'I Remember You Not Fondly' (15/20)
Go me! Two parts posted this week. The muse is being very cooperative, albeit scary, but whatever works. I hope you enjoy it, and in case you were wondering, yes, we're finally reaching the end. Only a few more parts to go. I appreciate you sticking with me this far, so thank you.
Rating: R for violence & non-consensual sex.
Notes: A story in the Bloodties series, set in the Star Trek future/time line, but no ST characters, just the 'Mirror, Mirror' concept.
Characters: Methos, Duncan MacLeod, MirrorMethos, Kronos, Silas, Lucien LaCroix, Original Characters
Summary: When Methos' past becomes part of the present, the consequences could be deadly for those close to him.
If you're new to the series, you can find an overview here.
_____________________
I Remember You Not Fondly ~ Part Fifteen
Triona pressed up against the bulkhead at the very edge of the bed, while the man who wore her husband’s face poured dark amber liquid into a glass. She was surprised when he reached across the bed to hand the glass to her.
As if enjoying some private joke, he explained, “You look like you could use a drink.”
Not arguing, she took a gulp of the contents. Saurian Brandy. The fiery liquid scorched her insides like molten glass. She’d never liked the stuff, but even the temporary effects of the potent alcohol were better than nothing. Taking another swallow, she closed her eyes, feeling the heat crawl up her belly into her throat. Bringing the glass back to her lips, she realized with some surprise that it was already empty.
As she looked down at the empty glass in her hand, he sat on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand. “More?” Not waiting for a response, he refilled the glass.
This time, she sipped. He trailed a finger down across her cheek before getting up and walking to the small table across from the bed, setting down the bottle. But instead of coming back, he sat down on the chair across from her.
Triona was absurdly thankful for the robe he’d given her to wear, even though she knew it was all part of the process of breaking her down. Make her grateful for the smallest kindnesses, while instilling fear of pain and punishment for any transgressions. Keeping her constantly on the edge of fear and uncertainty. She took another drink. Stockholm Syndrome a little voice whispered in warning. No, it was too soon for that. Wasn’t it? Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her thoughts. It was just exhaustion and trauma. That was all it was. The thought of feeling dependent on him made her ill. She just needed to keep it together a little longer.
His voice, surprisingly gentle, interrupted her uneasy thoughts. “Tell me what it’s like.”
Shaking her head, she looked over at him in confusion. “What?”
“Feeding on the blood of another human. What is it like?” He looked at her intently.
“It’s…” Triona blinked several times, trying to understand what he was asking; why he was asking. But rational thought seemed to elude her.
“Is it like a quickening?” he asked, his voice still soft but full of curiosity.
She tried again. “It’s better; so much better. You drown in feeling, in emotion, in life.” Triona sighed softly, remembering. "There is nothing that equals it."
“But for you, there has to be a quickening to trigger the vampire that dwells in you.”
Old anger and bitterness welled up at his words, clearing her head for a moment. “Yes! I’m a mistake -- a freak of nature! Is that what you wanted to hear?” She took another gulp of the brandy, absently wondering why on earth she had revealed something so intensely personal to a man she hated.
“Freak?” Now he was sitting next to her, stroking her hair. “On the contrary, Triona. Is that what he’s made you think of yourself? Nothing,” he leaned in to kiss her, “could be further from the truth.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered, closing her eyes, trying to stop the spinning in her head. Alcohol on an empty stomach. Yes, that's what it was.
“Isn’t it?” His voice drew her away from the uncertainty and doubt. “Have you ever given him anything but pleasure when you’ve fed from him? Haven’t you always shared your very essence with him?”
“Yes…” Then she shook her head. "No... It’s not that simple,” she protested.
“Ah, little one.” His voice was heavy with regret. “If only you could see the possibilities your nature offers outside the constraints he’s placed upon you. If you could only experience the freedom!”
Triona remembered what it felt like; Methos’ blood singing in her veins, in her soul. The pure pleasure that both of them had shared in those very rare instances. It was during those moments she felt whole, at one with herself and with him. But for too many years, she'd carried so much guilt and regret about her nature that it was hard to remember it wasn't always an evil.
“The power of death itself,” he said softly, as if sharing a secret. “How could he not want to embrace that?”
This was wrong. Triona struggled against the hypnotic voice at her ear, trying to grasp the frayed edges of her self. Then her eyes fell on the glass she still held in her hand, and a cold trickle of fear ran down her spine. Drugged. “No,” she panted, dropping it. The remains of the brandy spilled, splashing across the bed, the scent of it choking her. “No!” There was a part of her that tried to fight, to pull away, but whatever he’d given her had sapped her will, and all that was left was the knowledge that she was totally helpless.
He grasped her chin, tilting her head up to search her eyes. “Yes, I think that’s done it,” he said to himself. “Don’t want to give you too much. You’re no good to me unconscious, after all.” He pushed her hair back from her face. “Don’t fret, Triona. Think of it as a compliment. You’re far too dangerous for me not to take… precautions.”
“Precautions?” she repeated,
“Until now, you’ve had reason to behave. But our relationship has reached a point where that’s no longer true. I need to make sure you remain compliant.”
