1stmacleod | What never will be

Current Mood: devastated
Current Location: Kairos house, Sanctuary

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What never will be

Staying just off the Nexus makes it easier to visit, and Connor is tentatively getting familiar with the place. He's been told by a couple of people that he needs to get a PINpoint, and he's learned to reliably find the free bar. He's met a girl who wants to get some sword training from him, which is something to do, and he hasn't felt the buzz of another immortal since his first time here, and that was Ramirez.

He is almost, just barely, settling in.

Then he answers a casual question, and the woman who asked it starts to tell him about the other Connor MacLeod. The one who still has a good friend and true brother in Duncan. The one who still has Alex. And John. And Rachel. An ageless, immortal Rachel.

Connor staggers back to Kairos' house, with a box of chocolates he's supposed to give to his own Duncan along with the apology he's dreading to make. Over the past five years he's mostly pulled his mind back together. He no longer hallucinates, he has enough presence of mind to walk around in public without attracting stares. He remembers to shave at least every couple of days and shower whenever he gets a chance, and he can carry on normal conversations. He's walking a fragile edge, though.
Now his mind is swirling with the stories he's been told of a big happy family with another Connor MacLeod at the boisterous center of it all, somewhere out there not so far away. It's the most wonderful thing he could possibly dream of to know his family is happy and healthy somewhere, and the most agonizingly painful thing ever to know that it's not his family, and it never will be.
He comes into the house and pets the dogs, and puts the box of chocolates on the dresser in the guest room, and sits on the floor beside the bed with his head in his hands and shakes all over for the next few hours.

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Connor blinks at her, and there, finally, is the raspy chuckle she was going for. "I'm on the tall side, I guess, but there's lots of men bigger than me. I'm a good runner but I'm not strong." That's not technically true, because he's a little stronger than he looks. His presence, though, after several centuries and hundreds of quickenings, can be enough to fill any room.

He leads the way to the kitchen and starts pulling things together, directing her to do easy things like chopping and mixing.

And Kairos will obediently chop and mix with obvious skill and talent - as much as one needs skill and talent to mix and chop. Her knife skills are excellent due to a couple of courses she took with her sister a few years ago. "Have you ever owned a restaurant, or work in one?" she asks, cleaning off her chef's knife.

"...No. I owned an antique store, last. Why? I'm not that good." He's got no professional training, but in the days when he was healthier he had a big appetite, and he did the single father act for finicky kids twice. Connor's never thought of himself as a chef, even if he is pretty good at it.

But he'd be a thin chef, so would anyone trust his food?

She shrugs, washing her hands. "You seem to like feeding people. And your food is far from inedible. S'really tasty, actually."

Kairos and her sister Kal know from experience it's not the thinness of the chef that matters; rather it's the enthusiasm. The girls can throw down some food.

"Aw, I'm just try to repay you for letting me stay here, and you seemed to like it." He's quietly flattered, though. His hands are almost steady as he works. After a moment his voice comes softer, halting, "I... raised Rachel, alone, and she was a picky eater, and so small. I don't think she got enough, growing up during the war. She liked baking cookies, though..."

"Cookies are nice. The kids at the Way are fond of pizza. They don't get it often, I guess. And chocolate chip cookies." She tilts her head. "Which war?"

"World War II. I found her in Holland..." His voice is distant, and sad, but he wouldn't have talked about her like this, a week ago. "We were the only two survivors after the Nazis came through. Well. I'm not sure I counted, technically. I'd already died at least once."

Another easy shrug. "Anyone who survives that is a survivor, dead twice already or not. It was horrific."

"Yes... it was. And you would have liked her." The woman in the photo was in her forties at least, maybe even fifties, but with his distant voice and gaze, what he's remembering is a frightened little waif he could carry with one arm, on his hip.

"I'm sure I would. I like people in general."

"Heh." Connor smiles sadly. "So did she." He stirring up rice now, adding egg and vegetables she's chopped up.
"The antique store was perfect, she worked downstairs and told people what good taste they had until they bought things, and I could just handle the books and the purchasing... she used to say I scared away customers, anyway..."

It's going to be slightly salty rice, because suddenly he's dripping a few tears into it.

"Oh, Connor." There goes that hand again, rubbing his shoulders and back reassuringly.

He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Sorry..."

"No, it's okay. I'm allowed to be sad for my friends."

"She was with me longer than anybody else but Duncan. She was only eight when I found her..." The loss of every family member hit hard, but in some ways her death was the worst blow.

She nods. "And no one should have to see their child die."

"...No, but I know I'm not the only person who has." He steps back a little from the cooking to wipe his face with his sleeve.

"Of course not. But it doesn't mean you're not allowed to let it affect you. No one better ever tell you otherwise. I'll beat them up." Look at Kairos attempt to be fierce.

He glances down at her, and chuckles very weakly. "I'll keep that in mind." He sniffs. "I'm okay..." Not really, but he's been worse.

"I'd hug you, but I wouldn't want you to think I'm attempting to take advantage of you when you're not your best."

"Hugs... are okay..." He smiles weakly, and takes a deep, shaky sigh. He's in a better mental state than he was when she came home, but it's going to be a long evening.

The words aren't even completely out of his mouth before she's got her arms wrapped around Connor's neck, pressing herself tightly against him.

Well that's a little more enthusiastic than he was expecting, and it takes him slightly by surprise, but after a moment of mild awkwardness he gently pats her back.

Just slightly more enthusiastic than what she usually makes him suffer through. When she realizes that she's being improper, she immediately puts some space between them. "Sorry," she says. "..Guess we should finish dinner, huh."

Connor's not complaining. He likes hugs, and he's been alone too long.
"Yeah... don't want it to get cold. Thanks..."

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