...And The Horse I Rode In On

Why am I even bothering to do this? He won't thank me. I get on a plane and come halfway around the world just because I think he's going to need me. I'm going senile at last. Now there's a pleasant thought.

Last chance to turn back. I can't feel him yet. Just turn around and go home. Give him the news by phone. That's more than adequate.

Nope. Too late. There he is. Have to knock on the damn door now. Show time.

"Candygram."

He's bigger than I remember. Immortals have always run large, for which I am profoundly grateful. (Can you imagine surviving as long as I have while physically being the size of my mortal contemporaries? I'd never have managed a long sword.) But he's more impressive than most. Presence. Of all kinds. Trust me. I know it when I see it.

"Taking up origami?" Anything to delay the inevitable.

"No. I'm just renovating an old house."

"Yeah, it's good to keep busy." Like running off to play emotional rescuer to a stubborn Scot. Hey, everybody needs a hobby.

"So, what brings a 5,000 year-old man to me?"

Someday I'll tell you. But for now...."Kristin's in town."

Very good, MacLeod. Most wouldn't think you even cared. But that casual facade doesn't fool me. And I know just how to break it down.

"You've got a friend, Richie Ryan. He met Kristin yesterday morning."

"He didn't tell me that."

"Maybe he hasn't got out of bed yet."

Ah, the energy of youth! Wait another millennia or two, MacLeod. Eventually you'll have tried everything at least three times. Once to see if you like it. Twice to be sure. Centuries later you'll try it a third time just to see if it can still give you a thrill. Usually it doesn't. Enjoy the thrills while they last.

Oh, goody. A field trip. As if words are going to stop Kristin.

Look at her. She's eating this up. Now she's got Richie *and* you dancing to her tune. I'm going to have to try shock tactics on you, Duncan MacLeod.

"Round one to Kristin."

Well, at least he's practicing. Pity he won't go after her. It'd save us all a lot of time. Let's see if we can get some sense into that Scottish skull.

"MacLeod-san. That katana's a lovely piece of art. May I?"

What, don't you trust me, Highlander? Glad to see you've got *some* sense. Just not enough.

"I washed my hands this morning."

He hands over the blade with a graceful gesture. Of course, he's graceful just standing still. I wonder. Did someone teach him that or was it inbred? A bit of both, I expect. I just hope I don't have Kristin to thank.

The hilt's still warm from his hands. I let the heat seep into me as I listen to the blade's siren song. But I am the master, not the steel. Those who fail to learn that lose their heads early.

"Ah, quite a blade."

Still, it's a heady feeling to hold such a sword. I can't help but chuckle as I bring it across his throat.

Surprised, Duncan? What's that they say about old age and treachery? I back him up to the wall.

"Not funny, Methos." He thinks a little indignation might work on me. Think again.

"Not meant to be. Not only are you naive but now you are weaponless. How have you lived this long? Do you know how many Immortals she's killed? Do you want a list?"

I don't want to add you to that list, MacLeod. Adam Pierson would log you in his records without a second thought. But Methos....Methos would mourn. And I have mourned too many.

"All right. You made your point."

"Have I?" I slide the blade up, forcing his back straight against the wall. "One day she is going to kill you."

"She's tried already," he growls.

I hold his eyes as I keep the sword at his throat. "You're better with a blade than her, yes. You are stronger than her, *yes*. But if you keep letting her walk away, one day she gets lucky and takes your head. *Yes*." I'm talking self-defense here. Why won't you listen?

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe she'll stop to gloat like you."

I'm not braced. I wind up on the floor, hard.

"You want to play." He pulls another sword from the wall across the room.

"Great. You knock me on my...bum because I make a bad joke. Very macho." We begin the moves, circling one another. I can feel my blood stir. It's been so long since I sparred with another Immortal. "But you keep letting her walk away without even taking a shot. That is very suicidal."

"You know what she was to me!"

"Yes! And I know what she is. A killer. You treat her like one." Does he think he's the only one who's had to face a lover? It's never easy. But sometimes you can't avoid it.

I feel the impact of steel on steel all the way to my bones. Muscles stretch to their limits. There's nothing like this feeling. He's good. I've still got some moves but I haven't been up against it in a long time. He's fresh and young and sharp. I wind up on my knees in front of him, leaning on the katana.

"Whew! Ahhh, I gotta practice more. New guys come, with new moves."

"It's called progress."

I gasp, as the blade at my neck runs along my throat, revealing it's razor edge.

I throw my head back, recklessly offering my neck to him. It's the most vulnerable position an Immortal can be in. I meet his eyes, no fear in mine. "Well then get with it before Kristin kills you and your friend."

