The therapy session

by Maryland Rose

Julian asks Duncan for help in handling his psychological problems

The therapy session

"How did it go?" Sonny asked Julian as he sat down, shaking his head, on the couch.

"The Ventrue were unwilling to risk their money into helping prop up San Francisco's economy. They wanted to know their rate of return."

"Did you point out that San Francisco is a city securely in Ventrue's hands and that it cannot be allowed to fall in rank, not with so many cities in Russia going from Ventrue control to Brujah and Torrearor?"

"I did. Too many Ventrues are bankers at heart. Talk about interest rates, talk about repayment schedules, talk about profits, and they will listen. Talk about the balance of power, talk about interconnected needs, talk about being responsible for the places we live in, and you may as well speak Martian for all they understand. They got pinstripes in their souls."

"So we cannot get the money."

"No, we can. Guess who is willing to back me in this, no strings attached?"

"Who?"

"Cameron. He has pledged Brujah money that he has available. Just for the purpose of propping up San Francisco and keeping it a city of the first rank in California."

"He would? Why?"

"He wants to be Prince of the City. And the City has to be worth it for him. He also knows that if San Francisco loses clout, Los Angeles gains it, and that means Cyrus and his gang. I think that Cameron has less use for Cyrus than I do."

"I noticed that each time there is a dispute between you and Cyrus, Cameron has backed you. Or as he says, backed San Francisco."

"Yes...Do you know the saying, 'The Brujah hate Ventrues, the Brujah hate Gangrels, but the Brujah really hate their boss.'? "

"Yes."

"That is not true of Cameron. He is the first boss they have known who cares for the people he commands, and they know it. They know that he will fight for them, and will not sacrifice them in his games, as Eddie Fiori did. He is the first Brujah boss to be truly popular. And he made a comment as I was leaving, saying that I should remember that it was Brujah money that helped Koch in his research on tuberculosis, because the Ventrue would not see any return on it. The Ventrue at that time could see not value in finding an answer to the disease that was most connected in human minds to Kindred activity, but the Brujah did."

Sonny nodded. It was tuberculosis that had made Julian accept Archon's embrace. Dying of slowly ossifying lungs, he had taken the one chance to go on living, and to keep watch over his young wife and child over the years and help them when they needed it, even if he had had to let them believe that he was dead. Had Cameron used that knowledge to work on Julian's emotions and extract greater concessions from him? Julian was playing a very dangerous game with Cameron, and if it ever got out of control, Cameron would be merciless.

"That was of course before the Brujah were taken over by those newly embraced mobsters." Sonny said.

"Yes. Cameron is the first Brujah Primogen in this area that is not part of that mob. I think that he wants to bring the Brujah to what they once were. His problem is that he does not trust me, so he cannot ask me for help. Actually, he might junk all his others projects if he could get my head. That is too bad, because if he and I could cooperate, we could get rid of Cyrus and his kind. As it is, Cyrus can always play one of us against the other."

"Cameron hates you personally. He still blames you for the deaths of his friends."

"Yes, he does. He has a legitimate grievance there. And he does not believe in my good intentions. Everything I do must have an ulterior motive, that is his view of things. That makes him a shaky ally. He still has to decide whether it is me or Cyrus that he hates the most."

"Well, I hope the decides it is Cyrus. If we have to, we will destroy him, but I hope it never gets to that point." Like Julian, Sonny had to confess to his reluctant admiration for Cameron.

"I will get Cyrus one day. He owes me, and I intend to collect." he smiled, ferally. "He taught me what predatory behavior is like, and he taught me the limits of my power. I intend to thank him properly for that lesson. There are many people who will rest more easily in their graves when it happens. And if Cameron helps me to stop him hurting anyone else, then I will bless him for it." He got up, and as he did a spasm ran through him.

"What is it?" Sonny asked him.

"Nothing."

"Do you feel a flashback building up?"

"I can handle it."

"It was Cameron's comment about tuberculosis, isn't it? Damn the bastard for knowing what buttons to push."

"I can handle it."

"You know that guilt gives him a handle. You cannot afford to tough it out. And you know that the only way to handle a flashback is to force it, before it pops up at the wrong time."

"Sonny, I cannot ask you to do this for me."

"Julian, are we going to have the argument again? You know that I do not do it just for you. We need you clearheaded in your negotiations with Cameron. He is very dangerous to you, personally, and you cannot give him any advantage. Would you rather inflict you poor humor on others? You lost Caitlin for it."

"I know that forcing it hurts you."

"It is my business to say whether I want to do it or not. And I say that I want to do it."

Reluctantly Julian followed Sonny to a small back room. Sonny unlocked the door and led Julian in.

Julian undressed, so that his clothes would not get rumpled in his struggles. Clad only in his underwear he laid himself down on the couch and let Sonny strap him down. He looked at Sonny and thought about his devotion. He knew that the forcing of flashbacks hurt him, and yet he was always the one who insisted that Julian underwent them. And how did he repay that devotion?

After he was secured Sonny threw a blanket over him, then asked him to open his mouth. Julian held the metal bit between his back teeth and Sonny tied it behind his head. This would stifle his screams, as well as keep him from biting his tongue. Sonny backed away from Julian and turned his back on him. He had to psych himself up for what he had to say.

"You are a killer, Julian Luna." he turned, with a fresh wound in his arm that he displayed to Julian. "That is all you are, all you will ever be." He rubbed the bleeding arm against the wall, leaving a trail there. "Look at the wall. This is how walls look after you have been through them. Remember how it was, butcher."

Julian's body became stiff, and muffled screams came out of him. His eyes gave out a glow as he strained against the restraining straps.

Julian was now remembering. The flashback was claiming him. Sonny looked away, tears forming in his eyes.

Why did it have to be like this? He saw how it hurt Julian. But at least forcing the flashback got rid of it. In about a half hour it would leave Julian and he would recover. It was better than letting the flashback build up slowly, never knowing when it would come out. If only he did not have to watch how Julian suffered...

