Out of the Darkness - Part Two
Adam Pierson left his rented car beside the narrow road leading up to the old roadhouse. He'd driven up the coast from San Francisco hoping that the constant dreams of MacLeod running on a rocky beach were a clue to the whereabouts of the Highlander. More and more, the emotional upheavals he sensed seemed like an underlying depression, far deeper than the usual Scottish broods darkening the faint connection he had with Mac.
MacLeod disappeared after the battle with Liam O'Rourk. At first Dawson and Methos had respected his need for privacy, but the continuing silence began to worry them.
For the last month, the older Immortal had been trying frantically to find Duncan. Until the Quickening flashed through the link three nights past, he hadn't been able to get an accurate idea of Mac's location. Now he knew he was in the right time zone and the beach he could see from his vantage point near the restaurant felt right. He'd stopped only to find the drive blocked off by yellow tape and a State Patrol car.
Methos got out of the car, checking the damages. The burned trees and brush could have been caused by a fire… or a Quickening. "Looks like you had something of a problem here."
The officer looked him over, noting the jeans, expensive sweater and hiking boots, categorizing him as yuppie professional, harmless. "Yeah, Reynolds's Roadhouse had a fire. Arson folks are still up there. You can go up on foot, Mr…?"
"Pierson, Adam Pierson, " he said, offering his hand. "I was going to meet a friend…"
"Well, like I said, you can go up on foot, but the restaurant's closed while the arson investigators finish up. Ms. Reynolds just came back this afternoon. I hear she's sold the place."
"Would you mind if I went up and talked to her? I thought my friend might be staying here."
"No problem. You can leave your car here. She did have one guest, the guy who saved her life. I saw him a while ago. He was in sweats, headed down to the beach. Exercise fanatic, I guess."
"That does sound like him." Methos scanned the beach but couldn't see anyone. "Perhaps I should check with her."
The officer pointed to a weather-beaten stair, "That's the way down to the beach. Tell Ellen to let us know if she opens a new place and we'll all come down to help."
"I will. You said her name is Ellen?"
"Ellen Reynolds. Mike Reynolds, her husband, was a friend of mine. Well, a friend to all of us. We should have been keeping a better eye on the place for her."
Methos just nodded, no time for local guilt right now. He needed to find Mac.
There was a work light in the kitchen. Several large boxes of institutional canned goods were piled on the floor. The smoke smell was strong and bitter. From the sounds Adam could hear, more boxes were being packed in the back. There was no Immortal nearby… He called, "Hello?"
"Back here," answered a woman's voice. "Don't trip over all the junk on the floor."
The woman stopped stacking cans, wiped her hands on her apron and moved quickly to push a filled box out of the way. "Can I help you?"
He put out a hand, "I'm Adam Pierson, I teach up at the university. I'm trying to locate a friend? A tall man, dark eyes and hair, quiet voice… The officer thought you might know about him."
"You must mean Joe. Oh, I'm Ellen Reynolds, former owner of this mess."
Methos looked around. "Could be. Is he back yet?"
"Oh, he's probably exercising down on the beach, running or something."
Methos nodded. "That's Joe, all right." He looked around the kitchen, "There doesn't seem to be much damage here."
"No, but two of the cabins are gone." She gestured at the boxes, 'This stuff's going to the local food bank. The company that's buying the property will bulldoze the rest, I guess." She looked around. "I don't even have coffee made, I'm afraid."
Methos shook his head. "Quite alright, Ms. Reynolds. I was to meet Joe..."
Ellen's eyes closed and she shivered. "Oh, he didn't mention anything, you're sure? Joe fits your description, Joe Ryan?"
The name hit Methos like a punch in the belly. "Joe… Ryan… Yes, that's him."
She nodded and picked up a couple more of the cans. "He saved my life." The woman suddenly looked pale.
"Are you all right?"
"As all right as I can be. I was nearly burned alive… Then there was an electrical storm. Oh, I'll be all right but…"
"I think you need to sit down, Ms. Reynolds." Methos didn't particularly care for the pallor of her face. He tentatively reached out to take her wrist. "Is there someone I can call?"
"No, thanks. I'm OK." She pulled back and looked around her. "Charley's on his way over. He's taking me off on a trip, he says." She smiled, "Reliable, Charley is. Steady."
"Did Joe go on down to the beach?"
She nodded, "He was helping me paint it and fix things up. Now… I couldn't afford to rebuild and it still wouldn't be anything but an old roadhouse restaurant. He set things up so I could sell it…"
"He's a good man." He tried to sense MacLeod. "Ms. Reynolds, you said he was coming back?"
