Standard disclaimer:: not mine. No profit gained. No harm intended.

NC-17. Slash DM/M, K/M, violence, abuse




Of Cabbages and Kings, Eeyore, Death, Destiny, and, Oh, Yes, Also Dream


*Life is my own to live my own way,* Severin halfway giggled to himself as he packed the box, wrote the message, and scribbled the address on the label. He hugged the package and danced around his living room, knowing he was half-insane and not caring. He had survived for 2500 years in the body of a 19 year old boy and thought he well deserved to be half-insane with all he had known and suffered and endured, with all he had known of blood and killing and surviving.

*************************

Duncan got back from teaching his morning classes at the university and found Methos sitting at the table in the loft with an open UPS box in front of him, staring at a note, his face puzzled.

"Methos, I don't care if you can recognize my quickening signature," Duncan said, carefully. "I don't want to walk in and find you just sitting here without a sword handy."

Methos picked up the blade at his side and absently put the point at Duncan's throat. "There. Happy?" He looked up at Duncan and asked, "Why would some anonymous person send me a cabbage?"

Duncan stared as Methos pulled a healthy cabbage out of the box in front of him. "Uh, is there a note? And to whom was it addressed??

"The note says 'I don't care now, 'cause I'm on my side and I can see through you. I'm in heaven cause Kronos is dead.' And it was addressed to Adam Pierson c/o Duncan MacLeod at this address." Methos shivered and looked up at Duncan. "I don't think this is good news. And I don't think this cabbage has anything to do with Lewis Carroll."

"Lewis Carroll?" Duncan shook his head at his lover, even as he pulled him out of the straight backed chair and over to the couch to drag him down and hold him in his arms.

Methos softly quoted, "The time has come the walrus said to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. . ."

"No, baby,"Duncan said, "I think that's a head of cabbage, and someone is telling you that he or she is coming after your head."

"Uh huh, I think you might be right. Someone who knew me in the days of me and Kronos. Oh, fucking hell, will I never be able to put that holy nightmare behind me?" Methos banged his forehead, hard, on Duncan's collar bone.

"OWW! Dammit, that hurt!" Duncan grabbed Methos by both sides of his head and stared into his face with exasperation.

"Really? I am shocked and surprised," Methos grinned slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Duncan shook his head, leaned in, kissed the other man deeply, and said, "I'm seriously considering counting that as a 'one.'"

Methos kissed back and widened his eyes in mock horror, "Oh? And if we get to three?"

"You know what happens." Duncan kissed again and started caressing, his hand reaching under the Henley Methos wore and stroking bare skin.

Methos leaned into the hands. "Ummm, Duncan, have I not mentioned that we cannot continue making love every hour we're awake and around each other?"

Duncan chuckled. "And have I not asked why not?" He stripped the shirt off Methos back and started to play with his nipples while kissing him deeply.

"Objections overruled," Methos said happily, starting on the Highlander's clothes. "But what do we do about the damn cabbage?"

"Make cole slaw?" Duncan suggested.

Methos started laughing as his mouth moved down Duncan's body, licking and teasing. "I don't *think* so," he sang out. "How about corned beef and cabbage, just swimming in fat and cholesterol?"

Duncan considered. "Well, we are Immortals. We can eat whatever we want. Are you going to cook?"

Methos continued sucking and licking, swallowing a very hard part of Duncan all the way down to his groin. Duncan moaned and threw his head back. "Oh. My. God."

Methos let his throat muscles work for several long minutes and teased with one lubed finger below. He raised his head, sucking and licking the whole way up. "Let's make a deal," he suggested.

Duncan moaned and writhed, half out of his mind. "Whatever," he agreed.

Methos grinned wickedly. "Whoever comes first has to cook tonight."

Duncan sat up suddenly and tangled his fingers in Methos' hair "Oh?" he responded quietly. He picked up the other man without much effort, ignoring his cries of protest, and deposited him on the bed, delivered one hard smack to his ass, and then put his mouth down to Methos' groin.

"OWW. " Methos squirmed and surrendered to Duncan's attentions. Several long moments later, he was gasping as first one lubed finger and then two and then three went up inside him and then withdrew to be replaced by a very hard portion of Duncan's anatomy.

"OHHHHHHHH," Methos gasped out as he started to come.

*************************

Severin danced again around his living room hugging another package He didn't quite understand. Why was the man who killed the monster, Kronos, living with the monster who has been with the monster, the monster who had raped his body, his heart, and his mind? It didn't matter. All the monsters had to be killed to make him free. To make his life his own to live his own way:

He sent the package by UPS.

He was Severin in this lifetime.

***********************************

He had been Sorkin when the Horsemen had taken his village. Only 19 when Kronos' sword had gone through him. He still remembered the blood bubbling from his mouth as he died, and the gasp when he had awakened again, the searing pain of the sword cut again burning through his chest. He was being held in front of someone on a horse, a wiry, muscled arm under his arms, holding him firmly against a hard chest.

He heard a chuckle behind him. "Awake, are you? And mine now." The wiry arm tightened, pressing where the pain of the sword thrust still lingered. Sorkin gasped again.

"My father, my mother? My people?" Sorkin gulped out.

"All dead." Another voice said quietly, close beside him and Sorkin turned his head to see a rider on a pale horse, mask pulled up to reveal a young face, half of which was painted blue, the other half pale, looking grim and foreboding.

The half-blue face looked over Sorkin at the man in whose grip he was held and asked flatly, "Is this your new play-thing?"

The voice behind Sorkin snarled. "Would you prefer to return to my bed, my pretty *brother*?" The last word was fairly spat out.

Hazel eyes in the half-blue face went flat, mud-colored and dead. "Never in a thousand years, brother. Never in ten thousand years." The man spurred his horse and rode ahead, calling out orders, and organizing the camp ahead.

