"Somewhere along the line, things get chipped away
This place keeps going down, gets a little worse every day
I see hate and greed, this world¹s a messed up town
Embrace the pain and see, by taking it back, you turn it around"

"Living in Chaos" -The Offspring

17 May 2004

Winchester, England

"What makes a boy who has never been outside of the southeastern United States suddenly decide to come to England?"

Johnny Fairbanks looked across the Wykeham Arms dining room table at Tristan. Alyssa, sitting next to their new arrival, responded for him. They sat in the back of the dining room. Johnny was on a cushioned bench seat with a cushioned back. Tristan and Alyssa sat on wooden chairs on the other side of the table.

"Can't we at least let our new playmate decide on a starter and tea before we fire more questions at him?"

"It's okay," replied Tristan. "But I have one, too. What's a starter? You said playmate so am I choosing something to start a game?"

Johnny chuckled. "Alyssa, you and I are making the same mistake. You reverted back to British English the moment you got off the ship and I never thought to change for Tristan's sake. We should be more considerate." He looked in Tristan's eyes. His accent became less distinct. "I'm sorry, Tristan. She means we should let you choose an appetizer and tea before we ask more questions. What? What's that expression mean?"

"Sorry," said Tristan. "It's just that when you changed the way you spoke, your accent sounded a lot like a friend I used to have. His accent was like that, you know, like a compilation of several languages. Kind of like Lisa's, I mean, Alyssa's, too."

A waiter came up and took their orders for appetizers and tea. Alyssa requested spring vegetable broth with focaccia bread and Lady Winchester tea; Johnny ordered cured sea trout, charred gherkin and sea vegetables with Earl Grey Supreme for himself; and Tristan asked for bar olives with Winchester Breakfast tea.

"What was your friend's name?" continued Johnny, after the waiter left.

"Oh, I doubt you would have known him. He didn't like his real Spanish name, but I'll give it to you anyway." He said the name. Johnny shook his head. "But the name he preferred to use was Penance Cameron."

Johnny's face lit up. "Penance? You're a friend of Penance? Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"You knew him?"

"Yeah, well, I met him once, back in 1962. We were only together for one day. It was a good, fun day, though."

"What happened?"

"I met him one morning in Dallas, Texas. He was just wandering around. He looked tired and hungry. He was suspicious of me at first, of course, but once I convinced him I didn't want to fight, he agreed to have breakfast with me. We went to a nearby diner and he ate like he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks."

"He probably hadn't," added Tristan.

"Maybe not," said Johnny. "We spent the rest of the day going around town, playing games, eating junk food, having fun, just being kids. He told me a little bit about his life, not much. I said that all of us child Immortals spent some part of our lives on the streets at some point, but it didn't have to be permanent like it seemed to be for him. I offered to set him up with a friend of mine, Vivia Wales, who was in New York at the time. She could take care of him and improve his training.

"For a moment, I thought he was interested. He asked me if I knew what "the remnant of Caphtor" meant. He said he heard it in a dream. I said I didn't know. Later on that day, I guess it was early evening, he said he wasn't interested and was going to continue on his way. I asked if I could at least fill up his backpack with food and give him what money I had left. He agreed to that. I did it, gave him a goodbye hug, and wished him good luck. I never saw him again."

Tristan's face fell. "I wish he had accepted your offer."

"Why is that, dear?" asked Alyssa.

"He died twenty years ago in New Jersey. He might still be alive if he had gone to see Johnny's friend."

Johnny slumped. Alyssa put an arm around Tristan and squeezed. "I'm sorry, little one. It's never easy to lose a friend."

Tristan nodded slowly. "He heard that phrase, "the remnant of Caphtor," again the night I became Immortal. He told me he had heard it once before but had ignored it. He never told me the story behind it, though. Thank you for telling me."

"Did he ever figure out what it meant?" Alyssa asked.

"No, but Jack, the Watcher I told you about, and Nancy, a pastor who helped me find the Needhams, the people who accompanied me here, did."

"What is it?" Johnny inquired.

Tristan pointed at Johnny. "Your friend, David Ashton. He's the last remaining Caphtorite, the last Minoan."

Johnny slapped his forehead with his palm. "Fuck me, why didn't I think of that?"

"What would the brigadier say if he heard you talking like that, Johnny?"

The three youngsters looked up to see a craggy-faced man with close cropped red hair a few paces away from them. Even in civilian clothes, everything about the man rang soldier. Johnny perked up again.

"Hi, Sandy."

The man slid onto the bench next to Johnny. He sat next to him with that slightly-too-close manner of either a pervert or a combat arms soldier who has always been in close proximity to others and no longer notices. If one were to ask him which he happened to be, Sandy Traynor would have simply replied, "Guilty." Regardless, Johnny moved a little closer and lightly bumped his head against Traynor's arm, eliciting a wry grin.

"I'm told you kids have something for me," said Traynor.

"Yes, we do," replied Alyssa, producing her notes from earlier. "Tristan?"

Tristan pulled the phone from his pocket and slid it across the table. Alyssa elucidated. "These pages are a transcription of the audio file Tristan recorded on this phone. I think "the brigadier," as you say, will find it very interesting."

Traynor took the lot and pocketed it all. "Thank you, miss."

"Stay for lunch, Sandy?" asked Johnny.

"Oh, no," he replied, shaking his head. "I'd love to, but I've got to get back. I was just passing through and got the word to stop by and pick this up. Besides, you know me. I'd have eight or ten pints and then I'd not be fit to drive. Well, I could do it, but you know how the legal types can be and all."

Johnny grinned. "Oh, yeah. Be safe out there, Sandy."

Standing, Traynor dashed off a mock salute and, with a "Roger that," was gone. Johnny glanced at Tristan, still grinning.

"There you have it, Tristan. You've just had your first brush with covert operations."

Tristan grinned, too. "Hardly covert with that salute, isn't it?"

