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tigriswolfTitle: a child of the heartless wind
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: Kronos isn't mine
Warnings: takes place right before the Horsemen arc; Kronos is creepy; I know nothing about laboratory procedures
Pairings: none
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 360
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, one of Kronos' co-workers; The newest employee at the lab is a bit of a strange one. (Because he had to work with people at least initially, right?)
There was something very off with Dr. Konje. Isabel had noticed it immediately, but Dr. Esse had sung the man's praises since Day One and ran right over every single protest she raised, talking down to her like he hadn't since she kicked his ass at the first department-wide kickball game.
So Isabel resolved to watch and document everything.
The first year seemed almost normal, and only Isabel noticed the glint in Dr. Konje's eyes. He treated everyone like his own personal servants, commanding them without a second thought. And his personality was so powerful, so damned charming, that everyone listened. Didn't react except to obey. Even Isabel, and she hated it.
The second year passed much the same, except Dr. Konje's project—a virus manufactured from every strain of plague on record—took a very dangerous turn. Isabel went straight to Dr. Esse when she found out and demanded it be halted. She understood the need for experimentation, but some things just begged for trouble, and what he was doing… it could go so wrong.
Dr. Esse agreed with her and called Dr. Konje in for a meeting.
Isabel wasn't even that surprised when Dr. Esse had a heart-attack during that meeting, or that Dr. Konje—despite his lack of seniority—was promoted to Dr. Esse's position.
She thought about quitting. Getting the fuck out of town, to escape Konje's eyes, his leer, his goddamned virus that Murphy's Law would have such a good time with.
But she needed the job. If she left now, she wouldn't get a recommendation letter, and surely, someone else had noticed Konje's madness…
And then there was a lockdown in the one of the labs. Isabel and three other doctors were caught in it, and Konje spoke over the loudspeaker, and Isabel heard the smirk in his voice as he said, science may remember you as the first in Pestilence's new wave…
Then he laughed, and added, or maybe only Pestilence will remember your names at all.
Isabel didn't die screaming, but that's only because the virus paralyzed her vocal cords, and she died with Konje's laughter ringing in her ears.
Title: I can see from here where I'll be standing at the end
Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: kinda parent/child
Pairings: Methos/Kronos
Rating: PG13
Wordcount:670
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander, Methos/Any, 'Father Figure' (song by George Michael)
Methos has had over five hundred children. Most of them came with women, as he lived with or married widows (or equivalents thereof before the invention of weddings), but some he found and kept for various reasons.
Kronos had been one. Treated as a son, then brother, then lover—and as Kronos' personality exploded, Methos stepped back and let him take the reins, as it were. Then Kronos found Caspian and saw what a terrifying pet he could be. To even things out, Methos adopted Silas. If Silas hadn't been so quiet (except during a raid), Kronos would have engineered an accident.
He'd always been possessive, and thought of Methos as his. His father, his brother, his lover.
Methos does not like being owned. Kronos knew that, of course.
Kronos was both his brightest triumph and greatest failure, and Methos could imagine delivering the final blow. Take the boy's life, the boy he had saved and raised and loved for almost four thousand years. The boy to whom he had given the world. They were gods, once. Death and Pestilence, takers of life. Heralds of the end for three continents—all the world known, at that time. Men such as them had come and gone, but all others died and became dust.
Not so, them—Methos and Kronos, legends and terrors, and he should have killed the boy. But he did not want to. Had never wanted to. If he wanted Kronos dead, he would have taken his head instead of throwing him down a well.
But MacLeod… if anyone but Methos had to kill Kronos, MacLeod was best.
MacLeod was not a son. Surely not a brother. But he could be a lover, someday. After Methos had worked through MacLeod killing Kronos.
Kronos. He'd been such a bright boy, all those years ago. Methos had other children after him, but none had ever been his equal. None had ever been so strong.
The one lesson he never mastered was adaptability. He could fake it, for a time. Very well, in fact. But he hadn't truly changed—he still wanted to rule the world, like the gods they had once been. And when he told Methos his plan, when he asked Methos to make it workable… ah, my beautiful boy, Methos had thought. beloved, the world has changed since we rode with the sun at our backs.
It is a father's duty to teach his children to survive. At whatever cost. And when they will only destroy themselves or others… a father must take responsibility and do what he can.