The grip around Sorkin tightened again, painfully and hard, and he gasped again with pain. The horse beneath him turned and he heard the rider yelling orders to the men behind. "Caspian, take the women you want to play with to your tent. Silas, do as you want with those animals, but get them put away."

Sorkin, still in shock, looked up to see the half bald, almost kind looking man, who had just been called Silas, looking up at the man who held him painfully.

"Kronos," Silas said "I found several nanny goats. We can breed them and have milk and kids."

*Kronos,* Sorkin thought, *the man's name is Kronos. And all I have to do is please him and maybe he'll let me live.*

****************************

Later that evening, Sorkin found out just how much pain was involved in pleasing in Kronos as his mouth and rear were raped until he was screaming,.

Sorkin discovered that if he was careful to placate and please the man, sometimes Kronos was kind. Sometimes, with enough wine and enough subservience, Kronos even covered him with kisses and brought him to a shuddering climax.

But never if there had been one of those of those tense and puzzling interactions between Kronos and the man, Methos, who painted half his face blue. If Methos and Kronos had had one of their edgy and crackling conversations, Kronos often simply returned to the tent, threw Sorkin face down over a pile of hides, and fucked him dry and painfully, while Sorkin silently endured the pain.

One time, Kronos and Methos sat up late beside the campfire, drinking wine, talking, laughing, their voices low and intimate, still talking and laughing long after Silas and Caspian had left for their tents. Sorkin had watched from the shadows inside Kronos' tent, watching as finally Kronos reached out and caressed Methos' face. Methos raised a hand and covered the other man's hand with his own, took it down from his face, held it, and gently shook his head. A few more sentences were exchanged and Methos rose and went to this tent.

That night Kronos made love to Sorkin with need and passion that Sorkin had never experienced before.

****************************

Sorkin was cleaning the tent. Kronos was out, hunting or trading or whatever he did when he was gone.

Methos pushed open the skins, moved into the tent, leaned against one of the supports, and crossed his arms casually over his chest, looking at the boy. "Has he told you what you are?" Methos asked conversationally.

Sorkin dropped the water bowl he had been about to take to the spring and gaped.

Methos asked again, "Has he told you what you are?"

Sorkin shook his head numbly. What did this man want? He had been silently watching Sorkin since the boy had arrived in the camp, and Sorkin had been uncomfortably aware of the fact. He was just as uncomfortably aware of the tension between his owner and this man. Sorkin did not want to be caught in the middle of that conflict. He just wanted to survive. He flinched away.

"Maybe it would be better to wait for him to tell me," he said, looking down and refusing to meet the eyes of the other man.

"He won't. He'll use you till he's had his fill of you and then either take your head and your quickening or turn you over to Caspian to do the same. Sorkin, if you truly want to survive, come with me, now. Let me give you a chance."

"Why?" Sorkin looked up at the other man who shook his head and looked slightly puzzled.

"I don't know. Maybe because I remember when Kronos first found me." A summery smile suddenly lit his face and for a moment he looked far away and his voice was soft. "I remember what it was like to feel young and Immortal and in love and as if we would live forever and love forever, and maybe I wish you could have the same opportunity." He half grinned. "Maybe I've just lost my fucking mind and become a fucking fool."

His voice changed again and was soft and determined. "But I am sick of this shit. And for some damn reason, I want you to live. Will you come with me? Your choice."

Sorkin thought carefully and nodded.

Methos took Sorkin to a flat area far from the camp. Along the way, he explained about Immortals and the Game and about beheadings and quickenings . He gave Sorkin a blade and started teaching him how to spar.

After several hours, both exhausted and dripping with sweat, Methos patted the boy on the back, and said, "Good. We'll do this again when Kronos is away. Only when Kronos is away. Now, get back to his tent and clean it thoroughly and put this out of your mind. And remember when I've trained you enough, you get away. Go, boy. We must not be seen together."

*********************************

For almost three months, Methos trained the boy secretly teaching him both to fight and to ride, sneaking in one day in one week, another day in two weeks, sometimes two days in the same week, whenever Kronos and Caspian were both gone. It didn't matter to Methos whether Silas was there or not. He trusted Silas to turn a blind eye to his activities.

Kronos and Caspian had gone to trade goods with the Egyptians. It was at least a two day trip. They were not expected back until long into the next day.

Methos and Sorkin had several sparring sessions and had swam in the lake, near the sparring ground they had chosen, to wash off the sweat. Both lay, naked, in the sun, drying off.

"How am I doing?" Sorkin asked.

"Oh, I don't know." Methos stretched lazily. "If I had another 200 hundred years, you might get good enough to fight one of the serving girls. . .OW. . . don't poke me with a stick, young bratling." Methos grinned, grabbed the stick from Sorkin, and almost managed to whack him with it before the much younger Immortal rolled away, laughing.

Methos laid back down, still grinning, arm over his eyes. "Actually, you're getting good, kid. I think you'll soon be ready to escape and make it on your own."

Sorkin spoke hesitatedly, "Why have you done all this for me?"

Methos chuckled. "One of Kronos' main complaints about me. I have a tendency to like people, to get attached. I get too involved. One of my worst faults. Don't worry about it. Just watch for your chances. Any day, now. Get away."

Sorkin turned and looked at the naked body stretched out in the sun beside him. He raised up on one elbow and stared even more closely and then reached out a hand to stroke and caress.

Methos caught the hand and opened his eyes. "I don't think so," he said gently. "Not what this has been about. Ask me again in about 200 years, but not when you're young and vulnerable and I've been your teacher."

"Then why. . ?" Sorkin asked.

Methos just looked at him, the sun shining in his hazel eyes, making them glint gold with sunlight and green with grass. He held Sorkin's hand with both of his. "I just want you to live. Grow stronger. Fight another day. And get the hell away from this band of merry madmen."

And the world splintered around them.

