From the Earlier, for killabeez (1/2)
Title: From the Earlier (1/2)
Author: elistaire
Written for: killabeez
Characters/Pairings: Duncan/Methos, Methos/Connor, Amanda/Nick, Joe, OCs
Rating: R
Warnings: some very unpleasant physical harm
Wordcount: 17 K+
Author's Notes: Thank you for the additional Dear Author post. :) And a huge thank you to my beta who helped fix stuff. The remaining errors are mine.
Summary: A Priori Syndrome is a plague of the memory. Immortals can catch it, and if they survive, they're never the same again. If. Usually, they're just hunted down and beheaded. So when Connor comes across an old friend, and she's got the Syndrome, he takes her home to care for her, and calls for help. Now Connor, Duncan, and Methos are all in danger.
A few decades ago, Connor wouldn't have said that he possessed any more or less magic than an ordinary human being, his Immortality being the exception to that rule. Along the more recent path of his journey, and along with some recent powerful Quickenings, he had picked up a few tricks, and a broader awareness of so much more than he had once been used to. The sensation of knowledge waiting tingled along the base of his skull. He had only to turn his attention to it, and he would become aware of more information than he would ever have been privy to before.
Today that awareness fairly itched a broad swatch up his spine and into his head.
He reached out his awareness as he walked along the street. He'd intended to drink a beer and enjoy a blues band at a nearby pub, but something was out there in the shadows, and it was screaming for his attention. It felt both familiar, and wrong.
There, he caught the faintest edge of it, and followed the thin scrap of tether back to the source.
He skirted down an alley, hyper aware of possible danger, until the signature of another Immortal played along his skin.
"Who's there?" he demanded, and waited. The alley smelled unpleasantly of garbage, vomit, and old restaurant fryer grease. Behind him he could hear the movement of traffic, and an occasional blast of car horn. Ahead of him, he could hear the irregular breathing of a frightened individual, holding his or her breath, and the soft skritch-scratch of pushing further into a small space, trying to hide. Whomever this Immortal was, they weren't lying in wait for Connor's head. They were frightened, and trying to hide, and possibly contemplating flight.
Connor sighed. Another newly minted Immortal, and one who probably didn't even know what they were. Otherwise, the headache from his presence would have let them know that hiding was impossible. Or a very clever old Immortal luring him in. But he thought it more likely to be the former.
"Come on out. I won't hurt you," he said. "I know you're there. And you know I'm here."
After a long pause, the rustle of fabric told him that the person was moving. A moment later, a shape emerged from the darkness. It was a woman, petite and pretty, and dressed well, but covered in grime and grunge. And Connor knew her.
"Rebelda?" he asked, disbelieving his own eyes. Rebelda did not cower in alleys. She commanded armies, and found ways to victory from impossible situations. Rebelda came along to save Connor's ass, not the other way around. "What are you doing here?"
Rebelda eyed him warily. "How do you know my name?" she asked. "And how can I feel you in my head?"
"We're friends," he said. "Don't you remember me?" She looked to be in decent shape, with appropriate muscle definition and physique. She hadn't been out on the streets for long. "What do you recall?" he asked. "How many days have you been out here?"
"I don't know. A few," she answered warily, and he couldn't tell if she was being cautious or truthful with him.
He held up both hands as a sign of peace. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I want to help you. Can you trust me enough to come with me? I'll get you some food. And you can rest. We can talk, and find out what happened."
She hesitated, and he couldn't blame her. He didn't think, if their positions were reversed, that he would trust a stranger either.
"I know you," he said. "We've been friends for a long time. Very good friends."
"Give me some money," she said, "If we are friends, then we can talk tomorrow after I've eaten and slept, by myself."
Connor considered that. He would have no problem with it, if it didn't leave her open to another Immortal attacking her. He considered his options. The chances of another Immortal coming upon her were slim, though not zero. Whereas having Rebelda trust him if he didn't hand over some money was absolutely nil. He pulled out his wallet, and took all of his cash out. He handed it to her. It was enough for food and a few nights in a decent hotel. "I also want to give you something else," he said. "It's a gun, so don't be frightened when I reveal it."
She took a few steps back, still clutching the money.
Connor slowly took out the small revolver that he kept at his ankle. It was a concession to dealing with the trouble that humans caused rather than something he used in Immortal challenges, but it had been an item he had started to carry in the past few years. It held six .22 bullets, and was a good deterrent more than it solved serious problems. Connor handed the gun over. "Do you know how to use it?" he asked.
Rebelda nodded, with a strange expression on her face. "I remember," she said. "I'm familiar with it."
Connor chuckled. "You are," he agreed. "A damn good shot."
With a fluidity that came with muscle memory, Rebelda examined the gun, checked it over, and then tucked it away.
Connor tapped his head. "That feeling that you had in your head, when I came near. If you feel that again, and it isn't me, I want you to shoot whomever it is, and run away."
Rebelda frowned. "Shoot?" she echoed. "That's crazy!"
"There's a lot you don't remember yet," Connor said. "I have to tell you some important things, and it's going to take awhile. This is really important. You have some enemies out there that want to do you harm."
Rebelda studied Connor for a long moment. She looked at the cash in her hand and then pulled out the gun from the pocket she had stowed it into. "I think perhaps I will come with you after all. But for now, I will keep the gun and the money."
Connor felt a wash of relief. "Let's get off the street."
*****
Duncan gave the pot of sauce one last stir and reached to answer the phone. "MacLeod," he said.
"Duncan, it's Connor," came the familiar raspy voice.
"Connor!" Duncan said. "I was just thinking of calling you. Adam and I are all set with our plane tickets. We'll be there the Wednesday before Thanksgiving--"
"Duncan," Connor interrupted him. "There's a slight problem."
"What problem?" Duncan asked. Across the room, Methos stirred from the couch. He put down his laptop and came over into the kitchen, motioning at Duncan to put the speaker-phone on.
"It's complicated," Connor said, and he sounded weary and tense, both.
"Adam's here," Duncan said. "I'm putting you on speaker. If it's our kind of problem, you know we'd both help you. No matter how." Duncan punched the buttons on the phone.
"I know," Connor said. "Adam?"
"Right here," Methos said. "How complicated is complicated?"
"Very," Connor said. "I came across an old friend."
Duncan raised his eyebrows at Methos, who gave him a knowing look back. "And?"
"I think she's got A Priori Syndrome."
Methos sucked in a breath. "That is complicated."
Duncan gave him a sharp look. "A Priori Syndrome?" he asked. "What is that? I've never heard of it."
Methos gave him a hand motion to hold his questions in for a moment. "Connor, you know it isn't safe. You need to get away."
Duncan clutched at the counter, and grabbed at Methos' upper arm. He gave him a stern look, and hissed, "Explain!"
"Calm down, Duncan. It's been a week, and I'm fine," Connor said. "Adam, there must be something that can be done. This is Rebelda. I think you know her, too. She's a good friend."
Methos closed his eyes and looked away. "You know there's not. The risk is yours, if you want to take it."
"There must be something!" Connor said. "Anything!"
"If there is, I don't know it."
"Connor, do we need to come out sooner?" Duncan asked. "Our flight is next week, but I can be there today, if you need me." He stared hard at Methos, and tried to figure out what information he was missing. He'd heard the name Rebelda before. She was an Immortal, and a friend of Connor's for at least the last hundred years, probably longer. Duncan hadn't met her, but he'd heard stories. Whatever had happened to her, he knew that she was a friend, and she deserved help. Plus, he was worried about Connor. The way Methos spoke, it sounded as if Connor was in some extreme danger.
"You aren't going there!" Methos said, blanching. "Connor shouldn't be near her either!" An angry color suffused him. "Connor, listen to what Duncan just said. You might put yourself in harm's way, but you wouldn't risk Duncan. You know how stubborn--"
"Hey!"
"-he is. He won't leave this alone."
"I want to know what this syndrome is. Now!" Duncan demanded.
"It's a form of amnesia," Connor said. "She's forgotten who she is."
"Amnesia?" Duncan said. "Does she think you're an enemy? Is she after your head?"
"No, she's not. I've been training her this week. We've gotten along very well." There was a hint of reticence in Connor's voice and Duncan could hear that he wasn't yet being told everything.
"So what's the danger?" Duncan asked.
Methos covered his face with one hand. "It's catching," he said.
"What's catching?" Duncan asked, not understanding. It was unusual for an Immortal to have amnesia, but it had happened. Duncan could think of several times that he'd dealt with the situation, and he'd even had a few instances in his own life where he'd rather not have known of certain awful pieces of information. The mind played tricks, and the Immortal mind wasn't immune.
"The amnesia is catching," Methos said. "Meaning that if Rebelda has the syndrome, then Connor might catch it from her."
"Immortals don't get diseases like that," Duncan said, trying to grasp what Methos had told him. It certainly seemed important and terrible to Methos, the way he looked sickened. "We might get a cold, you know that. But we don't stay sick. How do you catch amnesia. It isn't a communicable disease!"
"This is. For Immortals," Methos said.
"I'm fine," Connor said on the phone. "I've been fine all week. And just because I think it's A Priori, doesn't mean it is."
Duncan glared at Methos. "How dangerous is this? Tell me everything. How do you know about it?"
Methos sighed. He turned to face the phone. "Why do you think it's A Priori?"
"Just the way she's forgotten things. She knows several languages, some history, kept her muscle memory, but has forgotten her own history, and knows nothing of Immortals. She had a student, and I've searched for him, but he wasn't at the last location where I knew Rebelda was living. There was evidence of a Quickening, so I believe either he or someone else is dead. She was living near an old churchyard."
"And the Quickening was near Holy Ground," Methos said, and it wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Near?" Duncan asked. "Or on?"
"Near enough," Connor replied.
"Sounds like A Priori. Connor, you know this is dangerous. You need to send her away. Or get away yourself. If she remembered who she was, she'd tell you the same."
"I won't abandon her," Connor said.
"Connor, we're coming out to help you," Duncan said even as Methos raised his arms and waved them in front of him, nixing that idea. "If you're safe for now, we'll keep the flight next week, and we'll stay as long as you need us."
"Bad idea," Methos said. "Do you want amnesia? Do you want me to catch amnesia?"
That thought brought Duncan up short. He didn't want to put Methos in danger, but Connor seemed to be committed to his course of action, and there really wasn't any other choice. They had to help Connor's friend. "You can stay at a hotel near the airport," he said. "But I'm going." Duncan put his hands on his hips. "And you haven't explained how amnesia can be transferred."
