![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Fic: Secret History (6/6) (Adult)
SERIES: Secrets
RATING: Adult
FANDOM: Highlander
CATEGORY: Drama, Episode-based
PAIRING: Methos/Alexa, Methos/OFC, Methos/Kronos.
SUMMARY: Set between Something Wicked and Deliverance. After MacLeod’s dark quickening, Joe calls Methos for help. Methos remembers his darkest past.
WARNINGS: It says Methos/Kronos up there, right? That should be all the warning you need :-).
NOTES: This is not a WIP. I'm posting one part each day to give me time to get the last part proofed etc. If you prefer to read all the parts together, it'll be on my website this coming weekend. The Secrets series is a Methos/Joe romance, but each part except the last can be read as an independent story (at least, that's the plan). The M/J action in this one is all friendship; the bulk of this story is the flashback.
Links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five.
Foreplay is a strange thing. Methos could not suppress a small wince as the dagger sliced into his forearm. Blood welled from the cut and he held the blade-edge in the wound, preventing it from healing.
Kronos watched the blood fall, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. The hold was lit by a single tallow candle. They didn't have the supplies for anything more. Methos waited, observing the other man. He heard his breathing deepen, saw him moisten his lips and knew he had him.
"Your point?" Kronos whispered.
Methos opened the hand that gripped the dagger, only its weight holding it in his flesh. Kronos took the dagger. As Methos felt the wound begin to close, Kronos ran the bloodied blade across his lips. It was perverse…and exactly the reaction Methos wanted. Nothing that had any place in his former life, nothing that could remind him of who he was yesterday. Methos, General of Kalliste was gone. He reached for Kronos.
They came together as roughly as the first time. Methos tasted his own blood in Kronos' mouth and he bit down, tearing flesh and tasting more blood. His hands fumbled at Kronos' belt. Kronos laughed, one of his hands grasping Methos' hair, dragging him down to the rough-timbered floor. Splinters cut into his skin but the pain was exciting. Methos' hands roamed Kronos' body, fingers digging into muscles, pulling him close. He groped between Kronos' legs, thrusting fingers into his body. Kronos cried out above him. His hands pinned Methos down and he knelt above him. Methos gritted his teeth, ready for the pain.
Kronos' cock rammed into him. In the same moment, Kronos reached for the blade, cutting into Methos' exposed belly. Had he been mortal, it would have been a death wound. Methos cried out, and in that moment he climaxed, his semen mixing with his blood on both of their bodies. He lay still, fighting to stay conscious as his body healed. Kronos was still inside him, thrusting hard.
An immortal presence - and not Kronos - pressed at the edges of Methos' awareness and he turned his head, seeking the source. In the darkness of the hold he could see very little. Only when Kaspian drew a blade did the movement catch his eye and Methos recognised his son.
By then, it was too late. For a moment Methos fought to get free. Kronos' strength held him down. As Kronos thrust deeper inside him, Methos forgot why he was fighting and surrendered to the pleasure-in-pain.
"Kaspian!"
Methos followed after him. He hadn't stopped for clothing. Kaspian climbed the ladder up to the deck without looking back once.
"Kas, wait!" Methos scrambled after him.
As Methos gained the deck, Kaspian's fist caught him just below his ribs. It was a powerful blow and Methos was taken completely off-guard. It sent him flying. He recovered quickly, rolling to his feet. He cast around for a weapon and grabbed the only thing near: a wooden staff. He faced Kaspian, the staff held firmly in his hands. Kaspian held his double-headed axe.
What Methos saw behind Kaspian's eyes in that moment was alien. There was so much anger in him! Kas always had a volatile temper but this was something more. Something…older. And in that moment he began to understand the change in the boy he had raised.
"Kas?"
"I don't know you any more," Kaspian snarled.
I could say the same to you, son. Methos tried reason. "Kas, I know what you saw below was…"
"Look at yourself, General!" The words were full of disgust.
Methos didn't need to look. He knew there was still dried blood covering his belly, though the wound from which it came was gone. He knew semen still crusted his ass and thighs. He got the point. "Do I get a chance to explain, Kas, or do you just want to hit me some more?" He eyed the axe in Kaspian's hand warily: no immortal should threaten a challenge unless it was meant.
