| A Gift |
| A Fanfiction Short-Story by Juliet M. (c. 2005) |
| *Note: I do not claim to own Highlander or Buffy or any of its characters. Some of the characters in this fanfic are mine, and I would appreciate it if you didn't steal them or my storyline, which is original, as well. |
| Feeling clean and refreshed for the first time all day, Celeste stepped out of the bathroom. The soft whoosh of cool air against her heated skin made her sigh contentedly. She�d forgotten how good it was to take a hot shower and be greeted with cool air, but she could feel her flesh react to the abrupt change and fought the wave of goosebumps that threatened to cover her towel-clad body. She patted the towel on her head, filled with her dark and voluminous hair, to ensure it still held. It did. She smiled. Ah, the wonders of small pleasures.
The young woman wandered into the living room and grabbed her underwear from where she had left them on the couch, pulling them on without a second thought. She grabbed a clean t-shirt from the pile of laundry she would have to put away and went to the kitchen area of the apartment, flipping the light switch near the dining table. And there, on the end of the bare counter, sat a vase filled with what seemed to be two-dozen yellow roses. Celeste gasped, covering her mouth with one delicate hand and smiling. She went to smell them and smiled happily, feeling almost giddy as she reached for the card. To my sun and moon and starlit sky, Without whom I would surely dwell in darkness. M. Her heart skipped a beat and seemed to freeze. He�d sent her flowers on her birthday, and he had remembered her favorite kind, remembered the line from Willow. Suddenly, she could hardly contain her joy. She sniffed at them again, cupping one in her hands and breathing deeply the sweet smell of the flower. She giggled excitedly and spun around, glancing around the room for any sign he had been there. Nothing. She almost frowned, sad he hadn�t stayed to watch her receive his gift. The perfect gift. But the reminder the bouquet of roses still remained had her grinning wholeheartedly again. She had to find him. Rushing toward her bedroom, Celeste stripped the old t-shirt and the towel off and hurried for her closet. She spent several minutes worrying over what outfit to wear. But inspiration struck, and she grabbed a denim jacket and went to her dresser, the closet door sliding shut and slamming. A black t-shirt and a pair of jeans were what she needed. She grabbed some socks and shoved her feet into her sneakers, using her fingers the adjust them over her feet. The jacket was pulled over her arms in a hurried manner, purse strap in her mouth and keys in her hand, as she shut off the lights and shut the door. After locking it, she ran down the steps with a bouncy step and rushed out to the street, where her car was parked. The white Ford tempo was a pleasing sight she barely allowed to register before the key was in the ignition and she was driving, driving toward Joe�s (a bar owned by a friend of a friend who also happened to be a watcher, but that didn�t matter). All that mattered was Methos would be there. Perhaps he would be waiting for her � you could never tell with him, calculating bastard that he was � at the bar, or perhaps he would be surprised to see her. Either way, it didn�t matter. She had to see him, had to tell him�what? That she loved him? Maybe, but who could be sure. Nothing mattered � not why or where, only who. She had to see Methos, and he had to be there at Joe�s, sitting at the bar and holding that ever-present beer in one hand. The drive seemed shorter than she had realized. Celeste was there and parked before she could even finish running through her thoughts. No matter. She had things to do. She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and got out of the car, locking it and pushing it shut to get into the bar faster than if she had waited to shut it. She heard it click. It was fine. The bar was dark, even for the mid-morning sun outside. It was late summer, and inside the bar, the air was a little thick. The room smelled strongly of liquor and cigarette smoke, but Celeste didn�t care, not even the blues music could cool her mood. There were very few people inside � a couple in a booth off to one side, a man with a large glass of some brown liquid at one of the small tables on the floor, and a tall man at the bar in a gray sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. �Methos,� she whispered, smiling again and adjusting her clothes and hair before going over to him. She came to a stop behind him, off to one side. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned as she asked, �Is this seat taken?� He started to smile and shook his head, watching her as though enthralled by her very presence. |