Le Blues Bar had a pretty good crowd that night. There were a few empty chairs. Joe's new find was golden. The boy, Mike, was off in his own little world when he played. Most musicians are like that. Even Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod appreciated his talent. Joe beamed at us like a proud parent. He was explaining where he'd found Mike when the buzz hit.
MacLeod and I sat up and looked towards the door. The last person I expected to see was making his entrance. Who would've thought Byron the Rockstar would come to a little hole in the wall blues club, even if it is the best in Paris?
"Doc!" he exclaimed. I felt my full smile bloom. I went to greet him. He shook my hand.
"Byron. Looks like you've gotten famous again."
"Yeah, yeah. Just can't seem to shake it." Byron's smile slipped as he noticed MacLeod. I introduced them. "Well," Byron sniffed, "any friend of Doc's." He flopped himself into a chair. "Kid's good. Who is he?"
"Name's Mike. He's from London." He subsided with his groupies.
"You never told me you knew Byron!" Joe growled. I wasn't sure if he connected Byron the rockstar to Byron the poet.
"I accompanied him on his Grand Tour of the continent as his physician," was all I told them. I couldn't help but remember the good times. My smile wouldn't disappear and I knew Joe was dying to know more. He even got me a fresh beer to encourage me to tell more. I decided a somewhat ribald, but innocent story would be the best. I told them about a ride from town to the residence we were staying at.
Byron and his… our lady of the moment were necking in the back of the open carriage. I just rolled my eyes and yawned theatrically. "The good doctor is bored."
"As spectator, surely. As participant never," I vowed.
"Dr. Adams, your effrontery shocks me," Claire giggled.
"You're not shocked are you? You would be if you saw him in his labors -- cutting up corpses, up to his elbows in rotting flesh and maggoty entrails."
"Actually…" she began.
"There are some questions about life that only the dead can answer."
"Only the dead and poets," Byron corrected.
"Well, I shall have my answers when the Shelleys arrive."
"Or rather Percy Shelley and that woman Mary he calls wife that he seems so interested in seducing."
He grinned and handed me a drink. We both sensed another Immortal and Byron took the reins while I took care of the girl. "You know him?"
"Yes. He thinks I slept with his wife."
"Did you?"
"Of course." He whipped the horses into action.
"Hold on," I told the girl. We raced towards home until our pursuer crashed. Byron was riding high as he hopped down from the carriage. I got down, voicing disapproval and helped our companion down. "You're mad, sir! Are you trying to get us killed?"
"You speak of death, yet note how quickly your heart beats. You seem more alive than ever, sir!" he answered me. We ran for the house like children. Byron always made me feel young.
Mike came over to talk to us. "Great work, Mike," Joe told him.
"Hey, kid," Byron said. Mike fell over himself trying to meet Byron.
"Wow. I mean that's… wow." It took me only a moment to figure out that Byron would use Mike up quickly. My student always did like adoration and talent. If Mike could survive the fire, Byron would make him a star. Byron invited me to join him and I declined politely. MacLeod was glowering at me and I decided to placate him and Dawson. Mike went with Byron.
"With one call he could make him," I commented.
"Yeah. He's on his way." Joe was upset. His find was being stolen. I looked over my shoulder and found Byron's steel eyes on me. He raised a brow in one last invitation.
I shook my head and followed MacLeod and Dawson back to Mac's barge.
As we settled down with our drinks I felt a wave of nostalgia. I resented MacLeod right then, nearly hated him for making me choose. He did make me choose. His face was very clear. "If you don't come home with me, don't come back."
I knew it and I could see it in Joe's eyes. I always follow strong personalities. Mac's my current weakness. Byron used to be. I drifted away from the small talk. Byron was vibrantly alive. He was my student, but my friend as well. Almost like MacLeod. He taught me to live in the present. To live again. He was wild and dragged me with him. My student chose me as his companion before his first death.
MacLeod interrupted my memories. "What's wrong?" he asked. His eyes were kind.
