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 Sixteen
Curled on the bed like an abandoned cat, Triona struggled to maintain her sense of self. It was a fight made all the more difficult by the fact that the last thing she wanted to do was remember what had happened here. When what she really wanted was to flee to some safe corner of her mind where there was no more pain, no more terror. She knew she must have told him everything he wanted to know -- in the end. Just like he’d said she would. Just as he’d promised she would. But Triona had no real memory of the details of her weakness, of her failure. The only thing she really remembered was the never-ending pain. And her screams; she remembered those all too well.
After it was done, he had left her, so certain of his drug, and her submission, that he hadn’t even bothered to restrain her. The second drug had burned its way out of her body, leaving only the first, the one that kept her mentally shackled, unable to physically rebel. A burst of rage shimmered before her; if she had been a true vampire, she would have ripped out his throat, and his blood would have bathed her wrath.
The door swooshed open, and he was back. Sick fear once again skittered across every nerve. Lying down next to her, he stroked her naked body. “See how much easier it is when you don’t resist, little one? Perhaps I’ll reward you with another dose, and we can explore pleasure instead of pain. Would you like that?”
Triona choked back a sob, curling into an even tighter ball.
“Shhhh…” His hands stilled. “One day, you’ll be eager for my attentions. After you’ve been alone here on this planet for a few years, I know you’ll come to appreciate my company; look forward to it, in fact.”
Her gasp of surprise seemed to amuse him, and he chuckled, his hands once more stroking her like a pet. “Did you think I was going to kill you? That would be a waste. No, I’ve found a lovely spot on an island several thousand miles from here that will suit you nicely till I return. I don’t think it would be wise to leave you within meddling distance of the artifact,” he said wryly.
Kissing her cheek, he sat up, drawing her with him to sit on the edge of the bed. “Now you need to eat something. I know you must be hungry.” She just looked at him with empty eyes.
Getting up, he walked over to the cabin’s replicator. Triona looked around the room that was her prison, a jolt of unexpected hope stabbing into her when she saw his knife lying abandoned on the table across from her; the knife that had inflicted so much agony. Was it another trap? No, it was overconfidence. Or at least, that was what she had to believe to have the courage to act. But the drug he’d given her still kept her docile. Could she overcome it, even for a moment? Quickly, she dropped her eyes as he turned back to her, a plate of food in his hand.
Handing it to her, he ordered her to eat. Obeying, she picked up a piece of bread, taking a small bite. It was like choking down sand. Head bowed, her eyes kept sight of the knife from beneath her lashes, mentally gathering herself to make one last attempt to free herself.
Then he was talking again, leaning nonchalantly against the very table that held her hope. “Your daughter is very beautiful. So young -- so mortal.”
Triona’s heart froze as she gripped the plate in her hands.
“She’ll be devastated by your death, I’m sure. But I promise you that I’ll do my best to comfort her.” This was said with a wolfish reassurance. Now he was smiling a smile that was all teeth. “Perhaps I’ll bring Lucia here to be with you.” His voice dropped to a chilled whisper. “Just what would you be willing to do to please me then, I wonder?
As he spoke, the shimmer of rage from before became a searing flame. He had to die. Even though that meant sentencing Methos to an eternity in the mirror universe. She had to protect her daughter, the very best thing that existed from Triona’s four centuries. For Lucia, she would suffer anything; she would not let this creature from the other side of the mirror touch her!
His voice droned on, but Triona was no longer listening. Every ounce of her will was focussed on breaking the hold the drug held over her. Shifting the plate in her grip, she flung it at his head like a discus. Not waiting to see if it hit its target, she launched herself at the knife, hearing the sound of impact, and his grunt of pain as her fingers grasped the knife hilt. Hitting the floor with the knife in hand, she rolled away. On her back, knees bent, she slammed her feet into his ribs as he launched himself at her. There was blood on his temple where the plate had caught him. As her feet made impact, she was rewarded with the sound of snapping bone.
The other Methos howled in outrage as he fell back in pain, and Triona felt a surge of triumph. He came at her again, this time, her elbow smashing into his sternum and then carrying through with the knife to slash at his throat. Her victory was short lived though. Weakened by drugs and torture, it wasn’t long before her assailant gained the upper hand. His fist caught her across the jaw, throwing her back, his booted foot slamming down onto the wrist that held the knife.
His knee planted on her chest, he held the knife to her throat. “You are a fool!” he panted. “I have given you every chance, every consideration, and still you defy me!” He was enraged, like he had been when he’d thrown her into the sun.
