An Evening at Joe's (14 page)

The love story of Methos and Alexa is like an iceberg in the
Highlander
world—only the tip rises above the surface of the series. Although Ocean Hellman, who portrayed Alexa so beautifully, appeared in only one episode, the impact of the character was felt throughout season 4. In "Timeless," when they meet. In "Deliverance," when Methos mentions to MacLeod that he left Alexa in Athens. In "Methuselah's Gift," when Methos is in pursuit of the Methuselah Crystals to save Alexa's life. And Head Writer David Abramowitz decreed that we would find a place in the show to let Methos have his moment of grief for her loss; that place was found in "Through a Glass Darkly," when Methos and MacLeod stand at Alexa's grave.

In creating these few scenes referring to Alexa's off-screen death, we found that we had created an offscreen life for her as well. Over six or eight months, beginning in December of 1995, Donna Lettow and I took turns writing a series of vignettes, known collectively as "Postcards from Alexa."

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. With a bone-weary sigh, the man who was calling himself Adam Pierson stripped off his mud-soaked clothes and dropped them on the floor of the hotel bathroom. The cuts and bruises had healed already; the clothes were a total loss.

He'd wanted to start their trip at the Grand Canyon, even though it meant driving more than twenty hours straight through while Alexa dozed in the back of the van. He'd wanted to be there at that moment when she stepped out of the van and saw the canyon spread before her, to see that look of wonder and awe as she tried to assimilate the broken landscape. He'd been there a dozen times over the years himself, and had yet to become immune to the absolute amazement he'd felt the very first time he'd seen it. Next to this work of Nature every human problem seemed small, and even he, with five thousand years of memories weighing on him, seemed young.

He hadn't counted on the driving rainstorm that had caught them as they crossed the Rockies, or the flat tire that had them almost in a ditch outside of Flagstaff. On the darkened road the fall rain was less a gentle shower than an aggressor, and he'd been soaked through in seconds changing the tire. He'd lost his footing as he struggled to push them out of the mud the van was mired in, and taken a tumble down a scraggly bank which seemed to have been planted strategically with briars. There was less damage to his body than to his mood—the perfect day he'd planned had been turned into a disaster, and even Alexa's attempts to turn it into a joke had fallen flat. It didn't matter, she said, but it did matter—they'd never get this day, their first day, back. They'd finished the drive in silence, and he'd stayed in the van, too mud-soaked to venture inside, while she'd checked them into their hotel. She'd handed him a key and disappeared into the next bungalow over, and he couldn't say he blamed her. His charm seemed to have abandoned him back in that muddy ditch. He didn't feel much like spending the night with himself, either. Pushing muddy hair out of his eyes, he reached for the shower knobs, then cursed fluently in a couple of dead languages. The quaint hotel, apparently designed for romantic getaways for couples, had foregone installing a shower in favor of a big whirlpool tub, and he stood shivering in the tiled bathroom while it filled slowly.

Finally lowering himself into the steaming water, he wasn't surprised when it turned brown immediately. He leaned over to try and scrub some of the mud and grit out of his hair, and succeeded only in getting filthy water running into his eyes. He blinked it away, then blinked again. Alexa was standing in the doorway, wrapped in a white robe with Coronet Hotel stitched on the pocket, looking warm and scrubbed.

"My room has a shower," she said quietly, by way of explanation.

"Maybe I should borrow it, he replied, painfully aware of what a sight he must be, with barely diluted mud smeared from head to toe. "I'll never get clean this way."

"You might try clean water," she answered wryly. She crouched down to his level, reached past him to pull the drain. He forced himself not to move as the muddy water drained away; her eyes stayed locked on his, a tiny smile playing on her lips. She was enjoying this, damn her! Bless her.

She turned the taps back on and sat on the edge of the tub as it started to fill. "Turn around," she said softly, and he did as he was told, drawing his knees up, leaning against the padded tub wall next to her. She nudged him forward with her knee, scooping up a handful of water to splash over him. He allowed himself to relax as the hot water rose around him, his head dropping forward as Alexa's tiny hands ladled water over his head in warm half-cupfuls. He could feel her fingers brushing against his skull, against the tops of his ears, as she went over his head seemingly strand by strand. Senses heightened, head bowed, he could see the ripples on the smooth surface of the water as he breathed, he could feel every fiber of her terry robe where his shoulder brushed her thigh.

When the last handful of water over his head ran away clean, her hands dropped to his shoulders for a moment, then moved off. She shifted position to kneel behind him and reached past him for the soap, and when her hands returned they were cool and slick with lather. She made her way over his shoulders and down his chest, the last of the mud disappearing as she repeatedly cupped clean water over him and smoothed away the last of the soap. Her chest pressed against his back and her breath was warm against his ear as she leaned forward, her hands running down his arm from shoulder to elbow to wrist. She lifted his hand to soap between each finger, and he closed his eyes, feeling his breath catch at the touch of her hands against the sensitive webbing.

Then her finger traced a circle on the inside of his wrist, and his eyes flew open to see her staring at the Watcher tattoo, tracing its intricate design with one gentle finger.

"And here I thought you were some geeky travel writer with his college van." She raised his arm out of the water for a better look. "Didn't figure you for a guy with the kind of checkered past that includes a tattoo."

