Write a letter - for charloft

[no_bedof_roses]

[OOC: Written in the future, and found by Mark after her death. Methos/Adam is oldguywithbeer.]

The letter, written by hand on soft linen stationary, is tucked into his leather carry on bag that he always throws things into when he takes off quickly, and tied to a small brown leather pouch.

My Cassius,

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[oldguywithbeer]

If there was one thing that Methos had learned, over the centuries, it was that humans were a sentimental lot, even at their worst. From a distance, he had stood watching as the man she had chosen staggered to her 'grave'. Methos knew that her body wasn't there, any more than it was under the slab in Paris that had her name over it. Alexa Bond was somewhere else, somewhere that science ruled over religion

[oldguywithbeer]

Methos sighed, an expansive and slightly mocking gesture. This was his third time losing her, the first being to death and the second being to the man sitting on the ground. He had to remind himself that Mark had only lost her this one time.

"I rather thought so." The glib retort was unfiltered. Methos had little patience with those who wallowed in misery. After five thousand years, he had learned to let go, move on, and embrace the next love or experience. Of course, Mark's Immortality was different, and Alexa had often scolded Methos for not understanding that. "Monuments and memorials never help the living, and do nothing for the dead. Useless, really."

Against his better judgment, Methos found himself doing something for this one, and he cursed himself and Alexa, as the words came out of his mouth. "Instead of drinking that, why don't you join me at a pub in town. I'll buy you something that won't take paint off the walls, and you can talk, or not."

[oldguywithbeer]

Methos watched the drunken attempt to stand, shaking his head and looking towards the heavens. If she was there, surely she would want him to do something for this one. Methos supposed he owed her that.

Taking the outstretched hand, he pulled the man up, and brushed some of the leaves off him. "I'll drive. I'll buy, too, and you can tell me what it is you plan to do. Or, you can just drink."

Methos wasn't sure why he put his arm around the man, probably just to keep him from falling on his face. But it would help with walking to his car.

[oldguywithbeer]

Methos watched Carter pull out the pouch, and he had to turn away to watch the road, feeling as though he was intruding on something intimate. He had mourned Alexa, the first time, and then he had moved on, because after five thousand years, that was how he survived. Seeing her alive, again, and in love with this man had been a bit shocking, but he had forced himself not to get maudlin or sentimental. Besides, it wouldn't have done any good

[oldguywithbeer]

"When she died, the first time, I had tried to save her. I nearly got myself and some friends killed in that." Methos thought back to that time. Amanda and Duncan had tried to comfort him, but there was no comfort when you lose someone that way. "I helped you, Carter, because of her. But, I have to admit, it was also because I love a mystery. There IS an answer. But, like the secrets of my own Immortality, that answer may never be found

[oldguywithbeer]

Methos frowned, knowing that Carter could very well be right. Still, he could practically feel her jabbing him in the ribs. "Look, there's always an answer to every question. If we find an Immortal, maybe one who was of that time and that race, we might be able to get it out of them." He thought about Joe, and the discs that he had gotten from his long dead friend. That was stored, on new tech, and maybe he could locate a Druid in the bunch. "I have friends, I have a lot of Immortals I can keep questioning. I'm over five thousand years old, Mark. I know a few things

[oldguywithbeer]

"Darker than ever. Right." Methos shook his head, and looked down at the man on the floor. Poor bastard. Oh, well, he tried. Alexa couldn't fault him, not really. He finished his beer, because, really, why waste perfectly good beer? Then he got up and paid a couple of the men in the bar to carry Carter over to one of the cheaper hotels in town, just down the block. After they dumped him on a bed, Methos stuck a wad of hundreds deep in Mark's jacket pocket, next to Alexa's pouch, and paid for the room for a few days, in case he needed to sleep for quite a while.

Before he left, he set the dustbin next to the head of the bed, and rolled his eyes heavenward, as if to justify leaving the man. Methos wasn't anyone's babysitter. He had done what he could, the rest was up to Carter.