If only Archon was here. He always claimed to love Julian, he called him his best beloved son. What would he think if he saw what his love had led Julian to? What kind of love gives you a gun and sends you out to kill? Tears were now forming in Julian's eyes, as if this way he could wash away the terrible visions coming before him.

As he always did at that point, Sonny played "Killing me Softly" in the tape player. Julian had to reach into his deepest reserves of guilt and shame and empty them out. He saw Julian go limp in several occasions, but before he could try to release him, his body stiffened again. He was fighting against the terrible memories and they would not leave him yet.

Finally the struggle ceased. Julian was still weeping, but it was a quiet weeping. There was no straining against the straps. And Julian was trying to speak, not scream, as he tried to push the gag out of his mouth.

Sonny released Julian's mouth. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I think so. Keep me strapped down for a couple more minutes, for safety."

Sonny washed off the blood from Julian's tears from his face and neck. He knew that he was weeping himself. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Not particularly. I will feed later. Do not worry. I am in control of myself now."

Julian saw Sonny's tears but said nothing. He was ashamed of what he was doing to Sonny. If only he could find a better way to handle his problem. But he could not let his flashbacks run unchecked. And the other solution, psychotherapy was out of the question. Other Kindred could get treated, but those Kindred were not in his position. If he ever betrayed any sign of weakness his enemies would tear him apart. So the solution was to torture Sonny by making him witness his sire's distress.

Finally Sonny released the straps. Julian got up and got dressed again. He checked himself in front of the mirror. He looked right. In control of himself and his world. With an expression that said that messing with him was a bad idea.

"Sonny, there has to be a better way. I cannot go on doing this to you."

"There isn't. And I can take it."

o

His caseload was light. Either the Kindred were behaving themselves (which he doubted, since too many of the newly embraced ones had not worked out the baggage they brought from their previous lives), or Sonny was still protecting him by rationing the work he had to do. He would have a word or two about it. Between Sonny, Cash, and Frank Kohanek there had once been an ongoing conspiracy to protect him, as if he was too helpless to handle the world on his own.

And now Sonny kept at it... If you let people treat you like an invalid, you end up being one. He had not intention of letting Sonny cripple him, with the best intentions in the world. At least no more people than that knew about his disability. N one else knew the extent of his problems - he had never let Caitlin know, and that was why she was so unhappy with him, and had finally left him - because of too many lies..

But being what he was, he could not afford people to know how hag-ridden he was.

He remembered that he had not fed yet. He looked at his calendar, to see if he had an appointment that would allow him to feed without leaving his office. No insurance salesmen today (he smiled at the thought that Kindred were among the few that actually welcomed the company of insurance salesmen, as well as encyclopedia salesmen, census takers, Jehova's witnesses, and just plain bores. Considering how dry and single-minded their conversation could be, the blood taken was adequate payment for being listened to politely and with an actual show of interest, not to mention a sale on more than one occasion).

What was there was a young woman trying to raise money for some cause or other. Every charity in town had his name, it seemed, and they knew that if they sent a certain type of person, the donation would be greater. He could always justify the money given as building bridges into the community, enlarging contacts and buying goodwill. And if the charities kept sending him personable young women, in good health, was it his fault? He enjoyed their conversation, and was almost sorry when they stopped talking as he put them under to feed.

It was a good arrangement for all concerned. He fed without leaving the office, the charities got their money, and the young ladies felt proud of having talked him out of a sizeable donation. He wondered if the charities knew exactly what they were doing, and if they felt that they were pimping for him. Maybe at some level they knew it, as the young ladies, as well as the insurance salesmen, knew at some level that they had bought what they got from him.

Was it self-indulgence of his part, these arrangements that let him feed right at his desk? Probably, not every Kindred could afford the same arrangement (except for the Jehova's Witnesses, of course). On the other hand, given his position, it would not do to have him stalking the streets. He could be recognized, and he could be targeted by assassins easily if he did.

And he did not feed at his desk that often, anyway. But it would not hurt to have the charities checked as to how they actually used their money. It was one thing to have a reputation for generosity. A reputation for gullibility he could do without.

He flipped his calendar again. And there, almost forgotten amid the mental turmoil that he had suffered, was the time when Duncan MacLeod would be back in San Francisco. He would be there the next day.

Julian felt his face break into a smile. Duncan could always cheer him up. And he needed cheering up badly now.

He checked the time. The young lady would be there in a few minutes. He retrieved the folder with information on the charity she represented so that he could ask her intelligent questions about it, and she would know that she was not dealing with a fool. He felt himself licking his lips, and he reprimanded himself for that. His behavior, up to the time he put the lady under, should give no indication as to why he truly wanted to see her.

o

Duncan was not smiling as he came down the plane. Julian noted how his eyes were haunted as he put his arms around him. He did not ask why. Duncan would tell him soon enough.

"I lost another friend." Duncan said. "Eleanore was a good musician, a very cheerful person, and she was one of the good guys. She lost her Quickening one week ago."

"I am sorry." Julian said.

"That is what we are, that is what we do."

"Who took it?"

"Some kid trying to build up a reputation by getting an older Immortal head. It happened in South America, and he moved away, so I cannot get his head."

"Would revenge help you any?"

"It would help me to recover her Quickening. He has it now. If I took his head and would have his Quickening, and those others he collected, including hers."

"Plus all the ones that were collected by those he beheaded? And the ones before?"

"Yes." "Duncan, with all the Quickenings inside you, how can there be room for you?"

"They can be kept dormant until we access them. I do not have their souls. What I have is the mean to connect with them. After I got Kalas I could reach Fitzcairn. Every now and then I talk to him. If I got this kid's head I could talk to Eleanore, tell her how much I cared for her, tell her goodbye. We were lovers once. It did not last, but we remained friends."

