Robin Hood/Heroes crossover fic.
Robin Hood/Heroes crossover fanfic. This will probably only make sense if you've seen episode 2x08 of Robin Hood, "Get Carter!"
Title: Heart of Sword
Author: Xandri
Disclaimer: Robin Hood is owned by Tiger Aspect, Heroes by NBC. Neither of these are me.
Author's notes: I came up with the idea for this when my friends and I were watching the Robin Hood episode "Get Carter!" and noticed a resemblance between Carter and Kensei. I thought it was just us, till a couple people on Robin Hood message boards started saying the same. I figured it had to be written. Also, according to YamagatoFellowship.org and CorinthianLasVegas.com, Linderman's first name is Daniel. Thanks to silverbrow and kalaih for beta.
When Carter arrived in the Holy Lands, he made it clear he wasn't there to join the fight. It was weeks before he even laid eyes on King Richard, and by the time he reached his brothers resting place, he felt he had seen enough battle to last a lifetime. It turned his stomach, to see men hacking each other apart like that. For all the violence and aggression he was once so willing to deal out to Robin, he quickly saw the true horror and despair of war. It's their Holy Land, too. Remember that, when you speak to King Richard.
"Will you go back to England?" the King asked.
Carter gazed out at the bleak desert through the tent flap. "No, sire, I think not." He turned to meet Richard's eyes. "That is, unless you wish me to carry a message back for you."
"No, that will not be necessary. In fact, I sent a messenger to England the very night I first spoke to you."
"You are wise, sire. With your permission, I would like to travel... east."
"East? Whatever for?"
"I've never been."
The corners of Richard's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I suppose that's as good a reason as any."
"I'll be traveling alone, and I don't ask anything of you but your blessings, sire."
"You're quite certain about this?"
Carter nodded. "I am."
King Richard sighed and stood up, stepping around the table in the center of the tent to stand in front of Carter. "I have come to realise that perhaps I was mistaken about this war. I will not ask any more good men of England to lay down their lives for mere politics. Let Rome have their war, and let them fight it themselves." He extended his hand, grasping Carter's forearm. "I do give you my blessing. Who knows? Perhaps in the future, we will have need of the knowledge of a traveler such as yourself."
"Thank you, your majesty. You are a good man, and a good king." Carter knelt then, ready to kiss the king's ring and settling for his hand when no ring was available.
Richard laughed. "Men have no need for baudy jewelry out here, and nor do kings. Farewell, young man, and may God be with you."
"May He also be with you, sire. Thank you."
Carter ducked out of the tent, slinging his sack over one shoulder. Horizon to horizon, the desert was bright and angry. He decided to head away from the late afternoon sun.
~
They called him Aziz. He learned their language, lived among them.
He even prayed with them, convinced that God and Allah are one and the same.
But the war does not end. Those who once looked upon him with hospitality began to regard him with hostility.
This time he traveled south. A Muslim trade ship ferried him to Lamu Island. The men on the ship liked him, liked that he treated them as equals. They taught him the ropes, and he stayed with them for three journeys to Lamu Island.
~
"No no no! Do not tie that rope off yet! We cut it free from this line, and then tie it off." Amir hopped down onto the deck, pulling taught the rope Carter held. He began hacking away at it with a shiv.
Laiq laughed from where he swung in the nets. "You are both incompetent! Aziz cannot tie a knot to save himself, and Amir cannot properly cut rope! You might as well be twins, then maybe you can make up for each other's shortcomings." He dropped onto his feet with the grace of a cat and took the rope and shiv from Amir. "Let the master show you how it is done."
Amir and Carter watched Laiq slice the line clean. After Amir had tied it off, they moved onto the next one.
"Now you try it," Laiq gestured to Carter.
Taking the shiv Amir handed him, he grasped the rope firmly with one hand, slicing downwards. If anything, the cut was better than Laiq's, but perhaps that was only because Amir made a mess of it first.
Scowling, Amir hastily tied it off and moved onto the next bit of rope. "I will cut this one. Watch." He gripped the rope and raised his hand the way he'd seen Carter do it, but when his hand fell, the blade barely grazed the rope.
"Let me do it, otherwise we'll be here all day," Carter said, trying to take the rope from Amir.
"I can do it!" Amir cried, struggling with the rope. The hand holding the shiv slipped, the blade slicing clear across Carter's knuckles. Blood began to well in droplets on his fingers.
"Now see what you've done!" cried Laiq, laughing. "You two should never fight on the same side. You do your enemy a service by accidentally killing each other!"
