Duncan eventually trudged out of the waiting room of the FRC and drove home. He had attempted to flashback into various red stoplights on the way, but to no avail. He was depressed. Really, really depressed like nothing he'd ever encountered before in all of his measly four hundred years. Dragging his feet as he entered the dojo, he slowly made his way over to the elevator. He paused long enough to try a flashback on one of the men practicing martial arts in a desperate hope that it would bring on one of his hundreds of memories of fighting or learning from someone or another. Once again, it failed. He shook his head sadly and trudged into the elevator and made his way up to his apartment, feeling positively gloomy. He felt a buzz as he pulled up the door but was not concerned as he recognised the familiar signature.
"Methos," he said by way of a greeting.
"MacLeod," replied the man sprawled over his couch, mimicking the highlander's not-so-cheerful welcome. "Jesus, you look depressed."
Duncan pouted then splotched on the only corner of the couch that Methos wasn't occupying, demonstrating to what extent his depression reached.
"Ohhhh," cooed the five thousand year old man. "Tell Uncle Methos what happened."
Duncan gave him a Look that conveyed that the situation was far from funny.
"Had my flashback review today," he mumbled moodily.
Methos raised an eyebrow.
"Ahhh...*Now* I understand. You never go well on those, do you?" he commented. "Me on the other hand...well...I never get called in because it's no offense to not have enough flashbacks." He gave Duncan a martyred look. "You should feel privileged that you get such a huge quota in the first place. Some of us aren't that lucky."
Duncan pouted again and gave him a 'that's nice but my problems are worse' look. Methos contemplated ignoring the highlander but decided that considering that he was practically living in his house that maybe he should make an effort to be supportive. If only to secure a future for his beer supply.
"Ok, MacLeod," he said while gathering his limbs together from the couch and coffee table. "What did they say to you?"
"They're making me go...cold turkey...for a month," Duncan moaned.
Methos raised an eyebrow though didn't look particularly surprised.
"Well..." he started, "you have to admit you had that coming."
Duncan shrugged his shoulders and sulked.
"Look," Methos continued on. "Have you tested to see if they're all gone?"
Duncan nodded.
'I tested on the way home at the stoplights, and in the dojo downstairs," he replied. "Nothing."
Methos looked at him sadly.
"The stoplights didn't work. Oh, dear. That can't be good," he admitted. "Well, how about you test it on a few things in here. See what happens."
Duncan nodded sadly and stood up to wander around the room for any convenient objects to flashback into. He found an old picture of Tessa and stared at it intently for a minute before his eyes began to water. He sighed martyredly and wandered over to his window to try a 'looking through the window in some old house' flashback, but that also failed. He tried whizzing an eggbeater before his eyes, but to no avail. He wandered over to Methos and pulled his beer bottle closer and stared into its lid. That didn't work either so he tried old photo albums, memorabilia, and even the fridge contents - all failed. He splotched dejectedly back onto the couch.
"Meeeeethosssss," he whined. "What am I going to do?" His friend shrugged his shoulders but before he could offer any helpful advice, Duncan sat up suddenly with a hopeful expression. "Try verbal stimuli," he said. Methos raised an eyebrow, not so much because it sounded sexually suggestive, but more because those were mighty big words for Duncan to know. "I mean the guy in the office made up stories about himself which I could relate to and have flashbacks about," Duncan explained. "Pleeeease, Methos. *Pleeeeassssse*?" Methos sighed loudly.
"Fine, MacLeod. But don't get your hopes up," he responded.
He sat slightly more upright on the couch, meaning that he was only covering 90% of the total surface area. He sighed.
"Ok, how's this," he began, relaying an easy scenario in his head. "I knew this guy who madly in love but his clan didn't approve. So the two decided to elope and just as she promised to love him forever, she fell off a cliff and died."
He waited, staring less-than-convinced at Duncan, knowing full well that when the FRC took flashbacks away there was no hope of cheating the system. Duncan was far more stubborn and sat staring cross-eyed into space hoping desperately for that standard flashback to come.
"It's not working!" he cried eventually, a little slower in the uptake than Methos in realising that fact. "That one *always* works - I've even had it multiple times in a day sometimes!" He looked devastated, causing even Methos to feel sorry for the man.
"Look, MacLeod," Methos began, treading softly through the potential disaster-area of Duncan's mind. "They're gone. But it's only for a month. Just...focus on decapitating immortals or something. You always like that," he concluded, tempting the man with his favourite past time. "Come on, MacLeod. I'm sure I can find you a complete stranger for you to go charging after."
Duncan perked up slightly in his chair, acknowledging talk of his hobby.
"You know," continued Methos, getting into the flow of things. "I'm sure the immortal will be called Kieran or Kelly or Kevin or Kalam or something equally as suspicious sounding."
Duncan's posture straightened and his eyes looked brighter by the second.
