September 12, 2001, 6 AM (to about 8 PM), Seacouver, Washington
The next morning, Fiona awoke to find herself alone in bed. For several seconds, she was confused, thinking she was in New York. But when she remembered, she remembered everything. She was not in New York; she was in Seacouver, in Washington State, and yesterday two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center. And, Bella.
She sighed, and she shook her head. She willed the tears to not come. She had had her cry time last night, Marius holding her in his arms. But Bella was her friend, like a mother to her. Maybe she had attached herself too tightly, but she did not know her mother. Immortals never did.
In the darkness, she squinted. Five after six, the clock read. She was awake, figured she might as well run. She climbed from bed, she exchanged her boxer shorts and tank top for a pair of old track pants, and she pulled a New York University sweatshirt over her white tank. She tied her running shoes, and she secured her hair firmly in a low ponytail. On her bedroom floor, she stretched first her arms, her back, her shoulders, and her legs. When she grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter, she found a note written hastily.
"F, Morning. Had some meetings rescheduled to this afternoon, and I have paperwork to do before. Sorry I'm not here to see you wake. Smile, please. For me? I'll call you later. I love you. M."
Fiona read the note again, and again, before she crumpled the paper in her hand, and she tossed it into the trash. She locked the door behind her, tiptoed down the stairs, and she ran to the park. She ran laps under the trees, over the sidewalk pavement, pass dog owners, pigeons, other birds, homeless men sleeping on benches; she ran laps until she thought she would collapse; only then, did she run back to her apartment to shower, dress, and pretend life was normal again.
---------------------------------
"Morning, Rebecca," Fiona greeted. She poked her head inside the department's office. She held the coffee in her left hand, which she had bought on the drive in to work. "Any messages this morning?"
"None today," the secretary answered. She smiled. She still wore her light jacket over her clothes, slightly chilled from the autumnal winds. She always wore long sleeves in this office. Did well to hide the small tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. "How are you?"
"Surviving. Only thing to do, I guess."
"Seems that way. Well, I'm here. If you need to talk."
"Thanks," Fiona smiled. "Really, thanks."
Rebecca Wells waved; she smiled. She had probably just followed Joe Dawson's footsteps, probably just broken every rule in the book. She sighed, and she returned to her paperwork. She didn't recognize the bottom- most document.
But, contrary to Rebecca's opinion, Fiona did not head straight to her office. Instead, she knocked lightly on the door, the plaque reading 'Adam Pierson, Ph.D." She heard a voice answer, "Come in," and she pushed open the door. She closed it again behind her. "Lost, little girl?" he asked. He raised one eyebrow; the pen paused in his hand.
"No," she shook her head. "Mind if I sit?" He gestured his hand to the chair opposite his desk. She perched herself, dropping her things on the floor at her feet. "Duncan MacLeod, when did he leave?"
Methos frowned. Whatever he had expected her to ask, this was definitely not it. He shrugged. "Took off about six, maybe seven or eight months ago."
"Amanda mentioned to me, for once, you were the one to stay."
"Glad to know she has so much faith in me." His scowl deepened.
"Yesterday, I got her to talk a little bit about Duncan. Complicated relationship there." She paused, and she bit her lip. "You knew I had married Aristotle, right?"
"I think so. Why?"
"I met him after. . . I never told him, but I think, somehow, he knew. Sometimes, I would hear him and Plato talking, late at night, when Plato taught him. I knew. . . Plato would sometimes talk about you, to Aristotle."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Spoke highly about you. He loved you. Perhaps too much so. He was heart-broken when he first discovered you had gone. He never quite returned to himself after. He had lost too much: three and half years, and he had lost his mentor, and he had lost his lover. I think he may have found something again in Aristotle, but I married him, and, I think he knew then, first realized just what my Immortality, and consequently, what his mortality meant. You, I, we would live forever, but he would die." She paused again, to face Methos again. "He would die."
"Fiona," Methos spoke gently, "why are you telling me this? I mean, why now?"
"I lost a dear friend yesterday, Methos. But I also lost my parent again. You and I, Methos, we are two of a kind. I suppose, I don't want to lose you too."
"So, you forgive me? Officially?"
"Seems that way," she smiled. "I want your friendship again, Methos."
"Never lost it," he returned the smile, "not officially, anyhow. Now that that is settled, get out. I have work to do, and you have work to do. After all," he winked at her, "this is work."
"Funny," she teased, "I think I missed that memo."
