Disclaimers: The Highlander universe and its characters are the intellectual property of Panzer/Davis. No profit resulted from this story.

Notes: ~ ~ indicates unspoken communication. * * indicates thoughts and emphasis.

Samhain (pronounced 'so-wen') is an ancient Celtic festival held at the end of Summer to mark the end of the growing season and the beginning of winter. It was believed that during Samhain the barriers between the worlds opened, thus allowing the spirits of the dead and those yet to be born to walk among the living.

Thanks to: MacGeorge for beta reading and helping make this story a whole *lot* better - any errors that remain are mine alone; Estelle for help with the broadcast engineering terminology and practices - this is for you and all broadcast technicians and engineers who are treated like second-class citizens.

Dedicated to the victims and survivors of the terrorist attacks of 9/11.

Summary: On the Halloween two years after 9/11, MacLeod and Methos visit Ground Zero.

Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex

Feedback: ficfeedback@aethervox.net

SECOND ANNIVERSARY
by aethervox

New York City
October 31, 2003

Even though it was nearly midnight, the huge pit was lit by stadium lights. The dump trucks looked like toys against the vast crater that had been left when the wreckage from the seven buildings that comprised the World Trade Center had finally been removed. Since a subway station would be needed, no matter what the final design of the replacement buildings, construction had started on that part of the structure. The clean up was finished, rebuilding had begun.

Methos stood on Liberty Street and watched the late shift construction workers scurrying around the trucks, looking more like ants than people. It had been very disconcerting to move from the shelter of the dingy gray buildings of lower Manhattan into the wide-open space that had once housed the tallest buildings in New York. He shivered, feeling exposed somehow, then surreptitiously glanced over at his companion. Why were they here, especially this late at night? He'd tried to talk MacLeod out of visiting this place, but Mac had insisted, ignoring the fact that it was after 10:00 p.m. Why here? Why now? And why invite him? Why not Joe?

"Hard to believe it's been over two years." Methos finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah, isn't it?"

*That was enlightening.* Methos' internal voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I still think they should have made a memorial park." This time MacLeod broke the silence.

Methos shook his head. "They couldn't, Mac. Simple economics. You simply can't lose over 10,000,000 square feet of prime office space in New York City."

"I know, I know. Still..."

"At least the new building will include a memorial. That's more than I expected." Methos regretted his sarcasm when he saw MacLeod wince. MacLeod always did expect the best of people.

He wandered closer to the fence, wishing he hadn't accepted MacLeod's invitation. A week in st1:State w:st="on"New York< had sounded like the perfect opportunity to make an attempt to regain some of the closeness that he'd felt with MacLeod before Kronos had reappeared in his life. Damn Cassandra! He was reminded of the young woman he'd seen earlier, while they'd walked
down Street. She had looked like a Goth elf -- dressed in black, long ultra-white hair, wearing a black velvet cloak, lined in red. Clearly she was a 'neo-pagan', a witch -- just like Cassandra. The young woman had been sitting on the sidewalk next to the fence that had become a memorial site for the victims of the September 11th attack. It looked like she was performing a ritual of some sort, but he could sense that she hadn't put up a 'circle' or any sort of protective shields. She
hadn't created a temporary spot of holy ground that would protect her if something went wrong when the souls came into the world. It was Samhain, after all, when the souls of the dead walked in the world of the living. It was stupid to take the chance and end up being possessed. Stupid.

"What's stupid?"

Bloody Hell! He'd said that out loud.

"Nothing important, Mac."

Methos walked closer to the fence then froze as he felt a familiar sensation. He stepped as close to the fence as he could and closed his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"I should have realized... '...we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.'"

"The Gettysburg Address." MacLeod walked closer to the fence. "It's holy ground!"

Methos glanced at MacLeod glad to see that he also realized that some good had come out of the terrible events of September 11, 2001. Immortals would be safe from challenges in the new buildings.

"I just wish I knew why they did it."

"Envy? Fear? Someone to hate? Does it really matter? They're dead, Mac, because some Saudi Arabian rich kid got upset about U.S. troops staying in Saudi Arabia after the Gulf War. If you're going to blame anyone, blame the elder Bush for not finishing it when he had the chance. If he'd gone into Iraq and deposed Hussein, there wouldn't have been troops in Saudi Arabia and Osama bin Ladin wouldn't have decided to kill all of the American infidels he could. What?" Methos demanded, as he saw MacLeod's disbelieving look. "It's just as easy to blame one as the other. I do tend to put more of the blame on Osama bin Ladin. He should have known better than to launch an attack when the moon was void-of-course."

"Would you care to repeat that in English?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "Didn't anyone teach you astrology? Starting something during a void-of-course moon means the end results won't be what you wanted."

"If you say so." MacLeod sounded dubious.

"I just did, didn't I?" Methos shook his head in disgust. "The Arabs I knew used to be great astrologers. Look how far they've fallen. I would have also expected Osama bin Ladin to know his enemies. Instead, he boasted about how the Americans were soft and they wouldn't fight. Of course he's not the first one to underestimate the Americans." Methos
looked back toward the dump trucks.

"He's not?"

Methos, startled by MacLeod's question, frowned as he saw the questioning look on MacLeod's face. Surely Mac knew his U.S. history after all the time he'd lived here? He tilted his head and waited, he suspected something was up. When he saw MacLeod's lips twitch he knew it for certain. MacLeod was just waiting to be told something he already knew.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Methos cleared his throat and in his best 'Professor Pierson freshman lecture' voice recited, "'Most people think Americans love luxury and that their culture is shallow and meaningless. It is a mistake to regard the Americans as luxury-loving and weak. I can tell you Americans are full of the spirit of justice, fight, and adventure. Also their thinking is very advanced and scientific. Lindbergh's solo crossing of the Atlantic is the sort of valiant act which is normal for them. That is a typically American adventure based on science.'" He was gratified to see a surprised look on MacLeod's face.

