Chapter Text
Cassandra waited through the cold and the dark of winter, but when the thrushes began building their nest in the rowan tree outside her bedroom window, and the delicate white blossoms of the crocus pushed up from the thawing mud, she started hunting.
Methos owed her.
THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY
Thursday, 3 April 1997
Paris, France
"Adam Pierson," Methos said into the telephone, leaning back in his squeaky wooden chair and placing his feet on top of his cluttered desk.
The speaker knew better. "Methos."
"Cassandra," Methos said slowly, taking his feet down, trying to divine her mood from that one word, trying to divine his own. Relief? Dread? Both? A woman going into labor probably felt much the same; the inevitable moment was at hand, and he didn't want to go through with it. He didn't have a choice. "This is a surprise."
"Not as much as the last few times we've met, I suspect," she said, short, sharp, and to the point—rather like a Roman sword.
"No," he agreed. Each time he'd seen her in November had been a surprise: at MacLeod's dojo when she had tried to kill him, at the power plant when she had tried to kill Kronos, and in the cage in Bordeaux when Kronos had been planning to kill her. Unpleasant surprises all. Methos sighed silently as he stood to look out the grimy window at the narrow Parisian street below. Might as well get this over with. "What do you want?"
"You and I have unfinished business," Cassandra said calmly.
"Yeah," he muttered. Like her standing over him with an axe in her hand, about to take his head. Like blood debts. Like preparing to fight, possibly to die. "Look, Cassandra—"
"We need to talk," she interrupted.
"Talk?" he repeated. That was a surprise.
"Talk."
Methos nodded and sat back down as the relief outpaced the dread. Talk sounded good—but then again, Cassandra had been neither friendly nor rational the last time he'd spoken to her. Quite possibly, she was setting him up. "Holy Ground, then."
"Do we need that?" she asked, sharp and pointed again, surprising him again. "You can resist the Voice," she went on, "and we both know I can't defeat you in a sword fight, so I won't have a chance of taking your head."
She could, Methos knew, shoot him from a distance and take his head. Of course, if they were on Holy Ground, she could still shoot him from a distance, drag him off Holy Ground, and then take his head.
"Besides," Cassandra said, "I don't want your head."
Uh-huh.
"And you don't want mine," she continued serenely.
"Sure of that?" he challenged.
Her serenity became satisfaction, touched with amusement. "Kronos was."
She had him there. Methos really felt like saying, "I've changed," but he controlled himself and said only, "Fine. Where?"
"Brighton Beach, England. This weekend."
"It's only April, Cassandra." Methos propped his feet up on his desk again. "Can't you pick some place warmer, like the Riviera or a Greek island or something?"
"I don't have time to travel that far," came the brisk reply.
"You're immortal," Methos said in exasperation.
"I also have to go to work on Monday morning."
And, in fact, so did he. He had an appointment with his thesis advisor. "Adam Pierson" had spent five years transcribing and correlating different dialects of Sumerian, and Methos knew a lot of other scholars would benefit from the work. He had come back to Paris to finish it and then publish Adam Pierson's final accomplishment. Then Pierson would disappear and Methos would find a new name and a new life. But first, he needed to deal with Cassandra.
"All right," Methos told her. "Saturday morning?"
"There's a carousel near the Marine Palace," Cassandra said. "Six o'clock."
Methos groaned. "Ten."
"Seven."
"Nine," he countered.
"Seven fifteen," she suggested.
"Eight forty-five." If she kept arguing with him, he might just agree to meet with her at seven thirty, and then show up when he bloody well felt like it.
Cassandra stopped arguing. "You know where this is going, don't you?" she asked.
Of course he did—at least in the matter of time. "We seem to be oscillating toward a limit value of eight," he answered.
"Taking a math class at that college?"
"No, that was my last degree. This time I'm studying Sumerian cuneiforms. I was writing the bibliography for my thesis when you called."
"Then I shouldn't take up anymore of your valuable time, since you're dealing with such an urgent topic," she said gravely. "Eight o'clock, the carousel at Brighton Beach, agreed?"
"Agreed," Methos said.
"We need to go beyond the night, Methos," Cassandra said softly, and then she hung up.
Methos set his telephone down, then laced his fingers together behind his head and leaned back in his chair as he murmured, "Beyond the night." In that cage in Bordeaux five months ago, Cassandra had named herself a Daughter of Night, a Fury, a child born from the blood of the castrated god Uranus. Then she had told him the Furies would pursue him into madness, unto death, and beyond.
Methos had passed through madness into death, and he'd been enduring Beyond ever since. He wondered what Cassandra had been enduring. Dreams? Nightmares? Voices that jabbered in her mind and drove her mad? For the last five months, or for the last three thousand years? He'd hurt and killed so many, and there was absolutely nothing he could change, nothing he could do. Except, maybe ...
Methos owed her, and she was right. They did have unfinished business.
