Crossover Of Doom Fic!
So, annakas gave me an crossover prompt for the drabble meme. And it was awesome. And I started writing it immediately. And it ended up being 3224 words long. *headdesk* It turned out less of a threesome and more of a... well, you'll see. I said that you won, and apparently what you won was a fic 6 times longer than normal!
In order to understand this fic, it's best that you be familiar with Fullmetal Alchemist and Highlander. There's a small aspect of Harry Potter in here, but no familiarity is needed. This fic spans from 1950 to 1983, and is AU for Fullmetal Alchemist and a teeny, tiny bit AU for Highlander. I changed one minute detail for story purposes. The FMA movie does not exist in this fic, hence the AU. Alright, now that that's out of the way...
Title: Mortals Fear to Tread
Author: theladyfeylene
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Highlander/Harry Potter
Pairings: Methos/Hohenheim, hints of Methos/Snape
Rating: R
Word Count: 3224
Prompt: Magical/Supernatural
Spoilers: End of FMA, Season 3 of Highlander
Summary: It started as friendship over a few drinks and a discussion of philosophy. Hohenheim never dreamed the path it would take, or of the secrets he would discover along the way.
They had met at a party, one of those grand affairs for wealthy intellectuals to strut about and wax poetic on their own brilliance. This particular banquet of brilliance was not the starched collar, droll affair that Hohenheim had been expecting. There had been generous amounts of fine spirits making the rounds, and pipes full of something too sweet to be tobacco. Standing in the corner, half shielded by fading velvet curtains that called back to a grander day, Hohenheim was wondering for the fifth time what it was he’d been doing there. Certainly he moved in intellectual circles - alchemy was less a science here, and more of a fringe occult practice for writers and intellectuals who fancied themselves recipients of ancient and arcane knowledge.
“And what have we here? I‘d say I‘ve found an intellectual wallflower, but usually that‘s a term reserved for women.”
Hohenheim had started, surprised by the cultured voice at his ear. But he broke into a weak smile, turning to address the tall, lean man who stood beside him.
“It looked as though Williamson and Drake were going to break into fisticuffs over the nature of original sin,” Hohenheim said. “I thought I’d take myself out of the war path.”
“Very wise idea, indeed. I’ve heard Drake likes to keep his pipe in his fist, to give that extra punch. I’m Adam Barth.” Adam held out his hand, and Hohenheim took it with a firm squeeze and a warm smile. It seemed, as far as he could tell, that Adam was of the same mind when it came to this particular gathering. Which was quite refreshing. Perhaps it was because the man was younger - always a rare sight at these events.
“Hohenheim Elric,” he responded. “And what field are you in?” Because that was the polite thing to ask at these affairs, and he had to admit that he was curious. Adam only shook his head.
“Alright, I can’t stand overly-sweet alcohol and opium has nothing on the spotted mushroom of Lower Paun. I’m going to be heading out before everyone’s drunk and we’re treated to the sight of a dozen or so old men ripping off their shirts and going for one another’s throats. Care to join me?” Adam raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall.
“I’d be glad to,” Hohenheim agreed with a small smile. He ended up with enough of a headache when everyone simply sat around and trumpeted their accomplishments and the merits of their outlandish theories. Slipping out early sounded delightful, as he had no desire to stay out until three in the morning in any sort of company - let alone drunken and egotistical company.
Things didn’t work out quite as he’d planned. While Hohenheim did end up staying out until three in the morning, and they did get quite drunk, at least Adam wasn’t entirely full of himself.
***
“You’d think that people would have exhausted the topic of the nature of existence,” Adam was saying, sprawled out across Hohenheim’s couch with a book opened on his lap.
“I don’t think people will ever exhaust that subject.” It was becoming routine. Adam had a flat across the city, but he seemed to spend most of his time at Hohenheim’s modest little townhouse. And Hohenheim couldn’t claim that he minded the company - the house had been empty and lonely since Edward left for America. And Adam’s company was pleasant. He was a brilliant man, and though he was prone to fits of bitterness and apathy, he was generally amiable and relaxed.
“It’s only been done to death for the past two thousand years,” Adam went on. “Can’t they come up with something new?”
