Rose On the Grey

by Kris Larsen

thequeen@astrochick.com

rated NC 17 for explicit M/M sex

Disclaimer -- The lawyers have enough money, please leave me alone. DPP owns em, I just like playing. Blame the MethosMuse, he became obsessed with "Kiss From a Rose," by Seal. I learned long ago that resistance is futile. This fits in the timeline of "Narcissus," Part 2 of Moonchild, shortly after the beginning of that story. You don't have to have read Part 1 ("Ishtar") to get this -- I think it's all self explanatory. There are also a few scattered nods towards other previous stories. Likewise, I think you'll get the reference, if you've been reading all along, otherwise, they'll harmlessly pass over your head.

Thanks to Tia for the beta read.

Muses love comments.

Rose On the Grey

by Kris Larsen

"There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea.
You became the light on the dark side of me.
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill.

But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and,
The light that you shine can be seen.

Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you,
Stranger it feels, yeah.
And now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey."

Part 1:

[Shortly after midnight, March 17, 2000. 29,000 feet over the upper midwest US]

The silvery metallic pasquinade of a bird glided through the night, bearing two Immortals cross country to a New York connector to Rome. The friends relaxed in silence, the low thrumming of the engine tempting them, like a lullaby, into an easy sleep. Rissa laced the fingers of her left hand among those of Methos' right hand, and tenderly stroked against the familiar ivory skin. Just a month into her Immortal life, the Watcher felt secure in the knowledge that she and the ancient wonder were the only two of their kind aboard this flight. In some strange way, the plane provided a Holy Ground of sorts, providing sanctuary, at least for the duration of this flight. She felt vulnerable, with her sword packed away in the cargo bay, along with Methos' weapon, and, yet, the mere sensation of Methos' pulse faintly beating against her skin somehow provided more protection than any sharpened blade.

Rissa snuggled her back against the seat, and closed her eyes against the stray illumination of the miscellaneous personal overhead lights in the cabin. By this time tomorrow, she would be safely in Vatican City, under the protection of Isaac and Mariah -- Enkidu's other two surviving students. The fear and uncertainty knotted her stomach once more, and she consciously slowed her breathing, in an attempt to calm herself, before Methos noticed anything was wrong. No sense worrying about the apparent bounty on the Akkadian's students' heads -- all she could do was get to the safety of the elder Immortals' care and wait out the storm. Something deep within her convinced her that it would be a matter of a few months -- was this a prediction, a hope, or a fear? She had no way of knowing, of course. But, somehow, her intuitions had a nasty habit of being dead on. She desperately hoped this was not an intended pun on her part.

She concentrated on the positive of this prolonged vacation. She hadn't been to Rome in nearly ten years, when her parents gave her a Eurorail pass, as a college graduation present. Surely, there were much worse places to be under house arrest. Her cover with the Watchers was secure -- she was going to search the Vatican Library for obscure references to Immortals. She hadn't seen Mariah and Isaac in several years, and she enjoyed both their company very much. Isaac was quite the charmer, and not hard on the eyes, while Mariah was a role model. After all, how many nearly two thousand year old female Immortals still walked the earth? Rissa hoped the elder woman could give her a hint of how to survive against men who could easily best her in power and experience. Mariah could teach her in ways Enkidu never could -- no disrespect meant to her teacher, of course. Yes, Mariah had a distant quality to her sometimes, but certainly no more so than Methos. Rissa was convinced it was a survival tactic, which all successful Immortals mastered at some point in their existence -- how to achieve just the right amount of detachment, yet not lose their soul in the process.

Most assuredly, Mariah hadn't lost *her* soul, her passion. It shone as bright as the nearly full moon shone in the sky this very night, but only when she looked upon Enkidu. Rissa had been taken aback the first time she'd seen the fire in the elder woman's eyes. But the reflective longing in the Akkadian's eyes, when he dared risk a surreptitious glance at his eldest student, had struck a resonant chord in Rissa's romantic heart. Here were two people afraid to admit to each other -- and possibly, to themselves -- how they felt. What a waste of time. Sure, the two ancient Immortals had about six thousand years of experience between them, but, they still behaved like lovesick junior high school kids, afraid to make the first move, for fear of rejection.