It's a long moment before the approach of an Immortal breaks our gaze. We turn as one toward the door. A fair young man is paused there. Ah, Richie Ryan, I presume.

"Hello. I take it this is not for real?" He sounds hesitant, as well he should The tension is palpable.

"God forbid." He and I go way back. Surely He could do this one favor for me?

I introduce myself as Adam Pierson. No use telling everyone. Besides, it tends to get in the way of getting to know people. What *do* you say to a legend?

MacLeod walks away with Ryan as the younger man begins telling us about Kristin. This isn't going to be fun. Unconsciously, my hand goes to my neck and I begin to rub the thin line left by Duncan's blade.

No, it isn't fun. Richie stomps around the kitchen and appeals to me for sympathy. "Don't you get sick of him being older and wiser all the time?"

Um...."Yeah, I can see that that could get a bit annoying." I catch MacLeod's eye and he almost chokes keeping his reply unspoken. Hey, you won't listen to my advice. Why do you expect him to listen to yours?

"Richie, I want you to trust me."

Ah, Duncan. That's the hardest thing in this world. It's even harder for Immortals.

Richie leaves and we can hear his bike on the street below. "He's not listening to me."

"How could he? She's got him tingling in places he didn't even know he had." Remember sex, Duncan? It makes fools of us all. Some of us even die because of it.

How did I end up discussing children with Duncan MacLeod? We're 'keeping busy', working on the house. He sounds angry and confused and bewildered all at once. I'm going to play older and wiser, no matter how annoying it might be.

"If she'd been a man she'd have been dead 350 years ago." I walk over to the supplies and pick up another tool. He's trying to ignore me. Speaking of acting like a child....

"A couple of medieval songwriters come up with the idea of chivalry one rainy day --"

"This isn't about chivalry."

Don't stop me. I'm on a roll.

"-- and you embrace it as a lifestyle. You live and die by a code of honor that was *trendy* when you were a kid."

I've seen the trends come and go, Highlander. In the end, they mean nothing. They become dust, just like those who follow the trends.

"Would you rather that I had no code of honor at all?" A plaintive question. He can't imagine life without a code. Oh, Duncan. You are so young. Honor isn't for our kind.

"I would rather you survived. You put that first." He's unconvinced. "Look at me, MacLeod." I stare at him until his eyes meet mine. "I didn't last 5000 years by worrying about anyone but myself."

He looks at me, expressionless. "Really." He allows just the hint of a smile. "Could've fooled me."

Before I realize what he intends, he lifts the paintbrush in his hand and swipes it across my nose. I stand there paralyzed. I haven't been teased in so long I almost can't remember how to react. He turns to his work again. Now I can see the real smile.

"Round two to Kristin."

They glare at me.

"You *dump* her and then you turn your back on her? Talk about the blind leading the visually challenged." MacLeod, what have you been teaching the boy? I thought you had a rep as a lady's man.

Did I think that was a glare before? I must have been mistaken. *This* is a glare.

Richie heads for Maria's. MacLeod follows him to the door. "Where are you going?"

"Kristin's. Coming?"

What, you think I left Paris for my health?

I lurk in the shadows, a twist on my Watcher persona.

He has no patience for her wiles. I can see him see through her at last. I hear him call her a monster. He's looking to the pool...what?

Louise Barton. Maria.

I reach the pool a step behind him. We drag her limp body out of the water. After tense seconds she begins to breathe again. He leaves her to my care as he heads out after Kristin.

Maria will be fine. Duncan needs me now.

He doesn't kill her. That damn code. It's noble as hell but I'm not going to let it kill him. I'll take her head myself.

He feels my approach but doesn't turn. He knows this is the only way. It must be done. He won't stop me.

She's not a challenge. It's over soon. I make it quick. For his sake, not hers. Finally, he turns around. He looks only at me as the Quickening begins, ignoring the body at my feet.

"Someone had to." It's the only comfort I can give him. The lightning takes me as he turns back and walks away.

Richie and I pass uneasily. I'm not really worried about him. He's very young and chivalry isn't his god. The Highlander, on the other hand....

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"That's who I am."

"I guess someone has to be." I scoff a little. It helps hide my envy. He still has roots, a heritage he can hold onto. No one remembers mine. Sometimes even I don't. It's like a dream that fades with morning. I remake myself with each new day.

"'....I will not avoid danger.'"

"Death before dishonor." I settle myself comfortably into his couch.

"For some of us."

Humph. And what am I? Chopped liver?

Sitting in the chair across from me, he holds up the paint samples. "What do you think?"

What, I fix up your love life and now you expect me to fix up your house?

I shrug and turn back to my beer. "Get someone in."

the end
7 January 1997