The other woman leaned against the counter, shaking her head. "Yeah, I think so. I didn't know anything about him, really. He showed up here a few weeks ago and helped me clean up the place after that big rainstorm we had. I started thinking about selling it months ago, after my husband died. Then…"
Methos understood, but his primary concern was still Mac. It didn't look as though she was going to be much help.
She went on, "I heard somebody outside; there'd been noises before… Then he was fighting and the other man was bigger and I was sure he'd kill us both, he said he would…"
"Ryan killed him?"
"Yes, self-defense…" Ellen shook her head and went over to the door. "I'm glad Charley's coming. I have to get away from here. Joe was going for a run. He didn't want to talk to anyone… I finished up the police reports. I guess that's all of it."
"Where would he go?"
Ellen gestured toward the beach, "Probably down toward the north end of the beach. I used to see him perched up on the rocks sometimes. Then he'd do some running and what looked almost like dancing with his sword."
"Thanks for you help." Methos turned to go, nearly running into a big bluff man in khaki who couldn't be anyone else but Charley.
Methos made polite noises, then headed for the rickety stairs and the beach below.
The late afternoon sun was fading as the fog began to roll in. Methos, head down, his hands in his pockets, walked along toward the rocks Ellen had mentioned. A stray dog came bounding along, dancing beside him, charging the waves and dashing away. The dog was having a wonderful time but Methos wasn't paying attention.
Suddenly the dog stopped. He stood still, then galloped off into the fog barking happily.
Methos looked up. The fog stirred and a figure moved toward him. The dog ran up to the tall man who reached out to pat him. Then he stood up looking back at Methos.
Methos suddenly smiled and began walking toward MacLeod. He was alive.
Mac was still. Methos could see his face more clearly now. He wasn't the only one who hadn't been sleeping. Were they still friends? Duncan didn't look too happy to see him.
Slowly Methos approached the man he'd traveled half way round the world to find. Someone called to the dog and he disappeared into the fog.
Methos stood still. He started to speak, thought better of it. Mac stood there for a moment then turned to look out to sea. Methos held his breath for a moment. Maybe this wasn't a good idea…
They stood like children playing statues. The fog spun wisps of gray and silver around the two men.
Methos stood quietly, waiting for MacLeod to face him.
"Why are you here. Babysitting again?" "Mac, we, Joe and I were worried about you."
MacLeod's voice was colorless, flat. "Joe has Watchers on me. I've spotted them several times."
"They lost you in New York. You have people who care about you, who want you to be safe."
"There's no safety for us, Methos. You know that." He didn't meet Methos' eyes.
Methos tried changing the subject. "Do you want to walk for a while? We can go get something to eat…
"Why did you follow me here?"
"I came to the States to try and find you, I was worried." said Methos. He spoke softly, almost to himself. "You took off months ago and no one has talked to you… You look as though you haven't been sleeping."
MacLeod turned to stare at him. "You keep invading my dreams."
"I do what?"
The younger man picked up a piece of driftwood and hurled it out over the fog and water. "You keep asking me questions and telling me things I don't want to hear and can't believe."
"These are dreams, MacLeod. I haven't seen you in months."
Fear, or anger, swept over MacLeod's face. He turned away from Methos and started walking back up the beach his strides lengthening and speeding up until he was running.
Methos hesitated for a moment, then followed, moving much faster than he usually did. He lost sight of MacLeod in the fog. "Mac, wait! We need to talk!"
"MacLeod! Where the hell did you go?" Methos had slowed, unfamiliar with the ground, he was unwilling to take further chances. The silence was disturbing. MacLeod was fast, but his footfalls should still be heard. Methos stood still for a moment then continued, more slowly.
He tripped, almost falling on top of the younger Immortal. MacLeod's body was twisted as though he'd been trying to avoid the fall. There was blood on his head and on the sand. Methos straightened his legs and arms and pulled his head and shoulders into his lap. "Mac, it's OK, I'm here. Come on, Duncan, it's getting dark and we need to get back to Seacouver."
Mac revived, the wound healing, but he was still groggy. It was getting dark and Methos could see the faint gleam of lights from the evening traffic going by on the road. He levered MacLeod's body against his own, bringing one arm around his neck and helping him along, moving as though the two of them had been out for a run. He kept up a running commentary as he helped the other man to a point where he could see his rented SUV. The stairs were not going to be easy, but they would manage.
Minutes later he had MacLeod belted into the passenger seat.
They couldn't stay on the beach and given the way Mac had reacted to him, he wasn't too sure the dojo was a good idea, but it was late and both of them were tired. "You and I need to talk. I just don't want it to come to swords."