And yet... no one could mistake the fire which burned in their hearts. The spark in their eyes, when they thought no one could see, could easily start a bonfire. It was the same look Rissa saw pass between Richie and Methos during the past few days. It gladdened her heart, yet, made her uncomfortably jealous, just the same. She sighed forlornly at the thought that it might take her a few thousand years to find a connection that intense with another human being.

"Bored already?"

Rissa opened her grey-blue eyes and turned her head to the left. She found Methos staring at her, the every-present threat of a smirk on his lips. "'Fraid so, OTD," she sighed, once more. "And I'm afraid it's only going to get worse, once I'm in Penguin City. Somehow, I don't think those nuns have a real hopping night life."

"I'm sorry -- but it's for the best," the elder Immortal offered apologetically. He leaned towards Rissa and planted a gentle kiss on her temple.

"I know," Rissa agreed.

"What can I do to entertain you?" Methos cajoled warmly. "Teach you Phoenician? Tell you stories about Ming Dynasty China?"

A devilish smile curled up the Watcher's mouth. "How about something a little more daring than that," she suggested huskily. She pulled their still-joined hands into her lap, and pressed the tangled fingers into the space where her thighs met. "Ever heard of the Mile High Club?"

The smirk finally blossomed, even as the ancient man gently retracted his fingers from the blonde's grasp. "Yes, and I have no intention of becoming a member on this particular trip."

"Party pooper," Rissa sighed dramatically, before her lips pushed into a pout.

"That doesn't work for Richie, and it certainly won't work for you," Methos warned, pressing an index finger against the extended lower lip.

"Liar," Rissa accused laughingly. She kissed the finger before it withdrew, then rested her head against her companion's shoulder. The wool of the sweater tickled her nose, and she rubbed her face against the scratchy material, before turning her head so her hair, rather than her skin, rested against the furry fabric. "All Richie has to do is look at you, and you cave."

"Are you insinuating that I'm a push-over?" Methos probed with obvious insult.

"Only for a certain majorly cute young Immortal whose initials happen to be RR."

Methos harumphed in protest, yet did not articulate a defense.

"You can't lie to me, buddy. I know you *far* too well, remember?"

"*Too* well, it seems," the ancient man grumbled uneasily.

A triumphant smile crossed Rissa's face. She reached over with her right hand and rubbed her friend's chest. "Don't feel bad -- I think it's terminally cute. Besides, it's not like you turned human overnight, or anything. It took you a long time to get this whipped."

"Wait a minute...," Methos slowly warned, as he stopped the hand and pushed Rissa off of his shoulder, to face him. "I am *not* whipped!"

"Yes you are," Rissa flatly reminded them both. "But, so's Richie. So it's even steven."

"I don't like the sound of this," the elder Immortal warned uncomfortably, as he allowed Rissa to reclaim her snuggle spot against his shoulder.

"Too late to do anything about it now. You're both hopeless, right about now. But, it works. I've never seen you so contented -- I mean, *really* fulfilled. Sure, Alexa made you happy, but, there was always that cloud hanging over your heads. I don't see that here. I think you've *finally* allowed yourself to be loved -- *really* loved -- for who you *really* are. And I think Richie deserves the Nobel Peace Prize for that. Or maybe the Nobel Prize in Physics -- for breaking the laws of nature, and finally getting you to just let yourself be happy, with no strings attached."

"Don't tell *him* that -- he'll start plotting ways to spend the prize money," Methos sighed in resignation.

Rissa chuckled, and allowed her fingers to dance over the hard disk, which lay under the sweater and rested against the eldest Immortal's chest. //So damned romantic, you two,// she mused to herself. Methos had been touched far more than he'd let on to Richie, by the gift of the priceless Sumerian amulet. In turn, she knew from past experience, and many drunken stories, just how much the carnelian stone which adorned Richie's neck meant to Methos. //God, these two *are* married, no doubt about it -- I wonder if they even realize it? Hell no, they're both too stubborn to admit it. Maybe, in a hundred years, they'll come to their senses.// But Rissa sincerely hoped it wouldn't take them that long -- there was no guarantee any of their race had that long in the Game.

The past few days had certainly made her painfully aware of the precariousness of her newly actualized Immortality. She was convinced she'd won her first challenge by sheer luck, despite Methos' assurances to the contrary. Her opponent had slipped, and her blade had somehow connected with a vital organ. Another few minutes, and Rissa was sure the battle would have gone the other way.

