Standard disclaimer: Characters not mine. No harm intended. No profit made, mores the pity. NC-17, Slash and violence. Potentially disturbing. Abuse and memories of abuse.

Pinball

"Methos!" Duncan said with exasperation, as he came out of the bathroom, "when are you planning to get ready for the party at Joe's?"

Methos looked up wide-eyed from the bed where he was sprawled reading and listening to Bauhaus playing 'Stigmata'. "I am ready for the party," .

Duncan stared at the jeans and sweater that Methos had on. "And you are dressed as *what* exactly?"

"A poor, starving graduate student," Methos informed the other Immortal cheerfully.

"Oh, how very original," Duncan said, drily.

Methos swung himself up,.cross-legged, and looked Duncan up and down. "C'mere," he ordered. Duncan sighed and walked over to the bed.

Methos reached out and retied the sash Duncan had around his waist and then rose up to his knees and unbuttoned the top two buttons on Duncan's shirt. Methos fell back to sit on his heels, looked the other man up and down again, rose back to his knees, and fumbled behind Duncan's neck to unclasp his hair. He ran his fingers through it and looked again critically.

"Tie the front back and leave the back loose," he directed.

"Methos, I feel like a Ken doll you've been playing with for days," Duncan grumbled as he headed back into the bathroom.

"Actually," Methos said, chuckling, "I think of you more as a G. I. Joe, but with much more interesting costumes and much, much more interesting equipment between your legs."

Methos rose from the bed as 'Bela Lugosi" started on the Bauhaus CD. He followed Duncan into the bathroom, moving his hips rhythmically to the pounding beat, coming right up behind Duncan, and still moving against the other man's butt.

Duncan ignored the older Immortal until his hair was arranged, then whirled, grabbed Methos, backed him up to wall, and stared at him. "And if you keep that up, we won't be making it to the damn party for hours, and you'll have to start all over at getting me into this damn costume again."

"Oh, no," Methos said, sliding out of Duncan's grip and ducking under his arm. "I spent days finding that ensemble for you to wear."

"So, I've noticed," Duncan said. "You've been through every trunk I have downstairs, dragged arm loads of clothes up here, harassed me into trying on about 892 different outfits. . ."

"Hey, is it my fault you never throw anything away?" Methos asked. "Or that you secretly enjoy playing at being a fashion model? No, do NOT hit me. . ." Methos tumbled over the back of the couch as Duncan advanced on him.

"And is it my fault you secretly want to be a bloody fashion designer? Or that you wanted to see what I looked like in every damn decade of my entire life?" Duncan vaulted over the couch as Methos scrambled away behind the table and ran for the umbrella stand where he grabbed, of all things, an umbrella which he brandished, holding off the approaching Scot.

Duncan just grinned and grabbed the umbrella, giving it a savage yank that pulled Methos stumbling into the Highlander's arms where he was simultaneously cuffed on the side of the head and kissed briefly but thoroughly.

"Mmmmm," Methos mumbled. "I let you do that, y'know?"

"Oh, aye, I'm sure you did," Duncan acknowledged.

"And all this costume stuff has been fun, hasn't it?"

"Almost as much fun as helping you make all those ridiculous Jack O'Lanterns you insisted on putting in front of the dojo," Duncan agreed. "And surely more fun than putting all those damn clothes away again and cleaning up the pumpkin mess you left all over the kitchen."

"Hey, when you asked me to move in with you, I told you I made horrible messes. Now stop grousing at me and turn around and let me look at you."

Duncan obediently turned slowly. Methos watched and grinned widely. "Yes," he said, triumphantly, with a wicked glint in his eyes. "You look splendiferous." Methos crossed the room to turn off the stereo.

"And you look like a scruffy, unkempt graduate school student," Duncan said. "Are we actually ready to go?"

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

"I wondered if you guys were ever gonna make it," Joe said as Methos and Duncan approached the bar and were served a couple of beers. "And what on earth are you supposed to be, Adam?"

"Scruffy, unkempt grad student," Methos replied. "And you make a great pirate. I like the stuffed parrot. Is it pining for the fjords? And give me a Wild Turkey on the rocks on the side."

"Duncan!" A female voice called out. Duncan turned and was suddenly enveloped in a hug.

"Anne," Duncan responded, giving her a quick kiss. "You look lovely."

Methos and Anne Lindsey casually acknowledged one another, and Duncan and the doctor started catching up.

Methos grinned at Joe and slightly rolled his eyes. "He'll be busy for a while," Methos said quietly.

