To Touch the Face - Ninth Installment
Duncan stumbled back, evidently bullied out of the way by his unwanted guest, and in strode a lean figure clad in a long, dark raincoat carrying a large duffle bag which he dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Hazel eyes hovering over a substantial nose met mine, and we both froze in shock.
Then I stood, slowly. Warily. Almost forgetting that I was stark naked.
He straightened and his eyes widened in surprise.
“Well, well, well,” he said softly, cocking his head slightly to one side. “Do I know you?”
I grabbed a sheet and yanked it loose from the bed, dramatically swirling it around my torso. “I seriously doubt it!” I huffed, and turned on my heel to march into the bathroom. Unfortunately, the sheet got caught in my feet halfway there, and I ended up stumbling through the door and caroming into the sink. Barely recovering my balance and pulling the trailing sheet out of the way, I caught a quick glimpse of a puzzled Duncan and a stunned “Adam Pierson” just before I slammed the door closed, then locked it for good measure.
To Touch the Face - Part 9
By MacGeorge
Hiding in the bathroom seemed a rather cowardly thing to do, so I at least put a good face on it by taking a much-needed shower. I had to give MacLeod credit, he had an oversized shower stall with multiple water jets, so it was easy to linger. And linger.
Finally, the water started getting cool so I reluctantly turned the faucets off, wrapping myself in a big towel from off a fancy brass towel warmer. Now what? I didn’t have any clothes in the room, I belatedly realized. Well, I told myself, so what? I am the Archangel Gabriel, for God’s sake. There’s not a being in the world who can intimidate or bully or outthink me. Yes, “Adam Pierson” had given me some trouble in the distant past, but I could undoubtedly bluff my way out of that one. I tucked my towel a little more firmly around my waist and opened the door with a confident flourish - except that I had forgotten I had locked it, so it just rattled on its hinges. Damn! It was so much more effective when I could just appear with a mighty flourish of a beat of wings. Ah, well. I took a deep breath, unlocked the damned thing and stepped out, steam billowing behind me as I stepped into the much-colder living space.
I expected to have all eyes on me, but both men were sitting placidly at the island, sipping from coffee mugs and chatting in low voices. Duncan looked up at last and nodded towards the now-neatly-made-bed. “If you wanted to stay the night, I put some sweat pants out for you, otherwise your clothes are folded on the chair.”
Hmm. Best to make as quick an exit as possible, I decided, and grabbed my slacks and pullover, turning my back as I dropped the towel and stepped into my clothes. I could feel eyes burning into my back, and when I turned around, Pierson’s expression was the picture of innocent inquiry.
“Uh, Gabriel, right?” he asked with a questioning, raised eyebrow.
“Right,” I answered. “And you’re Pierson, right?” I echoed back at him. When in doubt, go on the offensive. “Do you always barge in on your friends in the wee hours of the morning?”
He just smiled. “Only when the situation requires. Sorry to interrupt your evening.” He rose, tucking his hands into his front jeans pockets and leaning casually up against the island. “I was just starting to tell Mac here about someone I thought I remembered from a long time ago who looked exactly like you, and even called himself Gabriel, if I recall correctly,” he added a frown. “That night is a little fuzzy, which is… unusual.”
“Well,” I equivocated, edging towards the door. “That’s very interesting, I’m sure, but I just got into town a few weeks ago, and I’m sure we haven’t met before.”
He pushed himself away from the island with a twitch of his hips and sauntered in my direction. He paused and cocked his head at me curiously. “I agree it seems… unlikely, but I have an excellent memory and the resemblance is uncanny, even down to the tone of voice.”
“Maybe a distant relative?” I offered, settling my sweater more protectively around my torso. “Anyway, it obviously wasn’t me, since I also have an excellent memory and I don’t remember you.” I crossed confidently over to the phone at the wall and called a cab to come and pick me up, waving away Duncan’s offer to take me home.
At the close of that conversation, I leaned onto the island, deliberately turning my back on “Adam”. “I hope we can do this again sometime?” I offered softly, then kissed him slowly and gently, letting our lips linger. I could feel Pierson’s eyes on me and could imagine the slightly tightened expression. Ah yes, I was sure the old bastard thought he had staked a claim on MacLeod, but he really had no idea who he was up against.
“Absolutely,” Duncan breathed at last, his eyes warming in affection as he reached up to push a perpetually errant curl out of my face. “I’m counting on it.”
