Another year...
Duncan wanted to stay at home today, but he had too many people either calling or visiting all the time now. Yeah, he was pretty sure that someone would call up and say "Happy Birthday", or if he waited long enough for Athos to get rid of his hangover, then he'd mention it.
But not today, he decided. Today, he thought about everything that had happened in the last year. Of all the friends he'd lost, the new ones he'd made, the old ones who had returned. Of lovers gone but not forgotten. Of wayward students. Of how incredibly thankful he was.
That was the point of this time of year anyway, right?
But Duncan hadn't gone shopping for anyone, hadn't spent enormous amounts of money he had but never used... a few phone calls here and there to the important people were the ones he was planning on making. Aidan. Joe. Richie. Tessa. Methos. Darius. Fitz. Amanda. Athos. Cassandra. Connor.
Simplicity was always better in the long run. Which was why he'd pulled his coat tighter around himself as he'd walked the streets of Boston, finally stopping at a local pub he'd discovered, and ordering a Guinness for himself.
"Happy Birthday, Duncan," he smirked, remembering that last year had been almost the same in terms of "celebrating". Four hundred and fourteen years old. A year ago, he'd killed Costa, the man who murdered Faith, and spent the night alone, drinking. Now, he had moved on. Celebrations of birthdays didn't really matter -- celebrations of life did, though. And he was alive. Another year was over, and he was still alive.
It was really all any Immortal could hope for.
But not today, he decided. Today, he thought about everything that had happened in the last year. Of all the friends he'd lost, the new ones he'd made, the old ones who had returned. Of lovers gone but not forgotten. Of wayward students. Of how incredibly thankful he was.
That was the point of this time of year anyway, right?
But Duncan hadn't gone shopping for anyone, hadn't spent enormous amounts of money he had but never used... a few phone calls here and there to the important people were the ones he was planning on making. Aidan. Joe. Richie. Tessa. Methos. Darius. Fitz. Amanda. Athos. Cassandra. Connor.
Simplicity was always better in the long run. Which was why he'd pulled his coat tighter around himself as he'd walked the streets of Boston, finally stopping at a local pub he'd discovered, and ordering a Guinness for himself.
"Happy Birthday, Duncan," he smirked, remembering that last year had been almost the same in terms of "celebrating". Four hundred and fourteen years old. A year ago, he'd killed Costa, the man who murdered Faith, and spent the night alone, drinking. Now, he had moved on. Celebrations of birthdays didn't really matter -- celebrations of life did, though. And he was alive. Another year was over, and he was still alive.
It was really all any Immortal could hope for.