The Heart of Light, part 1
This next bit is also from the same long story (perpetual WIP) as With a new verse the ancient rhyme.
Hasn't been edited in awhile, I need to do another draft. Someday
I hope to finish the long story but I've run into some brick walls.
A bit of an AU, since I'm pretty sure Alexa isn't buried in Montparnasse. In the story, MacLeod is out of town when Methos returns from Geneva after Alexa's death, hence his absence in this scene.
Part I
"Good. You're here," Methos said, ushering Joe through the gates of the Cimetiere du Montparnasse. Joe followed the Immortal past a few crumbling stone monuments and then stopped. Methos turned, his face impassive though he rocked on the balls of his feet with impatience.
"I thought Amanda said the burial was at noon?"
"It is," Methos replied.
"What are we doing here then?"
Methos looked puzzled.
"What'd you mean?"
Joe gestured around the ancient cemetery.
"You bought a plot here?" he exclaimed, finally putting the pieces together.
"Yes."
"But…" Joe shook his head, lost. It was nearly impossible, let alone prohibitively expensive, to acquire space in the famous cemetery.
"We're going to be late," Methos said. "The priest is supposed to meet me here."
"Priest?" Joe echoed.
Methos sighed at his look of surprise.
"Alexa was Catholic, Joe. I respect that."
"But I thought…" Joe started over. "What was all the fuss back at the funeral home then?"
Methos shrugged.
"I was… frustrated. I'd forgotten that death had become such a bureaucracy. It's been awhile since…" Methos shook his head, "I knew it would be this way."
Joe rubbed his face. Why couldn't the old Immortal behave as anticipated for once?
"I thought you wanted… I dunno-" Joe stammered.
Methos glanced at him and raised a speculative eyebrow.
"Looking forward to a reenactment of some ancient burial rite, were we?"
Joe stared at him, thrown by the ironic tone.
"No! Yes - I just thought you wanted something more… personal."
Methos sighed. He rubbed at his eyes and then his hand moved to grip the back of his neck
"Rituals are rituals, Joe, no matter the trappings. They're just the means we've developed to cope with loss, to say goodbye. I don't need a ceremony to say goodbye to Alexa. She's gone. There's nothing left of her to say goodbye to."
"But then - why?" Joe sputtered.
"Because she… she hated the way the doctors invaded her body. The drugs, the procedures. She felt… violated. I just…" Methos broke off and glanced away, shaking his head.
He didn't finish his thought and Joe didn't press him. The Immortal turned away and started back down the path, hands thrust deep in his coat pockets. Joe hurried to catch up to him, trying to read his face.
"How long has it been?" Joe asked.
Methos glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
"How long has what been?"
Joe cleared his throat. The uncomfortable feeling that he was intruding where he shouldn't gripped him but he couldn't let it go.
"How long since you had to bury someone?" he clarified.
Methos flashed him an inscrutable look but didn't stop walking.
"Don."
Joe shook his head, recognizing the evasion.
"Christine buried Don," he corrected.
"I've buried a lot of people, Joe."
Joe nodded but managed to hold the Immortal's eye for a long moment.
"But not recently?" he guessed.
"Not…" Methos turned half away, voice flat, "Not in your lifetime."
Joe swallowed, his throat tight. To keep himself so separate - to avoid that level of human contact for at least fifty years… Joe tried to remember Methos as he'd first met him, nearly two years ago at Kalas' trial. No, that had been Adam Pierson still, he was sure of it. He hadn't really caught a glimpse of Methos until later, after Kalas escaped from prison.
Adam Pierson had always come across as reserved, self-effacing, with a quiet wit and sharp mind. At first Methos had seemed much the same, if more assertive. However he'd been strangely unflappable in the face of the exposure of the existence of Immortality. Even then Joe had sensed an odd disconnection about him, a fatalistic streak that didn't gel with Pierson's personality. He hadn't learned much about Methos since, only flashes here and there. Enough to intrigue him, his curiosity pulling down inhibitions he'd normally feel about delving into anyone's life.
"Why?" Joe asked finally.
"Because there didn't seem to be any point," Methos bit off.
The Immortal's expression went stony. The lines were back around his eyes. They added years of age to his long face. Even so he didn't seem a day over thirty-five. It was disconcerting. One of the first things a good Watcher learned was not to assume anything about an Immortal based on their outward appearance. Whether it was because he'd known Methos first as a mortal or because his true age was so incomprehensible, Joe found himself constantly forgetting that the man was 100 times his elder.
"I'm sorry," Joe said, careful now. "I didn't mean to pry."
