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On his way to Paris, Tim Bayliss stretched out his long legs, luxuriating in the extra room in the first class cabin of the plane. He'd never flown first class before or been to Europe, either. Well, he wasn't there yet, when he got to Paris tomorrow morning, it would be the first time. Like a kid, he could barely contain his excitement.
He and Chris started to plan this trip more than a year ago. But nine months ago, Chris died unexpectedly.
Tim sighed, pain creeping into his heart again as he thought about the loss of his long-time lover. Unanticipated complications from the flu had caused Chris' death, stunning everyone. He still found it difficult to deal with sometimes. Every time he unexpectedly ran across something that belonged to his lover, it caught him off guard and he'd wind up sobbing.
It just wasn't fair, Chris should be with him on this trip, and for years to come. He'd only been sixty-two.
Blinking, Tim tried to stifle the tears that threatened his composure. Fifty-seven years old and he still cried at the drop of a hat.
Not that Chris' death was the drop of a hat, he reminded himself. They had been together for twenty years, raised a family.
And what a family, Tim smiled a little thinking of his kids. Children he never thought to have when he started his relationship with Chris Rawls. Four months after he and Chris had finally worked out the details of their relationship, tragedy had stuck Tim's family. His cousin Jim and his wife had been killed in a car accident, leaving three children without a home or parents. Kimberly, James, and Joseph came to live with him.
His sister, Sara was the only other person in his family who could have taken them in, and she already had two kids. She simply couldn't afford it. He, on the other hand, had the means to support them, but his lifestyle had taken a decidedly alternative bend by that point.
But in the end, there was no one to object. He and Chris moved in together, buying a house in the suburbs, and taking in all three kids. The judge hadn't batted an eyelash when she granted Tim full custody and then let him adopt them later on.
It had always stuck Tim as bitterly ironic, his fondest wish had come at the intolerable cost of his cousin's life. Given a choice in the matter, he would have turned it down in favor of having Jim alive and well.
They lived just a block from Mary and Frank Pembleton and shared the many child-rasing chores with them. Mary had been a lifesaver when it came to his daughter Kimberly. He had been terrified about what to say to her about those 'girl things', but Mary had taken it all in stride, explaining everything.
He was also grateful for some time by himself. He was never alone anymore. Not that he got much time by himself with three kids, anyway. But the kids had all left home, and his lover was gone. Since Chris' death, no one had let him be by himself for more than a couple of hours at a time.
That was part of the reason he was looking forward to this trip. He was going to have a good time, and had spared no expense for anything. The room he would be staying in was a suite. It cost a fortune, but Tim had decided that when he finally got to go to Paris, he would do it right. The kids were all out of college now, and he could well afford it.
Yawning, he knew there would be time enough to think about everything else later.
Dozing off, Tim was awakened a couple of hours later by the announcement that they had started their initial descent into Paris.
Sighing, he tightened his seat belt, excitement shimmering. This was going to be great. He knew it.
Damp and cool, the Parisian nights seemed to reach out to Tim. He walked aimlessly along the brightly lit streets, taking in the sights of the city at night and soaking up the atmosphere. Paris excited and tantalized him, there was so much to see and do. Three days into his trip, he'd yet to stop being intrigued by the wonderful ancient city. Spending his days seeing the museums and shopping, he saved the nights for walking around and exploring.
His wanderings had led him into the Latin quarter, with its old buildings and churches. Seeing Notre Dame at night was different from seeing the great cathedral during the day. He'd been impressed in the light, but the dark made the structure more imposing.
The Seine glittered brightly as Tim crossed under a bridge. Wandering further along the river, he heard the sounds of metal on metal.
Following his instincts, Tim moved toward the sound without regard to his own safety. He turned down an alley and found two men fighting with swords. Stunned, he stopped, unable to go forward or back. Pressing himself against the dank wall of one of the buildings, he held his breath. As he watched, the smaller of the two men swung his sword in a backhanded maneuver, taking the head off his opponent.
Before Tim could do anything, almost before he could think, a white mist rose from the headless body, seeming to search for and find the other man. The mist or smoke was absorbed by the killer's body.
He was thrown to the ground by some unseen force or explosion. Tim's curiosity would not let him keep his head down, he had to watch, had to see what was happening.
All hell broke loose, and he was never sure what exactly happened. All the glass in the windows of the buildings of the alley broke apart at the same time, showering down into the small space. Lightning stuck the man who'd done the beheading. Falling to his knees, the man screamed in pain as the bolts hit him over and over.
Terrified, Tim had never seen anything like it in his life. There would be nothing left of the man when the electric bolts finally stopped.
After what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a few moments, the light show stopped. The man on his knees used his sword to push himself into a standing position. Tim didn't understand how he could possibly be alive, let alone on his feet.
Still on his knees where he'd fallen, Tim looked up just as the other man did and their eyes met. Fear raced though him, the look in the cold eyes said he was dead. As the killer picked up his sword, and headed in his direction, Tim quickly realized there was no way out.
Run. He got to his feet with that thought in mind, but the young man was almost upon him and by the look of him he was at least twenty-five years younger than Tim. Looking into the man's face, the shock of recognition hit him hard.
Tim could see the awareness in the other man's face, too. Some of the deadly coldness left the green-gold eyes.
Perhaps this was not the time to renew old acquaintances. Terror still his number one emotion, Tim turned and ran.
"Tim!" Adam Pierson called out as he started back up the alley. "Wait."
Even though he was truly afraid that Adam meant him harm, and he knew he should just keep going, he hesitated. And Adam caught him easily, the bloodstained sword still in his hand - the sword that had killed the other man.
Tim tried to pull away, his heart beating crazily. Damn. He was going to die alone in a Paris alley and there would be no one to identify the body. No one would know what happened to him. He could see the headlines now: Baltimore Police Captain disappears without at trace! It would be funny, if it weren't so frightening.
"I won't hurt you. I swear it." Adam's voice was gentle in his ears.
Could he believe it? Too afraid to hope for mercy, he took a deep breath, fighting for calm. Terror was a living, breathing thing in his chest, nearly paralyzing him. With a great deal of effort, he managed to push most of it back. Never let it show, he'd always been taught, the perps could smell the fear on a cop, but hiding his emotions had never been his strong suit.
Tim sighed, looking down at Adam. "There's nothing I could do about it at this point, anyway." He was pleased that his words had come out more or less steady.
Adam Pierson hadn't aged a day since Tim had last seen him, more than twenty years ago. As he tried to wrap his mind around that astonishing fact, the memories of a perfect day spent walking around Baltimore with a sweet academic, just talking -- and a perfect night, spent making love -- came back to him. Some part of Tim's mind warmed a little. You never forgot the first time you let someone fuck you.