Kaspian dropped to a fighting crouch, bringing the axe to bear. It seemed like an answer to Methos' question. Did he have to fight his own son to the death? Could he kill Kaspian? Perhaps a more important question - could this ship withstand another quickening on the deck?
Methos moved his staff to a defensive position. He did not speak: he wanted Kaspian to make the first move here, whatever that was. He met Kaspian's eyes and saw only that ancient anger.
The first blow sliced toward Methos' neck. He ducked beneath it and struck out toward Kaspian's legs with the staff. Kaspian leapt over the staff. It was enough to convince Methos Kaspian was serious. Deadly serious. He backed off, seeking safer ground. Kaspian swung for him again and Methos blocked the blow with his staff.
Kaspian was out of control. He swung he axe wildly, driven by rage. Methos evaded each blow, but after the first, did not return, didn't attack. The strategy seemed to anger Kaspian further, which would have been a good thing if Methos wanted him dead.
Kaspian lunged for Methos. Methos jumped back, evading again, but he slipped on the wet deck. He went down to one knee, throwing the staff up to block the axe coming for his head. The axe-blade broke the staff in two. A splinter flew into Methos' cheek near his eye and he cried out. Kaspian brought the axe down again, but this time drove it into the deck between them, where it stayed. He grabbed Methos by his throat, lifting him and slamming his body against the mast.
It forced most of the breath from Methos' body. Methos clawed at Kaspian's hand and wrist but his grip was like iron. Methos couldn't breathe. Kaspian was stronger than Methos, he always had been. Kaspian lifted Methos higher and Methos felt his feet leave the ground. His vision was going grey.
"Kas…" he pleaded.
"This is what you like, isn't it? Pain? Death?" Kaspian drew a knife. Methos had time to see the blade flash in the setting sun and Kaspian plunged the knife into his heart.
Methos revived at the foot of the mast. Kronos was sitting beside him. Kronos' fingers caressed the still-bloody blade of Kaspian's knife. The sight chilled Methos to the bone.
Kronos smiled. "Welcome back."
Methos turned onto his side, coughing blood out of his lungs. "Kaspian?" he croaked.
"He's below."
"Did you save me…again?"
"No. He didn't want your head." Kronos held the bloody knife near Methos' lips. Methos took the knife from his hand, tasting the blood because Kronos wanted him to do it. He met Kronos' eyes over the blade.
He wondered which of them was the most crazy.
The coast of Egypt was visible on the horizon as dawn broke over the Mediterranean. Methos stood on the deck of the ship, watching the water turn from black to deepest blue as the stars faded from sight.
Methos knew Kaspian could feel him near, but the boy gave no sign of it. He kept his back to Methos as he worked. The heat of the forge gave him a glowing aura and sent rivulets of sweat down his back. Methos decided not to disturb him further and waited in the doorway, saying nothing. He had watched Kas at work many times. He had a real talent with metals: he was a perfectionist and often rejected pieces that looked good to Methos' untrained eye. Kas' jewellery was in great demand and the weapons he made were both sturdy and beautiful.
"Whatever you want," Kaspian snarled, "say it and get out. You are spoiling my concentration."
Methos took a few steps into the room. "Would it really have made such a difference if we had told you?"
Kaspian abandoned what he was doing and spun around to confront Methos. "Yes!" he said savagely.
So he was still angry. Methos didn't understand it. A first death was always traumatic, but Kaspian's anger ran deeper than that. Methos spread his hands. "Can you explain that to me?"
"I would have been more careful."
That made no sense. "Kas, you took a stupid risk and got yourself killed. How would knowing you couldn't die have made you more careful?"
"I'm not talking about the fall! It was an accident. I meant…" Kas turned away again, picking up the piece he had been working on. "What do you think of this?"
Methos took the unfinished piece and examined it. It was a torque, made in a Northern style Kaspian had never seen: Methos had described it and sketched it for him. Worked in silver with multiple strands braided together, there were spaces where jewels would be set. "It's…beautiful," Methos answered sincerely. "You've caught the style, but the jewels will give it a Keftian look, too. What stones were you going to use?"