“But it all goes back to existence, doesn’t it?” Hohenheim turned away from the stove to look at his friend. “Time, death, freedom, fear… it all comes back to the same thing. They all make up our existence, and it‘s impossible to get away from that. Besides, everyone wants to tackle the big questions. As Socrates said, ‘the unexamined life isn‘t worth living‘.”
“Socrates also liked little boys and advocated adultery. You don’t see hordes of intellectuals following those ideals, do you? Dinner almost done? I’m starving.”
Hohenheim only smiled and shook his head fondly, before serving dinner and joining Adam to eat.
***
Paris, Hohenheim decided, was a bit overrated. He supposed it was different for the young men, the ones who came on the arm of pretty girls or the ones who hoped to leave on the arm of a pretty girl.
“Aren’t you hot?”
“Hmm?” Hohenheim turned to Adam, tearing his eyes away from the river and his thoughts.
“I’ve never seen you in anything but a three piece suit. Don’t you get hot?”
“Oh. No, not particularly.” Hohenheim smiled. Sometimes he did, but better to be a bit warm than to have his rotting flesh uncovered. Adam only looked at him, a curious expression on his face. They were standing together on the edge of Seine, and the sky had grown overcast. No, Hohenheim had no great love for Paris. He was eager to return to London and to his work.
“I’d be sweltering in that thing,” Adam went on, and Hohenheim got the distinct impression that the other man was simply trying to make conversation, which was unusual. He turned his eyes back to the river.
“You ought to look up…damn, I forget his name.” Adam leaned onto the railing. “He’s done some work in alchemy, though. And not the eternal life stuff, either.”
Hohenheim nodded. He had made it quite clear to his friend that whatever it was he was attempting to discover by studying this world’s alchemy, eternal life wasn’t it. He had no need for that, he had lived long enough. Though it seemed that this world stunted his development - he was twenty years through the gate, and he hadn’t changed a single bit. Even the decaying of his flesh had seemed to halt.
He was lost in thought when Adam kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, the mere brushing of lips against lips, but it froze Hohenheim on the spot. He had never thought… but that didn’t matter. He missed intimacy, he certainly was fond of Adam, but pleasures of the flesh were things he couldn’t have. He pulled away politely, an apologetic smile already on his lips.
“Adam, I can’t…”
“Why not? Because of this?” Adam’s hand came to rest on Hohenheim’s forearm, above the place where his skin had peeled and blistered and fallen away.
“How…?”
“I’m not an idiot,” Adam said. “I’ve seen a lot of things, Hohenheim. And a good many of them were stranger than this. Besides.” A small smile crept over Adam’s features, and his hand slid down to rest on top of Hohenheim‘s. “You’re not the only one of us with strange secrets.”
***
They bought a house in South Kensington. They had the money and they needed the space - both men valued their privacy. Adam had his study and Hohenheim had his laboratory. It worked well enough, though Hohenheim still insisted on putting out the lights before bed. Adam had stopped complaining after a few weeks. If the lights stayed on, so did Hohenheim’s clothing.
The first time an unexpected guest arrived, Hohenheim was in his lab and Adam was elsewhere. He heard the door burst open and he turned, frowning. He pulled on a sweatshirt - suits had begun to go out of fashion as far as everyday wear - and padded down the stairs.
He hadn’t been certain what it was he expected, but a large man with a sword was not it. Without thinking, he clapped his hands together as though to transmute, and then remembered. No alchemy here, not the way he knew it.
“Where’s Methos?” the man with the sword asked. He had a manic, wild look about him that worried Hohenheim.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Hohenheim said, still standing on the stairs.
“Bullshit! I’ve seen’im come in here. Where is he?” The man advanced, and then paused, a strange look coming to his eyes. He turned his head, and Hohenheim blanched. Adam had picked a hell of a time to return.
“Hohenheim, get out of here!” Adam dropped his bags and drew back, a frenzied look in his eyes. What was going on?
“Methos,” the large man hissed, swinging his sword. Somehow, from somewhere, Adam had pulled his own sword. “I finally found you.”
“Hohenheim! Go!”
