Disclaimer: Not mine, *whimpers*. . . yet. Mwahahahahahaha. . .
Major thanks to my Beta Alex, whose been formatting these for me
because I can't use my Word program. You're the greatest, man, I
love ya!
Sequel: To 'Jumper'. . . read that first. Really. I mean it.
Characters: DM CM
- - -
Sometimes It Hurts
By Christy Xris Robbins
- - -
Methos was gone.
And it was his fault.
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, "Highland Hero" took a
deep drink of the scotch bottle he held in his left hand and
stumbled up the stairs to his Dojo. He was smashed. He'd lived
long enough to recognize the feeling. Why was he smashed?
Because he'd single-handedly saved Methos' life and scared him
off at the same time. He was a genius. A bloody genius.
Stumbling into the open Dojo door - hadn't he locked it? - he
blinked his eyes hard, trying to clear them of the alcoholic haze
that had overcome him. Did he feel guilt over the loss of his
friend? No. He couldn't. Why? Because deep down inside, he was
glad Methos was gone.
He had forgiven the man for his past crimes, but Methos had
created such a deep feeling of self-loathing that Mac could no
longer stand to look at himself in the mirror. The last conversation
they had shared had proven to be MacLeod's own undoing. Was he
really so condemning that he had driven Methos to a suicide
attempt? How he hated the fact.
He had tried to hate Methos as well. Tried, but one look into the
man's pain-filled eyes had changed Mac's perspective. He had not
listened to Methos' explanation; he had just condemned the man.
Methos had seen that and he had tried to run from it - almost
killing himself in the process. Mac had stopped him, but at such a
price. In stopping him, he had been confronted with the real truth
that was Duncan MacLeod. The Highland warrior who had driven
the world's ultimate survivalist to suicide.
He had not been ready to face that demon. The one that had
appeared when Methos had eyed at him.
Ah, yes, the way Methos had eyed him.
The five thousand-year-old man was in love with him.
Another demon MacLeod had been unready to face.
How could Methos love him like that and yet still want to die? Had
he no idea that MacLeod felt the same way? How he *hated*
himself for driving Methos to that extent. Every moment he
breathed the hate within him grew stronger. With that hate came
the desperation and the avoidance. He had not seen Joe in the two
months since Methos had left. He had faithfully
delivered the old man's message to the mortal but then had
distanced himself entirely. He couldn't have Joe looking at him like
he was some sort of monster. He undoubtedly was, but he could
not face the man who had become such a close friend realize it. He
had taken the easy route. He had started to drink.
He had not been a true-blood alcoholic in a long time. Not since
the death of Little Deer. He had hit the bottle hard, then, and it had
taken Connor to snap him out of the stupor he had fallen into.
Connor was not here this time, and it only served to drive him
harder into the old habit.
Every sip of alcohol had driven the pain further away and yet
brought it closer. He forgot Methos while he was drinking, but
then he remembered *why* he was drinking and the booze only
served to sharpen the pain so much further. With the deep
depression and alcoholic bingeing, he was surprised that he had
made it home alive. Some immortal should have come along and
taken his head by now. Wouldn't that have been nice? To lose
himself so completely in the drink that he could die and forget how
much pain he had caused?
And then there were the nightmares... but he would not think of
that.
Stumbling up the stairs to the loft - where had he left his keys? - he
played with the door a moment before finally getting it open. There
was a faint buzzing at the back of his skull, but he accredited it to
the alcohol and wishes of immortals. Practically falling into his
loft, he found
himself at the feet of another man. Looking up, he grinned when he
recognized his cousin.
"Connor!" he said in a slurred voice. "So nice of ye to come.
Where have ye been? I've been trying ta call since the Solstice." He
hiccuped and giggled at the stern look on Connor's face. "Ye look
something fierce, cousin."
"Get up, Duncan," Connor ordered. Mac laughed and tried to
stand, collapsing a moment later. Why was he suddenly so light-
headed? He felt like a damn fool. The thought sobered him a little
and he shook his head.
"What're you doin' here, Connor?" he asked.
