Connor
by Friend of Methos

She glanced up from her book and saw that Connor had leaned forward over the table, resting his cheek on folded arms. Warm spring sunlight filtered through the ancient oak outside the window, speckling his shirt with soft shadow. Particles of dust hung in the air over his head, moving slow-motion in the endless dance of creation. As she watched, drowsy in the warmth, a single sunbeam found Connor and brightened slowly, leaving the rest of the room in bas-relief shadow, and his hair, curling slightly here and there, and sprigging up in one or two places, was a halo glinting luminescent red and gold. The sun shone sideways through his slightly unfocused eyes and they became round, translucent pools of gold and jade. He was looking at something she could not see, remembering something she did not know. She felt a little gasp rise in her throat. For her, at that moment, Connor was someone other than a man.

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