He hadn't intended to come back here. The plan was to go out as far as everyone needed to go to either find the Grail or satisfy themselves that it wasn't here, and then... keep going. Don't look back
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She's kept to herself when she isn't trailing the Wesley who isn't and who never will be her Wesley, not even if he catches up in years to his other self. She can't turn him into that person.
Well.
Perhaps she could. But she won't.
She senses the familar presence before the knock comes, but absence has become habit, and it takes her a moment to register the recognition she feels. The slight confusion expresses itself in a tiny frown that's still in place when she opens the door.
She blinks at him, not quite surprised, but... not anything else she can name, either.
That was obvious. Illyria had a way of stating the obvious, but this was more than her usual. She says it simply, without any of her too-cold precision or anything judgmental in the observation, when nearly every word from her lips carried judgment on something or other.
She doesn't know why she's almost but not quite surprised.
It was so human she could've laughed, if she did such things aloud. So very, very human, so much of everything she'd willfully set herself apart from, even more in these recent weeks. That woman's death -- she hadn't even known her name -- had affected her strangely. Not the way Wesley's had, not even the same way Methos' temporary deaths sometimes did, when she wasn't causing them herself. But strangely.
"I was..."
(concerned?)
"I thought you might not return."
And she nearly reaches out to him, nearly wants to touch, to convince herself he's real. But she doesn't. Her hand moves from the doorframe and only hesitates for a second before she simply drops it. A flicker of hesitation -- but it's there.
"Believe me, I considered it. I had so many reasons lined up in my mind to just keep walking when everyone else turned back. But I missed you. I wanted to see you again. And that was enough to overrule everything else."
He chuckles ruefully at himself.
"Being away from you was harder than I ever thought it would be. And I know how stupidly human that sounds. Can I come in?"
Methos walks in and closes the door behind him softly, then leans back against it. He takes another deep breath, inhaling the scent of the familiar room, and it suddenly feels both as though he'd never left and as though he'd been away for a thousand years.
"How have things been around here while we were gone? Mostly quiet, I hope?"
His head shakes just slightly. What a stupid thing to ask. Pointless small talk, as though that had ever been part of their usual rapport.
"There was always talk about that one, mostly from Zuko. Figured it was just a matter of time before she tried something. But a trial, though? How remarkably progressive of the man."
He almost bursts out laughing at that picture -- Illyria in a jury box, listening as the facts of a case are unnecessarily laid out before her.
"I'm sorry I missed it."
The room falls back into silence as the small talk dies away. Neither of them were ever interested in such mundanities anyway. Instead, Methos just leans against the door, watching her.
If he could, he would try to convey telepathically to her just how strong the urge was within him at this moment to simply rush forward and wrap his arms around her, weave his fingers through her hair, lay his cheek against hers, and tell her over and over again how he'd missed her. But it's a power he doesn't have, so he simply continues to watch.
Illyria was rather sorry he missed it, too. Though she wouldn't know how to express it in those terms. Or in any, really.
She merely looks at him, watches him watching her, her expression still curiously intent, as if trying to work out the puzzle that shouldn't have been so complicated. She'd been apart from human emotions for long enough that they'd faded, become confusing again.
The question pulls him out of his reverie. He has to mentally rewind the conversation to realize that she'd asked him a question at all.
"In a manner of speaking," he finally says when his brain catches up. "Parsifal says it's the Grail, but it's just as polluted as everything else. Bound to the elements, he says. As the planet recovers, the Grail will too, but for now it doesn't have the power that we'd hoped it would."
Absently, like she half means herself, and knows she does.
This was strange, and akward, and she didn't know why it should be. She wasn't susceptible to things like awkwardness. Perhaps she was just picking up on his emotions. That happened if she wasn't careful, if she let her senses pick up too much in their attempts to analyze the people around her. Emotions were something she had to willfully block out rather than allow in, it seemed.
"This is... strange."
