The time on the island passed uneventfully. A routine was soon established, yet there was no tedium to the days. Each morning Catriona would take up a large pail and head out to harvest herbs to treat both her own injury and that of Methos - along with wild vegetables for their evening meal. Methos accompanied her, aiding her in her search and setting snares or fishing to add fresh protein to their diet. It had been arranged that Duncan and Joe would leave them to thier own devices for the next fifteen days - leaving Catriona six more days before the start of the new academic year. This time Methos had deemed necessary for her to heal and complete a series of exercises to strengthen the damaged muscle in her arm.
Each afternoon he would direct her in her exercises and would, in turn, complete a punishing routine of his own - determined to ensure his own stamina and fitness levels did not suffer. Having spent many a session working out with Duncan, he had adapted one or two of the Katas which the Scot loved so much.
It thrilled Catriona to watch the controlled use of the powerful yet wiry physique as she cooled down after her own regimen of excercises. Methos' limbs would seem to flow like liquid from one move to another with a grace that was pure pleasure to behold ~ the beauty of a dancer and the corded strength of a long distance runner combined. She felt privileged to see his strength revealed and at the same time she would shiver, thinking of the times she knew he had used that strength in anger, in revenge, even in outright rage. The contrast between that Methos and the one she knew could not be more pronounced.
She was glad to see that he had begun to relax a little more and that he had begun to regain some weight - not enough to add bulk to his body, but enough to remove the starved and defeated look he'd had on first meeting. His voice had also taken on a less rasping quality - though it was still a little painful to listen to.
At nights they would retire to the cabin and cook the rabbits or the fish that Methos had caught, add it to the supplies of dried or canned goods Duncan had sent with them along with some of the wild herbs and vegetables that they had gathered. Then they would check and dress each other's wounds before repairing to bed, this was the measure of their days.
On the last night, before Duncan was due to come and collect them, they were sat in companionable silence in front of the dancing fire each preparing herbal treatments for the other. Catriona had bruised sage leaves and was waiting for them fully to steep in the hot waster she had prepared before pouring the tea which served both as an antiseptic and a mild anaesthetic for Methos' throat. Methos had pounded comfrey and aloe leaves into a pulp - enough to make a poutlice for Catriona's arm and his neck. As he prepared the dressing for Catriona and she prepared one for him she began to giggle.
Methos raised a questioning eyebrow.
"What's up?" He queried.
"Oh god," she gulped, trying to quell the mirthful chuckles that had almost caused her to choke, "it just struck me as faintly ridiculous. I mean, here we are, two healers making teas and poultices to treat each other and the phrase 'physician heal thyself' sprang to mind."
She snorted, shaking her head and Methos, seeing the humour of the situation, joined in with her giggles for a moment. Then, taking her arm in his he proceeded to check and clean the wound on her bicep. He was pleased to see the scab drying, and diminishing nicely. Catriona did not even flinch from his ministrations as she had done at the beginning of his treatments. Satisfied, he bandaged the new dressing in place and sat back to allow Catriona to return the favour. The scarring around his neck was no longer so livid, though still noticeable - he was glad of his habit of wearing turtlenecks since they covered the very obvious line of the scar nicely. The fewer awkward questions he had to answer on return to what passed for normal life, the better he would like it. After completing her investigation of the healing Catriona too was satisfied and replaced the dressing.
"I think that this has healed as much as it is going to." She said regretfully. "Why did you do it? What was going through your head?"
Methos refused to meet her gaze at first, but at her touch to his cheek and her sorrowful repetition of the question, he eventually lifted his eyes to hers for one moment before lowering them again.
"It seemed the best way I could throw him off balance, I know Duncan well enough to know that he can sometimes be hot-headed in his pursuit of vengeance, but also that he expects people to react in predictable ways. I did the unpredictable - and it save my head at least, if not my neck."
He looked at her again and she put her other hand to his face so that she now held his head gently on either side.
"Forgive me Methos," she said, "but I don't think that was the only reason. I sensed a deep despair about you at the time that seemed to be rooted in your relationship with Duncan. Won't you tell me? I'm good at listening."
Methos raised his hands and gently took hold of hers - moving them away from his face. He clasped her fingers with his own, and still refusing to look at her he mumbled his response.
"I love his fire, his passion, his drive and energy. Sometimes I fear that being near to him will cause me to spontaneously combust. It's a source of joy and a source of frustration. The last time we had a falling out - over The Horsemen - I thought I would be happy to die. I manipulated him and engineered his fight with Kronos and I thought I was ready to meet my end at his hand. Then Cassandra came back for me and he defended me to her, told her he wanted me to live, and I realised then that I still wanted me to live too. Of course I had to contend with the severity of the blow to our friendship that the revelation of my past had dealt. Duncan no longer trusted me - he still doesn't - and while that hurts I know it is reasonable. I also know that I have to ensure his safety and his sense of self-worth. He too often doubts himself and pushes himself into situations where what he deems noble is in fact a threat to his life. He's too important to lose - and if his sense of self-worth could be served by his being the one to defeat me then so be it."
Catriona shuddered at the idea of her cousin and this man involved in mortal combat.
"Duncan might feel he has little reason to trust you," she said, "based on the knowledge he has of your time with The Horsemen, based on what Cassandra suffered in the camp with you all - but that is such a small part of your life - both before and after that time you have been, and continue to be, a man who is most trustworthy, honourable and loyal. I know you often play that down, that you deny hotly that you have a moral or ethical code you adhere to - and yet practically your whole history belies that. It's obvious that Duncan really does want to know more about you, the real Methos, he wants to trust you. Why won't you tell him what he wants to know?"
"I can't, it would be too much like pleading my case, and why would he believe me? Besides I still have some pride. I'd like to keep some dignity as well thanks, what little I have left after the last week or so that is."
Catriona turned Methos' hands over in her own. She looked at the strong capable fingers, the callouses on the palms. Gently she rubbed her thumbs over the base of the fingers.
"You love him, you're in love with him, and he loves you. It's obvious Methos. If you told him what he wants to know you could repair your friendship, even go further. Don't you think you both deserve some happiness after all you've been through?"
Methos heaved a sigh and turned his head, shaking it slightly.
"You know it's not that easy Catriona. Even if Duncan really cared, which I have reason to doubt, we have the game to contend with. One immortal alone attracts attention from others - two who hang around together would be like a beacon in the night - and Duncan always seems to attract more than his fair share of head hunters as it is. The situation is totally impossible, besides, I doubt if he'd accept loving advances from any man - least of all me."
"You won't ever know if you never ask."
Methos shook his head and withdrew his hands from hers.
"No it's just not possible - leave it Catriona, please." He drew a deep breath before regarding her anxiously. "You won't say anything to him?"
Catriona slumped back into the cushions they had arranged into a kind of nest in front of the fire.
"Of course not, what do you take me for? I said I'd keep your secrets and I meant it - I'll say nothing about anything I learn about you to anyone without your permission."
"I'm sorry," Methos muttered, "I know you've kept your promise. I didn't mean to imply you'd break it. I just know that Duncan would be horrified and I simply can't risk any more damage being done to what's left of our friendship."
"I think you're misjudging Duncan, but it's your choice." Catriona said, handing him the sage tea.
For a while they sat in silence, not touching, simply sipping the tea and staring into the flickering fire. The tension between them eased and eventually the hypnotic movement of the flames lulled them into a stupor and they drifted to sleep, the soft sussuration of their breathing and the crackling of the wood in the grate the only sounds in the darkened room.
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