Dearest Brother

He couldn't sleep.

It was as easy as that, he just couldn't sleep, again.

By now it was nothing new for him, he'd spent many nights unable to sleep, and how many more with one eye open, fearing for his life?

There were the pills, he could take the pills and he would sleep, but it was never enough. He'd tried it before countless times, and they never worked long enough, at least not long enough for his comfort.

All the same he couldn't take the pills, if he did then he would dream, and he'd had too many nightmares lately to not be able to afford assurance that he could wake up from them.

Sometimes Methos wished that he could just die of old age, and pass away in his sleep, calmly, peacefully, quietly – painlessly. Oh if there were such a way for him to die he would embrace it with such gratitude. To anyone else, 5,000 years of life might seem like a gift or some sort of prophecy, to him it was a nightmare, a living hell. Even now with the battle and his brothers long dead, he couldn't get over it. Neither could MacLeod. Oh he could be so convincing, back at the submarine base when he made Cassandra spare his life…those words still haunted him, cutting through his thoughts every single day like a freshly sharpened blade.

Cassandra! I want him to live!

Yes, he'd said that…he'd wanted him to live, but that was then, and this was now. How could he know that the Highlander wouldn't change his mind? How was he to be certain that Duncan MacLeod didn't lay awake at night just plotting the perfect way to sever his head from his body? He didn't know, and he couldn't know, true 400 is nothing compared to 5,000 but even so, in 400 years you could learn to be a great actor, the best, you could convince anyone of anything, even convince someone you wanted to keep them alive.

5,000 years of watching people could make you a good judge of character, but also within that time, you began to forget many things, you're not as sharp as you used to be. What was there to be said of a man who couldn't even remember his first death? Did that go along with getting older, or just gradually losing your mind?

To lose his mind, to forget everything, that would be simultaneously a blessing and a curse. To forget his time as Death on a Horse, among countless other fiends, that would ease his newfound conscience oh so much. But to forget Alexa, he couldn't live with that. He couldn't live with forgetting her, or anyone else he'd cared about in his life. Maybe once he was dead, he'd be reunited with her, oh he could only hope.

He'd gotten so sick of his life, and so sick of his past coming back repeatedly to haunt him, he was tempted to take his sword over to MacLeod, hand it to him and say "do it now, MacLeod, it'll save me the pain of living". He could see himself putting himself in that position, and he could just imagine the look on MacLeod's face if he did that. MacLeod would enjoy it, he wouldn't just do it and get it over with, he'd taunt him. "So you really are a coward. For thousands of years, you did whatever it took to survive, no matter at what cost, and now you want simply for me to take your head and get it over with. I always knew you were a coward, but this brings you to an all new low."

Methos felt sick, he was starting to wish MacLeod had killed him at the base along with Kronos. At least if that had happened, he wouldn't be going through this living hell now. Then again, would that mean he'd be stuck with Kronos for all eternity?

Even dead I couldn't survive that, he thought.

Now he was really feeling sick, if that did happen, what would Kronos do to him? Would he be alone or would Silas and Caspian be with him? At least in life he stood some chance of protection with Silas, but now he'd probably be as anxious to make him suffer as Caspian and Kronos would. He'd turned against him, his own brother, not just any of them either, the only one he liked. The only one he truly saw fit as deserving the title 'Brother'. But it wasn't that simple, no, there had been a time when Silas wasn't the only reliable one, but that was a time in history that was so far back it'd been buried thousands of years ago.

All of a sudden, Methos felt like he was burning up, he had to get out, he couldn't stand staying here anymore. He especially couldn't stand being near MacLeod, just the mention of his name made Methos' stomach turn. Blessed be he who's never had to live like I have, he thought. That's why he would never understand Methos' side of it, because he hadn't been alive during that time, and he hadn't known what it was like when it was a choice between kill with your brothers or be killed by them.

Methos wasn't aware that he'd been making any noise, but he must've because the next thing he heard was Duncan as he stumbled into the room in the dark. "Methos?" he called out quietly.

So this is it, Methos thought, this is when it comes down to him being holier, mightier and braver than I. Just what I need at 2 o' clock in the morning.

"Methos?" he repeated, a bit louder this time.

The very mention of his name from those lips made Methos' skin crawl and his stomach turn. Methos threw off the covers and jumped over the couch and made a dash straight to the bathroom, with a concerned Highlander following right behind him.

Duncan found Methos leaning over the sink with his head as low in the sink as he could probably get it, breathing heavily andwaiting for something to happen.

"Are you allright, Methos?" he asked, truly concerned for the ancient Immortal.

Methos waited for his dinner to come up, but after a few minutes and it didn't, he took it as a sign as it was safe to get out of this position. He turned off the faucet he'd left running just in case, and sat down on the edge of the bathtub, feeling once again in his life his actual age. He not only felt it, but he was startomg tolook the part too. Not 5,000 years of course, but old enough to look a wreck, and Duncan could very easily see this. After the bodies of the three other Horsemen had been buried, Duncan and Methos had gone their separate ways for a few months. Duncan thought, and he was sure Methos had felt the same way, that they needed some room apart from one another to get things straightened out. Maybe, he thought, Methos had been right, maybe he couldn't forgive what Methos had done, and maybe he couldn't accept it, but since he'd seen that Methos truly wasn't the beast he was in the Bronze Age, he was trying, oh how he was trying to understand it, to accept it, to do something.

