What Was Hidden
By Mecca Sturino

'God I hate college'. Methos thought looking at the pedagogue in the
front of the lecture hall. He recognized it as a necessary evil, but it
still drove him insane to listen to a pompous overbearing man station
himself in front of him and presume to lecture him on history when he
had bloody well been there. Still that's what he's paid to do after
all. Methos glanced at the girl beside him who was practically
drooling. It must have some serious perks too. "Mr. Adamson. Pierce

"Dr. Jones?" annoyed at being caught daydreaming Methos decided to play

"Well, I was just saying that there are three types of finds at a dig.
Care to tell me what they are?"

'I'm going to be mean'.. "Actually there are four types. The fourth
is commonly unknown so I'm not very surprised it escaped your notice."

" And those would be?"

"Cultural, petrified organism, anthropological , and last, and
certainly least, fossilized cultural item."

Jones glanced at the door and seemed to be irritated for a moment.
"Really?. I'll see you this after Mr. Adamson."

" Certainly, Dr. Jones" 'Impertinent child. Gods I hate
professors. Absolutely the height of boorishness'.

"And now class, on to the importance of keeping a find untampered
with ...."

The girl beside him was batting her eyes. Probably had been the whole
time. Methos fought the urge to laugh. He wouldn't be in as moment. Dr.
Jones wasn't the least bit frightening to him, but to college student
Pierce Adamson today's outburst had been way out of character. Not to
act cowed this afternoon would be even more so. Damn professors!

'Why or why did I agree to teach this particular class? The girls in
the class were embarrassing and he hated to act like the jackass that
as here called all professors were required by university policy to be.
Indiana swore softly. Marcus had told him to pick a student from the
class to take to a dig in Africa. He said that it would be the first
one to stand up to him, provided Henry didn't tell anyone. It didn't
seem likely at the time. He could have brushed it off or simply
*forgotten* all about it if Henry hadn't been standing at the damn
door. Now he was stuck taking a kid into the field. At least Adamson
didn't seem like one of those empty headed simpletons that occupied the
majority of the class. Seems being the operative word.

There was a knock on the door.

"Mr. Adamson. How are you this afternoon?"

Schooling himself into the properly apprehensive facial expression,
Methos walked into the room. That man was so bloody
arrogant. "Um, well, what did you want me for. I am sorry for acting
so rude in class, but..."

"No, your not" Jones interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't. You weren't acting like one of those vapid children who you
attend class with, and I'd appreciate if you didn't start now."

Methos tried to look shocked, keeping the amused expression at hearing
his own sentiments echoed back from Jones. "I'm damn well stick with
you now." Jones finished in a mutter. He ran his hand along his well
shaved jaw, being used to it being covered with stubble.

"How are you stuck with me now?" Methos didn't completely drop his
Pierce Adamson persona, but he did relax it leaning against the door
frame and noticed Jones immediate and unknowing approval.
" Do you know who Marcus Brody is?"

"The curator of the museum, right?" "Yeah, he said to pick on
of my student to take with me on a dig in Africa next week. I told him
it would be the first one who stood up to me, in any way, shape or
form. Who would have known right? Then, this afternoon, wouldn't you
have known it, damn Henry walked by in just enough time to hear one of
my students disagree with me. Guess who?"

" Fucked you plans right up, didn't I?" Methos asked not feeling a bit
guilty. He sat down in a chair across the desk from Jones, noting his
slight smile at 'Pierce Adamson' profanity.

" Where in Africa is the dig?"

"Near Tiremt, Egypt. It's between Farafra and Asyut. It was some
aristocrat's palace. A sandstorm covered it up. According to the men
already there it was about 100 BC."

It was 97 BC

He remembered.

It was a beautiful place. The Romans governed then, but despite of the
government Egypt and her people were beautiful. And his home was
beautiful, just the sort of relaxation that he had needed and hadn't
found. And he wanted to see it again. It was time for his pilgrimage

" I'm in. When do I have to be ready?"

"We're leaving in four days." Dr. Jones answered surprised at how
interested Adamson looked.

"I'll see you in four days then."

Four Days Later

"Hey, Adamson. Over here. You ready?" Methos tapped his rucksack.
"Yep. I'm ready. You, Dr. Jones?" Privately Methos was amazed at how
different Jones looked. Gone was the suit and in its place were rough
brown pants and a white shirt. On his head was a brown fendora. He
looked less like a snooty professor and more like what Methos referred
to as a 'normal person'. For his part he was dressed in jeans and the
type of sweater that fishermen wore, loose and warm. Odd as the outfit
made him look he simply shrugged to himself and excused it as being
comfortable. He looked around the nearly empty airplane hanger.

" Which plane?"

"That one over there," Jones gestured. "It's my friend's. He's lending
it to me."

" You can fly, right?" " Nervous?"

"Not really. Just if you can't I'd feel safer with my life in my hands,
instead of yours. I can fly, Dr. Jones ."

"So can I. Incidentally we're going to be working together for a while,
so call me Indy or Indiana."

Methos controlled a smile at the outlandish nickname only with force.
"Call me Pierce, then."

"Okay, then. All aboard."

"Isn't that for trains?"

" Get on the plane, Pierce."

