The Game 62
Edited by Karen Leigh
>"Anson, why are you so concerned that I'll leave you? What is there about me that makes you think that I would?"
"It's not you, Methos - this is my problem. My fear. I don't exactly have a great track record in the relationship department. I guess my past losses make me expect to be left... not just by lovers - by parents, friends - hell, I've lost my KID."
"How did it happen, love? When did you start to see yourself as a victim?"
Anson grimaced. "Shit, I don't know... when 'Daddy' started in on Mom - fucker beat her half to death. Then, she left. Without me. And I became his new punching bag."
Methos put his arm around Anson and settled him in against his shoulder, then paused for a moment or two. "You must have felt very fragile and vulnerable. What happened?"
"About what you'd expect. I got older, ran away, got caught, sent back, ran again." Anson shuddered at the memories and buried his face in Methos' shoulder. "Then foster care. I got moved so many times I stopped bothering to unpack."
"Didn't foster care make things better, love? Why did you go from home to home? See, I don't even remember my childhood. I don't recall my first death. In my memory I've always been this way. Childhood is something really strange and foreign to me."
"Well - actually, Anson confessed, "I was not a nice kid by then. So filled with rage and confusion. They tried - they really did - but I...well, I'd lost any trust in adults by then. And, well, I didn't give them a chance. Refused to listen. Just went looking for trouble - fighting in school - skipping classes - drugs. I was so sorry for myself, and so angry that I was so damned unlikable..."
"Gods, Anson-love. I guess that if you'd been around in the Bronze Age, you'd have been the same as I was. So tell me what happened?"
"A little time in juvie - got caught dealing pot - and then, the Marines. That was good and bad - the Marines, I mean. Got a chance to express my aggression through exercise. Unfortunately, I tended to fight any other grunt that looked at me the wrong way."
Methos turned his head at that, fixing Anson with a smile that made his eyes crinkle. "Anson Greene, how the hell did you get into the Marines when you were caught dealing? I thought that the armed forces frowned on that? "
"My parole officer somehow did it - don't know how. Never asked for the details."
"But it turned out to be a poor career choice, I assume? I can't imagine that they took kindly to the brawling you describe."
"No, you got that right. I was court-martialed. Spent a fair amount of time in Leavenworth. Lovely place. Just wonderful!" He said bitterly. "They finally released me - I went to California and found Roxie, and got married."
"We're the same, I think, you and I, except that I lived in a more forgiving time - at least it was more forgiving for me. What happened in Leavenworth? I can't imagine that being fun. How did you manage when you got out?"
"Leavenworth," Anson frowned fiercely, remembering. "At first, I fought all comers. Then I finally figured out that I'd spend the rest of my life in there if I didn't change things. So... I gave in. Became the model prisoner. Allowed myself to be used by - well, I'm sure you can imagine."
"But, it worked - I got out. Headed west and found myself a job - through my P.O. It wasn't anything fancy - but it paid the bills. Gradually worked my way up to better pay, met Roxie, got married and had a kid." His expression softened. "Annabel is her name. Only good thing I ever managed to do in my life."
"So far," murmured Methos. "It's not over yet, kid. You've got a long way to go." He grinned down at Anson. "Not only are you just a kid, but you have some support now. You aren't alone, kid. 'Daddy' is here to stand at your back. All you have to do is talk to me. Just don't get into the habit of seeing me as the enemy. That's all I ask. So, tell me why you aren't still married. I assume that you aren't."
"No, I fucked that up just like everything else. It started out well. We got along so well - it was almost scary." He snorted. "Shit, it WAS scary. I'd never felt so close to anyone. And then the baby came along. I love her so much, Methos. Eventually, I got more and more frightened - and that made me crazy. I started gambling, smoking... I hurt people - started up with my belligerent behavior again. Intimidated people. Killed a cop."
"That was a little unwise. The police protect their own." Methos paused for a moment, frowning as he tried to think how to ask his next question. "Do you think that they are still chasing you, love? Do we need to get you out of the country?"
"I don't ... I don't think I CAN leave - I'd be so far from Annabel then. 'Course, the way things stand, I couldn't see her right now, anyway. Court order." He frowned in thought... "What do you think, Methos? SHOULD I go away? Remove the temptation? I still - always - have to stop myself from checking up on her. And, the longer I go without seeing her, the more I want to see her. Despite the danger to me."
The only one that knows what?s in your heart is you. I can?t tell you what you need. I can only try and help to provide it for you when you know what it is. Why do you want to see your daughter? What would you do if you saw her? Would seeing her be enough, or would you then ache to talk to her, touch her, run away with her?? Methos was still holding Anson, gently rubbing the man?s arm with his hand. ?You could see her, but is that all you want??
"I..." Anson looked at Methos with chagrin. "I'm afraid seeing her would make me... make me want to take her away." He shrugged. "Even though I KNOW Rox is a good mother, takes good care of our daughter, I - well, I want her with me. Wouldn't be the best father in the world, but... I love her so, and I know she loves me. The temptation would be overwhelming, I think."