Somehow, she had managed to instinctively get back to the safety of Richie and Methos' apartment, barely in time to collapse in her some-time lover's arms. When she awoke, she found herself cleaned up, naked, and very needy. And Richie by her side.

Rissa squeezed from her brain the memory of the night of forbidden passions the three of them had shared. As much as she'd enjoyed their desperate menage a trois, she certainly was not going to make any more of it than what it was. And, she most assuredly did not want to make Richie any more uncomfortable with the situation than he already was. The morning after, she'd explained to him that she understood how and why it had happened, and that it would remain between the three of them, never to be spoken of again.

Travel plans had occupied the rest of that day, and that night Richie had gallantly taken the couch, as he had her first night in Seacouver. She and Methos spent an uneasy night, snuggled in a bed which all too obviously belonged to Richie and Methos, talking of the young man's guilt and their own ill-defined relationship. Friends, lovers, confidants. Now, unofficial student and teacher. For, although Methos had carefully made Enkidu her official mentor, neither could deny that the eldest Immortal had taken an active role in her training, and expected to in the future. Rissa sighed once more, as she struggled with the conflicting emotions which welled up within her. Most certainly, Richie didn't begrudge her occasional tryst with their mutual paramour; after all, the youth was involved in his own deeply loving relationship with a mortal woman. But, the tangled web of relationships was becoming ever increasingly complicated, even as one thing had become so simplistically clear -- Richie and Methos were soulmates, plain and simple, and whatever relationships they had with others, could never hope to match the intensity and passion of what the two men shared. Rissa accepted this, but not without some admitted wistful envy. She wondered how Jo felt about it all. Surely, the professor wasn't blind to the unworldly strength of the Immortals' bond.

Rissa raised her head up from its makeshift human pillow, and caught Methos staring intently out the small oval window at the earth below. She leaned over, and noted the surreal purity of the cornfields below, illuminated by the serene light of the silvery Selene. "Pretty, isn't it," she whispered.

"Yeah -- so peaceful, too."

The deep thoughts weighing behind those words were abundantly transparent to the Immortal woman. "Whatcha thinking about?" she pressed quietly. She leaned back, reclaiming her seat and headrest, her face turned towards her pensive companion.

"The past few days," Methos answered hesitantly, his eyes never leaving the ghostly mirror of the snowpack below.

"Hell of a lot to think about," Rissa joked uncomfortably. "I wreck your day by nearly losing my head, then we have an earthquake, and now you have to baby-sit me on a trip halfway around the world."

A lame chuckle rumbled through the ivory throat. "It wasn't all bad," he assured her.

"I bet," Rissa joked knowingly. She left the rest of her thoughts unspoken, instead pressing the button on the side of her armrest, and allowing her body weight to lower the seat back into a more comfortable position, as her mind wandered back eight hours....

*************************************

Richie sat on the couch, explaining to Methos about the minor damage which the bike shop had incurred in the earthquake of several hours before. Rissa listened for a few minutes, then focused on the body language which passed unspoken between the two men. She'd been here, as their guest, for several days, and the two lovers hadn't had a moment's privacy in all that time. Not only had she imposed on their privacy, she'd invaded the sanctity of their relationship, with her Quickening-induced sexual frenzy, which had resulted in an exceedingly enjoyable, yet admittedly regretted, threesome. And, now, she was going to take Methos away, as her road trip bodyguard, for three days. Her own copious guilt, coupled with the obvious need on the two men's faces, was enough to break the Watcher's heart. A plan thankfully sprang into mind. Without explanation, she turned towards the bedroom, and marched down the hall, returning shortly afterwards with a change of clothes in her arms. "I think I want a shower before the long flight," she announced purposefully. "Flying always makes me feel... icky."

"Okay, help yourself to the shampoo and stuff," Richie replied without hesitation. "No sense you unpacking any of your stuff."

"Thanks," Rissa replied. "I think I'm gonna deep condition my hair, too, so I'll be in there for a while. Hope you guys don't mind."

"Take your time," the young Immortal assured her. "We don't have to be anywhere for a few hours."

"Great." The blonde woman shot Methos a knowing glance, then turned on her heels, towards a self-imposed exile in the bathroom. She said a silent prayer that the eldest Immortal was on her wavelength.

