Swordbearer
By Vega

Standard Disclaimers Apply

Part Fourteen: "Telling Stories"

October 22nd, 2006 – Late evening

"So there I was rolling around on the ground outside of my office, taking whacks at this asshole," Adam paused long enough to take a healthy swig of his beer. The Immortal known as Duncan MacLeod and I exchanged a glance. Both of our expressions said, 'yeah, right'. Adam swallows and slapped his empty pint glass down onto the table top to get our attention again. "I get in a good couple hits, right, but I don't want to punch the guy's lights out. So I'm just tapping him. Well, who comes along but Colonel Montoya! Well, the fucker arrests me when I explain to him that Captain Grishalm drugged the girl to keep her quiet. Gave damn near a whole bottle of Laudanum."

I frowned. "But why would her lover drug her? I mean, they're having an affair, right? Why wouldn't he want her to confess that the vigilante had been the one to hurt her?"

Duncan set down his own empty glass and turned in his seat to flag down the waitress for another pitcher. "I get it," he said over his shoulder as he held up the empty pitcher for the server to see. She nodded and went back behind the bar. Duncan put down the pitcher and said, "The vigilante didn't really push Vera."

"What?" I asked. "I thought you said that the vigilante pushed the chick."

Adam shook his head, "'Fraid Mac's right. The Queen of Swords was no where near her. It was all an excuse to declare martial law over the city and seize control from the guys in charge."

"That fucking stupid," I said. "What a jerk!"

Adam grinned. "Oh, it gets better. You see, Montoya tells me that what I've done is treason."

"Well, you were beating on an army officer," Duncan pointed out and Adam waved his hand in Mac's face, making a 'go away' gesture.

"As if you haven't done it."

"Then what?" I asked. As much as I hated to admit it, I was hanging on his every word. Adam was nothing if not a great storyteller.

"So Montoya tells me that what I've done is a hanging offence. Treason, he says. Only he can't out and out kill me, 'cause one, the town would lynch him, and two, the Queen would probably rescue me, and he'd look like a fool."

"And three," I added, "Immortal."

Adam nodded. He raised his glass and waved it at Mac, who blew out a sigh, smiled, and poured him another beer. "So yeah. So Grishalm drags me out into the middle of goddamned nowhere and tells me to start walking. Then he aims a pistol at my back, and I'm thinking, shit, he's gonna shoot me and he's gonna leave my body out here. That won't be so bad, only I can't go back to being the good doctor Helm. So guess what happens?"

"The Vigilante showed up."

Adam laughed. "Yup. Saved my bacon, she did. Well, saved me from getting shot in the head. Which is unpleasant, I can tell you!"

We all laughed, because we'd all been shot at least once. Either you laugh or you scream when you recall memories like that, so we all laughed. We were to drunk to do otherwise.

And Phoey thought Immortality was all roses and champagne. Ha!

To avoid thinking about the unpleasant sensation of having the back of my skull blown out, I turned my head to watch the other clientele. They were mostly students or the construction workers trying to liquidate their paycheques or the die-hard drinkers. Hell, it was a Sunday night, and the only people who would be here were the people determined to die of liver poisoning.

Or, you know, those immune to it.

It was fast approaching Last Call and we'd been sitting in the bar for well on four hours. We drank, laughed, had the most horrible French fries ever, and generally had a good time. I didn't think of Garrett once. Except to realize that I hadn't thought of Garrett once.

That afternoon when I had left Adam to try to clean the carbon off his pans after he had served me mostly unburnt pancakes, I hadn't really thought I would spend all this time with him later. It had been a casual and comfortable breakfast, but I declined his invitation to join him in the shower and made my way home.

I didn't want to meet Duncan MacLeod in the same clothing I'd had Adam pull off me earlier. And I wasn't sure if I was ready to spend the whole day with Adam. I liked him. He was a great kisser and mostly made up for his lack of cooking skills. But to spend the whole day with him was sort of communicating a comfort level, and a commitment level, that I wasn't willing to take up.

Yet here I was, not eight hours after I had said good bye this afternoon, listening to his ridiculous stories. I supposed these were the ones Duncan had warned me about.

I mean, did Adam honestly expect me to believe that after he got electrocuted my his own Immortal's Quickening on the battlefield during the First World War, he moved to southern Spain and was a doctor in a town with a masked vigilante?

The math didn't add up for, one.

And who sees vigilantes outside of Zorro epics and Sam Raimi television series?

Adam had understood my need to be away from him and think for a little while. I had gone home and worked out, showered, changed, had a nice slice of frozen pizza or three and did some homework. Around ten at night my phone rang and Adam's voice came over the wires to tell me to get my cute arse downstairs, he and 'Mac' were waiting for my in the latter's car in my parking lot.

I shook Mac's hand and moved to give Adam a peck on the cheek. He turned his head and kissed me full on the lips instead. It was long and slow and made me do the balloon-head thing, and I knew it was all for Mac's benefit. He wrapped his hands around the tops of my arms and drew me as close to him as possible, and I was pressed half against his chest (he had rolled down the window) and half against the door of MacLeod's car.

I pulled back, and he pressed forward, determined to keep his tongue in my mouth.