Methos grimaced. "Don't kid yourself, Joe. Whatever else you are, you're a Watcher," he said, echoing Joe's thoughts, "And you can't help yourself."
"Maybe so," Joe said, "I might be a Watcher, but I'm your friend too. And I went over the line."
Methos gave him a tight nod but didn't speak again. Joe was relieved when they reached the gravesite and the officiating priest arrived a few minutes later. He introduced himself with a small bow and a tight handshake. Father Picard. Methos greeted the priest with aloof politeness. He responded to the man's attempts at consolation with disengaged, one-word answers until the priest gave up. Joe took pity on the priest and chatted with him about the Paris winter while they waited for the casket. Methos hovered just apart from Joe and the other man, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.
Joe glanced up to see him straighten abruptly, his hands out and loose at his sides. A moment later Amanda appeared and the old Immortal slumped and folded his arms over his chest. Amanda flashed Joe a grin and shook the priest's hand, then planted a quick peck on Methos' cheek before he could move away.
"Expecting someone else?" she quipped. Apparently Joe hadn't been the only one to catch Methos' reaction to her presence.
"No." Methos answered.
Amanda frowned at him and then wrapped her arms around Joe. A moth's wing of a kiss, light and gone before he could enjoy it.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
Joe hugged her back tight. It felt good to be asked, even if he didn't have an answer. He shrugged and she let him go.
"Haven't had time to think about it," he admitted. Alexa didn't feel gone. Would it ever be real to him? Last time he'd seen her she'd been happy. Happy like she'd never been in the two years he'd known her and so… alive.
Amanda nodded and glanced over at Methos. He followed her gaze. The old Immortal had forgotten them already. He'd drifted a few feet away and stood staring off into the maze of graves. The ramrod straight posture and whitewashed expression roused a confused anger in Joe. Would Adam Pierson cry for Alexa, if Methos let him? Adam had pursued her with a fumbling, adolescent exhilaration that had made Joe feel twenty years younger just to watch. And Alexa…he remembered Alexa outside the battered VW. Looking up at Adam with such awe. Like she was certain if she closed her eyes he'd turn into fiction, just a character she'd seen in a movie somewhere. Like she thought it was worth the risk.
He looked at Methos now and wondered if he'd imagined it all. Was Methos even capable of such joy? Had it all been an act? Didn't the bastard feel anything?
Joe caught himself in a glare and forced himself to look away. The selfish prick hadn't once acknowledged that Joe had lost Alexa too. If not for Amanda he wouldn't have even known where to come for the funeral. Some of his pissy mood must have leaked into his face. Amanda gave him a rueful smile and squeezed his hand then turned to Methos.
"You never told me how you got this plot on such short notice," she said.
Leave it to Amanda to ask what had to be one of the most tactless questions conceivable at a funeral. Joe rubbed his eyes in embarrassment. The question had been gnawing at him since he arrived but he hadn't had the balls to just blurt it out. God. Father Picard turned a mortified stare on Amanda but didn't interrupt. Maybe he wanted to hear the answer too.
Methos' expression never flickered. He pulled out a tarnished pocket watch and flipped open the cover.
"They're late," he said to the priest.
Methos' hand curved around the cover and shut it with a click. If the dented watch cover was engraved with anything significant Joe couldn't tell. The watch dangled from Methos' fingers by a ragged grey loop of… shoelace. Seeing a watch in his hands was weird. Adam Pierson's total obliviousness to time was legendary among the Research division. Don had bought him a Darth Vader watch once for Christmas. Adam grinned like a kindergartener and wore it proudly until Christine served them all port after dinner. Adam made a toast Joe no longer recalled, drained his glass, and announced the watch was too precious, too collectible for a klutz like him to wear. Joe hadn't seen him wear a watch since, though the Vader piece still occupied its place of honor on a shelf in the office at Shakespeare and Company.
"Have patience, son," Father Picard assured, "Lacroix brothers is a fine funeral home. They'll be here.
Methos stared at the priest until the man shifted in unease. Then with a humourless smirk he turned that unwavering gaze back on the rambling stone monuments.
"It's impossible to get space here," Amanda continued. They could have been chatting about the newest hip condo development if not for the priest. Fuck etiquette. Joe wanted to know now. How the hell had Methos pulled this off?
"Alexa would have loved it," he added. It came out more snarky than he intended. She really would have liked the spot. Down deep, Alexa had been a romantic. It was life that made her practical.
Methos shoved his hands and the watch back into his pockets and tilted his head up to peer at the flat grey clouds gathering over the cemetery.
