| A Lover Lost? |
| 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. |
| Duncan was relaxing on his couch, reading. He had a glass of scotch sitting on the coffee table, untouched. The music he had playing on his stereo was the usual opera, and it had a calming effect on his mood. He paused in his book to remember his drink and looked up at the room around him. He had just got back not long ago from a quick trip to Paris, and his loft seemed to show it. There were still a few art pieces he hadn't unpacked yet. He got up to check his bookshelf for another book and stopped at the window. As he watched the sky darken slowly, the phone rang. Mac turned off his music and answered the phone on the fourth ring.
"Hello?" he asked, his voice as smooth as ever. A sigh of relief could be heard from the other side. "Mac?" asked the English-accented voice on the phone. MacLeod instantly recognized Methos' voice. "Adam, what's wrong?" he asked, anxiously. "It's Celeste. I'm worried about her, Mac," Methos replied sadly. "I've been challenged. I told her to remain at the apartment, but I don't think she'll listen to me. Now, she refuses to come out of the bathroom. You have to stop her, Mac. Keep her away from the warehouse." "The warehouse?" was Mac's only reply. Methos cursed under his breath. "That's the second time I've let that slip. I must be getting senile." His voice sounded tired. "Who has challenged you, Adam?" MacLeod asked. "No one you know. An Immortal older than you, younger than me. I don't know his name, and I don't care. I have to go, now. Please, Mac?" he pleaded. The worry was plain in his voice, and it made Duncan cringe. "Sure, Adam," he replied. He was glad his friend trusted him with this. "I'll be right over." "Thanks, Mac. I owe you one." With that, Methos hung up the phone, and Mac did the same, only taking the time to grab his coat and sword before rushing out the door to head to the apartment Methos shared with Celeste. It wouldn�t be a long drive, but to MacLeod, it would seem an eternity. ... When Duncan arrived at the apartment, Celeste barely had the time to let him in. She was hurrying about the apartment, drying her damp hair, tying it back in a high ponytail to keep it out of her face, and dressing herself in a pair of black jeans and a not-so-loose black t-shirt. She grabbed a pair of black boots, and Duncan watched her pull them on. He sighed sadly, removed his long jacket, and hung it on the coat rack near the door. Celeste began to grab every weapon that she had stashed around the apartment. She strapped on her wrist blades and put the others in their proper holders at her hip, back and inside one of her boots. She pulled a loose black blouse over her t-shirt to hide the weapons and set out to locate her crossbow and grab her sword. She stomped through each room, with Mac now following her to each doorway, digging in the closets and checking the chests, tossing unwanted weapons onto the. Something about the way she stalked past him made him shiver. She finally found her crossbow in one of the cases in the back of the closet she shared with Methos. She made a triumphant sound and grabbed the sword she'd set beside the bedroom door before Duncan had arrived. She went for the front door. MacLeod stopped her by grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the door. "Where do you think you're going, Celeste?" he asked. But he knew where she intended to go with all those weapons. Tonight, Celeste wasn't after some new vampire in town, wasn't fighting some demon or stopping the ascension of some new arch-villain. She wanted to save her lover's life at the risk of her own, and he couldn't let her do that. He�d promised Methos. "You know where I'm going, Mac. Adam called you," she replied sharply, yanking her arm out of his grasp. "He needs me." "You cannot interfere, Celeste. Those are the rules," Duncan stressed, as she glared back at him with all the fury of hell in her amber-colored eyes. He braced himself for a fight. Celeste squared her shoulders and glared at Mac even more. "No, Duncan. You can't interfere. I am not an Immortal. The rules don't apply to me, not that I'd listen to them if they did, and I am going to save Adam." She turned to leave, opening the door and stepping into the hallway of the older building. She paused just outside the door, as Mac called after her. "If you help him, he'll never forgive you!" "That's a risk I'll have to take," she shouted back. She rushed down the stairs and out the door before Duncan could try to stop her again. The streets were cool and damp from the day's rainstorm. Not yet dusk, the sky was the perfect shade of blue that threatened to make Celeste lose her breath for a moment, but she fought the urge and hurried across the street, quickly walking to the parking lot at the end of the block, where she kept her car. She got in quickly and started the car, barely getting her seatbelt on before slamming on the gas and racing out of the parking lot. She knew where to go. Methos had told her, accidentally of course, before he had kissed her goodbye and run off. She drove faster, desperately needing to reach the old, abandoned warehouse before their swords could clash that final time. She was certain that this other Immortal could take her Adam; Methos was very much out