---------------------------------------
Fiona frowned, and she looked to the clock. Almost six. In her classes, she had disregarded her official lesson plans, to instead approach yesterday's events from a philosophical point of view, and she had noticed most of her student seemed to have appreciated it. Although, the conversation had been tentative at first, but classes' end, the students had wished for more time, but she had shook her head, apologizing for the double homework assigned, promising them somewhat regretfully, that next class would return to the normal syllabus.
She stopped in her work, to gather her papers, and her coat. She had agreed to meet Paul for dinner, at the same Italian restaurant they had gone to before. They had a seven reservation. She pulled her long hair from between the coat and her coral cowl-necked sweater, when the knock sounded hesitantly on her door. "Come in," she called. She touched the pocket where she hid her sword, reassuring herself, even though she knew the presence was not an Immortal one.
"Professor Kessler?" asked the hesitant response. A young girl Fiona recognized from her more advanced class. "I'm in the Plato class, and I-"
"Of course," Fiona smiled. Serena, right? Come in. Here kind of late, aren't you?"
"Ren, please. I have class until five-thirty." She shrugged. "Umm. . . I just wanted to let you know, I won't be in class on Thursday. And. . ."
"I understand. Don't worry. Come talk to me whenever you get back, and I'll help you make-up the work. Fair?"
"Yes, thank you."
Ren closed the door behind her, and Fiona sighed. Looking to the clock again, she swore lightly under her breath, quickly gathered her things. She locked the office door behind her.
-----------------------------
Paul waited for her, when she arrived at the restaurant. She smiled at him, her smile only slightly thinner than it normally was, and unsure whether she should shake his hand or kissed him, she hugged him instead. She could tell he was only slightly surprised.
They ordered the same meals they had last time: Fiona, the eggplant parmesan, and Paul, the veal. This time, he knew not to offer her a taste.
"I realized, after you called me, I don't think you ever told me your last name."
"No? Well, Glaser."
Fiona cocked her head. "German-Jewish?"
"Yes, non-practicing, though. But, how'd you know?" he smiled, but his smile too was slightly thinner. "No, no, don't tell me. I think I'd rather not know. Too many skeletons probably."
"Aren't I a little young to have skeletons?" she teased. Even though she knew she, in fact, had too many to name.
"Always the young ones you need to watch. The young, and the quiet ones."
Fiona smiled. Across the table, she reached for Paul's hand. He linked his fingers with hers, and they held hands until the waitress came with dinner.
The next morning, Fiona awoke to find herself alone in bed. For several seconds, she was confused, thinking she was in New York. But when she remembered, she remembered everything. She was not in New York; she was in Seacouver, in Washington State, and yesterday two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center. And, Bella.
She sighed, and she shook her head. She willed the tears to not come. She had had her cry time last night, Marius holding her in his arms. But Bella was her friend, like a mother to her. Maybe she had attached herself too tightly, but she did not know her mother. Immortals never did.
In the darkness, she squinted. Five after six, the clock read. She was awake, figured she might as well run. She climbed from bed, she exchanged her boxer shorts and tank top for a pair of old track pants, and she pulled a New York University sweatshirt over her white tank. She tied her running shoes, and she secured her hair firmly in a low ponytail. On her bedroom floor, she stretched first her arms, her back, her shoulders, and her legs. When she grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter, she found a note written hastily.
"F, Morning. Had some meetings rescheduled to this afternoon, and I have paperwork to do before. Sorry I'm not here to see you wake. Smile, please. For me? I'll call you later. I love you. M."
Fiona read the note again, and again, before she crumpled the paper in her hand, and she tossed it into the trash. She locked the door behind her, tiptoed down the stairs, and she ran to the park. She ran laps under the trees, over the sidewalk pavement, pass dog owners, pigeons, other birds, homeless men sleeping on benches; she ran laps until she thought she would collapse; only then, did she run back to her apartment to shower, dress, and pretend life was normal again.
---------------------------------
"Morning, Rebecca," Fiona greeted. She poked her head inside the department's office. She held the coffee in her left hand, which she had bought on the drive in to work. "Any messages this morning?"
"None today," the secretary answered. She smiled. She still wore her light jacket over her clothes, slightly chilled from the autumnal winds. She always wore long sleeves in this office. Did well to hide the small tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. "How are you?"
"Surviving. Only thing to do, I guess."
"Seems that way. Well, I'm here. If you need to talk."
"Thanks," Fiona smiled. "Really, thanks."
Rebecca Wells waved; she smiled. She had probably just followed Joe Dawson's footsteps, probably just broken every rule in the book. She sighed, and she returned to her paperwork. She didn't recognize the bottom- most document.