He most assuredly was.

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, Methos pushed off of the couch. Silently, he reached down and grasped his lover's hand, then pulled the younger Immortal to his feet.

"What's up?" Richie inquired, with confusion etched across his face.

A free hand brushed across the front of the youth's faded jeans. "Me... and I suspect you, as well," Methos answered knowingly. Taking several steps backwards, he then turned, to lead them both back to the privacy of their bedroom.

PART TWO

"There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
You remain,
My power, my pleasure, my pain, baby
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny.
Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?

But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and,
The light that you shine can be seen.

Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you,
Stranger it feels, yeah.
And now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey."

"Wait -- Rissa's in the shower...."

"And she's planning on being there for long enough for you and I to properly say our good-byes," the elder man explained.

Insistent pressure pulled the hesitant youth toward the back of the apartment, despite his protestations. "What about after she comes out?" he asked guiltily.

"She took her clothes in *with* her, remember?" Methos reminded his still reluctant partner, as they reached the door to their room.

"But she'll *hear* us...."

Methos exhaled loudly, in exasperated sigh, then released the slender hand, and tromped over to the stereo. He smacked the power button, then jabbed the cd player into life. A few punches of the volume button, and "Addicted to Love" provided a comfortable sound barrier for anyone within earshot of their lovemaking. "Better?" the ancient man inquired, before pressing Richie through the doorway and into the bedroom.

"Guess so," the younger man sighed in defeat. Despite his discomfort at this less than private situation, the urgency in his body proved a stern taskmaster, and Richie soon gave in to his passion for the body he'd soon miss.

Incipient urgency gave way to tenderness, as the Immortals took the time to explore the taste of each other's lips. Careful fingers shucked the T-shirt from the younger man's chest, then wedged in between their bodies, to massage the ruddy savanna of curled hairs. Barely perceptible words of affection tumbled into the air on the wings of a breath, as Methos worshipped the slightly ticklish altar of his love's pulsing jugular. They parted, only briefly, as Richie deftly pulled the wool sweater up and out of the way, dumping the garment onto the floor to join his shirt.

Friction raised heat on their skin, as the men rubbed their bared chests together. Arms locked them in the tightest of embraces, while mouths suffocated most willingly, until the need for air was too great to ignore. The necessary separation became a welcomed opportunity to slough imprisoning jeans and boxers, thus adding to the intermingled castle of clothes.

They found themselves falling, tumbling onto the bed in a cascade of flesh and exploring tongues. Methos was the first to break their kiss, trailing his mouth down across the serpentine pass of his lover's throat to reach the edge of the hair dusted plain once more. Fingers rolled and pinched the bare rose peak, while the expert mouth flicked and tempted the metal ringed nipple into exquisite hardness. His own aching need pressed into the mattress below, while Richie's tumid shaft stood alone and, likewise, unattended.

Richie gasped in response, his fingers tangling in the dark mahogany of his lover's hair. He closed his eyes, and memorized every sensation which flooded through his body. The sparks of nearly orgasmic delight which fired through his chest... the increasingly rasped breaths escaping from his lover's lips... the rolling droplet of his own essence running down the shaft of his cock... the weight of the elder man's body pressed against his. Each was a pleasure in its own right, yet, combined, his own slice of heaven. So good... so perfect... so... oh... god....

Hips thrust up slightly towards the ceiling, as the first waves of strangely barren climax wracked the youth's body. Methos halted his ministrations on the painfully ripe nipple, not wanting his lover to finish in this way -- separate from him. Once the echo of seizures had ceased, Methos rolled completely away from the youth's grasp, hastening towards the foot of the bed. The peridot gaze peered anxiously at the panting, flushed younger man, awaiting permission to proceed with the plan.

Richie licked his lips, as he watched Methos crouch, motionless, at the end of the bed. His eyes lost themselves in that lust-laden stare, once again memorizing every blissful nuance of this too-brief afternoon tryst. His knees rose automatically and spread, granting permission and entreating immediate attention to his most intimate of needs. One hand grasped a pillow from beside his head, and tossed it to Methos, while his other blindly fished in the night stand for the first lube it came upon. The tube sailed down into the elder man's awaiting catch, then was temporarily set aside, as the pillow was pushed under the firm globed cheeks to raise them into position.