of practice, while his challenger was very much not. ... The grounds of the warehouse had only two cars parked nearby. One of them, Celeste recognized as Adam's car. She ran into the building as she heard the telltale sound of clashing swords. Then, she drew her sword and watched the fight from the ground. Part of her wanted to see Methos on the offensive, winning, but she noticed his stance and the tension in his body, his slowing movements. He was losing. She hurried up the metal staircase to the catwalk above. Methos did his best to deflect the other Immortal's blows, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The child had a distinct advantage over him. He had let himself become rusty and was very much out of practice. A tiny voice in the back of his mind cursed him for falling for that silly girl. Slayer or not, she had made him feel too comfortable, too happy�too weak. He might just die within a few minutes because of that weakness, but he silenced that thought immediately. She had given him a reason to live that was more than just seeing another day, another year, another century. He had needed that. He grunted as he pushed the other man's sword back. He wouldn't lose, couldn't lose. He was Methos, the oldest Immortal. He was not going to lose his Quickening to a child. He started with a new tactic, suddenly remembering older moves from the darker days he hadn't seen in centuries. His change in tactics seemed to make the other nervous, causing him to fall back a lose some ground. Methos took up the offensive again. Celeste watched the fight as she ran, but she stopped and saw Methos change before her eyes. He was no longer being Adam Pierson, her live-in boyfriend and best friend, but Methos, the ancient and Immortal man she loved secretly. More violent and calculated movements forced the other man into the defensive, and Celeste's heart sang with joy and pride. She moved a little closer to get a better look at her lover, but as she got closer, she noticed something about the younger Immortal's face and the way he looked at Methos. He was faking it to trick Methos into thinking he was winning. A new rage filled her heart, as Celeste slowly and silently moved through the shadows toward the two combatants. Methos saw the grin spread across the other man's face just before he tried to strike at him. Leaping out of the way of the swinging blade, Methos moved just in time to save his skin, but it had been close enough to slice open his shirt at the center of his belly. He grimaced, glancing down at the closeness of that last attempt on his life and one of his favorite shirts, now ruined. He had only a few seconds before he had to defend himself again. The blows became faster and stronger, more deadly. Methos started to doubt his strength. His sword was getting heavy, his arms too weak to wield it any longer. He'd put up a good fight, he knew. This was the other man's victory. Realizing his death was inevitable; Methos gave in, dropping his sword to his side limply. He was on his knees, awaiting the final strike of the other man's blade. He sent a silent apology to Celeste for failing to give her a proper goodbye. His silent thought was answered by the sound of a man's startled cry. He opened his eyes to see the Immortal who had bested him on his knees just a few feet in front of him � eyes wide and unseeing, mouth opened wide in a cry that had gone silent. A blade was sticking straight through the front of the man�s chest. Methos followed the man's body up to see a small, shadowed figure standing above him. That figure twisted the sword until it pulled a full scream from the lips of the man, and then yanked the sword from his body. The other Immortal fell limp onto the ground, dying quietly as the blood leaked from his body. It would take him a long while to heal that wound and revive, Methos thought almost regrettably, looking at the prone Immortal with pity. He looked back up from the body to see the one who had committed this murder and wondered if they knew they hadn't really killed the man. All of his thoughts froze as he recognized the shadowed body and face. He had memorized every bit of the woman who stood before him, but she looked so different now than she had before. She had always looked at him with love, proven herself kind-hearted. It was true she had a Scotsman�s temper, but she was always so calm, analytical. The woman he saw before him had eyes glowing with rage, a rage that looked so out of place on her fine features. The poised tension that sang through her looked wrong on her small frame. Her hands were covered in blood and her blouse was soaked in it, clinging to her skin wetly like a freshly taken animal skin worn by some barbaric warrior of some ancient tribe. She looked almost feral. The blood on her face was like war paint, and he wondered why he had never seen this side of her before. "Celeste?" he asked tentatively. She made no acknowledgement of him for some time, her eyes staring at nothing. Suddenly, she straightened up to stand and shook her head as if to clear it. She rolled her neck until it cracked, and her eyes closed, as she seemed to relax. He repeated her name. "Celeste?" "Yeah?" she asked quietly, staring down at the Immortal lying silently on the ground. She looked up at Methos when he said nothing in reply and nearly burst into tears. He was there, whole, unharmed. She ran to his arms and held him tightly, letting her tears fall. "I thought I would lose you. I thought he was going to win, that I wasn't going to make it in time. I had to save you, Adam. I had to. I love you so much, and I couldn't lose you.