========================================================================= Date: Tue, 16 Apr 1996 16:21:45 -0400 Reply-To: LC Krakowka Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: LC Krakowka Subject: Nothing Gold Can Stay: Epilogue Nothing Gold Can Stay LC Krakowka hck1@cornell.edu copyright-1996 [Epilogue:] "Haven't seen you in a while." "Hi Joe," Sarah smiled a greeting and straddled a bar stool. He offered her a glass, but she waved it off. "Nine hundred and fifty-six years old, and you still don't know enough to come in out of the rain," he chuckled. Sarah smiled again and slicked her wet hair back out of her eyes, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. "What brings you to Joe's?" "I need a favor," she said. "Anything, you know that." He hadn't seen her in the month since the news came about Methos. She looked the same. She would always look the same. No, there was a sadness in her eyes; it lingered, despite the fact that she had been smiling. Sarah sighed. "I need you to call off my Watcher for a while." "Sarah...I..." "Joe, I need to get out of here and be alone. Really alone," she leaned forward and gripped his arm. "Now, I can ditch him on my own, but I'm asking you to please let me have some time." "It's not really safe yet. I'd feel better if we knew where you were..." Sarah turned over his arm and examined the tattoo, then pulled down his sleeve and patted his hand. "It's over, Joe." He drew in a deep breath, then nodded slowly. "Okay." "Thank you." "Where are you going?" Sarah cracked a grin and wagged a finger at him. "Okay, okay," he smiled, chagrined. "But you'll keep in touch?" She nodded. A brief silence fell and he wiped a meticulous circle on the bar, wondering if she blamed him. She had every right to. For no less than the thousandth time in the past year, Joe Dawson swore to himself that he would never get involved again. Nothing, but nothing good had ever come out of it. "I never got to tell you how sorry I am," he said. Sarah gripped his hand again, "I know you are. And I'm sorry I haven't been around sooner. I...I just couldn't. I don't blame you, Joe. It's not your fault. It's how we live. It's what we are." "I know," he sighed and leaned heavily on the bar. "But you two kids deserved your shot." "I'm not a kid, Joe. And Petey certainly wasn't one either." "Maybe Connor was wrong..." Sarah shook her head and cut him off, "Don't go down that road, Joe. It only leads to oblivion." Joe looked at this woman, who appeared to be at least twenty years his junior. They could be mistaken for father and daughter on the street, and probably had been at some point. But she was older than he could really fathom. And she spoke with a wisdom that could only come through centuries of loss. Sarah reached into her coat and pulled out an oblong package. She weighed it in her hands a moment, then set it on the bar and nudged it over to him. Joe unwrapped it carefully, guessing what lay inside. Still, he was shocked to see Methos' broken sword. Somehow, that made it all very real. "I want you to have it, for the archives," she said. Joe shook his head, "I can't take this. It's all you..." "It's not all I have left of him," she said quietly. "I have hundreds of years of memories that will never be in any Watcher Chronicle," Sarah paused and pushed her hair back again. "I know what it was like to ride a camel with him swilling wine from a skin behind me. I know what it was like to hold the back of his shirt while he barfed over the side of a raft on the Nile. I know why he was afraid of spiders. And I know what his nightmares were about. I know what it was like to have a bond that transcends everything but death. But you...you only knew Adam Pierson," she tapped the hilt with her index finger. "This belonged to Methos and it is all *you* have left of him. Read the Chronicles, Joe. Learn what you can. I'm sorry you never got he chance to really know him." Joe nodded slowly and traced the jagged edge of the blade with his thumb. He hefted the pieces and tried to fit them back together. "It won't work, believe me, I've tried," Sarah said. "I'd give anything to bring him back for you, you know that." Sarah smiled and nodded. "I know." The following morning, the three men stood in a semi-circle watching Sarah place her duffel in her car. She closed the trunk gently and turned to them, smiling tentatively. Joe spoke first. "You be sure to keep me up to date." "I will," she hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek. "And thank you." "You just make sure you come back to us," he said. Sarah smiled and moved to Duncan. "Well, Mac, we'll always have Paris," she grinned. He swept her into a hug and held on tight. "You be careful, Sarah. I can't imagine a world without you in it." "Oh Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, don't you worry about me." She kissed him on the cheek and pulled back. "Thank you, for everything." "Anytime, you know that." He returned the kiss and released her. "Well, Kid," Sarah turned to Richie, "catch." He caught the keys she tossed with his left hand and looked down at them, confusion evident on his young face. "Keep an eye on the place for me?" She asked. "The rent is paid through this time next year." "I can't..." "Yes, you can." She folded his hand over the keys. "That place you live in is a dump and the rent is too high. Stay here. Read my books. Use your money to do something you've always wanted to. Just don't trash the place." Richie didn't know what to say. He threw his arms around her and squeezed tightly. "You were my strength when I didn't have any," she said softly in his ear. "Let me do this for you." "You don't have to leave you know." "Yes, I do," she gave him a squeeze and released him. "This town has way too many ghosts." "Then, can I come too? I mean...Adam asked me to take care of you..." Sarah touched his cheek gently, then smiled and gave his jacket a good tug to straighten it. "And you did." She gave Duncan one last hug and climbed behind the wheel. Joe held up a hand as she pulled out of the driveway. "You think she'll be okay?" He asked. Duncan nodded. "She's buried him before." [end] Author's Note: So, you were waiting for him to walk in the door at the end, weren't you. Me too--he just wouldn't oblidge. Maybe it's in the Eurominutes. No, I don't know if he's really dead or not. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go create a new identity so they'll let me back into the PWFC. -- 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