"Absolutely, sir." Methos threw his bag on board, following with his
body immediately afterwards. "I'd rather get in the plane though."
Seeing Indy looking the controls he asked. "You're sure you can fly
this thing?"

Taking off Indy replied. "Fly, yes. Land...not so great."

"That had better be a joke."

"Relax. Enjoy the flight." Indy said with an evil grin.

The flight was absolutely uneventful. In fact it was so bloody boring
Methos went to sleep some where over the Atlantic. His last waking
thought was 'Good thing it wasn't a boat.' They stopped to refuel
in France. As they climbed out of the plane Indiana asked " Have you
ever been to France before, Pierce?"

'Since before it was France, child'. "Yes, when I was younger."

"How old are you? I mean don't ask or talk like the other young
scholars at the university. I figure we need to know each other."

"I'm older than I look. How old are you?"

"Older than I look"

They walked in silence to the small cafe'.

" Do --- you ----speak---English?" Jones asked storekeeper with
careful enunciation.

Methos started laughing and turned to Jones. "Do---you---speak ---
French?" He mocked. It was the supreme arrogance of Americans that of
course everyone in the world understood English if only spoken loudly
and slowly enough. Before Jones could do more than look at him, he
continued " What do you want?"

Jones told him and he ordered in French dialect perfect to the
region, though Jones knew only it was French. They took their meal and
some food to eat on the plane back to the hanger.

" Well, I'm glad your not acting like you're scared out of your
wits anymore."

"You asked for it. "

"Why did you act like that?"

"I could. If I don't people get neurotic around me."


" Trust me"

They were back on the plane by this time.

"We should be at the dig site in another six hours." Indiana
informed 'Pierce'

"Oh, joy" Methos replied sarcastically

They landed near the dig. Well, landing was a general term for what
occurred, Methos thought rubbing a still sore bottom. Peeved his lousy
landing Jones completely blew off the man who came to greet them,
preferring instead to merely set up the tents and eat.

It was dark by the time that the tents were up and dinner was eaten.
Cold beans Methos thought disgustedly. "I take it that cooking is
numbered with French as among your non-skills" he said to the chef of
the evenings repast. "You don't have to eat."

" Probably not, but then I'd get cranky."

Indiana looked at the man longing in a position he would have thought
impossible if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes with amazement. "
Maybe you're missing the point of this exercise. I'm supposed to be
teaching you."

" Good luck." Methos smiled and walked into his tent.

Jones looked after the man who seemed to be one thing before turning
into another entirely. He swore quietly and went into his own tent.

They rose at dawn, by virtue of Indiana throwing cold water onto
'Pierce' when he repeatedly refused to wake.

" We have to be at the dig in half an hour"

"I hate you." Methos informed the teacher with dignity. Or as much
dignity as one can have while sopping wet sitting in blue blankets.

Indiana simply sat down on the dusty ground and laughed until the
pillow hit his face. Methos stepped over the still chuckling man."
Let's go. It's so damn important."

"Fine, fine, let's go."

It turned out the man who had been signaling to Jones so
enthusiastically the day before and whom Jones had almost entirely
blown off was the archeologist who had discovered the site. He had
Jones in because he was a month from retirement. He simply had to
inform Jones in of the condition of the site and he was going home.

"It seems to be the home of a Roman citizen who settled here. Maybe an
elderly man who needed to 'get away from it all.' It's in good shape.
Not disturbed. The bodies found thus far have been perfectly
mummified. The distribution of sex is almost even with the bodies found
so far, and there have been only seven though we are sure that less
than a fifth of the estate has been uncovered and of that only the
second floor." George Forley babbled.

" The second floor?" Jones questioned.

" Yes, we have uncover two sets of stairs down, so we are fairly
certain that there is a lower floor. The dust storm must have been
horrendous to cover such an amount."

"It was" 'Pierce' said quietly. " Oh, it was." Forley didn't hear him.
Jones did.


I love this country. Beautiful landscape, beautiful architecture.
He looked at his wife. Beautiful women. He'd been married 39 times
before, but Armecha was special. She was beautiful, but his wives had
been beautiful before. She was intelligent, but his wives
had been astute previously. She was kind, but again so
had others. She was all this, and moreover he trusted her more than
any other woman he had met. He had told her what he was,
something he had never told any of his other wives. And she still loved
him. She wasn't afraid of him, she didn't think he was a god, she
accepted him as he was. Something that was rare enough in the 3
thousand years he had walked the earth. He had even told her about
Kronos and the horsemen. She had held him as he cried.

He looked over at his wife and wept inside at the fact she was going
to die. Until that day though, may it be a hundred years in the
future, and he hoped it was, she came from a long lived family, he
would stay by her side. For the first time his wife was a full
partner. He trusted her more than any other being on the planet.
Including himself.

She had made him promise to remember her. They had been lying in bed.
She had held him close and made him swear that no matter how long he
was on the world that he would remember her and the daughter they had
adopted. He had laughed, kissed her nose and said that he would always
remember her young and beautiful no matter how old and wrinkly she got.

" Wrinkly! Old! Why you!" She started to tickle his ribs, which spouted
a tickle war that soon turned into something else.