"So you can talk to them..."

"Yes. I try not to do it often. There is a risk, as you said, I may find out that there is no room for me. My friends, the good guys, are happy where they are, and do not wish to live again. But the evil ones, they will try to come back, and they may attempt to take over me. A Dark Quickening is a form of possession."

"And you know what one of them is like."

"Yes. And I'll never forget how you saved me from Felicia Martens' taking me over."

"After I put you at risk of it happening at all."

"Julian, I remember how it was. You were fighting tooth and nail for my soul. The only reason I held on during that car ride was because of you. I could hear how much you cared for me when you urged me to fight on, to hold on to myself. If it had not been for you prodding me asking me to remember the honor of the clan McLeod I might have given in."

"Duncan, don't get mushy. You are a fighter. Giving up is not in you."

"One day I will lose my fight. I am good, probably one of the best. But one day I will lose my head. One day I will give up."

Julian sighed. He always counted on Duncan to cheer him up. But now it was Duncan badly in need of cheering up, and Julian knew how inadequate he was for the job. When he was depressed Duncan would find a way to deflect the talk to cheerful subjects so that Julian was forced into laughter. But Julian did not know how to do it. He could see himself following Duncan into whatever depressing subject that Duncan wanted to talk about, and he could see both of them feeling so sorry for themselves that they made plans for suicide.

Only the thought of how much Cameron would enjoy the spectacle might keep him from decapitating himself.

He decided not to make it worse and just hugged Duncan. Physical contact could comfort where words failed. Grief does not answer to words, he had learned, but showing love and concern brought always some healing.

"Tell me about her." he said. "She must have been someone special to have meant so much to you."

"She was. So small, so tiny, and yet so full of life. Music was her life. Women composers are a well-kept secret in the music world, but she managed to write work after work. I used to listen to her playing her instruments late at night. I was impatient for her to return to bed, and start making love. Yet the music was so lovely when she finally got it right, and she looked so earnest, that I did not dare to complain. Or rather, I dared not set myself as a rival to her music, because I knew that I would lose."

"Do you have a portrait of her?"

"There is one in my shop. It was made in the eighteenth century, in France. And there is a photograph of her, in the First World War, when she was driving ambulances, as I was. We met again amidst that carnage, and we remembered old times. We slept together again, for old times sake, but this time it was just friendship, not love. I asked her for her music. She was doing less of it, but it had greater intensity. After all the pain she had seen through the centuries she could not write light music anymore. It was dark, somber, and yet hopeful. Very powerful."

"Did she record any of it? Or do you have any sheet music of her compositions?"

"In my shop. And there is in the house where she lived."

Julian nodded. He had some idea that might help Duncan. "Why don't you call them, and ask them to fax here the music that she wrote? I would like to see it, or hear it."

"Julian, why?" "I think that I would like to know what she was like."

o

The next day Duncan was more cheerful, and Julian decided to broach the subject which had been in his mind ever since Duncan had mentioned the Quickenings he held inside him.

"Duncan...I do not know how to ask you this. It might be more than you can do. But I am so desperate that I am willing to try the craziest things."

"Tell me what it is, then I tell you what can be done. What is your problem?"

"Post traumatic stress disorder. I know I have it. I have lived with it for too long. I try to put up with it. But it tore me and Caitlin apart. No matter how hard I tried it kept coming between the two of us. I could see her slipping away from me. I knew that I was pushing her away with my behavior, but I could not stop. I could not be what she wanted me to be."

"Can it be treated?"

"It can, if I can go to a therapist. Only I cannot."

"Why can't you?"

"Because it is a sign of weakness. Cameron would challenge me the minute he found out. And I cannot count on Lillie not to back Cameron these days. She may think that if I am deposed as Prince I would be despondent enough to return to her. She may not remember that a deposed Prince does not keep his head long."

Duncan said nothing, waiting for Julian to continue, only Julian didn't. He just paced, unsure of how to ask such a step from Duncan.

"Julian, you said that I could help." Duncan finally said, gently.

"It is crazy, Duncan.. I do not even know if you can do it, or if you would wish to."

"Let me judge how crazy it is. What is it that I can do?"

"Can you reach within you for your Quickenings? Can you actually talk to the people whose Quickenings you hold?"

"Yes. Who is it within me that you want to reach?"

"Sean Barnes. Maybe he can take me as a patient." He shook his head. "No, Duncan, that is too painful for you. I cannot ask it. I'll manage somehow."

"Sean Barnes."

He remembered the Dark Quickening, and how he had become free of it. It had taken Sean Barnes' death at Duncan's hands to restore the balance within him. Sean had died healing him. It was a guilt that he lived with. And Julian had been the one to offer soothing words to him, telling him that he had allowed Sean's death to be a victory, instead of a defeat as it would have been had anyone else taken his head.

Those words had gone a long way to ease his pain at Sean's loss. He wondered if Sean thought of it the same way. And he realized that he could ask Sean himself, if only he reached within himself. He had never done so, but he had the power.

He looked at Julian. Julian tried to disguise it, but he was in great pain. He thought of what Julian had gone through, and what he had to do every day. Maybe his love for Caitlin had been doomed anyway. They got along very well when there was a major crisis to be faced. Julian could always rise to the occasion in great dramatic moments, but everyday living defeated him.

It was unfair, Julian did not deserve to suffer as he did. Duncan knew of people who deserved it far more. And if he could help... And, Duncan thought, he ought to talk to Sean himself. Ask him if Julian had been right, if being able to die in a last victory was a consolation for the years of life he would not have because of Duncan McLeod.

"Julian, I will do it. I do not know if it will help you, but I am willing to try."

Duncan made himself comfortable on the couch, with Julian sitting at his feet, his head by Duncan's knees. Duncan let Julian take his wrist and cut it, putting it in his mouth, so as to establish a link between them. Once he was done Duncan concentrated and went back into himself, searching for the Quickenings he held.

