Saving Grace

by Jadzia

Fandom: Star Wars Ep.I: The Phantom Menace / Highlander

Rating: The parts will have different ratings, from PG-13 to NC-17

Disclaimer: The Force-boys belong to George Lucas, the Immies to Rysher:Panzer/Davis (I think... they're not mine, this I know *sigh*). "Saving Grace" belongs to The Cranberries.

Feedback: Cherished, as always.

Summary: Methos is thrown into the Star Wars-universe. 'nuff said for now *G*

Chris and Nia did wonderful beta, thank you so much.

This is Nia's bunny. She gave me the original idea and thought of so many little bits and pieces that the story wouldn't be here without her. *biggest hug ever*

It could happen here today
It could happen here today
And I can't wait to see your face
No, I can't wait to see your face

Can you hold on while I take hold of myself
Can you hold on while I take hold of myself

You're the little thing, my saving grace
You're just a little thing, my saving grace

Will you be strong while I take hold of myself
Will you be strong while I take hold of myself

It could happen here today
It could happen here today
You are my saving grace
You are my saving grace

By Jadzia

This time, he dared it.

As he stepped into the swirling colors, the only thought on his mind was that there was nothing left for him to lose.


His head ached, and he didn't want to wake up. He could hear a few voices, but didn't understand a word they were saying.


He had seen so many languages come and go, develop out of and melt into each other, that he simply wasn't used to not being able to decipher a single word.

Something new.

Something he didn't know.

Quite interesting, indeed.

Interesting enough to finally make him open his eyes. He did so, and blinked. Standing next to his bed was a - a ... well, "it" wasn't much taller than the bed, and it looked like -

Methos closed his eyes again.


Of all the worlds in this universe, he had to land on E.T.'s.

Fine. He would deal with it, one way or another.

He peeked at his right side, and to his relief saw someone looking more or less human. One could never be too sure, of course.

The tall one checked the monitors and the various other machines that beeped around him. Methos frowned slightly, he didn't feel that bad, actually. A little weak, yes, but not so bad that he had to lie down.

The tall one exchanged a few words with E.T. He had nearly no throat, so he looked like a mixture between E.T. and a hamster. Green, with sharp-pointed ears. Then the hamster started to talk to him, very slowly. Which didn't make him understand it any better. The hamster noticed that. After a moment, he tapped his hand on his chest and stated something that was obviously his name.

Methos frowned. The hamster's name was - yoga? "Yo...?" he asked carefully.

The hamster's ears perked up as he said "Yo-da.", clearly understandable now.

"Yoda." Methos repeated slowly, which got him an enthusiastic nod.

That's at least something, Methos thought, before tapping to his own chest and stating his name.

"Methos." Yoda repeated, looking at him expectantly, something akin to a smile crossing his features. He said a few more words, patted Methos' shoulder and left the room.

The physician followed him, probably asking him something. Methos decided that he had lain there long enough and tried to sit up.

It was time to explore this world, so he would have no possibility to think about the world he came from.

Or why he chose to leave.

No, thinking about all that wouldn't be helpful, right now.

First things first.

He didn't know a thing about this world, and he needed knowledge to survive.

It always came down to the basics.



No room for other things.

No room for feelings.

Feelings distract.

Distract from the important things.

Methos sat up and started tugging at the electrodes which were glued to his skin. Finally he managed to get them off and grabbed his bag, which stood with his clothes neatly folded on top of it beside the bed, and was out of the door in a second.

He sneaked down the corridor and stepped through the first unlocked door.

Some sort of storage room, Methos thought, shivering a little. Time to wear something more than his boxers. He put on the jeans, the sweater and the shoes he had worn when he had arrived there.

A peek through the door confirmed the corridor was empty, so he walked carefully, always staying close to the wall, until he started thinking and stopped dead in his tracks.

He had to learn. The language, the way of life, the people... and he couldn't very well do this alone.

These people, at least the two he knew so far, didn't seem too unfriendly. He could have been sitting cuffed in some dark hole, when he found himself in a hospital instead.


Maybe fleeing wasn't the right decision.

For once.

For now.

He started as he felt a light tap against his shin. As he looked down, he saw the green... dwarf. He didn't look like a hamster, actually. Or E.T. In fact, Methos had never seen anyone looking anything like him.

Yoda looked up at him and smiled, motioning for Methos to follow him.

So Methos did.

They walked slowly down the corridor. The floor was shining, almost reflecting, and Methos wondered if it still needed to be wiped and polished, or if it somehow did that on its own. That would be a useful invention for once. It had to take hours to get it this clean. Their shoes didn't make any sounds on the material, and Methos noticed that it hadn't any seams. Maybe it was fluid before fitted in... something smelled differently.