"This one isn't a problem too?" I felt my anger flare in my eyes and the Highlander winced.
I took a breath. "You won't like him," I said keeping my voice even. I stamped down my anger. "I haven't seen him in nearly half a century." I shrugged. "You might like him. He has a fondness for goats." I was deliberately vague. MacLeod bristled at the implications.
Joe poured me a shot of scotch and passed it to me. I sipped it. MacLeod closed his eyes and let go of the anger.
"Well, it's been fun, but I should get home."
"Don't do that," Mac said. "We can't resolve anything if you keep walking away."
"What is there to resolve?" My voice was bland. Joe's cane bruised my shins. "Hey."
"Stop provoking. You know what needs to be discussed. Now sit down."
"Joe!"
"Adam." My jaw dropped. Dawson was threatening me. I blinked and subsided. I owe the man. "I am not going to let the two of you avoid all of this. I want it resolved in my lifetime and damn it, I'm not getting any younger." Dawson was trying to make me feel guilty. Unfortunately, it was working. Joe is getting older. His hair is whiter than when I first met him. His face is more lined. He's finally learned to use his mortality against me.
"Sorry, MacLeod." I sipped my drink.
"Joe confronted me. He said Kronos…" I tensed waiting for the blow. MacLeod looked at me curiously. "Methos, you're safe with me."
"The last thing I am is safe with you. You draw me into trouble…" I shut my mouth. I was dizzy when it struck me. "No," I think I whispered before escaping into the bathroom. As my body wretched up the alcohol I knew what would happen. I knew that Byron would die. Like a child, Byron would try to claim me, get my attention, and like Kronos, MacLeod would take him away. I was isolating myself to please this child. Joe filled a glass of water for me.
"Can you talk about it?" he asked.
"No."
"He is safe. He doesn't want your head."
"I know. I've always trusted him. It's just he's…" I shrugged.
"He won't let you have your masks?"
"He won't let me have my life." I rested my forehead against the cool ceramic, then forced myself to my feet. "Alex is going to have a fit. He doesn't think Mac's good for me."
"He's biased."
"So are you."
I sprawled on the couch, too apathetic to try to escape again. "What am I missing here?" the Scot asked. The teakettle on the stove was starting to boil. It was comforting.
"Nothing. I just had a … realization." I resigned myself to having to face Mac's current crisis of faith. "You were saying something about my brother?"
"Joe told me…" he paused, "that he was your teacher." I nodded. Why can't the past just leave me alone? MacLeod went to make tea. He looked faintly nauseous. I wondered idly, what he would have thought of Byron's parties. He is so straight-laced and Byron… indulges in extremes. He rides near the edge. Mac stays on the path. Both of them were like a drug to me. And I've tried more than my share of those to escape. The one thing Kronos never let me do.
Duncan handed me a cup of tea and I sipped it. Sugar, no cream, just the way I like it. I guess he has been paying attention to some things. I've missed sitting and arguing over a cup of tea with him. Perhaps he'll bring out the chessboard as well, I thought. I was vaguely disappointed when he didn't. He took his seat again.
"I'm sorry," he said. I quirked an eyebrow at that.
"For what?"
"That you had to live with that bastard for any length of time."
"He wasn't all bad, MacLeod. He was mad when you met him, but he wasn't always." My voice didn't come out nearly as confidently as I had hoped. Alex says I'm "protecting my abuser" or some such silliness. The boy spent far too long with Sean Burns in the thirties. Sometimes, I can hear Kronos laughing at my inability to control my students. I stamp it down when it occurs. I don't take students usually. And hardly ever formally. Jude's the most like a true student and I didn't really have a choice on that one.
MacLeod looked at me with big, brown, sympathetic eyes and my stomach turned. The little brat will never understand Kronos.
I don't understand Kronos.
"He hurt you?"
"He was my teacher. I know this sounds like an excuse, but it was a brutal world. The same rules didn't apply. But as my father he could…"
"As your father?"
"He named me."