Johnny waved that off. "That's just Sandy being Sandy. I bet no one even noted that."

"I wonder what will happen once David's people hear that recording." Alyssa's voice was soft, but pensive.

"I don't know," said Johnny, "but knowing David and his guys, a whole lot of people are going to regret that such a recording was ever made." He looked back at Tristan. He pointed at Tristan playfully. "Tristan, my lad, you may have just started a war."

"Me?" Tristan's eyes grew huge with fright.

"Oh, don't scare him, Johnny." Alyssa put her arm around him again. She pulled him closer so she would wrap her other arm around him, too. "Johnny's being overdramatic. There's not going to be a war in England."

The playfulness returned to Johnny's face. "Now I'm a bit jealous, too. Alyssa gives great hugs."

"Yes, she does," said Tristan, snuggling himself into a more comfortable position. "Can I keep her?"

"You'll have to ask her that one, laddy. She declares ownership of me, and probably you now, more than we ever could of her. She'd kick my ass if I said she was mine."

"And a cute little ass it is, too," said Alyssa with a kissing gesture of her lips.

"Thanks. It takes a lot of running and swimming to get glutes like these."

"And other exercises," Alyssa added. Johnny just grinned.

Alyssa looked down at Tristan and squeezed him again. "I think I just have a weakness for big, brown, puppy dog eyes, too. Look at both of you. You both have them."

"If Tristan's not careful, he's going to doze off where he is. He looks very comfortable there on your chest."

"I am. A nap wouldn't be a bad thing, either."

"After lunch. The food here is too good to miss. Ah, hah, as if on cue, here it is."

The waiter and an assistant appeared with the starters and tea. The food was quickly distributed and the assistant walked away. The waiter then took their orders for the main course. Alyssa took the vegetarian route by ordering roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, buttered kale, honey roast parsnips and carrots, butternut squash puree, cauliflower cheese, Butternut squash, and feta Wellington. Tristan decided upon the Chalcroft Farm beef burger and triple cooked chips and Johnny opted for the South Coast rack of lamb with pine nut pesto crust, Jersey Royal potatoes, minted peas, and anchovy and caper butter.

"Now we're back to my original question," said Johnny, sipping his tea. "What made you decide to come to England, welcome friend of Penance that you are?"

Tristan, who had grudging sat up from Alyssa's embrace when the waiters had arrived, blushed slightly and looked down at his olive plate.

"You're not going to believe me, I think," he answered, spinning his teacup with a finger. "I'm not even sure I believe it myself."

"Try me. I've believed a lot of strange things. Hell, I even believe Alyssa loves me."

"Ah!" she gasped, kicking him under the table. "I do love you, you oaf."

"You can tell by the sharp kick in the shin and the surging pain from it."

"Although I am developing quite strong feelings for Tristan, too," she added. She leaned over and placed her head on his slim shoulder briefly, just long enough to produce a satisfied smile on the boy's face.

"Sorry, we're digressing again. What would I not believe, Tristan?"

"That I came here looking for David Ashton. I was hoping he could train me. That was the one thing Penance regretted, that he really didn't teach me anything about survival as an Immortal. He thought he was kind of a failure in that regard. The unbelievable part is I just happened to bump into the two people who could take me to him."

Tristan told them about his trek from Alabama to Clearwater all the way to the beginning of the transatlantic Cruise. He paused only for the arrival of the main course. Johnny asked him about his first death and the reference to the "remnant of Caphtor." Tristan told him about that event, as well.

Johnny shrugged at the end of the stories. "Despite eight hundred years of good and bad, I still believe in God. If you don't mind a little of my opinion." Tristan shook his head. "This might sound a bit crass, but I think, when Penance turned down the offer of the "remnant of Caphtor," and that's what I think the phrase was, a divine offer of guidance toward friendship and training from David Ashton and his friends, when he turned down the offer, he lost the right to claim it forever. When he heard those words again ten years later, that offer was for you." Johnny pointed at Tristan.

"It may have taken thirty years to figure out what the riddle meant, but I think Penance's mission was to be your friend and tell you those words. What I knew of him and what you have told me, he was a great friend and, well, here you sit. He succeeded in his mission. I think you can take comfort in that. From the sound of your story, the time was just right for everything to fall into place and show you the right way. On that note, by the way, we're going to London tomorrow. David Ashton is going to be there the next day. You're going to meet him."

Tristan almost dropped his fork. "Meet him? Already? I…I don't think I'm ready to do that."

Alyssa laughed. "Trust me, little one. No one is ready to meet David Ashton when he's in full Ashton mode. Once he sees what you have, he just might be."

Johnny sat back against the cushioned back of his bench, thinking. "I think I can calm him down a little. I know how he thinks. Don't worry. He won't be too overbearing when he meets you."

"Do you think he would be willing to train me? I think I stand a much better chance of staying alive if he does."

Johnny thought some more. "I think he would. If he doesn't, he would set you up with people who would. I would, at least. I can think of a few others, too. He's got some great people at Hereford who do nothing but teach. Some of them aren't Immortal, but they have great skills to pass on. He'll size you up and figure out what's best. That's what he does."

"And there are some others you should meet, too, if he brings you into the family," said Alyssa.

"That's a good word for it," added Johnny. "Family."

"Wait until you meet his kids, Marc and Tally. They're adorable."

"Tally?" asked Tristan.

"Yes," said Alyssa. "Pronounced like Molly but with a 'T.'" She's his adopted daughter. She's eight years old and absolutely beautiful. And Marc, oh, he's a little puppy dog. He's seven and loves everyone. He's going to adore you. You'll be just like a big brother."

Johnny smirked. "Whenever I'm around, he follows me around everywhere. Now he's going to do that to you. He's going to be your little shadow."

"Uhm…" was all Tristan could say.