"Are you okay now?" Adam smiled, looking so harmless that Tim could almost forget this man had just decapitated someone with a sword not ten minutes ago. "You know, we really have got to stop meeting in alleys, Tim," Adam drawled, in his lovely English accent. Everything about Adam was exactly as Tim remembered it. The dark hair, the pale skin, the lovely gold-green eyes...
What was he thinking of? Shaking his head, he wondered if he was in shock or something. His thoughts were so chaotic that he was concentrating on the trivial. The reality was too much for his mind to handle.
The lightning show by itself would be more than most people could handle on a good day. The lack of aging in his companion was certainly more than he could deal with and he'd seen any number of odd things in his thirty years as a cop. There had to be a rational explanation, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. Tim wasn't crazy about anything that fell out of his normal range, and he expected this was not even close to it.
With a deep sigh, he forced himself to focus on the man in front of him. "What just happened?"
Before Adam could begin to answer the question, a large, olive-skinned man with very long, dark hair, came into the alley and stopped short when he saw Tim. He turned toward Adam, a question in the dark eyes. "Meth... Adam?"
The other man was possibly the most handsome man Tim had ever seen. And Adam's lover. He knew the look. He'd spent a large portion of his life looking at a man that same way.
Tim shook his head again. Get a grip! Who cares whether or not the two men were lovers. He needed to find out just what was going on. And, he supposed, he should also try and deal with the murder that had taken place, but that might be asking too much of himself right at the moment.
"Mac, we've got a problem." Adam nodded his head toward Tim.
"So I see." The handsome man's smile was genuine and meant to soothe, but Tim wasn't taken in and he certainly wasn't soothed. Far from it in fact.
"Look, Adam," Tim said, deciding he was going to stand his ground even if it got him killed. "I'd like an explanation, now."
"You know him?"
Since Tim wasn't sure to whom the man called Mac addressed his question, he answered it. "Yeah. Adam and I met about twenty years ago. Which brings me to my next question. Why the hell haven't you aged a day since then?"
Adam's small mouth quirked up in a little half-smile. "Would you believe I've found the Fountain of Youth?"
"Not really. But it was a good try." Tim tried to smile, but didn't quite make it. Scared pissless, and confused out of his mind, he really needed to find out what the hell just happened before he sank to the ground and began to babble to himself.
Adam looked carefully at him and then turned to the other man. "Mac, I'll take Tim somewhere quiet and explain things to him."
Mac looked doubtful. "Are you sure? I can come with you if you'd like me to?"
"No, one of us to deal with will be easier for him. Thanks."
One of them? What did he mean, one of them?
A look passed between the two men that Tim could not begin to fathom even with years of experience dealing with people. Mild shock seemed to enter the dark brown eyes of Adam's lover. "I won't expect you tonight, then?" When Adam nodded, the other man inclined his head slightly, and walked away.
And Tim just let him go. He knew he should make some kind of protest about leaving a crime scene, but he just couldn't. His mind could not comprehend anything more at the moment.
"Let's go." Adam waved a long, elegant hand toward the mouth of the alley.
"What about the man you killed?" Tim asked, remembering suddenly that he was a cop. It was something to focus on, something apart from his fear and confusion. He needed to call the police, and his French was not great, but he could describe what just happened. "We can't leave the crime scene, especially since you killed the man." He took Adam's arm with the intent to lead him back, but the other man pulled away with a surprising amount of strength.
"Tim. Wait. Listen. I will explain everything to you, but we must leave now." The tone brooked no argument and for some reason, Tim's first thought was to obey. "Someone is going to take care of what just happened. It's not what you think."
"You didn't just decapitate a man with a sword? I know my eyes are bad, but they are not nearly that bad. I know what I saw." Tim planted both feet firmly, refusing to move any further.
Adam sighed, taking his arm and trying to move him along, but Tim held his ground. "Yes. I did do it. But it was self-defense. He would have killed me if I hadn't killed him. And that's all I'm going to say about this until we can find some place private to talk."
Tim didn't know what to think. His memories of the gentle professor -- and even after twenty years, he still remembered that day vividly -- said Adam was no murderer. A person could change in the time that had passed, but that much? Still, the man who wielded that sword did not come close to benign. Did he really want to be alone with a killer, especially a killer with a lethal sword? Was Adam a murderer or had he acted in self defense as he'd said? There were too many questions and too few answers.
And he needed those answers. So, numb with too much sensory input, he allowed Adam to lead him out of the dirty alley and back to his hotel.
"Okay, we're here, now I want some answers." Tim used his best captain's tone as they came into his room. It worked with cops pretty well, certainly better than it did with his kids. Unfortunately, it didn't work that well with Adam.
"It's a long story. You'd better sit down." Sighing, Adam dropped to the sofa and then looked up at him pleadingly. "Do you have a beer?"
Crossing the room, he pulled a beer from the bar refrigerator.
"Here," he said, handing it to Adam.
Taking a sip, Adam smiled in thanks. As much as he was confused and still a little frighted, Adam intrigued him, just as he'd done the first time he'd met the younger man. There had been an alley and a fight then, too. At the time, he'd assumed that Adam had been the victim of a mugging, but maybe not. Maybe there was even more here than he'd realized.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Tim pointedly looked down at Adam. "Okay. I'd like an explanation. No more stalling, or I am going to call the police."
"Fine. I'll give you the short version."
"Just tell me." There was definitely a pleading note to his tone now. He didn't think he wasn't in danger anymore. If Adam had wanted to kill him, he would have by now.
Adam sighed. The green-gold eyes meeting his said, trust me, something Tim wasn't sure he could do yet. "Okay. I'm an immortal. I can't die."
"Right." That was a new one, and it was original, Tim had to give him that. But he did not believe it for one second. "Try again."
"Really." God, Adam could do earnest like no one he'd ever seen. You wanted to believe him, despite the fact that what he was telling you was just not possible.
"Why don't I believe you?"
Adam pulled a wicked looking knife out of his jacket pocket and popped the blade. "Watch closely."
Before Tim could do more than focus on him, Adam sliced deeply down his arm.
Tim sprang into action. "Jesus Christ!" He started for the bathroom to get a towel. He'd need to get a pressure bandage on it right away, Adam had to have cut through at least one if not two arteries. He would bleed to death in a couple of minutes.
"Tim!"
He turned back. "Don't move! I'll be right back."
"Look! Dammit, I don't want to have to do this again."
Focusing on Adam for one second, Tim nearly died of shock as blue sparks danced along Adam's arm, closing the wound as he watched. He swayed, gulping for breath.
"Oh God! Oh God! What just happened?" That could not have been real. He'd seen Adam cut his arm, and then watched it heal. Okay, deep breath. He could deal with this. He knew he could. Just as soon as he got his breath back. The world started to grey out as he continued to try and draw oxygen into his lungs.
