Author's note: This is much longer than expected... And, may at a later date get more chapters. (Though, knowing me, I'd not hold my breath.) Also, I've not played Assassin's Creed, and I'm not sure where I picked up the quote, but I love it. It was the inspiration for this fic.

The Sum of Memories

"What is a man but the sum of his memories? We are the stories we live! The tales we tell ourselves!"

―Clay Kaczmarek, Assassin's Creed.

Duncan felt the buzzing of an approaching Immortal. It was familiar enough, but also off enough that his instincts couldn't decide whether to relax or prepare for a Challenge.

The Immortal walked into Joe's place like she owned it, helped herself to a drink, and settled herself into Methos' usual spot at the bar.

She looked too young to be drinking, but Joe had noticed Duncan's reaction and didn't say anything.

"Hello, one and all." The greeting was soft and cheerful, an odd mix of cultured British tones and drawling southern belle. The accompanying mischievous grin was so familiar, but again, just off enough that Duncan couldn't place it readily. "Miss me?"

Duncan was still tense and staring, trying to puzzle her out, so it was Joe who answered. "Sorry, are we supposed to know you?"

"You don't recognize me?" The girl's pout was blessedly unfamiliar. But the humor in her eyes.… "It's the hair, isn't it?" she asked, flicking a curling lock back over her shoulder. "Bit longer than I normally wear it. Been thinking about cutting it short again. Keeps getting in the way."

Duncan didn't know what game the girl was playing. And he didn't like the feeling that he was being made fun of. "Who are you and what do you want?" he demanded tersely.

The girl tutted. "Is that any way to speak to a lady?" She winked and smiled – she'd just told a joke and was letting him know that she knew he wouldn't get the punch line.

"If you're looking for a Challenge…"

She cut him off with a disgusted noise. "I'm not here to Challenge you, you great bloody boy scout!"

Duncan froze. The expression, and tone, the tense irritation in her shoulders…. If she weren't a girl, he'd think…. She looked just like….

"Methos?" Joe who had jumped to the conclusion that Duncan simply couldn't.

She rolled her eyes and flipped her hair again. "What gave me away?"

"How did this happen?" Joe asked.

Duncan was too busy staring, dumbfounded.

He catalogued the differences between this girl and Methos – round freckled face instead of thin and angular, wide dark eyes instead of narrow blue-grey.

The hair was still dark, but longer and curled and he (she?) kept touching it and flipping it and running his (her?) hands through it as she (he? This was going to cause a headache, Duncan could already tell.) talked to Joe, telling the story.

He (Methos, damn it!) was still lean and a little on the short side, with barely enough in the way of curves to be feminine.

Most of the gestures and expressions were entirely Methos. Others were decidedly not – the way she leaned toward Joe as she talked, for example. From the outside, it would almost look like flirting, especially when combined with the way she was fidgeting with her hair.

She suddenly glanced his way and her expression softened in a way that was also very much not like Methos. "You're not processing this at all right now, are you?"

Duncan couldn't manage to string together an answer more complex than an inarticulate noise of distress.

"Poor thing," Methos said mockingly. "Perhaps I'd best take him home and put him to bed."

Duncan's innate sense of self-preservation woke, sending off all sorts of alarms at the tone and wording of that sentence. If Amanda had said something like that, in that way….

Methos giggled. (And wasn't that just… disturbing.) "No need to give me that look. Your virtue, such as it is, is safe with me. I'll use your guest room."

Duncan tried to look stern, preparing to refuse. Then Methos looked up at him and… And it was driven home once again that life was just not fair. Methos was manipulative enough without adding in a pair of big pleading brown eyes.

Duncan groaned. "What's wrong with wherever you've been staying?"

Methos winced. "Do you know what happens when someone takes a 5,000 year old Quickening inside a tiny little apartment that's not quite up to code?"

Duncan winced too, remembering the apartment fire that had been in the news earlier in the month. And despite the implication that the girl was not Methos but had instead killed him, Duncan realized that his moral sensibilities would not allow him to let her sleep undefended out on the streets – which she had cleverly implied was the alternative to him offering up his guest room.

"Fine," Duncan sighed, defeated.

He stood and instinctively offered his arm, a gesture which sparked a delighted grin from the girl. She slipped her hand through the loop of his arm before he could think better of it.

"So how did this happen?" Duncan asked as they walked.

"Well, since you're aware enough of your surroundings to pay attention now instead of just staring at my chest…" She grinned up at Duncan who blushed. Because, well yes. He had. Even if he'd also been staring at the rest of her as well.