As curious and confused as he was, Hohenheim was not a stupid man. He nodded and returned up the stairs, locking the door to his laboratory behind him. He removed his sweatshirt and sat in his chair in his white cotton undershirt, the long sleeves still rolled up. He could hear the clang of swords and the snapping of breaking furniture coming from the rooms below. He couldn’t think, he could only listen to the battle that raged under his feet.
And then there was an explosion, and the smell of burning flesh and wood, and Hohenheim couldn’t sit still any longer. He bolted down the stairs to find the main room in disarray, furniture shattered and windows broken and Adam kneeling in the center breathing heavily.
“What…?”
“I didn’t want you to see any of that,” Adam said, standing slowly. “There’s something I suppose I have to tell you, now…”
***
It was strange, how easy it was to talk about things. Hohenheim was well into his third glass of wine, and he was still attempting to explain the exact nature of the Gate to Adam - Methos, though it would take some time to get used to the name.
They did both have strange secrets, it seemed. A race of humans who couldn’t die unless they were beheaded - it spoke to Hohenheim of homunculi, but he quickly dismissed that thought. But was it any stranger than two worlds, both so alike yet so different? No, it wasn’t. And Immortality made a sort of sense, in Hohenheim’s mind.
They spoke long into the night, and they went to bed in the early hours of the morning.
***
Adam Barth was Adam Pierson now. They had moved to America, and Hohenheim saw Edward more often now. Edward who had nothing kind to say about his father’s current situation, and who treated Adam to nothing but a few polite words and sometimes an aggravated glare. But as Edward had once admitted, at least he wasn’t another woman. Somehow, that seemed to make it easier on the boy. Edward, like Hohenheim, was much the same as he’d always been. A little older, perhaps, but nowhere near the age he should have looked.
It was a strange sort of groove they’d fallen into. And unexpected, even after all these years. No more men with swords had come for Adam’s head - Hohenheim never could get used to calling him Methos. Adam had joined some sort of society for researching his kind - a daring move, Hohenheim though, but a brilliant one. Hohenheim was still plodding along in the field of alchemy, though he grew more and more frustrated each week. Perhaps Edward and his relentless pursuit of machines was the better way to go. Adam had little advice when it came to that, and often simply shrugged and changed the subject when it came up.
He wasn’t even sure what they were to each other, Edward had asked and Hohenheim had found himself at a loss. They had never discussed the nature of their relationship. They lived together, slept together, and he supposed they were committed in some way. It wasn’t as though either one of them was off fooling around.
He supposed that this was best. He had never wanted a life with another woman, not after losing Trisha. The guilt and longing for her would have been too much. He felt no guilt, with Adam, though he still longed for the only woman he had truly loved. He always would. And he imagined, that after nearly 5,000 years, Adam had someone he longed for as well.
***
“It’s spreading.”
Hohenheim stood before the bathroom mirror, shirtless and morose. The rot on his body was spreading. The patch on his shoulder now stretched down towards his bicep, and there was a red and raw place on his chest.
“It was too much to hope that it had stopped,” Hohenheim said with a small shrug. Thirty years of remission had been something he was thankful for. He shrugged on his nightshirt and turned away from the mirror. Adam simply stood and watched him without speaking.
***
Another decade had gone by. Hohenheim sat at the kitchen table and read the newspaper, amazed at the violence and cruelty that covered the pages. All mankind did was kill one another, in increasingly horrific and creative ways. Everyone claimed that this was new, that it was getting worse, but Hohenheim had watched for nearly fifty years now and knew it was nothing new. It was only a more popular subject for the newspapers and television programs.
Adam was late once more. He’d been staying out far past dinner time, sometimes not coming home until close to midnight. He claimed that he had important research, and Hohenheim never questioned. He didn’t have the strength to. His body’s decay was tiring him in ways that were more than physical.
But it was another Friday night where Adam was nowhere to be seen. Dinner was cold, and Hohenheim was growing restless. He couldn’t say that he was entirely surprised the other man was pulling away - his body was failing. It would reach a point where it could no longer function as it should, and that would be that. But he had no desire to spend what time he had left lonely and wondering where his lover was.
