When Did Forever Die?
by: Denise Underwood
c. 2001
Part Five
Many hours later, in Methos’ room at the embassy, Triona drowsed in his
arms. It was one of the rooms in the guest wing, comfortable but neutral.
The array of grays, with splashes of white, was suited to host whatever
culture or alien race might inhabit it. Even the furniture was
multifunctional, and to Triona’s mind, rather nondescript. But then, she
and Sarah had never had the same taste. Even the bed the two of them lay in
could have been confused for an exercise mat on a slightly raised platform
if stripped of the coverings the two Immortals now lay tangled in
Methos nuzzled her neck, making her shiver. “What are you thinking about?”
“How do you even know I’m awake?” she grumbled at him, the grumble becoming
a giggle as he tickled his fingers over her stomach.
“I always know when you’re thinking,” he asserted.
“Do not.”
“Do to.”
“Whatever.” Triona’s tone indicating that she didn’t believe it for a second.
Methos pulled her closer. “I do!” he said insistently against her ear.
Knowing from long experience that he would cheerfully carry on like this
forever if he weren’t distracted, Triona said, “I was thinking that Sarah
and I definitely do not have the same taste.” She waved her free hand
around at the room, laughing. "It's probably a good thing that LaCroix
decided *he* was going to decorate the house on Imladris before the lot of
us could start bickering over it."
Methos levered himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. “I think I
should be insulted!” The twitching of his lips ruined the glare he was
giving her. “I make mad, passionate love to you, and you’re thinking about
wallpaper swatches!”
She glanced up at him and shrugged. “I guess you’ll just have to do better
next time,” she said airily, rolling away from him on to her side.
"Maybe I will at that," he said in almost a growl, running a possessive
hand down her thigh, following with his lips. At Triona's audible sigh of
pleasure, he laughed. "I love it when I make you gurgle."
Now it was Triona's turn to be affronted. "I beg your pardon! I do *not*
gurgle." She threw herself onto her back with a 'harumph'. "I'll give you
gurgle, really old husband of mine." Reaching up, she snaked her arms
around his neck, pulling him down for deep, searching kiss. "Take it back?"
she asked after some endless measure of time when the only reality was the
feeling of lips and skin melding together.
"Yeah, sure," Methos agreed, panting a little as he nestled his head into
her shoulder. "Whatever you want." He reached up, tweaking her nose.
Batting his hand away she smirked. "I guess *you* aren't thinking about
wallpaper swatches!"
"Conceited little minx," he grumped good-naturedly, but he didn't disagree.
"Mmmm-hmmm."
Neither one said anything else, content to just revel in the feeling of
each other. After a little while, Triona looked at Methos, still resting
his head on her shoulder, arms around her. His eyes were closed, but now it
was her turn to ask.
"What is it?" Touching his lips with hers, she said, "I know when you're
thinking too, you know." He shifted a little, but didn't answer. Behind his
closed eyes, Triona knew he was still deep in thought.
Abruptly, he rolled away, pushing himself off the bed. Before Triona could
react, he strode across the room, stopping at the window, his back to her,
silent.
How many times had they been in this place? One or the other of them, hurt,
emotionally wounded by the other. How many times had she seen him stand
just like that? The corded muscles, taut with tension and suppressed
emotion, in relief against the smooth paleness of his lean body. It was a
scene that replayed itself across the stage that was their lives together.
Just as silently, Triona padded across the gunmetal-grey carpet to stand
behind him, softly sliding her hands around his waist and up, resting her
palms against the hard, compact muscles of his chest. She shivered a little
at the contrast of the warmth of his back pressed into her breasts, and the
coolness of the climate controlled air of the room against her back.
"New exercise regime?" Triona asked, ignoring, for the moment, the silence
between them as she appreciatively ran gentle fingers along his chest.
"Something like that." His almost silent laugh vibrated against her
fingertips.
"Whatever it is, I like the results," she murmured, pressing small kisses
against his back.
The laugh, this time, was louder. "I'm so glad you approve." This said in
the softly sarcastic tone that was so comforting in its familiarity.
She realized in that moment how much she’d missed him, how much she wanted
them to get back to the happiness and love they’d once shared. She also
realized that they couldn’t avoid dealing with what had torn them apart.
Maybe she’d finally learned what avoidance and denial caused in the long
run. Part of her feared that bringing up the past would destroy any chance
of a future together, but regardless, it needed to be done.
“I’m sorry.” Those two words fell softly into the room. She wanted to see
his face, but couldn’t work up the courage. It took everything she had to
just apologize. “I should have tried harder and I should have been honest
from the very beginning, explained why I was so drawn to Jean-Luc. I
shouldn’t have left you believing I was having an affair with him. I let my
temper have the upper hand and I hurt you. I don’t know if you can forgive
me, not really.”
He stiffened, but didn’t say a word. Biting her lip, Triona dropped her
hands to her side, stepping away and fighting back the tears that
threatened. “I’m sorry,” she said once more in a choked whisper before
fleeing the room.
*******************
Methos walked into the living area of the suite, now in a knee length robe
of moss green cotton. Sitting on the upholstered arm of the large chair
Triona was huddled in, he laid the blanket he was holding across her
shivering body. “Don’t cry, Triona,” he said softly, stroking her hair
soothingly.
He realized what it had taken for her to apologize, and kicked himself for
not responding more positively. Hell, he hadn’t responded at all. Why did
they do this to each other?
The first time he’d set eyes on her, he’d known she was going to be
trouble. In fact, his first inclination, when she’d opened the door that
autumn day so many centuries ago, was to tell her he’d got the wrong
address. But the urge to annoy Lucien and overridden his common sense not
to mention looking down into her beautiful green eyes….
**************
-=- 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
