Disclaimer: I don't own them, etc.
Rating: PG-13 / 12A
Series: The "Rebirth" series.
Warnings: Crossover universe - The Sentinel/Highlander.
Summary: Blair and Methos come full circle…
Full Circle
By NorthernStar
There was a bitter chill to the wind. The roses he'd laid on the grave sweetly scenting the cold air. There was no snow beneath his feet this time, but the passing of time was marked by little change. The grave had been well tendered, flowers freshly laid, the headstone smooth and bright.
A year wasn't so long to a man whose life spanned millennia, and yet he felt more weighed down by the long months than he had for over a century. Leanne's tragic passing seemed so long ago, so buried in the past.
Methos didn't often indulge in memories. The past was the past. But right here, on the safety of Holy Ground, he allowed himself to remember. Her smile, her laughter…the little gasp she'd made as her life was stolen from her...
Methos felt the approach of an Immortal and turned, hand falling beside his sword even though he was on Holy Ground, even though he knew who it would be.
But the figure walking towards him, bundled up against the cold wasn't the one he was expecting. The Immortal was willowy and light and the tread was wrong.
For Blair at least; Methos recognised it all the same.
He knew she would find them soon enough.
Naomi had cut her hair close to her head, almost shaved and she wore beatnik clothes and beads. As she came closer, he could see her eyes were shadowed and reddened. And in them was something Methos had never seen before - age.
Naomi was old.
She had, in many ways, but not in all, needed Blair more than he needed her, even in his days as a student. And what better definition of a parent is there?
Naomi knelt at Leanne's grave and placed a small hand picked posy of wild flowers next to the roses Methos had laid. She looked up at him. "You always did care so much for mortals."
He wasn't in the mood for this. "Leave, Naomi."
"I have to find Blair."
Methos gestured around them. "He's not here."
She stood. "I know he was coming to Cascade." She looked him in the eyes. "Tell me where he is."
"No."
"I need him."
"But he doesn't need you. Seven centuries he followed you around like a puppy and where did it get him? Slaughtered with the Jews. He was lucky he didn't lose his head."
"I raised him."
"You made him in your own image, Naomi, and when he failed to live up to that standard you turned your back on him."
"I was angry."
"So was Blair. You should have accepted that."
"I regret what I did."
"You're Immortal. Live with it."
"I just…I want to…" She swallowed. "I need to know if he still loves me."
Her eyes glittered with unshed tears and he sighed.
Methos turned away from her. "In 800 years, Naomi, he's never loved anyone else…"
Scotland, 1350
The rag over her mouth and nose scratched and irritated, but at least it kept out the terrible smell of death and decay. The village was almost empty, but the turbulence of the muddy ground spoke of movement - the tread of the living, the furrows made by the dead as their bodies were dragged from the homes, hoof marks of both horses and cattle. The silence mingled with the stench of sickness, hanging over the mud, playing to her fears. She almost froze mid-step at the horror of it all, but the determination in her gut forced her on.
Steeling herself against the ugliness coiling inside her, Naomi shifted her bag of medicines and preparations and picked her way through the puddles and grime, going further into the village. As she walked, she scanned the faces of the few villagers she did see wandering around. Who looked desperate enough? Who might trust a stranger? She had no wish to be burned as a heretic or a witch again.
A young woman, hunched over, her bundled child clutched to her chest, wandered close. Naomi put out her hand.
"I can help you." She said, "I have some cures, poultices, medicines to draw out the fever."
Fear leapt into the woman's eyes and she pulled away, hugging her child even closer. "Witch!" She hissed harshly and hurried away.
Naomi watched her go then continued on her way. At the farthest end of the village was small hut. She might have passed straight on but the sound of a newborn wailing stopped her, the high pitched cry sounding strangled and sick.
Carefully Naomi pulled aside the rags hung in the doorway and went inside. She followed the sound to the back where more cloth had been hung to partition the bed away from the main area, providing some measure of privacy and warmth. Through the thin weave she saw a small hunched figure. She pulled back the cloth to see it was a small boy.
He sat on the bed, clutching a bundle of rags to his chest - kicking and moving and wailing. Naomi swallowed back tears; the baby's cry growing weaker by the second. She leaned forward and saw the baby's head and chest peeking out of the bundle. Then she pulled her eyes away quickly, the boils had already blackened.
There was no hope.
Naomi ignored the tears that sprung up in her eyes, forced down the revulsion in her stomach and reached out for the baby all the same. She might not be able to save this little life, but she knew just the right herbs to ease its passing.
The boy's grip tightened on the baby, cowering away from her, eyes wide with fear. They stared at each other, faces barely inches apart. It was the first time Naomi had really looked at the boy and she caught her breath. He was pre-immortal.
"Let me help." She pleaded and again reached for the baby.
The boy's resistance was weak and Naomi easily plucked the newborn from his grasp.
She cradled the baby, hushing its dull cries. "Where is your kin?"
Wide eyes spilled tears and a thin hand brushed her arm as the boy reached out to stroke the baby's head.
"None else?"
The boy shook his head.
Naomi stroked his cheek, brushed back the nest of curls. "What is your name?"
"Lulach…" the boy murmured, "Lulach Blair."
"Blair…" She repeated.
*
Tears tracked down Naomi's face. Methos brushed them away with his thumb. She relaxed into the caress a moment then stepped back. He accepted the distance between them. Time passed, rain began to fall.