Two fingers, coated with the slippery gel, lovingly prepared the taut warmth, carefully stroking the outer pucker, then sliding inside, first one alone, then together. Once the way had been made ready, the fingers withdrew, replaced by the likewise-slickened bulbous head of the elder Immortal's steel. "Ready, love?" a hushed voice inquired. An urgent nod answered, then hips thrust forward, propelled by dueling moans of delight.

Methos sank inward, slowly... carefully... finally sheathing his entirety within the tight muscular gauntlet. So sweet... so deliciously, indescribably luscious. For so long he'd waiting to sample this sensation... to share his love with his other half in this most private of acts. Now... it threatened to become an addiction, to taste the eternally virginal tightness of his Immortal love's body. Pleasure... pain... power.... Love. Finally, after savoring the sensation of being devoured in such intimacy, he just as slowly withdrew, pulling his hips back so that the head of his cock just reached the inner ring. Then... forward once more he sank... unhurriedly, without purpose or goal. The mere sensation of his cock being caressed by the youth's ass was nirvana in itself.

Modesty-hushed veiled moans of delight floated down from the head of the bed, offering a far-too-tempting challenge. Methos adjusted his angle slightly, brushing his cock against the sweet sensitivity of Richie's prostate. His actions were swiftly rewarded by a loud, gasped moan of delight. "Louder, love... I can't hear you," the elder man teased, withdrawing his ecstasy-granting assault slightly. "More?"

"Yessssss," Richie hissed desperately.

"Say it like you mean it," Methos urged devilishly. That damnable exhibitionist streak in him was getting the better of him, and, even though he knew it, he couldn't stop himself. He had the power to drive this man to unseen heights of orgasmic thrills, and he didn't care who knew it. As long as *they* knew it.

"God... more... please...," Richie begged without reservation. A surprised gasp hissed from his lips, as he was instantly rewarded for his honesty.

Methos grunted loudly, as he undulated his hips forward and back in just the right way. Each crescendoing groaned cry of pain-tinged bliss, which erupted from his lover's lips, only fueled his own wildly growing oral encouragement. The distinctive sound of flesh desperately slapping on flesh was quickly lost in the tapestry of interwoven moans. The elder Immortal wrapped a hand around the beckoning tower of his lover's cock, pumping sharply several times before the eruptions began. As Richie came, he screamed, his hands desperately throwing a pillow across his face at the last minute, to muffle his cries of delight.

Ancient eyes watched the fountaining cream coat his hand, then released the still-twitching organ, and closed his eyes and gave in to his own sense of completion. He threw back his head and groaned to the very core of his soul, as he marked his favorite territory with spasms of white.

*******************************

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of Methos' mouth, as he watched the ivory moonlight reflect from the snow-blanketed world below. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, his brain rewarding him with a memory of the intermingled smell of sweat and ejaculate. The hint of a tongue tip slithered between his lips, savoring a flash of the taste of the youth's skin.

Long after they'd heard the bathroom door open, and footsteps rush out towards the relative anonymity of the living room, the lovers had remained, entangled in silent appreciation of the wonder of each other. So simple, yet, so utterly exhilarating. Just to be alive... and together... for that quintessential moment.

And, all too soon, reality had intruded. Now, Richie was safely asleep in their bed, possibly lost in his own dreams of this latest physical confirmation of their unspeakably intense bond. As for Methos... well, he had his memories... and he would be home soon enough.

Home. It felt so very good to think that word, and mean it -- truly, unequivocally, mean it, with every fiber of his being. For after Rissa was out of harm's way, that is precisely where Methos would return.

Home.

The smile blossomed, as Methos turned away from the window, and leaned over towards his current companion.

Rissa opened her eyes, as she felt the familiar lips press gently against her temple. She turned her head towards Methos to await an explanation.

"Thanks."

"For what?" the Watcher asked.

The elder of them curled his smile into a more characteristic smirk, as he lifted two fingers to play with the long golden braid which rested against the woman's shoulder. "For deep conditioning your hair this afternoon. Funny, but it doesn't *feel* any different."

Rissa snickered knowingly. "No, I don't suppose it does. But you and Richie sure *looked* different, when you finally decided to tear yourselves away from the bedroom. Remind me to get you two a crowbar for Christmas."