I kissed him briefly again, found the jacket I had worn neatly hung on the coat rack, then turned at the door. “Nice to meet you, Pierson,” I called jovially. “Hope your flat gets fixed. Soon!”
Whew! That was awkward, I mused as I trudged down the stairs. I really had no desire to compete for Duncan’s attention, nor did I want Methos questioning my identity so it would be good to find some way to get rid of the old goat. Maybe Joe could help.
~~~~~~~
“Pierson?” Joe asked. “You mean Adam Pierson? I didn’t know he was back in town. What about him?”
I kept my voice casual. “He showed up at Duncan’s out of the blue, acted like he owned the place,” I reported.
“Sounds familiar,” Joe observed. “What’s the problem? Jealous? I don’t think he and MacLeod are… involved, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added with an annoying smirk as he polished glasses behind the bar. “Although, not for lack of trying on Adam’s part,” he added sotto voce, clearly believing I couldn’t possibly hear.
I banged a chair onto the floor from where it had been stacked on a table. “Jealous? Not at all,” I sniffed. “He was just… annoying. How long has Duncan known him?” I added casually.
“Not all that long,” Joe said, pausing to study my movements as I arranged the room for the lunch crowd. “But their relationship has been…,” he paused, looking thoughtful. “Intense,” he finally declared.
“Intense good, or intense bad?”
Joe met my curious gaze with an impenetrable one of his own. “Yup.”
Well, that’s helpful, I mused. Pierson, or Mythos, as I had known him ‘back in the day’, had merely been an annoying obstacle to a goal when last we met. I was looking after some prophet or the other delivering God’s word to the Israelites (in those days, you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting a prophet). After I had made him suffer for awhile, then given him his reward - a revelation that left him ecstatic and ready to do God’s will, I nudged him in the right direction to find his way back to his tribe.
As no good deed goes unpunished, I came back to check on him, only to discover that Mythos had found him wandering in the desert, fed him, gave him water, then started asking him all kinds of hard questions about God that got the man completely confused about what he had seen and heard. I joined them at the campfire that night as a simple traveler, but I sensed that Mythos knew there was more to it - more to me than met the eye. With me as an audience, he kept at my neophyte prophet all night until the poor bastard was so befuddled I was afraid he’d be useless as someone to spread the Word. What I really wanted to do was send the annoying bastard packing. Transport him to someplace really cold and miserable, but the Almighty had always told us to keep out of the way of the Immortals, that they had their own part in the Great Plan, so I was forbidden to directly intervene in their lives. But I couldn’t fail in my mission, could I? And, after all, it was just a simple desert storm, not really interfering in anything. It wasn’t my fault that the two men got separated in the three days of blowing sand, and that my guy was encouraged to ‘forget’ the man with the difficult questions. As it was, my prophet du jure made it to his intended destination, delivered his message and all was well. Go me.
[sigh]
Unfortunately, Murphy’s Law was in full force long before there was ever any Murphy to name it after. After the storm passed, Mythos was found by a couple of his own kind - who would never have even known he was there if they hadn’t been able to sense him as he revived from having the flesh stripped from his bones - my own little retribution for him interfering in God’s Plan - well, my plan actually, but same difference. They ultimately formed a little band, recruited some totally nutsoid Immortal who liked to eat people, for God’s sake, and… well, ultimately that bit of unauthorized interference didn’t turn out all that well in the opinion of the Almighty, either. The phrase, “We are not amused!” comes to mind.
God made use of them, in the end, as the Almighty is wont to do, especially in those days when My Lord was a somewhat vengeful God prone to plagues and floods and General Heavenly Mayhem. As a result, that little Gang of Four got a whole section of the Good Book devoted to their exploits, became icons of Yahweh’s wrath and judgment, becoming the equivalent of Biblical superheros. They should have thanked me.
Hmmm, come to think of it, that little smudge on my record might be another reason I’m here instead of doing my usual angelic rounds. Yeah, it was a long time ago in human terms, but a mere blink of an eye in God’s timeline.
Well, I had gotten rid of the pest a few thousand years ago, and I’d just have to do it again - this time without benefit of wings and all the ancillary powers they provided.
Duncan showed up that night during Joe’s second set and sure enough, Adam Pierson sauntered in behind him, leaning close, saying something that made him laugh, picking up both their beers to take them to a table before I could free myself of a demanding customer.
“Hey, good lookin’,” I purred, trailing my hand along Duncan’s shoulders and drawing a raised eyebrow from Pierson. “Doing anything later?” I picked up the empty beer bottled from their table and brushed a hip against him as I leaned over and put a glass in front of him filled with the bar’s finest single malt.
