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“You know you didn’t have to come all the way out to see me,” Duncan said, opening a beer and handing it to Joe before sitting down on the couch.
“What makes you think I came out to see you?” Joe asked, and Duncan looked sharply at him.
“He’s my friend, too,” Joe said, pausing, “well, only my friend, now.”
Duncan frowned, “that’s not…” he shook his head and opened his beer, “what did you want to see him for, anyway?”
“He killed a friend, Mac, and lost two more. I mean he was with those guys god knows how long,” Joe shrugged, “yeah they were all bastards and he knew it, but they were his friends. Surely you can’t judge him for grieving.”
Duncan pressed his mouth closed, then took a drink, “how can you grieve men like that?”
“I dunno, what do you do when someone you love does something terrible?”
Duncan’s eyes flicked to him with a brief glare, then he shook his head again. “He doesn’t think it’s all that terrible.”
“Doesn’t he?” Joe said, “you’d think if he loved it so much he would’ve kept it up. He didn’t even fight anyone for three centuries before he met you.”
“So he said.”
“Well he certainly wasn’t pillaging his way across anywhere on horseback,” Joe said, “so I guess maybe he didn’t like it as much as he used to.”
Duncan heaved a sigh, “Joe-”
“He’s grown, he’s changed, he’s sorry it happened and he’s trying to be better and I don’t know what else you want him to do. Wear sack-cloth and ashes and go live in a cave? You gonna put him in prison for the rest of eternity? Take his head?” Joe said in exasperation, “what do you want from him?”
“I…” Duncan hesitated, uncertain, “he was using us.”
“You know he’s not the Machiavellian mastermind you both like to pretend he is.”
“Oh come on, he was completely in control-”
“He's as in control as a racoon in a trash can that gets picked up by garbage disposal.”
Duncan stared briefly at him, then snorted with laughter, “are you kidding me?”
“Look,” Joe sighed, “I’m not here to ask you to talk to Methos, just… I think you’re making a mistake by writing him off completely.”
“He lied to me. He lied to all of us.”
“About what? Having a past? Did you ever ask him what he was doing in the bronze age? I sure as hell didn’t. He told you the most important thing about himself, he told you he was Methos and you know how dangerous that was for him. Then you couldn’t extrapolate from the fact the guy’s five thousand years old that he might have done some shit he regrets?”
“I didn’t think about it.”
“No, cause it didn’t matter before. It only matters now because your girlfriend told you it does.”
“She’s not… she’s gone.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“I told her to spare Methos…”
Joe sighed, shaking his head, “you’re a complicated man, Mac. Dumb, but complicated.”
“Look it was all a shock, ok?” Duncan sighed, suddenly feeling very tired indeed, “I just… I need some space to figure it all out.”
“Well then you got it, cause he’s leaving.”
“He’s always leaving.”
“Yeah, well, this time it seemed pretty final. Can you blame him? It’s not like he’s got anything to stick around for.”
The words hit Duncan in a way he didn’t expect. His chest hurt, “what about…you?”
“Look, I might be the only person who doesn’t want him dead right now, but he knows how to use a phone.”
“I don’t want him dead,” Duncan protested.
“No, maybe not, but it’s not like you really want him alive, either,” Joe said with a tiny shrug.
Duncan opened his mouth, took a breath, and closed it again. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither’s life,” Joe said, “just be glad he told us he’s going.”
Duncan was silent a long moment, he moved to drink, stopped, and put his bottle aside. “You know what he did to Cassandra, don’t you?”
Joe nodded solemnly, “yeah, I know. I’m not calling her a liar and I’m sorry it happened to her, I’m sorry she had to go through it, it’s a terrible thing. But…” he grimaced, “three thousand years.”
Duncan looked askance at him.
“Look call me a bastard but sometime in three millennia you gotta realise that the heavy burden you’re carrying… well, you’re the one carrying it. Nobody’s gonna be able to take it away from you, you have to learn to put it down yourself.”
“Speaking from experience?” Duncan said sharply.
“Yeah, I am. Now I’m not going to say it’s the exact same thing. I got help, I got a shrink, I had good friends to help me,” Joe looked pointedly at Duncan, “and you don’t fix something like that, but I’m not dragging it around with me every second of the day.”
“You don’t know she is.”
“Well if she’s not then trying to kill Methos now would be a pretty crazy thing to do.”
“Kronos was trying to kill people.”
“Sure,” Joe shrugged, “he was rotten to the core, no argument, but his death doesn’t change what happened.” He sighed, “I’m really not trying to be an asshole about this, but… I don’t remember conversations I had two days ago, I don’t know if I believe they remember exactly how everything went down three thousand years ago. That’s a pretty thick lens to filter through.”
“You’re saying she’s lying?” Duncan said defensively.
