The Old Ways

March 2006

A/N: Hey yous guys. I know - odd category for me. But I just heard this song and had to do a oneshotter for it, I mean - how well does this song fit? It screamed at me Tuck Everlasting. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "The Old Ways" by Loreena McKinnett; nor do I own the movie/book Tuck Everlasting.

Um...yeah. I'm labeling this an AU because, for one thing, it's been forever since I've read the book and even longer since I've seen the movie. For another, their parting is different in the book/movie than in this. Honestly I don't remember how the movie ended. The only corresponding things about this story and Tuck Everlasting are the characters, the general situation, and the star-crossed romance between Winnie and Tuck.

Which also gives you an excuse if it seems as if they're OC. I'm sorry, but I don't have the resources to go find the book. In this story Winnie is between the ages she's in in the book and in the movie. In the book she's about ten and girly and she's still girly in the movie but about fifteen. I do remember that. And honestly I'm not even sure if her name is Winnie, so please forgive. :D

XXX

The thundering waves are calling me home to you

The pounding sea is calling me home to you...

He stared out into the roaring sea, his gaze lost in thought and his mind lost in time. He was reminded of her, for some reason, by the sea.

In his many travels and many movings-along he had come across many cliffs and beaches, many seas and lakes, many shades of blue-green, many hues of sunlight dancing across many forms of water so clear it resembled liquid diamond.

Perhaps they reminded him of her eyes, so like the waves crashing on the rocky shoreline. Perhaps it was the beauty of the beaches and her beauty - they compared themselves in his mind, therefore creating a link and reminding him of the other. They'd never been to the sea, only to the lake, so that was the only reason his mind could conjure up.

Whatever the reason, the sea was now a painful sight for him. The wounds he felt were still so fresh he almost felt the salt from the sea water stinging and burning him. He hated thinking but he couldn't stay away...

On a dark New Year's night

They didn't really celebrate anymore. Why? There was always the next year. It would never stop. That day would always be there; it got old quickly. They lost sight in the reason of celebration; birthdays were of no consequence because there would be no death. Christmas was just another time to get together; even that was hard to do after awhile. New Year was just a reminder that they'd always be there. Always.

But they'd let themselves get old. No, they didn't age - not physically and technically not mentally - but they let the fun die out of everything. They never tried new things, why should they - there was always time later - but they seemed to forget that they could try new things...and maybe that was the one blessing out of the whole ordeal they were in.

But they'd forgotten it. Funny how it took a little girl like Winnie to remind them.

On the West Coast of Clare

The didn't have much to celebrate - they obviously couldn't toast to good health - but Winnie seemed to remind them they could get up and free themselves a little. Her eyes danced when she finally - finally - got him to dance with her, to the music of a small radio she'd brought with her, playing soft Celtic music, they'd danced like the Irish surely did the musicians sang about in their Celtic ballads, so long ago...

I heard your voice singing

Despite his many years of living, despite the knowledge he'd gained and the common sense he'd lost (and sometimes regained back), one girl would always have control over him. And it would be Winnie, no one else. Oh, surely...someone else would come along, someone beautiful and easygoing, someone wonderful to be with - but Winnie would always be The One. She knew and understood, knew and didn't tell, knew and wanted to help...

Her song and her voice, although a little rough around the edges and a tad off-key, would always captivate him and entrance him. Everytime he heard a Celtic tune he would turn and look for her, look for her gently swaying body, for her eyes dancing in amusement at how hard it was to get him to dance with her.

And yet how easy it was to keep him going.

Your eyes danced the song

Sometimes she'd forgotten the radio, and they danced to the music in their words and their thoughts...to the music that seemed to radiate from her every move and thought. He could see the notes of the song, the simple piano notes reflecting in her eyes because surely that was what she was thinking.

Your hands played the tune

And then they would meet - their bodies aligned so simply they didn't need music anymore, it was there, floating around them, emitting from them in powerful waves, their chemistry put into passion put into song.

