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The River

Part Nineteen: Drowning in Darkness

Duncan was searching through a forest of dark pines; he could smell them, though they weren�t visible in the mist and shadows. Branches came at him out of nowhere, holding him back like demonic, grasping hands, and the cold air was so damp the moisture was condensing on his skin, trickling down his face like tears. He shivered, then cursed the fog that kept him from finding whoever or whatever was making that sound. He couldn�t bear that sound, it was a sound made by something hurt or wounded, helpless, he had to get to them and help them, help them to stop hurting and crying, but he was blind, wandering, and lost.

Duncan was whimpering softly and continuously. Methos knew it was involuntary, he was lost in delirium, but it painfully reminded him of a child who�d been sobbing for hours, too distraught to stop or cry himself to sleep. Duncan was lying on his back, the head of the hospital bed raised, his head on a single pillow, his wrists and ankles securely bound in the restraints. He was nude except for a diaper, necessary due to his incontinence, and uncovered; when they tried covering him he became more agitated, as if he couldn�t tolerate the sensation of even a sheet on his skin. He was restless and kept tugging aimlessly at the restraints, his arms and legs jerking uselessly against the heavy leather cuffs. Methos smoothed back Duncan�s soaked hair and dried his face and chest for what felt like the thousandth time. Duncan was drenched in sweat, his face was flushed, and although his eyes were open they weren�t focused on Methos or anything that was present, his glassy gaze fretfully shifting, his head tossing on the damp pillow.

They had moved him into this bed together, after the first seizure. Duncan had been deeply unconscious from the sedation and the aftermath of the seizure itself. Methos had helped Ash fasten him into the restraints, feeling an ache in his chest as he buckled the slack limbs into the cuffs. He watched Ash set up the IV, inserting the needle in a large vein in Duncan�s right forearm, taping it securely, adjusting the valve so the saline and dextrose could run into him at a fast rate. He had to be kept from dehydrating; he was sweating profusely and losing fluids at an alarming speed. They moved boxes holding more IV bags close to the bed, along with a chair and a small end table. Ash placed a tray holding syringes and an assortment of drugs on the table, then she brought the small clock from the bedroom for timing the doses of medication. Ash made phone calls, and soon deliveries arrived, more clean linens, pillows, and five large old-fashioned hospital folding screens, which they set up so the bed was enclosed, along with the table, chair, and couch, making a comfortable private spot in the open space of the barge. Ash had arranged lamps on the other side of the screens, so the area was lit by a diffused, even light.

�There should be no shadows to stimulate hallucinations, the screens are to limit his view and give him a little privacy, not that he�s going to be aware of it. We should talk to him and try to make contact, though I doubt we�ll be able to reach him,� Ash explained, while carefully observing Methos. He had been visibly upset by Duncan�s seizure, and Ash worried that he was close to breaking down.

�It may reach him on an unconscious level, I remember your voice,� Methos sounded calm; he was pulling himself together. He�d been a doctor once, not that long ago, and the old mindset was still there. He sat in the chair next to the bed and picked up the drug vials one by one, reading the labels. �And I remember how to take care of a delirious patient. I can do it, just show me how to use these drugs.� He could do whatever was needed to care for Duncan.

Ash had explained the medications, but asked him to call her first if the convulsions returned. �I want to try different anticonvulsants to see what works best, it�s tricky to figure out.�

Methos had smiled weakly. �At least we can�t kill him with an overdose.�

The second seizure hit about two hours after the first, and was worse. Methos had watched powerlessly while Duncan tensed against the restraints until the thick leather creaked in protest, his body taut, arching up off the bed, every muscle standing out under his sweat-slick skin. Ash had injected syringe after syringe into the IV line. She�d thrown the second empty one at the wall, swearing. She�d picked up the last one and injected it into the line with a muttered �Damn it, I was afraid of that,� and the convulsion finally eased off, Duncan�s body falling limp.

�Afraid of what?� Methos asked, concerned.

�It�s taking massive doses of three anticonvulsants to stop the seizures, and he�s already getting the maximum dose of tranquilizer. Even with all that, I doubt we can keep him fully out. It�s something I�ve noticed about Immortals, the more synthetic the drug, the less it seems to work on us. The synthetic molecules just don�t absorb or metabolize in the same way as more natural molecules.�

�I just want to keep him as comfortable as we possibly can.� Methos had picked up a towel and was blotting the sweat from Duncan�s body with it.

