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The River

Part Twenty-Three: Distant Closeness

MacLeod was sitting in a chair, his head slightly bent, his hands resting on his thighs. He had been sitting motionless for hours, staring into space, his face blank. Methos crouched down in front of him and took Mac�s hands in his, trying to make contact, again.

�Duncan, I�m here, talk to me, please, I just want to help you.�

Duncan continued to stare, not responding to Methos� presence or request. Methos let go of his hands, stood up, and sighed. He was more worried than he had ever been in his long life.

In the past two weeks there had been times when Duncan had seemed to be reaching out. Methos would catch Mac looking at him and it was as if he were trying to say something without words. But those moments had come less and less often, and Duncan had steadily withdrawn, pulling into a shell, fading into a near-catatonic state. Now he only truly responded when he was asleep, when he would turn to Methos and wrap his arms and legs around him, then he would hold him tightly, whatever force that kept him at a distance neutralized by his unconscious craving for contact.

The conscious Duncan was paralyzed by guilt and fear. Guilt due to his past treatment of Methos and guilt due to his present treatment of him as well, the selfish act of keeping him here, in danger. That was where the fear came in, the fear of hurting him again.

It was so easy for MacLeod to drift away. Floating in a gray fog time passed unnoticed, and it was so peaceful without the voice of his conscience tormenting him with the truth. �You�re losing your mind,� it would whisper to him, �You�re going insane and you can�t be trusted.� Mac couldn�t bear the memories of what he�d done and he didn�t want to face the truth. He knew it was the truth. What else could explain his hideous behavior?

The things he�d done to Methos were unforgivable. It was as if he�d lose control of his body and be strangely outside of it, watching himself perform acts so repulsive they made him sick. It was so hard to take back control, and it had become more difficult every time it happened. He�d found it was easier if he were drunk most of the time, then the voice would shut up and he didn�t have to fight so hard. Sober it took such effort to stop the madness. He couldn�t trust himself, so he shut down. He couldn�t hurt Methos or Ash if he refused to respond to them. His conscience urged him to stay distant, and his heart stayed silent.

He was so tired. He�d begun sleeping more and more; it was a way of evading everything, the guilt, the fear. Sleep was where he thought he could hide, he wasn�t consciously aware of the nightmares. He was still having nightmares, he�d whimper and cry out, the cries like muted screams. Methos would soothe him with his touch and his voice and Duncan wouldn�t wake, but he would turn to Methos, needing held, needing to hold on.

It was a contradiction, this distant closeness, so near when asleep, so far away when awake, but it was Methos� one consolation, that Duncan needed him, even if it was only when he was asleep. He�d worried about Mac�s sleeping so much, he�d even accused Ash of sedating him, which she�d denied.

�It�s a sign of deep depression,� she�d said, �and a way of avoiding his feelings.�

It would have been easier if Duncan were sedated. It hurt so much to see him this withdrawn, to watch helplessly as he became unreachable. Methos couldn�t watch any more and walked out to the deck and leaned on the railing, also staring, not into space, but into water as dark as his thoughts.

He shivered in the cold breeze and realized he should have thrown a jacket over the sweater he was wearing. It was his favorite sweater. Duncan had given it to him on what he�d declared to be Methos� birthday, saying with a smile, �You claim not to remember when your birthday really is, so it might as well be today.�

He�d opened the beautifully wrapped box to find it inside, pale sage green with a faint silvery sheen, made of the softest cashmere. Duncan had murmured in his ear as he�d felt that softness with his fingertips, �I wanted to be sure you could wear it next to your skin, I want it to be close to you when I can�t be.� That murmur had sent a frisson through his entire body, a shiver that the sweater couldn�t have prevented.

It had been one of their last flawless days. The air was cool on that spring evening and the sweater was perfect to wear all alone, just warm enough by itself, against his skin where Duncan had wanted it to be. They�d gone out to an early dinner, then come home to the barge where Mac had taken it off of his body while making love to him. It had been the first time Duncan had ever taken him in his mouth, so incredibly giving, wanting to give him pleasure, wanting to learn how to give him even more. He�d learned so fast, out of what Methos had thought was love. Was it love?

�Do you love me Duncan?� He whispered it to the wind. There was no answer.

Methos turned his face away from the slight breeze and tried to tell himself that it was the cause of the tears in his eyes.

Ash and Joe were on their way back to he barge, caught in afternoon traffic.

