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Methos woke at the first rumble and jolt and rolled from the bed. His first instinct was to climb underneath it. But, why?
An earthquake in New York City? Maybe? No, couldn't be. He felt a wave of heat.
Now, he was positive there wasn't a volcano closer than...
The ancient immortal rolled from his crouch and sprinted toward the windows. He skidded to a stop and looked out over the balcony at the skyline. At the rising cloud of smoke and debris. Flame?
"Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!"
"What the fuck's going on?" He grabbed the TV remote and turned the volume up, and caught the first of the bulletins.
"The World Trade Center! A plane? A fucking plane hit the North tower." He just stood there, unable to say more. Just looking at the screen. He'd seen...
"Duncan!"
He'd left early. Gone. For a moment the ancient brain blanked. He knew Mac had associates in the WTC. Had he plans today.
No. He exhaled suddenly, exultantly. His Highlander had gone to New Jersey. He grabbed the phone, even knowing the chances were small he'd get through. He was right.
Then he turned and began going through his dresser.
His bag was in the closet. And a backpack. He would load it with all the all the water and sports drinks they had.
He stopped, one leg in a study pair of jeans.
"Wherever you are, Duncan, be safe."
He finished dressing, packing, got his medical bag. He hurriedly locked the loft and started off at a jog west on Broome.
The loft was just a little over a mile to the northeast of the World Trade Center complex. But Methos had decided to stick to the most direct route, Broome to Broadway. It was longer, but he decided it would be safer. At least he hoped so.
He had just turned south on Broadway when he heard the plane. Low. Too low. He stared, unbelieving, as the South tower was struck. He turned away from the sight of the fireball. Then pulling out his hospital ID he sprinted toward City Hall.
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"Dr. Adams! Dr. Adams, here!" Methos turned toward the voice. Two rescue workers were hustling toward him carrying a young man between them. "He's not too bad, just some cuts. Sprained ankle."
Methos brushed away a coating of ash that had settled on the stretcher before they set the man down. Then he watched as the men hurried away.
"This is for shit." He looked around at the first aid unit. They were shuttling in all the minor cases. The walking wounded. There were plenty of people who could handle this kind of stuff. Methos looked around. "I have to do something more than play nurse."
"Come on, then." Methos turned toward the voice. A big man in fireman's gear. He tossed Methos a coat and hat. Then a respirator.
The ancient immortal nodded his thanks to the man, then pulled on the gear. "How bad is it, he asked quietly. "For real. I don't need a sugar coat."
The man thought for a moment. "Bad. They're saying there could be a collapse. They want to pull the rescue workers back. So we're trying to find as many survivors now as we can. That's where we're going." The man gave Methos a serious look. "Doc, I have to be real honest. I don't think you'll be seeing many patients. But I'm praying you do."
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MacLeod shook his cell phone and cursed. Joe had called him. From Seacouver.
He'd turned around, headed back for the City. He was listening to the radio, praying he could beat the traffic. Beat the closings he knew were to come. Get home before Methos did something stupid.
Not that there was anything he could do. Not really. Methos may have been
determined to stay out of the Game, but when it came to something like this.
MacLeod pulled off at a little diner and went in. They had a TV and were
watching CNN. The Scot pulled out his phone and made a call...
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Methos stood in the middle of the financial district of the greatest nation of the world and sobbed. In 5000 years he'd seen devastation Caused devastation. The memories came crashing down on him. All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball.
"Mister! Hey, mister! There's a woman over here. She's hurt bad."
The ancient immortal looked into the desperate eyes of the police officer, and nodded.
"Hey! You're a doctor?!"
"Yes. Yes I am."
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"Mr. MacLeod, normally I wouldn't let a civilian..." The fire chief from New Jersey looked the man over again. Looked down at the credentials he carried.
"But there's nothing fucking normal about that." He glanced to the East where a huge cloud of smoke obscured the skyline. He looked back at the man standing before him.
"Phil," he shouted. "Get this man some gear. He's going with us!"
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"Go home. You've done all you can, Adams." The EMT heading the triage station pulled Methos away from the portable TV. "The new shift is here. You're beat. Go home."
Methos nodded wearily.
Home. Duncan. Yes, that's what he wanted. Slowly, more tired than he thought he'd ever been in his life, he handed over what was left of his supplies.
Mask-less despite the smoke and ash and debris filling the air, he started North on Broadway. He fought the compulsion to turn and look back.
He'd walked a couple of blocks when a taxi pulled up beside him. He didn't notice until one of the occupants leaned out and yelled.
"Mister! Hey, it's the Doc! Doc!"
"Who?" Methos recognized one of the rescue workers.
"Come on. You look like you can use a lift."
Too tired to speak, the ancient immortal just nodded.
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"Methos? Methos!"
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod yanked open the loft door and his grime encrusted lover almost fell at his feet. He grabbed him, frightened at how frail he seemed. His presence barely registering even though Methos clung to him.
"Duncan? Duncan, I saw Death today. It's not me. It's not me."
End
Originally posted 10-3-01
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.