"Oh, what have WE here?" Kronos' voice shattered the stillness of the lake valley. "Two naked lovers enjoying a sojourn beside a quiet lake? How nice. How positively pastoral and idyllic. Are you two so nicely enjoying yourselves and each other?"

"KRONOS!:" Methos grabbed for his clothes and started pulling them on. "This is NOT what you think. We just took a swim in the lake . . "

"You'll have no need for your clothes in a moment, my *brother,* but by all means put them on," Kronos said sardonically.

Sorkin was scrambling to put his clothes on, too. Kronos chuckled. "As for you, my sweet slave, I think I shall give you to Caspian, and he will decide what to do with your clothing. He usually doesn't eat clothes. Just flesh. And since you have Immortal flesh it *will* keep coming back."

Kronos snapped at the guards, "Take Methos to my tent and stake him down over a pile of skins. Secure his ankles and wrists. Make sure he has plenty of pillows and skins under him and make sure his ass is high in the air. Do it NOW. Take Sorkin to Caspian's tent and do whatever Caspian orders."

Methos reached for his sword, stood, and backed off. "Sorkin, don't take this lying down," he hissed out.

Sorkin simply laid there, stunned, as the guards grabbed him and started dragging him away. He saw as he was dragged that Kronos waved the guards away between him and Methos and then turned to the guards dragging Sorkin.

"Let the boy watch," Kronos ordered. "Let him see how thoroughly I own his *lover.*" The guards stopped and turned Sorkin to let him watch.

Kronos drew his blade and faces Methos who held his out. "Damn you, Kronos," Methos spat out. "The boy and I have not been *lovers.*"

Sorkin watched as Methos and Kronos fought, watched as Methos gave up opportunity after opportunity to take the other man, watched as Methos's clothes went dark from sweat, watched as Kronos toyed with him, and watched as Kronos finally dislodged the blade from Methos' hand. Methos paled, sparing a last glance of despairing apology in Sorkin's direction.

Kronos laughed. "Take Methos to my tent and tie him down well to await my pleasure." He stroked Methos' lips with his fingers and kissed him hard. "And take the boy to Caspian's tent for Caspian to do with as he wishes."

"No," Methos gasped out before he was dragged away.

Sorkin heard no more before he, too, was pulled away and taken to Caspian's tent.

Within minutes Sorkin was screaming in Caspian's tent as Caspian ate his calves. He heard a scream from Kronos' tent, a long silence, and then another strangled scream that was cut off in the middle as if Methos had bit through his own lip. He wondered what Kronos was doing to Methos, but it wasn't long before the pain and horror of what was being done to him made him deaf to any sounds from Kronos' tent.

************************************

Duncan walked into the loft with grocery bags in both arms and put them down on the kitchen counter. He looked over to where Methos sat on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest scowling at another open UPS box open on the table in front of him. The soundtrack to from the original Broadway production of "Into the Woods" was pouring loudly out of the speakers behind him.

Duncan sighed, quickly put away the perishables, grabbed the remote on the way to the couch, and turned the music down enough to allow for conversation. "What now?" he asked.

Methos just made an exasperated gesture at the box. Duncan looked cautiously inside, and his eyes widened. "What on earth *is* IT?" he asked half stunned and half stupefied.

"It *is*," Methos said irritably, "the severed head of an Eeyore stuffed animal with a bronze dagger stuck through his left eye. And there is another fucking note."

Duncan picked up the note and read it: "Out of my own, out to be free. Can't get caught in the endless circle. Ring of stupidity. Caspian's gone, too, huh? And even poor, stupid Silas. Guess none of them are left but you."

"Baby, what is all this about?" Duncan asked carefully. "Do you have a clue?"

"Well, I suppose this could be posthumous, bizarre, literary criticism from Dorothy Parker," Methos said irately. "But highly unlikely, particularly given the note."

Duncan's mouth dropped open slightly. Sometimes, he thought, he couldn't follow Methos' thought processes with the help of a detailed road map and a flashlight.

Methos looked at him and took pity. "Dot Parker's review of 'House on Pooh Corner' when she wrote literary criticism for the New Yorker as Constant Reader. She quoted most of the words to one song which I think was called 'Tiddly Pom.'" Methos shuddered. "And ended the review with something like 'at this point, tonstant weader fwowed up.'"

"Oh," Duncan said. "No, I don't think this is from Dorothy Parker."

Methos, picked up the remote, clicked off the music, and paced up and down the loft, muttering loudly, "By the time you swear you're his, shivering and sighing. And he swears his passion is infinite, undying. Darling, make a note of this. One of you is lying.'" He whirled and glared at Duncan. "Yes, I changed one word to make it more appropriate. One of my favorites of hers. Which of us is lying?"

Duncan sighed again. First "Into the Woods," now Dorothy Parker cynicism. He thought he would be extraordinarily lucky if this afternoon did not evolve into a tantrum from hell, with smashed crockery, slammed doors, suitcases dragged out of closets, shouting, and tears. And comforting thereafter. He stared at the ceiling and begged for patience from whatever deities resided in the plaster thereof. "I doubt either one of us is, actually. Are you going to tell me what this head of a miserable donkey might be about?"

Methos paced for a few more moment, almost stomping his feet and then sank back to the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and putting his head down on his knees.

"Kronos once took a young Immortal slave named Sorkin. I took pity on him and managed to sneak him away from camp and taught him to fight . . ."

****************************

Kronos whipped the skin off Methos' back from his shoulders to his knees, poured briny water over all, and started again. Methos screamed once in the middle of the procedure, stopped himself, screamed again when the salt water hit the raw, bleeding mess of his back, stopped himself by biting through his tongue, and blessed the blackness when he passed out and/or died.

When Methos woke, the skin on this back, ass, and thighs was healing slowly and painfully. He was still staked down over the skins in Kronos' tent where Kronos had cut his clothes off. Tears started sliding down his face, and a sob escaped and then another.