�We�re doing that, �Thos. He�s having it easier that you did. There�s a good chance that the tranquilizer will build up in his bloodstream and become more effective. At least we can stop his seizures, yours were so bad you died twice, and you suffered terribly from dehydration. Speaking of which�� Ash checked Duncan�s diaper. �Well, his hydration�s good.� She gave Methos a little smile.

�If he�s getting enough fluids to urinate in spite of the heavy sweating then you�re right. Now as for changing him, that sounds like a nurse�s job, and I am a doctor, after all.� Methos smiled back impishly.

�I�ll change this one, but that �I�m a doctor� line won�t work, you get the next one and it may not be so easy!�

Methos considered that. �Maybe I should rethink my position.�

Ash laughed. �Just be glad these diapers are disposable. That reminds me��

Ash went out through the screens and came back with two boxes. She held up the larger one.

�These are disposable pre-moistened washcloths, wonderful things, they clean and condition the skin, and we don�t even have to rinse him. While he�s unconscious we should change the bed and bathe him.�

She put the boxes on the table. Ash unbuckled Duncan�s left ankle and they had changed the wet diaper together, cleaning him and putting him in a fresh one, Methos helping her by lifting Duncan�s leg and hips, then she unbuckled Duncan�s left wrist.

�I�ll change the sheet and we can bathe the rest of him.�

�Do we have to keep him restrained all the time?� Methos hated seeing Duncan strapped down and it was visible in his expression.

�He could wake up quite suddenly, and he could become violent. He�s delirious, he wouldn�t know what he�s doing and he wouldn�t recognize us. If he were to get loose he could try to run away, and we couldn�t control him. Can you imagine the two of us trying to wrestle him back into bed? It�s really for his own good.�

They lowered the bed until it was flat, and Methos helped her roll Duncan onto his right side, gently. It took both of them to move him, there was no muscle tone to his body and Duncan was heavy with the limp weight of profound unconsciousness. Ash began pulling out the sheet. Methos was struck by Duncan�s utter defenselessness and it brought it back, all the times had he seen him in a similarly pitiful state. How many of those times was he to blame for Duncan�s drunken stupor? Methos pushed the thought away and reached for the disposable wipes.

�You�ve been nursing again, you�re in practice and it shows.� Methos began to wash Duncan�s back, rubbing the skin in slow circles.

�There�s always a need for nurses somewhere in the world.� Ash folded the loose end of the sheet over towards Duncan, spread a clean one on the empty side of the bed and tucked it in.

Methos washed Duncan�s left arm and hand, lifting it to do the armpit and left side. There was no resistance whatever in his arm. Methos asked the first question that came into his mind, trying to distract himself from the absolute helplessness of the body under his hands, and his guilt. �What was it this time? You�ve nursed victims of the plague, typhoid, cholera��

�Not to mention smallpox, Spanish influenza, and leprosy.� Ash began to help Methos bathe Duncan, doing his left leg, then they turned Duncan onto his back and unfastened the restraints on his right side, rolled him on his left side onto the clean sheet, being careful not to pull out the IV, and refastened the left wrist and ankle. Ash took off the soiled sheet, then straightened and tucked in the clean one.

�Leprosy, there�s the classic biblical plague for you. Of all the horrible diseases you�ve seen which one was the most horrific?� Methos was washing Duncan�s right side, there was no resistance in this arm either, the hand completely relaxed, fingers half-closed over the hard, callused palm, all its strength seemingly vanished, and Methos felt such grief over the loss.

Ash began to wash Duncan�s right leg and answered without thinking. �Ebola.�

It took a second to register, then Methos gaped at her, the shock clear on his face. �Ebola, my gods Ash, what sins are you atoning for? Why do you do these things? Nursing in epidemics, joining convents so strict you slept in a coffin, remaining celibate for sixty years, I can�t even imagine the ones I don�t know about.�

Ash looked back at him with sad golden eyes. �Don�t try. Besides, it�s not as if any of those diseases could kill me.�

They rolled Duncan on his back, restrained his right side, and raised the bed again. Methos lifted Duncan, sliding his arm under his shoulders, and Ash tried to dry his hair as much as she could, but he was sweating so much it was a wasted effort. Ash changed the damp pillow for a clean dry one and Methos lay Duncan down, his head rolling limply towards his left shoulder. He bathed Duncan�s chest, while Ash washed Duncan�s face. She saw a little blood on his lower lip, looked into his mouth and found more blood. She picked up the smaller box, opened it, and pulled out a sealed package. She tore it open and took out two swabs, unusual in their thickness, and there was a scent of oranges.