But, contrary to Rebecca's opinion, Fiona did not head straight to her office. Instead, she knocked lightly on the door, the plaque reading 'Adam Pierson, Ph.D." She heard a voice answer, "Come in," and she pushed open the door. She closed it again behind her. "Lost, little girl?" he asked. He raised one eyebrow; the pen paused in his hand.
"No," she shook her head. "Mind if I sit?" He gestured his hand to the chair opposite his desk. She perched herself, dropping her things on the floor at her feet. "Duncan MacLeod, when did he leave?"
Methos frowned. Whatever he had expected her to ask, this was definitely not it. He shrugged. "Took off about six, maybe seven or eight months ago."
"Amanda mentioned to me, for once, you were the one to stay."
"Glad to know she has so much faith in me." His scowl deepened.
"Yesterday, I got her to talk a little bit about Duncan. Complicated relationship there." She paused, and she bit her lip. "You knew I had married Aristotle, right?"
"I think so. Why?"
"I met him after. . . I never told him, but I think, somehow, he knew. Sometimes, I would hear him and Plato talking, late at night, when Plato taught him. I knew. . . Plato would sometimes talk about you, to Aristotle."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Spoke highly about you. He loved you. Perhaps too much so. He was heart-broken when he first discovered you had gone. He never quite returned to himself after. He had lost too much: three and half years, and he had lost his mentor, and he had lost his lover. I think he may have found something again in Aristotle, but I married him, and, I think he knew then, first realized just what my Immortality, and consequently, what his mortality meant. You, I, we would live forever, but he would die." She paused again, to face Methos again. "He would die."
"Fiona," Methos spoke gently, "why are you telling me this? I mean, why now?"
"I lost a dear friend yesterday, Methos. But I also lost my parent again. You and I, Methos, we are two of a kind. I suppose, I don't want to lose you too."
"So, you forgive me? Officially?"
"Seems that way," she smiled. "I want your friendship again, Methos."
"Never lost it," he returned the smile, "not officially, anyhow. Now that that is settled, get out. I have work to do, and you have work to do. After all," he winked at her, "this is work."
"Funny," she teased, "I think I missed that memo."
---------------------------------------
Fiona frowned, and she looked to the clock. Almost six. In her classes, she had disregarded her official lesson plans, to instead approach yesterday's events from a philosophical point of view, and she had noticed most of her student seemed to have appreciated it. Although, the conversation had been tentative at first, but classes' end, the students had wished for more time, but she had shook her head, apologizing for the double homework assigned, promising them somewhat regretfully, that next class would return to the normal syllabus.
She stopped in her work, to gather her papers, and her coat. She had agreed to meet Paul for dinner, at the same Italian restaurant they had gone to before. They had a seven reservation. She pulled her long hair from between the coat and her coral cowl-necked sweater, when the knock sounded hesitantly on her door. "Come in," she called. She touched the pocket where she hid her sword, reassuring herself, even though she knew the presence was not an Immortal one.
"Professor Kessler?" asked the hesitant response. A young girl Fiona recognized from her more advanced class. "I'm in the Plato class, and I-"
"Of course," Fiona smiled. Serena, right? Come in. Here kind of late, aren't you?"
"Ren, please. I have class until five-thirty." She shrugged. "Umm. . . I just wanted to let you know, I won't be in class on Thursday. And. . ."
"I understand. Don't worry. Come talk to me whenever you get back, and I'll help you make-up the work. Fair?"
"Yes, thank you."
Ren closed the door behind her, and Fiona sighed. Looking to the clock again, she swore lightly under her breath, quickly gathered her things. She locked the office door behind her.
-----------------------------
Paul waited for her, when she arrived at the restaurant. She smiled at him, her smile only slightly thinner than it normally was, and unsure whether she should shake his hand or kissed him, she hugged him instead. She could tell he was only slightly surprised.
They ordered the same meals they had last time: Fiona, the eggplant parmesan, and Paul, the veal. This time, he knew not to offer her a taste.
"I realized, after you called me, I don't think you ever told me your last name."
"No? Well, Glaser."
Fiona cocked her head. "German-Jewish?"
"Yes, non-practicing, though. But, how'd you know?" he smiled, but his smile too was slightly thinner. "No, no, don't tell me. I think I'd rather not know. Too many skeletons probably."
"Aren't I a little young to have skeletons?" she teased. Even though she knew she, in fact, had too many to name.
"Always the young ones you need to watch. The young, and the quiet ones."
Fiona smiled. Across the table, she reached for Paul's hand. He linked his fingers with hers, and they held hands until the waitress came with dinner.