Now Carter and Amir were both glaring at Laiq, jealous of the ease at which the younger man handled sailing.
Laiq placed a hand on Amir's shoulder. "Do not be discouraged. You will practice until you get it right. It's a good thing you're not actually splicing rope." Amir glanced down, either at his feet or the many lengths of frayed practice rope that littered the deck around them. "And I'm sure the wounds you dealt your brother are not deep. He will forgive you."
At this, Laiq turned to Carter, but Carter was already wiping the blood away from his knuckles. They both stared in astonishment.
"The skin is not broken. How is this?"
Carter met his shocked gaze. "I don't know."
"It is a miracle," said Amir, taking Carter's hand in his own and examining it closely. "A gift from Allah."
"Indeed," murmured Carter.
~
But the war follows him everywhere, and even on the move, he cannot escape.
He departed on Lamu Island, and headed west.
When he met Zahina, he knew he'd do anything to stay. She was beautiful, she was kind, she was exotic in a way he could not have imagined before...
~
He woke up covered in blood, but could not find a single scratch on himself. The village was silent. Around him, corpses littered the dusty ground. Their blood glistened on their dark skin, stained the dirt around them.
He found Zahina's body in the hut they shared, her small frame run through with a sword.
Falling to his knees at her side, he sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left to cry out, and when he was done, he stayed by her like that for hours.
~
He burnt the bodies. It was crude, but they deserved something.
He told himself that they were joining their earth, ash into the ground, smoke into the sky.
He told himself that so long as he was on this earth, he would be with her.
~
A hundred years in the wilderness. A hundred years, alone, because he could not bear to lose another. A lion could tear him apart, rip off his arm, it's children would feed off his flesh, and it did not matter.
It could not hurt as much as losing her.
~
He did not know how much time passed before the Englishmen came. They convinced him to return to England. He still wasn't sure why he agreed.
It's changed a lot, in three hundred years.
~
The ground is rocking. No, wait, it's swaying. Rhythmically.
He opened his eyes, taking in the room around him. The walls of the cabin were of a dark, stained wood. He laid on a bed nailed to the bulkhead.
A door creaked open, and in strode an elderly gentleman, his face adorned with tiny spectacles. His wild mane of silver hair was tied behind his neck with a red ribbon.
"Ah, he's awake! And how do you feel?"
He propped himself up on his elbows and regarded the man with suspicion before answering. "Like hell. How should I feel?"
"Eh, well, we're not sure. That being because we're not really sure what happened to you." The man's hands shook as if in constant spasm, and he punctuated his sentences with emphatic gestures.
"Yeah? Well, that makes two of us, then." He flopped back down on the hard mattress.
"Sorry?"
"I said, I don't know what happened to me, either."
"Eh... you don't?"
He turned his head to look at the man. His brows furrowed into a line. "No. I don't."
There go the hands again, fingers trembling in midair. "Oh, dear."
~
Pressganged. At least, that's what Higgins told him probably happened. Shaky-handed, feeble Dr. Higgins spent most of his time below decks, in the infirmary, but he said the ship took on quite a few new hands that day, and it seemed likely.
They called him Cutter. It was the only thing he could remember, the name Cutter. Like an echo that whispered in his ear when he let his thoughts wander...
If he tried to remember, he got nothing. But if he gave up, if he just glanced out over the ocean, out where the sea meets sky... he got Cutter.
~
Andrew, the ship's boy that trailed after him like a lost puppy, called him a deserter.
And as much as he did not feel guilty for leaving, he would never forget the look of betrayal and disillusionment on the eleven-year-old's face.
"I never agreed to serve any crown! I didn't ask for this! You tell the captain that."
I didn't ask for this.
"Yokoso!~"
~
The blast hit him full in the chest, knocking him backwards through the flimsy walls of the tent. He lay, unaware, while the world around him shriveled and crispened and fell to ash. He wouldn't remember the fiery inferno.
He awoke to soft raindrops pelting his face. The cool water helped extinguish the last of the flames, and the clouds of smoke began to dissipate. He stared up at the grey sky above, willing himself to move. Why? I should be dead. He lifted his head, gazed around at the darkened remains of Whitebeard's camp, the charred and blackened pieces of flesh and leather and wood that littered the field.
He dragged himself through the forest, naked, dizzy with hunger, wondering if it were even possible to starve to death. Finally, he collapsed on the outskirts of a village.
