The Last Time We First Met - Part Eight by: Denise Underwood c. 2001 In the end, she slept the night and half the day through, her dreams troubled. After getting up, she had taken care of some pressing business matters and then pushed papers around her desk, trying to avoid the inevitable. Finally, she could avoid it no longer. She had to speak to Methos. She paused by the library door knowing he was within, even before she felt his buzz, as she slowly entered the room. He was sitting in a chair in front of one of the large picture windows that fronted the room -- in the sun. He didn't even look up from the manuscript he was reading as she drew nearer. Triona stood as close as she dared, keeping a wary eye on the wash of light that flowed over the carpet in front of her. Now that she was here, she had no idea of what to say. And the fact that he didn't move out of the sun, as he usually did, didn't bode well at all. "I know you're angry and I'm sorry, but I don't know what else to do or say." She squinted into the bright light, trying to make out any expression on his face. "Please, could you move out of the light? It's so difficult..." she trailed off tiredly. "You didn't have any problem with the sun yesterday. Did you?" he asked acidly, still not looking at her. Triona recoiled at the verbal blow. "No." Trembling, she reached out her hand, steeling herself. "No, you're right." Gritting her teeth, she grabbed his arm, the pain making her gasp. "You want me to suffer before you forgive me," she dropped to her knees, "then I will." Her hand was in a death grip around Methos' arm. She couldn't have let go, the pain of her burning flesh locked her fingers in their hold. "Are you insane?" Methos shouted, leaping out of the chair and propelling her backwards out of the sun. She huddled on the floor, her hand still on his arm. "No," she said desperately, "I just want you to stop hating me." He knelt next to her. "Good gods, woman," he gently pried her burnt hand from its death grip on his arm, "I don't hate you. Yes, I'm furious with you, but I don't hate you. I could never hate you." "Then what?" Triona drew herself into a sitting position. "What do I have to do for you to forgive me?" "Well, self-immolation is not required for a start. And if you *ever* do anything like that again...." The threat hung unspoken, his eyes as hard and cold as jade. Triona swallowed, nodding. "I... I'm sorry." Shaking her head, she fell silent. Methos brushed his lips across her forehead. "You're forgiven. But," he placed a finger over her lips, "there are consequences." He stood up, holding out his hand to her. She bit her lip nervously as he drew her to her feet. "Consequences?" "Sit down," he directed, pointing to the sofa by the door. He leaned against a reading desk, hands in pockets. "You know, there are times when I think that the way Lucien deals with the lot of you has merit." She started a little at that, but held her tongue. "But that isn't really my style," Methos continued, "and I'm sure he will deal with you in his own inimitable fashion when he's informed of your...adventure." "Informed? You're going to tell him? Please don't, Methos! I swear I'll never do it again," she promised, pleading. "I'll accept any punishment you choose, just please don't tell LaCroix what I did." "I'm not." Her shoulders sagged in a relief that was short-lived. "You are." He looked at her sternly. "And you will tell him." "That isn't fair," she said truculently. "Don't even go there, young lady," he warned. "You're getting off lightly and you know it. And as for the rest of it -- I've been lax in making sure you're keeping your fighting skills up to snuff. That is going to change. Until I'm satisfied with your skill level, I want you in the ballroom, every morning at six a.m. sharp. This is not optional." Triona glared at him. She *hated* early mornings and he knew it, the bastard. She'd hated them as a mortal and she hated them even more now. "And what if I don't want to?" she shot back, getting angrier by the minute. "What you want isn't relevant. You'll do as you're told!" He glared back at her, determined to make her comply. "You can't make me!" Triona jumped off the couch, knowing she was being childish, but not giving a damn. She was sick and tired of being told what to do and she didn't care if it was for her own good. Methos snaked out a hand, pulling her sharply towards him, one hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head up to look at him. "Ohhhh... I think you know that isn't true," he told her in a low, hard voice. "I may not employ the same methods as LaCroix. But mine are no less effective when I put my mind to it. I don't think you really want to put it to the test. Do you?" She didn't answer, but her eyes shot daggers. He let her go, stepping away. "Six a.m.," he told her once more, before leaving, closing the door firmly behind him. Denise * ithildin@ondragonswing.com* Ith http://www.ondragonswing.com Dragon's Hoard Fic Archive http://www.ondragonswing.com/vortex Drop by to read, or to submit a story!