back to part 1
What Was Hidden part 2
by Mecca
"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. You?"
"I'm participating in the dig. Come on, I'll introduce you to Jones. Shit."
"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 days."
"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, Cut would 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 instead."
"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?
It was a terrible storm. Ten had died. But only nine-year-old Peter Phillips had been orphaned. Thought he had tried to save them, Dr. Adams still felt guilty. 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 name.
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 business." Methos was guessing of course. He had no idea why Peter was here and made a mental note to ask him later.
"Please to meet you." Jones said shortly.
"And Peter this is Indiana Jones."
"Indiana. What a unique name." Peter was having a hard time not laughing. 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 known 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 quietly.
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.
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! Even those who were immortal, who knew what it entailed, like Darius, never looked at him like they 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."
"Yep, 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.
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 scrapes. 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 was…startled." 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 resemblances, 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……
Flashback
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." He whispered back putting his head close to hers.
"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.
Flashback
"Guard my home unto your children's children's children and on until I relieve you."
The guards nodded. "It shall be as you saw, my lord." They were desert people, hidden in the caves during the storm. They would keep their chief's oath until the last generation. As should be. They were paid well enough. And the honor…..
End
But he never could return to where Armecha was buried. And Miriam….little Miriam, brought to immortality far, far too soon……
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.'
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 it to last this long! I sent them to guard my home till I came back."
"Well, you're damn well back now!"
"And they'll believe 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'. The tribal elders bowed to the prisoners, their guards following suit.
"Pierce why are we on the wall."
Methos couldn't answer because at that moment the spokesman began to, well, speak.
"You have returned, my lord? To reclaim 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 Anne was giving *both* of them 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 and Jones likely spoke Egyptian as archeologists. 'Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.'
Anne was sitting down rocking a child to sleep, brushing soft black locks off an innocent face. 'My child.'
"Will you take your child with you, my lord?" the spokesman was speaking again.
'My two thousand year old child.'
The day ended with Miriam asleep in Anne's lap and the day tired.
"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, a four year old 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, then raising your daughter, that guy 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. "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. Image the worst thing that's ever happened to you then multiply it by 167. 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 could help it. It was the storm."
" That time." Methos smiled wanly and walked away. "We leave at first light."
The End?