“Hey, what about me?” Adam asked petulantly.
“What about you?” I asked.
“He gets the good stuff and I get nada?”
I used Duncan’s shoulder to lean my hip on, giving Pierson a heavy-lidded smile. “He definitely gets the good stuff,” I purred, running my fingers through his hair, “and it’s more than just fine scotch.”
Duncan coughed and ducked his head, squirming uncomfortably. I laughed and headed back behind the bar. When I looked back, Duncan was sipping his drink, looking everywhere but at Adam, while Adam was giving me a narrow-eyed glare that disappeared as soon as I caught his eye, changing to a look of bland indifference.
I deliberately tuned out the various noises of the bar, honing in on the low baritone voices of the two men seated about 15 feet away. I couldn’t see very much as Pierson leaned in close to speak in soft tones, but I could hear them clear as a bell.
“There’s something about that guy,” Pierson murmured.
“What’s the matter? Jealous I’m getting some and you’re not?”
I could see Pierson shake his head. “Don’t be an idiot. I know him from somewhere, and it wasn’t a pleasant encounter.”
“Okay. Know him from where?”
Pause.
“At first, I thought it was from a really long time ago, but obviously, he’s not Immortal, so I guess I just don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember? That seems unlikely.”
“It’s weird. When I try to focus on his face, to remember the details, there’s just kind of a fuzziness, like my brain doesn’t want to go there.”
(sigh) “You’re being weird, Methos. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you really were jealous.”
(snort) “Yeah, right. If I got my knickers in a twist every time you fucked someone, I’d never be able to walk straight again.”
“Don’t be crude, Methos. It’s unbecoming.”
“Well, I’m becoming a little tired of Gabe-grabby-hands. I hope you weren’t planning to invite him back to the loft tonight.”
“What concern is it of yours?”
“Because my flat is still uninhabitable. It’ll take days, maybe weeks, for them to fix everything. I’d prefer not to have to listen to you two go at each other while I lie on the couch, trying to pretend to be asleep.”
“There’s an image.” Duncan sounded amused, then sighed. “For someone who says he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself, you sure do seem to muck about in my private life a lot.”
“Maybe the problem is with your private life. Your current taste in lovers is highly questionable.”
“This from a man who picked Kronos as a life companion.”
“Ooo, aren’t we are being defensive tonight.”
“Hey, I thought it was a pretty good comeback.” There was amusement in Duncan’s voice now, and he was leaning into Methos.
“Even a blind pig finds a morsel now and then.”
They both chuckled. Hmm. Things were getting entirely too chummy between those two. It seemed that Methos was deliberately inserting himself between Duncan and me, but I’m not one to be easily thwarted. I sauntered back to their table to refill Duncan’s glass, slipping into a chair with a sigh
“I’m tired and my feet hurt,” I complained. “And that lumpy bed at the Y doesn’t give me a lot of sleep.” I yawned, stretched, and ran my fingers through my hair, knowing the two men were watching the play of light on the lean muscles of my arms, my chest which had that androgynous look of both male and female, the glint of gold in my unruly curls. I can be incredibly sexy without even trying. “Your bed is soooo comfortable,” I sighed, leaning into Duncan. “How about we…”
“Uh, Gabe,” Duncan interrupted, “It might not be….”
“It was you,” Pierson suddenly inserted, looking at me oddly.
“Huh?” Duncan asked, looking at him in puzzlement.
“It was in the desert,” he repeated, his eyes glazing over as he struggled to remember. “An Israelite. Weird guy. Thought he had talked to God…” his voice trailed off. “Then there was a storm,” he shuddered visibly. “But…” he looked at me closely, then shook himself, frowning. “I must be losing it,” he murmured under his breath.
“Adam, are you okay?” Duncan asked in concern.
Damn Immortal memory. That sucks. Even if the admittedly gentle angelic ‘glamour’ I had exerted so long ago was wearing off, he would still have a hard time convincing himself, much less Duncan, that I was the same being he encountered three thousand years ago.
But before I could figure out exactly what to do about it, Duncan rose, pulling Pierson to his feet. “Sorry, Gabe, but, uh, Adam has this, uh, post traumatic stress thing. Hits him at odd times. I think we better call it a night.” He threw some money on the table to cover his tab, gave my shoulder a quick, affectionate squeeze, and leaned in. “I’ll call you,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear and his masculine scent filling my nostrils. And the two of them were headed out the door, matching stride for stride, Duncan’s hand wrapped around Pierson’s bicep.