"Methos…"
"I swear, MacLeod. He named me. That gave him parental rights." Even Byron understood that. Children were still property when MacLeod was born. I still don't know why he can't comprehend that. He's assimilated too well into the twentieth century, for all I tease him. I looked to Dawson to explain, but all he could do was offer a supportive smile. In his eyes I saw the memory of my nightmares and midnight talks with Alex. MacLeod's brow was drawn.
"You consider him your father?"
"No, but I had no choice then. He created me. I was lost. I was scared. He was strong and confident and willful. If I did what he wanted I got rewarded. If I disobeyed I got punished. Simple."
"And Cassandra?"
"What about her?"
"Why did you keep her?"
"Because she could be mine forever. She considered us married after the first couple of months. I didn't rape her, MacLeod." Like the threat of Death wasn't there. As if you didn't train her to serve you.
"You told her you would kill her if she disobeyed."
"But she always woke up." MacLeod's eyebrows shot up. He seemed to stop a thought on the tip of his tongue. He studied my face.
"She didn't know that. She didn't know what she was."
"She knew she would live forever, MacLeod. Her God told her so."
"Her God?" The brown eyes were narrowed.
"Me." I rolled my eyes. "Mac, she was a slave fit to serve a god. She was told she would heal. She would live. I was Death." I felt numbly calm. It’s a state I usually can only manage to get to after a panic attack.
"Why did Kronos take her?"
"Because I became attached. He didn't like it when I found outside interests. A slave was like a parchment or a trinket. He gave her to me in the first place. He could take her away. Damn it, MacLeod, who do you think taught her to kill?"
"She was your student," he whispered. I sprawled further into my seat. I inclined my head and looked up from under my lashes at him. It was a remnant of my time with Kronos. I knew Mac's moods as well as my brother's by then. He was mad at me. "Tell me about Kronos."
"What about him?"
"A good time." I gave him a little smile and stared at the floor.
"We were alone. Just the two of us. Before we met Silas and Caspian. We set camp early and stared at the stars over the fire. I never liked the dark. Kronos never said a word, but he never went more than a yard away, never got out of sight. We were exchanging languages. I knew several. I hadn't lost any book knowledge, only personal knowledge. I don't remember what happened, but eventually he started pointing out stars and telling me stories. We didn't sleep until dawn. I remember his voice. He was so excited and wistful and proud of his childhood. He'd been a tribal leader until his people were exterminated. I promised I wouldn't leave him like they did. I promised forever. He started calling me 'brother.' I stopped calling him 'master.'" There were tears on my cheeks and I ignored them.
"What changed?" I guess Burns' Quickening did some good for the boy.
"During one of my rooting periods, Kronos left me in Egypt. I met Isis. I wanted to stay. To learn from Her. Kronos came back. I tried to convince him to let me stay, but he had found Caspian and Silas. Silas needed my touch, he told me. Once I'd met the man, I couldn't leave him alone with those two. Silas was gentle. Caspian was mad. He only challenged me once though." I felt the smug smile and suppressed it. MacLeod was smiling.
"Stop trying to stonewall me."
"I'm not."
"Stop glossing over things." I flushed. Anger flashed in my brain and towards my tongue. Damn Mac's mannerisms. That smile can push me over the edge. The smug smirk that swears it knows better than me. Byron smirked. Darius smirked. Kronos smirked. Mac smirks. I wanted to slap it off his face. How dare he take over that… I forced myself to redirect the thought. Jude forced the Kronos issue over and over again. I wanted laudanum suddenly.
I knew my cravings would lead me to Byron. And all I could think about was Byron teasing me with poetry and wine. His casual possession of my life. His self-appointed duty to make me wild and free. I knew MacLeod would not approve, but Byron was my student. I can't ignore that.
I hate Mac for pushing me. I was angry at Dawson for telling my secrets. All I did was cross my arms over my chest and slouch further into the cushions. The smug smirk was replaced by a frown.
"Don't close me out, Methos. I'm trying to understand."