� Methos held the crying woman. He was smiling as he pulled her closer, but that smile faded as her words sunk in. She had come to save him. No. He could not have that. She couldn't kill every Immortal that challenged him. One of them would end up killing her, as surely as one of them would someday kill him, like the Immortal lying just a few feet away had almost done. He pulled her away from him to hold her just far enough to see her entire face. She quickly wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, smearing the mixture of blood and tears all over her cheeks. "Celeste, you can't always...� His voice trailed off as he tried to think of the right words to use. Methos released her, letting her sit on her knees in front of him, and ran a dirty hand through his hair. She watched him anxiously. "Celeste, you should not have done that. You can't interfere. You know that. The battle was his. Now, we shall have to duel again, and I haven't the strength to raise my sword." Her eyes flashed with emotions, too fast for him to follow them all. He put his hands on her shoulders and tried to let his concern show on his face. "I know you only meant to help me, but you shouldn't have done that." She frowned sadly, and her eyes seemed darker than their usual light golden brown. He smiled at her, then. "But I'm glad you did it, anyway. I didn't want to die." He kissed her forehead and held her against his chest. He felt her sob and held her tighter, but glanced over at the prone Immortal. The man didn't stir, but Methos had the distinct feeling he would soon. He pulled Celeste with him as he stood and grabbed his sword, leaning on it for support. "I think we had better go," he said, gesturing with his head toward the other man. Celeste nodded and snuck under Methos' arm. She helped him to her car and only took a minute to grab his car keys and jacket out of his car. She made a mental note to return for it later, and rejoined Methos. She drove them away from the warehouse, and Methos was glad to be alive. He was so exhausted he fell asleep on the drive back to the apartment. Celeste parked the car on the curb outside, waking Methos to get him into his jacket (sword and all) and walked him up into their apartment, where she promptly undressed him, put him into some pajama pants and a t-shirt, and put him to bed. ... A few hours later, Celeste checked on Methos. He was still sleeping soundly, and she was glad of it. He needed the rest. She picked up the phone, taking it into the extra bedroom with her, and shut the door. She dialed Mac's number and waited. On the third ring, he picked it up. "MacLeod," said the voice on the phone. She recognized the familiar deep voice and thanked the Powers he had gone home. "Hey, Mac. It's Celeste," she said quietly, settling down on the edge of the guest bed as she spoke. "Celeste," he said. He fought to find the right words, realizing he didn't know where to start. He finally settled on, "Did you get there in time?" "Yeah, I did." "Is he all right?" "He's sleeping in the other room." She paused to breathe deeply and exhale slowly, trying to keep herself under control. The tears she had shed in Methos' arms and later after she'd gotten him to bed threatened to return to her full force. "He almost lost this one, Mac." "Shit," he muttered. "How bad is he?" "He's fine," she replied. Mac smiled at the phone and exhaled. "That's good. I'm glad he's all right." Then his thoughts turned to concern for her, remembering belatedly that she was still human and susceptible to things like...death. "How are you?" "I've been better." "I told you not to go, Celeste." Mac sighed sadly, managing to intimate his disapproval of her actions and make Celeste feel even worse about everything that happened that day. As if he were a mind-reader, he asked, "How are you really?" Her frustration rose again until she was practically shouting at the phone. "I almost had to watch my lover die, Mac. How do you think I am?" "I didn't mean anything by it, Celeste. I'm glad you're both alive." He sighed again. "The fact that neither of you are mortally wounded is even better." He lowered his voice a little. "I was really worried when you left." "I know, Duncan," she said sadly, "and I'm sorry for worrying you, but I need him. Without him, I have no reason for living. I certainly don't enjoy the rest of my life." She thought a moment, remembering that she was talking to Mac, and quickly added, "I care for you very much Duncan. You and Stacy and Liam and Paul � I love every one of you, but he's why I live and breathe. He saved my life when I would have given in to Fate. I need him." "I know, Celeste," Duncan said, the smile evident in his voice, "and I'm sure he feels the same." "I'm not so sure," she said, glancing at the wall that divided the two rooms. She heard him stir and sighed. "I have to go, MacLeod. He's waking up. I'll call you later." "Sure thing, Celeste," said Mac, hanging up. Celeste followed suit and went into the living room