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Aftermath by Jennifer Campbell The characters of Methos and Duncan MacLeod don't belong to me. This story is all in good fun with no harm intended. I make no money off this, unfortunately. I wrote this story before knowing that the European version of "Deliverance" explains what happens after MacLeod and Methos return to the barge. There are definite disadvantages to only having seen the American cuts of the episodes. =============================== "I'm warning you, I trashed the place. It's a mess. I haven't been myself lately." "You know, I hadn't noticed." Duncan chuckled softly as he walked across the dock with ground-eating strides, forcing Methos to speed up. It seemed as if Duncan were in a hurry to begin cleaning up the last remains of his dark quickening, to erase every last trace of the ordeal. Methos almost pitied his friend because knew forgetfulness simply was not possible -- MacLeod would never escape the memory of what he did, even though it hadn't been his fault. Still, Duncan would not accept that fact. He was just too damn stubborn, especially because he taken immortals' heads for less than what he had done. Methos tagged along now because his friend would torment himself with guilty thoughts unless someone was there to cushion the fall - - someone who had learned to deal with guilt and put it behind him. There was another, stronger reason Methos wanted to stay near MacLeod, however. There was always the possibility of a relapse. Nothing in the watcher chronicles indicated that might happen, but until a few weeks ago, no one guessed that a dark quickening was possible. Duncan opened the front door to the barge and entered, leaving the door open for Methos to follow. Unlocked, Methos noted. Even in Duncan's state, it was surprising that he'd leave his barge and all his possessions available to the next passing thief. Methos followed without hurry and stopped at the top of the stairs to absorb the disaster before him. "This is worse than the San Francisco earthquake of 1906. Are you sure we're in the right barge?" "I told you it was bad. You didn't believe me?" "I forget how far gone you really were," Methos said as he shut the door and pulled off his trench coat, throwing it across the back of a chair. He headed for the kitchen and the certainty of beer in the fridge. Assuming MacLeod didn't throw it all into the river. He smiled slightly in relief as he found two six-packs, grabbed a bottle and turned to Duncan, who already was hard at work grabbing papers off the floor and setting them on shelves in neat little piles. "Beer, MacLeod? There's plenty in the fridge." Methos narrowed his eyes slightly in concern when Duncan didn't respond. The younger immortal stooped over, picked up something off the floor and stared at it as if in a trance. Methos strained to see what was in Duncan's hand: the shard of a broken antique vase. Methos sighed. Time to play psychologist. "You can't hold yourself accountable for anything that happened. It's a miracle that you fought it at all," he said. When Duncan still didn't respond, Methos set down his beer and approached his friend. "MacLeod, listen to me. It wasn't you." Duncan turned to look at Methos, and the older immortal was surprised to see tears streaming down the other man's face. Methos was moved that MacLeod allowed himself to show so much emotion in front of him, but he was careful to school his own expression into an unreadable mask. He knew it was an unusual moment for Duncan to let the pain overwhelm him so completely, and he didn't need Methos breaking down, too. "I remember taking Sean Burns' head. I remember the quickening and how good it felt. I remember my satisfaction at seeing your reaction, the horror in your eyes, when it was over. I remember it so clearly, but you're telling me that it wasn't me?" "Yes. And Sean knew that, too. The fact that you regret it now only proves my point. The man who killed Sean Burns felt no regret for his actions. It was not you." Methos held Duncan's gaze, gauging the reaction in his eyes, which cleared of tears and slowly calmed. He knows I'm right, Methos thought, consiously releasing the tautness of his muscles in an effort to relax. It will take some time for him to accept the truth, but the danger is past. Methos broke the gaze and returned to the kitchen at an unhurried gait. He grabbed his beer and pulled another from the fridge. When he faced MacLeod, the other man was watching him with a thoughtful expression. Methos tossed him a bottle, which Duncan deftly caught. He then made his way to the couch and stretched out as he took a long swig from his bottle. "Come sit down," he said. Surprisingly, MacLeod turned from the mess
and fell heavily into a chair opposite the older immortal. Methos raised
his beer in salute. "Cheers. Tomorrow is another day."
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