Date: Mon, 26 Feb 1996 16:20:46 +0000 Reply-To: Vasna.Zago@COLORADO.EDU Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Vasna.Zago@COLORADO.EDU Subject: A Terrible Beauty 3/4 A Terrible Beauty, Part 3 Duncan climbed the steps to Sean's apartment and knocked on the door. "Come in," answered a muffled voice from inside. "It's open!" "Sean," Duncan began, "you really need to keep your door locked. Someone could just walk in and rob you." O'Grady looked at him with disbelief. "And walk back out, most likely. Who'd want to break in here? I haven't got anything worth taking!" Duncan opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it and shook his head. The old man was incorrigible, Duncan thought. He should know by now that he wasn't about to change. Duncan held out the two bags in his arms. "I brought you a bit of food," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. Sean's face started to darken. "It's just that I'm over here all the time now and I get hungry and I don't want to be eating your food," Duncan said quickly and headed to the kitchen to unpack. He knew very well Sean enjoyed the food he brought, but was too proud to accept any charity. "Well, then," Sean said, "if it's for sharing, I guess it's okay. Did you happen to bring any of those little cookies that are so tasty?" he asked, poking his hand into one of the bags and rooting around. "Try one of these tea biscuits instead," Duncan said, ripping open the box and offering one to Sean, munching one down himself. Making his way to the parlor, he started counting the cats. "Sean! You have three more cats this week than last!" Duncan exclaimed. "I've got a bit more than that," Sean said with a secret smile. "Come over here, laddie, I've got a present for you." Duncan followed him into the bedroom, where Sean pulled a box out from under the bed. The white haired cat Duncan had met on his first visit looked up at them, four grey and white kittens nestled against her warm tummy. Sean picked up one of the wriggling newborns and placed it in the palm of Duncan's hand. "Aren't they amazing, lad?" he said, beaming. Duncan looked at the small ball of fur with wonder. It mewled and struggled on his hand, it's eyes not even open. A slow smile spread across his face as he petted it with a tentative finger. He glanced at the mother cat; she looked back at him and purred, her eyes half closed in what could only be described as a expression of pure bliss. Duncan could have sworn she was smiling at him. "Incredible," he agreed, looking at Sean. "Uh, but you're not giving it to me, are you?" he asked, a feeling of dread building inside. "Of course not," Sean answered disgustedly. "You'd probably take it to the pound, you brute." He scooped the kitten off Duncan's hand and returned it to the mother. Duncan let out a relieved sigh. "All the more reason to stop taking these adult cats in, Sean," he said, looking around for a box. "You can barely afford to feed yourself. I'm taking six of them to the Humane Society. You choose which ones." he said firmly, crossing his arms. "Oh, laddie, don't be so mean," O'Grady wheedled piteously. "Give a poor old man his pleasure." "Six cats is quite enough for anyone in an apartment this small," Duncan responded, trying to not to laugh as O'Grady's face became stubborn. "And don't think you're going to get around me with that fine Irish temper of yours. I've got a Scottish one to match." Sean muttered something under his breath, but then turned to Duncan with a sarcastic bow. "Very well, take any ones you like," O'Grady said. "But leave Maggie!" he hollered as his friend made a beeline for the grey tabby. Duncan threw a mischievous grin at the old man, but picked up some of the more recent additions. He sighed, realizing that this was going to be his fifth trip to the Humane Society this month. Maybe he'd have more luck if he just cleaned all the cats off the streets, he thought wryly, picking up the box of meowing animals and heading for the car. This drive across town was always so interesting, Duncan thought, trying with little success to keep the felines inside the box. It feels like there's a hell of a lot more than three cats crawling around in here, he thought, reaching down and plucking a cat out from underneath the accelerator. He swerved, almost wrecking the thunderbird. It was with no small relief that he pulled into the Humane Society parking lot ten minutes later and turned off the car. Inside the building, he placed the box on