Disclaimer:
I own nothing (except for any original characters you may find), am making no money off this (kind of like my real life career), and am doing this purely for my personal pleasure (which is the only reason I attempt to write).
Chapter Four
Jim, to his credit, kept quiet the whole time Blair and Gerhardt were talking. Questions filled his mind. He wondered why Gerhardt called Blair "Etienne." He also wondered why the two men spoke as if they were centuries old enemies. Finally, he wondered what weapon Blair was reaching for. He knew that it wasn't his service weapon, but something else concealed in the folds of his jacket, but evidently bigger than the average- sized gun.
The partners quietly made their way through the field and back to the car. Once inside, Jim looked at his watch, noting the time. The third shift was due to arrive soon. At that moment, another unmarked police car pulled up in front of them. Jim got out and quickly conferred with the other cops, letting them know that there was nothing to report, leaving out Blair's confrontation with Martin Gerhardt.
Jim came back into the car and started it up. He glanced over at Sandberg, noting how angry he looked. "Do you want to tell me what's up Chief?"
"Not now. Tomorrow, I promise," Blair bit out, angry.
"Fair enough," Jim said, respecting and trusting his friend enough to tell him what is going on later.
They drove back in silence. Jim, questioning everything he thought he knew about his partner.
Blair road along in silence, back to headquarters, ignored Jim's nervous tapping on the steering wheel. He thought about chanting a few Buddhist mantras he had learned to help calm the soul, to seek peace and clarity. However, he could not focus enough on the prayers taught to him by His Holiness, the Twelfth Dalai Lama, to even remember the first few lines.
Jim dropped Blair off at police headquarters, and then headed home. It had been a long day and he figured that the next day would be even longer, especially with Blair explaining what had happened while they were on stakeout.
Blair went straight home, but could not settle down. He chose to go find a place where he could sit and think in peace.
He stopped at a church, seeking the solitude and protection of Holy Ground. While he was not one to hide, using their traditions as a shield, he did enjoy the moments of peace offered to him by Sanctuary. Unfortunately, he could not find what he was looking for and soon left St. Mark's Catholic Church.
Arriving at home, he found his house consumed in flames. His neighbors were standing around, watching the fire department battle the inferno in vain. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything but the work of Gerhardt.
Sighing, he answered the authorities' questions and thanked whatever gods were looking down that his cat was staying overnight at the vet's, having been neutered that afternoon. If the animal had died, Blair did not fully trust what he would have done.
After an hour, Blair wearily drove over to Ellison's, hoping he could crash on his couch for the night.
**********
Jim let him in without a word. He smelled the smoke on Blair's jacket and easily figured out what had brought Sandberg to his door.
Blair stood in the living room, standing there awkwardly. He felt uncomfortable, knowing that he owed Jim and explanation of that night's events.
Jim wearily rubbed at his face, trying to force himself awake. He sat down on the couch and looked up at his partner. "What's going on Blair? Why do you smell like a fireplace? What went on between you and Gerhardt? Why did he call you Etienne?"
Blair sighed. He knew Jim could handle the truth and that he could be trusted with his secret. It was hard though, trying to explain an insane situation without sounding insane.
"I met Gerhardt years ago, during World War II, in 1943," he said. Immediately, Jim burst out laughing.
"Jim, listen. I am an Immortal. I died for the first time in 1066 in England when the Normans invaded by country. I died at the Battle of Hastings. I came back and I have not grown any older in almost a thousand years," he explained. "You can hear my heart beat. You know I'm not lying."
Jim paused in his laughter and listened to Blair's heartbeat. It was steady and even. No one, not even a compulsive liar, could fake an involuntary reaction. "You're serious."
"Yeah. So is Gerhardt. The first time I met him, he executed me, my friends, and my wife in Nazi-occupied France. He did not know what he was then, but from what I gathered from some friends, his own people killed him, thus activating his Immortality."
Jim sat there, amazed by what Blair was telling him. "I take it Etienne was your name then."
"I've had many names over the years. My original name was Edward of Nasbey, the third of four sons of Lord John and Lady Emma."
"Is everyone in your family like you?" Jim asked, curious about his friend's past.
Blair shook his head. "My parents were not my biological parents. I was a foundling, brought into their home as a baby. Nobody knows were we come from. It's like we appear out of nowhere."
"You keep saying 'we'. There is more of your kind that just you and Gerhardt I take it," he stated, then a thought occurred to him. "What about your friend from the bar? Does he know? Is he one of you?"