"Recognize it?" Methos asked.

MacLeod thought about it for a minute before he frowned and shook his head. "It's familiar, but I can't place it..."

Methos tried to suppress a victorious smile. It wasn't often he was able to stump MacLeod with a 'modern' historical fact. "Admiral Yamamoto said that in a speech he gave at his old middle school in Nagaoka, just before World War II. He'd lived in America for years, he knew how Americans think. He knew that Japan had no hope of winning if they attacked America."

"Yet he fought anyway, because his honor required it."

Trust MacLeod to bring honor into this. "Japan still lost and it cost him his life."

Silence. Methos knew they had different ideas about what was worth dying for. It was one of the many things that were driving them apart. He wondered if they'd ever be able to repair their friendship, then wondered if he should even try. He felt a sudden surge of despair. Why did he keep torturing himself like this? He'd read Mac's chronicles; if Mac had ever had a male lover it hadn't been long-term and Methos wasn't into one-night stands. Maybe it *was* time to move on. He felt something cold brush his neck. He told himself it was the wind. That it really  couldn't have been cold fingers wrapping around...

Methos shivered then looked at MacLeod, who appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. "Mac why did you bring me here?"

MacLeod hesitated before replying, "I didn't want to come here alone."

"Why me?"

* * *

Duncan MacLeod looked at Methos and shrugged. "Why not?"

"That's not an answer."

Duncan knew that Methos was truly annoyed as soon as their eyes met -- his eyes were a brilliant green, all of the gold flecks gone. Duncan was fascinated, as always, by the way Methos' eyes changed to reflect his mood; sometimes green, sometimes gold, sometimes muddy, sometimes clear. Those eyes were as hard to pin down as the man himself; a scruffy
graduate student named Adam Pierson, the world's oldest immortal named Methos, a doctor named Ben Adams who'd been Lord Byron's companion and lover.

"It's the only answer I have," Duncan said quietly.

Duncan saw Methos' questioning look and was grateful that he didn't press the issue. He'd been grateful that Methos hadn't questioned his choice of hotel, either. It had been one Connor had often stayed at when he wasn't actually living in New York. Methos had recognized the hotel as well, but hadn't asked why they were staying there instead of a hotel closer to Ground Zero. Duncan really couldn't explain the chain of events that had lead him to this place, or the persistent, nagging,
feeling that he needed to bring Methos with him.

He looked down at the construction machinery for several minutes then glanced over at Methos, frowning when he saw Methos shiver, even though it didn't seem that cold.

"Mac, why are we here, freezing our arses off, when we could be in a nice warm bar, laughing at all of the stupid costumes and drinking good beer?"

Duncan smiled at the familiar complaint but his smile faded as he realized he had to tell Methos the truth.

"I called Cassandra."

"You what?" Methos looked around as if he expected her to pop out from behind a lamppost. "Where is she? What does she want?"

"Calm down. She isn't here. She's in Scotland."

"Damn it MacLeod. Don't startle me like that." Methos turned away from him.

Duncan put a hand on Methos' shoulder. "Sorry."

He frowned when Methos didn't respond.

"Methos?"

"Why are we here, Duncan? What does Cassandra have to do with this?" he waved at the brightly lit pit.<

"She says they're still here."

Silence.

"Who were they?" Methos' voice was soft as if he didn't want to disturb any ghosts that might be nearby.

Duncan was surprised and grateful he didn't have to try to explain. "Friends. They were broadcast engineers who worked at the top of the North Tower. I met them through Connor."

* * *

New York City, 1992


"Duncan! Over here!"

Duncan turned as he heard his clansman's voice. His eyebrows rose as he saw someone sitting next to Connor.

"Russell, it's been too long."

"Aye, it has. Duncan, this is Roberto Delgado. Roberto, this is my cousin, Duncan MacLeod."

"Pleased to meet you." The man still had a trace of a Puerto Rican accent.

"Pleased to meet you, too." Duncan turned to Connor, eyebrows raised.

"Roberto lives in Spanish Harlem. He's a pastor at a Pentecostal Church. One of his parishioners died and left the church their entire estate. He asked me to help appraise the antiques."

Duncan was silent, and looked at Connor expectantly, waiting for the rest of the story.

"You were right, Russell. You said he'd be suspicious." Roberto's laughter was infectious.

"So, what aren't you telling me?" Duncan tried to keep a straight face.

"Several young men decided that my church didn't deserve to keep the inheritance. They broke in when we were re-packing the porcelain."

"How badly were they hurt?" Duncan asked Connor when he saw Roberto's wide grin.

"Not too badly. Mainly bruises, one broken arm, one broken collarbone." Connor shrugged it off.

"Funny thing, they decided that perhaps the church should use the inheritance to help the people in the neighborhood. Those who could still walk helped me put it in Russell's truck." Roberto grinned at Connor. "With the proceeds I was able to help one of my boys start graduate school and I helped one of our families find an apartment that actually had heat in the winter."

"Your boys?"

"Well, they're not really mine. There's a group of teen-agers, boys and girls, that hang out in my apartment after church. I call them my kids. We eat bread, drink coffee, talk religion and laugh a lot. I try to help them out, show them they don't have to run with gangs to be accepted, push them to finish high school and go to college. One of my boys just got accepted into Medical School. He's gonna be a psychiatrist!"