MacLeod didn't say a word through the remainder of the drive, just sat, gazing out the window with unseeing eyes. Methos gave a heartfelt sigh of relief as he pulled up beside dojo.
"Got your keys, Mac?" Methos urged Mac out of the vehicle and up the stairs.
MacLeod dug them out of his pocket almost dropping them as he tried to unlock the heavy old door. Methos gently took them from him and took care of the door and opened the windows to the evening breezes. He turned back to MacLeod. His friend was standing at the doorway, his eyes closed, his face pale and sweating.
"Let me get something to put over the bed, Mac. Then you're going to lay down and rest for a while. Even for us a fractured skull can take time to heal " He left MacLeod leaning against the door and looked for something to put over the coverlet. Mac was fussy about getting blood on the linens. He found a couple of the big bathsheets MacLeod used and laid them over the dark green spread.
He helped MacLeod over to the bed and pulled the second bathsheet over his friend. An old, soft T-shirt was dampened and used to clean the blood from his face and shoulder. His eyes were closed.
The travel and worry were combining to tire Methos. He hung up his coat and went over to the kitchen island to put some tea on for his host and to collect a beer for himself. Methos filled the teapot and brought a mug, canned milk and honey over beside the bed. MacLeod's eyes opened, focused, taking in the surroundings and the man standing there near him.
"Methos?"
"Yeah, Mac, some tea?"
MacLeod nodded, grimacing as he tried to sit up. Methos reached out to help but Mac seemed not to see his hand. He managed to prop himself against the headboard. Methos poured the tea and added honey and milk. "Try this. I can get you a brandy if you'd rather…"
Mac sipped the tea, a little color coming back into his face. He didn't respond. Methos was getting a little worried. Mac knew he was there but refused to look at him. "Is all this because of a dream, Mac?"
The other man turned toward him for a moment, then shied away.
Methos sat down on the edge of the bed. "So, if this is about a dream, can you at least tell me what was going on in the dream? At this point, you've got me tried and convicted and I don't even know what the charges are."
Mac closed his eyes. "It just seemed so real…"
"Dreams often do seem real. You must have had vivid ones before. What makes this one different?"
"You were telling me things… things that couldn't possibly be true."
"Like what?"
"You said Cassandra… No, I don't want to talk about this." He turned away.
Methos was quiet for a moment, sick to his stomach. Cassandra. Gods. His past was going to come between them again. "Mac, I told you what I'd done to her, what the Horsemen had done… Is that what you're dreaming about?"
MacLeod simply didn't acknowledge anything. Methos got up from the bed and went to get a drink. He brought back a generous brandy for the younger man and sipped his own; trying to think back on what he'd learned about dreams through the years.
There was a deep sigh from the bed and Mac sat up, rubbing his eyes. He reached for the drink and swallowed half of it in one sip.
"Easy, Mac. You've had a busy day. That brandy is too good to slug down like that." He waited for a moment. "What are you dreaming?"
MacLeod looked around the room, unwilling or unable to look directly at Methos. "I was here last night." Mac took another sip of the brandy. "I was going to go back to make sure Ellen didn't need anything else, but Charley will take care of her, safer for her that way."
"I met her. Nice lady."
Mac turned, "Redmond was going to kill her. The fires were arson. One more innocent…"
MacLeod finished off the brandy and went over to the cabinet on unsteady feet to refill his glass. "I liked her, you know. She's what my mother called a "loving heart". She was so delighted with the shirts… "
For a moment, Duncan was still. He was looking out the window. Methos had to strain to hear his voice. "You were there, almost every night. Except, when I slept beside her. I didn't do anything but sleep, nothing happened. She kept you away."
MacLeod turned to look at Methos, his eyes were wild, filled with pain and fear and a building anger. "You stab at me in my dreams."
Methos began backing away, gauging the distance to the sword hidden in his coat.
"Do you remember an Immortal named Garrick, Methos?""
"The crazy one who said he could project things into other people's dreams?"
Mac was pacing away from Methos now, his movement's jerky, and his words all on one tone. "Crazy, yes but he really could do it, project things into dreams. He did it to me. At the last, when he finally came for me… If I hadn't seen the ring on his hand…"
"And you think I'm doing something like that?"
"I don't know!" He turned back, looking up at the older Immortal, the fear in his eyes causing Methos to re-evaluate what he was saying. "Are you?"
"Mac, I don't have that kind of talent, gift, whatever it is." Methos stopped. How was he going to reach Mac? Was Cassandra somehow sending the dreams? Cassandra was a danger. He'd sensed that long ago. Not so much for him, but for MacLeod. "Duncan, tell me what the dreams are about."