the counter, hearing the muffled barking of dogs in the kennels in the back, and coughed to gain the attention of the young woman behind the desk. She turned. "It's you!" she said with a warm smile. "I was wondering when we'd see you again. How many do you have this time?" she asked, going over to the box, her face melting as one of the smaller cats put her front paws on the edge of the box and began to meow plaintively at her. She picked up the cat and nuzzled it. "Just three," Duncan answered. "I think I'm finally beginning to get through to the old man." "Well, don't work too hard at it." "Why's that?" he asked. "Because it would be too bad if you didn't come in anymore," she responded, darting a look at him from beneath her lashes. Understanding slowly dawned in Duncan's face; it rapidly changed to interest. He put on his most charming smile. "Yeah?" "Yeah," she said, looking him straight in the eye. Duncan leaned forward and crossed his arms on the counter. "Well, it would be too bad if you were unhappy," he said. "What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?" ### The phone rang in the middle of the night, startling Duncan awake. He sighed as he turned on the light and reached for the receiver. Why did he bother going to sleep before two o'clock anymore? "Sean?" he said into the phone. There was a short silence. "Hello?" Duncan said. "Mr. MacLeod?" a crisp female voice on the other end asked. "Duncan MacLeod?" "Yes," he replied. "Mr. MacLeod, I'm calling from Community Hospital. Your name is listed as the emergency contact for a Mr. Sean O'Grady." Duncan's stomach started to sink. He clenched a fist. "Is he all right?" "I'm afraid not, Mr. MacLeod. He was brought in this evening suffering from chest pains. He's in intensive care right now. It's going to be touch and go." Duncan had already thrown off the covers and was standing up. "I'll be right there," he said, reaching for his jeans. About fifteen minutes later he strode into the emergency room and walked up to the counter. "Excuse me," he said, interrupting two nurses. "I'm looking for a friend who was brought in earlier. His name's Sean O'Grady." One of the nurses looked at him. "He's up in intensive care," she answered. "Are you a member of the family?" "Sure," Duncan shot back, already half way down the hall. "He's my father." Duncan approached the bed slowly, shocked at how bad his friend looked. O'Grady was so small, he thought, lying in the bed surrounded by tubes and monitors. He looked almost translucent. Duncan pulled up a chair and sat down, preparing for the long vigil. The first rays of the morning sun were just turning the sky a fiery orange when O'Grady opened his eyes and looked at Duncan. The younger man had fallen asleep in the bedside chair. Sean, touched to see his friend, attempted a smile but only ended up coughing. Duncan awoke at the sound and pulled his chair closer. "Hey there, old man," he whispered. "You scared the hell out of me." "Scared myself, laddie," Sean managed. Duncan took the gnarled old hand in his own and blinked. His throat was suddenly tight. "You just work on getting well," he said. "I'll take care of everything else." "I'm not going to get well, Duncan." Sean said, shaking his head and taking a ragged breath. "I don't want to. I'm tired, laddie. I'm tired and I want to see Mary." Duncan shook his head "It's not time for you yet, Sean." "Yes it is," O'Grady said stubbornly. "Promise me something. I want to die at home, Duncan," Sean whispered. "Don't let me die in this godforsaken hospital. Let me go at home, with my own things around me." Duncan bowed his head. "Very well, Sean, I'll arrange it," he said quietly. Two days later, he carried Sean up the steps to his apartment; the elderly man a feather in his arms. As he deposited O'Grady in his favorite chair in the parlor and began to tuck a robe in around his legs, Sean put a grateful hand on his shoulder. "It's a great thing you're doing for me, laddie. Nil aon tinte'n mar do thinte'n f'in," he whispered. "There's no fireplace like your own fireplace." Duncan looked at him and smiled gently. Standing up, he rubbed his hands together and said, "Why don't we have a cup of tea?" Sean nodded, leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, traces of pain fleeting across his face. It only took a few days. Duncan spent the days and nights in the apartment, nursing the old man, catching a little sleep in the chair in the parlor. As he sat and watched Sean