Notes & Disclaimers: this was one
of those stories that just sort of happened unplanned. I’d toyed with
several ideas since I finished Broken Window, but was
working on another story and put the idea of a sequel to the side till
it was done. I failed miserably! There will probably be a sequel
to this, because there’s much more that seems to want to be written
about this chapter in Methos and Triona’s lives. Time will tell.
It’s been a really long time since I’ve written anything more than a
PG13 fic, so I was a little unsure of my ability to still be able to
write anything resembling a sex scene. So many thanks to dontkickmycane & saighin for making sure there was
nothing ‘cringe inducing’ in the adult bits! And many thanks to my
lovely beta readers Sophie & Mischief for pointing out my
boo-boos. All remaining errors are because I’m stoopid :)
Triona belongs to me, Methos doesn’t. Drat!
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it [fingers crossed]!
Should the Dawn Return
by Ithildin
c. 2006
Amethyst sand poured through her
fingers, glinting in the light of the rising sun. ‘Like sands through
the hourglass, these are the days of our lives…’ the snatch of memory
came to her from somewhere in her childhood centuries before. Isn’t
that the truth? Triona thought to herself. She tried not to think
of that other life, not think of seeing Methos killed before her eyes,
the grief, the madness, and the pain. Her fists closed around the
blanket she sat on as she stared at the rising sun, as if the blood red
orb would blot out the visions that haunted her.
This was her first morning home after the accident that had nearly
destroyed her sanity two weeks before. Gina De Valicourt, a gifted
neural psychologist and dear friend, had released Triona from the
hospital only the day before on the condition that she stay on the
island, at the small home Triona shared with Methos and their daughter,
Lucia. Not in the main family home on the Northern Continent. No work,
no contact with anyone or anything that could stress her healing
mind. She had agreed to all of Gina’s conditions, desperate to be
away from clinic, the constant brain scans, away from the memories and
the sadness that seemed to permeate her room. Triona hadn’t even seen
Lucia yet. She remained with Duncan and Amanda till Gina decided she
was up to it. That had been the one condition she’d chafed at, but one
she’d accepted in the end. She wanted to be well and strong when
she saw her twelve-year-old daughter again; didn’t want to scare her
anymore than she had been. It would only be a few more days, she
consoled herself. It had come so close to being never, after all.
The dawn sky was now brilliant ruby and amethyst, and the birds had
begun their songs. In the distance, Triona could see winged dolphins,
sea mammals native to Imladris, leaping and gliding beyond the surf.
This was what was real, she reminded herself. Not the alternate
universe the lab accident had thrown her into, not that sad and tragic
life that might have been hers. Taking several deep breaths, she strove
for calm. The memory of Methos dying played over and over in her waking
mind and in her nightmares. It was all she could do to not keep
touching him to remind herself that here, he was real and alive. When
she’d woken before dawn this morning, she’d stared at him lying asleep
next to her, desperate to believe that this was real, not some fantasy
of a broken mind. Finally, unable to bear the fears that plagued
her, she’d escaped to the beach below their home in the still and quiet
hours before dawn. And there she’d sat, listening to the timeless sound
of surf brushing against sand, the warm wind touching the chill of her
flesh and spirit.
It was over, she told herself one more time. She wasn’t alone, she was
loved -- *she* loved. She loved. Drawing her knees to her chest,
Triona wrapped her arms around them, burying her face as the tears
she’d tried so hard to resist began to fall. As happened so often since
she’d regained consciousness, she felt like she was in two places at
once. Here on the beach, dawn breaking around her, and in some other
place and time weeping over a grave. But it was a place that seemed as
real as ‘here’ did. Doubt and fear skittered across her thoughts.
Maybe that was her reality, and this beach was the fantasy. She
clutched her legs as tight as she could, trying to resist the pull of
that other place, trying to push back the doubt. Then she felt Methos’
presence seep into her awareness and the familiar feel of him was like
balm to her soul. He was real and she clung to that thought
desperately. Quickly wiping the tears from her face, she heard his
footsteps, soft in the sand behind her.
“You should have told me you were leaving the house,” he chided gently,
coming around to crouch in front of her.
Looking up at him guiltily, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. But you
were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to disturb you.” That at
least was the truth. Or at least the part of the truth she could
confess to.
Methos sat on the sand in front of her. “And you didn’t want me to fuss
over you if you woke me up.” He stroked her cheek, then said firmly,
“You aren’t a hundred percent and you gave us your word that you’d
follow my and Gina’s instructions.”
“I’m better, I swear I am!” Placing her palm against his bare chest,
she moved up onto her knees so she could look him in the eye. “I just
don’t want you to worry anymore.” Triona hated the lines of anxiety on
his face, the tired eyes, remembered him weeping in Duncan’s arms when
he thought she was beyond all healing or help.
“Ah!” He waved a finger at her. “If you worry that I’m worrying, then
it defeats the purpose of it all.” Methos reached into the medical kit
he’d brought, producing a medical tricorder and pointing it at her.
“And when you’ve been to medical school a few dozen times, then you get
to diagnose yourself,” he added dryly.
Slumping back resignedly, she waited till he’d finished the scan.
“There? See? Fine! Like I said.” God, she sounded like she was twelve,
she knew she did. “Have I ever mentioned how annoying it is that you’re
a doctor?” She couldn’t quite keep a pout off her face.