"The past has passed. Leave it dead where it belongs," I snapped.
"It affects us here and now. Today. Kronos came back. The past doesn't die."
"Don't you dare discuss him. You know nothing about him!"
"Then teach me." The tea was gone. The empty tea cup seemed fitting. Everything seemed empty then. Jude off saving the world, Alexa in the ground, my brothers dead. I was alone. Soul-crushingly alone. Byron was next on that miserable little list and I knew it. I just couldn't find any more tears.
"He was my world. I didn't lie to you. Killing was all I knew. I craved power and freedom and raiding gave me that. He gave me that. I knew things I couldn't remember learning about tactics. Kronos let me plan. He was the heart. I was the head. His passion. My plans. Silas' strength and Caspian's need."
"Tell me more." I stopped my hands from fisting.
"He always knew how to out think me and he did it again in Bordeaux. Oh, I knew he'd go after Cassie and that I would meet you. I never expected him to send both Caspian and Silas after you or to use Cassie against me. Silas loved to fight. Only fair fights, other warriors. He never liked killing women and children. He loved me. No matter what, he listened to me, stood guard over me. He defied Kronos for me. He never got punished for that. He was one of Kronos' chains. I couldn't just leave Silas, or so he thought. Caspian. Well. He and I were never the best of friends. He felt he should be Kronos' second, but he only challenged me once. Ended up a ball smaller.
"He listened to me, but he and Kronos were friends. Together in their need for chaos. Silas was loyal to his brothers, even when they didn't have patience for him." I trailed off, feeling the pain of his death and the brutal agony of his Quickening. "I knew them better than anyone. I could read their moods. I could guess their tactics. We never needed to talk in the midst of a battle. We were One."
I stopped. I didn't think it could hurt that badly. I thought I was over it. Well, not exactly over it. But I could control it. It felt as if I were spiraling out of control. That's not a normal feeling for me. The room seemed fractured. As if someone forgot to put a few pieces in place. I couldn't for the life of me remember what was missing.
"Are you mad at me?"
I looked up at the Highlander, with my most innocent mask in place. "About what?"
"I don't know. Any of it."
"Yes, but I'm mad at more than just you." My voice seemed cold to me, clinical. One of my downfalls is this new thinking that we have to discuss our emotions. "I can't talk about this right now."
"I think we need to."
"I don't agree." I stood up and got my coat.
"Methos, please."
"Why didn't you believe me, Mac? Why did you believe that bitch of an ex-wife of mine? You'd known me for two years! Was it because you slept with her? If I'd tried to seduce you, would you have believed me instead?" MacLeod came over to where I stood just holding my coat. I moved out of reach. I won't let him invade my space. I've had more than enough of that. Mac frowned. He stepped closer, I retreated towards the door. He grabbed my arm and I hit him across the jaw. He stumbled back and I went to him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I stroked his arm. "I didn't… I'm sorry."
"Adam, why don't you sit by me," Joe suggested. I let the mortal comfort me. My hands were shaking. I'd gotten away with it. Kronos would never have let it go. Neither would Darius. Byron, I'd never have hit him because he never hurt me. I was Byron's conscience. Yeah, I laugh at that too.
"MacLeod, I…"
"It's okay, Methos. Let it go. I shouldn't have grabbed you." He sat down across from me and Joe. That left a table between us. "I believed her because she was a woman. She was a victim. I came to ask you and you pushed me away."
"I didn't want you involved in it. I wanted you and Cassie safe. Damn it. Kronos told me to kill you!" that was the crux of the matter, I suppose. I have never excelled at trusting people to back me up. I'm too afraid of getting allies killed. Losing both of them would have killed me. I still love Cassandra, no matter what she thinks.
"He what?"
"To prove myself. I kill you. He kills Cassandra. For me of course. Doesn't matter that I didn't want her dead." I snapped my mouth shut. The brat was staring at me. What did he think? That Kronos would let me have him? Mac doesn't want me to have anyone else. He wanted me to kill my brothers.
