The leaves were dying, the day was dying, the year was dying; sometimes it seemed to the man as though all his long life had been nothing but a parade of death. He walked slowly through the dead leaves, among the memorials of the dead. This was San Francisco, California, in the year 2002, and the cemetary was filled with those who had died far too young, far too soon; needless, senseless deaths.
He had walked in other cemetaries in other years, thinking about the briefness of life, wondering who would, in a few scant years' time, remember these dead.
The sad truth, he knew, was that no-one would. Nearly everyone was forgotten in the passing of time, even those who should never be.
But not by him. He had known so many during his long life, and he tried his best to remember them all.
Sometimes the memories surfaced in unexpected ways; the touch of his mother's hand, his stepfather's quiet laugh, his brother's rare smile, the scent of his wife in the morning. Sometimes the memories made him smile; other times they only made him forlorn, reminding him sharply of all he had lost, and of how very long he had lived.
Sometimes, times like these, mostly, he felt very alone in the world, detached from all the other living souls who smiled and laughed and loved around him as he passed through their midst. There were times he felt as though he wasn't human at all, some souless, changeless creature who walked among mankind but was never one of them.
He sighed, watching the setting sun, and tried to think of all the good he had done over the years, all those he had helped, the reason why he endured.
He had helped many, in a thousand different ways; but though he might remember them, they would not remember him. no matter how grateful they were, how much they vowed never to forget, his face, his name would slip like mist from their brains as soon as he was gone from their sight.
It didn't really bother him. He had never sought glory and fame, and accepted the forgetting as part of what he was and what he did. He was the stranger who rushed into a burning house to save a screaming woman; the faceless man who held the hand of an car accident victim until the ambulance came, the samaritan who jumped into a raging flood to save a drowning child.
He was the voice in the crowd that led them to rise up against those who would take away their freedom, and he was the calm voice of reason if the crowd turned the violence against innocents. He was all this, and more, and he didn't regret devoting his life to his fellow men.
But, sometimes, the long years stretched bitterly behind him, rememding him of all he had known, and loved, and lost; and he grew lonely, like tonight.
The soft rustle of the dead leaves made him turn in time to see the figure appearing, ghostlike, from the lengthing shadows. The night breeze tousled the curly hair, ruffled the light vest and jacket of the figure. He had never dressed adequately for the weather.
"Here you are!" the figure exclaimed. " Hiya, big guy, watcha doin'?" he asked, the question bubbling with a barely-contained mirth.
"Nothing," the brooding man murmured.
"Uh-uh, not buying that," the other said, shaking his curls, "You're brooding again, aren't you? Getting all moody on me in the graveyard again?"
"No," the other lied, doing it badly and knowing it.
"Yes, you are!" the other accused, giving him a sound smack on the arm, "Well, quit it right now! Don't you know what tonight is?"
"No," the man admitted, a tiny smile curling the corners of his mouth at the other's enthusiasm.
"Tonight's the premiere of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets! We're going to the movies, so no gloomy faces allowed!"
"Yes, sir," the man muttered, smile wider now, even as he tried to sound sarcastic.
"That's better, " the other said with satisfaction. Taking the man's hand, he tugged him towards the distant streetlight that marked the entrance to the cemetary, "C'mon, if we get a move on, we've got enough time to get to Micky D's for something to eat before the movie starts."
"Not there," the man groaned, resisting the incessant tugging futily.
"You can have a salad," the other said ruthlessly, "Now, come on."
They were close enough now for the faint light to pick up the other's curls, revealing them to be fair as well as tousled. The night-breeze caused them to flutter into his eyes as the man halted, and gently tugged back, pulling the other into his arms.
"Have I ever told you how much you mean to me?" he asked softly, seriously.
The fair-haired man giggled softly. "Enough to spring for the extra-large popcorn and super-duper soda?" he asked playfully.
The man groaned again. "How can you eat that stuff when it's so bad for you?" he asked.
The blonde turned, stepping backwards under the streetlight. Eyes as blue, as sparkling, and as timeless as the Mediterranean met his as the blonde man playfully replied, "What am I, an angel?" Grinning, he continued, "I've got two vices in this life, Herc. One of 'em's junk food, and the other one is you."
Hercules smiled back. "And I have one salvation," he said softly, as he allowed himself to be pulled from the shadows, into the light.
the end~
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