Author's Note: this story takes place seven months after "Aviatophobia"
ended. As before, I do not own the four immortal men (Duncan MacLeod, Adam
Pierson/Methos, Richie Ryan, Nick Wolfe) nor do I own Amanda or Joe Dawson.
Teresa Ciela is mine. This is an AU fic, in which Richie Ryan still
lives, but Joe Dawson was killed in a car crash Fall 2003.)-----------------
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April 11, 2005, 10 AM, the Bermudan Airport
The warmth had seeped into his Immortal bones, and for the briefest moment, Adam Pierson contemplated remaining permanently in Bermuda. It had been seven months since he had left the Paris chill and autumnal rains, and perhaps more importantly, it had been seven months since he had left Duncan MacLeod.
In Bermuda, he had no one to answer to. He had first contemplated escaping when he had received the news Joe Dawson had died. But distraught from his own anguish, and also disturbed from the anguish of his friends, he had remained in Paris. He and Duncan had first come together one month after the passing, both half-drunk from alcohol and despair, and come the following morning, neither had been disturbed to find the other one in Duncan's double bed. (Of course, (Methos noted with a remembered wry grin), Amanda had claimed that she had always known this would eventually happen, and to prove so, she collected bets from both Nick Wolfe and Richie Ryan, explaining they had had a tally for three years running now, as to when the highlander and the ancient one would finally come together. Joe Dawson had been in on it too).
He had first bought the Bermudan property when the small island had first gained its independence from Great Britain, and whenever he needed a tropical escape, it was to there he went. He looked and sounded to be a native, with his British accent, and fair looks. No one paid him mind, and no one glanced his direction, unless he asked for the attention. He had no reason nor no one to explain his actions to, or his motives to. He could live without needing to worry if the boyscout approved or disproved, and without hearing whether or not Le Blues Bar had lost or gained revenue for the month, or for the year. He was free, truly free, and he had never been more miserable (at least, not in recent times).
But for seven months, he had slept in a cold bed, and deep within, he hoped Duncan MacLeod had too. He was miserable without the Highlander.
"Love is overrated, babes. We're better without it," drawled Teresa Ciela. An old friend of Methos, she had agreed to meet him over series of lunches for the times he spent in Bermuda. Distinctly Spanish (with her dark curly hair to her shoulders and olive complexion), the two Immortals had known one another through several centuries of history.
"Love is misery, Reese. Misery is love. We should make bumper stickers."
Teresa laughed, and inhaled a long drag of her cigarette. "Look at this way, should we make bumper stickers, we'd be rich, but only with money."
With Teresa's words in mind, mentally cursing love, cursing humanity, and cursing the Highlander, he boarded the plane bound for Paris.
April 11, 2005, 10 AM, the Bermudan Airport
The warmth had seeped into his Immortal bones, and for the briefest moment, Adam Pierson contemplated remaining permanently in Bermuda. It had been seven months since he had left the Paris chill and autumnal rains, and perhaps more importantly, it had been seven months since he had left Duncan MacLeod.
In Bermuda, he had no one to answer to. He had first contemplated escaping when he had received the news Joe Dawson had died. But distraught from his own anguish, and also disturbed from the anguish of his friends, he had remained in Paris. He and Duncan had first come together one month after the passing, both half-drunk from alcohol and despair, and come the following morning, neither had been disturbed to find the other one in Duncan's double bed. (Of course, (Methos noted with a remembered wry grin), Amanda had claimed that she had always known this would eventually happen, and to prove so, she collected bets from both Nick Wolfe and Richie Ryan, explaining they had had a tally for three years running now, as to when the highlander and the ancient one would finally come together. Joe Dawson had been in on it too).
He had first bought the Bermudan property when the small island had first gained its independence from Great Britain, and whenever he needed a tropical escape, it was to there he went. He looked and sounded to be a native, with his British accent, and fair looks. No one paid him mind, and no one glanced his direction, unless he asked for the attention. He had no reason nor no one to explain his actions to, or his motives to. He could live without needing to worry if the boyscout approved or disproved, and without hearing whether or not Le Blues Bar had lost or gained revenue for the month, or for the year. He was free, truly free, and he had never been more miserable (at least, not in recent times).
But for seven months, he had slept in a cold bed, and deep within, he hoped Duncan MacLeod had too. He was miserable without the Highlander.
"Love is overrated, babes. We're better without it," drawled Teresa Ciela. An old friend of Methos, she had agreed to meet him over series of lunches for the times he spent in Bermuda. Distinctly Spanish (with her dark curly hair to her shoulders and olive complexion), the two Immortals had known one another through several centuries of history.
"Love is misery, Reese. Misery is love. We should make bumper stickers."
Teresa laughed, and inhaled a long drag of her cigarette. "Look at this way, should we make bumper stickers, we'd be rich, but only with money."
With Teresa's words in mind, mentally cursing love, cursing humanity, and cursing the Highlander, he boarded the plane bound for Paris.