Lying awake in bed Methos looked at the ceiling. He could see her face still in his mind, he knew that wouldn't last. He had the dubious experience of watching loved ones die and each face was forgotten in the mists of his memory. He could remember each one, what they had said to him at one time or another, but their beloved features seemed to slip just outside his grasp…He knew he would have to savour the image of his dead Ilya because it wouldn't last.
"Nothing ever does." He said softly to himself, perversely enjoying the sensation of the way his voice broke the silence of the night. He shrugged to himself. <
"Bugger." He said out loud, irritated that sleep evaded him, he took his frustration out on the innocent pillow and rolled over on one side
Sleep was being particularly obstinate tonight, every night he was haunted by death, things from his past, dead friends and lovers…Thoughts that refused to let him sleep, let alone the bad dreams that threatened to engulf him. Briefly Methos wondered at the irony that how the oldest man on the planet could feel so helpless like a little lost child. Snorting, he rolled the other way. <
He remembered talking with her, her laughter and her quick wit. The peace that constantly surrounded her, her unwillingness to hurt any living soul, her complete and utter selflessness. She was what he wasn't and he thrived on it. Yet, when she wanted, she could be so much like him it ached his heart. He remembered the two of them ribbing an exasperated MacLeod, taunting a fed up Richie, working up Joe's inexhaustible bar tab. He remembered things she had told him that she had never told a living soul and vice versa. "Sleep!" He ordered.
Looking at the white pillow it reminded him of the white sweater she wore in the park in Seacouver winter…
FLASHBACK
Ilya laughed as she slung a lanky arm around her soul mates shoulder. They were talking about some idle chatter. Suddenly, before the immortal pair knew it, a man had a knife to Ilya's throat.
"Your wallet." He growled.
Even though her head was at stake Ilya calmly complied. Methos was far from calm, he glared at the man tightly holding his fists as he didn't want the man to make any sudden moves. Ilya shot him a warning glance. The man snatched her wallet and ran away.
"He's going to regret that." Methos muttered darkly as he sprinted after him."
"Adam!" Ilya yelled after him. "Don't…Hurt him." It was too late, Methos and the man had disappeared from sight. With a sigh Ilya ran in roughly the direction, glad of the hundred mornings she had spent running. When she caught up with them she saw Methos, a very odd expression on his face, kicking a rolled up ball on the floor. Shocked, Ilya realised the ball was human. "Methos." She whispered, horrified as he lifted up one foot to finish him off. "Stop."
He looked up in surprise. "But…"
She shook her head. "I'm not hurt. Which is more than I can say for him." She looked saddened. "He's just a mortal."
Methos stopped, frowning. "You'd rather he got away with it?!"
"It doesn't matter." She told him firmly. "We're both fine."
Methos snorted.
An hour later, however, she decided it was quite sweet of him.
"Owww! OK, ok! Not sweet!" She said, wriggling. "It was gallant of you to knock the poor boy senseless."
Methos had snorted. "Your mistaking me for our mutual pony tailed friend. I just remembered the tickets that I brought to the superbowl were in your purse."
"Touching." She murmured, her eyes dancing with amusement.
He rolled his eyes, "Besides did you see the look on his face?"
Ilya sighed and looked artfully sorrowful, her dark eyes expressive. "I could hardly miss it." She paused for dramatic effect and then delivered the blow. "Do you like causing people pain?"
Methos stopped dead. "What kind of a question is that?" He demanded angrily. "Last time I save your butt!" He started to storm away but Ilya made a grab for his arm.
"Oh so you admit you were protecting me?" She asked quickly.
He paused, knowing he was caught, and then laughed sheepishly. "I bear my soul to you and you use it to your advantage in every damn argument."
She grinned.
"You're very cruel." He told her mournfully.
"That's why you love me."
"No that's not why I love you…" A slow sensuous smile slid up his face as he moved towards her.
She knew exactly what was in his mind and smacked him on the nose with the Sunday newspaper. "Adam Pierson, this is a public place." She told him in mock stern tones.