….tbc
Then I stood, slowly. Warily. Almost forgetting that I was stark naked.
He straightened and his eyes widened in surprise.
“Well, well, well,” he said softly, cocking his head slightly to one side. “Do I know you?”
I grabbed a sheet and yanked it loose from the bed, dramatically swirling it around my torso. “I seriously doubt it!” I huffed, and turned on my heel to march into the bathroom. Unfortunately, the sheet got caught in my feet halfway there, and I ended up stumbling through the door and caroming into the sink. Barely recovering my balance and pulling the trailing sheet out of the way, I caught a quick glimpse of a puzzled Duncan and a stunned “Adam Pierson” just before I slammed the door closed, then locked it for good measure.
To Touch the Face - Part 9
By MacGeorge
Hiding in the bathroom seemed a rather cowardly thing to do, so I at least put a good face on it by taking a much-needed shower. I had to give MacLeod credit, he had an oversized shower stall with multiple water jets, so it was easy to linger. And linger.
Finally, the water started getting cool so I reluctantly turned the faucets off, wrapping myself in a big towel from off a fancy brass towel warmer. Now what? I didn’t have any clothes in the room, I belatedly realized. Well, I told myself, so what? I am the Archangel Gabriel, for God’s sake. There’s not a being in the world who can intimidate or bully or outthink me. Yes, “Adam Pierson” had given me some trouble in the distant past, but I could undoubtedly bluff my way out of that one. I tucked my towel a little more firmly around my waist and opened the door with a confident flourish - except that I had forgotten I had locked it, so it just rattled on its hinges. Damn! It was so much more effective when I could just appear with a mighty flourish of a beat of wings. Ah, well. I took a deep breath, unlocked the damned thing and stepped out, steam billowing behind me as I stepped into the much-colder living space.
I expected to have all eyes on me, but both men were sitting placidly at the island, sipping from coffee mugs and chatting in low voices. Duncan looked up at last and nodded towards the now-neatly-made-bed. “If you wanted to stay the night, I put some sweat pants out for you, otherwise your clothes are folded on the chair.”
Hmm. Best to make as quick an exit as possible, I decided, and grabbed my slacks and pullover, turning my back as I dropped the towel and stepped into my clothes. I could feel eyes burning into my back, and when I turned around, Pierson’s expression was the picture of innocent inquiry.
“Uh, Gabriel, right?” he asked with a questioning, raised eyebrow.
“Right,” I answered. “And you’re Pierson, right?” I echoed back at him. When in doubt, go on the offensive. “Do you always barge in on your friends in the wee hours of the morning?”
He just smiled. “Only when the situation requires. Sorry to interrupt your evening.” He rose, tucking his hands into his front jeans pockets and leaning casually up against the island. “I was just starting to tell Mac here about someone I thought I remembered from a long time ago who looked exactly like you, and even called himself Gabriel, if I recall correctly,” he added a frown. “That night is a little fuzzy, which is… unusual.”
“Well,” I equivocated, edging towards the door. “That’s very interesting, I’m sure, but I just got into town a few weeks ago, and I’m sure we haven’t met before.”
He pushed himself away from the island with a twitch of his hips and sauntered in my direction. He paused and cocked his head at me curiously. “I agree it seems… unlikely, but I have an excellent memory and the resemblance is uncanny, even down to the tone of voice.”
“Maybe a distant relative?” I offered, settling my sweater more protectively around my torso. “Anyway, it obviously wasn’t me, since I also have an excellent memory and I don’t remember you.” I crossed confidently over to the phone at the wall and called a cab to come and pick me up, waving away Duncan’s offer to take me home.
At the close of that conversation, I leaned onto the island, deliberately turning my back on “Adam”. “I hope we can do this again sometime?” I offered softly, then kissed him slowly and gently, letting our lips linger. I could feel Pierson’s eyes on me and could imagine the slightly tightened expression. Ah yes, I was sure the old bastard thought he had staked a claim on MacLeod, but he really had no idea who he was up against.
“Absolutely,” Duncan breathed at last, his eyes warming in affection as he reached up to push a perpetually errant curl out of my face. “I’m counting on it.”
I kissed him briefly again, found the jacket I had worn neatly hung on the coat rack, then turned at the door. “Nice to meet you, Pierson,” I called jovially. “Hope your flat gets fixed. Soon!”