Joe handed Methos the bourbon on the rocks and shrugged. "I think you both knew the other came with lots of baggage," he said. "And I'll chat with you later. I have other customers to attend, and you, of all folks, are capable of amusing yourself. Oh, I got a surprise, just for you."

"What?" Methos' eyes lighted.

"Well, I still haven't found Centipede for you, but I did find a Ms.Packman, though I'm afraid you'll have to wait your turn." Joe gestured to where the games stood at the back of the bar.

"Oh, thanks, Joe." Methos grinned. "I can wait on Ms. Packman. There seems to be a pinball machine back there that's open. Gimmee quarters, please. Lots of quarters."

Loud music rocked the bar from the band that was playing as Methos fed the Star Wars pinball quarters. He waited for the first ball, and concentrated. Halfway through the second game, he was vaguely aware that someone had come up and was watching him, but he didn't let it disturb his concentration.

"Hey, not bad, man," he heard a masculine voice say as he won a free ball.

"Let me play it through, and I might win a free game," Methos said, still concentrating.

"No problem, amigo," the other man said.

"Damn!" Methos said casually as he lost his next ball only two million short of the 45 million he needed for a free game. He glanced over at the guy who had been watching, noting he was in his late twenties or so, tall, blonde, attractive, dressed as a vampire.

"You're good," the guy said. "Oh, hi, I'm John."

"Adam."

"That guy you came in with? Is he your date?"

Methos looked over at Duncan who was still talking to Anne. As he watched, Duncan touched Anne on the cheek, and she smiled up at him. "Oh, yes. He is indeed my date," Methos said darkly.

"Sounds like you're not real happy with him," John said with a knowing grin.

"Happy or not, I'll be going home with him," Methos said.

"Well, can I buy you a drink in the meantime?" John asked. Methos shrugged. No harm in a drink.

"Sam Adams, Oktoberfest, and a Wild Turkey rocks, on the side," Methos said as he put more quarters in the pinball.

John was back in moments with the beer and the drink. He didn't disturb Methos as the Immortal, this time, managed to win an extra game.

Methos paused, took a deep gulp of the beer, and a swallow of the Turkey. He looked back over at Duncan and the woman he thought of as"Annoying Anne." They were still deep in conversation. He sighed and turned back to John.

"Are you supposed to be in costume?" John asked.

"I am dressed as a scruffy grad student," Methos announced, taking another gulp and swallow.

"Oh, good job." John laughed and raised his drink to toast Methos. Methos obligingly touched his glass to the other and took another swallow.

John said something, but Methos could not quite hear it. His ears started to roar and the room started to spin. He felt John raise the glass to his lips and he swallowed again helplessly and still the room was spinning.

*I've been drugged,* Methos thought, furiously, as his new *friend*suddenly grabbed him by the arm and started steering him out the backdoor of the bar. With a few of his last coherent thoughts, Methos made sure he still had his coat and sword and looked in Duncan's direction. The other Immortal was still deep in conversation with Anne.

Methos staggered as he almost fell into the alley behind the bar.

"Having problems, brother?" Kronos' voice was suddenly behind him. Methos tried to turn and almost fell.

"Kronos?" Methos gasped out, shocked and horrified.

Kronos chuckled. His voice was suddenly close behind Methos' back. "I'm always here. Always."

Methos felt his stomach clench, and he lashed out and connected. He heard the sound of his fist hitting flesh and heard a scream of pain. He punched again hard, simultaneously lifting a knee into stomach or groin, not sure which. He heard another scream of pain and the sounds of footsteps staggering away.

"Oh, you didn't get me, Methos," Kronos said easily. "You only got that boy who was trying to pick you up. I'm still here. You're still mine."

"I am not yours. And you're dead. Duncan killed you," Methos mumbled, reflecting with one part of his brain that he needed a Kronos hallucination like a sword at his neck.

He suddenly felt his lips split from the blow against them. He scrambled back, tasting blood. "Okay, okay, I was yours. I was yours." The same, still rational part of his brain, reflected that he did not at all approve of drugs that induced kinesthetic as well as auditory hallucinations.

"You were mine, Methos," Kronos said dangerously. "You were all mine. Don't you ever damn forget it."

"I hate you," Methos called out blindly, as his knees gave way, and he sank to his butt on the cold pavement.

Kronos took him hard into his arms. "You hate me?" He chuckled out. "I don't think so. Do you remember the first time? Hell, do you remember the first fifty years?"

Methos gasped as he suddenly found himself back in that tent where he and Kronos had been negotiating trade, Methos representing the wealthy, Immortal Sumerian trader who owned him. The talk had strayed far from trade and much wine had been consumed.