He blinked, as if noticing for the first time. "It is?" He turned around and noticed the people in the park. "All my eyes noticed were your stunning beauty." He finished with a lusty sigh.
"We do the young couple in love act rather well don't we." She whispered.
He nodded wisely. "Years and years of practise."
"Hey!" She protested, punching him gently on the shoulder.
"Gotcha." He said, smirking.
She folded her arms and looked at him reproachfully. "Touché, Methos you are one sneaky son of a bitch." She whispered.
He sniggered.
She waited until he had finished gloating. "I know about your sixty eight wives."
For a brief moment Methos was dumbstruck. "Wha…?" He pondered for a second then said delicately. "Ah…. MacLeod."
"Yeah….'Ah MacLeod', 'Hey Ilya, did you know Adam had 68 wives?' Gee, thanks for breaking it to me gently."
"Does it matter?" He asked her quietly.
"Of course not! But I thought you said you told me everything."
"Well I did!… Practically."
"Practically?" She inquired dangerously.
He laughed at her expression. "I'm kidding! You would think you might trust me by now!"
"Psaw." She waved that aside. "I'd rather trust your friend Amanda with the crown jewels."
Methos looked hurt, he knew introducing Ilya to Amanda was a big mistake.
"Hey… Adam, I gotta go..."
Methos' ears pricked up and his eyebrow raised. "Meeting someone? Don't tell me I've got competition?"
"Of course not, you idiot." She rolled her eyes, they contrasted to her light hair.
He folded his arms. "Oh wait, I can get this one, back to holy ground before you get challenged, yes?" He drawled.
"I just don't want to kill anyone!" She snapped.
He deadpanned. "Believe me, with your skills you won't kill anyone."
"Thanks. I've done just fine so far!" She told him defensively.
"Hiding on holy ground?" He asked sarcastically.
Ilya made a frustrated sound. "You can be really nasty when you want to be!"
"You don't know the half of it." He murmured. "Have you actually taken a head?"
"Once." She said very quietly. She turned away from him.
He put two hands on her shaking shoulders and turned her around, he could see a lone tear streaking down her face. He had never seen Ilya cry before, it must have effected her badly…Her first quickening…
" Hey if you die there would be only one of us to annoy the Boy Scout."
She wiped a tear with her sleeve and managed a smile. "You've seen me die loads."
"Don't try my patience." He reproved. "You know exactly what I mean."
She grinned mockingly, back to her old self. "I prostate myself before you o wise one."
He nodded. "So you should." He said with his nose high in the air, then he turned serious. "Come back to MacLeod's place, he loves to do his 'chivalry' bit, knight in a shinning kilt."
"I don't need your protection or Mac's!" She said indignantly.
" If I don't get to spend the night with you I might go mad." He said, his hazel eyes feigning seriousness.
She rolled her dark eyes. "Oh gee, wouldn't want that happening."
Eventually with a little gentle 'persuasion,' ((Methos remembered that bit fondly)) he got her back to the dojo.
MacLeod leaned back on his chair, one hand on the pommel of his katana as he sensed the presence of immortals.
Surprised brown eyes were raised up over the book he was reading. "Ilya!"
Ilya grinned as she snatched the book. Methos, standing in the corner of the room, watched, amused at the antics of his lover.
"What's this?" She asked as she read a page. "MacLeod! This is scandalous!" She threw the book to Methos who caught it.
MacLeod folded his arms. "When you two are quite finished trashing my place…" He began testily.
"We're not." Methos informed him, interrupting what he knew to be a 'Can't you call first?' rant.
Ilya chucked him a beer from a fridge. Methos smiled broadly as he caught it deftly with his other hand. "Ah Ilya, whenever I wonder why I hooked up with you, you make a gesture of true love."
Ilya rolled her eyes skywards.
