justakidfrombrklyn | The headaches began after he came out of the ice...

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...

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"I'm assuming we're supposed to keep this whole thing secret in general, since I've never heard of it," Steve said as he took a seat and settled at the table.

"Yep. We usually don't say a thing, unless we know we can trust someone. Or if they happen to be there when we revive, or something along those lines. I'm sure you can imagine what might happen if we didn't keep it a secret." He settled in the seat opposite, a comfortable, boneless sprawl.

"I certainly can. And I have enough trouble with my current occupation. I don't really feel like calling any more attention my way."

The waitress came by then, dropping a pair of menus and two glasses of water before disappearing.

"I never did any of what I did for attention, no matter what it looked like."

"No? Mind telling me why?" Methos picks up the menu, and it doesn't take him long to decide on a steak sandwich, and a nice German beer.

"Why I volunteered for all this?" and he gestured to his chest and shoulders, "or why I became Captain America?"

Because the answers were the same in some ways but different in others.

"Either, both?" He shrugged a little. "I doubt I'm the only one who's ever asked."

"You're not," he admitted, eyes distant, "but most people who ask have an agenda, so sometimes I'm not terribly interested in going into it."

He pulled up the glass of water.

"Project Rebirth? Doctor Erskine's formula? That's tied up with the war in a lot of ways, and in other ways, it didn't matter one bit. Because it had to do with the guy I was then and the guy I felt like I needed to be to do my part."

He looked over at Adam.

"I'm gonna assume," and his Brooklyn accent started to come out stronger as he kept talking, "that you know what it was like back in the 40's. I was in an art class when Pearl Harbor got bombed and I stormed right out to try and sign up. I saw a dozen guys I knew sign up and some of them, we got word they weren't comin' back. But for me, that was all the reason.

"I couldn't just sit at home and collect scrap, do my part on the homefront. Because the homefront wasn't losin' bodies. The front lines were. And every letter we got back in the neighborhood was another gun that wasn't gettin' fired, another person who could be that tipping point between losin' and winnin'. And as far as I was concerned, we couldn't lose. Not cause..." he gestured to himself with a crooked smile, "not because bein' on the right side means you're gonna win. I know that lesson better than most. But we couldn't lose because each of those guys gave their lives for something. And if we lost, all of that... the bullies would win and the world'd change for the worse in a lot of ways."

Methos nodded thoughtfully.

"Do you feel like you did the right thing?" he asked. "Like all the killing, the fighting.. Was it worth it?"

He looked sideways at Adam.

"How up are you on current events in the United States? Or," he sipped on the wate ragain, "are you aware of the dissolution of SHIELD and everything that happened in DC a couple of months ago?"

"Of course I do. Some of us think we can ignore what goes on in the wider world, but I know better. I'd heard rumours about HYDRA back then, too. If even half of what I heard was true, then frankly I'm glad I spent the whole thing in hiding." He sipped his water. "But that's not the question; what I think doesn't matter, because it wasn't my war."

"But the answer won't make sense if you don't have the context," Steve pointed out with an even smile.

"We did a lot of things I'm not proud of, and we did a lot I am. I knew the people who started SHIELD, knew them personally, and I know that what they were trying to do was make the world a better place, defend freedom while still keeping people safe.

"That got perverted, twisted. But that doesn't change what they were aiming to do, or make the decisions they made bad ones.

"That's about how I feel about my decisions. At the time that I made them, they were the right decision. I can't say anything different now because I'm looking from behind now. And trying to look back with knowledge I didn't have then... it's a sure way to madness. And I've got too much to do now to drive myself crazy."

All in all, there was only one decision he regretted. That decision, he'd never forgive himself for.

Again, Methos found himself smiling with approval.

"Good. With an attitude like that, you might just make it."

"Thanks," he said with a short chuckle as the waitress came by to ask for their order. Steve told her to get him his usual, which she made sure to check was the turkey, brie, and almond before turning to Adam.

Once she was gone, he looked back at Adam.

"I guess one of the survival skills you learn being... like this is not to dwell on the past, huh?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you, but no, all too many of us end up dwelling on the past," he said. "Some take it to a truly unhealthy degree; it's not bad to remember, but trying to live in the past, as if the standards and values of the past still apply..." Methos shook his head. "Times change, people change, and we should too. If I were still as I was when I was young, I wouldn't be fit company for lunch."

"Speaking of keeping with the times..."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his Starkphone, holding it out to Adam.

"I'd like to get your number, if you don't mind. You can have mine as well, though... if I don't answer, it might just be because I'm in the middle of defending the world from aliens or taking down government agencies."

Methos took it with a nod, and quickly put in his number, as well as an email address, and a few other points of contact. Then he added Steve's to his own.

"The number and the email are both secure," he said, handing the phone back. "And... Look, I'm really not the kind of guy to stick my neck out, but if there's ever another alien invasion, or something else that would literally mean the end of the world, let me know, hm? It's my home too.'

He raised an eyebrow.

"Interested in helping out?"

He smiled a little.

"Well, if I can, I'm happy to pass on the news. If I can. Sometimes, these things happen and I don't really have time to tweet about it, so to speak."

"Yeah, I get that. I just have this friend who was really disappointed he didn't get a piece of that alien invasion action." Methos rolled his eyes, and then smiled at the waitress as she returned with their lunch.

"More than one, actually. With several centuries of combat experience apiece."

"I'd have to introduce you to Thor. He's our resident 'centuries of combat experience' expert."

He picked up his sandwich and took a bite, washing it down with the water.

"Which is... good to know."

A friend he already had who knew what it was to outlive everyone you know and love. Perhaps Thor would be able to give him some perspective on i.

"I'd tell you to look me up the next time you or your friends are in New York, but... I don't know how long I'm going to be traveling. It's... less a vacation and more of an extended mission."

"Should I ask, or is it classified?"

Curiosity killed the cat, old man. Good thing he was Immortal then.

He considered all he'd heard, and he considered the knowledge that he'd learned today. Bucky, by all laws of God and man, should have been dead. Bucky had survived the fall from the train. Bucky was out there, somewhere, and he was taking out HYDRA installations in between what seemed like bouts of sight seeing.

"If an Immortal lost a limb before he died... would that limb grow back when he did?"

Methos shook his head.

"No. Nor even afterwards, in general, although there are rumours that it might be possible. Why?"

He nodded and swallowed a little more water.

"I'm not the only one who came back from something that should have killed them. How much do you know about my activities during the war?"

"Bit more than the general public," he admitted. "Probably less than anyone who was actually there."

"Then you're familiar with the name Bucky Barnes. And what happened to him."

He kept his voice low and his eyes and mannerisms calm. Bucky meant so much more to him than just another man in his unit, but that was something a little too personal, a little too deep, to share with anyone on a first meeting.

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