"Congratulations," Connor slapped Roberto's shoulder.

"Thanks." Roberto glanced at his watch. "Well, it's time to go to the top of the world. I'm doing proofs this week, Pete's out on paternity leave. It was a pleasure to meet you, Duncan."

"The pleasure was all mine."

Duncan watched as Roberto stopped every few feet to talk to people as he made his way to the door. It was obvious that he was well known and well liked by the other bar patrons.

"He's a pastor and he works full-time? That's dedication. What are proofs?"

"Yes, he's very dedicated to his work and to his church. He works at the top of the world. The World Trade Center, that is. He's a broadcast engineer. They're running proof-of-performance tests on their transmitter this week."

"He's a what?"

"Broadcast engineer. Surely you know what that is? He maintains one of the transmitters on Tower 1. He's not up there all the time, they've pretty much automated the transmitters, but they still need to repair and test them. Next time you're in town for more than a day, I'll ask him to give you a tour."

"Yes, I know what a broadcast engineer is. But, Connor... Television? Are you mad? I thought you avoided publicity like the plague."

"I do, but transmitter engineers tend to shun the spotlight. They're more interested in keeping the transmitter going than anything else. They're a unique group of people. They tell me that their co-workers think they're weird. I like them."

* * *

"I visited the transmitter and walked on top of the tower. It was an amazing experience. Through Roberto, I met Sam and some of the other transmitter engineers that worked on the top two floors of the north tower. We kept in touch, even after Connor disappeared."

Duncan saw Methos wince. He knew that he and Methos would have to talk out Methos' role in that mess eventually; that was one of the reasons he'd invited Methos to come with him.

"I remember watching CNN on September 11th and hoped they weren't up  there doing maintenance. If they were, I knew they'd stay with their transmitters. Sam and Roberto were both up there during the 1993 bombing and kept their transmitters going until the power failed. When Roberto finally made it down to the ground, he stayed and helped other people get out. He didn't make it home until the next afternoon. Sam found out about the bomb when his friend and co-worker, Rick, who'd gone to get lunch, called him. Sam had a wicked sense of humor -- he immediately joked that it looked like he wasn't going to get lunch. He stayed until midnight because he wanted to make sure that the transmitter worked once power was restored.

"I kept hoping that they'd be on top of the building; that a rescue helicopter would pick them up once the fire was out. Then I saw the south tower collapse and I realized that there wasn't going to be a rescue. I know it sounds cold, but I actually prayed that the people up there that day weren't my friends.

Duncan paused and took a deep breath. "My prayers weren't answered. All six of the broadcast engineers up there that day were my friends. When I saw the coverage of the second anniversary memorial services, I decided I'd had enough. I wanted to pay my own tribute to them."

"Had enough?"

"Yes. You would have thought that the television networks would have been all over a story about their own brave  employees who were lost in the attack. But during the first anniversary memorial services no one even mentioned them. If one of their reporters had died it would have been trumpeted to the heavens. But since it was just an engineer it wasn't worth mentioning. Then, right before the second anniversary, they discovered more body parts on nearby scaffolding. I had to know if my friends were still here, so I called Cassandra. She said that they are here, waiting, and that I needed to come here tonight."

"Why are they still here, Mac? What are they waiting for?"

"I'm not sure. Cassandra didn't know either. She just said that they were still here and they were waiting for something."

Methos shivered and his voice deepened slightly. "She's right. They are still here."

Duncan stared at Methos in surprise. "What?"

Methos turned away from Duncan, walked as close to the fence as he could and tilted his head toward the sky. "It's opening."

Duncan felt a chill run down his spine when Methos turned his head and looked at Duncan with the ancient eyes he usually kept hidden from the world.

"What's opening?"

"The gate between worlds. It is Samhain, after all. Cassandra knew this would happen. You wanted to speak with them one final time, didn't you? They're here now."

"Well, yes. But... You can feel their souls?"

"Yes. I have always been able to feel souls. It is one of the few memories I have from my childhood, being able to feel them and learning how to facilitate their passage into the spirit world."

Duncan's skin crawled with horror. How could a man able to feel souls ride with Kronos? He looked over at Methos, wondering if he'd ever be able to understand his enigmatic friend.

Methos turned to face Duncan, but it was clear his attention was focused elsewhere. His face was peaceful, like he was meditating, and when he spoke his voice was deeper, his accent less noticeable, somehow more American. "They don't want to go. They want to stay here and watch it be rebuilt. They want to protect the new building."

Duncan shivered as he listened to Methos' smooth baritone. He wanted - no, he needed - to hear what Methos would say. He needed to know that his friends had found some peace. When Methos' trance deepened he felt a stab of fear. If Methos could feel souls, could those same souls use him? If they could, would they let him go? Duncan shook his head; he couldn't let that happen. He would not lose Methos after all they'd been through.
 
Methos tilted his head, listening to voices only he could hear. "Your friends say they're waiting for Russell, no, they say, it's really Connor, isn't it?"

Duncan flinched as if he'd been struck. "He can't join them. He's with me." That loss still felt as painful as when it had first happened.

"They understand, now. They wish you both long life. They're laughing, saying that between the two of you they never had a chance with women, maybe they will when they get to heaven."

"Methos... What are you trying to tell..." Duncan trailed off when he looked into Methos' eyes; the irises were liquid gold, the pupils constricted despite the darkness.

"Good bye, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. It's time for us to go."

"Methos!" Duncan caught him as he collapsed, automatically checking for a pulse then he shook his head, amused by his own reaction. Even if the old man died, he'd come back. He dragged Methos to the nearest street bench and waited for him to wake up. He swore under his breath as he realized just how Cassandra had set him up. She must have known he'd bring Methos and how being here would affect her ancient enemy.