And she died here, far before the time when she would have been
wrinkly. Armecha, I still remember you. I promised. Methos said quietly
to the landscape Jones was looking at him strangely, and for an instant
Methos was afraid he had talked out loud. Instead Jones
merely said " Are you ill, Pierce? You looked green for a moment. You
aren't uncomfortable around bodies are you?"

" No, " Methos retorted. " But I'm most comfortable around young
female ones. You won't know anything about that of course."

" No, I can't say I thought that you could get laid at all."

Mr. Forley looked shocked for an instant than began to laugh. Jones
began to apologize effusively.

" I'm sorry, sir.." At this Methos nit his lip at the thought of
Jones calling anyone sir, let alone hearing him do it.

" No, No." Mr. Forley interrupted " It's quite all right. Boys will be
boys, after all."

" I'm his teac.." Realizing that proclaiming to be 'Pierce's' teacher
would not do his credibility any good having just been insulting the
'boy', Jones topped himself. " I'm sorry all the same, sir." He glances
that 'Pierce' as the young man made a peculiar snuffling noise.

" No, problem, no problem. Now, to see the site itself. Are you ready?"

The site was in perfect condition, an archeologist's dream. Jones
couldn't control a little yelp of joy, though he kept the rest of his
joy private, knowing Adamson would enjoy nothing more than ammunition
with which to taunt him unbearably. And Jones had no where near enough
information with which to do the same. Pierce on the other hand,
didn't seem as excited. In fact, he seemed…. sad? Why would he be sad
at such a gem. He had been a little odd earlier, and then he was
normal. Or as normal as Pierce ever gets. He thought maliciously.

Methos watched the play of feelings across Jones's face. He could read
this man so well. He fancied that he could hide his emotions, but they
were an open book to Methos. But then again, most people's are. He
thought smugly. He tuned back in to the conversation in time to hear
Forley say" and she will be working with you. She's a genius really."

" Who is?" Jones asked. Apparently he hadn't been listening either.

" I am." A voice claimed coming up beside Jones.

" Armecha." Methos breathed. But, no.. she wasn't his lost love. Her
skin was lighter. Her hair was brown instead of raven black. And unless
his eyes deceived him ( hey five thousand years some thing has to
go. He joked to himself) he saw a spray of freckles across her nose.
It was just the place. Too many memories

" I'm Anna Lucas." She introduced herself offering her hand. She
didn't seem to have heard his whisper. Forley was old, he probably
couldn't have heard it. But someone did. And that someone gave him a
Look, before shaking the tiny woman's hand and introducing himself.

" And this is Pierce Adamson."

She smiled with the right side of her mouth. " Nice to meet you.
Grandmother wants to meet the you both before George and she leave.
She has tea ready." She smiled at the old man as she said his name,
genuine affection marking it.

It was then that Methos noticed the girls accent. It wasn't exactly
English, American or Egyptian, but a combination of the three. Jones
had noticed it too, and before Methos. He's not getting over the way
she looks! That sounded bad even in his own mind so he amended it to
Well, he's not getting over her startling resemblance to someone else.

" You accent. Where is it from?" Jones questioned.

" I spent half my childhood in England, the other half in America. My
teenage years were spent here, and I went to under grad in America and
grad in England." She informed them as they walked to an extravagant

They walked in to a tent that appeared to have all the amenities of a

A beautiful older woman stood at their arrival. Immediately upon
their entrance her eyebrows drew together and she uttered, " Dr.
Adams? Benjamin Adams?

Methos' first thought? " Oh shit"

His second was much more benign, especially because he hadn't said
the first aloud and Amec.....Anna was introducing Jones and him to
the aged woman. " Grandma this is Dr. Jones and this is
Pierce Adamson."

" Yes, of course. You, young man," she pointed at Methos, " look just
like a doctor I knew. I was just a child, so of course you couldn't
be him. But dear god, you look like Doctor Adams. He was a wonderful
man. Very kind eyes. You have them too."

Methos looked at her dark hair and twinkling eyes and remembered a
little girl who peered around corners when ever was in her house. Her
mother couldn't be bothered with a child and her father was away far
too often, so little Mary looked forward to the visits from the doctor
who told her stories of Egypt and Greece while the little girl followed
him around, carrying his bag and generally aiding him as she
unknowingly learning a little medicine as he practiced it on her
parent's estate. That was over sixty years ago, though, so he
couldn't claim remembrance. He had left when a fall from a horse had
ended 'Dr. Adams' life. Oh, Mary was a wonderful child though.

" Thank you. Maybe he was related in some way." He said instead. She
smiled " Maybe." She clapped her hands together. "Tea."

They sat down to tea. Jones looked thoroughly confused which gave
Methos great amusement.

He saw Anna whisper something in his ear and presses down a pang of
jealousy, reminding himself that this was not Armecha. Armecha was
dead. He was here where they had enjoyed such joy in life and love.
And he intended to make the most of it.

Tea was over by eight. Where has the day gone? Jones wondered. But then
again Jones wondered a great many things. Why Forley and Anna's
grandmother were going to England for their honeymoon, why Pierce
knew exactly what Forley was talking about when he mentioned old
digs, why he had looked like he did remember the new Mrs. Forley, and
most of all who was he really. Jones was not a stupid man, dense
occasionally, but stupid was not one of his skills. Pierce looked
like he was 30 tops, and when he smiled he looked like an over- grown
12 year old.. But he seemed to know things intimately that occurred
long before he could even have been thought of. Before his parents
were born even! I'll find out Jones inquiring mind swore to
himself. I'll find out.