"Breathe slowly, Tim. You're starting to hyperventilate." Adam stood next to him holding his shoulders. "Nice and slow."
Tim pulled away. He didn't want Adam touching him.
"Are you ready to listen now?"
Nodding, Tim moved back to the couch, which was covered with blood. How was he going to explain it? Did it matter at this point anyway?
"What are you?" he demanded, trying not to wince as Adam sat next to him. There was no subtlety in his next action, he moved away from Adam.
And felt guilty for his fear as the hurt showed clearly in the gold-green eyes. "I swear I won't hurt you, Tim." Adam's voice was low and serious, his eyes begging for Tim to believe him.
Too much had happened for Tim to even consider trusting him without the rest of the story. "You have to tell me everything. I need to understand this."
Adam nodded. "As I said before, I'm immortal. I can't die permanently, unless someone takes my head."
Focus on one thing at a time, he told himself, concentrating on what Adam just said. "Like you did to the guy in the alley?"
"Exactly," Adam nodded.
Cue the next question. Try working this like an interrogation, he told himself. He needed to start thinking like the cop he was. "Why did you kill him?"
"He challenged me." Tim heard the unhappiness in the words. What the emotions or the challenge really meant he still did not know.
"Why did he do that?"
"Because there can be only one." The sadness in Adam's tone said there was more to what he said, more meaning behind the words than he was getting.
To Tim, it made no sense at all. "I don't understand."
Adam shook his head, resigned. "Of course not."
Tim sighed. This was getting old fast. He knew there was more here than he was following, but Adam seemed to be taking his own time getting to the point. "Just give me an explanation I can understand."
"We are compelled to seek each other out for one-on-one combat with swords." Adam's voice was perfectly flat, no emotions at all. The inflection or lack of it, frightened Tim.
"Why?"
"I don't know." Adam shook his head. "I do know that some people are more resistant to the compulsion than others. Some people can go their entire long life without many heads and others are driven to fight constantly."
Still needing more information, Tim asked, "What about the light show?"
"It's the transferring of the quickening."
"Quickening?"
"That's the essence of who we are. The blue sparks you saw healing me. The more heads you've taken, the stronger your quickening."
"You mean the more people you kill, the stronger you get?" The idea was against everything Tim believed. But up until now, he never would have believed that any of the other things he'd learned tonight existed, either.
"Basically. People seek out the oldest and strongest of us for their power."
"And where do you fit into all of this? Do you seek people out to fight with?" Despite evidence to the contrary, Tim could not believe that of the gentle professor he'd known in Baltimore.
Adam shook his head, confirming what Tim already knew. "I'd rather do almost anything than fight."
"Then what were you doing in that alley?" Tim wanted to believe that, it jived with what else he'd seen and felt about Adam.
"Answering an unavoidable challenge. When an immortal is challenged, you can try and talk them out of it, but mostly you end up fighting, even if you don't want to." Adam took another sip from his beer, finishing it and then set it on the table.
"And you killed him." Maybe it was self-defense, Tim could almost believe it.
"Yes. He would have killed me had I not done so."
"How many more are there like you?"
"I don't know."
Immortals looked like everyone else. How much of the population was immortal? And why didn't you hear more about headless bodies? He'd never investigated, or even heard about, a murder where a sword was used to decapitate someone. Maybe there were no immortals in Baltimore, but somehow he doubted that. "How come I never ran across a headless body in Baltimore?"
Adam shrugged. "Same reason that most cops never run across them, someone is out there who takes care of it."
"Who?"
"That's another story in itself."
Tim just looked at him.
"There is an organization called The Watchers. They are supposed to be secret, and immortals aren't supposed to know about them. But a lot of us do. Anyway, they watch and record immortals lives. When the immortal they are watching get taken in a fight, they clean up the mess or send someone to do it."
"How do you know so much about them?"
"I worked for them, more than once."
"Why?"
"I wanted to know where several of the truly dangerous immortals were at any given time."
"I guess that makes sense. How do you know when it's one of you, rather than a human?"
"We feel another of our kind coming." Adam tapped his head. "It's an unmistakable feeling."
"Sort of like an early warning system." Tim smiled a little at his own joke. But Adam didn't seem amused.
Standing, Tim went over to the bar to get a beer. He held another one up and raised an eyebrow at Adam, who nodded. Tim handed the beer to Adam.
"Thanks. And yeah, it's like that." Adam took a sip and dropped his eyes. "We're human. Well, mostly human."
Tim felt compelled to point out, "Humans die."
"We can die, just like anyone else. We just don't stay dead." Adam raised the bottle to his mouth, and Tim watched fascinated as the long muscles in Adam's throat worked.
Tim was forcibly reminded of the taste of that flesh. How could he remember so well, even after all this time?
Pulling himself back to the present, Tim forced all other thoughts away. He could not go there again. Then continued the conversation. "And what do you do, come back to life?"
Adam nodded. "Yes."
"Oh. What's the rest of it?"
"Can you be a bit more specific?" A small smile quirked on Adam's mouth.
"How old are you?"
"Old."
The way he said it, made Tim wonder, how old could he be. "How old?"
"Very old." Looking into the hazel eyes, Tim could believe it.
A past conversation came to mind, at the time he'd said Adam's eyes looked like he might be a thousand. Maybe he was. "More than a thousand?"
Adam's eyes dropped, but he nodded.
More than a thousand years of life? Subtracting the year from a thousand, his mind balked, unable to envision it, unable imagine such a concept. "How much more?" he asked, his voice choked with shock.
Sighing, Adam shook his head. "Many more."
"Two thousand?" Some part of him rebelled against even the notion of that much life. What Adam must have seen and done in that time.
"Is this really important?" There was a touch of fear in the exasperation, making Tim even more curious. What would he be afraid to say?
Tim nodded. "Please, I want to know." Though why it was important to him, he could not say.
"Five," Adam whispered, still looking down.
The shock nearly paralyzed him. "Thousand? Five thousand? Oh, God." A thousand years of living was completely impossible to understand. Five thousand was not something he could even wonder about. It was too much, way, way too much. That was before Christ was born, hell, it was before most of the stuff from the Old Testament. It was probably before written language. Just the idea of that many years blew his mind away. Tim just could not conceive of such a life time.
Standing, he walked to the French doors that led out to the balcony. Nice thing about suites, you got all the amenities. Looking out at the fading Paris night, Tim tried to find something to say, a way to deal with what he'd been told, but nothing came to him. He felt totally out of sync with everything, especially his memories of Adam.
"Do you want me to leave?" Adam asked, standing. Tim could tell the offer was made reluctantly, the other man did not want to leave.
And Tim didn't want him to either. "Not yet. But I need a minute to deal with this. It seems incredible to me."