A stifled gasp drew Duncan's attention back to Methos.

"Methos? Are you OK?"

"Cold. So cold."

"Come on. Let's get back to the hotel and get you warm." He pulled Methos to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Never warm. Always cold. They're always cold, MacLeod. Hell isn't fire and brimstone. It's cold and ice."

"Come on. We've got plenty of blankets at the hotel. You'll be warm."

"He wants to know if he can get an egg roll in heaven."

"What? Who?"

"He says that God owes him for the egg roll he didn't get in 1993."

"Oh, Lord!" Duncan was stunned. He hadn't told Methos what Sam had wanted for lunch on that day in 1993 when the bomb went off under the World Trade Center. It really was Sam!

"It's OK, MacLeod. He understands. He says he'll let God know about you and Connor and ask Him to let you stick around here for a while."

"Methos!" Duncan tried to remember anything he could about the old religion's rites and rituals that had been fading as he grew up. Cassandra had taught him a bit about... "Methos, you need to shield. You need to let them go past you, not through you."

Methos' bitter laugh chilled Duncan's soul. "The only way I ever found to stop them ended up costing tens of thousands of lives. Do you really want me to do that again?"

"What?"

"I saw my family die. I felt their souls all around me. They wanted vengeance. I went after the raiders who killed them. Their leader was Kronos. What he did to me-- Let's just say that when he was done I didn't care whether or not I felt souls anymore because I couldn't feel *anything* at all."

"You couldn't feel anything?" Duncan desperately tried to understand what Methos was telling him.

"No pain, no anger, no love, no hate, no sorrow. Nothing. Not one thing."

"What changed? How did you start to feel again?"

"Cassandra."

"Oh God!"

"The ironic thing is she doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't want to admit that I changed because of her because then she'd have to admit that she changed because of me."

Methos gasped, shivered, then went deathly still. When he turned slightly in Duncan's arms, Duncan froze. All of the civilized masks that Methos usually wore were gone and what faced him was pure, primal man. Methos' nostrils flared as he scented the wind and his eyes darted around searching the shadows. Methos pushed at Duncan and he backed up a step but kept a firm hold on Methos' wrist. All of Duncan's internal alarms were going off and he wanted to be able to stop Methos if he did become possessed. Duncan kept a calm façade as Methos eyed him, sizing him up as a potential opponent. Duncan worried even more when he noticed that Methos' eyes had gone from golden to nearly black. He tensed when Methos turned his head to look at the fence, then looked back at Duncan, eyes narrowed.

Duncan was stunned by the power that radiated from Methos. He really hadn't understood just how Methos had survived for 5,000 years. Methos had always jumped at shadows, never wanted to get involved and avoided conflict whenever possible. But the Methos who stood before him had enough power to defeat just about any immortal who challenged him. Now it was obvious to him that Methos kept a low profile because he just didn't want to be hunted, and Duncan felt a bit embarrassed about own blindness.

He watched Methos tilt his head and wondered what he was feeling as emotions flashed across his friend's nguarded face. Was he reliving the last moments of the people who died when the towers collapsed? Was he feeling the mixture of terror and relief from those who decided to jump instead of die in the smoke and flames?

Duncan was so deep in his own speculations that he was caught off guard when Methos pulled his wrist free and ran toward the fence like an Olympic sprinter running for a gold medal. Somehow he managed to catch Methos as he started to scale the fence and prevented him from jumping into the pit by grabbing him around the waist and pulling him down.

"What are you doing?" Duncan struggled to hold on to Methos as he fought to get free. He felt several blows land before he pulled Methos close, trapping his arms.

"They need me." Methos' voice had dropped half an octave and the intensity sent shivers down Duncan's spine.

"No they don't. Not like that."

"I need to go to them. Let me go!"

Duncan tightened his grip. There was no way he was going to let Methos go, not until he was sure the old man was himself again.

*God help me. I don't know what to do!*

Duncan jumped when he heard a familiar raspy chuckle answer his desperate thought.

~You know what to do Duncan. Listen to him.~

*Connor? No, you're dead.*

~Do I sound dead?~

*No. But...*

~As long as you're alive, I'm alive. You are alive aren't you?~

Trust Connor's quickening to be as much of a smart-ass as Connor had been in real life.

*Why couldn't I hear you before?*

~You always were stubborn. I couldn't reach you.~

*You couldn't reach me? But you're talking to me now.*

~He allowed it.~

*He... How?*

~He's a living link between the worlds. It was why I kept urging you to bring him here on Halloween. I knew I'd be able to talk to you if he was with you.~

*You kept urging... But, how?*

~Later. You don't have much time. You're losing him to the ghosts. You need to anchor him in this world.~

*How am I supposed to do that?*

~Use your link with him!~

*Link? What link?*

Duncan felt as if he'd suddenly been transported to another world, a world where lines of light and darkness connected everything, and where the dark shadows that surrounded Methos were trying to drag him into the pit. He noticed that while there were many bright rays of light connected to his own chest, there were very few rays of light going connected to Methos. In fact, the brightest ray of light going to Methos' chest came from his own chest, much to his surprise.

~Send yourself along that link, Duncan. Grab him and pull him back with you. I'll be here as your anchor.~

Trusting Connor, Duncan did as he was instructed; all sight and sound faded until he found himself on a vast, grassy plain, with a dark forest behind him. He looked around, searching for Methos -- and felt the thrum of another immortal. The only thing moving in the strange landscape were vultures circling in the distance, so he instinctively moved in that
direction.