Whether it was a 'mine' kiss or a 'see, I really have a girlfriend and I wasn't making her up' kiss, I don't know, but at that point, I sure as hell didn't care!

I peeled Adam away from me and gave him the eye. The 'that was bizarre and why the hell did you do that?' eyes. I turned to look at the famous Duncan MacLeod and his own eyes were bugged out, his jaw on the top of his steering wheel. I blushed from my toes up.

He shook his head, punched Adam in the shoulder, and got out of the car to open the rear passenger door for me.

Duncan told me to call him Mac, and those warm fuzzies I had gotten when he had told me I was automatically his friend just because I was with Adam came back. It was a nice feeling, to be trusted. I hadn't been feeling a lot of that lately.

He drove us to the bar, where Adam made a point of buying the first two rounds. I think he was, in a bizarre way, trying to get revenge on Duncan for opening the car door by not allowing him to be further chivalrous.

I bought the third round, and Mac bought the fourth. I assumed this fifth round was my responsibility, but Mac put down the money for it before I could even reach for my wallet. I had forgone the purse tonight, as I knew I was going to be drinking. I only ever remember to grab one thing at a bar – purse or coat. I don't know why, it was a weird little quirk of mine.

I figured adding a third thing to the list – sword – was a bad idea all around. So I'd jammed some money and my driver's licence to act as ID along with me Immie Card into the pocket of my jacket.

My sword, along with Adam's Ivanhoe and Mac's (gorgeous!) katana were under our table at our feet. We'd thought about putting them on the top of the table, where they'd be easy to grab, if needed, but it made the waitress avoid us, and that was bad all around.

I wondered if sometime Mac would let me play with his sword…erm… in the non-sexual sense.

"So what happened to the Vigilante?" Mac asked, drawing me out of my thoughts and back into the conversation.

Adam shrugged. "I don't know, actually. I always kinda figured I knew who she was, but I never stuck around. I did a few more months as Doctor Helm, and felt that enough time had passed for me to try to travel again without getting spotted by the Watchers. They all thought I was dead, y'see. Of course," he slurred. "Spain was gettin' full of facists fas-fast, so I high-tailed it to Am-er-i-ka."

I laughed at his verbal blunders and the giggling fit carried me away. His speech seemed funny enough for me to realize that I was also well and truly sloshed.

"Ah shit," I sighed as I finally got the laughter under control. "I got a damned class in the morning."

Duncan looked concerned. "Should I take you home?"

"Pfft," I waved the thought away. "It's World War Two English History. Dude, I was there for it."

Mac nodded and poured me another beer. "Weren't we all? It was a hard one to stay out of."

"I wasn't," Adam said, slouching down in his chair. "I found me a nice cave and hid."

"Coward," I said, but it wasn't mean-spirited.

"Survivor," he corrected. "I suppose the government will want to start an Immortal faction of the army soon enough."

"Now that's a scary thought," I agreed. "I have no desire to be drafted."

Mac nodded over his own beer. "It's what I'm working with the UN to prevent."

"Here, here!" Adam said, and lifted a glass to Mac. "To avoiding conflicts!"

We toasted to that. Then Duncan raised his pint and said, "To the momentum of the future."

We toasted to that. They turned their eyes to me, one pair greeny and glassy, one brown and serious.

"To skipping classes!" I said, and raised my glass.

"Here, here!" Adam crowed and joined the toast. Mac laughed and clinked his glass against mine. In a corner of the bar, a table of students roared their assent.

We all drank.

Sometime around dawn I looked up and wondered where the hell I was.

And who the hell I was lying on.

I sat up, accidentally jamming the heel of my hand under a ribcage as I tried to get my balance. The man under me woofed out a pained groan and one eyelid peeled back to glare at me.

"What was that for?" Adam asked, sitting up. He cradled me on his lap as he shifted backwards on the couch to rest the small of his back against the armrest.

"Where are we?" I asked groggily, rubbing one eye with my hand. Mascara and eyeliner came away on my knuckle and I frowned at it. I probably looked like a racoon, now.

"My couch," Adam said, coughing once to clear his throat. He looked out the window. "Around sunrise."

"How the hell'd we get here?"

He smiled and ran on hand down my arm, from shoulder to wrist. Then he took my hand and twined his fingers in mine. "Can't hold your Smithwicks very well, can you?"

"I can too," I protested and squeezed his fingers. "I was just trying to keep up with a booze hound like you."

He smiled and shook his head. "Word of advice. Never try to keep up with me."

"Yeah," I rubbed the bridge of my nose where a headache was starting to blossom. "Kinda figuring that out. So why am I on your couch? On you?"

"We were making out and you fell asleep on me."

I stared at him with wide eyes. "You're lying."

"I am not."

"I passed out mid kiss?"

He shrugged. "Something like that."

I groaned. "I'm mortified."

"Want me to kiss it better?"

I fish-eyed him. "Do you have a class to teach tomorrow?"

"No."

"Then, yes please."

When Monday afternoon rolled on, and I finally extricated myself from Adam, I got on the bus and went to my evening class. I finally felt confident getting onto the bus with all those other 'normal' people.

The other passengers stared at me and at my sword.

I stuck out my tongue at them.

It seemed a fair trade.

Author's Note:

The Swordbearer Writer's Circle is now open! The link is in my bio - go, read, write, join!