"I came on the request of your bartender friend," Connor told him.
"Not a minute too late, either. You're a mess, cousin."
"Bah, 'tis nothing," Duncan said, waving his hand as he struggled
into a sitting position. "Jes' a wee bit too much drink."
"Duncan, you're drunk, and you smell like dead sheep," Connor
said bluntly. "I've not seen you like this in over a century."
"Aye," Duncan said with a frown. "'S with good reason, though."
"Yes, I heard of your friend, Adam." Duncan's eyes widened.
"Ye know of it?" he gasped. Connor nodded.
"I do." Duncan silently cursed his meddling Watcher. What right
did the man have to pry in? To tell Connor of his troubles.
"Duncan, what would he say if he saw you now?"
"I dinna know," Duncan responded.
"He'd call you a damn fool," Connor snapped. "Stumbling around
town like some sort of drunken idiot. One's liable to get their head
taken with such stupidity." Duncan looked up at him, met Connor's
eyes. "Oh, Duncan..."
"I'll not have ye're pity," Duncan snapped. "I'll deal with this on
m'own!" Connor reached down and grabbed Mac under the
armpits, hoisting the man to his feet. MacLeod struggled in the
man's strong grip as Connor practically carried him across the loft
to the bathroom. Throwing the door open, he grabbed Mac's feet
and chucked the drunken Scot into the full bathtub.
Mac came up sputtering, his lung contracting with the cold. The
water was frigid and there was enough ice in it to instantly sober
him. Coughing, he pulled himself out, glaring dangerously at his
cousin.
"What the hell are ye doing?" he shouted in anger. Connor
laughed.
"Just sobering you up," he said. Duncan growled and dragged
himself out of the tub, lurching towards Connor with a dangerous
air. "Are you at least feeling a bit better?"
"I *feel* like takin' yer head!"
"You can try. But do you honestly think you can take me when I'm
dead sober and you're in such a state of complete un-
coordination?" Duncan scowled as he considered the proposition.
True, he was drunk... but he was not *that* drunk. "Good. Now
then, cousin, care to tell me what you hope to gain with this little
binge?"
"I jes..." Duncan took a deep breath and sighed. "I want te forget."
"Your friend?"
"No. I want te forget the reason he left me." Connor did not seem
surprised at the statement.
"He tried to kill himself," Connor finally prompted.
"Aye. Because he... he believe that I wanted him dead," Duncan
said, his voice pathetic enough to add an edge of a whimper.
"Did you?"
"No!" Duncan gasped. "I wanted him te live! I still do. But he left
me behind."
"Lovers have left you before, Duncan, you've never taken it this
badly." Duncan gave a bemoaned chuckle.
"He was never m'lover." Connor seemed surprised to hear that.
"He was m'friend. Ally. An' though I wanted him, we never got the
chance to commit. It was one thing after another and eventually we
ended up here." Connor nodded in thought.
"That's even less of a reason for you to do this to yourself," Connor
commented. "What is it about him leaving that made you so
careless?"
"I drove him away. Not a ghost from the past. Not a threat of
another immortal. Not a moral dilemma that required thought. Me.
*I* was the reason he left." Duncan felt himself falling to his
knees, though he was numb to the sensation. "An' I canna bear to
think it. I was supposed to be a hero, an' I drove him away."
"So all this," Connor waved to him. "Is because of your own self-
pity? Duncan, that's pathetic." Duncan looked up, scowling at his
cousin.
"And what would you know?" he demanded. "Ye've never been
anything but Connor MacLeod. People fear ye. They respect ye.
Ye've never gone to brood because ye scared a friend away!"
"I've *killed* a friend, Duncan. Friend, teacher... Ramirez's death
is on *my* head. Don't speak to me about killing or losing friends,
Duncan. You can atone for your mistakes, I can never atone for
mine." Duncan stared at Connor in surprise.
"Ye canna say that Ramirez's death is on your head," he protested.
"The Kurgan-"
"Was after me," Connor interrupted. "He came to my home and
killed Ramirez and then savaged my Heather! All in the course of
searching for me. The blame has always been on my head
Duncan." He stared at his student, though Duncan felt that his
former mentor was hardly there. "Always." Duncan lowered his
head in shame.
