From the Earlier, for killabeez (2/2)
Title: From the Earlier (2/2)
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.
Part One
The coffee was good. Methos gave him that. Beyond that, everything was strange.
The hidden room he had met Connor in had been built out of unfamiliar materials, and some of the contents had been truly alien. Now he was in another room, a kitchen that looked entirely unlike any kitchen he had ever known, and drinking an amazing concoction that had come out of gurgling pot.
Yet still, there were familiar elements. There was a table, and chairs, and people sitting in them discussing subjects of great importance. This, Methos understood.
As well he also understood that he had lost his memory, and this displeased him. His memory was his greatest asset. Knowledge gave him an edge, and to have that edge dulled meant he was vulnerable.
So he was paying great attention both to what was being spoken around the table, and to the body language.
"You are telling us that all three of us have lost our memories, and that only you remain with your full faculties," Methos repeated, after Duncan had gotten done telling the long story from his perspective.
"Yes," Duncan said. Everything about his body language told Methos that the man believed what he was telling them. It only remained to find out if what he believed were actually the truth. Methos had no reason to doubt it, but he kept his mind open, just in case. Such reserve had usually served him well.
"What now?" Connor asked. "How do you plan to deal with this?"
"I think we just need to stay here," Duncan said. "Keep training. It doesn't change the situation. All three of you need to be able to fight in case you are challenged. And learn about the modern world. We can do that here. A week or two, perhaps three, and we can reevaluate, see where we stand. "
"I need the most help," Rebelda said. "At least the two of you remember how to fight."
"Indeed," Methos said. This handicap was not tremendous--he would have been much worse off if he had forgotten all he knew about sword work--but still, he imagined he must have forgotten many valuable skills. "I agree to this plan. For now."
"I do also," Connor said. "A few weeks is nothing, and it may help prepare us. Or perhaps our memories will return."
"It's never been known to happen," Methos said. "I have heard of this affliction before."
"I find it curious," Duncan said, "that you and Connor only lost some of your memories. It isn't the typical pattern."
"But how?" Connor asked.
Duncan turned to Rebelda. "Only you remember what you were doing the day previous, with both of them present. Does anything occur to you?"
Rebelda shook her head, but she frowned. "There was an injury," she said. "A mishap. We were...ah...joking around a bit. And the blade sliced...well. It got all three of us."
Duncan grew still. "Deep enough to draw a Quickening?" he asked.
"Yes," Rebelda said. She held up her hand. "It was almost nothing, really. Just a pricking."
Duncan nodded. He looked at everyone. "No live blades from here on out. We'll use wooden ones. I don't want anyone losing more memory than they already have."
"Agreed," Matthias said.
"We should get started," Duncan said. "I'll meet you all down in the training room in half an hour. Matthias, let me...ah...show you your room, with your things."
Matthias drained the last of the coffee from his cup and left it on the table. He waited until Rebelda and Connor left the room. He watched Connor leave, and gave a level-eyed look at Connor's small, tugging frown. "You have been dancing around the subject, but I suspect I know what you have to say," Methos said.
"Do you," Duncan said mildly.
"It's hard not to guess. We were lovers, of course."
"Of course," Duncan said with a pinched expression. "And your things are in the room we share. Connor has another guest bedroom, and we can move your stuff there easily enough." He shifted slightly, and Methos could read his discomfort. "You and Connor...."
"Yes," Methos said. "I realize that this must be difficult for you, but I don't have any memory of you at all. How long were we together?"
"Fifteen years," Duncan said.
Methos was stunned. "I stayed with you for fifteen years?"
"Yes," Duncan said, and his face was full of conviction. "I won't rest until you remember. Or...."
Methos considered it. "I am sorry. I can't love you back the way you would like. We may be able to be friends. I hope it will be enough."
"For now," Duncan said. He came to lean close to Methos, and turned his head to whisper in his ear. "I know your name," he said.
"Do you?" Methos asked. After fifteen years, he would hope he trusted a lover enough to tell him his true name, but it wouldn't be the first time he would have withheld such information. "Speak it."
"Methos," Duncan whispered into his ear. "I'll wait," he continued to whisper. "Until you come back to me. For as long as it takes."
Even considering that he didn't know the man enough to care about him, the pain and tragic hope in his voice caught at Methos, and broke his heart, just a little.
*****
Connor heard the knock on his door and closed his eyes for a long moment. After speaking with Duncan, things were different. He couldn't break faith with the man, not when he felt that there were expectations. The man was family, if he could be believed, and there were things about him that caused Connor to believe. His voice, his accent, the words he chose, and the ones he didn't speak. Connor felt that the man truly was his distant cousin, a part of his clan, even if he didn't remember the vows he had made.
The knock came again and Connor went to the door. Matthias stood there, with a calm expression, and one lifted eyebrow, questioning. "Would you bar me?" he asked. "Because of Duncan?" Matthias didn't mince words.
"I have no other choice," Connor said. His fingers fairly itched to curl into the fabric of Matthias' shirt and pull him into the room. "You and he, you are...."
Matthias pushed his way into the room, and shut the door behind him. Connor backed up. "We are what?" Matthias asked. "Together? Certainly not. I don't know him, nor remember him."
"But you don't doubt he has spoken the truth."
Matthias made a face. "I believe him. There were clothes in his room that appeared to fit me. Other things that made me know he had not lied."
"He is heartbroken to lose you," Connor said.
"I am not lost," Matthias replied. "Only misplaced. If even that." He took a step forward, into Connor's space. "Would you turn me away?"
"Yes," Connor replied, though he hated to do it. But he was stubborn enough for this, and knew right from wrong. "And ask you to leave."
Matthias frowned and leaned in against Connor, his hands on the wall to either side. Connor could duck under his arms, but he chose not to. Matthias moved his hands to clasp them at the back of Connor's head. "What if I say no?" Matthias rubbed his thumbs lightly at the junction of Connor's neck, just below his jaw. He slid the pads of his thumbs up and down, stroking against the column of Connor's neck. Matthias licked his lips and leaned in, capturing Connor in a kiss that Connor returned without thinking.
He was demanding, and hot against him, and Connor could feel the need in him start to build. It burned a streak up his spine and into his brain. He drew Matthias in, kissing him harder, more fiercely, relentlessly, until Matthias was mewling deep in his throat, a sound of driven desire, a keening frustration.
"More, please," Matthias said, eyes closed, with his forehead resting against Connor's. Connor could hear his near-desperation, and he felt the twin emotion in his own gut. "Do not send me away, for a man I don't remember. I remember you, Connor. Not him."
"I can't," Connor said, hoarse with despair. His fingers had finally curled into the fabric of Matthias' clothes, possessive all of their own accord. They clutched and held on, bruising the flesh beneath his knuckles, as he continued to twist the fabric. "Please, Matthias. Let it go." Connor felt shredded. His traitorous body wanted this, and his emotions flared, and he felt drunk on desire, and not a little of the adoration and love that he'd harbored was still there. It lurked beneath the surface, rising from the pit where he'd sent it after he'd thought he'd lost Matthias.
"No," Matthias said. "I want you." He opened his eyes finally and stared at Connor, and for a moment Connor imagined there was a flame burning in his eyes. He blinked and the image was gone, but the intensity remained. "Don't deny me. Nor this." Matthias plunged back into another kiss, this time against Connor's throat, and his hands were threading through his clothes, to touch bare skin. Matthias' fingers were solid against Connor's hips, holding him.
Connor groaned. "Yes," he said, all rational thought overlaid by the stimulation of his nerve endings. The devil might take his soul, he thought, because for once his stubborn will had deserted him, and he traced footsteps down a darker path.
"Good," Matthias said.
Connor barely thought again about Duncan, and the betrayal he allowed, because Matthias burned the treachery out of his head. Matthias' mouth laid fire to his skin, and his hands seared his flesh, and Connor writhed, and smoked, until nothing was left of him but embers.
*****
Duncan left his empty bed, which felt too cold, to retreat to the study.
He knew where Methos had gone to sleep for the night, and it made him nauseated to think on it. If it had been either his Connor or his Methos, then it wouldn't have happened. But both at the same time, to have forgotten Duncan entirely...he couldn't blame them. They only remembered their past, not their present.
But, oh, it made Duncan want to heave up his dinner, or hurl glasses at the wall.
He wanted to blame somebody, but he could only find himself. Methos shouldn't have come with him. Then he would have been safe. Guilt flared inside Duncan's gut, and heated his face. He put his hands up, covering his eyes, and groaned.
Being cordial had torn him inside out. He had a task to accomplish, and come hell or something worse than hell, he would get it done. If he had to barricade the doors and windows, and run to Holy Ground, he would find a way. Either he'd teach them how to fight and protect themselves, or he'd get their memories back.
In the meantime, he would just have to swallow down his bile. Because even though Methos was alive and breathing, he was just as distant as a million miles away, and that hurt Duncan like a knife to the heart. And Connor--who was Duncan's family and one of his closest and most trusted friends--was just as lost to him, and in the worst twisted way imaginable. The betrayal of it would have flayed Duncan, except that he knew with his head that it wasn't meant as treachery. There was the crux of the situation, and no matter how Duncan tore it apart and put it back together again, logic only worked so well against the ache in his chest.
Duncan wished Joe would hurry and find the records. He desperately wanted to read the accounts. Something would be in there. There just had to be. He had to find something.
He couldn't lose either of them. Not like this.
*****
"Hell, I told you. I told you!" Joe was nearly apoplectic, once again returned to chastisement. "This was a bad idea. Don't do this, I said. Stay away, I said. But did either of you listen? No."
"I know," Duncan said for what felt like the hundredth time. "I know."
Joe pointed a finger, his hand shaking with the emotion. "He's gone. Our Adam. Our Methos. Gone."
"I know, Joe. I know."
Joe pulled up, a slew of emotions crossing his face. "Yeah. You do. Worse than me."