"There are many other Immortals in the world. Not as many as you would like to think, but we are out there. As for Adam, yes, he does know. If you want to know anything more about him, you'd have to ask him," Blair said, not telling Jim who Adam really was. It wasn't his place to tell, and he knew that Methos would probably beat the shit out of him if he did.
Jim felt as if his head would burst. Between the stakeouts, Blair smelling like ash, and now his tale, his head was throbbing. "Why are you here? Do you have a higher purpose or something?"
Blair smiled. "Um, well, I don't know why we are here exactly," he said, taking off his coat and sat down. "While we live forever, we can die completely. No coming back, no second chances."
"But you said you were immortal."
"If someone takes my head, there's no do-over. I'll be dead for real."
Jim sat forward on the brown corduroy couch, feeling the grooved cloth, a troubled look on his face. "You mean someone would have to decapitate you?"
Blair pulled a Greek sword form the concealing folds of his coat and held it in front of him, carefully balancing it on one finger just above the hilt. "From time to time, Immortals fight each other. The winner gets the dead guy's power and Quickening, which is the life essence of an Immortal. Supposedly, though I have a hard time believing it, in the end, there will be One left and have all of the power of the Immortals in him or her, and will rule the world. If someone like Gerhardt, or worse, were to be the winner, the world will be plunged into an everlasting darkness, destroying humanity," he explained.
"And you believe this?" Jim asked in disbelief.
Blair shrugged. "That's what I have been told. Personally, I try not to get to worked up too much over the mythology of the Immortals. It's what it is."
"So you go around and cut people's heads off all the time? I've known you for three years now and I've never seen you do this," he said in exasperation and disbelief.
Blair looked at his friend wryly. "Its not something we advertise. Our battles are done in private, away from the prying eyes of humans. How well do you think humans would take it if they knew that there were people running around, wielding swords that can live forever? They would hunt us down, lock us in cages and use us as guinea pigs. Isn't that pretty much the same argument you use for not telling people about your abilities?"
Jim nodded slowly. "So what now? Are you going to kill Gerhardt?"
"I can't," Blair sighed. "He's on Holy Ground and one of the few rules that we live by is that Holy Ground is our refuge and that cannot be violated. We do not fight on Holy Ground – ever."
"So what would happen if you did? What would the consequences be?"
"You ever hear of Krakatoa?" Blair asked.
Jim looked confused for a moment, searching his brain for that familiar word. "Isn't that the volcano in Indonesia that blew up completely?" he asked.
"Yeah. I wasn't there, but from what I was told, two Immortals were fighting in a temple there – Holy Ground is Holy Ground no matter if you call it a temple, church, prayer circle, mosque, or cemetery. Their fight and the Quickening that took place caused the volcano to completely blow. There is a rumor that something similar happened at Pompeii, but that is just a rumor among the Immortals."
"So how often do you fight other Immortals?"
"As little as possible. I haven't taken a head in several years. Which is fine with me. The more I stay off people's radar screens, the more secure I am," Blair replied.
"So what are you going to do now?"
"Right now I want to get some sleep. I got a lot to do tomorrow, talk to my insurance company, get my cat out of the vet's, look for a new place, get some clothes," Blair said, frustrated, ignoring what Jim was really asking.
"You know that's not what I meant," Jim said.
"I don't know for sure. I am going to kill him though," Blair said coldly.
Jim looked troubled. "You can't plot another's death like that. You're a cop now, or did you forget about that?"
"It's not the same Jim. If in the end there can be only one, then I don't want it to be Gerhardt."
"Then let me help," Jim offered.
Blair shook his head. "Thank you, but this is my fight. You cannot interfere once it begins."
"What about your house?" Jim asked. "Pretty coincidental that your house got torched the night you ran into Gerhardt," he observed.
"Knowing him, he probably got one of his people to follow me home and when I left again, they torched it. Lucky for them, Einstein is at the vet's tonight," Blair observed darkly. "It figures that he would be behind my house getting burnt though. In World War II, he torched the small village that I was living in at the time after he killed everybody, the bastard."
"Well," Jim said tiredly. "We can talk more about this later. I'll tell Simon that you'll be late. Try to get some sleep."
"Thanks Jim," Blair said tiredly, sitting back on the couch. They would talk, Blair knew, with Jim trying to convince him not to do this or at least let him help. It was nice to know that Jim cared, but it would not happen. It was his fight and that was how it was going to be.
"Good night," Blair called out and turned off the near-by table lamp.
