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The River

Part Twenty-Seven: Admissions of Guilt

Ash was outside on the deck, watching the sunrise. She could hear Duncan�s sobs diminish, then quiet. She�d heard them both crying earlier, followed by their admissions of love. Lying on the couch, she had smiled to herself, but there had been a shadow of pain in her eyes. When all was silence she slipped away.

She�d gone for a run, despite her body being so tired, begging her for sleep, sleep she could only achieve with the drug she was refusing to use. �I�ll sleep well when I�m dead,� she thought. Ash ran until she reached the point where it became weirdly effortless, dreamlike, flying through the early morning streets of Paris, substituting her own endorphins for the external drug, getting a high from her own brain chemicals.

She eventually reached the level she needed and looped around and headed back, stopping to pick up a dozen freshly baked croissants on the way.

Duncan woke at the faint buzz and raised his head, checking to be sure it was Ash. She had a bag of fresh croissants and at the scent he was immediately famished. He started to get up, but then stopped and groaned.

Methos cracked one eye open to look at him curiously. �What?�

�I�m stuck to you.�

�Courage, MacLeod, how much can it hurt?� He closed the eye.

�You have it easy, I�m the one with all the body hair!�

Duncan sat up quickly, then rubbed his chest and stomach, making much the same expression as a person who had just pulled off a band-aid. He looked down at Methos and asked, �Are you getting up?�

�Not yet, I�m still exhausted,� was what he said. In his thoughts he added, �and hung-over, and I intend to sleep until it goes away.�

Methos snuggled down into the covers as Mac got up, reached for the afghan and added it to the comforter, to make up for the loss of the warmth of his body. Duncan often wondered what hot sun the old man had been born under; he always seemed to crave heat. He�d been raised in the chilly climate of Scotland and the barge was warm enough to him. He tucked the covers around Methos and said, �Get up whenever you�re ready, sleepyhead.�

Methos mumbled an unintelligible answer.

Ash put the bag on the table and shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch. She said, �Thos always was devoted to sleep, he believes it�s a good way to keep out of trouble.�

�Thos?�

The named one was heard to faintly mutter, �Damn and blast, don�t you start calling me that MacLeod!�

�I should, just to bug you!� Duncan teased.

The answer to this was another unintelligible mumble. This one sounded threatening.

Ash laughed and Duncan shook his head. He built up the fire and went to take a quick shower. She made coffee and brought out the butter for the croissants. Duncan came out wrapped in a dark blue robe, and they sat at the table, stirring their coffee, not talking. Methos was about to give in to the scent of the coffee and get up, when Duncan spoke. He changed his mind and stayed still, eavesdropping.

�Do you think it�s strange for me to be in love with Methos?� Duncan really wondered, not entirely sure himself of all the implications involved in this relationship with a man. He looked into her eyes, searching for the truth.

Ash answered him truthfully. �I was a slave, raised from the age of twelve in a training camp for gladiators and the court of Nero. You�d have to go much further than bisexuality to shock me. The real question is do you find it strange.�

Duncan answered her with an equal amount of truth. �I do. I never thought I could love a man as�� he searched for just the right word and found it, �...erotically as I love Methos.�

�Does that disturb you, that you want him so much physically?�

�It takes a little getting used to,� Duncan admitted with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

�And are you having a hard time getting used to it?�

Duncan smiled and said, �Not as hard as I thought I would, but�� here he broke off and his expression changed to one of anxiety, �I don�t know if I can be any good for him, I don�t know if I can give him what he wants.�

�All he wants is for you to love him.�

Across the barge, Methos had closed his eyes tightly and flinched unseen under the covers. He wondered if he should leave, and not for the first time. Duncan seemed to do so well with Ash, and he knew there had been love between them once. There could be again. Maybe Duncan would be happier, less conflicted about a simpler relationship. Maybe he owed it to both of them to disappear and leave them to each other.

Duncan�s voice dropped to almost a whisper. �No, he wants more than that. There are things he does for me, things I can�t do for him. Things I don�t think I�ll ever be able to do.�

�What things, Duncan?� Ash was almost whispering too, staying with his mood.

Duncan sat back and turned away, not wanting to give an answer to her question.

�What things, Duncan?� Ash repeated, her voice shifting, slipping into that velvet tone that overcame reluctance, but not full resistance. She wouldn�t push that hard. If he really didn�t want to tell her, she wouldn�t force him.