"I'm surprised you believe me at all." A grain of amusement filtered thought the quiet words.
"I've seen enough to know you're not like me, not quite human." The story was so fantastic Tim doubted anyone could have come up with it on a whim. Which meant either Adam was totally nuts or it was true. The trick with the knife said what he'd been told was true. And for whatever reason, he did believe it.
"Well, at least you didn't say inhuman."
A bitter laugh escaped Adam's lips.
"No. But..."
Adam crossed the room to where Tim was standing, putting a hand on his shoulder. Tim didn't flinch and that surprised him. Maybe he was starting to accept the story. Maybe he was just farther down the yellow brick road than he'd thought. As this point, he just didn't know. The palm stroking his back was warm and hard, and there was nothing but comfort in the touch.
Tim sighed. "It's all so fantastic and macabre. People running around with fighting swords, living for thousands of years and battling each other to the death. How do you make sense of it? How do you keep going, year after year?"
Shaking his head, Adam looked away. "I haven't made a lot of sense of it, I just try and survive day to day."
An awful thought occurred to Tim, with so long a life you lost everything. "Watching everyone you know die?"
"Over and over." God, the resigned weariness, the sheer desolation in those quite words, struck at the heart of Tim. Adam must have lost friend after friend, lover after lover throughout his long life. The pain of those losses had to be unbearable, Tim could not imagine what it was like. He didn't want to. But he knew that only a human felt the pain of loss of a loved one so keenly. And to feel it over and over must surely grind the life in you to dust.
Tim remembered Adam's eyes lighting with intelligence, interest and passion when they'd spent time together. Adam must have a world of fortitude in his heart to have survived at all. Tim wished he had a little more of that kind of courage.
Turning to him, Tim sighed. "How do you go on? My lover died nine months ago and for a very long time, I only barely made it day to day. Do you get used to it?"
"No. I've never gotten used to losing someone I love. I'm sorry about your lover. Was it the man you were involved with when I met you in Baltimore? Chris, wasn't that his name?"
"You remember? I can't believe you remember, that was twenty years ago and only one day. How could it have made that much of an impression?" Tim was shocked, he just could not believe that he'd been remembered so well.
Shrugging his shoulders, Adam grinned at him. "You remembered me."
"I don't have fifty centuries of other memories clamoring for notice. And it was very special for me."
"It was special for me, too. You're not easily forgotten, Tim Bayliss." Adam smiled so sweetly at him, Tim felt his heart squeeze a little. And for a moment he forgot about the immortality stuff, remembering instead the charming man he'd spent one day with a long time ago. His body perked up, also remembering things that it shouldn't, but Tim savagely squelched the budding desire. Too much time had passed to be thinking those kinds of thoughts.
He shook his head. There was nothing remarkable about him. "No. I can't believe that. I'm quite ordinary."
"Oh, Tim, you are many things, but ordinary is not among them."
"Still, how do you remember? I can't believe I made that big of an impression."
"You did. Despite my long life, there haven't been that many people who were special to me. I remember all of the people who've touched me, you among them." Adam's eyes held his, serious and genuine. Hope entered Tim's heart, hope for what he wasn't sure, but it had been so long since he'd hoped for anything.
"I'm flattered." Tim could feel the blush start at his throat, spreading rapidly. He tried hard not believe the flattery, tried hard not to let it warm some of the cold corners of his heart, but failed because he wanted to hear it. He ducked his head, embarrassed, but Adam put two fingers under his chin, rasing him up to meet his eyes.
"There's another reason I remember you. I went to look for the man you saw tonight after I left Baltimore."
"Which you did soon after we spent the day together."
"You looked for me?"
"Well, I called the university."
"I thought you got back with Chris right after that night."
"It was a couple of weeks later." Tim looked down again. Time for a subject change. "The other man, Mac? He's your lover?"
"You could tell from that brief exchange?" Adam looked surprised that he'd realized it. With all that Adam did remember, it seemed odd that he wouldn't realize Tim had spent most of his life reading what people didn't say.
That and he'd known too well where the other man had been coming from. "For twenty years, I looked at a man the same way he looked at you."
"And how is that?"
"With love." His voice dropped. "With possession." It was ironic that the reason he'd been available to spend the day with Adam all those years ago was that Chris had broken up with him because he'd mildly responded to someone's flirting.
In the years that followed, he was the one who got annoyed when someone flirted with his lover. He didn't consider himself overly possessive, but Chris belonged to him. That made him understand the way Adam's lover had looked at him.
Adam's voice was completely neutral when he spoke again. "I never realized it showed."
"It always shows. I take it he's special to you, too." Tim smiled, glad that Adam had found someone who cared about him.
"In a different way. He's immortal, too. We have time. With mortals there is so little time." There was a world of sadness and pain in the quiet words.
Tim looked down, uncomfortable. There was no answer for that, none at all.
His face fell, then Adam forced a small smile back. "Not having a lot of time makes the time you have all the sweeter. It's why I remember."
Let's not go there. "Why didn't he come with you? If you were my lover, I would not voluntarily let you go off with another man."
"Mac knew there was something between you and me."
"Not now."
"Maybe not, but I wanted to be alone with you, to explain." Adam shrugged, looking so young. He really had this harmlessness down pat, Tim decided. No one as old as Adam could possibly be that innocent.
"Your innocent face doesn't match your old eyes, they're way too knowing."
Adam laughed, sounding delighted rather than annoyed. "Damn. I'd forgotten how perceptive you are."
"I know there can't be any innocence left in you, not after all that you must have seen and done."
Adam shook his head, his eyes dropped. "You're right. I lost it millennia ago."
Tim reached out to touch Adam's face. "I bet you have a lot of masks, can be a lot of different people, names." He looked at Adam, realizing something else. "Adam isn't your name, is it?"
"No. It's not."
"Will you tell me what it is?" Suddenly Tim wanted to know his real name very badly. He wanted to get down to the real person under all the layers.
Adam sighed. "Does it matter?"
"To me it does."
Meeting his eyes, Adam smiled a little. "Methos."
"Methos?" Was it Greek? Tim didn't know, but it was different.
"For as much as I can remember."
Remember? "You don't remember?"
"Life at the edges gets a little fuzzy. I don't remember my first life."
"Well, given the times, that might not be a bad thing. Did they even have written language back then?"
Adam laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "You look like you have more questions."
"Will you answer them?"
"If I can."
"Did you know Christ? Were you in Jerusalem during his life?"
"Actually I was, but I didn't ever meet him. I was Roman at the time. You know, that's always the first question everyone asks, even younger immortals."
"Does that surprise you?"
Adam smirked. "No. If I'd known at the time, I would have made a point of meeting him. But who knew?"