"We don't know how. It just happens," Methos said. He put a hand on Duncan's forearm, calming the situation, and Duncan smiled briefly and put his other hand on top of Methos'. "Immortals don't catch colds like regular people," he said. "And this is very, very rare. It doesn't happen often at all. But it is serious. Nobody knows how or why it seems to transfer from Immortal to Immortal, but it does. Once someone has the amnesia, they are always a carrier. If they survive, they start from scratch, building new memories, and a new sense of identity. But they're as vulnerable as a new Immortal, and must learn to fight again. And you know how we all have enemies. Those that would hunt us down."
Duncan pressed his hand more firmly against Methos' own. "And once Immortals know there is a threat, they go after that person."
"Yes," Methos said. "Because we fear contagion, just as humans fear biological plagues. This is an Immortal plague."
Duncan took a moment to absorb the information. The knot of apprehension in his gut was still there. Connor was in danger, but he was calling for assistance, and Duncan couldn't turn away. No matter how risky. But it was Duncan's choice to put himself in danger, just as it was Connor's. He wouldn't do the same with Methos. "You're right," he said. "You stay home."
Methos frowned. "We stay home," he corrected.
"I'll help Connor."
"Don't be an idiot," Methos said. "If you're going, I'm going."
Duncan smiled, and Methos rolled his eyes. "We'll be there next Wednesday, Connor," Duncan said. "Unless you need us sooner."
"That's fine," Connor said stiffly. "Come if you feel you need to, Duncan, but Adam is right. It is safer for you to stay away. Adam, I only wanted to see if you knew anything about the syndrome. Something that could help."
"Nothing," Adam said. "But I'll look into it. I'll do a little research. Maybe something has come to light since the last time I heard of it happening."
"Thank you," Connor said.
"We'll see you in a week," Duncan said.
"And be careful," Methos added. "If we come out there, we want to visit you. Not you with permanent amnesia."
Connor chuckled and disconnected the phone.
*****
A week later, at the airport, Duncan was transporting their bags while Methos parked the car, and he spotted a familiar face. He stopped to let the man catch up to him.
"Hi, Joe," Duncan said. He looked around. "You could have called."
"They've got your phones tapped," Joe said. "And I'm District Supervisor now, not your Watcher, so by the time these things filter over to me, I'm drowning in paperwork."
"Your point?" Duncan asked. Things had been tense between he and Joe ever since Joe had stopped being his Watcher. Duncan didn't like his replacement, and in fact, didn't think he needed a Watcher at all. Methos and Joe were still close, though, and Duncan thought that perhaps Methos kept him abreast of their activities.
"A Priori," Joe said. "You and Adam shouldn't go anywhere near it."
"Thanks for your concern, Joe." Duncan started moving again, but the Watcher dogged his steps.
"Come on, Mac," Joe said. "This is Adam we're talking about. Maybe nothing can get through your thick skull, but what if Adam gets amnesia. Do you really want to lose all that? Lose him? What he is?"
"Adam looked into it, and the transference rate is a lot less common than he thought. It's not going to be a problem." Duncan paused and Joe stopped with him. They looked at each other, and Duncan thought that Joe was starting to look a lot older. Worn and tired, and far more gray than Duncan remembered. Time had a way of sliding past him. "I'm not going to let Adam come to harm," he said. "And I'm not planning on catching it. We'll take precautions."
"Be sure that you do," Joe muttered, and ran a hand through his hair. "A Priori isn't anything to fool around with. The last time there was an occurrence, six Immortals lost their memories before they were all killed and it stopped. Six."
Duncan startled to hear that.
"Adam didn't tell you that?" Joe said. "I'm surprised."
"He said that most incidents didn't even have a transference once."
"Because as soon as anyone knows what it is, they behead the poor bastard," Joe said grimly. "Did you talk with him about what you were getting into?"
"We've been busy getting ready," Duncan said. "We'd planned to discuss it on the flight over."
"Make sure you do," Joe said. He started to walk away, and then threw his last words over his shoulder. "See you in New York."
Duncan grinned. Joe Dawson wasn't abandoning them, either.
*****
"I saw Joe," Methos commented after they were belted in and the plane was taxiing for take-off.
"I thought you might," Duncan said.
"Did he tell you how stupid this idea of yours is? That we're walking right into trouble, and will probably lose all our senses, and forget our names, and have to be spoon-fed?"
"No," Duncan said. "He invited me to his Christmas Party this year. Asked if we could bring the eggnog."
Methos switched tactics just as easily. "And that fennel dish that he loves."
Duncan waited a beat, then said. "And he did mention he thought we weren't particularly bright to go anywhere near this issue. He said the last time that six Immortals contracted amnesia, and were all killed."
Methos was quietly somber for a long time. Finally he spoke. "I told you. It is bad. The problem is, no one understands how it is transmitted."
"Or where it comes from?"
"We believe we know that answer," Methos said. He was speaking in a hushed tone, and leaned his head over so that his mouth was brushing against Duncan's ear. "For the accounts recorded, it was a Quickening half on Holy Ground, and half not."
"Half?" Duncan asked, even as he parsed the particular phrasing that Methos had chosen. "And accounts recorded?"
Methos shrugged, and kept his voice low. "We only have two accounts from beginning to end. Both began with challenges just outside of Holy Ground. Both times, one Immortal was seeking refuge on Holy Ground, but hadn't quite made it when they were engaged, and a fight ensued. You know how things tend to be. Fights aren't contained. They roam about a bit. Nobody pays heed to the ground they're on."
"So how is it half on Holy Ground?" Duncan asked.
"Fences, MacLeod," Methos said. "Stone walls, boundary lines. Windows. All of that. On one side, it's Holy Ground, and on the other it isn't. One of the fights ended at one of those stone walls that ring around a churchyard, and the challenge ended outside, but the body fell onto the wall. Quickening ensued. And so did amnesia. That's the one where it transmitted through five more people before finally everyone was dead. For sure, the amnesia wasn't caught from taking the Quickening of an Immortal with it. The Watchers have documented proof of that."
Duncan stared at Methos in horror. "So that's the only cure? To be killed?"
"As it stands now, yes."
"Hasn't anyone even tried?"
"They've tried," Methos said. "Do you think Connor is the first person to actually care about what happens to someone with this? No. He isn't."
"How long?" Duncan asked. "How long before you would get infected?"
Methos gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Limited data on that. But it can be anywhere from a few days to months to even years. Which is why we don't understand the mechanism of transfer."
Duncan latched onto that. "You mean there have been years between infections?"
Methos nodded. "The other example we know of. The first time it happened that we're aware of. At a priory." He smirked.
"Hence the name of the syndrome," Duncan guessed. "A little word play."
"Two Immortals. Teacher and student. Living and working at the priory. The student went off Holy Ground. Possibly lured. We don't know the circumstances for sure. There was a challenge, and the student actually won, but again, the body fell across the boundary line between Holy Ground and non, and the student contracted amnesia. The teacher found him, and brought him back to the priory, and kept him on Holy Ground strictly for nearly a decade. But eventually, the others questioned how the pair of them didn't age, and the teacher decided to leave, taking his student with him. They weren't out of the priory a month before the teacher had amnesia too, and then they were both challenged, and lost. Without their memories, they didn't know how to defend themselves."
"So, Holy Ground is the answer," Duncan said. "We just need to get Rebelda to safety."
"Maybe," Methos said. "Something about Holy Ground kept the amnesia from transferring. But it was tried. The instance with the six infected Immortals? The last one caught the amnesia while on Holy Ground. They thought that it would also protect them, but it didn't."
"How long did that take?"
"A few months," Methos said. "It seemed to only postpone the inevitable."
"There has to be an answer that doesn't involve taking someone's head," Duncan said. "We've got to find it."
"Or else?" Methos said. "Does knowing all this change your mind? Would you turn away?"
"No," Duncan said. "Does Connor know all this?"
"Yes," Methos said. "He knows."
*****
Joe took another sip of his coffee, which had grown cold, but he didn't mind it that way. He still had another hour on watch, but he was glad to see the next on-duty Watcher come in early. "Hey, Judy," he said as she passed him and went to the counter.
"Hiya, Joe," she said. She purchased two coffees and swung back over, easily sliding one fresh cup in front of Joe while she threw the cold one away. "Long day?" she asked.
"They all are," he said.
"We're both too old for this field work," she said. She patted down her silver hair with a self-effacing smile.
"Not a lot of people I trust for this assignment," Joe said. He'd taken the first week of shifts on his own. It was three days before he'd admitted that he couldn't do it by himself. Not anymore. Not when he had to follow the actions of four different Immortals.
"Just me and Maria," she said. "And we're both technically retired."
"If I weren't a supervisor, I'd be retired," Joe said. He sipped the coffee. It was hot and good, strong the way he liked it. "And it's a delicate situation." He'd had to do some fast talking to get the regional director to agree to let him take care of the coordination and to choose his own operatives. Mentioning A Priori Syndrome had made everyone as jumpy as cats in a roomful of tacks, though, so he'd pretty much been able to bully his way through the set-up.
He had kept on Duncan's Watcher, who also doubled for Methos, and Connor's Watcher, who hadn't recognized the signs of the syndrome and was chagrined. They were both acting independently still, which was good. Joe had faith in both of them. They were hand-picked by him and did their jobs well, and with an eye to discretion as Joe saw it.
He knew MacLeod didn't particularly like his Watcher, but Joe figured it was a matter of time yet. MacLeod was just disgruntled and feeling that Joe had abandoned him.
Rebelda's Watcher was around somewhere, having flown in a few days after Connor had found Rebelda. Joe didn't know her very well, and he hoped that wouldn't be a problem.
Judy and Maria he had called in to assist, and he trusted them both. They'd all gone through the Watcher Academy together and worked innumerable long shifts early in their careers before they'd been assigned single Immortals to Watch. He knew he could count on them.
"Joe," Judy said, slowly, "How long do you expect us to maintain this watch? You know as well as I do that A Priori can take months or years to transmit. Not that I'm complaining." She smiled. "I like being out in the field again."
Joe ran a hand through his hair as he decided on his answer. His gut was telling him that he'd dedicate as many personnel as he could get for as long as he could get it, because this was Methos and Mac. If anyone was important to the Game, those two were. Add in Connor MacLeod, and it was a perfect storm. Not to mention that they were his friends, and Joe was going to be there, ready, for whatever came along. "At least for a while," he finally settled on. "A few weeks, at least. A month or two." He leaned forward. "The tipping point will be if others come looking to challenge Rebelda, to eliminate the danger of the syndrome and...infection."
Judy nodded. "And you think it'll happen in a few weeks or months?"
Joe nodded. "Word is spreading through the Immortal world. They'll be coming here to challenge her."
"And both MacLeods and Pierson will stand in their way," Judy said. She sighed. "Pierson may be MacLeod's protégé and," she paused and smiled conspiratorially, "his special friend, but he's bitten off a lot to chew on this one."