"And..." continued Methos, quite enjoying himself. "I'm sure if you really thought about it, the immortal is probably *really* evil. And it's probably someone you've met before years and years ago over some murdered comrade or lover. You could have a nice traumatic flashba-"
Methos snapped his mouth shut, realising his mistake. Silence followed as Duncan's brain analysed the situation. Unfortunately it decided the slip was too noticeable to ignore.
"My flashbacks!" Duncan moaned loudly, his posture instantly crumpling as his head dropped into his hands in misery.
Methos, unsure how to deal with a distressed Highlander, decided against trying and opted for having another beer. A low grumble emitted from the huddled form occasionally, but otherwise nothing. Ten minutes later, Duncan's head rose slowly, and Methos made the mistake of looking over.
"Oh, noooo," he whispered. "Rolling mad eyes are never a good sign..."
Duncan sprang from his chair and began frantically grabbing at objects, staring intently for a few moments and then throwing them across the room. He had tried the pillows on the couch, a used beer can, and an old pizza box before Methos came leaping at him from behind.
"MACLEOD!"
Duncan spun around, foaming at the mouth, sending Methos flying behind as he clung desperately around the madman's neck.
"MACLEOD! STOP IT!! STOP IT OR I'LL DECAPITATE YOU!!"
Duncan stopped in mid-spin, a moment of sanity returning. Methos took the opportunity to fall back to the ground and make a dash for the couch.
"Hah!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Glad to see you can recognise a serious threat when you hear one."
Duncan looked at him. "I could kick you arse," was all he said, pouting.
Methos jumped from his seat, incensed. "You could not!" he cried. "I'm five *thousand* years old!"
Duncan, still feeling less than relaxed, chose unwisely to respond. "Why did you try and get me to take your head back when we first met, then? You even said you weren't good enough and needed my superior strength to take on Kalas."
Methos spluttered in the specific type of rage caused only by knowing the other person was right. "I didn't phrase it like that!" he yelled finally, slumping in a sulk down on the couch again. "I was just testing you...You know, seeing your moral worth..."
Duncan stared, possibly in disbelief or possibly in hope that a flashback would spring from the interaction.
"Well!" continued Methos, wanting desperately to win the argument yet feeling unnerved by the still slightly spinning eyes. "You're a flashback junkie!!"
Duncan's eyebrows hit his hairline in shock. "I am not!! I just...need them," he concluded lamely.
Methos raised a mocking eyebrow and gave a look that conveyed the thought that everyone under the age of one thousand years was completely brain dead. "Gee, well excuse my obviously wrong accusation," he replied sarcastically. He slouched further down on the couch and shut his eyes. "I'm not listening to this anymore. Go mope at an old painting of you, or something. I'm sure it won't work."
Duncan began a lovely pout but froze it as a tiny brain cell registered an idea. A devious idea, certainly, but one well worth trying in desperate circumstances. "Meeeethos...?"
"Not listening to you," came the reply.
"Remember Kronos?" he began. "I think he's back in town and is planning on killing you."
One eye creaked open and rolled itself in disbelief. "MacLeod. Kronos is dead. You killed him, remember?"
Duncan nodded and sat himself down on the chair closest to Methos. "Yeah, but were you glad? You never really said..."
Methos sighed and opened both his eyes. "Yeah, I suppose. I mean, he was evil. Good triumphing and all that..."
"But..." continued Duncan, "aren't you *really* glad? I mean, he must've done some pretty terrible stuff to you back in the old times, yeah?"
Methos shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, yeah. I remember once we were riding through this village... I was still his slave..." His voice lowered as he fell into the memory. "He'd found this place and killed its owners. Chained me naked to the bed. Bloody freezing it was, too..." The memory began to focus sharper as the images of what Kronos had done to him that day came flooding back. "I swear, I could've killaaaaaaah!!! MACLEOD!!!!!"
Methos sprang from the couch and shot to the opposite side of the room, looking shocked and betrayed. "I felt that!! I...I can't believe you just tried to do that!!"
Duncan stared at him, trying his best innocent expression, which unfortunately wasn't at all convincing. "What?"
Methos paused to grab some comforting cans of beer from the fridge before speaking again. "You tried to steal my flashback!"
Duncan gasped in feigned shock. "I did not!"
"You did too!!" yelled Methos, downing two full bottles of beer before even taking a breath. "You tricked me into flashbacking and you tried to steal it!! I *felt* your buzz having a go at my brain!!"
Duncan rose from his chair, his expression changing to admittance. "Fine. I did. And if you want to know, I'm going to get that flashback whether you let me or not!" He made a lunge at the older immortal, but Methos was too quick and sidestepped him neatly before smashing his current beer bottle over Duncan's head, sending the immortal crashing to the ground.
Methos stared at the fragments of glass left in his hand. "You better appreciate the sacrifice I just made," he muttered, mourning lost beer. "Back to the FRC for you, matey. Can't let you loose like this."
Half an hour later, the man at the FRC found a groggy Duncan dumped unceremoniously in the chair opposite his desk.
CHAPTER THREE: FLASHBACK JUNKIE