He didn’t look up from analyzing the tricorder readings, just smiled a
little saying, “If you’re very good, I’ll give you a lollipop.” Putting
the tricorder down, he reached back into the bag, this time bringing
out a hypospray.
“Please, Methos, no more drugs!” She unconsciously drew back, crossing
her arms over her chest defensively. “Please?”
“Triona, I know you don’t like it, but it’s necessary.” Sighing, he
took her hand. “Please don’t fight me.” His expression was one of
resolve mixed with sympathy.
“No!” Triona grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the hypospray. “Just
listen to me! I swear I’ll tell you if I start having visions, or
nightmares, if I hear voices, or reality shifts.” She pushed back the
accusing little voice that reminded her of what had just happened
before Methos had appeared. She wouldn’t have another one, not now that
he was here with her; she was sure. “I don’t like the way the drugs
make me feel. They do something to me, make me feel cut off, like I’ve
been mentally blinded. And it scares me; it’s like being back in that
place…” her voice broke, and he squeezed her hand in reassurance, “back
in that place, where you were gone, and I was alone in the dark and the
cold.”
“This is why you need the medication, love. You can’t get this upset;
it’s not good for you.”
“But I’m getting upset because you won’t listen to me!” How could she
make him understand? She forced herself to calm down with great effort.
If she didn’t, she knew nothing she could say would keep Methos from
injecting her with the contents of the hypospray he held. “When you’re
here with me, when I feel you,” she touched her temple, then her heart,
“it’s like an anchor, you keep me ‘here’. Your presence mentally is as
real to me as you are physically sitting here with me. The drugs cut me
off from that anchor, cut me off from you.”
“I don’t know…” he began.
“Methos, I’m begging you.” She put her hands on his thighs. “I swear,
if I get worse, I’ll do whatever you want without a fight.”
“That will be the day,” he muttered. He searched her face, mentally
debating her plea. Then he put the hypospray back in the medical bag.
“Okay, but you don’t wander off again without telling me where you’re
going! You stay put, where I can keep an eye on you, is that
understood?”
“Yes.” She scooted closer. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to want to monitor you closely as the medication wears off,
so I don’t want to hear any whining!”
“No whining,” she agreed.
“And I don’t even want to catch you near a computer or datapad or comm
unit.” He peered at her suspiciously when all she did was nod in
agreement. “This is unnatural,” he grumbled. “How many centuries have I
dreamt of the day that you’d actually do as I asked without arguing?
Though I’m sure you’ll get over it soon enough.” Triona giggled as he
ruffled her hair. “I thought I’d never hear that sound again,” he said
quietly, his mood turning serious once more.
“I know,” she whispered, putting her arms around him, holding him
close. Pressing her lips against his cheek, she sighed as he pulled her
into his lap. She leaned into him, soaking in his nearness. Never again
would she take their life together for granted.
Methos rested his head in the hollow of her shoulder, his breath warm
against the pulse at her throat. Pulling slightly away, she reached up
to undo the knot that held her sarong-like garment in place, letting
the fabric fall away. He drew it the rest of the way off, settling her
more comfortably against him as he reached up to undo the clip that
held her long hair up in loose knot. The heavy mass fell around her
naked flesh, making her shiver a little. His strong warm hands were
splayed across her back and he just looked at her, drinking her in as
if he’d forgotten what she looked like.
She cupped his face with her hands. “I’m going to be okay.”
Nodding, he whispered, “Yeah, I know.”
Pressing closer to him, her hands slipped behind his head, her fingers
tangling in his short dark hair, pulling him in for a searching kiss,
reminding herself what he felt like, what he tasted like. They kissed
with a quiet, slow passion, each of them remembering the grief and pain
of the last two weeks, a grief that made this coming together something
to savour, something to cherish. Her hands moved over the
familiar lines of his body, fingertips reacquainting themselves with
every plane and hollow of his lean frame. “Please tell me this is
medically acceptable, Dr. Adams,” she asked huskily, scattering
feathery kisses across his face.
“Oh, absolutely.” His fingers slid up her scalp tugging her head back
gently, his lips tracing a path down her jaw.
“It isn’t quite a lollipop,” she murmured, “but it’ll do.” Lips and
teeth at her throat made her gasp.
“So glad to hear it.” His soft laughter vibrated against her. Then the
lips skimmed down, his tongue flicking across one breast, then the
other, his hands slipping down her back to pull her more firmly against
him. “This is what’s real, love – remember that,” he barely whispered
the words before kissing her fiercely.
Triona welcomed the almost painful intensity of his lips against hers.
He was right; this was real. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Now her
hands slipped under the waistband his jeans, gently caressing and
stroking, his groan of pleasure pulling her in ever deeper. Pushing her
back onto the blanket, he removed the last barrier between them as she
watched him with an aching need, a look he matched as his hands stroked
the length of her body possessively, long fingers slipping between her
thighs, claiming her once more as his. He lay against her, hands and
fingers and lips roaming her body till she was desperate for release.
She opened herself to him mentally and physically, needing him to fill
all the dark places in her soul, to drive away the cold with his
warmth.
The familiar feel of him pressed against her, their bodies fitting
together as they always had. The desperate intensity she’d felt
transforming into a gentle heat as they moved together, becoming as
one. Memories of their life together here in this reality overpowered
the thoughts of that sad and desperate place from where she thought
she’d never escape.
Dawn had finally broken over the darkness of her soul.
End
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