TITLE: Rememberance AUTHOR: Methos (email@example.com) DISCLAIMER: All things Star Trek belong to a ton of people, this is set just after the 2009 movie, so probably J. J. Abrams and all those people… Duncan Macleod and any other Highlander characters I bring into this belong to Davis & Panzer... Any other characters or universes that get dragged into this mess belong to their respective owners... Nothing is mine, only the extremely twisted idea. 2252, May twentieth. Duncan turned on his chair to look towards the doorway, the presence of another immortal alerting him to the intrusion long before the door beeped as it slid open. His hand was already half way towards his katana that was stashed under the counter, years of ingrained memory teaching him to always have his sword nearby, the fact that he hadn’t faced a challenge in over seventy years was beside the point. “Candygram,” Duncan smiled as he recognised the voice, watching as the face appeared in the doorway as a warning before the door opened to allow him entry. “Well well, Macleod’s Antiques, you certainly haven’t changed have you?” Methos grinned as he slowly walked into the store, idly looking around. “It’s a living,” Duncan explained with a grin as he stood up. “It’s good to see you.” He said as he embraced his old friend with a hug. “And you,” Methos smiled back. “It’s been, what, forty years?” “Forty seven,” Duncan corrected him as he moved to behind the counter where he had a small fridge, fetching a bottle of water for himself and a beer for Methos. “British,” Methos raised his eyebrow as he accepted the beer. “Cold, but still…” He smiled as he popped the top open and took a long drink from the bottle. “Mate in five,” He commented idly as he noted the chess set in the middle of a game set to one side. “I didn’t ask you here for a match Methos,” Duncan commented as he nodded to a chair by the counter so they could sit and talk properly. “Yes, why did you call me back here?” Methos asked as he moved to take the offered seat. “There are so few of us left, you finally grown tired of antiques and wanted a real challenge?” He asked wryly, a twinkle in his eye showing he was only joking. “The challenge is right,” Duncan commented, “But not from you old man.” He laughed as he took another swig from his water. “I want to ask a favour.” “Name it,” Methos nodded seriously, knowing that Macleod had always been there for him when he needed it, so he was more than happy to return the favour when asked, as long as it didn’t pose a threat to him or his head that was. “Look after the store for me,” Duncan said simply. “That’s it?” Methos asked with a raised eyebrow. “What, taking a holiday or something?” “Something like that,” Duncan smiled as he turned to get some paperwork from behind him. “Why not just close up?” Methos asked curiously. “It’s not as if you need the money, seems like a pretty secure neighbourhood. But then, you could have asked anyone couldn’t you.” He said finally, catching on to what Macleod was doing. “Why did you really ask me…” He trailed off as Macleod turned back to the counter and pushed some papers towards him. “It’s finally happened then.” Methos grinned as he read the papers. “The vaunted Highlander has finally lost his mind.” “Hardly,” Duncan smirked at him. “It’s something I’ve got to do.” “Join Starfleet?” Methos rolled his eyes. “Is this one of those immortal mid-life crisis things that I’ve avoided for over five thousand years? Get a cat, a sports car, take up bungee jumping or something.” “It’s a worthwhile cause.” Duncan defended himself. “So was NATO, look how that ended, or have you forgotten the Eugenics Wars already, or World War Three, fat lot of good those big organisations did then.” Methos argued back. “Starfleet’s different.” Duncan commented, not rising to the bait of Methos’ arguments. “Really,” Methos rolled his eyes as he took another mouthful of the beer. “Look, I get it, you’re bored. The headhunters are gone, there’s maybe a hundred, two hundred immortals left. No Gathering, no Prize, no challenges. You’re looking for something to give your life meaning, I get that. But Starfleet?” “I didn’t ask you here for your permission Methos,” Duncan said wryly. “I don’t need your blessing to do this.” “No, the world oldest boy scout doesn’t need blessings or permissions, or common sense it seems.” Methos smirked back. “Looking for new ways to die then, because I’m sure being on one of those great big star ships as it explodes or falls to earth would do the job just as well as a sword.” “Probably,” Duncan nodded in agreement. “I didn’t say it was going to be easy.” “Oh that’s reassuring,” Methos laughed back. “Fine, go ahead, sure there’s plenty of planets out there with alien races more than happy to blow that head of yours off with a nice energy weapon or something.” “It’s worth the risk,” Duncan sighed. “Look, you’ve been around longer than me, longer than anyone. Don’t you get bored of it? The world, you’ve seen it, been everywhere, done everything. There’s nothing else to do here.” “There’s staying alive for one,” Methos grinned back. “It’s a phase, it’ll pass. Starfleet will fail, then there’ll be another world government, and another, all with the same goals and ambitions. We’ve seen it before, governments, cities, nations, they rise and fall, this one is no different.” “I think it is,” Duncan said firmly. “I’ve already enlisted, shipping out on Thursday.” “So I see,” Methos nodded as he read the date on the papers. “So you’ll do it then?” Duncan asked, hoping that Methos would at least be dependable for once in his ancient life and do as he’d asked. “Look after the store,” Methos sighed. “Fine, what’s it going to be, two years, three at most?” “I’ve signed up for a five year mission after qualification,” Duncan explained. “Fast track through the academy and then officer training.” “Seven years then,” Methos nodded. “You could just sell the place.” “Methos,” Duncan smiled over, knowing the old man was only kidding. “What’s seven years to us?” He grinned. “It’s still seven years,” Methos smiled back. “Fine, but I still think you’re crazy.” “You always did,” Duncan grinned as he raised his bottle. “To Starfleet.” He said as a toast. “To overgrown boy scouts,” Methos countered as he tapped Duncan’s bottle of water with his beer. “And god help the rest of the galaxy.” He laughed before draining the beer.