Duncan�s hands came up to cover his face. Just when Ash was sure he wouldn�t say anything, the softest of whispers crept out from behind the barrier of his hands.

�I can�t take him inside me. Can you tell me that he doesn�t want that?�

A memory flashed in her mind, Methos and Aren, locked together in passion, ecstasy on both their faces, and Ash sighed into a whispered, �No, I can�t say he doesn�t want that. But why can�t you? Because you don�t want to?�

Duncan dropped his hands to the table and answered her, still not able to look at her, still whispering, but insistent. �That�s just it, I want to, but I can�t!�

�Why not?� Now there was concern in her amber eyes.

�Because when I think of it I�m afraid and I don�t know why!� The torment was too clear on his face.

Methos couldn�t see her reach out to Duncan and take his hands, and he hadn�t been able to hear them, no matter how hard he tried.

Ash saw the tears in Duncan�s eyes even though he was looking away and blinked them back quickly. She caressed his palms with her fingertips, soothing him. �It�s all right, Duncan. We�ll work on it together.� She was thinking, �Something happened to you that you�re refusing to remember. You�ll have to remember, and it won�t be pleasant, I know a little about that myself.�

�You think you can help me?� Duncan finally met her eyes.

�Yes Duncan, I can help you, if you let me.�

There was a certainty in her voice that Duncan wanted to believe in. He sighed, �I hope so,� and began to butter a croissant he didn�t really want.

He felt as if he were seeing things too clearly, and he wasn�t sure he liked it. He turned this new perception away from himself and onto Ash. She was looking off into an unseeable distance, and Duncan was free to study her. He noticed she had an unusual pallor, like a cave-dwelling creature that never saw light, though her short, bronze-brown hair still bore remaining streaks of gold, telling of time recently spent under a bright sun. �Where have you been since Lisbon?� he wondered. Something almost broke through, something he didn�t want to know, a voice he didn�t want to hear. He ignored it, and it went away.

There was an energy between Ash and Methos, a conflict like a subsonic hum, too low to be heard, but felt. There was something between them, some history, and he sensed he might find out what if he asked now.

�What is wrong between you and Methos?�

Ash tensed. Leave it to MacLeod, just barely back to functioning and now trying to fix things that went wrong two thousand years ago. �That is a very old story,� she hedged, hoping he would leave it alone. But of course he wouldn�t.

He didn�t speak, just looked at her with those finally clear eyes and she was pinned down by their gaze. �You make me tell you my secrets, now you tell me yours,� they said.

Methos could hear them again and waited silently, wanting to know what she would tell Duncan.

She looked away, down into her coffee, and she picked up her spoon and stirred it, though it didn�t need stirring up. Neither did some memories, better left at the bottom of the mind like sludge.

It was odd that she began to tell him. She didn�t quite know why. Maybe it was the only way she could tell the truth, the one she had held inside so long, the one she had never been able to tell Methos. Perhaps he was listening. It would be like him, to lie there pretending to sleep in order to listen. She�d not realized, not until recently, how much Methos blamed himself for Aren�s death. Although she sometimes tried to blame him in her mind, her own guilt was so huge she hadn�t really seen beyond it. She could never speak of it to him, and he�d never brought it up, believing he was responsible. He�d never realized the truth. �You only brought the flame, old man, I laid the fire,� she thought.

She put down the spoon and started at the beginning, without shame. �I wasn�t only a gladiator. I spent part of my time entertaining Nero�s guests by acting out erotic myths with a young man named Aren. I loved Aren and Aren loved me. We entertained Methos at Nero�s command. It became much more than entertainment. I think we were all in love with each other, though Methos preferred Aren.�

Duncan closed his eyes for a moment, and behind the lids he saw the images play out, all the sensuality in Methos set free by the two slaves. There was so much about him that he didn�t know.

Methos closed his eyes too. The images behind them were not sensual but tragic, Ash covered in blood and screaming with Aren dead in her arms. He didn�t know if he could bear to hear her recount his reckless fatal obsession, but he was trapped by his own cleverness and had no choice.