Sighing, Hohenheim made a decision. He had the number of Adam’s organization, and he placed a phone call and identified himself immediately - these were secretive people. He was surprised to be told that Adam had left a few hours ago. He was probably at the bar down the street, the woman on the other end of the line said. Would Hohenheim like the number? No, he wouldn’t like the number. He pulled on his coat and got into his car, wanting to confront this while he felt he had the strength.
***
He had expected to find Adam alone, drinking and perhaps sulking. He hadn’t expected to find Adam in the company of a dark haired young man - perhaps 20 or 21 - and talking excitedly. Well. That had been a bit of surprise, and Hohenheim cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. Hadn’t they been making love less frequently? Hadn’t there been more uncomfortable long silences than comfortable ones?
He knew he should leave. Simply walk out the door and perhaps pack his things and move in with Edward. But he had come all this way, and he was tired of slipping away in the night. He approached the table, and conversation hushed as he drew near.
“Hohenheim.” Adam glanced up at him, and he looked sheepish more than upset or surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here….”
“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Hohenheim looked at the young man. He was nothing spectacular - he had that pale and wan look of a boy who spent more times in libraries than in the sun. And he looked surly and unpleasant.
“This isn’t exactly what you think,” Adam said, smoothly. The young man said nothing, only glared at Hohenheim with coal black eyes.
“Not exactly?” Blond eyebrows raised.
“It’s… here, sit.” Adam gestured to a chair.
“You didn’t tell me he’d be showing up,” the young man snapped, angrily.
“I didn’t know.” Adam shrugged. “Why don’t you go and get another round of drinks?” It was phrased as a question, but everyone at the table understood it was an order. The surly looking youth shoved his chair back and thrust himself to his feet, all long limbs and scowls.
“If you wanted to leave me,” Hohenheim said, “there are plenty ways to do it.”
“You’re dramatic, aren’t you? I’m not leaving you.” Adam leaned forward. “Look, human beings aren’t naturally monogamous. Why do you think there’s so much cheating going on? But this didn’t start out as an affair.”
“He seems a bit young and angry for your tastes, anyway,” Hohenheim pointed out, mildly. No, humans weren’t naturally monogamous. But humans had a history of turning nature on its head.
“He’s not like you or I,” Adam went on, quietly. “I’m surprised you aren’t familiar with his kind, considering how deeply you have your nose buried in the occult.”
“Alchemy isn’t an occult practice,” Hohenheim pointed out. “But go on.”
“There are people here who have harnessed some form of natural power. They call it magic, and I suppose that’s as good a word as any. His mother was a witch, a powerful one - I knew her family from when I lived in Russia, I had some ties to the wizarding world back then. The things that magic can do…” Methos held open his hands and shook his head as though in awe. “They have cures for diseases that normal humans couldn’t even begin to imagine. The things they do are amazing. I looked him up to see if there was anything that could be done for you. We started to meet, and things happened. It was nothing personal.”
“Adam - Methos - there’s nothing can be done.” Hohenheim spread his hands helplessly. It had been a kind gesture, and he appreciated it. “We both know how this is going to end.”
“I know you’re going to die,” Adam said. “That doesn’t bother me. I’ve had dozens of lovers die, and I‘ll have dozens more. But I’d rather not see you literally fall to pieces. It‘s revolting.”
“Yes, it is,” Hohenheim agreed with a soft smile.
“Severus is good with medicine,” Adam went on. “He’s got the personality of an angry crayfish, but he’s brilliant. At least let him try. What’s the worst that could happen? He screws up and you die quickly. You’re dying anyway, why waste the chance?”
It was morbid, but true. Hohenheim sighed as the dark haired magician rejoined them, drinks in hand and scowl still fixed firmly on his pale face. The alchemist didn’t hold out much hope - alchemy couldn’t save him, why should magic be able to do any differently? But what did he have to lose?
Nothing he wasn’t going to lose anyway. Hohenheim lowered his eyes and shook his head.
“Alright,” he said, taking up his drink. “Alright, we’ll try it.”
“All we can ever do is try,” Adam said with a shrug. Hohenheim nodded once more, agreeing with the sentiment.
“And hope that we don’t fail,” he added, quietly.