This time it was Methos who woke Jones 'Indiana' he thought
sardonically to himself. 'What a stupid name. I wouldn't name a dog

He thought as he threw a bucket of water on to the peacefully
slumbering man. As Jones spluttered in the morning light Methos pulled
the blankets off the drenched fellow.

" Rise and shine, darling" Methos said in a falsetto voice, showing
no sign at first that he noticed Jones withering stare. Finally he
said "Damn, Jones, if looks could kill.... wait yours already can
with no effort on your part

" Hardy harhar." Jones deadpanned.

" Come on, let's go. We have stuff to do. Up and at 'em." Methos was
eager to get to the dig site.

" I don't wear ..a lot of clothes when I think I'm safe from madmen
with water buckets, like I stupidly thought last night.
Obviously, that didn't occur to you when you soaked my blankets. "
Methos raised an eyebrow at Jones' calm tirade. Seeing it Jones
smiled. " Well, I guess I shouldn't talk."

Methos smiled. Those who knew him really well would be aware that this
was a *wait for it* smile. Those who knew him very well were few and
limited however. And Jones was not among them " Well, you know what
they say about those you live in glass house, don't you?"

" They shouldn't throw stones? " Jones responded the common phrasing,
suspecting now that something was coming.

" No, they should wear underwear." Methos said calmly. He took one
look at Jones' face and walked off. Jones heard him laughing when he
was out of sight.

It was dark when Methos found Armecha's barrette . He clenched it
tight, the edges digging into his skin, drawing blood that he stemmed
quickly, wiping it off the barrette to hold the shining silver to the

Flashback It was their wedding night. He had had the barrette
made weeks in advance. But the sheer joy of putting it into her
shinning hair had been unimaginable. She had worn it as often as she
could, about once a month. Her beautiful hair........ Gone now.
Forever. ************************************************************

Methos closed his eyes against the memory. Maybe this was a bad idea
after all. No, he couldn't leave now. He had to do what he hadn't been
able to before, put his wife to rest. The dust had covered the whole
estate. It was all he could do to pull himself out of the ruble, and
even then he died nine times, choking to death. Choking is not a good
way to die. " but is there a good way to die?" He asked aloud.

" I can't think of one. " Jones said wiping his forehead with a

" It was a rhetorical question. Need a dictionary?" Methos
questioned caustically. He had NOT meant to say that out loud.

"What is your problem. I got reviews on you from all your other
teachers, why is it that you acting like an ass around me?"

" You asked for me to act like myself. I am. Wait a moment. You
checked up on me?!"

" You think that I won't want to know something about some one I'm
bringing half way around the world?"

" How much checking did you do?" Methos asked suddenly fearful for
the identity he had laid out for himself. It was the first time he had
made new life since the invention of the telephone. He suspected that
that little device would royally screw his procedures for new lives.
'Well, it's the best thing to check on records with, yet'. He consoled

"There wasn't much I could do. You really have to update your
university file. I couldn't find anyone who knew Peter or Hannah
Adamson. The house you grew up in must have burned down because there
isn't one there now. In fact it's like you didn't even exist before you
started at the university."

' Thank god for unsuspicious minds' Methos thought, not dreaming that
none of this was true. Jones hadn't checked him out before the trip.
He had made a few phone calls while Pierce was reading the night before
and gleaned more information on this odd man.

Indiana studied the expression of the man before him. A glint
flashed into his eyes. " What's that?" he asked gesturing toward the
piece of silver in Methos' hand.

" This?" Methos asked cursing himself for not have hiding it
better. " Oh, it looks like a hair piece. Probably belong to the lady
of the house. By it's design," he said, holding it to the light and
bluffing his heart out "It was a wedding present given from a young
groom to a young bride . Older couple s had a different pattern.
Blows your old man theory right out of the water, doesn't it?"

" How much of that did you make up, just off the top of your head?"

" None!" Methos lied with absolutely no pangs of conscious. " It's
well documented in several scientific texts including one by Nepoip."

" Nepoip? There's no such person. Pierce, do you want to try the
truth this time? Starting with who you really are?"

Methos threw down his shovel. " What the hell are you talking about?"

" You know what I'm talking about." Jones voice quieted. " I saw you
cut yourself this morning."

' Damn.' Methos looked at his hand. He hadn't been paying attention,
when he had found a particularly interesting piece of pottery. It would
be interesting to Jones, at least. It had sat beside his bathing tub.
Stupid thing had broken though. The cut was completely gone now, of
course as proven when Jones roughly grabbed his wrist and turned his
hand to the fading light.

" There's nothing there now. " Jones pointed out the obvious.

" It must have been your imagination." Methos bluffed hoping 'Indiana'
hadn't any evidence. Jones held up a handkerchief in his other hand. A
bloody handkerchief. With the initials PA. 'Damn it all, '

"On top of that, you knew that woman. I saw your face. And that hair
thing what was that?"

" It was my wife's" Methos whispered.

Jones dropped his hand.

" What?'

