[ WP ] A time traveler who has no control over his abilities meets his friend , the immortal , for lunch .

He sips a cup of coffee—small slurps. Delicate, if you could call a slurp that. “ The only way to enjoy it, ” he told me once. Or twice, maybe. He peers up at me from his paper, a slow, deliberate motion as I take the vinyl seat. It squeals uncomfortably under my ass. The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile that I can ’ t see. 
 “ Welcome back to civilization, ” he says. His accent is American this time, and if he is surprised by my age he doesn ’ t show it. “ Or should it be ‘ sorry that you ’ re back in this unenlightened shit hole? ’ ” 
 I look around, trying to decide if this was a themed joint or an actual 1950 ’ s diner. It hadn ’ t been either, last time I was here. One day I ’ d end up in that really cool part of the future where everyone gets the cranial implant for the entire compendium of human knowledge and I wouldn ’ t have to guess whether I ’ d be running from witch hunts, lynchings, or overly eager scientists. He is wearing a tweed suit, which doesn ’ t answer any questions, but he pulls a bulky cell phone out of his pants pocket and my nerves unwind; nothing to expect here but bad service and greasy food. 
 “ Definitely a welcome, ” I tell him. “ What ’ s it been this time? ” 
 He shrugs. “ Two, three hundred years, maybe? Nothing too bad. ” He is a creature of routine, a man of method. I envy him and the life he lives. I might have gotten bored, reading a newspaper and drinking my coffee in the same place every day, but at least he had that option. “ You have excellent timing, ” he says, folding his paper in half. “ I ’ ve tracked it down. Bastard took it to his grave. ” 
 -- -- -- 
 The first thing I notice is the cold wind cutting against my newly shaved cheeks. Shit. Cigar smoke trails from his nostrils like the first hint of a forest fire. There is no coffee house in sight. He tosses a coat at me. Fur, real fur. This is not where I want to be. He squints at me. “ Where is your beard? ” 
 “ No beards right now. Won ’ t be popular for a while, ” I answer. “ Right? ” 
 He tuts at me. “ Always popping up on the wrong side of the century. ” He takes another long, slow drag from his cigar. Always a methodical man. I didn ’ t have that kind of time. “ I might have a lead, if you ’ re still looking. ” 
 “ Shit. Fuck me. ” 
 “ What ’ s wrong? ” 
 “ You had it! ” 
 His eyes widen. “ When? ” 
 “ About….four hundred years from now? ” 
 “ Did I tell you where it was? ” 
 “ Would I be here if you did?! ” It is not a scream, not at him, but it takes all that is in me to keep the words behind my gritted teeth. He ’ s the only one capable of helping, the only one who ’ s seen it before. I had been so close. “ You said he took it to his grave. When was the last time you saw him? ” 
 He scratches at his beard. “ 50 years ago, I think. That ’ s enough for a normal man, right? ” 
 -- -- -- 
 He is a better friend than I deserve. He looks up at me with a face that has not changed in centuries. He recognizes me even though I no longer recognize myself. I take a seat across from him. The table is not real wood, but it is a fairly close approximation. I turn to look out the window and he taps the glass, shifting the opacity so that I can not see my reflection. 
 “ You don ’ t want to know, ” he says. He slides the bracelet across to me. “ I ’ m sorry it took so long. ” Worry draws his dark eyebrows together, creasing an uncreasable face. I can ’ t believe that this is it. It is stone, heavier than I thought it would be. When I clasp it around my wrist, something feels different. The world seems more…solid, somehow. 
 “ How did you find it? ” 
 “ I finally tracked down his grave, ” he said. “ I ’ d hoped that he wouldn ’ t be buried with it, but he was always a bit of a prick. ” He spread his hands apologetically. “ He probably thought he was the only one. ” We both knew that wasn ’ t true. I wonder how many time travelers he ’ d met, but I didn ’ t want to ask. He was the only immortal I ’ d ever met, but I knew he ’ d met plenty of us. Was it worse than watching others die? Age had made me morbid. I didn ’ t have much longer, I could feel it. But now it would all be in one place, with the only one who could understand. 
 “ At least we ’ ll get to finally have lunch, ” I say with a forced smile. 
 Relief that I am not angry. He tried so hard for so long. He smiles back. “ Now that you ’ ve got the time, you should learn how to properly drink your coffee. ” 

