Chapter Nineteen
Music could be heard beyond the tense circle of anxious participants that surrounded the base. But in that area, silence reigned. As Duncan struggled to his feet, he heard Kronos' voice slide sinuously into the silence.
"Welcome back, brother. It has been too long."
There was no verbal response from the silent man at his back. Instead, the gun was shoved farther into Kronos' jaw. The front sight on the barrel broke the tender skin just beneath his ear, and a single drop of blood began to slip down his neck.
Duncan gazed over at Cassandra, to find her morbidly fascinated with watching blood bubble at Caspian's lips in time with his shallow breaths. She seemed to be hovering over him in a deathwatch. With one last rattle, his chest ceased moving, and she finally dragged her gaze to the tableau that had Duncan riveted.
Her gasp as she looked at Methos was quite audible. The stiffening of her posture, and the way in which she seemed to psychically curl in on herself told Duncan that this man in front of him was the Methos she once knew.
This was the man who had broken slaves to his will. This was the killer who had ridden joyfully out of the sun with his band of brothers. This was Death, a man who had spawned a legend that still carried weight two thousand years later.
In that moment, Duncan realized something that had eluded him; this was not the man he knew. This cold killer was a stranger to him, a nightmare creation of time and circumstance. Duncan knew a brief moment of vertigo as he struggled to accommodate the competing versions of Methos that now occupied his mind.
As Duncan stood with his thoughts in disarray, his warrior's instincts noted a shift in Methos' posture. The sword in his left hand began to drop as he tightened his grip on the gun in his right hand, preparatory to firing perhaps.
"Methos!" Duncan's voice rang out loud and clear in stillness of the scene before him. But Methos did not so much as flinch. Kronos too seemed frozen in time, life signalled only by the flaring of his nostrils as he drew deep breaths into his lungs. He had remained silent after his greeting to Methos, somehow knowing just how far he could push and still keep his head.
But Duncan had a better vantage point than Kronos to watch the drama unfold. He saw the coldness in Methos' eyes; saw the way he looked dispassionately over the players left on the field. With every second that ticked off the clock, Duncan saw his friend, his Methos, slipping further away. He saw the thumb lift to cock the gun, and tried one last desperate gambit.
"Adam! Don't do this."
This time Cassandra jumped at the sound of Duncan's voice. She hadn't moved since she locked eyes on Death, but the more modern name seemed to have shaken her from her stasis.
"Adam," her murmur carried clearly over the communications equipment that both Methos and MacLeod still wore. "Is he Adam now?"
The repetition of the name had some small effect on Methos. The thumb that had been hovering over the hammer of the gun relaxed slightly. Duncan noted this and moved closer to the two men locked in a deadly embrace before him.
"Adam," he said soothingly, "you don't have to do this. This isn't who you are anymore." Two more steps toward them, and a little closer to reminding Methos how far he had come since his Horsemen days. "Remember the point of this contest? You were supposed to bring Kronos to your level, not descend to his."
Kronos snorted at those words, and was rewarded with increased pressure from the gun barrel, and a nudge against his shoulder by the sword that rose menacingly on his left side again. He wisely refrained from making any further comment.
Duncan breathed a quick sigh of relief when Kronos remained silent. The true fight for Methos' soul was being waged within Methos, and Duncan wanted Kronos to stay on the sidelines. Further provocation might lead to a situation where Methos would not be able to find his way back from the cold place inside him labelled Death.
"Please, don't do this Adam." Duncan began to see what he hoped was his friend in the cold eyes before him. "We can help you, you don't need to do this on your own." Part of Duncan recognized that he was repeating himself and uttering meaningless phrases for the most part. The important thing, however, was the dawning recognition he saw in the eyes of Death.
"MacLeod, I –" The first words were halting, and interrupted by Kronos.
"Don't listen to him, brother. He means to keep you from your rightful place. We should be the rulers of these sheep, not be bound by their laws as he would have you be." Kronos was warming to his theme when suddenly his own blade caressed his throat.
"Do not tempt me, brother. I have never wished your death, but I would not mourn you deeply." The chill of the words cut sharply into all the listeners present. Duncan opened his mouth to try to gain back lost ground, but was cut off by the dry tones of the man before him.
"Save it, Highlander. You've already done your bit to save my tortured old soul." The sarcastic bite of the words was belied by the warmth and thankfulness Duncan saw in Methos' eyes briefly before they were once again shuttered. "What say we finish this?"
Duncan marvelled silently at the ease with which Methos changed personas. In the span of less than two minutes the old man had shifted from confusion, to the cold killer that Kronos longed for, to the sardonic wiseass that Duncan recognized. But this time Duncan vowed not to be misled by the emotional shell game that Methos played so well.
As MacLeod thought, Methos acted; moving with that deceptive speed which never failed to surprise Duncan, Methos threw Kronos' sword several feet away and stepped back beyond his reach. He kept the gun levelled at the leader of the Horsemen as he continued to back away.
"Well, Kronos, I'd say we could call this contest a vic-"
Almost before Duncan could process the fact that Methos had stopped speaking, the sound of gunshot filled the air. Kronos lay dead on the floor, the knife he had pulled from a forearm sheath still clutched in his hand. Methos looked down at him in disgust, then turned toward MacLeod and Cassandra.
"Let's go. We're done here."