He heard Kronos make a small noise, slightly like a groan, and then felt the ropes loosen at his ankles and wrists. A moment later, familiar arms were pulling him into a familiar lap. He wrapped his long legs around a familiar waist and long arms around familiar shoulders and put his face into Kronos' shoulder, still crying.

"I never made love to that boy,:" he sobbed out, hurting badly and reaching out for desperately needed comfort.

"You swear?" Kronos demanded, stroking and caressing.

"YES," Methos sobbed out. "I swear. I never touched him. You know how I am, Kronos. I took an interest in him. I talked to him. I made friends with him."

"Then why did you have his hand in yours when we came up on you? Why were you naked?"

"We'd been swimming. He made a pass at me. I was turning him down. THAT'S ALL." Methos tightened his arms around the other man's back.

Kronos sighed and stroked even more gently. "Oh," he said, helplessly, "I can't stand it when you cry. You know that don't you? I don't understand why you don't you use that more frequently, baby, to get your way and stop me from hurting you."

"Too much pride," Methos mumbled, numbly, unable to tell the other man that when Kronos was white hot with anger, all the tears in the world didn't stop the blows of rage from falling and, also, he was simply speaking the truth. He would be damned if he would beg and sob to make this man stop hurting him no matter how much they had shared.

"You'll never look at him again," Kronos said fiercely, taking Methos by his hair and dragging his face back so he could look at him. "YOU will NEVER look AT him AGAIN. NOT once. You will never speak to him. You will never go within ten feet of him. And you are mine again. Is THAT clearly understood?"

"Yes, love," Methos said meekly, hiding his rage and submitting. "I understand."

Kronos kissed him, thrusting his tongue in deeply and Methos responded, rocking his pelvis against the other man.

******************************

"And so I was back in his arms again," Methos said pacing again. "I was once again Kronos' lover. After keeping my distance from that fucking lunatic for hundreds of years. What in fucking hell possessed me to be so stupid?" He picked up the remote and turned the music back on.

Duncan sighed. They were rapidly coming up on the lyrics that always made Methos dissolve into deep, shuddering sobs.

"You know," Methos said. "I think I had locked my heart and my soul and all my feelings away. And all the time I spent with Sorkin, teaching him, laughing with him, playing with him . . .just fucking opened me up again . . .and . . ." Tears welled suddenly in hazel eyes.

Duncan reached out, took Methos' hand and tugged him over, pulling him down into a familiar lap. Long legs wrapped around a familiar waist and long arms wrapped around a familiar back and his face went down into Duncan's familiar and very safe shoulder. "And you wanted to love and be loved again, baby," Duncan said soothingly. "It's okay. It had been a long time."

"You know," Methos wonderingly, "he called me 'baby,' too. Just like you do. Why?"

Duncan chuckled. "I think, love, it's that bewildering vulnerability you have. That astonishing, labyrinthine, byzantine mind and the touching vulnerability you've managed to hang on to all these centuries. It's a strange combination."

The "Into the Woods" soundtrack continued to play. And as if on schedule and as usual, during The Finale, the first shuddering sob came with the lyrics "Sometimes people leave you. Halfway through the woods." Duncan held on tightly, rocked, soothed, and caressed.

*********************************

Severin finished the last of his paper work, prepared his final package, and once again danced around his penthouse apartment in Rome.

Over two thousand years, he had taken many heads. He had found many teachers. He had followed Methos' advice. Live. Grow Stronger. Fight another day.

But he had never forgotten.

************************************

When Sorkin woke in Caspian's tent, Caspian was gone, and Sorkin ached throughout every inch of his body. He dragged himself to his feet, knowing that such massive injuries would require time to heal and dragged himself out of the tent, intending to go and soak in the cool waters of the lake.

As his eyes cleared the top of the hill, he froze and stared. Kronos was lying on shore with Methos' head on his chest. Even as Sorkin watched, Kronos leaned over and kissed the other man, hard and long.

Sorkin's eyes widened and he took in a quiet, gasping breath, continuing to watch as Methos curled his arms around Kronos who rolled over on top of the other man, continuing to watch as Methos stroked Kronos' back and ass, and continuing to watch as Methos suddenly rolled both of them over and over, tumbling them back into the lake and swimming away fast, laughing, with Kronos in pursuit, also laughing.

"It's good to see them together again," Silas had come up silently behind him. "They're happier."

"Bah," Caspian spat out, striding up in time to hear Silas. "Oh, they're happier now. And how long before they're fighting again. How long before Methos cuts him off again? And you know what he's like when Methos ends it. Hell to be around for bloody years."

They all watched as Methos allowed Kronos to catch him, kiss him, and then laugh as he put both hands on top of Kronos' head and ducked him under. Methos took a deep breath and then dove under himself. Kronos came up sputtering and looking around, then was cut off in the midst of an indignant squawk as he was dragged under water again.

Silas laughed, and after a moment, Caspian started laughing too. Sorkin simply stared. "Methos gets him to play like a child," Silas said indulgently. "Maybe this time . . ."

"Maybe this time, the sun will rise in the west and set in the east," Caspian snorted and then turned to Sorkin. "And as for you, my new slave, how did you enjoy *our* fun and games last night?"

Sorkin swallowed. Hard.

Methos and Kronos surfaced again, mouths locked together, arms around each other, whirling lazily in the water.

Sorkin turned and trudged back to Caspian's tent.

******************************

"Baby," Duncan said carefully, still holding Methos. "You've not told me why you think these packages are from Sorkin."

"Oh." Methos shuddered once with an after-sob. "Oh, fucking hells."

******************************

Caspian was sitting at the camp fire as plans were discussed for a raid the next day. Sorkin had served his dinner. Caspian took a chunk of meat, grinned happily, and suddenly bit off one of Sorkin's fingers. The boy uttered a sharp half-scream and went white.

