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Chapter Three: Who I Am

Methos

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She flies on wings of purest ebony night, sipping the bitter nectar from the cup of tempered dreams.   She slips through the eve, seeking out those who would feed her.  Devouring their illusions, she leaves a fool's whimsy behind.  Angel or demon?  Savior or Foe?   It depends on whom would speak; those who can forget or those left behind...shattered. 

White washed, you slip the simple fantasies inside their protective covers, saved for a time when the pain won't be as strong.  When memory can be ambrosia, instead of the burning ember lodged far within your chest.  The swathe of ashes swept daily to leave the torn vessel clean, empty.  A Pandora's box, its lid lifted to reveal that even Hope has gone.

Whom can you blame?  Them?  Or yourself? A chasm so wide, it was not until the end that you realized how deep the betrayal went.  Your illusion shattered with words instead of sword.   To save some portion of yourself, you say enough and simply walk away.

~~~

'Two years, as of today.'

I marked the date, today just as every other, only this time in red.  It deserved special recognition.  In memoriam to my most recent folly. A habit I started the day Duncan walked away.  When the fog enveloped him into its folds and the buzz faded; the last touch of his mind to mine. 

I'd hidden myself from the world until he had come along, drawing me from the blank prison of existance, to feel, ... to *breathe*.  The fire for life rekindled with his passion, his honor, and his willingness to be my friend.  He knew nothing about me, yet accepted me into the fold of his life.  It was a gift, the first spark.

All lost in one moment of tactless platitudes.

"I don't know who or what you are Methos..."  His voice rumbled through my mind.  A perfect rendition of the first time I heard those fateful words.   Four years he'd known me and still I had something left to prove, to give, some piece hidden in the shadows.

Too bad you walked away first.  

"...but you have taught me something..." 

But not what I wanted.  Not what I needed. 

His face was so serious, trying hard to put to words what I meant to him.  My goodbye speech a pale imitation of those he gave to the others'.  His recognition of their place in his life and what they meant to him.  And I get this barren placard, sported by the cameraman for him to read.  An empty, prettily spouted speech.

As empty as I felt.  The bottle in my hands was nearly forgotten as I struggled internally to show yet one more mask to the world.  A smirk reached my lips against my better wishes, but fortunately he mistook it for something else.  A smile he mistook as confirmation that he would never know me.  Still he pattered on.

I was blind, yet again.  It could have been worse.  I could have hung about for 1000 years before I finally came to my senses, traipsing about the globe in decadent madness.  Or I could have simply hung about until the demons who chased The Highland Son caught me instead.  And then I would be dead, never knowing that I'd not held a place in his life. 

"You've taught me that life is about change..."

What if I needed one thing to stay the same?  What if I don't want us to change?   Or better yet to change into something more?

'Damn it, Duncan.  If you were going to say goodbye, couldn't you at least have known who I am?  Known me?'

'I would have given up forever to touch you.'

~~~

Fate....she is a beguiling temptress.  She beckons with false hope, bringing longing forth from her breast with nothing more than a wish.  How can one resist the cry of the siren when she sings, offering you your fondest dream?  You can't, especially when denial has been your friend for so long.  Touch forbidden.   Passion mere seconds against the span of years.  Desire inflamed through frequent contact. 

Deeply you breathe.  You fall into the call, lost to the world.  Living for nothing but this dream which stirs the wanton beast that lurks within.  Its heady musk perfumes the air, whetting the palate...seeking admittance to the dark recesses within.  Presence wafting across your skin as night falls, sleep the furthest thing from your mind as you thrust on the bed yet again.  Your body hair standing straight up signaling the first of spark of release.  The tremors begin low in your belly, shooting through your spine sending a hollow burst of half-fulfilled need to your brain and you lay panting, waiting for your body to calm, waiting to assuage the hunger yet again.

And you know as you lay there, that only one thing can relive the urge...the one you left behind.  Or maybe they left you.  The one person who had you waking from your dreams drenched in sweat, aching with blatant regret.  But you go on, walking through your day as if no one can touch you.  Letting the dreams sleep...as you sleep walk through life...until something or someone once again sparks the wanting.