Friends and enemies were all around him. He knew that his enemies Quickenings held danger for him, for they all sought a chance to live again, while his friends had let go of their lives and did not wish to return.

He conquered his reluctance and faced Sean's Quickening.

It would be good to talk to him again, he thought. And it was good to have the excuse of Julian's need to do so.

He entered the Quickening and found himself in a clinic, the war clinic where they had first met. Then the clinic changed into more modern surroundings. And then it was the same room where he and Julian were, only subtly changed.

"So, Duncan McLeod of the clan McLeod, you finally came to see me."

"Sean..." the emotion would not let him speak. "Sean, I am so sorry it turned out like this."

"Duncan." Sean took his in his arms and hugged him. "Will you stop being afraid of me?"

Duncan nodded, tears forming in his eyes.

"Is Julian right about you?"

"What did your friend say?"

"That because you healed me, your death was a victory, instead of a defeat as it would have been if someone else took your head."

"He is right."

"Is that enough consolation?" "

Oh, Duncan, we know that we do not live forever. I was never that good with the sword that I could be the One. I gave all my power and knowledge to you. Are you using my knowledge of the human mind to deceive yourself? Please don't. I am glad it was you who took my Quickening, and you should never be afraid of me. Now tell me why are you here, and who your friend is."

Duncan turned and introduced Julian to Sean. He gave as succint an explanation about Julian as he could, which Sean followed with interest.

"I have come up with some stories about Kindred myself, I was not as good with the sword as you are, but I had to take a few Quickenings in self-defense, and I got the knowledge from them." He turned to Julian "So not all of you were wiped out, as it was thought."

"No, we survived. And we learned something from the experience. What else did you learn about us?"

"That you, like Immortals, have both good and evil people among you. Since you are Duncan's friend you must be one of the good guys."

"He is, and he needs your help." Duncan said.

"Professional help?"

"Yes. Can you still take patients? Or is that impossible now?"

"Why don't you let him tell me what his problem is and then we will take it from there?"

Julian took his hand solemnly. "Mr. Barnes, before we start, I want to tell you how much it meant what you did for Duncan, helping him come back to himself. I would not have met him if it was not for that."

"I think that it was out of my hands. Once he took my Quickening, he could use it."

"But you reached out to him and made him feel that he could, that he had a right to."

"It was the truth."

"Yes. And because of that I could meet him." Julian's eyes became moist. "I did not meet him that long ago, but now I cannot imagine my life without him. He is my friend, my dearest friend."

"Don't you have friends among your kind?"

"Yes, I have many. But it is not the same thing. I am Prince there. I command them, and they have to obey me. Duncan does not have to. He can look me in the eye and tell me when I am out of line. No one else can do that with me. To do so is to challenge me, and that would start a power struggle. I do not have to be Prince of the City with Duncan, I can just be Julian. And I can do silly things, have fun, and not worry how it looks."

"I understand."

"Sometimes I think that Duncan has half my soul."

Sean nodded sagely. "Duncan is a very special person. What he is, what he has to do, sometimes weight on him too heavily. He needs good friends too."

"Yes. He does." He thought of Duncan's words about Eleanore, and Duncan's comment about the man who had taken her Quickening. "Tell me, Duncan can reach you because he has your Quickening, he knows that. But could he reach someone whose Quickening he does not have?"

"Someone still alive?"

"No, someone who is dead. Let's say someone that you knew, could you invite that person's soul to visit your Quickeing in Duncan?"

"We are not in his Quickening, really. The Quickening is a way to reach into this place. Where we are now...there are not appropriate words in English for this place."

"So you can arrange for visitors."

"It is not always possible. Those souls may be otherwise detained, or working out unfinished business, or reaching out to someone else."

"A woman called Eleanore. A musician who drove an ambulance at the same time that Duncan did."

"Her?"

"Yes. Her Quickening was taken recently, and Duncan is hurting over it. He has even made a comment that is predatory. I hope that it was just grief and he just misspoke."

"She cannot come here. Not now. She has unfinished business with other people. But when that is done, Duncan can meet her with me any time he wants."

"Good. I will tell him of that."

"Now, will you please explain to me what your problem is?"

Julian explained his symptoms and what lay behind them.

"Yes, you suffer from guilt." Sean said, when he was finished with his recital "You were caught in a war, and like so many, were forced into acts that you would have never done had you been free to choose. But war does not allow for choice. That is one of the bitterest things men at war have to accept. No true choices left. It is much easier to get a load of guilt than to accept the helplessness of their situation. I think that this is what happens to you. Too many things you could not change, and now you want to convince yourself that you could, only chose not to."

"No, you do not understand. I had enough power to change things, and many times did not use it. I was Archon's second in command, his designated successor, his heir apparent. I had choices."

"How many choices did Archon have? How many things were forced on him? How many times he chose the lesser of two evils, or of three or four evils? I have seen enough wars, and can tell you that those at the top are as much prisoners of their circumstances as the lowliest soldier. True, some of them do not care, some of them actually enjoy the power to destroy that they have. But I have seen many whose goodwill was hobbled and destroyed by what they could not change. You must learn to accept the guilt that is yours, and reject the one that is not."

"There were many things I could have changed, and did not. Too many times when I did not care. Too many times when I believed blindly what Archon told me."

Sean sighed. Talk alone would not reach this one. He was voluble enough, and he knew how to use words as weapons. There had to be another way to reach him.

"I am going to show you some scenes. You will tell me what you feel, and I will help you clarify things for you."

Julian nodded and let Sean take his arm and guide him away.

"Look at this, Mr. Luna. This is where Duncan and I met. Look at the wounded."

Julian looked at them, saw them limping, moaning, screaming in pain, saw them carried out in stretchers, still bleeding. Saw the ones that were blinded, saw the ones with their limbs blown off...

"What do you see?"

"I see war. I see what it does to people."

