This story is dedicated to all those of you who are Peter Wingfield/Methos fans, and also to Peter himself as I would have no story if it were not for the deliciously enigmatic character of Methos. Thank you! Also, I would like to thank Otacon and Seth for putting up with my Methos ravings. I love you both!
The Written Word
By, Elle Knight
She had only gone to the library to do some research for an upcoming term paper that she knew she wouldn't complete until the night before it was due. She had worked hard to become the top student in her junior English class, but she always seemed to fall into procrastination. Now, she found herself perusing the shelves of the "Mystery" section in hopes of a new book that would provide a certain air of intrigue that she so desperately needed. What she found when she turned the corner into the next aisle wasn't at all what she was expecting.
He was sitting at a corner table engrossed in a large volume of some of Plato's early works. Headphones adorned his ears, and he tapped out the rhythm of the song that he was listening to on the tabletop in front of him. She admired his features in the subtle fluorescent lighting of the library's designated "Reading Room". He wore his black hair short and slightly gelled back. His soft, gray-blue eyes moved across each page with a swiftness that she admired. He seemed to be in his late twenties, and unlike most "boys" her age this was a man who appreciated the written word.
She wanted to approach him, to sit down with him and have a truly analytical discussion about the styles of Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, and Aristotle. She could also see herself sitting in front of him and babbling away. He would smile in amusement, telling her to go back to the children's section where she belonged. She watched him in silence for a moment longer; emotions battling fiercely inside of her. Finally, she decided to just keep searching. She would never have the courage to approach him; she didn't know how the thought had even crept into her mind.
She continued walking through the stacks when her eyes wandered to the top row of a single shelf. There, sat several books by one of her favorite fantasy authors. Reaching up, she found that her fingertips barely grazed the bottom of the bookshelf. Looking around, she soon spotted a vacant stepladder and placed it in front of the particular shelf. Carefully, she took a step up, the ladder balancing precariously beneath her. Slowly, she reached for a single book in the neatly arranged row, silently willing the ladder to stay in place. She made one last attempt to grab for the book before the ladder collapsed beneath her.
A brief wave of panic washed over her before she felt strong arms encircle her body. Looking up, she found the man who she had been admiring from a far glancing down at her. Amusement shown in his eyes, and her proceeded to give her a slow smile.
"You should be more careful next time." His words were colored with a unique accent. She could feel her face grow hot as a blush crept to her cheeks.
"Th-thank you."
"My pleasure," he stated, lowering her to the ground.
"Adam Pierson." He held out his hand.
"Sydney Ryan." She placed her hand within his grasp and they shook hands, briefly. A strange warmth spread throughout her body, and she could feel herself blush once again.
"What were you attempting up there?" She could still detect the amusement in his tone.
"I was trying to reach the top shelf." She found a smile forming on her lips as she glanced toward the shelf in annoyance.
"Oh, well, that's no problem." He stepped in front of her, running his fingers over the spine of each book. "Which one?" She indicated a thick, blue and purple bound book positioned at the end of the row. He took the book from the shelf and promptly handed it to her.
"Thanks."
"It was no trouble for a lady who loves the written word." She stifled a slight gasp, thinking back to only moments before when she had thought of him in the same way.
"Yes, I certainly do. I saw you at the corner table reading Plato. Is it safe to assume that you are a fan of the classics?"
"You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation." Sydney gave a brief chuckle.
"Very good."
"I try," he smiled once again.
"I'm more inclined to read Aristotle, but Plato is just as intriguing." A faint look of surprise crossed his features. This did not elude Sydney, and she continued.
"It is a shame that such beauty has been lost to this time." With that, he took an unexpected step toward her, so his mouth was near to her ear and she could feel the warmth of his breath dance across her cheek.
"No, it is not. People who appreciate such things can always keep it alive." He pulled away slowly. Sydney could hear her heart still pounding fiercely in her ears. She wondered what had just occurred.
"Would you like to have coffee in the café downstairs?" Adam's sudden question drew her from her thoughts.
"That would be great." Clutching her book, she made her way down the nearest staircase with Adam following closely behind.
Methos did not know what had come over him when he had asked Sydney to have coffee with him. She was far too young for him; only sixteen or seventeen years old, but something in her eyes told him that she was wise beyond her years. He could scarcely ignore the pre-immortal buzz that emanated from her.
She spoke with eloquence about the common classical philosophers. He had not seen or met many like her in the lifetimes that he had been alive. Perhaps, this was why he could hardly tear his attention from her as she cited some of her favorite works of the more obscure classical writers while tucking a single strand of long, straight chestnut colored hair behind her ear. Her jade green eyes had lit up at the prospect of speaking with him, a graduate student who had majored in Ancient History.
Two hours had passed before Sydney happened to glance down at her watch. It was nearly 8:00. She had promised to be home for dinner at 7:30.
"Adam, it was great talking with you, but I'm so sorry, I have to get home."
"No problem. It's getting a bit late for me as well." He left a few bills on the table as Sydney rose from her seat. Together, they walked through the library's gaping glass doors and into the small parking lot. Methos walked her to her car, finding that they had only parked a few spaces away from each other.
After unlocking her car door, she turned to him, a smile crossing her features.
"Thank you for everything. I had a wonderful time talking to you and I would like to have coffee with you again sometime...if that's all right with you." She looked at him expectantly, half anticipating that he would say no.
Instead, he took her hand in his and kissed it lightly.
"You are very welcome, my lady. I would love that." He promptly produced a single piece of paper and pen, and proceeded to write the number of Joe's Bar on it.
"Here," he held the scrap of paper out to her. She read it over carefully, memorizing each number.
"When you're ready you can call me there. I am almost always there."
"Thank you."
"No, thank you, my dear. You've given new faith to an old soul. You have a wonderful gift; treasure it." He slowly brushed his thumb across her cheek before turning in the direction of his own car.
Sydney stood silent for several minutes before getting into her car and heading towards her home; her thoughts filled with her time that she had spent with Adam Pierson. Briefly, she wondered it she would ever cross paths with him again. She smiled. Only time would tell.
The Plato quote was taken from the Quotations Page homepage. Thank you!
I intend to make this story the first in a short series about Sydney Ryan becoming immortal. I hope to have the first chapter of the next story posted soon, but for now please read and review!