AN - For those who don't speak French – escargots are snails – and drinking urine was a recognised treatment for all sorts of illnesses in Medieval Times, I didn't just make it up! (Bet that's got you intrigued!)
Thank you for all the nice reviews. I'm glad people are enjoying it (and don't think it is too long) and Southern Chickie, I promise Duncan won't be kept in the dark much longer .. Methos does have a good reason – but I doubt it will convince Mac!
**
"So you've never heard anything about anything like this either?" Richie's disappointment was evident.
"Fraid not Rich." Joe gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, only to drop his hand in confusion when Richie pulled back in surprise.
"Joe, he doesn't remember you. " Methos reminded quietly.
"Sorry." Richie wouldn't look at him.
"That's all right kid." Joe smiled reassuringly. "I guess I forgot huh?"
"That's OK." Richie gave him a small, tight, smile. "I know what that's like."
Without asking Methos dug out the painkillers and automatically began reading the instructions.
"Um. Hello. Immortal here?" Richie scoffed. "Those aren't gonna work."
"If you can get headaches .. they can work." Methos pointed out. "But I suppose we don't have to worry too much about the dosage." He shook out twice the recommended number of tablets, shrugged, and doubled it.
"Here." He held out the tablets and the last of the water.
"I'm fine." Richie protested.
"Richie. Just take them." Methos sighed.
"Headaches?" Joe worried.
"Its nothing." Richie rubbed his temples. "Just the vacuum exploding where my memories used to be."
"You didn't do much science at High School did you?" Methos smirked.
"Like I'd know." Richie regarded him sourly.
"I think I might have a solution to that." Methos put down his beer.
"You do?" Joe wondered doubtfully.
"You do?" Richie demanded. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"I am saying something." Methos pointed out. "What? You didn't find it remotely odd that you could remember exactly how to prepare escargots but didn't have the slightest clue why any sane person would want to do such a thing?"
"You're the one with the medical degree." Richie scowled. "Or did they just toast your success with a nice glass of urine?"
"Don't knock it till you've tried it." Methos shot back. "Do you want to hear this or not?"
"Well, I do." Joe snagged a beer and settled gratefully on the sofa. "I mean, if it was an actual brain injury, from the fight, he would have healed by now. Right?
"Right." Methos agreed.
"But .." Richie prodded.
"But .. this isn't exactly a brain injury." Methos sighed.
"What? Will you get on with it? We don't all have centuries to spare you know." Joe pointed out.
"Everything Richie remembers is grounded in physical memory." Methos explained. "Language, co-ordination, B and E .."
"B and E?" Joe coughed on his drink.
"Your bar actually." Methos smirked.
"What the .. You said that system was fool proof." Joe protested. "It cost me over $4000 bucks."
"Hey. What can I say?" Richie spread his hands. "I'm good."
"You're going to be a whole lot less good when Mac finds out you've been taking lessons from Amanda." Joe chortled.
"As I was saying." Methos put in. "Everything Richie knows is linked to some kind of physical stimuli."
"Even his Immortality?" Joe looked sceptical. "I mean, wouldn't he have to die, or cut himself, or something, first?"
"The major head rush." Richie pointed out.
"Ah." Joe looked at Methos. "So he remembers the physical stuff? But he has no idea what makes him .. him?"
"Exactly." Methos nodded.
"Excuse me?" Richie frowned. "He is right here you know? And he wants to know what the hell you are talking about?"
"Selective amnesia." Joe told him. "You've chosen to forget the memories that define you as an individual."
Methos winced and started to count under his breath. One. Two. Three ...
"Hey. I didn't choose to forget anything." Richie fumed, surging to his feet. "You want to try waking up – cold and wet – on a river bank – covered in blood – with absolutely no idea of how you got there – when the only thing you can find to keep out the cold is a jacket so ugly nobody had bothered to steal it whilst you were inconveniently out of it and see how you like it!" he strode towards the door, only to stop with one hand to his head and grimace in pain.
"Richie .." Joe struggled to rise. "Look. I'm sorry. OK? It was a bad choice of words .."
Methos wondered if repeatedly hitting his head against the table would disturb the people in the room below.
"A bad choice of words?" Richie spun on his heel. "I'm sorry. Is there a good way to say its all in your head? Except, it isn't in my head, is it? Because, I can't remember."
"You can remember." Methos assured him, taking him by the arm and steering him to a chair. "You just haven't yet."
"Oh? And that's supposed to make it all right is it?" Richie looked up at him. "Just wait a few centuries and it will all come flooding back?"
"Well, we could do that." Methos agreed. "Or we could help it along a bit."
Richie paused.
"I thought you said it was dangerous to tell me stuff." he asked carefully.
"I did. It is and I won't." Methos thought that covered all the bases.
"But you do have an idea?" Richie pressed.
"Didn't I say that already?" Methos queried. "I believe my exact words were "I think I might have a solution." I'm sure I heard me say that."
"Adam." Joe sighed. He wasn't usually even out of bed this early and here he was, already having a bad day.
"Alright." Methos tried to think of a way to explain this that wouldn't set Richie off again. The kid was already as white as a sheet. "You remember basic physical stuff but your more complex emotional memory has been overloaded."
"More complex." Richie carefully didn't nod. "I can live with that."
"So what we need is something grounded in your physical memory that also strikes an emotional chord."
"Once more, in English please?" Richie requested.
"An object that can help you to remember."
"What am I? A blood hound?" Richie scowled. "Are you going to make me smell my socks?"
"No." Methos shook his head. "I think we need to go with something a little more personal."
"Like a souvenir." Joe was nodding.
"Or a sword." Methos smiled triumphantly.
"Oh." Joe paled.
"What do you mean Oh?" Richie got there first.
"I .. um .. don't have it." Joe admitted uncomfortably.
"What do you mean you don't have it?" Methos repeated carefully.
"I mean I don't have it." Joe said testily.
"The Watchers sent it to you. Of course, you have it." Methos insisted.
"First I did. Now I don't." Joe snapped.
"Well, what the hell did you do with it?" Methos demanded.
"C'mon Adam. What do you think I did? I thought he was dead."
"You gave it to Macloed." Methos realised.
"Again with the he .. I'm immortal not invisible." Richie protested. "And just so we are clear? I'm a head taller than that other guy."
"And you couldn't have told me this before, when I asked you to bring it?" Methos asked icily.
"You asked if I would bring it over. You never asked if I still had it." Joe said shot back.
"By all the Gods .. Methos dropped his head in his hands.
"What's the big deal?" Joe demanded. "We'll just head over to Mac's and ..
Methos raised his gaze slowly and stared at Joe.
"You haven't told him." Joe realised. "You haven't told him that Richie is alive."
