Ith (ithildyn) wrote,

'I Remember You Not Fondly' (10/20)

I should be in bed, but I wanted to finish this part. Sorry it's been so long, but my muse was on strike!

Rating: R for violence & non-consensual sex.
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.


I Remember you Not Fondly ~ Part Ten

Methos watched as the sun set, casting the landscape of the alien planet in hues of green and yellow. “Dawn! It was dawn here!” he exclaimed suddenly.


Slapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other, he didn’t immediately answer, lost in thought. Then he looked down at the woman who was a mirror of his wife. “It was hours before dawn when I touched the device, but when I arrived here, the sun was almost rising!”

“You’re sure?” Triona asked, her eyes already someplace else as she began to mull over this new information.

“Yes.” He followed her back into the tent. “Is that significant?” Please let it be.

“I think so,” she replied absently, not really paying attention to him anymore, lost in her own world of quantum realities.

“Will it help to send me back?” he demanded with a note of yearning.

She looked up sharply, then asked question of her own, “Just why are you so eager to go back? What’s there that’s so important?”

He needed to be more careful; she wasn’t blind. Putting a tighter reign on his emotions, he shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t belong here. I can feel it. The sooner I go back to my reality, the better.”

Tilting her head, she searched his eyes for the lie she seemed to expect there. “It might,” she finally answered his question. “But I need to think, something that would be easier to do with fewer interruptions,” she said pointedly, sitting down at her workstation.

Taking the hint, Methos sat in the chair across the table from her. She typed furiously into the terminal, keeping up an almost inaudible dialogue to herself as she did so. Then she reached for a stylus with her scarred left hand, but lost hold of it. It clattered back to the desk and she snatched her hand back into her chest, suddenly aware of his regard. He realized that the scarring was more than a surface injury and that whatever had happened had damaged the tendons between her thumb and forefinger.

“I can’t work with you here. Leave,” she snapped, not looking at him, still cradling her hand between her breasts.

Methos felt a wave of empathy for the woman across from him. He knew she wasn’t his Triona, but the haunted look in her eyes was too much. Without really thinking, he reached for her hand. “There are exercises you can do to strengthen your hand,” he said softly, taking gentle hold of her wrist. She let him draw it down to the table between them. “It can’t be permanently repaired, but you can increase the dexterity and strengthen the muscles.”

She exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath, and he felt her pulse racing under his fingers. Carefully, softly, he rubbed the scar tissue that webbed between her thumb and finger. “I can help, if you’ll let me.” Then he looked up, catching a look of sheer terror in her eyes just before she pulled herself from his grasp, throwing herself back, toppling out of the chair in the process.

“Stay away!” she screamed, leaping to her feet, her right hand now holding a wicked looking dagger.

Dumbfounded by the violent change in her mood, Methos stayed where he was. She’s not entirely sane, Kronos’ words came back to him. “I’m sorry,” he tried to placate her. “I only wanted to help.”

“No!” She pointed the dagger at him. “Do you think I’m a fool? You’re just like him! You want to help me? You’re the reason this happened!” Triona thrust out her scarred arm. “Cassandra may have poured the acid, but you were the one who caused it to happen!” She was in a terrorized panic, her shouted accusations mixing with sobs.

The road to hell, you idiot… Standing up, he slowly backed away from her, holding up his palms. “It’s okay, I’ll go now. I swear I won’t hurt you.” Then the presence of another Immortal washed over him. Methos didn’t turn, keeping his full attention on the woman before him.

Kronos, followed by Silas, strode past him, and Methos sighed in relief, a part of him not unaware of the irony at being relieved by Kronos’ presence.

Her eyes fell on Kronos like a drowning woman’s, as she pressed the tip of her blade against her throat, sobbing piteously. “All will be well, my love,” Kronos said softly, focusing his will on her. “Give it to me,” he commanded, still keeping his voice pitched low. “Please, Triona.”

Methos held his breath as he watched the tableau before him play out. He had done everything he could, all those centuries ago, to keep Triona away from Kronos. Seeing them together here, in this reality, was something he was having trouble dealing with. They weren’t his Kronos or Triona, and yet… and yet. The thought that there might have been some sort of attraction between them was something he had never considered – till now. And that sense of possibility left him feeling more unsettled than anything had this day.

Then the dagger was in Kronos’ hand and he tossed it behind him. Triona was still crying as Kronos drew her into his arms. Silas stood silently behind, as if on guard. All of them ignored Methos’ presence in the tent.

Kronos drew back, looking over at Silas, who handed him a hypospray. Silas’ hands came down gently but firmly, enveloping Triona’s shoulders.