Methos turned his head away and looked down. He had obeyed Kronos' orders and had barely looked at the boy, not spoken to him, not gone within ten feet of him, but he still felt nauseated and guilty that he had done nothing to help. Caspian was a monster.

"Caspian!" Kronos snapped out. "I've told you before and I don't want to have to tell you again. DON'T PLAY with your toys in front of the rest of us."

Caspian glared. "I'm getting bored with this one anyway," he muttered sullenly, pulling out a dagger and plunging it into Sorkin's left eye all the way up the hilt. The boy fell to the ground, and Caspian got up and marched to his tent.

Methos looked at Kronos. "May I at least pull the dagger from the boy's eyes and return it to our *brother*?" he asked carefully.

Kronos shrugged. "If you wish," he said casually. "I'll have the body dragged to his tent to recover. I imagine it won't be long before we'll be deciding who gets to take his head."

"Not much of a quickening in this one," Methos said just as casually. He pulled the dagger from Sorkin's eye indifferently, almost without looking at the boy, and went to Caspian's tent.

"I think you left something of value behind you, brother," Methos said, as he swung open the tent flaps and held out the dagger.

Caspian looked up and laughed. "Yes, brother. One thing of value. Would you like some wine?" He took his knife back, poured wine when Methos nodded and did not notice when Methos stealthily took another blade and hid it in his clothing while Caspian had his back turned.

Over the next few days, there were several successful raids, one on a village and two on trade caravans.

"I am quite pleased," Kronos said as he surveyed the goods being brought into camp. "What all did we collect this time?"

"Cloth, spices, and barrels and barrels of wine, many horses. We don't have it all accounted for yet," Methos said.

"I'd say this calls for a celebration," Kronos suggested.

"I wouldn't argue," Methos said with a grin, turning to Kronos to kiss him.

Later than night, Methos kissed Kronos again, as they laid, side by side, on skins beside the fire, watching as slave girls danced and music played. Methos drained his wine goblet and waved away the serving girl before she could refill it. "In a moment," he said, his voice slurring. He turned to Kronos. "I have to piss," he announced solemnly.

Kronos grinned and caressed his cheek. "Do you think you can stand up without help?"

Methos considered the question seriously. "I think so," he answered carefully and proceeded to do so, slowly, lurching several times, as Kronos sat up and held out a hand to steady him.

Methos finally straightened and semi-staggered away from the fire and away from the tents. As soon as he was out of sight, his stride lengthened and he circled back carefully and swiftly. He pushed open the flaps to Caspian's tent and ducked inside.

Sorkin sat up and stared at him. "What do *you* want?" the boy spat out.

Methos pulled Caspian's dagger out of his clothing and handed it to Sorkin. "Tonight," he said hurriedly. "He'll be back here drunk as all hell if you're lucky. I know he keeps his blades on him and never lets you near them when he takes them off so he'll never suspect you have this one. Kill him. Take a sword. Take a horse. DO NOT take his head. If you took his quickening, Kronos would take you before you got away. You have it?"

"What? Why? Methos . . ." Sorkin stared at him.

Methos shook his head. "I have no time, Sorkin. Kill him and go. Tonight. Live. Grow stronger. Fight another day." Methos touched the boy's cheek lightly with a gentle finger, then turned to go, leaving Sorkin gaping.

Methos ducked back out of the tent and ran like hell to the stand of trees where he would have been most likely to have gone to urinate and hurriedly did so. Then he turned and quite deliberately tripped over his own feet, fell, lay in tangled heap, and slowly rolled over, listening to approaching footsteps. He looked up into Kronos' amused face.

"I fell down," he complained.

"So I noticed," Kronos chuckled, as he reached out a hand to pull Methos to his feet. "C'mon, baby, let's get you to bed."

"I want more wine," Methos grumbled, grinning.

"Then I'll get you some and bring it to our tent."

***************************

"What happened?" Duncan asked, running his fingers through Methos' hair. The other man was curled up on the couch by then with his head in Duncan's lap. Methos shrugged slightly.

"I made sure Kronos drank more than I did and made sure he went to sleep happy," he said quietly. "We found Caspian the next morning in his tent with the dagger I had given Sorkin in his heart and the dagger he had put in Sorkin's eye in his eye. One of the horses was missing and Sorkin was gone. I had taught him how to lay false trails and use running water to hide his trail. Kronos, Silas, and Caspian looked for him. I pretended to look for him, but mostly threw the others off. He was never found."

"Did you ever run into him again?" Duncan asked.

"I looked for him after I left the Horsemen. After several hundred years, I found him. He challenged me. I disarmed him and refused to kill him, but he let me know in no uncertain terms that he never wanted to see me or speak to me again unless I was ready to take his head or let him take mine." Methos shrugged again. "I left him alone. Last I heard, he was a fashion designer in Rome. Using the name of Severin Guarini."

"You've kept track of him?"

"Not too hard when I was with the Watchers." Methos shrugged again. "And best to keep track of people who want my head."

Duncan stroked a cheekbone with a lazy finger. "You're a fraud," he said gently. "You've never stopped caring about that boy and what happened to him."

"Maybe," Methos looked up, grinned, put his arms around Duncan's neck, half pulled the other man down, half pulled himself up, and kissed the Highlander thoroughly. "Maybe not. At any rate, a miserable donkey with a bronze dagger through its eye along with notes about Caspian and Silas seems to me to be a message from Sorkin. Wonder how the hell he found out I was alive."

********************************

Duncan turned off the vacuum cleaner as the lift door opened and Methos stormed out with yet another UPS box in his hands that he had opened on the way up. Methos tossed the box at Duncan, turned into the kitchen, and savagely kicked over the bucket he had been using to mop, spilling dirty water all over the freshly clean floor. Then he grabbed the mop and started cleaning up again.