Connor sighed. "You can make amends for the mistakes you've
made, Duncan. You have always been more the hero than I. Once
you've sobered up I suggest you go out and prove it." Duncan
nodded hesitantly.
"Do you stay the night here, cousin?" he asked, the first semi-
coherent thought he'd had all night.
"No. I have a hotel room a few blocks away. I will return
tomorrow, though. A good trip should never be wasted." Duncan
agreed wholeheartedly and stared at his cousin's back as he made
his way for the door.
"Connor," he said. The older Scotsman turned. "What do you know
about Adam?"
"That's he a damn fool for leaving," Connor stated. With that, his
cousin exited the apartment.
~
Connor stared at the window, at the stars in the night sky. It was a
clear night, one where speculation and deep thoughts were
welcome. Slowly, he raised the bottle of gin to his lips and took a
deep drink. Duncan had the wrong idea about drinking pain away,
but Connor's pain was different than his. After four and a half
centuries he was still mourning his beloved Heather and his
mentor. He wouldn't tell Duncan, of course, this was a private
grief. He would live with the pain, as he had always done, and then
find something to do to push it to the back of his mind.
Something like stopping his cousin from making the same
mistakes.
He took another drink.
It hurt.
~Finis(?)
Sometimes it Hurts
Stabbing Westward
Six o'clock in the morning
My head is ready to explode
I can't believe I made it home alive
I don't remember where I went
Or what I was drinking
And now it's made me sick
And I'm not denying
That I get this way
When I try to get over you
I get this way
When I try to get over you
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
I tried so hard to hate you
But it only makes it all worse
I only end up hating myself
And as my hatred grows
So do the lies
It's hard to face the truth sometimes
God I feel so useless
God I hate myself
When I try to get over you
I hate myself
Will I ever get over you
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
And after all this time you'd think I'd understand the way you feel
But no
I only think about myself
And it's driving you away
I always knew it would one day
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Major thanks to my Beta Alex, whose been formatting these for me
because I can't use my Word program. You're the greatest, man, I
love ya!
Sequel: To 'Jumper'. . . read that first. Really. I mean it.
Characters: DM CM
- - -
Sometimes It Hurts
By Christy Xris Robbins
- - -
Methos was gone.
And it was his fault.
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, "Highland Hero" took a
deep drink of the scotch bottle he held in his left hand and
stumbled up the stairs to his Dojo. He was smashed. He'd lived
long enough to recognize the feeling. Why was he smashed?
Because he'd single-handedly saved Methos' life and scared him
off at the same time. He was a genius. A bloody genius.
Stumbling into the open Dojo door - hadn't he locked it? - he
blinked his eyes hard, trying to clear them of the alcoholic haze
that had overcome him. Did he feel guilt over the loss of his
friend? No. He couldn't. Why? Because deep down inside, he was
glad Methos was gone.
He had forgiven the man for his past crimes, but Methos had
created such a deep feeling of self-loathing that Mac could no
longer stand to look at himself in the mirror. The last conversation
they had shared had proven to be MacLeod's own undoing. Was he
really so condemning that he had driven Methos to a suicide
attempt? How he hated the fact.
He had tried to hate Methos as well. Tried, but one look into the
man's pain-filled eyes had changed Mac's perspective. He had not
listened to Methos' explanation; he had just condemned the man.
Methos had seen that and he had tried to run from it - almost
killing himself in the process. Mac had stopped him, but at such a
price. In stopping him, he had been confronted with the real truth
that was Duncan MacLeod. The Highland warrior who had driven
the world's ultimate survivalist to suicide.
He had not been ready to face that demon. The one that had
appeared when Methos had eyed at him.
Ah, yes, the way Methos had eyed him.
The five thousand-year-old man was in love with him.
Another demon MacLeod had been unready to face.