�We could walk faster than this.�

Joe pretended to grumble. He liked spending time with Ash, and the slow-moving traffic gave him a chance to talk to her. There hadn�t been much time for that since Mac had woke up, then disappeared in all but body.

�You know, Mac has a car. He put it in storage when he was drinking so much it wasn�t safe for him to drive.�

�Are you trying to get out of chauffeuring me around?� Ash was teasing, she knew Joe didn�t really mind, �and remember it isn�t safe for me to drive either.�

Joe risked asking her, �What happens when you black out? Do you just go away or are you somewhere else?�

�Somewhere else, different places, different times, none of them pleasant.� Ash quickly changed the subject by asking, �Did the Watchers find the manuscript at Kell�s?�

Joe knew to let it go. �Not yet. He must�ve hidden it somewhere, it�s a huge building with plenty of hiding places and we don�t know exactly what we�re looking for.�

�It will be made of gold, that much is sure. That�s one of the ways it gets around; someone will always pick up an object made of gold. It has to be able to circulate to reach its potential targets.�

�The way you talk about this manuscript you must have known it. How did you escape its influence?�

�I couldn�t make the bargain or pay the price it asks. But it makes you pay anyway. After it speaks to you, you know the darkness within yourself far better than you ever wanted to.�

Ash�s voice held such weary pain, it seemed she�d borne this burden of darkness far too long. Joe didn�t want to press her on this point, so he took his turn at changing the subject.

�Why MacLeod? Dark Quickenings, demons, he seems to attract so many negative forces.�

�It�s like magnetism, the attraction of opposites. His goodness attracts great evil. If I�ve ever known anyone who deserves to be the One, it�s Duncan. Think of the power it would gain if it could corrupt him.�

�Why haven�t you told Methos about Kell?�

�He�s already worried enough, how much worse do you think would be if he knew?�

Joe shrugged, �I don�t know which would be worse, thinking Mac�s having a breakdown or knowing he�s�� Joe hated to use the word, but it fit. �Possessed by a dead man.�

�Not possessed, not yet, not ever if I can help it.� Ash couldn�t say the rest out loud, only in her head. �Not even if it costs me my life to stop it.�

The traffic had finally lightened. Joe pulled up to the barge and Ash got out and went around the back of the Jeep and opened the tailgate to reach the grocery bags. Methos came down the ramp in the blushing light of the sunset to help her carry them in. Ash saw the look of desolation on his face and asked him, �Are you all right? Did something happen?�

�Nothing happened, he hasn�t even moved. It�s deadly in there. I almost wish we could let him drink; at least he might talk to us. I can�t take too much more of this. Ash, are you sure he�s not catatonic?�

She could see how emotionally exhausted Methos was, and tried to reassure him. �He�s not catatonic, he eats, he showers, he�s not incontinent. He�s deeply depressed and withdrawn. It will take time to bring him back.�

�He�s not coming back, he�s disappearing! We�re losing him.�

Ash turned to Methos and put her arms around him, trying to comfort him. She rubbed the taut muscles of his back and said, �Why don�t you go out for a while? Go to Joe�s, try to relax. I�ll take care of Duncan.�

Methos didn�t want to leave, but he really couldn�t endure any more right at this moment.

�I�ll take you up on that offer.� He leaned in and asked Joe, �Do you mind?�

�No,� Joe answered, �Some time off might be just what you need.�

Methos picked up two bags then went back inside. He put the bags on the counter then walked past where the hospital bed and its surrounding screens had been to get his coat. He headed back out but stopped on the way, to look at Duncan. He still hadn�t moved. Methos reached out and smoothed back Duncan�s hair, then kissed his forehead. There was no reaction. Methos shook his head and sighed, then put on his coat and went up the stairs to the deck.

�I�ll be at Joe�s,� he said as he passed Ash.

Ash turned and smiled at him over the bags in her arms. �Just make sure he drives you home if you get smashed, I don�t want to have to worry about you wandering the streets.�

�He will, I plan to get totally blasted.� Methos got into Joe�s Jeep and they drove away into the slowly fading light.

Ash went in and put away the groceries, then stood, her sad eyes on Duncan. Methos had accused her of sedating him, and Duncan himself had asked her to, almost begging to be taken out of the pain he was in. Ash had a moment of temptation, and a scene and its outcome had run through her mind. She could see herself taking his pain away with the drug she knew worked better than any other, sliding the needle into his arm, watching it hit him. The heroin would rush through his blood and the suffering in his eyes would vanish, replaced by dazed euphoria, and he would never want that feeling to end. It would take only one fix to hook him. She could keep Duncan with her, enslaved by his need for the antidote to his pain. The darkness in her rose up and she almost took a step to the backpack for the carved box before she slammed the door inside her mind, shutting it away. She would never destroy him as she had herself. She loved him too much. She�d refused to give him anything, and he�d retreated into himself instead.