It smelled like... he couldn't actually say, there wasn't anything that had ever smelled like this, but it was certainly different from the rest of the corridor. Rich and earthy...

They walked around a corner, and the corridor simply ended. No door or something like that, just one step over the threshold and they were standing outside. Methos looked around curiously, trying to gauge the styles and materials of the buildings, only to find that he couldn't. The style was of beautiful practicality, and everything seemed to be made of metal, although it didn't look cold. Peculiar.

He looked away from the buildings and was consumed by the sight that lay before him.

The garden.

It was beautiful.

Right in front of him was a large lawn, sprinkled with colorful flowers, none of which Methos had ever seen. The lawn itself was green, but in between grew bunches of a plant that *looked* like grass, except that it was violet. Well.

A few people were sitting on benches in the shadows of large trees, or walked around.

Recreation, Methos pondered. Nice.

Good to watch people.

Two young men about eighteen years old, practicing something like a kata. They moved with concentration, nearly perfectly in synch. Very meditation-like, Methos pondered. If they did fast ones just as well... If they *fought* this well...

A young girl on a bench, frowning over - well, it seemed to be a data-pad. Maybe there was a use for watching Star Trek all these years after all. She seemed to be learning something. Well, at least her frowning didn't look very enthusiastic.

A young man, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the lawn, just staring into space. Sad.

All clad in the same earth-colored robes. Seemed to be en vogue.

At least, his clothes weren't, because the girl was staring at him open-mouthed right now. He saw Yoda wielding his stick a little, and the girl blushed - blue?! - and turned her attention back to her data-pad.

Behind this part of the garden he could see several people at work, obviously harvesting some kind of vegetables. Bright-yellow vegetables.

They walked slowly and were frequently passed by people, and Methos began to wonder if the brown robes were some sort of uniform. The whole surroundings didn't seem militaristic at all, but still... He noticed that all the passers-by knew Yoda. He seemed to have great influence, since a few people asked Yoda about him, judging from their curious looks, and Yoda didn't ever say anything except for the greeting. No one insisted. Hm...

The next part of the garden was delicately ornamented with stones, single flowers and pieces of carved wood. It reminded Methos of Zen-gardens. Looked as though it would be just as much work. He hadn't tried that for a very long time.

Beside that part was a big area of land that was the total opposite: the grass was nearly a meter high at some places, flowers growing between it, completely wild, not gardened at all.

Methos wondered if this world had butterflies; this surrounding would be perfect for watching them.

Again, he felt a light tapping at his shin, and as he saw Yoda smile up at him, he realized they must have been standing there at least for some minutes.

"Beautiful." He told him, because he felt he had to, even though he knew Yoda wouldn't understand.

Yoda looked as if he understood, though, nodded and started walking again. They went into another building with white walls, high ceilings and unbelievably big windows that showed a wonderful view of the gardens.

After walking up a few stairways, Yoda opened the door to a set of rooms, and in an instant Methos knew that these were his quarters. Yoda made an inviting gesture, and Methos went into the bedroom, dropped his bag and made a bee-line for the window.

The view was breathtaking, he could see the parts of the garden he had seen before, but behind the walls surrounding it, he saw a giant skyline with unbelievably high buildings in all kinds of shapes. Something kept irritating him, though, the skyline seemed not normal... it looked as though he could only see the very spires of the buildings, but that wasn't possible, was it?

As impossible as violet grass, maybe.

Absolutely beautiful.

This time, he remembered Yoda before he was tapped.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Yoda's eyes quivered, and he said something that probably meant "You're welcome."


It would take a long time before he would be able to really understand him. Understand anyone here.

He noticed Yoda was patting the bed, so he took a guess and sat down on it. Good guess, he thought as he saw Yoda smile.

His headache was starting again. At the base of his neck, feeling distinctly like a quickening, but not really - a peculiar sensation, a tingling, somewhere in the - in the depths of his *mind*, nothing had ever felt quite like that... Yoda was standing in front of him, staring at him intently, and Methos felt -

Felt Yoda. Saw Yoda. Was Yoda.

In his mind.

He felt calm and control and something that had caused him great sadness - he saw the gardens again, out of Yoda's perspective, saw his own knees, saw the flowers and trees seem much taller, saw the girl, the two boys, the sad man - felt the surge of sadness that was Yoda's own, knew suddenly that Yoda was very old - old.


