"What the hell was that?" Methos muttered as his throat and stomach disentangled. He'd placed his hands on the artifact, surprised to feel warmth seeping up through the metal. Then he'd heard Triona scream his name. At the same moment, he felt like he'd hit the atmosphere without the anti-gravity field on. There had been a sensation of sound and pressure, then absolute silence.

Pulling his hands away, he took a deep breath. Okay, maybe he would be groveling for the next several centuries. The silence slowly slipped away, replaced with the ambient noise of the planet. That was when he realized that she was gone. The place in his subconscious where the blood link with his wife dwelt was empty, echoing in its barrenness. Even when Triona had suffered her breakdown, still she had been there, no matter how tenuous the connection. The suddenness of it all hit him hard, leaving him breathless. He brutally pushed away the little voice that told him she was dead. That it was his fault. His hidden fear that one day, he'd be responsible for her death, scratched at him like so many thorns.

The presence of another Immortal washed over him, and he all but froze, only his hand slipping to the dagger at his belt breaking his stance. But fate wasn't done hurling the unexpected into his path. The voice he heard behind him was one he'd consigned to nightmares centuries ago.

"It seems you were right, my love. Methos did get the translation wrong!" the voice said jovially. "Tell me, brother, how do you deal with finally being wrong? What a blow to your ego it must be!"

Those words were followed by decidedly unpleasant feminine laughter that ran across his nerves like nails down a chalkboard.

"I told you he was wrong!" a female voice -- her voice -- said angrily. "But did you listen? No, of course not! The all knowing Methos couldn't possibly be wrong!" Venom dripped from every word, centuries of hate soaking every syllable.

"Come, Triona, calm yourself. We are all family here. We can forgive mistakes, can we not?" The last held a note of warning.

A warning she seemed to take to heart, as she replied in a tight voice, "Yes, of course, Kronos. I'm sorry."

"There, you see? I'm sure Methos can forgive your ill temper in this case. Methos?"

Methos steeled himself for what could not be avoided any longer. Turning slowly, he took a deep calming breath. Then he said, "I was more wrong than you can possibly imagine."

Everything froze in that moment. It wasn't Methos, and yet it was undeniably him. She tried to process what was before her, tried to make sense of the utter wrongness of it all. His face, his voice, but nothing of I him /I before her. What had happened? Where was I her /I Methos? A sharp slap across her face interrupted her frenzied thoughts.

"I asked you a question! And you will answer!" he commanded in a voice that held none of the softness of her husband's and yet was familiar enough to twist at her heart.

"I didn't bring you here," she choked out. "That thing must have." She indicated the alien device with her chin.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at her speculatively. "You must have done something," he accused.

"I didn't! I was scanning it, there was some sort of energy wave, and it threw me against the rock. I must have been unconscious for hours from the impact." Triona swallowed, trying to control her racing heart as she looked at him squarely.

His hair was longer, and he was dressed all in harsh outlines of dark leather and stiff fabric. Not at all like the comfortable and relaxed clothing that Methos preferred. But it was clothing now, not the past. The fabrics and accessories were undeniably that of the twenty-fourth century. So one theory was discarded; this wasn't some sort of time travel, not her Methos from somewhere in his past. That realization wasn't as comforting as it might have been. The alternative was more than unthinkable, and she swallowed again, her mind racing through possibilities, each more frightening than the last.

"Scanning. You didn't touch it?" She shook her head. "So you come here alone, to this planet, to what?" he demanded.

"I…" her voice shook. "I… it was something I've been researching. This planet, its dead civilization." Somehow she thought it would be better not to volunteer any information. Not to let him know he had a double. A double she prayed was still somewhere within reach. I Please God, let him be okay /I .

This time the blow that struck her face knocked her back down to the ground and she choked back a cry at the agony that blossomed anew across her mangled body. "Try again," he told her in a voice that chilled her to the bone. Something was thrown to the ground next to her and her heart sank, seeing her data pad. I Stupid, stupid/I she berated herself. I In the time you were unconscious, of course he looked though your belongings/I

Once more she was being dragged up, this time to her feet, blackness floating before her eyes as her damaged body, still trying to heal from its many wounds tried to compensate. He held her up with one arm, pointing down at her data pad with one long finger. "Tell me everything or I swear to you that you will regret even the air you breathe."

She shuddered at the menace in his voice, knowing without any doubt that it was no idle threat. Looking down at the device at her feet, she saw the picture on the screen was one taken just before this trip; a family photo of her, Methos, LaCroix, Lucia, and Stephanie. Briefly she closed her eyes, holding the memory of her family close to her heart. She had to be strong – for herself and for them.

"I'm waiting." This was said against her ear, his cool breath skimming across her face. It was all she could do not to shy away from his closeness. But even in her confused state, she knew that would be a mistake.

A shaky breath, and another. Then she said, "Methos had been translating the texts from this planet. We found the device and he thought it was a repository of knowledge and history."

"And you? What did you think?"

Still, he was too close to her and she held herself as still as possible. "I… I had doubts, but nothing quantifiable, only intuition. Nothing to make a reasoned decision from."

"So you let him activate the device." That was said almost like an accusation.

"No!" She shook her head. "Yes, I suppose. But it wasn't like he was trying to activate anything. We thought he was opening an archive. That's all!"

He took her chin in a hard grip, searching her eyes. Then, abruptly, he let her go and she fell to her knees with a painful thud. He whirled away, arms akimbo, pacing back and forth. The he was staring down at her again.

"And what is he to you?" He laughed harshly. "What am I I /I to you?"

"You aren't him!" she protested. "You aren't."

Speculatively he considered her for a moment, before replying, "Perhaps not, but I doubt we're that much different." Once more, he was crouching down to look her in the eyes. "Now, answer my question, woman! What is he to you?"

Laughing with more than a touch of hysteria, she fought back tears. "What is he to me? He's everything to me! He's my husband, and I want him back!"

His laughter shattered the relative quiet. "Husband! Now that I was not expecting!" Sinking to one knee, he brushed her hair back from her face. "There's no rush, Triona." Her eyes widened in shock. "Oh yes, I know you very well. Or at least, I know your doppelgänger. I know her very well indeed." His hand stilled against her cheek. "And I am sure you and I, we will get to know one another quite well too."