"He'll be okay. I hope." Joe sipped his coffee. "You've noticed that they're training nearly constantly now."
"Makes it easy to know where they are, but hard to Watch," Judy said. "They're inside all day, so we can't see them. But at least we know where they are."
Joe took another sip of coffee to hide any facial expression he might have that would give him away. Methos had been e-mailing him and keeping him abreast of their activities, although sporadically. It was one of the few things that kept Joe from going insane with worry, knowing at least what their intentions were. And for the moment, it seemed that getting Rebelda up to speed with her sword-work was the key. "Yes," Joe said, and left it at that.
*****
"Sore?" Methos asked. He was resting in bed, with four pillows propped behind his head.
Duncan rotated his shoulder, evaluating it. "A little. It's one thing to practice, it's another to be practiced upon."
Methos put a hand over his ribs and winced, even though Duncan knew the mishap should have been long-healed. "Understood." Methos paused, then went on. "By next week we should be able to move up to bladed weapons."
"I hope so. She's got the muscle memory, just not the integrated memories to go with that. So we've been able to progress very quickly." He kneaded the upper portion of his arm just before the shoulder. "Then we'll be in for it. If we're this tired and injured after just going through standing and grappling maneuvers. Can you imagine?"
"We'll go and get some old clothes," Methos suggested. "So when she shreds them, we won't care."
"I'll care!" Duncan said. "It won't just be the clothes that get shredded when she starts in on sword work."
Methos made a face. "If we took more time, we wouldn't all be taking such a beating. Did you see how she clonked Connor in the face today with her elbow? I'm surprised he kept all his teeth."
"If we take more time, we'll all be in danger. Or dead," Duncan said. "You know they're coming. Word's already out there, and Immortals panic just as much as humans do when there's a threat. They'll be coming for her, and if they have to go through us, they will." Duncan closed his eyes, trying to push away the feeling of dread. "The three of us are good, but it only takes someone getting lucky. I don't want to lose you, or Connor."
"We don't want to lose you," Methos said softly. He looked down at his hands and then up again. "We should leave a little gas in the tank, so to speak, these next few days. Make sure we're ready, for when uninvited guests stop by. I think our window of safety has closed. We should expect the others to start coming now."
"Agreed," Duncan said. He rolled his shoulder again, happier that it was loose again and the stiffness was going away. Duncan stripped off his shirt. "A hot shower should take care of this," he said.
Across the room, Methos picked up his head and stared at Duncan as he moved into the bathroom, and then trailed after him. He pulled off one sock and then the other, crossed his arms and stretched to remove his shirt, tapped his fingers at his waist to loosen his jeans before kicking them off. Nearly naked, he snaked in behind Duncan, and Duncan smiled at him. "Was that little show for me?" he asked, with a heavy dose of fake innocence.
"I thought you were going to take a shower," Methos murmured, even as he wrapped his arms around Duncan's torso. His fingers glided low, rubbing over muscle and juts of hip-bone.
"Oh, I am, and I suspect you'll have need of one also," Duncan said. He pressed himself against Methos, skin to skin, and heat to heat. "Come on," he said, and tugged Methos into the shower stall. He kissed a line from Methos' shoulder to a spot below his ear, and then paused there to nuzzle. He could smell Methos, on his skin and in his hair that curled a bit long these days.
Methos had buried his own head into the crook of Duncan's shoulder and neck, and was making low-throated guttural noises. His hands fluttered wide, then narrow, and ran up the inside of Duncan's legs, teasingly close, and then away again.
"Methos," Duncan warned.
Methos reached out a hand and snagged the bar of soap. "Turn on the water, MacLeod. Or else."
"My pleasure," Duncan said, and he pressed Methos back against the wall of the shower stall, trapping him. With one free hand he manipulated the water controls as he bent his head in and captured Methos in a kiss. The water was cold for a moment along his back and then it grew warm. Methos broke the kiss to rub the side of his face along Duncan's jaw line.
Duncan decided he was not going to suffer any more, nor wait until all of Connor's hot water tank was spent. Putting his hands on Methos' shoulders he attempted to twist him around, but Methos resisted.
"Prudence," Methos muttered, sinking low, his back still against the wall. "And patience."
Then, the heat of the shower, the warm water washing over him, and the attentions in front of him, made Duncan forget about anything at all of lesser consequence.
*****
"Good. Now turn your foot out more," Connor instructed. "Yes, like that." He eyed Rebelda's stance critically and nodded. "Good. Now, we're going to focus on footwork."
As he continued to instruct her in the finer details of the necessary movements, Connor allowed himself a tiny flare of hope. Even with her memory gone, Rebelda's body knew what it was doing. It was only when she let her mind intrude that she became momentarily awkward. Of course, fighting meant having both mind and body act as one. There could be no disconnect there.
He also knew they were running out of time. Hunters would be coming for her, and sooner rather than later. They could only hole up inside his building for so long before there was some mistake or slip. Rebelda couldn't hide forever. His building wasn't meant to be a fortress, but a home, and a place of respite. It offered security, but not ultimate safety.
He briefly considered if they shouldn't have retreated to Holy Ground.
But, that would have been a temporary solution. There would have been nothing to keep another Immortal from dragging Rebelda off the sanctuary of Holy Ground and then taking her head.
No, she needed skills to protect herself. Well, he amended, the skills were there in her muscle memory. She just needed to make those mind-body connections to them again.
Presence zinged down his spine and Rebelda put a hand to her head. He frowned at her. "We spoke about that," he said. "It's a tell. You won't hide in a crowd if you do that. And it is a distraction. You must recognize the presence, and then continue on as if it were nothing."
"I understand," she said. For a moment a fierce expression blazed on her face, to be replaced by a calmer one, and Connor felt a tug of pride. She was tough, and she was learning fast. If anyone could survive a bout of A Priori, it was Rebelda. Her personality was still the same, even if her memories weren't.
Duncan and Adam closed the door to the salle behind them and came over.
Connor straightened up and gave Duncan a nod. "She's ready," he said. "After lunch, we can start with live blades."
"Good," Adam said. He eyed her up and down. "Do we have her sword?"
"No," Connor said. "It's been...misplaced."
"I'll find something that will fit her build then, and we'll go from there," Adam said. He turned his full attention on her. "You'll work with all of us, but I'll start you off with some basic drills."
"And now it is time to work on meditation and focus," Duncan said. He motioned for Rebelda to join him on the mats in the corner. "And perhaps some balance."
Connor grinned and gave her a mock salute. "We'll do more footwork tomorrow morning then." He moved alongside Adam and Duncan took Rebelda away to work with her.
"It takes three of us to train her," Adam remarked. "And only one of her to learn."
"She's doing a good job," Connor said. "It's a lot to take in. I wonder if any of the three of us would do as well."
Adam sighed. "Let's hope we don't have to find out."
*****
"How was the session?" Duncan asked. They were in the kitchen, and Duncan was chopping onions.
"Fine. She did well. Considering." Methos hunted through the spice rack. "Only one or two mishaps."
"Mishaps?" Duncan asked. He stopped chopping and stared at Methos.
Methos laughed and held up his hands. He wiggled all his fingers. "Nothing is missing, MacLeod. Connor came by and tried to help this afternoon, and it was one of those too many cooks spoils the soup sort of thing. He and I both got a dose of our own good intentions." He laughed, and then peered back again into the recesses of the spice rack. "Doesn't Connor believe in anything other than salt and pepper?"
Duncan snorted.
Methos finally found what he was looking for. "A-ha!" He put it down on the counter near the chopping board. "Use that. Cumin. It makes everything taste good."
"It makes everything taste like curry," Duncan said.
"Which is good," Methos countered. "I remember years ago...." He stopped and frowned, then waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. It's good stuff."
"Are you trying to tell me to make a curry for dinner?" Duncan asked. "Instead of a casserole?"
"It wouldn't hurt."
"Fine." Duncan waved at the spice rack with the point of his knife. "Find the coriander and some turmeric, and cayenne pepper. And garam marsala, if Connor has any." Duncan sighed. "You'd better add ginger to that list. I doubt he's got any fresh root." Then he shook his head. "And you'll have to put up with plain white rice. I doubt Connor stocks basmati."
Methos grinned. "Any curry is better than no curry," he said, and went looking for the needed items.
*****
Duncan woke slowly in the dark the next morning. Groggily he reached a hand for the other side of the bed, and found it cold and empty. He frowned. That was unusual. Methos tended to sleep late whenever he could and Connor was supposed to teach Rebelda this morning, so there was no reason for him to be up. Of course, that all went out the window if Methos was reading a captivating book, or chatting on the internet, or had the sudden urge to figure out a previously impossible chess move. Then, Methos needed no sleep, and would remain focused until he eventually ran out of steam, or interest. Usually the latter.
Duncan yawned and rubbed at his face. He supposed he should find out what was going on, and check in on Connor and Rebelda.
He showered, dressed, and made his way to the kitchen. Rebelda was there sipping coffee. She smiled at him. "Did you forget me?" she asked.
"I thought Connor had teaching plans for you this morning," Duncan said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Rebelda shrugged. "I did too, but I didn't see him, and I was waiting. Then you came down, so I thought I'd been confused, and you were teaching this morning."
A frission of worry spiked through Duncan. He put down his coffee. "Adam got up early also," he said, although it felt more serious all of a sudden. "I'll check on Connor." He turned, with Rebelda at his heels, and walked to Connor's door. He knocked and waited.
There was a rustling noise, and low guttural rumblings, and Duncan strained his hearing. "Connor?" he called out. "Are you awake?" He banged on the door again.
Suddenly the door swung wide open and Connor was there, sword in hand and at the ready, pointed at Duncan's throat. "I don't know what you're on about," he said, "but either explain yourself, or leave swiftly." To Duncan's ear, his voice was strongly tinted with the accent of home, of Scotland, and Duncan's heart pounded in his chest. He backed away from the point of the sword and held his hands up.
"Connor, what's happened?" he asked. "You were supposed to teach this morning. What happened?"
"Teach?" Connor asked. "And how do you know me?"
"We're kin!" Duncan said, desperately. "I'm Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod. You're Connor MacLeod. We're distant cousins."
"I don't know you." Connor stared at him and then nodded and let the sword drop. "But I think you've much to explain." He put a hand to his head. "There's an odd feeling in my head this morning, and I suspect you know why that is."
Duncan glanced back at Rebelda, who looked as horror stricken as he felt, and realized that the worst had come to happen. He still hadn't found Methos, but Connor needed his attention now, and he hoped Methos was fine.
*****
"I told you this would happen!" Joe spat at the phone in his hand. "You shouldn't have gone near her!"
"I know, Joe. But it's happened. And I need that research now. All the paperwork on all the previous times this happened. Something has to reverse it. Something."
