Chapter 24
Methos stared in dismay as O'Neill ladled another helping of fish onto his platter, but with Gyganes and his crew joining them for dinner there was really nothing he could do to stop him. It had taken nearly two weeks to make the necessary alterations to the ship, boiling olive oil down to make pitch, redesigning the hold to carry the horses and donkey which O'Neill had decided they should keep as well, then building the center deck and cabin.
"Go on, son, eat hearty," the colonel grinned. "You're mother always said you were too thin."
Silently, the ancient Immortal vowed that if it was the last thing he did he'd get Jack for this.
Daniel gave him a wide smile as Methos savagely bit the head off his fish and spat it into the fire.
"Tough being the baby of the family, isn't it?" the young archaeologist snickered. Beside him, Carter's shoulders shook with silent laughter.
"Apparently, our fearless leader has developed a deep atavistic need to torment really old people," Methos muttered angrily, picking absently at the unwanted fish. "And you two infants aren't far behind."
"It's not his fault Gyganes made an assumption," Carter whispered.
"Well, he could have corrected him," Methos retorted. "We're unmarried, remember? And while it might be good for your ego to be considered a child in public, mine isn't doing handstands over it."
"Something wrong, kids?" O'Neill asked across the fire. He and Gyganes had been discussing the joys of fishing.
"Nothing, Father," Samantha responded cheerfully. "Methos was just fussing."
The Immortal groaned silently. He should never have suggested the family motif. On second thought, he probably should never have signed those damned documents at the SGC.
"Fussing, is he?" O'Neill nodded thoughtfully, getting up. "Come on, son. Let's take a walk."
With a heartfelt sigh at the absurdity of it all, Methos put down his plate and followed Jack along the beach. The moon was going down now and as soon as the tide turned they would be leaving. Gyganes had been very impressed with their modifications and with a crew of four hand-picked men the old captain knew and trusted, Methos felt they were in good hands.
O'Neill paused at the edge of the water staring out toward Salamis. "There a problem, Methos?"
The Immortal thought for a moment then shook his head. It wasn't a problem, he realized, just an annoyance. "No," he answered quietly.
O'Neill nodded. "Because if there is, I think we need to talk about it."
"I don't need a father-son lecture," Methos sneered. "It's just...irritating."
The colonel gave him a sardonic smile. "That's generally what family is. Irritating."
"Lest you forget, Yanos," Methos pointed out stonily. "We are not a family."
"No, we're not," O'Neill agreed. "We're more than that. We're a team. Ever been part of a team, Methos?"
"Of course I have!" Methos snapped.
"No, I don't think so," the colonel said with a slow shake of his head. "You've been a member of a team and a team player, but I don't think you've ever been part of a team."
"Oh really?" the Immortal began snidely.
"Did I ever tell you," O'Neill interrupted, clearly ignoring Methos' attempt to deny the accusation. "That way back when I went to the Academy? You know, Officers' School. I learned a lot of fancy words there - and a lot of weird head shrinker shit. Mostly about team building and group dynamics. But what it all boiled down to was one single word that pretty much said it all. Enmeshment. Know what that is?"
"I've heard the word," Methos agreed cautiously.
"Yeah, but have you ever felt it? Been enmeshed in a group so deeply you forgot where they ended and you began?"
Methos remained silent, not sure where O'Neill was going with this. He'd certainly forgotten who he was on occasion. Lost himself in a persona so completely that he'd had to stop for a moment and remember that he was not who he pretended to be.
"What are you trying to say?" he finally asked.
"I'm saying that you aren't Adam Pierson anymore. That you haven't been Adam Pierson for a long time. Maybe since that first trip to Delphi. Pierson might have left camp, but Methos came back. And somewhere along the way home he forgot to pick a new identity to hide behind."
"I don't-"
Methos paused as he started to speak. He'd been about to say he didn't hide behind his personas, simply showed only the aspects of himself he felt others could accept. But something stopped him. What O'Neill said felt right and that surprised him.
