Disclaimer:  Adam Pierson/Methos, Rich Ryan, and any other person or name which looks familiar from either the Highlander Movies or Highlander:  The Series are the sole property of Rysher: Panzer/Davis Productions.  They are used without permission and, Lady knows, certainly without any expectation of profit to myself other than the pleasure of writing.
All music listed is by the artist listed, and is also used without permission or accrual of profit to myself.
All other characters are mine.
Further notes, comments, and details from the story are at the bottom for those interested.
Rated:  R for explicit descriptions from a lonely, long-distance lover.

Letters On A Page

Methos listened to the voice pouring out of his stereo, smiling at the beauty of the words and the singer's voice both.  Leave it to Edana to send a cassette with her first letter; the woman loved music and down the centuries she had introduced him to more than one new composer.  No great surprise that she had continued that part of their relationship.  Between time with Duncan, and working out, and last details on her house, neither of them had had much leisure when he was in Seacouver for her to introduce him to many of her favorite artists.  They had been too busy in bed (or the couch, the floor, or the tub).

Still, both of them had always corresponded; he had transcribed her letters into his journals more than once, so as not to lose them when he moved.  She'd never sent one before with another letter nested inside.  The envelope had held the cassette now playing in the stereo; another, smaller envelope; and a brief note in her quick, compact script.  Celtic bookhand had always suited her, the more so for that she came out of the same green land as that monkish handwriting.

Listen as the wind blows from across the great divide
Voices trapped in yearning, memories trapped in time.
The night is my companion & solitude my guide
Would I spend forever here and not be satisfied?

He sprawled on his couch, listening to the woman's voice, seeing his lover's face in his memory, and laughing softly at how appropriate this song was for the two of them.  Indeed, the Atlantic and the entire North American continent separated them, although neither of them was happy about it.  But obligations lay on them both, her more so than him, and neither wanted to break covers that had they had been so long setting up.

Come October, Aidan would head to Paris for a few months.  After two thousand years of wanting her, three hundred fifty years of thinking her dead, why did one hundred days or so seem so long?  Ah, well, time to see what her letter said.  Her note had instructed him to throw the cassette in the player first, saying she hoped he'd like some of the songs on it.  So far, definitely.  Methos took a sip of the beer, and slit open the second envelope to read the letter before Richie got in.  Quite a few things in his life were none of the younger immortal's business.  Letters from his lover definitely fell into that category.

 & I would be the one to hold you down,
Kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away,
& after I'd wipe away the tears, just close your eyes, dear.

'Beautiful love, you're there and I'm here and there's no solace for it, I fear.  Solace indeed, sole and solitary the both of us right now.  So, I'll send Duncan to you soon enough.  (I suspect you need to get your store and apartment back under control first, from some of the stories the two of you told me about Rich.)  In the meantime, we'll simply have to settle for memory, which is excellent in both of us, but no substitute for the feel of your arms, the taste of your mouth, the scent of your body in my arms or poised above me.

'Damn, that was not quite what I had meant to do.  Ah, well, I'm sorely out of practice at sending love through such an impersonal medium as parchment and ink.'

A half-smile spread across Methos' face at that comment, and he had a sneaking suspicion she had paused before writing that sentence to regain her train of thought.  When had she had time to do this?  The letter had been waiting when he arrived in Paris from New York.  He laughed softly after re-reading the last sentence.  Out of practice?  Gods, what she must have done to lovers when she was up on it.  So to speak....  Oh, well, I have a feeling I'll need a cold shower by the end of this, and that double entendres are going to fly through my mind for a good while.  So, where was I?

Through this world I've stumbled, so many times betrayed
Trying to find an honest word to find the truth enslaved
Oh, you speak to me in riddles, & you speak to me in rhymes,
My body aches to breathe your breath, your words keep me alive

'Too long waiting, not enough time together.  Damn, is it always like this?  The temptation looms to abandon my book contract, tell Joe he needs to hire someone else and hijack the next plane that can make it to Paris.  I have a sword, after all; aren't guns de classé anymore?  Lady lend us strength, letters and phone calls will have to suffice -- Joe would just call wanting to know when he gets his cleaning crew back.

'What can I say?  I miss you already and you've only been gone the day.  From when I write this, I know you'll be back tonight and still I have things I need to tell you.  I want the chance to relay the bitingly sarcastic joke from the morning radio show, to ask your opinion on my translation of a phrase by Livy.  I miss the sound of you padding barefoot across the tile and your usual jibes about people who don't have walls in their houses mock me, thrown back by echoing silence.  I keep wanting to see you turn around and laugh at the songs I loaded in the stereo this afternoon, or hear you tease me about Irish cooking while I'm turning the kitchen inside out deciding what's stew makings and what's compost.'

 & I would be the one to hold you down,
Kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away,
& after I'd wipe away the tears, just close your eyes, dear.

'Well, I promise, the next letter will have the more mundane details, the daily silliness I want to tell you, the gossip on Duncan and Joe, on Renee and Mike.  For this one, though, I'm afraid you get something else.