"I'll get it to you as soon as I can," Joe said. "What does Adam say about it?" There was an odd silence on the other end of the phone that Joe didn't like. "Mac?"
"Adam doesn't have anything to say about it. I haven't told him yet."
"What do you mean?" Joe asked suspiciously.
"I'm not sure where Adam is, actually," MacLeod said. "He was gone when I woke up this morning and I haven't seen him since." There was a pause. "Did any of your people see when he left this morning?"
"He hasn't left," Joe ground out. He should know, he'd been up since midnight, on watch. If Methos left the building, Joe didn't know about it. "I suppose he could have snuck out," he said. "He would know we're watching."
"Maybe," Mac said. "I'm a little worried, to be honest. But I can't leave Connor yet."
"Mac, maybe you want to consider Holy Ground now. You've got two Immortals without their memories."
"That's just it, though," MacLeod said. "Connor hasn't forgotten everything. Not entirely. He's comfortable with a sword. It looks like he's just forgotten the past couple hundred years. Not all of it. He remembers his clan, and becoming Immortal even. He remembers more than Rebelda did."
"Interesting," Joe said. "So, perhaps not entirely infected?"
"Right. And if it can be partial, then it can be undone. I need to find a way to make that happen." Mac sighed. "And I need to find it fast. Otherwise we'll have to hide on Holy Ground. Which could be just as dangerous. We're safe inside here for the moment. Joe, I have to go. Get me that research, please. And if you find out where Adam is, let me know."
"Of course," Joe said. "Although it isn't like Adam to not tell you where he's going. Not when so much is at stake."
"I know," Mac said. "And I'm trying not to worry since I can't do anything about it right this moment."
Joe heard the soft click that signaled the connection had been cut and he stifled the urge to groan out loud. All he really wanted to do was go and start yelling, perhaps hit a few shins with his cane, or punch a few noses. He suspected he'd feel a hell of a lot better if there could be someone to focus his anger at, rather than the sickened twist in his gut as he wondered where Methos was, and how MacLeod expected to take care of two amnesiac Immortals at the same time.
*****
Connor looked around the salle. He remembered training with Ramirez, but it had been outside, using the natural world as their training grounds. They hadn't had one of these fancy training rooms.
The woman, Rebelda, was on the other side of the room, practicing some forms. Connor watched her for a few minutes, and then went back to his own study of the things in the room. He noticed an odd faint, thin line running along the seam of the wainscoting, and then suddenly he realized it was a door set at the far end, mostly camouflaged into the wall, and wondered where it went. He glanced at Rebelda. She was busy and wasn't paying attention to him.
He pushed at the corners of the door until it suddenly swung in. It was dark inside the corridor, and Connor went in carefully, and shut the door closed behind him. There was a faint light at the end of the corridor, and he crept along carefully. Duncan, his supposed cousin, had told him that he owned this entire building, and that he lived here. Duncan had told him a lot of things, about the world and the future, and about the woman, Rebelda, and a disease that he'd caught from her. It made some sense to him, but there was a lot about it that he was waiting to fully understand.
The corridor opened into a spare, utilitarian room. There was a desk and a chair, with a computer on it, and several trunks in the room. One was open, and revealed a small cache of weapons. A man with dark hair was standing near the trunk, a sword in hand, although it was pointed low.
"Hello, Connor," he said.
"Matthias," Connor said. "I thought you were dead."
"Not quite. But I do have to wonder what you're doing here. Just as much as I've been wondering what I'm doing here." The slant of his shoulders was casual, but Connor could see the keenness in his eyes.
"I'm told," Connor said, debating what to reveal or not, and deciding to be blunt, "that I have a particular kind of amnesia and have forgotten a few hundred years. This by a man claiming to be of my clan." As he said it, he realized that he actually believed it. He'd been turning the information over all morning, poking and prodding at it. Now he felt more sure it was the truth, and he thought perhaps he should panic a bit at the situation. But with Matthias here, Connor felt a little steadier. If Matthias weren't dead, then amnesia wouldn't be permanent either. A flare of emotion stuttered to life that Connor had thought long smothered.
Matthias snorted, but his gaze sharpened. "It would make sense," he said. "I woke this morning, and it felt as if my brains had been scrambled." He put a hand to his head. "I've had a splitting headache all day, trying to recall things I feel I must know but do not."
Connor nodded in sympathy. He walked forward, and put a hand to Matthias' brow. "You should rest, then. And we can speak with my newfound cousin. He seems to know about these matters."
Matthias reached out a hand in reply and curled it around Connor's neck. "Indeed," he said. "Perhaps that rest can wait."
Connor shifted forward, that previous flame of emotion catching, starting to burn again. "I thought you dead and gone. I mourned your loss." He braced his arms on either side of Matthias. "And I blamed myself for letting you go."
Matthias brought his other hand up so that he had light fingertips cupping both sides of Connor's neck. He began to rub ever so slowly in the crease at the base of his head, massaging tenderly. "I had...considerations. I couldn't return to you. Though it was difficult to leave you behind," he said. "I...missed you."
"Did you yearn for me?" Connor asked. "Were your dreams of me?" He moved in closer, straddling one of Matthias' thighs. Matthias made a noise far back in his throat and it spurred Connor to more boldness. He bent his own arms under Matthias, so that he was cradled against him, but in a position of control. He wrapped his hands around Matthias' neck in a parody of the position he still held on Connor.
"Yes," Matthias said, and he closed his eyes, slightly slumping into Connor's hold. He lifted his thigh ever so slightly and Connor 's pulse ratcheted up several notches. "Yes," Matthias said again. "I always knew I would find you again some day."
"And now you have," Connor said. "I intend to make the most of it." Matthias had always been like quicksilver to Connor, speaking in riddles and half-truths, never telling him an entire tale, but only the parts he deemed important. But that was then. Connor had learned and grown in the time apart, and he thought that Matthias might find himself well matched now.
Matthias' eyes were slit open now and he was considering Connor. His hands finally moved away from Connor's neck, and down to his shoulders, and then down again to finally rest at Connor's hips. It was an opening, and he was giving it to Connor. "Show me what you've learned then," he whispered.
Connor bared his teeth, hungry and flushed with desire built over too long a time, and moved in to do just that. When he was done, Matthias' would find it hard indeed to ever leave him again.
*****
Duncan hung up the phone. He was feeling like he'd woken into a nightmare.
Talking to Joe had only increased the knot of worry in his gut. Methos was nowhere to be found and that made him want to punch walls. Connor had the syndrome now, and that was a bottomless pit for worry as well. It was dangerously infectious, as he'd been told. But he'd hoped that they could have somehow avoided it. Not that he could have made any other choice. With his friends and family in danger, Duncan would never shirk his duty to them. The only thing that gave him hope was that Connor didn't seem to have lost all his memories. Not like Rebelda had. It meant that Duncan didn't have to start from scratch to train him to fight. Connor already knew how to protect himself. He was without some more recent training and strategies, but those could be relearned. Connor wasn't a sitting duck in the way Rebelda had been, and that at least meant Duncan didn't have to worry he'd been challenged and killed outright. He still had to be concerned with stronger opponents, but that was a constant in the life of an Immortal, and one Duncan had grappled with all his life.
Now he had to deal with the missing time-convincing Connor that Duncan was his ally, and teaching him about the modern world. If any unmentioned, secret enemies came calling in the meantime, at least Duncan would be here to deal with them.
Duncan turned and went down to the salle. Rebelda was there, alone, stretching in a corner. She looked up as Duncan approached.
"Where's Connor?" Duncan asked.
"Went that way," Rebelda pointed. She looked very somber, as she had since learning that her condition had been passed on. "I tried talking to him, but he didn't remember." She shuddered. "Is that what happened to me?"
Duncan put a hand on her arm. "It's awful, but yes. I'm doing everything I can to work on the problem, though. We'll get your memories back, and Connor's, or we'll keep training you until you have new memories. Either way, you're going to be okay."
Rebelda nodded, but then she looked away. "I didn't mean to give it to him. I never meant for anyone to get this...."
"I know. It wasn't on purpose." Duncan sighed. "If you can think of anything that did happen. How it happened, that could help."
Rebelda nodded. "I'll try," she said.
"Good," Duncan said, and turned his head. "That way?" he asked.
"Yeah, he sort of was over near the wall."
Duncan frowned at that. There was a door over by the wall that lead to some access space that Connor tended to keep discreet. Either he remembered it, or had discovered it by accident. The door wasn't really hidden, but it was made minimally observable. Trust his cousin to find it right away. Duncan wasn't sure entirely what was back there, but he hoped there was nothing dangerous or disturbing. He didn't know if finding journals or photos of forgotten times would cause distress or not.
He went over to the door and pushed it open, and cautiously went through.
*****
Connor heard the footsteps a moment before Duncan was on top of them. Matthias shoved him away, and Connor could feel the cold air instantly along his front where the burning heat of Matthias' body had been. "Wait!" he said, because he could feel Matthias prepare to strike, and Duncan looked like he'd already been hit with a hammer to the head.
His eyes were wide, nearly popping, and his mouth was hanging open. He was staring at them and breathing hard, as if the walk down the hallway had been the length of a marathon. Duncan, wild-eyed, looked at Connor and then to Matthias.
Connor had been told Duncan and he were close, but he'd only really just met the man. Duncan's reactions didn't mean anything more to him than a stranger's would, but it wasn't hard to deduce that something had drastically affected him. "Duncan?" he asked.
"What?" Duncan ground out the words. "Why?" he asked. His attention swiveled from Connor to Matthias.
Matthias looked to Connor and raised an eyebrow. "Connor, is this the man you spoke of?" he asked.
All the air in Duncan seemed to escape and he sagged. "No," he said, faintly. It was more to himself, a painful exhalation and denial, and obviously not an answer to Matthias' question. It wasn't hard for Connor to put all the pieces together.
"Yes," said Connor. "Duncan MacLeod. This is Matthias. I assume that you also know him. And that he has also now suffered the same memory loss that you advised me of."
"Matthias?" Duncan repeated. "Is that your name?" His attention was solely for Matthias.
"Yes."
Connor watched as Duncan composed himself. He blinked and his spine stiffened. He straightened entirely, and his shoulders shifted back. "You've forgotten me," he said, the words controlled and flattened. "I'm Duncan. Duncan MacLeod. I'm a friend."
Matthias inclined his head, and that keen gaze of his settled on Duncan. "Given the situation, I believe we have much to discuss."
"Yes," Duncan said. He motioned to the hallway. "If you'd follow me. We can...we could...brew some coffee. Talk."
Connor moved to put a hand on Duncan's shoulder. "An excellent idea."
Duncan nodded once, and tore his attention away from Matthias. "The kitchen is this way," he said, and strode back the way he'd come.
