Disclaimer-- Duncan MacLeod, Methos, Joe Dawson, and all such wonderful characters certainly do NOT belong to me. They merely show up in my life now and again and whisper stories in my ear. Especially Methos, he loves to get me into situations of obsession that I then have to "write my way out of". I think it amuses him. But, so as to avoid any legal banter, these characters belong to people with LOTS more money and LOTS more lawyers than me (seeing as I am a poor grad student). Any other characters belong to amin (I) or are people of myth (Pan). So bravo to Davis & Panzer and on with the story!
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Chapter 5 -- A Madness Barely Contained
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No one saw Methos for days. Nadya kept Ertia in her home, leaving the docile child with Mac when she went to work. Ertia did not speak again but listened to and watched Nadya intently, almost as though she were studying her.
Having been informed of the situation, Joe had people working around the clock trying to find an 8-year-old Immortal child, true age unknown, in the Watcher records. All that turned up was a brief sighting in ancient Greece, specifically Arcadia, of a child running from a grove with blood on her tunic. The description sounded a lot like Ertia but it was still uncertain as nothing had ever been seen or heard of that child since.
So Ertia lingered on in her silence, giving no explanation for herself nor for Methos' seemingly short-term madness. In fact, most of the time, she was like a life-sized Annette Himstedt doll, so still and silent was she. Her constant companion was the Peter Pan storybook. She would stare at it for hours on end, always open to the same gilded page.
"Mac, will you watch her? I'm worried about Methos; I'm going to check on him." Nadya requested, setting her small charge on the couch with her book one afternoon.
"Sure!" MacLeod settled next to the silent child, who barely seemed to notice him or Nadya, her steady gaze on the book.
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Knock-knock!
No answer.
Trying the door, Nadya found it unlocked. "Strange. It's not like Methos to leave his door open."
As she careful swung the door in, she heard a clank behind it. Stepping into the flat and shutting the door, she saw that Methos' Ivanhoe laid haphazardly behind the door, of no use to its owner should an enemy appear. And that worried her.
The entire flat was silent, even the air was still. Nadya made sure to lock the door behind her.
"Hello? Methos?"
Murmurs wafted to her ears from the bedroom. It seemed to be a conversation but the voice was the same.
—"What is it?"
—"Maybe you forgot."
—"How could I forget her?"
—"Have to find it! Must make it stop!"
Nadya stepped silently into the bedroom doorway. The room was strewn with papers and books and files, the bed in shambles as though deserted for being unsuccessful in its job. And there, in a corner, poring over some papers, was Methos, muttering incoherently to himself.
"Methos!" She could hear the concern in her own voice.
"Do I really look that bad?" It was more of rhetoric than interrogative.
Suddenly, he hurled the papers away from him! They caught the air and flipped back, snapping in different directions, finally landing on the floor.
"It's not here!"
The ancient then dropped his head into his hands, his whole body reflecting despair.
Methos was a disheveled mess. He was unshaven, hair sticking out at weird angles. He wore a rumpled gray t-shirt and black sweats, his feet bare on the island of carpet.
Heedless of the sea of paper, Nadya strode to him quickly, dropping to her knees. Reaching out, she cupped his face in her hands and raised his bowed head.
"Methos…?" Her breath caught in her throat once more as she looked at the face before her. The old man was haggard, his face drawn. His eyes were red and circled in black, evidence that he had not slept in a very, very long time.
Nadya ran her thumb over his jawline, rough with the stubble of dark facial hair that was prevalent. He looked…older, if that were possible. Much older.
"Methos, what's wrong? Please, tell me."
All he said was, "I don't remember."
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"Here, drink this. All of it!" Nadya felt like she was coercing a child to take his medicine. "Careful, it's hot."
The mug-full of steaming black liquid posed no quarrel to Methos, however, who immediately guzzled the burning coffee.
Nadya flinched as she thought of what the boiling stuff must have done to the sensitive skin of his throat. Then she reminded herself, "He's Immortal; he will heal."
The mug plunked down so hard it almost broke; it was as if he had not the strength merely to hold it.
Nadya picked up the mug, wiping the remains of the coffee that had splashed onto his hand and wrist. "Methos, you're going to go mad if you continue like this," she spoke softly, like velvet, as though to a small boy.
Methos still said nothing. His eyes were empty and worn. It was as though there was nothing behind them, like he was merely a shell, a husk with the essence burnt out.
"I don't remember…" he murmured again.
Nadya sat quietly. "What, Methos?"
His mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times before he turned to her. Liquid shimmered in those tired, red eyes. "Nadya, I…I fear I may have done something…something I don't remember. Something to…what do you call her…Ertia."
She didn't know what to say; she just sat there. Ertia?
But Methos was speaking again. "I don't know what…I don't know why…but I'm afraid I did."
Nadya bit her lip. "Maybe Joe can…"
"No! Joe's tried! There's nothing in the files! Nothing!" Methos leapt up, knocking the wooden coffee table over. It must have just ignited his frustration because he kicked it as hard as he could!
Nadya heard the sickening breaking of bones as Methos fell back onto the couch; she knew his toes were broken. But he said nothing. He just sat there, head back, eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Nadya stood silently and picked up the coffee-table, setting it upright again. She then set up about cleaning up the apartment. Methos just needed time to think…his toes time to heal.
"Nadya, what are you doing?" his voice came finally.
"Just cleaning up a little. You can't live like this," she murmured. She then noticed that the sink was completely empty, squeaky clean. "Methos, have you been eating?"
No answer.
"Methos! You can't do this!" Nadya moved back over to the couch, sitting next to him. "What are you trying to do? Starve yourself to death?"
Methos looked at her then and the look in his eyes scared her. It was as if he had snapped and anger controlled him. "Leave."
She was dumbstruck. "Wha—what?"
"I said leave, Nadya! You can't help me! Just leave!"
She bit her lip. "Methos, you don't mean…."
"GET OUT OF HERE!!!" he bellowed and loomed over her, his hand raised. But he stopped…just barely. She had never seen 'Death' but now she was sure he stood over her.
For the first time, she was frightened…frightened of Methos. She saw his hand, shaking, still raised.
"Leave." His voice was low, measured.
Trying to hold back frightened tears, Nadya got up and fled the apartment, the door banging behind her.