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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"Maybe you're right. But at the same time, we're all lucky that he is a decent human being." Methos finished with the bartop, and moved on to one of the tables. He glanced over at the stage, where Joe was checking the equipment, and smiled a little.

"That's not luck. That's Pepper Potts."

He might not have gotten to meet her in person during the events in New York, but he'd talked to her on the phone more than once... and Coulson's folders on Tony had been quite thorough in Miss Potts's influence on Tony.

"Then in that case, we're all lucky he has her," Methos said.

"I can agree with that," he said with a long sip.

"The point I'm trying to make though, is that that much power in the hands of any one man - and if you deny he has that, I'm dropping you back in the ice for your own damned good - is frightening."

"You don't need to drop me anywhere. I've seen the results of powerful men, up close and personal."

Alexander Pierce had certainly done enough as one individual to give him trouble sleeping.

"But you can't divorce the power from the man. I knew Howard. I know Tony. And Pepper's not alone anymore in making sure he uses his power for good."

"Which is good," Methos allowed. "But doesn't change the point."

Across the room, Joe cursed under his breath, and unplugged a fraying cord, holding it up to be seen.

"Adam, stop giving Steve lessons in cynicism, and get me one of these from the supply closet."

Steve just smiled at that.

"If there's nothing beyond the point but fear, it's not much of a point. I'm no stranger to realism, or pragmatism; I spent most of my life poor and sick. There wasn't much room for optimism in a one bedroom in Brooklyn Heights. But" he took a long sip of his coke, "I don't believe in fear like that. Ultimately, all it does is paralyze. Or even worse, galvanize."

"It's not about fear. It's about awareness," Methos said. He left the barmop on the table, and went to go get a replacement cord for Joe.

"He's just needling you for the fun of it," Joe pointed out. "If you want him to stop, just don't play along."

Steve looked over at Joe and gave him a smile.

"Oh this? I just figured this was Adam's way of asking if he wants to be friends. I only ever get this much needling from friends."

He leaned against the bar and drank a little more of his soda as he turned to Adam.

"Except you just said that your point was that one man having that kind of power was frightening. So is it awareness of the man... or awareness of the power?"

Methos made a face at Joe, and tossed the cord over to him. That, he was sure, was for not warning him about Steve. Oh well.

"Bit of both. And Joe's a spoilsport."

"Joe seems like a solid guy," Steve said with a little smile over at Joe before he turned his attention back to Adam.

"And if you'd like to meet Mr. Terrifying, I can arrange that."

"He is. I'd trust him with my life." Has trusted Joe with his life, and so much more. It will be a sad, dark day when the world loses Joe Dawson, and it was something Methos tried not to think about too much.

"And what makes you think I haven't met him?"

He held up his hands.

"I'm making zero assumptions. I didn't even know what I was before today."

"Fair enough." Methos scooped up the barmop, and went back to polishing tables, while Joe finished with the stage equipment.

"Is there anything I can help with?" he finally asked. He'd been itching to help somehow, but it'd seemed like they had a system.

"Well... If you really want to help, there are two crates of beer in the back room that need to be brought up," Joe said.

"You never let me bring the beer in!" Methos pouted.

Steve smiled and nodded to Joe, walking back into the back room easily enough. It took him a moment to find which ones Joe was talking about that.

He walked back out, a crate under each arm.

"Where would you like them?"

"Just behind the bar, on the left side," Joe replied. "You should see right where they go. Damn it this cord's no good either. Adam--"

"I'll check if there's another," Methos replied, heading back over to the storage closet. It didn't take him long to find another, but...

"Joe, have you had a mouse problem? This one's bitten clean through."

Steve put the crates down where it looked like they should go, dusting off his hands thoughtfully as he looked around.

"It's not really a surprise, considering the back entrance going to the catacombs."

"Yeah," Joe agreed. "They come and go. Damn."

"I can get you a new one," Methos offerred. "These things are what, five euros? It won't take long, you can finish getting things set up, and by the time your musicians get here, they'll never know the difference."

Steve stood up straighter

"Live music?"

He actually looked excited.

"Almost every night," Joe replied, grinning at him. "Yeah, go on Adam, Steve'll give me a hand with the rest of this."

"All right, I'll be back in a few. Give me a call if you find any other bad parts," Methos said. He pulled his coat back on, checked his sword, and the placement of his other weapons, and headed out.

Steve nodded, took a sip of his watered down drink, and walked over to Joe.

"Point me where you need me, and I'll get it done. Though I'm going to have to take a break in about twenty minutes to call a friend of mine and check in so he doesn't worry."

"No problem," Joe agreed. "Think you can finish up those tables then?"

Methos headed back out the back way, checking the corners by habit, and taking a glance upwards, just in case.

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