It seemed to take forever, but when he finally arrived he saw Methos, naked, staked out on the plains, vultures pecking at his motionless body. Duncan ran over to Methos, expecting to find his friend unconscious or dead, but was shocked to see Methos' head turn towards him as he neared. He chased the vultures away and released Methos, but his heart sank when Methos didn't move a muscle and simply waited passively for the vultures to return.

"Come on Methos. You need to get out of here."

"Go away. I like it here."

"You *like* it here?"

"Yes. I don't feel anything here. I don't have to worry about anything here."

"You can't stay here, you'll die."

"I can't die. I *can't* die. I *want* to but I can't."

Duncan was taken aback. "Why do you want to die?"

"There's nothing to live for any more."

"What? You've got friends!"

"Do I? Really?"

Duncan paused. Did Methos really believe he had no friends?

~He can't lie to you here, Duncan.~

Duncan flinched when he heard Connor's thought. Had he been such a poor friend to Methos? He shook his head as he realized that whether or not he'd actually been a poor friend was irrelevant. Methos believed it, so Duncan had to somehow convince Methos otherwise.

"Methos, I'm your friend. Joe's your friend. Hell, even Amanda's your friend. You still have friends. You need to come back with me. I... I want the chance to thank you for..."

"You've already thanked me MacLeod. Several times. Your conscience is clear, now go away."

Duncan flinched at the dead tone of voice. "No. I won't. I can't leave you here, Methos. You'll die."

"So? I am not your responsibility, MacLeod. I am not one of your clansmen."

"No, but you are my friend."

"Really? Go away MacLeod." The skepticism in Methos' voice stung.

"Methos you *are* my friend. I don't just leave friends to die."

"MacLeod, I can't be your friend. You trust your friends, you don't trust me. You can't trust me."

"Methos, I do trust you. I can't lie to you here."

Methos ignored him and watched the vultures that were still circling overhead.

"Damn it, Methos. You can't stay here. Come with me and we'll talk."

Methos just continued to ignore him.

Duncan racked his brains for some way to get through to him, frowning when he realized that he'd only seen one really bright strand of light connected to Methos' chest. Was that why Methos was giving up? Connor had said that he and Methos were linked, now he had to figure out what would make Methos want to come back with him. He tried to remember what Methos had responded to in the past, then froze as his thoughts took a sudden left turn. Why was it so important to him that Methos be in his life? When had Methos become so important to him? When had he come to
love Methos? He'd often wondered why Methos had stayed around him, even though he'd hurt Methos deeply by rejecting their friendship after Bordeaux. Now it was obvious to him and he was disgusted by his own blindness -- Methos loved him. Now he knew exactly what would make Methos return with him.

"Well, if you're not going to come with me, I'll just have to stay here with you." Duncan sat on the grass next to Methos, wrapped his arms around his legs, rested his chin on his knees and waited for a reaction. He smiled as he heard Connor's ghostly chuckle and felt a wave of approval from his kinsman. When he also felt a wave of despair, he
realized he was feeling Methos' emotions as well as Connor's. What was going on? When Methos' eyes flew open a couple of seconds later, Duncan was somewhat gratified to see just how much his words had shocked and surprised Methos. When he felt those same emotions once again, it confirmed that he was now able to sense Methos' emotions.

"You can't stay here!"

"Why not? It's peaceful. You're here. What do I have to go back to if you're not there?"

Methos looked as if he'd been struck. "You have Joe."

"Joe's an old man and he's got his hands full with the whole Sanctuary mess, not to mention the Watchers. He'll be glad he doesn't have to rack up more frequent flyer miles traveling from Seacouver to Paris." Duncan wasn't about to mention how much Joe would miss him if he died – an omission, not a lie.

"Amanda, then."

"She's seeing an immortal ex-cop, Nick Wolfe. They're good together.They remind me a lot of Robert and Gina."

Methos frowned, his expression a mixture of pain, frustration and bafflement. "You're too young to give up."

"You've survived for 5,000 years. You're too old to give up now."

Methos was silent, his face impassive, yet Duncan felt the conflicting emotions. Methos didn't want to leave, yet didn't want Duncan to stay with him. What would convince Methos to come with him?

~Tell him how you feel about him, Duncan.~

*What?*

~Tell him you love him, you fool.~

*But... How did you... *

~Don't be daft! I know you and I'm in your mind. Just tell the man, get him back here and get him to the hotel suite!~

*But...*

~I never took you for a prude, Duncan. Love doesn't care what shape the body wears, love looks at the soul. Tell him. Now. Otherwise you'll lose him forever.~ The frustration that accompanied Connor's thought hit Duncan like a slap in the face. He looked down at Methos, who hadn't moved at all.

"Methos, I am serious. I won't go back without you."

"MacLeod, go. Don't stay here. I'm not worth it."

"Methos! Stop thinking like that. You told me once that I was too important to lose. You are too important to lose."

Duncan felt Methos' disbelief. "Damn it Methos, you are worth it! I wouldn't love you if you weren't worth it! How can I convince you of that?"

Methos sat straight up and Duncan felt an unexpected flare of desire as he watched Methos' abdominal muscles tighten. Just how long had he been attracted to Methos?

"What did you just say?" Methos asked, his eyes wide with shock, but at least they were aware -- very aware.

Duncan reviewed his last statement and winced when he realized what he'd said; he really hadn't wanted to just blurt it out like that. He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. "I said that I wouldn't love someone who wasn't worth it. I do love you, Methos, it just took me a while to figure it out."