Duncan felt the misery sink in his bones. It was a feeling that stretched all through him, from the tips of his fingers to the pit of his gut. "He's still there, but he doesn't know me. I found--" Duncan shook his head, unable to go on. He'd known the moment he'd seen Connor pressed in close, and Methos digging right back, as if they were trying to meld themselves together. Methos had mentioned, so long ago, that he and Connor had had a time together. That he'd known Ramirez. But it had been distant history for Duncan, and nothing to worry about. Now, it was everything he thought about. That Methos had moved his things out and was settled into another guest bedroom, and Duncan had watched him take stock of where Connor's room was. Tonight Duncan would sleep alone again, and how could he expect Methos, or Connor for that matter, to keep promises made by them that they couldn't remember having ever made?
And then Duncan felt even worse for dwelling on his loss, when he needed to make sure all three of them were safe, and well trained. He had to acclimate them all to the modern world. He had to stop mourning, for someone who wasn't dead. Because there was always hope.
"What are you going to do?" Joe asked. "You've got a funny look."
"I'm going to call Amanda."
"Hell no!" Joe pounded the table-top with his hand, making his coffee cup jitter sideways. Luckily there was nobody nearby to be startled as they were alone in the coffee shop, other than two harried looking employees trying to clean up a pastry case behind the counter. They hadn't even twitched at Joe's outburst. "You can't endanger anyone else! In fact, I think you should go home. I'll go in there for you. Take care of it."
"You can't train them, Joe," Duncan said.
"I can damn well teach them how to use a tv remote," Joe said bitterly. "What else is there to modern life?"
"I really need those notes, Joe," Duncan said.
"Working on it," Joe told him.
"Work harder." Duncan fixed Joe with a hard stare. "He didn't give up on me when...when I wasn't right. He took me to a holy spring."
"Been tried," Joe grunted. "Didn't work."
"Not the holy spring itself," Duncan said. "But there'll be something. I need research. Just possibilities." Duncan looked into his coffee cup and discovered that it was empty. He'd drained it, and not even paid attention. "I think I know how it is transmitted. Which means I should be safe."
"Should," Joe said scathingly. "And if you forget, who'll teach anybody anything then?"
Duncan ignored the question. There wasn't an answer to it anyway. "Joe, those other cases. I need to see the records. The real journals. Not just be told the summaries. Maybe there's something in the account, something that will help."
"Fine. I'll get them sooner," Joe said. "It isn't like I travel around with them, you know. Requisitions take time. Now get back before they do something stupid while you're gone and misplace even a few more decades."
"Thank you, Joe," Duncan said. He was turning over the situation in his mind. A glimmer of an idea was coming to him, but it was as yet just something in the circumstances that didn't quite make sense. He needed to think on it. In the meantime, he needed Amanda here to help him. He couldn't train three people all at once.
Especially if he had to fight down a clawing, desperate fury at watching Methos turn away from him, and turn to Connor. The past wasn't so distant anymore, it was up front and center. Duncan felt like he'd been gutted.
****
"You aren't," Amanda said. She pulled a sweater out of her bureau and put it on the bed. New York was bitterly cold this time of year and she would need warm clothes.
"I am," Nick grabbed a pile of t-shirts and started stacking them inside a ridiculously olive green duffle bag.
Amanda made a face, both at the ugly bag and at Nick's stubbornness. She grabbed his pile of t-shirts and put them back in his dresser drawer. "You aren't."
Nick re-grabbed the pile of t-shirts and shoved them into the bag with more force. "I am."
Amanda put a hand on her hip and pursed her lips. She studied Nick. "Didn't you hear about the part where you could forget everything? Me. You. Life. Everything?"
"Yeah. I got it." Nick moved away from the duffle and went to grab a pair of jeans. "And if you're going, I'm going."
Amanda moved the stack of t-shirts again, shoving them down the laundry shoot. Nick turned and saw her maneuver with a groan. He narrowed his eyes. "I've got a hell of a lot less to forget."
"You need to remember everything you know," Amanda said. She tapped his forehead with a perfectly manicured fingertip. "You don't have a lot of extra sword work up there that you can spare."
"Pfft," Nick said.
"I'll pfft you," Amanda said, and leaned in to catch Nick in a kiss. She pressed him backwards, inching him a little bit at a time.
"You can kiss me all you like, I'm still coming," he said.
"No, you're not," Amanda replied, and caught one of his wrists with a handcuff, and then neatly clipped the other to the radiator. Nick bellowed, and she stepped back. "Now, stay there, and I'll call a friend in to release you in a few hours. If you don't free yourself sooner."
"Amanda!" Nick yelled.
"Pfft," Amanda said with a flick of her fingers, and went back to packing. She chose another sweater. New York was bitterly cold this time of year, after all.
*****
Duncan ran his eyes down the rest of the page. He'd read everything about the previous instances of A Priori Syndrome, and the wheels were turning in his head. No answers were forthcoming, but he had a few ideas. He toyed with the idea of calling Joe. He knew that Joe would have read every scrap of paper just as intently, and he wondered if the same thoughts were winding through Joe's brain.
A slight cough at the doorway brought Duncan's attention up. It was Connor, looking down very seriously at him.
"Connor," he said. He waved at a chair. "Make yourself comfortable." He eyed the liquor cabinet. "There's plenty of--"
"No, thank you," Connor said. He did move into the room, but ended up leaning against the wall next to the door. "I was speaking with Rebelda earlier."
"Yes?" Duncan held a tight breath in his chest.
"She filled in some of the details about our present situation."
Duncan nodded. "Yes, of course. I'm glad she did. Anything you need to know, of course. It's just hard to tell everything all at once. You understand."
Connor's eyes took in the entire room in a wide search before focusing back on Duncan. "You're bringing more Immortals into the fold."
"Yes. A friend. Her name is Amanda. You and she are friends as well. You can trust her. " Duncan gave Connor a half-shrug. "Well, she's got a light touch," he clarified. "But you can trust her with life and death matters, implicitly."
"And a mortal," Connor said.
"Joe," Duncan said. "Another friend. I couldn't do this without him," he added. "He won't betray us."
"Hmm," Connor said. His gaze was direct. "And Matthias?" he asked. "He was your love, and now he doesn't remember you."
"You don't remember me, either," Duncan said, the first thing that came to his mind. It wasn't really an answer to the topic that Connor was broaching, but it deflected some of the hurt.
Connor looked slightly discomfited. "Duncan. I realize this is difficult." He leaned back in his chair. "I just...I needed to...talk to you. All three of us, we depend on you."
Duncan could hear the unspoken sentiment. And Connor was fouling the waters. They needed Duncan to help them, and instead of doing what would keep Duncan steady, Connor and Methos were upsetting the equilibrium. He should have guessed that Connor's innate sense of guilt would at least drive him to this conversation. "I'll survive," Duncan ground out. "And I'm working on figuring out how to get your memories back." He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Besides. Water under the bridge." Duncan eyed the liquor cabinet and then turned away from it "Shall we go train?" he asked.
Connor paused but then nodded. "As you wish, Duncan."
*****
In the morning, Duncan woke up, bleary-eyed, from the desk. He'd gone back to reading the papers and must have fallen asleep. Amanda was standing there, pristine in a stylish traveling suit. She even had a jaunty hat tilted over one eye.
She had her hands on her hips and tsk'ed at him. "What am I to do with you?" she asked. "I suppose coffee is as good a plan as any."
Duncan closed his eyes again and what seemed like moments later, Amanda was back again, with a steaming mug that she put down on the desk with a clink. "There. Duncan, darling? I need you to wake up now."
Groggily, Duncan lifted his head. He snaked out a hand to catch at the mug. He also glanced at the clock. He'd fallen asleep very late, and here Amanda was, and it was too early. "Thanks," he said. When his head cleared a little, he said, "You got my message."
"Of course." Amanda smiled at him. "We'll get it fixed."
"I think I know how," Duncan said.
"Do tell," Amanda said, and she plunked down on the nearest chair and put her chin in her hand. Her bright eyes sparkled at Duncan.
As he sipped at the coffee, Duncan began to tell her about his theory.
*****
"Which one first?" Amanda asked, though she had a tilt to her head that told Duncan she had a strong opinion about the answer. It was much later in the day. They had already spent hours going over the reports that Joe had given him, and then had talked the situation over. And over. And over. In between, they had made coffee. At the moment, they were on their second pot.
Duncan had introduced her to Connor, Methos, and Rebelda, to make sure they knew she wasn't a threat. It had been surreal to find that while Connor didn't know her yet, Methos already did. "Methos," Amdanda had said with a smirk, when the others weren't nearby. "What are you doing here?"
"Amanda," Methos had said, and blown her a kiss. "Being kept prisoner against my will."
"The more things stay the same," Amanda had murmured, and Methos had looked like the cat who'd eaten the canary. Duncan was beginning to really not like this older version of Methos. Not at all.
"Adam, of course," Duncan replied to Amanda's original question. "Obviously."
"No, not obviously," Amanda replied. "You have to let them chose amongst themselves."
Duncan made a face.
"I know you want him back," Amanda said, and slid off her chair to lean against Duncan's shins. She traced a fingertip on the fabric covering his knee. "But you can't force him to do this."
"Once he remembers, it won't be an issue," Duncan grated out.
"If it doesn't work, he won't remember. And then who will volunteer for the next harebrained idea you've got?" Amanda studied her fingernails and gave them a look of disgust. "Darling, you know this."
Duncan sighed. He did know this. He just hated it and wanted it to be different. "I know. Okay. I'll lay it out before them. It was just...difficult." He clenched and unclenched his hands.
"You've been at this awhile," Amanda said. "You're tired. It can wear at you."
"At the end of my rope," Duncan admitted.
Amanda leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't let go," she said softly.
*****
Amanda felt the ice-water of presence go down her back. She shivered. "Duncan?" she asked and looked up from the magazine she'd been flipping through.
Duncan's eyes had gone wide. "Shit," he said. "It's too close in here for any of us. We never go out of range unless we leave the building. It's someone new."
