Disclaimer: Okay, folks, you know the rules. I don't own anyone, the HL peeps belong to Rysher, Panzer/Davis, whatever, the Pretender peeps belong to NBC and all that (not quite sure). No profit is made from this....I just love the wheel and wanna have fun!
Notes: Ookey dokey, due to the fact that I'm the world's biggest procrastinator (no, I don't take pride in that), I just finished this at about twenty after midnight....that's why it gets pretty crazy near the end. I'll rate this a PG due to mild swearing and mention of violence. Enjoy;-)
THE TROUBLE I SEE Shadowlight
Methos fought to stay within the room.
"This is Jarod; Jarod, Adam Pierson."
He nodded once. "Nice to meet you."
Jarod smiled and turned to Richie and Amanda, leaving Methos perched casually on the arm of the chair. He wanted to leave. An old memory, an old emotion, unleashed itself and forced its way down his spine, through his legs. He stood.
"Where are you going?" Duncan asked, breaking away from his introductions to question his friend.
Methos mumbled something about forgetting some papers at the university and slipped out the door, leaving a tense stillness floating over them. Jarod glanced at Duncan quizzically.
"He should be back in about an hour," the host supplied hastily.
Jarod nodded, less concerned.
In the sharp cold of January, Methos reached into his pocket for his car keys, then decided against it. He needed to walk right now, sort things out. The moon was barely in the sky tonight, shedding hardly any light on the road. Few sounds permeated the night, save for the light wind making it's way across the city. The streets were empty as the sky, forboding and lonely. Methos shivered.
He'd looked so much like him. Methos could hardly believe it. And the voice, low and deceiving, a murderous theif. It had to be him. But that was impossible. Unombra was dead, just like the rest of them. This Jarod must be some kind of descendant, some--but immortals didn't have descendants, did they?
'Of course they don't,' he told himself as he made his way through Paris, walking at a quick but almost serene pace. 'He just looks like him, that's all.'
Still, images shook him, and he became afraid of the night. He turned and walked swiftly back to his car.
______
"So, Jarod, how'd you guys meet?" Amanda inquired as she poured the guest a drink.
Jarod's eyes widened as he gazed upon her. Her questioning glance forced him to retreat to a blank expression, but momentarily robbed him of speech. It was Angie.
"I--we were both looking for someone," he supplied slowly. She was still waiting, so he continued. "We sort of bumped into each other, you might say. Chasing him, I mean, and...."
"We found out we were chasing him for similar reasons," Duncan finished for him, looking at him strangely, remembering how talkative he'd been on the way home.
"Yeah, so Duncan asked if I'd like to stay here for a while," Jarod added, his voice returning to normal.
"Where were you staying before?" asked Amanda.
"Oh, well, we met at the airport. I wasn't really sure where I was going to be staying."
Amanda nodded politely. This Jarod was acting strange. She wondered why he was chasing whoever it was. She'd ask Duncan later.
"Well, here're your bags, if you want to get unpacked," Duncan cut into the stillness. "I hope you don't mind the couch..."
"No, the couch is fine," Jarod accepted warmly, eager to be alone for a few minutes. "Thanks again for all you've done, Duncan, I really appreciate it."
"No problem," Duncan smiled, and walked to the bedroom with Amanda.
_____
"So who is this guy?" She asked as she sank onto the kingsized bed. "It's like he just appeared on our doorstep."
Duncan chuckled, slumping down beside her. "I found him, Amanda. God knows how he got involved with Kyle, but I think it's best that he stay here just for a while, just until I meet with Kyle.
Amanda looked at him questioningly, and Duncan looked surprised.
"You didn't feel it?" He waited as Amanda slowly shook her head.
"I guess I was too preoccupied trying to figure out why the guy was looking at me like I was his long lost sister or something," she sighed as she lay back on the bed, slipping off her heels and letting them plunk to the polished wood floor.
Duncan followed suit, kicking off his winter boots and shrugging out of his coat, sighing tiredly as he sank down. "Well, I think it'll be safer like this, just in case Kyle decides to pay a visit to Jarod."
"He'd take Jarod now?" asked Amanda, though sure she was aware that he would.
Duncan nodded. "He's done it before."
_____
"Jarod, I want you to tell me who this is."