*****
On to Part Two
Author: elistaire
Written for: killabeez
Characters/Pairings: Duncan/Methos, Methos/Connor, Amanda/Nick, Joe, OCs
Rating: R
Warnings: some very unpleasant physical harm
Wordcount: 17 K+
Author's Notes: Thank you for the additional Dear Author post. :) And a huge thank you to my beta who helped fix stuff. The remaining errors are mine.
Summary: A Priori Syndrome is a plague of the memory. Immortals can catch it, and if they survive, they're never the same again. If. Usually, they're just hunted down and beheaded. So when Connor comes across an old friend, and she's got the Syndrome, he takes her home to care for her, and calls for help. Now Connor, Duncan, and Methos are all in danger.
A few decades ago, Connor wouldn't have said that he possessed any more or less magic than an ordinary human being, his Immortality being the exception to that rule. Along the more recent path of his journey, and along with some recent powerful Quickenings, he had picked up a few tricks, and a broader awareness of so much more than he had once been used to. The sensation of knowledge waiting tingled along the base of his skull. He had only to turn his attention to it, and he would become aware of more information than he would ever have been privy to before.
Today that awareness fairly itched a broad swatch up his spine and into his head.
He reached out his awareness as he walked along the street. He'd intended to drink a beer and enjoy a blues band at a nearby pub, but something was out there in the shadows, and it was screaming for his attention. It felt both familiar, and wrong.
There, he caught the faintest edge of it, and followed the thin scrap of tether back to the source.
He skirted down an alley, hyper aware of possible danger, until the signature of another Immortal played along his skin.
"Who's there?" he demanded, and waited. The alley smelled unpleasantly of garbage, vomit, and old restaurant fryer grease. Behind him he could hear the movement of traffic, and an occasional blast of car horn. Ahead of him, he could hear the irregular breathing of a frightened individual, holding his or her breath, and the soft skritch-scratch of pushing further into a small space, trying to hide. Whomever this Immortal was, they weren't lying in wait for Connor's head. They were frightened, and trying to hide, and possibly contemplating flight.
Connor sighed. Another newly minted Immortal, and one who probably didn't even know what they were. Otherwise, the headache from his presence would have let them know that hiding was impossible. Or a very clever old Immortal luring him in. But he thought it more likely to be the former.
"Come on out. I won't hurt you," he said. "I know you're there. And you know I'm here."
After a long pause, the rustle of fabric told him that the person was moving. A moment later, a shape emerged from the darkness. It was a woman, petite and pretty, and dressed well, but covered in grime and grunge. And Connor knew her.
"Rebelda?" he asked, disbelieving his own eyes. Rebelda did not cower in alleys. She commanded armies, and found ways to victory from impossible situations. Rebelda came along to save Connor's ass, not the other way around. "What are you doing here?"
Rebelda eyed him warily. "How do you know my name?" she asked. "And how can I feel you in my head?"
"We're friends," he said. "Don't you remember me?" She looked to be in decent shape, with appropriate muscle definition and physique. She hadn't been out on the streets for long. "What do you recall?" he asked. "How many days have you been out here?"
"I don't know. A few," she answered warily, and he couldn't tell if she was being cautious or truthful with him.
He held up both hands as a sign of peace. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I want to help you. Can you trust me enough to come with me? I'll get you some food. And you can rest. We can talk, and find out what happened."
She hesitated, and he couldn't blame her. He didn't think, if their positions were reversed, that he would trust a stranger either.
"I know you," he said. "We've been friends for a long time. Very good friends."
"Give me some money," she said, "If we are friends, then we can talk tomorrow after I've eaten and slept, by myself."
Connor considered that. He would have no problem with it, if it didn't leave her open to another Immortal attacking her. He considered his options. The chances of another Immortal coming upon her were slim, though not zero. Whereas having Rebelda trust him if he didn't hand over some money was absolutely nil. He pulled out his wallet, and took all of his cash out. He handed it to her. It was enough for food and a few nights in a decent hotel. "I also want to give you something else," he said. "It's a gun, so don't be frightened when I reveal it."
She took a few steps back, still clutching the money.
Connor slowly took out the small revolver that he kept at his ankle. It was a concession to dealing with the trouble that humans caused rather than something he used in Immortal challenges, but it had been an item he had started to carry in the past few years. It held six .22 bullets, and was a good deterrent more than it solved serious problems. Connor handed the gun over. "Do you know how to use it?" he asked.
Rebelda nodded, with a strange expression on her face. "I remember," she said. "I'm familiar with it."
Connor chuckled. "You are," he agreed. "A damn good shot."
With a fluidity that came with muscle memory, Rebelda examined the gun, checked it over, and then tucked it away.
Connor tapped his head. "That feeling that you had in your head, when I came near. If you feel that again, and it isn't me, I want you to shoot whomever it is, and run away."
Rebelda frowned. "Shoot?" she echoed. "That's crazy!"
"There's a lot you don't remember yet," Connor said. "I have to tell you some important things, and it's going to take awhile. This is really important. You have some enemies out there that want to do you harm."
Rebelda studied Connor for a long moment. She looked at the cash in her hand and then pulled out the gun from the pocket she had stowed it into. "I think perhaps I will come with you after all. But for now, I will keep the gun and the money."
Connor felt a wash of relief. "Let's get off the street."
*****
Duncan gave the pot of sauce one last stir and reached to answer the phone. "MacLeod," he said.
"Duncan, it's Connor," came the familiar raspy voice.
"Connor!" Duncan said. "I was just thinking of calling you. Adam and I are all set with our plane tickets. We'll be there the Wednesday before Thanksgiving--"
"Duncan," Connor interrupted him. "There's a slight problem."
"What problem?" Duncan asked. Across the room, Methos stirred from the couch. He put down his laptop and came over into the kitchen, motioning at Duncan to put the speaker-phone on.
"It's complicated," Connor said, and he sounded weary and tense, both.
"Adam's here," Duncan said. "I'm putting you on speaker. If it's our kind of problem, you know we'd both help you. No matter how." Duncan punched the buttons on the phone.
"I know," Connor said. "Adam?"
"Right here," Methos said. "How complicated is complicated?"
"Very," Connor said. "I came across an old friend."
Duncan raised his eyebrows at Methos, who gave him a knowing look back. "And?"
"I think she's got A Priori Syndrome."
Methos sucked in a breath. "That is complicated."
Duncan gave him a sharp look. "A Priori Syndrome?" he asked. "What is that? I've never heard of it."
Methos gave him a hand motion to hold his questions in for a moment. "Connor, you know it isn't safe. You need to get away."
Duncan clutched at the counter, and grabbed at Methos' upper arm. He gave him a stern look, and hissed, "Explain!"
"Calm down, Duncan. It's been a week, and I'm fine," Connor said. "Adam, there must be something that can be done. This is Rebelda. I think you know her, too. She's a good friend."
Methos closed his eyes and looked away. "You know there's not. The risk is yours, if you want to take it."
"There must be something!" Connor said. "Anything!"
"If there is, I don't know it."
"Connor, do we need to come out sooner?" Duncan asked. "Our flight is next week, but I can be there today, if you need me." He stared hard at Methos, and tried to figure out what information he was missing. He'd heard the name Rebelda before. She was an Immortal, and a friend of Connor's for at least the last hundred years, probably longer. Duncan hadn't met her, but he'd heard stories. Whatever had happened to her, he knew that she was a friend, and she deserved help. Plus, he was worried about Connor. The way Methos spoke, it sounded as if Connor was in some extreme danger.
"You aren't going there!" Methos said, blanching. "Connor shouldn't be near her either!" An angry color suffused him. "Connor, listen to what Duncan just said. You might put yourself in harm's way, but you wouldn't risk Duncan. You know how stubborn--"
"Hey!"
"-he is. He won't leave this alone."
"I want to know what this syndrome is. Now!" Duncan demanded.
"It's a form of amnesia," Connor said. "She's forgotten who she is."
"Amnesia?" Duncan said. "Does she think you're an enemy? Is she after your head?"
"No, she's not. I've been training her this week. We've gotten along very well." There was a hint of reticence in Connor's voice and Duncan could hear that he wasn't yet being told everything.
"So what's the danger?" Duncan asked.
Methos covered his face with one hand. "It's catching," he said.
"What's catching?" Duncan asked, not understanding. It was unusual for an Immortal to have amnesia, but it had happened. Duncan could think of several times that he'd dealt with the situation, and he'd even had a few instances in his own life where he'd rather not have known of certain awful pieces of information. The mind played tricks, and the Immortal mind wasn't immune.
"The amnesia is catching," Methos said. "Meaning that if Rebelda has the syndrome, then Connor might catch it from her."
"Immortals don't get diseases like that," Duncan said, trying to grasp what Methos had told him. It certainly seemed important and terrible to Methos, the way he looked sickened. "We might get a cold, you know that. But we don't stay sick. How do you catch amnesia. It isn't a communicable disease!"
"This is. For Immortals," Methos said.
"I'm fine," Connor said on the phone. "I've been fine all week. And just because I think it's A Priori, doesn't mean it is."
Duncan glared at Methos. "How dangerous is this? Tell me everything. How do you know about it?"
Methos sighed. He turned to face the phone. "Why do you think it's A Priori?"
"Just the way she's forgotten things. She knows several languages, some history, kept her muscle memory, but has forgotten her own history, and knows nothing of Immortals. She had a student, and I've searched for him, but he wasn't at the last location where I knew Rebelda was living. There was evidence of a Quickening, so I believe either he or someone else is dead. She was living near an old churchyard."
"And the Quickening was near Holy Ground," Methos said, and it wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Near?" Duncan asked. "Or on?"
"Near enough," Connor replied.
"Sounds like A Priori. Connor, you know this is dangerous. You need to send her away. Or get away yourself. If she remembered who she was, she'd tell you the same."
"I won't abandon her," Connor said.
"Connor, we're coming out to help you," Duncan said even as Methos raised his arms and waved them in front of him, nixing that idea. "If you're safe for now, we'll keep the flight next week, and we'll stay as long as you need us."
"Bad idea," Methos said. "Do you want amnesia? Do you want me to catch amnesia?"
That thought brought Duncan up short. He didn't want to put Methos in danger, but Connor seemed to be committed to his course of action, and there really wasn't any other choice. They had to help Connor's friend. "You can stay at a hotel near the airport," he said. "But I'm going." Duncan put his hands on his hips. "And you haven't explained how amnesia can be transferred."