Her hands would meet his shoulders, her feather light touch caressing his arms and chest, moving back and forth. Her eyes would look up and in them he would see himself in her gaze, but it wasn't just him...it was a whole him because that's how he felt. He felt glad that someone knew, someone like her, someone who understood. He was glad because she was a girl, feminine but willing to tough it out. He was glad that he felt a feeling like this because he hadn't felt feelings in a very long time. He felt glad because he was feeling, like a living person. He didn't think himself to be a living person but desperately wished he was and tried to pretend; this new emotion sweeping over him felt like a connection to the living world he lived in but was not apart of. He was also glad because she seemed to feel it, too.

T'was a vision before me

Not only was his reflection shining back at him, his new and whole reflection through her eyes, but also her soul. The very music that seemed to be the fabric of her inner makings radiated in pulses from her eyes and spirit. She shined brightly in the rising full moon, her pale skin reflecting its pale glow. The plain white dress she wore so often didn't look plain in the soft moonlight; rather, she seemed a fairy - no, an angel - and for once he felt mortal, human. For once he felt...alive.

We left the music behind and the dance carried on

Her hands would then drift down to meet his, and gently she would pull him through the thin expanse of trees, her eyes all the while laughing and her body moving to the music their hearts were creating but never was there a noise, not even the sound of their gentle breathing; it was always silent...always speechless. But the way they were they didn't need words. Words were too plain, too ordinary, for people like them...

As we stole away to the seashore

...until they met at the small cliff above the short, rocky shoreline of the lake. He remembered being slightly confused the first time she led him here, they hadn't moved from their clearing in the forest, but he was lost in the feel of her hands on his arms and the beauty of the night and didn't question anything she asked him to do.

We smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair

Her movement stopped and they stood side by side, hands still clasped. The wind tossed their hair gently and he glanced over to see her with her head tilted up toward the moonlight and her eyes shut contentedly. But that time...that time, there had been something different about her. An anxiety she had done her best to try to cover up and had almost succeeded. But he'd watched her movement so much, memorized everything she'd done, he knew when something was different. He just knew.

And with sadness you paused.

Suddenly he was aware of the silence around them. Their music had stopped, the music they had created together, and suddenly it had stopped, mid-tune. At that moment he was even more aware of her body change.

Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go

She turned and opened her eyes, and the music had by then disappeared completely from his mind. Not even the haunting song it left behind was there to comfort him. He felt a sudden sense of foreboding. He knew he was going to lose her; he knew it.

His heart was beginning to sing again but without her song coaxing it out of him it sounded like a pitifully off-tune violinist, like a baby banging on the piano keys. Already he felt the emptiness, the void, inside, but that wasn't half as bad as realizing that he loved her, that in his eyes she was his soulmate, and that by telling him she was leaving made him believe she wouldn't drink the water.

While there was a lot of time in the world, all the time in the world for him, and she had anytime to drink the water - from the small actions, from the small differences in her dance that night, he was led to believe she wouldn't. She would think about it, oh yes, possibly even pour a glass full - but just to let it pour out. Just to tuck the thought away again until the next decade or so, after wrinkles began to show and she laughed so much it wore away at her skin...she'd think about it. But never do anything. Because she had the choice, and the cons weighed so heavily against the pros.

Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so

He knew what was coming. All in a rush it came to him, a sudden feel of understanding that he'd never felt before. And even though he knew what was coming, it didn't make it better. The dread that filled him was soulcrushing. It weighed on him but foremost was the thought that he'd never be able to get over her, that death would never visit, that death would never claim him for her own instead of that girl by the name Winnie...that girl...

Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time

His eyes fell to her clothes. They were modern; the newest threads and the newest styles. He looked down at his own: they resembled the past fashions, mixed together. While he'd never given much thought to fashion - he just changed wardrobes every decade or so to dodge mysterious questions - now it was all he could think about. She was so obviously different from him; she didn't belong there. He resisted a self-mocking smirk. No, it was he who didn't belong there. By nature's law he should have died at least fifty years ago. But he hadn't. So she fit in perfectly - it was her time rightfully. He was the puzzle piece that looked like it fit, it had all the right colors and had almost the right shape, except for one little part...one little part that ruined the picture.