Ash went on, �Methos wanted to take Aren away with him, and he made an offer to Nero. Nero turned him down, saying he couldn�t sell him. Methos thought he was being difficult, but it was true. Of course Nero was manipulating us all for his own warped amusement. What Nero didn�t tell Methos was that he couldn�t sell Aren because he no longer owned him. I did. In Rome a slave could own another slave, and I had bought Aren with the money I made betting on myself in the arena. I did it to prevent him from being forced into acts that he didn�t want to perform. I did it to protect him, but I didn�t tell him, because I knew he�d be angry with me. He�d know that in spending my savings on him I�d have less of a chance of buying myself out of the arena, my price was so high. He wanted me to be safe. I wanted him to be safe if I were killed. I left a will giving him his freedom and any money I�d saved after buying him. I didn�t understand him any better than he did me. I didn�t realize he felt he had no life without me, and he couldn�t understand�� here Ash stopped. She didn�t want to continue. The truth could be so stupid. And ugly.

Duncan reached across the table and took her hand, gently prompting, �What couldn�t he understand?�

Ash looked into his eyes and Duncan could tell she was deciding if she would tell him.

In the bed Methos held his breath, almost willing his heart not to beat. He needed to hear what she would say next. He was thinking, �She loved him enough to risk death to free him, and he loved her so much he felt he couldn�t exist without her. How could I have been so blind?�

Now there was shame in her eyes. Duncan saw it and wondered at the source. She pulled her hand away, sat back, and made it clear to him.

�You know what it�s like to fight for your life. Imagine being mortal and fighting for your life a hundred times, before an audience of ten thousand throats screaming for your victory, their sound almost drowned out by the blood in your veins singing with the pure animal joy of survival.� Ash leaned in to make her point even clearer. �The arena *was* my life. I *loved* it. I didn�t want to stop. I *still* love the killing, the joy of being alive because someone who was trying to kill me is dead.�

There was a tone in her voice Duncan had never heard before, like ice so sharp it would cut, and so cold you�d hardly feel it when it did. But it was the look in her eyes that chilled him, the cold predatory gleam of an instinctive killer. He knew the feeling she was describing. How could he not? As an Immortal he killed to live. They all did. Perhaps Ash merely enjoyed it more.

Methos was thinking, �That is the one thing I *do* know about you. You love the killing, but not just anyone. You hunt those who deserve it, the cruel ones, the ones who hurt others and take the lives of fragile mortals. You aren�t as dark of heart as you think you are.�

Ash sat back again and looked away, into the past. �Because I loved the killing I didn�t want to leave the arena, and because I didn�t tell Aren the truth I caused his death. He went to Nero behind my back and begged for our freedom. Nero toyed with him, pretending to consider it, then told him I would never be allowed to leave as long as I was still an attraction at the Games, unless I could buy my way out. Aren asked him to reduce my price, that I�d been saving for years and must have close to the amount. Nero informed him that I�d spent all of it the year before buying him.�

Ash ran her fingers roughly through her short hair. Duncan could almost feel the pain he could hear in her voice.

�I wasn�t there, I only heard it from a servant who came to warn me. Aren screamed that Nero was a liar. Nero might have let that pass, but Aren had made the mistake of raising his clenched fist, and that was a clear threat.�

Methos silently gathered in the sheet and stuffed it in his mouth to stifle the sound trying to fight its way out of his throat. It had almost nothing to do with him. Aren had died because he dared raise his fist and call the Emperor of Rome a liar. He died because he couldn�t bear to discover *he* was the reason Ash would go on risking death. Methos thought, �Oh my poor Ash, how long you�ve held this inside. How it must tear at you. Now I know why you would never speak of him. It wasn�t because you blamed me, it was simply too painful to speak of.�

Ash went on as if there could be no stopping now; the only way was to finish the tale quickly. She couldn�t recount the details and only told Duncan the bare bones of the truth. �I was sent for. As Aren�s owner I was responsible for his behavior, and Nero was determined to make us all suffer. He gave me the choice of seeing Aren crucified or killing him myself. I slit Aren�s throat while Nero watched, and he made Methos watch it with him. I was killed in the arena a few weeks later, and Methos managed to take me away from Rome.�

Duncan said softly, �You did what you thought was right. You were trying to protect him, it just went wrong. I know how that feels, to do what you think is right and have it all go completely wrong.�

The memory returned as it always did, flame-colored hair, eyes as blue as a Highland midsummer sky, and the look of shocked terror in them as the cliff edge crumbled under her feet. Oh yes, he knew exactly how it felt to be accountable for the death of the one you loved most, and the village had made him pay that account with their superstitious ostracism, believing he was cursed for killing his cousin Robert, his own blood kin. They�d believed he killed for love and because of that any woman he loved would die, as Debra Campbell had died, stained with the sin of suicide. No village mother wanted him as a husband for her daughter, and he�d been all but banished in many ways before he died and returned to that final exile.

