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

[justakidfrombrklyn]

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...

Comments

[im_just_a_guy]

"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?"

[justakidfrombrklyn]

He held up his hands.

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

[im_just_a_guy]

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

[justakidfrombrklyn]

"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.

[im_just_a_guy]

"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.

[justakidfrombrklyn]

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?"

[im_just_a_guy]

"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."

[justakidfrombrklyn]

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."

[im_just_a_guy]

"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."

[justakidfrombrklyn]

Steve stood up straighter

"Live music?"

He actually looked excited.

[im_just_a_guy]

"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.

[justakidfrombrklyn]

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."

[im_just_a_guy]

"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.

[justakidfrombrklyn]

"Just a sweep and a mop down?" he asked as he went for a couple of rags.

[im_just_a_guy]

"Yeah, and maybe check the lights in the bathroom," Joe replied. He was going to get spoiled, at this rate.

Finding no danger lurking behind the bar, Methos turned up an alley, and headed for the nearest shop likely to have what Joe needed.

[justakidfrombrklyn]

"Can do."

Steve started on the farthest table from Joe and carefully worked his way towards him, dusting and then mopping each one after he'd pulled the chairs down.

[im_just_a_guy]

Joe, meanwhile, kept up checking the equipment; as it turned out, there were a few more things that needed replacing, and he ended up just texting the list to Methos; easier than calling each time he found one.

Methos' Starkphone made a pleasant little plinking sound as he got the text, about halfway between the bar and the shop. He pulled it out and checked it, because that's what anyone would do, nodded to himself, and then put it back in his pocket.

For the past five minutes, he had been increasingly certain that he was being followed, and not by a Watcher. He hadn't seen anyone of course, which is what made him sure of that last part, at least. If it was another Immortal, they had been staying either carefully out of sensing range, or had been inside his range long enough to remain unnoticed; either was a bad sign.

Still, he hadn't changed his behavior at all; hadn't actively looked for anyone, except when glancing back and forth before crossing the street. But he just couldn't shake that feeling, and after five thousand years, he tended to listen to his instincts; they'd saved his head more than once over the centuries.

[justakidfrombrklyn]

He waited until the man was in an alleyway, out of the light and out of the view of everyone on the street, before he took the shot.

Straight through the stomach once, then again, a faint crack easily mistakable through the bustle of a Parisian street.

[im_just_a_guy]

Well, that was one way to have your suspicions confirmed. Methos staggered into the wall of the alley, one hand coming up to support himself, the other clutching his stomach, and incidentally palming a small knife. Not that it would keep him alive or anything, but he could definitely ruin the day of whoever had the sadistic poor taste to shoot him in the gut. Twice!

Talk about abysmal manners.

[justakidfrombrklyn]

More importantly, it put him in a terrible position to notice the gentleman who leaped down and aimed his metal fist at Methos's head to knock him out.

[im_just_a_guy]

Too bad for his assailant, five thousand years of living, dying, and keen paranoia means that Methos isn't quite as bad off as he seems; gut shots are awful, but so is having an axe stuck in your skull, for instance.

He won't be able to dodge, but turn and get his knife in the bastard's kidney? Hell. Yes.

And then the blackness of unconsciousness overcomes him, and he just hopes that he actually wakes up. This would be the stupidest way to die forever.

[justakidfrombrklyn]

The Winter Soldier was no stranger to pain or to sneaky targets, which was why he wore body armor. That didn't stop the blade from entering his gut, but it did help it from going deep enough to cause him any real trouble. Nothing he couldn't handle in the course of his mission.

He grunted and knocked the target with his metal fist another time for good measure. Asshole.

Then he was dragged him off towards a roof he'd already scouted for an interrogation.

[im_just_a_guy]

Neither death nor unconsciousness keep Methos under for long anymore, and he feels a-- wall, probably-- hitting his back, as he comes back. Not that he gives any sign of being anything other than unconscious; he's very good at playing dead, and since he's not dead-dead, it should give him a chance to gather a little more information.

[he_that_stands_it_now]

He has been tied around he hands, around the ankles, and further tied around a sturdy (and large) round brick chimney with several individual ties of extremely hardy black rope.

Sitting a across from him on the roof is a man with long brown hair, a tactical suit, a five o'clock shadow, and a knife. There is a sniper rifle on the roof beside him but he seems done with it for the moment.

Also, his left arm appears to be made of metal.

He's watching Methos with a singular focus before growling out, in French: "I know you're awake."

[im_just_a_guy]

Wonderful. A smart one. Damn it. Methos lets out a long, put-upon sigh.

"I don't suppose you at least had the decency to get stabbed in the kidney."

Metal arm. Sniper rifle. Something about that rings a bell, but he can't quite put his finger on it. Methos sets his subconscious to working on it, and instead takes stock of his situation, which, well. He's alive, but it doesn't look good, otherwise.