The other week I got Sara Evans’ new cd called Born to Fly, and this song just grabbed me by the throat. Ask LoonyWoif and Michelle - I just left in the middle of a conversation because the muses were chattering so loudly. This is our wish that life for AC not be quite so hectic. Even though the muses had her in mind when they started this, they just wouldn’t put any explicit sex in it without dragging in a whole bunch of plot, so the muses and I decided to leave it out just this once. Sorry, AC. Everyone else, you have now been warned. There is no explicit sex in this story. Some sap and angst, though, so I hope you’ll read it anyway. The characters aren’t mine, of course, although we’re having fun writing stories together. If you don’t like m/m relationships, you’re going to hate this story, so delete it now. A huge thanks to Emma for all of her comments. They were very helpful. Any errors that remain are all mine. Feedback is greatly appreciated at n.memmott@gte.net Enjoy.

We’re only human, baby
We walk on broken ground.
We lose our way,
We come unwound

We’re turning circles baby,
We’re never satisfied.
We fall from grace,
Forget we can fly.
But through all the tears that we cry, we’ll survive…

From his seat in the chair, Richie blinked a few times to clear the tears from his eyes. He wiped the last traces away, relieved that the emotional downpour had stopped. Not all of the effects of Methos’ tale could be erased with a tissue, however. A wound remained on the inside, one that would ache every time Richie thought about all his lover had suffered. A little pain, however, was a small price to pay for the joy Methos’ presence brought him. He was making Methos happy, too, Richie knew. There was still a lot of ground to cover, but whatever remained broken inside Methos, Richie knew they could repair it together

Methos drew a surprisingly steady breath after his story was finished. Richie had cried enough tears for them both, and the shaking of Richie’s body had kept his own body still. It was only now, after the ordeal was over, that Methos felt a sob rising in his throat and tears stinging his eyes. He saw the love and acceptance shining in Richie’s eyes, but had to look away. Overwhelmed, Methos slumped over, head in hands, trying to keep the floodgates of his emotions securely closed.

“Methos....”

The ancient immortal flinched at the gentle tone of Richie’s voice. He could not bear sympathy now, he just couldn’t. Stay in your chair, Richie, please. It wasn’t long, however, before strong fingers enfolded his. All right, Richie, I’ll hold your hand. But no words. Please, no more words.

At Methos’ continued silence, Richie frowned and leaned his forehead against the dark head that rested near denim-clad knees.

With Richie so close to him, Methos had trouble breathing. The comfort the younger immortal was offering seemed to reach out and strangle him. It’s all right, Methos told himself, He just wants to help, but it didn’t make any difference.

Richie released Methos’ hands and shifted to wrap his arms around his lover. Instead he landed hard on the floor as Methos pushed off the couch and went to stand by the window.

Suddenly angry, Richie stayed on the floor and tried to calm down. This — rage — that had consumed him out of nowhere was not going to help matters any.

“I’m sorry,” Methos murmured, his gaze fixed firmly on a spot on the horizon.

Crushing the sarcastic retort that sprung to his lips, Richie said only, “It’s all right.”

“Of course it is,” Methos replied, a bitterness deeper than Richie had ever heard from him threading through his voice.

“It is, Methos,” Richie answered, automatically taking on a soothing tone.

The demon inside Methos longed to lash out at Richie. A valiant fight earned him a tenuous control over the beast, but his grip on his temper remained uncertain. Rather than offer any opening for attack, Methos made no response.

Feeling helpless, Richie found his anger sneaking back in. *I want to help, damn it. How like the old man to spill his guts and then just shove it all back in. Doesn’t he understand that I need to do something?

Maybe not, Richie admitted after considering the question. Methos hasn’t had a lot of experience with people wanting to help him, to take care of him. “Methos...” he started to explain.

“Forget it, Richie,” Methos cut him off. “Like you said — it’s all right.”

“What is with you?” Richie asked, his frustration showing.

“Nothing,” Methos snapped. He winced inwardly at the harshness of his voice but was unable to stop himself.

“You just want me to leave you alone, is that it?”

“Yes.” I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Richie….

“You know, I really should. I should just let you stew over there.”

“It’s for the best.”

“That is such bullshit, Methos,” Richie spat, his temper boiling over.

“Richie, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve said more than enough for one night.”

“Oh, yeah, you’ve talked all night. And now I don’t get to say a damned word.”

“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

“Reading minds now, are you?”

Shit. This was not going well, Methos acknowledged to himself. Still, words just kept coming out before he could stop them. “I’ve been through this a few times, Richie. It’s always the same — sympathy or disgust. You’ve been through enough in your own life to accept that I haven’t always been an upstanding citizen....” Methos turned to meet the stony expression in Richie’s eyes. “And I do not want your sympathy.” That said, he turned back to his contemplation of the bleak winter landscape.

“You don’t want my sympathy, Methos?” Richie asked, his voice ominously flat.

