The Last Time We First Met - Part Seven
by: Denise Underwood
c. 2001
She lay curled up on her bed, sniffling and scrubbing her eyes with her
fists. Methos had been angrier, and more scared, than she had ever seen
him, and she fervently hoped never to see him that way again.
It wasn't at all like LaCroix -- that she was used to dealing with. Anger,
displeasure, usually the two of them raging at each other. Heat, anger,
lust and passion, all components of the rather volatile relationship she
shared with LaCroix. But not with Methos.
Anger, fear -- with punishment as an outlet for that fear -- that was what
had happened with Methos. No baser instincts, merely punishment for the
sake of punishment; no games, no power struggles.
But such deep thoughts were not uppermost in her mind at this particular
moment. Guilt, pain, worry at what LaCroix's reaction would be when he
found out, and what Methos' attitude would be towards her when he finally
spoke to her again. Not that she deserved him even being civil to her
after what had happened. How could she have been so stupid?
It had seemed like such a good plan at the time. LaCroix was out of town on
business, Methos was occupied with some old manuscripts that he and Terese
had unearthed just before she had become Immortal and Stephanie was
mesmerized by her new game system and probably wouldn't come up for air for
days. What could go wrong? This was the opportunity she had been waiting
for for months....
It was a little after 3pm and the heavy overcast of the winter afternoon
blocked out the sun. If she were careful -- and she would be very careful
-- she could go out, by herself. Even if only for a few hours. Triona had
chafed at the restrictions that LaCroix and Methos had placed on her
movements since the disastrous attempt at bringing her across that had left
her Immortal, but with vampire attributes that made her vulnerable.
Triona had thought that once she had come home after almost two years
training with Duncan MacLeod that things would change. But they hadn't. If
anything, they'd gotten worse. After taking her first quickening, she
manifested a reaction that changed everything - she turned into a full
vampire. Worse, a vampire in the state of first hunger, with no control
whatsoever. In the months since the other women had left after becoming
Immortal, the situation had become almost unbearable.
She covered as much of herself as possible; a wide brimmed hat, gloves,
dark glasses. Everything would be fine. All she wanted was a few hours of
freedom, and for that, she'd take the risk. 'What if the sun breaks
through? What if you run into another Immortal?' a niggling voice of doubt
questioned. She pushed it back firmly, nothing was going to happen. Nothing.
***********
Triona desperately blocked the downward swing of her opponent's sword. She
wasn't overmatched, or at least she hadn't been till the sun had broken
through the clouds with a vengeance. The light reflecting off the snow made
it even worse. Along with her hat, she had lost her sunglasses in the
initial tussle with the Immortal that had challenged her.
Her attempt to stay in the shadows had failed miserably. Instead, she found
herself forced into the open sunlight with no escape other than death --
either hers or his -- though it was becoming more and more likely that it
would be hers. As the sun finally burned its way through the clouds
completely, the pain became almost unbearable; she could barely even see,
the light stabbing into her eyes like shards of bright ice. Her exposed
flesh burned in the sunlight.
Triona's opponent drove her back into the shadow, but too late to do any
good. Another blow drove her to her knees just as she felt the buzz of
another Immortal. As he plunged his sword through her, forcing hers from
her grip, the awareness that it was Methos filled her along with the pain,
the least of which was physical. Her mental anguish at how foolish she had
been and how her death was going to affect those she loved slammed into
her, making the pain of her wounds almost insignificant.
Everything was going dark, she wasn't even able to make an attempt to draw
the knife that LaCroix had recently given her. She waited for the death
blow that never came. Instead she heard voices. What was happening?
"You can't interfere."
"I'm not interfering -- I'm making you my problem. There's a difference."
"She's your student?"
"No. But she *is* mine. And I do so dislike it when someone tries to
deprive me of what belongs to me."
"This is against all the rules."
"There are no rules. Only the polite facade of them. If you'd lived longer,
you'd have realized."
Then came the sounds of fighting: swords clashing, grunts and snarls, the
sound of a blade cutting through air and the unmistakable sound of a head
being severed. The westering sun, once more covered by cloud, sank behind
the buildings that formed the alley courtyard they were in.
Finally able to see once more, Triona fought off the blackness long enough
to see the start of the quickening take Methos. Briefly the realization
that she wasn't going to die flickered through her mind, then was gone as
blessed unconsciousness took her in its pain-free grasp.
She'd come to in the car, Methos refusing to even speak to her. "Methos..."
she began, only to be cut off harshly.
"Shut up! I don't want to hear one word out of you. Do you understand me?"
he asked her in a voice heavy with barely contained fury. She just nodded,
a tickle of fear at the look in his eyes running up and down her spine.