But so did he. Methos sat up and reached for the list of sources to include in his bibliography. He'd been away from this for nearly a year, and he knew he couldn't get another extension if he missed the deadline yet again. And Adam Pierson was going to publish before he perished—Methos was determined on that.
Friday Morning, 4 April 1997
Fort William, Scotland
Jennifer Corans saw her husband Tom off to work and her two teen-aged daughters off to school, and then she walked into the center of town to her office, the front room of a Victorian row-house turned into professional spaces. She waved to the lawyer who was on his way upstairs and then unlocked the door to her office. Tea, of course, first thing every morning, with the water boiled on the electric burner in the corner. She hated microwaved tea.
Jennifer settled back in her desk chair and sipped as she looked over her schedule for the day. Two clients were coming for their regular therapy sessions this afternoon, and Sandra Grant had called yesterday and asked for a special appointment this morning. Jennifer put on her new bifocals and took out the file on her latest client, then she squinted, blinked, and squinted again. She gave up and took off her glasses, holding the paper at arm's length to read the biographical information on the first page.
Client's Name: Catherine Sandra Grant
Date of Birth: 3 September 1962 (adopted)
Age: 34
Birthplace: India
Father: John William Grant—Methodist missionary (deceased)
Mother: Cecilia Louise (Ayerton) Grant—Nurse (deceased)
Education: home-schooled
All neatly typed and straightforward. All outright lies. Of course, Jennifer had typed this before she had learned the truth.
Name: Cassandra
Date of Birth: unknown, c. 1400 BCE
Age: about 34 centuries
Birthplace: somewhere in a desert (Arabia?)
Father: unknown. Adoptive father: Hijad, mystical healer
Mother: unknown
Education: High Priestess of the Temple of Artemis, Inner Circle Initiate of the sexual ecstasy cult of Aphrodite, studied with Hypatia of Alexandria and St. Brigid of Ireland.
No one would believe the truth. Jennifer certainly hadn't, not at first. During their third session, back in February, Cassandra had casually announced, "I think you should know that I'm immortal."
Jennifer had nodded slowly and leaned forward with an encouraging smile, wondering how this delusion connected to the relatively standard psychological profile of a rape victim and battered woman. Then Cassandra had cut her finger with a pocketknife, and Jennifer had watched the wound heal with little blue flickers of flame. Cassandra had explained it, calmly and rationally, and Jennifer had found herself nodding again and believing every word. Cassandra had suggested they keep the immortality a secret, and Jennifer had agreed immediately. She always kept clients' information confidential.
Jennifer turned to the second page in the report, the client history and initial diagnosis. That was still true, though she'd had to add to it considerably to make it complete. She'd even put names in it, since no one else would ever be allowed to see the report.
DESCRIPTION OF CLIENT: Caucasian female, appears to be between 30-35 years in age. She is verbal, articulate, about 175 centimeters and 60 kilos, and appropriately dressed for the interview. She lives alone and is employed as a music teacher at a girls' boarding school.
_
MEDICAL & HEALTH HISTORY
Illnesses: none
Accidents, Injuries: many and various, but none physically apparent at interview
Family Health History: unknown
Physician/Date of Last Visit: none. Unnecessary. Perfect health.
Physical cause for mental problems: none.
FAMILY, RELATIONSHIP HISTORY & SOCIAL SUPPORT
FAMILY: Adopted. Childhood had positive experiences, supportive and loving family and social group. Good male and female role models. No incest.
RELATIONSHIPS: First relationship with a man [Methos] was initially abusive, duration ~1 year. Long-term relationship with another man [Roland] was severely dysfunctional (battering, verbal and psychological abuse). These have affected all her other relationships, though client does report supportive partners (Four husbands, all deceased. Many lovers—some female.)
SOCIAL SUPPORT (availability, use): Client reports two close friends [a married couple, Alexandra (Alex) and Connor]. (Connor is also former lover, c. 400 years ago.) Client receives significant support from these friends. They encouraged her to seek counseling.
_
LIFE FACTORS
DAILY LIFE: Long history of sleep problems is reported. Nightmares and intrusive flashbacks have decreased in frequency over the last three months. Has had difficulties sleeping for more than 4 hours at a time. Previously poor appetite, no problems at this time. Daily exercise: running, yoga, fencing. Client lives alone and is able to create routines and order for herself. No pets.
MOOD/EMOTION: Anxiety and Depressed mood are reported, paranoia. Client displayed hyper-vigilance during the interview. Client reports feeling either hyper or numb when under stress. Distrust and fear of all men. Lies frequently to conceal past, doesn't like being in groups. Avoids all emotional involvement.
SEXUAL: History of both masochistic sexual impulses and of enjoying sadistic dominator role, promiscuity (due to low self-esteem and/or immediate compliance with men's demands), prostitution (enforced and voluntary). Has had satisfying sexual relationships. Currently sexually frigid (no masturbation), avoids physical contact of any kind.
