Disclaimer and Notes: Methos and Alexa belong to TPTB, no harm meant, no money made. I'm taking them both on a stroll down memory lane, if you really want to know, because she asked and well ... Methos never denied her anything. Who am I to buck a tradition like that? :-) Lyrics to "Vienna" by Ultravox borrowed equally without permission, and provided to me by K'immielvr as part of the Lyric Wheel Challenge begun by Amand-r. For the record, I was volunteered for this part of the challenge; I'd only expected to write one story challenge song. Guess that's what I get for telling her that I needed a story idea. Thanks, my friend! Feedback is greatly appreciated! Comments please to stonyland@bigfoot.com. THE FEELING REMAINS by Alice in Stonyland Methos was driving down the road with the radio cranked up when the song began playing. The haunting piano, the swell of the strings, the wailing guitar and Steven Tyler's voice...and Methos's vision blurred as the image of Alexa, laughing as he tried to explain how much better Aerosmith's "Dream On" was than a waltz, formed in his head. His blood soared with the unbidden recollection. As if she was sitting on the seat next to him, he could feel her quiet strength of spirit, the soft touch of her hand on his thigh as he drove, the floral scent of the soap she preferred... He breathed deeply, trying to clear his watery vision, not wanting to get into an accident. Vividly aware that his emotions were too volatile at the moment to continue driving, he decided to pull off to the side of the road and let the memory take hold. The image formed with crystal clarity, and Methos felt the tears start to form. He told himself that he would only indulge this memory a moment. Any longer, and he would have to completely alter his plans for this beautiful mid-summer day. He knew he was lying to himself even as he thought the words. He wasn't expected anywhere, and his plans consisted of driving until he got tired and then stopping wherever he ended up. Heart aching with the memories, he wanted nothing more than to believe he'd get over her in time, but he knew better. The truly remarkable ones never let you really forget. Though he'd never say it aloud, he recognized the fact that he didn't *want* to forget. To forget was to take away the memory of a joy that had brightened his life more than it had been lit in longer than he cared to count. Gods, he missed her. He'd known he would be hurt by her death, but this sudden, sharp reminder of that precious time brought all the emotion into vivid focus. He closed his green-brown eyes and let himself remember Vienna in midwinter .... * "What is this music?" Alexa whispered as they walked past the ballroom towards their hotel suite. Her ocean blue eyes were wide in disbelief as the melody wafted through the half-cracked ballroom door. "A waltz," he informed her. "Singularly appropriate for oh, Vienna, and Duncan MacLeod." She giggled. "Adam! Must you continually insult someone who isn't here to defend himself?" He quirked a brow at her. "Okay, so let's do something else." He paused, taking the moment to drink in the sound of her laughter, the bright spark in her eyes. Her cheeks still held the flush of the winter wind that had driven them inside after touring the old city for the better part of the day. They'd walked for hours in the cold air, their breath freezing on the window panes as they window-shopped and commented on everything. She wore one of his old leather jackets with casual familiarity, and he thought again of how much better the battered coat looked on her than it had on him. Her hand was soft and warm in his own sword-callused one. She was so beautiful to him it made his soul ache -- strong and yet so delicate, innocent and yet so much more aware than he would've guessed. For this instant, he could forget she was more mortal than most, could pretend that one day he wouldn't wake up alone again, without her smile and strength of spirit to inspire him. He'd known the moment he'd seen her that his heart had been caught, but in the weeks since they'd left Seacouver, he'd come to realize just how deeply she'd taken it. Her dying was in every breath she took, every second she shared with him, every move she made. He wanted to rail against Fate, that mercurial goddess and her twisted sense of timing, but practicality overruled. He knew instinctively that made accepting it all harder. Already he loved her too much to let her go, and they'd only been together a handful of weeks. Some part of him wanted to deny the depth of feeling, wanted to delay the inevitable, but he silenced the conflicting emotions. For this moment in time, he wanted to forget that all that confusion, all that cursing of Fate , and revel in the nearly overwhelming surge of love he felt. They had *now*. For Alexa, that was all the time they had left in the world, and he was going to make the most of it, no matter the cost. How could one woman make him feel this way? Methos had loved so many others in the past, but they weren't Alexa. The enormity of that fact staggered him when he chose to think about it. Words failed to describe how powerful and deep his love for her went. He knew he'd never forget her. A million years would go by and he would still be loving her. She'd touched a piece of his soul he'd thought he'd left behind on some forgotten knife-edge of existence when he'd had to choose between survival and caring too much. The gift she'd given him in doing so was at once humbling and painful and precious. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be this impulsive, this carefree, this in awe of places he'd gotten used to dismissing without a second thought. "What?" she asked him now, and he realized he'd been caught staring. Impulsively, he kissed her, saying with his lips what he could not vocalize in words. His hands tangled in her long brown hair, feeling the silky weight wind through his fingers. She leaned into the kiss, her hands slipping down his back in a clear indication that she wanted more, but he held back, not wanting to frighten her with the depth of his emotion. Still, both were breathless when he ended the kiss. "You know," he told her, picking up the conversational thread, "I hate waltzes." "Oh?" Disappointment at the brief but intense kiss laid a light veil over her innate curiosity. "And what would you prefer then?" He didn't hesitate. "Aerosmith. 'Dream On'." He looked at her earnestly. She goggled at him. "You aren't serious," she accused. "Waltzes have violins. 'Dream On' has violins, but they enhance rather than detract from the song," he began, ticking the points off on his free hand. He kept the other firmly clasped in hers. She giggled, but listened attentively to his comparison as they made their way back to their suite. * The image faded like a TV scene dissolving to black, leaving him a lonely old man with far too many memories of people he'd loved who'd gone to dust, and of one woman in particular. He'd known from the start the risk his heart had been taking, but that hadn't stopped it from breaking when she'd died. He hadn't expected being surprised by her death, either. He didn't even want to think about his desperate attempt for the Methuselah Stone, didn't want to contemplate just how close he'd been. Playing what if scenarios only dredged out the pain. He preferred to remember her easy laughter, her strong spirit, her completely honest love for him, and the gift her presence in his life had been. He hadn't even realized what he'd been missing until she'd stepped into his life. Life had gone on without her, but for him, it wasn't the same, would never again be the same. She was gone, but the feeling he had for her remained. He glanced over at the empty seat beside him, a sad smile crossing his lips. With a heavy sigh, he let the memory go, releasing like a balloon of melancholy. He checked the road for any oncoming traffic, and pulled back onto the blacktop as the radio played a new song. As if in sympathy for his feelings, the sky darkened with the promise of heavenly tears. We walked in the cold air Freezing breath on a window pane Lying and waiting The man in the dark in a picture frame So mystic and soulful A voice reaching out in a piercing cry It stays with you until The feeling has gone only you and I It means nothing to me This means nothing to me Oh, Vienna The music is weaving Haunting notes, pizzicato strings The rhythm is calling Alone in the night as the daylight brings A cool empty silence The warmth of your hand and a cold grey sky It fades to the distance The image has gone only you and I It means nothing to me This means nothing to me Oh, Vienna This means nothing to me This means nothing to me Oh, Vienna Finis