�What are those?�

�Oral swabs to clean out his mouth. He bit his tongue during the seizure and I want to take away the taste of blood.� Ash opened Duncan�s mouth and swabbed inside, lightly scrubbing the inside of his cheeks, his teeth, and his tongue, careful not to cause him to choke.

Methos had watched Ash caring for Duncan, her hands gentle, almost tender in the way she handled him, so much gentleness from hands that had killed so many. Methos remembered her telling him that she had once been taught to be a healer, trained by her mother in the use of herbs and the care of the sick, such a contrast to the arena, or her present life. All their lives depended on killing, not healing; vying for a prize that Methos had long doubted existed. Was that what she was atoning for, the killing? How could any of them atone for that, especially him?

Methos easily lost track of time. It had become a routine, injecting drugs into the line, hanging IV bags when needed, drying Duncan�s face and body, bathing and changing him, changing the sheets when perspiration soaked them and Duncan was calm enough to risk undoing the cuffs. There were times when he screamed and thrashed, fighting the restraints. He seemed to shift between incoherent delirium and violent hallucinations, but they were lucky, the tranquilizer�s effect did appear to be cumulative and Duncan was more often than not wandering in quiet delirium, mumbling disjointedly.

Joe would stop by, bringing groceries or whatever was needed, and stay a while. Ash would cook and they would all eat together, unless Duncan was restless. Methos noticed that when this happened he was the one who sat with Duncan, and he also noticed the rapport that had sprung up between Ash and Joe. It pleased him to see them together, kidding each other gently.

They took turns sleeping, although Methos had become aware that Ash didn�t really sleep. Mostly they took turns caring for Duncan, sometimes watching him together and talking very quietly, like they had been a short while before, when Methos had revealed one of his greatest fears.

�What are we going to do if he wakes up and all he wants is a bottle of Scotch? I don�t know if I can watch him hurt himself like that again.�

�Not to mention the way he hurt you.�

Methos� face contorted. �I keep thinking it was my fault, that I took advantage of his grief and vulnerability and manipulated him into a relationship he wasn�t ready for, and he would drink and hurt me because he resented it.�

�Then why did he drink even more after you left him? As for your first question, we can try to talk him out of drinking, but short of keeping him in restraints I don�t know how we can stop him if he chooses to drink. He�s certainly an adult, it�s his decision and his life. If you can�t bear to go through it again, I�ll understand. If that happens I�ll stay with Duncan, so if you have to leave at least you won�t have to worry about him so much, and this time he�ll know I�m here.�

�Are you sure you�re willing to take care of an Immortal hopeless alcoholic? It could be a very difficult and very long-term commitment.�

�It would be better than what I�ve been doing.�

Methos didn�t get the chance to question her; Ash had left him to watch over Duncan. Too soon he floated up from the sedation, moaning and whimpering, renewing his useless struggle against the restraints.

�It�s Methos, Duncan, I�m here. I�m taking care of you, you�re safe, you�re not alone, it�s all right, try to relax.� Methos spoke soothingly. He remembered Ash�s voice piercing his own delirium, lessening his anxiety, he kept hoping his voice might get through to Duncan and calm him in the same way. �I�m here, I won�t leave you. I never wanted to leave you.�

Methos remembered how terribly far Duncan had to push him to make him leave, on that last night, after Duncan had raped him. He�d lain facedown on the bloodied bed like a broken doll, knowing he had to leave, but after the shock and anger passed he�d known he wouldn�t go. If Duncan needed to treat him like this he could endure it. He could suffer enormous amounts of abuse, he�d been well trained to it by certain former lovers, and this was nothing compared to some of the things he�d been put through in the past. His body would always heal. He simply loved Duncan too much to leave him.