It was a fragile hope, gossamer and delicate as a butterfly wing, but as long as it was there, Hohenheim would hold onto it. Or at least try to, because it was all any man could ever do.
In order to understand this fic, it's best that you be familiar with Fullmetal Alchemist and Highlander. There's a small aspect of Harry Potter in here, but no familiarity is needed. This fic spans from 1950 to 1983, and is AU for Fullmetal Alchemist and a teeny, tiny bit AU for Highlander. I changed one minute detail for story purposes. The FMA movie does not exist in this fic, hence the AU. Alright, now that that's out of the way...
Title: Mortals Fear to Tread
Author: theladyfeylene
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Highlander/Harry Potter
Pairings: Methos/Hohenheim, hints of Methos/Snape
Rating: R
Word Count: 3224
Prompt: Magical/Supernatural
Spoilers: End of FMA, Season 3 of Highlander
Summary: It started as friendship over a few drinks and a discussion of philosophy. Hohenheim never dreamed the path it would take, or of the secrets he would discover along the way.
They had met at a party, one of those grand affairs for wealthy intellectuals to strut about and wax poetic on their own brilliance. This particular banquet of brilliance was not the starched collar, droll affair that Hohenheim had been expecting. There had been generous amounts of fine spirits making the rounds, and pipes full of something too sweet to be tobacco. Standing in the corner, half shielded by fading velvet curtains that called back to a grander day, Hohenheim was wondering for the fifth time what it was he’d been doing there. Certainly he moved in intellectual circles - alchemy was less a science here, and more of a fringe occult practice for writers and intellectuals who fancied themselves recipients of ancient and arcane knowledge.
“And what have we here? I‘d say I‘ve found an intellectual wallflower, but usually that‘s a term reserved for women.”
Hohenheim had started, surprised by the cultured voice at his ear. But he broke into a weak smile, turning to address the tall, lean man who stood beside him.
“It looked as though Williamson and Drake were going to break into fisticuffs over the nature of original sin,” Hohenheim said. “I thought I’d take myself out of the war path.”
“Very wise idea, indeed. I’ve heard Drake likes to keep his pipe in his fist, to give that extra punch. I’m Adam Barth.” Adam held out his hand, and Hohenheim took it with a firm squeeze and a warm smile. It seemed, as far as he could tell, that Adam was of the same mind when it came to this particular gathering. Which was quite refreshing. Perhaps it was because the man was younger - always a rare sight at these events.
“Hohenheim Elric,” he responded. “And what field are you in?” Because that was the polite thing to ask at these affairs, and he had to admit that he was curious. Adam only shook his head.
“Alright, I can’t stand overly-sweet alcohol and opium has nothing on the spotted mushroom of Lower Paun. I’m going to be heading out before everyone’s drunk and we’re treated to the sight of a dozen or so old men ripping off their shirts and going for one another’s throats. Care to join me?” Adam raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the wall.
“I’d be glad to,” Hohenheim agreed with a small smile. He ended up with enough of a headache when everyone simply sat around and trumpeted their accomplishments and the merits of their outlandish theories. Slipping out early sounded delightful, as he had no desire to stay out until three in the morning in any sort of company - let alone drunken and egotistical company.
Things didn’t work out quite as he’d planned. While Hohenheim did end up staying out until three in the morning, and they did get quite drunk, at least Adam wasn’t entirely full of himself.
***
“You’d think that people would have exhausted the topic of the nature of existence,” Adam was saying, sprawled out across Hohenheim’s couch with a book opened on his lap.
“I don’t think people will ever exhaust that subject.” It was becoming routine. Adam had a flat across the city, but he seemed to spend most of his time at Hohenheim’s modest little townhouse. And Hohenheim couldn’t claim that he minded the company - the house had been empty and lonely since Edward left for America. And Adam’s company was pleasant. He was a brilliant man, and though he was prone to fits of bitterness and apathy, he was generally amiable and relaxed.
“It’s only been done to death for the past two thousand years,” Adam went on. “Can’t they come up with something new?”