"It's going to snow." He sounded distracted.
She sat at the vanity, brushing her hair over and over again until it was as smooth as a fine pelt. How many women had he watched do this very thing, a ritual that he loved though never particularly understood? He lingered on the hotel balcony, his back to the railing and watched the clear early morning sunlight spill across the room and over her narrow shoulders, picking out blond highlights in her hair as it moved under her hands.
"Where do you want to go today?" she called, unaware of his attention.
He smiled. She always asked, always made sure this trip was for them both, instead of for her alone.
"Let's stay in," he teased, "Read the newspaper."
She turned to him, a smirk on her face. The brush paused in its work.
"Sure," she retorted, "We wouldn't want to venture out in such horrible weather, would we?"
"It may be best," he said, "This is the worse weather to hit Santorini for ten years. They're predicting a cloud or two for this afternoon."
The brush hit him squarely in the chest, knocking aside his coffee.
"This place wasn't always so popular." Methos glanced around the cemetery as if just noticing where he was. "When it first opened it was quiet."
Joe glanced covertly at the priest. The man only looked puzzled by his young client's impossible observation. Just so Methos didn't take the reminiscing too far. Amanda's hand tightened around Joe's, an unexpected reassuring presence.
"You must have loved her very much to buy this for her," Amanda commented.
Methos shook his head.
"I bought it years ago."
Joe wanted to ask just how many years. The priest fidgeted. Joe decided to ask another question instead.
"For someone else?" he guessed
"No."
Why the hell else would Methos have spent some ungodly amount of money on a plot in the same cemetery as Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir? Was he so used to burying the ones he loved that he kept a spare plot around just in case one of them died?
"So…what, this was a real estate investment?" Amanda looked as bewildered as Joe felt. Father Picard shifted again, clearly disturbed by such a callous discussion of the consecrated ground. Methos cocked his head.
"Not exactly. I liked it. I've always liked Paris."
Joe had heard Methos refer to his laundry with more inflection in his voice. Amanda turned to Joe as if he'd know what the hell Methos was talking about. Joe could only shrug. Methos' response troubled him. It wasn't so much the words - he was used to vague misdirection from Methos when it came to his personal life. The tone of his words though - there was something off about it.
Before Joe could push him for more two things happened. The hearse bearing Alexa's casket arrived. And the two Immortals froze.
continued in Part II
A bit of an AU, since I'm pretty sure Alexa isn't buried in Montparnasse. In the story, MacLeod is out of town when Methos returns from Geneva after Alexa's death, hence his absence in this scene.
Part I
"Good. You're here," Methos said, ushering Joe through the gates of the Cimetiere du Montparnasse. Joe followed the Immortal past a few crumbling stone monuments and then stopped. Methos turned, his face impassive though he rocked on the balls of his feet with impatience.
"I thought Amanda said the burial was at noon?"
"It is," Methos replied.
"What are we doing here then?"
Methos looked puzzled.
"What'd you mean?"
Joe gestured around the ancient cemetery.
"You bought a plot here?" he exclaimed, finally putting the pieces together.
"Yes."
"But…" Joe shook his head, lost. It was nearly impossible, let alone prohibitively expensive, to acquire space in the famous cemetery.
"We're going to be late," Methos said. "The priest is supposed to meet me here."
"Priest?" Joe echoed.
Methos sighed at his look of surprise.
"Alexa was Catholic, Joe. I respect that."
"But I thought…" Joe started over. "What was all the fuss back at the funeral home then?"
Methos shrugged.
"I was… frustrated. I'd forgotten that death had become such a bureaucracy. It's been awhile since…" Methos shook his head, "I knew it would be this way."
Joe rubbed his face. Why couldn't the old Immortal behave as anticipated for once?
"I thought you wanted… I dunno-" Joe stammered.
Methos glanced at him and raised a speculative eyebrow.
"Looking forward to a reenactment of some ancient burial rite, were we?"
Joe stared at him, thrown by the ironic tone.
"No! Yes - I just thought you wanted something more… personal."
Methos sighed. He rubbed at his eyes and then his hand moved to grip the back of his neck
"Rituals are rituals, Joe, no matter the trappings. They're just the means we've developed to cope with loss, to say goodbye. I don't need a ceremony to say goodbye to Alexa. She's gone. There's nothing left of her to say goodbye to."
"But then - why?" Joe sputtered.
"Because she… she hated the way the doctors invaded her body. The drugs, the procedures. She felt… violated. I just…" Methos broke off and glanced away, shaking his head.