I own nothing (except for any original characters you may find), am making no money off this (kind of like my real life career), and am doing this purely for my personal pleasure (which is the only reason I attempt to write).
Chapter Four
Jim, to his credit, kept quiet the whole time Blair and Gerhardt were talking. Questions filled his mind. He wondered why Gerhardt called Blair "Etienne." He also wondered why the two men spoke as if they were centuries old enemies. Finally, he wondered what weapon Blair was reaching for. He knew that it wasn't his service weapon, but something else concealed in the folds of his jacket, but evidently bigger than the average- sized gun.
The partners quietly made their way through the field and back to the car. Once inside, Jim looked at his watch, noting the time. The third shift was due to arrive soon. At that moment, another unmarked police car pulled up in front of them. Jim got out and quickly conferred with the other cops, letting them know that there was nothing to report, leaving out Blair's confrontation with Martin Gerhardt.
Jim came back into the car and started it up. He glanced over at Sandberg, noting how angry he looked. "Do you want to tell me what's up Chief?"
"Not now. Tomorrow, I promise," Blair bit out, angry.
"Fair enough," Jim said, respecting and trusting his friend enough to tell him what is going on later.
They drove back in silence. Jim, questioning everything he thought he knew about his partner.
Blair road along in silence, back to headquarters, ignored Jim's nervous tapping on the steering wheel. He thought about chanting a few Buddhist mantras he had learned to help calm the soul, to seek peace and clarity. However, he could not focus enough on the prayers taught to him by His Holiness, the Twelfth Dalai Lama, to even remember the first few lines.
Jim dropped Blair off at police headquarters, and then headed home. It had been a long day and he figured that the next day would be even longer, especially with Blair explaining what had happened while they were on stakeout.
Blair went straight home, but could not settle down. He chose to go find a place where he could sit and think in peace.
He stopped at a church, seeking the solitude and protection of Holy Ground. While he was not one to hide, using their traditions as a shield, he did enjoy the moments of peace offered to him by Sanctuary. Unfortunately, he could not find what he was looking for and soon left St. Mark's Catholic Church.
Arriving at home, he found his house consumed in flames. His neighbors were standing around, watching the fire department battle the inferno in vain. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything but the work of Gerhardt.
Sighing, he answered the authorities' questions and thanked whatever gods were looking down that his cat was staying overnight at the vet's, having been neutered that afternoon. If the animal had died, Blair did not fully trust what he would have done.
After an hour, Blair wearily drove over to Ellison's, hoping he could crash on his couch for the night.
**********
Jim let him in without a word. He smelled the smoke on Blair's jacket and easily figured out what had brought Sandberg to his door.
Blair stood in the living room, standing there awkwardly. He felt uncomfortable, knowing that he owed Jim and explanation of that night's events.
Jim wearily rubbed at his face, trying to force himself awake. He sat down on the couch and looked up at his partner. "What's going on Blair? Why do you smell like a fireplace? What went on between you and Gerhardt? Why did he call you Etienne?"
Blair sighed. He knew Jim could handle the truth and that he could be trusted with his secret. It was hard though, trying to explain an insane situation without sounding insane.
"I met Gerhardt years ago, during World War II, in 1943," he said. Immediately, Jim burst out laughing.
"Jim, listen. I am an Immortal. I died for the first time in 1066 in England when the Normans invaded by country. I died at the Battle of Hastings. I came back and I have not grown any older in almost a thousand years," he explained. "You can hear my heart beat. You know I'm not lying."
Jim paused in his laughter and listened to Blair's heartbeat. It was steady and even. No one, not even a compulsive liar, could fake an involuntary reaction. "You're serious."
"Yeah. So is Gerhardt. The first time I met him, he executed me, my friends, and my wife in Nazi-occupied France. He did not know what he was then, but from what I gathered from some friends, his own people killed him, thus activating his Immortality."
Jim sat there, amazed by what Blair was telling him. "I take it Etienne was your name then."
"I've had many names over the years. My original name was Edward of Nasbey, the third of four sons of Lord John and Lady Emma."
"Is everyone in your family like you?" Jim asked, curious about his friend's past.
Blair shook his head. "My parents were not my biological parents. I was a foundling, brought into their home as a baby. Nobody knows were we come from. It's like we appear out of nowhere."
"You keep saying 'we'. There is more of your kind that just you and Gerhardt I take it," he stated, then a thought occurred to him. "What about your friend from the bar? Does he know? Is he one of you?"
