otherways - London - 23 March 2004

[i_vanquish_evil]

Normally he's in Rome today, but he got way-laid in London this year. It doesn't matter, he still won't work today. Today is the day he mourns the loss of Carl. He still misses him, nearly eighty years later. No matter what the Order or the Cardinal tells him of his choices, Carl was his friend - his best friend, the only one he had at times - and he would never forget that. He sits on the bed with the one photograph he has of Carl. "I miss you, dear friend," and a tear drops from his cheek to the photo in his hand. "Though, on some level, I'm glad you're not here, only I'm not entirely sure why."

He shakes his head and slides the photo back into the large book that no one would ever guess was a Bible - the only reason he still has it is because it was Carl's. No, it's not that other book that he demanded the Cardinal return, this was Carl's Bible and Michael's had it rebound and recovered a couple of times. The other book is something else.

He puts the photo in the book and tucks it back into its place in his bags. With a tired sigh, he gets up and goes into the bathroom to shower.

It's not hot in London, by any means, but he foregoes any clothing for tonight and crawls into bed, under the covers and drifts into sleep.

******

He walks into a room filled to the ceiling with books. He would swear it's a library, but he can't even be sure of that. It just looks like a room with books on every wall and every available space that doesn't hold something else... like a lamp... and a notebook... and a chair holding a blond man that he can't recall ever seeing before. So, how'd he end up in my dream? He peers at the man a moment, then turns to leave, shaking his head.

"I'll tell you like I told you before... they know."

He turns over his shoulder, unimpressed and quite irritated. "Who the hell are you? And what is it that someone knows?"

The blond man stares at him, mouth agape. "Oh, this is bad. I knew it was getting worse, but not this bad. Dammit. You let them get you. I told you not to let them take you and you didn't listen. What the hell am I going to do with you?"

"Excuse me?" Now he's just pissed. Some little fruity strawberry-blond-headed man is not going to stand around and tell him he's an idiot. "Either tell me what the hell is going on, or get the hell out of my head."

Completely unfazed, the man responds, "I can't. It's impossible. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. It's just something you'll have to live with. But there's little I can do now. You let them take you and now they know more than before. I'm sorry. It's not up to me anymore."

Thoroughly pissed off, Michael stomps out of the library - it's the only word to describe the place - and slams the door.

******

He wakes with a start, sitting up in the bed and glancing around the room. He switches on the light and finds the book... the other book sitting out on the nightstand - which is not where he had left it. He wasn't even aware that he'd brought it to London with him. He peers at it, gets up and tucks it into his bags, checks to be sure that Carl's book is still there, then goes back to bed.

The dream he had continues to roll through his mind, even as he sleeps - he doesn't have the dream again, his subconscious just can't seem to let it go though. When sleep comes, it's in bits and pieces throughout the night and when dawn finally breaks, he gives up on trying to sleep anymore and crawls out of bed, back into the shower to try to get himself awake enough to figure out what he's supposed to be doing.