If he knew how old Yoda was -

He breathed harshly, scared, scrambling up the headboard, fighting, and not even knowing what he fought against.

[Read your thoughts, I do not.]

Methos let out a relieved breath.

Right before he stopped breathing all together.

He had understood.


It had been three weeks.

Three weeks, two days and eight hours, to be exact. He had slept. He had eaten. The ... things had tasted well enough, except for that disgusting pink stuff that was supposed to be some kind of vegetable. Well. The yellow ones were decent, at least. He had never judged a culture by its vegetables.

Methos looked out of the window for a moment. The sight never ceased to amaze him. He scanned the giant skyline, dreaming of the first time he'd go out there and explore the city. He would take a shuttle... or a slider? He had to look up the difference between the two... Methos sighed.

How could two worlds be so different? He gave the skyline a last desperate glance.

Not before he knew enough of the language to manage something akin to full sentences. Crash-courses were the best. Learn the basics first, and then as much interaction and reading as possible.

Well, it always sounded logical when he didn't have to do it right then and there. At least, this "Standard" was easy to learn. As if it was made for learning.

And it probably was, Methos mused. He was quite good at it already. Good enough to manage basic communication, he supposed. Only using his new skills would tell.

Hm, he needed to do some research, anyway. What better way to study a culture than to study its books?

There hadn't been any human - or, make that living - being in his quarters since Yoda, but he was sure they knew what he was doing. He was a stranger after all, they couldn't be sure of him. Not that he had found any surveillance-technology, but this culture was highly evolved, so who could know.

He had tried to talk to the thing that brought him food and other necessities and looked as if it had jumped right out of an Asimov-story; but it had only beeped a merry tune and disappeared again. He had to find someone to ask about this Jedi-stuff. Methos had worked his way through a few discs, but he wasn't sure he'd understood everything correctly. Like the number of inhabitants of this planet... Coruscant.

How many worlds like this existed, anyway? He wasn't sure, but according to the facts on the discs, it seemed that space-travel was not only possible, but common, even for normal citizens.


So, he should go out and find the library. Maybe he could find a decent being to talk to. He got up from this chair and stretched. His glance fell on the bag that was standing next to his closet. He had not opened it yet. Maybe he wouldn't be able to for a long time. Methos shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

Not now.

Not yet.


Methos tried to remember the plan he had studied the day before and decided the building in front of him had to be the school. The groups of children streaming out of the door that very moment finally convinced him. Now he just had to find the library.

He sighed and cursed himself silently for forgetting the datapad with the plans this morning.


He'd have to ask someone.

Another look around just confirmed that he was lost.


He hated having to stutter in a language he still didn't comprehend fully. The most annoying stage of learning, to have a basic understanding but not be able to melt completely into the masses that had spoken the language since their birth.

Good thing he had been through this more times than he could count. He knew that after a longer or shorter period of intense studies he would master the language, just as he had done every time.


Or not, because he was still annoyed by the constant stammering that seemed to be his only possibility of communication these days.

Well, there wasn't a way around it.

He walked towards the lawn that was full of young boys and girls running around, laughing and chatting. He wondered how children almost always managed to make him smile, when his attention was drawn to a boy who was sitting on a bench by himself, fumbling at something that seemed to be a game. He had seen this before but couldn't quite remember... he was dimly aware that he had been playing with something like this so, so long ago.

Small sticks, though his had been made out of wood, not metal... they could form exquisite geometrical figures, but to achieve this it would take hours and hours of concentration. And frustration, too.

At least the boy looked rather frustrated.

Methos wandered over to him. "Hi."

"Hello." The boy barely spared him a glance and turned his attention back to his task. Methos sat down cross-legged in front of him, watching him as he tried to find a place for his last stick.

"I had a game like this once." He was a little surprised at how easily the words seemed to flow. Much better than he had thought, at any rate.

"It's not a game." The boy frowned. "It's an exercise."

"For what?" Methos asked curiously.

"Better concentration. Channeling of the Force and stuff like that." The boy sighed. "It doesn't work, though."

"Oh, I think it will." Methos said.

He had to bite back a smile as the boy looked at him with serious exasperation. "I have to do this on my own, you know."

"Of course. Am I allowed to give you a... a general clue, then?"

The boy was clearly thinking about Methos' offer, his right hand playing with his short braid. Padawan-braid, right.

"Well, that would be okay, I guess."

"Okay. Set the... the thing down on the bench and come down here."

Methos gave in to the urge to grin as the boy turned to set the game... the *exercise* down and then sat down beside Methos, holding the last stick tightly in his hand.