"Do you feel guilty about them?"

"Should I?"

"Do you think you should, and why?"

"Because I am healthy and they are not. Because I can survive wounds like theirs, and be healed. Because I will survive them."

"But not because your actions caused their wounds."

"No. I did not create this war. I did not provoke it nor declare it."

"You are healthier than you seem. Yes, you suffer from guilt, but it is focused on what is your responsibility."

"And yet, it is war. At one time I thought that war was glorious, even fun. It took me too many years of unrelentin butchery to understand what it really is."

"Yes., you like so many others was caught in the glamor of it. You learned different, eventually."

The scene shifted and they were now overlooking a burned out Indian village.

"Duncan's adopted tribe, all of them slaughtered by white men who wanted their land."

Julian looked distraught, and Sean had to offer him his arm before they walked through the dead bodies.

"All of them dead." Julian said. "Men, women, and children... Duncan's wife, his adopted son..."

"Do you feel guilty about it?"

"Yes."

"Why, is it personal guilt?"

"There was Ventrue money in what was called the Conquest of the West. It was an investment for them. There were Ventrue involved in actions like these. Some of them even gave out blankets infested with smallpox and tuberculosis to the Indians to kill them off."

"Like their human counterparts?"

"Yes."

"Did you participate in it?" "

No, but I did not protest it, either."

"Would they have listened to you?"

"They might have listened to Archon."

"But that was not where your interests were, were they? Your attention was demanded elsewhere."

"Still, I did not know that it was like this. When they talked about the profit they were making out of colonizing the West I never stopped to think who paid the price."

"So you feel guilty for what you did not try to stop. You were guilty of ignorance, and of following the prejudices of the time."

"There is more."

"What is it?"

"My family. My human family. They came from Conquistadors. They took over the land and slaughtered the native inhabitants, and the ones they did not kill they reduced to slavery. I heard such stories as a child, and was proud of the brave deeds of our ancestors."

"Are you still proud of those deeds?"

"They were my family, the people I grew up with and loved."

"Yes, it is hard to pass judgement on them. But it gave you another reason to feel guilty." Sean took Julian's arm and moved him away from the destroyed village. "What happened to the native population was a tragedy. Yet the worst mortality came from diseases that no one had control over. It was a biological tragedy. The Europeans had developed inmunity to those diseases, the Indians did not, and they died. That was why they were so easily conquered."

The scene changed to a city covered with rubble where human figures ran across the street, trying to escape the bombs falling on them. "Guernica." Sean Barnes said. "German bombers helping out Franco conquer Spain. Do you feel guilty about it?"

"No. I pity them. But there was no involvement of my clan in that butchery. And Kindred were among the victims. We learned that time that we could not escape human history, no matter how we tried."

"Where Kindred involved with Hitler?"

"The Gangrel. Some aspiring Party members were embraced in Germany, and they took over the clan and sought to remake it in their image. And the Gangrel became Nazis. They took the ideas of racial purity and transformed it into clan purity. They spoke of getting rid of inferior clans. And they made the Ventrue to be the Jews of the Kindred, fit only for extermination. The other clans had to purge them. That is why the Gangrel are low in numbers today."

"So the sight of the devastation and death in Guernica does not inspire guilt in you. You feel compassion for their suffering, but do not believe you have to answer for it."

"No. Should I?"

"You should not. I do not think that your case is as hopeless as I first thought."

"I have to ask you this, for I am not Kindred, and I need to know as much as I can about my patients. I want to reach into you for information about your people."

"Information about how we feed."

"Yes, I must know."

"Of course you do. Reach into me, then. I give you permission for it."

He felt Sean's fingers dig into his temples, and then scenes came upon him. The rogue Kindred preying violently on humans as he had watched them do. And then there was judgement passed, and how he carried it out.

"That is not allowed, what these people did." Sean said

"No. It is not."

"What is allowed?"

Scenes came of Kindred feeding off unconscious humans and then releasing them with no memory of their experience, leaving only a vague puzzlement and a sense of time lost.

"So this is it."

"Most of the time. Sometimes it can be better." Images came of the hostage at a bank robbery who had taken courage from him during their ordeal, and who later repaid him with her blood. The hungry hitchiker given a full meal and a job referral in exchange for what was taken from him. The Guatemalan refugee being given the green card that was his lifeline, and being bled while still smiling in joy and relief. The charity solicitor leaving with the donation she hoped. The pregnant woman who had given birth on the roadside, with Julian reaching inside her to keep the baby from being strangled by the umbilical cord, then Julian taking payment from the normal bleeding of childbirth, licking clean the baby, the mother's tights, and his own hands. He had wrapped the baby in his own coat to keep him warm and roused the mother.

"She asked me my name, and gave it to him as a middle name."

"I see. It is not likely that I am going to find much guilt there, is it?"

"No. But you would not have believed me if I had just told you of it. You had to see it."

"Yes...Forgive me for doubting., but..."

"But if you were to believe everything your patients tell you, you would not be able to help them. Your patients many times deceive themselves as well as seek to deceive you into thinking that they are better people than they really are."

"That is true."

"I became your patient willingly. I must abide by your treatment, and that includes satisfying your doubts."

"I have learned much about you, but I have yet to reach the core of your guilt. It will be painful, very painful, but it must be done."

"I understand. Reach into me and learn of my shame and my source of pain. I give you permission to hurt me as you need to."

Sean's fingers were at his temples again and he heard the sound of gunfire. He saw the flashes at the end of his gun, saw the bodies crumble and the blood spray on the walls. He smelled the burning and the spilled blood. He heard the explosions and the screams of pain. He tasted the smoke in the back of his mouth and he felt the weight of his gun as it spat death. He saw Archon directing him to go kill someone, once again. Sometimes giving him an explanation, a reason, sometimes only an address and a description of his target.

