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 take it there's more to the story?" he asked, leaning forward on his elbows under the guise of laziness. There were benefits to his reputation as an indolent layabout.

He looked over at Adam, a great deal going on behind his eyes that he wasn't quite ready to let fly, let alone with a stranger.

"He's alive, to start with. There's more to it than that, but... he's alive. And he looks the same as he did when I lost him.

"And the only reason I didn't look further was because no one, not even me, could have survived that fall."

Methos' eyebrows ticked up.

"I see. And so... you're looking for him?" he asked. He picked up his beer, and leaned back in his chair again.

He nodded.

"I thought... there were other explanations why he might have survived. But even then, like I said. This... this explains a lot more."

If Bucky was immortal... well, it could be incredibly good or incredibly bad. And it made him wonder what they'd done to him, what he'd survived, given that the only thing that could actually kill him was decapitation.

"It is the Occam's Razor of the mysteriously not dead," he agreed. "If he is... Someone may already know."

"I haven't seen anything about it in the files. But I don't suppose anyone who'd know would want anyone else to know. And they'd hide the differences through the experimentation he went through in the Azzano factory."

He breathed in and out and the pieces started filtering into his mind, the brilliant tactician in him putting them together to make a truly horrifying picture.

Methos held up a hand to forestall any further comments.

"Hold those thoughts; we'll go somewhere secure after lunch, and work it out, all right?" He... wasn't exactly sure when he had decided to help, but, hell. This was the most interesting thing to happen to him in a while, and the first interesting thing in a while that hadn't been because of MacLeod.

He kept his tone even.

"Don't feel like sharing with the guy on the laptop?"

"Pretty much. He's a good kid, but there are some things he doesn't need on his plate just yet."

"Well, do let him know if he wants an autograph from Captain America, all he has to do is ask," he said as he turned back to his lunch. He wished he could say that he was no longer hungry, but he was. His body needed the food. But the idea of finding out more, more that could help Bucky...

That got another laugh out of Methos.

"Come on, let's pay up, and go somewhere else," he said. MacLeod was going to be out all day shopping with Amanda, and it was early, but Joe should be at Le Blues Bar...

Steve turned to the young man on the laptop and threw off a salute and a smile before putting down his cash to pay the bill and slinging on his backpack again.

"Aiming for anywhere in particular?" he asked as they slipped out of the restaurant.

Watching the young Watcher sputter and flush brought a tear of joy to Methos' eye, and he stopped for a moment on the way out.

"Look," he said to the kid. "Captain Rogers and I are going to go bother Joe. Take the rest of the night off." The additional sputter he got in reply was even better.

"My friend Joe has a bar here in town," he explained to Steve, as they left. "There aren't many people I'll say this about, but he is completely trustworthy. There is no secret that isn't safe with him."

Once they were outside, Steve glanced back towards the restaurant's window.

"So is that about you being... what we are or something else?"

"Bit of both," Methos replied. "I'll explain when we get to Joe's."

He just nodded and kept walking along beside him.

"So where, exactly, is Joe's?"

Methos rattled off the address, and continued: "Not too far, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? Or we could catch a cab, and be there in five, but it's a nice day out, and the walk won't hurt."

He shook his head and kept going.

"I'm fine to walk. I just wanted to make sure since I need to make a call in about an hour. A friend of mine is in Spain, working on the same thing I am. We're trying to keep in touch."

"Gotcha. Shouldn't be a problem," he agreed. "We turn left up here-- Actually, how do you feel about a bit of an unconventional shortcut?" he asked, eyes glinting mischievously.

Steve's eyes glimmered with a matching penchant for mischief and he nodded, firmly.

"I'll follow you."

Methos grinned, and turned right instead, taking them down a narrow, cobblestone alleyway, and down into one of the many entrances into the catacombs.

"You ever get a chance to check out the catacombs before?" he asked.

He nodded, and his eyes wandered around the entrance.

"I wouldn't say I got to 'check' them out," he admitted as they stepped into the darker passage, "but I've been through them. We used them to travel through the city when we had to deal with the French resistance."

"...speaking of the resistance," Methos said, as he lead the way down a curving tunnel. He pulled a flashlight from one pocket, and flipped it on, turning the diffuser to give them a broader, if dimmer view.

"I had a friend there, and I'm kind of curious now if you ever met him. Tall Scottish fellow, with black hair, and these soulful, brooding eyes?"

Steve considered for a moment before he finally nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, actually, I think I do. His French wasn't the finest," and he paused as the memory rose. "Gabe tried to teach him and he got into a bunch of fights with Monty over something or other. Monty just said it was him being English and the guy being Scottish but I almost ended up putting them both in a corner after about an hour."

"Yeah, that sounds like Mac," Methos said, grinning again, his teeth reflecting the light. "You'll probably meet him again before long."

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