Before that final battle with MacLeod, Methos had let Kronos take him one last time, and he had kissed Kronos' forehead, and watching the boy walk away, he had thought, my beautiful boy, I will miss your fire.
And as he killed Silas, as MacLeod killed Kronos, as Kronos' quickening rushed for Methos and he dropped his sword to embrace his heart's child, he thought, beloved, you have always been my favorite.
And he felt Kronos in his mind, in his soul, and the boy replied, now we are truly together, until the end of time.
Methos has had many children over the millennia. He outlived them all, even the immortal ones. None has ever been his equal, and a boy he found and raised almost four thousand years ago is the closest anyone has ever come.
Kronos called himself the End of Time. In his soul, Methos cradled the boy's quickening and hummed a soft lullaby. we lived and we grew stronger, beloved, Methos murmured. we will fight again another day, you and I, together.
MacLeod will never understand, of course. He even had Richie, and he will still never comprehend. Richie had been a good boy, and he might have one day been a good man. But all of the children today are so impatient, so impetuous. He cannot see many living to be his age.
Ah, Kronos… we could have mastered the stars, my beautiful boy, if only you had learned.
Instead he stares up at the night sky, far from any town, and he remembers.
Title: Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet
Original, PG, hints of incest, 215 words
Prompt: any / any / "My Grandmother's Love Letter" (Pia Douwes)
She finds the trunk during spring cleaning and has Davey carry it down to the den. The attic is too hot to stay in for long.
Davey complains, of course. He's been doing that a lot lately, like the fact that he finally hit his growth spurt and shot up nearly a foot gives him free license to start disrespecting his mother.
She sends him to scrub down the stovetop while she picks the lock on the trunk. It's full of papers, paperclipped and stapled and rubberbanded together, yellowed and faded with age. Some are ripped or smudged. They weren't carefully placed into the trunk; they were shoved in and then hidden away in the farthest corner of the attic.
She sorts them into three piles: legible, illegible, and holy shit.
When Davey comes back, she sends him out into the garden to help his father. He grumbles but goes.
Her grandmother and great-aunt hate each other. Everyone knows that. She has cousins she's never met, and her mother had said, once, to never ask.
The holy shit letters tell her that those cousins might be more closely related than she could've imagined, and her mother's reticence is finally explained.
She wonders if, somewhere, another woman found a trunk and is thinking the same thing.
Title: Is it any wonder he puts on dark glasses?
Fandom: NCIS/Man from UNCLE
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: character death
Pairings: implied Gibbs/Tony & Napoleion/Illya
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 480
Point of view: third
Prompt: NCIS, Ducky, taking justice into his own hands
Tony's in the hospital, Jethro the morgue, and Ziva actually broke down in Tim's arms. Abby hasn't left her lab since they got the news, trying to find something she didn't earlier.
There is nothing to find. Nothing she missed. Whoever the villains are, they are very good at their job.
Donald Mallard has led an interesting life. Some of that might even apply here, in pursuit of vengeance. Maybe even justice, but vengeance is more likely.
Tony should wake up, and the autopsy has already been performed on Jethro. People from every agency and most walks of life will attend the funeral, some even because he was a wonderful man.
Abby still hasn't left the lab. Ziva and Tim are keeping each other from doing something rash. And Tony… he should wake up.
Leon has other teams on the case, of course. Abby is the best, but a little agency like NCIS does not always receive the preeminent toys.
It is with a heavy, sorrowful heart that Ducky enters a string of numbers into a phone he'd hoped to never use.
"Napoleon," he says. "Old friend. I need your help, I fear."
An infinitesimal pause, that hangs in the air, rife with things neither of them said a lifetime ago. "Anything for you, Illya," Napoleon finally says. "Old friend."
Ducky closes his eyes. "We will have a long overdue discussion," he murmurs. "You have my word. But there are things I must do first."
"Tell me," Napoleon demands, and it's nearly like it was.
He will find the miscreants who killed Jethro, who shattered Abigail and Ziva and Timothy, and who will kill dear Antony, should he ever wake. He will be broken, Ducky knows. He adored Jethro, even more than the rest of his team did.
Once, he and Napoleon were the very best of all. He might even say they saved the free world, a few times.
So he will sit in the morgue and stare at the table where he cut open a dear friend, and he will wait for Napoleon to call back.
And then… well, it has been a long time since he spilt warm blood with his own hands. A part of him has missed it.
He wishes to spill a great deal of blood, now, with Abby's wracking sobs and Ziva's hitched breath and Tim's stoic face all in his memory.