Tim changed the subject. "I didn't get the impression you talked about your age to many people."
"I don't. There are many immortals out there who would come after me for my quickening, if they knew who I was." Adam... Methos, looked uncomfortable with the topic.
Tim smiled. "Thanks for telling me." He really meant it and didn't feel the need to add that he wouldn't tell anyone. Who would believe him if he tried?
Methos put his hand over Tim's and squeezed gently. He'd forgotten how calloused Methos' hands were. Now, of course, it made sense. Anyone who'd lived that long ago would have worked in the fields. And all those years of sword work would have made the callouses permanent.
He ran a thumb over the rough spots on Methos' hand. "That's how an academic could have such calloused hands."
Methos started and then smiled, looking down at his hands. "Yeah."
When his friend had nothing else to say, Tim realized it was time for another subject change. "You know, I never really told anyone about the time we spent together that day. I mean Chris knew that I'd been with someone else, but not who."
"You told him?" Surprise lit the green-gold eyes.
"He came by the next morning after I didn't call him back."
Methos' lips twitched up. "Bet that pissed you off."
Tim smiled, remembering how angry and confused he'd been at that time, and that Chris had been far too understanding with him, letting him get away with far too much. "Yeah. It did."
"But you went back to him?"
"I loved him." Nodding, Tim remembered how badly he'd treated his lover during that time, he still felt ashamed even though Chris had forgiven him easily.
"Makes it all worthwhile, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. It does." A tiny prick of longing stole into his heart as he thought about his lover; damn, he missed Chris.
"And the longer you've been alive the more important loving someone becomes. It's really all that makes the whole thing worthwhile."
Tim could understand that. Only too well.
The sun started to rise, lighting the room with bright sunshine. Tim contemplated his guest, wondering what they should do now that the initial questions had been answered. He still had a million more to ask, but whether or not Adam was willing to answer them remained to be seen.
Right now, he was hungry. "How about I order us some breakfast?"
"That would be great, thanks." Adam smiled at him, the sun glinted off the dark hair and the window behind him creating a glow. Adam looked almost angelic, something Tim would bet
was pretty far from the truth.
"You've done well for yourself since I've seen you last, haven't you?" Adam glanced pointedly around the room.
He wasn't going to go into detail now, but he wasn't hurting financially. "Yes. Why?"
"No reason, I remember the apartment in Fells Point."
"It was nice." Tim loved that apartment and had been really sorry to have to give it up. But after his children had come to live with him, they had needed much bigger place to live.
"You couldn't have afforded this, then." Adam waved a hand to encompass the room.
Tim shook his head. "Not on a cop's salary."
"So you are doing well."
"Yes. Chris was very good at playing the market, among other things." He'd never have to worry about money. But it hurt terribly after all the saving and investing they did, that Chris had been able to enjoy so little of the returns.
Methos must have seen his look. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No. I was just thinking that Chris should have been here to spend some of the money we made over the years." His eyes stung when he talked about Chris. It wasn't that he didn't speak or think about his lover anymore, but in this context it brought too much of his loss back to him.
Adam nodded. "You're still grieving for him."
Nodding, Tim knew he'd love Chris forever. "I doubt I'll ever stop. I don't have enough years. If there are enough years."
"There are never enough years. I still grieve for a special woman a thousand years after her death. Other people, I remember longer than that. When I truly love someone, I never forget them."
"How? How do you remember that long?"
"Immortals have long memories."
"Oh."
"It's necessary, I think. We need to remember who our friends and enemies are."
"I guess that does make sense. Tell me about some of the people you remember." Tim couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. He wanted to hear about the people Adam had known.
"Order breakfast, and I'll tell you about a few of them."
"How many are there?"
"Not as many as there should be for fifty centuries of life. The last one was a woman named Alexa. I loved her from the first second I saw her."
Methos watched Tim as he told the story of his love for Alexa. His companion's eyes filled a little when he spoke of Alexa's death. A lump formed in his own throat, as he remembered her and the all too brief time they spent together.
He could go hundreds or even a thousand years without meeting anyone who sparked his interest or gave him pause. And then in this one lifetime to have met three people seemed a cosmic joke of such immense proportions Methos could believe the Gods had it in for him.
Still, he'd rather have known them than not. He'd had a year with Alexa. Watching her die had been so difficult, but having someone love her and be with her had made her life better, and for that he was grateful. It was such a small thing for him to do, and as much as it hurt, there was comfort in knowing he'd pleased her.
As he fell silent, he glanced at Tim. This man could mean a lot to him, but he sensed the time would never be right for them. They might have another night or two, but all too soon it would be time to leave again. Another regret, he supposed, in a life full of them.
"And you buried her here in Paris?" Tim asked with a sniff. Methos wondered how someone as soft-hearted as Tim had survived being a cop.
Methos nodded in answer to the question. "I wanted her close."
"I can understand that. I visit Chris' grave now and then." Tim dropped his head. "I know it sounds silly, but sometimes I talk to him. Well, his headstone."
Putting a hand on Tim's wrist, Methos met the chagrined eyes. "No. It's not silly at all."
Silence fell again, broken by a sharp knock on the door. Room Service. A cart of breakfast foods was rolled in and Methos' stomach grumbled as if on cue.
Eating in silence, he supposed Tim needed some time to process the information he'd been given. It was hard to believe how well Tim had taken everything. Admittedly, he'd been shaky at first, but he seemed to have accepted everything pretty well.
Once well fed, the lack of sleep started to catch up with Methos and he yawned hugely. "I should go." He didn't make a move to stand, especially since he really hoped for an invitation to stay.
Tim shook his head. "Stay. I'd like a nap and then we can talk some more."
"I could come back." But even as he said it, the unlikelihood of that happening settled on him. Whatever might be between them needed to be dealt with now.
"No." Tim stood. "The couch is pretty comfortable, but there's a bedroom too."
Methos raised an eyebrow and smiled. He liked that idea. The thought of touching Tim again played well on his senses. A tendril of anticipation slid up his spine.
"I didn't mean mine. There's a second one here." Tim pointed toward one of the doors.
His smile faded, sorry he'd misjudged the situation. Maybe Tim just hadn't picked up on what he was saying. "Why not yours?"
Tim stared at him, expression horrified. "You can't want me."
"Why not?" More likelyTim didn't want him anymore. The idea hurt. Tim had seemed okay with the immortality issues and the age issues. What had he done to turn him off?
"I'm... I'm... old." Tim trailed off, looking down, and a pink stain appeared on the pale cheeks. Enchanted again, Methos wondered how many men could still blush at nearly sixty?
He realized Tim needed some reassurance that he was still desirable. Older mortals always seemed to doubt their appeal. "I'm a good deal older than you are."
"But I look my age."