" It was my wife's" Methos continued in a louder voice. " We lived here
together before time started going forward.

" Jesus Christ." Jones said in a disgusted voice.

" Nice kid. A trifle the world is black or white, but he was okay and
could he drink" Methos said.

" Bull shit" Jones said. " I was hoping for something serious and look
the shit I get." Jones walked away.

Methos' mouth dropped open in shock, of all the reactions he'd
contemplated total disbelief, especially with the cut and all, never
crossed his mind. It was nice though. Except that now Jones thought he
was a liar. ' Damn it' "Jones" Methos started to follow him Jones
through the dark. He tripped over a shovel which following a law of
motion, he couldn't remember which one, hit him in the face with the
opposite end. 'Damn it, this just isn't my night.' He thought rubbing
the even now fading bruise. It was then he felt the buzz that signaled
another immortal presence. ' Nope, not my night...'

Methos called into the dark "Who is there?"

After a moment an answer came, in a way. " Show yourself. Come into the
light." Methos, of course, made a detour to where he had laid his coat
in the midmorning heat. Shrugging it on, he stepped in to the moonlight.
A moment later another man did as well. He had black hair, the temples
silvered. The man was the same height as Methos, his build was slim.
His eyes though were the bluest sapphire.

" Adams." The man said in a disgusted voice.

" Phillips." Methos acknowledge stiffly. He couldn't hold it long,
though before he broke out laughing. " Peter, how are you? I've not
seen you in, what a hundred years?"

" Nearly." Peter acknowledged with a grin. The two men grasped each
other for a moment, then laughed again.

" What are you doing in Egypt?" Methos asked.

" Well, I heard about this wonderful find in the desert and I had to
see it. Some old fellow I know told me about how much he loves this
place." Peter gave Methos a wry grin and continued. "I'm coming to try
to convince a Dr. Jones to try to convince his museum to broker a deal
with mine. We finance part of the dig we get part of the findings"

"why didn't you just go to Chicago?"

"we wanted to make sure the dig was good before we offered. Now my are
you here?"

" I'm participating in the dig. Come on, I'll introduce you to Jones.

" What?"

" We were talking and well, I slipped and told Jones something that I
probably shouldn't have."

" You didn't tell him what you are did you?"

" It was an accident."

" Ben, you don't have accidents. What happened."

Methos waved his hand from his position sitting on a rock. " This
place. I used to live here."

" Specifically here?" Peter questioned from his similar position.

Methos blew his breath out in a gust. " Yeah, this place. Damn, it's
been insane. First I met a woman who looks like the wife I had while I
lived here." He looked wistfully at Peter. " I really loved her." Peter
patted Methos' back reassuringly, waiting for the rest. " Then I saw a
woman who I knew as a little girl and she recognized me. Than I found
my wife's barrette that I gave her on our wedding night and Jones got
on my ass about who I am, and I .slipped. Then I see a friend that I
haven't seen in a century and tell him how bad my week has been."

" This all happened this week?" Peter asked incredulously.

" No." Methos said wryly. " This all happened with in the last two

" Damn, you need a vacation."

" This was a vacation. I need to go back to work." Methos only half
jested. He stood " Come now. Let's go see Jones. Hopefully he'll still
think that I'm lying through my teeth or crazy."

" We can hope."

Neither man noticed a shadow detach itself and head toward the camp.

" What name are you going by now?" Methos asked his friend.

" The same. And you?"

" Pierce Adamson" Peter burst out laughing. Methos tried to hush him,
but to no avail.

" Pierce?" he finally stuttered.

" What's wrong with Pierce?" Methos questioned vaguely offended.

" Nothing." To his credit Peter kept a straight face here, though it
was the near thing." Just, Slice be so much more appropriate, wouldn't
it?" Methos made a halfhearted attempt to slug Peter in the arm. "
Honestly though you should have gone with, I don't know Adam Pierceson

" I'll keep it in mind" Methos answered dryly.

" No, I've got it Adam Pierson. Much better. Now, tell me about this
Jones fellow."

" Intelligent. Humorous in his way. He's my teacher at the moment so
try to be nice, okay?"

" I'm always nice." Peter said mock haughtily.

"Uh-huh." Methos agreed "Like a barracuda." Seeing Peter about to
protest Methos said, "We're here."

He opened the main tent hanging and both men entered. " Indiana?"
Methos called. Peter sputtered. Methos grinned. Always could count on
Peter to react the same way he did. What else were sons for anyway?

Flashback It was a terrible storm. Ten had died. But only nine-year-old
Peter Phillips had been orphaned. Thought he had tried to save all of
the victims Dr. Adams still felt guilty, especially over the lost of
the boy's adoptive parents. The boy had no family so he had taken the
boy in. Peter had been twelve when he found out about immortals. That
one head had been the only one he took in all of Peter's time with him.
Peter had started college at seventeen and gone on to become a doctor
before 'dying' at the age of forty-two, apparently older then the man
who had raised him. They had separated ten years after Peter's first
death. The end of the teaching had ended the sporadic visits that
peppered Peter's adulthood. Only letters went between father and son
and those about two years apart. Methos had missed one of the few
people he trusted entirely. " And a son is a wonderful thing to have."
he mused.