"Miss Parker."
"Who's that beside her, Jarod?"
"Angie."
"What's Angie doing?"
"She's--she's telling Miss Parker."
"What's she telling her, Jarod?"
They should turn on a light. It's too dark in here.
"Jarod?"
"Where to find her mother."
"Catherine Parker is dead. Why is Angie lying, Jarod?"
"Could you turn a light on?"
"In a minute. Tell my why she lied to Miss Parker. Did she believe Catherine Parker was alive, Jarod? Was she lied to also?"
"No. She needed Miss Parker out of the Centre."
"Why?"
"Just for a while. Just for a night."
"Alright, Jarod, but why? Did she have a secret?"
This is vaguely familiar. Sydney's not here, though.
"Miss Parker was going to see me. She was going to ask me about her mother."
"Why didn't Angie want Miss Parker to see you, Jarod? She knew Catherine Parker was dead, what was the problem?"
"Mr. Parker didn't want her to find anything out...in the best interest of his daughter was what she said. He sent her--Angie--to make sure I didn't tell her anything."
I think that's all she told me to say. I can't remember. I can't remember what she told me.
"What else were you going to tell her?"
"Nothing. Can I leave now?"
"In a few minutes. I need to know what else you were going to tell Miss Parker, Jarod."
"Nothing. I didn't see her, I saw Angie. She took me to SL18. She didn't say much...I forget what it was."
He looks mad. Composed. I hope he doesn't tell Sydney.
At least Angie's gone. She'd better stay away from Miss Parker. ______
Jarod woke to the night around him, in the dark, a strange place. He didn't know where he was. Heck, he never knew where he was. This time he wished he could just relax and lay back down. Forget about the dark. Forget about the stillness. Just go back to sleep; go back to whatever was waiting for him in his sleep...
But he couldn't do that. Angie was there in his sleep. Angie was waiting for him, waiting for him in the dark little room. And he should know not to be afraid, not to think about her, tapping her foot to the beat of the generator. A switch, and then silence. Stillness.
And the acrid stench of sweat. "We need to stay quiet tonight, Jarod."
The stench of sweat and blood, mingled together just right. Perfectly.
"Stay as quiet as you can. Don't scream, Jarod, don't scream, Jarod."
And she smelled like leather and perfume...Miss Parker's perfume. He smelled it yesterday.
"Don't scream or I'll do it again, Jarod. You'll feel it again, Jarod."
"She's here! Sydney, she's here!"
He fell off the little couch, shivering in a cold sweat. He pulled himself clumsily back up and sat still in the darkness, counting his breaths. Damn him. Damn him; he remembered again.
Methos made himself some tea. Something was seriously wrong, because he never made tea. Why couldn't he grab a few beers and fall asleep right now? It wasn't like he wanted to remember him. Not like he wanted to think about that Jarod staying with MacLeod. It wasn't him. He could barely feel his buzz.
But maybe he wasn't concentrating. Maybe Unombra was just so old that...that...
That would make him older than Methos. The oldest immortal in the world.
But it wasn't him.
"Come, slave, we've work to do." His voice so rough, like the huge grains of sand he'd throw in his eyes. Him and his sand. Him and his sword.
It wasn't him.
"Hold still, boy, or I'll kill you like I killed your mother." But it was him, in the hut full of mud and sand, blood and urine.
It wasn't him.
He has dark dark hair and darker eyes; deceitful and wicked. Grins at me with that look...that killing look.
It wasn't-
"If you're so brave, boy, why don't you run away right now? Go on. Run. Run like your mother, boy. She couldn't save you; she couldn't even save herself." And he laughs a loud horrid laugh. It turns to a cry of anger as fast as his fist can move through the air.
"I know you're in there somewhere," he told himself, searching his mind. Searching anywhere. "I know it was you. I know what you did to me." His voice shook, screaming silently, asking why he was doing this. He didn't want to remember, he didn't want to didn't want to didn't want to didn't want to.
Too late. He's here.
Scraping my palms skidding across the dirt floor, bloodying my knees and elbows. But he's so fast; the master is so fast and finds me in the corner.
"Tried to run away, boy? You were actually stupid enough to try."
He reaches down and grabs me, pulls me up to where he stands. He smells like horses and blood. Mother's blood. I want to kill him; kill him before he kills me.
