I hadn’t even intended to write anything tonight, but the song, my mood, a few glasses of wine, and Methos, produced the unexpected.
A story in the ‘Emily’ series (till I think of a better name!). The first two being “Irreconcilable Differences” and “Seriously”. You can find the links over in the sidebar.
Methos doesn’t belong to me – but oh, if he did! Where was I? Oh yeah… Methos doesn’t belong to me, but Emily does. The usual :)
The Tragedy That We Knew As The End
“It’s not fair,” she sighed as his lips caressed her throat. “I’m exhausted, can’t think straight, and you’re taking advantage.” She didn’t sound too put out despite her half-hearted objections.
“I never play fair,” he reminded her in a soft whisper that set her heart racing, his teeth tugging gently at the lobe of her ear. Reaching behind him, he locked the door to the on call room.
Emily pulled his head down, kissing him languorously, before pulling back a little to murmur, “We’re divorced.”
“Not yet, we aren’t.”
“You sound like Derek,” she said, distracted by the feel of his hands on her body. Closing her eyes, Emily tried to reign in the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm what was left of her common sense. At 2 a.m. and after ten hours of surgery, exhausted, she had no defenses left against her husband’s calculated assault. “It’s not fair,” she whispered again, relenting, pulling him closer.
Gently but inexorably, Methos pushed her back, hands and lips never resting, pressing the advantage he knew he had. “You keep saying that.” He sounded amused.
“Shut up.” Her legs hit the edge of the cot. “I hate you.”
“So you told me – on our first date.” Now he was laughing in between the hungry almost desperate kisses. He pulled off the top of her scrubs, pushing her down onto the cot. “And frequently over the last thirteen years,” he reminded her.
Emily didn’t care anymore. She didn’t have the willpower to stop what was happening. In the months since he’d arrived at Seattle Grace, she’d done her best to excise him from her life – and had failed miserably. Inch by inch, he’d worked his way through her defenses, despite her best efforts. Maybe this was inevitable. Methos was the one touchstone in a life that had become unreal in its complexity, no matter how much she hated herself for having to admit that.
“You didn’t listen to me then; why should now be any different?” she asked huskily, tangling her fingers in his hair, inhaling his familiar scent. How could she still love him so desperately after everything that had happened? Emily submitted – to him and to herself. She’d pay for this later, but later seemed so far away.
Methos held her face between his hands, looking into her eyes with a hunger that should have scared her. But she was past fear, past anger. “I can’t let you go, Emily. I know I promised, but I can’t.”
She swallowed, shaking her head slightly between his hands. “There’s only tonight. I can’t promise you anything else.” Closing her eyes, not able to bear his gaze any longer, she whispered, “Please don’t expect more, Methos. Let now be enough.”
He was totally still against her, before gently, like silk brushing her lips, he kissed her. “I can’t.” Pushing away from her, he drew the bed sheet over her as he stood. “I can’t; because it isn't enough,” he whispered, as if to himself.
Emily pressed her palms against her eyes, willing herself not to cry as she heard his footsteps cross the short distance to the door. Then he was gone and once more, she was alone.