MacLeod finished the brandy and got up to refill his glass. "You keep saying things, things I don't really understand… maybe I don't want to understand."
"Like?"
Mac looked down into his glass. "I keep trying to remember…"
"Duncan, you're talking in circles. What is it that you need to remember?"
"Cassandra…"
"How did you meet her, Mac?"
"You've read my Chronicles."
"There's not a lot of info on you before you met Conner. Roland Kantos had been in the area. There's a notation in his records that he'd apparently come back to visit his old teacher, but his watcher was never sure who exactly that was."
MacLeod was silent for a moment, "She said I'd have to kill him. I did."
"For god's sake, Mac, he had every intention of killing you. Killing him was a public service."
"Like killing Kronos?" MacLeod's
Methos took a deep breath, the memory still hurtful. "Yes. Kronos intended ruling the world and he didn't plan on waiting for the Gathering to do it. I don't think he actually believed in the Gathering."
"I wish I didn't. I'm tired of being a killing machine."
"Mac, what about the dreams? Why were you so sure I was sending them?"
Mac gestured at him; "You've made me face things I didn't want to see in the past." He was thoughtful for a moment. "In a way, maybe that's what the dreams are doing."
"What am I asking you to see?"
Duncan finished the brandy and went to get another. "Do you really think Cassandra would have seduced a 13 year old boy? Could she have kept me from remembering that in order to tie me to her?"
Methos stood up and moved to collect a brandy of his own. Just what he needed, a four hundred year old child abuse case. "Maybe you should start at the beginning. When did these dreams start?"
Mac's eyes were haunted. "I left Paris. For a while, I just wandered. I've done it before and I needed time to get my head on straight again. Things were so complicated… Ever since Tessa died… It seems like everyone I cared about died."
Methos waited, watching the younger man, trying to understand.
MacLeod had started pacing again. "When I first met you, I was in awe of you. Five thousand years… It was hard to even imagine that much time. You kept dropping in and out of my life and I finally got it through my thick skull that you were a teacher and I had a lot to learn."
"I never claimed to be your teacher, Mac."
"No… that's true." MacLeod was pacing now, looking as though he might fly apart he was so tightly wound. "You had me convinced that you were 'just a guy'. Then Kronos and the damn Horseman showed up and I didn't know who the hell you were."
"I'm still just a guy Mac."
"I know better than that, now. I trusted you more than anyone since Connor. After Kronos showed up, Cassandra, she kept saying I couldn't trust you…" His pacing took him back to the cabinet and he refilled the glass.
Methos waited. Mac couldn't seem to focus on anything. "Mac… Duncan. You're wearing a hole in that rug and it's a favorite… "
MacLeod looked at him. "I do trust you, Methos… " He stopped. His eyes closed and he whispered the aching plain in his voice. "I need to know. This darkness, I can't get through it."
Methos was ripped apart by the pain in Duncan's voice, in his face. He knew what it was to lose memories, to lose part of yourself. Slowly, he moved toward the other man. One hand stretched carefully, slowly to touch the Highlander's arm. "Duncan, come… "
He pulled MacLeod into his arms. His body felt stiff, still, the kind of stillness caused by fear and anger, pain so deep set that it can not be borne. Methos held him close, trying to break through the wall to touch the man within.
"Duncan… " The younger man was shivering. "Too much alcohol in too short a time. Come on, let's get you back under the blankets. You're shocky."
He managed to get MacLeod over to the bed. His face was clammy and pale, hands like ice. Methos covered him and sat beside him. MacLeod was lean, to the point of being thin. The lost weight added to the overall impression of fragility. Mac felt feverish, his body shivering one moment and sweating the next.
Duncan turned away from him. "It's happening again. No one is safe. The people I care about… all of them in danger."
"Stop this, Mac. Yes, people do die, but that doesn't necessarily have anything to do with you. All living things die. They are part of the great cycle of change, the cycle of the seasons."
The younger man didn't seem to hear him. He curled in on himself as though he'd taken a mortal wound to the belly. Methos could hear his harsh breathing and reached out to try to rub some of the tension out of his shoulders.
He kept his voice soft. "Tell me about the dreams?"
Slowly, as though every word was being dragged out of his gut, MacLeod began talking, his voice flat, pained. "It always starts the same way. I'm walking with Fitz, in the park, or Verona… Then it's you I'm walking with and you start needling me… gloating about killing thousands, ten thousands… And I say 'We're through!'"
Methos looked away before the younger man could see the agony his words had caused.
"Then you glare at me and tell me you aren't through with me yet. I ask you what the hell you're talking about, and you start at me about Cassandra."
"What am I saying in the dream?"