"We don't know how. It just happens," Methos said. He put a hand on Duncan's forearm, calming the situation, and Duncan smiled briefly and put his other hand on top of Methos'. "Immortals don't catch colds like regular people," he said. "And this is very, very rare. It doesn't happen often at all. But it is serious. Nobody knows how or why it seems to transfer from Immortal to Immortal, but it does. Once someone has the amnesia, they are always a carrier. If they survive, they start from scratch, building new memories, and a new sense of identity. But they're as vulnerable as a new Immortal, and must learn to fight again. And you know how we all have enemies. Those that would hunt us down."
Duncan pressed his hand more firmly against Methos' own. "And once Immortals know there is a threat, they go after that person."
"Yes," Methos said. "Because we fear contagion, just as humans fear biological plagues. This is an Immortal plague."
Duncan took a moment to absorb the information. The knot of apprehension in his gut was still there. Connor was in danger, but he was calling for assistance, and Duncan couldn't turn away. No matter how risky. But it was Duncan's choice to put himself in danger, just as it was Connor's. He wouldn't do the same with Methos. "You're right," he said. "You stay home."
Methos frowned. "We stay home," he corrected.
"I'll help Connor."
"Don't be an idiot," Methos said. "If you're going, I'm going."
Duncan smiled, and Methos rolled his eyes. "We'll be there next Wednesday, Connor," Duncan said. "Unless you need us sooner."
"That's fine," Connor said stiffly. "Come if you feel you need to, Duncan, but Adam is right. It is safer for you to stay away. Adam, I only wanted to see if you knew anything about the syndrome. Something that could help."
"Nothing," Adam said. "But I'll look into it. I'll do a little research. Maybe something has come to light since the last time I heard of it happening."
"Thank you," Connor said.
"We'll see you in a week," Duncan said.
"And be careful," Methos added. "If we come out there, we want to visit you. Not you with permanent amnesia."
Connor chuckled and disconnected the phone.
*****
A week later, at the airport, Duncan was transporting their bags while Methos parked the car, and he spotted a familiar face. He stopped to let the man catch up to him.
"Hi, Joe," Duncan said. He looked around. "You could have called."
"They've got your phones tapped," Joe said. "And I'm District Supervisor now, not your Watcher, so by the time these things filter over to me, I'm drowning in paperwork."
"Your point?" Duncan asked. Things had been tense between he and Joe ever since Joe had stopped being his Watcher. Duncan didn't like his replacement, and in fact, didn't think he needed a Watcher at all. Methos and Joe were still close, though, and Duncan thought that perhaps Methos kept him abreast of their activities.
"A Priori," Joe said. "You and Adam shouldn't go anywhere near it."
"Thanks for your concern, Joe." Duncan started moving again, but the Watcher dogged his steps.
"Come on, Mac," Joe said. "This is Adam we're talking about. Maybe nothing can get through your thick skull, but what if Adam gets amnesia. Do you really want to lose all that? Lose him? What he is?"
"Adam looked into it, and the transference rate is a lot less common than he thought. It's not going to be a problem." Duncan paused and Joe stopped with him. They looked at each other, and Duncan thought that Joe was starting to look a lot older. Worn and tired, and far more gray than Duncan remembered. Time had a way of sliding past him. "I'm not going to let Adam come to harm," he said. "And I'm not planning on catching it. We'll take precautions."
"Be sure that you do," Joe muttered, and ran a hand through his hair. "A Priori isn't anything to fool around with. The last time there was an occurrence, six Immortals lost their memories before they were all killed and it stopped. Six."
Duncan startled to hear that.
"Adam didn't tell you that?" Joe said. "I'm surprised."
"He said that most incidents didn't even have a transference once."
"Because as soon as anyone knows what it is, they behead the poor bastard," Joe said grimly. "Did you talk with him about what you were getting into?"
"We've been busy getting ready," Duncan said. "We'd planned to discuss it on the flight over."
"Make sure you do," Joe said. He started to walk away, and then threw his last words over his shoulder. "See you in New York."
Duncan grinned. Joe Dawson wasn't abandoning them, either.
*****
"I saw Joe," Methos commented after they were belted in and the plane was taxiing for take-off.
"I thought you might," Duncan said.
"Did he tell you how stupid this idea of yours is? That we're walking right into trouble, and will probably lose all our senses, and forget our names, and have to be spoon-fed?"
"No," Duncan said. "He invited me to his Christmas Party this year. Asked if we could bring the eggnog."
Methos switched tactics just as easily. "And that fennel dish that he loves."
Duncan waited a beat, then said. "And he did mention he thought we weren't particularly bright to go anywhere near this issue. He said the last time that six Immortals contracted amnesia, and were all killed."
Methos was quietly somber for a long time. Finally he spoke. "I told you. It is bad. The problem is, no one understands how it is transmitted."
"Or where it comes from?"
"We believe we know that answer," Methos said. He was speaking in a hushed tone, and leaned his head over so that his mouth was brushing against Duncan's ear. "For the accounts recorded, it was a Quickening half on Holy Ground, and half not."
"Half?" Duncan asked, even as he parsed the particular phrasing that Methos had chosen. "And accounts recorded?"
Methos shrugged, and kept his voice low. "We only have two accounts from beginning to end. Both began with challenges just outside of Holy Ground. Both times, one Immortal was seeking refuge on Holy Ground, but hadn't quite made it when they were engaged, and a fight ensued. You know how things tend to be. Fights aren't contained. They roam about a bit. Nobody pays heed to the ground they're on."
"So how is it half on Holy Ground?" Duncan asked.
"Fences, MacLeod," Methos said. "Stone walls, boundary lines. Windows. All of that. On one side, it's Holy Ground, and on the other it isn't. One of the fights ended at one of those stone walls that ring around a churchyard, and the challenge ended outside, but the body fell onto the wall. Quickening ensued. And so did amnesia. That's the one where it transmitted through five more people before finally everyone was dead. For sure, the amnesia wasn't caught from taking the Quickening of an Immortal with it. The Watchers have documented proof of that."
Duncan stared at Methos in horror. "So that's the only cure? To be killed?"
"As it stands now, yes."
"Hasn't anyone even tried?"
"They've tried," Methos said. "Do you think Connor is the first person to actually care about what happens to someone with this? No. He isn't."
"How long?" Duncan asked. "How long before you would get infected?"
Methos gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Limited data on that. But it can be anywhere from a few days to months to even years. Which is why we don't understand the mechanism of transfer."
Duncan latched onto that. "You mean there have been years between infections?"
Methos nodded. "The other example we know of. The first time it happened that we're aware of. At a priory." He smirked.
"Hence the name of the syndrome," Duncan guessed. "A little word play."
"Two Immortals. Teacher and student. Living and working at the priory. The student went off Holy Ground. Possibly lured. We don't know the circumstances for sure. There was a challenge, and the student actually won, but again, the body fell across the boundary line between Holy Ground and non, and the student contracted amnesia. The teacher found him, and brought him back to the priory, and kept him on Holy Ground strictly for nearly a decade. But eventually, the others questioned how the pair of them didn't age, and the teacher decided to leave, taking his student with him. They weren't out of the priory a month before the teacher had amnesia too, and then they were both challenged, and lost. Without their memories, they didn't know how to defend themselves."
"So, Holy Ground is the answer," Duncan said. "We just need to get Rebelda to safety."
"Maybe," Methos said. "Something about Holy Ground kept the amnesia from transferring. But it was tried. The instance with the six infected Immortals? The last one caught the amnesia while on Holy Ground. They thought that it would also protect them, but it didn't."
"How long did that take?"
"A few months," Methos said. "It seemed to only postpone the inevitable."
"There has to be an answer that doesn't involve taking someone's head," Duncan said. "We've got to find it."
"Or else?" Methos said. "Does knowing all this change your mind? Would you turn away?"
"No," Duncan said. "Does Connor know all this?"
"Yes," Methos said. "He knows."
*****
Joe took another sip of his coffee, which had grown cold, but he didn't mind it that way. He still had another hour on watch, but he was glad to see the next on-duty Watcher come in early. "Hey, Judy," he said as she passed him and went to the counter.
"Hiya, Joe," she said. She purchased two coffees and swung back over, easily sliding one fresh cup in front of Joe while she threw the cold one away. "Long day?" she asked.
"They all are," he said.
"We're both too old for this field work," she said. She patted down her silver hair with a self-effacing smile.
"Not a lot of people I trust for this assignment," Joe said. He'd taken the first week of shifts on his own. It was three days before he'd admitted that he couldn't do it by himself. Not anymore. Not when he had to follow the actions of four different Immortals.
"Just me and Maria," she said. "And we're both technically retired."
"If I weren't a supervisor, I'd be retired," Joe said. He sipped the coffee. It was hot and good, strong the way he liked it. "And it's a delicate situation." He'd had to do some fast talking to get the regional director to agree to let him take care of the coordination and to choose his own operatives. Mentioning A Priori Syndrome had made everyone as jumpy as cats in a roomful of tacks, though, so he'd pretty much been able to bully his way through the set-up.
He had kept on Duncan's Watcher, who also doubled for Methos, and Connor's Watcher, who hadn't recognized the signs of the syndrome and was chagrined. They were both acting independently still, which was good. Joe had faith in both of them. They were hand-picked by him and did their jobs well, and with an eye to discretion as Joe saw it.
He knew MacLeod didn't particularly like his Watcher, but Joe figured it was a matter of time yet. MacLeod was just disgruntled and feeling that Joe had abandoned him.
Rebelda's Watcher was around somewhere, having flown in a few days after Connor had found Rebelda. Joe didn't know her very well, and he hoped that wouldn't be a problem.
Judy and Maria he had called in to assist, and he trusted them both. They'd all gone through the Watcher Academy together and worked innumerable long shifts early in their careers before they'd been assigned single Immortals to Watch. He knew he could count on them.
"Joe," Judy said, slowly, "How long do you expect us to maintain this watch? You know as well as I do that A Priori can take months or years to transmit. Not that I'm complaining." She smiled. "I like being out in the field again."
Joe ran a hand through his hair as he decided on his answer. His gut was telling him that he'd dedicate as many personnel as he could get for as long as he could get it, because this was Methos and Mac. If anyone was important to the Game, those two were. Add in Connor MacLeod, and it was a perfect storm. Not to mention that they were his friends, and Joe was going to be there, ready, for whatever came along. "At least for a while," he finally settled on. "A few weeks, at least. A month or two." He leaned forward. "The tipping point will be if others come looking to challenge Rebelda, to eliminate the danger of the syndrome and...infection."
Judy nodded. "And you think it'll happen in a few weeks or months?"
Joe nodded. "Word is spreading through the Immortal world. They'll be coming here to challenge her."
"And both MacLeods and Pierson will stand in their way," Judy said. She sighed. "Pierson may be MacLeod's protégé and," she paused and smiled conspiratorially, "his special friend, but he's bitten off a lot to chew on this one."
"He'll be okay. I hope." Joe sipped his coffee. "You've noticed that they're training nearly constantly now."