How could Methos love him like that and yet still want to die? Had
he no idea that MacLeod felt the same way? How he *hated*
himself for driving Methos to that extent. Every moment he
breathed the hate within him grew stronger. With that hate came
the desperation and the avoidance. He had not seen Joe in the two
months since Methos had left. He had faithfully
delivered the old man's message to the mortal but then had
distanced himself entirely. He couldn't have Joe looking at him like
he was some sort of monster. He undoubtedly was, but he could
not face the man who had become such a close friend realize it. He
had taken the easy route. He had started to drink.
He had not been a true-blood alcoholic in a long time. Not since
the death of Little Deer. He had hit the bottle hard, then, and it had
taken Connor to snap him out of the stupor he had fallen into.
Connor was not here this time, and it only served to drive him
harder into the old habit.
Every sip of alcohol had driven the pain further away and yet
brought it closer. He forgot Methos while he was drinking, but
then he remembered *why* he was drinking and the booze only
served to sharpen the pain so much further. With the deep
depression and alcoholic bingeing, he was surprised that he had
made it home alive. Some immortal should have come along and
taken his head by now. Wouldn't that have been nice? To lose
himself so completely in the drink that he could die and forget how
much pain he had caused?
And then there were the nightmares... but he would not think of
that.
Stumbling up the stairs to the loft - where had he left his keys? - he
played with the door a moment before finally getting it open. There
was a faint buzzing at the back of his skull, but he accredited it to
the alcohol and wishes of immortals. Practically falling into his
loft, he found
himself at the feet of another man. Looking up, he grinned when he
recognized his cousin.
"Connor!" he said in a slurred voice. "So nice of ye to come.
Where have ye been? I've been trying ta call since the Solstice." He
hiccuped and giggled at the stern look on Connor's face. "Ye look
something fierce, cousin."
"Get up, Duncan," Connor ordered. Mac laughed and tried to
stand, collapsing a moment later. Why was he suddenly so light-
headed? He felt like a damn fool. The thought sobered him a little
and he shook his head.
"What're you doin' here, Connor?" he asked.
"I came on the request of your bartender friend," Connor told him.
"Not a minute too late, either. You're a mess, cousin."
"Bah, 'tis nothing," Duncan said, waving his hand as he struggled
into a sitting position. "Jes' a wee bit too much drink."
"Duncan, you're drunk, and you smell like dead sheep," Connor
said bluntly. "I've not seen you like this in over a century."
"Aye," Duncan said with a frown. "'S with good reason, though."
"Yes, I heard of your friend, Adam." Duncan's eyes widened.
"Ye know of it?" he gasped. Connor nodded.
"I do." Duncan silently cursed his meddling Watcher. What right
did the man have to pry in? To tell Connor of his troubles.
"Duncan, what would he say if he saw you now?"
"I dinna know," Duncan responded.
"He'd call you a damn fool," Connor snapped. "Stumbling around
town like some sort of drunken idiot. One's liable to get their head
taken with such stupidity." Duncan looked up at him, met Connor's
eyes. "Oh, Duncan..."
"I'll not have ye're pity," Duncan snapped. "I'll deal with this on
m'own!" Connor reached down and grabbed Mac under the
armpits, hoisting the man to his feet. MacLeod struggled in the
man's strong grip as Connor practically carried him across the loft
to the bathroom. Throwing the door open, he grabbed Mac's feet
and chucked the drunken Scot into the full bathtub.
Mac came up sputtering, his lung contracting with the cold. The
water was frigid and there was enough ice in it to instantly sober
him. Coughing, he pulled himself out, glaring dangerously at his
cousin.
"What the hell are ye doing?" he shouted in anger. Connor
laughed.
"Just sobering you up," he said. Duncan growled and dragged
himself out of the tub, lurching towards Connor with a dangerous
air. "Are you at least feeling a bit better?"
"I *feel* like takin' yer head!"
"You can try. But do you honestly think you can take me when I'm
dead sober and you're in such a state of complete un-
coordination?" Duncan scowled as he considered the proposition.
True, he was drunk... but he was not *that* drunk. "Good. Now
then, cousin, care to tell me what you hope to gain with this little
binge?"
