DISCLAIMER: *Highlander* and its familiar characters are the property of Davis/Panzer Productions; no copyright infringement is intended. Please archive at Seventh Dimension. Info for archiving: Rating: PG Characters: Methos and Joe Summary: Methos tries to recover memories of a long- ago time in which he believes he fought the demon Ahriman. (This story takes place the day after "Absolutely Not" and "Time Out of Mind," but summarizes what the reader needs to know about them.) ****************************************************** Joe Dawson muttered a curse as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of his storeroom. The only illumination, other than the faint light from the stairwell, came from two small air vents near the ceiling. The grates that covered them were half-clogged with dirt; the junior bartender assigned to keep them clean was less than conscientious. Joe's hand found the light switch inside the door. He was tempted to turn it on. But that would snap the room's other occupant out of his trance. //At least I hope it would.// He resisted the temptation. When he could discern the outlines of the stacked crates and boxes, he threaded his way to the corner where Methos sat in a lotus position. For the tenth time in as many hours, he confirmed that the old Immortal was still breathing. //But how important is that, anyway, with *them?*// Mac had been breathing too, on that day, months back, when it had taken Joe a frighteningly long time to rouse him from a meditative trance. Both men believed the Highlander could have been lost forever. Of course, Mac had encountered Ahriman. Was there *absolutely* no chance of the same thing happening to Methos? Not for the first time, Joe wished his friend had undertaken this marathon meditation somewhere else. Or not at all. *** Only the day before, Joe had discovered a gap in Methos's memory. The ancient one had been so traumatized by Richie Ryan's death that he'd blocked his recollection, not just of that, but of all Mac's claims about the demon Ahriman. Joe had straightened him out. And in explaining why he'd been so stricken by the tragedy, Methos had shared two mind-numbing secrets. He was Mac's father...and Mac, unknowingly, had been Richie's. Leaving Joe to absorb that, Methos had gone to the barge to talk to Mac about Ahriman. And while he was there, he'd recovered a different kind of repressed memory. Caught up in their conversation, he had confidently told Mac that Joe and Father Robert Beaufort had been protected from Ahriman because they wore religious symbols at all times. A moment later, both he and Mac were wondering how he could have known that. And they made the same intuitive leap: Methos had been a long-ago Champion! Now Methos was determined to plumb the depths of his subconscious and dredge up more memories of that experience. Neither Mac nor Joe thought it was a good idea. He'd rejected the barge, site of that scary trance of Mac's, as a place to meditate. He, unlike Mac, would have found the moored vessel's motion distracting. Besides, he'd wanted a spot that was isolated, quiet, and dark. His own rented digs wouldn't do. So Joe, against his better judgment, had offered the basement of Le Blues Bar. He'd promised to allow twenty-four hours before interrupting the trance, and to keep the bar closed as long as necessary. //Can't do much of anything up there. Can't even play my guitar, for fear he'd hear it through that thin floor. And I'm afraid to go home and leave him!// Suppressing a sigh, he started to turn away. But at that moment Methos collapsed in a heap, gave a startled gasp, then leapt to his feet. Dark as it was, his head movements told Joe he was looking back and forth, frantically, between the two overhead air vents. "Wh- what? Where--? *What happened to the light?*" "Hey, don't blame me," Joe groused.