Mac closed his eyes. "You say, 'No, Mac. We're just beginning. I wish you hadn't been with Cassandra that day. I planned to tell you about Kronos, but with her there, you wouldn't have listened to me anyway. She'd marked you as her own.'"
"I asked you what you meant by that and you wanted to know what I remembered about the first time I met her."
Methos waited, but Duncan was quiet. "And what did you say? Talk to me."
There was no answer. "Duncan?" Methos sighed, "All right, it's late. Let's get some sleep. We can start fresh in the morning and see what you can remember."
Duncan shook himself and got up. He turned, "You go on, Methos. Take the bed. I'll lie down on the couch. I don't think I can sleep just yet."
Methos nodded. Duncan still trusted him. That was more than he'd hoped for, under the circumstances. He'd keep Mac safe here and try to give him as much room as he needed, anything short of leaving him alone. He took off his shoes and sweater, preferring to stay dressed in case of trouble.
He closed his eyes, more aware than ever of the younger Immortal. Duncan had always been so careful to be the clan chief's son, the honorable warrior. Had Cassandra seduced him? She might have. No, make that probably did. Duncan was beautiful as an adult. He would have been a beautiful child… There was no way to understand what Cassandra was like in the 16th century. Seducing a young boy was a sin of the blackest kind in Mac's eyes. But, if he was reading Mac right, the worst aspect of it was his anger, anger at the idea that he hadn't defended Cassandra because he wanted to, but because she had bound him to her.
He could hear Duncan moving quietly around the loft. There was the clunk of a glass being set down and a cork being pulled. Methos estimated about 3 fingers worth of scotch filled the glass before Mac put the bottle down.
He must have dozed briefly, awakened by the sound of something hitting the counter of the kitchen island. It repeated and he got up and moved quietly to the area. There were marks on the cook surface and Mac's hands were bloody. He hit the counter again, his face twisted with anger.
Methos called softly to him. "Duncan? Can you let me help?"
The anger in Duncan seemed to wake all the painful memories in Methos, too, and it was all he could do not to rage against Cassandra himself. The damned link, he thought to himself. It's amplifying everything.
He took Duncan's hands in his own. Murmuring soft sounds and gentle words in tongues too old for Duncan to understand, he drew the younger man into his arms. "Come and lay down, Duncan. Try and let go of the anger, you haven't been getting much rest."
Methos eased him into the bed. He crawled in beside Duncan. He wrapped his arms around the other man holding him as he would have held an angry child.
The angry tears stopped and Duncan's breathing slowed into sleep. Methos stayed awake as long as he could, but finally he yielded to the darkness and weariness and let sleep claim him.
Methos was stroking the dark mane of hair. There was a welcome weight on his shoulder. The scent was familiar and then, waking abruptly, he recognized it. Duncan was curled against his chest, his head under Methos' chin. How long had it been, Methos wondered, since the Highlander had allowed himself to be comforted by another person? He knew Duncan's Chronicles. He knew the strength of the man in his arms. The last few years had been brutal with a steady stream of murder and chaos pouring over him.
Methos had talked with Joe about the demon. Joe's pain at the offer of his legs had been no hallucination. Duncan had come through that, battered by the loss of Richie, but alive. Then the deaths had begun again, mortal deaths he could not prevent, Immortals, another student… and finally O'Rourke. The threat to Amanda and Joe was something he could not ignore.
The twisting cold in his gut at the thought of how close all of them had come to losing MacLeod permanently knifed through him again. He didn't ever want to see the same blank, hopeless look in MacLeod's eyes again.
Muscles tightened against him as Mac woke.
"Good morning. Flip you for the shower?"
Mac pulled away from him, "Sorry, Methos. I don't usually fall apart like this."
"No. You usually have other people falling apart on you. Doesn't hurt to admit you need help once in a while. God knows you've been there for other people in your life."
The younger man got up, wrapped a robe around himself and finally looked at Methos. "Can you help, Methos? If Cassandra did… if she did what I think she did, I have to break the binding, whatever she did to me. I have to be free of it. I don't want to be forced to fight, to kill on command like an two-legged attack dog."
Methos sighed and got up. He needed to get a shower. "Mac, why don't you get some coffee on. We'll talk about it then."
The shower hadn't helped. What he really needed was about 20 hours of sleep but he wasn't likely to get them with a brooding MacLeod on his hands. There was nothing for it but to dive in… and hope he wasn't swimming in waters too deep for survival.
He pulled a clean sweater and jeans out of his bag and shaved. He wandered back into the main part of the loft. "Coffee smells good."
MacLeod looked up from the stove, "I thought you might like some breakfast. I made biscuits."