"You can *never* run away, slave. Do you hear me speaking?"
He shakes me, so ugly when he's angry. He'll kill me in a second.
"You're weak like your mother, boy."
Good thing I brought the knife.
The cup fell slowly to the floor. Too slowly, its contents spilling halfheartedly in all directions onto the floor. It's so shiny and clean.
"It's so shiny and clean," he whispered, falling slowly to the floor himself. "Covered with dirt and worms. Blood, and more, because-"
He squinted, focusing on something far away. "Because you're bleeding me..."
The phone rang. Better answer it.
"You're bleeding me. Why do you hate me?"
Twice, thrice, four times. The answering machine would interrupt the monotony. Methos' voice rose in volume, and in urgency, as if he needed to know.
"WHY DO YOU HATE ME??"
He saw Unombra's face as he asked him the question. Saw him dead in Methos' arms; his first kill. But he couldn't do it anymore, couldn't stay here between two memories, so he fell into the memory, sinking deeper and deeper, and never heard the phone stop ringing.
Duncan received the call from Joe a few hours before the sun would rise in the sky.
"Mac, Kyle's here."
Damn, he exclaimed silently. This wasn't a good time at all, what with Jarod acting as strange as he was. He could barely stand to be in the same room with Amanda. He hated the thought of leaving them both alone together while he went out for Kyle.
"Where?"
"One of my guys saw him heading towards Methos' apartment. I must've called there twenty times."
Duncan frowned, wondering if this had anything to do with his sudden departure last night. He'd visibly turned a few shades lighter before clearing the barge as if it were a matter of life and death. Duncan didn't bother questioning him just yet; he knew how Methos was sometimes. But now Kyle going after him? The immortal knew it was Duncan who wanted him. Could he have found out Adam Pierson was not who he pretended to be? A thousand questions were flying through his head, but he managed to tell Joe that he'd be at Methos' place in five minutes.
"Oh, and Joe?" He added quickly. "Do you think you could come over here and keep an eye on Amanda and Jarod? I don't have time to explain, but I don't want to leave them alone right now."
"Jarod? That guy that's staying with you?" Joe's tone deepened, suspicious of Jarod already.
"Yeah. It looks like he's gone into some kind of shock; thinks Amanda's someone else. It doesn't make much sense; I'll explain it to you when I get back."
The other line was silent for a moment. "Why don't you just send Amanda home?" Joe still didn't like the sound of a stranger staying with them who couldn't be left alone with Amanda.
"Mmm, no can do, Joe. I suggested it, but she feels like she needs to help him, I guess. She said she's not going to leave while Kyle's still running around out there, what with Jarod being the way he is and all."
"Wait a minute, the way he is? Where'd you find this guy, Mac?"
"He's just going through a tough time right now." Duncan searched for a well summed explanation, but finally said, "Like I said, I'll explain when I get back. Could you just...watch them?"
"Haha, very funny." Joe sighed, resigning to the task at hand. "Well, I guess here's your chance to send Amanda home, MacLeod. You'd better hurry."
Duncan sighed in relief, thankful for Joe. "Thanks Joe, I'll be back as soon as I can."
"And Mac."
Duncan waited, knowing what Joe was going to advise.
"Be careful. I hear this guy's pretty good."
He grinned slightly. "I always am."
Arthur Kyle grinned wickedly as he crept up the stairs of the not-too-shabby condominium. Apartment eleven. Who would've guessed MacLeod had so many friends? He told himself, pleased with his tracking accomplishments. And this Adam Pierson was some university professor. Kyle contemplated the challenge he would find in this stranger.
He let it all but vanish when he found his target sprawled out on his kitchen floor, drenched in sweat.
"What is wrong with you?" he whispered, leaving the inquiry to float into the dense, hot air engulfing the room.
Being the objective type that didn't stifle his mission by asking questions, Kyle didn't waste any time with Pierson's strange behavior, but instead unsheathed his sword from within his coat and approached the still figure.
As he stood over him, Methos shot open an almost bloodshot eye, taking in the new image with panic. "Who are you? Who sent you?"
Kyle's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "Wha'd you say? I don't speak turkey." With that, he raised his sword. Methos seemed to recognize the object, as well as its use.