Then his vision expanded to show the war around him, and himself only one more player. Sometimes the killings were in self-defense. Sometimes there was justification. But there were killings after killings, and it was his hand that held the gun. As it was Archon who aimed it.

"No! it was not like that!" He protested. "Archon was not like that. War was forced upon him. He did not know how to stop it."

"Your mind knows it. But your heart has not accepted it yet. Archon did betray you once, didn't he?"

"Archon betrayed himself. He should have never sent me to Manzanita. But he was a good man. He made one mistake and paid for it. Why should it be counted against him forever?"

"Why do you keep counting it against him?"

"Because...because it is counted against me."

"Yes, and it is unfair, because you could not stop it, no matter what you did."

"It was my hand that pulled the trigger."

"But it was Archon's command that drove your hand. Could you have stopped it, if you tried?"

Julian shook his head. "I could have refused to carry out the order. But Archon would have sent someone else. He'd have ordered me to take a vacation and found another executioner."

"And if you had protested it being done at all, and tried to get him to rescind his order."

"He would have punished me for insubordination."

"And there would be no way that you could appeal his decrees."

"He was Prince of the City. His word was Law."

"And if the Prince is cruel and arbitrary there is no one to appeal for relief to. There are no courst of appeal in your world?"

"No. It all depends on the conscience of the Prince."

"Too big a burden to put on a single man or woman. All of us, even the best of us, have moments of cruelty and pettiness. It is part of what we are. But a ruler who is uncontested can act in those moments and not be restrained. That is what happened to Archon. And that is what you are afraid will happen to you. One day your dark side will break through and you will make a decision that you will bitterly regret later, and there will be no way anyone will be able to stop you. In order to protect yourself and any other Prince that will come after you, you must change the way your society works. You must put checks in the Prince's behavior, create the institutions for it. Princes will still be tempted to betray their principles, but if there is a way to tell them that something is wrong, that is not allowed, then they will not do it. People need better checks on their behavior than their consciences, because sometimes the burden is too great.

" "What you say is that the only way I will be safe from repeating Archon's crime is if I change our society?"

"Yes. And that is the only way that Kindred will be safe from arbitrary acts from their rulers."

"The only way that the Manzanita massacre would not have happened would have been to have a way to legally challenge Archon's decision...we did not have it then. We do not have now."

"But it can be created."

"Yes. It can." He closed his eyes, letting waves of calm come into him. "I can create it, set the next Prince free from this fear. Set the Kindred free. And if I do it, then that will pay my debt."

"Yes, you can create a new way."

"Archon always said that I had a destiny, that I had great deeds to accomplish. I have tried to find out what he meant. I thought that enforcing peace was it. Yes, it is part of it. But to put the Kindred under the rule of Law, to set them free from the arbitrary decisions of rulers, who are chosen by violent means more often than not... if I can do it, if I can start them on their way..."

"Then you will have done a great deed, perhaps one of the greatest in your people's history."

"Then my pain will have been worth it."

"Yes." Sean's voice was compassionate as he released his hold on Julian. "Your pain will never really leave you. It is too much a part of you by now. But you can make your peace with it. You can use it as a source of strenght. And I will give you something that will help."

The scene changed to a cave illuminated by moonligh. There was a pool of water before them, fed by a thin stream.

"This is the source of the spring where Duncan washed off his Dark Quickening."

Julian approached the water who changed color as he came closer.

"I would have you bathe in it. Sink under it and let it wash away your concerns." Sean extended Julian his hand, inviting him. "Come into it. There is power in this water. There is strenght here for you."

Julian stepped into the water, and felt it rise against his legs. "Come deeper. Let it reach your chest, and then your face. Submerge yourself in it. Let all of you be covered by it."

The ground under him dipped leading him into deeper and deeper waters. He knew a moment of apprehension, then he let go of it. He trusted Sean Barnes and no harm would come to him.

"Do not fight it. Do not think. Just let it reach deep into you. Here is a healing that is beyond words."

The water had reached to his chin and it kept rising. Soon it would reach the top of his head. Waves of peace crashed into him.

"Let it be, Julian. Do not fight it. Let it do its work on you."

The water covered him completely, and surrounded him with a warm pressence that kept beating against his skin, trying to break through.

"Do not fight it. Let it do its work."

There was a blinding light in front of him. He moved towards it, and it exploded. A dark figure stood before him. A man carrying a sword.

"I am Methos. Your people called me the Executioner, the Beheader."

"I know of you."

"I struck off the Kindred heads when they deserved it. Will you be judged by me?"

"I will." Julian knelt down, his head held high, and his arms spread wide.

"This is no dream. If your head is struck down here you will die everywhere else you are."

"I understand. Judge me."

Methos touched the sword to Julian's neck. "Are you ready to die, Julian Luna?"

"I am ready to abide by your judgement, though I hope to live."

"Do you think that you deserve to live?"

"I hope I do. All we can do in this world is hope."

Methos lifted his sword and touched it to the other side of Julian's neck. "Tell me of your deeds. Tell me why you believe I should strike down your head."

"I have killed. I took my gun and pointed it to living people and spat death at them. I killed them in so many different ways, for reasons that were not good enough. I let hatred rule my heart and guide my hand."

"I see." Methos lifted his sword and took a swipe at Julian's neck. Julian flinched for one moment, then made himself stay still. "Tell me why you believe I should spare you."

"I have stopped the killings. I force others to keep the peace and not hurt each other. I seek to allow the peaceful and law abiding to thrive. I try to protect the innocent."

"And what will you do if I spare you?"

"I would go back to my people and teach them new ways. I would put a barrier against anyone who now kills without being accountable for it. I would remove the temptation of unconstested power from good people who would fall prey to it otherwise."

"And are these good enough reasons for you to live?"

"I hope they are. But if they are not, I will abide by your jugement."

Methos swung the sword and hit Julian on the shoulder with the flat of it. "Arise then, Julian Luna."

Julian got back on his feet. Methos was stil in front of him, his sword still unsheathed.

