he might yet end up surprising you.”
“One would hope, Joe,” Methos said lightly as they drove up to the quay. “One can always hope.”
********
Methos slept again in Duncan’s barge. Again, the nightmares came and woke him. He sat up and looked at the clock. It was 3:00 am. He sighed, went to the loo, came back to bed, and looked around for his laptop so he could cruise the net.
Duncan woke and got out of bed. Methos took a deep breath and pretended not to notice.
Duncan sat down beside him on the couch. “Methos,” he said patiently. “You have to tell me what these nightmares are about.”
Methos glared at him and reached for the glass of single malt scotch he had been drinking before he went to sleep. “I don’t have to tell you a damn thing,” he said grumpily, taking a sip of the drink.
“No,” Duncan agreed, “but I’ve been watching you for months now, and I don’t think you’re sleeping well. And now you’ve been in my barge for two nights and on each night you’ve awakened in the middle of darkness. What the hell is going on?”
Methos took another swallow of the single malt scotch, finished it, and got up to get another drink. With his back turned to Duncan, he said quietly, “I keep dreaming about Silas and my brothers with regret and grief. I keep dreaming about Cassandra with regret and remorse. I keep dreaming . . . .and I wake up from the dreams, and I can’t sleep again.” He finished making his drink and sat back down on the couch.
Duncan nodded. “I thought that maybe was a part of it.” He stood, went over to the bar, and poured himself a glass of the Maccallan. While his back was still to Methos, he said quietly, “Would it make any difference to you, if I told you that today as I watched you risk your life to save a little girl that it finally became completely and utterly clear to me that you really are no longer the man who rode with the Horsemen?”
Methos took a sharp breath, thought about several caustic replies he could make, and then said simply and tiredly, “Yes, Mac. That means a great deal to me.”
Duncan sighed with what sounded like relief and brought the bottle over to refill Methos’s glass. “Well,” he said with a hint of mischief in his voice. “That being the case, why don’t we finish these drinks, and then see if you can sleep any better if you share my bed?” Methos stared at him and almost choked on the swallow that had just gone into his mouth.
“Not,” Duncan went on hastily, but still with a hint of mischief in his eyes and voice, “that I’m inviting you to do anything except sleep.”
Methos continued to stare at him, the shock in his eyes fading to be replaced by the beginnings of outrage.
“Well,” Duncan went on with great innocence. “At least not to do anything except sleep, at least to begin with-NO, Methos, no, don’t risk spilling The Maccallan.” Duncan rose and protected his glass, backing hastily away from his annoyed friend who seemed to be on the edge of swatting him.
“You do know that this single malt costs about as much per ounce as gold bullion?” Duncan said pedantically.
Methos sighed and leaned back against the couch cushions. “Yes, MacLeod, I know how much the bloody whiskey costs.” He paused and looked up through his lashes. “I even know that this is the 30 year old variety that may very well cost more per ounce than gold. Now are you finished playing with my head?” and my heart? his thoughts continued.
“Um.” Duncan looked down and then hastily went on. “I did mean the invitation about sharing my bed . . .I just thought that maybe sleeping only would be a good starting place.”
Methos started to laugh. “And what did you have in mind as the ending place?”
Duncan went on looking away. “Well, in the best of all possible outcomes, maybe there wouldn’t have to be an ending place.” His voice was hesitant. “That is to say . . . “ his voice trailed off.
“You’ve said enough for now,” Methos said firmly. He stood. “Let’s go to bed, Mac.”
***********
Morning light was pouring into the barge when Methos woke, feeling the warm weight of Duncan’s body curled up against him. He smiled, feeling rested for the first time in weeks, or maybe months. Duncan stirred, opened his eyes and looked at his companion in the bed.
“Sleep well?” Duncan asked sleepily.
Methos nodded. He hesitated a moment before speaking and then said in quietly and quickly “I dreamed of Silas again . . .but Mac, for the first time, in any dream, it was clear he had forgiven me.”
Duncan’s eyes widened, and then he smiled and gathered the other man into a rough hug. They both ignored the tears that gathered in Methos’s eyes and spilled silently down his face, and simply laid in each other’s arms and enjoyed the warmth and affection.
end
Notes: The quote is from The Princess Bride “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”