Whew! That was awkward, I mused as I trudged down the stairs. I really had no desire to compete for Duncan’s attention, nor did I want Methos questioning my identity so it would be good to find some way to get rid of the old goat. Maybe Joe could help.
~~~~~~~
“Pierson?” Joe asked. “You mean Adam Pierson? I didn’t know he was back in town. What about him?”
I kept my voice casual. “He showed up at Duncan’s out of the blue, acted like he owned the place,” I reported.
“Sounds familiar,” Joe observed. “What’s the problem? Jealous? I don’t think he and MacLeod are… involved, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added with an annoying smirk as he polished glasses behind the bar. “Although, not for lack of trying on Adam’s part,” he added sotto voce, clearly believing I couldn’t possibly hear.
I banged a chair onto the floor from where it had been stacked on a table. “Jealous? Not at all,” I sniffed. “He was just… annoying. How long has Duncan known him?” I added casually.
“Not all that long,” Joe said, pausing to study my movements as I arranged the room for the lunch crowd. “But their relationship has been…,” he paused, looking thoughtful. “Intense,” he finally declared.
“Intense good, or intense bad?”
Joe met my curious gaze with an impenetrable one of his own. “Yup.”
Well, that’s helpful, I mused. Pierson, or Mythos, as I had known him ‘back in the day’, had merely been an annoying obstacle to a goal when last we met. I was looking after some prophet or the other delivering God’s word to the Israelites (in those days, you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting a prophet). After I had made him suffer for awhile, then given him his reward - a revelation that left him ecstatic and ready to do God’s will, I nudged him in the right direction to find his way back to his tribe.
As no good deed goes unpunished, I came back to check on him, only to discover that Mythos had found him wandering in the desert, fed him, gave him water, then started asking him all kinds of hard questions about God that got the man completely confused about what he had seen and heard. I joined them at the campfire that night as a simple traveler, but I sensed that Mythos knew there was more to it - more to me than met the eye. With me as an audience, he kept at my neophyte prophet all night until the poor bastard was so befuddled I was afraid he’d be useless as someone to spread the Word. What I really wanted to do was send the annoying bastard packing. Transport him to someplace really cold and miserable, but the Almighty had always told us to keep out of the way of the Immortals, that they had their own part in the Great Plan, so I was forbidden to directly intervene in their lives. But I couldn’t fail in my mission, could I? And, after all, it was just a simple desert storm, not really interfering in anything. It wasn’t my fault that the two men got separated in the three days of blowing sand, and that my guy was encouraged to ‘forget’ the man with the difficult questions. As it was, my prophet du jure made it to his intended destination, delivered his message and all was well. Go me.
[sigh]
Unfortunately, Murphy’s Law was in full force long before there was ever any Murphy to name it after. After the storm passed, Mythos was found by a couple of his own kind - who would never have even known he was there if they hadn’t been able to sense him as he revived from having the flesh stripped from his bones - my own little retribution for him interfering in God’s Plan - well, my plan actually, but same difference. They ultimately formed a little band, recruited some totally nutsoid Immortal who liked to eat people, for God’s sake, and… well, ultimately that bit of unauthorized interference didn’t turn out all that well in the opinion of the Almighty, either. The phrase, “We are not amused!” comes to mind.
God made use of them, in the end, as the Almighty is wont to do, especially in those days when My Lord was a somewhat vengeful God prone to plagues and floods and General Heavenly Mayhem. As a result, that little Gang of Four got a whole section of the Good Book devoted to their exploits, became icons of Yahweh’s wrath and judgment, becoming the equivalent of Biblical superheros. They should have thanked me.
Hmmm, come to think of it, that little smudge on my record might be another reason I’m here instead of doing my usual angelic rounds. Yeah, it was a long time ago in human terms, but a mere blink of an eye in God’s timeline.
Well, I had gotten rid of the pest a few thousand years ago, and I’d just have to do it again - this time without benefit of wings and all the ancillary powers they provided.
Duncan showed up that night during Joe’s second set and sure enough, Adam Pierson sauntered in behind him, leaning close, saying something that made him laugh, picking up both their beers to take them to a table before I could free myself of a demanding customer.
“Hey, good lookin’,” I purred, trailing my hand along Duncan’s shoulders and drawing a raised eyebrow from Pierson. “Doing anything later?” I picked up the empty beer bottled from their table and brushed a hip against him as I leaned over and put a glass in front of him filled with the bar’s finest single malt.
“Hey, what about me?” Adam asked petulantly.
