Hi there. My name’s Nikki, and I’m new to the list. I haven’t done a bio or anything — I figured you all would rather have a story anyway. Nothing like jumping in with both feet, I guess. Although I am not a new writer, this is my first D/M story, so you’ll have to bear with me. There’s no sex, and it’s not even a very happy story, but it’s what the ROG wanted, so that’s what I got. (He always ends up getting what he wants, darn him anyway). If you like angst, you’ll like this story : ) This just stands alone for now, rather than being part of any particular series, universe, or timeline. All of the usual disclaimers, of course. Not mine, no profit. If you don’t like m/m relationships or you’re underage in your country, please delete this now. Archive anywhere you like, just let me know. Thanks to Kiri for the on the spot beta. I appreciate it. The muses and I dearly love feedback. Please send some to us at n.memmott@gte.net. All, right, that finishes that, I think. On to the story.

TIRED

by Nikki

I’m tired.

I can’t remember the last time I was this exhausted, but I can’t sleep.

I hate feeling this way. I hate that he makes me feel this way. I love him so much, and yet being with him drains me.

Looking at him sleeping beside me, I feel so much for him, it just uses me up. Admiration. Frustration. Joy. Hope. Blind terror. Love, of course love. And passion — I’d forgotten there could be so much inside me for one person. A month ago I would have denied that I was ever capable of this much emotion.

Duncan would have known better. Duncan always knows better. He knew that my speeches about looking out for myself were so many piles of crap. He knew that because Richie mattered to him, I worried about Richie, too. He knew his importance to me stemmed not only from any insight I might have into the Game, but also came from the most deeply personal part of myself. He knew I loved him, even before I knew it myself.

If that was all there was to it, this wouldn’t be so hard. It’s not comfortable, or easy, but I could live with loving MacLeod. But it’s not that simple, of course. There’s so much more to building a life together than loving each other.

I can live with the fact that the love of my life consistently uses up all the hot water in the shower. I have no problem with the fact that he sleeps on his stomach, wears boring white briefs instead of boxers, goes running at a ridiculously early hour of the morning, and listens to too damned much Opera. Those things fascinate me, actually. I love observing all the minute details of him.

MacLeod has picked up the same kind of details about me, too, I know. He has learned to distinguish between a bad mood and full-blown anger. He has finally learned how much beer to buy so that we don’t run out, how I like my eggs cooked, and how much I enjoy touching him. It should be paradise.

But, as is typical of paradise, there is a serpent. It’s my fault. It’s my past, after all, slithering around the floorboards, popping into sight just when it’s not wanted. Duncan’s past is a massive anchor he wears around his neck and drags around with him. Mine is a snake, tiny but deadly. It’s mostly content to find a quiet spot and sleep, but its venom packs a punch a thousand times worse than Duncan’s metal monstrosity.

MacLeod expects the best from people, and expects even more from himself. I’m not sure even he knows whose expectations he’s trying to live up to. He’d say it was his own, but I’m not so sure. Wherever it comes from, the idea that he must somehow be all that is good and right leads him to overanalyze, and brood, and fester about everything — about his past, about his shortcomings, and about what sort of doom and gloom is coming around the corner. It’s so deeply ingrained in him that I doubt he even notices it happening. But I do. It’s very obvious to me that every action he takes, every word out of his mouth sometimes, is weighed and measured for its effect on all mankind.

Even that I could live with. It’s part of what makes Duncan who he is, after all. The problem is, he expects me to do the same. He takes everything I do, everything I say, and analyzes it all as carefully as he does his own words and actions. He expects me to be deeply concerned about doing the right thing, about being a good person. And being around him makes me want to be a better person. He will probably never know how much of what I do and say now takes into account how Duncan will feel about it. I cannot deny that Duncan challenges me in a way I have not challenged myself in ages.

I want him to approve of me.

Damn it, listen to me! He is my lover, my partner, and yet I seek his approval the way a child seeks it from a parent or a teacher. I can accept the way my need for his love makes me uncertain, makes me go crazy over things I have never worried about before in my life, but I am not a child. I am not his student. I am a man, and I cannot be less than I am. I can only twist and contort myself so much trying to make myself into what I think he wants me to be. If that’s what I’m doing, if I’m just trying to mold myself into an image he’s trying to create in me, then it’s no good for either of us. I’m either what he wants, or I’m not. MacLeod either loves me, or he doesn’t, but I will not live my life waiting for him to pass judgement on me.

I know I’ve disappointed him. Often. But he still loves me. Fortunate for me that he does, because he’s very good at making excuses for those he loves. As long as he loves me, he’ll find a way to forgive me. How I love him for that.

What he simply does not, or will not, understand is that I can’t carry my past with me. I can’t constantly confront my transgressions; there are simply too many to face them every day. It’s bad enough that they are forced into the light once in a while. I’d be reduced to a quivering mass of guilt if they were on display all the time.

After five thousand years I am under no illusions about myself, about who I am and what I am capable of. Oh, I tell small, comforting lies to myself from time to time, but the truth is always there when I choose to see it. I made a rough peace with myself long ago, long before MacLeod was even born, and that’s enough for me. It’s enough for anyone to find a way to move forward, to live, in spite of a past like mine.

It isn’t enough for Duncan, though. He wants to hear all about it, to live it over again with me, to understand and accept it. I just want to be with him in the here and now, but because of who he is, I am being dragged back to all of the dark places in my life.

I love him.

I love him, but I can’t live with him. I can’t live in the dark anymore.

The worst part, and the best, is knowing that the time will come when Duncan does understand, when he will be able to leave the past in the past and live in the present. I long for that day, and I dread it. I dread it, because I know that it will come only after the noble, idealistic man I love has fought the same kind of demons I have fought. He’ll never paint his face blue and slaughter an entire village, but demons take many forms. Duncan’s are coming, and he will fight them. And, because he is Duncan, he’ll eventually win.

So I’ll go. I’ll love him, because I have no choice, but from a distance for now. And one day, when we can both look forward to the future, instead of the past, we’ll be together again.

© 2001 Nikki Memmott