DISCLAIMER: This humble offering of Highlander fan fiction was written
for my own benefit and I received no profit (growl) for any of it
(although I really think we fan fic writers should receive *something*
for our troubles...). Nothing within the entire Highlander: the series
universe belongs to me or anyone I know, and I’ll return every single
one of the Highlander characters safe and sound (although I do have a
feeling I may hang onto a certain 5000-year old immortal with a really
cute nose for awhile longer than the rest...but can you blame me?)

DISCLAIMER #2: I also do not own the music or lyrics to “Iris” by the
Goo Goo Dolls, but as stated before, I made no money, blah, blah,
blah...

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Yes, yes, I know - Alexa died long before “Iris” by the
Goo Goo Dolls came out, but it was just too perfect, so let’s just
pretend that the song came out earlier, all-righty?
---------------------------------------------------------------------

Pain and Memories
by Tiffany Baer


“Oh! ye whose dead lie buried beneath the green grass; who standing
among flowers can say-- here, here lies my beloved; ye know not the
desolation that broods in bosoms like these. What bitter blanks in
those black-bordered marbles which cover no ashes! What despair in
those immovable inscriptions! What deadly voids and unbidden
infidelities in the lines that seem to gnaw upon all Faith, and refuse
resurrections to the beings who have placelessly perished without a
grave.”
-Herman Melville, “Moby Dick”

The wind bit at his skin, stinging it almost as much as the tears that
slid noiselessly down his cheeks did, the mere strength of the gusts
threatening to bring him to his knees. Why did he continue to do this
when he knew how it would end each time? Why risk being broken and
ripped apart piece by piece by the pain of loss, left alone with
nothing but memories and funeral arrangements, and for what? A few
months - a few years, if you were lucky - of happiness? A fraction of
an second of love for an eternity of pain? Was it worth it? Methos
knew the answer, had known it each time Alexa’s eyes focused on him
and he saw her deep, inexplicable love for him beneath them, each time
her frail, bony hand reached out for his when the pain was too great
for her to bear - and he had known from the moment he laid eyes on her
in Joe’s that day that he would give eternity to be with her...he
would give up anything, his emotions, his love, his life, just to
exchange a few moments of mutual love with her.

He’d gotten his moments, brief as they’d been, and now there was
nothing but pain and remembrance...but for some reason, Methos
couldn’t separate the two, because the pain was hopelessly intertwined
with all the memories - he couldn’t think of Alexa or the love and the
bond they’d shared without feeling the pain of his loss immediately
afterwards. Why did it always have to be this way?

‘Because that’s the way it is, Old Man, the way it’s always been and
always will be. You have to make a choice,’ he told himself firmly,
raising a trembling hand to the side of his face to brush away the
tears that refused to stop coming. ‘Either you love and take the pain,
or feel nothing at all...’

He wasn’t sure which was worse, but right now all Methos wanted was to
be emotionless...to have his mind numbed and the pain fade...but that
could never happen now, because if he gave up the pain, he gave up the
memories, and he didn’t want to lose Alexa again.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...”

How many times had he heard those same words spoken by a similar man
wearing a similar garb in a similar cemetery? To count them would be
meaningless, because there were so many that they blurred together
until it seemed as if all he felt was pain. He had mourned for so many
mortals, so many lovers, wives, and friends, wiped forever from this
world, many of them left nowhere but in his mind, in his memories...it
was a hell of a burden, even for the world’s oldest man.

He just wished she had known him for who he was, not for who he
pretended to be. There were moments when she would call his name, her
voice echoing across the timeless sands of the beach or the crumbling
ancient ruins or an art museum, and he had nearly caved and admitted
to his real identity. Just to hear her say “Methos” one time - just
ONE TIME - he’d have given up so much. In the dark moments, when he
was alone with no one but himself with no beer to numb his overactive
brain, he wondered if she loved Adam or Methos - could she see him? He
had worked for so long to hide his true self from the vision of
others, and although hundreds of thousands of people had looked at him
in his lifetime, it seemed as if none of them could actually *see*
him, none could see past the mask he’d turned his face and his
emotions into. Had Alexa been able to see Methos, or had her eyes
simply fallen upon the man who rested on the surface - had she been in
love with the man, or the myth?