"I have judged you, and you will return to carry out your task. Be faithful to it. Be faithful unto death."

"I will."

"My sword cannot be sheathed without drawing blood. Give me your hand."

The back of his hand was slashed, and Methos made him put it over the stream, so that the blood would fall on it.

"Let your blood become part of this stream, so you can come to it when you need its strength and its solace." Julian saw the drops fall into the water, spread out and then disappear into the waters' clarity.

"Julian?"

He turned and saw Sean Barnes behind him.

"Have you talked with the guardian of the spring?"

"Yes. And he spared my head, asking me to be faithful unto death."

"Has the spring received your blood?"

"Yes. It has."

"This is good, for it means that you can come back here, when you truly need it, even if Duncan is not with you to open the way."

"The guardian...was that Methos?"

"No. The guardian becomes the person who the visitor expects to be the one to pass judgement. The real Methos is carrying out his life as he always does."

Julian nodded.

"One more thing, Julian. Do you go to Church at all?"

"Not anymore, I dare not risk giving out secrets when I go to Confession."

"Have you considered becoming a Protestant? You would not have to worry about Confession, then."

"I am a Catholic. Lapsed I may be, but I will not change religion out of convenience."

"You need what the Church can give you. It does not matter the religion, what you need is to restore the spiritual connection, and that only can be found in religion. Become a Jew, a Muslim, a Buddhist, it does not matter. What you cannot afford is to remain outside this source of strenght."

"I will not become a Protestant. I cannot. I am a Catholic by birth, baptism and training. I cannot be otherwise than what I am."

"You are a very stubborn man, Mr. Luna. You will neither abandon your religion nor practice it. So where does that leave you? On the outside, looking in, yearning for what you deny yourself."

"So I should go to a Lutheran Church and tell the Pastor that I want instruction in their religion, and that the only reason I believe it to be the religion for me is that they do not pratice Confession?"

"You tell them that you need the comfort of religion, and that is true. You do need it, and how many years have you denied this need of yours?"

"I cannot. It is a dishonorable act."

Sean sighed. "I take that there are no Kindred priests?"

"No. There is talk every now and then about embracing one, but it is never carried through. There was a case eighty years ago. The man could not accept what we are and what he became. He believed himself damned and prayed for release. I had to keep him from committing the sin of suicide by taking that sin upon myself."

"You killed him."

"The sin of suicide will not be counted against him on the day of judgement." Julian crossed himself "I had a mass said for his soul, and I regularly pray for his forgiveness, not for releasing him from what was unberable pain, but on behalf of all Kindred, for forcing him to become one of us when he believed that his soul would be damned for it."

"So you cannot confess to a Kindred priest. How about an Immortal priest? Darius was not the only one. Darius could have shriven you and given you absolution for your sins."

"I know of no Immortal priest in San Francisco. I had one but had to send him away for his protection"."Ask Duncan. He very likely knows here there is one. And Duncan can ask him to transfer to where you live. Tell him that he will get himself a new parishioner that has special needs. Or a nun, or a lay brother, or sister, anyone who can share this strenght with you."

Julian noded. "I will ask Duncan."

"Mr. Luna, I am serious. You rely on your own strenght and nothing else. And your strenght can hold on for so long. You told me yourself, you cannot afford to be seen as weak, so you give strenght to everybody and ask none for yourself. You love Duncan because he makes no demands on your strength, and because you can be seen as weak by him without fear. Is there anyone else with whom you share your weakness?"

"Sonny sees my weakness. And it hurts him. It may destroy him one day, seeing me as he does. I hate when he sees me like that. And Caitlin... I had to shut her out, because I would not have her see me weak. I did not want to hurt her. I already hurt Sonny, but I hurt in a different way. When I am weak I feel this terrible need in me. I would use anybody, hurt anybody if only it would make this need go away. I would have them serve me, attend me, and forget their own lives, their own needs, just tend me until the pain stopped. It is what I am doing to Sonny. And what I wanted to do to Caitlin, loving her as I did."

"That is what church is for, to give your weakness to God, to ask Him to carry the burden for you. He can bear your need without breaking, without being hurt. And He can satisfy it. But you have to ask for it." Julian nodded. "You are not superhuman, for all that you are Kindred. Your soul is still very much human, with all that what it entails. You can take on only so much pain, so many burdens, before you break. Do not carry the weight of the world on your shoulders by yourself. Ask for help and receive it. It is all there for the asking." Julian nodded again. "So, when you see Duncan, ask him to find you an Immortal priest who can be trusted to hear your Confession, go to him and be shriven. Then give your pain and weakness to God."

o

Julian laid back on the couch. He felt weak ever since returning from his inward journey. His body refused to carry him, and the duties pressing on him seemed so far away...all he could do was think about Sean Barnes and his words.

"I will find you a priest. I can ask Joe to find one for you, and then explain to him why you need him."

"Thanks, Duncan. You do not know how much you helped me."

"You do too many things, demand too much of yourself. Do you know why you are feeling so weak now?"

"Why?"

"Your system in going on strike, to get better working conditions." Duncan smiled. "Sean told me what you needed. He said that you have to learn not to carry the whole world on your shoulders, to let others help you, and to replentish your strenght."

"I am the Prince. I have to be strong."

"Even if it kills you?"

"It is my duty."

"No one asks you to die at your post. It would help everyone if you learned to pace yourself and to take strenght from others, as much as you give it." Julian nodded. "You know very well that if you keep bleeding someone day in and day out sooner or later you kill him or her."

"That is why we discourage permanent attachments and demand that they be broken if the source starts weakening."

"Well, if you keep giving strength day in and day out and do not replentish it, it will kill you, too. Be more selfish, Julian. Care for yourself."

Julian smiled weakly "I will try."

Duncan squeezed Julian's arm. "Don't try. Do it. Doctor's orders."