She never was one to refrain from speaking her mind. Not so long as it was something that held no deep meaning to her.
Well.
Perhaps she could. But she won't.
She senses the familar presence before the knock comes, but absence has become habit, and it takes her a moment to register the recognition she feels. The slight confusion expresses itself in a tiny frown that's still in place when she opens the door.
She blinks at him, not quite surprised, but... not anything else she can name, either.
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"Hi."
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That was obvious. Illyria had a way of stating the obvious, but this was more than her usual. She says it simply, without any of her too-cold precision or anything judgmental in the observation, when nearly every word from her lips carried judgment on something or other.
She doesn't know why she's almost but not quite surprised.
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A deep breath.
"I missed you."
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It was so human she could've laughed, if she did such things aloud. So very, very human, so much of everything she'd willfully set herself apart from, even more in these recent weeks. That woman's death -- she hadn't even known her name -- had affected her strangely. Not the way Wesley's had, not even the same way Methos' temporary deaths sometimes did, when she wasn't causing them herself. But strangely.
"I was..."
(concerned?)
"I thought you might not return."
And she nearly reaches out to him, nearly wants to touch, to convince herself he's real. But she doesn't. Her hand moves from the doorframe and only hesitates for a second before she simply drops it. A flicker of hesitation -- but it's there.
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He chuckles ruefully at himself.
"Being away from you was harder than I ever thought it would be. And I know how stupidly human that sounds. Can I come in?"
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"It sounds..."
She considers, tilting her head and watching him more intently than she would've normally. If there was a normally.
"Human, yes."
Not stupidly. She was once a goddess, after all. She ought to overrule everything else.
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"How have things been around here while we were gone? Mostly quiet, I hope?"
His head shakes just slightly. What a stupid thing to ask. Pointless small talk, as though that had ever been part of their usual rapport.
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That's about all she can say for any of it.
"Things happened as they do. A woman died. Red hair. No name. Illness, not accident."
The way she spoke of it, clipped and precise, belied whatever else she may have felt about the nameless woman.
"That child Azula, Zuko's sibling, was put on trial for an attempt on the life of Melaka's offspring."
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"There was always talk about that one, mostly from Zuko. Figured it was just a matter of time before she tried something. But a trial, though? How remarkably progressive of the man."
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She may look slightly amused at the next revelation.
"They had the sense to place me on the jury, though it was hardly the kind of judgment I am used to passing upon others."
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"I'm sorry I missed it."
The room falls back into silence as the small talk dies away. Neither of them were ever interested in such mundanities anyway. Instead, Methos just leans against the door, watching her.
If he could, he would try to convey telepathically to her just how strong the urge was within him at this moment to simply rush forward and wrap his arms around her, weave his fingers through her hair, lay his cheek against hers, and tell her over and over again how he'd missed her. But it's a power he doesn't have, so he simply continues to watch.
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She merely looks at him, watches him watching her, her expression still curiously intent, as if trying to work out the puzzle that shouldn't have been so complicated. She'd been apart from human emotions for long enough that they'd faded, become confusing again.
"Did you find what you went in search of?"
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"In a manner of speaking," he finally says when his brain catches up. "Parsifal says it's the Grail, but it's just as polluted as everything else. Bound to the elements, he says. As the planet recovers, the Grail will too, but for now it doesn't have the power that we'd hoped it would."
Reply
Absently, like she half means herself, and knows she does.
This was strange, and akward, and she didn't know why it should be. She wasn't susceptible to things like awkwardness. Perhaps she was just picking up on his emotions. That happened if she wasn't careful, if she let her senses pick up too much in their attempts to analyze the people around her. Emotions were something she had to willfully block out rather than allow in, it seemed.
"This is... strange."
She never was one to refrain from speaking her mind. Not so long as it was something that held no deep meaning to her.
"Things are different, I think."
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"Different how?"
Had he waited too long already? Was there nothing here to come back to?
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