"Lapis."
"That will look perfect with the silver." He handed the torque back to Kas. "It's a masterwork."
"It was for Leandra."
With the girl's name, light dawned at last. "I hadn't realised it was that serious." Methos should have realised. She was the one Kas worked so hard to impress in the summer Games. He knew they'd been spending time together since. He hadn't been paying enough attention, it seemed.
"Yes, well, it can't be now, can it?"
"Becoming immortal makes a difference?"
"Knowing I am does. You should have told me, Methos."
There was so much pain here, but Methos was baffled by it. "I don't understand."
"No, you don't. Do you even remember what it's like to be human?"
An angry retort was on the edge of Methos' tongue but he looked at the torque again and knew the words came from pain. He answered as honestly as he could. "No, I don't remember my mortal life. Not clearly. That doesn't mean I don't know humanity. I have feelings, Kas, and passions, and too damned many losses in my past. But I'm obviously missing something here."
"We were going to tell you after the moon festival. Leandra already spoke to her mother. She said it doesn't matter that I'm an Outsider because our children won't be."
Children. Now Methos understood. He couldn't ask the next question. He didn't really need to. Whether Leandra rejected Kas for his immortality, or Kas felt he could no longer pursue her because of it, the result was the same. He bowed his head, acknowledging his guilt. Kas was right; Methos should have told him. Would have, if he foresaw this outcome.
His eyes fell on the torque again and he lifted it. "This will be valuable when it's finished. You could still give it to her, Kas."
"Why?"
For the same reason you're still making it, son. "If you love her, Kaspian, you already know why. If you don't…then I'm still missing something."
For the first time, he saw a smile touch Kas' lips. "Maybe I'm crazy. She's half my age."
Methos smiled back. "I'm four or five times Bethie's age. Age isn't important."
Methos drew his cloak more closely around him. Ever since Bethia's death, there was something different about Kas. Was it because she died? Methos was aware that he had changed since that night of blood and fire. Or, changed back, he amended, unable to lie to himself. Kalliste had been a refuge from his true nature as much as from the deadly Game of immortal existence. He was ready to take his place in the Game again.
But Kaspian…the young man whose hands coaxed such beauty from metal and stone, the young man who shed tears the first time he was forced to take a life…that couldn't be the same man who rode with him into the temple plaza, killing and maiming. It couldn't be the same man who a week ago had been ready to commit murder in a public place over an imagined insult, or who knifed Methos in the heart because he was annoyed. What had changed him so much that night? Why?
Oh, Bethie, I wish you were here. I need your cool head.
He was really in trouble if he was thinking of Bethia as the cool one! She was the one who usually acted impulsively. She was the one who couldn't settle down.
He missed her.
He felt the approach of an immortal behind him. "Kronos," he said. A guess.
"I woke alone," came the reply. Yes, that was Kronos.
Methos stayed at the rail, watching the horizon. "If you don't get over the idea that you own me, Kronos, that's going to happen a lot."
Kronos grabbed his shoulder, forcing Methos to face him. "Own you? No. But don't pretend you don't owe me."
Methos shook his head. "Kronos, I just lost someone I lived with for nearly fifty years. Let me miss her a little."
Kronos' blue eyes widened. "You regret it, don't you?" He said it as if it was a huge revelation.
"She's dead. I'm as much to blame for that as they were."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? People were scared, Kronos. When people are afraid they strike out at things they don't understand. I've lived long enough to learn that lesson several times over. I had the chance to do something…"
"Afraid?" Kronos repeated. "You think they held your woman down and hacked her head off because they were afraid?"
It was exactly what Methos thought. He frowned at Kronos. "I take it you disagree."
He moved close to Methos, his body pressing against him, pushing Methos back against the rail. "I think," he said slowly, emphasising each word, "they weren't afraid enough."
The words shot straight to Methos' heart. It was an epiphany.
They weren't afraid enough.
Fear was a source of power.
Power.