"Oh, hell," Amanda said, and pulled her sword out as she went for the door. This was bad. They'd known that word would leak out, and that others would come headhunting, but Amanda thought that the building was a little bit more secure than this. Whomever it was, they were good. They were a serious threat.
Duncan was two steps ahead of her. He pointed down one hallway. "I'll take the gym area. You take the second floor."
"Got it," Amanda said as she made her way to the staircase. She paused just at the top, and cautiously went onto the second floor. She could see one bedroom door open at the end, and she sidled along until she could see inside. It was empty. The bed was mussed and there were clothes scattered everywhere. Probably Methos' room. Which...she almost hoped it was. Methos still had the majority of his memories. He wasn't helpless, and was probably going to give as good as he got. He was the most likely to be able to successfully deal with an intruder.
Amanda kept going. There was a door to the roof at this end. She tried the handle and found it unlocked. This meant a rooftop duel. She made sure to climb the stairs as quietly as she could.
She pushed the door open at the top, peering through the crack first and seeing nothing. She came out onto the roof, and was aware of the wind being bitterly cold, and the sun setting harshly in the distance. She scanned the roof, and then heard the clang of metal against metal. Rolling left, she came around one of those roof structures that always seemed to be there.
It was Methos. And he had his opponent on the ground. He caught Amanda's gaze just before he gave the final downswing of his sword, severing his opponent's head.
Amanda gave him a nod and straightened out of her approaching stance.
Lightning split the sky, and things exploded. Far below them, she could hear car alarms screech and wail. Fire licked its way across the flat areas of tar. Methos jolted like a rag-doll controlled by voodoo, and finally, painfully collapsed.
Amanda approached him cautiously. "Methos?" she asked.
"Still me," he croaked. He grabbed his sword and levered himself to a standing position. "I forgot how much that hurt," he said. "I haven't taken a head in a while."
"Are you sure?" she asked. The paperwork Joe had provided had been generally clear that taking a Quickening didn't resolve the memory loss, but she and Duncan had hoped it had been wrong, or a fluke. She wasn't sure how they would have dealt with the situation if taking a head would have solved the problem, but it would have been a neat little solution.
"Quite," Methos said. "Still trying to wrap my head around the modern era. And certainly not in love with MacLeod." He grinned wryly at Amanda, and made a kissing motion at her. "You, however, I remember with a lot of fondness."
Amanda sighed with exasperation. "If it wasn't for Duncan, I'd take you up on the offer," she said coyly, "but I'd rather you regain your memories."
"Me as well," Methos said. "It puts me at a terrible disadvantage to have lost any time at all." He gestured to the dead Immortal at his feet. "Apparently not a resolution. But he needed to be dealt with."
"There will be others coming," Amanda said.
"I know. It presents a serious problem. We may want to consider relocating."
"Yes," Amanda said. "But first, you should talk with Duncan. He has an idea. And he needs a volunteer."
"Consider me a guinea pig." Methos toed the shoulder of the body in front of him. "We'll need to figure out how to dispose of this."
Amanda eyed the rooftop. Fortunately the fire had burned itself out, but they might not be so lucky next time. "And we should lay in a supply of fire extinguishers, too," she said. "Come on. Let's find Duncan. He's probably worrying himself to death."
*****
Methos stared at MacLeod. The man was frighteningly brilliant, and scarily dense. It was an impressive combination.
"It's like a battery," MacLeod said, going on about his metaphor, and Methos stifled a sigh. He'd briefly encountered the modern battery concept--along with the near magical electricity--but MacLeod was trying to explain his idea by comparing it to a concept that the three of them really didn't have a background for anymore. "You have to recharge it."
"My taking a Quickening did not facilitate this battery recharging," Methos pointed out.
"I don't think it's the right way," MacLeod said. "You're already a fully charged battery at that point, and then the Quickening is just more energy on top of that. It doesn't reset anything. Like a computer system, sometimes you have to reboot it. Or reinstall the entire operating system again. Take it back down to factory basics."
Methos slid a sidelong glance at Connor, who looked carefully blank, giving him a constipated air, and Rebelda, who looked utterly confused. Methos drummed his fingers on the top of the table. MacLeod had pushed some papers at them, copies of records detailing the A Priori syndrome happening previously to others. He'd glanced through them, curious, but what he'd read didn't quite dovetail with what MacLeod was outlining.
"How does it work in practice?" Connor asked. "The reasoning behind your theory is too modern for me. What I want to know is how you implement this cure."
MacLeod glanced to Amanda, who gave him the tiniest of nods. "We'll give you a mortal wound, and once you're dead, I'll inflict a wound on myself. I'll move close, and the wound healing on me should be able to go over, and heal your wound. Like a jump start on a car battery."
Methos snorted. MacLeod and his battery metaphors again. "We have no idea what a car battery is, MacLeod," he said out loud. "But I think your idea is ludicrous."
MacLeod puffed up, indignant.
Before he could speak, Methos held up a hand. "Isn't this exactly how the syndrome is passed along? By simultaneous wounding?"
"That's why I think it will work. It's the same process, but in reverse. With the recipient in a dead state, the charge should go the other way."
"It seems very risky," Connor said. "If it doesn't work, you'll have amnesia as well."
"I'm willing to risk it," MacLeod said.
"And leave us with Amanda only," Rebelda pointed out. "And there are more headhunters coming. I vote no. It's too much. Foolhardy. I don't like it."
"Neither do I," Connor said. "It's an insightful idea, Duncan. But if it doesn't work, we're far worse off than we are right now. We can't take that risk."
"We need to find another way," Rebelda said. "Isn't there anything else we can try? Something less dangerous? Exhaust all those other possibilities?"
"Hmm," Methos said. "Let's think about this. Tell me about his battery concept again. You say they are rechargeable?"
"Some of them," Amanda said. She turned to face Methos, and waved her hands around as she explained. "We use them in a lot of items now. Computers, cell phones, music players."
"And cars," Methos said.
"Yes. Like that. The battery holds a certain amount of energy, and you use it up, and then when it is low, you charge it again." Amanda paused. "Oh," she said, her eyes going round and wide. "I think I just figured it out."
"Amanda?" MacLeod asked, and he put his hand on her forearm. "Figured what out?"
"The way to do it," she said, "the way to reset them. Like your battery idea. But we didn't take it far enough out." She began to speak more quickly. "You know how the recommendation for rechargeable batteries is to let them be completely used up before you recharge them. Otherwise the battery doesn't last as long. They have to be completely drained first."
There was shocked silence around the table.
"What does that mean?" Rebelda asked in a soft voice. "What could be more drained than dead?"
"The cure is worse than the disease," Connor muttered.
"Death by a thousand cuts," Methos said. "It means that you would need to be wounded, again and again. Until the Quickening energy that should heal you is used up."
Rebelda drained of color. "But then what happens? Would we really be dead?"
"As long as your head is attached, you won't be permanently dead," MacLeod said.
"That's true," Connor said. "But you might wish you were dead."
"Psh," Amanda said, and waved a hand. "This isn't the past anymore. They've developed all sorts of drugs. You won't feel a thing."
"You won't feel a thing," Connor said. "As it isn't you going under the knife."
Amanda rolled her eyes. "Fine. Stay as you are."
"Only one of us needs to test the theory out," Methos said. "I volunteer." He didn't miss the sucked in breath sound that MacLeod made. "But it can't be either of you. Too dangerous." He reached out and put his hand on the reports that littered the surface of the table. "This man, the one who brought you these. He's mortal. You trust him."
"With my life," MacLeod vowed. "But we can't ask him to do this."
"It absolutely can't be either of you," Methos said. "One slip, one involuntary move, and you'll forget everything." He shook his head. "This is the only way. You can observe, of course. But you have to be far enough away that you won't be compromised." He gave MacLeod a hard look. "Speak now if you don't trust him. I don't lightly put my life into the hands of mortals. Otherwise, we walk away from this. And go forward with this but a blip on the timeline of our lives."
Amanda put her hand on top of Methos'. "We trust him with our lives, and with yours. You don't remember, but Joe is your friend."
Methos focused his attention on her. "Will he have the stomach for this?" he asked.
Amanda took a long moment before answering. "I think so. But we'll have to ask him."
*****
"Like this," Duncan murmured, and he demonstrated on his own arm. The knife flashed in the light, and the wound was made with precision, and it took a moment before the blood welled up, dark and red. There was the snap and crackle of his Quickening coming to the fore, and it etched along the edges of the wound, sizzling blue-white for the briefest of moments, and then he was healed. "And then do it again."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Joe ran a hand through his hair and scowled disbelievingly. "You can't be serious," he said. "You know this is nuts, right?"
"I know."
"There's a quote," Amanda said. She was in the corner of the room, with the syringe and a bottle of something strong. " 'twere well, it were done quickly."
"MacBeth," Joe grunted. "And this isn't that far from an assassination."
"You don't have to do this, Joe," Duncan said. "No one would blame you if you said no."
"I know, damn it. But who else is there?"
Amanda wandered over and put a hand on Joe's shoulder. "There's no one else. You know that. No one we would trust, anyway." She patted her hand down, once, twice, and then stepped away.
"Like I don't have enough nightmares," Joe muttered, "Now I gotta add fuel to the fire."
Just then the door opened and Methos sauntered in. There was a tense line to his jaw but he gave them a grin. "Cheer up, people," he said as he came in. He settled on the edge of the table, giving a kick with his feet to resettled the plastic sheeting that was on the floor. "Let's just get this over with." He pulled his shirt off over his head and draped it to the side.
Amanda came over with the syringe. "If this wears off, just tell us. There's more where this came from. And we don't need to worry about overdosing you."
"You say all the sweetest things," Methos said as he watched her prick through his skin. He flexed his arm and then closed his eyes. "Good stuff," he said and settled back. He looked at Joe. "Thank you," he said. "If this works...."
"If it doesn't work," Joe said.
"We'll drink beer together either way," Methos said, sounding for a moment like his old self.
Duncan handed the knife to Joe, and Joe took it with a resigned finality. He held it for a moment, testing its heft. "I'll be here the whole time, Joe," Duncan said. "I'd do this, if I could, but you know I can't. But I'll be here."