"Great. I wasn't really expecting to be fed."
"It's good to keep busy…" MacLeod was still. When he spoke again, it was almost to himself. "I said that to Ellen. We were talking about painting the house and the cabins."
"She seemed nice. Her friend Charley is the local sheriff?"
MacLeod stopped fussing in the kitchen. His shoulders bent, his head down, unwilling to look at Methos. "I told her about us, Methos. I don't think she'll remember a whole lot. It was a frightening experience for her."
Methos moved to stand beside the table, close but not close enough to threaten. "Mac, there's no way to tell. Are you worried enough that we should go talk to her?"
"No. She was a sharp businesswoman at the broker's office. She seemed to enjoy dinner. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have." He brought the platter of bacon and eggs over to the table and went back for the biscuits.
"I'm sure the fire frightened her but this other Immortal made it plain he was going to burn her out. You saved her life."
The younger man was still. He turned to Methos; "Do you really believe that?"
"Yes." Methos made sure his body language said the same thing. Duncan had to believe it whether or not it was true. "Now get over here and let's eat. You're looking undernourished."
Duncan made a face at him, but brought over the hot biscuits and a jar of honey to go with the butter already on the table.
The younger man pushed the food aimlessly around on his plate, buttering a biscuit and drizzling it with honey, taking a bite and putting it down. He gazed out the window, not really seeing the sun break through the clouds.
"Duncan, sometimes we don't remember things because we don't want or need to remember them."
Duncan looked startled for a minute, "That's true of our own memories. It's different when they're taken from you."
Methos finished, noting how little Duncan had eaten. "I'll help with the dishes."
Mac reached out a hand to stop him, "No, Methos. Please, don't stall me along. I need to have the answers. I can't go on feeling as though I don't own my own feelings."
//And do I really want you to understand?// he thought. //If she did this to you, was it because of what I did to her. Will you hate me all over again, for the past? Gods, why the hell didn't I just stay in Paris with Joe like a good little research drone?"
He sighed, "All right. We can try a light trance. Sometimes we can get past the conscious barriers that way. Duncan, remembering isn't a guaranteed solution for all your problems."
"I understand." Duncan was silent for several minutes. Then he looked up at Methos. "I do trust you, Methos. Whatever you did in the distant past, whatever she said… You have been a friend. You've been there for me so many times."
"Can you trust me one more time?" Methos' voice lowered.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Stretch out on the bed. We'll start by using a couple of breathing exercises to get you to relax. Then I'll help you move into a light trance state and we'll see what you remember."
Methos pulled the trade blanket from the foot of the heavy bed and laid it over the younger man. "It will be easier if you just let yourself go. Think of it as the beginning of a meditation. Let the other sounds around you fade into the background."
There was a straight-backed chair near Mac's desk. Methos brought it over to the bed and turned it backwards. "Let the warmth of the blanket soothe you, Duncan. You are warm and safe. You can watch the events of the past as though you're watching a film. There is a safe distance between you and the past. Nothing from yesterday can harm you."
He straddled the chair, watching Mac's face alert for any indication that he needed to bring him back to the present. He started a slow, quiet breathing pattern bringing Duncan into it easily. Gradually the stress lines smoothed out and Mac's breathing was one step away from sleep.
He rested one hand on Duncan's forehead. "Close your eyes. Feel my hand."
Duncan relaxed against the pillows. Methos began smoothing the hair back from his broad forehead with gentle, non-threatening touches.
He leaned over to take Duncan's hand. "We are walking together Mac. There's a lot of fog around us. Each step we take moves us back in time."
Methos took his time leading MacLeod back through the years. "It's autumn of sixteen hundred and six. We can smell the peat smoke and hear the people in the village talking about the wolf. Robert is with us. You want to go looking for the wolf."
Duncan's were half opened, seeing the faces of people long gone. The words came slowly, tenses mixing as the past and present shifted in Duncan's mind. "My cousin Robert and I'd gone to hunt the wolf my father said was killing our sheep. The wolf came at me… The wolf knocks me down, I hit my head on a rock."
"You're fine now, Duncan. You wake up. What's happening?"
"There's a wolf staring at me. It's huge and it frightens me. I look again and it's only a wolf skin with green glass eyes."
"Look around you. Listen."
The memories were shaded, unclear. "I remember how high the bed seemed. I had to climb down…"
Methos kept his voice low. "How old were you, Duncan?"
"I was…thirteen."
"Had you ever been with a woman?"
The question startled him, almost breaking the trance. "That's what you asked me in the dream, Methos. I was still a boy."
"And then?"