The girl stared off into the dark and gave a dismissive shrug. "I just… lost my head a little."

Duncan had guessed that. Not that it explained much. "But you're still… you. Mostly. Not whoever this body used to be."

Methos lifted up a hand, looking at it as if he had never seen it before. Duncan had a sudden uncomfortable feeling, wondering what it would be like to find yourself inside an entirely new body.

"Sarah. Or Susan. Something pretty and forgettable." He was silent another moment. "Rachael. That was it."

"So? How are you, you, and not Rachel? I mean, sure you get memories with a Quickening, but I've never heard of one completely supplanting someone's personality."

Methos sighed and shook his head. "Rachael lived down the hall from me. She was pre-Immortal when I went away for the weekend and… less so, when I got back. I figured I'd go have a little chat with her, send her in your direction for training, and be done with my good deed for the century."

"So what went wrong?"

"Someone else had been there first. Don't recognize him from the memories, but he seemed a decent chap. Explained the Game to her, recommended she learn to use a sword, and went on his merry way leaving her head still firmly attached to her shoulders."

Duncan could guess where this was going. "So when you went to see her…"

"Not even a full day later," Methos continued. "She quite understandably panicked. Hadn't had time to learn to defend herself or even get a decent weapon. And she assumed I meant to kill her. She stabbed me in the back with a kitchen knife as soon as I shut the door." She rubbed a spot over her heart as if it ached. "Went clear through. Left it in while she hacked through my neck with a meat cleaver."

Her hand shifted to her neck before she seemed to realize what she was doing and tucked it into her pocket instead.

"The Quickening was… intense. I was dazed. It was almost like a dark Quickening. Not evil, but… powerful. I couldn't sort through all the memories to who I was. I barely made it out of the fire. Headed for holy ground on instinct. And when everything settled, I was still… me. Just in prettier packaging. At a guess, I'd say that my memories overwhelmed hers."

Methos stopped, and Duncan was almost surprised to see they had reached the dojo. He fumbled in his pocket for the keys. They didn't speak on the way up to the apartment, or while he got Methos settled into the guest room.

But later that night, Duncan heard a noise. When he checked on Methos, he found her sitting wide awake in the middle of the bed, knees drawn up and practically drowning in the borrowed night shirt. She quickly wiped her eyes and tried to pretend Duncan hadn't just caught her crying.

Duncan realized suddenly that Methos or not, this girl was very young. If she was older than Richie had been at his first death, it wasn't by much. She looked small, lost, afraid and trying to be brave. It touched every one of his protective instincts.

He was in so much trouble.

"Hot chocolate?"

She gave Duncan a half-hearted smile, but slipped off the bed and followed him into the kitchen.

It was as Methos sat staring into his half-empty mug that Duncan realized what his friend was afraid of. Methos had died many times over the years with the expectation of rising again. He had removed himself from the game and hidden among the Watchers in the hopes of continuing to live in peace. Now, having faced a more permanent kind of death, Methos was waiting for the other shoe to drop – waiting to fade from existence and become Rachael instead of Methos.

Duncan thought that was unlikely at this point. Mostly because he could see aspects of the girl, the stranger, mixed in with aspects of his friend. Either way, as a student or as a friend, it looked like Methos was going to be around for a while.

"You'll need a new identity," Duncan said, breaking the silence. "You can't really keep going by Adam Pierson."

She looked up, smiling a little. "No, I don't suppose I look much like an Adam anymore."

"Do you still have your Ivanhoe, or do you need a new sword?"

Methos flinched at the thought of giving up a blade that had served him for so long, but it had been left behind with his corpse.

"It's gone." She stared at her hands – small and delicate, without the familiar calluses created by millennia of wielding a sword. Instead there were the fading blisters raised by a kitchen knife wielded in terror and desperation. "I'm not even sure what style will best suit now. It's a ballerina's body, not a warrior's."

"We can work with that. In fact, the ballet should help with your flexibility and agility. Not to mention endurance while you're training. I'd suggest you keep up with it. I can recommend a studio nearby."

Methos looked at Duncan suspiciously. "Mac… why are you talking like –"

"Like I'm going to be your teacher?" Duncan grinned, but Methos looked like she'd suddenly found a lemon in her chocolate. "Your new body's not going to have the musculature or muscle memory of your old one. And when's the last time you started from scratch trying to learn a new martial arts style? You've not even been particularly dedicated in practicing what you do know for the last few decades. Face it. You'll need some help. And maybe someone to watch your back while you're relearning how to use a sword."

Methos carefully moved her mug off to the side and let her head drop onto the table with a whine.