Notes: this takes place in April of
2063, after Not
Without Loss, and
during some of the flashbacks in The Last Time We First Met
. The idea came to me during a chat with a friend, and was partly
inspired by the photo of Methos holding a large old book from the
upcoming Highlander movie “The Source”.
This particular one takes place during the events on Earth during the
ST:TNG movie “First Contact”. It was actually that movie that threw our
series into the Star Trek future, when on IRC one night, one of us
wondered ‘what would happen if a Borg tried to assimilate an
Immortal?’. We never did discover the answer to that question, but the
damage was done :)
And yes, the title comes from the song of the same name from the
musical 'South Pacific'.
Rated PG, gen for the most part. Methos and Amanda don’t belong to me –
as if!
Thanks for reading.
Cock-Eyed Optimist
by Ithildin
c. 2006
“What have you got there?”
Methos looked up at Amanda has she
moved farther into the library, and then down at the large old book he
was holding before returning his attention to her. “It’s called a book,
Amanda. You read them. And amazingly enough, you’ll find them in
rooms like these that are called libraries,” he finished scathingly.
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of
the bed this morning,” she observed wryly, perching on the edge of the
table next to the stacks of old books Methos was sorting through. “Or
is it that someone wasn’t in your bed this morning, hmm?”
The book snapped shut. “What is it
you want, Amanda?”
“Ahhh...” She smiled innocently in
response to his glare, gently swinging one leg under the table.
“Amanda!” he snapped, this time
slamming the book down onto the table next to her. The sound echoed
around the room.
“Fine! If you’re going to be grumpy…”
She pouted. “I just got in a few hours ago, and I was looking for
Triona. But Mac tells me she left weeks ago -- and that you didn’t go
with her.”
His jaw tightened. “She didn’t ask.”
“And you didn’t offer,” she shot
back.
“And just how did this become my
fault?” he snapped. “Just because Duncan always takes her side doesn’t
mean it’s true, you know!”
“For god’s sake, Methos, for someone
so old you sure do act like you’re twelve a lot of the time!” she
scolded, obviously exasperated by his peevishness. “No one’s
taking anyone’s side. I just want to know what happened, okay?”
“This may come as a shock to you, but
it’s none of your bloody business, nor am I interested in assuaging
your curiosity. Besides which, if you’ve talked to Mac, you
already know what happened. So why the hell are you here annoying
me?” he demanded.
Amanda was totally unfazed by his
foul mood. “Because I always like to get my gossip straight from
the source, darling. You should know that by now. So tell me what
happened,” she instructed.
Methos shook his head in sheer
disbelief, exhaling explosively. “Fine! We had a fight!”
“And…?” she prompted, when it seemed
that was all he was going to say.
“And? And what, Amanda? We had a
fight, she left, I left, I came back, and she hasn’t. The end.” He
picked up another book from the stack, obviously under the impression
that was the end of the conversation. But Amanda had other ideas.
“And what exactly did you fight
about?”
His hands tightened around the book
and he closed his eyes as if praying for the strength not to throttle
his very persistent questioner. “You aren’t going to go away till
I tell you everything you want to know, are you?”
She smiled. “Nope. So you may
as well just get it over with!”
Shoulders slumped in defeat he did as
she asked. “We fought about Zefram bloody Cochrane and his bloody warp
rocket, what else? Triona’s obsessed with the damn project!
Nothing else matters and it’s the only thing she cares about these
days.”
Amanda wisely refrained from pointing
out the hundreds of books on the table, and the hundreds more in the
library that Methos had spent months, at great hardship, to rescue from
the remains of libraries in cities and towns that had been decimated by
the war. When it came to obsession, he really wasn’t in a place to
accuse. “So you fought about the project.”
“Yes, we did. It’s a waste of time
and emotion for something that probably will never work! And even if it
does, it’s useless! It will be centuries before civilization has
rebuilt back to a point to go into space. What the hell does she think
is going to happen? That the rocket will go up and little green men
will see it and decide to come visit?” Exasperated, he started
pushing books around the table aimlessly. “Foolishness,” he muttered.
“Oh come on, Methos! So what if it’s
foolish? Did it occur to you that this project is how she deals with
the loss and grief of the war? Everyone needs something to hold on to,
something to pin a hope onto.”
“Hope is one thing, complete denial
of reality is quite another.” Scrubbing at his hair in
frustration, he continued on his tirade. “She thinks that there’s some
better future out there, that she can do something to make a
difference, to make things better – whatever that means.”
“Maybe she’s right,” Amanda offered
quietly.
“Oh, please! You and I both know
better, Amanda. This is reality -- civilization constantly reaching
just so far, only to be torn apart by our own stupidity and
weakness. She needs to accept that and not pin false hope on some
ridiculous dream of humanity reaching out to the stars.”
“The starry eyed optimism of youth.”
Sighing, she continued, “She’s young, Methos, barely a century. Can’t
you cut her some slack? They’re her dreams and her disappointments, and
you can’t protect her from them. You know that.”
“She isn’t hard enough, and she needs
to be if she’s going to make it to her second century.” His hands
stilled over the books. “Triona cares too much, and that’s going to get
her killed. I only want her to survive. Is that so wrong?”
“No, honey, it isn’t. But you worry
too much. And she’s a lot tougher than you give her credit for.“
“Maybe she is and maybe I’m too
emotionally involved to judge, I don’t know anymore.”
“Don’t be so over protective that you
suffocate her, Methos. That will drive her away surer than
anything; you know that. Let her find her own way.”
“I should have never arranged for
MacLeod to be her teacher. The two of them are peas in a pod,” he said
in disgust, “with damn rose coloured glasses permanently affixed!”
Amanda laughed. “And you and I
both know we hope that will never change; no matter how irritating it
can be. Can you imagine if they were as cynical and jaded as we are? We
need their cock-eyed optimism, their hope for the future, their belief
in humanity.”
He sighed softly. “Their belief
in us?”
“Yeah, especially that,” she agreed
quietly.
His reply was interrupted by the
arrival of a guard. “A messenger brought this letter for you, sir,” the
man said, handing Methos an envelope.
Methos thanked him, already opening
the letter as the guard left. “It’s from Triona,” he told Amanda
as he scanned the contents.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned
at the look of shock that had appeared on his face. “Is everything
okay? Is she okay? Methos! Damn it, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Fine, she’s
fine.” He handed Amanda the letter, slumping against the table.
“There’ll be no living with her after this,” he muttered.
She read the letter, a similar
expression of shock appearing on her face. “Oh… Oh my….” Silently, she
handed the letter back to him, digesting the news. Then she looked
sidelong at Methos. “I guess those little green men did decide to drop
in and say hello after all, huh?”
“So it would seem.”
“I foresee a lot of groveling in
someone’s future,” she said mischievously.
Waving his hand towards the
bookshelves he said resignedly, “I’m sure there’s a recipe in one of
those somewhere for crow pie.”
End
COCK-EYED OPTIMIST from the musical South Pacific
When the sky is a bright canary yellow
I forget ever cloud I've ever seen
So they call me a cock-eyed optimist
Immature and incurably green
I have heard people rant and rave and
bellow
that we're done and we might as well
be dead
But I'm only a cock-optimist
And I can't get it into my head
I hear the human race is falling on
its face
And hasn't very far - to go
But every whippoorwill is selling me
a bill
And telling me it just ain't so
I could say life is just a bowl of
jello
And appear more intelligent and smart
But I'm stuck like a dope with a
thing called hope
And I can't get it out of my heart
Not this heart.
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