Title: In-flight Musings
Author: akire
Email: akire@mailcity.com 
Status: Complete/Unbetaed
Category: Crossover: Highland/The Sentinel/Stargate SG1/Tomb Raider,
plus misc. others
Spoilers: umm, got a basic grasp of the Highlander universe? Fine. Oh
yeah, we’re a Clan Denial fanfic. In The Sentinel, we pick up after
TSbBS. Stargate, after The Curse at least. RH, we’re ripping
characters, not plots. Honest! 
Disclaimers: D/P, Pet Fly, MGM/Gekko, and whoever owns RH really DO own
them. If you don’t recognize it, its probably mine. If it’s silly or
crazy, definitely is mine. But if anyone sends the lawyers after me,
I’m sending out the boys with swords ;) 
Rating: PG, prob. Hey, I’m not offended by much, if it should be rated
higher, tell me! 
Content Warning: purists beware. Language may offend some readers. 
Summary: Reia, on the move, starts thinking about all the friends she
has. Another introductory snippet in my ongoing series. 
Dedication: To Cait, who’s always on the move. 

That’s long enough. On with the show! 


‘I’ve walked across continents in sandals. Been carried in gorgeous
litters. Ridden across them on horseback and in the back of carts.
Cris-crossed them in wagons towed by steam-belching beasts. Now, I do
not even touch the land itself. Flying certainly has its benefits, even
if the passing scenery is a little dull. 

But foil-fresh packets of peanuts – now that’s progress!’ 

Reia read the notes she had made in her journal and closed the book
with a snap. It was her journal, she could be fucking irreverent if she
wanted to be. Besides, its not as if they were teaching Sanskrit in
schools these days. Certainly stopped the old hag in the next seat from
trying to read over her shoulder. 

Ignoring the in-flight- movie, she watched the clouds pass under their
wings for a quarter of an hour, trying to gauge by the flashes of green
and brown and blue far below just exactly where they were. Her leather-
bound journal was a heavy and soothing weight on her lap. Bored, she
began to idly flip through the pages. Not surprisingly, it opened on
one of the many inserts and additions. Unlike many of her journal-
keeping colleagues, Reia also slotted in photos, pressings of plants,
sketchings, ticket stubs or scraps of material – anything that carried
a memory and could be kept between the boards of a book. Some days, she
could take out an old journal, and the mere scents the material carried
were sufficient to send her spinning back into some near-forgotten

This book was too new to have any significantly old memories. Instead,
the page facing her carried a sepia-toned photograph, taken by an old
box brownie camera. Flipping over the photo, she read the words written
lightly in pencil. 

‘ Old friends reunited. Mayday, 1911.’0

Turning the photo face-up again, she smiled at herself. Those corsets
required an almost Immortal healing factor around the ribs, but they
looked spectacular. The guys didn’t look much more comfortable, in
their high collars and top-hats. If she remembered rightly, she ditched
the whalebone corset the following year and took up with a gypsy
troupe, juggling and telling fortunes for coin all across the same
countryside she was currently flying over. She smiled as she saw her
slim hand resting under her student’s slightly larger one. Blaer had
not been her official student for over one and a half millennia by that
point, but they still spent many years together each century,
comfortable in each others’ company, well attuned to the others’ moods
and needs. Immortality could mean a lonely life, and such companions
were to be treasured as the rarest gems they were. 

Standing behind the seated huji-pair was Danya, one of her oldest of
old friends. She smiled, memory supplying the vivid blue of his eyes
that was absent in the sepia. Once, long ago, she had held a sword at
his neck. She had no doubt in her mind that if she had taken his
Quickening as she should, she herself would be dead by now. His
uncomplicated companionship over the centuries had kept her sane and

The nosy woman in the aisle seat interrupted Reia’s revere. “Ohh, is
that your grandparents?” She squinted at Reia through thick glasses.
“Or great-grandparents? You look just like her!” 

Calmly Reia closed the book and smiled inscrutably at the woman until
she returned to her gossipy magazine. Reia waited until Nosy Woman was
engrossed again in the latest rumours regarding vapid movie stars, then
opened her journal at another random page. 

This page was not a photograph. The momento sewn onto the heavy pages
was a dried flower and a faded blue ribbon. Carefully, she lifted the
page to her nose, just catching the remnant of fragrance beneath the
heavy odours of the air-conditioned fuselage. Heather and lavender,
slightly musty with age. In her mind’s eye, the airplane retreated and
for one moment she was sitting by a burn, listening to the trickling
waters as her horse cropped contentedly at the fresh green grass.
Besides her, preparing a few twigs for a fire with practiced ease, Lara
was talking about the village they would hopefully arrive at by

Then the tannoy squawked into life and she was once again in the early
21st Century. Reia carefully closed the book and slipped it into her
backpack at her feet before moving her chair and seatbelt into position
for landing. Perhaps, after stopping by her Paris residence to collect
her messages, she would catch the Chunnel into England, stop by Croft
Manor. Lara kept horses still, she was certain. Maybe that little burn
hadn’t been filled with pollution or built over by strip malls yet.
They could ride out and just talk… 

Reia watched the other passengers push and shove their way down the
crowded aisles before sliding out of her seat. She’d spent enough time
flying over the land. Time to travel with her feet on the ground. 