"What a gruesome pep squad," Joe said and shook his head. "Okay, let's get this show on the road." He turned with the knife, and made the first cut.
Methos let out a long breath. "That's fine," he said, his voice groggy and fading away. "I can handle that."
Duncan settled back against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest, and watched Joe. To his credit, Joe was very methodical. It took a little bit of practice, but after a bit, he had it down. He rotated through five different cuts, by the time he'd made the fifth one, the area over the first had healed and he could start again. He fell into the rhythm of the thing, and Duncan watched as he readily kept working.
Joe was careful, with a steady hand. Hardly a drop of blood was spilt, and the slices that he created were even, short, and perfunctory.
For a long time, Duncan didn't think anything was changing. The healing energy came just as brightly and quickly as ever, but finally, Duncan noticed a change. Either Methos was slowing down, or Joe was. He didn't need five cuts anymore, four was enough. Then only three.
Methos roused slightly, and turned his head to stare at Joe. "Do I know you?" he slurred. "You're a Watcher. In the Watchers. But shouldn't you be younger?"
Joe paused and looked at Duncan, stunned. Duncan could only stare back and give him a hopeful nod. "Keep going," Duncan said. "We don't want to have to start this again. Finish it completely."
"Hold on a moment, Joe," said Amanda from the corner. She came forward with the syringe again. "It's just a chaser," she murmured. "Nothing like the first dose."
It was another long wait, while Joe went back to his task. Duncan could read the fatigue in the man's shoulders and the cant of his neck. This was wearing on him, physically and mentally, and Duncan couldn't believe the stamina he had already exhibited.
The Quickening energy coming to Methos' skin was drowsy and sluggish, stuttering. The wounds were healing, but slowly, and in short bursts. Now, Methos was bleeding. Joe had slowed down as well, tending to each cut before making another. He was reaching the end of the titration.
Methos rolled his head. "Joe," he breathed. "Walker? Amy?"
"Almost there, buddy," Joe said. "Hang in there."
Duncan clenched his hands at his side. He wanted to rush forward, but that was dangerous. He glanced to Amanda. She looked unsteadily back and motioned to the syringe. Duncan shook his head.
Now the Quickening hardly came at all. A thin rivulet of blood seeped down Methos' arm, and he drew his arm in, away from Joe. "No more," he whispered, his voice cracking, and dry. "You can't make me tell you where I hid your Christmas present."
"Methos?" Joe asked, his face a mask of weariness. "That better be you, you son of a bitch."
"It's me, Joe. It's me." Methos shifted on the table. "I'm going to pass out now. See you later." He took a shallow, shuddering breath. "And thanks," he whispered.
*****
Amanda kissed Duncan on the cheek. "Take good care of them. And yourself," she said. "I'll see you when I see you."
"Amanda," Duncan said, and pressed one of her hands between his own. "Thank you."
Amanda brought her other hand up and brushed it across Duncan's cheek, and she smiled at him. "How about the next time you call, it's for a fabulous vacation somewhere warm, and nothing to do with life or death emergencies."
"It's a deal," Duncan said. He smiled at her.
"Bye for now," she said, and pulled her hand free. She turned and sauntered down the street. She'd stayed an extra two days, helping Joe get through the other two events, Connor and Rebelda both showing courage to face the procedure, although she thought they were much less traumatic than when he'd presided over Methos. For one thing, he wasn't nearly as close to either Connor or Rebelda. For another, they all knew the outcome. It was a lot easier to inflict damage when you knew it really was for the greater good.
Amanda eyed the street corner as she neared it. A vagabond was sacked out right against the wall, and he'd begun to move toward her. She sighed.
"Have a nice time spying?" she asked as the vagabond fell into step.
"No. It's cold out here," Nick said. "And I could only tell what was going on inside half the time."
"So this was your solution when I told you that you couldn't come," Amanda said. "To camp outside, pretending to be homeless."
"You weren't going to let me inside," Nick pointed out.
"True."
"So, is the problem solved?" he asked.
"For the moment," Amanda said. She waved an arm and rolled her eyes. "It's fine. They're all back to normal." She wrinkled her nose. "Which can't be said for you."
Nick pulled a keycard out of his pocket and held it out to her.
Amanda frowned at him but took the keycard. "What's this?"
"Hotel suite," Nick said. "Hot shower. Feather duvet. Room service."
"Ohhh, I see," Amanda said. She looked him up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "You shower, and I'll order champagne."
"Anything to get off these mean streets," Nick replied.
*****
"You've looked better."
Joe picked his head up from his hands and squinted. Judy was standing primly in front of him, a cup of coffee in each hand. "I've looked worse," he retorted.
"Not recently," she said right back at him. She put one of the coffee cups down on the desk. "Drink that, you'll feel better." She wrinkled her nose. "Then you should go and grab a shower."
"Yeah," Joe said. He'd been up late working on his report, which had been a twisted agony of mincing words and bald-faced semantics. It held the truth, but he'd padded it. Every sentence felt torn from his soul. Exhausted, he'd finally just put his head down where he was, and slept in his chair, with his face on the blotter.
"I read your report." Judy perched herself at the end of another chair in the room. She sipped at her coffee, glancing at Joe across the lid. "And between the lines a bit."
"How every good report should be read," Joe grumbled.
"It must have been...difficult," she said. "What you did. It sounded truly awful." She leaned forward and put out her hand, touching Joe's fingers.
"Yeah," Joe said again. It had been the stuff of nightmares. But he'd had no real choice. If there was any chance, no matter how repugnant, then Joe would have participated. And he'd done it. Methos was back, as well as Connor and Rebelda. Joe had done that. It hadn't been easy, but it had been worth it.
"Joe?" Judy asked.
Joe lifted his head to look at her. She was a wealth of coolness, and Joe remembered that she'd spent decades in the field, looking after her own assignments. She'd been to the depths and heights, and managed to come home again.
"Drink the coffee," she said. "After that, we can talk as long as you like. And I'll listen. It'll start to get better. I promise. But first, you have to drink your coffee."
She was still lightly holding the fingers of one hand, so Joe used the other to grab hold of the coffee cup. She gave him a small, encouraging smile. He lifted the cup and took a sip. It was rich, hot, and delicious. The aroma wafted around his head, and suddenly Joe felt lighter, and better than he had in days. He grinned.
"Told you," Judy said, and Joe laughed.
*****
Duncan was bone-deep weary. He felt like he'd been running on empty at a hundred miles an hour for weeks, although it hadn't actually been that long. In fact, while they'd missed Thanksgiving, Christmas was still looming ahead of them. It seemed inconceivable he'd spent this much time at Connor's building, and if nothing else, being inside all the time was making everybody stir crazy.
Still, the stress of everything had taken its toll, and he felt heavy-limbed and exhausted. It was the first night, really, that he was going to be able to finally sleep, and rest, and perhaps not have nightmares.
He turned on his side, and smiled.
Methos was there, back where Duncan wanted him, instead of...Duncan dismissed the thought. It didn't matter where Methos had been when he hadn't remembered, because now that he did recall, he had come back. Back to Duncan, and back to their bed together, and just generally back where he belonged.
The first two nights after Methos' recovery had been chaotic. Connor and Rebelda had needed to undergo the same difficult transition, and Duncan had tried to stay focused on that. But it had been harrowing to see how drained each of them had been from the process. Recovery from the ordeal had required massive amounts of rehydration, and excessive hours sleeping.
Connor and Rebelda were still in the recovery phase. So was Methos.
The horrid misery of the entire ordeal had only eased in measure. It still lingered at the back of his mind--the pain and betrayal. It was going to take time for them to heal the rifts, and the deep hurt. The bitter taste of distrust was not easily washed away, no matter the reasons. But Duncan had time at his disposal, because there was so much to gain from letting his heart find forgiveness. There was a soft flutter of hope fulfilled now, and the warm glow of love, and this would be just a small bump of inconsequence in a hundred years. Duncan let himself enjoy the moment. All was quiet and those he loved were safe.
Methos opened one eye. "You're staring at me," he complained.
"I'm almost too tired to sleep," Duncan said. "And I'm just happy you're here. This whole thing is starting to finally feel like a bad dream."
Methos snorted and closed his eye. "You're just glad I'm not down the hall, snogging Connor."
"Don't remind me," Duncan said. The ache of that was still too recent, but it was a pain that was fading. Eventually he knew it would be just a distant memory, but for right now it was too fresh. "You have no idea how awful that was."
"Maybe some idea," Methos said. "I do remember it, you know. I don't have amnesia of when I had amnesia."
Duncan groaned. "Stop joking," he said, but he couldn't find any harshness for his words. Actually, having Methos making fun of the situation did somehow ease the appalling sting of it.
Methos shifted closer to Duncan and he moved one arm to come against Duncan's thigh. "You could let me make it up to you," he said. "Prove to you that I prefer your company over that of your kinsman."
Duncan chuckled. "I think I'd enjoy that."
"Me, too," Methos said.
Duncan slid down until he was face to face with Methos. He leaned in to press a kiss against Methos' lips, and Methos opened his mouth, pliant and demanding, both. Duncan put one hand on Methos' neck, his thumb under the jaw-line, and he broke the kiss.
There was a definite spark of interest in Methos' eyes, and also a greater amount of tiredness. Duncan could see the depths of love again in Methos' face, his eyes, the twitch of his nose, the purse of his lips. It had been absent when he'd lost his memory, and more even than Duncan's dismay when Methos had gone off to spend his nights in Connor's bed, had been Duncan's unfettered pain at losing that light that he saw in Methos when Methos looked at him.
It eased that treacherous pain in his heart like a cool balm. Things weren't perfectly right with the world, but they were back on track. Time together, and moving beyond the recent horrendous events, would resettle them together. Duncan had no doubt now about that.
"Later," Duncan said. "There will be time later. Let's just sleep." He gathered Methos into his arms, in as much as Methos gathered him right back, and they fell asleep tangle-limbed.
