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 Eleven
Exhausted in body and spirit, Methos collapsed onto the bed in his tent. Up till now, he hadn’t allowed himself to think that thought; the one that chilled him through: he might not be able to get back home. But he could no longer deny that very real possibility. Everything he held dear now depended on the mentally fragile woman who lay drugged and unconscious in Kronos’ tent. That realization, when he’d allowed himself to acknowledge it, had been devastating.
He had watched as Kronos had carried her in, as he’d laid her carefully on his bed, running a medical scanner across her prone form before injecting her with the contents of yet another hypospray. It had been so eerily similar to Methos’ own experience with Triona seven years ago that he was no longer able to watch the scene before him, turning away from what seemed like history repeating itself. Forcing back the memories of a time when he thought he’d lost Triona forever in the lab accident that had broken her mind.
Afterwards, Kronos had told him that it was sometimes days before she recovered from one of her breakdowns. And Methos had despaired, taking his leave, escaping to the solitude of his tent.
“Fine, but if it blows up, I expect groveling for the next several centuries!” He heard his wife’s voice from what was only hours before, and a universe away, say laughingly. He knew she’d try and find a way to bring him home. If she was able to -- were she even still alive. That dark thought hissed and whispered at him now that he was alone.
Methos drained the glass, refilling it from the pitcher at his side, the Romulan ale burning a trail through his gut like fire. No, she was still alive, he wouldn’t kill her. Now knowing some of the history between the Methos and Triona in this reality made him even surer of that. He would want her, and he would take her. After making sure she had learned the painful consequences of displeasing him first.
What his other self must have done to her in the intervening hours constricted his heart like a vice. If Methos had believed in fate, in karma, he would have believed this was his due for his past. What better punishment than to have the woman he loved tormented by the man he’d been? And what was she being punished for? For accepting his past and making a life with him? Or just for loving him?
But no, Methos didn’t believe in such things. There was no god, no higher power that meted out punishment for one’s sins. No, he didn’t believe. Such beliefs had long been absent from his life. How else could he have stayed sane?
As he fell asleep, Methos laughed bitterly at this fate that had been laid out for them both.
Sometimes, Methos dreamed. And other times, he relived. And those relivings could cut to the quick of the soul….
They had been riding all day, on their quest to find Silas. One more step in reuniting the Horsemen, fulfilling Kronos’ dream. There had been a wariness, mixed with the memory of companionship, leaving Methos unsettled. Not that he’d felt at all settled since Kronos’ dagger had plunged into his heart in Seacouver less than a week before. That oh so inevitable moment. That one that Methos had rarely let himself think about since leaving Kronos at the bottom of a well more than two thousand years before. But now, payment was due.
They sat at the campfire, like they had so many thousands of time before. In some ways, it was if no time at all had passed. Then Kronos spoke, and his words froze Methos’ heart.
“Your woman made it safely back to Toronto then,” Kronos said casually, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Before Methos could respond, he added, “I look forward to meeting her. Triona, that’s her name, isn’t it?” Then he looked Methos straight in the eye, with what almost might have been pity. “Private detectives are one of the more useful things about this age.”
Methos’ mind raced, refiguring plans and plots; the mental chess game he played with himself moving at light speed as he absorbed this newest information. Kronos knew about her. It was something he hadn’t anticipated. The first thing he’d done on returning home after Kronos had come back into his life, before going to see MacLeod, had been to send her back home to Toronto, to safety. It was something Methos had counted on, something that had given him some small measure of calm in this maelstrom. But with those few words, Kronos had ripped that calm away like a scab from a wound.
“Yes,” was all he said, keeping his voice level. It was just one more variable in his plan. Or so he tried to convince himself.
“Don’t look so concerned, brother!” Kronos exclaimed, slapping him on the shoulder. “She isn’t spoils; she’s your woman. Though I must admit, I’m surprised.”
“Oh? And why would that be?” Methos fought for a nonchalant tone.
“Why? Because you’ve had an aversion to Immortals sharing your bed since… what was her name? Parva! Yes, Parva, that was it,” he replied, remembering. “Though I suppose this one isn’t inclined to murder you in your sleep for your quickening?” He was practically chortling at Methos’ expression of indignation.
“That was nearly three thousand years ago!” Methos protested. “I misjudged the situation.”
“Yes, ‘misjudged’. That’s one way to put it.” Kronos poured more coffee into their mugs. “Fortunate for you I didn’t misjudge the situation, or we wouldn’t be sitting here tonight, you and I.”
“I believe I thanked you for that at the time,” Methos said somewhat peevishly. “And no, there’s no danger of that, since you were wondering. I’ve become more… discerning.” He stared into the fire, hoping Kronos would drop the subject. But it wasn’t to be.
“Indeed you have,” Kronos agreed with a speculative look. “I recall your tastes being more inclined to pleasure; simple women whose talents were more… carnal. Nothing to tax the mind -- theirs or yours. Now this woman of yours, this one will actually be useful. A talent for moving large sums of money without notice, and something of a scientist. I’m impressed, Methos!”
He didn’t respond, tightening his jaw, fingers clenching the metal mug. Kronos knew far too much. And that was only what he’d revealed so far. Kronos being Kronos, there would be more revelations to come. All to make sure Methos knew who was in charge and that Kronos knew just exactly what he had to lose.
Kronos continued, seemingly oblivious to the stonily silent man at his side, “There’s always room for someone that benefits the group. Well done indeed! ”
“Oh, of course it’s always about you, Kronos,” he finally replied caustically.
Kronos quirked a brow. “I’m glad that we agree, brother.”
Methos stirred in his sleep, grappling with the memories and waiting for a dawn that might never come.