ANGER, AGGRESSION & DESTRUCTIVENESS: Client is angry about past victimization. Anger is usually self-directed with self-destructive tendencies: breaking fingers and cutting. Client also reports lashing out at people without reason, or overreacting to minor irritations (outbursts range from verbal and physical attacks, to breaking things, to attempted murder [Connor, Elena]). History of Alcohol Abuse. Doesn't trust herself to take care of children properly, though has no history of abusing children.
SUICIDAL & HOMICIDAL THOUGHT & ACTIONS: Client reports having had fantasies/dreams about killing/being killed by her rapists [Roland, Methos, Kronos, Silas, Caspian, various others]. Has had suicidal thoughts and attempts (and successes!) in the past, most recent Nov 96 (drowning and freezing to death preferred methods because they "don't hurt as much.") No suicidal tendencies reported at this time.
_
TRAUMA/ABUSE HISTORY
As an adult, saw family members killed, was held captive and enslaved (developed Stockholm Syndrome for one captor [Methos]), repeated rape (both group and single), tortured, experienced war and hostage situations, battered woman in long-term abusive relationship [Roland], forced into prostitution, witnessed her children being abducted, tortured, and killed.
PRESENTING PROBLEMS
1. 296.33 Major Depression, recurrent and severe
2. 309.81 Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, past sexual, physical, verbal, and emotional abuse
3. Generalized Anxiety Disorder
4. Suicidal and Homicidal ideation
5. Low self-esteem
6. Obsessive Rumination
TREATMENT OBJECTIVES (MEASURES)
- Depression: Challenge negative cognitions: increase coping skills, develop internal resources. Measure by self-report and assessment of functioning with regard to basic life tasks.
- PTSD: Process earlier trauma; develop coping skills; develop boundaries. Standard battered woman approach, with early attention to Stockholm syndrome and survivor's guilt. Measure by ability to cope with daily life tasks.
- Obsessive rumination: decrease obsessions; increase appropriate coping skills.
Individual X Weekly. Will reduce frequency as symptoms decrease by report.
PROGNOSIS
Client is highly motivated to change, is no longer in an abusive relationship, is no longer drinking, and has close supportive friends. However, amount and duration of trauma will probably require long-term treatment and follow-up.
—
"A lot of follow-up," Jennifer murmured and put the report away.
Cassandra arrived early, as she always did, and Jennifer offered her a cup of tea. Cassandra accepted, but she left it sitting on the end-table and wandered distractedly around the room, staring out the window, looking at the pictures, reaching for books and replacing them with only a glance at the covers. She ended up in the corner near the window, picking dead leaves off the spider-plant and shredding them into thin strips with her nails.
Jennifer said nothing, giving Cassandra a chance to settle down enough to tell her what was wrong. Cassandra was dressed in black and gray, as usual—black jeans, black leather boots, a loose gray sweater over a black turtleneck. Dangling silver earrings were her only jewelry; she wasn't even wearing a watch.
Cassandra set the withered leaf pieces in the dirt around the stem of the plant, then brushed off her hands and sat down in the chair across from Jennifer. "I'm going to see Methos," she announced. "Tomorrow morning."
Jennifer set down her cup of tea. "Cassandra—"
Cassandra jumped up and began walking around, her arms folded across her chest. "He's at the beginning of everything," she said, then stopped and tossed back her hair, facing Jennifer defiantly. "I need to know. Isn't that what you said? I have to remember the truth about the past before I can begin to deal with it?"
Jennifer nodded, not responding to Cassandra's anger. "It just seems ... early."
"Maybe you're right," Cassandra admitted after a moment, and she sat down again. "But I need to know, and I'm not waiting anymore. I can't remember the truth if I don't know what it is. Methos can give me the truth."
"But will he?" Jennifer asked. "You said he was a good liar."
"Oh, he is," Cassandra said, reaching for her tea then leaning back in her chair. "But so am I. And I know how to get the truth out of him, one way or another."
As always, Jennifer found Cassandra's sudden switch from needy vulnerability to ruthless competence unsettling, but she wasn't fooled by Cassandra's show of bravado. Jennifer knew how difficult it was for a victim to confront an abuser—how your stomach tightened and your legs trembled and your heart hammered against your ribs while fear lay sour and metallic on the back of your tongue, and yet you forced yourself to stand there and look the bastard in the eye and tell him what you needed to say, even if he didn't want to hear. Oh, yes, Jennifer knew. "You're afraid of him, aren't you?" she asked.
Cassandra put her tea back on the table untouched, then picked obsessively at the fabric in the arm of the chair with her nails, a scratching, clicking sound. "Yes," she finally admitted. "Or at least afraid of how he makes me feel. I don't think he'll hurt me." She folded her hands tightly in her lap, forced them to be quiet. "But I need to face him, and my fear, before I can face myself. I need to know I can do that much, and do it on my own."
Jennifer nodded, pleased that Cassandra was ready to take some control of her life. "All right," Jennifer said. "Let's talk about ways for you to handle fear, and rage." And a host of other emotions, too.