The Apology
by Rachael Sabotini

 

Rated R, implied slash

Disclaimer: I don't think anyone wants to be associated with this, but Panzer-Davis owns the original source product of 'Highlander.' I make no money, I mean no harm. Feedback: Yes, please. Summary: Duncan apologizes.

Thanks to elynross for doing the beta, and Luminosity for the comedy consult.


There comes a moment in everyone's life when one realizes that one has fucked up big time. For Duncan, this occurred on Friday, April 4th, at 3:52 a.m. He bolted awake, his hand slamming into his forehead. "Fuck," he yelled. "I should apologize to Methos."

Immediately, he grabbed his daytimer off the nightstand and wrote in large letters: "Apologize to Methos." He circled this several times in red, just because it looked nice, then started drawing little hearts with arrows through them and the letters DMOTCM on top and METHOS on the bottom.

Frowning, Duncan stared at the letters, reversing them. It looked much better with Duncan on the bottom. Sighing, he turned the light off and drifted back to sleep, reminding himself that the apologies would start tomorrow.

The first note was simple: "Sorry I made you kill Kristin." But that seemed so plain, somehow, so bald -- Duncan just couldn't do it. He finally settled on sending a telegram, because that always made things so much more impressive.

DEAR METHOS. STOP. SORRY YOU HAD TO KILL KRISTIN FOR ME. STOP. I PROMISE TO KILL THE NEXT WOMAN MYSELF. STOP. YOURS, DUNCAN.

Oh, but then he realized he'd called Methos 'Methos' in a telegram. So he sent a second one:

SORRY I CALLED YOU METHOS. STOP. WILL TRY TO REMEMBER NOT TO USE THAT NAME. STOP. I KNOW THEY WILL KILL YOU IF THEY FIND YOU. STOP. YOURS, DUNCAN

That one he made a singing telegram, just in case Methos was mad about the other one.

The second one did bring a phone call. "Never do that again."

"Methos, I'm sorry--"

CLICK.

Well, telegrams hadn't worked, so Duncan went with the old standbys. Candy -- "Sorry about Kronos" -- escalated to roses -- "Sorry I believed Cassandra. I should have trusted you" -- and then to suggestions for a midnight rendezvous complete with paintbrushes and large jars of chocolate sauce -- "Sorry I didn't kill Cassandra when I had the chance."

Nothing. No response at all. He was obviously losing his touch.

He took to hanging out around Methos' apartment, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ancient Immortal. Or if not a glimpse, at least the neat-o-cool-o quickening buzz that meant that Methos was still around. ("Sorry we telepathically bonded, Methos.") He scrawled several apologies in foot-high letters on the brick outside of Methos' apartment, just to make sure he could see them. ("Sorry I killed Byron. Tried to save the goat.")

When he stepped back to admire his handiwork, he felt the surge of presence sideswipe him like a triple-wide trailer with no brakes. He jerked around and caught sight of Methos staring at him, wild-eyed, his skin pale and drawn. Methos must have been so upset over something that Duncan had forgotten to apologize for that he'd stopped eating.

For one, two, maybe three heartbeats at the outside they just stared at one another, and then Methos bolted. Like a greyhound with a bad leg, he dodged out of sight; Duncan dropped his spray can and ran after him.

Over chain link fences and garbage heaps, careening through playgrounds and shopping centers they ran, Duncan yelling "I'm sorry" at Methos with every other step. (It would have been with every step, but he was getting pretty winded by now.) He was actually quite pleased with himself for not saying 'Methos' once.

(Well, okay, once. But it wasn't like there was anyone else around.)

Finally, Methos missed a step and went tumbling to the ground, yelling "Fuck! I think I broke it' as he collapsed.

Duncan sank down on his knees next to Methos and looked at the twisted bone. "Methos, I'm sorry," he whispered, gathering the pale, winded, sweaty, shaking, beaten, battered, and abused Immortal to him. "It's my fault you're hurt. I made you run, I pushed you too hard. Oh, Methos," he wailed, "Can you ever forgive me?"

"If you don't let me go," said Methos, his voice muffled by the folds of Duncan's sweater, "I swear I will kill you."

Duncan jerked back and let go of Methos' head, which hit the pavement with a huge crack.

(Ouch. It sounded painful.)

While blood leaked out from the back of Methos' head, Duncan sniffed and snuffled, and wiped his face with his sleeve. It was too late. He'd tried his best, he'd apologized for everything he could think of, but Methos still didn't want him. Maybe he'd tried too hard to hold on to Methos -- well, other than dropping him on the pavement, that is -- maybe he needed to give Methos more room, let him set the terms, call the shots. Maybe he was too bossy, to judgmental for Methos to ever forgive. Oh, if only there was some way to make it up to him.

He looked down at Methos, who seemed to be regaining consciousness. "I'm--"

"Shut up."

"M--"

"Shut up." Methos dragged himself to a sitting position and rubbed the back of his skull. "I don't want you to apologize for anything ever again."

"I'm sorry."

"What for this time?"

"I'm sorry my apologies annoyed you."

Methos slowly blinked at him, rather like a lizard when it's going into hibernation. "Okay....Just. You don't have to. If I have to hear you say 'I'm sorry' one more time in the next three thousand years, it will be one time too soon."

"So...you're not angry."

"I never said that. I'm mad as hell, but I don't want another apology. I don't think I'd live through it," he muttered.

"Oh, okay," Duncan said, shoving his hands in his pockets. It still wasn't right, there was something missing. Some sort of closure.

He leaned over and kissed Methos. It started off as a simple 'I'm sorry and I'm glad we're still friends' kiss, but quickly moved into a 'say, why don't you stay for dinner and dessert?' type kiss, followed by a 'what's for breakfast?' kiss and a 'did you know that I can count your teeth with my tongue?' kiss.

This time when Methos blinked, he looked like a cat in heat. Duncan liked that.

"What was that for?" Methos asked quietly, wiping the spit off his chin.

"Well," Duncan shrugged. "I wanted to do something I didn't have to apologize for." He stood up and held out his hand to pull Methos up. "You coming?"

"Not in the alley. My back's killing me."

"Okay. Your place, then." Duncan smiled.

"Sure." Methos grinned. "But I refuse to apologize for the state of my sheets...."


The End