Yeah, I'm broadening my sights and leaping into new fandoms... I've been in this one a week, and I've already written a fic. Demented. This is my first one, obviously - it's completely random, one-shot, and originated from a rather large bag of Panda liquorice...
"You never told me that you liked liquorice." Duncan said with raised eyebrows as he sat on the couch opposite where Methos was sprawled in his throne, one hand holding a beer and the other stuck in a bag of liquorice, a book propped up on his knee.
"Do you want to know the colour of my boxers, too?" he asked mildly, not looking up from his book, and Duncan grinned.
"You never know, it may help me on my eternal quest to learn everything about the Old Man."
"In case you might also be interested to find out that only two of my wisdom teeth ever grew." He replied. "But tell anyone else that and I'll take your head in your sleep."
"Coward." Duncan accused, setting his sock-covered feet up on the other end of the couch, clearly attempting his own sprawl. Methos finally looked up as he continued to fidget.
"Don't bother, Mac." He advised. "It takes a thousand years to perfect."
Duncan snorted, and finally settled, head on the arm rest. He looked over through the window, where raindrops were streaking the window in rivulets. The storm was thundering against the stark heavens, flashes of light illuminating the countryside.
"You must have had a lot of spare time." He commented. They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from Methos as he turned a page or delved for more liquorice. Duncan was drifting off to sleep, lulled by the gentle scent of Methos' living room and the alcohol, when the other Immortal suddenly spoke.
"I know I'm a coward. It's why I'm still alive."
It took a fair bit of effort to force his eyelids open, and they were doing a particularly good job of staying closed, and even then Methos' outline was slightly blurry. He was looking at his book, raising his beer to his lips every now and then. He seemed to have exhausted the bag of liquorice; it was lying on the floor.
"I was only kidding, you know." Duncan said slowly, his brain still lagging a bit. He mentally kicked it.
"I wasn't." Methos replied simply, and the blandness of his tone made Duncan snap awake, swinging his legs off the couch and sitting up in an attentive pose. Methos looked at him, a small smile playing on his features. "Do you want a drink?"
"No thanks. Not right now." Duncan shook his head, and sighed. "Methos, do you know what a coward is?" he asked eventually, knowing that he would get a sarcastic reply.
"Probably better than you do, considering I'm more than ten times as old as you."
Duncan scowled at the facetious Immortal.
"A coward is someone who makes decisions based only on their fears." He shot back. Methos paused in his book to look faintly interested.
"Really? Fascinating." He said sardonically, and returned to his book. Duncan growled and reached over to snatch it out of his grasp. Methos jerked in surprise, consequently spilling his remaining beer over the throne.
"Hey!" he protested angrily. "What was that for?"
"Someone with courage," Duncan continued fiercely, "makes decisions based on whatever they think has the best chance of doing the most good -- regardless of their fears."
"What's your point, Highlander?" Methos snarled, standing up sharply. Duncan copied him, an act that severely pissed the Old Man off, since Duncan was a good few inches taller than him. To feel less intimidated, he stalked away from the couch and over to the window, leaning on the windowsill to stare out at the late evening sky.
"What's your point?" he repeated, this time quietly, as Duncan came to stand next to him. He rested his forehead against the cool glass pane, his breath steaming up the window. "Or do you not have one?" Duncan shrugged.
"A coward is the man who stays to face down a dragon, because he's afraid people that will see him as weak if he runs away. That man is acting only on his fear of ridicule, and is probably going to get himself killed for no good reason."
Methos snorted.
"So what, you're saying that I have courage?" he bit, fully aware of the sneer that tried to force its way out, nearly succeeding. Duncan carried on regardless.
"However, if the man was doing it to give others a chance to escape, then the act becomes one of courage, because he is facing the dragon in order to preserve the greatest number of lives he can."
"Congratulations, you've confused me. What am I? Please say it nice and slowly."
"I'm saying that you're not a coward."
"Why, because it wasn't out of my own fear that I killed those thousands of people? Ten of thousand, hundreds even? Because it was pleasure that I killed them for, as opposed to fear? Does that mean that I have courage?" he laughed bitterly. "And then what does that make courage?"
"You're not a coward, Methos." Duncan said quietly, watching the bright headlights of the cars down below. "That doesn't mean that you had courage. You're putting the two together. Don't."
Sighing explosively, Methos flung his hands up and stepped away from the window, stomping back to the couch and sprawling dejectedly.
"You're making less sense as you go on, Mac." He said wearily. "By what you're saying, you're the only courageous man in this room."
"If you want o take it that way, then that's up to you." Duncan replied easily, sitting in the throne. Methos was tempted to shove him off, but decided that he couldn't really be bothered. He'd managed to get the sprawl perfect first time around, and he hadn't the motivation to move now. Not when he was so comfortable.
"Get me another beer, will you?"
"Lazy bugger."
"Your point?"
Laughing softly, Duncan stood and walked over to the fridge, rummaging around for a beer. He brought it over and dropped it on Methos' lap.
"Cheers."
He popped the can and raised it to the ceiling in a mock salute.
"To courage." He said sarcastically. "And all the codes of honour in this world."
Duncan raised Methos' up-ended glass and touched it to the can.
"To courage."
Duncan smiled at his friend. So what if Methos was a sarcastic twat with a penchant for running away? Methos was Methos; if he was any different, he'd be no fun.
"Can you go and get me another bag of liquorice?"
Did that make sense to you? Good, thought not.
Comments very welcome and much appreciated.
smokey
is binging on liquorice again...