"Oh, don't worry about it," assured Johnny. "They're great kids. Didn't you have brothers and sisters when you were growing up?"

"No, I was an only child."

"Oh, then this will be a new experience for you. Well, I know you'll like these two. They really grow on you. They've even got big, bad David Ashton wrapped around their fingers. It's really funny to see it."

Alyssa giggled. "Yes, it is. He's a rough, tough officer around his men, but with them, he's "Daddy." It's so cute. He's a completely different person around them."

Johnny grinned to himself. "I know that David quite well, too. He does have a soft side, an inner child. He lets it out sometimes when he's around other children. Or child Immortals. Sometimes you just have to play and he can be quite fun when he does it.

"Back to training for a second, my friend, Darren Dublin, could teach you some great stuff, too."

"Oh, my," exclaimed Alyssa, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Darren's as much of a clown as you are."

Johnny put on his best grin. "Admit it. You love him, too. He's a great guy."

Alyssa put her chin on a palm. "He does have a certain charm, yes." She blinked and sat up straighter. "Just keep that red-haired woman of his away from our Tristan. She's a bad influence."

"Siobhan? I don't even know if she's in the country." Johnny laughed. "David doesn't much like her, either. He tolerates her, but he doesn't like her. I'd say the same for her."

Tristan smirked on his side of the table at that comment. "From what I heard about the war, I guess that makes sense."

Johnny looked over at Tristan. "I didn't see them at that time. I was involved in other parts of it, but I saw how they interacted afterward." He grinned again. "They should either kill each other or have a night of wild sex. Either one of those would cool the fire between them, I think."

"She's not his type," countered Alyssa.

"He likes strong women," stated Johnny.

"Yes, but not psychopathic, murdering bitches like her."

"Uhm," Tristan said with a nervous tone in his voice. "I'm sorry to interrupt. Is there a bookstore in this town? I'd like to take a shower and curl up with a book after this meal, but I need a book to do that."

"Yeah," answered Johnny. "Sorry about the spat. There's the Winchester Bookstore about ten minutes from here if you're walking."

"I'd like to walk. This was a great meal. A little movement afterward would be wonderful."

"Okay, grab a notepad from the front desk and I'll write down the directions. Did you get some money exchanged when you came through customs?"

"Yeah, I have about £500."

Jonnny nodded. "We'll have to get some more eventually. That's quite sufficient for now unless you go wild at the book shop."

Tristan laughed. "I hope not since I have to carry them back. I'll be back with the pad."

He walked away leaving Johnny under the heat of Alyssa's glare. Johnny looked into her eyes and mouthed, "What?" but she didn't answer.

Tristan returned with the pad and a pen. Johnny hastily scratched out the directions. When he handed the pad back, he asked, "You're sure you're okay with walking there by yourself?"

"Yeah, those other guys aren't here, right?"

Johnny nodded. "Right."

"I should be fine, then."

"Just in case, take this. Sit down by me." Tristan did so. Johnny subtly reached under his shirt and undid his belt buckle. He reached behind his back and pulled from the small of his back until all of the loops were empty. He then pulled a sheathed Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife from his pants. "Here," he said, passing it to Tristan. "The sheath has been reversed so you can attach it to your belt with it inside your pants for increased concealability."

"Thanks," said Tristan, loosening his own belt.

"Best to be prepared. That's a very light, double-sided blade. Not good for taking heads, but it will help you get out of scrapes. Hopefully, you won't need it and you can give it back in a few days."

"Now I just need to pay for lunch and I can go."

"Don't worry about it," said Johnny, waving his hand. "We'll charge it to the room. See you soon."

"Really? Thank you." Tristan stood, smiling, and trotted off.

"Have fun, dear," Alyssa called after him. When he was out of sight, she turned her gaze back to Johnny, the full burn of her emerald eyes upon him. "We need to talk."

xxxxxxxxxx

Back in their room, Alyssa spun on Johnny as soon as the door was closed.

"Johnny, how could you wish that harpy on your best friend?"

He took a step back. "Are we still on that?" he asked.

Alyssa crossed her arms and stared silently. "Hey," Johnny spread his arms wide. "I'm just saying that there's this tension between them and they need to do something about it. Kiss or kill."

"If you say these things about David, your best friend, what horrible things are you saying about me behind my back, also?"

"I'm not talking about you behind your back. It was just a joke, Alyssa. That's all."

"A joke about a rotten bitch who needs her head on a spike."

"See? What you're saying is exactly the same kind of tension that is between David and Siobhan. He harbors the same opinions you do. He just doesn't voice them."

"So are you now saying I should fuck her, too?"

His eyes twinkled and he leaned toward her. "Admit it, Alyssa. She's hot."

"Hmph, no, I won't."

"Come on. Say it," he coaxed.

"I will not."

"You have a thing for redhead girls. You've said so before." He let his next two words drag out. "Say it."

"Jonathan Fairbanks. As the Americans say it, you now have the right to remain silent and anything you say from now on will be held against you."

Johnny stood in front of her. He was silent. He crossed one arm in front of his body. He placed his elbow in the hand of that arm and brought his hand up to his chin, tapping his cheek slowly, his thumb on the other side of his face. His eyes never left hers. Glacially, he began to smile. His pose unchanged, he voiced his response to her.

"Your lips, your hips, and your breasts."

xxxxxxxxxx

Tristan stood in front of The Winchester Book Shop. He stared with dismay at the sign in the door. Closed for Construction.

"Rats," he muttered under his breath, kicking the curb.

"Why so down, little guy?" asked a passing teenaged girl.

Tristan turned to face her. He looked up into large blue eyes framed by long brown hair. She was very pretty. She stood astride a bicycle, one foot resting on the pavement (Tristan would have called it a sidewalk).

He answered her. "I was hoping to buy a book or two, but they're closed today." He pointed at the sign.

The girl giggled. "What's your name?"

"Tristan."