Methos looked pole-axed as Duncan helped him to stand. When Methos swayed on his feet, Duncan wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him from falling. Duncan held him for a few moments before he realized how much he was enjoying the feeling of Methos' taut abdominal muscles under his hand; he blushed and hoped Methos wouldn't notice.

~Now do you see what you've been missing?~

Duncan's eyes narrowed as he thought about what he'd love to do to his cousin at that moment, but he kept his arm wrapped around Methos.

"Mac?"

He turned his head and met Methos' worried golden-green eyes. "Sorry, Connor was being sarcastic."

"Mac, Connor's dead." Methos pulled away from him, a wary expression on his face.

Duncan smiled. "Connor's with me. He once told me he could hear his teacher, Ramirez, speak to him after he took the Kurgan's head. Now it's my turn to hear him."

Methos looked dubious, but the wariness faded from his eyes.

"Come on. We can discuss this when we're back in our nice warm hotel suite." Duncan held out his hand and was gratified when Methos took it without hesitation.

Duncan felt an internal tug and turned in that direction, realizing that Connor was showing him the way back.

They made it to the edge of the forest, then Methos stopped and dropped his hand.

"Methos?"

"My path is that way." He gestured to the right. "Yours is here. I will return. I promise."

There was a blinding flash of white light and when Duncan became aware of his body again he was sitting on a bench that was, fortunately, hidden from the casual passerby. Methos was stretched out beside him on the bench, legs dangling over the armrest, his head cradled in Duncan's lap.

Duncan waited patiently, stroking the short, spiky hair, marveling at the softness under his fingers. *Come on, Methos. Wake up!*

When Methos' eyes opened, Duncan heaved a sigh of relief. "Welcome back."

Methos looked puzzled, then astonished. "Do you really love me?"

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

Duncan avoided the question. "We have a lot to talk about. Come on. Let's go back to the hotel."

Duncan helped Methos sit up, watching him closely.

"Oh, no! You're not doing that again!" Duncan said as he watched Methos' face take on the blank expression he'd worn when he spoke with spirits.

"Come on!" He pulled Methos to his feet and hustled him down the sidewalk, wanting to get away from Ground Zero as quickly as possible.

Blocks away, Methos was still resisting and only Duncan's firm grip on his arm kept him from running back. Duncan cursed under his breath. What was he going to do? He needed to sleep sometime and he was afraid Methos would slip away when he did.

~Don't worry, Duncan. Just get him to the hotel. Everything will be fine.~

Great! Three years of silence and now Connor wouldn't shut up. He heard his cousin's familiar chuckle in response to that thought.

When they finally reached the hotel, Methos balked.

"Come on."

"I won't. I need to go back."

Duncan sighed and turned to face him. "You can't. I'm not going to let you go," he stated firmly. Methos' eyes narrowed, and Duncan knew he had to move quickly. "Sorry," he murmured as he struck, knocking Methos out
with a sharp blow to his chin. He lifted the limp body over his shoulder with a grunt of effort. Methos might look slender but looks could be deceiving.

He stopped by the front desk to check for messages. "He drank too much,"he explained when he saw the desk staffs' mildly curious looks.

They nodded. It was Halloween and a lot of their guests were returning, no... staggering in, three sheets to the wind.

"May we help you, Mr. MacLeod?"

"No, thank you. I can manage." He smiled at the desk clerks then headed toward the elevator bay.

When he got to their suite, Duncan managed to open the door one handed and placed Methos gently on the couch. He heaved a sigh of relief and for the first time realized that he, too, had been feeling the ghosts of Ground Zero.

~The owners of this hotel make sure all of their rooms are psychically shielded. They've found it cuts down on damage. It's one of the reasons I always stayed here.~

"How did you know they shield the rooms?" Duncan spoke aloud.

~Because I'm psychic. You know that.~

"Aye, I remember. You told me." He also remembered that Connor's psychic power had increased after he'd taken the Kurgan's head.

~You are psychic too, Duncan.~

"What?"

~Jim Coltec was psychic. I am psychic. Garrick and Kantos were also psychic. You have our quickenings and you'll need to learn how to use your gifts. Methos will be able to help you.~

Duncan deliberately pushed the whole unwelcome concept aside; he'd deal with it later. Right now he had more important things to worry about. "What do I do with him now?"

~Keep him here tonight. Staying here tomorrow would be prudent, but I don't know if he'll be willing to stay inside.~

Duncan rolled his eyes. "I'll think of something."

~Well that certainly would keep him occupied.~

"Just don't critique my performance, OK?"

"What are you blathering on about?"

Duncan started, then turned around to face Methos who was sitting up on the couch, glaring at him. "Just telling Connor to keep his mouth shut for a while."

"Connor?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?" Methos looked around, a surprised look replacing the annoyed expression he'd been wearing. "How did we get here?"

"I brought you back after you tried to throw yourself into the pit."

"After I what?"

"You said they needed you, that you had to join them. I stopped you. Don't you remember?"

Methos frowned, "I remember being cold ... and hearing voices. They wanted me to stay with them. I remember lying on the grass in warm sunshine ... it was very peaceful. Then you came and said I had to go. You told me..." His expression shifted to puzzlement, then a mask of careful neutrality settled over his face as he shook his head.

"What?" Duncan prompted.

"Nothing, it was just a weird dream."

When he heard the wistful tone in Methos' voice, Duncan was torn between shaking the old man and pulling him into his arms and hugging him tightly. He realized that he'd have to make the first move or Methos would convince himself that it had only been a dream.

"A weird dream? A dream where I told you I wouldn't leave you staked out on the ground, waiting to be torn apart by vultures?"