"I saw the boy." She said eventually, breaking the silence. "The Sentinel. On the news."
His mouth quirked up. "Naomi Sandburg has a television set." He murmured. "We must be in the twentieth century."
She smiled. "If Blair…if Blair's with him…tell him I love him."
"He already knows."
She wrapped her cloak tighter around her. "I'll be at St Sebastian's." She told him and turned to go. "If he asks."
Methos didn't watch her leave.
*
Blair watched the news crews swarm around the grand house. They'd been there every day since the murder of Karl Heydash. He saw the curtains twitch upstairs and caught a brief glimpse of the boy before he was pulled back from the window. He had tried for days to get close to the boy, knowing he needed a Guide now more than ever, but the family were closed off, shutting themselves away behind the doors.
The sky darkened with approaching rain, and when it began to pelt out of the sky, Blair tugged up the collar of his coat and prepared to leave.
Movement in the corner of his eyes stopped him. He turned and squinting over the distance, saw the child creep out of the back of the house and through the fences to a neighbour's garden. From there, the little figure hurried out onto the street and began running.
Towards Blair…
The Ellison kid sprinted down the street, heading straight for Blair, looking behind himself at the crowds. He looked back where he was going almost too late to avoid crashing into Blair, swerving at the last moment. Blair jumped back, utterly surprised, and shocked by this sudden meeting.
He didn't have a clue as to what to say.
"I'm sorry." The boy said.
"Um…that's OK." He frowned. "Are you all right?"
The boy stared up at him, eyes red. His lips moved as if his immediate reaction was to reply. And of course it was, the Sentinel always responds to the Guide.
But the words never came, that instinct dying away like dust in the wind.
Too late…
The knowledge echoed in his heart and Blair searched the child's face, seeking something – anything – to prove him wrong. But beyond the surface, there was only grief and confusion and pain. The rest was buried.
…Always too late…
Then the boy turned and ran.
*
There was another Immortal by the grave when he returned at dusk, pressing on his senses as he approached. Blair didn't look around, letting him stop beside him before offering his teacher a smile.
Methos hadn't seen Blair in several months and there was a confidence in his bearing that hadn't been there before. "You wear civilisation well, my friend."
Blair smoothed out his shirt. "It didn't impress the dean of the boy's school."
"Ellison's been through a lot. Mortals are nothing if not protective of their children." Immortal too, he thought, and thought of Naomi.
He didn't speak her name.
"He's not a Sentinel." Blair admitted. "Not anymore."
"He found a way to deal with it." Methos looked away. "We all do."
Blair took out his sword and thrust it into the ground. "I did all this for him." He murmured. "Mehler…Naomi…All of it."
The ancient Immortal rolled his eyes. "Enough with the self sacrifice." Methos sneered. "You did this for you."
The younger man paused a moment, thinking, and then… "You did this for me."
"And don't go canonising me either. If I hadn't have dragged you off that mountain someone else would. Probably would've had you're your head for it too."
"But you didn't."
"Don't think I didn't consider it." He told him blankly. "So don't go casting me in the role of your saviour because it doesn't suit me."
Blair simply smiled at him and Methos let it ride. The silence that fell was companionable.
Blair broke the peace first. "I wasted so much time." He admitted softly.
"Living may be preferable to just surviving," Methos told him, "but just surviving is better than the alternative."
He watched as Blair considered that. Perhaps that was the one true gift of Immortality, time to do with as you pleased, even if that was sitting on a mountain side haunted by memories. "Words to live by." His tone was light, but the meaning ran deeper. Methos heard the undercurrent and smiled.
"Served me well the last 5000 years."
"He'll remember. Given time."
"Perhaps."
"And now?"
"Now you live."
Blair looked up at him.
"Look on this as…rebirth, a second chance." Methos looked out to the horizon. "I think we should start with Las Vegas."
Twenty-two years later…
Blair tied his hair back, aware of the appreciative glances of the nurse. She held out the name badge she'd swiped earlier that day.
Blair looked at him. "Dr McCoy?"
"Yeah, go figure, huh?" She grinned, raking her eyes over him again. "Still, least you'll remember that."
"I will?"
"Yeah, you know, Bones?"
He looked blankly at her.
"You know…" She screwed her face up and launched into a bizarre accent. "…'I'm a doctor, not an anthropologist.'"
Blair frowned. "I am an anthropologist."
"Geez, Blair, didn't you ever watch Star Trek."
"No." He replied honestly. Despite a couple of decades as 'student boy' Blair, there were a few gaps in the persona. But the mannerisms he'd picked up in the seventies during his time in a commune seemed to offset that with most people.
She frowned, "really?" She cocked her head to one side and gave him a wicked grin. "Come over to my house tonight, bring dip. I have the whole series on tape. Sweetie, you're in for a threat!"
***
Blair took a breath and entered the room. The well built man inside looked at him and Blair was suddenly struck by the memory of the boy this man had once been.
He smiled. He'd only been waiting for this minute for two hundred years…
"Detective Ellison?" Blair said, "I'm Dr. McKay."
~~Fin~~
~~~~~~~~~~THE END~~~~~~~~~~~~
Historical Notes: The Black Death plague reached Scotland in 1349 and over the following two years killed as many as 200,000 people. The population at that time was only around 1 million.
TS Canon Notes: Jim's suppression of the murder of Karl Heydash and his senses occurred in "Remembrance." Blair impersonated Dr McCoy and first met Jim in "The Switchman."