“What about you?” I asked.
“He gets the good stuff and I get nada?”
I used Duncan’s shoulder to lean my hip on, giving Pierson a heavy-lidded smile. “He definitely gets the good stuff,” I purred, running my fingers through his hair, “and it’s more than just fine scotch.”
Duncan coughed and ducked his head, squirming uncomfortably. I laughed and headed back behind the bar. When I looked back, Duncan was sipping his drink, looking everywhere but at Adam, while Adam was giving me a narrow-eyed glare that disappeared as soon as I caught his eye, changing to a look of bland indifference.
I deliberately tuned out the various noises of the bar, honing in on the low baritone voices of the two men seated about 15 feet away. I couldn’t see very much as Pierson leaned in close to speak in soft tones, but I could hear them clear as a bell.
“There’s something about that guy,” Pierson murmured.
“What’s the matter? Jealous I’m getting some and you’re not?”
I could see Pierson shake his head. “Don’t be an idiot. I know him from somewhere, and it wasn’t a pleasant encounter.”
“Okay. Know him from where?”
Pause.
“At first, I thought it was from a really long time ago, but obviously, he’s not Immortal, so I guess I just don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember? That seems unlikely.”
“It’s weird. When I try to focus on his face, to remember the details, there’s just kind of a fuzziness, like my brain doesn’t want to go there.”
(sigh) “You’re being weird, Methos. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you really were jealous.”
(snort) “Yeah, right. If I got my knickers in a twist every time you fucked someone, I’d never be able to walk straight again.”
“Don’t be crude, Methos. It’s unbecoming.”
“Well, I’m becoming a little tired of Gabe-grabby-hands. I hope you weren’t planning to invite him back to the loft tonight.”
“What concern is it of yours?”
“Because my flat is still uninhabitable. It’ll take days, maybe weeks, for them to fix everything. I’d prefer not to have to listen to you two go at each other while I lie on the couch, trying to pretend to be asleep.”
“There’s an image.” Duncan sounded amused, then sighed. “For someone who says he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself, you sure do seem to muck about in my private life a lot.”
“Maybe the problem is with your private life. Your current taste in lovers is highly questionable.”
“This from a man who picked Kronos as a life companion.”
“Ooo, aren’t we are being defensive tonight.”
“Hey, I thought it was a pretty good comeback.” There was amusement in Duncan’s voice now, and he was leaning into Methos.
“Even a blind pig finds a morsel now and then.”
They both chuckled. Hmm. Things were getting entirely too chummy between those two. It seemed that Methos was deliberately inserting himself between Duncan and me, but I’m not one to be easily thwarted. I sauntered back to their table to refill Duncan’s glass, slipping into a chair with a sigh
“I’m tired and my feet hurt,” I complained. “And that lumpy bed at the Y doesn’t give me a lot of sleep.” I yawned, stretched, and ran my fingers through my hair, knowing the two men were watching the play of light on the lean muscles of my arms, my chest which had that androgynous look of both male and female, the glint of gold in my unruly curls. I can be incredibly sexy without even trying. “Your bed is soooo comfortable,” I sighed, leaning into Duncan. “How about we…”
“Uh, Gabe,” Duncan interrupted, “It might not be….”
“It was you,” Pierson suddenly inserted, looking at me oddly.
“Huh?” Duncan asked, looking at him in puzzlement.
“It was in the desert,” he repeated, his eyes glazing over as he struggled to remember. “An Israelite. Weird guy. Thought he had talked to God…” his voice trailed off. “Then there was a storm,” he shuddered visibly. “But…” he looked at me closely, then shook himself, frowning. “I must be losing it,” he murmured under his breath.
“Adam, are you okay?” Duncan asked in concern.
Damn Immortal memory. That sucks. Even if the admittedly gentle angelic ‘glamour’ I had exerted so long ago was wearing off, he would still have a hard time convincing himself, much less Duncan, that I was the same being he encountered three thousand years ago.
But before I could figure out exactly what to do about it, Duncan rose, pulling Pierson to his feet. “Sorry, Gabe, but, uh, Adam has this, uh, post traumatic stress thing. Hits him at odd times. I think we better call it a night.” He threw some money on the table to cover his tab, gave my shoulder a quick, affectionate squeeze, and leaned in. “I’ll call you,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear and his masculine scent filling my nostrils. And the two of them were headed out the door, matching stride for stride, Duncan’s hand wrapped around Pierson’s bicep.
….tbc