Her Parisian home seemed cold and empty after the packed rush of the
airport. Savouring the echoing silence, Reia chose to forgo electric
light in favour of an antique candelabrum and the rich glow of the

Her home was her sanctuary, and reflected her tastes accordingly. Full
of a mishmash of styles, materials and eras, its eclectic nature suited
its sole resident perfectly. The sitting room was a prime example. The
overstuffed seats were swathed in finely embroidered Indian fabrics,
and half-hiding gleaming cherrywood side tables. Under her bare feet,
she could feel the smooth texture of a faded and well-worn Persian rug
as she padded over to the giant bookcase which dominated the wall
facing the bay windows which looked over the garden. 

She ran one finger lightly over spines worn smooth with handling. She
needed no light to choose her volumes – the placement and content of
every text was firmly in memory. These were her diaries, copies of
which were secreted in vaults and safes around the world. But only
these originals had all the photos and momentos she enjoyed when

Selecting a volume, she retired to her favourite seat by the fire.
Moving the candelabra so the light flooded the hand-written page, she
flipped through the book until she found what she was looking for.
Though the page itself had been transferred to new books periodically,
the words themselves were ones she had recorded nearly a thousand years

She had written of the event with the clarity of hindsight, and re-
reading her introductory sentences was enough to spark the flood of
memories. She let the book lay open in her lap as she stared blindly
into the fire, her sight on events from centuries ago. 

It seemed strange even then, when it was a fresh experience. In theory,
it was meant to be a simple excursion in fine company – she, Danya and
Blaer hiking along the well-traveled trade road between Rome and Paris.
Getting lost in the fog that had settled over the forest had not been
on the agenda. 

Absently, she ran a finger down the page, noting the brittle texture of
the paper under her fingertip. The rational part of her mind even now
balked at admitting, even to herself, that something beyond normal
experience happened that night. It was true she had never tried to
explain to anyone else her experiences, and she, Danya and Blaer had
seemed to come to an unspoken agreement never to mention those events
again. But maybe… 

She pulled herself back with a sharp shake of her head. Maybe, baby,
but what would dragging up the past achieve? She snapped the book shut
and pushed herself up and back towards the shelf. More cheerful
retrospection were what she needed tonight, not maudlin thoughts and
complicated memories full of self-doubt and confusion. 

Her second selection off the bookshelf was more random. Rather than
trying to recall a specific event, she merely flipped though the pages,
looking for something to satisfy her jetlagged mind. A rough sketch
caught her attention. Smoothing out the page, she smiled as she
recognized the lines and planes of the face she had sketched with
enthusiasm but without much skill only a few centuries ago. 

Nigel was Sydney’s student, a young, eager Englishman with an unusual
combination of wide-eyed excitement and experienced pessimism about the
world around him. Reia recognized in him a similar personality to her
own – one who didn’t expect much from the world, but who was always
happy when life surprised them. 

She knew Sydney reasonably well then, and enjoyed her company in small
doses. As one of Danya’s few students, she had had several occasions to
meet the raven-haired woman over the centuries and had yet to find
reason to dislike her. 

But within minutes of first meeting with Sydney’s first student, she
had resolved to keep an eye on the new partnership. A student like
Nigel had a lot of potential that could easily be squandered by a less
than dedicated teacher. The first sign that Sydney was not doing the
right thing by the new Immortal, and she would be there. But Sydney had
not put a foot wrong, and Reia had watched with pleasure from a
distance as Nigel became comfortable with his new-found status. 

Perhaps she should drop by and see how they were doing the next time
she was in America? She had forced herself to keep her distance, so as
not to accidentally usurp Sydney’s authority. But the student-teacher
relationship must surely be past? Gently, her hand moving without
conscious thought, she ran a fingertip along the sketched lines of the
face on the page. 

She could always use a new friend. It was not as if she were in surplus
of them. She began counting them off on her fingers. Danya, of course,
and Blaer. Lara, too – if only for their shared passion for travel and
adventure. Sydney, through Danya, and now Nigel as well. She paused,
thinking. Who else? Well, even though they had know each other for a
nearly three millennia, and of each other for even longer, she had only
begun to count Methos among her inner circle of true friends in the
last thousand years or so. She smiled and added Richie’s name to the
mental list. He was another young one who had caught her interest from
the start. Too bad he was so committed to the Old Man. 

Putting the journal aside, she rose to her feet and moved to look out
over the moonlit garden. There were quite a few in Seacouver now…wasn’t
one of the MacLeod’s there? The younger one, what was his name? Duncan,
that was it. She had met his older kinsman Connor several times over
the past two hundred years, and could probably add his name to her
growing list. A few other passing acquaintances, but that was most of
the Immortal’s accounted for at least. The mortal list was even shorter
– Joe Dawson, despite being one of those damned Watchers, had made it
into her confidences on the strength of his character. Rachael,
Connor'’ adopted daughter. Jigme Rinpoche, who ran her favourite
sanctuary in the East. 

Reia blinked at her reflection. She could have sworn the list was
longer than that. But as far as mortals went, for every other name she
could think of, she had to mentally add ‘dead.’ 

Nodding slowly to herself, she turned and left the warm sitting room
for her cold and dark study. She could book a flight to the States
whilst she downloaded her messages. 

She could not just use a new friend. She should also check in with her
old ones too. 

They were too precious for her to ignore.