“But it all goes back to existence, doesn’t it?” Hohenheim turned away from the stove to look at his friend. “Time, death, freedom, fear… it all comes back to the same thing. They all make up our existence, and it‘s impossible to get away from that. Besides, everyone wants to tackle the big questions. As Socrates said, ‘the unexamined life isn‘t worth living‘.”
“Socrates also liked little boys and advocated adultery. You don’t see hordes of intellectuals following those ideals, do you? Dinner almost done? I’m starving.”
Hohenheim only smiled and shook his head fondly, before serving dinner and joining Adam to eat.
***
Paris, Hohenheim decided, was a bit overrated. He supposed it was different for the young men, the ones who came on the arm of pretty girls or the ones who hoped to leave on the arm of a pretty girl.
“Aren’t you hot?”
“Hmm?” Hohenheim turned to Adam, tearing his eyes away from the river and his thoughts.
“I’ve never seen you in anything but a three piece suit. Don’t you get hot?”
“Oh. No, not particularly.” Hohenheim smiled. Sometimes he did, but better to be a bit warm than to have his rotting flesh uncovered. Adam only looked at him, a curious expression on his face. They were standing together on the edge of Seine, and the sky had grown overcast. No, Hohenheim had no great love for Paris. He was eager to return to London and to his work.
“I’d be sweltering in that thing,” Adam went on, and Hohenheim got the distinct impression that the other man was simply trying to make conversation, which was unusual. He turned his eyes back to the river.
“You ought to look up…damn, I forget his name.” Adam leaned onto the railing. “He’s done some work in alchemy, though. And not the eternal life stuff, either.”
Hohenheim nodded. He had made it quite clear to his friend that whatever it was he was attempting to discover by studying this world’s alchemy, eternal life wasn’t it. He had no need for that, he had lived long enough. Though it seemed that this world stunted his development - he was twenty years through the gate, and he hadn’t changed a single bit. Even the decaying of his flesh had seemed to halt.
He was lost in thought when Adam kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, the mere brushing of lips against lips, but it froze Hohenheim on the spot. He had never thought… but that didn’t matter. He missed intimacy, he certainly was fond of Adam, but pleasures of the flesh were things he couldn’t have. He pulled away politely, an apologetic smile already on his lips.
“Adam, I can’t…”
“Why not? Because of this?” Adam’s hand came to rest on Hohenheim’s forearm, above the place where his skin had peeled and blistered and fallen away.
“How…?”
“I’m not an idiot,” Adam said. “I’ve seen a lot of things, Hohenheim. And a good many of them were stranger than this. Besides.” A small smile crept over Adam’s features, and his hand slid down to rest on top of Hohenheim‘s. “You’re not the only one of us with strange secrets.”
***
They bought a house in South Kensington. They had the money and they needed the space - both men valued their privacy. Adam had his study and Hohenheim had his laboratory. It worked well enough, though Hohenheim still insisted on putting out the lights before bed. Adam had stopped complaining after a few weeks. If the lights stayed on, so did Hohenheim’s clothing.
The first time an unexpected guest arrived, Hohenheim was in his lab and Adam was elsewhere. He heard the door burst open and he turned, frowning. He pulled on a sweatshirt - suits had begun to go out of fashion as far as everyday wear - and padded down the stairs.
He hadn’t been certain what it was he expected, but a large man with a sword was not it. Without thinking, he clapped his hands together as though to transmute, and then remembered. No alchemy here, not the way he knew it.
“Where’s Methos?” the man with the sword asked. He had a manic, wild look about him that worried Hohenheim.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Hohenheim said, still standing on the stairs.
“Bullshit! I’ve seen’im come in here. Where is he?” The man advanced, and then paused, a strange look coming to his eyes. He turned his head, and Hohenheim blanched. Adam had picked a hell of a time to return.
“Hohenheim, get out of here!” Adam dropped his bags and drew back, a frenzied look in his eyes. What was going on?
“Methos,” the large man hissed, swinging his sword. Somehow, from somewhere, Adam had pulled his own sword. “I finally found you.”
“Hohenheim! Go!”
As curious and confused as he was, Hohenheim was not a stupid man. He nodded and returned up the stairs, locking the door to his laboratory behind him. He removed his sweatshirt and sat in his chair in his white cotton undershirt, the long sleeves still rolled up. He could hear the clang of swords and the snapping of breaking furniture coming from the rooms below. He couldn’t think, he could only listen to the battle that raged under his feet.