"MASTER!!" he exclaimed, staring up at Kyle with a new perspective. As if his master could help him now.
He lay still on the floor, screaming throughout the shooting of the other immortal, writhing in an invisible pain that seemed to clutch his whole body.
Kyle collapsed to the floor himself, grimacing at the damage the bullet had done to the small of his back, moving on through his stomach. The shooter crouched down beside him, checking for a pulse and finding none. Signaling to the three other comrades, they rushed throughout the apartment, moving quickly and objectively.
"Damn." The shooter cursed at the room's emptiness, gathered the comrades, and left hastily.
Methos was still screaming.
"No, you don't understand, Jarod. I'm Amanda. I've never seen you before last night."
Jarod was still shivering slightly, curled up in a fetal position beside the couch. Amanda sat beside him on the floor, trying to push the wisps of black hair from his eyes without getting pushed away.
"I've seen you before, Angie," he whispered, then flinched, waiting for the blow.
Amanda had begun to seriously worry over an hour ago. This man had clearly gone through some traumatic experience. He'd fallen asleep once or twice, muttering something about someone named Miss Parker and Sydney. Joe was supposed to be here soon. She hoped he had some experience with psychology, because she was getting the feeling she was losing complete control.
"Jarod? Jarod, focus on me, listen to what I'm saying. Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened last night, Jarod?" She put a hand on his shoulder, incredibly cold and damp. He shook it off, staring ahead at what Amanda could only imagine.
"Jarod? Jarod, you need to focus on me. Do you remember-"
"I don't remember anything." He voice was suddenly monotone, making Amanda jump. "I told them what you wanted, Angie. I lied to them...I lied to Sydney."
"Who's Sydney, Jarod?" Amanda asked, a look of despair settling onto her face. "You have to tell me."
"You can have me, Angie." He was so quiet now, somewhere far away from the barge and from Amanda. She knew this now, and could only try to find out what he'd gone through. "I'm not going anywhere. I wanted to, but...I'll stay if you say so."
"Oh, God..." He was beginning to scare Amanda now, making slicing motions across his wrists. An unseen blade. "What are you doing, Jarod?" She whispered, mesmerized.
He finally raised his head to look at her, a tear sliding down his blank face. He, too, responded in a soft whisper.
"Relinquishing hope for the future."
Duncan found the apartment broken into and trashed. He raced through the rooms and stopped short at the kitchen, where he found Methos.
"Oh, God. Please no..." he whispered, too afraid to advance upon the still form.
After lingering a few moments, contemplating the chances of Methos' head still being attatched to his body, Duncan urged himself to move forward to get a closer look.
Methos was alive, but barely, it seemed. He had retreated to a fetal position behind the counter, letting his head sway slowly back and forth, as if to the rythm of a music only he could hear. Duncan crouched down behind him, relieved.
"Methos, what's wrong with you? Why didn't I sense you? I thought you were dead."
The older immortal looked up at him and sighed, not fully there but acknowledging Duncan's presence.
"Methos, talk to me," Duncan pressed. "What are you doing here? What made you like this?"
Methos reached out a hand, then let it fall to the floor, his face twisting into a sob. He answered, almost guiltily.
Duncan shook his head. "You're going to have to speak English, Methos. What's happening?"
He didn't get that far though, and Methos lowered his head again, lost in thought. Duncan sighed, feeling helpless and frustrated. He, too, lowered his head, allowing them both to just sit for a minute.
"I try to forget," he heard Methos say quietly. He looked up to see him staring at him, tears welling his eyes, now puffy and red. He turned away at Duncan's confused look, frustrated. "I *do* try to forget. If you only knew."
Duncan guessed Methos was going through *some* kind of flashback. Whatever it may be was a mystery, but he felt he needed to get him out of here. Kyle could come back. He needed to get Methos to Joe, and to find Kyle.
Miss Parker slammed the car door shut with a hope that this was the last place they needed to go. Things were getting weirder and weirder, what with the guy at the apartment trying to kill some maniac, and with a *sword*, nontheless. She didn't even know where the sweepers had dumped the body after she'd shot him. Parker admitted to herself that she'd have liked to check on the man about to be killed, especially since he'd been screaming bloody murder even as they were leaving, but they had such a close lead on Jarod this time. They couldn't waste a minute tonight.