 'I burrowed into sheets this morning that smelled of you, curled onto a pillow that refused to wrap arms around me.  No one stretched and stole the sheets to hide from the sun through the windows, or grumbled in Greek profanities about serving wenches who don't.  The alarm went off without strong hands catching my arm to tempt me into staying in bed.  My fingers hurt from not curling around your shoulders as you move over me, against me,  inside me....

'In the corner of my eye you stand slouched in jeans against the counters, barefoot as ever, lazy and amused, drinking half the juice and beer in my refrigerator, only to vanish when I turn to say something.  Have I told you that I love the way you look, the way your shoulders taper to your waist, the light off your skin, the fine trail of hair down your chest?  I miss the taste of you -- your mouth, your fingers, the side of your neck, your cock.  I made breakfast and started to put out a second plate, then laughed at myself.  Little things make me look for you:  the shaving cream you left here, the taste of beer, the hiking boots I bought so as to go walking the trails when it gets a bit cooler and I finish chapter eight.'

 Into this night I wander, it's morning that I dread,
Another day of knowing of the path I fear to tread.
Oh, into the sea of waking dreams I follow without pride.
Nothing stands between us here, & I won't be denied.

'I want my mouth on yours, my hands around something more comforting than pen & paper.  Gods, yes, I miss your wit, but I've had that for all my life (if not yours) and I find the more recent addiction to your body almost as straining on my nerves.  The desire to have your body against me, within me, however we can manage or think of, is almost too strong to endure.  I can't remember the last time I wanted to hurry the festivals along.  It seems so long to Samhain.  Too much to do, too much time to endure.  Do you hate this as much as I do?  I miss you dreadfully, and can't decide if I would wish you the same pain, that I not suffer it alone, or hope that you don't feel it for that it hurts too much to wish on any, much less one I love.'

Methos shook his head at that, almost hearing her voice, amused and assured, with the slight pause which meant she actually felt more deeply about it than she would say.  Idiot woman, I would rather share pain with you than be offered pleasure by the most gorgeous woman in Paris.  Who else would realize that I appreciate the compliment of knowing you enjoy my company, my jokes?  And in the same letter admit an addiction to my body, trusting I won't use it against you?  What are you going to do when Duncan comes here in September?  Joe will come, too, leaving you more lonely than you are now.  Yes, I miss you and Duncan both, and I'll see him sooner, but that doesn't make my bed any less empty.

 & I would be the one to hold you down,
Kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away,
& after I'd wipe away the tears, just close your eyes....

'I've never been one to lie to you -- hide things from you, perhaps, but not lie -- so I'll leave the letter as it stands.  But I always have dealt well with pain, and if you aren't hurting, love, then I'm glad.  Gods know, I've missed you for three hundred and sixty years....  What's four months more to us?  I will see you again in October, mo cridhe.  Until then, I have a book to write, a fourth floor to finish, and some polish to put on Duncan's training.  How is that Connor doesn't need it, but Duncan does?  Ah, well, Ramirez would have my hide if I failed one of my line-brothers, and you and I both love Duncan dearly, so I'll do the best I can.'

Methos shook his head, smiling.  That woman.  I wonder how long she paused before she could change the subject like that?

'Try to have some good gossip by the time I get to Paris, will you?  Better yet, try to be the cause of some.  If I could find a way to kiss you breathless across the miles, I would.  Of course, if I could do that, I would do other things as well.

'I know I never write your name, chalk that up to long centuries of habit, but it's always on my lips.  I could wish it were your mouth instead.  Regardless, I will call you on Wednesday night.  If you haven't heard from me by midnight, assume I forgot and call me yourself.  Take care, teacher mine, lover mine.  Watch your head since I'm not there to do it.

                                                                                    'Love, as always,
                                                                                            'Edana'

So where did I put that stationery?  I hope I haven't forgotten how to write one of these....

Methos glanced up long enough, sword in hand, to be sure the immortal coming in the door was Richie.  Then he went back to wording his reply in the same dialect of Gaelic she had used.

The younger immortal looked around at the stereo as he slung his jacket onto the coat rack and carried a bag to the kitchen.  "Damn, I haven't heard that since I left the States.  When did you buy Fumbling Towards Ecstasy?"

Rich couldn't understand why Methos started chuckling and replied, "Oh, is that the name of the album?  Who sings it?  I may need to go pick it up."
 

~ ~ ~ finis 12/97~ ~ ~

The song lyrics are by Sarah McLachlan, from the song 'Possession' off her album Fumbling Towards Ecstasy.  They are used without permission, but with great love and no expectation of any profit.

Celtic bookhand is a thoroughly lovely style of calligraphy used by the Irish monks and still popular today.  It tends toward a bit more individualism in the flourishes than some of the other styles while remaining as easily legible as Carolingian miniscule.  I apologize, but I don't seem to have a computer font for it at the moment.  If I acquire, I'll put in gifs to give an example of it.

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