"I … I don't remember…"
Methos shook his head. "Your own mind has been trying to get you to face something, something that started back then, with Cassandra.
Duncan shook his head, "It's as though there's a darkness and I can't get through it."
Methos nodded to himself. He knew that darkness all too well. "Look around you. What is the room like?"
"There was a fire burning on a wide stone hearth. There are bundles of herbs hanging, the way my mother dries them. There's a table with a candle and flowers on it… and chairs… benches against the wall… I can hear someone humming. I unfasten the latch and open the heavy oak door. It's twilight and the moon is up already… The voice is louder now and I want to see who's singing. I can hear water, like the little burn just above the village. It feels as though someone's calling me."
His voice died away. Methos could feel the tension in Duncan's body. "Where are you, Duncan?" He prompted. He continued stroking Duncan's forehead, keeping the tactile link.
Duncan's voice was hesitant, the words forced. "There's a waterfall… and a deep pool below it. There's a woman in it. She has long hair like a bronze curtain falling almost to the water. She moves and it blows back and I can see her body. She is bathing… She's not like the other women in the village. She is slim waisted and her breasts are full and her nipples are dark. She is beautiful…"
He was silent again, the world of the past holding him as it had then. Then he began shaking slightly.
Methos tightened his grip on Duncan's hand. "Stay with me, Duncan. She can't touch you now. I'm here."
Again, he spoke, "She is beautiful… We walk back to the cottage. She has something cooking on the hearth. She gives me a drinking cup made of horn, edged in silver and tells me to drink. It's honey mead and it has an odd scent to it. I drink, and she tells me to finish it, there's plenty more."
"Duncan, smell it again, with the knowledge you have now. Do you recognize it?"
"Aconite and lavender… nightshade, something else, too."
Methos nodded, muttering to himself at the idea of the deadly plants. "What happened next?"
"I was dreaming… I saw… I saw a tall man… myself, grown, my hair long and a dark coat… I was in an odd building. I asked him about Debra… "
His voice faded out. Methos could feel the tension in him. Softly, Duncan murmured, "He was afraid of something. I… he said if he listened to this other warrior he would lose. I said, 'then don't listen.' and then I was back in the cottage."
Duncan was silent again. Methos kept petting him, letting the gentle touch keep the contact. The younger man was reacting to something in the dream; his face turned up as though receiving a kiss. He suddenly opened his eyes. Methos waiting again for something to tell him what Duncan was dealing with.
Duncan twisted away from him, waking fully, and got up, "There's something there, Methos. The mead was drugged. She did that, didn't she? She made me see myself and then made me forget all of it. It was easy for her to use that to keep me under her spell. That vague memory would link her with me."
Methos hesitated. After all the two of them had been through, he didn't want to be the one to drag Cassandra off her pedestal, but he had promised himself to be honest with Duncan. At least within reason. "I wasn't there, Mac. I can't say what she did, or didn't do, but if the memories you're getting back now are accurate, I'd have to agree."
MacLeod stood over by the window, there were a few clouds showing in the afternoon sky, harbingers of rain. He could see the whitecaps on the bay. "She did seduce me. How could she do that, Methos? Take a green boy, drug him, seduce him and make him a puppet, I wasn't in love with her. She made me believe that I was…"
Mac's voice sounded younger, almost the voice of the 13-year-old Cassandra had bewitched. He turned to Methos, "I dreamed about her for years, you know. I must have gone hunting for her cottage a hundred times… My mother worried about me, but I couldn't tell her what I was looking for in those woods."
Methos bit his lip. There was nothing he could say. Mac had to find the answers for himself or he'd never be able to trust his own judgment again.
Duncan looked back out over the lake. "She kissed me. I can feel her lips on mine but then there's the darkness again. The next thing that's clear is her telling me to go outside, that my people are looking for me."
Mac leaned against the cold glass. His eyes closed and suddenly, the tension was back. "I remember… God. She was…touching me… having me touch her."
Methos could see the tears in his eyes.
"Methos… what should I do?"
"About what, Mac?"
"I should go and talk to her?"
"What purpose would that serve?"
Mac rounded on him, "How can you ask that? I need to know the truth."
Methos shook his head. "Mac, she might not be willing to talk to you in the first place. This may be all the 'Truth' you get. It looks like she probably did seduce you and plant suggestions to make you fall in love or bind you to her, somehow. She probably knew Kantos would try to kill her."
"I didn't know for certain…"
"Well, you do now. How would talking to her help? Cassandra doesn't need to confirm it. Whatever she did, talking to her won't change it."
"But…"
"But what? She didn't make you an Immortal, and you're an adult now. Are you pissed off because you helped her? Isn't that a little convoluted, even for you?"