He squinted his eyes to gaze at her, scrutinizing her before she'd even said a word. She didn't need to. Now that he took time to notice, took the time to realize how star-crossed they really were, he could see a barrier. He was looking at her through foggy glass, mentally trying to reach out and touch her was impossible. The glass was filled with thin multi-colored ribbons that melded into her image, ribbons filled with small reflections of time periods past. He knew what it meant. He knew this was one barrier he could not cross. He knew...

And I wondered why.

...but didn't understand. He looked at her normally again and, though the glass seemed to shatter and he could see her clearly again, he knew the barrier was still there, still waiting for him to try to cross again, just to shoot him back.

He met her eyes and noticed that they were reflecting his - pleading. Or was she feeling the same thing?

Through his eyes he tried to find the answers. Of why she hadn't been born when he was, of why he and his family had decided to drink out of that particular spring...

As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea

He turned away from her gaze to stare into the lake. The wind that had so gently tossed their hair had begun to turn violent, churning the water below. It roared against the black, smooth rock, spraying them with a small mist.

A vision came o'er me

Slowly his eyes moved upward, finding themselves staring blankly at the full white moon. He began to lose himself in the pure glow of it and found himself daydreaming, almost... figures danced before him, but he couldn't tell what they were or what they meant.

Of thundering hooves and beating wings

In clouds above.

He didn't know what she looked like on the outside. He was lost in the vision he saw, a premonition, perhaps, although he didn't really believe in those.

But as his 'gaze' focused on the figures in the distance, he didn't really believe it was a premonition. Albeit this, he was swept up in it...

He imagined the ancient Greek gods flying above him in the clouds, ferrying the souls of the dead across the River Styx... purely mythical. But it symbolized something for him, something he knew she'd wanted all along but, no matter how comical, this helped seal the deal.

He snapped back into reality when he heard the crunch of a twig. She was leaving.

As you turned to go I heard you call my name.

Her back was to him but that didn't matter. He had resigned himself to his fate, to his unending fate, he had given in. He had tried to teach her his ways, tried to teach her how he lived and how he survived given what he was, but that didn't matter. And she understood that.

He internally sighed. How close they could have been...such a passion they could have shared... he knew she knew he understood her meaning. And she hadn't done anything different, hardly at all.

You were like a bird in a cage, spreading its

Wings to fly

She was walking away, though she had stopped to respond to him. The wind was blowing, same as ever, and they were facing it - her dress billowed behind her like wings. He was reminded strongly of a large swan, graceful and mythically real.

'The old ways are lost' you sang as you flew

He had tried to bring her into his world. He had tried to convince her she'd have everything she needed, he'd make sure of that. He'd tried to convince her it'd be worth the ride he'd take her on, worth the never ending roller coaster.

He had tried to teach her the ways, teach her - show her - that no matter what would happen, it would happen with him. And that he'd be there for her, forever. Literally.

But now he understood.

And I wondered why

She walked off, her dress still flowing behind her. She wasn't walking. She wasn't even floating, like a lost virgin ghost. She was flying...

He understood now, her doubts. If given the choice he wouldn't have done it, although he didn't have the choice. He could hear her voice echo in his head, explaining to him, explaining...

'You can't promise you'd love me! You know how old couples get. They either grow closer or grow farther apart. How do you know which would happen to us?'

No matter how much sense it made - and yes, it made sense, he was a sensible person - it was still painful. Perhaps even more painful because it made sense and he couldn't do anything about it. There was so much he couldn't do even though in retrospect he could do almost anything...

The thundering waves are calling me home to you

The pounding sea is calling me home to you...

He snapped back into reality when a particularly large drop of salt water hit him in the face. He sighed and glanced down at his clothes. Typical twentieth century clothing. Everyone around him was preparing for the new millenium. It was something different, for once. He'd never experienced one of those before. But with a sinking feeling he realized that, unlike everyone around him, he would see another one. And another. And another. And that thought depressed him.

