This piece was written as a time-filler during an incredibly boring
computer class. I wasn't aware that I had put so much emotional
stock into it until the fact was pointed out to me by a close friend.
This is dedicated to my friend Sam, who is in danger of finding
himself in a similar situation.
Strong thanks and cyber kisses to my friend and beta-reader Alex,
without whom I would never have the guts to post my stuff for fear
of embarrassing clerical errors.
Boring and Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Wish I did.
Such fun we would have. . .
Quick warning: no descriptive stuff, just some angst on the part of
our favourite bartender.
Characters: DM J M
Rating: PG-13ish (Slash)
Archive: Contact me first please
Sequel/Series: I seriously doubt it
- - -
Ghostings
By Christy (Xris) Robbins
- - -
He loved me once.
Well, no, I doubt he would call it love. He would say something
like 'casual infatuation' or 'torrid affair'. I called it love. I would
have sworn to every god known to man that he loved me and I
him. It was hard, though. We found few moments together and
those we did have were laced with the bitter edge of the knowledge
that people would disapprove. He never seemed to care, though.
He was soft-spoken and casual, then. I still see much of it in him.
In many ways he played the grad student for too long and I find
myself seeing him as young and vulnerable without meaning to. I
forget who he is, sometimes, and when I do, I remember the man I
thought I loved. Thought. Whimsical and meaningless thought.
What good is thought without
reason or consequence? Consequence... another friend of mine.
Consequence ruled my life for a while and I learned to live with
those that came from my actions. Like the consequence that stole
him away from me.
I was foolish even then. Ten years, twelve... what does it matter?
The end was that my work called me away and I left him. He didn't
blame me for it. He was excited. Me, a fieldworker with the track
record the length of both his graceful arms, had been assigned to
the one boyscout that could possibly win the game. He had
supposedly heard of Duncan MacLeod even in research.
The man was the golden boy of our office: every watcher's dream.
Taking up with Tessa Noel, he had stayed in one place for many
years - sometimes switching between Paris and Seacouver. Then,
when the antique shop opened, his old watcher retired on a decent
pension leaving me, Joe Dawson, to watch over our wonder boy.
He helped me pack. He was excited for me and promised he would
visit as often as he could. In his eyes was a twinkle and a bounce in
his step, thinking of when he could make the venture to America
and be in my company once again.
Ending it broke my heart.
Why did I do it? I wish I could say that it was some sort of self-
sacrificing reason. He was too young, and I wanted him to have a
life. I didn't want to drag him down. Something that wouldn't make
me seem like the bad guy. I couldn't give him a reason like that,
though. The reason I left him was purely selfish. I had met a
woman.
Her name was Gracie and she worked at a small curio shop in
Seacouver. She was a great person. Full of fun and life, she
brightened my every day. Whereas I thought I loved him, I knew I
loved her. The phone call to him was a quick "it's not you" and
then listening to his quiet shock over the phone. When he finally
muttered something about having to go, I let him.
Neither of us talked for ten years. In those ten years MacLeod
found Richie, lost Darius, lost Tessa, found Anne... it was a decade
of hopes, dreams and shattering falls. In those ten years I lost
Gracie, lost Horton, and gained Mac's trust and friendship... it was
a century of pain, loss, and worry. I never called him, though. I
didn't think I could take the rejection that would have followed my
phone call. Why would he take me back, after all? I had betrayed
him, left him for someone else who summarily treated me the same
way. Who was I to call him up and ask to start over?
Then came Kalas.
I sent MacLeod his way.
There has never been a moment I regretted more.
I see them together now. Smiling, happy. It took them a long time
to discover each other and even longer to find happiness together.
They traveled a tough road for a while, and I tried to remain in the
background. He didn't need me, after all. He was Methos. He was
immortal. He was MacLeod's.
Do I blame him? No. If anything, I'm glad he found love. He
needed it and so did Mac. They compliment each other. Mac the
strong, chivalrous warrior and Methos the introspective, calm
ancient.
Do I hate myself for leaving him? For breaking his heart? No, I
think the Old Man would have brushed me off without a second
thought after I had made it clear that I was no longer interested in
the pursuit of a relationship. Sometimes, though, I see some regret
in his eyes. Something that ghosts away from the light as soon as it
surfaces in his eyes. He's never let me
see it on purpose, but when I hobble around behind the bar, I sense
the look on his face once more. I hate the look. It makes me feel
guilty, like scum. I don't think he ever does it intentionally. It just
happens.
So what do I do now? I'm old, alone and every day I am confronted
with the man that I thought I once loved. Did I? Yes, I'll swear it to
the heavens. Do I? No. I just feel regret. Pain, regret, and loss.
Methos and Mac have just waltzed into the bar once more. They
hang off each other like there's no foreseeable tomorrow. I envy
Mac. He has the Old Man, now, and the relationship he and I
shared is forever out of my reach.