END
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.
Part One
The coffee was good. Methos gave him that. Beyond that, everything was strange.
The hidden room he had met Connor in had been built out of unfamiliar materials, and some of the contents had been truly alien. Now he was in another room, a kitchen that looked entirely unlike any kitchen he had ever known, and drinking an amazing concoction that had come out of gurgling pot.
Yet still, there were familiar elements. There was a table, and chairs, and people sitting in them discussing subjects of great importance. This, Methos understood.
As well he also understood that he had lost his memory, and this displeased him. His memory was his greatest asset. Knowledge gave him an edge, and to have that edge dulled meant he was vulnerable.
So he was paying great attention both to what was being spoken around the table, and to the body language.
"You are telling us that all three of us have lost our memories, and that only you remain with your full faculties," Methos repeated, after Duncan had gotten done telling the long story from his perspective.
"Yes," Duncan said. Everything about his body language told Methos that the man believed what he was telling them. It only remained to find out if what he believed were actually the truth. Methos had no reason to doubt it, but he kept his mind open, just in case. Such reserve had usually served him well.
"What now?" Connor asked. "How do you plan to deal with this?"
"I think we just need to stay here," Duncan said. "Keep training. It doesn't change the situation. All three of you need to be able to fight in case you are challenged. And learn about the modern world. We can do that here. A week or two, perhaps three, and we can reevaluate, see where we stand. "
"I need the most help," Rebelda said. "At least the two of you remember how to fight."
"Indeed," Methos said. This handicap was not tremendous--he would have been much worse off if he had forgotten all he knew about sword work--but still, he imagined he must have forgotten many valuable skills. "I agree to this plan. For now."
"I do also," Connor said. "A few weeks is nothing, and it may help prepare us. Or perhaps our memories will return."
"It's never been known to happen," Methos said. "I have heard of this affliction before."
"I find it curious," Duncan said, "that you and Connor only lost some of your memories. It isn't the typical pattern."
"But how?" Connor asked.
Duncan turned to Rebelda. "Only you remember what you were doing the day previous, with both of them present. Does anything occur to you?"
Rebelda shook her head, but she frowned. "There was an injury," she said. "A mishap. We were...ah...joking around a bit. And the blade sliced...well. It got all three of us."
Duncan grew still. "Deep enough to draw a Quickening?" he asked.
"Yes," Rebelda said. She held up her hand. "It was almost nothing, really. Just a pricking."
Duncan nodded. He looked at everyone. "No live blades from here on out. We'll use wooden ones. I don't want anyone losing more memory than they already have."
"Agreed," Matthias said.
"We should get started," Duncan said. "I'll meet you all down in the training room in half an hour. Matthias, let me...ah...show you your room, with your things."
Matthias drained the last of the coffee from his cup and left it on the table. He waited until Rebelda and Connor left the room. He watched Connor leave, and gave a level-eyed look at Connor's small, tugging frown. "You have been dancing around the subject, but I suspect I know what you have to say," Methos said.
"Do you," Duncan said mildly.
"It's hard not to guess. We were lovers, of course."
"Of course," Duncan said with a pinched expression. "And your things are in the room we share. Connor has another guest bedroom, and we can move your stuff there easily enough." He shifted slightly, and Methos could read his discomfort. "You and Connor...."
"Yes," Methos said. "I realize that this must be difficult for you, but I don't have any memory of you at all. How long were we together?"
"Fifteen years," Duncan said.
Methos was stunned. "I stayed with you for fifteen years?"
"Yes," Duncan said, and his face was full of conviction. "I won't rest until you remember. Or...."
Methos considered it. "I am sorry. I can't love you back the way you would like. We may be able to be friends. I hope it will be enough."
"For now," Duncan said. He came to lean close to Methos, and turned his head to whisper in his ear. "I know your name," he said.
"Do you?" Methos asked. After fifteen years, he would hope he trusted a lover enough to tell him his true name, but it wouldn't be the first time he would have withheld such information. "Speak it."
"Methos," Duncan whispered into his ear. "I'll wait," he continued to whisper. "Until you come back to me. For as long as it takes."
Even considering that he didn't know the man enough to care about him, the pain and tragic hope in his voice caught at Methos, and broke his heart, just a little.
*****
Connor heard the knock on his door and closed his eyes for a long moment. After speaking with Duncan, things were different. He couldn't break faith with the man, not when he felt that there were expectations. The man was family, if he could be believed, and there were things about him that caused Connor to believe. His voice, his accent, the words he chose, and the ones he didn't speak. Connor felt that the man truly was his distant cousin, a part of his clan, even if he didn't remember the vows he had made.
The knock came again and Connor went to the door. Matthias stood there, with a calm expression, and one lifted eyebrow, questioning. "Would you bar me?" he asked. "Because of Duncan?" Matthias didn't mince words.
"I have no other choice," Connor said. His fingers fairly itched to curl into the fabric of Matthias' shirt and pull him into the room. "You and he, you are...."
Matthias pushed his way into the room, and shut the door behind him. Connor backed up. "We are what?" Matthias asked. "Together? Certainly not. I don't know him, nor remember him."
"But you don't doubt he has spoken the truth."
Matthias made a face. "I believe him. There were clothes in his room that appeared to fit me. Other things that made me know he had not lied."
"He is heartbroken to lose you," Connor said.
"I am not lost," Matthias replied. "Only misplaced. If even that." He took a step forward, into Connor's space. "Would you turn me away?"
"Yes," Connor replied, though he hated to do it. But he was stubborn enough for this, and knew right from wrong. "And ask you to leave."
Matthias frowned and leaned in against Connor, his hands on the wall to either side. Connor could duck under his arms, but he chose not to. Matthias moved his hands to clasp them at the back of Connor's head. "What if I say no?" Matthias rubbed his thumbs lightly at the junction of Connor's neck, just below his jaw. He slid the pads of his thumbs up and down, stroking against the column of Connor's neck. Matthias licked his lips and leaned in, capturing Connor in a kiss that Connor returned without thinking.
He was demanding, and hot against him, and Connor could feel the need in him start to build. It burned a streak up his spine and into his brain. He drew Matthias in, kissing him harder, more fiercely, relentlessly, until Matthias was mewling deep in his throat, a sound of driven desire, a keening frustration.
"More, please," Matthias said, eyes closed, with his forehead resting against Connor's. Connor could hear his near-desperation, and he felt the twin emotion in his own gut. "Do not send me away, for a man I don't remember. I remember you, Connor. Not him."
"I can't," Connor said, hoarse with despair. His fingers had finally curled into the fabric of Matthias' clothes, possessive all of their own accord. They clutched and held on, bruising the flesh beneath his knuckles, as he continued to twist the fabric. "Please, Matthias. Let it go." Connor felt shredded. His traitorous body wanted this, and his emotions flared, and he felt drunk on desire, and not a little of the adoration and love that he'd harbored was still there. It lurked beneath the surface, rising from the pit where he'd sent it after he'd thought he'd lost Matthias.
"No," Matthias said. "I want you." He opened his eyes finally and stared at Connor, and for a moment Connor imagined there was a flame burning in his eyes. He blinked and the image was gone, but the intensity remained. "Don't deny me. Nor this." Matthias plunged back into another kiss, this time against Connor's throat, and his hands were threading through his clothes, to touch bare skin. Matthias' fingers were solid against Connor's hips, holding him.
Connor groaned. "Yes," he said, all rational thought overlaid by the stimulation of his nerve endings. The devil might take his soul, he thought, because for once his stubborn will had deserted him, and he traced footsteps down a darker path.
"Good," Matthias said.
Connor barely thought again about Duncan, and the betrayal he allowed, because Matthias burned the treachery out of his head. Matthias' mouth laid fire to his skin, and his hands seared his flesh, and Connor writhed, and smoked, until nothing was left of him but embers.
*****
Duncan left his empty bed, which felt too cold, to retreat to the study.
He knew where Methos had gone to sleep for the night, and it made him nauseated to think on it. If it had been either his Connor or his Methos, then it wouldn't have happened. But both at the same time, to have forgotten Duncan entirely...he couldn't blame them. They only remembered their past, not their present.
But, oh, it made Duncan want to heave up his dinner, or hurl glasses at the wall.
He wanted to blame somebody, but he could only find himself. Methos shouldn't have come with him. Then he would have been safe. Guilt flared inside Duncan's gut, and heated his face. He put his hands up, covering his eyes, and groaned.
Being cordial had torn him inside out. He had a task to accomplish, and come hell or something worse than hell, he would get it done. If he had to barricade the doors and windows, and run to Holy Ground, he would find a way. Either he'd teach them how to fight and protect themselves, or he'd get their memories back.
In the meantime, he would just have to swallow down his bile. Because even though Methos was alive and breathing, he was just as distant as a million miles away, and that hurt Duncan like a knife to the heart. And Connor--who was Duncan's family and one of his closest and most trusted friends--was just as lost to him, and in the worst twisted way imaginable. The betrayal of it would have flayed Duncan, except that he knew with his head that it wasn't meant as treachery. There was the crux of the situation, and no matter how Duncan tore it apart and put it back together again, logic only worked so well against the ache in his chest.
Duncan wished Joe would hurry and find the records. He desperately wanted to read the accounts. Something would be in there. There just had to be. He had to find something.
He couldn't lose either of them. Not like this.
*****
"Hell, I told you. I told you!" Joe was nearly apoplectic, once again returned to chastisement. "This was a bad idea. Don't do this, I said. Stay away, I said. But did either of you listen? No."
"I know," Duncan said for what felt like the hundredth time. "I know."
Joe pointed a finger, his hand shaking with the emotion. "He's gone. Our Adam. Our Methos. Gone."
"I know, Joe. I know."
Joe pulled up, a slew of emotions crossing his face. "Yeah. You do. Worse than me."