"How could he be sure you would win?"
I laughed. "You are so arrogantly sure of yourself. You couldn't beat me if I really wanted you dead. You can't defend against was you can't predict."
"I beat Kronos."
"He was my teacher, yes, but he didn't teach me all I know. Mac, could you kill me? If I'd just come after you? You didn't even Challenge me when you had the chance. When I told you I was a monster, you let me walk away!"
"No. I couldn't kill you."
"Get over it. Anyone can kill you, Mac!" I was distressed rather than angry. The fear clawed at my stomach. My students are too soft. Hell, I'd have killed Kronos if he didn't know my tricks. Anyone can turn on you, father, son, lover, brother. Why can't my students see that? I pulled my knees up and rested my chin on them.
"Not you," he stated.
I went numb. "Then you've learned nothing. There are circumstances that would make me kill you." Just as if Kronos went after Jude. I'd kill my teacher to save my student.
"Not enough to make me worry."
"May I leave, Mr. Dawson?" I didn't recognize my own voice.
"Soon, Adam," he told me.
"Why would you kill me?"
"To protect… For things I can't explain to you. Please, let me go. I'll come to rehearsal tomorrow." I bargained.
"Okay. We'll see you tomorrow." I went straight to Byron's hotel. The guards were expecting me. I was danced into Byron's main court. Most of them were strung out. Byron was watching people crash. Even human he'd had amazing tolerance. I hung my coat in his closet and settled down next to him on the couch and proceeded to forget my "talk" with Mac. A little cocaine to cheer me up, a little heroin to calm me down. All washed down with wine and the pretty little flirt I'd met earlier.
Byron flitted from person to person lingering with the chosen few of his favorites. I felt his hand on the back of my neck as I sprawled on the couch. I turned to look up at him. He was smiling. High as a kite. I grinned back. "Glad you could make it. I wasn't sure if your new pet would tie you down."
"He's not into that." I snickered. I sat up so he could join me. Byron's touch never bothered me. It just seemed such an extension of his personality that one can't take offense. He flopped down next to me and flung his bad leg over my lap.
"I've missed your touch." I rolled my eyes and worked on the knots in the muscle. He sighed. "That feels so good." Eventually, he started talking. "Things have been so dull. There's no joy anymore, Doc. I need so much and I don't know where my muses have fled."
"You do tend to go through them at a rapid pace." He laughed.
"Not so quickly as you think. The bedroom's quieter." He was limping badly. It wasn't normal.
"What have you done to yourself?" I asked, taking off the brace.
"I keep trying to fix it." The piece of metal he'd imbedded in the side of his foot kept it from healing. He had to have been in agony. I removed it and his Quickening sparked.
"Let me think on it. You'll be in town all week, yes?"
"Yes, and you can come with me for a while too," he told me, quite serious despite the drugs.
"We'll see. I have my thesis in review at the moment."
"I'm more important than a piece of paper," he pouted.
"As you wish, milord," I teased him.
"Your hair is so short, Doc," he said. "I miss our talks." I settled next to him on the bed.
"You haven't found anyone?" It wasn't a surprise. Byron's manic-depressive. It really is too bad that lithium doesn't work on Immortals.
"No. They all leave, one way or another. You left me too," he accused.
"It was time. We both agreed. I've kept in touch."
"True." We debated education politics for a little while. This is what most people never got to see of him, his intellectual self. We drifted off to sleep. I woke in time to get to the bar an hour before rehearsal. Joe rolled his eyes, but never asked where I'd been. I assume he already knew. Byron's watcher couldn't be that dense, even if Russ was off duty.
MacLeod settled at his favorite table near the stage as I took up residence at the bar. We weren't talking, but it wasn't a painful silence. Joe was pissed at Mike for being late. It got worse when it became obvious that the boy was either high or coming down off of something. "Don't come back unless you're clean," Joe told him.