Methos contemplated him for a moment. Yes, there was some grey at his temples and laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, but Tim still looked very good, tall, solid, just the way Methos remembered him. And it didn't matter anyway, looks were the last thing he cared about. What was in a person's heart was far more important. "Oh Tim, I stopped caring about outward trappings a long time ago."
"You look so young and beautiful." Gods, there was such insecurity in the words. Methos could not believe it. Tim seemed so confident about everything else.
It wasn't as if Tim's looks really mattered to him anyway, but to Tim it obviously did matter. "To me, you're just as beautiful, more so because I care about you."
Tim sighed and shook his head. "No. I can't."
"Is it Chris?" That was a reason Methos could accept. It hadn't been that long since Tim's lover had died. Maybe he just wasn't ready.
"Partly. Mostly, I just can't see you finding me attractive enough to really want to touch. I know what you said, but I also know how I'd feel in your place. I don't want your charity." Tim didn't meet his eyes.
Charity? Charity! Not in this lifetime or any other. Moving forward quickly he caught Tim in his arms, pressing a gentle lingering kiss to Tim's soft mouth before he could begin to protest.
Tim struggled for only a second before surrendering. Pleased, Methos tongue traced Tim's lips looking for permission to enter, which was granted. Taking a moment to explore the depths and marvel at the remembered sensations mixing with the present, he pulled back just a little as Tim's arms came around him.
"Okay?" he asked smugly, pressing his hard cock against Tim's similar one.
A windy sigh told of Tim's reluctant acceptance. "Yeah."
"I thought you'd see it my way." He reached out to card his fingers through the silky strands of Tim's short hair.
A self-deprecating grin touched the soft mouth. "I'm easy. What about your friend, Mac?"
"What about him?" Methos shrugged, not really wanting to think about MacLeod now.
"Isn't he going to mind? I don't like the idea of taking something that doesn't belong to me."
Yes, MacLeod would be hurt, he knew it, but he also knew he had to do this. There wasn't enough time for him and Tim. In the end, he knew MacLeod would understand. Methos tried to joke off the topic. "Who says you'll be taking me, anyway."
His pale cheeks flaming, Tim tried to step back.
Methos laughed at the silly expression on the beautiful face and tightened his arms. "Well, I guess it's your turn since I had you the last time."
"Methos." The words came out slightly strangled, but oh, he liked the sound of his name coming from Tim's lips.
"Tim, it's okay. Mac and I have an understanding. Mortals come first. He and I have time. You and I have less." That was the truth, but he could see that Tim wasn't buying it.
"Have you asked him about it? He didn't look all that happy in the alley."
"He's done it a few times himself in the last twenty years." And Methos had understood, yes, he'd been a little hurt, too. But mortals came first.
"Twenty years." Tim did step back this time, shaking his head. "I can't."
"It's not the same, Tim. Really, it's not. He left me with you, he knew you were important to me."
"How did he know?"
"Trust me, he did."
Tim sighed again, obviously trying to absorb the idea.
"We don't have to do anything." Methos would settle for just holding him for a while. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was better than nothing. And maybe if they slept a little, Tim would relax enough to let him touch, and if not, then he'd take what was freely given and be grateful for it.
Reaching out, Tim held out his hand. "Let sleep and talk about the rest of this later."
Taking the outstretched hand, Methos was led into Tim's room.
Stripping down to his shorts, he climbed in and waited for Tim to do the same. He curled around the big body of the other man, holding on tight, breathing in the warm scent of Tim's cologne mixed with his natural musk. Wholly intoxicating, he thought, slipping into sleep.
Waking with a start, Tim felt warm and safe, but couldn't recall the reason. It came back to him as he shifted against living flesh. Chris? He slid a hand slowly down the back, thin, muscular. No, he remembered sadly, not Chris.
Adam...Methos. He let his fingers continue to tail down the satiny skin, enjoying the feel of the warmth, enjoying the feel of his arousal. It had been so long since he'd held anyone intimately, he'd nearly forgotten how good it was to hold and be held.
He'd yet to really process any of the information he'd been given last night, but he did know that he still cared about Adam, even if his name was Methos, and he was older than Tim could possibly imagine. The man he'd met in Baltimore twenty years ago still existed and Tim wanted to spend a little more time with him. Without even thinking about it, he knew there would not be more than a few days here in Paris. Time out of time again.
None of it mattered, not in the long run of his life. Accepting what he'd been told seemed his only option, to try and understand farther would tax his ability to believe any of it. And he did want to believe it.
Too much of what Methos had told him was beyond real and it would drive him nuts to try to analyze it. There could be no investigation, no why, and as much as he wanted it, he suspected he was better off not knowing everything.
Shifting, Methos lifted his head and pressed a short soft kiss to Tim's mouth.
"Mmmm. Nice."
"It could be nicer," Methos gave him a wicked smile and Tim felt his heart melt.
"If you're sure you want to." He didn't want the other man to feel obligated to do anything. Tim was happy with the little bit of human warmth he'd been given. Anything more would be icing on the cake. But he wouldn't ask for it, even as badly as he now admitted to himself that he did want it.
"If I'm sure?" Methos snorted, putting his hand behind Tim's neck and pulling him closer for a much longer, better defined kiss. When he released Tim, Methos smiled. "Yes. Tim, I am very sure."
"Good." A huge smile worked its way onto his lips. Leaning up, he touched his mouth to Methos', running his tongue along the sweet surface of his lips.
Methos settled completely on top of him without breaking the kiss. His hands moved down the long spine to cup the round ass. Very nice.
He didn't want to think about the fact that Methos' body was still as muscular and firm as it had been twenty years ago and his.... Well, he was almost sixty and had never been very much into exercise. The only thing that kept him from getting paunchy in his old age was good genetics. His life had been too busy to worry about it. And Chris had thickened as he'd gotten older, so he'd never had to worry that he'd be rejected for getting soft.
It occurred to him as Methos' mouth worked its way down to the middle of his chest that he probably didn't have to worry about it here either. There were other things he could worry about, but that lovely mouth was doing its best to distract him. And doing a dammed good job of it.
Tim moaned softly as Methos licked along the inside of his arm. He'd never realized just how many nerve endings he had there. Maybe he was getting more sensitive as he got older. It certainly felt wonderful.
As Methos' mouth continued to travel on, Tim writhed and moaned under the assault. His body caught fire in seconds and burned brightly. Some part of Tim's mind was amazed at the skill with which Methos was making love to him. But mostly he just melted into it, not worrying about anything except the lips and hands on his body.
It didn't take long for him to reach critical mass. Crying out sharply and gasping for breath, he couldn't hold back any longer, came hard.
Trying to catch his breath, Tim was pulled gently into Methos' arms and kissed sweetly. "Good?"