sleep, Duncan was torn between the desire to have his friend fight to remain alive and the wish to not prolong his pain. On the morning of the third day, he looked at Sean laying on the bed and crossed the room to sit at his side. O'Grady had been drifting in and out of consciousness for several hours. How frail he was! Duncan thought, as he picked up Sean's hand, holding it tightly. The old man looked so translucent he was almost glowing. Sean moved restlessly in the bed. "Is it you, Mary?" he muttered. "Wait for me, love." He drew a ragged breath and exhaled. Duncan waited for the next breath, but it never came. Tucking the blanket in around his friend, Duncan picked up one of Sean's hands, held it in both of his, bowed his head and waited. ### Sean's eyes snapped open. He drew the other half of the ragged breath that had been the last his mortal body would ever take. Looking to the side, he saw Duncan seated next to the bed, holding one of his hands. "I thought for a minute I died," Sean said in bewilderment. "You did," Duncan said. Sean's head was beginning to clear. He rubbed his chest, thinking how strange it was, but it didn't seem to hurt anymore. As a matter of fact, he thought, with a dawning feeling of wonder, he was beginning to feel pretty good. He sat up and looked at Duncan. "What?" "You died," Duncan said. "Sean, we've got to talk. I know this is going to be hard to believe, but do you remember that story you told me about the man in the Highlands, the one who died and came back to life? Well, it's true. It happened to me and now it's happening to you." Duncan placed a calming hand on the man's arm. "We're immortal, Sean." "Get on with you, lad!" Sean said in disbelief. "That just can't be true." "How do you feel right now?" "Well, to tell the truth, laddie," Sean said, "I feel pretty good. I haven't felt this good in twenty or thirty years. It's uncanny." "Well, if it's not true, then how do you explain how you're feeling?" "Well, I don't know. Maybe I'm dead or something." "Does it feel like you're dead?" Duncan asked gently. Sean patted himself down and looked around the room. He took in Duncan, sitting by his side with a patient smile, the familiarity of his bedroom and the belongings which lay strewn about, and Maggie, who lay purring at the foot of the bed. "I guess it doesn't at that," Sean said, throwing aside the covers and getting up. "I could use a wee drop or two," he said, heading for the parlor where he kept a bottle stashed for emergency and medicinal purposes. If this didn't qualify as both, he thought, he didn't know what did. He glanced at Duncan. "You look as though you could use one yourself, laddie," he smiled as he pulled the cork. A half an hour and quite a few wee drops later, Sean looked at Duncan and smiled. "This is pretty grand, Duncan! Granted, I was all prepared to die, and that would have been fine, but immortality! Who would have dreamed such a thing was possible? I have all the time in the world now to read and study." He cackled gleefully. "So, when does my body start regressing?" "What?" said Duncan. "What do you mean?" "You know," Sean said, indicating Duncan's splendid physique. "When do I start getting younger and stronger?" "You don't," Duncan answered, shaking his head. "Your body will always stay the age it is now. Of course, you can train and get into shape, but you'll always be seventy-nine." "But I thought..." Sean's voice trailed off and he looked disappointed. "I guess I just assumed because you..." "I look this way because I died at this age the first time," Duncan explained. "There are immortals of all ages. I'm not sure I know of one quite as old as you, but I'm sure it's happened before. As a matter of fact, I was checking into it right before you died." Sean's face became suspicious. "What do you mean, before I died? You knew all along this was going to happen to me?" Duncan looked uncomfortable. "Yes, Sean, I did." "Why didn't you tell me, man!" Sean asked, exasperated. "I thought we were friends." "It's not something we talk about before it actually happens," Duncan said, shifting uneasily. "And we are friends. I didn't tell Richie either. It's something you have to experience for yourself." "Richie's an immortal?" Sean said, amazed. "Just how many of us are there? Is the entire world peopled with immortals then?" Duncan smiled and shook his head. "There's quite a few, and you're going to start running into more of them, which brings me to the topic of defense." "Defense?" Sean