Methos slung an arm companionably over his son's shoulders as he
continued calling for Jones. "Indiana?" Peter snickered again at the

Finally the object of their search returned the call. " In here,
Pierce." Peter sniggered again. This time Methos shot him a dirty look
and put a finger to his mouth before entering the portioned off section
that Indy occupied.

" Indiana I'd like you to meet my…friend, Peter Phillips. He's here on

" Please to meet you." Jones said shortly.

"And Peter this is Indiana Jones." Methos continued ignoring Jones'

" Indiana. What a unique name." Peter was having a hard time not

Methos figured it was his proximity to someone the same as when Peter
was a boy that was making Peter act like a teenager.

Methos, not so subtly, inched toward Peter and kicked him in his
ankle. Then, smiling he offered Peter a drink. Jones looked over at
Peter and asked drolly " So, you've know Pierce?" he questioned the
name " for how long? A hundred years?"

" I beg your pardon?" Peter asked innocently, glancing at where Methos
had paused momentarily at pouring the brandy.

" That fine, old, gentleman over there." Jones gestured vaguely toward
Methos. "You've known him for a hundred years? Is he always so, how
does one say it? Impetuous? Indiscreet? Well?"

Judging lying to be the best course of action in this case Methos
walked over and slipped into Pierce Adamson mode " Are you all right,
Dr. Jones?" He gently took the glass of whiskey and the bottle that
Jones had been pouring out of from Jones hand and the table beside
him, respectively. " I think you may have had enough of this." He said

Jones smashed his hand down on the chair arm. " Don't patronize me." He
glanced at the hand he had slammed as if surprised. He continued softly
" I heard you, you know. When you were outside. I didn't want to
believe you , but why would you lie when I wasn't there." He looked
Methos in the eye. "You look like a little boy, but you're older than
Christianity. Christ, you could have known Christ!" Jones smirked. "
Damn I thought you were a cocky kid. A smart cocky kid, but just a
kid. You knew. And you came here."

Peter might have well as not bee in the room, and seeing a need for his
father and the doctor to be alone, he left.

Methos was faintly aware of Peter's presence reseeding, but he was far
more caught up in the grief and stunned awe he saw in Jones eyes. The
awe he could understand, but the grief?

" Why? Why are you so sad?" he asked, unable to help himself.

" For you." Jones voiced quietly. For all you've had to be, to see. And
to lose." Methos was stunned. People had feared him, admired him, and
run from him. But never had someone shown compassion for him. He was
surprised to see it come from a man who seemed to have all the
characteristics of an explorer , born 300 years too late. Searching for
the next adventure, devil damn the consequences.

Indy continued looking at the tall man. Not boy, any longer. Man. He
looked at the bottle of whiskey that he suspected figured directly in
the equation of his belief in this whole matter. Oh, well. He'd seen
the ark of the convent, the Holy Grail; what was a race of immortals
compared to that? Even the oldest man in that said race of immortals.
Immortals! What would it be like to live that long. Why would you? Who
wants to live forever? All the loss. Jones thought of the losses in his
own relatively brief life and shuddered at the thought of multiplying
it by so many years. For his part Methos stared at the young mortal.
He felt compassion for him! Mortals so rarely even understood. 'Oh
hell.' he thought irately ' it hasn't been all beer and skittles, sure,
but there has been great moments.' He thought of the dig site right
outside thought longingly of that wife.

He murmured " Good night Dr. Jones."

Jones toasted him with the glass he had managed to get back. " good
night." As Methos walked out Jones looked back down at the glass. Yep,
this was a three ice tea evening. Long Island ice tea.

Morning Damn. Damn Damn Damn.

" Something wrong Dr. Jones?"

" My head. My frigging head. Or don't you get hangovers?"

" Actually…" Methos began.

Indy glared at him. It was all Methos could do not to laugh.

" If you let that smile get away from you…"

Methos schooled his face to the proper contrition. He hoped. Jones gave
him a final look and said " Come on. Let's work on the site. I think
we'll uncover the lower portions of the house. Where's your friend by
the way?"

"He left this morning for Chicago. His museum wants to finance part of
the dig. And yeah, we were about five feet from the stairs yesterday.
The stairs were in pretty good shape, and if I remember correctly, and
I do, the stairs were left uncovered by an obelisk that I had hanging
on the wall."

" You had an obelisk on the wall?"

" It was pretty!" Methos defended himself. " I liked it!"

Indy walked away muttering about 'pretty'. Methos grinned and followed
the nauseous archeologist with a smile. This was shaping up to be, if
not a great day, then at least a very funny day.

By noon, Indy already had a sunburn and three cuts. And they were not
even to the stairs yet.

" I thought you said you hung the obelisk."

" I was being metaphoric. What does the word obelisk bring to your
mind? Not a little circle, one would hope."

" No, that thing is huge. What the hell was the owner thinking, hanging
that in that huge thing upstairs?!" SHE had come up upon them unaware.
Methos closed his eyes and his mouth to keep from calling out the name
of she who this girl was not. Gods, but it was strange. In the
sunlight the resemblance was uncanny. And painful.

Seeing that Jones had jumped she apologized. " Sorry, sorry. Didn't
mean to scare you."

