And now, for your reading entertainment, here is a teaser featuring several scenes from the sequel to "Mistaken Identity," entitled "Whispers." Chapter One of "Whispers" is now live, under Highlander/Stargate Atlantis crossovers!

I hope you enjoy the sequel as much as you enjoyed the original! Thank you all for reading, once again.

Hear the ocean waves, my love
Hear them breathe and sigh
Feel their kiss upon the pier
As we say goodbye
Take the waves with you, my love
As you sail the skies
And however far you go
List' for their reprise

How typically Ancient, thought Methos. Sappy, sentimental, and entirely impractical. Plus, whoever wrote this tripe back in the day was a total hack, even accounting for the loss in translation.

Suppressing a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and stared out the window at the endless streaks of blue and white. Almost three weeks in hyperspace. If he weren't so infernally bored, cooped up in this tin can, he'd never have even glanced at that ridiculous excuse for poetry.

I can't believe I let Daniel Jackson talk me into this, he grumbled to himself. That archaeologist was astonishingly persuasive when he wanted to be. Though, to be fair, Methos had been looking for something new.

"We can always use another doc in the infirmary."

"I'd imagine so, what with the space vampires, killer androids, psychopathic crystals…" Methos replied wryly.

"Gee, you make it sound so mundane." The American grinned cheerfully, but Methos could see the Stepford smile for what it was. How many times had he seen it before, the easy good humor and friendly attitude hiding a whole mess of pain? They'd only just met, and Methos wanted to put the person in for medical leave.

Those mission reports didn't do this place justice.

Then, beyond the pain, he heard something. A voice, maybe.

"Hey! Kiss my ass, bug face!"

Was that him? Did he actually say that out loud? As last words go, not very inspiring. Lightning shot through his brain, across his eyes.

It took him an eternity to realize that the pain had ended. His head still buzzed with its echo, as if unwilling to completely accept that the agony had ceased. But beyond that, all he felt was cold and the faint vibration of the floor beneath him. Methos just lay there, fog curling around his fingers.

Breathe in. Breathe out.