He�d heard Duncan come out after his shower and the sounds of him apparently looking for something, almost certainly another bottle. Methos had opened his eyes to see Duncan standing over the bed, wet, naked, heartbreakingly beautiful, the water beaded on his golden-olive skin glistening like the steel of the katana in his hands. Methos had struggled to his knees in startled surprise, before he could move any further Duncan had raised the blade and held it to Methos� throat. The cold light was shining in Duncan�s eyes, and Methos had known in that very second that Duncan was going to kill him.

It was then that Methos had realized how far he had descended, how completely he had surrendered himself. He didn�t say a word to Duncan, he didn�t even look at him, just closed his eyes, raised his head, and waited for the final stroke, longing for the death blow, wanting this pain to end forever. He heard Duncan inhale and draw back in preparation to strike; he felt the moment stretch and hang, suspended, while he waited, expecting the first bite of the edge. It would be the last thing he would ever know, his five thousand years of life ended by the only person he had ever loved more than that life. He felt a single tear spill cold down his cheek and then heard the blade slice through the air. It passed very close, barely above his head, and Methos had collapsed, sobbing in shock.

Duncan had laughed coldly, and then kicked him off of the bed, saying, �How can you lay in that mess? Change the fucking sheets, and clean yourself up while you�re at it.�

Methos had dragged himself up. Moving like a zombie, he�d yanked off the bloody sheets and used the cleaner one to wipe the blood that hadn�t already dried from his body, then the smear on the floor where he�d landed, ultimately shoving them into the garbage. He�d remade the bed somehow, shaking, his breath coming in painful hitches while Duncan put away the katana and found the Scotch. Duncan was chugging straight from the bottle when Methos stumbled into the bathroom.

He�d made it to the shower and managed to turn on the water before the world faded out; when it had come back Methos found himself lying on the floor of the stall, shivering, cold water falling down on him. He�d washed quickly in the chilly downpour, removing all remaining traces of the physical battering, but the emotional scars were impossible to wash away. He�d wrapped a towel around his waist and went out to face MacLeod.

He had no idea of how long he�d been unconscious, but it had been long enough for Duncan to drink himself into incoherence. He was sprawled on the bed, still nude, the empty bottle lying on the floor beside him. Methos had to stare at him, to memorize his beauty, to remember every line and curve of that beloved face and body forever. Methos bent down to cover him, and as he pulled the comforter over him Duncan had clutched Methos� wrist, looked up into his eyes with a dazed expression of bewildered grief and tried to say he was sorry, the words so slurred and jumbled they were almost unrecognizable.

Methos couldn�t allow himself to listen. He hadn�t lived five thousand years without a powerful sense of self-preservation, and it had finally kicked in. When it got to the point where he would allow Duncan to kill him it was undeniably time to go. He�d been eternally grateful when Duncan passed out, his eyes rolling back, then closing, his hand losing its hold of Methos� wrist and falling back to his chest, he couldn�t move with that hand touching him, or those eyes looking at him in that way. Methos had dressed and packed swiftly, leaving anything he couldn�t find immediately, only taking time to look for the sweater Duncan had given him.

He�d stopped to put on his coat and made the huge mistake of glancing at the bed. Duncan had rolled onto his side, his arms wrapped around the pillow he�d drawn into Methos� place against his chest. He�d wanted nothing more in his extremely long life than to take that place back, to feel those arms around him once more, to hold and be held, and the ache was unbearable. They had always slept close together, enfolded around each other, and Methos wondered how he would ever sleep now, without Duncan. He couldn�t even kiss him goodbye. He couldn�t take one step toward that bed or he would fall back into the abyss. He had to leave as quickly as possible, desperately resisting the desire not to leave at all. The only gesture of farewell he could manage had been to stand in the doorway and turn back, like Orpheus looking back into Hades, losing his Eurydice forever, and murmur in a tear-choked voice, �I love you Duncan. I�ll always love you.�

Methos had stopped by the club, to let Joe know he was leaving. He�d been moving through a thick, invisible fog of misery, lit only by flashes of anger. Anger at himself, for letting the situation get this far, and anger at Duncan, for finally pushing him this far. He recalled his words to Joe, he�d asked him to look out for MacLeod, if he could. Then he went straight to the nearest train station and bought a ticket on the next train out. He had to get out of Paris before he turned around, ran back to the barge, and crawled into Duncan�s arms. He�d sat on the train, not remembering where he was going, not caring, only knowing he was leaving his heart and soul behind.