And then there was an explosion, and the smell of burning flesh and wood, and Hohenheim couldn’t sit still any longer. He bolted down the stairs to find the main room in disarray, furniture shattered and windows broken and Adam kneeling in the center breathing heavily.
“What…?”
“I didn’t want you to see any of that,” Adam said, standing slowly. “There’s something I suppose I have to tell you, now…”
***
It was strange, how easy it was to talk about things. Hohenheim was well into his third glass of wine, and he was still attempting to explain the exact nature of the Gate to Adam - Methos, though it would take some time to get used to the name.
They did both have strange secrets, it seemed. A race of humans who couldn’t die unless they were beheaded - it spoke to Hohenheim of homunculi, but he quickly dismissed that thought. But was it any stranger than two worlds, both so alike yet so different? No, it wasn’t. And Immortality made a sort of sense, in Hohenheim’s mind.
They spoke long into the night, and they went to bed in the early hours of the morning.
***
Adam Barth was Adam Pierson now. They had moved to America, and Hohenheim saw Edward more often now. Edward who had nothing kind to say about his father’s current situation, and who treated Adam to nothing but a few polite words and sometimes an aggravated glare. But as Edward had once admitted, at least he wasn’t another woman. Somehow, that seemed to make it easier on the boy. Edward, like Hohenheim, was much the same as he’d always been. A little older, perhaps, but nowhere near the age he should have looked.
It was a strange sort of groove they’d fallen into. And unexpected, even after all these years. No more men with swords had come for Adam’s head - Hohenheim never could get used to calling him Methos. Adam had joined some sort of society for researching his kind - a daring move, Hohenheim though, but a brilliant one. Hohenheim was still plodding along in the field of alchemy, though he grew more and more frustrated each week. Perhaps Edward and his relentless pursuit of machines was the better way to go. Adam had little advice when it came to that, and often simply shrugged and changed the subject when it came up.
He wasn’t even sure what they were to each other, Edward had asked and Hohenheim had found himself at a loss. They had never discussed the nature of their relationship. They lived together, slept together, and he supposed they were committed in some way. It wasn’t as though either one of them was off fooling around.
He supposed that this was best. He had never wanted a life with another woman, not after losing Trisha. The guilt and longing for her would have been too much. He felt no guilt, with Adam, though he still longed for the only woman he had truly loved. He always would. And he imagined, that after nearly 5,000 years, Adam had someone he longed for as well.
***
“It’s spreading.”
Hohenheim stood before the bathroom mirror, shirtless and morose. The rot on his body was spreading. The patch on his shoulder now stretched down towards his bicep, and there was a red and raw place on his chest.
“It was too much to hope that it had stopped,” Hohenheim said with a small shrug. Thirty years of remission had been something he was thankful for. He shrugged on his nightshirt and turned away from the mirror. Adam simply stood and watched him without speaking.
***
Another decade had gone by. Hohenheim sat at the kitchen table and read the newspaper, amazed at the violence and cruelty that covered the pages. All mankind did was kill one another, in increasingly horrific and creative ways. Everyone claimed that this was new, that it was getting worse, but Hohenheim had watched for nearly fifty years now and knew it was nothing new. It was only a more popular subject for the newspapers and television programs.
Adam was late once more. He’d been staying out far past dinner time, sometimes not coming home until close to midnight. He claimed that he had important research, and Hohenheim never questioned. He didn’t have the strength to. His body’s decay was tiring him in ways that were more than physical.
But it was another Friday night where Adam was nowhere to be seen. Dinner was cold, and Hohenheim was growing restless. He couldn’t say that he was entirely surprised the other man was pulling away - his body was failing. It would reach a point where it could no longer function as it should, and that would be that. But he had no desire to spend what time he had left lonely and wondering where his lover was.
Sighing, Hohenheim made a decision. He had the number of Adam’s organization, and he placed a phone call and identified himself immediately - these were secretive people. He was surprised to be told that Adam had left a few hours ago. He was probably at the bar down the street, the woman on the other end of the line said. Would Hohenheim like the number? No, he wouldn’t like the number. He pulled on his coat and got into his car, wanting to confront this while he felt he had the strength.
