In the End

by KG

As MacLeod rested on the ground his thoughts drifted to friends who had been lost to the game. He sadly remembered Conner and Amanda. Even Richie was dead. The gathering had claimed nearly everyone he cared about...except Methos.

He didn't want to think about Methos right now. MacLeod had lived his entire life by the rules. And one rule had always reigned supreme over all others, had forged him into what he had become...There can be only one.

And now, there were only two.

MacLeod flung clothes in the general vicinity of his duffel bag. Once the initial shock of the quickening had worn off, he had begun thinking. And he had been thinking non-stop ever since. All of this thinking had resulted in a single insight. He couldn't kill his friend, nor did he want to die himself. So there was only one thing left to do, leave. The world was a big place, and at that moment MacLeod genuinely believed that he and Methos could lose themselves in it, never encountering one another for all eternity, or at least for a sizable span of it.

Unfortunately his plan relied on one thing that was beyond his control -- that Methos would want to avoid this final fight as much as he did.

MacLeod took one final look around the loft. He would never be coming back here, so anything he left behind would be gone forever. He planned to travel light, but in the end he couldn't resist picking up a small statue that Tessa had made. He carried it and his bag into the elevator.

As the elevator came to a halt in the dojo, MacLeod felt it -- the unmistakable tingling in the base of his skull that meant another immortal was near. And for the first time in his life MacLeod knew with 100% certainty who that immortal was.

Methos stood in the middle of the dojo with an unexpectedly pleasant smile on his face.

"MacLeod, its good to see you."

Joe's Bar was cool, dim and almost empty that afternoon. MacLeod and Methos were sharing a corner table and a couple of beers.

"Do you know that the Watchers think its over, they think you've won the prize," Methos said chuckling.

MacLeod, on the other hand, didn't get the joke, and continued to stare morosely into his untouched beer. His foul mood, finally dampened Methos' spirits as well.

"What's wrong, MacLeod?"

"What's wrong! How can you ask that," MacLeod demanded. Methos simply stared at him, so he continued, "We're the last two left...we'll have to fight each other Methos!"

"Why," Methos asked, sounding as if he honestly did not understand their situation.

"Why? There can be only one, ever hear that before?"

"Of course I've heard it," Methos said. Then he casually added, "I thought it up."

"You...thought...," MacLeod stammered, but was too stunned to continue.

"Yes, although...well, let's just say that I didn't use those exact words."

Civilization's End (a bar somewhere in the Fertile Crescent), 3000 BCE

Methos and his three friends sat around the inn swilling what passed for beer in those days. They had consumed vast quantities of the vile liquid, and the innkeeper was amazed that they hadn't drunk themselves to death. That was impossible though, because they were all immortal. They were also all quite drunk.

Two barmaids scurried around the inn serving the immortals and other patrons. Unfortunately business hadn't been good lately, so the innkeeper had been taking a poll among the regulars as to which girl he should fire. The decision was a difficult one, because both were young and pretty. One was blonde while the other was a brunette. But there was one other noticeable difference. The blonde barmaid was rather well endowed in the general vicinity of her chest. While the brunette was more notable for her very firm backside.

Methos and his friend Falgie had been ogling the girls for the past half hour. And while Falgie preferred the blonde, Methos favored the brunette. They had been enjoying a friendly debate of the girls features for some time, but as the beer continued to flow their bickering turned to squabbling and finally to genuine quarreling.

"I suggest we settle this outside," said Falgie.

The sword fight was unusually long (probably due to the fact that both men were too intoxicated to stand up straight, much less wield their weapons). This gave the spectators, both mortal and immortal, plenty of time to assemble. Methos' and Falgie's two friends began to take wagers on which of their friends would kill the other. As the battle grew over long, some of the audience began to leave while others began shouting instructions.

"He's over there, you idiot," shouted one bystander who had just placed a fairly large bet on Methos.

Methos staggered towards the kneeling figure that he hoped was his friend, Falgie. Methos was feeling tired, and more than a little sick, so he decided that it was time to put an end to this. He also decided that his friend had been more obnoxious than usual that afternoon and deserved to be taught a lesson. Falgie's neck was exposed and that gave Methos an idea.

Methos raised his sword overhead, intending to give his immortal friend a temporary death he wouldn't soon forget. But before he swung, he mumbled the following words...

"In the End, there can be only buns."

"...and, well, the rest is, as they say, history," Methos concluded his tale.

Methos suddenly noticed MacLeod's flushed face and bulging eyes.

"You don't look so good MacLeod, would you like to get some fresh air?"

MacLeod was no longer capable of speaking, even in monosyllables, but he did managed to nod.

Once outside MacLeod walked around the corner and took a few steps into the alley before leaning against the side of a building to catch his breath. Methos followed.

"MacLeod, have you ever heard the one about the Babylonian general?"

Before MacLeod could protest, Methos continued.

"He was declared a traitor for leading a revolt. He escaped the night before he was to be executed and hid in an old Babylonian Ziggurat, or temple, where he expected to find some of his associates. Not finding them, he began to burn the papers they had left, and was immediately recaptured. The moral...," Methos paused dramatically.

"WARNING -- The searchin' general has determined that smoking ziggurats may be hazardous to your stealth."

As Methos was finishing his joke, MacLeod drew his sword and ran his friend through.

"MacLeod, what are you doing," Methos asked with real alarm in his voice for the first time that evening.

"In the end, there can be...," MacLeod paused as he raised his sword over