She made her way up to the barge and shoved open the door, Broots, Sydney and Sam close behind. A tall brunette met them in the hallway, and as her face registered in Miss Parker's mind, she drew her gun.
"What are you doing here?" Amanda asked, her face a mask of surprise.
"I'm here only for Jarod," Parker explained slowly, moving past Amanda carefully. The immortal eyed her coldly.
"I think you'd better leave," she said.
Miss Parker shivered, but kept her gaze icy and hard. "I'm leaving with Jarod, Amanda. You can't stop me from my work this time."
Sydney, who'd caught a glimpse of Jarod still huddled on the floor, swiftly brushed past the two women and over to Jarod. Broots and Sam lingered by the doorway, puzzled at Miss Parker and Amanda's aquaintance.
They were shoved out of the way when Joe came through the door, followed by Duncan, holding up a barely conscious Methos. They glanced at the three strangers, then hurried into the living room. Amanda and Miss Parker followed.
"We seem to be having a little problem here," Joe started once they'd layed Methos onto the couch that Jarod had been sleeping on only a few hours before. "Mac here tells me that Methos thinks Jarod is someone from his past. Correct?"
Still bewildered by Methos' current state and the sudden amount of people on his barge, Duncan nodded silently.
"Wait a minute!" Amanda exclaimed before Joe could go on. "You mean this Jarod? That's impossible! He thinks I'm some secret agent that held him somewhere for a very long time. And that I tortured him," she added, still shocked at Jarod's recent confession.
"What?" Duncan stared at Amanda. "That's crazy!"
"Actually, it's not all entirely false."
Everyone turned to the voice, which was Sydney's, coming from beside the couch where Jarod was still laying, semi-conscious. The elder psychiatrist looked somewhat guilty, but before he could explain, Joe broke in.
"Sydney? Sydney Green?" The Watcher stared incredulously at the Centre operative. "What are you doing in all this?"
Sydney's expression was hazy for a moment, then seemed to clear in recognition. "Are you...Mr. Dawson?"
Joe nodded, amazed. "Is this true? This whole secret agent stuff?"
"Sydney, who is this man?" Parker pressed, eager to get Jarod and get out. This was all getting too wierd. Broots and Sam were still lingering by the doorway, listening. "Does he know about us 'secret agents'?" She asked with sarcasm.
"Yeah," Duncan joined in, equally confused. "How do you guys know--" He broke off when he faced Miss Parker, only really looking at her now. His faced turned a lighter shade as he stared in disbelief.
"Heather Campbell?"
Parker's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "What?"
"How are you?...you're dead." He kept staring, shocked into silence.
Everyone stared at each other blankly, clearly confused.
Amidst this, Jarod and Methos had woken up, taken in the scene, and then looked at each other. They both stared at each other long and hard, while the whole room had errupted in argueing, and quietly asked each other the same question.
"Do I know you?"
Alright, I had much bigger plans for this but unfortunately had to cut it down since I was pressed for time. (Aha! And I'm already late as it it....) Thus, it just sorta ends.... Thanks to my fellow Madchica Erchomenos for the the lyrics. I only put, like, two lines....but it's a great song. Thanks also to my other fellow Madchica for telling me if I should continue or leave a cliffhanger;-) Of course, any backfeed is appreciated....y'all can tell me if you understood *any* of it. Throw anything except tomatoes....I think they stain.
DISCONNECT Sixpence none the richer
these things which i so often wonder this need to create myself frustration forgotten through slumber it's there when i wake, defeated before i rise i'd pull myself out of this mire if i coul collect my strength or muster an ounce of desire finding the words, and making them mine
is there somewhere i could separate this feeling from memory disconnect myelf from me?
desre inside to mistreat you it pushes words out of my mouth this cyclical pattern i feed you the back and forth and up and down but still here you are
it there somewhere i could separate this feeling from memory disconnect myself from me? behind this veil of pious revelation i'll close my eyes and look for worth inside i don't deserve you
relinquishing hope for the future i try not to hate it so but you are a bridge to those memories i try to forget, if you only knew
is there somewhere to occupy emotion a room to keep my rage away from you? just tell me when these hopeless days are over i'll open my eyes and see me new day rise i don't desrve this