"It's just... a matter of perspective." Methos said gently.

"Okay." The boy took a deep breath and concentrated.

That had to be the Force-channeling-part, Methos thought.

After a few seconds, the boy bit his lower lip and extended his hand slowly. Carefully, he inserted the stick between the others, exactly where Methos would have put it, too.

Suddenly the sticks transformed into a gleaming blue ball, and Methos heard a whispered, but nonetheless enthusiastic "Yes!" from beside him.

"Wow. Mine couldn't do *that*," he muttered.

"Oh, there are many different ones." The boy smiled happily now. "And, thank you."

"You're welcome."

The boy looked at the sparkling ball for a few seconds before deactivating the device.

Suddenly he blushed and turned back to Methos. "Um - I'm Anakin Skywalker, by the way."

"Hey Anakin." Methos smiled and shook his hand. "I'm Methos."

"You're the off-worlder, right?"

"Um... yes, I am, I guess."

"And the people there don't even speak Standard?" the boy packed the device and the sticks into his backpack.

Methos grinned. "It's really far away." He suddenly remembered why he had come here in the first place. "Anakin, do you know where the library is?"

"Yeah, of course." Anakin shouldered his backpack. "You can come with me."

"Good." Methos walked beside him, trying to memorize the way. "Don't you have any classes?"


"So, why are all the other... Padawans staying there?"

Anakin looked up at him suspiciously. "Lunch-break."

"Hm. And after that?"

Anakin walked a little faster. "Master-Padawan-stuff."

"Err... sorry?" Methos frowned.

"No, I'm sorry." The boy squinted up at him. "I keep forgetting you're still learning. I mean, the Padawans train with their Masters."

"Ah." Methos said. "So the Padawans -" He stopped as Anakin tried to supress a giggle. Unsuccessfully. "What?"

"I'm sorry, really," the boy pressed out, "but you pronounce it funny."

"What, Padawan?"

Anakin laughed out loud. "Yeah. You have to say it like this: Padawan." He pronounced carefully. "See?"

Methos didn't.

But he would, in time. Until, then, he'd have to endure having ten-year-olds laughing at him.

Oh well.

"Hm. Padawan." He tried.

"Not quite." Anakin smiled broadly. "But better." He stopped and pointed to the building in front of them. "That's the library."

"Oh, good." Methos tried to remember the way they had gone and found that he hadn't been as off track as he had thought.

They entered the library and stepped inside a large hall. The huge windows allowed the sunshine to shed bright stripes of light onto the desks that occupied the greater part of the room.

To one side, a woman clad in Jedi-robes sat behind an especially big desk. She was sorting out data-pads in a box. The sign in front of her said "librarian".

"You'll just have to tell her what you want, and..."

Anakin's voice receded to the back of Methos' mind as he looked up at the ceiling. He stilled and just looked for a moment.

A battle.

A bloody battle, colored swords swirling, destruction everywhere.


He had seldom seen a mosaic as exquisite as this one.

He came back to reality when the tugging at his sleeve became insistent.


He closed his eyes for a moment before he looked down at Anakin.

"Sorry. I got... caught a little."

The boy smiled up at him. "I saw that. It's cool, huh?"

"Cool? I guess so." Methos smiled back. Didn't they have art-classes for the children here?

"So, what do you want to read about? I must hurry a little, I have an astrophysics-exam tomorrow."

"Oh." Methos pondered. "I need something to give me a... a general overview. About this planet, the Jedi, and the most important cultures and people."

"Okay. Let's see what we can find." Anakin went over to the librarian , and after a few minutes, he came back with a small pile of datapads for Methos and a few for himself. "Here. The ones with the red stripes must remain here in the library. The other ones can be borrowed for a week."

"Thanks." Methos sat down opposite Anakin and picked a data-pad at random. Category: Ethics. Hm. The Code. Well, if the boy thought it important - he looked at Anakin who was reading his pad with intense concentration, and a thought crossed his mind.

The library was empty.

"Anakin, where are the other kids in your class?"

The boy looked at him and frowned. "I already told you. They're having lessons with their Masters."

"Where's your Master?"

The pain in Anakin's eyes told Methos immediately that he had asked the probably worst question in this situation.

"My Master is dead."

Methos couldn't think of anything to say, comforting children had never been his field of expertise. He watched as Anakin grabbed his backpack and stormed out of the library.

Well done, he cursed himself.

For a moment he thought about going after the boy, but there were more important matters at hand.

He looked over the pads, all of them filled with information, information he needed to answer the most important question of all: Were there other Immortals on this world?