Methos froze as Kronos suddenly leaned across the space between them, ran long fingers through tangled hair, and captured Methos' mouth with his own. Methos shuddered and then relaxed into the arms of the other man. It seemed as if he had not been touched with such passion and affection in hundreds of years. The pulsing music from the bar shook his pelvis, grinding it into Kronos' hips.

He was filled with confusion about where he was and what exactly was happening. But Kronos was right in front of him, touching him, caressing him, stripping off his shirt.. He moaned and pulled the shirt off the other man.

"How do you allow yourself to be owned?" Kronos asked fiercely as he moved his mouth down to Methos' neck, nibbling and nuzzling.

Methos writhed. "I don't *allow* it," he said angrily, as he ran his hand down the hard muscles of Kronos' back. "I've escaped five times. He always finds me and. . ."

"And he punishes you for escaping," Kronos said breathlessly as Methos' hands started to stroke his ass. "I can easily kill these guards on you. If you let me take you, I'll make sure he never has you again. You'll be mine. Not as a slave, but as mine to love and keep."

Methos shook his head in the alley way, withdrawing from the vivid memory. "It didn't work that way," he said furiously. The music from the bar pounded, and he felt the cold pavement beneath his butt and the rough bricks behind his back.

"It did for years," the Kronos ghost insisted.

"NO," Methos contended.

And suddenly he was in the middle of another memory, a year later. The first time Kronos punched him out and left him lying on the floor bleeding from a split lip and broken nose. He swallowed the salty blood. The attack had startled him out of his mind.

"What did I do?" he thought helplessly in total confusion, rolling to his feet, his stomach bubbling with dazed nausea, blood still on his tongue.

"What did I DO?" he demanded of the Kronos in the alleyway, his voice rough. The music still shook him, and he could see the dumpster in front of him, but Kronos stood between him and the dumpster, furiously ranting. Methos shuddered and his stomach continued to churn .

"I told you. You were always reading," Kronos said angrily. "Reading. Or talking to our servants and slaves. Or playing with their children. You always got too attached to the people around us. Too damn involved. You weren't there for me when I needed you."

"I was always there when you needed me," Methos protested and was suddenly lost again.

He and Kronos were in a lake swimming around one another, laughing and kissing deeply, legs and arms tangled. The sun beat down on them, and Kronos' eyes reflected the green/grey of the water and the blue of the sky. Kronos pulled him to the shallows, and they rolled around each other kissing and stroking, until Kronos' mouth came down to his groin, licking and swallowing and drinking until Methos was screaming and lost to pleasure.

The music played as Methos was lost in orgasmic delight. He didn't know where he was. He didn't care. He was lost in bliss. He was flying.

Abruptly, they were in their bedroom, in the house that he and Kronos had built, and Kronos was smashing him across his face, knocking him into a wall. Methos rose, this time with fury in his guts, and came at Kronos with his fists, knocking the other man into the side of the bed Methos had carved and built for them. Kronos grinned with evil intent, rose, and engaged in the battle. He took Methos by the throat as Methos struggled and hit out savagely, inflicting almost as much damage as was being done to him.

"You want me to call my guards?" Kronos asked with quiet violence, as he held Methos around the neck, choking him, even as Methos punched and kicked. "You want me to order them to hold you down while I beat you senseless? I've done it before. I don't mind doing it again."

Kronos grinned with triumph. "You remember, don't you, when I had them help me tie you down, and they got to watch while I whipped the skin off your back from your shoulders to your knees? You want to do that again?"

Methos groaned and stopped struggling, as he felt his stomach sink. He did not want the guards as witnesses to this painful humiliation. Kronos choked him almost to unconsciousness and then suddenly kissed him furiously, dragged him to the bed, threw him face down, stripped his pants down, and fucked him bareback and dry. Methos screamed once, as he was painfully raped, and then endured the pounding pulse of Kronos inside him, determined not to come.

The music kept pulsing. The dumpster kept stinking. Methos shook himself and wondered where he really was and what was really happening.

"Why in hell did I put up with this shit?" Methos mumbled groggily as he stared into the alley and halfway through the ghost of Kronos glaring at him.

He gasped. "Oh, fuck, please put your head back on," Methos said desperately.

Sean Burns was standing right in front of him, head under his arm, and the head was speaking to him. "I told you, Methos, I told you and told you, battered spouse syndrome."

"I was NOT married to Kronos."

"You were with him for a 1000 years," the head said.

