========================================================================= Date: Tue, 16 Apr 1996 15:49:04 -0400 Reply-To: LC Krakowka Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: LC Krakowka Subject: Nothing Gold Can Stay 1/6 Disclaimer: Sarah MacGreggor, Linna and Paul Wolfram, and Mitch Jacobs (along with the various nameless thugs) are mine. The rest belong to Rysher and the other Highlander Powers That Be. I promise to give them back when I'm done playing. Misc Author's Notes: Title taken from the Robert Frost poem of the same name, which I had cause to memorize when a dear friend was taken away from me six years ago this week. This one is for you, Sam. Thanks especially to Heidi McKeon for all her beta reading and plot rehashing...and for the tons of support and warm fuzzies, despite my grievous sin. This'll read better if you've done the previous three MacGreggor stories which are Long Lost, Cardinal Rules, and Twists of Fate. E-mail me if you need/want them. Or, visit the FTP site or my own Highlander site at http://krakowka.cit.cornell.edu/HL/ Please let me know what you think. I can handle criticism. Praise is preferred, but the former is welcome as well. Whew. All that said....on with the story! Nothing Gold Can Stay LC Krakowka hck1@cornell.edu copywrite-1996. [part 1] Sarah fell out of her dream and back into reality with a gasp. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, fighting off a dark sense of foreboding and trying to make sense out of the images that still lingered in her brain. A burnt out village on the shores of Loch Lomand. That was an easy one....it often haunted her dreams. Ravens over a battle field. She'd seen that many times over the years. Her rapier, broken off about ten inches from the hilt. And Petey. Petey with grey hair and a wrinkled brow, holding a swaddled infant and staring at her from across a fire. Petey. Wrapped in the cloak of an old man, weathered and frail. It sent waves of ice down her spine. It wasn't until he stirred in his own sleep that she came back into the present fully. There he was, five thousand years old, but looking like a perpetual graduate student; hugging his pillow and drooling just a little bit. She heaved a sigh of genuine relief. Once, back in the Middle Ages, he had woken her up, screaming in his sleep in a language that she now knew to be ancient Greek. At the time, she had no clue what he was saying, but there was genuine terror in his tone and he had been shaking like a child. He had sobbed on her shoulder for nearly an hour before finally drifting back to sleep. Later, he spoke of a volcano that had wiped out an entire village in the course of an instant. Later still, he told her of the wife he lost to the flames. She sat up and swung her feet to the floor, the dream images still hanging on the edge of perception. Her mother would have told her it was a bad omen...so many dark things in one dream spoke of a great loss to come. She would have made her a charm to carry for three days, despite the fact that the local Vicar would have disapproved. Mother's charms always worked. Except the one to bring a child. As she was about to stand and wander into the kitchen for something to distract her from such dark thoughts, Adam rested a hand on the small of her back. "Bad dreams?" Sarah nodded. He sat up and tugged gently at a stray lock of her hair. "Maybe it's the chemicals seeping into your brain. Were there giant hair dryers and curlers? Stylists with rubber gloves and peroxide?" She ran her hands through her newly red shock and grinned, somewhat abashed. "I thought you liked it." "I do. I'm just not used to it yet. Why did you do it anyway? You were positively fetching as a blonde." "Amanda said it would turn heads," she answered. "Well, it does. But since when do you listen to Amanda?" "Since she convinced me to tell you how I felt," Sarah smiled. "Smart woman." He pulled her down and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "So, what was this dream about?" Sarah shrugged and made herself comfortable on his chest, "I'm sure it was nothing. Just a dream." Petey would never age. And with any luck, her sword would stay whole. *** A silent figure slipped out of the snowy shadows and into the side door of the dojo. He had seen two people, a man and a woman, leave not moments before, but the lights were off and everything looked settled for the night. The upstairs loft was also dark, indicating that MacLeod was out for the evening. This would be perfect, he'd just wait for his return and they'd take it from there. He was prowling toward the lift when the buzz hit, followed shortly by the sound of two voices. A man's and a woman's. Ducking into the alcove beneath the stairs, he drew his sword. "It's probably just Richie, coming back to check something," the woman said. "Just let me go first, okay?" The woman sighed. "Fine. I'll just go get my book and you fight the bad guy." Light footsteps sounded across the floor toward the office, while slightly heavier ones headed toward him. "I'm telling you, it's just Richie, I bet he's upstairs or something." "Humor me, Sarie." The man stopped short