"Where are you from, Tristan?"

"Florida."

"I like the way you talk. I'm Maya."

Tristan grinned. "Hi, Maya."

"By the way, there's a Waterstones around the corner. I was on the way there myself. I need to pick up a book for uni there. Would you like a ride? It's not far."

"Sure." His grin widened.

"Hop on."

He climbed onto the seat behind her and put an arm around her waist. "I have a question. It might sound silly."

"What's that?"

"What's a uni? The last time I heard that it was short for unicorn."

Maya laughed as she pedaled away.

xxxxxxxxxx

"I never could stay angry at you, you little imp."

Johnny's head rested comfortably on the bed's pillows, his eyes gazing into Alyssa's. His fingers caressed her bare back as she lay atop him. When he spoke to her, it was with a little smile.

"That's why we're still together after so long."

"How long's it been now?"

"Uhm, let me see. David introduced us in 1929, I guess 1930 actually, so… this would be the seventy-fourth year."

"Oh, wow! We've been together, off and on, longer than many people have been alive. That's amazing."

"Yes, it is," he confirmed, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. "Weren't the two of you up to something in Chicago back then?"

Alyssa fluttered her eyes and grinned. "Oh, yes. We had a bit of a run-in with a few of Al Capone's people. David had to sort it all out. He never told you?"

"No," said Johnny, curiosity in his voice. "The most he ever said was there were "some issues" there and that was it."

"How does a man who seems more suited to the stock market and military takeovers become involved in bootlegging in the first place? I always thought it seemed a little out of character for him."

Johnny shrugged. "David has always been the type to seize an opportunity when he sees one, no matter what it is. If it's not something that's his area of expertise, he finds people who are experts at it."

"Like gangsters."

Johnny couldn't resist a chuckle. "Yes, like gangsters. Well, he saw this opportunity coming years in advance. Before World War One, even."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. He started making moves before the war and had things in place long before Prohibition ever passed. He just had to give the word and the liquor could start moving."

"You know more. Tell me." She shifted to the side and propped her head on an arm, her eyes still locked with his. "Go on. I'm waiting." She tickled his ribs under the blanket for emphasis.

"Okay, okay," giggled the boy. "Keep your shirt off. I'm getting to it."

xxxxxxxxxx

July 1918
Craiglockhart War Hospital near Edinburgh, UK

The sound of small running feet coincided with the familiar sensations of nearby Immortals. Vivia Wales, clad in the uniform of a British nurse, turned to see an excited young boy scampering towards her, his face exuberant at the sight of her. A man of moderate height stood at the end of the long hallway, an expression of considerable amusement on his thin face. She was prepared for the boy's imminent crash into her, his arms wrapping around her with surprising strength for his apparent age. The boy's momentum propelled her back against the wall, nearly expelling the entire contents of her lungs in the process.

"Jonathan Christopher Fairbanks," she exclaimed, her eyes cast slightly downward to peer into the captivatingly dark orbs of her youthful assailant who was nearly equal to her diminutive height. "You nearly knocked me over, you little brat." Her attempt to maintain a stern demeanor in voice and stance failed utterly as the boy cracked one of his infamous smiles and hugged her a little tighter, his compact body still pinning her to the wall. His high-pitched chuckles cracked whatever resolve she had remaining; a grin of her own spread itself across her face.

"Would you rather I walk up and gently kiss your hand like you were some delicate piece of pottery or greet you like I would any other member of the family?" inquired Johnny in a carefully enunciated, and therefore completely sarcastic, manner. The boy Immortal stared imploringly at her, his features now that of a wondering child seeking the answer to life's most pressing questions.

Vivia knew the puppy dog look was simply the acting out of a part for her entertainment but still found herself contemplating the question he had posed. She noticed the fingers of one of her hands absentmindedly running themselves affectionately through the boy's black hair. "Well, since you put it that way, I guess I'd prefer this." Vivia then removed her hand from the youth's locks and cuffed him across the back of the head. "And I'm not delicate."

"Just as I thought." With another giggle and a quick squeeze, the boy released her and stepped back, his hands gesturing theatrically toward the man at the end of the hallway. "Vivia Wales, meet Darren Dublin. He's another friend of David's."

Vivia's gaze shifted from the boy - for, despite his seven hundred plus years of age, he still appeared to be no more than a lad of twelve or so by modern standards - and settled on the slender man who now approached her, his amusement still apparent by the upturned corners of his lips. He was short in stature, his wiry build reminding Vivia of a dancer. His black hair contrasted greatly with the bright hazel of his eyes, adding to his mischievous countenance. What a perfect friend for Johnny, she thought observantly.

"The famous Darren Dublin," she quipped pleasantly, extending her hand to the man. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name Johnny is always tossing about."

If the offer of her hand was a surprise to Dublin, he did not show it. He shook it firmly, knowing instinctively she would do the same. He could neither stop nor did he try to hide the fact that his eyes were busy conducting a quick assessment of the female Immortal's form. The uniform she wore did nothing to diminish the fact that she possessed a rare beauty. He nodded approvingly and met her eyes. "And the same for you, my lady," he said, bowing with a flourish.

Vivia smirked. "Another showoff," she stated, humor still apparent in her voice.

"Of course," replied Dublin and Johnny in unison, before turning to each other and starting to giggle. Their mirth was cut short as the reason for their visit reentered their minds.

"How's David?" asked Johnny, his voice quiet now, the immensity of his concern evident in those two words. They stood silently for a moment, their moods abruptly sullen.

"What exactly happened to him?" queried Dublin. "All I know is two years ago he was on the front in France and then his letters suddenly stopped. Next I know, Johnny has sent me a note from London telling me to meet him here."

Vivia turned on her heel and, motioning for them to follow, began to walk down the hallway again. Her shoes echoed dully against the tiled floor as they approached a small waiting room. The three Immortals were its only occupants. They sat without prompting. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Dammit, he's my friend, too.