She�d tried so hard not to get between Duncan and Methos, to do nothing to block Duncan�s love for him. She couldn�t let Duncan turn to her, need her, maybe even love her. She wouldn�t be here much longer. She�d let Methos do most of the hands-on care, the holding and comforting, but Mac had seemed to pull away out of guilt and there had been nothing Ash could do about it. She�d pushed Methos into going to Joe�s, she had to get him out of the way while she made a last-ditch effort to reach Duncan. She wanted no distractions, no interference, and no witnesses in case it all went wrong

She went over to the stereo and started picking through the CD rack, choosing one of Wagner operatic overtures and preludes. Mac loved classical music; maybe it would help to draw him out, though she had little hope. He had withdrawn so far, rejecting their help, refusing to help himself.

She sat on the couch opposite MacLeod and the music began, violins, soft, then swelling, so sweetly. A sweetness that curdled in Ash�s stomach, making her want to vomit. She knew this piece. It was burned into her brain. Kell had loved Wagner, had loved to torture her to this beautiful soundtrack of torment. He would hiss at her to be quiet, not to scream, so he could hear the music.

She�d known it would do this to her. Ash suddenly seemed to go away, her body there but as empty as her eyes, she sat motionless, almost not even breathing. The only outward sign was her hands, tightening into fists, her nails gouging her palms. Her blood began to drip onto the floor.

MacLeod shifted, glanced at her, and a worried frown flashed across his face. He tried to stay still but he kept stealing glances at her, and the worried frown caused the crease between his eyebrows to stay longer and longer. The images suddenly flooded his mind, so clearly he could feel them even though the memories were not his. Horrifying memories of Ash�s face distorted in agony and the twisted pleasure of enjoying her suffering. He had to move, had to touch her, to stop her from hurting herself, to tell her he was sorry for actions that weren�t even his. He knelt and took her hands, trying to stop her from digging her nails into her flesh.

�I�m sorry.� Duncan reached out and touched her face.

There was such deep grief in his voice, and Ash blinked and focused on him, thinking, �I knew it, Duncan. The one thing that would reach you, the one thing that would draw you out of yourself, being needed by someone you care about.�

�It�s not your fault, Duncan, they�re not your memories.� She opened her hands, allowing the gouges to heal and wiped off the remaining blood on the thighs of her black jeans.

Duncan tried to pull back and shut down again, but Ash was too fast, she had his face in her hands, his eyes locked with hers, and her voice hit that smoky, velvet tone. �I know what you�re feeling. Don�t go away Duncan, listen to me, please listen to me, Donnchaid.� She hit the hypnotic trigger, buried so long ago, and he went under. She got him into a receptive state and began to plant the suggestions.

�Let us help you Donnchaid, we are only here to help you. Let go of the grief Donnchaid, let go of the pain.� Every time she repeated his name in Gaelic he went a little deeper, a little further under, she knew it would take all her powers of persuasion to pull him out from under Kell�s influence.

�What are you so afraid of, Donnchaid? What keeps you away from us?�

She pulled the truth out of him; he whispered it to her, too afraid to speak it aloud. �I keep seeing them, they keep coming back, all the faces of those I�ve lost. Everyone I love dies, and so many of them died because of me. I�m losing my mind, Ash. I do things I don�t want to do. I�ve hurt Methos so much, and I don�t know how to stop. I almost killed him. I could hurt you, too. I could make you one of those lost faces.� He hid his face in her lap.

Ash�s fingers wove through his hair and down his neck, trying to ease the tension there. �It�s not you, Duncan. It�s something influencing you, like a voice in your mind, a voice that criticizes you, that reminds you endlessly of your mistakes. It tells you that all the losses are your fault and how undeserving you are of help or love. Don�t listen to the voice Donnchaid; it�s lying to you. Close your mind to it.�

She pushed as hard as she dared, this might be her only chance to neutralize the malevolent energy in his psyche. If she could help him force Kell out it might save them all. It might save her. She caressed him and spoke softly as the shadows of night slowly filled the barge, and for a long time after it was dark.

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