asked. "Defense from what?" "From other immortals," Duncan answered. "I'm not sure I like the sound of this," Sean said suspiciously. "We have rules, Sean," Duncan said, "and the most important rule is: there can be only one. We fight each other and when we take another immortal's head, we receive all their power. That's the only way we can die." "Take another's head? How?" "With a sword," Duncan answered reluctantly, really beginning to hate this conversation. "We fight, hand to hand, with swords." "Jaysus, Mary and Joseph! What kind of bloody nonsense is this?" Sean yelled, astonished. Duncan winced. "Why is this so hard?" he muttered under his breath. "It was much easier with Richie and Michelle." "Dammit, man, I'm having none of it!" Sean threw down his glass and stomped off to his bedroom, got back into bed and laid down. "The hell with this! I'm dying again," he announced and closed his eyes. Duncan looked at him from the doorway and smiled sadly. "Would that it were that easy, my friend," he said, and waited. After a few minutes, Sean opened an eye and looked at him. "Am I gone yet?" he asked hopefully. "Sean, that isn't going to work," Duncan answered. "I told you, the only way you can die now is for another person to take your head." "Aha!" Sean said triumphantly, sitting up and pointing a finger at Duncan. "Then we're not really immortal, are we?" he asked, smiling as if he had won a great victory. Duncan shook his head, thoroughly confused. "It's a technicality, Sean. What we really need to do now is figure out how to train you for combat." Sean threw the covers aside and got out of bed. "I'm having none of it, lad. I will not fight." "You have to!" Duncan said, exasperated. "People will come for you! Are you just going to let them have your head?" O'Grady looked at him carefully and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure I believe all of this. Surely not every immortal pounces on another one so quick. If what you're saying is true, then why haven't you lopped my head off?" Duncan shook his head and rolled his eyes, struck into speechlessness by the old man's logic. "Look, laddie, I'm sure you want to help and have my best interests at heart and all that, but look at me! I'm an old man! I don't think I could even lift a sword, much less whirl one about with any speed or precision. It's just not for me." He patted Duncan's shoulder reassuringly. "Besides, I'm sure you're exaggerating a bit. You young people nowadays are so violent." Sean moved into the parlor, pulled a well-loved copy of "The Book of the Dun Cow" off the shelves, sat down and began to read. Duncan stood and looked at him for a moment before throwing up his hands in exasperation and slamming out the front door. ### "What are you going to do, Mac?" Richie asked, pulling a bottle of mineral water out of Duncan's refrigerator. "I mean, you can't just let this helpless old guy get chopped up by the first immortal who runs into him." "Don't you think I know that?" Duncan asked forcefully. He stopped and sighed. "Sorry, Richie, I didn't mean to snap at you, I'm just frustrated. I can't seem to get through to him. He's so giddy at having all the time in the world to read that he's not paying any attention to anything I'm saying." "Well, I can kind of see his point," Richie said. "I mean, he's probably feeling better than he has in years. Being re-born is an amazing thing, and to add eternity on to it, well, it's pretty heady stuff. Besides, if he's as stubborn as another Celtic guy I know, you don't stand a chance." Duncan stared disgustedly at Richie, who grinned, vastly amused at his little joke. "So what are you suggesting?" Duncan asked calmly. "Well, Mac, I hate to say it, but you always told me to defend helpless people." Richie paused. "He's pretty helpless right now." Duncan glared at him. "That's not exactly what I wanted to hear." Richie shrugged. "Just telling it like it is." "Thanks a lot," Duncan said sarcastically. "My pleasure, Mac," Richie smiled, draining the rest of the mineral water and heading for the elevator. "Let me know if you need any help," he said, tossing the empty bottle to his friend before pulling the door shut. Duncan caught it, put his head in his hands and sighed. ### "Have you thought anymore about what I said?" Duncan asked two days later, as he poured a glass of wine for Sean. "Said about what, laddie?" Sean parried, humming to himself and dishing salad onto two plates. "Let's not start this