He�d had no choice, not if he wanted to go on living. Living, what irony, he hadn�t been really alive since leaving him, but he didn�t know what else he could have done. Methos had seen it in Duncan�s eyes that night; he *had* meant to kill him. He�d turned the blade aside at the last split second, Methos didn�t know why any more than he knew why he�d put the sword to his throat in the first place, but he did know it was only a matter of time before Duncan didn�t change his aim. He was willing to die for Duncan, but not like that, for no reason. He should have left long before, when the beatings started, but he loved Duncan so much, and Duncan needed him so much, even if he didn�t return that love.

Methos pulled himself out of his memories to check the clock. It was time for Duncan�s next dose of tranquilizer and he injected it into the IV line. Duncan�s whimpering diminished, becoming a soft moan on every exhale, his aimless motion slowed and his eyes glazed over, the lids fluttering down, but they didn�t stay down.

�It�s all right, Duncan. I�m here, you�re safe, you�re not alone.�

The voice was soft and soothing. He knew he should recognize that voice, but he was afraid to, fearful of what memories recognition would bring to his mind without knowing why. He was so confused; things had a way of floating off and transforming in strange metamorphoses. He�d close his eyes and die; he�d open them and live again, in a different place, a different time. He closed his eyes and died for a while. When he opened them, he was standing on a cold, dark street.

He had to get to her. Duncan knew in his heart that it was already too late, Tessa was gone, but he had to hold her in his arms one last time. He lifted her up and for a moment he had hope. She had sighed and he thought she was still breathing, but it was only air leaving her lungs when he moved her. He kissed her goodbye, her bluish lips already cool, and he began to rock back and forth with her in his arms, gently, within an inch of keening in grief. They came and took her away from him forever; the EMT�s pounding on her chest, sticking needles in her in a hopeless effort to bring her back. He started to beg them to stop hurting her, then he realized she was beyond all pain. He wished he were with her, his pain was overwhelming him, crushing, devastating, and he wanted to scream his agony to the bleak, uncaring stars, but he held it in, afraid. If he started screaming he might never stop. He still wished he were with her, he had tried so hard to go to her, but they had pulled him back, into the light, into the air.

Duncan was fighting the restraints, his hands tightened into fists, his biceps bulging, making the bedrails rattle against the frame as he jerked on the cuffs around his wrists, pounding his hands against the padding. His thigh muscles jumped and strained as he tried to free his legs, and his whole body twisted. He was begging, �Let me go, let me go, please let me go,� his voice ragged, his eyes focused on a point in empty space. He seemed trapped in a moment of unbearable anguish.

�It�s all right, Duncan, let go of the pain, relax, it�s all right.� Ash spoke clearly, but he didn�t seem to hear her, he continued to thrash and scream, becoming even more frantic.

�Let me go, damn you, let me go.� He wanted to be gone from here. The other voice was talking to him, a voice he had once loved, a voice that had made promises. He had believed her, but she never came back. No one ever came back.

Ash injected an extra dose of tranquilizer into the IV line, and Duncan�s struggles slowed. He looked as if he were underwater, his movements becoming sluggish, until he finally stopped resisting. Duncan lay still for a moment, then he languidly stretched into the restraints and fell into a brief sedated sleep.

He was standing on a hill overlooking a green glen, the tombstone cold under his hand. He didn�t have to read the inscription, he�d ordered it and he knew what it said.

�I hope you found peace old friend.�

There was a voice on the wind, whispering, �Thank you for bringing me home.�

�Connor?�

�Aye, Duncan.�

The voice was distinctive, and closer, and a form was coalescing in front of him out of thin air, mist taking the shape of a man.

�Why are you here?�

�I can�t go until you forgive me.�

�You walked out on your life, and you walked out on me with it. You didn�t even tell me. I had a right to know.�

�I couldn�t face you, I couldn�t let you see the ruin I�d become. I was afraid I would drag you down with me.� The face was clear now; the deep-set blue gray eyes filled with sorrow. �I had to make you kill me and I knew that it would hurt you terribly, but I saw no other way. You needed my power to defeat Kell, and I wanted to rest, I was so tired, so empty. It�s made you suffer even more than I thought it would, and I�m sorry for that.�

�I can�t help it.� Duncan could feel his eyes burning with unshed tears.