Duncan looked into the box and pulled out the tiny heads of two action figures, one seemingly female, one seemingly male and another intact action figure, wearing robes and carrying a book. He decided to completely ignore kicked over buckets. "You, I gather, know what these are," he said.

"The heads of Death and Dream. And the full figure is Destiny," Methos said shortly, squeezing the mop out in the bucket and running it over the floor again. "From Neil Gaiman's 'Sandman' comic books. And if you haven't read them, you bloody well should. They're wonderful." He squeezed the mop out again, dumped the dirty water down the sink, rinsed out the bucket, ran clean water in it, rinsed the mop, and started on the floor again.

"And the message?"

"I'd think that would be more than obvious," Methos said irritably. "Death represents me. Dream probably represents him. And he's saying that it's destiny that it's time for either his head to go or mine." Methos kept scrubbing savagely at the floor.

Duncan took the mop out of the other man's hands. "It's clean and if you take the finish completely off, I swear I'll paddle you."

Methos took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and let his eyes fill up with mischief. "Promises, promises," he said, grabbing for the mop.

"Uh, uh, uh . . ." Duncan held it out of reach. Methos lunged for it, and Duncan kept holding it out of reach, luring Methos across the floor and toward the bed.

Methos turned the vacuum cleaner back on and ran it straight toward Duncan who leaped over the back of the couch, laughing. Methos turned the vacuum off and vaulted after him, still grabbing for the mop.

"What do you think you're going to do with this if you get it back from me?" Duncan asked, still laughing and still holding the mop away. "Run back to the kitchen and scrub the finish off the floor just so I'll provide you with foreplay. The foreplay you can have. Gratis."

Methos grinned impishly. "More fun when I've earned it honestly. Besides, it has nothing to do with the floor any more. Now, it just has to do with getting the damn mop away from you."

"Uh huh." Duncan had been keeping the bed between himself and the other man. He suddenly rolled across it, came to his feet on the other side, whacked Methos soundly across the ass, tossed the mop toward the corner, and grabbed Methos by the hand, pulling him down toward the bed.

"FUCKING OWWW!" Methos snagged the mop as it flew past and cracked Duncan over the head with it.

Duncan grimaced, took the mop back, firmly tossed it into the corner, and said, "Not. Over. The. Head. Not. Ever." He punctuated each word with a ferocious whack to Methos' butt while at the same time, stripping off his jeans and boxers so that the final smacks landed on bare skin. "And you managed to earn that, m'boy. You happy, now?"

"Uh, maybe. Try it again and let's see," Methos' eyes sparkled as he flopped on the bed and pulled Duncan down with him.

Duncan shook his head as his clothes were yanked off by his impatient lover. "You are insatiable, you know. And before we get totally distracted. . ." He rolled Methos over to his back and stared down into his face. "Let's remember a few agreements we made, you and I, shall we?"

"What agreements ?" Methos asked, reaching up with his mouth to nuzzle at Duncan's neck.

Duncan pulled away and stared at the other man seriously. "No running off to a challenge without letting me know where you're going and who you're meeting. You DO remember agreeing to that, don't you?"

"Maybe," Methos said lazily, tangling his fingers in Duncan's hair and pulling him back down to nuzzle at his neck again.

"Methos," Duncan growled.

"Yes," Methos sighed and acquiesced. "I remember agreeing to that. Now, can we get on with this?"

Duncan smiled and kissed him gently. "Fine. See that you do. Let me know if you are challenged, who challenged, and where you're going."

"What fucking ever . . .OWW." Methos stared down into Duncan's face, having just been rolled back on top so Duncan could whack him yet again rather more conveniently.

Duncan grinned up at him. "I'd say you earned that one, too. Now, do you still want to get on with this?"

"Mmhm." Methos grinned back and started working his mouth down Duncan's body.

*******************************

Methos was home alone when the phone rang three days later. "Yes," he said, picking up the receiver, without putting down his book.

"I'm known as Severin, now," the voice said at the other end of the line. "Do you know who this is?"

"Yes." Methos dropped the book to the couch.

"Are you ready to meet me?"

Methos sighed. "Where and when?"

"There's a shopping center under construction on the expressway heading out of town to the west. The exit is called Indian Creek Trail. It seems to be abandoned right now."

"Well, it is Sunday," Methos said, quietly. "I can be there in an hour."

"I'll see you then."

Methos sighed again. He was already dressed in old, soft jeans and a Henley. He stretched out muscles, pulled on his boots, and looked at the phone. For a moment he thought about calling Duncan on his cell phone. For another moment, he thought about leaving a note on the pad that hung near the lift. Then he grabbed his coat, checked his weapons, and went out the door and down the stairs.

**************************

Severin clicked off his cell phone and looked around the site. Foundations had been laid for the cornerstone stores and walls partially erected.

He stretched and warmed up and waited.

**************************

Duncan opened the door of the lift and stepped out. He looked around the loft.

"Methos," he called out. He looked at the note pad, nothing. "Methos," he called out again already aware the loft was empty.

He went down one flight of stairs to the library, study, office that had been set up for the other man and wasn't particularly surprised to find it empty. He went back up to the loft, looked at the phone, and called the last number on the caller I D.

****************************

Severin was startled when his cell beeped. He looked at it, noted the number, and wondered if Methos was calling back. He answered. "Did you decide not to meet me after all, oh, mighty horseman?"

"Oh, I'd be happy to meet with you. Would you give me the directions again?" Duncan didn't even bother to try to imitate Methos' voice.

The voice chuckled. "Oh, this must be Duncan MacLeod. Allow me to introduce myself. . ."

"You don't have to, Mr. Guarini. Severin Guarini, is it not? Now, do you want to tell me where you're meeting my. . .Adam?"

"Your lover, Mr. MacLeod? No, I don't think so. But I do thank you for taking care of Kronos and Caspian. It was very kind of you. And it is very pleasant speaking with you but I think I hear a car pulling up outside and I presume I'll be busy soon." Severin turned his cell phone off and went outside. The car he had heard was just someone turning around in the parking lot and driving away.