"Makes it easy to know where they are, but hard to Watch," Judy said. "They're inside all day, so we can't see them. But at least we know where they are."
Joe took another sip of coffee to hide any facial expression he might have that would give him away. Methos had been e-mailing him and keeping him abreast of their activities, although sporadically. It was one of the few things that kept Joe from going insane with worry, knowing at least what their intentions were. And for the moment, it seemed that getting Rebelda up to speed with her sword-work was the key. "Yes," Joe said, and left it at that.
*****
"Sore?" Methos asked. He was resting in bed, with four pillows propped behind his head.
Duncan rotated his shoulder, evaluating it. "A little. It's one thing to practice, it's another to be practiced upon."
Methos put a hand over his ribs and winced, even though Duncan knew the mishap should have been long-healed. "Understood." Methos paused, then went on. "By next week we should be able to move up to bladed weapons."
"I hope so. She's got the muscle memory, just not the integrated memories to go with that. So we've been able to progress very quickly." He kneaded the upper portion of his arm just before the shoulder. "Then we'll be in for it. If we're this tired and injured after just going through standing and grappling maneuvers. Can you imagine?"
"We'll go and get some old clothes," Methos suggested. "So when she shreds them, we won't care."
"I'll care!" Duncan said. "It won't just be the clothes that get shredded when she starts in on sword work."
Methos made a face. "If we took more time, we wouldn't all be taking such a beating. Did you see how she clonked Connor in the face today with her elbow? I'm surprised he kept all his teeth."
"If we take more time, we'll all be in danger. Or dead," Duncan said. "You know they're coming. Word's already out there, and Immortals panic just as much as humans do when there's a threat. They'll be coming for her, and if they have to go through us, they will." Duncan closed his eyes, trying to push away the feeling of dread. "The three of us are good, but it only takes someone getting lucky. I don't want to lose you, or Connor."
"We don't want to lose you," Methos said softly. He looked down at his hands and then up again. "We should leave a little gas in the tank, so to speak, these next few days. Make sure we're ready, for when uninvited guests stop by. I think our window of safety has closed. We should expect the others to start coming now."
"Agreed," Duncan said. He rolled his shoulder again, happier that it was loose again and the stiffness was going away. Duncan stripped off his shirt. "A hot shower should take care of this," he said.
Across the room, Methos picked up his head and stared at Duncan as he moved into the bathroom, and then trailed after him. He pulled off one sock and then the other, crossed his arms and stretched to remove his shirt, tapped his fingers at his waist to loosen his jeans before kicking them off. Nearly naked, he snaked in behind Duncan, and Duncan smiled at him. "Was that little show for me?" he asked, with a heavy dose of fake innocence.
"I thought you were going to take a shower," Methos murmured, even as he wrapped his arms around Duncan's torso. His fingers glided low, rubbing over muscle and juts of hip-bone.
"Oh, I am, and I suspect you'll have need of one also," Duncan said. He pressed himself against Methos, skin to skin, and heat to heat. "Come on," he said, and tugged Methos into the shower stall. He kissed a line from Methos' shoulder to a spot below his ear, and then paused there to nuzzle. He could smell Methos, on his skin and in his hair that curled a bit long these days.
Methos had buried his own head into the crook of Duncan's shoulder and neck, and was making low-throated guttural noises. His hands fluttered wide, then narrow, and ran up the inside of Duncan's legs, teasingly close, and then away again.
"Methos," Duncan warned.
Methos reached out a hand and snagged the bar of soap. "Turn on the water, MacLeod. Or else."
"My pleasure," Duncan said, and he pressed Methos back against the wall of the shower stall, trapping him. With one free hand he manipulated the water controls as he bent his head in and captured Methos in a kiss. The water was cold for a moment along his back and then it grew warm. Methos broke the kiss to rub the side of his face along Duncan's jaw line.
Duncan decided he was not going to suffer any more, nor wait until all of Connor's hot water tank was spent. Putting his hands on Methos' shoulders he attempted to twist him around, but Methos resisted.
"Prudence," Methos muttered, sinking low, his back still against the wall. "And patience."
Then, the heat of the shower, the warm water washing over him, and the attentions in front of him, made Duncan forget about anything at all of lesser consequence.
*****
"Good. Now turn your foot out more," Connor instructed. "Yes, like that." He eyed Rebelda's stance critically and nodded. "Good. Now, we're going to focus on footwork."
As he continued to instruct her in the finer details of the necessary movements, Connor allowed himself a tiny flare of hope. Even with her memory gone, Rebelda's body knew what it was doing. It was only when she let her mind intrude that she became momentarily awkward. Of course, fighting meant having both mind and body act as one. There could be no disconnect there.
He also knew they were running out of time. Hunters would be coming for her, and sooner rather than later. They could only hole up inside his building for so long before there was some mistake or slip. Rebelda couldn't hide forever. His building wasn't meant to be a fortress, but a home, and a place of respite. It offered security, but not ultimate safety.
He briefly considered if they shouldn't have retreated to Holy Ground.
But, that would have been a temporary solution. There would have been nothing to keep another Immortal from dragging Rebelda off the sanctuary of Holy Ground and then taking her head.
No, she needed skills to protect herself. Well, he amended, the skills were there in her muscle memory. She just needed to make those mind-body connections to them again.
Presence zinged down his spine and Rebelda put a hand to her head. He frowned at her. "We spoke about that," he said. "It's a tell. You won't hide in a crowd if you do that. And it is a distraction. You must recognize the presence, and then continue on as if it were nothing."
"I understand," she said. For a moment a fierce expression blazed on her face, to be replaced by a calmer one, and Connor felt a tug of pride. She was tough, and she was learning fast. If anyone could survive a bout of A Priori, it was Rebelda. Her personality was still the same, even if her memories weren't.
Duncan and Adam closed the door to the salle behind them and came over.
Connor straightened up and gave Duncan a nod. "She's ready," he said. "After lunch, we can start with live blades."
"Good," Adam said. He eyed her up and down. "Do we have her sword?"
"No," Connor said. "It's been...misplaced."
"I'll find something that will fit her build then, and we'll go from there," Adam said. He turned his full attention on her. "You'll work with all of us, but I'll start you off with some basic drills."
"And now it is time to work on meditation and focus," Duncan said. He motioned for Rebelda to join him on the mats in the corner. "And perhaps some balance."
Connor grinned and gave her a mock salute. "We'll do more footwork tomorrow morning then." He moved alongside Adam and Duncan took Rebelda away to work with her.
"It takes three of us to train her," Adam remarked. "And only one of her to learn."
"She's doing a good job," Connor said. "It's a lot to take in. I wonder if any of the three of us would do as well."
Adam sighed. "Let's hope we don't have to find out."
*****
"How was the session?" Duncan asked. They were in the kitchen, and Duncan was chopping onions.
"Fine. She did well. Considering." Methos hunted through the spice rack. "Only one or two mishaps."
"Mishaps?" Duncan asked. He stopped chopping and stared at Methos.
Methos laughed and held up his hands. He wiggled all his fingers. "Nothing is missing, MacLeod. Connor came by and tried to help this afternoon, and it was one of those too many cooks spoils the soup sort of thing. He and I both got a dose of our own good intentions." He laughed, and then peered back again into the recesses of the spice rack. "Doesn't Connor believe in anything other than salt and pepper?"
Duncan snorted.
Methos finally found what he was looking for. "A-ha!" He put it down on the counter near the chopping board. "Use that. Cumin. It makes everything taste good."
"It makes everything taste like curry," Duncan said.
"Which is good," Methos countered. "I remember years ago...." He stopped and frowned, then waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. It's good stuff."
"Are you trying to tell me to make a curry for dinner?" Duncan asked. "Instead of a casserole?"
"It wouldn't hurt."
"Fine." Duncan waved at the spice rack with the point of his knife. "Find the coriander and some turmeric, and cayenne pepper. And garam marsala, if Connor has any." Duncan sighed. "You'd better add ginger to that list. I doubt he's got any fresh root." Then he shook his head. "And you'll have to put up with plain white rice. I doubt Connor stocks basmati."
Methos grinned. "Any curry is better than no curry," he said, and went looking for the needed items.
*****
Duncan woke slowly in the dark the next morning. Groggily he reached a hand for the other side of the bed, and found it cold and empty. He frowned. That was unusual. Methos tended to sleep late whenever he could and Connor was supposed to teach Rebelda this morning, so there was no reason for him to be up. Of course, that all went out the window if Methos was reading a captivating book, or chatting on the internet, or had the sudden urge to figure out a previously impossible chess move. Then, Methos needed no sleep, and would remain focused until he eventually ran out of steam, or interest. Usually the latter.
Duncan yawned and rubbed at his face. He supposed he should find out what was going on, and check in on Connor and Rebelda.
He showered, dressed, and made his way to the kitchen. Rebelda was there sipping coffee. She smiled at him. "Did you forget me?" she asked.
"I thought Connor had teaching plans for you this morning," Duncan said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Rebelda shrugged. "I did too, but I didn't see him, and I was waiting. Then you came down, so I thought I'd been confused, and you were teaching this morning."
A frission of worry spiked through Duncan. He put down his coffee. "Adam got up early also," he said, although it felt more serious all of a sudden. "I'll check on Connor." He turned, with Rebelda at his heels, and walked to Connor's door. He knocked and waited.
There was a rustling noise, and low guttural rumblings, and Duncan strained his hearing. "Connor?" he called out. "Are you awake?" He banged on the door again.
Suddenly the door swung wide open and Connor was there, sword in hand and at the ready, pointed at Duncan's throat. "I don't know what you're on about," he said, "but either explain yourself, or leave swiftly." To Duncan's ear, his voice was strongly tinted with the accent of home, of Scotland, and Duncan's heart pounded in his chest. He backed away from the point of the sword and held his hands up.
"Connor, what's happened?" he asked. "You were supposed to teach this morning. What happened?"
"Teach?" Connor asked. "And how do you know me?"
"We're kin!" Duncan said, desperately. "I'm Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod. You're Connor MacLeod. We're distant cousins."
"I don't know you." Connor stared at him and then nodded and let the sword drop. "But I think you've much to explain." He put a hand to his head. "There's an odd feeling in my head this morning, and I suspect you know why that is."
Duncan glanced back at Rebelda, who looked as horror stricken as he felt, and realized that the worst had come to happen. He still hadn't found Methos, but Connor needed his attention now, and he hoped Methos was fine.
*****
"I told you this would happen!" Joe spat at the phone in his hand. "You shouldn't have gone near her!"
"I know, Joe. But it's happened. And I need that research now. All the paperwork on all the previous times this happened. Something has to reverse it. Something."