Two months later, he was back on a ship headed west. And this time, he had a new name.
~
"Where are you from? Or, I suppose I should say, when are you from?" Daniel was always delighted to learn about other people's abilities, but naturally, he found Adam particularly fascinating.
"England." He would have left it there, but for Daniel's persistent look of inquisition. "I'm not really sure when."
"You're not sure? Come now, you must remember when you were born." Daniel set his empty glass down on the desktop.
"No, I... I really don't." Adam rubbed the back of his neck, gazing self-consciously at the floor.
"Not at all? Is it a kind of... I don't know, hundred year old senility? Can someone like you even become senile? You don't seem very senile."
"I'm not. At least, I don't think I am. I remember everything that happened in the last four hundred years, just... everything before that is a blur." Not even a blur. It's as if it isn't there at all. Vanished.
"A blur. You're older than four hundred?"
"I think so. The farthest back that I can remember, I'm already an adult- just like I am now. I don't remember being a teenager, growing up... none of it. Everything begins four hundred years ago."
"Well, surely it didn't just disappear. The memory must be there somewhere."
Adam slouched down in the armchair, chin resting on the heel of his hand. "What if it's not? What if I was born like this? Created just like this?"
Daniel chuckled. "Nonsense. You can't have come from nowhere, and you certainly weren't born like that."
"Do you think.... maybe it was amnesia? Perhaps I hit my head."
"Perhaps. But if you did...." He trailed off, brows furrowed in thought. He picked up his glass and began pouring himself another drink.
"If I did... what?" Adam leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
"You can regrow your arms, your legs, you can heal a stab through the lung... why not heal your memory?"
Adam stared at him, jaw slackened in surprise. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Because it never seemed that important.
Isn't it, though?
Without a word, he began to focus. In his mind, he pictured a human brain- covered in wrinkles and crevasses, blood vessels carefully tucked under a thin membrane, woven into a pattern. Pattern. Wrinkles. Memory.
Heal yourself.
Remember.
And he could see it all- rolling green countryside, a young man who could easily be his twin, smiling, laughing, punching him in the arm playfully. A shock of blonde hair that fell over clear blue eyes, blue like crystal, blue like ice, blue like the palest sky.
He saw the same boy, doubled over in pain, on the floor of a barn laced with shadows.
Laughed. "You get kicked by Rosie again?"
The other boy lifted his head to glare at him, face streaked with tears. "Shut up."
"Are you cryin?!" He laughed again.
"I'm not cryin'-"
The same boy, only now the boy was a man, and a man no more. The lid was lowered over his lifeless corpse, his eyes closed in peace.
Anger welled up inside him then, every cell in his body screaming for revenge, to take back what was stolen from him-
And a moment later, he knew there was no revenge to be had.
"We told him it was dangerous! He wouldn't listen!"
He stood alone in a desert of sand, and sorrow- and hope. The King shall return. The war will end. No more blood will be spilt needlessly.
He watches the ship sail away without him, the crew he has come to know so well waving after him. He's always forced to part from those he cares about.
There is always bloodshed.
Dark, shining eyes gaze up at him from a face of pure ebony. She is so beautiful, and losing her is like losing his brother all over again-
The same dark, shining eyes, but instead of Zahina, it's Yaeko whose eyes plead with him-
But her dark eyes change, and now they belong to someone else entirely. Inside them, he can see seething coils of hatred and malice. They narrow underneath a wild lock of brown hair before the wood connects sharply with his skull.
"Adam! Adam, are you all right?"
Adam gasped as the office came back into focus. He had slid out of the armchair to curl into a fetal position on the floor, his limbs still shaking. His breath was ragged, his lungs felt strained against his ribs, his chest was on fire.
He looked up into ice blue eyes, kind and bright and concerned.
"I had a brother. I had a brother, his name was Thomas." For a man who couldn't die, he desperately longed for air.
Daniel was kneeling next to him, gently wiping the sweat from his brow. "A brother. Congratulations." His smile was warm and honest.
"You look like him. You look like my brother. Your hair and your eyes..." Why was he blabbering away like this?
It was as if the whole of eternity had happened all in one second. And all inside his head.
"And yet, we are very much like brothers, you and I," Daniel told him, hand now resting on Adam's forehead.
"Brothers," Adam muttered, relaxing into the touch.
It was a full five minutes before he realised his face was streaked with tears.
~
Adam. It was the perfect name. The first man. He could be the first man, the last man, the man that brought the human race full circle. He could recreate them in his own flawless image.