"You know it was. Jesus!" Tim breathed in and out a couple of times, his heart-rate finally slowing to something that could be called normal. "What can I do for you?"
"Whatever you'd like." Methos smiled.
"I can think of a few things." Tim started down the hard, pale body, applying his skills to the best of his ability. And by the sounds that Methos made under him, he could tell he hadn't lost his touch. It was nice to know that the skills still held.
Nuzzling at Methos groin, he breathed in deeply, loving the musky smell of his lover right at that point. He kissed the spongy head of Methos' cock, before taking it into his throat to suck deeply. A long low groan came from Methos, and he bucked up into Tim's mouth. Holding onto the narrow hips, Tim tried to control the wildness, finally giving up and taking Methos deep into his throat.
Methos came with a scream of pure pleasure.
"Gods, but that was good." Methos pulled Tim back into his arms, kissing him deeply.
"Glad you enjoyed it."
"You've picked up some serious skills since we did this last."
"Are you saying that I was inept the last time?" Tim let the amusement enter his tone. It was a major ego boost that he could please someone who'd obviously had all the experience in the world.
"No. Of course not. I didn't mean that at all. But you've gotten better." Methos was quick to assure him. Running his hand through the thick, dark hair, Tim kissed him again.
"Practice makes perfect."
A wicked gleam entered the green-gold eyes. ''Well, you're good, but maybe we can practice some more."
"You, on the other hand, don't need any practice." Tim didn't consider himself inexperienced by any means, but he'd never ever met anyone with the kinds of pure talent that Methos had. Of course, when you had five thousand years to prefect your skills, you were likely to be damned good at it.
"I was well trained." The way Methos said it sent a shiver down Tim's spine, and not in a pleasant way either.
"Trained? As in for someone else's pleasure?"
"Yeah, but it was a long time ago." Methos shrugged it away, but Tim could not let it go.
"How do you get over something like that?"
"It takes awhile. But you do. Given enough time you can get over anything."
"Do I want to know what else you've needed to get over?" Suddenly there was a world of things that could have been done to his lover. If Methos wanted to tell him about any of it, he'd listen, but the truth was that he didn't want to know about what kinds of trauma you could have inflicted on you or how long it would take to recover from it. Methos had lived through some barbaric times, times where things Tim could not even begin to imagine could happen to a person. And frankly, he didn't want to try.
And to listen to it would no doubt bring back certain unpleasant memories from his own past. Over the years, he had dealt with his uncle's abuse of him as well as he was ever going to. It no longer hurt him, which was all he supposed he could ask for.
Methos must have sensed how uncomfortable he'd become, because with a gentle laugh, he dismissed the subject. "Probably not, and I'd rather not talk about it."
Tim let it go as well, knowing not to tread on such thin ice. "Okay. What would you like to talk about?" Tim ran a hand down the thin flank, rubbing Methos' belly in a slow circle.
"Why don't you move your hand a little lower and we'll see what comes up," Methos said with a snicker.
Oh, bad joke. Tim groaned, but he did as his lover asked.
Holding Tim's sleeping body against his, Methos stroked up and down the long back, just enjoying the feel of soft, sleep-warm flesh. He knew their time was coming to an end, in another day Tim's would have to leave. And he needed to get back to MacLeod, soon.
There was no way he could continue to see Tim. Even if Tim had accepted the immortality notion, which Methos was not all that sure that he had, there were too many other complications for this to work. And it wouldn't surprise him at all if Tim had just tabled the discussion until he had time to deal with it.
The last week, he and Tim had wandered around Paris sightseeing, and then spent long hours making love. Methos enjoyed the vacation from the real world, and seeing Paris -- a city he'd known on and off for so many centuries -- through fresh eyes. Tim's near childlike enthusiasm for the old city had lit Methos' interest in a way he hadn't expected.
He just didn't want their time to end just yet. Maybe he could go to Baltimore. No, that wasn't an option, even though he'd been there only a year, he could be recognized far too easily and he should be heading toward fifty, not thirty. He could always say he was his own son. That might work. Methos sighed, trying to convince himself that showing up in Baltimore was a bad idea.
There was Mac to consider too. He loved the Highlander dearly, and with a passion he usually saved for mortals, but they had time. If they parted for twenty or thirty years, the world would change, but they would not. At least, as long as no one took that stubborn Scottish head. Even as he considered not seeing MacLeod for twenty years, he knew that the Scot might not forgive him for that many years. A few days, a week, that was the most Mac had ever pushed the mortals clause in their relationship. And in twenty years, this was the first time he'd ever done it at all, but Tim was special.
But he and Tim did not have time. It hurt to think about parting with this particular mortal. Even if he could arrange to spend more time with Tim, it would never be enough. In all likelihood he'd be devastated when Tim left him whether it was tomorrow morning or in thirty years. When he loved someone, he did it all out. If there was one lesson he'd learned in all the time he'd lived, it was that to really love someone you needed to surrender to the emotion. He was rapidly getting to that point with Tim.
Tim stirred next to him. "Methos?"
"Go back to sleep."
"Why are you up?" Turning over, Tim looked up at him, his eyes alight with mischief.
"Just thinking." Methos said, letting his fingers move along Tim's chest, gently plucking at a nipple.
Tim sighed, moving his chest up into the caress. "'Bout what?"
Repeating the gesture, Methos leaned down and tongued the pale flesh. "You."
"Mmmmm. Me? Not a very interesting topic." Tim's voice was getting that breathy quality that meant Methos was doing his job right.
He let his hand drift down the long torso until he reached the half-hard cock. "To me it is. Very interesting, in fact."
Tim leaned up on an elbow and kissed him before removing his hand and settling his large frame on top of Methos. Gods, but Tim felt good. Methos leaned up for another kiss.
"You know, sleep may be overrated." Tim's lips turned up in a sweet smile, Methos couldn't help but return.
"You could be right." He pushed Tim over onto his belly and planted a kiss in the space between the shoulder blades.
"God, Methos, yes. Please."
"What do you want?"
"You."
"Good." Nibbling and sucking, the smooth skin tasted wonderful, and felt like silk under his finger-tips. Methos moved his hands up and down Tim's long back, slowly.
Easily aroused, Tim sighed beneath him. It didn't take long for Tim's eyes to glaze over with lust and then close slowly in surrender. The long thighs spread in an invitation Methos could not refuse.
Tim groaned long and loud in pleasure as Methos buried himself in the hot, tight flesh. Bliss. His mind spun out as he waited the few seconds for Tim's body to accept him. Feeling his lover writhe and whimper under his hands as he moved was the ultimate thrill for Methos. It didn't take long for both of them to go flying into the stratosphere and then explode in a million sparks of sensations and lights.
For a long time, he and Tim simply held onto each other, luxuriating in the gentling of their passion, letting their heart rates calm.