Duncan felt the misery sink in his bones. It was a feeling that stretched all through him, from the tips of his fingers to the pit of his gut. "He's still there, but he doesn't know me. I found--" Duncan shook his head, unable to go on. He'd known the moment he'd seen Connor pressed in close, and Methos digging right back, as if they were trying to meld themselves together. Methos had mentioned, so long ago, that he and Connor had had a time together. That he'd known Ramirez. But it had been distant history for Duncan, and nothing to worry about. Now, it was everything he thought about. That Methos had moved his things out and was settled into another guest bedroom, and Duncan had watched him take stock of where Connor's room was. Tonight Duncan would sleep alone again, and how could he expect Methos, or Connor for that matter, to keep promises made by them that they couldn't remember having ever made?
And then Duncan felt even worse for dwelling on his loss, when he needed to make sure all three of them were safe, and well trained. He had to acclimate them all to the modern world. He had to stop mourning, for someone who wasn't dead. Because there was always hope.
"What are you going to do?" Joe asked. "You've got a funny look."
"I'm going to call Amanda."
"Hell no!" Joe pounded the table-top with his hand, making his coffee cup jitter sideways. Luckily there was nobody nearby to be startled as they were alone in the coffee shop, other than two harried looking employees trying to clean up a pastry case behind the counter. They hadn't even twitched at Joe's outburst. "You can't endanger anyone else! In fact, I think you should go home. I'll go in there for you. Take care of it."
"You can't train them, Joe," Duncan said.
"I can damn well teach them how to use a tv remote," Joe said bitterly. "What else is there to modern life?"
"I really need those notes, Joe," Duncan said.
"Working on it," Joe told him.
"Work harder." Duncan fixed Joe with a hard stare. "He didn't give up on me when...when I wasn't right. He took me to a holy spring."
"Been tried," Joe grunted. "Didn't work."
"Not the holy spring itself," Duncan said. "But there'll be something. I need research. Just possibilities." Duncan looked into his coffee cup and discovered that it was empty. He'd drained it, and not even paid attention. "I think I know how it is transmitted. Which means I should be safe."
"Should," Joe said scathingly. "And if you forget, who'll teach anybody anything then?"
Duncan ignored the question. There wasn't an answer to it anyway. "Joe, those other cases. I need to see the records. The real journals. Not just be told the summaries. Maybe there's something in the account, something that will help."
"Fine. I'll get them sooner," Joe said. "It isn't like I travel around with them, you know. Requisitions take time. Now get back before they do something stupid while you're gone and misplace even a few more decades."
"Thank you, Joe," Duncan said. He was turning over the situation in his mind. A glimmer of an idea was coming to him, but it was as yet just something in the circumstances that didn't quite make sense. He needed to think on it. In the meantime, he needed Amanda here to help him. He couldn't train three people all at once.
Especially if he had to fight down a clawing, desperate fury at watching Methos turn away from him, and turn to Connor. The past wasn't so distant anymore, it was up front and center. Duncan felt like he'd been gutted.
****
"You aren't," Amanda said. She pulled a sweater out of her bureau and put it on the bed. New York was bitterly cold this time of year and she would need warm clothes.
"I am," Nick grabbed a pile of t-shirts and started stacking them inside a ridiculously olive green duffle bag.
Amanda made a face, both at the ugly bag and at Nick's stubbornness. She grabbed his pile of t-shirts and put them back in his dresser drawer. "You aren't."
Nick re-grabbed the pile of t-shirts and shoved them into the bag with more force. "I am."
Amanda put a hand on her hip and pursed her lips. She studied Nick. "Didn't you hear about the part where you could forget everything? Me. You. Life. Everything?"
"Yeah. I got it." Nick moved away from the duffle and went to grab a pair of jeans. "And if you're going, I'm going."
Amanda moved the stack of t-shirts again, shoving them down the laundry shoot. Nick turned and saw her maneuver with a groan. He narrowed his eyes. "I've got a hell of a lot less to forget."
"You need to remember everything you know," Amanda said. She tapped his forehead with a perfectly manicured fingertip. "You don't have a lot of extra sword work up there that you can spare."
"Pfft," Nick said.
"I'll pfft you," Amanda said, and leaned in to catch Nick in a kiss. She pressed him backwards, inching him a little bit at a time.
"You can kiss me all you like, I'm still coming," he said.
"No, you're not," Amanda replied, and caught one of his wrists with a handcuff, and then neatly clipped the other to the radiator. Nick bellowed, and she stepped back. "Now, stay there, and I'll call a friend in to release you in a few hours. If you don't free yourself sooner."
"Amanda!" Nick yelled.
"Pfft," Amanda said with a flick of her fingers, and went back to packing. She chose another sweater. New York was bitterly cold this time of year, after all.
*****
Duncan ran his eyes down the rest of the page. He'd read everything about the previous instances of A Priori Syndrome, and the wheels were turning in his head. No answers were forthcoming, but he had a few ideas. He toyed with the idea of calling Joe. He knew that Joe would have read every scrap of paper just as intently, and he wondered if the same thoughts were winding through Joe's brain.
A slight cough at the doorway brought Duncan's attention up. It was Connor, looking down very seriously at him.
"Connor," he said. He waved at a chair. "Make yourself comfortable." He eyed the liquor cabinet. "There's plenty of--"
"No, thank you," Connor said. He did move into the room, but ended up leaning against the wall next to the door. "I was speaking with Rebelda earlier."
"Yes?" Duncan held a tight breath in his chest.
"She filled in some of the details about our present situation."
Duncan nodded. "Yes, of course. I'm glad she did. Anything you need to know, of course. It's just hard to tell everything all at once. You understand."
Connor's eyes took in the entire room in a wide search before focusing back on Duncan. "You're bringing more Immortals into the fold."
"Yes. A friend. Her name is Amanda. You and she are friends as well. You can trust her. " Duncan gave Connor a half-shrug. "Well, she's got a light touch," he clarified. "But you can trust her with life and death matters, implicitly."
"And a mortal," Connor said.
"Joe," Duncan said. "Another friend. I couldn't do this without him," he added. "He won't betray us."
"Hmm," Connor said. His gaze was direct. "And Matthias?" he asked. "He was your love, and now he doesn't remember you."
"You don't remember me, either," Duncan said, the first thing that came to his mind. It wasn't really an answer to the topic that Connor was broaching, but it deflected some of the hurt.
Connor looked slightly discomfited. "Duncan. I realize this is difficult." He leaned back in his chair. "I just...I needed to...talk to you. All three of us, we depend on you."
Duncan could hear the unspoken sentiment. And Connor was fouling the waters. They needed Duncan to help them, and instead of doing what would keep Duncan steady, Connor and Methos were upsetting the equilibrium. He should have guessed that Connor's innate sense of guilt would at least drive him to this conversation. "I'll survive," Duncan ground out. "And I'm working on figuring out how to get your memories back." He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Besides. Water under the bridge." Duncan eyed the liquor cabinet and then turned away from it "Shall we go train?" he asked.
Connor paused but then nodded. "As you wish, Duncan."
*****
In the morning, Duncan woke up, bleary-eyed, from the desk. He'd gone back to reading the papers and must have fallen asleep. Amanda was standing there, pristine in a stylish traveling suit. She even had a jaunty hat tilted over one eye.
She had her hands on her hips and tsk'ed at him. "What am I to do with you?" she asked. "I suppose coffee is as good a plan as any."
Duncan closed his eyes again and what seemed like moments later, Amanda was back again, with a steaming mug that she put down on the desk with a clink. "There. Duncan, darling? I need you to wake up now."
Groggily, Duncan lifted his head. He snaked out a hand to catch at the mug. He also glanced at the clock. He'd fallen asleep very late, and here Amanda was, and it was too early. "Thanks," he said. When his head cleared a little, he said, "You got my message."
"Of course." Amanda smiled at him. "We'll get it fixed."
"I think I know how," Duncan said.
"Do tell," Amanda said, and she plunked down on the nearest chair and put her chin in her hand. Her bright eyes sparkled at Duncan.
As he sipped at the coffee, Duncan began to tell her about his theory.
*****
"Which one first?" Amanda asked, though she had a tilt to her head that told Duncan she had a strong opinion about the answer. It was much later in the day. They had already spent hours going over the reports that Joe had given him, and then had talked the situation over. And over. And over. In between, they had made coffee. At the moment, they were on their second pot.
Duncan had introduced her to Connor, Methos, and Rebelda, to make sure they knew she wasn't a threat. It had been surreal to find that while Connor didn't know her yet, Methos already did. "Methos," Amdanda had said with a smirk, when the others weren't nearby. "What are you doing here?"
"Amanda," Methos had said, and blown her a kiss. "Being kept prisoner against my will."
"The more things stay the same," Amanda had murmured, and Methos had looked like the cat who'd eaten the canary. Duncan was beginning to really not like this older version of Methos. Not at all.
"Adam, of course," Duncan replied to Amanda's original question. "Obviously."
"No, not obviously," Amanda replied. "You have to let them chose amongst themselves."
Duncan made a face.
"I know you want him back," Amanda said, and slid off her chair to lean against Duncan's shins. She traced a fingertip on the fabric covering his knee. "But you can't force him to do this."
"Once he remembers, it won't be an issue," Duncan grated out.
"If it doesn't work, he won't remember. And then who will volunteer for the next harebrained idea you've got?" Amanda studied her fingernails and gave them a look of disgust. "Darling, you know this."
Duncan sighed. He did know this. He just hated it and wanted it to be different. "I know. Okay. I'll lay it out before them. It was just...difficult." He clenched and unclenched his hands.
"You've been at this awhile," Amanda said. "You're tired. It can wear at you."
"At the end of my rope," Duncan admitted.
Amanda leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't let go," she said softly.
*****
Amanda felt the ice-water of presence go down her back. She shivered. "Duncan?" she asked and looked up from the magazine she'd been flipping through.
Duncan's eyes had gone wide. "Shit," he said. "It's too close in here for any of us. We never go out of range unless we leave the building. It's someone new."
"Oh, hell," Amanda said, and pulled her sword out as she went for the door. This was bad. They'd known that word would leak out, and that others would come headhunting, but Amanda thought that the building was a little bit more secure than this. Whomever it was, they were good. They were a serious threat.