Manfully disregarding THAT remark Indy said " I wasn't scared. I
Methos piped up " I was scared."

She grinned. " Yeah, this face this early in the morning…bound to scare
anyone. I'm sorry I wasn't here yesterday. Had to get Grandmother and
my new grandfather to the plane, make sure they didn't forget anything.
Besides that atrocious obelisk what else was found?"

That atrocious obelisk. His wife had used those exact words. Well,
kinda. Not in English of course, but the intent was the same. ' Stop
looking for resemblance's, old man' he told himself. 'Otherwise you're
just going to make yourself sick.' He caught the thought '
Metaphorically, of course. 'he grinned to himself.

It was dark when Indy finally retired to a long and, to Methos, boring
conversation with Anne about Carter's find of King Tutekommen's tomb.
It had been years, but Jones was still amazed that the tomb had
survived intact. Anne said it was simply a sign that the Egyptians
didn't have records of sites. Methos yawn. It was simply because the
man had wanted to be 'above' a pharaoh. Pertim 'was' a pompous
asshole. It was surprising that no one killed him. 'Then again,' he
mused, ' that 'accident' was a little surprising.' What ever else
Pertim was, and he was an awful lot, he had been an excellent
horseman. A lousy human being but………

With a mental snap Methos tried to bring himself back to the
conversation at hand. He was finally getting used to Anne's
resemblance to his wife. Except in the dark. Or the twilight. 'Oh,
hell, in the middle of the bloody day!'

'I'll never forget her.' Was his last thought before he felt a blow to
the back head, then darkness. And a woman's scream……..so like his
wife's….all those years ago……


It was so dark…..suffocating, but before he fell into unconsciousness,
he heard his wife scream….and his small daughter begin to cry, about to
be brought to what she was far to soon….and then the darkness claimed
him. *****************************************************************
He woke before Anne or Jones. Of course. He felt his head for a lump,
more out of the ingrained humanity or than for any real need. He was
sure that it was healed by now. Crawling over, 'they didn't tie us
up….. sloppy, sloppy', to Jones he first felt the archeologists head
for any apparent signs of a concussion from the blow he must have
received. Finding only the lump he expected , but no blood he crawled
over to Anne. Forcing himself not to leisure in the touch….and only to
check her head. Surprisingly she came to while he checked.

" So you know where we are?" she whispered groggily, but obviously
understanding the situation at hand.

" In a some sort of obeleot, I imagine. The French weren't the only
ones to think of those." He whispered back putting his head close to

" They came out of no where."

' Now it comes' Methos thought. 'she's going to start crying.'

But she didn't. " I don't suppose you know why they took us, do you?"

Quickly, without even considering it he reassured her. " I don't know."
But maybe he did.


" Guard my home unto your children's children's children and on until I
relieve you. I will be back at times. Just….don't let anyone disturb my
wife's final sleep. And guard her." He held his hand in front of his
eyes, hiding his tears. He had crawled out of the sand, carrying the
precious burden they were now to guard, going back to bury some of the
dead with the aid of the guards who were of desert stock, hiding in
caves with their families, the underground caverns big enough for a

The chief of the guards nodded. " It shall be as you saw, my lord."
The rest simply nodded, they would keep their chief's oath until the
last generation. As should be. They were paid well enough. And the

************************************************************* But
he never could return to where Armecha was buried, keeping his visits
every five centuries merely to the caves.

A light interrupted his thoughts and waking Jones. A man stood in the
door way he had previously missed. 'Slipping, old man, slipping'.
" Come with me now." Yep, definitely the desert folks. 'Stupid,
Stupid, Stupid. Should have gone and seen them'

As the were prodded down a long corridor Jones said to Methos, softly
so that neither Anne nor their guard would hear, " What's with this?
Why did this guy knock us out?"

" Um…I kind of did it."

" What!?" you had to admire a man who could whisper a yell.

" Well, I bloody well didn't expect them to attack anyone at the house!
I said guard it, but I thought their hands would be full with the rest,
and I meant to go and see them, to tell them I was here, but I've had
too many damn shocks!" His voice went quieter. "I didn't expect all my
memories to come back like this. They hadn't been this bad the other
times I was here, but that's why I don't come back that often."

" Well, you're damn well back now!"

" And they'll believe it's me because…….?"

" Silence! No talking!"

'Trifle redundant isn't he?' Methos thought to himself.

They were led into a room that Methos recalled was used for meetings
At the sight of them all the eyes of the tribunal that led the tribe
were focused first on the prisoners, then on the walls of the cave.
Following the gaze Methos was surprised to see a likeness of himself
and Armecha. 'My nose is not that big But someone has a good
imagination' The painting hadn't been there last time he was. The
tribal elders bowed to the prisoners, their guards following suit.

"Pierce why are we on the wall." Anne asked, noting her resemblance to
the woman in the painting.

Methos couldn't answer because at that moment the spokesman began to,
well, speak.

" You have returned, my lord? To see the Lady Miriam?" Methos let
the last traces off Pierce Adamson disappear. He vaguely heard Anne
gasp at the sight of his eyes, so different from the laughing sarcasm
of Pierce. " Is she well?"

"As lively as she was when I was a child, my Lord."