Duncan MacLeod, the High Noble Asshole, decided that Byron was to blame for Mike's choices. I went with him to forestall quick bloodshed. Byron was yelling, "Life, my friend, is in the details. I like almonds, not cashews, almonds. Shelled, roasted, unsalted. And fetch me my women -- tall, beautiful women with long black hair. I know you want to make me happy." The servant left, with only his eyes betraying his anger. "Afternoon, Boys."
"Still lacerating the help, I see," I said. He put an arm around me and his smile grew wider as Mac bristled.
"It's good being a star."
"You and Mike had quite a session last night," Mac stated. Byron offered us some cocaine. Mac ignored the gesture and I waved it of. He took a hit.
"Yeah. Kid's got a good shot."
"That's why we're here."
"Gotta stoke the engine or you're just idling. I don't understand how you guys can live without it."
"Just fine, thanks," our friend the moral crusader stated. "So did Mike until last night."
"Oh, that's better. Immortality gets pretty damn dull after the first couple of centuries, doesn't it? What's the secret, Doc? What do you do when there's nothing left but the dark, cold emptiness that stretches out for centuries behind you? And when you look in the mirror, all you see is the abomination that you are?" I wished to God that I had an answer for him. But how do you answer a question you haven't answered for yourself yet? I wanted to scream at him to live and grow stronger, but I knew he couldn't hear me. He was high, not listening to anything I might say, no matter what sort of affection he may have for me.
He read us a quote to us. I recognized the book. I have a first edition as well. She wrote it after witnessing a Quickening Byron took. He'd only been an Immortal about nine months. We parted ways the next year. He barely blinked when I told him I wasn't going to stay with him in London. We've kept in touch sporadically. Every time he got famous I'd write to him. "'Light, feeling, and sense will pass away. And in this condition must I find my happiness.' Frankenstein, gentleman. Mary Shelley's greatest work. The point is that we are all Frankenstein's monster, doomed to walk the frozen tundra for eternity. Or the streets of Paris, as the case may be." He held up his snuff box. "But at least this gives us the illusion of life."
"If you think that's what life is all about then you're already dead."
"So speaks the hero." I couldn't have said it better.
"You listen to me. This is no illusion, no poetic fantasy. This is real and it's a warning: Leave the kid alone."
Byron looked at me with a familiar grin. I won't say it was affectionate. He's always been more possessive than that. It would be Mike's choice whether to stay in his group or leave. My stomach twisted. "See you later, Doc," he murmured as Mac stalked out.
"We'll see. Be careful, Byron. He'll hunt you if…" His eyes softened for a brief instant. They were like a knife in my gut.
"Don't worry, Doc." How do you stop an Immortal intent on suicide? I hurried to catch up with the Highlander.
We were walking to his car when he felt the need to say, "Your friend's a mess."
"He's a genius," I automatically defended.
"He's pathetic."
"Very easy to think that way. Have you ever starved to death, MacLeod? Byron feels hunger like that every day. Twenty thousand people screaming his name -- it's not enough to fill the hole inside of him. He always want more; he always needs more. You know, Charlie Parker, Van Gogh, Mozart -- messed up guys." I've been there Mac. I've needed that badly. There was a hole where my heart should have been and I washed the world in blood to find it again. Byron merely offered temptation. Why could the boy not see that? He was convicting me again.
"Da Vinci, Bach -- normal guys and still great artists."
"And Byron is also a great artist. He's given the world great poetry." And sculpture and music and laughter, I continued in my head.
"But at what price?"
Mortals are responsible for their own lives I wanted to scream. You are not a god, MacLeod. You don't even know what it means to be a god. I pray you never know. It hurts too badly. People take and take and take and never give it back. You are hated more than you are loved. You are isolated. You are above and outside the flames. Oh, Mac. I wanted you to know the truth right then. More than anything I wanted to save both of you the pain.
Mike OD'd on a mix of drugs. The apartment was in tatters. I saw the body and went to the arena where the concert was to take place. No one challenged me backstage. His guard didn't even blink when I walked into his dressing room. "Hey, Doc. It's gonna be a killer show tonight."