For fifty years Methos held power on Kalliste. Power thrust on him, not chosen, but power accepted and, more importantly, willingly retained. He had been one of the most powerful men on the island. He relinquished that power when the responsibility associated with it became more than he wanted; his personal responsibilities, after Kaspian became immortal, were more important. But no one on Kalliste would have dared to accuse him or move against him when he held that power. Kronos was right about that.
Power.
There were many kinds of power.
Methos cast his mind back to the night Bethia died, remembering Kronos interrupting their lovemaking, remembering his eyes on Bethia, no attempt made to conceal his lust. Methos knew him better now; well enough to suspect that if Kronos truly wanted Bethia, he would have done something about it. Yet he never had. He wanted something from Methos, enough to make him stay on Methos' good side. If Methos understood what Kronos wanted from him, he would have power over Kronos.
As it was, the balance between them was too delicate, the scales tipped slightly in Kronos' favour because he had, after all, saved Methos' life that night. Methos did owe him. And he had already surrendered too much.
But…power. There was a thought.
When he turned back to Kronos, he was smiling.
Athens, 1995 CE
"…It was Yasir's quickening that changed Kas. By the time I realised what was happening to him, it was too late. He had passed the point where anyone could help him." Methos leaned against the cool tiles wearily. "And by then I was too deep into…my own problems…Kas had no one to stop him, nothing holding him back."
"You had to kill him," Joe guessed, his voice filled with compassion.
I wish you were right, Joe… "No," Methos said. He had given Joe a very edited version of what happened on Kalliste. Only the parts about Caspian, no mention of the others or even Caspian's full name. Just Kas. He wasn't up to explaining how the eruption on Santorini fit into the picture and he certainly wasn't going to tell Joe what happened next. They didn't become the Four Horsemen until years after the eruption, but that was where it started.
"No," he said again. "I should have taken his head. I wanted to, sometimes, but no. He's still alive, locked up in an asylum somewhere."
"I'm sorry," Joe said. "But I can't stay here and let that happen to MacLeod. He's my friend, damn it!"
That was what Methos feared most. According to Joe, MacLeod let him walk away once. That in itself told Methos Mac wasn't completely lost - Kaspian would have killed Joe, or worse, without hesitation, for what he tried to do. But if Joe went after Mac now, if this really was a dark quickening, Joe would end up dead.
The thought made Methos cold with fear.
There was no acceptable alternative here. MacLeod had taken a dark quickening. To do nothing was unthinkable. To let Joe go after him was even worse. Only a few years earlier, Methos would have called Darius for help and for MacLeod Darius would have done it, but Darius was dead. Which left Methos with only one option: he had to go after MacLeod himself and pray he wasn't too late to help him.
But what if it was too late.
What if MacLeod challenged Methos?
Methos could kill Duncan if he had to. That wasn't the problem. The problem was the dark quickening. According to Joe, the evil overwhelmed Kol'tec and was then passed to MacLeod. Which implied it would be passed to anyone who took MacLeod's head…if anyone could. But Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was a decent man at his core. A good man. He tried to kill Ryan, but that could be interpreted as part of the Game. He let Joe leave; Joe was mortal. That core of decency was still in him. Duncan just needed to remember it.
Methos, on the other hand…
No matter what you think MacLeod has become, Joe, it's sweetness and light compared to what I was. If I go after him and take his head…I don't dare risk it.
"Where is he, Joe?"
He heard Joe release his breath in a long sigh. "Thanks, Adam. He's on a tanker headed for Le Havre. He's due to dock in three days."
Methos took a deep breath of his own. "Good, that gives me some time. Joe, I'll do everything I can, but I need a promise from you."
"Anything."
Two things, Joe. I need you to stay in Seacouver, no matter what happens. Get a team on MacLeod, but stay out of it yourself."
"Done."
"And second…if I don't make it back, take care of Alexa for me. She'll need a friend."
"You know I will." Joe hesitated, then added, "Adam…don't do anything stupid out there, will you?"
"It's too late for that, Joe. I'll be on a plane as soon as I figure out what to tell Alexa."
"Well…good luck. And thanks, Adam. I owe you one."
Methos smiled, even though Joe couldn't see it. "No, this makes us even. Bye, Joe."