Duncan was two steps ahead of her. He pointed down one hallway. "I'll take the gym area. You take the second floor."
"Got it," Amanda said as she made her way to the staircase. She paused just at the top, and cautiously went onto the second floor. She could see one bedroom door open at the end, and she sidled along until she could see inside. It was empty. The bed was mussed and there were clothes scattered everywhere. Probably Methos' room. Which...she almost hoped it was. Methos still had the majority of his memories. He wasn't helpless, and was probably going to give as good as he got. He was the most likely to be able to successfully deal with an intruder.
Amanda kept going. There was a door to the roof at this end. She tried the handle and found it unlocked. This meant a rooftop duel. She made sure to climb the stairs as quietly as she could.
She pushed the door open at the top, peering through the crack first and seeing nothing. She came out onto the roof, and was aware of the wind being bitterly cold, and the sun setting harshly in the distance. She scanned the roof, and then heard the clang of metal against metal. Rolling left, she came around one of those roof structures that always seemed to be there.
It was Methos. And he had his opponent on the ground. He caught Amanda's gaze just before he gave the final downswing of his sword, severing his opponent's head.
Amanda gave him a nod and straightened out of her approaching stance.
Lightning split the sky, and things exploded. Far below them, she could hear car alarms screech and wail. Fire licked its way across the flat areas of tar. Methos jolted like a rag-doll controlled by voodoo, and finally, painfully collapsed.
Amanda approached him cautiously. "Methos?" she asked.
"Still me," he croaked. He grabbed his sword and levered himself to a standing position. "I forgot how much that hurt," he said. "I haven't taken a head in a while."
"Are you sure?" she asked. The paperwork Joe had provided had been generally clear that taking a Quickening didn't resolve the memory loss, but she and Duncan had hoped it had been wrong, or a fluke. She wasn't sure how they would have dealt with the situation if taking a head would have solved the problem, but it would have been a neat little solution.
"Quite," Methos said. "Still trying to wrap my head around the modern era. And certainly not in love with MacLeod." He grinned wryly at Amanda, and made a kissing motion at her. "You, however, I remember with a lot of fondness."
Amanda sighed with exasperation. "If it wasn't for Duncan, I'd take you up on the offer," she said coyly, "but I'd rather you regain your memories."
"Me as well," Methos said. "It puts me at a terrible disadvantage to have lost any time at all." He gestured to the dead Immortal at his feet. "Apparently not a resolution. But he needed to be dealt with."
"There will be others coming," Amanda said.
"I know. It presents a serious problem. We may want to consider relocating."
"Yes," Amanda said. "But first, you should talk with Duncan. He has an idea. And he needs a volunteer."
"Consider me a guinea pig." Methos toed the shoulder of the body in front of him. "We'll need to figure out how to dispose of this."
Amanda eyed the rooftop. Fortunately the fire had burned itself out, but they might not be so lucky next time. "And we should lay in a supply of fire extinguishers, too," she said. "Come on. Let's find Duncan. He's probably worrying himself to death."
*****
Methos stared at MacLeod. The man was frighteningly brilliant, and scarily dense. It was an impressive combination.
"It's like a battery," MacLeod said, going on about his metaphor, and Methos stifled a sigh. He'd briefly encountered the modern battery concept--along with the near magical electricity--but MacLeod was trying to explain his idea by comparing it to a concept that the three of them really didn't have a background for anymore. "You have to recharge it."
"My taking a Quickening did not facilitate this battery recharging," Methos pointed out.
"I don't think it's the right way," MacLeod said. "You're already a fully charged battery at that point, and then the Quickening is just more energy on top of that. It doesn't reset anything. Like a computer system, sometimes you have to reboot it. Or reinstall the entire operating system again. Take it back down to factory basics."
Methos slid a sidelong glance at Connor, who looked carefully blank, giving him a constipated air, and Rebelda, who looked utterly confused. Methos drummed his fingers on the top of the table. MacLeod had pushed some papers at them, copies of records detailing the A Priori syndrome happening previously to others. He'd glanced through them, curious, but what he'd read didn't quite dovetail with what MacLeod was outlining.
"How does it work in practice?" Connor asked. "The reasoning behind your theory is too modern for me. What I want to know is how you implement this cure."
MacLeod glanced to Amanda, who gave him the tiniest of nods. "We'll give you a mortal wound, and once you're dead, I'll inflict a wound on myself. I'll move close, and the wound healing on me should be able to go over, and heal your wound. Like a jump start on a car battery."
Methos snorted. MacLeod and his battery metaphors again. "We have no idea what a car battery is, MacLeod," he said out loud. "But I think your idea is ludicrous."
MacLeod puffed up, indignant.
Before he could speak, Methos held up a hand. "Isn't this exactly how the syndrome is passed along? By simultaneous wounding?"
"That's why I think it will work. It's the same process, but in reverse. With the recipient in a dead state, the charge should go the other way."
"It seems very risky," Connor said. "If it doesn't work, you'll have amnesia as well."
"I'm willing to risk it," MacLeod said.
"And leave us with Amanda only," Rebelda pointed out. "And there are more headhunters coming. I vote no. It's too much. Foolhardy. I don't like it."
"Neither do I," Connor said. "It's an insightful idea, Duncan. But if it doesn't work, we're far worse off than we are right now. We can't take that risk."
"We need to find another way," Rebelda said. "Isn't there anything else we can try? Something less dangerous? Exhaust all those other possibilities?"
"Hmm," Methos said. "Let's think about this. Tell me about his battery concept again. You say they are rechargeable?"
"Some of them," Amanda said. She turned to face Methos, and waved her hands around as she explained. "We use them in a lot of items now. Computers, cell phones, music players."
"And cars," Methos said.
"Yes. Like that. The battery holds a certain amount of energy, and you use it up, and then when it is low, you charge it again." Amanda paused. "Oh," she said, her eyes going round and wide. "I think I just figured it out."
"Amanda?" MacLeod asked, and he put his hand on her forearm. "Figured what out?"
"The way to do it," she said, "the way to reset them. Like your battery idea. But we didn't take it far enough out." She began to speak more quickly. "You know how the recommendation for rechargeable batteries is to let them be completely used up before you recharge them. Otherwise the battery doesn't last as long. They have to be completely drained first."
There was shocked silence around the table.
"What does that mean?" Rebelda asked in a soft voice. "What could be more drained than dead?"
"The cure is worse than the disease," Connor muttered.
"Death by a thousand cuts," Methos said. "It means that you would need to be wounded, again and again. Until the Quickening energy that should heal you is used up."
Rebelda drained of color. "But then what happens? Would we really be dead?"
"As long as your head is attached, you won't be permanently dead," MacLeod said.
"That's true," Connor said. "But you might wish you were dead."
"Psh," Amanda said, and waved a hand. "This isn't the past anymore. They've developed all sorts of drugs. You won't feel a thing."
"You won't feel a thing," Connor said. "As it isn't you going under the knife."
Amanda rolled her eyes. "Fine. Stay as you are."
"Only one of us needs to test the theory out," Methos said. "I volunteer." He didn't miss the sucked in breath sound that MacLeod made. "But it can't be either of you. Too dangerous." He reached out and put his hand on the reports that littered the surface of the table. "This man, the one who brought you these. He's mortal. You trust him."
"With my life," MacLeod vowed. "But we can't ask him to do this."
"It absolutely can't be either of you," Methos said. "One slip, one involuntary move, and you'll forget everything." He shook his head. "This is the only way. You can observe, of course. But you have to be far enough away that you won't be compromised." He gave MacLeod a hard look. "Speak now if you don't trust him. I don't lightly put my life into the hands of mortals. Otherwise, we walk away from this. And go forward with this but a blip on the timeline of our lives."
Amanda put her hand on top of Methos'. "We trust him with our lives, and with yours. You don't remember, but Joe is your friend."
Methos focused his attention on her. "Will he have the stomach for this?" he asked.
Amanda took a long moment before answering. "I think so. But we'll have to ask him."
*****
"Like this," Duncan murmured, and he demonstrated on his own arm. The knife flashed in the light, and the wound was made with precision, and it took a moment before the blood welled up, dark and red. There was the snap and crackle of his Quickening coming to the fore, and it etched along the edges of the wound, sizzling blue-white for the briefest of moments, and then he was healed. "And then do it again."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Joe ran a hand through his hair and scowled disbelievingly. "You can't be serious," he said. "You know this is nuts, right?"
"I know."
"There's a quote," Amanda said. She was in the corner of the room, with the syringe and a bottle of something strong. " 'twere well, it were done quickly."
"MacBeth," Joe grunted. "And this isn't that far from an assassination."
"You don't have to do this, Joe," Duncan said. "No one would blame you if you said no."
"I know, damn it. But who else is there?"
Amanda wandered over and put a hand on Joe's shoulder. "There's no one else. You know that. No one we would trust, anyway." She patted her hand down, once, twice, and then stepped away.
"Like I don't have enough nightmares," Joe muttered, "Now I gotta add fuel to the fire."
Just then the door opened and Methos sauntered in. There was a tense line to his jaw but he gave them a grin. "Cheer up, people," he said as he came in. He settled on the edge of the table, giving a kick with his feet to resettled the plastic sheeting that was on the floor. "Let's just get this over with." He pulled his shirt off over his head and draped it to the side.
Amanda came over with the syringe. "If this wears off, just tell us. There's more where this came from. And we don't need to worry about overdosing you."
"You say all the sweetest things," Methos said as he watched her prick through his skin. He flexed his arm and then closed his eyes. "Good stuff," he said and settled back. He looked at Joe. "Thank you," he said. "If this works...."
"If it doesn't work," Joe said.
"We'll drink beer together either way," Methos said, sounding for a moment like his old self.
Duncan handed the knife to Joe, and Joe took it with a resigned finality. He held it for a moment, testing its heft. "I'll be here the whole time, Joe," Duncan said. "I'd do this, if I could, but you know I can't. But I'll be here."