as he rounded the corner and a sword caressed his throat. "Who are you and what do you want?" A low voice growled. Adam gulped. The lights came on suddenly and the woman, a tall red head, strode over rapidly. "Oh for heaven's sake Connor, lighten up, will you?" She said, shoving his sword aside. The Highlander's face worked in a study of confusion, anger, and finally recognition. He shoved the sword into Adam's hands and scooped her into a huge bear hug, planting a deep kiss on her mouth. "Sarah MacGreggor! You've finally come to your senses and come back to me!" "You wish," she said, disentangling herself from his arms and taking a step backwards with a smile. He pulled her into another hug and would have kissed her again, but Adam cleared his throat. "Who's this?" Connor asked, draping an arm around her waist. "Connor MacLeod, meet Adam Pierson." "The latest in the long line of MacGreggor men?" Connor asked, offering his hand. For once, Adam had nothing to quip back. He simply shook hands with Connor and handed him back the katana. "How old is this one, Sarah? Looks pretty green to me," Connor said with a grin. "I'm older than I look," Adam said, stashing his own sword inside his wool coat and straightening his scarf. "Sarie, we're going to be late." Sarah looked from one man to the other and swallowed a grin. There would be plenty of time to straighten Petey out about the nature of her relationship with Connor. For now, this was amusing. "Connor, why don't you come with us? I'm sure Joe would love to talk with you," she said. "And he makes a mean plate of pasta." "Food? You bet I'm there," Connor concealed the katana under his coat and smiled. Adam worked to keep the frown off his face, but failed miserably. Sarah smiled at him and tucked an arm into the crook of his elbow. "Now, if Mac were here, I'd get to have dinner with four of my favorite men," she said. About three hours later, Adam slammed a dish into the sink as he heard a new peal of laughter come from Joe's living room. Sarah and Connor were going shot for shot into a bottle of Absolut; laughing uproariously every few minutes, speaking in what sounded like a mix of Gaelic and maybe French, and falling off the couch repeatedly. "Watch it, those plates don't heal you know," Joe said. "Sorry." >From his spot at the table, Joe chuckled. "You don't do jealous well," he said. "I'm not jealous," Adam shook the water off his hands and set the last pot in the drying rack. "You could have fooled me," Joe chuckled again. Adam fished in the fridge for a beer and sat down next to him, cringing as a thud and Sarah's laugh floated into the room again. The Highlander just simply wasn't that funny. "What do we know about those two?" He asked, prying off the top and tossing it into the trash. "Can't help you, my friend. Watcher Chronicles are not to be used for getting background on your girlfriend's ex-husbands." "Ex-husband?!" "Oops," Joe deadpanned. Adam shot him an "oops my ass" look and craned his head back to look at the ceiling. Nine hundred years he had known Sarah and not once had he felt the need to comment on anyone she had been involved with. Now, seven months after they had finally figured out they were in love, he wanted to rip Connor's head off with his bare hands. "I had an old friend call today," Joe said. "She used to be a field agent, now she's a researcher...she's interested in the Methos Chronicles. Can I give her your name?" Adam shrugged. "Sure." *** "Did you call Dawson?" Linna Wolfram nodded. She ran her fingers through slightly greying hair and watched as her husband, Paul, sharpened his sword. "He said he'd ask the guy who is researching Methos to talk to me. But I still think this is a waste of time. You're hunting a myth." Paul shook his head. "I don't think so. Rumors have to come from somewhere and all myths are rooted in truth." "Well, even if there *was* a Methos, he's probably long dead by now. Nobody can survive in the Game for five thousand years." Paul ran a burnishing cloth over his curved blade and smiled at her. "Kalas went hunting Methos and came back minus his head." "MacLeod killed Kalas." "Maybe MacLeod and Methos are old drinking buddies." "Okay," she sighed. Linna knew he wouldn't give up until they followed every clue. "I'll book us a flight to Seacouver." Falling in love with Paul was not what she had planned. Then again, not much of her life had turned out the way she planned. Becoming a Watcher was hardly in the master scheme; it had just happened. And getting involved with Horton and his crowd was certainly not what she had intended. But, he had been very convincing at a time when she was wavering in her beliefs about immortals. Thank God he was dead, or she would have wound up on the wrong side of a bullet when he found out about Paul. Linna still wasn't convinced that immortals were much aside from freaks of nature, but she was in love with Paul, and if there really could only be one, she would do her best to make sure he was it. Even if it meant hunting a five thousand year old myth. *** Sarah groaned and pulled the closest pillow over her head in a vain effort to shut out the