Notes: A story in the Bloodties series, set in the Star Trek future/time line, but no ST characters, just the 'Mirror, Mirror' concept.
Characters: Methos, Duncan MacLeod, MirrorMethos, Kronos, Silas, Lucien LaCroix, Original Characters
Summary: When Methos' past becomes part of the present, the consequences could be deadly for those close to him.
If you're new to the series, you can find an overview here.
Finally, a new part -- even though it didn't quite come out as I initially envisioned. This story seems to be doing a lot of that to me! Sorry it took so long, but I literally had to drag this bit out kicking and screaming. The next part looks to be in the same sort of mood, but I'll try and get it done faster this time! Thanks for your patience, all your comments, and for reading! Hope this was worth the wait.
I Remember You Not Fondly ~ Part Eight
The music had returned. Somewhere in that place between death and rebirth, Triona often heard music. Sometimes she thought it was what heaven must sound like. There was always music there; the sound of the angels singing was everywhere. Or at least that’s what her grandmother, Catrìona MacAlpine, used to say when Triona had been a child visiting for the summer at the family home in Nova Scotia.
For a time the angelic sounds wrapped her in a warm blanket of peace. Then the music began to drift away as awareness slowly returned, only to come to a violent screeching finale as pain roared across her in a searing wave. She would have screamed, but perhaps thankfully, her vocal cords hadn’t healed enough for her to do so. Agony pushed her back into black nothingness.
There was a voice that pulled her back to consciousness, back to pain. Though not enough pain for escape this time. It was a voice Triona knew intimately. It had comforted her, raged at her, and loved her. She tried to say his name, needing his reassurance. Terrified, though unable to remember why. But everything would be all right now; now he was here.
“I told you I’d be displeased if you caused trouble.” The voice that had only moments before brought comfort now dragged the terror from the darkness back to conscious memory. “Now that you understand the consequences, perhaps further demonstrations will be unnecessary.”
Desperately, she tried to get away, but all she managed was a choked whimper that barely passed her still charred lips. There was so much pain, so much fear that she couldn’t think, only react with a panic her body was unable to respond to.
“Shhhhh, fighting me isn’t going to help. Don’t make me hurt you again, Triona.” Methos sounded so calm and reasonable, not at all like the man who in a fury had brutally thrown her into the sun to burn. Something cool came to rest against her throat. “I’m not without mercy.” There was pressure and a hiss as the hypospray released its contents into her bloodstream. “Sleep now, and when you wake up, we’ll start fresh, you and I.” His words drifted past her as the sedative took her down into its painless hold.
She knew it was a dream, but she didn’t care, pulling the edges of memory around her like a cloak…
It was the morning after the day before, and everything had changed. Except for one thing – she still loved him. Loved him more than she should have and so much that it scared her. Or it would have if she’d let herself think about it.
In just a few hours, everything had changed. ‘Adam’ was dead and gone, and the reality of who Methos was and had been was almost impossible to grasp. Triona grappled with what he’d confessed the afternoon prior, about his past, about what had happened over the last weeks: Kronos, Cassandra, and the Horsemen…Death. Reconciling Adam Pierson – because that’s who he’d really been to her, despite her knowing his true name – with Death was a nearly impossible feat. But he was hurting, she knew that, and she loved him, she knew that too. Somehow, it had to help her cope with the violent shift her life had taken in the last twenty-four hours.
When he’d woken late that afternoon, she’d been sitting by the bed, watching him sleep. They’d said little, each waiting for the other to start. After sunset, they’d gone for a walk, down to the lakeshore, still mostly silent, till Methos had said, “If you’ve changed you mind, I understand. I won’t stay if you tell me to go.”
She started to protest, but he stopped her, a finger across her lips. “No, listen to me, Triona. It was too much for you to take in yesterday. In the cold light of day, you must be having second thoughts.” There was a desperate edge to his voice. He expected her to agree but at the same time, was afraid she would.
Closing her eyes, she prayed for strength. Then she looked up at him, remembering everything that had come before, how he’d loved her, how he’d taken care of her when she’d been near death. How he’d been all she had when everything was dark and she’d thought her life was over. Finally, she asked, “Who are you really, Methos?” She put her palm against his chest, feeling his heart beat strong.
He searched her eyes, as if trying to read her very soul. Then he said, so softly that his words wove themselves into the wind, “A man who loves you….”
The memories, the dream, drifted away as the sedative wore off, and less pleasant, more recent memories intruded on her fleeting peace. She wanted it to be a nightmare. Something she’d wake up from, only to be comforted and told that it was all a bad dream. But that wasn’t going to happen. She was a prisoner of someone who was an intimate and familiar stranger. And she had to do whatever was necessary to get the man she loved back from that mirror place he was trapped in. It was her turn to save him, to repay all the times he’d been there for her over the last four centuries. Whatever the price, she would pay it.
“What were you dreaming about?” he asked.
Triona had come to on a bed in one of the empty cabins to find her tormenter sitting in a chair watching her. Now she sat against the wall, her knees drawn up on the edge of the bed.
Clenching a fist into the cover, she shook her head. “I don’t remember,” she lied.
“You called out for him, you know,” he said, slightly mocking. “I wonder how he’s faring in my place? Kronos no doubt will find it entertaining, and Triona, well... she’d as soon kill him as anything just for the sin of having my face.”
Kronos was alive in his reality? That was something she hadn’t been prepared for, and her fear for Methos ratcheted up at the revelation. Despite her best efforts, something of her distress must have showed. “Oh, yes, he’s quite alive. I must say I was surprised to discover he hadn’t made it past the twentieth century here. I’m sure there must be a story behind it, a story you can share with me later.”
She didn’t reply, just stared past his shoulder at the wall behind. He stood up, towering over her perch on the bed. “Still being stubborn, I see. We’ll have to discuss that later as well.” Swallowing at the threat, she clenched the blanket in her fist even tighter. “But for now,” he continued, “you reek of burnt flesh -- not a pleasing scent at all. Clean yourself up,” he ordered, taking her arm, pulling her off the bed and propelling her towards the bathroom. “When you’re fit again for civilized company, we’ll continue our discussion.” For a moment his hand lingered at her waist, his fingers brushing up across her ribs and she suppressed a shudder at the touch. “And then we’ll see if you can be more biddable.”