"I'll get it to you as soon as I can," Joe said. "What does Adam say about it?" There was an odd silence on the other end of the phone that Joe didn't like. "Mac?"
"Adam doesn't have anything to say about it. I haven't told him yet."
"What do you mean?" Joe asked suspiciously.
"I'm not sure where Adam is, actually," MacLeod said. "He was gone when I woke up this morning and I haven't seen him since." There was a pause. "Did any of your people see when he left this morning?"
"He hasn't left," Joe ground out. He should know, he'd been up since midnight, on watch. If Methos left the building, Joe didn't know about it. "I suppose he could have snuck out," he said. "He would know we're watching."
"Maybe," Mac said. "I'm a little worried, to be honest. But I can't leave Connor yet."
"Mac, maybe you want to consider Holy Ground now. You've got two Immortals without their memories."
"That's just it, though," MacLeod said. "Connor hasn't forgotten everything. Not entirely. He's comfortable with a sword. It looks like he's just forgotten the past couple hundred years. Not all of it. He remembers his clan, and becoming Immortal even. He remembers more than Rebelda did."
"Interesting," Joe said. "So, perhaps not entirely infected?"
"Right. And if it can be partial, then it can be undone. I need to find a way to make that happen." Mac sighed. "And I need to find it fast. Otherwise we'll have to hide on Holy Ground. Which could be just as dangerous. We're safe inside here for the moment. Joe, I have to go. Get me that research, please. And if you find out where Adam is, let me know."
"Of course," Joe said. "Although it isn't like Adam to not tell you where he's going. Not when so much is at stake."
"I know," Mac said. "And I'm trying not to worry since I can't do anything about it right this moment."
Joe heard the soft click that signaled the connection had been cut and he stifled the urge to groan out loud. All he really wanted to do was go and start yelling, perhaps hit a few shins with his cane, or punch a few noses. He suspected he'd feel a hell of a lot better if there could be someone to focus his anger at, rather than the sickened twist in his gut as he wondered where Methos was, and how MacLeod expected to take care of two amnesiac Immortals at the same time.
*****
Connor looked around the salle. He remembered training with Ramirez, but it had been outside, using the natural world as their training grounds. They hadn't had one of these fancy training rooms.
The woman, Rebelda, was on the other side of the room, practicing some forms. Connor watched her for a few minutes, and then went back to his own study of the things in the room. He noticed an odd faint, thin line running along the seam of the wainscoting, and then suddenly he realized it was a door set at the far end, mostly camouflaged into the wall, and wondered where it went. He glanced at Rebelda. She was busy and wasn't paying attention to him.
He pushed at the corners of the door until it suddenly swung in. It was dark inside the corridor, and Connor went in carefully, and shut the door closed behind him. There was a faint light at the end of the corridor, and he crept along carefully. Duncan, his supposed cousin, had told him that he owned this entire building, and that he lived here. Duncan had told him a lot of things, about the world and the future, and about the woman, Rebelda, and a disease that he'd caught from her. It made some sense to him, but there was a lot about it that he was waiting to fully understand.
The corridor opened into a spare, utilitarian room. There was a desk and a chair, with a computer on it, and several trunks in the room. One was open, and revealed a small cache of weapons. A man with dark hair was standing near the trunk, a sword in hand, although it was pointed low.
"Hello, Connor," he said.
"Matthias," Connor said. "I thought you were dead."
"Not quite. But I do have to wonder what you're doing here. Just as much as I've been wondering what I'm doing here." The slant of his shoulders was casual, but Connor could see the keenness in his eyes.
"I'm told," Connor said, debating what to reveal or not, and deciding to be blunt, "that I have a particular kind of amnesia and have forgotten a few hundred years. This by a man claiming to be of my clan." As he said it, he realized that he actually believed it. He'd been turning the information over all morning, poking and prodding at it. Now he felt more sure it was the truth, and he thought perhaps he should panic a bit at the situation. But with Matthias here, Connor felt a little steadier. If Matthias weren't dead, then amnesia wouldn't be permanent either. A flare of emotion stuttered to life that Connor had thought long smothered.
Matthias snorted, but his gaze sharpened. "It would make sense," he said. "I woke this morning, and it felt as if my brains had been scrambled." He put a hand to his head. "I've had a splitting headache all day, trying to recall things I feel I must know but do not."
Connor nodded in sympathy. He walked forward, and put a hand to Matthias' brow. "You should rest, then. And we can speak with my newfound cousin. He seems to know about these matters."
Matthias reached out a hand in reply and curled it around Connor's neck. "Indeed," he said. "Perhaps that rest can wait."
Connor shifted forward, that previous flame of emotion catching, starting to burn again. "I thought you dead and gone. I mourned your loss." He braced his arms on either side of Matthias. "And I blamed myself for letting you go."
Matthias brought his other hand up so that he had light fingertips cupping both sides of Connor's neck. He began to rub ever so slowly in the crease at the base of his head, massaging tenderly. "I had...considerations. I couldn't return to you. Though it was difficult to leave you behind," he said. "I...missed you."
"Did you yearn for me?" Connor asked. "Were your dreams of me?" He moved in closer, straddling one of Matthias' thighs. Matthias made a noise far back in his throat and it spurred Connor to more boldness. He bent his own arms under Matthias, so that he was cradled against him, but in a position of control. He wrapped his hands around Matthias' neck in a parody of the position he still held on Connor.
"Yes," Matthias said, and he closed his eyes, slightly slumping into Connor's hold. He lifted his thigh ever so slightly and Connor 's pulse ratcheted up several notches. "Yes," Matthias said again. "I always knew I would find you again some day."
"And now you have," Connor said. "I intend to make the most of it." Matthias had always been like quicksilver to Connor, speaking in riddles and half-truths, never telling him an entire tale, but only the parts he deemed important. But that was then. Connor had learned and grown in the time apart, and he thought that Matthias might find himself well matched now.
Matthias' eyes were slit open now and he was considering Connor. His hands finally moved away from Connor's neck, and down to his shoulders, and then down again to finally rest at Connor's hips. It was an opening, and he was giving it to Connor. "Show me what you've learned then," he whispered.
Connor bared his teeth, hungry and flushed with desire built over too long a time, and moved in to do just that. When he was done, Matthias' would find it hard indeed to ever leave him again.
*****
Duncan hung up the phone. He was feeling like he'd woken into a nightmare.
Talking to Joe had only increased the knot of worry in his gut. Methos was nowhere to be found and that made him want to punch walls. Connor had the syndrome now, and that was a bottomless pit for worry as well. It was dangerously infectious, as he'd been told. But he'd hoped that they could have somehow avoided it. Not that he could have made any other choice. With his friends and family in danger, Duncan would never shirk his duty to them. The only thing that gave him hope was that Connor didn't seem to have lost all his memories. Not like Rebelda had. It meant that Duncan didn't have to start from scratch to train him to fight. Connor already knew how to protect himself. He was without some more recent training and strategies, but those could be relearned. Connor wasn't a sitting duck in the way Rebelda had been, and that at least meant Duncan didn't have to worry he'd been challenged and killed outright. He still had to be concerned with stronger opponents, but that was a constant in the life of an Immortal, and one Duncan had grappled with all his life.
Now he had to deal with the missing time-convincing Connor that Duncan was his ally, and teaching him about the modern world. If any unmentioned, secret enemies came calling in the meantime, at least Duncan would be here to deal with them.
Duncan turned and went down to the salle. Rebelda was there, alone, stretching in a corner. She looked up as Duncan approached.
"Where's Connor?" Duncan asked.
"Went that way," Rebelda pointed. She looked very somber, as she had since learning that her condition had been passed on. "I tried talking to him, but he didn't remember." She shuddered. "Is that what happened to me?"
Duncan put a hand on her arm. "It's awful, but yes. I'm doing everything I can to work on the problem, though. We'll get your memories back, and Connor's, or we'll keep training you until you have new memories. Either way, you're going to be okay."
Rebelda nodded, but then she looked away. "I didn't mean to give it to him. I never meant for anyone to get this...."
"I know. It wasn't on purpose." Duncan sighed. "If you can think of anything that did happen. How it happened, that could help."
Rebelda nodded. "I'll try," she said.
"Good," Duncan said, and turned his head. "That way?" he asked.
"Yeah, he sort of was over near the wall."
Duncan frowned at that. There was a door over by the wall that lead to some access space that Connor tended to keep discreet. Either he remembered it, or had discovered it by accident. The door wasn't really hidden, but it was made minimally observable. Trust his cousin to find it right away. Duncan wasn't sure entirely what was back there, but he hoped there was nothing dangerous or disturbing. He didn't know if finding journals or photos of forgotten times would cause distress or not.
He went over to the door and pushed it open, and cautiously went through.
*****
Connor heard the footsteps a moment before Duncan was on top of them. Matthias shoved him away, and Connor could feel the cold air instantly along his front where the burning heat of Matthias' body had been. "Wait!" he said, because he could feel Matthias prepare to strike, and Duncan looked like he'd already been hit with a hammer to the head.
His eyes were wide, nearly popping, and his mouth was hanging open. He was staring at them and breathing hard, as if the walk down the hallway had been the length of a marathon. Duncan, wild-eyed, looked at Connor and then to Matthias.
Connor had been told Duncan and he were close, but he'd only really just met the man. Duncan's reactions didn't mean anything more to him than a stranger's would, but it wasn't hard to deduce that something had drastically affected him. "Duncan?" he asked.
"What?" Duncan ground out the words. "Why?" he asked. His attention swiveled from Connor to Matthias.
Matthias looked to Connor and raised an eyebrow. "Connor, is this the man you spoke of?" he asked.
All the air in Duncan seemed to escape and he sagged. "No," he said, faintly. It was more to himself, a painful exhalation and denial, and obviously not an answer to Matthias' question. It wasn't hard for Connor to put all the pieces together.
"Yes," said Connor. "Duncan MacLeod. This is Matthias. I assume that you also know him. And that he has also now suffered the same memory loss that you advised me of."
"Matthias?" Duncan repeated. "Is that your name?" His attention was solely for Matthias.
"Yes."
Connor watched as Duncan composed himself. He blinked and his spine stiffened. He straightened entirely, and his shoulders shifted back. "You've forgotten me," he said, the words controlled and flattened. "I'm Duncan. Duncan MacLeod. I'm a friend."
Matthias inclined his head, and that keen gaze of his settled on Duncan. "Given the situation, I believe we have much to discuss."
"Yes," Duncan said. He motioned to the hallway. "If you'd follow me. We can...we could...brew some coffee. Talk."
Connor moved to put a hand on Duncan's shoulder. "An excellent idea."
Duncan nodded once, and tore his attention away from Matthias. "The kitchen is this way," he said, and strode back the way he'd come.
*****
On to Part Two