A wave hit the cliff he was standing on with a particularly hard crash. He grumbled.

"Alright already! I know, I know! I know..."

He had been debating the past week or two. She hadn't waited on him, not in the way he thought she would...

The thundering waves are calling me home to you...

He hadn't seen her around the town. With a slowly darkening mood - had he really let himself raise his hopes? - he trudged over to the cemetary.

Almost too quickly had he found her grave, as if she was waiting for him, in a different way than he wanted. He leaned over to look at the gravestone, only glancing at the day of her death.

He had been walking through the town, that date ringing in his mind, when a small glitter had caught his eyes. It was a glass-blowing shop. But what caught his eye was small...a heart-shaped vial, which sparked an idea...

The pounding sea is calling me home to you...

An old man peered out of his small cottage's window to stare at the cemetery next to it.

"That boy is there again!" he said gruffly, instantly growing suspicious.

A boy looking just like that one came back around the same time every year. He never stayed there long; he would stand at one certain grave, never looking at any others and never having to search for the stone. He had memorized exactly where it was. His lips would move, as if he were talking, and he'd kneel down. The old man suspected he was placing something on the grave but it was never anything big. He'd stay kneeling for a minute or two more before walking off, though this time he seemed to be kneeling longer, never looking anywhere else.

The thundering waves are calling me home to you

He stood at her grave, fingering the vial in his pocket. He was staring at the stone without really thinking before he noticed his name was on it. How had he not seen that before?

He knelt down and cleared some of the moss away. He frowned as he realized it was a poem.

'She always spoke of her one true love,

A figure not human,

A man beyond men and

a boy beyond boys -

Her angel, her Tuck Everlasting.'

Against his will a smile grew on his face, the first real smile, was large and beaming. He leaned his head back and laughed. A laugh he hadn't had since...since he'd seen her last...

The laugh still in his eyes and expression he pulled out his gift and placed it underneath her stone before standing and turning to travel some more before this date rolled around next year. He'd had trouble finding her gift, or at least part of it, but he always would. It disappeared every year and he hoped he wasn't cursing anyone by leaving it there but it was his tribute to her. His tribute and his gift, to show that he hadn't been lying. To show that he would love her eternally and not because he had to.

The pounding sea is calling me home to you...

Against his wife's wishes, the old man grabbed his cane and waited an hour or two before plodding across the cemetery to where the boy had been standing.

It was a woman's grave, he realized, though he should have guessed that. What puzzled him was that the date of the woman's death was very long ago...and so was her birth. He'd never even heard her name, nor her maiden name, before. But this young man knew her well, well enough to come every year around her deathday to leave something. The man squinted his eyes. What was it that he left?

Ignoring his inner conscience, he reached forward clumsily to pick it up. It was a heartshaped vial, each curve of the heart a separate container. He paused a moment before pulling the cork out carefully. It looked like water in there, but...

He took a sniff. "Sea water?"

Another great sniff. He frowned and murmured to himself. "Smells like...spring water...but not spring water...something else there...not normal spring water..." He shrugged and plugged it back up before setting it down gently on her grave. "Whatever it means, lady, I hope you appreciate it."

The thundering waves are calling me home to you

He smirked as he walked away. The words of her poem most likely meant nothing to anyone else, anyone but him. Somehow she'd known how to give him the cryptic message and, although it caused even more memories to flood through, he was happy.

He had put sea water in one side of the vial and the spring water in the other. He knew she'd understand. It was his life meeting hers.

He found himself on a cliff overlooking the sea. Somehow his feet had guided him there.

He felt her presence there with him. She understood. And just as the seawater waves had called to him, perhaps they called to her too...

The thundering waves are calling me home to you

The pounding sea is calling me home to you...

A/N: Well, how'd ya like it? REVIEW!

P.S. Fifty-two is my favorite number. :D