To Be Healed

To Be Healed
By

Lady MoonHawke


Disclaimer: I own neither Highlander characters (Methos/Adam Peirson, Joe Dawson, Duncan MacLeod) nor Louis from Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. I am only borrowing without permission, and promise they will be returned in good condition. I am making no money from this effort, nor is it for sale. Please don't sue or have a snit. It's meant as a compliment to the creators of these wonderful, fascinating characters.

Spoilers through Comes A Horseman / Revelations 6:8 and Memnoch the Devil.

Rated PG-13 for mild violence, and swearing in French.



I love New Orleans.

Don't get me wrong. The South Pacific is wonderful as well, and anonymous, for the most part. But it does require passports and airline travel and other, mostly expensive, things. And my current persona, Adam Peirson, lowly research assistant, definitely does not travel to exotic island hide-aways every time the mercury takes a dive.

So New Orleans it is. The city is beautiful now, gearing up for Mardi Gras. I do believe it starts here earlier and earlier every year. I'm sure one day I'll show up right after Easter and discover parades and beads and all the trappings ready to go. And if it weren't so beastly hot in summer, maybe I'd settle in for a while. I could certainly stand to bury myself in Tulane for a while and watch the world go by some more.

I settled into a bar on Bourbon Street, the requisite beer close at hand. Mac's always commenting on that, something like, "Another one, Old Man? What did you do, buy stock in the brewery?" Well, why not? Let's face it. People always buy beer. Hell, for a long time, you were better off drinking the beer, or whatever else had been properly aged. At times there was enough stuff swimming in the water to make even an Immortal think twice about drinking it. I mean, sure it wouldn't do any permanent damage, but cholera is no fun for anyone, especially several times over.

It had rained this afternoon. Fairly typical weather in this area, and the scent of a hundred varieties of flowers was hanging in the moist air. And the smells from another hundred restaurants offering the usual variations on a theme, that being HOT. But still I love it. The food here is as miraculous as the place itself, with each dish trying to out-do the others in combination of flavor, texture and spice. And thank the gods for Cafe du Monde, where coffee is an art form, and so are the pastries. When it all gets to be too much, I can simply sit and watch the river float by, and lose myself in some memory or another.

And some of my memories are not as pleasant as others. I stirred myself from the bar before they could overcome me again. It was too easy to remember since Bordeaux all the things I had done. Seeing the others again, the talking, the drinking, those had been good. The plotting to kill the rest of the planet's population, that I could have done without. What is it in the years we lived had changed me but not them? Well, in all honesty, Caspian was insane. Don't suppose he would change much. And Silas didn't have enough intelligence or imagination to do anything else. But Kronos was brilliant. And deranged, I have to admit. But for just a moment or two, I was a Horseman again, and it was good.

Night had fallen completely in the French Quarter, and I wrapped my coat a little tighter across my chest, feeling a reassuring jab from the crosspiece of my sword tucked safely out of sight but close at hand. Comfort can come from the strangest of places sometimes. The crowds along the street were not comforting, however. A sea of humanity in varying degrees of intoxication pressed close, and I felt a hint of agoraphobia kick in. There was an alley nearby, and I slipped into it, hoping for a moment to slow the pounding of my heart and the harshness of my breathing. I thought I would just be a moment to collect myself, then go on.

The attack came from behind, one half of the grip like cold iron over my mouth, and the other above my elbow, near the shoulder. I was frozen for a heartbeat from the shock of it. I had felt nothing; no crawling skin, no sense of dread, no spiders up and down my spine. Nothing from the Quickening I had to come to rely on for my safety. Fool. My only relief was that I would probably live through this, though I wasn't looking forward to the pain. I waited for the knife and its attendant agony.

It wasn't to be a blade between the ribs, though. I felt a stabbing at the side of my neck and tensed. Gods, not there. It's doesn't heal as well. I felt a pulling at my throat, and wanted to laugh. Here I am, some unexplainable being hiding amongst the ordinary people, and I've been attacked by someone who thinks they're a vampire! A lassitude crept over me and I let my head tilt away from the bite. My hands and feet started to feel cold, chilled, and I thought idly that this had to be one of the better ways to die.

After what seemed like an eternity the pulling sensation ceased. Whether this was because the attack was over, or because I had finally gone completely numb I couldn't tell. I vaguely heard a crackling sound, and felt something akin to the actinic surge of the Quickening across the wound. Then there was a gasp, and I felt myself tossed against a wall, and I slid down bonelessly, unable to stop myself.

I dragged my eyes open, trying to assess whether my head would be next to go. Across the narrow space sat a man, or at least, what appeared to be a man. His hair and clothing were dark, but his face was luminously pale between them, and his eyes were bright green. As I watched, his pale skin flushed, flooding with blood, my blood, I realized. I chuckled harshly. Strange, the things you find in this city, really.