"He's been here since 1916," she began, her words now taking a detached tone. Despite this, her eyes spoke of the emotions fighting inside her. "He was captured during the battle at the Somme River. British soldiers found him regaining consciousness under a heap of German and English bodies on the third of June. He was wearing the uniform of a German major when they uncovered him. He was covered in blood from head to foot. He still had his pistol and a bayonet in his hands. Physically, of course, he wasn't hurt, but it seems that mentally, he'd succumbed to neurasthenia - shell shock - and was now in a state of both amnesia and near catatonia. The commander of the unit that took him prisoner found an envelope in his pocket. In it were orders from his higher headquarters promoting him to oberstleutnant - lieutenant colonel - only two days before. The new rank insignia were also in the envelope. He hadn't even had time to sew them onto his uniform. The battalion put under his command the same day as the promotion had ceased to exist during the battle. He was the only one who had not been killed or wounded."

She stood and walked across the room to a window overlooking the sea. When she resumed her story, it was almost in a whisper. "There has never been a war like this one. Thousands of men are dying every day over there for the same few meters of ground. They'll take a building, a barn, a field, and then lose it the next day, then the cycle repeats. Soldiers on both sides are sacrificing themselves over patches of ripped up fields and the survivors are not even able to justify their deaths. He was part of that kind of war for over two years.

"I've seen him lose men before. He's never taken it well, but before he could always attach a reason for their deaths, a justification. He couldn't do that this time, I suppose, not for the loss of his entire battalion. I think he believes he's failed his men. He led them into a battle where they all became casualties and then had nothing to show for it except his own captivity. It shattered him. He's been here ever since."

Vivia turned backed to face the dumbstruck Immortals seated before her. "For the first eight months, he could do not much more than sit in his bed and stare at the walls. I'd talk to him, call him by his name, his real one and the alias he was using. I'd use German, English, Latin, French; nothing worked. I asked for and was granted permission to work with him exclusively. He would never respond to me, though. It was like he didn't even know me."

Johnny cut in with a question. "How did you get through to him? Your last letter said he was getting better."

"Yes, he's been improving. I don't know if it was anything I was doing or not, but one day while I was talking to him about a friend of mine, a little boy in town, and mentioned that he reminded me a lot of you, Johnny, he reached out and took my hand. He didn't look at me; he just took my hand and squeezed it a bit, like he was acknowledging my presence but was afraid he'd break me. That's when I remembered his stories about helping you through your hard times when you were a new Immortal just by being there as a shoulder to cry on. I figured he'd helped a boy through troubles so perhaps a little boy could help him.

"I started to bring little Michael Jamison, that's the boy I mentioned, to the hospital and let him sit with David for an hour or two three nights a week. It worked great. Michael would sit or lie next to him on the bed, sometimes putting an arm around him or his head on David's shoulder, and tell him about his day at school or with his friends. After two months of this, David began to respond. Sometimes I'd find him with an arm around Michael or even holding his hand. Michael was thrilled at this. He was so excited he started coming here every day.

"Then, about a year after David was brought here; he just sat up and began talking. He still didn't know who he really was, though. He thought he was just Lieutenant Colonel Andreas Lindstadt, an officer of the German Army, not Rusa, the Minoan sailor, or David Ashton, Immortal elitist extraordinaire." No one in the room could suppress their grins at Vivia's remark.

"After Michael's breakthrough with David's catatonia and aphasia, I began talking to David again. I'd just been acting as a common nurse for months by that point. A month later, he suddenly called me Artemisia - that was the name he knew me as when he first met me. He didn't understand at first why he'd called me that name, but it was a start. We've been slowly gaining ground ever since. He knows who he is now and most of his past. He's almost back to normal now, I think." The Immortal woman's expression implied that there was a great deal more hope than belief in her statement.

Vivia sat. A full two minutes of silence reigned in the room as the two men absorbed the information. It was Dublin who spoke first. "Does he remember us?"

"Yes, he's regained his memories of you two by now. That's why I wrote Johnny and invited him here. I was surprised that he found you, though."

"I'm not hard to find if you know where to look," stated Dublin coyly. Turning serious again, he asked, "Can we see him?"

"This way," replied Vivia softly. "He's outside with Michael right now. He likes to sit out there where he can smell the sea. He doesn't know you're coming." Everyone regained their feet and left the waiting room, the men following Vivia down the long hallways. Three minutes of wordless walking brought them within sight of a doorway letting out to a patio. The tumult of their emotions was magnified by the unmistakable sensations brought about by the presence of another Immortal.

They filed through the door one by one, stopping side by side as they drank in the sight of the man situated before them. David Ashton, alias Lieutenant Colonel Andreas Lindstadt, clad in full German uniform, stood facing them, his form backlit by the slowly receding rays of the setting sun. A boy of about ten sat at a wooden table, his eyes full of curiosity. The blond German officer assessed the two new faces on display in front of him, the mental dials visibly turning behind his deep blue eyes. A just as noticeable solidification of memory spread across his face, the newcomers' identities confirmed in his mind.

"Johnny. Darren," he breathed huskily, his voice full of unabashed affection and welcome. The two visitors came forward with equal warmth and embraced their friend, unashamed tears beginning to flow from all eyes, even those of the boy at the table who by now recognized what was happening. Three Immortals broke their grasp of each other and stood back, grinning.

"Please sit," invited Ashton, before noticing there were not enough chairs for them all. He turned to the boy. "Michael, my boy, would you please get two more chairs? And have one of the orderlies bring us a few beverages, if they can. There's a good lad." He watched contentedly as the boy trotted away, beaming with delight at being assigned this mission. The three men sat, Vivia standing near the table, a small grin turning her lips upward.

Johnny turned to look at Vivia, confusion staining his features. "Wait a minute. I thought this hospital was just for Allied soldiers. How was David allowed to be here?"