"Damn it, Methos, whose side are you on?"
Suddenly all the fear, the pain he'd gone through for this man lanced through Methos. He stood up, shaking with the force of his rage. "There are times, Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod, when you are an unbelievably self centered bastard." He stood up, paused for a moment then glared at the younger man. "If you really don't know whose side I'm on, whose side I've been on, to the point of risking my own damn neck, for you… If you really need to ask that, I'm out of here. There's nothing more to say."
He could feel Duncan staring at him, trying to process the words.
Methos turned toward the side of the bed to go after his duffel bag. Suddenly, Duncan moved, tackling Methos and holding him too tightly to move. Methos had the wind knocked out of him.
"No, Methos! You are not leaving!" he shouted. Then he took a deep breath. "Damn, Methos, I've been missing something… Something about the dream."
"Fuck it, MacLeod. Get the hell off of me, now!"
"I don't want you to leave." He said as he eased himself off the furious Immortal. Looking highly embarrassed, he offered a hand to his victim. "Come on. Please get up. I'm sorry I knocked you down…"
"Back off, MacLeod." Methos stood and brushed himself off, debating the virtues of continuing the conversation by phone and moving closer to his sword.
"She did make me angry. Afraid, too. But you're right, that was a long time ago and I remember now and she can't hold me again. I'm sorry…"
Methos slapped MacLeod's hand away and went to the bar pouring himself a brandy. "You are the densest, most thick headed…"
Duncan followed him. He gently touched Methos' shoulder, "You're right. I am all of that. And unobservant and clueless…"
Methos took a large swallow of brandy. "So just what was that for, MacLeod? It certainly didn't change my mind."
"There was more to the dream, Methos. You said I only saw what I wanted to see." He moved back to give Methos some space. The rain had begun and the sound of it almost drowned out his voice. He seemed to be gathering himself, trying to say something but unsure of how to start.
Something had changed in the room. Methos stood there, waiting for MacLeod to speak. If the look on his face was any guide, this was not something he really wanted to say. "In the dream, you said I wanted you to love me. You said that it was dangerous… "
Methos took a deep breath, biting his lip to stay silent.
"Methos, you were right, you know, on both counts. I do want you to love me… because I love you."
Methos turned away and stood there, silently, nearly dropping his drink. His ears were ringing and his head ached. "You what?"
Duncan's voice seemed to come from a great distance. "The dream isn't really about Cassandra. Oh, I do need to recognize what she did and keep my guard up if we run into each other again. Maybe that's what started it, but it's about trusting you. It's about finally opening my eyes and seeing you."
He turned toward Methos, the fading light behind him outlining him. "I was so alone. I think it took being away from everything familiar to make me look at how important to me you are."
Methos finally looked up at Duncan; not sure he could believe what he was hearing. But there it was. Duncan was smiling, there was recognition, and wonder, and maybe, just maybe love on his face.
Methos couldn't move. They stood there for a long moment and then, Duncan drew him close and tentatively, at first, kissed him. He pulled back, the uncertainty in his eyes forcing Methos to respond.
Methos brushed Duncan's lips with his own. There were tears in his eyes and his throat was so tight he knew he was going to have trouble talking. Instead, he smoothed Duncan's hair back and put his arms around the beautiful, worrisome warrior. "You're fire brought me back to life when all I was doing was existing. I think my life started again that day."
Duncan's smile was like the sun ascending. "It is dangerous and I know we won't always agree on things," he laughed, "Why should we start now? Methos, please stay with me. Please help me learn how to show you I love you."
"No more caveman stuff though. Too hard on the knees."
"Only if I need to keep you from leaving, Methos."
"Oh, I'll stick around for a while. Maybe just to see if you're serious."
Duncan took his head in gentle hands, "Oh, I'm serious, old man. You're right, I do see things the way I want to a lot of the time, but I finally put some things together and the way they add up… You do care for me… love me, don't you?"
Methos nodded. "For my sins… " He let himself lean into Duncan's arms. Let the warmth of his lips touch his.
Duncan smiled at him, "We can stay here for a few days. There are some loose ends… Then maybe we can take that trip to Bora Bora you're always talking about."
"I think I'd like that."
The warmth of Duncan's embrace seemed to soothe a pain he hadn't really acknowledged. Maybe there was a chance for him to have a small measure of happiness with this man, the one who had taken his heart simply by walking down the stairs to a black and white bedroom. Duncan brought all the colors of the rainbow with him. He would always remember that day as the day he'd been dragged out of the darkness.
"How about it, Methos. Tell me it isn't too late… Can we try to make a go of it?
All he could say was "Yes."
Finé
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