"I'm not here for the show."
"Well, the party doesn't start till later, but hey, make yourself at home.
"Leave town," I ordered. If one wouldn't listen maybe the other one would.
"Say what?" That had startled him.
"MacLeod's going to be coming here. I'm telling you as an old friend that it would be a good time to go on tour. In another country."
"And disappoint my fans? I told you, I've got a show to do." Of course. Byron never learned to walk away from a Challenge. I was too tired to really resist any longer.
"Used to be more than a show. There was a time when you were reaching for the heavens." Now it was all emptiness. I couldn't or wouldn't hear that before.
"There is no heaven. It's just an illusion for fools and innocents." He always classified me as an innocent, despite everything. I was always a child in his eyes. "I have no hope, no dreams, no poetry left. All I feel is this raging hunger. And all I hear is my own voice screaming my failure. You know what I've become."
"Yes, I know." He had become a version of Death. I had to let him go.
"Yes, I know."
"But do you know who you are, Doc? You're the guy in the audience, and I'm the guy on the flying trapeze. Who do you think is having more fun?"
"Who do you think is going to live the longest?" I challenged.
"Who cares?"
"I do." I want you to want to survive too.
"Do you want a tombstone that says, 'he lived for centuries'? Or do you want one that says, 'for centuries he was alive?'"
"You're not listening to me. I don't want a tombstone." We could hear the crowd echoing through the halls.
"Hear that? They're playing my song." He brushed past me. "Remember me, Doc." I felt MacLeod arrive and went to intercept him.
"Paladini's dead, I know. Byron didn't force him to do anything," I pointed out. That's not Byron's way of sucking you into his life. Despair and desperation must not have shown in my face because Mac ignored me.
"That's a load of crap. Mike's dead because of Byron."
"No. Mike is dead because of Mike." Everyone chooses when they want to die through their actions. Playing the line. Being burned by the fires of life. I've finally learned to take my hand out of the fire. I won't get hurt anymore. I can't let myself get hurt anymore.
"The kid idolized him." Sort of like I idolized you in the beginning. The perfect knight. "Maybe he didn't pull the trigger, but he sure as hell put the gun in his hand. 'To live like me, you have to be like me?' come on, Methos. Mike couldn't do that. He wasn't Immortal."
"Which is not Byron's fault." Duncan started off.
"Wait! Think! Think about the poetry. Think about the music he's made. Think about the music he will still make." Don't kill my friend. "You're going to kill all that as well?" You're going to kill part of my soul?
"And what about Mike. What about the music he could have made?" How dare he judge one man's music to be more than another's? Mike would have found some other idol in the music world, who would have given him the drugs. Even Joe is still pestered by that. If he wasn't strong enough to survive Byron, who actually takes no for an answer, what would he have done confronted by a dealer? I was at the party Mac. There was plenty of alcohol. The drugs were there, but Byron wasn't the pressure. He was the host, not the role model. He was more sober than anyone except me. But I couldn't tell the boy that. He never would have forgiven me for letting Mike stay there. As if it is my responsibility to stop a man from making his own mistakes. I've never been able to stop Jude from that. I've never been able to protect Mac.
I stood aside for him to kill my friend. Another one to fall to MacLeod's katana. I drove to Joe. I hesitated at the door, listening to my favorite bluesman playing. Why can't I ever be attracted to smoldering fires like Joe instead of open wildfires? He met my eyes, giving me permission to mourn.
I leaned against the bar and closed my eyes getting lost in the music, memories, and the attempt to locate Byron and MacLeod's Quickenings without alerting them. I couldn't concentrate enough to risk it. I was having enough trouble containing my own energy. Joe didn't speak and neither did I.
When I felt MacLeod come into range, I grabbed a glass and bottle of scotch and sat down to commence my mourning. The brat didn't even ask before fetching himself a glass and settling down next to me.
"Matter and antimatter. Byron knew that too," I said more for Joe's benefit than anything else. I couldn't have him torn between the two of us again. "His life had become one long tragedy."