Or he could be the only man. The human race had tried it's best to drive him away, anyways.
Title: Heart of Sword
Author: Xandri
Disclaimer: Robin Hood is owned by Tiger Aspect, Heroes by NBC. Neither of these are me.
Author's notes: I came up with the idea for this when my friends and I were watching the Robin Hood episode "Get Carter!" and noticed a resemblance between Carter and Kensei. I thought it was just us, till a couple people on Robin Hood message boards started saying the same. I figured it had to be written. Also, according to YamagatoFellowship.org and CorinthianLasVegas.com, Linderman's first name is Daniel. Thanks to silverbrow and kalaih for beta.
When Carter arrived in the Holy Lands, he made it clear he wasn't there to join the fight. It was weeks before he even laid eyes on King Richard, and by the time he reached his brothers resting place, he felt he had seen enough battle to last a lifetime. It turned his stomach, to see men hacking each other apart like that. For all the violence and aggression he was once so willing to deal out to Robin, he quickly saw the true horror and despair of war. It's their Holy Land, too. Remember that, when you speak to King Richard.
"Will you go back to England?" the King asked.
Carter gazed out at the bleak desert through the tent flap. "No, sire, I think not." He turned to meet Richard's eyes. "That is, unless you wish me to carry a message back for you."
"No, that will not be necessary. In fact, I sent a messenger to England the very night I first spoke to you."
"You are wise, sire. With your permission, I would like to travel... east."
"East? Whatever for?"
"I've never been."
The corners of Richard's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I suppose that's as good a reason as any."
"I'll be traveling alone, and I don't ask anything of you but your blessings, sire."
"You're quite certain about this?"
Carter nodded. "I am."
King Richard sighed and stood up, stepping around the table in the center of the tent to stand in front of Carter. "I have come to realise that perhaps I was mistaken about this war. I will not ask any more good men of England to lay down their lives for mere politics. Let Rome have their war, and let them fight it themselves." He extended his hand, grasping Carter's forearm. "I do give you my blessing. Who knows? Perhaps in the future, we will have need of the knowledge of a traveler such as yourself."
"Thank you, your majesty. You are a good man, and a good king." Carter knelt then, ready to kiss the king's ring and settling for his hand when no ring was available.
Richard laughed. "Men have no need for baudy jewelry out here, and nor do kings. Farewell, young man, and may God be with you."
"May He also be with you, sire. Thank you."
Carter ducked out of the tent, slinging his sack over one shoulder. Horizon to horizon, the desert was bright and angry. He decided to head away from the late afternoon sun.
~
They called him Aziz. He learned their language, lived among them.
He even prayed with them, convinced that God and Allah are one and the same.
But the war does not end. Those who once looked upon him with hospitality began to regard him with hostility.
This time he traveled south. A Muslim trade ship ferried him to Lamu Island. The men on the ship liked him, liked that he treated them as equals. They taught him the ropes, and he stayed with them for three journeys to Lamu Island.
~
"No no no! Do not tie that rope off yet! We cut it free from this line, and then tie it off." Amir hopped down onto the deck, pulling taught the rope Carter held. He began hacking away at it with a shiv.
Laiq laughed from where he swung in the nets. "You are both incompetent! Aziz cannot tie a knot to save himself, and Amir cannot properly cut rope! You might as well be twins, then maybe you can make up for each other's shortcomings." He dropped onto his feet with the grace of a cat and took the rope and shiv from Amir. "Let the master show you how it is done."
Amir and Carter watched Laiq slice the line clean. After Amir had tied it off, they moved onto the next one.
"Now you try it," Laiq gestured to Carter.
Taking the shiv Amir handed him, he grasped the rope firmly with one hand, slicing downwards. If anything, the cut was better than Laiq's, but perhaps that was only because Amir made a mess of it first.
Scowling, Amir hastily tied it off and moved onto the next bit of rope. "I will cut this one. Watch." He gripped the rope and raised his hand the way he'd seen Carter do it, but when his hand fell, the blade barely grazed the rope.
"Let me do it, otherwise we'll be here all day," Carter said, trying to take the rope from Amir.
"I can do it!" Amir cried, struggling with the rope. The hand holding the shiv slipped, the blade slicing clear across Carter's knuckles. Blood began to well in droplets on his fingers.
"Now see what you've done!" cried Laiq, laughing. "You two should never fight on the same side. You do your enemy a service by accidentally killing each other!"
