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When Adam had first started giving Joe blowjobs in the backroom of the bookstore, Joe had never thought it would end up like this. They had circled each other for over a year, always the little flirtations, with Adam taking his commitments to the Methos project seriously enough to spend months in Tibet, and Joe always needing to be able to follow MacLeod to the ends of the earth if necessary on no notice whatsoever. The unspoken agreement was, if it ever happened, it was never going to last.
But two years in now and Adam had practically moved in with him. It had started with some of Adam's books, never his research material because Adam would never risk them to an unknown environment, but soon Joe had accumulated a collection of legal thrillers and noir paperbacks that he had never seen before in his life. Adam's toothbrush had been last, which still made Joe smile ruefully. But Adam, when it had finally come up, had been blunt about it. Joe's house was bigger, in a better location, and a lot more comfortable. The unspoken, which Joe had brought up, had made Adam look at him quizzically, and then laugh and laugh. If Joe had to be honest with himself, which he usually tried never to do, he'd have to admit that he liked that about Adam the most, even more than his ass and his mouth. Adam had taken his "we need to talk" about comfortable positions and turned it into a seminar with practical application. Adam, somewhere down the line, had swallowed a sex manual along with a Sanskrit dictionary and a guide to how to cheat at cards, Joe was sure.
Still, even after the talks, Adam still liked giving blowjobs the most. "I only just started liking these," he'd explained one morning during breakfast before Joe had to rush back to Seacouver, "I think I'm getting addicted now. I hope you don't mind." Joe hadn't mentioned it again.
With two years in and still going strong, Joe wasn't going to do anything to jinx what he had with what his team had started calling his midlife crisis. With MacLeod back in Paris, it seemed, for the duration, Adam took to splitting his time between the Methos project and Joe, flitting back and forth, never letting either feel like he wasn't giving them his full attention.
A month after their unacknowledged two year anniversary, Joe surprised Adam with take-out from the new place around the corner and Adam had spent dinner regaling him with tawdry stories he had been translating from an ancient text the Watchers had only just gotten their hands on. And then when he went down on his knees after clearing the plates away, and started unzipping Joe's pants, Joe hadn't the strength to argue.
Adam was amazingly good at this for someone who claimed he used to hate it. He never used his hands, preferring instead to keep them on his thighs, and his eyes were gently closed, leaving Joe the choice of staring at Adam's eyelashes, his hollowed cheeks, or his lips. This time Joe was staring at his cheeks, trying not to come too fast, and so when Adam pulled back suddenly, Joe had a perfect, unobstructed view. And saw it.
And then his phone rang. He grabbed for it blindly, one hand trying to shove his dick back into his pants as Adam ran off to the bathroom. "Dawson."
"Joe, it's Sophia. Don't panic, but he'll at your door in half a second." She sounded completely out of breath and Joe was automatically telling her he'd stall her Immortal when the doorbell rang. Joe tossed the phone onto the couch and got his pants zipped and the door open, and he thanked God he managed it in that order.
The teenager the Parisian Watchers had privately dubbed the Immortal Delivery Guy was standing on the other side with a clipboard and a bored expression that was quickly turning into confused curiosity. "Mr. Dawson?"
"Yeah?" Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Sophia bent over, catching her breath.
"Package." The Immortal handed him the clipboard to sign and looked around, peering past Joe into the living room. Joe signed quickly and flashed Sophia an apologetic look as her charge handed him the delivery. Sorry. But this really couldn't wait.
Joe closed the door, locked it, set the deadbolt, and then dropped the package on the floor. "Adam?" he called, trying too hard to sound gentle and not as pissed off as he felt.
Adam appeared suddenly, as if out of thin air, hovering in the doorway. He'd put the rest of his clothes back on and he looked somehow smaller, huddled in his sweater. His head was bowed and his entire body was tense. "Joe..."
"I wasn't hallucinating, was I?" But he knew he wasn't. He'd seen that look a thousand times and he'd recognize it in his sleep. That oh, shit look that meant one Immortal had sensed another. An Immortal.
"No." Adam swallowed hard and Joe couldn't help but focus on Adam's neck. Long and lean and far too bony these days. Adam had been working himself half to death in the hunt for a legend. "I can explain. Really. I can."
"I'm sure you can." Joe sat down in his overstuffed chair. He was not having this conversation standing up. "How about we start with the fact that you're dead."
"I didn't know!" Adam shouted, then blushed a deep red. "I didn't--I didn't know. God, Joe. Remember last year? When I didn't have a scratch on me and the doctor said it was a miracle? Even then, it took me nearly a week to figure it out. I don't know when it happened, the first time. Or what happened, if it were true. I don't--I didn't know, not until I tried," he waved his right hand in a sharp upward motion, "the usual. Trite and tried and true, and of course you've memorized the signs of spotting new ones. As much as I hate to say I'm a cliché, I just couldn't--look, I thought about telling you, of course I did, but I didn't--"
"Slow down," Joe ordered, less and less angry by the second, "you're going to give yourself another death if you don't breathe. Sit down, Adam, please."