"We were NOT lovers for all that time," Methos protested "And I did not *let* him abuse me. I was not a fucking victim. I fought back."

"Oh, you tried," Sean's head said sympathetically. "You really tried. But you still got the crap beaten out of you and you still have a long, long way to go to heal and be free."

Methos was suddenly elsewhere yet again, the music still pounding.

Methos wiped the blood off his face and rolled away from Kronos, grabbing his sword and holding it up. "This is it, Kronos," he said dangerously. "Call your damn guards. We'll find out how many are loyal to you and how many to me. Call Caspian. Call Silas. But one of us will die. Either my head will roll or yours will. You're not beating me again."

Kronos chuckled and drew his sword. "I'm not calling anyone, Methos. Go ahead and try to take me."

It ended with Kronos' sword against Methos' neck. Methos swallowed hard.

"You really want me to take your head?" Kronos asked.

Methos swallowed again and slowly shook his head, filled with shame and self-loathing.

Kronos lowered the sword and pushed Methos toward the pallet of skins that served as the bed. "You are mine," he said furiously. "Don't you ever forget it."

"I hate you," Methos mumbled as Kronos took him. "I hate you."

"I don't give a bloody fuck if you hate me," Kronos said. "You're mine. You'll always be mine."

Methos shut his eyes and shuddered hard.

Kronos chuckled evilly, "Oh you are mine, my pretty."

Methos shook his head. *My pretty?* he thought with utter confusion. *Kronos never called me that.*

He opened his eyes and suddenly Kronos had morphed into to the wicked Witch of the West and flying monkeys swarmed the alley way, break-dancing to the sound of the music. Methos watched with dazed bemusement.

Sean Burns moved in with head still under his arm and started kicking the monkeys away. "No, Methos," he said gently. "You cannot retreat into a 'Wizard of Oz' hallucination. You were in love with Kronos. He rescued you, saved you, loved you, and hurt you. Face it. Deal with it. Get over it. And you could never have taken his head. You loved him too much to really take it that far."

"Oh, fuck you, Sean," Methos said irately.

"I own you," the Kronos hallucination said

"You do NOT," Methos responded, and went helplessly into another hallucination. The music still echoed in his head and he could feel the hard pavement under his ass and the rough bricks of the wall behind his back.

Kronos' fist slammed hard into the side of Methos' head. "That's a stupid plan for our raid tomorrow. Think harder. Do better."

Methos; hand shot up and closed around Kronos' wrist. "Do NOT hit me," he said with quiet menace, ignoring Caspian's grin and Silas' look of confusion.

Kronos laughed. "Then think again, brother," he said.

It had been years since they had been lovers. Methos had long ago stopped responding and had driven Kronos away with his passive indifference. Now, they were 'brothers,' whatever the hell that meant.

"I'll think again," Methos said with soft and quiet fury.

"Good," Kronos announced, rising and yawning. "I'm going to eat. Methos, think hard."

Methos strolled away from the tents in the encampment and out into the desert. He found a rock to lean against and stared up at the stars, and suddenly the white lights started to blur and run down his vision. He blinked and found it did not help. To his own amazement, he was leaking tears. It seemed like hours that he sat and silently cried, tears running down his face like rain in spring, as the stars bled whitely down his vision.

Kronos was suddenly behind him "Why are you crying?" he asked, harshly.

Methos just shook his head.

Kronos' voice was suddenly soft with wonder. "Are you this upset because I was angry with you? Methos, do you still love me?"

Methos voice caught on a convulsive sob. "I'll always love you," he said quietly. "I hate you, and I'll never forgive you, but I'll always love you."

Kronos roughly gathered Methos into his arms. Methos shuddered, but leaned back into Kronos' arms. He turned and allowed Kronos to hold him against his chest, while tears soaked the other man's shoulder. "Why?" he demanded. "Why?"

Kronos took a deep breath, and held Methos tightly. "I don't know," he said. "It's just the way I am. I needed to own you, and you always insisted on owning yourself. I could have taken being number 2 on your list sometimes. But you were often so involved in something else or someone else that I felt like I wasn't on the list at all. It made me furious. But I'll always love you."

"You were always on the list," Methos protested, still weeping.. "You were always important to me." He curled into the arms of his sometime lover and companion as his stomach sank, knowing he was in for another bout of passionate love, lasting for days or maybe weeks or months, followed by anger and pain.

Kronos shrugged, holding him tightly. "Then you need to learn to make me feel that way," he said softly, caressing and stroking. He leaned over and kissed deeply. Methos responded, leaning into the kiss, hungry and desperate for the love, tears still welling as he contemplated what he knew would come.