"Did you know reading is the TV of the 15th century? When it first came out they said its fantasies would kill young minds. " Methos mused. His beer sprayed everywhere, however, when he started reading a few pages of the book Duncan had been reading. "Why MacLeod! What smut! In all my 5000 years I've never…"
"I am surprised to see you here." MacLeod said to her, deftly interrupting Methos from the equivalent to a 'When I was in the war' speech. "I thought you had been hiding out on holy ground."
"She still is." Methos said, the smile slipping away from his face as swiftly as it arrived. "Dammit Mac! Can't you talk some sense in to her?"
"I would teach you." MacLeod offered her.
"Yes he would!" Methos agreed quickly. MacLeod gave him a dark look.
"So would I…" Methos added lamely in reply to that hard stare.
Ilya shook her head. "It isn't that; I don't want to kill anyone!"
"Then you'll be killed." MacLeod told her, his jaw clenching as he tried to detach himself from Ilya's life, knowing at some point she would die and of the effect it would have on Methos, who had finally found someone he could have the opportunity to spend his whole life with.
Methos shook his head firmly. "She had better bloody not be!"
MacLeod looked even more surprised. "Methos? Is that you? What a surprise it seems he does have a soul."
"Ha ha." Methos muttered sourly.
***
"Adam?" MacLeod asked cautiously, something didn't seem quite right with his ancient friend. He had seen Methos drunk before, he had seen Methos depressed before, but not like this. Never like this, even when he was thinking about Alexa he wasn't quite like this.
"Bugger off MacLeod." Came a gruff voice. Methos was shaking, MacLeod didn't understand it. It had taken him quite a while to find Methos, when the man wanted to be alone he did it properly. He wasn't in Joe's or in any of his usual locals, it had taken MacLeod most of the night to find him. Richie had got himself into trouble with the Baron Vladhomier and a certain lady friend ((which the young immortal was quite capable of sorting out the mess he had got himself into by himself)) and MacLeod wanted to rein in the cavalry ((I.e. Methos)) and get the young man whom he considered a son ((And was ridiculously protective of the son he never had)) out of danger. He knew Methos wouldn't be enthusiastic about sticking his neck on the line but he hadn't expected this. He had expected the "Is it the chivalry thing again MacLeod? I hate to be the one to tell you this but Richie isn't female unless you know something I don’t," line or maybe the,"Ever heard of a little thing called 'common sense' MacLeod?!", speech.
Duncan grabbed a stool next to him, completely ignoring Methos' last sentence. "Want to talk about it?"
Methos growled into his beer. "I have a choice?" A deep sigh escaped him. "I guess I'll have to tell you sometime…It's Ilya…"
MacLeod went cold.
"She's gone Duncan."
Something in Methos told him not to turn around, not to endure the highlanders gaze as it would dredge up everything Methos just spent all his money in the whole world on alcohol to erase. But he couldn't help it. He saw the loss and sadness in MacLeod's dark brown eyes, and MacLeod seemed angry that she had gone from his world so suddenly, almost before the sensitive Scotsman had time to prepare himself for the inevitable. All these things Methos had felt only a day ago….
FLASHBACK
"NO!" Methos yelled, a sound of the deepest sorrow, rage, loss and denial. A young woman stood guiltily next to a slumping figure. Methos feared the slumping figure was his Ilya and covered the distance so fast he could feel his feet bleeding inside his shoes. With a shuddering sigh he knelt down to the decapitated body of his lost love. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "With five thousand years of tears I have none left to shed." He rested his head on her breast, a heart that refused to beat. Her face was permanently removed from her body, no laughing dark eyes, no whispering sweet lips, no curvaceous dimples, no soft skin of an angel, no wild yellow hair. She was gone…Forever. Forever was a very long time, he should know. It was only the faces that shone out from the crowd, finding something or someone so unusual and unique that kept him sane. That's what made him join the horseman, what drew him to MacLeod and what attracted him to Ilya.