Oh, no. Methos braced himself for the storm he knew was going to break around him.

“You think all I feel right now is sympathy, Old Man?” Richie stepped forward, his voice elevating a few decibels with each word.

“What I feel is way beyond sympathy, you arrogant ass. It tears me up that you have known even an instant of pain or suffering. I want to go back and run my sword through everyone that hurt you, and then do it again.” Richie took a breath to steady himself and added, “But I can’t.” In a calmer tone he continued, “I can’t do anything about the past, Methos. But I can help you now. I can ease your hurt now. I can hold you now. I need to do those things. But you don’t need me.” Richie turned away this time and headed for the kitchen.

Oh, Richie....

Methos didn’t realize he had spoken aloud until Richie stopped and turned his head around. As Richie gazed expectantly at him, Methos struggled to find the right words. “I.... Richie....” Methos sighed and started over. “I don’t know how to do this.”

A bit of the sparkle returned to Richie’s eyes. “That’s the great part, Meth. You don’t have to do anything.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Richie shrugged, “It sounds good to me.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Shut up. Just shut up,” Richie admonished gently, placing his fingers over Methos’ mouth. “Let me take care of you for once,” he ordered before replacing his fingers with his lips.

Cause when we’re torn apart,
Shattered and scarred,
Love has the grace to save us.
We’re just two tarnished hearts,
But in each other’s arms
We become saints and angels….

As Richie’s mouth began to move on his, Methos found warmth seeping into places he hadn’t even known were cold. Richie released his mouth and placed a solemn kiss on his forehead, and Methos heard himself sigh. It had never been like this between them, not exactly like this. Never this tender, although there had been tenderness. Never this much warmth, not without the fire. Richie’s hands joined in the gentle assault on Methos’ senses, and combined with the husky whisper of Richie’s voice they served to wrap a blanket of comfort around him.

Feeling himself start to drift, Methos struggled briefly to hold onto his control, but the hand stroking his hair and the kisses raining on his face encouraged him to simply let go. When fresh tears welled up in his eyes, Methos could do nothing to stop them.

“It’s all right,” Richie reassured him, and it was. Even when the tears turned to wrenching sobs, there was still the peace of Richie’s presence, his love, washing over Methos.

When Methos had cried himself dry, and the shivering began, Richie was there to lay them both down on the thick carpet and press his full length as close to Methos as he could get. When that wasn’t enough, it was Richie that removed their clothes, using the communion of skin on skin to soothe him the way simple contact could not. And when Methos finally fell into an exhausted sleep, it was Richie who continued to hold him, awake and watching over the seemingly fragile creature in his arms.

I love your imperfections,
I love your everything—
Your broken heart,
Your broken wings
I love you when you hold me,
And when you turn away
I love you still,
And I’m not afraid,
Cause I know you feel the same way
And you’ll stay….

Methos awoke in what was arguably his favorite position — with Richie wrapped around him. For a moment he remained still, savoring the peace inside himself and in the room. Richie shifted slightly, and the thrill of Richie’s naked skin moving against his brought to mind how exactly it was he had come to be in this position in the first place. Groaning, Methos tried to pull away. Instead, insistent hands pressed his shoulder back to the floor, forcing him to look into Richie’s eyes.

Richie searched Methos’ face. When he found what he was looking for, the slight frown wrinkling his brow cleared. “Hi,” he grinned, leaning down for a quick kiss.

Methos conducted a visual inspection of his own, but saw no sign that his turning into a basket case had done any permanent damage. All he found in Richie’s expression was a lingering trace of the profound emotion that had overcome them earlier, and a happy, settled look that had been missing from Richie’s face the last couple of days. Richie needed to hear my confessions as much as I needed to make them, Methos realized. “Hi,” he returned, pulling Richie’s head down for a much more thorough kiss.

“I see you’re feeling better,” Richie teased when they came up for air.

“Yeah,” Methos agreed, cupping Richie’s face in his hands and stroking his thumb across Richie’s cheek.

When Methos continued to stroke Richie’s cheek and made no move to follow up his kiss with another one, Richie frowned in concern . “What is it, Meth?”

“Nothing,” Methos smiled, shifting one hand to cover Richie’s mouth when he would have argued. “Thank you, that’s all.”

Biting gently on a fingertip until Methos moved his hand away, Richie answered, “No problem.”

“Richie....”

“I know, Methos.” When Methos still seemed to search for words, Richie repeated, “I know.”

“Reading minds, now, are you?” Methos asked, echoing Richie’s earlier words, although his tone was threaded with laughter rather than sarcasm.

“I can read your mind, Old Timer.”

“Then why are you still talking?” Methos asked, chuckling as Richie’s mouth swooped down to claim his.

Cause when we’re torn apart,
Shattered and scarred,
Love has the grace to save us.
We’re just two tarnished hearts
But in each other’s arms,
We become saints and angels

© 2001 Nikki Memmott