Duncan wished he had a camera handy to capture the look on Methos' face.

"A dream where you said you had no friends? That hurt, by the way."

Methos looked somewhat abashed. "After everything that's happened between us I wasn't sure--"

Duncan silenced Methos by the simple act of claiming his mouth in a kiss.He felt Methos try to push him away, but he held on until he felt Methos surrender and kiss him in return.

When they finally pulled apart Duncan was gasping for air, but he noted, with a certain amount of smugness, so was Methos. Duncan had known that women enjoyed his kisses, but he was absurdly pleased to discover that a
5,000-year-old man enjoyed his kisses as well.

"You were saying?" Duncan asked when he could breathe normally.

Methos looked at him blankly, his eyes slightly glazed.

"Must not have been important then. Come on, it's late. Let's go to bed." Duncan planned on keeping Methos distracted as from the ghosts as long as he could.

Methos nodded.

Duncan tried not to laugh at the dazed expression on Methos' face. He checked the locks before he dragged Methos into the nearest bedroom.

He made quick work of Methos' clothes, then stood back and stared. He'd seen Methos naked during their dream-walk, his physical body was as perfect as his dream body had been. Duncan felt a sudden twinge of self-doubt. It had been a long time since he'd tried to please another mansexually. Would Methos be disappointed?

Duncan's attention was drawn back to the room when Methos started tofidget, and he relaxed when he realized he wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"You are beautiful," he said in awed tones and was surprised when Methos blushed. "You are. What a sculpture you would make in white marble..."

He ran a finger along Methos' well-defined pectoral muscles and watched him shiver in response. He pulled Methos close and kissed him again, his hands exploring Methos' back. He gently massaged the tense muscles he found under his fingertips until he felt Methos start to relax.

Duncan's self-doubt totally evaporated when they pulled apart and he saw that Methos' cock was fully erect. When he reached for it, his hand was batted away.

"Take your clothes off. Now!"

Duncan rapidly pulled his clothing off, anxious to feel Methos skin-to-skin. He wanted to make love to Methos, he wanted it to last all night, he wanted--

Methos pounced on him as soon as his underwear was off. Duncan somehow managed to stay on his feet, surprised by the ferocity of Methos' kiss.He managed to pull away slightly.

"Methos-- Wait-- Bed--"

Methos ignored him and reclaimed Duncan's mouth. Duncan backed up, trying to keep his balance, but when his knees hit the bed he fell with Methos on top of him.

"Methos, wait--"

"Quiet."

Duncan was surprised by the softly spoken command. He couldn't resist licking the finger that had covered his lips, reinforcing the command, and was gratified when Methos shivered. Evidently Methos needed to be in control right now, and that suited Duncan just fine.

He moaned when he felt Methos' knowledgeable hands exploring his body as though he knew precisely where Duncan was most sensitive. Duncan knew he wouldn't be able to last long especially if Methos... He arched up when
he felt Methos' lips on his cock, nearly screaming when Methos took him deep. He felt Methos' throat muscles against the tip of his cock as Methos swallowed. He'd never realized, never dared dream it could feel so... He was about to come... No! It was too soon! He tried to pull Methos off, but was too late. He felt Methos swallow around his cock
again, then he was lost in pleasure.

When he came down from the intense climax, Duncan felt lips pressed against his. When a tongue licked his lips he opened his mouth. It took him a second to realize that he was tasting himself, and Duncan deepened the kiss, wanting more, biting back a moan when Methos pulled away.

"I want to fuck you. Will you let me?"

Methos' question sounded unexpectedly tentative. "Duncan?"

"Yes. Whatever you want." He pulled Methos down and kissed him, trying to reassure him.

"I'll be right back." Methos pulled away and headed towards the bathroom, leaving Duncan to puzzle over what was going on in Methos' head.

*Connor, not now!* He snarled as he felt the familiar mental prod at this most inopportune of moments.

In response, Duncan got a mental image of the bright cord he'd seen connecting him to Methos. He was puzzled until he remembered how he'd felt Methos' emotions during his dream-walk. He could find out what Methos was feeling by opening the link between them, but how did he open the link when he was awake?

A wave of exasperation and frustration made him wince, then he suddenly knew what to do. He wondered if he'd ever get used to Connor telling him what to do, and felt Connor's amusement so clearly that he had to resist the urge to blow a mental raspberry at his smart-ass cousin.

Duncan opened the link and was shocked to feel a pervading sense of disbelief from Methos. As he concentrated on the mixture of emotions, he realized that Methos thought he was dreaming, that he'd wake up and none of it would be true. Duncan looked up as he heard Methos come back into the bedroom and wondered just how he could convince Methos that this wasn't a dream.

"This is all I could find." Methos held up a little bottle of complimentary hand lotion.

"That'll be fine. Come here."

Methos looked startled and stayed where he was. Duncan felt Methos' surprise and fear even though none of it showed on his face. Why fear? It was then that he realized how sharply he'd spoken.

"Please? Come here. There's something I need to tell you." He deliberately made his voice soothing, but when he felt Methos' anxiety and fear skyrocket he realized it hadn't worked. He got off the bed, walked over to Methos and pulled him into a hug while trying to send feelings of reassurance down the link they shared.

"What is that?"

Duncan pulled back, meeting Methos' eyes. "That's me telling you that this isn't a dream. This is real. I know what you're feeling...Somehow, I can sense it. Now that I think about it, I always know when you're near; I can identify your quickening, it's like we're linked in some way."

"Damn! I hoped that wouldn't happen."

"What? What are you so upset about?"