****************************

Methos had driven past the exit with the shopping center under construction, had gotten off at the next exit and doubled back on surface roads. He pulled into a strip mall about half a mile from where the shopping center was being built and started making his way through the woods that separated the strip mall from the construction site.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he cursed to himself, pulling it out, looking at the number, and answering, "Hi, Duncan," he said quietly and cheerfully.

"Where are you?" Duncan asked flatly.

"Uh, I got bored. Decided to go out book browsing. . ."

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT CRAP!" Methos winced and held the phone away from his ear. Duncan lowered his voice. "I already spoke to Severin or Sorkin or who the fuck ever the bastard is. . .NOW, where ARE YOU?"

"In some woods right now. Umm, Duncan, I'm kinda busy. Hate to cut this short, but I gotta go." Methos hastily hung up the phone and turned it off.

Methos emerged from the woods and snuck up on the construction site, staying in shadows, watching for Severin. He spotted his shadow inside one of the unfinished buildings, snuck around to an opening and threw a rock hard toward an opposite wall, then ducked behind a corner.

Severin came out quietly and investigated, then turned to go back in. It took only seconds for Methos to come up swiftly and silently behind him with his gun out. Severin turned at the last minute, sword out, and then raised his arms at the sight of the gun.

"I see you don't even pretend to fight honorably these days," he commented.

"I don't pretend much of anything," Methos said quietly. "Drop the sword for now. Keep your hands up, please." Methos quickly and efficiently patted the other man down, removing two guns and tossing them far away.

"Now, I would say we might have the grounds for an honorable fight," Methos said pleasantly. "Shall I call you Severin or Sorkin?" He kept his gun leveled at the other man as he backed away, pulling out his sword.

"I don't care what you call me."

"Then I'll call you Sorkin," Methos said.. "And I think we'll take this fight over there, to that other building, if you don't mind." He gestured with the gun. "Oh, do pick up your sword."

Sorkin picked up his sword and moved in the direction indicated by Methos as Methos shrugged out of his coat, drawing his own sword. Methos dropped both gun and sword at the entrance to the unfinished building and kicked them out the way outside.

He was no sooner in the doorway than Sorkin was lunging at him and he was parrying the thrust.

Thirty minutes later, both were sweating hard. Methos had a slash across his left arm and Sorkin had been bothered for several minutes by a cut across his forehead that had almost blinded him with blood running into his eyes, that he kept having to brush away with his other arm while Methos sliced at his arms and legs.

"You've gotten much better, boy," Methos said cheerfully.

"Don't CALL me 'boy'!" Sorkin said furiously, making an out of control thrust at Methos, as rage surged through him.

Methos stepped inside the lunge, turned his blade, and ran it flat into Sorkin's abdomen, breaking Sorkin's wrist over the flat of the blade in the abdomen and taking the other man's sword away. Sorkin stared at him in shock.

"I loved you," Sorkin screamed out suddenly. "I loved both of you."

Methos closed his eyes for a moment. "I know," he said softly. "I've always known."

Sorkin sank to his knees, panting, tears suddenly running down his face. "DO you KNOW what it felt like for me to SEE YOU TOGETHER?"

"I often imagined," Methos said, his own eyes clouded with pain.

Sorkin stared up at him. "Why?" he sobbed out. "Why?"

"If Kronos had ever thought I cared about you in any way, he would have taken your head," Methos said simply.

Sorkin half laughed and half sobbed. "And now you're going to take it."

"It doesn't have to be this way." Methos' eyes filled with tears. "I don't want your head, Sorkin. I never have."

Sorkin stared at him with eyes half mad with grief. "WILL YOU FUCKING END IT? WILL YOU NOT PUT BOTH OF US THROUGH THIS AGAIN? WILL YOU . . ."

Methos pulled his blade, swung it through the air, brought it down across Sorkin's neck, and sank to his knees screaming.

The hair on the back of his neck started to rise and tingle and rushes of what felt like electricity suddenly screamed up and down his spine. He braced himself on his sword and was hit with wave after wave of Sorkin's 2500 year old energy.

Images washed through of him of heads rolling, of women and children Sorkin had mercilessly killed, of battles, of years at slavery, of thousands of orgasms in hundreds of beds, of Caspian eating Sorkin's flesh. His whole body shook with what seemed like bolts of lightning hitting him.

And then the deepest and most vivid images exploded in his head. An image of himself and Kronos swimming in the lake at the moment when they both rose out the water, kissing and laughing and whirling around one another. An image of himself naked in the sun with his arm over his eyes. Another image of himself, riding ahead of Sorkin as they both raced into a sun bright day with him calling something over his shoulder and laughing. He dropped his sword and fell over panting, one last image, burned into his mind. Himself, handing the knife to Sorkin, stroking the boy's cheek, and begging him to leave.

Methos let the tears fall down his cheeks, gathered up the body of the other man, and carried it, cradling it, weeping over it, into the woods. He put the body down, went back for the head, the weapons, and his coat, and then went to his car for a shovel.

********************************

"Mac," Joe Dawson spoke patiently into the phone. "I don't have a clue what happened. By the time we got a Watcher to the site, half the site was down and whoever had won the Challenge, if it was a Challenge . . ..MAC . . ." Joe held the phone away from his ear and grimaced. "There's no need to yell at ME. I know he went out for a Challenge, and that was probably it. And yes, it took out ALL the electricity in town which would be congruent if it was either one of them. But I don't know anything, yet, and neither do you. So sit tight and I'll sit tight, and he'll probably drag his sorry ass either home or here sooner or later."

Joe sighed and hung up the phone. He was more worried than he wanted to admit. He busied himself with customers, with cleaning the bar, and with making lists of stocks that needed to re-ordered the next morning.

