A/N: Thanks and enjoy, despite the...brevity. Season three, the episode with the cloaked guy in Duncan's head and Anne trying to send him to a shrink which, personally, I find hilarious.
Duncan shakes his head wearily, running a hand through dishevelled hair. He looks more tired than she’s ever seen him before, so she reaches out a hand and gently places it on his shoulder. Silent comfort. She’s good at that.
He looks up at her, a shadow of a smile flitting across his features. “I’m going insane.”
She snorts, patting his arm with faint humour. “Oh please,” she tells him, “You? Insane? I don’t think so.”
He scowls and she wishes she could kiss the expression away but he’s dating Anne and they have rules about such things. When he’s with someone, they just don’t. They’re friends then, not lovers. He asks her occasionally, if she’s with someone. She smiles and tells him vague stories of Methos’s latest adventures somewhere across the globe. He doesn’t understand how she can be with him when she’s with the man she only ever refers to as her husband but he’s also not one to turn down a pretty woman. Unless he’s in a relationship. So she doesn’t kiss it better although her fingers itch to hold him close.
“I almost killed Richie!”
“The key word in that sentence being almost. You didn’t. Someone is messing with your head.”
He shoots her an incredulous look. “How,” he asks, eyes wide and mouth sarcastic, “with magic
She shrugs and he actually manages a laugh. “You don’t really believe in magic, do you?”
Another shrug. A stake through a heart and a dust cloud settling, a soul fleeing the body of a man she once loved, a sister shining green, red hair turning black, a seal opened to break the world, blind priests and monstrous vampires from below, the dead returning and the living dying from bright lights and Latin words. A portal through time and space.
She remembers these things.
Names disappear and faces blur but those flashes, bright as sunlight on steel, they always remain with her, always stay at the back of her mind, warning her, reminding her of what lies below the world she lives in. She still carries a stake with her after all these years and occasionally, she uses it. And at night, when she dreams of the past, she dreams of red light in a coffin and a green glowing baby girl. She dreams of heaven and remembers the feeling of her soul being ripped from peace, of fighting and killing and winning and an echo of a voice, “It’s about power.”
She remembers these things.
In the here and now she smiles and rolls her eyes, giving Duncan her best silly look because he doesn’t know and he never will. Methos knows and Darius has a vague idea. That is all this world needs to know of where she comes from.
“Magic?” she repeats, voice bright, “There’s no such thing, Mac, don’t be silly.”
And then she decides to hell with rules and climbs into his lap like a child because she hates to remember but she does.