“No, I’m saying maybe… listen. I don’t know jack shit about the bronze age. I watched Clash of the Titans, I watch Xena: Warrior Princess.” Joe paused, “Are they bronze age?” he shook his head, “anyway, I do know it used to be funny when the guy on TV said he slapped his wife around. Things change. Times change.” He sighed, “Memory changes. I believe Cassandra went went through some real shit, but… she did have an interest in making sure you fought this guy.”
“And Methos?”
Joe studied him sadly, “I know what guilt sounds like.”
Duncan swallowed, then scowled, “After three thousand years? Isn’t holding on too long what you’re accusing Cassandra of doing?”
“Now you’re just being a dick.”
Duncan frowned, sinking back into the sofa, “yeah, sorry.”
“But… maybe that’s the point. You change or you don’t,” Joe sighed, suddenly looking very old, “Kronos didn’t want to. Cassandra can’t. Methos did, and I’m willing to stand by the person he is now. Maybe cause I’m a short lived, short-sighted, prejudiced mortal. But that’s my choice, and can’t tell anyone how to make theirs.” He smiled thinly, “all I’m trying to say is… give him a chance. He’s not the monster you think he is.”
“Yeah?” Duncan said with a bitter smile, “what kind of monster is he, then?”
Joe sighed, shaking his head, “he’s a regular human being, like the rest of us. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you get given the secrets of the universe, he learns the hard way, just like the rest of us.”
Duncan hesitated before snatching up his beer again. “I’m sorry, I hear what you’re saying but… no. There’s some things you can’t come back from.”
“Must be nice to just be able to switch off your feelings, I wish I’d been born with one of those,” Joe said sharply, setting his beer aside and getting up, “you should’ve taught that one to Methos and then maybe none of us would be in this shit.”
“Joe-” Duncan began to stand.
Joe held up a hand, “I’m going to the bathroom and when I come back we’re gonna draw a line under this whole thing. I’m not gonna beg you, Mac. You’re old enough to make your own mistakes.” He moved off in the direction of the bathroom, and Duncan slumped back to the couch.
They spent the rest of the night quietly. Joe to his word didn’t bring up Methos again and by the time Duncan drove him back to his hotel they were talking easily again, the tension forgotten, as old friends did. Duncan and Methos were not really old friends, they were relativity new friends, if bolstered by a few near death experiences. In the grand scheme of things they knew very little about each other. He wasn’t sure losing Methos should be any great loss at all, but it kind of already felt like it was.
Methos looked strangely unsurprised to see Duncan at his door, at least no more than Duncan was to find Methos still in his flat.
“I thought you were leaving?” Duncan asked, as if he hadn’t just turned up on his doorstep.
“I thought you didn’t want to see me,” Methos replied.
“You didn’t give me much of a chance to say otherwise.”
Methos hesitated, then stepped back to let him in.
“So…” Duncan turned, producing a bottle of the best bourbon he could find on short notice out of his pocket and holding it out.
Methos frowned and took it, studying the label for a moment, then Duncan.
“It’s a peace offering,” Duncan said.
“Are we at war?” Methos replied as he walked through to his kitchen.
“I hope not,” Duncan said. He followed Methos to the breakfast bar and watched him get out two glasses.
Methos opened the bourbon and poured, not looking Duncan, “then you don’t really need a peace offering, do you?” He pushed one glass towards Duncan and pulled one towards himself. Then he fixed Duncan with a mildly quizzical look.
“I had a date with a very enthusiastic professor of the early bronze age,” Duncan said, making Methos look even more confused.
Duncan took a deep breath, bracing himself, “Richie…” a ghost of a smile crossed his lips, “Richie used to ask me all these questions about, you know, everything. Did you really only drink beer, did you really just shit in a hole in the ground with a plank over it, did you really never take baths… used to drive me crazy.” He shrugged, looking down at his drink as he held it on the counter, “I guess it’s hard for people now to understand what we used to think was normal.”
Methos furrowed his brow, “you don’t-”
“No, wait, I practised this,” Duncan looked at him again, and Methos smiled wryly.
“Of course you did,” Methos rolled his eyes and took a drink, then gestured for him to continue.
“So I wanted some perspective. I wanted to know how much might be true versus how much was… three millennia of… well. As a wise man once put it, ‘that’s a pretty thick lens to filter through’.”
“And you seduced some poor lady to do it?” Methos asked, “for shame.”
“I think she was more excited to talk about the bronze age than she was anything else,” Duncan said with a rueful smile, and Methos chuckled.
“I learnt some pretty interesting stuff,” Duncan continued, “including the fact that population estimates for whole regions topped out just under a hundred thousand,” he sipped his drink and watched Methos, “mostly with very small population centres spread over a wide area.”
Methos was still, studying him over his drink, “what’s your point?”
“Well, firstly, raiding other people’s villages was the national sport, and secondly… how much damage could four guys with swords really do?”
“Four Immortals with swords,” Methos corrected.
“Four guys with swords,” Duncan repeated.
Methos narrowed his eyes slightly, then put his drink down with a thunk. He took a deep breath, “what do you want me to say?”