�Let it go, Duncan. Let me go. Forgive me.�

The form was wavering, Duncan didn�t know if Connor was fading out or if he just couldn�t see him through the distortion of his tears.

�Oh God Connor, I miss you. I love you. I know how you felt; it�s how I feel now, weary, aching, wanting only to sleep forever. I forgive you, my brother, I only wish you could take me with you.�

He closed his eyes and this world died. He opened them and another lived.

He was standing in the cool shadow of the pines; Richie was sitting on a large sun-warmed rock near the water, smiling, his blue eyes and red-gold hair shining. So young. Too damn young to be dead. Duncan began to sob quietly, the tears running down his face.

�I�m sorry, Richie, so sorry��

Duncan said this aloud; Methos heard, and his expression revealed his own grief. Seeing the tears, he reached for a washcloth and wiped Duncan�s face. It was time for another dose of tranquilizer, and Ash injected it into the IV line. In a few minutes Duncan�s crying tapered off and his eyes slowly closed, then opened again, glazed and faraway.

Duncan closed his eyes, when he opened them again Richie was gone, but he wasn�t alone. The voices were back, soft, soothing, telling him he wasn�t alone, that he was going to be all right, voices he seemed to know. The hands, as soothing as the voices, moving his body, touching his skin, caring for him, he seemed to know those too. The hands were not as soft as the voices, callused, the palms hard from sword practice. How did he know that? It didn�t matter. The voices said he was safe, and he felt safe. His mouth filled with the taste of oranges, and a sudden sweetness. He didn�t deserve the sweetness, the caring. He didn�t deserve anything. He was surrounded by cloud-white cotton wool, as if he were enclosed in warm snow, it was all around him, holding him like familiar arms. They wouldn�t let him fall, so he gave up his tenuous hold on anything resembling reality and drifted away.

While Duncan was quiet they changed the bed yet again, and bathed him, talking to him softly the entire time. Methos swabbed out Duncan�s mouth, and gently kissed his slightly open lips.

�Checking to see if the oral swabs work?� Ash teased him lightly, then she noticed Methos� bemused expression. �What is it?�

�His lips taste like oranges.� Methos shook his head and sighed. �And he kissed me back.�

Methos walked out to the kitchen, and Ash followed. He appeared oddly disturbed and stood, breathing raggedly, rubbing a spot on the edge of the countertop where there was a small dent in the surface.

She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his green-gold eyes. �What is it, �Thos?�

His long, sensitive fingers touched the spot again. �Do you see this dent? One day I went out shopping, and while I was gone Duncan got so drunk he fell against the counter, hitting his head right here. When I came back I found him lying on the floor, his head in a pool of blood. If he hadn�t been Immortal he would have died from a skull fracture. I hated finding him like that, I hated watching him drink himself into a stupor, and yet�� Methos hesitated. He didn�t want to confess, but the guilt was tearing at him and it ripped its way out. �I didn�t try to stop him, just the opposite, I would help him get drunk. I�d bring him another bottle without him asking for it. I�d pour him a drink and hand it to him when he could hardly keep a grip on the glass. I did everything short of pouring it down his throat.�

Methos watched for the disgust in her eyes but it never appeared, only an expression of curiosity.

�Why would you encourage him to drink? Did you want him helpless, so he needed you? Or was it to control him?�

Ash�s voice was soft, with that velvety roughness that made him want to tell her, but he couldn�t. The truth was so wretched; he couldn�t bear to own up to it.

Ash�s eyes were more distant than usual, and there was a look of ancient sorrow on her face as she said, �Or was it because when he drank he would reach a point where he�d get vicious, and you found if he would get drunk quickly enough he wouldn�t hit you or hurt you. If he passed out he wouldn�t push you away, and you could hold him close and feel he loved you and you weren�t so alone.�

�Damn it, am I so transparently fucking pathetic that the whole world knows it?� Tears rose in Methos� eyes.