"You have no idea." He looked at the tattoo with new eyes, trying to see it as she saw it, as a sign of a troubled youth. She raised the wrist toward her mouth and he shuddered slightly, anticipating the kiss, then shuddered again as she surprised him with no kiss, instead blowing gently on the exposed wrist until the bathwater evaporated, then all but imperceptibly, running the tip of her tongue around the tattooed circle.

The inside of the wrist, jammed with veins and nerves, is one of the most dangerous places on the body to be tattooed—hence the Watcher ritual. And hence his reaction as her tongue touched the sensitive skin. He turned in the tub, scooped her up in both arms, and pulled her in on top of him. Her robe turned into a sponge as he settled her in his lap and kissed her, holding on until he could feel her breath go short. He pulled back a fraction of an inch then, looking into her eyes, and there it was—the look of wonder and awe he had wanted so much to see. Here, in this tub, in this bathroom, they were looking at a work of nature older than either of them.

Maybe their first day wasn't ruined, after all.

Alexa had tried to tell him a little rain didn't matter, but you know the way men are. And it was very hard not to laugh when he returned to the van, stiff and scratched and covered head to toe in mud, although she suspected his pride was bruised more than his butt—no, bum—was. Bum. Just the sound of his voice spoke of all the adventure and exotic far away places she'd thought she'd never see. Not until she met Adam...

When they'd pulled out of Seacouver yesterday after tearful goodbyes to Joe and a solemn promise to write, she was brimming with excitement, but after nearly eighteen hours, the road had taken its toll on her. She had harbored a faint hope they would stop for the night at some cozy hotel in northern Utah, maybe even one with a honeymoon suite... she'd flushed a bit at the thought. But Adam had his own plans. His heart was set on being at the Grand Canyon as the sun rose. She reminded him with a gentle laugh that the Canyon had been there longer than either of them and it would still be there tomorrow. Adam said nothing, just smiled and gazed at her with those bottomless eyes that pleaded "but we've got so much to do..." Alexa melted, allowing him to build a cozy nest for her in the back of the VW.

Her body was exhausted and crying out for rest, but her mind was racing and she couldn't sleep. Mile after mile, long into the night, she watched him drive, his face silhouetted in the glare of oncoming lights. For the first time in many months, Alexa allowed herself to think—about her life, about her past... and about her future. Funny how less than a week ago her life was set, an endless cycle of doctors' offices and shifts at Joe's. A safe, mindless routine, comforting in its sameness. No need to think, no reason to plan, just wait for the inevitable. Her mother would have been proud—a quiet death borne stoically, not bothering, not beholding to anyone.

Then Adam came...

And suddenly her life had value to someone, although she would never understand why someone as wonderful... as
magical
as Adam could care about her, could want to climb the slow, painful mountain with her. He had offered her the world. And she, who had never been more than 50 miles from home in her whole life, accepted it. "First stop," Adam had chattered excitedly as they packed his microbus the previous morning, "the Grand Canyon. You'd never believe a bit of rock could be so beautiful." Alexa could believe anything he said. "After that, Bourbon Street in New Orleans, up the Atlantic Coast to Washington, then a little piece of West Virginia that only God and I know about. By then my friends will have your passport waiting in New York and we'll be off to the wonders of Egypt!" Alexa had sensed that even a landfill would be wonderful, if she could see it with him. Later, in the back of the van, she had only wished her sense of geography hadn't been so poor—that she'd realized just how far away the Canyon was.

Far away from home...

The rain had started well after midnight and the only sound was the incessant patter of rain on the plastic roof, the swish of the wipers, and Adam's breathing. Occasionally she could hear him humming a snippet of some song. He seemed so far away, this man she barely knew but had given the rest of her life to. She looked out the window—no moon, no stars, no signs of life, just the inky black of the rainy night— and suddenly felt cold and alone. And afraid. Alexa never allowed herself to be afraid, it was counter-productive and a waste of time. But in the van in the dark a few tears came unbidden and she choked back a little sob. Adam quickly turned in the driver's seat, full of concern, but Alexa buried her head in her pillow. It wouldn't do for him to hear her crying. Better to let Adam think she was sleeping.

Adam... She wondered if he knew she'd lied to him. She'd had maybe a year to live in Seacouver—with the treatments, the pills, the needles, the tests. Cut off from them, who knew? A couple of months, maybe more. Maybe less. Her doctors thought she was crazy, but they could only offer her a longer death. Adam had offered her a chance at a dazzling life, no matter how brief the candle. She would see Egypt before she died. And maybe Greece—she'd always wanted to see Greece. Maybe if she asked, Adam would take her there.... She would see Greece with Adam. Comforted by visions of Adam/Adonis, Alexa finally slept.
When she awoke an hour or so later, she was truly alone. The rain coming down in buckets on its roof, the van was empty and listing to one side. "Adam?" she called out. From outside the van she heard a strained "Out here," then a clank of metal, a thunk, and a muttered "Oops." Alexa opened the van's side door and started to step out. "No, no," she heard Adam warn. "Wouldn't do that if I were you. Nasty bit of weather we're having."

Alexa stepped down from the van and looked around. The VW was mired in a ditch by the side of the road, one tire flat. "A little rain won't kill me," she told him. "Let me help." Poor Adam. He looked like a drowned kitten, his hair plastered to his head, water running in his eyes as he attempted to push the van from the ditch.