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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"I'd... like that. I miss doing things with my hands, I guess." He prods at his food, and has to make himself keep eating.

"Mm. Just let me know. Provided I can get my hands on some more of the scales." She watches him for a minute, chewing the inside of her lip. "Okay, Connor. How 'bout we open that scotch now?"

"I'm not sure I'd know what to do with them, but..." He shrugs. Antique dealing didn't really provide any creative outlet, but it's been long decades since he made anything.
"...Okay. You done?" He pushes back his plate a little, only half empty. He did try, really.

"I can always grab more if I'm hungry later. Maybe I can drink more if there's something to soak it up."

Connor nods. "It helps. Drinking on an empty stomach'll just make you sick." This is the voice of experience, sadly. He leaves his plate and fetches the bottle, holding it thoughtfully a moment, almost reverently, before he opens it.

"That's what I've heard, anyway." She'll just watch him with a half-smile.

"Better to hear it than to live it, trust me." Connor gives her a weak smile, and pours a measure of scotch into both glasses, leaning over to hand her one.

Kairos has had hypervodka, and wine, but she hasn't ever had this before. She takes it from him, looks it over. "Thanks." It's a beautiful color, and it almost makes her want to go paint it instead of drink it. Almost. She's been told you don't sip at these things - thanks, John - so she goes ahead and takes a healthy swallow.

It's tasty, and smooth as it goes down with an almost pleasant burn.

Scotch probably falls somewhere in between in alcohol content, and maybe closer to the wine end, depending how powerful hypervodka is. Connor holds his glass up to the light and considers it for a moment, too, but he's not thinking about painting with it. The color is a rich amber, and he gives a silent salute before also taking a gulp. His eyes close as he savors the liquid fire down his throat.

"Worth it?" she asks before taking another gulp of her own.

"Worth what, exactly? But it's... wonderful, thank you." He sinks back down into his chair, setting the bottle on the table between them.

"Opening it, and drinking with me."

I owe you, a lot, for letting me stay here. I'm honored to share a drink with you." He smiles, not much, but very gratefully and heartfelt. She's saluted with the glass before he takes another gulp, that leaves it half empty.

Kairos preens a little - not much, but it's there. "It's nice to have someone in the house. So thank you." She's going slower, but she mimics his salute and takes another gulp of her own.

She's allowed to preen. He's encouraging it, even. Today has been a setback, in some ways, but he's doing better over all than he was when he first stumbled into the Nexus.

"It's... nice to not always be alone. I get to talking to the Quickenings in my head... forget where and when I am..." He finishes the rest of the glass a little more slowly, savoring the taste, but he's still definitely going to be refilling his glass first. She's not expected to keep up.

She wants to ask him about the Quickenings but she's afraid of making him sad again. "I get that way sometimes when I'm working. Up until about a year ago, my sister lived with me to make sure I ate or remembered to go to work or finish commissions."

It's hard to say if that would be a safe question or not, but mostly he seems okay with explaining the mechanics of what he is, now.
"I don't... have anybody... anyway, I know I'm not right in the head anymore, but I think I'm getting better. A little."

She shrugs and shakes her head simutaneously. "I know I don't count in the important ways, but you do have people there for you. M'a pint sized support system. I lend you more than my bed, you know."

"I didn't mean it like-! I meant before I came here..." He immediately looks apologetic and guilty, and hunches low over the table. Plus her comment about lending him her bed is giving him dirty thoughts.
"I'm sorry... you've been amazing, and I'm an awful person and I always say things wrong..." He does have a history of tactlessness, actually. Connor drains his glass.

"I know, I'm just saying that you have people that care. Whatever it's worth, it's out there." She reaches to pat his shoulder reassuringly. "You're not an awful person, stop that."

"I... didn't think I did. I haven't..." He smiles weakly at her. "I don't make friends much, and most of the ones I did have are gone, too. I'm not good with people."

She picks up the bottle of scotch and pours a good measure in both their glasses - her own doesn't need much filling, to be honest. "And now you've got some stubborn bossy air faerie telling you you've got friends you didn't even know you had. You might not make friends easily, but you're good with me." Now that she thinks about it, maybe she should introduce him to John. They could go drinking together! Or ... hm. She wonders if he'd karaoke.

"You're not bossy." He smiles weakly, watching his empty glass get refilled. "...Thanks. I'm glad you put up with me."
Connor wouldn't mind a drinking buddy, but he'd be painful at karaoke. He can carry a tune, but his voice is naturally raspy and quiet, and prone to cracking and breaking if he pushes it too high or loud. At nineteen, it was still settling into the deeper tones of adulthood, and never quite finished. Now it never will.

"Oh, you've just never seen me cranky before." She smiles at him, stretching a little with a small pleased little noise. "It's easy to 'put up with you'. It's not exactly a hardship to come home to dinner in the oven an a clean house. I'm still tempted to find you that skirt."

"You can't make me wear it." There's the flicker of a smile, and he takes a slow swallow of scotch. "I'm only doing all that because I owe you. Anyway, I'm used to having to cook and clean for myself, or..." Or for his kid, but he knows better than to follow that train of thought.

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