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

Mail the Author
Main Page