"What a gruesome pep squad," Joe said and shook his head. "Okay, let's get this show on the road." He turned with the knife, and made the first cut.
Methos let out a long breath. "That's fine," he said, his voice groggy and fading away. "I can handle that."
Duncan settled back against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest, and watched Joe. To his credit, Joe was very methodical. It took a little bit of practice, but after a bit, he had it down. He rotated through five different cuts, by the time he'd made the fifth one, the area over the first had healed and he could start again. He fell into the rhythm of the thing, and Duncan watched as he readily kept working.
Joe was careful, with a steady hand. Hardly a drop of blood was spilt, and the slices that he created were even, short, and perfunctory.
For a long time, Duncan didn't think anything was changing. The healing energy came just as brightly and quickly as ever, but finally, Duncan noticed a change. Either Methos was slowing down, or Joe was. He didn't need five cuts anymore, four was enough. Then only three.
Methos roused slightly, and turned his head to stare at Joe. "Do I know you?" he slurred. "You're a Watcher. In the Watchers. But shouldn't you be younger?"
Joe paused and looked at Duncan, stunned. Duncan could only stare back and give him a hopeful nod. "Keep going," Duncan said. "We don't want to have to start this again. Finish it completely."
"Hold on a moment, Joe," said Amanda from the corner. She came forward with the syringe again. "It's just a chaser," she murmured. "Nothing like the first dose."
It was another long wait, while Joe went back to his task. Duncan could read the fatigue in the man's shoulders and the cant of his neck. This was wearing on him, physically and mentally, and Duncan couldn't believe the stamina he had already exhibited.
The Quickening energy coming to Methos' skin was drowsy and sluggish, stuttering. The wounds were healing, but slowly, and in short bursts. Now, Methos was bleeding. Joe had slowed down as well, tending to each cut before making another. He was reaching the end of the titration.
Methos rolled his head. "Joe," he breathed. "Walker? Amy?"
"Almost there, buddy," Joe said. "Hang in there."
Duncan clenched his hands at his side. He wanted to rush forward, but that was dangerous. He glanced to Amanda. She looked unsteadily back and motioned to the syringe. Duncan shook his head.
Now the Quickening hardly came at all. A thin rivulet of blood seeped down Methos' arm, and he drew his arm in, away from Joe. "No more," he whispered, his voice cracking, and dry. "You can't make me tell you where I hid your Christmas present."
"Methos?" Joe asked, his face a mask of weariness. "That better be you, you son of a bitch."
"It's me, Joe. It's me." Methos shifted on the table. "I'm going to pass out now. See you later." He took a shallow, shuddering breath. "And thanks," he whispered.
*****
Amanda kissed Duncan on the cheek. "Take good care of them. And yourself," she said. "I'll see you when I see you."
"Amanda," Duncan said, and pressed one of her hands between his own. "Thank you."
Amanda brought her other hand up and brushed it across Duncan's cheek, and she smiled at him. "How about the next time you call, it's for a fabulous vacation somewhere warm, and nothing to do with life or death emergencies."
"It's a deal," Duncan said. He smiled at her.
"Bye for now," she said, and pulled her hand free. She turned and sauntered down the street. She'd stayed an extra two days, helping Joe get through the other two events, Connor and Rebelda both showing courage to face the procedure, although she thought they were much less traumatic than when he'd presided over Methos. For one thing, he wasn't nearly as close to either Connor or Rebelda. For another, they all knew the outcome. It was a lot easier to inflict damage when you knew it really was for the greater good.
Amanda eyed the street corner as she neared it. A vagabond was sacked out right against the wall, and he'd begun to move toward her. She sighed.
"Have a nice time spying?" she asked as the vagabond fell into step.
"No. It's cold out here," Nick said. "And I could only tell what was going on inside half the time."
"So this was your solution when I told you that you couldn't come," Amanda said. "To camp outside, pretending to be homeless."
"You weren't going to let me inside," Nick pointed out.
"True."
"So, is the problem solved?" he asked.
"For the moment," Amanda said. She waved an arm and rolled her eyes. "It's fine. They're all back to normal." She wrinkled her nose. "Which can't be said for you."
Nick pulled a keycard out of his pocket and held it out to her.
Amanda frowned at him but took the keycard. "What's this?"
"Hotel suite," Nick said. "Hot shower. Feather duvet. Room service."
"Ohhh, I see," Amanda said. She looked him up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "You shower, and I'll order champagne."
"Anything to get off these mean streets," Nick replied.
*****
"You've looked better."
Joe picked his head up from his hands and squinted. Judy was standing primly in front of him, a cup of coffee in each hand. "I've looked worse," he retorted.
"Not recently," she said right back at him. She put one of the coffee cups down on the desk. "Drink that, you'll feel better." She wrinkled her nose. "Then you should go and grab a shower."
"Yeah," Joe said. He'd been up late working on his report, which had been a twisted agony of mincing words and bald-faced semantics. It held the truth, but he'd padded it. Every sentence felt torn from his soul. Exhausted, he'd finally just put his head down where he was, and slept in his chair, with his face on the blotter.
"I read your report." Judy perched herself at the end of another chair in the room. She sipped at her coffee, glancing at Joe across the lid. "And between the lines a bit."
"How every good report should be read," Joe grumbled.
"It must have been...difficult," she said. "What you did. It sounded truly awful." She leaned forward and put out her hand, touching Joe's fingers.
"Yeah," Joe said again. It had been the stuff of nightmares. But he'd had no real choice. If there was any chance, no matter how repugnant, then Joe would have participated. And he'd done it. Methos was back, as well as Connor and Rebelda. Joe had done that. It hadn't been easy, but it had been worth it.
"Joe?" Judy asked.
Joe lifted his head to look at her. She was a wealth of coolness, and Joe remembered that she'd spent decades in the field, looking after her own assignments. She'd been to the depths and heights, and managed to come home again.
"Drink the coffee," she said. "After that, we can talk as long as you like. And I'll listen. It'll start to get better. I promise. But first, you have to drink your coffee."
She was still lightly holding the fingers of one hand, so Joe used the other to grab hold of the coffee cup. She gave him a small, encouraging smile. He lifted the cup and took a sip. It was rich, hot, and delicious. The aroma wafted around his head, and suddenly Joe felt lighter, and better than he had in days. He grinned.
"Told you," Judy said, and Joe laughed.
*****
Duncan was bone-deep weary. He felt like he'd been running on empty at a hundred miles an hour for weeks, although it hadn't actually been that long. In fact, while they'd missed Thanksgiving, Christmas was still looming ahead of them. It seemed inconceivable he'd spent this much time at Connor's building, and if nothing else, being inside all the time was making everybody stir crazy.
Still, the stress of everything had taken its toll, and he felt heavy-limbed and exhausted. It was the first night, really, that he was going to be able to finally sleep, and rest, and perhaps not have nightmares.
He turned on his side, and smiled.
Methos was there, back where Duncan wanted him, instead of...Duncan dismissed the thought. It didn't matter where Methos had been when he hadn't remembered, because now that he did recall, he had come back. Back to Duncan, and back to their bed together, and just generally back where he belonged.
The first two nights after Methos' recovery had been chaotic. Connor and Rebelda had needed to undergo the same difficult transition, and Duncan had tried to stay focused on that. But it had been harrowing to see how drained each of them had been from the process. Recovery from the ordeal had required massive amounts of rehydration, and excessive hours sleeping.
Connor and Rebelda were still in the recovery phase. So was Methos.
The horrid misery of the entire ordeal had only eased in measure. It still lingered at the back of his mind--the pain and betrayal. It was going to take time for them to heal the rifts, and the deep hurt. The bitter taste of distrust was not easily washed away, no matter the reasons. But Duncan had time at his disposal, because there was so much to gain from letting his heart find forgiveness. There was a soft flutter of hope fulfilled now, and the warm glow of love, and this would be just a small bump of inconsequence in a hundred years. Duncan let himself enjoy the moment. All was quiet and those he loved were safe.
Methos opened one eye. "You're staring at me," he complained.
"I'm almost too tired to sleep," Duncan said. "And I'm just happy you're here. This whole thing is starting to finally feel like a bad dream."
Methos snorted and closed his eye. "You're just glad I'm not down the hall, snogging Connor."
"Don't remind me," Duncan said. The ache of that was still too recent, but it was a pain that was fading. Eventually he knew it would be just a distant memory, but for right now it was too fresh. "You have no idea how awful that was."
"Maybe some idea," Methos said. "I do remember it, you know. I don't have amnesia of when I had amnesia."
Duncan groaned. "Stop joking," he said, but he couldn't find any harshness for his words. Actually, having Methos making fun of the situation did somehow ease the appalling sting of it.
Methos shifted closer to Duncan and he moved one arm to come against Duncan's thigh. "You could let me make it up to you," he said. "Prove to you that I prefer your company over that of your kinsman."
Duncan chuckled. "I think I'd enjoy that."
"Me, too," Methos said.
Duncan slid down until he was face to face with Methos. He leaned in to press a kiss against Methos' lips, and Methos opened his mouth, pliant and demanding, both. Duncan put one hand on Methos' neck, his thumb under the jaw-line, and he broke the kiss.
There was a definite spark of interest in Methos' eyes, and also a greater amount of tiredness. Duncan could see the depths of love again in Methos' face, his eyes, the twitch of his nose, the purse of his lips. It had been absent when he'd lost his memory, and more even than Duncan's dismay when Methos had gone off to spend his nights in Connor's bed, had been Duncan's unfettered pain at losing that light that he saw in Methos when Methos looked at him.
It eased that treacherous pain in his heart like a cool balm. Things weren't perfectly right with the world, but they were back on track. Time together, and moving beyond the recent horrendous events, would resettle them together. Duncan had no doubt now about that.
"Later," Duncan said. "There will be time later. Let's just sleep." He gathered Methos into his arms, in as much as Methos gathered him right back, and they fell asleep tangle-limbed.
END