" Bring my daughter forth to me." The spokesman nodded at a woman
standing near an archway in the cave. She nodded back and exited. A few
moments later, ignoring the looks that Jones kept shooting him and the
puzzled glances, not understanding the language. Anne was giving *both*
of them looks, Methos felt a slight buzz. A moment later a small bundle
of energy shot toward Methos jumping into his arms. Miriam.

Methos clutched the small child crying "Papa, Papa!. You naughty! Where
have you been?" in Egyptian.

He answered in kind, as he had when he had spoken to the tribal
council. "I'm here now little one! How are you?"

" 2036." She said sticking her little fingers in her mouth.

" Not how old are you scamp, but how do you feel?"

" Fine, papa. How are you?"

He held the little girl closer. " I'm better now, little one."

It was only then that Miriam saw Anne and cried out " Mama!" And
struggled to go to her.

Anne held her arms out and Methos, though jealous of his little girl
handed the apparent four year old over. " I'm not your Mama little one,
I'm a friend of your Papa's. I'll be your friend too." Methos felt like
slapping himself. Gods, he'd forgotten that Anne likely spoke Egyptian
as an anthropologist. 'Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.'

They were all led to an impressive suite, the cave having been carved
into such; this was Methos rooms when he came.

Anne was sitting down rocking the child to sleep in a comfortable
chair, brushing soft black locks off an innocent face. 'My child.'
Methos thought possessively, almost allowing himself think that this
was Armecha rocking Miriam to sleep, all the years since having never

" Will you take your child with you, my lord?" the spokesman was
speaking again, having led them to the room, Jones suspiciously quiet.

'My two thousand year old child.' Reality returned with a thump.

" My Lord?" The spokesman again. " The child?"

"Someday, Rashma, someday."

" Lady Miriam is to stay with us?"

Methos turned away from the picture of the two sleeping, so like an
image over 2 millennium old.

" I can't protect her in the outside world. And I can't kill her."

" We will keep her safe as always, my lord."

The spokesman left. Jones replaced him. "You leaving her here?" he
questioned with anger tingeing his voice.

Already exhausted emotionally Methos whirled on him, hissing. " You
over step yourself. You don't understand this." Full autocratic mode.
Jones reared back as if struck.

He grabbed Methos shirt collar. " Explain. I think I've been fairly
understanding up until now. You're immortal, your four year old
daughter is immortal, you lived at this dig, Anne looks just like your
dead wife, these people have been living in caves the better part of
two millennia, raising your daughter, that guy, Peter was an immortal
and your son too. And there is stuff I still don't understand? Talk."
Indiana released Methos shirt.

Methos brushed his clothes free of wrinkles. He looked at Jones. "
This is hard for me. I've not had this much crap on me for five
hundred years. It's a pain." He placed his hand over his eyes. "
Explanations. I suppose I owe you that after all you've been though."

Jones snorted. Methos peeked at him from beneath his hand. He might as
well know. " You know about immortals. Well immortal is a bit of a
misnomer. We CAN die. But only if our heads take a permanent vacation
from our bodies."

" Easy enough to avoid." Jones said with a raised eyebrow waiting for a
catch. Methos delivered it.

" You'd think. But there's a catch. Immortals play something called the
Game. Game with a capital G. It's one of., if not the most, important
things in our lives. The Game involves two immortals who engage in a
duel with dum da dum swords the winner, ironically enough, cuts off
the losers head. And absorbs something called the quickening. It's like
the life force of the immortal. Some of us fight just to live others
live just to fight. I haven't fought in over a hundred years. Holy
ground is the only place we're safe. None of us will battle there. Any
holy ground at all for any religion. Some of us head-hunt. That is,
kill any immortal for the quickening. I can't let that happen to
Miriam. " Methos gestured widely around the cave" This whole complex
is holy ground. She's lived here her whole life. I had a friend bless
it. And then I forgot about it because it just hurt too much. I do
come. About every 500 years. Image the worst thing that's ever happened
to you then multiply it by infinity. That's how much more pain I've
felt. I have to forget some of it. If I took Miriam from here she'd
have to be with me every moment or a head hunter would get her. If I
died a head hunter would get her. And some head hunters play with
their victims. She's safer here. I have to protect her. I failed to
protect Armecha."

Jones looked like he was in shock but he still managed to put his hand
on Methos shoulder. " You couldn't help it. It was the sand storm. "

" That time." Methos smiled wanly and walked away. "We leave at
first light."

It was still dark when Methos, Jones, Anne, and Miriam left the caves,
though dawn was glinting at the horizon, Methos clinging to Miriam and
she to him. At 20 yards out Methos clutched the eternal girl once more
and knelt with her on the ground. He stuck a finger under the small
chin, tears glistening in both father's and daughter's eyes. " Little
one, you know I can't protect you except by leaving you here. But I
will come to see you. And remember I love you." Miriam flung herself
at her father sobbing, but understanding. Jones ran a hand over his
eyes. Methos gently pushed Miriam toward the caves they had just left,
where an old nomad woman waited for Miriam to return. Miriam nodded her
head and drew herself up like the noble she was and turned to the cave
and walked with all the dignity her four year old body would allow.

Anne closed her eyes and spoke " Will you come back?"

" Of course." Methos whispered "Of course. And may you never have to
make such a choice."