I Want Him Alive

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Highlander the television series and I'm not making any money from this fic

Summary: Spoilers. After Duncan convinces Cassandra to spare Methos, he has serious words with the oldest living Immortal

Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers; some mentions of violence

Methos didn't even care that Cassandra was standing over him, about to take his head. Everything had come to a sudden head for him and he couldn't even lift his head from where he knelt, the tears running down his cheeks and splashing onto the ground. It was something he'd never admit out loud, but he was tired... tired and sick of his long immortality.

What was the point anymore?

So even though Methos knew Cassandra was about to kill him, he made no attempt to defend himself.

And then Duncan was speaking. Methos hardly heard or cared about what he was saying, but Duncan must have told Cassandra to back off, because Methos was aware of the buzz created by her withdrawing. Within moments, the feel of her presence was gone entirely.

Methos wiped at his eyes, feeling the sobs beginning to die down. He didn't raise his head to look at Duncan, even though he knew that the other hadn't left. In a way, Methos wished he would. He didn't want to deal with Duncan's feelings. Not now, while he was still raw from being thrust violently into the memories of his past. "I didn't ask for your help, highlander." He tried to spit the words out, but his voice shook a little, which somehow ruined the effect.

"Without my help, you'd be dead," Duncan pointed out easily enough.

"Do you really think I couldn't have stopped her?"

"I know full well you could have stopped her." There was the sound of footsteps as Duncan apparently moved closer to Methos. "Why didn't you?"

"She wouldn't have gone through with it." Methos wished he had water to wipe his face with, but seeing as he didn't, he made do with wiping at his eyes and deciding that it wasn't like Duncan hadn't just heard him crying. He pushed himself up and looked at Duncan. "You don't have to babysit me. Unless you got rid of Cassandra so you could take my head?" And somewhere at the back of his mind was the knowledge that he wouldn't stop Duncan if the other immortal did.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd been prepared to let Duncan take his head. And this time, the other immortal had a perfectly good reason for doing so.

"I'm not going to take your head, although I have a pretty good idea that you'd rather I did," Duncan replied. He sighed. "Look, I..." He hesitated. "I'm sorry about what I said."

Methos snorted softly. "Why, Mac? I was a monster. I can't even count the amount of victims I've killed. And I enjoyed it." He knew he was deliberately pushing Duncan, trying to get a rise out of him. It would make things that much easier if Duncan got angry and then they would fight and Duncan would take his head. He could handle the Quickening of the oldest living immortal. Methos knew he could.

When Duncan's hand snaked out, Methos felt a stab of relief that quickly faded when his wrist was grabbed. He looked down in confusion and then up at Duncan. "Aren't you supposed to be drawing your sword right about now?"

"I'm not going to fight you, Methos."

"Then how about you let go of me?"

Duncan shook his head and looked round. He sighed, but – before Methos could ask what was bothering him this time – Duncan pulled Methos towards him and had him bent over with an arm wrapped around his waist, the hand he'd just been holding Methos' wrist with making itself busy slapping out a tattoo on the jean-clad backside he'd just given himself complete access to.

It took Methos a few moments to realise what position he was in and just what Duncan was doing to him. He tested Duncan's hold, but found it unmoving as his backside was smacked hard and painfully, his jeans offering very little protection from the highlander's hard, sword-calloused hand. "Very funny, Duncan. Let me up," he said between slight gasps of pain.

Surely if his butt was hurting this much, Duncan's hand had to be on fire.

"I don't think so. I'm sure there are plenty of people who think you could benefit from this sort of punishment," Duncan said, his hand not even slowing. "Including you."

Methos winced and tried once again to get out of Duncan's hold. "Really? You really think I wouldn't be stopping this if I could? Oww..." He couldn't help the sharply hissed exclamation of pain as Duncan's hand dipped lower, finding the tender creases between his backside and thighs.

"You would have no problem breaking free if you really wanted to," Duncan said, sounding like he was smiling slightly. "I'm sure you've learned plenty of tricks over the many centuries you've been alive for."

Yes, but it was kind of hard to concentrate on breaking free when his butt was being pounded by a hard, merciless hand. Methos grunted and, to his horror, felt his eyes begin to blur with tears. Not again. Surely he'd cried more than enough already?

There was a pause and Methos felt Duncan's position shift slightly. Since the iron grip on him wasn't loosened, though, Methos could only think – with a pit of dread in his stomach – that Duncan wasn't finished and was just reaching for something else to beat his already-abused ass with.

When a line of fire landed directly across the middle of his backside, Methos couldn't help the yell of pain and would have tried to stand up if Duncan hadn't held him so tightly. The line of fire faded to a sensation that began itching as it healed and that was when Duncan landed the second strike – in the exact same place. He repeated that pattern with the third and fourth, always making sure to land the strikes just as the previous one was about to heal and heightening the pain.

The fifth strike landed directly across Methos' thighs, making his legs buckle and threaten to collapse under his weight. Duncan must have realised it was too hard, because he returned to Methos' backside, setting it slowly alight.

Hisses of pain escaped Methos as each line of fire broke through his defences and forced more tears out. The cracks from whatever Duncan was thrashing his ass with echoed throughout the area, along with Methos' gasps and grunts of pain. He made no further attempt to pull away from Duncan, accepting the punishment without even being fully aware that he was doing so.

Methos lost count of how many times whatever the thing was rose and fell. His whole world was each snap and line of fire and his cries of pain... pain that wasn't causing the tears because it hurt (although it did like hell), but because he was finally starting to understand Duncan's goal in thrashing him this way. Duncan had seen what Methos needed when Methos had had no idea himself.

In the past, wounds had been lanced when they began to turn septic. And that was what Duncan was doing right here and now. Methos let Duncan take his weight in its entirety and just grabbed onto the highlander's jacket, shuddering with each new strike. Tears poured down his cheeks and splashed all over the floor yet again.

And then, suddenly, it was over. Duncan dropped the object and pulled Methos carefully to his feet and into an embrace. Methos stood there, leaning his head against the other immortal's shoulder, and let the tears fall as the pain in his backside began to heal – though it took a while, considering just how hard Duncan had beaten it.

Finally, Methos pulled back from Duncan, wiping at his eyes. "Thanks," he said, quietly and sincerely.

Duncan nodded. "Anytime."

Methos started walking away and then turned back to Duncan. "By the way? Next time, it'll be me beating your ass, highlander."

Duncan chuckled softly. "I'll definitely be waiting for that."