"We all know how those end." I absorbed the comment feeling the clawing pain in my stomach creeping up to ice over my heart. I shut my eyes, back to the child. I couldn't stop the tear from escaping. Jude had been right. Byron and MacLeod would both bring nothing but agony. Just like Kronos. Just like the wildfires I always get burned by.
The boy finally went home to burn off his excess energy. Joe locked the doors behind him. It had been less than half an hour. It only felt like three years. "I'll close up, Joe." My voice was steady. I've got too much practice hiding my emotions.
"I'm not leaving you alone to get drunk." He settled down in front of my line of sight. He took Mac's glass and I poured a shot for him. "To lost talent." I clinked glasses with him and drank to our shared grief. I was calm enough to drive in an hour. I followed Joe to his home, to make sure he was safely in before going to my apartment.
I dialed Jude's answering service. I left a message: "Byron's dead." Then, I carefully locked all my doors and windows and turned on the security system Amanda designed for me and got studiously and thoroughly drunk.
I surfaced to a phone call through my answering machine, echoing into the apartment the next morning. "Adam? Adam? This is Penny. You weren't at church this morning. Are you okay?"
I clawed my way over to the phone and out of my sheets. "Penny? I'm alive. I'm not sure about okay yet."
"I'll bring dinner."
"That's okay. I'll be fine."
"You don't sound fine. You sound like when I first met you. That is not fine."
"Penny. . . I'll be decent by the time you come."
"Damn. I'd prefer you indecent."
"I'll see you in a little while." I hung up on her. I would have to at least try to make her understand. I dragged myself to the shower. Penny Black was an English ex-pat I ran into when "Adam" found himself a church here in Paris that wasn't Darius'. She'd met me when I was still mourning for a lost opportunity -- a beautiful and married woman called Christine Salzer. I loved her and Don. And I knew Don wasn't treating her right. And I was also being forced, by Jude, by the Plan, into joining the new and improved watchers. The Watchers that don't know their true mission and their true purpose. They will know all too soon though.
By the time Penny showed up with bags of Chinese, I was dressed. She had the paper from my front step as well. "Hello, luv." She kissed my cheek.
"Hello, Penny. Smells wonderful." I opened the bags onto the table, then fetched two plates and some silverware. She set the paper on the table. Byron's murder was front page news. My face betrayed me.
"Is that what's wrong? I never knew you were so into your music."
"I knew him, when we were younger, stupider."
"Oh my God, were you there?"
"For a little while. I knew he was dead last night." I shrugged.
"Oh, luv, I'm so sorry to hear that." She put her hand over my wrist. I patted it absently and summoned up a small smile for her. "Let's eat. You can tell me all about your wild youth with Byron the rockstar."
"He was just a songwriter then. But it was wild. And I've been to his parties."
Her eyes lit up at the thought of juicy gossip. So I talked. I edited things, made them nineteen eighties as opposed to their original time, but it didn't matter. I could remember the laughter and the mistakes and the orgies. And Penny would either think of them as real, or as part of the stories Byron had circulating around him even as he rose to prominence again. It was a real wake for him, with no one else's problems to taint it.
I attended his memorial service a few days later. His lawyer was there. "Hello, Doc," he said quietly.
"Hello, Maurice." Maurice is one of those interesting creatures, a mortal who works exclusively for Immortal clients. He was raised by Cory Raines a few years ago.
"He left some things for you."
"Did he?"
"Yes, come to my office tomorrow."
I nodded and turned my attention back to the service. Appropriately, they actually quoted his original poetry as well as his new songs. When my goodbyes were said at the graveyard, I was the only one present. No one else knew where he would be buried -- next to my Alexa in a graveyard not full of the rich and famous.
Maurice handed me a file folder and a ring of keys. "He left all of it to you."
I raised my brows.
"You were the only one he was sure would be around. He changed his will as soon as he found out your newest name."
"Thank you, Maurice."
FINIS
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