Julian smiled. "Will you stay to make sure I follow them?"

"A couple of days. Then I will go. I am tracking this guy down."

"Which one?"

"The one who took Eleanore's Quickening. Joe says that he knows where he is."

Julian's face fell. He had forgotten about that. He looked at Duncan's eyes and shivered when he saw what was there. "Do you still want do that?"

"I have to find him."

Julian nodded sadly. He had hoped that when Duncan had said that it was under the influence of grief, and that it would pass. But it had not. At least he had a couple of days. He had to see what was on his fax, and then use it to contact Joe Dawson on his own, and ask him for a special favor.

"Well, Duncan, I hoped to have you longer with me, but a couple of days is good enough."

oo

The next day Julian and Duncan shared a quiet moment by the fireplace. Duncan remembered Eleanore again, trying to recapture her face and her voice in his mind.

"How many Quickenings did Eleanore take?" Julian asked him, suddenly.

"A few. She had to defend her head, like all of us."

"But you do not know how many."

"She was an artist, not a fighter. She fought when she had to, and then reluctantly."

"I see." He nodded, then turned around, preparing himself for the onslaught.

"Then why do you seek to honor her memory by a beheading?"

"What?" "Why is it so important for you to capture her killer's Quickening? It is not even revenge, which I could understand. It is much worse."

"I told you why."

"Yes. You want his Quickening, and you will kill him for it."

"For Eleanore. I cannot let her pass from me. I feel myself forgetting her. If I held her Quickening I could have her with me."

"Duncan, please listen to yourself. Really listen. Do you know what you are saying? You are saying that you are going to kill somebody because they have something you want, and you will take it from them. Do you know what that is?"

"That is what we do. That is what we are."

"That is predatory behavior."

"I have beheaded before, and you did not mind."

"To protect the innocent, to provide justice, to protect yourself. For revenge, even. All these reasons I can accept. But not this one. Duncan, believe me, I can recognize predatory behavior. Because of what we are, because of what we do, we are sensitized to it. You are being a predator. I do not care what this other Immortal did. You are not seeking him out for justice, nor revenge even. You are going after him to steal something from him, and will kill him to get it."

"And you do not approve." "

No. And you would not approve of yourself either, if you were not lost in grief. You are being as much a predator as those you beheaded in the past."

"But Eleanore..."

"Eleanore did not care for Quickenings, you told me. She cared about music."

"And that killed her. If she had cared more about fighting she might still be with us."

"But she might not be the Eleanore you loved. Some things are worth dying for. I think that she knew that, too."

Duncan shook his head.

"Duncan, I have here what I expected to get. I want to show it to you...you did me a big favor yesterday, bringing me to Sean Barnes. I want to repay it by bringing you to yourself. Come with me."

Duncan followed him downstairs. They were going down the staircase when the first strains of music reached them. Duncan did not recognize them at first, as Julian led him into the room where a young woman was playing the piano.

"Do you recognize this?" Julian asked.

Duncan looked at the pianist, then at Julian.

"Those were the last pieces that Eleanore ever wrote. I asked Joe to find them for me, and fax them to me. I then asked Gwenn here to play for me. She is very talented, and she too is a composer in her own right. She was glad to do this for a fellow composer."

Duncan's eyes began to form tears.

"Gwenn, play something that Duncan would remember. An old song, a ballad telling a sad, lovely story."

Gwenn switched songs to one that Duncan knew, for he had been there when Eleanore had composed it. As Gwenn played, he remembered the lyrics and began singing them.

Julian stepped back, hoping that he had said the right words, and that he had reached Duncan, that he had pulled him back from the abyss.

Gwenn ended the song, and looked at Julian. He shook his head, indicating that he wanted her to be silent for a few moments, then turned to Duncan.

"You do not need her Quickening, Duncan. You need her songs, and those she gave to the world. Take her music, all of it. Play it, have it published. This is what she gave her love to. This is the means by which she gave her love to the world. Her Quickening...as long as it is not lost, as long as it reaches the Gathering at the end of time, it does not matter who holds it. Her Quickening is not her soul, as you told me. But you can find her soul in her music."

"I do not want to lose her...but then if I have her music, I cannot lose her, can I?"

"No, you cannot. Do not seek to honor her by a beheading. She only took heads to buy herself the time to write her music, all of it. Do not honor the swordswoman, for she was not that. Honor the musician, as Gwenn is honoring her. She has left a greater legacy than a collection of severed heads. Accept it, rejoice in it."

Duncan was now crying unashamedly. Julian saw it and nodded to Gwenn to start another song. Gwenn did so, and Julian held Duncan quietly, letting Duncan work out the poison from his grief.

"You have gone through a Dark Quickening, and risked another. What evil is still inside you will try to trick you into accepting it. It will try to take advantage of your grief or your righteous indignation. But you can be stronger than that." Julian said softly "And I will help you as much as I can."

Duncan nodded then pulled back from Julian's arms. "How much of her music do you have here?" he asked.

"A great deal. Some written in the seventeenth century, some in the eighteenth, the nineteenth, and the twentieth."

"I will hear a selection from each century. And then." he looked at Gwenn "I would hear something that Gwenn has written."

"That is good. She very talented in her own right." he looked at Duncan. "How long will you now be staying?"

"A couple of weeks. I will stay with you and make sure you follow doctor's orders."

"I will. You know that I cannot deny you any reasonable request."

"I know." Duncan smiled, then turned her attention to the music. He let the sounds carry him back to memories of Eleanore, of her writing the music and trying in on her instruments while he waited for her to join him under the covers, wondering why had he chosen to love a composer, and whether all musicians were mad. And then he remembered her joining him in bed, her arms around him and her lips in his. He closed his eyes, letting the music carry him far away, back to Eleanore's smiling eyes. It was all back now. He had Eleanore just as she was, just as she wanted to be remembered.

"Eleanore, goodbye. I will always carry you with me now."