==== Hope Triumphant ====
======== DUENDE ========
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7 October 2006
The Silver Star Cruise Ship
Mediterranean Sea
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Methos loved cruises.
Not that he liked boats. He still didn't like boats. But these modern
cruise ships didn't feel like boats. They were floating hotels with
restaurants and ballrooms and bathrooms, and lots of people interested in
enjoying themselves, in all sorts of ways. The sun was warm, the gentle
breeze from the Mediterranean was cooling, his margarita was cold, and the
five women lounging on the deck chairs in front of him were mostly naked.
He stretched out on his own chair and sighed in complete contentment,
watching as the women applied suntan lotion to themselves. Two of them took
off their bikini tops.
Yes, Methos loved cruises.
He had just gotten himself another margarita and settled back in his chair
when the woman made her presence known. Tall, graceful, with long lean
muscles in thighs and calves, perfectly defined abs and ass, strong
shoulders and arms, but with enough smoothness there to still be feminine,
breasts which were definitely feminine (yes, definitely), high cheekbones,
skin the color of cafe au lait, long black hair cascading past her
shoulders--she was dressed in a pair of sunglasses and a tiny red bikini.
Methos wasn't the only one watching as the woman walked around the edge of
the pool. No, not walked. Not sauntered, either. Prowled. She wasn't
waiting for the men to come after her. She was hunting on her own. And
Methos knew what she was hunting for, because she had a presence in more
ways than one: the woman was an Immortal. Methos wasn't worried; they were
in public and his sword was by his side, hidden under a towel. Her sword
had to be in the large straw bag she carried. She obviously had no place to
hide a weapon on her body. As she came closer, he took another long,
careful look just to be sure. Nope, no sword there.
She stopped about three meters away from him and looked him up and down, her
expression unreadable behind the dark glasses, her body relaxed but ready,
every muscle coiled. "Viejo," she greeted him in Spanish: Old Man. Methos
supposed he qualified for that epithet. Her voice was carefully neutral,
neither friendly nor aggressive.
Methos lifted his margarita in salute. "Elena Duran." He motioned to the
empty deck chair by his side and responded in the same language, "Care to
join me?"
Elena smiled then, a brilliant flash of white teeth. She stretched out on
the chair while Methos watched in appreciation. "So," she said, crossing
her long legs at the ankles, "how was Duncan's wedding in New Zealand last
weekend?"
"Good," Methos said. "Good. Lovely ceremony, beautiful flowers, great
food. Amanda danced the tango at the reception, and Connor and I tossed
Duncan in the pool." Elena laughed aloud, but sobered too quickly. Elena
and MacLeod had once been a couple, but after that messy business of Richie
Ryan's death a decade or so ago, MacLeod had sought refuge on Holy Ground.
When he'd returned after a year of solitude, he'd been quiet and withdrawn.
Not even Elena's exuberance had been able to break through his depression,
and at his request, she'd finally given up and bidden her lover a tearful
goodbye.
"I told her I wasn't good for her right now," MacLeod had explained to
Methos. "I need some time alone."
Methos had nodded, understanding all too well. A week later, he hadn't
really been surprised when MacLeod had walked away again, retreating from
all Immortal contact and hiding from the Game. Methos had done that in his
time, and he knew he would again, someday. The invitation to MacLeod's
wedding had been expected, the inevitable consequence of MacLeod's
sabbatical in normality, a requisite change of partners in their tentative
dance.
"Sorry you couldn't come to New Zealand," Methos told Elena sincerely.
Elena shrugged. "When my goddaughter was six, I promised her I would dance
at her wedding, and she picked the same date. Also ... I doubt Duncan's
bride would have appreciated yet another of Duncan's lovers being there.
Amanda's enough."
"More than enough," Methos agreed, deciding not to mention Amanda's naked
dive into the pool or the rest of the evening. MacLeod's wedding reception
had turned out to be one hell of a party for Methos, in several different
ways. "She invited herself, I believe."
"She does that," Elena observed then changed the subject with a delightfully
suggestive smile. "Are you traveling alone?"
"Yes. And you?" Methos asked hopefully. Methos wished MacLeod well,
sincerely, but that didn't mean Methos couldn't also appreciate his
newly-expanded options with the now-available women. Except ... Joe Dawson
had shared some gossip at MacLeod's bachelor party last week, and the plain
gold ring on Elena's left hand confirmed it. "Your husband isn't with you?"
