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Fitzcairn nudged the body with his toe, gazing down at the corpse of the oldest living man. Duncan felt paralyzed, unable to take his eyes away, staring at the body like a passerby might fixate on a train wreck. Horrified, but transfixed, hypnotized.
"I killed him," he whispered.
"He was evil, MacLeod," Fitz replied. "He was going to kill Joe. He killed Richie. He deserved to die."
Duncan knelt beside the body. Killing someone you'd made love to hadn't become any easier, even in a different dimension, or wherever he was. The memories and the regrets flowed through his veins like ice water as another thought entered his consciousness. No Quickening. He wasn't Immortal here. Methos was truly gone, everything he had been lost forever.
He shuddered. Maybe if he got another chance in his world with his Methos, he could work at setting things right. Perhaps -- just perhaps - they could find a way back to each other, find a way to move on. Still, seeing Methos' body - his lifeless head -- before him was horrifyingly real, a manifestation of his worst nightmares about facing the Immortals he cared about the most across the tip of a blade someday.
"He wasn't evil," he said softly. "He was lost, so filled with anger he couldn't see anything else. Horton did that to him, just like he did it to Jacob."
Fitz pulled him up by the arm, turning him away from the body with no little effort. "Well, laddie," he said brightly. "It's time for you to decide."
"Decide what?"
"Decide whether you want to go back to your world or not."
He felt confused. Why would he want to stay here? What was left for him?
He hadn't spoken aloud, but Fitz answered him anyway. "Tessa. If you stay here, you can go back to Tessa."
He shook his head rapidly. "No, she doesn't want me. She feels awful about what happened." Her guilt had been sickeningly painful for him, yet another failure he'd have to live with.
"But if you go back to her, Duncan, you can have her. She'll go with you." Fitz was watching him carefully.
Shaking his head again, he said, "No. She's loyal to her husband."
"But she loves you," Fitz said. "This is your chance, MacLeod. Your chance for what you really want out of life. You aren't Immortal here. You and Tessa can be together, have your own children. No more fighting. No more killing. And in forty or fifty years, you get to die a nice peaceful death in bed, surrounded by your children and grandchildren, with a choir of angels calling you home. Isn't that what you want, laddie?"
His pulse had begun racing while Fitz spoke, but for the first time he was wondering if Fitz was really an angel, or Ahriman back to tempt him again.
Fitz cackled. "I'm insulted, MacLeod! Here I am, offering what you've always wanted, and you think I'm the devil! I'm giving you the chance for a normal life. A happy life."
"I've had a happy life, Fitz."
Fitzcairn snorted.
Duncan shrugged, refusing to look at Fitz, staring at the floor in the hope the tears in his eyes would evaporate before they fell.
"Not picket fence happy, but I've had a lot of happiness, a lot of love," he said, somewhat uncertain.
"But all that death, MacLeod. All those mortals dying, leaving you."
He turned on Fitz, for the first time more angry than sad. "Being mortal won't help. If I'd been mortal, Tessa still could've been killed the way she was. And being Immortal is no promise you won't die, is it?" He looked pointedly at his friend before glancing back at the body on the floor.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay? To be with Tessa again?"
"I love Tessa," he said softly. "But I can't go back and try to recapture something that's part of my past. Being one of us is who I am. Pretending to be someone else, live someone else's life...it's just not meant to be."
"Well, I have to admit I'm relieved," Fitz said. "Here, I missed out on almost three centuries of living. Now that's an awful lot of unhappy women."
For the first time, Duncan laughed. "Oh, Fitz, I've missed you."
"Not half as much as I missed you, laddie, but it's time for you to go home, now. There's places to go."
Duncan nodded. "Places to go," he said with a touch of melancholy. He knew he needed to leave...but Tessa and Fitz would be lost to him forever once he left this place.
"And friends that need you."
"Yeah...I guess," he responded with a small smile. He tried to ignore the sting of the tears in his eyes as Fitz approached and hugged him warmly. "Good-bye, Fitz."
"And you make sure it's a long time before you darken my doorstep again. D'you hear me?"
He smiled, looking at his old friend for a long moment. "I hear you." He began to walk away, unsure of exactly where he was going, but equally certain that it was time to go.
"MacLeod," Fitz called, prompting him to turn back. "Look up," Fitz pointed.
"What?" he asked, uncertain. But he complied, glancing at Fitz before lifting his eyes toward the high ceiling.
"Look up," he heard Fitz say just before he faded away. He opened his eyes slowly, though he didn't remember closing them. He blinked rapidly, and his vision gradually came back into focus.
The angel had disappeared.
The man before him was no angel, of that Duncan MacLeod was certain. Heavenly? Sent by God? Not the first words that usually crossed his mind when he saw Methos.
No. He associated other words with this man. Words like...friendship. Trust. Hope.
So many obstacles between them, and despite their best rationalizations, he and Methos were responsible for erecting the barriers. Not Immortality, not the Game, nor anything else. Their own anger and fear had kept them apart, but perhaps faith and trust could help bring them back to each other again.
As he looked into the eyes of the man standing over him, prodding him to move, Duncan also felt deep shame that he had almost surrendered his life -- his most precious possession -- without a fight. He'd thought he was being brave, doing what was needed to save his friends. But he'd really been trying to take the easy way out, to be the one leaving instead of the one left behind. Never, he shuddered as he took Methos' hand and stood. Never again.
After all, there were places to go and friends who needed him. He had a future. He was still Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Duncan smiled.
"What?" Methos asked, appraising him as if wondering whether Duncan was still suffering a concussion.
"Nothing," he replied, still smiling. "We'll talk about it later. Let's go get Amanda and Joe."
Yes, he thought, let's get Amanda and Joe so we can get out of here. Together.
For the first time in two years, the future beckoned.
~ the end ~
First posted July 5, 1999