I need a drink.
~Finis
computer class. I wasn't aware that I had put so much emotional
stock into it until the fact was pointed out to me by a close friend.
This is dedicated to my friend Sam, who is in danger of finding
himself in a similar situation.
Strong thanks and cyber kisses to my friend and beta-reader Alex,
without whom I would never have the guts to post my stuff for fear
of embarrassing clerical errors.
Boring and Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Wish I did.
Such fun we would have. . .
Quick warning: no descriptive stuff, just some angst on the part of
our favourite bartender.
Characters: DM J M
Rating: PG-13ish (Slash)
Archive: Contact me first please
Sequel/Series: I seriously doubt it
- - -
Ghostings
By Christy (Xris) Robbins
- - -
He loved me once.
Well, no, I doubt he would call it love. He would say something
like 'casual infatuation' or 'torrid affair'. I called it love. I would
have sworn to every god known to man that he loved me and I
him. It was hard, though. We found few moments together and
those we did have were laced with the bitter edge of the knowledge
that people would disapprove. He never seemed to care, though.
He was soft-spoken and casual, then. I still see much of it in him.
In many ways he played the grad student for too long and I find
myself seeing him as young and vulnerable without meaning to. I
forget who he is, sometimes, and when I do, I remember the man I
thought I loved. Thought. Whimsical and meaningless thought.
What good is thought without
reason or consequence? Consequence... another friend of mine.
Consequence ruled my life for a while and I learned to live with
those that came from my actions. Like the consequence that stole
him away from me.
I was foolish even then. Ten years, twelve... what does it matter?
The end was that my work called me away and I left him. He didn't
blame me for it. He was excited. Me, a fieldworker with the track
record the length of both his graceful arms, had been assigned to
the one boyscout that could possibly win the game. He had
supposedly heard of Duncan MacLeod even in research.
The man was the golden boy of our office: every watcher's dream.
Taking up with Tessa Noel, he had stayed in one place for many
years - sometimes switching between Paris and Seacouver. Then,
when the antique shop opened, his old watcher retired on a decent
pension leaving me, Joe Dawson, to watch over our wonder boy.
He helped me pack. He was excited for me and promised he would
visit as often as he could. In his eyes was a twinkle and a bounce in
his step, thinking of when he could make the venture to America
and be in my company once again.
Ending it broke my heart.
Why did I do it? I wish I could say that it was some sort of self-
sacrificing reason. He was too young, and I wanted him to have a
life. I didn't want to drag him down. Something that wouldn't make
me seem like the bad guy. I couldn't give him a reason like that,
though. The reason I left him was purely selfish. I had met a
woman.
Her name was Gracie and she worked at a small curio shop in
Seacouver. She was a great person. Full of fun and life, she
brightened my every day. Whereas I thought I loved him, I knew I
loved her. The phone call to him was a quick "it's not you" and
then listening to his quiet shock over the phone. When he finally
muttered something about having to go, I let him.
Neither of us talked for ten years. In those ten years MacLeod
found Richie, lost Darius, lost Tessa, found Anne... it was a decade
of hopes, dreams and shattering falls. In those ten years I lost
Gracie, lost Horton, and gained Mac's trust and friendship... it was
a century of pain, loss, and worry. I never called him, though. I
didn't think I could take the rejection that would have followed my
phone call. Why would he take me back, after all? I had betrayed
him, left him for someone else who summarily treated me the same
way. Who was I to call him up and ask to start over?
Then came Kalas.
I sent MacLeod his way.
There has never been a moment I regretted more.
I see them together now. Smiling, happy. It took them a long time
to discover each other and even longer to find happiness together.
They traveled a tough road for a while, and I tried to remain in the
background. He didn't need me, after all. He was Methos. He was
immortal. He was MacLeod's.
Do I blame him? No. If anything, I'm glad he found love. He
needed it and so did Mac. They compliment each other. Mac the
strong, chivalrous warrior and Methos the introspective, calm
ancient.
Do I hate myself for leaving him? For breaking his heart? No, I
think the Old Man would have brushed me off without a second
thought after I had made it clear that I was no longer interested in
the pursuit of a relationship. Sometimes, though, I see some regret
in his eyes. Something that ghosts away from the light as soon as it
surfaces in his eyes. He's never let me
see it on purpose, but when I hobble around behind the bar, I sense
the look on his face once more. I hate the look. It makes me feel
guilty, like scum. I don't think he ever does it intentionally. It just
happens.
So what do I do now? I'm old, alone and every day I am confronted
with the man that I thought I once loved. Did I? Yes, I'll swear it to
the heavens. Do I? No. I just feel regret. Pain, regret, and loss.
Methos and Mac have just waltzed into the bar once more. They
hang off each other like there's no foreseeable tomorrow. I envy
Mac. He has the Old Man, now, and the relationship he and I
shared is forever out of my reach.
I need a drink.
~Finis