‘Am I the only one who sees the irony in that?’ he wondered, his
usual, badly-timed humor appearing from the dark recesses of his
pain-filled mind. ‘All this time, so many have classified Methos as a
myth and Adam Pierson as a man, when in actuality, it’s the other way
around.’

It took all of his strength to stay for the entire funeral - every
bone in his body was shrieking for him to get out of there, to run
away and disappear, to hide from what he knew came next.

He could practically hear them now, their voices dripping with false
sympathy, faces contorted uncomfortably as they tried to cheer him up
- as if that was actually possible. They would say things like: “Adam
- I’m so sorry...” and “Alexa was a great woman...” or the ever
popular, “I’m sorry for your loss...”

The very second the ceremony was done, he fled to his car, rolled up
the drivers side window, and peeled out of the cemetery before any of
his “concerned friends” could make a move to express their
“sympathies.”

The radio was on - it must’ve been on during the trip here, as well,
but he hadn’t noticed it. He smiled faintly. Alexa had loved music so
much - she’d once told him jokingly that she hoped at least some of
the good bands had gone to heaven, because she wasn’t sure if she
could live without great music for very long, even in death. The smile
faded as the thought completed itself and he remembered that now she
was gone...pain and memories intertwined again, and Methos promised
himself he’d get very, very drunk the moment he got home.

Desperately wanting to keep his mind off Alexa, Methos tried to focus
on the music playing on the radio, tried to block out the memories
with the momentary distraction that music could provide. His breath
caught in his lungs and he nearly swerved off the road as the lyrics
to the song playing penetrated the thick fog that surrounded his weary
mind.

And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest thing to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

He heard his thoughts sung in this mournful, hopeful, truthful song
that echoed his feelings so precisely that he could say nothing at all
- could think nothing. The words continued, ringing in his ears with
all the weight and pain that he’d thought no one in the world younger
than five thousand years could understand...

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything seems like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know your alive

Methos stared at the radio face with wonder, unable to comprehend what
he’d just heard. How could anyone - especially a mortal songwriter -
be able to hit it this close to the mark, be able to reach into his
heart - into his soul - and drag out the truth of the situation so
easily?

The song ended, then, and Methos discovered that he’d driven too far
and had passed his apartment. Three blocks and an illegal U-turn later
and he was pulling into the driveway of the apartment he owned in
Paris, one of the homes he’d deemed “safe” - Alexa had never been to
this apartment, none of her memories were there, the scent of her
perfume and her shampoo didn’t linger in the air, he couldn’t smell
her on the pillows and the sheets as he could in other apartments of
his, and there were no remnants of her belongings scattered throughout
the rooms. Her clothing was not in his laundry basket, her collection
of music was not here to taunt him with all the dances they could have
shared if only they’d had more time.

“I’d give up forever to touch you just once more,” he whispered to the
empty apartment, standing on the threshold unmoving, door still open
behind him. “...you’re the closest to heaven that I’ve ever been, and
I don’t want to go home right now...”

He stepped inside the apartment that Alexa had never visited, for some
reason half expecting her to be standing in front of him - he could
practically feel her touch, hear her soft voice whispering in his ear,
see her small, frail, fragile form as clearly as if she were sitting
on the sofa in the center of the livingroom before him.

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

‘But, I do miss you, Alexa. I do.’

The long, graceful fingers on his right hand caressed the gold band
encircling his ring finger, slid across the smooth surface that
symbolized everything that could have been between them, all the years
they could’ve had, the laughs they could have shared, the flame that
could have burned brightly for so much longer...

‘Just another of life’s little ironies,’ he thought bitterly, tossing
his coat on the floor. ‘Here I am, immortal, given eternity to exist,
and time is the one thing that I don’t seem to have enough of.’

He leaned forward on the couch and placed his head in his hands,
willing the tears not to come but realizing they were, anyway. “Why
didn’t I tell you?” he sobbed to the empty room. “Why did I let you
love this person - this lie - when we had so little time?”

He lay on his back on the sofa, still fully clothed, boots still
adorning his feet, and soon managed to cry himself into the first
sleep he’d had in weeks. As he slipped off into an uneasy and restless
doze, the last lines of the song that clarified every feeling he’d
ever had about Alexa echoed through his brain.

I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

I just want you to know who I am...

*****************************  FINIS   *****************************

Questions, comments, criticisms? Email me at Methos2345@aol.com