Happy Holidays, jinxed_wood!
Title: Intentional and Deliberate
Author: There's a Sith Under the Tree
Real Author Name: morgynleri_fic
Written for: jinxed_wood
Characters/Pairings: Rebecca Horne, Methos, mentions of others
Rating: General Audiences
Author's Notes: I apologize for the brevity, and hope you enjoy it regardless!
Summary: Exposure isn't a question of if any longer. It's a question of when and how and by whom.
It is intentional, deliberate, and dangerous, what they choose to do. Some will call them brave, some will call them foolish, and many will call them any number of synonyms for traitor. But if they do not do this, someone else will - and that person may not be Immortal, may not be sympathetic, may not be willing to face the real dangers that telling the world Immortals exist will bring.
"I would think you among the first to call this the most stupid thing you'd ever heard, Methos." Rebecca's fingers are utterly still on the smooth surface of the controls, her gaze fixed on the static image of a blue-and-white planet that occupies the screen rather than on the man who is lounging in the other chair.
"I did call it stupid." Methos sounds far too amused, and Rebecca can't help smiling in response. "That was before MacLeod decided to take off for parts unknown."
"Amanda said you suggested kidnapping him and putting him on a ship with no means of disengaging the auto-pilot."
"It means he'll live, doesn't it?"
Rebecca would have to grant that, but she's not entirely sure she likes Methos making the decision for MacLeod. For any of them. But isn't what she's doing the same idea? Taking the decision out of the hands of individuals and making it for all of them.
"He'll be fine, since he's not alone on that particular bucket." Methos sighs, and sits up enough to be visible in her peripheral vision. "Everyone we love is safely off Earth, and have all the tools they need to survive the mortals with them learning the truth." He is watching her with an expression that brings to mind how old they both are. Old enough to remember when they could easily be worshipped as gods - and some Immortals were. Revered as much as they were feared.
They are the oldest of them left, their students succumbed to time or madness, their remaining friends all millennia younger.
Perhaps they too are some little part mad, but theirs is a madness of survival, the incongruity of those who change without changing. Always adapting to what mortals make of the world, but never forgetting how to be what the world once made of them.
Rebecca takes a deep breath, keying in the instructions to the computer that will spread information across the globe that Immortals fear escaping. That will be sent speeding toward ships that travel ever outward and to colonies settled on the marginally habitable planets and moons of their own system. Revealing the depth of living memory, if not the names of those who bear it.
She drops back into her seat, drawing in a deep breath before she lets it out slowly. It is done, and all she can do now is watch the world and manage the fall out.
Methos wraps a hand around hers, and Rebecca takes it gladly, fingers sliding over familiar calluses before lacing between long fingers. She is not alone, and they will, all of them, survive this, as they have survived everything else the world has thrown at them.
END
Author: There's a Sith Under the Tree
Real Author Name: morgynleri_fic
Written for: jinxed_wood
Characters/Pairings: Rebecca Horne, Methos, mentions of others
Rating: General Audiences
Author's Notes: I apologize for the brevity, and hope you enjoy it regardless!
Summary: Exposure isn't a question of if any longer. It's a question of when and how and by whom.
It is intentional, deliberate, and dangerous, what they choose to do. Some will call them brave, some will call them foolish, and many will call them any number of synonyms for traitor. But if they do not do this, someone else will - and that person may not be Immortal, may not be sympathetic, may not be willing to face the real dangers that telling the world Immortals exist will bring.
"I would think you among the first to call this the most stupid thing you'd ever heard, Methos." Rebecca's fingers are utterly still on the smooth surface of the controls, her gaze fixed on the static image of a blue-and-white planet that occupies the screen rather than on the man who is lounging in the other chair.
"I did call it stupid." Methos sounds far too amused, and Rebecca can't help smiling in response. "That was before MacLeod decided to take off for parts unknown."
"Amanda said you suggested kidnapping him and putting him on a ship with no means of disengaging the auto-pilot."
"It means he'll live, doesn't it?"
Rebecca would have to grant that, but she's not entirely sure she likes Methos making the decision for MacLeod. For any of them. But isn't what she's doing the same idea? Taking the decision out of the hands of individuals and making it for all of them.
"He'll be fine, since he's not alone on that particular bucket." Methos sighs, and sits up enough to be visible in her peripheral vision. "Everyone we love is safely off Earth, and have all the tools they need to survive the mortals with them learning the truth." He is watching her with an expression that brings to mind how old they both are. Old enough to remember when they could easily be worshipped as gods - and some Immortals were. Revered as much as they were feared.
They are the oldest of them left, their students succumbed to time or madness, their remaining friends all millennia younger.
Perhaps they too are some little part mad, but theirs is a madness of survival, the incongruity of those who change without changing. Always adapting to what mortals make of the world, but never forgetting how to be what the world once made of them.
Rebecca takes a deep breath, keying in the instructions to the computer that will spread information across the globe that Immortals fear escaping. That will be sent speeding toward ships that travel ever outward and to colonies settled on the marginally habitable planets and moons of their own system. Revealing the depth of living memory, if not the names of those who bear it.
She drops back into her seat, drawing in a deep breath before she lets it out slowly. It is done, and all she can do now is watch the world and manage the fall out.
Methos wraps a hand around hers, and Rebecca takes it gladly, fingers sliding over familiar calluses before lacing between long fingers. She is not alone, and they will, all of them, survive this, as they have survived everything else the world has thrown at them.
END