The music from the bar pounded loudly. The pavement was cold beneath his butt, the bricks rough behind his back. The dumpster stank.

Sean's head sighed deeply. "Methos, you have to deal with this," he said. "And you have to tell Duncan about it."

"OH, fuck, NO!" Methos spat out. "And will you fucking, please, put your head on?"

"You have to tell Duncan about it," Sean's head said patiently.

"I thought," Methos said desperately, "that I had put this all behind me. The past is gone. Long gone. I'm over it."

Sean's head blinked. "You're still trapped inside the memories. You buried them deep, but you never dealt with them. It takes more than time. It takes talking and dealing and healing. It has been 2000 years and the wounds are still unhealed. You have to talk to Duncan."

Methos shook his head and glared at Sean. "Would you, PLEASE, just put your head back on your shoulders?"

Sean's head grinned, and he complied, putting his head back on.

"All I want," Methos said angrily,. "is to put it behind me."

"Did you love him?" Sean asked implacably. "Did you promise to love him forever?"

Methos felt his stomach clench. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I loved him. And I promised to love him forever. And I ended up hating him. So?"

"Do you love Duncan MacLeod?" Sean asked.

"Yes," Methos answered softly, as the music continued to pound.

Sean looked at Methos fiercely. "Then give him the chance to help you and help you heal," he said firmly. "Stop counting on time to set you free. Try love for a change. Try telling him about it. Try practicing what you know. For, God's sake, you had your psychoanalytic training under Winnicott, and you know damn well that falling in love with another Immortal will bring up all your post traumatic stress. Stop being a whining baby and deal with it."

Methos groaned and put his head in his hands. "Why doesn't being Immortal heal PTSD?" he asked desperately.

"And why are you asking me when you know?" Sean demanded. "Psychological damage is not as easy to heal as cuts and bruises. You need love and talk to heal. You know that. And he loves you. Talk to him."

Methos moaned. The image of Sean Burns started to fade. Kronos leaned in close and kissed him hard and thoroughly. "I'll always be a part of you," he promised as he, too, faded away.

Methos felt his head starting to clear, as his Immortal body threw off the effects of the drugs.

He shuddered and leaned back against the wall of the alley. The stars were still blurring and running down his sight.

"METHOS." It was Duncan's voice, and Methos turned toward it. He looked up into the worried face of his lover.

"What happened?" Duncan demanded. "I've been looking for you for an hour." He looked carefully at his lover and his tone of voice changed from angry worry to confused concern. "Methos, why on earth are you crying?"

Only an hour? Methos felt as if many hours had passed.

Duncan was suddenly beside him and gathering the other man into his arms. Methos was shivering and tears were leaking into Duncan's shoulder as he was held closely.

"What happened?" Duncan asked, stroking gently.

"A guy in the bar put a drug in my drink, and I went into hallucinations and memories," Methos said. "Duncan. . ."

"What kind of memories?" Duncan asked carefully.

"Will you hate me if I tell you about when I loved Kronos?" Methos asked, still crying quietly.

"You already have, in bits and pieces, and nothing you tell me will ever make me hate you. I've already told you we passed that point long ago. I tell you again. I've given you my heart. You own it."

Methos started sobbing. "Oh, Duncan, I loved him and he hurt me. And I have to tell you about it or I'll never heal."

"Then tell me about it," Duncan suggested, softly, dropping a kiss on Methos' neck. "Tell me. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here for you forever."

Methos curled into Duncan's arms and began.

end

Wonderful lyrics provided by Erin, nyn-tkd@usa.net, to whom I am grateful. Thank you, Erin.

You Can Still Be Free by: Savage Garden 

Cool breeze and autumn leaves
Slow motion daylight
A lone pair of watchful eyes
Oversee the living
Feel the presence all around
A tortured soul
A wound unhealing
No regrets or promises
The past is gone
But you can still be free
If time will set you free

Time now to spread your wings
To take to flight
The life endeavor
Aim for the burning sun
You're trapped inside
But you can still be free
If time will set you free
But it's a long long way to go

Keep moving way up high
You see the light
It shines forever
Sail through the crimson skies
The purest light
The light that sets you free
If time will set you free

Sail through the wind and rain tonight
You're free to fly tonight
And you can still be free
If time will set you free
And going higher than mountain tops
And go high the wind don't stop
And go high
Free to fly tonight
Free to fly tonight



Let Diane know what you thought of her story at dswdiane@aol.com
Return to Diane’s Fanfic