Then earlier tonight, Methos had come to the dojo a complete mess. He had been drunk, caught in the rain, and recovering from God knew what he'd endured over the past few months. Duncan had hoped that once he'd rested and got something to eat, he'd return to normal, it had helped some, but all through the night he could tell something was troubling Methos, but what, he didn't know and he wasn't going to push to find out, if he did, Methos might tire of his company and disappear again. When it got late into the evening, Duncan knew that Methos was in no condition to go anywhere so he got some bedding and fixed up the couch for him for the night. Once he'd actually gone to sleep, Duncan didn't think he'd be getting up until morning, but clearly he was wrong.

Now Duncan saw Methos a shade paler than usual, with dark rings around his eyes, his eyes looked like they'd been deprived of sleep for too long, he was breathing shallowly and slightly rocking back and forth on the edge of the tub with his arms folded and as tight against his chest as he could manage. Duncan took the chance of approaching him knowing full well that Methos could be extremely short tempered and very dangerous when he was hurt, but he stayed where he was not even seeming to acknowledge Duncan closing in on him.

"Methos, are you allright?" and Duncan's hands instantly found their way to his face, which felt like ice, and he drew back in shock, "Good God, you feel like you've been in a freezer!"

But Methos didn't pay attention to what Duncan had said, he didn't pay much attention to the Highlander at all. Duncan felt Methos' hands, and up his arms, all equally cold. Duncan didn't know what to make of this, Immortals didn't get hypothermia, especially not in relatively fair weather like this. Could they go into shock? Yes, he supposed they could, but what could drive Methos to it? He didn't know what was wrong with Methos, and he also knew if Methos did, he wouldn't be able to get the answer out of him. So he decided the only thing he could do to help the older Immortal would be to try and restore heat to his body.

"Come on, Methos, let's get you back to bed and warm you up," Duncan insisted, lightly tugging on Methos' hand.

Methos drew his hand back, "Don't touch me, MacLeod, don't you bloody touch me! I'm not going back there, I'm not leaving this room!"

Duncan was a bit shocked by Methos' reaction, but remained the stubborn Scot he was, and tried to come up with an alternative plan. Thinking quickly, Duncan got another idea, and he didn't know that Methos would be able to protest it.

"Allright, fine, wait here," Duncan turned around and left the bathroom, and quickly returned a few moments later with a pillow, a flannel sheet and a light quilt.

"What're you doing, MacLeod?" Methos asked.

Duncan had laid out the sheet on the floor and was fluffing up the pillow to put up at the top. "If you want to stay here all night that's just fine with me," he told him, "but the bare floor can be uncomfortably cold and you're not going to freeze through the night, I can assure you of that right now. Now come on and get over here."

"No," Methos looked the other way.

"Methos," Duncan said in a stern voice.

"No."

"So you're not coming?" Duncan asked.

"No."

This was getting very tired very quickly, and Duncan was tired as well, and he guessed that Methos must be too. It was the middle of the night, and neither one of them would be getting any rest like this, Duncan knew that. He also knew it was too late in the night and they were too exhausted to argue, so he decided to go about this another way.

"Allright, have it your way." Duncan got up and headed over to the tub and took Methos by surprise and picked him up and swung him around a bit as they headed over to the bed Duncan had made up for him.

"MacLeod! Put me down! Put me down, I can walk on my own!" Methos insisted as he tried to get loose.

"Oh, but I'm having so much fun with you like this," Duncan replied lightheartedly.

"This isn't funny, MacLeod, put me down!"

"As you wish," Duncan lowered Methos and almost dropped him settling him down on the sheet as he pulled the quilt up to Methos' neck. "Now, you stay put, try to get some sleep, and we'll see how you're doing in the morning, allright?"

Methos wanted nothing more than the spit in his face, but wouldn't you know in 5,000 years, the first thing to go was your ability to spit. The Highlander's jokes at his expense hurt him more than just about anything he'd endured in the last 200 years.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" Duncan asked.

Another bad joke, Methos thought."Just behead me now, MacLeod, it'll hurt a lot less."

"Oh don't go making a hasty decision like that," Duncan said, still not taking him seriously, "now you go to bed and I'll see you in the morning."

Methos grunted and turned on his side and squeezed his eyes closed, he didn't want to face MacLeod again for the rest of the night. Or even the rest of his life maybe. He felt MacLeod readjust the quilt around his shoulders and heard the younger man bid him goodnight and he left. And now here he was alone, not even with the benefit of darkness, light made him feel like he was being watched, at least in the dark he had the secure feeling that he was alone. That was just like the Highlander, always making everything miserable for him…it didn't matter, Methos was too tired to really care, he just repositioned himself in the covers and hoped he'd fall asleep soon.

He couldn't remember when he woke up, he couldn't even remember how he got here, but by some way or another, he must've, that's all there was to it. Methos didn't even know where he was, let alone how he got here. Wherever he was, it was dark and cold and there was an undying fog that kept rolling in, making it impossible to see much of anything aside from the dark blue surroundings. He felt the presence of another Immortal, and it was coming at him and stopped before Methos could even get his sword out. Methos felt the Immortal standing right behind him, now armed he decided to bite the bullet and face the enemy.

Methos turned around and his sword fell to the floor and his heart could've stopped right there. Through the fog he saw someone, a man he'd assured himself countless times that he would never have to see again. Kronos was alive and well, and looking the same as the day when he came back for Methos and welcomed him back with a knife in his chest.

"Greetings, Brother," those words hit Methos like ice.

"You?" Methos had more to say than that, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Kronos laughed, "you were expecting maybe Sean Connery?"

"It can't be you, you're dead!" Methos heard himself blurt out as he backed up.

Methos felt his throat close up and his chest tighten and excruciating pain shooting through every part of his body and finally the pain and the panic became too much for him and he passed out and fell to the floor.

"I missed you too," Kronos replied to his unconscious brother.