***
He had expected to find Adam alone, drinking and perhaps sulking. He hadn’t expected to find Adam in the company of a dark haired young man - perhaps 20 or 21 - and talking excitedly. Well. That had been a bit of surprise, and Hohenheim cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. Hadn’t they been making love less frequently? Hadn’t there been more uncomfortable long silences than comfortable ones?
He knew he should leave. Simply walk out the door and perhaps pack his things and move in with Edward. But he had come all this way, and he was tired of slipping away in the night. He approached the table, and conversation hushed as he drew near.
“Hohenheim.” Adam glanced up at him, and he looked sheepish more than upset or surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here….”
“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Hohenheim looked at the young man. He was nothing spectacular - he had that pale and wan look of a boy who spent more times in libraries than in the sun. And he looked surly and unpleasant.
“This isn’t exactly what you think,” Adam said, smoothly. The young man said nothing, only glared at Hohenheim with coal black eyes.
“Not exactly?” Blond eyebrows raised.
“It’s… here, sit.” Adam gestured to a chair.
“You didn’t tell me he’d be showing up,” the young man snapped, angrily.
“I didn’t know.” Adam shrugged. “Why don’t you go and get another round of drinks?” It was phrased as a question, but everyone at the table understood it was an order. The surly looking youth shoved his chair back and thrust himself to his feet, all long limbs and scowls.
“If you wanted to leave me,” Hohenheim said, “there are plenty ways to do it.”
“You’re dramatic, aren’t you? I’m not leaving you.” Adam leaned forward. “Look, human beings aren’t naturally monogamous. Why do you think there’s so much cheating going on? But this didn’t start out as an affair.”
“He seems a bit young and angry for your tastes, anyway,” Hohenheim pointed out, mildly. No, humans weren’t naturally monogamous. But humans had a history of turning nature on its head.
“He’s not like you or I,” Adam went on, quietly. “I’m surprised you aren’t familiar with his kind, considering how deeply you have your nose buried in the occult.”
“Alchemy isn’t an occult practice,” Hohenheim pointed out. “But go on.”
“There are people here who have harnessed some form of natural power. They call it magic, and I suppose that’s as good a word as any. His mother was a witch, a powerful one - I knew her family from when I lived in Russia, I had some ties to the wizarding world back then. The things that magic can do…” Methos held open his hands and shook his head as though in awe. “They have cures for diseases that normal humans couldn’t even begin to imagine. The things they do are amazing. I looked him up to see if there was anything that could be done for you. We started to meet, and things happened. It was nothing personal.”
“Adam - Methos - there’s nothing can be done.” Hohenheim spread his hands helplessly. It had been a kind gesture, and he appreciated it. “We both know how this is going to end.”
“I know you’re going to die,” Adam said. “That doesn’t bother me. I’ve had dozens of lovers die, and I‘ll have dozens more. But I’d rather not see you literally fall to pieces. It‘s revolting.”
“Yes, it is,” Hohenheim agreed with a soft smile.
“Severus is good with medicine,” Adam went on. “He’s got the personality of an angry crayfish, but he’s brilliant. At least let him try. What’s the worst that could happen? He screws up and you die quickly. You’re dying anyway, why waste the chance?”
It was morbid, but true. Hohenheim sighed as the dark haired magician rejoined them, drinks in hand and scowl still fixed firmly on his pale face. The alchemist didn’t hold out much hope - alchemy couldn’t save him, why should magic be able to do any differently? But what did he have to lose?
Nothing he wasn’t going to lose anyway. Hohenheim lowered his eyes and shook his head.
“Alright,” he said, taking up his drink. “Alright, we’ll try it.”
“All we can ever do is try,” Adam said with a shrug. Hohenheim nodded once more, agreeing with the sentiment.
“And hope that we don’t fail,” he added, quietly.
It was a fragile hope, gossamer and delicate as a butterfly wing, but as long as it was there, Hohenheim would hold onto it. Or at least try to, because it was all any man could ever do.