Duncan couldn't believe it had been that long.
Twenty-nine days of heartache.
Twenty-nine days of wondering where he'd run to, if he was still alive.
Twenty-nine days of wishing he was here.
Twenty-nine days of hindsight, of recriminations and regrets.
He'd been so sure that what happened had been consensual, that the dreams he'd been having had become a beautiful reality, and he'd wanted Methos so damned much it made his heart ache with the sheer enormity of it. This had been no ordinary attraction, woven as it was with the threads of their complex relationship, and Duncan hadn't been prepared for the power of it.
Nor, he could see now, had Methos been.
It hurt so much. The bar might as well have been an ocean for all the pain that separated them, all the hateful words that had been said. He couldn't take them back, though he wished he could.
Just how many regrets can one man stand? I never wanted to hurt you, but how was I supposed to know you'd ask me that? I thought we had an agreement. You weren't supposed to ask for more than I could give, and I would give you what I felt I could safely spare.
It should've been easy, but 'easy' had never been a word that came to mind when he thought of their relationship. No, 'complicated' was a better word. Yet that didn't even begin to describe the pain that Methos felt.
Damn. It was all supposed to be simple. How could a kiss turn into hurt like this?
Yet it did, and there was nothing he could say to stop the pain, nothing he could do. Staring into Duncan's eyes, all he could do was look, and hope that something of his sorrow was reflected in his eyes. He could feel Duncan's decision as if it was a book he'd handed him, felt the sharp arrow of heartbreak with the realization. All the years of friendship had boiled down to this moment, and the moment was passing faster than Methos wanted.
No words were spoken. Methos didn't need them to understand when Duncan turned away, and walked out of the bar. The unspoken good-bye felt as loud as a thunderclap.