Adam froze, then nodded. He took two deep breaths and then dropped down in front of the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I was going to tell you," he said, meeting Joe's eye for the first time. "I swear, I was going to tell you. I just didn't know how you'd take it. If you'd turn me over to the Tribunal. They cut people's heads off after they shoot them. Just to be sure." Adam's laugh bordered on hysterical. "They'll cut my head off. Just like that. Because I died."
And they probably would. The Tribunal were some scary motherfuckers. "I won't tell them." Joe leaned forward. "But you need to tell me what happened, Adam. If I'm going to help you, I need to know."
"I don't know!" Adam looked more frustrated than Joe had ever seen him, and Joe had seen him sweat over translations for months at a time. "I know it sounds insane how someone can die and revive and not notice, but I swear to you, Joe, I don't know how it happened. You don't think I've been going over this in my head, over and over, trying to figure out when? Maybe I was hit by a car one night when I was drunk. Maybe I fell and broke my spine. Maybe I got mugged. I really, really don't know."
Joe nodded. Not good enough, but good enough for now, with Adam still close to hyperventilating. "All right." He could help Adam with that. Later, they could go through dates. They could figure it out. But there was a more pressing problem than the fact that the oblivious librarian managed to die and not notice. "But a sword? Adam, do you have any idea how to use a sword?"
Adam looked even more scared, which Joe thought had to be some kind of world record for fear. "I. Uh. They'll kill me!" he said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself more than Joe. "I needed to take it. I needed it more than they would. They'll never notice it's gone. I checked and they'd had it for twenty years and never cataloged it. They'll never notice. And it was...it was Methos's. Legend says it was Methos's."
Joe tried to decipher that from gibberish into English. Adam stole a sword, probably from the museum. A sword he'd have access to, a sword that there was no record of. What collection did the museum get twenty years ago that was so massive it hadn't been fully catalogued yet? Joe caught himself thinking he could look through Adam's notes later and almost laughed at the absurdity. Of course. Adam was right. He was the foremost Methos scholar in the last four centuries. If he said something never existed, well, then, of course he was right. Students in the academy were already studying Adam Pierson's work on the oldest immortal as if it were gospel. If only they knew. "You violated a chronicle?"
"I had to!" It was becoming a tired refrain, but Joe couldn't bring himself to lecture Adam about choices and free will. Of course Adam had violated the cardinal rule. It seemed inevitable now. Adam was scared. He had nowhere to turn. Of course he'd do what he could. Joe wasn't about to forgive it, but he could understand it. "I need a sword, even if I can't use it very well. It's a broadsword and it's heavy and it's enough I can do to swing it, but I'm working on it, I'm getting better. And I'll find Methos and he'll teach me to use it." Adam licked his lips. "He'll teach me."
The oldest Immortal? The ultimate survivor? Methos would eat this kid for breakfast. "What makes you so sure?"
"He--it's in his chronicle." Adam rested his chin on his knees and looked up at Joe. "I can cite you chapter and verse. He had a school. In Alexandria. It's documented in four different places. He had a school for new immortals. He taught them how to live and how to fight. But it was more than that." Adam perked up and Joe could see the man he knew and loved shining through the terrified Watcher before him. "He taught them about art and philosophy. Even through the middle ages, we have documentation, good documentation, of him seeking out young immortals and teaching them not just how to survive, but how to live, how to be decent human beings on top of all the...all the killing."
"And you think he'd take you in?" As much as Joe would do anything to help Adam, he was damn sure Adam was fooling himself. Methos hadn't stayed hidden this long by taking in students. If he was even still alive. Even the historians paid to think up crazy theories couldn't cough up a Methos sighting later than the eighteenth century. Even Adam himself had, four years ago, reluctantly postulated Methos's death as an explanation for a freak lightening storm that had destroyed two cities in the sixteenth century. And it was still more likely Methos was alive than that the Tribunal wouldn't kill the both of them for this, Adam for being an immortal and Joe for keeping his secret. "Adam, you need to have a plan B."
Adam's eyes flashed in what Joe figured had to be anger, and then he sighed. "I know, Joe. I know. Trust me. I've gone over all of this a thousand times. I know how big a risk this is. I know that if I make one tiny mistake, it's my head. And I know what that means now, to risk losing my head. I know how insane this all sounds." He gave Joe a shy, teasing smile that brightened up the look of utter defeat on his face. Like he was psyching himself up, forcing himself to be brave. "I won't blame you at all if you don't want anything more to do with me."
Yeah. Right. Sure. "Stop playing me, Adam. Tell me what you need me to do." Joe rubbed his tattoo absently. It was both of their deaths now if Adam was found out. "Look, I shouldn't tell you this, but we've got, the field agents, I mean, we've got a list of Immortals who know about us, but aren't on the list. Watchers who had to break cover for some reason or another and are covering their asses. I can get you in touch with one of those Watchers, get them to introduce you to their Immortal. You need a teacher whether you think you do or not."