Methos asked.
"Oh, of course," she said, her smile disappearing in a resigned sigh, "you
know I'm married. Well, my husband's Italian. You know about Italians?"
Methos nodded. "You know about Italian men?" she persisted. He nodded
again, and "Of course," she said again. "You know about everything."
Methos didn't see any reason to disabuse her of the notion.
"When Lorenzo decides he wants me and only me, I'll go back to him," Elena
declared.
Well, variety was the spice of life, but Methos didn't say it. Nor did he
suggest to Elena Duran that she might not be easy to live with, day in and
day out, no matter how passionate and beautiful she was. "And until then?"
he inquired pointedly. He could do without a jealous Italian husband on his
trail.
She shrugged. "Until then, we are apart. I do what I want." She smiled
seductively and wiggled her toes, making the rest of her move in various
subtle and intriguing ways. "Anything I want."
Didn't she always? But they were at sea, far from home, and what Lorenzo
didn't know couldn't hurt Methos. He saluted Elena once more with his drink
and smiled back, remembering a certain wild time in Miami Beach some years
ago. She'd been wearing red that night, too--for a while.
He loved cruises.
~~~~~
Methos looked for Elena at dinner, but she didn't appear. When he went back
to his cabin, he found a note from her.
--------------------------------------
Fell asleep from the jetlag after the flight from Buenos Aires. I'm
awake now, though. Interested in helping me explore the ship? Ever since I
saw the movie Titanic I've had this fascination with decks. The stern of
the ship, deck nine, three a.m.?
E
--------------------------------------
Methos folded the note then lay down to take a short nap. He wanted to get
all the sleep he could before he met Elena.
~~~~~
At four minutes before three in the morning, the stern of the ship was
deserted. Perfect. Methos waited near the railing, enjoying the breeze and
the magnificent stars overhead. Ten minutes later, he turned at the
approach of an Immortal. Elena was climbing the last few stairs from the
deck below, a few minutes late, normal for her. She was still carrying her
straw bag, of course--Elena never went anywhere without her sword--and she
was still in red, but this time there was a bit more of it. Only a bit.
The dress dipped low in the front and much lower in the back and skimmed the
tops of her thighs. She was in sandals instead of bare feet, and the
sunglasses were gone, revealing the black patch she wore over her missing
right eye. An Immortal named Bethel had captured Elena and gouged the eye
out "for fun" a decade ago, then proceeded to torture her in other various
and inventive ways. Elena had barely escaped with her life--and her sanity.
Bethel hadn't escaped; Connor MacLeod had hunted Bethel down and killed him,
then given the head to Elena as a present, neatly wrapped in a hatbox. A
nice touch, that, though when he'd heard the tale, Methos had wondered at
Connor's unusual magnanimousness.
Methos's smile widened as Elena neared him, because she was smiling just for
him. "Viejo," she greeted him again.
Even as Methos was murmuring, "Buenos dias, nina," she had set down her bag
and was in his arms.
"I love shipboard romances, don't you?" she asked.
"Mmm," Methos answered, but more words didn't seem necessary, and the next
instant, they weren't possible. She was panting into his mouth. Elena
tasted of coffee and chocolate, and she smelled of jasmine, her favorite
perfume. Her tongue was doing an intricate little dance on his lower lip,
the fingers of her right hand were tracing the edge of his ear, while her
left hand (and Elena was left-handed) was firmly massaging his ass.
Damn, perhaps MacLeod should get married more often, if all of his former
lovers were going to throw themselves at Methos with this kind of abandon.
Methos joined in whole-heartedly, with both his hands on her ass and his
tongue tracing the pulse that throbbed at the base of her throat.
"You're poking me," Elena said softly with a sigh.
"Isn't that the general idea?" Methos answered absently, distracted by her
still-moving hands and the warmth of her breasts pressed against his chest.
Elena giggled, a delightful sound with delightful movements to match. "I
meant your sword."
"Oh." Methos let go of her and backed up just enough to remove his sword
from under his jacket and place it on the deck next to her bag. "There."
"Here," she corrected him, grabbing his hands and putting them back where
they belonged. Her hands started undoing the buttons on his shirt, and they
started kissing again.
Then another Immortal arrived. Methos and Elena both immediately pulled
back and let go, and Methos turned to see Cassandra, just reaching the top
step. She strode towards them with determination, the skirt of her long
black dress swirling about her legs. Methos swore under his breath,
wondering how the hell--and why--Cassandra had tracked him down.