Now Carter and Amir were both glaring at Laiq, jealous of the ease at which the younger man handled sailing.
Laiq placed a hand on Amir's shoulder. "Do not be discouraged. You will practice until you get it right. It's a good thing you're not actually splicing rope." Amir glanced down, either at his feet or the many lengths of frayed practice rope that littered the deck around them. "And I'm sure the wounds you dealt your brother are not deep. He will forgive you."
At this, Laiq turned to Carter, but Carter was already wiping the blood away from his knuckles. They both stared in astonishment.
"The skin is not broken. How is this?"
Carter met his shocked gaze. "I don't know."
"It is a miracle," said Amir, taking Carter's hand in his own and examining it closely. "A gift from Allah."
"Indeed," murmured Carter.
~
But the war follows him everywhere, and even on the move, he cannot escape.
He departed on Lamu Island, and headed west.
When he met Zahina, he knew he'd do anything to stay. She was beautiful, she was kind, she was exotic in a way he could not have imagined before...
~
He woke up covered in blood, but could not find a single scratch on himself. The village was silent. Around him, corpses littered the dusty ground. Their blood glistened on their dark skin, stained the dirt around them.
He found Zahina's body in the hut they shared, her small frame run through with a sword.
Falling to his knees at her side, he sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left to cry out, and when he was done, he stayed by her like that for hours.
~
He burnt the bodies. It was crude, but they deserved something.
He told himself that they were joining their earth, ash into the ground, smoke into the sky.
He told himself that so long as he was on this earth, he would be with her.
~
A hundred years in the wilderness. A hundred years, alone, because he could not bear to lose another. A lion could tear him apart, rip off his arm, it's children would feed off his flesh, and it did not matter.
It could not hurt as much as losing her.
~
He did not know how much time passed before the Englishmen came. They convinced him to return to England. He still wasn't sure why he agreed.
It's changed a lot, in three hundred years.
~
The ground is rocking. No, wait, it's swaying. Rhythmically.
He opened his eyes, taking in the room around him. The walls of the cabin were of a dark, stained wood. He laid on a bed nailed to the bulkhead.
A door creaked open, and in strode an elderly gentleman, his face adorned with tiny spectacles. His wild mane of silver hair was tied behind his neck with a red ribbon.
"Ah, he's awake! And how do you feel?"
He propped himself up on his elbows and regarded the man with suspicion before answering. "Like hell. How should I feel?"
"Eh, well, we're not sure. That being because we're not really sure what happened to you." The man's hands shook as if in constant spasm, and he punctuated his sentences with emphatic gestures.
"Yeah? Well, that makes two of us, then." He flopped back down on the hard mattress.
"Sorry?"
"I said, I don't know what happened to me, either."
"Eh... you don't?"
He turned his head to look at the man. His brows furrowed into a line. "No. I don't."
There go the hands again, fingers trembling in midair. "Oh, dear."
~
Pressganged. At least, that's what Higgins told him probably happened. Shaky-handed, feeble Dr. Higgins spent most of his time below decks, in the infirmary, but he said the ship took on quite a few new hands that day, and it seemed likely.
They called him Cutter. It was the only thing he could remember, the name Cutter. Like an echo that whispered in his ear when he let his thoughts wander...
If he tried to remember, he got nothing. But if he gave up, if he just glanced out over the ocean, out where the sea meets sky... he got Cutter.
~
Andrew, the ship's boy that trailed after him like a lost puppy, called him a deserter.
And as much as he did not feel guilty for leaving, he would never forget the look of betrayal and disillusionment on the eleven-year-old's face.
"I never agreed to serve any crown! I didn't ask for this! You tell the captain that."
I didn't ask for this.
"Yokoso!~"
~
The blast hit him full in the chest, knocking him backwards through the flimsy walls of the tent. He lay, unaware, while the world around him shriveled and crispened and fell to ash. He wouldn't remember the fiery inferno.
He awoke to soft raindrops pelting his face. The cool water helped extinguish the last of the flames, and the clouds of smoke began to dissipate. He stared up at the grey sky above, willing himself to move. Why? I should be dead. He lifted his head, gazed around at the darkened remains of Whitebeard's camp, the charred and blackened pieces of flesh and leather and wood that littered the field.
He dragged himself through the forest, naked, dizzy with hunger, wondering if it were even possible to starve to death. Finally, he collapsed on the outskirts of a village.
Two months later, he was back on a ship headed west. And this time, he had a new name.
