Forever Tomorrow: Precious Things
Precious Things A 'Forever Tomorrow' vignette By Sephy persephone_elysian@yahoo.com 1999 'Of course, I told her. Did you really think I wouldn't? That she didn't deserve to know the truth?' Methos took a long swig from his beer bottle. Casssandra's words echoed in his head, drowning out the sound of the band, of the crowds. Her mocking tone bit and gnawed at him until he thought he might go mad. Or wish he were. 'Let's see what she thinks of her beloved Methos now.' He passed a hand over his bleary eyes then reached for the bottle again. That was the trouble with being an Immortal, you had to drink a lot to maintain a proper state of inebriation. Damn that woman. Why did she have to come back? It had taken him months to work himself back into MacLeod's good graces only to have her show up again. Only this time she wasn't limiting herself to the Highlander. 'Of course, I told her...' Of course, you did, he thought, why did I expect, hope any differently? What he had done to Cassandra had been unforgivable; he knew that. How could he even harbor the tiniest hope that she would have forgiven him when he could not forgive himself? But could she not move on? Because MacLeod had refused to let her take his head, did that mean she had to satisfy her need for vengeance by destroying his life? It was petty, he had told her during their argument before she had dropped a bombshell of her own. 'Perhaps, I should have just let her taken my head,' he thought, taking another swallow of beer. What she had done now was infinitely worse than telling MacLeod. He hadn't believed her at first when she'd admitted it, only truly sinking in after she kept reiterating it. 'You won't have your cheering section any longer,' she had said. 'What do you mean?' 'I warned that girl, Jade. I told her about you. Everything. Kronos, my village, what you did to me, the whole nine yards.' The very memory of her words made his stomach sink now hours later. He could just visualize Cassandra doing it too. Could see Jade's innocent blue eyes filled with horror and revulsion, and Cassandra's exultation at the shattering of the young Tomorrow Person's illusions. In fact, he was seeing it now. His mind had recreated the scene and seemed to be stuck in permanent play mode. What he wanted now was just to drink until he passed out, until he drowned out the vision in a sea of alcoholic haze, to have a moment's peace. That was a lie and he knew it; there was no such thing as peace. Not when the mind, the heart still remembered. *** He reached for his bottle. Joe's had long since closed, the owner glowering at him from the bar. At the moment, he didn't care. Propping himself up enough, he put the bottle to his mouth. It was empty. He tossed it aside and reached for the other he'd gotten a few hours back. His hand met air. He raised weary eyes to the spot where it rested. "Looking for this?" a hand held the bottle in front of his face. Methos winced at the British accent. He had known that she'd come sooner or later. Why couldn't she have made it later? Jade slipped into the chair in front of him. He made a passing swipe at the bottle which she easily evaded. Her blue eyes were hooded, as unreadable as her face. Methos sank his face into his hands, rubbing his skin, feeling it tingle, anything to keep from having to look at her. "Is what she said true?" "You don't beat around the bush, do you, kid?" he laughed bitterly. "Answer the question." She was implacable. "Why should I?" "Because I want to hear your side of the story." Sharply, he glanced up at her. Her arms were hugging her upper body as if for warmth though it wasn't that cold inside the bar. He gave her a twisted smile and began talking. And talked for most of the morning, telling things her that he'd only told MacLeod and Joe. Her face remained smooth, unmarred by any emotions. That was the worst part. He couldn't tell what she thought, how she felt. He held nothing back. 'We were brothers, in arms, in blood, in everything except birth...' 'Cassandra was nothing, her village was nothing. D'you know who I was? I was Death...' 'I didn't just kill fifty, I didn't kill a hundred. I killed a thousand. I killed ten thousand. And it wasn't for vengeance, it wasn't for greed. It was because I liked it...' 'She escaped across the wilderness. She must have died a dozen times from thirst and exhaustion before she found a village who would take her in. And I bet it was worth it just to get away from us...' At last he stopped. It was due more to his throat drying out than anything else. Methos wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He felt physically exhausted as if he'd actually relieved every moment, given it life once more through speaking of it. Yet he couldn't bring himself to look at Jade; he knew that would shatter his already battered psyche completely. To see those innocent blue eyes split with revulsion and hatred. And how could he blame her if she did. The sound of a chair sliding back scraped across his hearing. So she was leaving. He couldn't fault her. In her place, he might have done so as well. A hand rested on his shoulder. Surprised, he stared up. Jade smiled down at him, a tremulous, watery smile, her eyes glittering with tears. And there was not hatred, no recriminations there. It wasn't until she touched his face that he realized he was crying. Sobs racked him as she wrapped her arms around him, his face resting against her shoulder. Sobs that cut even deeper, were even rawer than those he'd shed for Alexa. Amanda had been there for him then. Just as Jade was here for him now. "It's all right. Let it go. It's over with, you're not like that any more," she was whispering phrases like that over and over, stroking his dark head. Until he felt the effects of his drinking and nearly two days without sleep begin to catch up him. Until he drifted out on a tide that promised forgiveness, a moment of peace. *** Gently, she laid his head on the table, arranging him in the most comfortable position she could manage under the circumstances. Then she sat back, just watching him. He looked so young, so innocent. His lashes were still laced with tears but the face had lost the knife -edge of pain it had carried, the raw bitterness. She traced his high cheekbones. Cassandra was wrong. Methos had paid, had suffered as much if not more than she had. Three thousand years worth of guilt and internal beatings, of murder and struggling forgiveness, of the bittersweet loss of love. And he had loved her. Jade had seen it when he spoke of Cassandra. At one time, he must have loved her very much. And it was that part that grieved at what she had become, at the rage she harbored. At what he had done to her, at the hand he'd had in remaking her. Yet Cassandra had chosen the course of her life. She didn't have to let the past poison her so but she had and that was not Methos' fault. The female immortal had wanted her to feel the same hatred, the same loathing. Jade couldn't do that. Oh, she had no doubt that he had done everything Cassandra had told her. His own tale corroborated that. She hadn't wanted to believe, had wanted him to tell her it was a lie. But she had known from the moment she'd walked into Joe's. There was no hate in her however, only pity and love. Pity that he had suffered so much, that he was still suffering and love because he had chosen to be honest with her, none of his usual games. Because he trusted her enough to tell her the truth instead of some evasive smart-ass remark that he would have given anyone else. Someone tapped her arm. Joe gave her a warm smile as he leaned forward. "There's a cot in the back if you want to--" "Thanks but I think I'll sit with him for a while," she squeezed Joe's hand and resumed her silent vigil. ***End
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