to put away the phone, then headed straight for the section of the living room that was the kitchen area. She started some coffee and set out two mugs, and then she headed into the bedroom to see Methos. He was still laying down, but his eyes were slit open. She noticed him give her the once over before he started to sit up. He groaned, as his head throbbed and his body stiffened in protest. "You shouldn't move so fast. You're still weak," said Celeste, moving to the bed in order to sit on the edge. "I've got some coffee brewing." Methos nodded and thanked her in a neutral, controlled tone of voice. "How do you feel?" she asked quietly, one hand reaching out to lie on the lump of blankets over his knee. Her amber eyes were soft and caring, and she let an equally soft smile creep across her lips in an attempt to ease his silently nervous mood. "I've felt better," he replied, smiling bitterly. He looked up into her face, a calculating look in his eyes. "How are you?" She grinned. "The same, but I wasn't almost killed today." She had meant it as a joke, but her voice had cracked as she said it. "I know," he replied sadly. "Where's that coffee?" She got up off the bed and said, "It's in the kitchen. I'll go and get some." His face and body were visibly relaxed, she noticed as she left. After a quick deliberation with herself, she decided to smile and make it so that his day after was just as good as, if not better than, his day before. Once in the kitchen, Celeste poured the coffee and added her favorite flavored creamer to her own cup and extra sugar in Methos'. Methos smelled the coffee just before Celeste entered the room. He inhaled gladly before taking the mugs to allow her to settle herself on her side of the bed. Once she was comfortable, he carefully handed her the mug that he had given her on her last birthday. He quickly snagged his cup, noting that she had used his favorite bookseller mug, and inhaled the smell again. He took a sip and sighed happily at the sweet taste. He loved how she made her coffee so strong, and she always knew to add that extra packet of sugar. He took another sip and smiled again, closing his eyes to savor the taste. Celeste laughed. "I take it that you like the coffee?" Methos nodded and grinned back at her. "I love it." Celeste let out a little giggle. "Good. I'm glad." She paused to take a gulp of her coffee and exhale slowly to let all of the heat out of her mouth. "So what shall we do today?" Her voice was neutral and curious, but she was smiling and her eyes held that hint of mischief he only saw when she had plans that often included odd games he wasn't sure he wanted to play. "We could stay in and watch some television," he offered. He watched her face closely. The smile never wavered; the mischief never left her sparkling eyes. "How about we watch some movies, then?" "All right. What do you want to watch?" he asked jovially. He glanced over at the door he knew would lead them into the living room, where a couch and chair, bookshelf of DVD movies, and a large television awaited. "How about...The Count of Monte Cristo?" "What?" she asked, incredulous. "The remake?" "Yeah? Why not?" "I just can't believe you saw it," she replied. She was shaking her head and smiling. "Anyway, no. I think we should watch something happier, and I don't think we even have it." She paused to think for a few moments, while Methos made a quick mental note to purchase said movie. Methos watched with great interest as her facial expression changed with each thought. He noticed a frown, but it was quickly replaced with a bright smile. "How about Key Largo?" Methos just smiled. "Adam? What? Why are you smiling?" Her voice raised in irritation when he didn't answer. "Adam, what's so funny?!" "I'm just happy that you know what it is," he replied, grinning. Celeste smacked him in the face with a cushion, laughing. She jumped out of the bed when he tried to hit her back and laughed even harder. "You can't catch me!" she cried, still laughing. "Oh, I can't, can't I?" he said, rearing back to throw the pillow at her. She squealed and ducked, dodging the pillow effortlessly and sidestepped out the door. Methos could hear her laughing and knew she was getting out the movie. He slowly got out of the bed and checked his stomach for any cuts. There were none, and even his head felt better. Thank the gods for an Immortal's quick healing. He grabbed the fallen cushion from the floor and stalked toward the living room. Celeste was sitting on the couch, still giggling, but her attention was focused on the DVD remote. He crept up behind her and bopped her on the head with the cushion. She let out a squeak and turned around, only to be grabbed around the waist and kissed hard on the mouth. She could tell Methos was smiling and wrapped her arms around his neck to return the kiss. Celeste pulled away from the kiss first, breathless and happy. She was beaming, as she pulled Adam around to sit next to her on the couch. "We'd better watch the movie, now," she said, "before we do something we'll regret." Methos smirked at her. "You mean something you'd regret. I'm ready for anything." After punching him in the shoulder once for good measure, Celeste settled into his arms and relaxed, leaning against him. She was smiling as she pushed play and so was Methos. |