Xover Changing of the Guard 3: Be All That You Can Be 22/22 [PG13]
Ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Fri, 28 Sep 2001 23:52:32 GMT
If this doesn't post to the archive then I'm just going to forget
it. Anyone missing the final part can certainly write to me. Once
again, apologies, Ecolea.
Epilogue
O'Neill waited nearly an hour by the study door, giving Methos
time to pull himself together and making certain no one
accidentally walked in. He wasn't quite sure what had happened,
but he'd seen Cassandra's expression as she'd left the room and
O'Neill didn't think she'd deliberately hurt him. And while he
might not be able to shed his own tears, O'Neill had known the
sound of grieving long enough in his career to recognize and
respect that ability in others.
He gave it a little while after the sobbing had died down and
went to grab a couple of beers. The hour was late and the party
was breaking up, though most of the Immortals didn't seem eager
to leave. O'Neill wasn't surprised, good teams were like that. It
was the attrition rate that ruined everything.
He went back to the study and quietly opened the door,
surreptitiously checking on Methos. O'Neill nodded to himself.
The man looked calm and was thoughtfully gazing out the window.
"The party's over," O'Neill commented as he stepped inside and
casually handed the other man a beer.
"There's a song in there somewhere," Methos murmured, raising his
bottle to Jack and then to his lips.
O'Neill said nothing, leaning against the other edge of the
window waiting patiently for Methos to speak.
"I keep thinking about fishing," Methos finally said, absently
running a finger along the edge of one pane.
"Well, if a man's gotta think about something..." O'Neill nodded
appreciatively. "The offer's still open if you're interested."
"Not that kind of fishing," Methos grinned. "But I'll keep it in
mind."
He sighed as the breeze picked up and the scent of freshwater and
green things wafted toward him. "I was thinking about that story
in the bible. You know, the one where Christ tells Peter and some
of the other disciples to leave everything and come be fishers of
men. I've always looked at it in terms of what they'd left
behind. Respectability, family, friends..."
"A steady income," O'Neill muttered, his brow creasing as he
wondered where this conversation was going.
"Yeah, stuff like that," Methos agreed. "I always knew it meant
more, of course. Not so much leaving it all behind, but
unburdening oneself to move forward, but I never felt it, you
know? It just seemed...incomprehensible. I always identified with
the other guys. The ones who wanted to say goodbye to their
fathers or get their affairs in order before leaving -- the ones
Jesus said weren't yet ready to follow him."
"You wanna go to a revival meeting?"
Methos laughed softly. "No," he said decisively. "I was just
thinking about what Peter and the others must have felt when they
went off. One minute they had homes, families and possessions;
real weighty responsibilities in those days. Very heavy on the
obligation. And the next they didn't. I didn't understand how
they could just leave. I mean, it's what I did -- fairly
frequently. But not because I wanted it. I wanted to be the man
who got to stay and keep everything. Put down roots and never
leave. But religious questions aside," he shrugged. "Maybe all
that weighty responsibility was just holding them back. Maybe it
was a weight they hated, but couldn't see a way to escape. Maybe
they were just waiting for an excuse to leave."
"Maybe," O'Neill repeated. "Too bad we'll never know."
"Yeah," Methos frowned. "I really should've asked Peter when he
baptized me."
Jack choked on his beer and stood there coughing. "Yeah," he
wheezed when he could finally speak. "Maybe."
"Anyway," Methos shrugged. "I keep thinking about what it's like
not to have to any of the emotional baggage we carry around with
us. To just lay it aside and know you can forgive yourself for
doing it. Not just to forget about it -- you can avoid thinking
about anything if you really want to. But to actually feel no
responsibility for it whatsoever. How does one achieve that
blessed state without someone like Christ around to say it's
okay?"
"Who said they didn't feel it?" Jack asked soberly. "Maybe they
felt it, but it just didn't matter anymore because they knew
their families forgave them."
Methos cocked his head, staring out the window as if he'd just
had a sudden revelation. He closed his eyes, smiling wryly. "I
should have thought of that," he admitted, glancing at Jack.
"When the one you've wronged forgives you, you can forgive
yourself anything."
"Almost anything," O'Neill told him. "No one's forgiven you those
six thousand pushups, Pierson, and you'd better not forget it."
Methos laughed delightedly. He was fairly certain Jack knew what
he was saying, but had used the opportunity to remind him that no
matter what happened he still had a place -- one that carried its
own duties and responsibilities. More importantly, they were
obligations which somehow helped to fill the empty space inside
him that Cassandra's forgiveness had left in its wake.
"I won't forget," Methos responded gravely. "In fact," he added
brightly. "I'll give you fifty every morning even while we're
fishing."
"Fishing. Now there's a thought," O'Neill smiled cheerfully,
laying a hand on Methos' shoulder and steering him toward the
door. "So, what kind of fish are you interested in? Bass, lake
trout... You name it and I'll show you where to catch it."
"Oh, don't worry about me," Methos demurred. "I'm just going for
the view and the reading. You'll be doing all the real fishing."
"Already did that," O'Neill drawled laconically, opening the door
and grinning widely at him. "I seem to have caught me a big ole
minion!"