He looked up, if Methos couldn't cry Millicent certainly could. She was wracked with remorse, she was just obeying Felicia…She had no idea what this would do to him…Or herself. <
The expression that Millicent saw directed at her was of such hatred and loathing that she recoiled in horror. No one had ever looked at her like that before…
"You." He hissed a statement of utter determination that she was sure he was going to kill her.
"I didn't want to…" She stammered, stumbling backwards, "I didn't want to kill her…" The sword clanged harmlessly to the ground. She sobbed, before fleeing as fast as she could.
Methos turned his hourglass gaze away from the young immortal back to the body of Ilya.
<
"I want to…But I won't." He said outloud.
Changing his expression from a simultaneously furious and shaken 5000-year-old immortal to a quiet young student, Methos became Adam Pierson and shuffled away.
***
MacLeod's fists were clenched in rage, more at the fact that Ilya was gone than the fact that Methos didn't seem to be doing anything about it. "Are you telling me you're going to sit back and ignore this?!" He said between clenched teeth. If MacLeod wasn't so upset by her death himself he would be using more tact right now.
Methos laughed a harsh short laugh that seemed almost as if it were choked out. "I wish I could ignore it. If I could I wouldn't be sitting here right now."
Duncan was at a loss, he didn't understand. He missed Ilya, he wanted revenge himself but it was Methos's right to do so, not his. So why wasn't Methos doing it?
"You're losing the plot MacLeod." Methos said quietly.
Duncan rounded on him. "What?!"
"She was a slip of a girl, barely immortal, never taken a head before. Why would she kill Ilya? Someone who under normal standards could have killed her?"
"She must have been watching Ilya…Seeing her go into holy ground…Or an inexperienced young immortal not knowing the rules, believing they had as much chance as anybody else."
Methos shook his head. " No, she knew the rules. Ilya's been in and out of peaceful places where she cannot be challenged and with people who will deter challenges, for a hundred odd years, this is a new immortal…only 20 odd years, not enough time."
"Someone else!" MacLeod exclaimed. "Someone telling her what to do…A mentor finding heads for her student?"
"More likely to make me so angry I would fly into a rage and this would effect my fighting ability." Methos said calmly.
Duncan stopped, his mind was screaming at him for something he had missed, something about Ilya's death that seemed somehow familiar, he brushed the feeling off and continued his rant. "You're not the centre of the universe Methos! Ilya was killed for who she was, and how can you sit there and think rationally? Someone you love has just died and…"
"You think I don't know that??" Methos snapped, his eyelids flying opens with flecks of rage in his green grey eyes.
MacLeod backed away, he didn't mean it. It all brung back memories of how he had felt when Tessa died, Methos had usurped his role, but wasn't playing it properly.
Methos settled again. "Revenge is not going to help, it isn't going to help me get over her and it is the last thing Ilya would have wanted, besides what about the mentor? Ilya's dead MacLeod, I don't want to end up the same way."
"But it could happen to others!" MacLeod protested.
"Let it." Methos said coldly. "That's not my business." Methos' lips clamped shut, he had nothing else to say to Duncan MacLeod of the bloody Clan MacLeod.
MacLeod calmed his anger. If anger could be described in colour, MacLeod's was red and Methos' was white hot, Duncan didn't stand a chance and he knew it.
Methos watched as MacLeod strode out then dropped his head on to the bar with such force that a loud * thunk * could be heard when his head came in contact with the hardwood.
<
The bartender looked sympathetically at Methos' short black haired head as it rested on the bar, and polished a glass. "You look like a man who bears the weight of the world on your shoulders."
Methos looked up with a wry smile. "Not the world, just 50 centuries." And he staggered to his feet and strode out as the bartender gave a shrug of indifference.
~FINI
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp,
A friend, whom death alone could sever,
Till envy with malignant grasp,
Detactched thee from my breast forever,
True she has forced thee from my breast,
Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat,
There, there thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat,
And when the grave restores her dead,
When life to dust again is given,
On thy dear breast I'll lay my head,
Without thee, where would be my heaven.
~Lord Byron
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