"I'm a researcher. I don't need a teacher." Adam said it like it was an acknowledged fact. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Joe would have laughed at his naiveté. "I live in libraries. I flunked the field operation classes. The one time they tried me out in the field, I nearly broke my leg falling off a ladder. I've never been face to face with an Immortal my entire life. And the museum and the Watcher academy, they're all on holy ground anyway." He shrugged. "I'm harmless."
"And it hasn't occurred to you that you're going to live forever? You won't always be a Watcher, Adam." Joe paused. "Wait, holy ground?"
"You didn't know?" The look of fear was starting to creep back into Adam's eyes.
"Adam, please." Joe held up his hand. There were many things he wasn't sure about in this whole conversation, but one of them was that the academy being on holy ground wasn't common knowledge. "You can feel holy ground?"
Adam tightened his arms around his knees. "I-I guess? I was just there last year to give a talk and it was like an overpowering feeling of safety. It was amazing. I'd thought it was just the museum, because I practically live there half the time, so I thought being welcome came with the territory, but it was this really amazing feeling, like," he said a word in a language Joe didn't recognize, then blushed as he caught himself. "Um. Like coming home to a house you pessimistically expect to be empty, but isn't. Poetically translated. Literally, it's kind of untranslatable, but--"
"It's okay." One of the downsides of living with a linguist was that Joe had heard this lecture too many times before. He could probably regurgitate it on command, while half-asleep and drunk off his ass. "English is a very bad language, I know."
"It's not bad; it just needs a lot of help." Adam smiled and Joe noted with relief that he didn't look as terrified anymore. But he was still watching Joe's every move like a hawk, and that was unsettling. All the teasing in the world couldn't erase the fact that Adam was more on edge than Joe had ever seen anybody. He was a study in fight or flight, and Joe had the feeling that if he so much as twitched in a way Adam didn't like, Adam would be out the door faster than the proverbial speeding bullet. "I'm not that predictable, am I?"
Before tonight, Joe would have had to answer that Adam was very predicable. He doubted he ever would again. "No. You're not." He was just completely delusional, but more and more, Joe realized it had to be a survival mechanism. Adam's brain probably wouldn't let him see the danger he was in. He was an Immortal living as a Watcher. If either side caught him, he was dead. And all so Adam could find Methos? If that was the illusion of safety Adam was going to cling to, Joe wouldn't stop him. But he wouldn't let that stop him from trying to find a different safety net for Adam. Something more than holy ground. He'd put out feelers, find out which Immortals could slip off the grid easily and didn't have a student. He'd find Adam his safety net. The researchers always had such a rosy view of immortals. Adam needed a wake-up call. But not yet. Joe could keep him safe a little while longer.
"It's okay, Joe," Adam said quietly. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I promise. I'll do anything to survive. Whatever I need to do, I'll do it." He rolled onto his knees as he stood up. "I'll survive," he repeated, and for a moment he looked so heartbroken that when the look vanished, Joe was certain he had been hallucinating.
Adam had his coat on before Joe finished standing up. I guess flight won out. Joe had a sinking feeling that Adam wouldn't be back, and a small part of him hoped he wouldn't. He knew, and he knew Adam had to know, that the best thing for both of them would be if Adam ran off and never had contact with the Watchers again. If he found himself a nice patch of holy ground and stayed there until he got the hang of that broadsword. Let the Watchers discharge him in absentia, let the Tribunal wonder if Methos had taken him out in an attempt at self-preservation. Let Adam Pierson live to research another day.
For all he said he'd survive, if Adam had one ounce of self-preservation, he'd run away and never look back. But the words died in Joe's throat as he tried to tell Adam to run. He couldn't. He couldn't go that far. "Stay safe," he settled on. "And watch that head of yours."
Adam responded by kissing him. And then he was gone.
Joe watched from the window as Adam made his way to his car. He fingered the drapes, knowing Adam couldn't see him, knowing this was wrong. With a practiced ease he didn't feel, Joe kept perfectly still, barely breathing, as Adam unlocked the door to his car and glanced back at the house. His face was full of regret in the streetlight, and Joe watched in mute horror as Adam bent his head and cut into his palm with one of his keys. Sparks flew as it healed and Adam's shoulders shook as he put the key in the ignition and drove away.
Joe took a beer out of his fridge and drank it down before making his way into his study and pulling out a new notebook. He settled down behind his desk, but it was ten minutes before he opened to page one and scrawled at the top. The chronicle of Adam Pierson. He drew a heavy line, then filled out, hand shaking less and less as he made his way through the familiar sterile formula.
Born: Cardiff, Wales, UK
First death: Circa 1992?, Paris, France (Chronicler's note: First death educated guess at this time)
First teacher: None yet
Location: Paris, France
Education: Working on dissertation at the University of Paris
Occupation: Watcher
Joe underlined that last a second time and then a third. Someday this chronicle would be found and there would need to be an explanation for why he'd kept it hidden. He hoped that would suffice.
Chronicler's note: Copy over his full history from his personnel file.
"He'll kill me for this," Joe said to himself. But this was the exchange. He'd keep Adam's secret, but he was still a Watcher. They both were. Adam would understand.
It was for history.