Ash seemed to shake off a trance, and she took him in her arms. �You just wanted him to stop hurting you, and love you and let you love him.�

Methos felt the devastating weight of her perception, her understanding; it broke open the wall inside him, releasing more pain.

�Sometimes he almost seemed to be someone else, he�d get this look in his eyes and then he�d hurt me.� Methos didn�t notice that Ash had turned pale. �He beat me often. No one knew, it�s easy to hide battering when you heal as fast as I do. Joe saw him hit me and I know he suspected, but he had no idea how bad it was. Sometimes he beat me into unconsciousness, and when I came to I would know Duncan had�used me. That last night�� Methos broke off. He had to take a deep breath before he could continue. �Duncan very nearly killed me. It happened so suddenly, he just turned on me, I don�t know why. He had his sword at my throat before I could do anything. I would have let him kill me, because in that instant I truly wanted to die. He kept saying he could never love me and without his love I didn�t want to live.�

Duncan suddenly cried out, a deep, drawn-out moan, and they both rushed to him.

He was fighting some shadowy entity he couldn�t see. He�d fought it before and won, at the holy spring; even after Richie he�d been able to defeat the darkness. He didn�t believe he could fight it and win now. He was so tired, so filled with despair, so hopeless. He hurt so much inside, and he had hurt everyone who cared for him. There was no one left who cared, no reason to fight anymore. He was drowning in darkness, surrendering to the unseen, inexorable tide, and it was taking him.

The man was on his knees, his head raised, a single tear glistening on his cheek. Duncan was swinging his katana in a glittering arc straight for his neck, the neck doomed to be severed, the head to fall. The man lifted his chin, and Duncan saw his face, the face of Methos, recognized too late, the blade�s path irreversible. Duncan saw the blade strike, slashing deep, releasing a fan of blue-white light, and he screamed.

�No, please God, no!�

He stopped only long enough to take a breath, then he screamed again, with a depth of panicked grief that was both heartbreaking and frightening, �METHOS!�

Duncan�s eyes were wild, he sat up, struggling so violently he brutally ripped his wrists out of the restraints, tearing flesh and breaking bones in both hands. Methos leaped onto the bed straddling Duncan�s legs and held on to him, one arm around his neck, the other under his right arm, Duncan�s face against his chest. Duncan was flailing uncontrollably, hammering on Methos� back with his damaged fists, the shattered bones trying to heal being repeatedly rebroken. He was constantly screaming Methos� name, completely unaware that it was Methos holding him.

He held on desperately, afraid that Duncan would inflict worse damage on himself. Methos tried to calm him, saying, �I�m here, Duncan, I�m here, it�s all right, it�s all right, Duncan, I�m here.�

His face was pressed against something hard but yielding, muffling his screams. He was gasping, and his moist breath awoke a smell he had known all his life, the smell of damp wool. He inhaled deeply, preparing to scream again, then caught the scent of the skin under the wool. His subconscious recognized the scent and bypassed his confused conscious mind. Before he knew why he stopped fighting, his hands clutching fistfuls of sweater, clinging tightly, nuzzling his face into the soft fabric. His higher brain caught up and he thought, �I love the smell of your skin. Oh, Methos, please be real, please be real, please be real...�

Methos held Duncan in his arms, the clenched fists in the small of his back painful. Duncan had suddenly stopped hitting him and was now gripping him almost too tightly, rubbing his cheek into his chest, mumbling softly. He tried to decipher the tangled sounds, then Duncan turned his face slightly and the words became clear. He was saying, �Please be real,� over and over, and Methos wondered, �What is it that you want to be real Duncan? Is it me?�

Duncan�s speech became incoherent, the words falling apart, then he went still. He relaxed into Methos� embrace and his hands let go of the sweater, sliding down Methos� back and falling to the bed. Methos heard his slow, deep breaths and realized that Duncan had gone to sleep in his arms. He asked Ash, �Did you sedate him?�

�No, I couldn�t, he pulled out the IV.�

Methos laid Duncan down and climbed off the bed. Ash checked Duncan quickly. He was deep in a healing sleep, his hands whole again. She reassured Methos, �It�s over. After all the drama, this is how it ends, with a deep sleep. He�ll sleep for hours, possibly as long as a whole day, then��

Methos had no illusions. �Then he wakes up, and the really hard part begins.�

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