“I just want to know why you decided to paint yourself as an irredeemable monster,” Duncan said, “or do you really believe what you told me?”
“Would it have mattered what I said?” Methos replied, “you’d made up your mind whose side you were on.”
“Do you believe it?” Duncan pressed.
Methos sighed, looking down briefly before picking up his drink. “I don’t know. Cassandra does.”
“She let you live.”
“Because you asked her to.”
“Do you think if she’d really wanted to do it I could’ve stopped her?” Duncan said. He sighed, “you know, my problem… one of my many problems,” he corrected with a tiny smile, “I’m old fashioned.”
Methos frowned again.
“I have this idea that women are these fragile little things that need to be sheltered from the world, and that’s a direct quote,” Duncan admitted with a grimace, “Her name was Leanne, and said she needed a boyfriend, not a live-in nanny. Then she told me to stop calling. She… wasn’t the first. I did exactly the same with Cassandra. I met a woman thousands of years older than me, who could do magic, see the future… and I assumed she needed my protection.” He sighed, “I try to do better, you know? I’m trying to change,” he paused, looking at Methos without quite looking at him, “but changing is… really hard.”
“It takes some time,” Methos said softly, taking another drink. He refilled his glass.
“And the will to do it,” Duncan added.
Methos nodded slightly.
“So,” Duncan hesitated, “I know it’s not my place to forgive the things you did, you never did anything to me but be a friend.” He looked towards the window, “and I’m no position to judge something that happened before the place I was born was even invented.”
Methos watched him, expression puzzled.
“And god knows I’ve got enough regrets and I’m only a tenth as old as you,” Duncan continued, “and… I don’t know, because none of the rules work, because maybe Cassandra was right and wrong, and so were you, and so was I. Maybe a seventeenth century sense of justice can’t be applied to crimes committed three thousand years ago or today. Maybe… maybe I’m just selfish.” He sighed. “Maybe I’m just stupid.”
Methos cocked his head ever so slightly and took a sip of bourbon.
“I appreciate you not agreeing with me on that one,” Duncan said.
“I’m waiting for the point,” Methos replied.
“The point is…” Duncan sighed, “I’m sorry.”
Methos stared at him for a long moment, “you practised this?”
Duncan half smiled, “there’s a better version but I left my notes at home.”
“I dunno I like the semi-coherent emotional constipation version.”
Duncan grinned, “you’re a bastard, but I like you.”
“There you go,” Methos said, grinning back, “much neater.”
“I still don’t know what you thought you were doing, honestly,” Duncan said, “it was like you were trying to get me to kill you.”
Methos let out an unhappy sound, “I don’t know, maybe I was. Might’ve been easier,” he smiled thinly, “mostly I was just trying to keep everyone alive, I guess. Fucking awesome job I did too.”
“If you want my unsolicited and baseless advice, and I know you always do,” Duncan cast him a self-depreciating smile, “I think the only other way it could’ve ended was worse. I just wish I’d done something… everything differently. I don’t think…” He sighed, “I really don’t think I could’ve made it better, but I certainly made it worse.”
“That’s not true. It wasn’t really your fight.”
“Cassandra made it my fight even before she knew you were involved,” Duncan said, “I wish I hadn’t taken everything she said at face value. I wish I hadn’t taken everything you said at face value.” He smiled ruefully.
“I told you the truth.”
“You vomited a bunch of words at me in a panic that wasn’t even possible, let alone the truth,” Duncan said matter-of-factly. “We’ve been over this.”
“It was based in truth,” Methos said almost defensively.
“Lots of things are based in truth but that doesn’t make them relevant or helpful,” Duncan replied. “You didn’t need to run away afterwards, either.”
“I didn’t run away.”
“No,” Duncan said carefully, “You stayed in touch with Joe.”
“He made me promise.”
Duncan huffed, “did you think I was going to challenge you or something?”
“Worse,” Methos said, “you’d have lectured me again.”
Duncan smiled, “you’re probably right about that.”
Methos almost smiled and faltered, “things aren’t just going to go back to the way they were, you know? You can’t unknow things, and god help me I’ve tried.”
“That’s always been true. You should know that better than anybody,” Duncan said, “I don’t want things the way they used to be. I want them to be better.” He paused, “I want to be the kind of friend that means it when he says you can talk to him.”
“And when I tell you something else unforgivable?”
“Do you have a lot?”
Methos shrugged, “I’m pretty fucking old, Mac.”
Duncan nodded as if considering, “I promise I’ll at least hear you out.”
The tension left Methos a little as he smiled, “You’re a good man.”
“No,” Duncan shook his head ruefully, “just a man trying his best, who doesn’t have all the answers and isn’t always right, and has difficulty remembering that.”
“Hm,” Methos looked thoughtfully at his drink and picked it up, “maybe you need a friend to remind you.”
Duncan nodded and lifted his glass, tilting it slightly towards Methos. “I already have one.”
Methos clinked the rim of his glass to Duncan’s, and they drank in silence.