Or had she? Elena didn't seem surprised to see Cassandra, just annoyed,
with her hands on her hips and her left foot tapping in irritation, the
sandaled toe clicking on the teak wood deck. Maybe Elena wasn't traveling
alone. He'd never let her answer that question, had he? And when Cassandra
had announced she was leaving for Hong Kong the day after Duncan's wedding
and meeting Amanda in Athens two weeks later, Methos hadn't inquired about
Cassandra's plans in between. Methos's lips tightened in annoyance. Damn
the woman, anyway. All he'd wanted was a week of sunshine, good food, a
little relaxation, maybe some sex ... Was that so much to ask?
"Elena, como me has podido traicionar de esta manera?" Cassandra began when
she was about four paces away, ignoring Methos completely as she shook her
head in sorrow and confusion.
Methos was confused, too. Elena had betrayed Cassandra? How?
Cassandra stepped forward, her hands out, almost pleading. "We planned this
trip so we could be together, just the two of us. Remember, mi amor?"
Methos snapped his mouth shut and took another step away from Elena as he
remembered the Watcher Chronicles: the reports of Elena's lovers both male
and female, Cassandra's long-standing aversion to men ... Oh, good God.
Elena flipped her hair back with a proud toss of her head. "I told you, as
I told Lorenzo: I do what I want. Anything I want."
"You promised me it would be different this time!"
Elena laughed aloud, and Cassandra's eyes narrowed in fury. Bad move,
Elena, Methos thought. Cassandra didn't like to be betrayed, and a jealous
Italian husband was nothing compared to Cassandra in a rage.
"No wonder Lorenzo left you," Cassandra said, sniffing with disgust as she
looked Elena up and down.
"I left him!" Elena shot back, quick and angry, her Latina blood already
aroused.
"It was only a matter of time," Cassandra said dismissively. "You're a
slut, Elena," Cassandra accused, and Methos blinked at the harshness of the
word. Not that it wasn't true, but still ...
Elena apparently didn't like it, either. Her sword was in her hand. "I
choose my own lovers, and I fight my own battles. I'm not a whore and a
coward like you!"
Methos clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head, because that
was another low--and truthful--blow. Then Elena demanded, "How many men
have you fucked so they'll do your killing for you?" and at that insult,
Cassandra pulled her blade. The two of them stepped towards each other,
swords high, tips aimed at the eyes.
"Ladies!" Methos called in warning and alarm, because sword fights were
damnably loud, and they were on a ship with hundreds of passengers and crew.
They both turned to him, looking surprised, and Methos thought he knew why.
"Haven't been called that in a while, have you?" Now the two women just
looked annoyed. He rubbed his hands together briskly and put on an engaging
grin. "Look, um ... this isn't the time or the place for this, and maybe
you two could talk. Work this out, enjoy the rest of the cruise together, I
mean--"
"He's right, you know," Elena broke in.
"He is," Cassandra agreed. "And he's not worth fighting over."
"No, he's not," Elena chimed in immediately.
Methos didn't think she'd needed to agree quite *that* fast.
"But he'd be worth killing," Cassandra purred, and both women turned to
stare at him with predatory smiles and glittering eyes, their blades bright
and deadly in their hands.
Methos swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry. Elena was standing between
him and his sword.
"However, as he said, this is neither the time nor the place," Cassandra
said thoughtfully, and she tucked her sword into some hidden pocket in the
folds of her skirt.
"No," Elena agreed again, not fast enough this time, in Methos's opinion,
but she, too, put away her sword. "Ready for bed, chica?" she asked
Cassandra, picking up her bag and extending the crook of her arm.
"Ready," Cassandra replied, and the two women linked arms and headed for the
stairs, giggling all the way.
Well ... damn.
Methos strolled over to the edge of the deck where it overlooked the
circular stairwell, and Elena's voice floated up to him. "I still say we
should have thrown him overboard."
"He does look very good when he's dripping wet," Cassandra replied, "but I
don't think he enjoys drowning." She looked up and waved at him cheerily,
and Elena looked up and grinned, her white teeth flashing in the dimness.
The two women disappeared into the hallway beneath his feet, still laughing.
"Bitch," Methos swore, but he was grinning even as he said the word.
~~~~~