Ashton chuckled to himself as Vivia began to explain. "When David was captured, he was brought here because Craiglockhart was one of the best centers for treating neurasthenia. The officers in London wanted him cured quickly so they could interrogate him and perhaps extract useful information. Unfortunately for them, it took far too long for him to show any signs of recovery. Anything they could have learned from him by the time he began showing positive signs would have been useless to them. Also at that time, it was decided that it would be better to leave him here where the staff were familiar with his case than to ship him to a prisoner of war facility and attempt to continue his care there."

"After no small bit of lobbying on my behalf from Vivia, I might add," inserted Ashton.

Vivia smiled. "Yes. By now, of course, David, or Colonel Lindstadt, I should say, is so well liked by the hospital staff that they'd fight in his defense if anyone tried to transfer him."

Michael returned with a chair, his breathing slightly elevated after having apparently run throughout the building, placing it next to Vivia before running off again. He returned seconds later, an elderly orderly close behind him. Michael set his chair next to Ashton and jumped into it, his assignment complete. Dublin began chuckling at the sight of the contents of the orderly's hands: a tray containing a bottle of Scotch, a bucket of ice, and several glasses.

"My word, Da... Andreas, you do have these people wrapped around your finger, don't you?"

Ashton grinned. So did the orderly, who replied, "We like to take care of our VIP patients, sir. Colonel Lindstadt has been a pleasure to attend to. He has behaved himself since he began his recovery so we are happy to meet any reasonable request he makes of us." The orderly reached into his back pocket and withdrew a small, flat hinged box. "With the staff's compliments, sir," he said, handing the box to Ashton, and took his leave with a grin.

Ashton's long fingers flipped open the box's top. "Obviously someone's been planning our reunion for a while," he said as he turned the box to show the five cigars within the box. "This is becoming a proper celebration after all." He passed them around as Dublin poured drinks for all four Immortals and even, after a nod from Vivia and Ashton, a small one for Michael. A wooden match was struck and candles on the table were lit. One of the candles then made a circuit around the table, beginning the slow burn of four cigars, only the mortal boy abstaining.

Dublin leaned forward in his chair as smoke clouds formed over his head, his eyes scanning the papers spread across the table. "What's all this?"

Ashton grinned. "A plan for after the war; I think it will be over very soon. There's an opportunity developing in the United States that could be very productive if properly handled. Oh, and since you're here." He reached for some papers held down by a glass paperweight. "You'll save me the trouble of posting this to one of your drop boxes. I think this would be something calling for your particular skills, as well." He handed three sheets of paper across to Dublin, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

They sat silently as Dublin perused the message by the light of the candles, his expression changing slowly from blank to pure disbelief. He reread the message to be sure he had not misinterpreted its meaning. Setting the papers back on the table, he reached for his drink and downed the fiery liquid in one gulp. With a gasp, he looked at his friend of nearly a millennia and said, "Are you serious? You really think you can do this?"

"Of course, I do," came the confident response. "The prohibition movement has been gaining favor in the States for years. It's only a matter of time before they succeed in changing their Constitution and outlawing the sale of alcohol in their country. However, this won't reduce the demand for the stuff amongst the populace. In my opinion, it will only increase demand and leave a wide, untapped market waiting for someone to move into and fill the gap...at whatever price he may choose to set."

"Yeah, and he's got it all planned out," input Michael, who had sipped his Scotch only twice before setting his glass aside and jumping up to point at a map partially concealed by pages of notes. "He was working on ways to get the stuff into the country when you showed up." The boy pointed excitedly at the markings. "See? He's going to bring it in from Canada."

"Canada?" Johnny sat up. "How will you do that?"

"That is where Darren comes in. He will handle the transportation of the product to distributors in the States."

"Okay," accepted the boy Immortal, "but how will you get the product, as you say, yourself? Who will you buy it from? Or will you make it yourself in your bathtub?"

"My dear Johnny, since the turn of the century, I have been purchasing distilleries and breweries in Canada. At the start of the war, I directly or indirectly owned over seventy percent of them. That letter I gave Darren was to authorize him to act on my behalf and purchase the remaining thirty percent in whatever manner he sees prudent. Once the prohibition amendment is passed, he will begin coordinating shipments throughout the States via an already established distribution network."

"Already established network? What network is going to be capable of moving illegal alcohol through from Canada to the U.S? The American authorities are sure to be checking all imports, aren't they?"

"That they will, my friend, but they can't check all legitimate businesses and the Mafia's shipments, as well. I have connections with the American Syndicate. They are awaiting the passage of the amendment, too. I sealed trade negotiations with them ten years ago. I'll just have to remind them of our agreement when the right time comes." The grin on Ashton's face made it clear that only a fool would dare refuse to honor his "business agreement."

Johnny leaned back in his seat, his body convulsing with uproarious laughter which soon spread to everyone around the table. It was a full minute before the boy Immortal could regain enough breath to lean over to Vivia and even attempt to speak. "I think you can say he's cured, Vivia. This is the David Ashton we know and love."

xxxxxxxxxx

17 May 2004

Winchester, England

"Oh, my goodness," breathed Alyssa slowly. "He was setting this up over twenty years in advance. Oh, my. And he made an absolute fortune doing it."

"Yeah," continued Johnny. "And while he was doing that, he was using the money he made from it to work the stock market and make even more money. He actually predicted the crash of '29, but no one believed him. On the day it happened, he made millions in short sales."

Alyssa almost gasped in wonderment. "So the vast fortune he has now, I mean he was wealthy before, but it really began to grow because of liquor and the stock market. No wonder he acted so quickly when things started to go awry in Chicago. It was the lynchpin to everything he was doing."

"You're going to have to tell me about that, you know. Like what part you played in all that."

