I wrote Resfic! Kronos just kept bugging me until I wrote this, which is strange because I have never written anything with him in it before. Of course, now Caspian wants to come back too. Sigh. Well, here it goes before I lose my nerve.

Category : slight Methos/Kronos slashiness

Rating : Um, PG?

Notes : Brimstone xover, but you don't really need to know the series. Thanks to Ladonna for betaing and to Killaria for reading the really rough hand written first draft and giving suggestions.

Disclaimer : Not mine, though I live in hope:)

Summary : Kronos escapes from hell... or does he?

Alone
by Carole

Hell is oneself,
Hell is alone.
T. S. Eliot

The past few months --or was it years?-- had been hell for Kronos, literally. I was difficult to tell. Time didn't work quite the same way in the underworld as it did in the corporeal one. It was longer there, eternity in an instant, and through it all he could only think of one thing: betrayal. After his escape, he'd wandered for a while, avoiding both Ezekiel Stone, the Devil's little puppet, and Asher since the bitch didn't like competition and he'd no intension of signing on for her crusade. He had his own plans and why should he waste his second chance burning churches? So, he found himself in Seacouver, watching his last remaining brother who was oblivious to his presence.

Revenge had been on his mind often while he dodged the "hell hounds" on his trail. Two people had destroyed everything and send him to hell, a place he hadn't even thought existed. They had to pay. He'd never really put much stock in the afterlife. Why bother? Immortality had its benefits, and he hadn't planned on dying for quite a long time. Of course, he had never thought that Methos would betray him so completely either. Oh, he'd known about MacLeod, but he'd never realized that Methos was capable of killing a brother, of ending things once and for all, of choosing the Highlander over him. While Methos had lied with a thousand other words, and glances, and touches, it seemed that his brother hadn't lied about only one thing. Methos had changed.

Methos was sitting in the café across the street, flirting with his waitress, not noticing Kronos' stare cutting the distance between them. He laughed at some unknown joke, his whole face lighting up, leaving Kronos enraptured. He wished he had a presence, a quickening, to let Methos know he was there, to meet his eyes at that instant as his plans for revenge shattered inside. He cared too much. Methos was the one thing in this world that really mattered. The sudden urge to rush up to his brother, to drag him away with him, kicking and screaming if necessary, was overwhelming, but he couldn't do that either. He could not condemn Methos along with himself, could not extinguish the light in those brightly shining eyes with an eternity of torment. Methos had dragged himself back to the light and had a chance he didn't. Tempting him with the past while knowing the consequences was something he could never do.

*Good luck, brother," he wished silently across the small, but infinite, void that separated them. It was better this way, to leave the temptation that was tearing him apart, to go as far from here as possible, away from soul hunters, serpent priestesses and from Methos. Silent as the ghost he should have been, Kronos turned and walked unacknowledged down the dark alley, alone.

THE END (or is it?)