"You do hide," O'Neill offered gently. "You hide so well you even hid the fact that you were hiding from yourself. Which is understandable," he nodded. "I'd guess there aren't many people willing to accept who you are and what you've been all at the same time. And then you found us," Jack grinned wryly. "Think you're bad? Think again," he added bitterly. "I've killed a hundred thousand to your measly ten. Teal'c's slaughtered millions and enslaved even more."
"So we're none of us good guys," Methos frowned. "Make your point."
"My point is, that for the first time in five thousand years Methos doesn't have to hide. And for someone whose life has been one long covert operation that's a scary thought. You've become enmeshed in a way you never expected. It's easy to care about someone, then mourn their loss. But it hurts like hell when they care just as much about you and you can't hold onto them. So you push them away. You make it easy on yourself. Can't blame you really," he sighed. "I'd probably do the same. But then, I'd lose so much. Sometimes," O'Neill added, finally looking Methos in the eye, "living in the moment and suffering the consequences is the only thing we really have time for."
Methos sat heavily on the sand as O'Neill walked away. Sometimes he really hated it when the children were right. He did push people away. Mortals. Immortals. It didn't matter. None could even begin to fathom who he was or what he'd been. And he'd felt that loss O'Neill spoke of, knowing he could never truly be himself with anyone. Most recently, he'd felt it with the Highlander.
MacLeod, who'd seen only Adam Pierson - not Methos, the survivor. Somehow imagining that the ancient Immortal had existed throughout his life as some sort of wandering scholar - not the warrior he would have had to have been. But that had been easier for the Scot to accept, so that was who Methos had been. And yet, the scholar was a part of him. Well, one aspect at least. So, he'd shown only that part of himself, knowing MacLeod could never accept the whole. No one, he suddenly realized, ever had. In all his long life he'd never once completely shown himself to anyone, not even the Horsemen had seen the buried pieces of the puzzle he was.
And now? Who was he playing at?
Methos thought hard, cataloging his past lives and personas but couldn't put a name to this act. Which had to mean it wasn't. And the others had seen that before he'd even realized it was showing. More importantly, they obviously liked what they saw.
Now that shocked him. And O'Neill had been right. It scared the hell out of him more than he wanted to admit. To know and be known was dangerous. It meant...enmeshment. His life entangled with other lives that meant as much to him as his own. He'd have to live with their deaths in a way that not even Alexa's loss or Joe's eventual demise could affect him. And some part of him had known it all along. He was mourning them even now. Pushing them away to keep himself safely cocooned against the loss. They were all dying and he could feel the pain of it even as he sat and stared up at the void of the stars.
But that's what Jack had meant when he'd talked about the consequences of living one's life. Living in the now without anticipating the future. They teased him because they liked him, and he both loved and hated them for it. Hated the fact that they'd die and he could do nothing to stop it. Hated the fact that he'd go on and maybe never share that wonderful sense of totally belonging with anyone again. It hurt so bad he wanted to rail against the curse of his Immortality, instead of seeing it as the blessing he'd always thought it was.
And he loved them because they saw him. A terrifying concept. He was known. But instead of running, some part of him wanted to stay and let it all hang out. Be the warrior and the scholar. The complex, many-faceted individual he was. Soak up their approval and revel in it. But to do that, he'd have to live in the moment. Accept the consequences of living life, instead of peeking through a tiny tear in the fabric of the tent wall. Most of all, he'd have to stop mourning them before they were gone and get on with the business of sharing the same space and time. They weren't walking corpses - and he wasn't either.
Distantly, Methos heard a voice call out from the fire that the tide was turning. Indeed it was, he thought with a hint of self-mockery. It was time to go. And time to live, however briefly, with the strange little family the fates had thrown his way. Because, if he really thought about it, that was all he really had time for.
Go to next part.