Methos hugged him. There really wasn?t anything he could say to that. ?It must be hell for you, love. I?m so sorry.? His cheek rubbed across dark, feathery hair. ?It?s something that you have knowledge of, that I?ve never known for all my age. Immortals are sterile. I?ll never know what it feels like to father a child of my own. In a way, I envy you.?
Laying his head on Methos' shoulder, Anson pressed his lips to that long neck. "I'm sorry, love. Having a kid is... well, I can't even begin to describe it. You know how they say that you'll love your child without reservation as soon as she's laid in your arms?" Methos nodded, his cheek brushing against Anson's hair. "I always thought 'they' were full of shit - but then I held Annabel and..." he sighed. "It was so strange - I was instantly and madly in love with her. I honestly think that I'd die for her."
You know, we should table the idea of visiting Annabel, and bring it up again when all this mess is over. I guess that defeating alien hordes comes a little higher up in the list of priorities than your little girl, if only because she is going to be at risk from the aliens, just the same as the rest of us.? Methos paused for a minute, his fingers skimming the scar at the back of Anson?s neck. ?Anson, love, do you remember having surgery on your neck at any time?
Confused for a moment by the abrupt change of subject, Anson paused. "Um - my neck? I - no, Methos, can't say that I remember anything." He raised one hand to the area in question. "Why?" He asked curiously. He'd learned that Methos never asked a question without good reason. "Is there... I mean, do YOU feel anything there?"
I think that you have a microchip there,? murmured Methos, stroking his finger over the telltale scar. I had one as well, and Philip? I noticed that he did this morning. I?m really concerned about the damned things. I hate anything that I don?t understand. It?s too much of a coincidence that we've all gathered here. I?m wondering why that is, and suspect we've been summoned.?
A chip? In his neck? Damn! Filled with sudden dread, Anson raised his head from its comfy perch on Methos' shoulder, and frowned at the other man.
"Don't think I like the idea of having some damned chip in me." He ran his fingers over the back of his neck, gasping as he found the scar himself. "I want it out. Now! Can you do that for me?"
N-no?? Methos turned to face him, his face intense. I was talking to Dr. Scully about these things. She had one, you know, and when it was removed, she got cancer. I? I don?t want you to get cancer. That would serve no purpose. With your permission, love, we?ll do nothing until we find out a little more about what the damned things do. Can I study you, love? Please??
Cancer? Ohmigod! Anson swallowed heavily as the word echoed through his mind. Fear sent a jolt through his body.
No... god, NO!
"Shit, Methos - I don't want to get cancer. The idea scares me half to death. I... I just found you - I'm just starting to find ME. I - I, whatever you think is best, that's what I'll do. Study me, if you want. Only, please, PLEASE, keep me alive. I trust you - more that you know. Do what you have to do."
Whoa, love. Slow down. You?re fine, and I have no reason to believe that you will get cancer. Dr. Scully said that hers was a result of the chip being removed from her neck. That?s why I don?t want to do anything too drastic. First we need to X-ray it and take a look that way.? Methos smiled. ?I promise you that your doctor will have a really good bedside manner.?
Relieved at the reassurance, Anson again laid his head on Methos' shoulder. In a teasing voice, he said, "Good - great - as long as no one else gets the benefit of your - um, 'bedside manner'. 'Course, your 'in bed' manner is nothing to sneeze at either." He snuggled closer and sighed. "You do whatever you think best, Methos. I trust you."
Methos leant down to kiss Anson?s lips, his mouth sealing to his lover?s gently. His arms slipped around Anson and the two of them remained embraced for some time before, with a soft sigh, Methos released Anson and again they sat, silently communing.
Methos had digested his late lunch and whiled away a happy half hour snuggling with Anson in the late afternoon sun. He'd mulled over some of the things that had occurred to him over the past few days, and now he was concentrating on microchips. Taking the one that Scully had removed from him, he pondered it for a while, wondering what it might be for, and suddenly he rose to his feet, startling Anson.
"I've had an idea. I need to go to the infirmary to check it out. You want to come with me, or stay here?" Without waiting for a reply, Methos set off past the commissary and back to the infirmary and it's laboratory facility. As he passed the commissary with it's assorted appetizing aromas, he felt the quickening that signified Cory's presence within, tingling over his skin like a breeze, and beneath it, the buzz that was almost, but not quite immortal, a slither over sensitized nerve endings that made him frown as he went. Damn him. Damn them both.
As he reached the infirmary he entered swiftly, and heading to one of the microscopes he began to examine the chip that had been removed from his flesh. The Mac 27 that had been given medical information approached him tentatively.
"Hello?" Methos was preoccupied.
"I am Mac 27 number 9637. I am here to assist you, doctor. How may I help?"
"Hmmm. Cumbersome name. Okay, I'm going to call you Richie. You remind me of someone I used to know," Methos said, returning his attention to the chip.
"Thank you for my name, sir. It is most kind. I have reason to believe that the item you are studying is sending out a signal on a waveband ordinarily used by microwaves. Is this something you should know, sir?"
"That's it! Richie, you are a gem." Methos slapped his forehead. Of course. The things were tracking devices of some kind. Not a good idea to remove them from mortal necks. He recalled what Scully had shared about hers. So, he had best develop some sort of jamming device. Turning to Richie/9637, he grinned. "Richie, we have a job to do..."
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