author: Lucinda
rating: pg13
main characters: Connor MacCleod, Darla
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon. Connor is the creation of the Highlander series/movie, and does not belong to me either.
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #7. Semi-sequel to 'Memories of Scotland'.
REMEMBER me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Christina Georgina Rossetti - Remember
* * *
Connor sat in the bar, sipping at his beer. There was a jukebox playing something mournful in the corner, something about a man whose wife or girlfriend had left and now he was all alone. Just the sort of thing to inspire people to drink more. Shaking his head, he sipped again at his beer.
He didn't care much for most modern beers. Unfortunately, most of the alternatives were even worse. It was just a sad thing that the passing centuries had changed so many things, and left so many people ignorant of what a real beer should taste like. And real beer would go better with thinking about lost loves and lost could-have-been's than this watery stuff.
He'd loved his wife Heather. They'd been happy together, even if they had ended up living alone in an half ruined tower instead of in a village. He'd loved her even when her skin lost the fresh softness of youth and her hair turned gray.
Then there had been Darla. Ahh, Darla... a delightful widow that he'd met centuries ago. It was quite probably Darla Whitmore and her attentions that had helped him move past his long grief at Heather's death. He'd learned a lot from that woman...
He hadn't loved her. He'd been fascinated, and head over heels in lust with her, but it hadn't been love. Maybe it could have grown into love, if they'd had time. Maybe the passion would have faded and they both would have moved on. Unfortunately, he'd been run over and killed by a wagon before they could find out.
He'd been so disturbed by waking up in a grave that he'd not managed anything other than clawing his way out and heading for the Highlands. Shuddering, Connor decided that waking up buried was definitely one of his least favorite memories. Of course, that had rather firmly put an end to things with Darla...
If only things could have gone differently. If only he'd had the chance to learn how things could have been. Shaking his head, Connor finished the beer and headed out of the little bar. He might as well see if Los Angeles had any clubs worth going into.
As he walked down the street, he noticed a pair of attractive women going into a club. One had dark hair that fell part of the way down her back, dressed in this plum colored pair of leather pants and a sheer blouse. The other was blond, and had a pale blue halter blouse over a leather skirt. She had a small oval birth-mark on the back of her right knee, just like Darla.
Neither of them felt like Immortals.
"Now, Dru, why are we going here? I don't see what makes this club any better than the last dozen that we walked by..." The blond was speaking to her companion.
Connor froze, turning to stare at them as the dark hared woman - Dru? As she spoke to the doorman at the club. She had the same birthmark as Darla. She was the same height with the same blond hair. Her voice sounded almost the same, and that could be no more than the changing of accent that comes from time and travel.
But he'd known Darla three hundred years ago. Darla had to be dead and dust by now. Shaking his head, he whispered into the darkness. "I must finally be going senile - she looks just like Darla. She even sounds like Darla."
Connor turned and started to walk away, wondering if he'd finally started to loose his mind. She couldn't be Darla. And wasn't there a saying that everybody had a twin out there somewhere? It had to be just...
"Connor MacCleod?" Her voice caught his attention. "Is that...?"
He turned, looking into her pretty blue eyes. "Darla?"
Darla was right beside him before he'd even realized that she'd moved, her eyes looking into his as her cool hand cupped his cheek. "But... how can this be?"
"You always did have cold hands." Connor whispered, his own finger reaching out, hesitating a moment before brushing over her cheek bone. "You're still such a bonny looking lass."
"But... they told me that you died in that riot." She whispered, her hand sliding down his face to rest right over his heart. "How can you be here now?"
"That's... a long story. And while we're being surprised, how is it that you're still here? Scotland... that was a long time ago, Darla. And is it still Darla Whitmore?"
"It's as good a name as any other." She shrugged with an almost careless motion. "Maybe we should take this conversation somewhere else?"
"You go and have some nice tea and cakes, I'll go inside and dance." Dru smiled, leaning over to kiss Darla's cheek. "Have fun."
Considering things, Connor nodded. "I've got a hotel room. We could go there and talk?"
Darla smiled at him, her lips curving with a sensual promise. "That sounds wonderful. Shall we go... talk? Just like old times?"
Connor smiled at that, remembering that they hadn't done a lot of talking in the 'old times'. Would things be the same now? "That sounds very good, Darla."