"So vampires are real," I managed to breath once I had air.

His head snapped up, eyes firmly locked with mine. "Merde," he whispered. He tried to push himself up, but some weakness prevented him.

"Don't bother," I advised. "Trying to kill me will only annoy both of us." My hands and feet were totally numb, useless lumps of meat at the end of other lumps of meat. Certainly this was a new experience. "Who are you?"

He stared at me a moment. Measuring, perhaps? "Louis will do for now, I think." He leaned his head back against the wall. "Mon Dieu. How long have you lived?"

"What do you mean?" I was not about to reveal secrets I didn't have to.

"So many battles. So many wounds to be healed. How do you deal with the guilt?"

"I did what was necessary to survive. The first millennia is the hardest." Somehow, he knew. And somehow, I didn't care.

"Ahhh... Again this being without regret. Perhaps I should have listened to Armand after all. But there is something you regret. Do you wish you had told him before the harsh words?"

"How do you know all this?" I had to know. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. And Immortality brought him back.

"The blood. Your thoughts, you memories, your life, like a thread stretched back to the beginning of time. I've never seen anything like it in 200 years."

"Give it a couple of millennia. It provides some interesting perspective." The tingle of blood returning to my extremities made me shift a little, and think that soon I could walk out of this alley. I'd be safer with the drunks in the street this time.

"Will you tell me something before you go?" Louis asked. Polite creature, I suppose, if you ignored the whole blood-drinking thing, but determined as well.

"If I can," I replied.

"Will you tell this one you love? You know the weight of years alone. Do not torment yourself when love could ease the burden."

"And you will forgive yourself for wanting to survive and doing what is necessary to secure that survival?" I countered.

"De accord. A fair trade, then." He pushed himself to his feet. "You will be able to manage, I hope? I do not wish to leave you incapacitated if I do not have to."

The feeling had returned to my limbs, and I was able to rise. "Yes," I said, regaining my feet. I offered my hand, for this was truly a civilized creature, whatever his necessities might be. "Adam Peirson."

He took it, his grip warmer now. "For the moment, I suppose you are. Louis de Point du Lac. Thank you, Adam, for the conversation."

"No," I replied. "Thank you." We stood there for a moment, two men taking leave of each other. Then he was gone between one blink and the next.

I made my way back out into Bourbon Street, and then back to my hotel. I had some calls to make, and eventually, a plane to catch. Once safely in my room, I put in a call to Joe, blessing cellphones as it rang.

"Dawson," he answered. He sounded like he'd been asleep, but that didn't mean anything. It was a decent hour to sleep in both Seacouver and Paris.

"Hey, Joe. It's Adam. Where are you?" I asked. I didn't trust the privacy of telephone lines, especially in a hotel.

"What are you up to, Old Man? Mac's still pretty steamed at you." Nice, how he avoided answering.

"I'm not surprised. But there are some things I have to say to him, and I'm going to do it in person."

Joe was silent a moment, and I waited. This wasn't the only way for me to find out. Just the easiest. "He's on the barge. I don't know what you hope to accomplish, Adam."

"I don't know myself, but I'm going to try. Thanks, Joe." I cut the connection quickly, then started calling airlines, looking for the first flight to Paris. I'd decide what to say to MacLeod when I got there. Somehow I'll find a way for the wounds to be healed.

*The End*


This story was originally written for the Highlander Lyric Wheel Challenge. Interested in knowing more about the Lyric Wheel? Want to join in? Find more stories and info at: The Lyric Wheel Homepage


"Two Thousand Years"

Billy Joel

In the beginning, there was the cold and the night.
Prophets and angels gave us the fire and the light.
Man was triumphant, armed with the faith and the will
That even the darkest of ages couldn't kill

Too many kingdoms, too many flags on the field.
So man battles, so many wounds to be healed.
Time is relentless, only true love perseveres.
It's been a long time and now I'm with you
After two thousand years.

The is our moment here at the crossroads of time.
We hope our children carry dreams down the line.
They are the vintage, what kind of life will they live?
Is this a curse or a blessing that we give?

Sometimes I wonder why are we so blind to fate?
Without compassion, there can be no end to hate,
No end to sorrow caused by the same endless fears.
Why can't we learn from all we've been through
after two thousand years?

There will be miracles after the last war is won.
Science and poetry rule in the new world to come.
Prophets and angels gave us the power to see
What an amazing future there will be.

And in the evening after the fire and the light
One thing in certain - nothing can hold back the night.
Time is relentless, and as the past disappears,
We're on the verge of all things new
After two thousand years.

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