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Deja Vu (1/2)
Kay Kelly (wilusa@earthlink.net)Mon, 17 Nov 2003 15:29:03 -0500
Title: Deja Vu Author: Kay Kelly Rating: PG Summary: A plea for help reminds Joe of another plea he received years before. DISCLAIMER: Highlander and its canon characters are the property of Davis/Panzer Productions: no copyright infringement is intended. Note: This short story is a companion piece to "Awakening." It's not a sequel, but "Awakening" should definitely be read first. Also, it's part of my main fanfic universe, and includes relationships established in "Absolutely Not." **************************************** PARIS. Joe Dawson stood very still, counting the strokes of the clock. He didn't normally keep an old-fashioned striking clock behind the bar. But on this night, even knowing a countdown would be blaring from the half-dozen TVs, he'd wanted a clock. *His* clock, one he knew was set correctly. Seconds could be significant, with the fate of the world at stake. Methos hovered near him. For once the old guy was also behind the bar--he'd volunteered to help tend it tonight. But now it was obvious that he too had shut out everything else and was concentrating on that clock. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Joe took a deep breath and sagged against the bar. He scarcely heard the cheers that erupted from the scores of patrons, the mostly-drunken shouts of "Happy New Year!" It was over. The old millennium had ended--finally, truly ended, with the arrival of the year 2001. He glanced at Methos, who managed a wan smile. //Gotta check on Mac.// His hand moved toward the cell phone in his pocket. But Methos saw the movement and shook his head. "Don't call him, Joe." Someone bleated, "Should auld acquaintance be forgot," and the mostly American and British crowd joined in. "It's over now, Methos--" "And you're worried about him. So am I. But he insisted he wanted to be left alone tonight, all night. We have to respect that." As the song swelled to a roar, the Immortal leaned close and whispered in Joe's ear, "He *is* a big boy. Over four hundred years old." Joe was about to argue, but the revelers chose that instant to storm the bar. "Hey, all right!" Methos yelled above the din. "Hold your horses, the drinks are coming!" Laughing, Joe yielded to the demands of the moment. He shouted, "And for everyone who's not already falling-down drunk..." The crowd fell silent. Joe kept them waiting for a long beat. Then he concluded with a flourish, "Drinks are on the house!" A half hour later Joe was still pouring, though he hadn't been able to put the Highlander out of his mind even briefly. He watched Methos, thankful that *he* was accounted for and getting through the night reasonably well. Methos was Duncan MacLeod's father...and the grandfather of young Richie Ryan, whom Mac had been tricked into killing during his nightmarish struggle with the demon Ahriman. Mac was still devastated by the memory of that mistake; but he could, if he chose, talk about his grief with either Joe or Methos. Methos carried the added burden of keeping the family relationship secret from Mac. If Mac learned Immortals could father children, it would only be a matter of time until he realized he'd killed his own son. Joe's hand moved toward his cell phone again, almost of its own volition. He pulled it away. //Methos is right. I mustn't call Mac. But God, how I wish he'd call me...// The phone behind the bar rang. //Mac? No, he'd call my cell phone. But what if he was too drunk to remember the number? The number for the bar is the only one in the book.// Joe got the phone on the third ring. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Methos half-turned toward it. Listening, doubtless hoping the same thing he was. Speaking loudly enough to be heard over the crowd noise, Joe said, "Le Blues Bar, Dawson." He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. After a moment's pause a man's voice, tight and tense, said urgently, "Joe. Listen to me, and whatever you do, don't hang up. *Do not* hang up on me." As a Watcher, Joe was accustomed to strange calls. But this voice seemed almost familiar...and yet, somehow, *disguised.* He said what anyone would have. "Who is this?" The voice faltered. "Th-that doesn't matter." It continued more gruffly: "What matters is that something has happened to Duncan MacLeod. He needs help. Can you get Meth--*an Immortal who's a doctor* over to MacLeod's barge? You *have to* get some expert here, *quickly!*" Joe swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly gone dry. //Duncan MacLeod doesn't "need help,"// his inner voice told him with a sick certainty. //No friend was there when he needed help. Duncan MacLeod is dead. We never should have left him alone! He was depressed--he may actually have let this bastard kill him. And the guy knows about Methos, even knows he's qualified as a doctor. He must have learned about him from Mac's Quickening. This is a ruse to get Methos over to the barge so he can catch him off guard and kill him, too.// His heart was pounding. But he remembered Methos was listening, and said coldly, "Sorry. That doesn't concern me." "Wait! Don't hang up!" The voice sounded more familiar than ever. "Who *are* you?" //Someone who called me "Joe," not "Dawson"...// "All right, I'll tell you." Resigned now, no attempt at disguise. "But you'll find it hard to believe. For God's sake, don't hang up--or even if you do, send Methos over here! "Joe, this is...Richie Ryan." Still thinking of Methos, Joe managed to stifle his strangled gasp. //That's Richie's voice. I knew it from the start, I just couldn't admit it. But it CAN'T be Richie. I saw his severed head. I even laid it in the coffin! There were rumors he'd been seen alive... Yeah, but I had them investigated. None of them panned out.// "Please believe me, Joe," the caller was pleading. "It's really me. I know you thought I was dead, but I'm not. "Mac needs help. He's unconscious and I can't revive him. And there were special circumstances, this isn't *natural*..." "Cut the crap," Joe said icily. "I'm sure you aren't anyone I've ever met." //So why can't I bring myself to hang up on him?// "Wait! Don't hang up!" After what seemed like a full minute of frustrated silence on both ends of the line, the caller took an audibly deep breath. Then he said quietly, "Do you remember the first time you and Richie Ryan spoke, Joe? I do. I'll never forget..." Joe's mind was already racing back to another night, on the other side of the world...when he'd felt a degree of uneasiness that was, in those innocent days, alarming.