"I jes..." Duncan took a deep breath and sighed. "I want te forget."
"Your friend?"
"No. I want te forget the reason he left me." Connor did not seem
surprised at the statement.
"He tried to kill himself," Connor finally prompted.
"Aye. Because he... he believe that I wanted him dead," Duncan
said, his voice pathetic enough to add an edge of a whimper.
"Did you?"
"No!" Duncan gasped. "I wanted him te live! I still do. But he left
me behind."
"Lovers have left you before, Duncan, you've never taken it this
badly." Duncan gave a bemoaned chuckle.
"He was never m'lover." Connor seemed surprised to hear that.
"He was m'friend. Ally. An' though I wanted him, we never got the
chance to commit. It was one thing after another and eventually we
ended up here." Connor nodded in thought.
"That's even less of a reason for you to do this to yourself," Connor
commented. "What is it about him leaving that made you so
careless?"
"I drove him away. Not a ghost from the past. Not a threat of
another immortal. Not a moral dilemma that required thought. Me.
*I* was the reason he left." Duncan felt himself falling to his
knees, though he was numb to the sensation. "An' I canna bear to
think it. I was supposed to be a hero, an' I drove him away."
"So all this," Connor waved to him. "Is because of your own self-
pity? Duncan, that's pathetic." Duncan looked up, scowling at his
cousin.
"And what would you know?" he demanded. "Ye've never been
anything but Connor MacLeod. People fear ye. They respect ye.
Ye've never gone to brood because ye scared a friend away!"
"I've *killed* a friend, Duncan. Friend, teacher... Ramirez's death
is on *my* head. Don't speak to me about killing or losing friends,
Duncan. You can atone for your mistakes, I can never atone for
mine." Duncan stared at Connor in surprise.
"Ye canna say that Ramirez's death is on your head," he protested.
"The Kurgan-"
"Was after me," Connor interrupted. "He came to my home and
killed Ramirez and then savaged my Heather! All in the course of
searching for me. The blame has always been on my head
Duncan." He stared at his student, though Duncan felt that his
former mentor was hardly there. "Always." Duncan lowered his
head in shame.
Connor sighed. "You can make amends for the mistakes you've
made, Duncan. You have always been more the hero than I. Once
you've sobered up I suggest you go out and prove it." Duncan
nodded hesitantly.
"Do you stay the night here, cousin?" he asked, the first semi-
coherent thought he'd had all night.
"No. I have a hotel room a few blocks away. I will return
tomorrow, though. A good trip should never be wasted." Duncan
agreed wholeheartedly and stared at his cousin's back as he made
his way for the door.
"Connor," he said. The older Scotsman turned. "What do you know
about Adam?"
"That's he a damn fool for leaving," Connor stated. With that, his
cousin exited the apartment.
~
Connor stared at the window, at the stars in the night sky. It was a
clear night, one where speculation and deep thoughts were
welcome. Slowly, he raised the bottle of gin to his lips and took a
deep drink. Duncan had the wrong idea about drinking pain away,
but Connor's pain was different than his. After four and a half
centuries he was still mourning his beloved Heather and his
mentor. He wouldn't tell Duncan, of course, this was a private
grief. He would live with the pain, as he had always done, and then
find something to do to push it to the back of his mind.
Something like stopping his cousin from making the same
mistakes.
He took another drink.
It hurt.
~Finis(?)
Sometimes it Hurts
Stabbing Westward
Six o'clock in the morning
My head is ready to explode
I can't believe I made it home alive
I don't remember where I went
Or what I was drinking
And now it's made me sick
And I'm not denying
That I get this way
When I try to get over you
I get this way
When I try to get over you
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
I tried so hard to hate you
But it only makes it all worse
I only end up hating myself
And as my hatred grows
So do the lies
It's hard to face the truth sometimes
God I feel so useless
God I hate myself
When I try to get over you
I hate myself
Will I ever get over you
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
And after all this time you'd think I'd understand the way you feel
But no
I only think about myself
And it's driving you away
I always knew it would one day
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love
Sometimes it hurts
So much to lose the one you love