He didn't finish his thought and Joe didn't press him. The Immortal turned away and started back down the path, hands thrust deep in his coat pockets. Joe hurried to catch up to him, trying to read his face.
"How long has it been?" Joe asked.
Methos glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
"How long has what been?"
Joe cleared his throat. The uncomfortable feeling that he was intruding where he shouldn't gripped him but he couldn't let it go.
"How long since you had to bury someone?" he clarified.
Methos flashed him an inscrutable look but didn't stop walking.
"Don."
Joe shook his head, recognizing the evasion.
"Christine buried Don," he corrected.
"I've buried a lot of people, Joe."
Joe nodded but managed to hold the Immortal's eye for a long moment.
"But not recently?" he guessed.
"Not…" Methos turned half away, voice flat, "Not in your lifetime."
Joe swallowed, his throat tight. To keep himself so separate - to avoid that level of human contact for at least fifty years… Joe tried to remember Methos as he'd first met him, nearly two years ago at Kalas' trial. No, that had been Adam Pierson still, he was sure of it. He hadn't really caught a glimpse of Methos until later, after Kalas escaped from prison.
Adam Pierson had always come across as reserved, self-effacing, with a quiet wit and sharp mind. At first Methos had seemed much the same, if more assertive. However he'd been strangely unflappable in the face of the exposure of the existence of Immortality. Even then Joe had sensed an odd disconnection about him, a fatalistic streak that didn't gel with Pierson's personality. He hadn't learned much about Methos since, only flashes here and there. Enough to intrigue him, his curiosity pulling down inhibitions he'd normally feel about delving into anyone's life.
"Why?" Joe asked finally.
"Because there didn't seem to be any point," Methos bit off.
The Immortal's expression went stony. The lines were back around his eyes. They added years of age to his long face. Even so he didn't seem a day over thirty-five. It was disconcerting. One of the first things a good Watcher learned was not to assume anything about an Immortal based on their outward appearance. Whether it was because he'd known Methos first as a mortal or because his true age was so incomprehensible, Joe found himself constantly forgetting that the man was 100 times his elder.
"I'm sorry," Joe said, careful now. "I didn't mean to pry."
Methos grimaced. "Don't kid yourself, Joe. Whatever else you are, you're a Watcher," he said, echoing Joe's thoughts, "And you can't help yourself."
"Maybe so," Joe said, "I might be a Watcher, but I'm your friend too. And I went over the line."
Methos gave him a tight nod but didn't speak again. Joe was relieved when they reached the gravesite and the officiating priest arrived a few minutes later. He introduced himself with a small bow and a tight handshake. Father Picard. Methos greeted the priest with aloof politeness. He responded to the man's attempts at consolation with disengaged, one-word answers until the priest gave up. Joe took pity on the priest and chatted with him about the Paris winter while they waited for the casket. Methos hovered just apart from Joe and the other man, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.
Joe glanced up to see him straighten abruptly, his hands out and loose at his sides. A moment later Amanda appeared and the old Immortal slumped and folded his arms over his chest. Amanda flashed Joe a grin and shook the priest's hand, then planted a quick peck on Methos' cheek before he could move away.
"Expecting someone else?" she quipped. Apparently Joe hadn't been the only one to catch Methos' reaction to her presence.
"No." Methos answered.
Amanda frowned at him and then wrapped her arms around Joe. A moth's wing of a kiss, light and gone before he could enjoy it.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
Joe hugged her back tight. It felt good to be asked, even if he didn't have an answer. He shrugged and she let him go.
"Haven't had time to think about it," he admitted. Alexa didn't feel gone. Would it ever be real to him? Last time he'd seen her she'd been happy. Happy like she'd never been in the two years he'd known her and so… alive.
Amanda nodded and glanced over at Methos. He followed her gaze. The old Immortal had forgotten them already. He'd drifted a few feet away and stood staring off into the maze of graves. The ramrod straight posture and whitewashed expression roused a confused anger in Joe. Would Adam Pierson cry for Alexa, if Methos let him? Adam had pursued her with a fumbling, adolescent exhilaration that had made Joe feel twenty years younger just to watch. And Alexa…he remembered Alexa outside the battered VW. Looking up at Adam with such awe. Like she was certain if she closed her eyes he'd turn into fiction, just a character she'd seen in a movie somewhere. Like she thought it was worth the risk.
He looked at Methos now and wondered if he'd imagined it all. Was Methos even capable of such joy? Had it all been an act? Didn't the bastard feel anything?