"Mmmm," Tim murmured, nuzzling against Methos' throat.
"Yeah. Oh, yeah."
"I'll be sorry when this ends." Tim kissed his ear.
"Me, too." Methos sighed deeply.
Neither of them chose to go on with the sentiment. Since Tim was so close to retirement, Methos had given serious thought to mentioning a job with the Watchers. Tim knew about Immortals and the Game. Joe Dawson was still in control of things in the States, and could get Tim a job and that would keep him here in Paris.
There would still be the problem of his relationship with Duncan MacLeod. Methos sighed again.
"What's wrong?" Tim turned Methos' face toward him, peering at him in the dim light.
Methos thought about lying, but in the end told the truth. "Just thinking of ways to keep you in Paris."
"I can't stay." There was certainty in the word, then Tim seemed to reconsider. "What ways?"
Methos Laughed. At least Tim hadn't completely disregarded the idea. "A job."
"I'm about to retire, I don't need a job."
"Do you want one?"
Tim shrugged. "Depends on what it is."
"The Watchers are always looking for security people. You have more than your share of qualifications."
"How would you swing that? If I remember correctly, you aren't supposed to even know about them."
"I'm still good friends with some of the higher ups in the Watchers. He'd do it if I asked."
"Yeah? Just like that?"
"Yeah. Joe Dawson has been a good friend for a lot of years." And Methos was sure Joe would help him out if he asked. And for Tim, he would.
"Who is he?" Tim actually looked curious, like he might consider it.
"The head of the North American Division of the organization."
Tim nodded. "What about your lover?"
Methos looked away. That was a real problem. He loved MacLeod, but given half a chance he would fall easily for Tim. He was halfway there right now. Trying to find words, Methos shook his head.
"I don't think he'd understand for very long."
"Probably not."
"And you're not going to choose me over him. What's between us is special, but it's not meant to last, I think." There was a note of sadness in Tim's voice. "It doesn't mean I won't miss you."
Because Tim was right, Methos nodded, but he really wanted to deny it. Tim turned over, pulling him into strong arms, and nuzzling his ear. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired. We have one day left and I want to be awake for it."
Closing his eyes, he sighed. "Okay."
A loud ringing tore Methos from sleep a couple of hours later. Beside him, Tim shifted, reaching for the phone. "Hello? Frank?"
Tim listened for a moment. "Oh God, no. No." Sitting up and he turned on the bedside lamp. Tim's face was a mask of pain and grief, tears streamed down his pale cheek, a fine trembling started throughout the big body. Fear eased into Methos, whatever just happened was catastrophic to Tim.
"I'll be home as soon as I can get there. Okay. Bye." He hung up the phone gently, burying his face in this hands and sobbing, but just of a second. Looking up at Methos, Tim fought for control. "My daughter, Kimberly has been in a car accident."
"Oh Tim. I'm so sorry." Putting a hand on Tim's shoulder, he tried to convey comfort. Tim turned into his shoulder for a moment, breathing hard, but he didn't break down.
Pulling back, Tim took a deep breath. "She's in surgery. I need to go home."
"Go take a shower and I'll make you plane reservations. You should be able to get an early fight and be home by afternoon."
Tim nodded, looking completely numb with shock. But he stood and made his way to the bathroom.
Methos took a moment to admire the long back, before he reached for the phone.
The Concorde had a 6:00 am flight and Tim should have no trouble making it. Methos needed something to do while Tim showered. Slipping into Tim's robe, he pulled out his lover's suitcases and started to pack for him. It was fairly simple, Tim was extremely neat and organized. By the time Tim was out of the shower, Methos had him nearly packed and ready to go.
"Was there a flight?" Tim asked, putting on the clothes that Methos had left out.
"Yeah. A car is going to meet you downstairs in about twenty minutes.
"Thank you." Tim moved nervously around the room, picking up various items and setting them down again. "I can't believe this. I can't believe this happened. I just lost Chris, I can't lose anyone else, especially not Kimberly." His chest heaved for a moment, and then Tim seemed to draw strength from somewhere and he controlled himself.
"I know. It's hard. She'll be all right."
Tim nodded.
"Everything is taken care of, you just go to the Concorde counter and there will be a ticket waiting for you. I've also arranged for a car to take you home when you get to Dulles."
"Thank you." Tim paused, taking a step toward him, but stopped just out of reach. He ran his hand through his still damp hair. "I can't think of anything else now, but I'll talk to you when I get home."
Looking at his watch, Methos saw it was time for Tim to meet the car. "You'd better get going."
"Yes." Tim nodded, and stepped forward to pull him into his arms. "I can't thank you enough for arranging everything." Tim kissed him hard, then softened it, molding his mouth to Methos' for one second. "I've got to go."
Tears stung Methos' eyes as he watched Tim picked up his suitcases and leave. Methos knew now that he'd never see Tim again. And maybe that was for the best. If only he could convince himself of that.
He hugged the robe tighter around himself, sniffing into the collar. Smiling a little, he realized it was Tim's. Methos wondered if Mac would notice if he kept it. Probably. But he was going to anyway.
The plane landed at Dulles, and a uniformed limo driver met him as he came through customs. Tim didn't even think to question it, his whole focus was on getting to his family. As the limo driver started pulled away, he realized he hadn't even paid the man. He waved the car back down.
"Don't I need to pay you or something?" he asked through the open window.
The guy smiled at him. "No. It's all been taken care of, including the tip."
"By whom?"
The driver shrugged. "Don't know. Just says it's all paid for." The car pulled away again and this time Tim let it go, having a good idea who'd taken care of things. Methos. There was no way he could think about Paris now. He had more important things to worry about, but later he'd get in touch.
He hurried through the glass doors of the hospital, and Frank met him there.
"Kimberly?"
"Out of Surgery and holding her own."
Relief was a living, breathing entity in Tim's guts. Tears prickled his eyes and his knees went weak. "Thank God. Where is she?"
Frank looked at his watch. "She should be in her room by now."
Picking up one of his suitcases, which had all somehow ended up on the floor, Frank led him up to his daughter's room.
"She asleep." Mary hugged him as he came in.
Looking down at his daughter, even with the bandages, Kimberly looked beautiful. "What happened?"
"We're not sure. She's going to be okay, Tim." Mary put her hand on his arm, squeezing comfortingly.
He sighed, starting to think again. "Thanks." His look took in Frank as well. "I need to see her doctor."
Mary nodded, reaching for the call button.
Reassured by the doctor that his daughter would be fine, Tim let Frank take him home to shower and change. There was too much to think about, and he would, but not now. Right now, all he wanted now was to sit at Kimberly's bedside and wait until she woke, which probably wouldn't happen for a few more hours. There would be time for everything else later.
--finis
December 1998