© 1998
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Do chomhra s' do chairdeas
Slan le na laethe a bhi seal go haerach
Bi liom a storin
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* * * * * *
"It was a dark and stormy night," Sarah O'Neill muttered as she settled into the armchair next to her bed. Lightning had crackled across the sky for hours, and the thunder boomed relentlessly. Sarah couldn't sleep. Her small bedroom seemed closed in and oppressive. The humidity was awful, and she couldn't get comfortable in bed. The man sharing her bed was also restless, which didn’t help matters.
Methos was obviously dreaming. He frequently talked in his sleep, and the language he used was often an indication of the kind of dream he was having. He was currently speaking in a language so old its very existence had been forgotten. Sarah could at least partially understand every language he spoke but this one, the language of his childhood. Where his tribe had lived, and how they had existed seemed to be forever lost to him, but the language remained. He was very closed-mouthed about this only remaining link to his distant past; he had refused her requests to teach it to her. She knew of its existence only because it was the language he spoke in his nightmares, of which he seemed to have quite a few.
Sarah had lived with Methos for over a year now, and in that time, she had learned how little she really knew of him. He was undeniably Methos to her now, the man she had known as Adam Pierson had all but disappeared when she became Immortal. Knowing his identity had not helped her know the man. A gulf formed by five thousand years of living lay between them, and she had accepted the fact that a large portion of his life would be forever hidden from her.
Methos stirred and Sarah turned toward him. He began to speak again, though this time in an early Semitic language that Sarah could partially understand. She leaned closer, trying to hear him above a sudden clap of thunder.
"I will not," he said quite distinctly. "I've changed. I'm not who I was!"
The thunder boomed again, and Methos shot upright in the bed, his eyes wide with terror. "Sarah, no!" he cried.
She jumped onto the bed and pulled his shuddering body to her. "It was only a dream," she said soothingly, rocking him like a child.
He looked up at her and briefly touched her cheek, as if to reassure himself that she was really there. The look of horror faded after a moment, and he quickly dropped his hand and settled back into his pillow.
"What was it?" she asked.
"Nothing," he answered grimly.
"You always forget I know what you're saying. Why did you call out for me?" she asked.
He rolled over, turning his back to her.
"Tell me," she said, irritated by his sudden dismissal.
"My dreams sometimes come true," he said. "I can't tell you this."
Sarah pushed herself off the bed and returned to the chair near the window, needing distance. "What are you so afraid of? I can handle anything you tell me," she said angrily.
Methos rolled over to face her again, his eyes profoundly sad. "I saw you die."
* * * * * *
Sarah was up at dawn and already dressed when Methos crawled out of bed. She waited in the living room as he prepared for their usual morning practice.
In the year that she had lived in his flat, Sarah had managed to make her presence known. She had taken over one of the four large book cases in the living room, filling it with some books from her collection, which were much newer than the bulk of Methos'. She'd also brought in her favorite armchair, forcing him to get rid of a moth-eaten monstrosity that had looked almost as old as he was. Her computer was set up next to his, and overall the room was almost too full to allow movement.
Oddly enough, the close quarters worked out all right. Their carefully cultivated image of a young couple in love worked perfectly, so perfectly that it hadn't long remained just an image. They had taken their relationship slowly, by mutual agreement. They had reached a place where they agreed they were very good friends, and perhaps more than that, but the more was still uncertain.
Sarah often missed the time when she had not taken out her sword every morning, but she understood the necessity. She knew she was at an incredible disadvantage being a new Immortal with no experience this close to the Gathering. Methos knew this too, and was a hard taskmaster. Before her first lesson, he had warned her that he would not be the same person on the practice floor. She had only needed five minutes to realize how true that was. In the early days, when she had known next to nothing, she had often been reduced to tears by the way he treated her. She had never seen the stern, demanding side of him until he became her teacher. He pushed her relentlessly, not accepting her mistakes, and practically beating her until she learned how to do things correctly. Away from the sword, Methos was almost the same man that Sarah had known as Adam Pierson. She had to work not to separate them in her head. It was tempting to think of Methos as the cruel teacher, and Adam as the man she loved. Accepting all of him as Methos was the hardest thing she had to do, but she did it.
Outside her new status as an Immortal, and her relationship with Methos, Sarah's life went on much as before. Her business in translations was thriving, enough that she had to limit the jobs that she took in. The Methos Chronicles were also doing quite well. She had taken a less active approach to tracking down her subject. The fact that she was living with him, and that he had made it quite clear that he didn't want to be tracked down, had been a big part of that decision. Instead, she was working on translating some of the oldest manuscripts that the Watchers had collected, in hopes of finding new information there. She had managed to fill in some gaps in the Chronicle, surpassing the ancient material that Adam Pierson had put in. She was very careful to never mention the Chronicles in Methos' presence. Having seen his hacking abilities, she figured it would be easier if he didn't know what she was finding. She was never sure of what he may have conveniently left out of his chronicle.
Summer in Paris had been uneventful. Macleod had gone traveling, depriving Methos of his favorite place to practice breaking and entering. Joe's bar was doing fine, and Methos and Sarah practically lived there most nights. Methos' tab, as always, probably rivaled the national debt of the United States and half the countries of Europe combined.
At the beginning of the summer, Methos had decided he was confident enough in Sarah's abilities to leave Paris for a few days and not send her to holy ground. Sarah loved the week by herself, but she was a Watcher, and seeing the files on the assorted crazies out there had only strengthened her resolve to learn to fight well. She was able to occasionally back Methos into a corner, and she had once almost disarmed Mac, but she knew that wasn't enough.
The morning after his dream, Methos drilled her harder then he ever had before. Again and again, he came after her, slashing and cutting at every opportunity. She was sobbing with the exertion, but he pressed on.
"Fight harder, damn it!" he shouted as she stumbled.
"I am!" she managed to get out between breaths. She pulled in the last of her strength and advanced on him, slashing at his sword arm as he lunged at her. The cut went deep, and he was forced to switch his sword to the other arm. Sarah was momentarily elated until she realized he handled his sword just as well with that arm. She fought on, but she was exhausted. He beat her onto her knees, and she felt the edge of his sword at her neck.
After a moment, he lifted the sword away and she allowed herself to take a breath. She was never really sure of how he would react when he had her beaten. The man that he seemed to be most of the time would not take her head, but the man with the sword was different. She could never exactly put a finger on why, but she was afraid of that man.
Methos put out his hand and helped her up. She took a close look at his clothing. He was nearly as cut up as she was.
"You're getting good," he said as he noticed the inspection.
"Thanks," Sarah said drily. "You still beat me every time."
"Sarah, I've been at this a little longer than you have," he said calmly. "You're doing well. You'll be ready to leave me soon."
"You really think I'm ready to leave you?" she asked as she put her sword away. This was the first time he had mentioned what would happen when she was ready to go out on her own.
"I can only teach you so much," he said. "Eventually, you'll just have to go out there and try to survive. I'll miss you though."
Sarah grinned at his apparent vote of confidence. "Well, if you think I'm all right, I won't worry."
"Don't get cocky, dear," Methos said, switching into a lecturing tone. "Knowing you're good, and being good, are two entirely different things. I don't want to lose you to overconfidence. It's the biggest mistake you could ever make."
"Is this about that dream you had?" she asked levelly.
Methos stared at the floor, trying to avoid her eyes. "Darius used to have dreams, and more often than not, they came true," he said quietly. "I believe we have the power to control our own future. I just want to make sure you can."
"Don't worry about me, Methos. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."
He gave her a half-hearted smile. “That’s what they all say.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that.