"When two immortals take a head at the same time, in the same location, their quickenings will sometimes merge--become entangled. There needs to be a strong bond--friendship or love--between them. I suspected that it had happened to us in Bordeaux, but I hoped I was wrong. I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"We're linked until death. If one of us dies, the other will follow. Remember Haresh Clay and Carter Wellan?"

"Yes..." Duncan became aware of something digging into his back and realized that Methos still held the bottle of hand lotion. He stepped back a pace, took the bottle from Methos and put it on the bedside table.

When he turned back, he noticed that Methos was swaying on his feet. It was also obvious that the moment had been lost; both of them were completely limp, in more ways than one.

"Listen, neither of us is in any shape to discuss anything right now. We both need to get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning."

Methos nodded and Duncan winced when he saw the despondent look on Methos' face.

"I do love you. It wasn't a dream." He pulled Methos into his arms and sent as much love and reassurance as he could along their link. He waited for Methos to relax before he moved them towards the bed. Duncan still felt disbelief along the link, but it was now mixed with amazement and, much to his relief, love. Once Methos was settled, Duncan turned off the bedside lamp and got under the covers. It had certainly been a night full of unexpected revelations and he was bone-tired.

Methos immediately wrapped himself around Duncan and fell asleep. Duncan smiled, he had missed the simple comfort of sleeping with someone, the joy of sharing warmth. When his thoughts kept him from sleeping, Duncan
decided to meditate. It took a while, but he finally calmed his thoughts enough to realize an important truth about himself. He, too, needed a connection to this world. He needed someone to care for, yet he also needed that person to be strong enough to care for him. He hadn't had a person like that in his life since Tessa, and he'd missed it more than he realized.

* * *

Duncan woke at 4:00 AM when he heard the faint ringing of his cell phone. He ignored it the first time, but when it rang a few minutes later, he cursed under his breath; it had to be important. He slipped quietly out of the bed, went into the sitting room and picked up the phone from the coffee table.

"MacLeod." He answered, keeping his voice down.

"Did you find the answers you were looking for?"

"It's four in the morning, Cassandra. I was sleeping. Why are you calling?".

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Duncan noticed the slight change in phrasing. "Yes, Cassandra, I found what I was looking for," he answered, deliberately letting annoyance slip into his tone.

"Were your friends there?"

Duncan was surprised that Cassandra would push given his obvious annoyance. "Yes, they were and I found out exactly what I needed to know." He paused for a moment and took a long breath before speaking again. "Cassandra, there's something I need to tell you."

"Yes?"

Duncan heard the anticipation in her voice. "Connor says that the next time you try to harm Methos we'll be there to stop you."

"What?"

"You heard me. Your plan didn't destroy Methos. I was able to save him." Duncan paused. "Connor says you're a fool. If you'd bothered to look at Methos and me you'd have seen we're linked. If Methos dies, so do I."

"Connor says...? Duncan, Connor's dead."

Duncan laughed, not realizing that it was Connor's distinctive laugh that came out. "What do you consider dead, Cassandra? I have his quickening. When Methos was trapped, Connor and I were able to pull him back."

"How! You couldn't have done that."

Duncan nodded, she had set him up. "Didn't you hear me? We're linked. If you'd bothered to watch the quickening at Bordeaux instead of fixating on trying to take Methos' head, you'd have seen it. Methos killed Silas at the same time that I killed Kronos. We shared their quickenings. We are linked. If he dies, I die. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Cassandra whispered. "I've seen it before. You are bound to each other for the rest of your lives. I'm so sorry, Duncan."

"I'm not. Stop hunting him and leave us alone. You will regret it if you don't." Duncan ended the call before she could say anything else.

~He saved you that day.~

"What are you talking about?"

~He took part of Kronos' quickening himself. The part that he knew you wouldn't be able to accept. The part that would have driven you mad. He saved your life and your sanity.~

"But at what cost to himself?"

~Not as much as you might think. He knew what Kronos had done and what he was capable of. It didn't horrify him -- he understood Kronos. It was Kronos who never understood Methos.~

Duncan shook his head and wondered if *he'd* ever understand Methos.

~You don't need to understand him to love him.~

"No, but it would help right now. He thinks last night was a fantasy, a dream."

~You were planning on showing him it wasn't a dream, weren't you?~ smiled with anticipation.

~Then it's time for me to give you some privacy. No, I won't be gone forever; I'll be here when you need me.~

"Thank you, cousin," Duncan whispered aloud as he put his cell phone back into a coat pocket then returned to the bedroom. He stood by the bed for a few moments and simply watched Methos. He always looked so young when he slept, it was only his eyes and guarded expression that conveyed his true age. Duncan's reverie was broken when Methos whimpered and twitched; he quickly slid between the sheets and pulled Methos into his arms, trying to let the other man know he wasn't alone. When Methos immediately calmed and snuggled closer, Duncan fought back tears, touched by the proof of Methos' trust.

*I'll protect you old man. I won't leave you again.*

He kissed the top of Methos' head, sent a wave of reassurance and love along their link, then closed his eyes. As he drifted into sleep himself, he realized that for the first time in a very long while he was looking forward to the future.

***********************

Author's Note:

The broadcast engineers in this story are fictional, but were loosely based on real people.

There were six broadcast engineers working in World Trade Center Tower #1
on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. None of them survived.

They were:

Rod Coppola, WNET-TV
Donald Di Franco, WABC-TV
Steven Jacobson, WPIX-TV
Bob Pattison, WCBS-TV
Isaias Rivera, WCBS-TV
William Steckman, WNBC-TV

A tribute page for them can be found at http://www.tangible-technology.com/wtc/eng/eng.htm