“No, please…” she pleaded, managing to choke out the words between sobs, struggling futilely against Silas’ hold.

“Shhh…” he stroked her hair. “You need to sleep now, my love. Silas will watch over you and in the morning, all will be well. You trust me, don’t you?” Gently, he pressed his lips against her forehead, the hand holding the hypospray coming up to her throat, the hiss of the injection audible in the quiet of the tent.

As she crumpled, Silas scooped her into his large arms, carrying her over to a cot at the back of the tent, laying her gently upon it. He drew a coverlet up to her chin, then sat down on the ground, leaning against the cot, watching over the woman that lay there.

Only then did Kronos turn his attention to Methos. “A word,” came the preemptory command.

Methos silently followed Kronos from the tent into the dark.


“Why were you there?” Kronos demanded. “I distinctly recall telling you we would meet at the evening meal.”

They had crossed the clearing back to Kronos’ tent. Now the man paced back and forth, not looking at Methos.

“She sent a guard for me. Told me to tell her every detail of my transfer to this place.” Methos clenched a hand into a fist. “I don’t know what happened. One minute she was fine, the next…”

“Yes.” Now Kronos met Methos’ eyes. “Yes, I know. This isn’t the first time, as you have probably gathered.”

“Her hand.” Methos exhaled sharply. “I’m a doctor, and I wanted to help, that’s all.”

“She isn’t your woman here, Methos.” He waved away his protest. “Don’t deny it! I’m not a fool; I can see it in your eyes when you look at her!”

“Fine! Yes, I have a Triona in my universe. But all I wanted to do was try and help your Triona here, if I could. I had no idea that she would react as she did. You have to know that!”

Kronos didn’t respond, instead taking a long swallow of the Romulan ale in his goblet.

“I just want to go home,” Methos said. “Home to my wife and my daughter, my friends -- my life. I don’t belong here; you know that.”

Kronos was still silent, but he nodded, filling another goblet with the blue liquid and handing it to Methos. They drank with no words, a tenuous companionship drawing them together.

And Methos remembered. Remembered the times of peace and friendship. It hadn’t always been killing, burning and raping. There had been family, companionship, and a place of belonging when he’d rode with the Horsemen. That had been as much of a temptation when Kronos had reentered his life as the power that Death held sway over. A temptation he’d turned away from. But here, this night, in a reality that wasn’t his, he remembered, and felt a pang of loss for what could never be again. Not for him.

“What did they do to her?” Methos finally asked, his voice echoing in the silence of the night, the only other sound the fire in its brazier crackling.

Kronos poured more ale into their goblets before sinking down into the pillows of the seating area, motioning Methos to do the same. “I sent Methos to infiltrate MacLeod’s organization. Cassandra was his opening. In the old days, she’d been something of a competitor. Her tribe had sacrificed her, because of her powers, and when she came back to life, they worshiped her as a goddess, setting her up in a temple. We left each other alone, more or less, having different interests for the most part. So Methos used his acquaintance with her to get close to MacLeod.”

“And Triona was there.”

“Yes, MacLeod’s favourite. A possession he’d invested a great deal in. Cassandra, of course, hated her. And as long as she didn’t permanently damage the girl, MacLeod paid little attention to what punishments Cassandra devised. But Cassandra was his right hand, and Methos needed her gone for our plans to come to fruition.”

“And he used Triona to do it.” Methos had a sick feeling, not knowing the details, but knowing just how his doppelgänger would think.

“Indeed. MacLeod was furious at Cassandra for mutilating her, and banished her from his side.”

“And Triona?”

Kronos looked at him with what Methos could only describe as regret. “She was damaged, scarred, displeasing to his eye. He gave her to Methos, no longer having any interest in her. Moving on to the next young pre-immortal in his stable.”

Methos gripped the stem of his goblet, closing his eyes briefly as if in remembered pain. “And so she hates him.”

“And so she hates him,” Kronos agreed. Then came something totally unexpected. “Tell me, Methos, is your Triona at peace?”

Methos was startled by the question. But he realized how seriously it was meant. “She…” He shook his head, overwhelmed with memories both happy and sad. “Yes. Yes, she is at peace. She is loved, and she loves. And that love brings us both peace.”


Tags: duncan macleod, fic, fic: forever knight, fic: highlander, fic: star trek, fic: xover/au, kronos, lacroix, methos, series: 'bloodties'

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  • 'Breaking Up Is Hard To Do' (01/01)

    Okay, maybe not a fluke. Second story in a week! This follows The Path, set during the end of Captain America: Civil War. Breaking Up Is Hard To Do…

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    Highlander Holiday Exchange Stories are now being posted -- and yes, I did finish and submit mine. A few days early even! No one is more surprised…

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