�So now you know.� Ash pushed away her cup and stood, saying, �I have to go out for a while.�

Duncan caught her hand as she walked past him, asking, �You will come back?� He seemed unsure, as if feared he�d chased her away by making her tell him this painful truth. He pulled her close and held her, not sure if he were comforting her or himself, almost afraid to let her go.

Ash let him hold her, and she answered him, �Of course I�ll come back, but it might not be until tomorrow morning. Don�t wait up, and don�t worry.� She kissed him on the temple before she gently pulled away.

She went to the couch, picked up her jacket and put it back on, and went to the shadowed corner behind the fireplace to retrieve her backpack, then she went up the stairs and was gone. Duncan noticed she didn�t look back.

Duncan sat at the table, his coffee growing cold as he thought. He was remembering Glenfinnan and the way they�d whispered behind his back that he was cursed. It wasn�t only the village mothers that hadn�t wanted him, most of the village girls had shied away from him as well, saying amongst themselves, �He may be handsome, and the son of the chieftain, but I want to live to see my grandchildren.�

He asked himself, �Am I so sure I don�t believe it? How many women have I loved, and how many have I lost in one way or another?� He began to answer his own question, his mind ticking off the names, Debra, Tessa, Kate, Little Deer, Diane, Louise, Sarah�he made himself stop. This could do no good. But maybe, deep down in the primal part of him that was still mired in Highland superstition, he did believe it. Maybe that was why he loved Methos, he was a man and hopefully immune from the curse, if there was one.

Once again Methos was about to get up, now worried by the silence, when he heard Duncan�s chair scrape back as he stood. He waited to see what Mac was going to do.

Duncan got up and began to prepare a tray, pouring himself fresh coffee and adding a cup for Methos. He piled the remaining croissants on a plate and added the butter and a pot of strawberry jam.

Duncan brought the tray over to the bed and sat it on the night table. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled back the covers, and was not surprised to find Methos awake, his eyes open and haunted-looking.

�You were listening.� There was no accusation in Duncan�s voice, merely an acknowledgement of fact.

Methos told a half-truth. �Only to the last part.� He stretched, then sat up cross-legged, and shook his head. �The longer I know her, the more I realize I don�t know her at all.�

He saw a buttered croissant and appropriated it, and started to poke around the tray, hungry in spite of everything.

Duncan asked him, �What are you doing?�

�I�m looking for the marmalade.�

Duncan kissed him and said, �I�m sorry, I forgot it. I brought the strawberry jam.�

He started to get up, but Methos caught the sleeve of his robe and tugged him back down, saying, �It�s all right, jam will be fine.�

Duncan looked at him, thinking, �Can I make you happy? Can I be good for you?�

Methos looked back, wondering, �Is the sorrow in your eyes because of me?� He had to say something, do something, anything to lighten the mood.

�Well it�s not the end of the world, Duncan. Besides, marmalade doesn�t go with croissants anyhow.� He then smeared jam on the croissant and bit into it. A dollop slipped off and dropped onto his thigh, a deep rose jewel glowing against the pale skin.

Duncan stared at it, fascinated, as it began to slide down the outside of Methos� thigh. He leaned over and sucked it off his skin before it could stain the sheet. It was sweet with an undertaste of salt from Methos� skin. It was delicious, and he wanted more of that sweet saltiness. He moved to the floor, and on his knees he took Methos� ankle and straightened his leg, tugging him around sideways on the bed.

Methos stretched out his other leg, put his feet on the floor enclosing Duncan between his thighs, and said, �What are you doing?�

�I want to taste you.�

He reached for the jar and spooned a trail of jam down Methos� thigh, and began to lick it off at the knee, working his way up.

Methos reminded him, �I haven�t had a shower, you know.�

Duncan stopped long enough to say, �That�s why you taste so good.�

�I can�t eat while you�re doing that.� Methos� voice sounded strained.