She waved him off. "I will one day but not right now. We don't have time for a story that long. It's longer than the one you just told me. As far as what part I played, for the moment, I'll tell you that I had a hand in David's internal information network, but he didn't know it was me, at the time."

Johnny grinned. "You were one of his spies inside the Mafia?"

Alyssa wiggled her head. "Kinda sorta. We'll get to that one day. Right now, I want a nap." She rolled over on her back. Then she sat up. "What about Tristan?"

"What about him?"

"It's been two hours and he's not back yet."

"I'm sure he's fine." They felt the tingle of another Immortal nearby. "That's probably him now. And although I don't mind the view, you might want to lie down and cover up just in case he walks into the bedroom."

With another giggle, she replied as she complied with his suggestion, "He's seen that much of me already. And maybe a bit more. He even got a kiss from me."

"Really? When?"

"On the cruise. Didn't I tell you about our run-in with Goran Lambros?"

"No." Johnny sat up, facing the doorway, just to be cautious. Looking back at her, he said with a smirk, "Looks like there's another story I need to hear sometime."

"I'm back," Tristan called from the living room.

"We're in the bedroom," announced Johnny, "though we're not exactly decent." He then added, "But when are we?"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure, dear," said Alyssa, propping herself up on her elbows.

Tristan stepped through the doorway. At the sight of Johnny sitting bare chested in the bed and Alyssa's obviously unclothed shoulders and arms, he blushed instantly.

"It's okay, dear," she comforted. "Nothing you haven't seen before, right?"

"Uh, I guess not. I just didn't expect to find you like this."

"Johnny and I had to wrestle with a problem until it was resolved."

Johnny looked over at her. "I hope all parties were satisfied with the results of the negotiations."

"I would say there were multiple high points to the negotiations, definitely," replied Alyssa.

"Oh, God," muttered Tristan, slumping against the wall. "Now they're trying to speak in code about their orgasms." He eyed them accusingly. "You know I'm only twelve physically, right?"

"I'm sorry, dear. We weren't trying to be condescending, just polite."

"Yeah," interjected Johnny. "Call it the British side of us getting in the way."

"What did you get at the bookshop?" asked Alyssa.

"Yeah, and you were away for quite a while. What happened?"

Tristan pushed away from the wall. "Winchester's was closed for remodeling, but a university student, Maya, was passing by on her bicycle and told me about Waterstones. She gave me a lift there and we spent time walking around there. We had coffee and talked for a while and she dropped me off here. She was really cool."

Alyssa glanced at Johnny. "The two of you are from the same cloth, I swear. You're both little charmers."

Johnny grinned and shrugged. "So what did you get?"

"You won't laugh?"

"Me? No."

"I got Collins Complete Guide to British Wild Flowers, a copy of Walden, and The Lives of the Great Composers."

"The boy's an intellectual," said Johnny, looking at Alyssa again. "David's going to love him." Shifting his gaze back to Tristan, he asked, "What are your other interests, then? Philosophy, music, botany, what else?" Johnny leaned back into the pillows as he spoke.

"Chemistry, history, art, literature. My parents were college professors. I grew up liking some deep stuff."

"And he plays Go," said Alyssa. "He's really good, too. He beat me on the cruise."

"Oh, God," exclaimed Johnny. "David's never going to let you out of his sight. You're going to be his new favorite boy." He threw up his arms. "That's it. I'm out. I might as well pack my bags. Almost eight hundred years as the favorite and now it's over."

Tristan looked concerned, unsure. Johnny smiled at his expression. "Congratulations, Tristan. You win."

Alyssa punched Johnny in the arm. "You can't lose the favorite spot over a game of Go. You play, too."

"Yeah, but I can't beat you. I never have. And this kid beat you the first time out?" He pointed a finger at Tristan. "Nope, I'm done. I might as well move to Bumfuck, Arizona."

"Uhm, I'm sorry," whispered Tristan, his eyes downcast.

Johnny threw a pillow at him, hitting him in the chest with it. "I'm jesting with you, kid. It's called fun. Have some."

Tristan picked up the pillow. He eyed Johnny appraisingly. "If you weren't lying naked in that bed, I'd hit you with this pillow right now."

"Is that all it takes to scare you off, little man? A little skin?"

Tristan's jaw dropped. "Okay, you asked for it."

He charged across the room. Grinning, Johnny reached over and grabbed Alyssa's pillow, pulling it from behind her. She squealed with laughter or protest - he wasn't sure which - as she fell back. He swung it at Tristan as the smaller boy came nearer. It was blocked by the other pillow. Tristan then crashed into Johnny and rubbed the pillow in his face, laughing as he did so. Johnny pushed him away, chuckling himself.

Throwing aside the bedclothes, Johnny pursued Tristan as he stumbled backward. Alyssa propped her head up on her hand again and watched the show. Slowly shaking her head from side to side, she smirked and said one word.

"Boys."

xxxxxxxxxx

17 May 2004

Southampton, England

"Who the fuck was that kid, Aadam?" Charles Steyn paced back and forth across the living room of the Southampton safehouse. The clomping of his heavy boots echoed in the room. It was giving the other occupant a headache. That other occupant, Aadam el-Farid, glared at Steyn with undisguised contempt for his impatience.

"I don't know, Charles. I'm much more concerned about the other two that were with him, one of them, at least. We should consider the ramifications of their influence."

"You mean Fairbanks and the girl?"

"Yes."

Steyn finally sat, pouring a snifter of bourbon for himself. He offered the bottle to Farid who refused it with a wave.

"I don't know the girl, but I know Fairbanks."

"How do you know him?" queried Farid.

"I met him when I was an instructor at the NAPOLA schools in Germany in the 1930s. He went by the name of Johann Schultheiss, at the time. I learned his real name later on. He was a good student at first, took to the philosophies well, but then I started to see doubts in his eyes." Steyn took a gulp from his snifter and looked at Farid. "There is no room for doubt."