Tony should wake up, but he has missed the funeral.
Napoleon is waiting when Ducky gets home, and he has a list of names and locations and a sad, dearly missed smile.
"Illya," he says quietly.
Ducky sends letters to Abby, Ziva, and Tim. He leaves a message for Leon. He visits Tony one last time.
"Come, old friend," he tells Napoleon. Napoleon hands over a specialized gun and Illya tucks it away safely.
He has blood to spill.
Title: hurricane hatched from a sigh
Fandom: Highlander/Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for up to season 5 SN; AU
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 440
Point of view: third
Prompt: Highlander/Supernatural, Castiel tries to convince one of the children of Death (Immortals) to help him in his rebellion. Methos would rather not get involved.
"Little angel," the Horseman says, ring flickering in the moonlight. "You are brave, and so incredibly foolish."
Castiel stares at him, determinably unafraid. He has already fallen, after all. Already been killed by his brother once. What more can this Horseman do?
Death smiles, chuckling. "I can do much, child. I am the oldest, and old things have more power than you could ever comprehend." He cants his head, staring into Castiel's eyes. "You are here for a favor. Speak it."
"Your children," Castiel says. "I would ask their help. The Winchesters—and I—are losing. We are too few."
Death laughs and Castiel shivers. "A few would help you, little angel. There is one who already fought a demon to save the world, or so he thought."
Castiel asks, "I have your permission?"
Death reaches out, places a cold hand on Castiel's shoulder. "You may ask. Most are young, arrogant and foolish. A few, though, would be a boon." He stares hard at Castiel for a moment. Castiel shudders. The ring flashes again, and Death says, "My eldest child. If you can convince him to your cause… I believe you might even win."
"How will I know him?" Castiel inquires, striving to not jerk away.
Death smiles again. "Of all my children, he is the most like me. He even used my name, for a time. Created his own brotherhood of horsemen." He pauses, and worlds are born and die in the eternity before he speaks again. "You will know him, little angel."
Death releases him and Castiel—does not flee. He merely exits quickly, to begin another search.
o0o
You will know him, Death said, and Castiel shivers, looking at Death's son.
"Well, now," the man calling himself Adam Mateo says. "What can I do for you, little angel?"
"Lucifer has been released," Castiel tells him. "The end of the world has begun. I need your help."
Death's oldest child, who had been ancient during the Flood, laughs. "Pop told you to find me," he muses. "You'd have never known of me, otherwise."
Castiel waits. He has learned patience dealing with Winchesters.
"I'd really rather not get involved, you know," the man continues. "War is so tedious. It never truly changes." He looks past Castiel, to the normal street and all the normal people living on it. "But," he says, and he sounds resigned, "this is my world." He focuses on Castiel. "I was the first thing to ever live on this world, and I'll be the last thing to die on it."
A ring flashes on his finger, that wasn't there before. Death's son smiles.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-11 11:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-12 03:17 am (UTC)Thank you so very much! Methos is a fun character.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-12 01:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-12 04:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-12 01:33 pm (UTC)The NCIS ficlet almost broke my heart. I like the repetitive nature of it and that it is Ducky who is going to make things right... or at least take vengeance.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-12 04:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-12 06:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-12 07:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-13 12:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-14 02:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-13 12:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-14 02:19 am (UTC)Thank you for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-13 09:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-14 02:20 am (UTC)Thank you for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-13 09:44 am (UTC)I love the Kronos ones. So true.
Ah, Kronos… we could have mastered the stars, my beautiful boy, if only you had learned.
And this, this gives me so many strange ideas.
The last bit is a very interesting idea.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-14 02:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-13 12:47 pm (UTC)the methos as Death's son is an idean i'd love to see in a longer fic; if u ever felt like doing so...it has the potential to make one hell of an awesome universe!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-14 02:22 am (UTC)Thank you so very much!
HL
Date: 2011-04-15 02:48 pm (UTC)]
in any case that was certainly a very nice look into the "family"
Re: HL
Date: 2011-04-15 08:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-19 12:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-19 10:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-30 06:57 pm (UTC)I love you so much for that line alone.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-01 09:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-17 08:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-17 05:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-29 05:59 pm (UTC)May I add it to the Man From UNCLE story database (http://carriagehillpress.com/periwinkle/mfuauthors.htm)?
(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-29 09:00 pm (UTC)