“I don’t understand.” A fog had once more settled over her thoughts. She tried to focus, to fight the effect of the drug he’d given her.
“Don’t bother, little one. You can’t overcome it. In fact, the effects will only get stronger as it works through your bloodstream.”
“But why?” Her voice sounded very far away to her own ears.
“Why? Haven’t you figured it out yet? But no, of course you wouldn’t have - not quite yourself, are you?” Chuckling at his own wit, he stood, looming over her like a specter. The words from his lips fell like a sword of doom. “You see, I won’t be going back, and you’re going to tell me everything I need to know to slip into your universe; into his life.”
Though sheer terror washed over her, it had no outlet. It was as trapped in her mind as she was. Triona could feel the inexorable march of the drug as each moment passed. “No, I won’t.” She was barely even able to form the words of her defiance, but somehow, she got them out.
“Now, Triona, haven’t you learned the consequences of disobedience yet? I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you persist in being uncooperative.”
“No!” she hissed. Triona knew without a doubt that if this mirror version of Methos were to get close to her family and friends, death would follow.
"You are the stubborn one." He sighed with mock sadness. “The drug I gave you is just a primer, you might say; a base to build upon.” Walking back to the table where he’d left the brandy, he reached into a bag, pulling out a hypospray. Turning back to her, he continued. “This is my masterpiece, if I can be so immodest. The first drug can be disseminated in the water supply, or in food rations. It's very useful in subduing slaves, or quelling rebellious inclinations in conquered territories. But this,” he waved the hypospray, “this is what makes it special.”
Leaning over, he grabbed her, pulling her to him before injecting the drug into her arm. “It attaches itself to the first drug, modifying it. Then, it affects the neural receptors. It enhances both pleasure and pain.”
He watched with clinical detachment as she fell back onto the bed, overcome by the drug's assault on her central nervous system. "But you and I both know that it's pain we're interested in today, don't we?"
"I won't help you," she choked out.
"You will." His voice was cold as stone. "It may take some time, but everyone can be broken; even you. You can be courageous and defy me, but in the end, it will be for nothing, because you will suffer, and then, you will submit."
He pulled a knife from his boot. "One last chance, little one." She didn't answer, just turned her head away. "In that case, shall we begin?"
Part One ][ Part Two ][ Part Three ][ Part Four ][ Part Five ][ Part Six ][ Part Seven ][ Part Eight ][ Part Nine ][ Part Ten ][ Part Eleven ][ Part Twelve ][ Part Thirteen ][ Part Fourteen ][ Part Fifteen ][ Part Sixteen ][
Part Seventeen ][ Part Eighteen ][ Part Nineteen ][ Part Twenty
Rating: R for violence & non-consensual sex.
Notes: A story in the Bloodties series, set in the Star Trek future/time line, but no ST characters, just the 'Mirror, Mirror' concept.
Characters: Methos, Duncan MacLeod, MirrorMethos, Kronos, Silas, Lucien LaCroix, Original Characters
Summary: When Methos' past becomes part of the present, the consequences could be deadly for those close to him.
If you're new to the series, you can find an overview here.
_____________________
I Remember You Not Fondly ~ Part Fifteen
Triona pressed up against the bulkhead at the very edge of the bed, while the man who wore her husband’s face poured dark amber liquid into a glass. She was surprised when he reached across the bed to hand the glass to her.
As if enjoying some private joke, he explained, “You look like you could use a drink.”
Not arguing, she took a gulp of the contents. Saurian Brandy. The fiery liquid scorched her insides like molten glass. She’d never liked the stuff, but even the temporary effects of the potent alcohol were better than nothing. Taking another swallow, she closed her eyes, feeling the heat crawl up her belly into her throat. Bringing the glass back to her lips, she realized with some surprise that it was already empty.
As she looked down at the empty glass in her hand, he sat on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand. “More?” Not waiting for a response, he refilled the glass.
This time, she sipped. He trailed a finger down across her cheek before getting up and walking to the small table across from the bed, setting down the bottle. But instead of coming back, he sat down on the chair across from her.
Triona was absurdly thankful for the robe he’d given her to wear, even though she knew it was all part of the process of breaking her down. Make her grateful for the smallest kindnesses, while instilling fear of pain and punishment for any transgressions. Keeping her constantly on the edge of fear and uncertainty. She took another drink. Stockholm Syndrome a little voice whispered in warning. No, it was too soon for that. Wasn’t it? Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her thoughts. It was just exhaustion and trauma. That was all it was. The thought of feeling dependent on him made her ill. She just needed to keep it together a little longer.
His voice, surprisingly gentle, interrupted her uneasy thoughts. “Tell me what it’s like.”
Shaking her head, she looked over at him in confusion. “What?”
“Feeding on the blood of another human. What is it like?” He looked at her intently.
“It’s…” Triona blinked several times, trying to understand what he was asking; why he was asking. But rational thought seemed to elude her.
“Is it like a quickening?” he asked, his voice still soft but full of curiosity.
