“When Did Forever Die?” by: Denise Underwood c. 2001 Part Three Standing nervously in the anteroom of the private quarters of the Imladrin Embassy, Triona took a deep breath, staring at the door in front of her. After she'd left Sarah, it hadn't taken her long to decide what to do. Knowing that if she thought about it she might very likely let this chance slip past her, she'd decided to see Methos immediately. But now that she was here, she wanted to do nothing more than turn around and go straight home. He hadn't felt her yet, he would never know if she left right now. Thoughts of their last fight raced around her memory and she felt like she couldn't breath. Clutching the fabric of her dress into her fists, Triona lost her nerve and turned away. "I can't do this," she whispered, hating herself for being a coward. She left the room at a walk when what she really wanted to do was run. But it was too late. The feel of him saturated every part of her being as his buzz enveloped her. She stopped dead in the entry, before slowly turning towards where she knew he was. Nervously she smoothed the fine wool of her dress where she'd crushed it. The clingy knit, the color of a fading red rose, accentuated every curve before falling straight to her ankles. A slit up one side to just below her knee revealed mid-calf height boots in a deeper red reptile print. The shawl collar framed her face, and her hair that she wore in a simple knot at the back of her head. Wearing no jewelry other than the heavy, carved, white gold band on her left ring finger that Methos had given her more than four hundred years before, Triona looked very young and very scared. No one seeing her would ever guess she was one of the most powerful women in the quadrant. Her heart caught in her throat at the sight of him. So familiar and yet, a stranger at the same time. Triona couldn't find any words at all and the moment froze. It was as if time had stopped and the only sound was her heart pounding in the cool marble confines of the hall. She took a few hesitant steps towards him, as if pulled by some invisible string, then stopped. Methos looked very much as he had the first day she'd set eyes on him. Jeans, off-white sweater, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Only his dark hair was a little longer than it had been then. Still the same lithe grace that was evident even when slouching in a baggy sweater. "Leaving so soon?" his familiar voice said into the smothering silence. She fought down a facetious reply, the slightly mocking tone in his voice fanning the edges of her temper. If she allowed herself to respond in kind this meeting might be their last. Too much would have been said to ever fix the hurt. "I…I…." Shaking her head mutely, Triona turned away, leaning on the carved wooden table that sat in the middle of the hall. The scent of Andorian fern from the flower arrangement on the table wafted around her, making her feel ill. She prayed silently that he would meet her halfway, knowing that she couldn’t do this alone. The sound of his boots on the marble tile rang out as he came to stand behind her. The tentative touch of his hand on her shoulder was more than she hoped for. Straightening, she leaned into the touch, and he didn't pull away. Still not looking at him, she whispered, "What happened to us, Methos?" Squeezing her shoulder, he sighed. "We did, Triona. We did." Another sigh, this one sounding very tired. "The question is, what are we going to do about it? Or do you even want to do anything about it?" The last was devoid of all emotion. She had no idea what he was feeling, so carefully was he clamping down on their link and she was too afraid to initiate anything herself. Afraid of what he really does feel -- or doesn't? She asked herself mockingly. "Damn it, Methos, is that what you want? To end it?" she practically cried out. Finally, she turned to look at him. "I don't, I swear I don't." His eyes were troubled, not meeting her gaze. "I honestly don't know any more," he finally said. Suddenly realizing that they were in a public thoroughfare, Triona grabbed Methos' wrist, pulling him back into the anteroom she has just left, locking the door behind them. Rounding on her lover, she pressed her fists into his chest, saying fiercely, "Well, I do. I *know*. Maybe I didn't when I walked in here, but I do now. You want to end it? Fine, but I'm going to fight you every step of the way!" To her utter shock, he began to chuckle. Methos grabbed her left wrist as she began to pull away. How could he be laughing at her, after everything that had happened? She tried to pull away from him, but he kept a firm hold on her. He kissed the top of her head. "I'm not laughing at you, love. You just reminded me of something from a long time ago." "And are you going to share?" Her tone indicated he damn well better. "Briganti women railing against the Roman troops that they were fighting. They didn't know when to quit -- even against insurmountable odds. And neither do you." "I don't think I like that particular analogy," she said archly, "they died." "Yes, well, you know those Romans -- especially the military types," he explained cheerfully. "So I've heard," she said wryly. "But, Methos," the laughter was gone, "you haven't answered my question." He held her left hand in both of his, one finger stroking her ring. "Do you remember when I gave you this?" "Yes, of course I do.” Methos had given her the ring in Seacouver, long before she’d know she was Immortal, just after he’d taken her away with him. LaCroix had thrown her out, and she’d been devastated. She had never felt more alone or more desperate. Methos had said then that the ring symbolized the life he wanted them to have together. She had worn it ever since, never taking it off, even through the worst of the times the two of them had had. “And I remember when you put it back on my finger on our wedding day." This time he didn't keep her from pulling away. She walked over to the ornate, Louis XVI sofa that dominated the small room and sat down, twisting the ring. "Is that what you want? A divorce? I mean, I suppose we're still married." Distracted, she didn't even notice Methos sitting down next to her. "How do Immortals get divorced anyway?" "Messily," he answered glibly. "Not funny, Methos." Triona glared at him and he had the good grace to look at least a little abashed. "Sorry," he said with a little smirk. Triona didn't look like she believed him. "No, I don't want a divorce. I was just remembering how hard it was to convince you to marry me in the first place. What was it you told me? It was, 'redundant'." He took her hand again, twisting the ring around her finger. "Redundant! I mean, I thought I was a good catch. Charm, good looks…" Triona snickered, but Methos ignored her. "A great sense of humor, a little money in the bank." "You forgot modest." "To a fault!" he agreed enthusiastically. "I thought Lucien was going to be the one I'd have trouble convincing. I had no idea you'd be so intransigent…." -=- Denise = ithildin@ondragonswing.com = http://ondragonswing.com -=- Vampires, Floth demons.... Do you know what is -=- really, really evil? Tequila. ~ Cordelia ~ 'Angel' -=- Dragon's Hoard Fic Archive http://www.ondragonswing.com/vortex -=- Star Trek:The First Generation http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ST_FirstGen