Damn it.
Adam should have been impressed, and perhaps beneath all of his agitation he actually was, but his inability to move was quite distracting. Henry had outdone himself, had outwitted Adam at his own game, and had finally proven himself as an equal; on the other hand, though, Adam was left paralyzed, counting each dot in each tile of the hospital room ceiling, the whining beep of monitors his new lullaby. He was left unable to do anything but ruminate, and that was definitely a pastime he didn't need to become distracted with.
Thinking lead to memories, and memories lead to sadness, and sadness lead to wanting with all the world to actually die-a miracle he could never quite achieve. It was a vicious cycle he'd learned to strategically avoid throughout his extended life, a whirlpool of emotions that he had beaten down and locked away. Emotions were messy, attachments were destructive, and recollection was catastrophic; he didn't need that.
Henry had yet to learn that valuable lesson, but he certainly would, given enough trauma and pain and grief and remorse. He would learn it over and over until memories drove him mad, flashing in fast, bright images in his mind until he broke and crumbled and rebuilt himself without all those pesky complications.
He'd rebuild himself as Adam had; he'd let his heart wither rather than feel its sting.
The thought took Adam to a vague memory, a blurred face of distant familiarity speaking in low, concerned tones, a warm touch that might have been a hand upon his own, sweltering August heat draining their energy as they slumped upon stone steps, heads bent toward one another in deep conversation. Adam tried to resist the memory, tried to reign in his control, but the monitor's incessant noise ruined his concentration and he found himself pulled back.
He wasn't Adam yet; he couldn't remember what name he had taken on. All he knew was the smile in front of him, the brown eyes he'd known for years, the flushed cheeks that caught all the women's attention. Elias gazed imploringly at him; he'd just said something important, Adam thought. Something important…about his heart. That was it: his heart. Elias' lips turned down and he shook his head with impatience, sighing half-heartedly.
"You need a friend, Joseph, someone to share this burden with," he murmured meaningfully, and Adam remembered his name then, remembered where they were and what they'd been talking about, "because someday I'll be gone, I'll be dust in the ground and you'll be off getting yourself into predicaments. You'll be alone," Elias finished forlornly, gazing down at his hand as it laid atop Adam's knuckles.
He gave Adam's hand a gentle squeeze, almost pouting. Adam shifted upon the stone and shrugged; he remembered this, the fear that he would be alone, the unimaginable future that Adam wouldn't have believed could ever come true, the aftermath that had left him unable to trust another for a long century after.
"I'll survive," Adam responded softly, careful to contain the tremble threatening to break into his voice, and Elias leaned back with a sudden skeptical, determined gaze.
"I will not sit back and watch your heart die, my friend. I will not pay witness," spoke Elias evenly, and Adam remembered how light Elias' footfalls had sounded as he'd walked away, as if he'd been reluctant to tread heavily, with all of his anger, all of his indignation, knowing how loud noises still startled Adam something fierce.
Adam forced himself out of the memory, refused to think even a second more about Elias and his abandonment, prayed that he'd never think of it again. His first friend was someone he wished to forget; his third betrayal was a moment he wished to erase. But then, his desire to wipe it from his slate was merely wishful thinking, compared to his overwhelming want, his sole need, to let the pain of his first two betrayals vanish absolutely.
...
He remembered nothing of her dark hair splayed out over his bare chest, nothing of that emerald light in her gaze, nothing of her light touch upon his cheek; he could only think of the way she screamed as they dragged her through the tall grass, the heat of the overbearing sun above them, the wails of their children as they, too, were strapped to the posts.
He could only focus on the painful cuts slashed into the skin of his feet as the people raked him across the rocky pathway, the way his fingernails broke from their nail beds and left dark trails of ruby over the ground as he clawed at it, the way they all stared blankly up at him as they held the torches. He only remembered the shine of her tears, the wind ruffling his son's hair as the boy shivered, the blood dripping down his daughter's face.
He only noticed the way his voice broke as he pleaded and sobbed and thrashed against the ropes they were tying to his wrists and ankles, his heart racing, his eyes burning from the smoke wafting up toward him.
He never would have returned, never would have come back to his family, never would have risked this, if he'd known that he'd be returning to the smell of burning flesh. His second death came only after their cries had faded, only once the flames crackled as they burned out, only when his hoarse voice left him.
The fire, then, was the only mercy he would ever know.
...
He couldn't have just watched, he thought groggily. He couldn't have just stood there, couldn't have let a man die without trying to protect him, trying to help him. Yet here he was, bleeding out upon the white marble and trying with all his willpower to breathe one breath more. He'd never felt such pain and he'd certainly never felt such sorrow; he had failed, this he knew as he watched Caesar fall to his knees, blood spattering the steps below as if they'd fallen heavily from the sky in drops of crimson rain.
He'd failed his family, and in his absence he feared for his children's future, feared that his wife would know only loneliness.
Fleetingly, with a lasting sigh, he prayed that he might find his way back to them, somehow.
...
Adam had been slipping in and out of a stupor of aged memories for a long time when the nurse accidentally dropped a syringe, cursing so loudly that it startled him awake. He could only just barely blink, staring at the ceiling once again as she came into view with her apologetic expression.
She had blonde hair, with wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and he was reminded of someone, though he couldn't quite name them, for a brief moment before she started speaking to him, expressing how bad she felt for waking him; he heard the sympathy in her voice, but it was muffled only by the noise of the monitor near his ear.
She retreated from his line of sight, and he started to count the specks on the ceiling tiles once again, frustrated that he always lost count.
A face flashed in his mind, the blurred image of a laughing woman against the backdrop of moonlight, but he couldn't remember her name; he could only summon a second of fondness before her smile slipped away from his mind. He thought he smelled something burning, too, thought for a moment that he might be on fire, but when no one came to his aid, the panic faded.
After his distraction fell away, he tried to remember what he'd been thinking. He tried to remember, but couldn't.
The echo of a voice rang in his head, but he didn't know what it meant, didn't know anything but those four words:
We've got eternity together.
So this is basically me writing out my headcanons, but still. xD
The memories go backwards. The first memory is the newest, the second memory is just a little while after his first death, and the third memory is the oldest/his first death.
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