~
"Where are you from? Or, I suppose I should say, when are you from?" Daniel was always delighted to learn about other people's abilities, but naturally, he found Adam particularly fascinating.
"England." He would have left it there, but for Daniel's persistent look of inquisition. "I'm not really sure when."
"You're not sure? Come now, you must remember when you were born." Daniel set his empty glass down on the desktop.
"No, I... I really don't." Adam rubbed the back of his neck, gazing self-consciously at the floor.
"Not at all? Is it a kind of... I don't know, hundred year old senility? Can someone like you even become senile? You don't seem very senile."
"I'm not. At least, I don't think I am. I remember everything that happened in the last four hundred years, just... everything before that is a blur." Not even a blur. It's as if it isn't there at all. Vanished.
"A blur. You're older than four hundred?"
"I think so. The farthest back that I can remember, I'm already an adult- just like I am now. I don't remember being a teenager, growing up... none of it. Everything begins four hundred years ago."
"Well, surely it didn't just disappear. The memory must be there somewhere."
Adam slouched down in the armchair, chin resting on the heel of his hand. "What if it's not? What if I was born like this? Created just like this?"
Daniel chuckled. "Nonsense. You can't have come from nowhere, and you certainly weren't born like that."
"Do you think.... maybe it was amnesia? Perhaps I hit my head."
"Perhaps. But if you did...." He trailed off, brows furrowed in thought. He picked up his glass and began pouring himself another drink.
"If I did... what?" Adam leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
"You can regrow your arms, your legs, you can heal a stab through the lung... why not heal your memory?"
Adam stared at him, jaw slackened in surprise. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Because it never seemed that important.
Isn't it, though?
Without a word, he began to focus. In his mind, he pictured a human brain- covered in wrinkles and crevasses, blood vessels carefully tucked under a thin membrane, woven into a pattern. Pattern. Wrinkles. Memory.
Heal yourself.
Remember.
And he could see it all- rolling green countryside, a young man who could easily be his twin, smiling, laughing, punching him in the arm playfully. A shock of blonde hair that fell over clear blue eyes, blue like crystal, blue like ice, blue like the palest sky.
He saw the same boy, doubled over in pain, on the floor of a barn laced with shadows.
Laughed. "You get kicked by Rosie again?"
The other boy lifted his head to glare at him, face streaked with tears. "Shut up."
"Are you cryin?!" He laughed again.
"I'm not cryin'-"
The same boy, only now the boy was a man, and a man no more. The lid was lowered over his lifeless corpse, his eyes closed in peace.
Anger welled up inside him then, every cell in his body screaming for revenge, to take back what was stolen from him-
And a moment later, he knew there was no revenge to be had.
"We told him it was dangerous! He wouldn't listen!"
He stood alone in a desert of sand, and sorrow- and hope. The King shall return. The war will end. No more blood will be spilt needlessly.
He watches the ship sail away without him, the crew he has come to know so well waving after him. He's always forced to part from those he cares about.
There is always bloodshed.
Dark, shining eyes gaze up at him from a face of pure ebony. She is so beautiful, and losing her is like losing his brother all over again-
The same dark, shining eyes, but instead of Zahina, it's Yaeko whose eyes plead with him-
But her dark eyes change, and now they belong to someone else entirely. Inside them, he can see seething coils of hatred and malice. They narrow underneath a wild lock of brown hair before the wood connects sharply with his skull.
"Adam! Adam, are you all right?"
Adam gasped as the office came back into focus. He had slid out of the armchair to curl into a fetal position on the floor, his limbs still shaking. His breath was ragged, his lungs felt strained against his ribs, his chest was on fire.
He looked up into ice blue eyes, kind and bright and concerned.
"I had a brother. I had a brother, his name was Thomas." For a man who couldn't die, he desperately longed for air.
Daniel was kneeling next to him, gently wiping the sweat from his brow. "A brother. Congratulations." His smile was warm and honest.
"You look like him. You look like my brother. Your hair and your eyes..." Why was he blabbering away like this?
It was as if the whole of eternity had happened all in one second. And all inside his head.
"And yet, we are very much like brothers, you and I," Daniel told him, hand now resting on Adam's forehead.
"Brothers," Adam muttered, relaxing into the touch.
It was a full five minutes before he realised his face was streaked with tears.
~
Adam. It was the perfect name. The first man. He could be the first man, the last man, the man that brought the human race full circle. He could recreate them in his own flawless image.
Or he could be the only man. The human race had tried it's best to drive him away, anyways.