After all, if it came down to it, he could wait a bit longer for those answers. Besides, he'd learned to be patient in five hundred years.
end Scottish Memory.
rating: pg13
main characters: Connor MacCleod, Darla
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon. Connor is the creation of the Highlander series/movie, and does not belong to me either.
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #7. Semi-sequel to 'Memories of Scotland'.
REMEMBER me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Christina Georgina Rossetti - Remember
* * *
Connor sat in the bar, sipping at his beer. There was a jukebox playing something mournful in the corner, something about a man whose wife or girlfriend had left and now he was all alone. Just the sort of thing to inspire people to drink more. Shaking his head, he sipped again at his beer.
He didn't care much for most modern beers. Unfortunately, most of the alternatives were even worse. It was just a sad thing that the passing centuries had changed so many things, and left so many people ignorant of what a real beer should taste like. And real beer would go better with thinking about lost loves and lost could-have-been's than this watery stuff.
He'd loved his wife Heather. They'd been happy together, even if they had ended up living alone in an half ruined tower instead of in a village. He'd loved her even when her skin lost the fresh softness of youth and her hair turned gray.
Then there had been Darla. Ahh, Darla... a delightful widow that he'd met centuries ago. It was quite probably Darla Whitmore and her attentions that had helped him move past his long grief at Heather's death. He'd learned a lot from that woman...
He hadn't loved her. He'd been fascinated, and head over heels in lust with her, but it hadn't been love. Maybe it could have grown into love, if they'd had time. Maybe the passion would have faded and they both would have moved on. Unfortunately, he'd been run over and killed by a wagon before they could find out.
He'd been so disturbed by waking up in a grave that he'd not managed anything other than clawing his way out and heading for the Highlands. Shuddering, Connor decided that waking up buried was definitely one of his least favorite memories. Of course, that had rather firmly put an end to things with Darla...
If only things could have gone differently. If only he'd had the chance to learn how things could have been. Shaking his head, Connor finished the beer and headed out of the little bar. He might as well see if Los Angeles had any clubs worth going into.
As he walked down the street, he noticed a pair of attractive women going into a club. One had dark hair that fell part of the way down her back, dressed in this plum colored pair of leather pants and a sheer blouse. The other was blond, and had a pale blue halter blouse over a leather skirt. She had a small oval birth-mark on the back of her right knee, just like Darla.
Neither of them felt like Immortals.
"Now, Dru, why are we going here? I don't see what makes this club any better than the last dozen that we walked by..." The blond was speaking to her companion.
Connor froze, turning to stare at them as the dark hared woman - Dru? As she spoke to the doorman at the club. She had the same birthmark as Darla. She was the same height with the same blond hair. Her voice sounded almost the same, and that could be no more than the changing of accent that comes from time and travel.
But he'd known Darla three hundred years ago. Darla had to be dead and dust by now. Shaking his head, he whispered into the darkness. "I must finally be going senile - she looks just like Darla. She even sounds like Darla."
Connor turned and started to walk away, wondering if he'd finally started to loose his mind. She couldn't be Darla. And wasn't there a saying that everybody had a twin out there somewhere? It had to be just...
"Connor MacCleod?" Her voice caught his attention. "Is that...?"
He turned, looking into her pretty blue eyes. "Darla?"
Darla was right beside him before he'd even realized that she'd moved, her eyes looking into his as her cool hand cupped his cheek. "But... how can this be?"
"You always did have cold hands." Connor whispered, his own finger reaching out, hesitating a moment before brushing over her cheek bone. "You're still such a bonny looking lass."
"But... they told me that you died in that riot." She whispered, her hand sliding down his face to rest right over his heart. "How can you be here now?"
"That's... a long story. And while we're being surprised, how is it that you're still here? Scotland... that was a long time ago, Darla. And is it still Darla Whitmore?"
"It's as good a name as any other." She shrugged with an almost careless motion. "Maybe we should take this conversation somewhere else?"
"You go and have some nice tea and cakes, I'll go inside and dance." Dru smiled, leaning over to kiss Darla's cheek. "Have fun."
Considering things, Connor nodded. "I've got a hotel room. We could go there and talk?"
Darla smiled at him, her lips curving with a sensual promise. "That sounds wonderful. Shall we go... talk? Just like old times?"
Connor smiled at that, remembering that they hadn't done a lot of talking in the 'old times'. Would things be the same now? "That sounds very good, Darla."
After all, if it came down to it, he could wait a bit longer for those answers. Besides, he'd learned to be patient in five hundred years.
end Scottish Memory.