�Then don�t eat.�

�But I�m hungry.�

He pretended to protest. Methos had lost all interest in food. He dropped the half-eaten croissant on the tray, licked the jam and butter off his fingers and slid them into Duncan�s hair, caressing his scalp with his fingertips, thinking, �Oh God this is getting to me. I�m so hard it almost hurts, and if you stop now I do believe I will scream.� This man could amaze him. He knew Duncan hadn�t performed this act very often in his life, but he had learned so many subtle nuances so quickly.

Duncan was nearing the end of the trail and could see Methos� cock, hard and waiting for him and said, �Another part of you is hungry too.� He took the head in his mouth and sucked on it while rubbing his tongue over the tip.

�Where did you learn that?� Methos� voice was rough with arousal.

�From you.� Duncan�s breath blew the words cool across his damp flesh.

Now he was watching the way Duncan was sliding his mouth up and down the shaft of his cock as if he was enjoying the feel of it against his lips. Methos couldn�t help thinking, �Do you really like doing this as much as you seem to, or are you doing it just to please me?� Oh, but it did please him. Duncan had become quite skillful at driving him nearly insane with his mouth, and was doing just that.

Duncan moved his head and his mouth slid over the tip and down the other side, then back up again. Methos was thinking, �Take me, please, do anything, anything but stop,� then Duncan opened his mouth wide and took in as much of Methos� cock as he could, almost to the base, and there could be no more thought, only overwhelming sensation. Methos lay back and let it take him over, helpless, his hands forgotten in Duncan�s hair.

Duncan was thinking, �Is this the only way I can give you pleasure? Will I ever be able to let you really make love to me? And if I can�t, will I be able to keep you with me if this is all of myself that I can give you?�

Duncan�s hands were as demanding as his mouth, the fingers caressing every sensitive crevice, triggering every nerve, until he heard Methos make that sound, that soft whimpering moan that he�d learned meant �I�m going to come and there�s nothing on earth that can stop it.� Now his mouth stopped moving, and Methos began to moan a complaint when Duncan took him deep and sucked hard. The moan was choked off by a gasp, which turned into another moan an octave lower. Methos� body arched, and his hands left Duncan�s hair to clutch the bedcovers as his body shuddered in out of control orgasmic spasms. The moan went on until he had no breath left, but the ecstasy seemed to linger on and on.

Duncan could feel his body resonating with every surging wave of pleasure flowing out of Methos. He drank in the sensation as joyfully as he swallowed the come that pulsed into his mouth. As always, he was stunned by the rush of pleasure he felt, and, as always, it was followed by a flush of shame. He�d never tried to analyze the shame; he�d always quickly crushed it down, not wanting to think about it. But today he couldn�t ignore it, and he asked himself, �What am I ashamed of? That I can take your cock in my mouth and love how it feels? That I can swallow your come and love the taste of it?� No, it wasn�t that, he�d adjusted to that the first time, joyfully surprised to get pleasure from giving it in this way.

He released Methos� softening cock, turned his head, and laid his cheek against Methos� thigh, facing away, hiding his expression. He was ashamed, but not by this act of love. It was because he couldn�t do more, give more. Give himself. He ached to give himself, to be taken completely. He knew there would be far more pleasure in that, and suddenly he realized the feeling of shame and the knowledge of pleasure grew from the same root.

But he could follow it no further. Methos was moving, sitting up, reaching down and running his fingers through Duncan�s hair, thinking, �Why do you hide your face from me? What are you afraid to let me see there?� He couldn�t say it. He was afraid of the answer. He reached for his cup instead, took a sip, and made a soft sound of dislike.

Duncan looked up at him, slightly startled, and said, �What�s wrong?�

�The coffee�s cold.�

Duncan laughed but there was a tinge of sadness in his eyes. �I�ll go make more,� he said, and stood up.

Methos got out of bed saying, �Now I really need a shower!�

He followed Mac�s blue-robed figure, passing him to go on to the bathroom, where he stood under the spray wondering, �Oh, Duncan, do I owe it to you to leave and uncomplicate your life?�

Duncan was filling the coffeemaker. He was thinking, �You deserve so much more than I�ve been able to give you. Maybe I shouldn�t get in the way of your life anymore. Maybe I should just let you go.�

They stood only a few feet apart, but they were separated by far more than a wall.

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