c. 3082 A.D.
"Doran, you can't stay here all day."
He never looked up from the simulations he was overseeing. "Dr. Prescott."
The other man rolled his eyes. "We have been working together for nearly five years – you call me by my given name, I think I can do the same."
He looked up, pausing the simulation.
"You can't live here forever." He frowned at the fridge he had opened. "Do you even have food in here?" He let the door swing shut, grimacing. "You have to live, Doran! And stop giving me that look – you know I'm right?"
His quickly assumed look of innocence was blatantly false. "All I know is that you come to fetch the finished samples and equations. I have neither ready. You have no other business. We are finished." He looked down again and started the simulation, dismissing the other.
He frowned at the doctor for a moment before marching over and switching the electric breakers for the building off.
"Emerson! How -"
"How dare I? You," He pointed at the stiff man, "Have not been off this plantation for the seven years you have been here. You have a standing order with the markets and all you need is delivered here. You work alone, giving your results to the couriers and accepting your new orders in the same manners. You talk to no one and this amount of time alone is very unhealthy."
He glared at Emerson for a minute before deflating with a sigh and rubbing his forehead as he looked around the dark laboratory.
He followed his gaze. "And they're just plants – you save and back-up everything: nothing was lost."
"Just plants? Some of these -"
He rolled his eyes again, marching over and looping his arm through Doran's. "I'm not leaving you and I will defend the breaker box with my very life until you go outside this plantation. Just for one hour – that's it and you can return to your Scrooge-against-society life. Alright? Come on." He tugged him towards the door; and Doran reluctantly followed, resistance in every inch of his frame.
"And don't worry – if someone complains you spent any time away from your plants or experiments or whatever, you can blame it on extreme duress."
Emerson finally let him stop and released his arm when they stood in the centre of a temporary outdoor cafe – the roof opened to allow the outside air and light within until the next storm came rolling in.
"Now, I know that you were born working, but this is a cafe and these are normal people."
Doran rubbed his arm, straightening his sleeves and looking around. He took a deep breath, wishing it were quieter – more like the solitude and sanctuary he found beside the sea. "I have read, Emerson."
"Very funny, I'm sure." He scanned the tables, finally locating one in the back. "We'll sit there – they'll come out to serve us soon."
"How wonderful..." He followed the courier through the cafe, winding around the tables and chairs.
"Hey!" He tugged on Doran's arm again. "Come on – you'll get along fine with this guy: he's as taciturn as you."
"Perhaps if you translate 'taciturn' to mean 'valuing privacy of one's own life' rather than 'communicating little' – I do not recall the latter. In fact, I recall communicating rather a lot – much of it critiques of the codes of the factory. Need I repeat it already?" The speaker looked to the other sitting at his table with a mildly amused smile. "I had expected to eventually – but not even a day later?" He glanced up to the courier. "Hardly a record to be made."
"Yeah, yeah – you hate us and had better things to be doing with your time."
"You made that very clear. Eric, Doran – Doran, Eric." He gestured to the silent partner. "Peter, Doran – Doran, Peter." He sank into one of the two extra seats and laid his head on the table with a sigh. "I am so tired."
Eric pressed his lips together, glaring at the courier. "Yes, do sit down. We would love to share your company..." He sighed and shook his head, looking up to the man he was introduced to and stilling. "...Doran?"
The scientist was frozen, recognising the man sitting across from him at the table. His acquaintance was a stranger – and he wondered why he was with a mortal when he never cared about them – but Eric was the same sharp-featured, sharp-eyed man that had revealed his secret to the Detective.
Peter looked between them for a few moments before pushing a chair towards the newcomer and motioning him to sit.
He sat and finally found his voice, forcing his jaws to relax. "Eric."
The elder Immortal glanced at the courier. "And by what misfortune were you burdened with this thing's company?"
Peter shook his head slightly, standing to fetch some water from the bar.
Doran frowned at Emerson. "He carries supplies to and from the plantation – not that it matters." He returned his glare to the other Immortal.
Eric raised his hands in surrender. "It was merely a question. Nothing more."
"It is never so."
He sighed, lowering his hands to fold them on the table. "No – but who said life was simple? There is more than can ever be understood – it can only be appreciated."
"All things may be understood."
He tilted his head slightly, studying Doran. "There are always exceptions – always mutations."
He leaned forward. "But experience teaches and mistakes can be avoided."
"Sometimes not even experience can teach, Hen-Doran. There are many things that just are and have no explanation. You would know that, would you not?"
He turned his gaze away finally. "There is an explanation for everything."
Eric opened his mouth to begin answering, but his acquaintance returned and he stood. "A delightful pleasure to meet your acquaintance, I am sure. But hardly one, I think, that shall induce my return." He glanced around the cafe, his eyes finally coming to meed Doran's. "I do not think that I shall be returning."
Doran made no answer, almost reaching out to pull Peter back as he followed the elder Immortal from the table.
We're part of a story – part of a tale. We're all on this journey; no one is to stay.
AN: Doran is Henry Morgan, Eric is Adam, and Peter is Perkins. Emerson is the only mortal herein... Written for Samsquatch67 when she requested Henry meeting Adam in the future. He wasn't supposed to for quite a while, given that here he still thinks that Adam murdered his wife; but my characters never listen to my anyway... 11-30-2015