She screamed as he plunged the knife into her heart. As she died, she heard him say, “We’ll see how brave you are after the sun rises.”
Kronos handed Methos a glass of red wine. “From our own vineyards,” he said.
Methos took a sip of the wine, the flavour and the scent dragging him back to his own reality like nothing else had. This was their wine. Wine from the vines he and Triona had planted on Imladris when the colony was new. He felt a pang of homesickness but pushed it away. Soon, he would taste this wine again – on his own side of the mirror.
Kronos raised his glass. “To home.”
“To home,” Methos and Silas repeated.
They were silent for a time while they drank.
Then Methos looked at Kronos. “When he comes back, stop him. Don’t let him constantly undermine her.”
Kronos looked down into the depths of his glass. “Perhaps things can change,” he admitted.
He stepped closer, gripping Kronos’ arm. “Choose her first, for once.” From centuries in the past he heard Triona’s voice, “Just this once, choose me first.” He hadn’t, and they had both paid; in grief and in blood, they had paid.
Kronos only nodded. Then he set his glass down and opened a small chest nearby. He removed a velvet wrapped object. “Here,” he said, handing it to Methos.
Setting his own glass down, Methos unrolled the velvet to find a delicately wrought boot knife. Its blade was like a wave of iridescent silver ending in a viscously sharp point. He looked up at Kronos, a question in his eyes.
“For her, your wife,” he explained. “I had it made for Triona, but now…. I’d like your woman to have it.”
Nodding, Methos wrapped the wicked blade back it its velvet shroud. “Thank you.” He placed it in the inner pocket of his jacket.
The approaching presence of another Immortal interrupted them; a presence that was soon revealed in the tent entrance. “It’s time,” Triona told Kronos, very carefully avoiding looking at Methos.
“Shall we?” Kronos asked.
A few minutes later, the group found themselves at the ancient artifact.
“How does it work?” Methos asked.
Triona considered his question a moment before replying waspishly, “Does it really matter? You wouldn’t understand it anyway.”
Despite everything, Methos started to laugh, followed by Kronos and Silas. Triona just gave them a look, tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for them to stop. “If you’ve gotten it out of your systems?” she said pointedly, though Methos was sure he caught a ghost of a smile on her lips.
Kronos took her face between his hands, kissing her. “My favourite rocket scientist.”
This time, the smile was fully formed. “I’d better be,” she replied softly. Taking his hand, she squeezed it, before turning her attention back to Methos. “Go to the artifact, and touch it just like you did before. If your doppelganger is on the other side, within the set parameters of the quantum transfer algorithms, then you’ll be home.”
“And if he’s not?” Methos asked, not sure that he wanted to hear the answer.
Triona shook her head, her silence speaking volumes.
Hours later, Triona regained consciousness in the dark cabin. Her tormenter was asleep on the bed, and she was where he’d left her, on the floor, bound hand and foot, in a corner of the cabin. She had recovered from the stab wound through her heart to a still enraged Methos. He had then pumped several hypospray’s worth of his drugs into her, threatening her with the sun at the dawn.
“Do you think your mind will survive the burning this time, little one?” The cool heat of the hypospray hissed against her skin. “Maybe if you beg nicely, I won’t toss you out of the hatch after all.”
And she’d despaired. She would beg. She would do anything not to burn in the sun again. That had been her last thought as the drugs pulled her down into blessed darkness. But now, she was conscious, wishing to God she weren’t; lying in a congealed pool of her own blood, the smell of it sickening her. For the first time, she believed that there would be no escape -- none at all. From the beginning, through every violation and humiliation, through the pain and degradation, she’d held out hope. But that hope was now gone. She had failed Methos, failed Lucia, her family, and her friends. Tears of loss and grief etched a path down her blood-spattered cheeks. How long did she have before he awoke to begin it all over again?
Exhaustion, pain, and terror lulled her into a fitful sleep. But that sleep was interrupted by a presence. At first, she thought she was dreaming. Only her desperate need creating hallucinations for her to cling to. Triona forced herself to calm, reaching out with her mind. Oh, God, it was him! Choking back a sob, she waited. Then she heard his voice in her mind… Be strong just a little longer, ma petite précieuse.”
There was a shift in pressure, and then he was there. She couldn’t see with her eyes, but such things weren’t necessary for them. Triona felt his rage, his bloodlust. As he drained her tormenter, LaCroix shared all with her. What she was unable to do herself, she was able to vicariously experience through her Master. Then came the sound of bone snapping and the thud of a body dropping.
She was free.