The door crashed open and Methos staggered in, carrying his own bottle of bourbon, and weaving slightly. Joe's eyes widened. He couldn't tell if Methos was covered in mud, blood, or both, and he didn't look any too steady.

Methos made his way across the floor even as Joe lunged for the phone. "That's right," Methos said cheerfully. "Call him. I would have, but " He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and threw it on the bar. "And bring me a beer, would you?" Then instead of sitting at the bar, he swung himself around and under the bar, sitting on the floor and deep in the corner. Joe picked up the cell phone. It had been fried, half-melted.

Duncan answered on the first ring. "Yes," he said into the phone.

"He's here. His cell phone is dead, but he seems to be in one piece. Head's on anyway."

"Meaning he's not doing so well other than physically," Duncan said flatly. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"I'd really rather you took about fifteen, Mac. . . ." Joe shook his head. He was talking to a dial tone.

Joe got a Sam Adams out of the cooler and went over to Methos who was taking another swig from his bourbon bottle. He handed over the beer and gently took the bottle out of the other man's hands noting that it had only been emptied about a fourth down from the top. He guessed that the old man was more shaken up from the Quickening than truly drunk.

"Adam? Why are you under the bar? Again. Is this your favorite place to hide whenever you've managed to make Mac crazy?"

Methos drank deeply from the beer bottle and semi-giggled. "Not a very sensible place to hide from another Immortal, is it? No, I just like it here. It feels kinda safe and comfortable." He reached for the bourbon, and Joe handed it to him. Methos took another swig.

Joe looked at him carefully. "No more driving for you tonight, kiddo. Promise?"

Methos looked at him earnestly. "Cross my heart and hope to die," he said, solemnly, taking another swig of bourbon, chasing it with beer, and then breaking down into helpless giggles that sounded like they were on the verge of sobs. Joe frowned and looked up as the door opened. Duncan walked in and looked at him. Joe pointed down at the corner under the bar.

Duncan swung himself up and over the bar, sat down on the floor, and gathered Methos into his arms, hugging him hard enough to break a rib, and at the same time, scolding furiously, "If you ever, ever, ever, ever scare me this badly again . . . Baby, what's wrong?"

Methos' giggles had turned to wrenching sobs. "I didn't want to kill him, Duncan. I didn't want to kill him. I didn't want to. . ."

"Shhhh," Duncan shushed him quietly, stroking and holding. "I don't think he gave you a lot of choice."

"I cared about him," Methos choked out.

"I know you did, love. I know. But it all got screwed up many thousands of years ago. And there was nothing you could do to fix it. Tell me about it."

Methos told him about it, his sobs quieting as he told the story. "I buried him in the forest, Duncan, and said good-bye to the boy who had been Sorkin so long ago. And then I stopped and bought a bottle of bourbon. Can I have another swallow? And I drove here."

Duncan handed him the bottle and watched as Methos took another couple of gulps. "And how much did you drink on your way here?" Duncan asked with his voice on the thin edge of running out of patience. "And why exactly did you decide not to tell me you were going out on a Challenge? And where? And with whom? And why exactly did you lie to me? And hang up on me?"

"Umm." Methos looked around, looked at Duncan and said hurriedly, "I have to piss. Be right back." He gave the bourbon back to Duncan, swung himself to his feet and fairly ran to the men's room.

When he got out, he looked around carefully. Joe was busy at the other end of the bar. Duncan was out of sight, still under the bar, waiting for him to come back. He walked lightly up to the bar where Duncan had left his keys, as he so often did, grabbed them, ran out to the parking lot, opened the driver's door to the T-Bird, and felt his heart stop when Duncan got out of the car and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

"Did you really think that trick would work *twice?* That you'd get away from this bar with my keys and your keys and leave alone to cool off before I got back to you?" Duncan asked grimly as he pulled Methos around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door, pushed him in, and fastened his seat belt. "Give me my keys. NOW!"

Methos handed over the keys and waited while Duncan went back around to the driver's side and settled in, starting the car. "Did you bring my bourbon?" he asked, plaintively.

Duncan started laughing helplessly and reached into the back seat, producing the bottle that was over half empty and handing it to Methos. "Yes, love. And we'll talk about all of this tomorrow when you've had a shower and a night to sleep it off. Including the fact that you were planning to drive away drunk and leave me."

"Wasn't drunk," Methos protested, taking another swallow of bourbon and reaching a hand out to hold Duncan's. He took another couple of deep swallows. "But I think I'm getting there."

"Uh huh." Duncan drove carefully and after a few moments looked over at his passenger.

Methos was dead asleep, one hand still holding Duncan's wrist where it had moved as Duncan shifted gears, the other hand loosely holding an almost empty bottle of bourbon. Duncan smiled, pulled up to the dojo, parked, walked around the car, easily lifted Methos out, carried him in, stripped off his clothes, and put him to bed.

*************************

The End.

Lyrics kindly provided by paulmnz@ihug.co.nz (Paul Mannering)

Escape
Fell no pain, but my life ain't easy 
I know I'm my best friend 
No one cares, but I'm so much stronger 
I'll fight until the end 
To escape from the true false world 
Undamaged destiny 
Can't get caught in the endless circle 
Ring of stupidity 

Out of my own, out to be free 
One with my mind, they just can't see 
No need to hear things that they say 
Life is for my own to live my own way 
Rape my mind and destroy my feelings 
Don't tell my what to do 
I don't care now, 'cause I'm on my side 
And I can see through you 
Feed my brain with your so called standards 
Who says that I ain't right 
Break away from your common fashion 
See through your blurry sight 
Out of my own, out to be free 
One with my mind, they just can't see 
No need to hear things that they say 
Life is for my own to live my own way 
See they try to bring the hammer down 
No damn chains can hold me to the ground 
I don't care now, 'cause I'm on my side 
And I can see through you







Email Diane at dswdiane@aol.com.
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