justakidfrombrklyn (
justakidfrombrklyn) wrote2014-08-28 02:34 am
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The headaches began after he came out of the ice...
To say that a lot of things had changed once he'd come out of the ice wasn't just an understatement; it was practically cruel. The worst part in a lot of ways, though, was the way people treated him: as if the ice had preserved him, kept him exactly as he'd been when he'd sent the plane crash landing into the Atlantic.
It couldn't be further from the truth, though.
He'd died. The water had rushed in, the cold had soaked into his bones, the ice had taken over and he'd died and he'd felt it as he'd died. He'd felt the cold, woken up a dozen times stuck in the ice, unable to move and let it consume him, again and again. He still had nightmares about it, nightmares he didn't share because they were so ridiculous in some ways, debilitating in others.
And then there were the headaches.
He only got them occasionally, a strange buzz beginning behind his eyes and around, his eyes shifting unbidden as if he could find the cause for something that was going on inside his own head. And yet, sometimes it really felt like he could. He'd look around, the feeling exploding inside his skull, and he'd suddenly meet eyes with someone and the feeling would suddenly vanish. Usually, the person in question would blink at him and rush off, which was fair since one of the cardinal rules of walking around a large city was to avoid eye contact unless necessary. He didn't think too much about it until he went back to Europe, back at war again in his search for his lost... friend...
Which was when the buzzing headaches started to get far more frequent.
Sam, the finest companion a man could ask for, had decided to follow a lead in Madrid that Natasha had sent their way (one that would have been set off badly had Captain America's well-known mug shown up) which had left Steve enjoying the sights and snooping around Paris for the time being. Thankfully, there was a lot to see, a lot to investigate, but also... a lot to draw.
Beautiful things to draw.
He was halfway through sketching out a panel of the Arc De Triomph when he felt it there, head lifting from the paper to try and find the 'cause'. This was getting mildly ridiculous...
It couldn't be further from the truth, though.
He'd died. The water had rushed in, the cold had soaked into his bones, the ice had taken over and he'd died and he'd felt it as he'd died. He'd felt the cold, woken up a dozen times stuck in the ice, unable to move and let it consume him, again and again. He still had nightmares about it, nightmares he didn't share because they were so ridiculous in some ways, debilitating in others.
And then there were the headaches.
He only got them occasionally, a strange buzz beginning behind his eyes and around, his eyes shifting unbidden as if he could find the cause for something that was going on inside his own head. And yet, sometimes it really felt like he could. He'd look around, the feeling exploding inside his skull, and he'd suddenly meet eyes with someone and the feeling would suddenly vanish. Usually, the person in question would blink at him and rush off, which was fair since one of the cardinal rules of walking around a large city was to avoid eye contact unless necessary. He didn't think too much about it until he went back to Europe, back at war again in his search for his lost... friend...
Which was when the buzzing headaches started to get far more frequent.
Sam, the finest companion a man could ask for, had decided to follow a lead in Madrid that Natasha had sent their way (one that would have been set off badly had Captain America's well-known mug shown up) which had left Steve enjoying the sights and snooping around Paris for the time being. Thankfully, there was a lot to see, a lot to investigate, but also... a lot to draw.
Beautiful things to draw.
He was halfway through sketching out a panel of the Arc De Triomph when he felt it there, head lifting from the paper to try and find the 'cause'. This was getting mildly ridiculous...
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A quick glance about revealed no familiar faces-- Well. One, but this face wasn't from any past encounter, or Watchers' file, no. This was a face that had been seen across video reels and television screens for decades now, and--
"Oh you have got to be kidding me," Methos muttered under his breath.
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He was spotted, but not recognised, and damn it, he knew that look of vaguely pained mild confusion hiding under the USO smile. He'd seen it all too often over the millennia, and damn it, fuck everything. Cursing the Fates, the Norns, and a half-dozen other deities for good measure, he crossed the street, and headed down the block toward, of all people, Captain America.
MacLeod would never believe this. Joe would never believe this.
"Hello, I'm Adam Pierson, and you and I need to have a chat, Captain Rogers."
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"I'm... very sorry, Mister Pierson? May I ask what that might be about?"
Regardless, he started to tuck his sketchbook away in his backpack.
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"Adam's fine," he said. "We need to talk about your headaches." Preferably in a nice, quiet chapel, but there was always that cafe built over an old Gaulish holy site. He was just glad that he'd managed to 'accidentally' give his Watcher the slip earlier. It was cute, the way they stuck the newbies on him, but it got annoying sometimes.
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"I don't know what you're talking about."
Because there was exactly one team in the country who was cleared to work on his medical issues at this point, stationed at the US Embassy. And even if that wasn't the case, he'd never told anyone about the strange, short, buzzing headaches. Never.
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"Yes you do. And it's very, very important that we have this conversation, before someone less charitably inclined decides to have it at the end of a sword." A little melodramatic, sure, but...
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"All right then, since you're... determined," Steve said, keeping his tone even, "let's discuss. Without bringing any swords or shields into it."
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"Is there a reason why we're going to a church? I'd rather not involve anyone else, especially not clergy."
The unspoken addition there is 'if things get violent.'
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The chapel wasn't far, and the little garden in the back was currently unoccupied; perfect.
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"Holy ground. The way you said that leads me to believe that there's something specific you're looking for there."
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"After the ice. And it's not really a headache. More like... a buzz? Just doesn't feel great."
He considers for a moment.
"Do you get them too? When I get them? The people who look back... do they get them too? Are they causing them? Is that how you knew?"
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"Smart lad," he said. "Yes, that's exactly it. And what 'it' is, is the presence of another Immortal. Which is what you are. And I am. And you've met others, and they never bothered to tell you? Seriously?"
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"First, I've never actually talked to any of them. Usually, we meet eyes, the feeling goes away, and I've tried to be polite, but they usually run off. Probably wondering why the big guy's staring at them. Or think they're interrupting a mission or something."
Which had never actually happened to this day.
"Second... Immortal? I'm not Immortal. Enhanced, yes, but I can still die."
Though... come to think of it, he'd healed significantly faster since he'd come out of the ice. He'd always assumed his memory had been off, but...
No. He was human. Enhanced but human.
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He shuddered a little, not quite able to suppress it; once, just once, he had been trapped under ice for a whole long winter. After that, Methos had been very careful to stay the hell away from lakes, rivers, and other bodies of water that might trap him.
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"How do you know that for sure?" because he was not going to stick on that topic any longer than he had to, "How do you know all this? Are you Immortal? And what does that even mean? Do I have to... I mean, I'm not a vampire or anything. I eat like anyone else. More than anyone else, but I did that before I went into the ice."
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He was well aware that the man across from him was a dangerous man, but he'd come to learn the difference between dangerous and dangerous to him. And he didn't think this one was dangerous to him. At least, not yet.
All the same, he kept his hand on his backpack strap; he could pull it up to cover him from a knife easily enough.
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As usual, it barely had time to start bleeding, before his Quickening crackled across it, healing it in an instant.
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"I've... never seen anything like that. Not that I regularly watch when I take a hit."
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"Give it a try."
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A low buzz that almost seemed familiar crackled from the wound as it knit together again, somewhat more slowly than Adam's had.
He blinked. Because.
Well, damn.
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"There is," he continued after a moment. "One way that you can die permanently: decapitation."
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