"There are many other Immortals in the world. Not as many as you would like to think, but we are out there. As for Adam, yes, he does know. If you want to know anything more about him, you'd have to ask him," Blair said, not telling Jim who Adam really was. It wasn't his place to tell, and he knew that Methos would probably beat the shit out of him if he did.
Jim felt as if his head would burst. Between the stakeouts, Blair smelling like ash, and now his tale, his head was throbbing. "Why are you here? Do you have a higher purpose or something?"
Blair smiled. "Um, well, I don't know why we are here exactly," he said, taking off his coat and sat down. "While we live forever, we can die completely. No coming back, no second chances."
"But you said you were immortal."
"If someone takes my head, there's no do-over. I'll be dead for real."
Jim sat forward on the brown corduroy couch, feeling the grooved cloth, a troubled look on his face. "You mean someone would have to decapitate you?"
Blair pulled a Greek sword form the concealing folds of his coat and held it in front of him, carefully balancing it on one finger just above the hilt. "From time to time, Immortals fight each other. The winner gets the dead guy's power and Quickening, which is the life essence of an Immortal. Supposedly, though I have a hard time believing it, in the end, there will be One left and have all of the power of the Immortals in him or her, and will rule the world. If someone like Gerhardt, or worse, were to be the winner, the world will be plunged into an everlasting darkness, destroying humanity," he explained.
"And you believe this?" Jim asked in disbelief.
Blair shrugged. "That's what I have been told. Personally, I try not to get to worked up too much over the mythology of the Immortals. It's what it is."
"So you go around and cut people's heads off all the time? I've known you for three years now and I've never seen you do this," he said in exasperation and disbelief.
Blair looked at his friend wryly. "Its not something we advertise. Our battles are done in private, away from the prying eyes of humans. How well do you think humans would take it if they knew that there were people running around, wielding swords that can live forever? They would hunt us down, lock us in cages and use us as guinea pigs. Isn't that pretty much the same argument you use for not telling people about your abilities?"
Jim nodded slowly. "So what now? Are you going to kill Gerhardt?"
"I can't," Blair sighed. "He's on Holy Ground and one of the few rules that we live by is that Holy Ground is our refuge and that cannot be violated. We do not fight on Holy Ground – ever."
"So what would happen if you did? What would the consequences be?"
"You ever hear of Krakatoa?" Blair asked.
Jim looked confused for a moment, searching his brain for that familiar word. "Isn't that the volcano in Indonesia that blew up completely?" he asked.
"Yeah. I wasn't there, but from what I was told, two Immortals were fighting in a temple there – Holy Ground is Holy Ground no matter if you call it a temple, church, prayer circle, mosque, or cemetery. Their fight and the Quickening that took place caused the volcano to completely blow. There is a rumor that something similar happened at Pompeii, but that is just a rumor among the Immortals."
"So how often do you fight other Immortals?"
"As little as possible. I haven't taken a head in several years. Which is fine with me. The more I stay off people's radar screens, the more secure I am," Blair replied.
"So what are you going to do now?"
"Right now I want to get some sleep. I got a lot to do tomorrow, talk to my insurance company, get my cat out of the vet's, look for a new place, get some clothes," Blair said, frustrated, ignoring what Jim was really asking.
"You know that's not what I meant," Jim said.
"I don't know for sure. I am going to kill him though," Blair said coldly.
Jim looked troubled. "You can't plot another's death like that. You're a cop now, or did you forget about that?"
"It's not the same Jim. If in the end there can be only one, then I don't want it to be Gerhardt."
"Then let me help," Jim offered.
Blair shook his head. "Thank you, but this is my fight. You cannot interfere once it begins."
"What about your house?" Jim asked. "Pretty coincidental that your house got torched the night you ran into Gerhardt," he observed.
"Knowing him, he probably got one of his people to follow me home and when I left again, they torched it. Lucky for them, Einstein is at the vet's tonight," Blair observed darkly. "It figures that he would be behind my house getting burnt though. In World War II, he torched the small village that I was living in at the time after he killed everybody, the bastard."
"Well," Jim said tiredly. "We can talk more about this later. I'll tell Simon that you'll be late. Try to get some sleep."
"Thanks Jim," Blair said tiredly, sitting back on the couch. They would talk, Blair knew, with Jim trying to convince him not to do this or at least let him help. It was nice to know that Jim cared, but it would not happen. It was his fight and that was how it was going to be.
"Good night," Blair called out and turned off the near-by table lamp.