After a seemingly endless time, they finally reached home. Triona following
Methos into the house in wary silence. She had no idea what he would do
now, none at all. Had this been LaCroix, there would be no doubt in her
mind as to what awaited -- and that was oddly comforting in its
predictability. But Methos, that was something else entirely. He was an
enigma; mercurial and unpredictable.
Occasionally, there were glimpses of another man, that other self, the part
he kept tightly reined in. Hard, sharp, dark as obsidian. But that had been
what they were, just glimpses. Not like now. Now, she thought she was
seeing the layers fall away, the layers that buried that dark Methos -- and
it frightened her as few things had.
Methos took her elbow in an ungentle grip and led her down the hall towards
the ballroom, pushing her into the large, empty room.
"You want to play games?" he spat, tossing her sword on the floor in front
of her. "Pick it up," he commanded in a voice that demanded obedience.
"But," she began, picking up the sword, pleading, "Methos, please...."
"For the last time, be quiet!" he shouted, eyes flashing angrily. In a
softer, but still menacing voice, he continued, "Obviously, MacLeod failed
to instill any common sense in you. I intend to rectify that."
She started to protest, but one look at his eyes and she swallowed her
words unsaid.
Methos brought his sword around and she made a halfhearted attempt to block
it, which only seemed to anger him more. "Is that the best you can do? Have
you heard nothing that you've been taught?" he demanded. "By me? Mac? Even
LaCroix?" This time when she failed to sufficiently block his blow, he
angled his sword so the flat, not the edge, hit her thigh in a stinging
blow. "There Can Be Only One. Whether you believe that or not, it's what
you will live -- or die -- by."
His sword caught her again, this time across her hip, the blow making her
gasp. It was a frequent disagreement between them. Triona and LaCroix
thought the mantra of Immortals, that there could be only one, a myth, a
fable designed to keep their race in eternal combat for a reason lost in
the mists of time. A time even older than Methos.
She knew she had to learn how to protect herself, but steadfastly refused
to play the *Game*. Triona had never been sure how much of Methos'
annoyance with her stance was from her actual belief -- one she knew he
shared in part -- or from the fact that LaCroix supported her, and truth
be told, encouraged her.
He continued to rain blows down on her, till she was sure she was a mass of
bruises. Even at her best, she was no match for Methos, but the battle in
the sun with the now dead Immortal had left her both physically and
mentally impaired, unable to do more than make feeble attempts to ward off
Methos' carefully calculated blows. Only a master swordsman could have
accomplished it without once miscalculating and slicing through flesh.
"If this is the best you can do," his sword smacked across her upper thighs
and buttocks, "then perhaps you shouldn't be let out at all," he mocked.
That tore it. She knew she'd been stupid, she knew he had a right to be
angry, but damn it, she wouldn't be ridiculed. If he was angry, then just
do something about it -- not this tormenting. "Like I was?" she shouted,
throwing her sword down. "Did it ever occur to you that you were smothering
me?"
"Smothering? Trying to keep your head attached to your shoulders is
*smothering*?" Methos shouted back. She would have been afraid at the
escalation of his anger if she hadn't been so furious. "This isn't about
your being smothered. This is about you acting like a spoiled brat!"
"How dare you!" she exclaimed. "What do you know about any of this? How I
feel? Did you ever bother to ASK?"
"So you decide in a childish snit to run out in broad daylight? To throw
your life away? If you can't act like an adult, you don't deserve to be
asked your opinion on anything!"
Enraged, she slapped him across the face -- regretting it the instant her
palm connected with his cheek.
Methos grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm, forcing her to her knees. She
shied back at the wild look in his eyes, sure he was going to strike her.
Breathing hard, he let go of her like he'd been burned. Suddenly released,
she lost her balance falling backward on to the floor. He raked her with
one last furious gaze before the shutters dropped over his face, leaving it
cold and expressionless.
Triona closed her eyes at the cold blankness, almost wishing the fury were
back, not this nothingness. She heard his retreating footsteps, the slam of
a door, then silence....
That had been several hours ago. After sitting on the floor in the dark and
silence for some unmeasured space of time, she had finally made her way to
her room, collapsing on her bed sobbing.
She didn't know what to do or how to make it right. Methos had interfered
in a fight with another Immortal, breaking one of the most hallowed rules
of the Game. And even though his sense of honor as far as the game went
wasn't as set in stone as Duncan's was, he still had his own -- albeit
different -- code. And she had put him in the position of violating that code.
Exhausted, Triona finally fell into a fitful sleep.
**************
Denise * ithildin@ondragonswing.com* Ith
http://www.ondragonswing.com
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