Joe caught himself in a glare and forced himself to look away. The selfish prick hadn't once acknowledged that Joe had lost Alexa too. If not for Amanda he wouldn't have even known where to come for the funeral. Some of his pissy mood must have leaked into his face. Amanda gave him a rueful smile and squeezed his hand then turned to Methos.
"You never told me how you got this plot on such short notice," she said.
Leave it to Amanda to ask what had to be one of the most tactless questions conceivable at a funeral. Joe rubbed his eyes in embarrassment. The question had been gnawing at him since he arrived but he hadn't had the balls to just blurt it out. God. Father Picard turned a mortified stare on Amanda but didn't interrupt. Maybe he wanted to hear the answer too.
Methos' expression never flickered. He pulled out a tarnished pocket watch and flipped open the cover.
"They're late," he said to the priest.
Methos' hand curved around the cover and shut it with a click. If the dented watch cover was engraved with anything significant Joe couldn't tell. The watch dangled from Methos' fingers by a ragged grey loop of… shoelace. Seeing a watch in his hands was weird. Adam Pierson's total obliviousness to time was legendary among the Research division. Don had bought him a Darth Vader watch once for Christmas. Adam grinned like a kindergartener and wore it proudly until Christine served them all port after dinner. Adam made a toast Joe no longer recalled, drained his glass, and announced the watch was too precious, too collectible for a klutz like him to wear. Joe hadn't seen him wear a watch since, though the Vader piece still occupied its place of honor on a shelf in the office at Shakespeare and Company.
"Have patience, son," Father Picard assured, "Lacroix brothers is a fine funeral home. They'll be here.
Methos stared at the priest until the man shifted in unease. Then with a humourless smirk he turned that unwavering gaze back on the rambling stone monuments.
"It's impossible to get space here," Amanda continued. They could have been chatting about the newest hip condo development if not for the priest. Fuck etiquette. Joe wanted to know now. How the hell had Methos pulled this off?
"Alexa would have loved it," he added. It came out more snarky than he intended. She really would have liked the spot. Down deep, Alexa had been a romantic. It was life that made her practical.
Methos shoved his hands and the watch back into his pockets and tilted his head up to peer at the flat grey clouds gathering over the cemetery.
"It's going to snow." He sounded distracted.
She sat at the vanity, brushing her hair over and over again until it was as smooth as a fine pelt. How many women had he watched do this very thing, a ritual that he loved though never particularly understood? He lingered on the hotel balcony, his back to the railing and watched the clear early morning sunlight spill across the room and over her narrow shoulders, picking out blond highlights in her hair as it moved under her hands.
"Where do you want to go today?" she called, unaware of his attention.
He smiled. She always asked, always made sure this trip was for them both, instead of for her alone.
"Let's stay in," he teased, "Read the newspaper."
She turned to him, a smirk on her face. The brush paused in its work.
"Sure," she retorted, "We wouldn't want to venture out in such horrible weather, would we?"
"It may be best," he said, "This is the worse weather to hit Santorini for ten years. They're predicting a cloud or two for this afternoon."
The brush hit him squarely in the chest, knocking aside his coffee.
"This place wasn't always so popular." Methos glanced around the cemetery as if just noticing where he was. "When it first opened it was quiet."
Joe glanced covertly at the priest. The man only looked puzzled by his young client's impossible observation. Just so Methos didn't take the reminiscing too far. Amanda's hand tightened around Joe's, an unexpected reassuring presence.
"You must have loved her very much to buy this for her," Amanda commented.
Methos shook his head.
"I bought it years ago."
Joe wanted to ask just how many years. The priest fidgeted. Joe decided to ask another question instead.
"For someone else?" he guessed
"No."
Why the hell else would Methos have spent some ungodly amount of money on a plot in the same cemetery as Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir? Was he so used to burying the ones he loved that he kept a spare plot around just in case one of them died?
"So…what, this was a real estate investment?" Amanda looked as bewildered as Joe felt. Father Picard shifted again, clearly disturbed by such a callous discussion of the consecrated ground. Methos cocked his head.
"Not exactly. I liked it. I've always liked Paris."
Joe had heard Methos refer to his laundry with more inflection in his voice. Amanda turned to Joe as if he'd know what the hell Methos was talking about. Joe could only shrug. Methos' response troubled him. It wasn't so much the words - he was used to vague misdirection from Methos when it came to his personal life. The tone of his words though - there was something off about it.
Before Joe could push him for more two things happened. The hearse bearing Alexa's casket arrived. And the two Immortals froze.
continued in Part II