She tried again. “It’s better; so much better. You drown in feeling, in emotion, in life.” Triona sighed softly, remembering. "There is nothing that equals it."
“But for you, there has to be a quickening to trigger the vampire that dwells in you.”
Old anger and bitterness welled up at his words, clearing her head for a moment. “Yes! I’m a mistake -- a freak of nature! Is that what you wanted to hear?” She took another gulp of the brandy, absently wondering why on earth she had revealed something so intensely personal to a man she hated.
“Freak?” Now he was sitting next to her, stroking her hair. “On the contrary, Triona. Is that what he’s made you think of yourself? Nothing,” he leaned in to kiss her, “could be further from the truth.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered, closing her eyes, trying to stop the spinning in her head. Alcohol on an empty stomach. Yes, that's what it was.
“Isn’t it?” His voice drew her away from the uncertainty and doubt. “Have you ever given him anything but pleasure when you’ve fed from him? Haven’t you always shared your very essence with him?”
“Yes…” Then she shook her head. "No... It’s not that simple,” she protested.
“Ah, little one.” His voice was heavy with regret. “If only you could see the possibilities your nature offers outside the constraints he’s placed upon you. If you could only experience the freedom!”
Triona remembered what it felt like; Methos’ blood singing in her veins, in her soul. The pure pleasure that both of them had shared in those very rare instances. It was during those moments she felt whole, at one with herself and with him. But for too many years, she'd carried so much guilt and regret about her nature that it was hard to remember it wasn't always an evil.
“The power of death itself,” he said softly, as if sharing a secret. “How could he not want to embrace that?”
This was wrong. Triona struggled against the hypnotic voice at her ear, trying to grasp the frayed edges of her self. Then her eyes fell on the glass she still held in her hand, and a cold trickle of fear ran down her spine. Drugged. “No,” she panted, dropping it. The remains of the brandy spilled, splashing across the bed, the scent of it choking her. “No!” There was a part of her that tried to fight, to pull away, but whatever he’d given her had sapped her will, and all that was left was the knowledge that she was totally helpless.
He grasped her chin, tilting her head up to search her eyes. “Yes, I think that’s done it,” he said to himself. “Don’t want to give you too much. You’re no good to me unconscious, after all.” He pushed her hair back from her face. “Don’t fret, Triona. Think of it as a compliment. You’re far too dangerous for me not to take… precautions.”
“Precautions?” she repeated,
“Until now, you’ve had reason to behave. But our relationship has reached a point where that’s no longer true. I need to make sure you remain compliant.”
“I don’t understand.” A fog had once more settled over her thoughts. She tried to focus, to fight the effect of the drug he’d given her.
“Don’t bother, little one. You can’t overcome it. In fact, the effects will only get stronger as it works through your bloodstream.”
“But why?” Her voice sounded very far away to her own ears.
“Why? Haven’t you figured it out yet? But no, of course you wouldn’t have - not quite yourself, are you?” Chuckling at his own wit, he stood, looming over her like a specter. The words from his lips fell like a sword of doom. “You see, I won’t be going back, and you’re going to tell me everything I need to know to slip into your universe; into his life.”
Though sheer terror washed over her, it had no outlet. It was as trapped in her mind as she was. Triona could feel the inexorable march of the drug as each moment passed. “No, I won’t.” She was barely even able to form the words of her defiance, but somehow, she got them out.
“Now, Triona, haven’t you learned the consequences of disobedience yet? I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you persist in being uncooperative.”
“No!” she hissed. Triona knew without a doubt that if this mirror version of Methos were to get close to her family and friends, death would follow.
"You are the stubborn one." He sighed with mock sadness. “The drug I gave you is just a primer, you might say; a base to build upon.” Walking back to the table where he’d left the brandy, he reached into a bag, pulling out a hypospray. Turning back to her, he continued. “This is my masterpiece, if I can be so immodest. The first drug can be disseminated in the water supply, or in food rations. It's very useful in subduing slaves, or quelling rebellious inclinations in conquered territories. But this,” he waved the hypospray, “this is what makes it special.”
Leaning over, he grabbed her, pulling her to him before injecting the drug into her arm. “It attaches itself to the first drug, modifying it. Then, it affects the neural receptors. It enhances both pleasure and pain.”
He watched with clinical detachment as she fell back onto the bed, overcome by the drug's assault on her central nervous system. "But you and I both know that it's pain we're interested in today, don't we?"
"I won't help you," she choked out.
"You will." His voice was cold as stone. "It may take some time, but everyone can be broken; even you. You can be courageous and defy me, but in the end, it will be for nothing, because you will suffer, and then, you will submit."
He pulled a knife from his boot. "One last chance, little one." She didn't answer, just turned her head away. "In that case, shall we begin?"
Part One ][ Part Two ][ Part Three ][ Part Four ][ Part Five ][ Part Six ][ Part Seven ][ Part Eight ][ Part Nine ][ Part Ten ][ Part Eleven ][ Part Twelve ][ Part Thirteen ][ Part Fourteen ][ Part Fifteen ][ Part Sixteen ][
Part Seventeen ][ Part Eighteen ][ Part Nineteen ][ Part Twenty