"Of course," confirmed Farid.

"Anyway, he and his 'father,' Major Anton Schultheiss, who was an officer in the fallschirmjäger, the paratroopers, just vanished one day. I later learned that Anton Schultheiss was none other than David Ashton. The bastard went over to the British and commanded their special operations during the war. Fairbanks, somehow, got caught behind our lines and caused his own havoc by working with partisans during the whole war. I had a few run-ins with him but we were never able to come to blades.

"My point is if that boy in the tree is connected with Fairbanks then Ashton is going to learn about us eventually. Ashton is now commanding his own private army under contract with the British government. He has the authority to act at will anywhere within the country or, within certain limits, internationally. He is going to be a major problem for us."

"I see," said Farid. "I have similar concerns about the girl."

"Who is she?"

"Alyssa Cordeiro. She is a Portuguese Jew currently living in England. A few years ago, she resided in Israel. Because of her darker skin, that tan of hers, she was able to blend in with the Palestinians in the camps. She developed many contacts in the camps and was feeding information to the Israeli Defense Force. Many of our missions were thwarted because of the inside knowledge she gave them and many of our warrior brothers were killed as a result."

"What do we do, then?"

"We continue as before. There was nothing said at that meeting that gave away any sensitive information."

"What if the boy in the tree recorded us? It looked like he had a phone in his hand."

"Even if he did, and if he could translate what he heard, then he knows about a hundred buses, but he doesn't know when or where. And they know nothing of our larger plan. We still have information security on our side. We are safe, Charles."

"And if we're not?" Steyn finished his snifter and refilled it.

"Then we deal with events as they come. Calm down, my friend. We will be fine."

"We'll see," muttered Steyn, draining his glass a second time. "And what about Hakim? The fucker got himself caught by that off-duty cop. What if he talks?"

"He won't talk. Besides, Rafa was with us, too. He will make sure Hakim has a good lawyer and is free very quickly. Don't be so concerned, Charles. We have more pressing matters than your getting an ulcer over such trivialities."

The South African grunted and reached for the bourbon bottle. Farid scowled at him. "Don't you think you should slow down on your consumption of that filth?" he spat.

"You worry about your part of this arrangement, Aadam, and I'll worry about mine. As long as my drinking doesn't interfere with my part then it's none of your concern."

Farid gave the bottle another poisonous stab with his eyes as Steyn poured another snifter full of the brown liquid. "I know you have your religious objections to alcohol, Aadam, and I do appreciate your grudging allowance for my vices. Consider it a small sacrifice in favor of our joint goal. While our motivations may differ, our objectives are the same. You want the British and other "infidels" as you call us out of Muslim lands and that is partly why you're doing this. I do it to advance my own theology and, of course, for the money. The goal, defeating the British both domestically and in Afghanistan and Iraq, is the same."

Farid grinned at the blond man. "On that, my friend, we can agree."

xxxxxxxxxx

17 June 1975

Atlanta, Georgia

"Where will you go?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Penance. "North, I guess. I'd like to spend some time in the northern states for a bit. See some snow. Go to an Orioles games, maybe."

"I didn't know you were a fan."

Penance shrugged. "Who knows when or if I'll actually go to Baltimore. Besides, one team is as good as another if you're going to pretend to be a fan. I just chose one in a northern state that I haven't visited in a while. Sometimes it can even be fun."

"Are you sure I can't go with you," asked Tristan.

"No, we've travelled together for three years now. It's been great. I've loved being with you. Besides the challenges of just living, it's also been fun because of you. It's actually because of that which makes me want to leave."

"I don't understand."

"I have enemies, Tristan. Well, an enemy, another Immortal. He kills everyone I love, every friend I've ever made or foster parent I've ever had. I've kept a lookout for him the whole time we've been together, just in case. I haven't seen him, fortunately, but it's because of him that I have to go. The longer I'm with you, the more I put you at risk. I don't want him to find you."

"He can't be worse than Matthias Bauer and you fought him off."

"No, Tristan. Matthias Bauer is scum, but this guy is pure evil. If you see him, you run. Don't fight him, just run. He's my fight, not yours." Penance described the man in detail. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And you'll run?"

"Yes, I will."

Penance hefted his tartan backpack, but his gaze fell to his shoes. He kicked a small rock.

"I'm sorry I wasn't a better teacher for you. I tried to teach you things that would keep you alive, but I really don't know that much. I'm sorry." When he looked up again, there were tears in his eyes.

Tristan stepped forward and embraced his friend. "You were a good friend to me. That was more important. You were there when I felt the most alone. I will always be thankful to you."

Stepping back, his arms still on the boy's shoulders, Tristan focused his own waterlogged eyes on those of his companion. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Penance." Tristan put a hand on the older Immortal's chest over his heart.

"Believe it or not, there is a big heart here. It belongs to…" Tristan paused, leaned into Penance's ear where he whispered the boy's real name, and then stepped back. "...And not this persona of Penance Cameron you've created. I hope you realize that one day. You're a good person, not a hopeless vagrant."

"Maybe," said Penance without any real conviction. "If I do, it would only be for your sake, not for mine. You're a better person than I am."

Tristan grinned. "I don't believe that. You saved me when I need it; I didn't save you."

"How did I save you?"

"By making me leave Clearwater and realize what I am. And what I have the potential to be. I see so many opportunities because of you."

Penance scoffed. "I never did figure out what the 'remnant of Caphtor' was, though."

Tristan replied with another grin. "But didn't Galabeg say, 'The time isn't right yet?'"

"Stupid bitch," Penance growled.

"One of us will solve it eventually. I'm not worried about that. I just want my friend to be safe and happy while he travels north." Tristan hugged him again. "Can you do that?"

Penance adjusted the straps on his backpack. He looked back into Tristan's eyes. Finally, he smiled. "Damn, your happiness is contagious even when you're sad. Yes, I can do that."