"I'd like to say I'm sorry, but, I'm not," Methos snorted with humor.

"I certainly hope not," Rissa offered, with a chuckle. "Although, I think Richie's gonna have that blush permanently tattooed into his skin, if he's not careful." She paused, as she remembered the other outstanding feature of the young man's face -- the light in his eyes. Methos had it, too. Seemed he *still* had it, even this long after they'd last seen the youth in the airport. She cocked her head to one side, as she studied Methos' features in more detail. "I think you're good for him -- in some really strange, perverse way."

"Yeah, I suppose I am," Methos agreed. "I make his taste in women seem stellar, in comparison, right?"

"Well, there *is* that," Rissa answered, laughingly. "But, seriously, it's more than that. There's... something I see... I *feel*... when you two are together, that I don't see when it's just one of you -- or when it's just you and me. It's like you're both...."

"Complete?"

Rissa nodded. "Exactly. And believe me, it's true -- the whole is most definitely more than the sum of the parts, that's for sure! I just hope that, someday, I meet someone who makes me feel that way."

"I hope so, too, my Sibyl," Methos affirmed, lifting her braid to his lips for a gentle kiss.

A smile brightened the Watcher's face further. "Is it as scary as I think it must be -- to be *that* connected to someone?"

"Worse," Methos admitted. "And yet, it's worth every moment. It's worth... everything."

"I believe it. Like I said, one look in your eyes, even now, when you're just *thinking* about him.... I've never seen you so... normal."

A comfortable chuckle rumbled in the elder Immortal's throat. "That's because I've never felt so *normal*, as you call it. It's a gift, Rissa. A precious gift, beyond measure. And I don't count my blessings nearly often enough." Methos raised one hand, to finger the clay amulet through his sweater.

Slate blue eyes pleaded in return. "Don't ever take him for granted, OTD. You *know* how dangerous that can be."

Methos smiled reassuringly, and kissed her on the forehead. "I won't -- promise. I've almost lost him three times. All I need do is remember any one of those near misses, and it scares me to death."

"Yeah, I guess it would," Rissa agreed. "I remember how torn up you were right before Christmas, when you thought he was gone. It broke my heart, ya know, hearing you so devastated. It sounded like *you'd* died, not him."

"I had, believe me. Thank heavens for Josephine." A shudder of unpleasant memory chilled the Immortal's flesh.

"No, thank heavens it was a false alarm," Rissa corrected.

"That as well," Methos concurred.

The friends lingered in silent knowingness, for a moment, before Rissa leaned forward to anoint the proffered nose with a playful kiss. A mischievous spark flickered in her eyes. "Blue Meanies," she snickered guiltily, then sheepishly bit her lip.

"Excuse me?" Methos chuckled in utter confusion.

"You heard me -- Blue Meanies." The lack of recognition on her companion's face amused and annoyed Rissa simultaneously. "You know, Yellow Submarine... The Beatles... Paul, George...."

"Yes, yes, I *know* who The Beatles were," Methos cut her off, in exasperation. "What do The Beatles have to do with anything?"

"Well... when you thought Richie was gone... you were like Pepperland, after the Blue Meanies attacked. A really sad, grey wasteland."

Methos nodded slowly, in understanding. "Yes... I certainly was," he whispered.

"And when you and Jo found him... well, it was like after The Beatles played Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band! All the color and joy returned into your drab little heart."

"If you start singing 'All You Need is Love'...," Methos warned, disapprovingly.

Rissa grinned mischievously, and then started singly, horribly off key

"There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can't sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It's easy...."

Her massacring of the Liverpudlians' melody was mercifully halted by a hand clamped over her mouth.

"I can't believe anyone can sing worse than Richie," Methos teased affectionately. He felt the smile bloom beneath his hand, and removed the gag. "But, you're right, you know. Even if you can't carry a tune to save your life."

"And all you need is love, right?"

Methos nodded, then sighed contentedly. He leaned his frame back against his seat, and wrapped an arm around Rissa's shoulders to pull her into his body. He had his memories, the promise of a reunion in the not too distant future, and a dear and understanding friend at his side. Certainly, St. John and St. Paul weren't the only two of those names to understand true salvation.

//All you need *is* love.//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Now that your rose is in bloom,
A light hits the gloom on the grey."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The End