noise of the stereo and clattering dishes coming from the next room. It was no use. She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, wishing she and Connor weren't so good at being drinking buddies. In Adam's living room, the stereo was suddenly cranked up another notch. It was far too early for the Rolling Stones, hangover or not. She wrapped the blankets around her shoulders and yanked open the bedroom door. Adam's back could be seen over the countertop as he slammed around inside a low cabinet near the stove. She walked into the kitchen and kicked him soundly in the ass. "Bit of a hangover?" He asked, standing up with a grin. "You're evil," she responded. "Turn that music down." Adam reached for the remote and hit the stop button. Sarah heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed onto the floor. "You did that on purpose," she said. "Who? Me?" He filled a glass of water from the tap and handed it to her, along with two aspirin. "Aspirin?" "It can only help," he said, sinking to the floor next to her. Sarah downed the pills and thunked her head back into the cabinet door. "I hate being hungover." "It'll wear off soon, have some more water." She finished off the glass and set it over her head on the counter top. "Go ahead." "What?" "I know you have a million questions about Connor and me, go ahead and ask them." Adam sighed. "There's plenty of time for that. Why don't you just go jump in the shower and wake yourself up? Then we'll catch some lunch." "Lunch?" He smiled and got to his feet. "It's 1:30, Sarie." She held out her arms and he boosted her up with a shove toward the bathroom. At least she had the comfort of knowing Connor was feeling undoubtedly similar...if he was even awake yet. A cold shower erased the effects of the hangover and she came out feeling much better and very hungry. Adam was sitting on the couch reading; more proof that the music and noise were just a plot get her out of bed. She should probably tell him the truth about her and Connor, before he over-reacted too badly. He'd never presumed to say anything about the various men she had been with when they were traveling together in the Middle Ages...but they hadn't been a couple then. Sarah scrubbed at her hair with a towel as she made her way into the bedroom. This was all still rather new, this romance with Petey. It was positively wonderful, but a bit confusing. Love always was. She'd had no less than four husbands over her nine hundred years, and many lovers, but only two men had found their way into her soul: Alan MacGreggor and this one who was presently calling himself Adam Pierson. It had been a while since she was faced with the concept of ownership that comes with being romantically linked to someone, not that Petey was acting like a jealous husband. But there had been an unmistakable claim made on her after dinner the night before when he had matter of factly disengaged Connor's arm from around her waist on the way into the living room under the guise of replacing it with his own. The worst part was, Connor had been aware of it too and would undoubtedly revel greatly in tormenting poor Petey. She came from the bedroom, pulling one of his sweaters over her head and flopped on the couch next to him. "Okay, so before you get all uptight again, there is nothing to worry about with Connor. We're just old drinking buddies." Adam closed the book and looked at her, "Joe said something about him being your ex-husband." Sarah stared at him blankly, allowing an unintentional moment of suspense to build as she searched her memory. Then she laughed loudly. "Shows what the Watchers know! Ha! Connor's gonna love this one." "So you weren't married?" He sounded relieved. "Oh, no, we were...it just wasn't by a Priest." "What?" He was envisioning wild Celtic ceremonies with dancing and people painting themselves blue. She grinned. "We got piss drunk in Glasgow once and woke up married. Only it turned out that the 'Priest' was really just a Blacksmith." "Why did you let a Blacksmith marry you?" Again, relief marked his tone. "And why would you want to marry him at all, no matter how drunk you were?" "It seemed like a good idea at the time," she shrugged. Adam rolled his eyes. This was not a side of her that he was used to seeing. Rowdy and raucous didn't seem to fit with the quiet dignity and sharp wit she usually wrapped herself in. "So you and Connor drank your way through Europe?" "Pretty much. We didn't really travel together...we just ran into each other every once in a while. He actually reminded me of you...a little bit." "He did?" She nodded and got up, pulling him to his feet. "Come on, lets get some lunch, I'm starved." Adam followed her to the door and grabbed their coats. "How did he remind you of me?" "He snores," she shot an amused look over her shoulder at him. [end part 1] -- LC Krakowka/ hck1@cornell.edu |CIT Lab WebMistress/LTC Team ***MFW Cavalry--We're tougher than we look.*** The host is riding from Knocknarea /And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare; Caoilte tossing his burning hair, /And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. -Yeats