again," Duncan sighed. He put down the bottle and looked directly at O'Grady. "Are you going to learn to defend yourself or not?" Sean looked back at him, astonished. "I told you, I will not!" "I don't want to see you die twice, Sean," Duncan said softly. "You're like my own father." "Ach, that's nice of you to say," Sean answered. "Did you get along well with him, then?" Duncan smiled sorrowfully and shook his head. "He wasn't my real father, you know," he said and stopped suddenly, looking at Sean. "Uh, you do know that your father really wasn't Patrick O'Grady, don't you?" he asked hesitantly. "Of course I do!" Sean answered. "But, laddie, it made no never mind to us; we loved each other just as much as if we were of the same blood. And you?" he asked, eyeing Duncan carefully. "Did you and your Da care about each other?" "We did until I died, Duncan said softly. "He couldn't handle what I was and banished me." There was a small pause. Sean slipped his hand onto the younger man's shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze. "That's why I'm so glad to have met you," Duncan continued quietly, smiling at Sean and taking a sip of his wine. "It's like I've been given another chance. I don't want to lose you too! Why won't you listen to me?" O'Grady put the salad bowl down on the counter and looked directly at his friend. "Would you have me go against my principles, man?" he asked forcefully. "I would never ask the same of you." Duncan fell silent, not meeting his eyes. "And, besides, there have been plenty of immortals who don't fight and yet they've lived to a ripe old age," Sean continued. "There was that young man you were telling me about, what was his name?" "Kenny," Duncan said disgustedly. "His name's Kenny and he's a deceitful little son of a bitch. You're not like that, Sean." "Just the same, he's been around for hundreds of years. Why shouldn't I have the same chance?" Duncan looked at Sean thoughtfully. "If you won't learn to defend yourself, you'll have to move to holy ground," he said. "That's the only way you'll be safe." Sean looked at Duncan and shook his head. "I'm not moving from my home, lad! Not for anything." "Even your life?" Duncan asked pointedly. Sean met Duncan's gaze evenly. "Not even for that," he said firmly. "I'm lucky; I've been given a second chance. If it turns out to be a long or short run makes no difference to me. Ach, laddie, there are worse things than death. Running around living in fear is one of them, wondering when the ax will fall." "None of us know how long we have," Duncan said, shaking his head. "It's kind of hard not to lose your nerve after centuries of looking over your shoulder." "None of us know how long we have?" Sean repeated, looking at him with astonishment. "Why then, that makes us just like mortals, doesn't it?" Sean asked pointedly. Duncan fell silent, struck by the truth of the words. After dinner, as Duncan stepped into the alley, he felt his senses heighten and knew another immortal was in the area. He slipped into a doorway and waited. A young man strolled into view. He had long blond hair which lay loose around his shoulders, and was dressed in torn jeans and a t-shirt. His gray canvas trench coat fluttered around his legs as he walked. Duncan stepped out of the doorway. The young man stopped, pulled his sword and looked at him. "Hey, I haven't come for you," he said. "Back off." "If you've come for the old man, you've come for me," Duncan said, a grim smile that didn't quite reach his eyes appearing on his face. "Can you believe that old guy?" the young kid asked, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Talk about easy pickings! I can understand you wanting him for yourself, but, hey, I saw him first." "You don't get it, do you?" said Duncan, pulling out his katana. "The only easy pickings around here is you. I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, and you should prepare to die." The young man charged Duncan, hacking wildly with his sword, while Duncan easily stepped aside and averted the blows. The other immortal stopped and turned, preparing for another run. Instead of letting him, Duncan advanced aggressively, driving him into the corner of the alley, raining blows upon the young man's sword, as he tried desperately to counter the attack. The other immortal's face turned from bravado to terror as he realized how skillful his opponent was. In a few minutes, Duncan had him pinned to the wall, his katana at the young man's neck. "What's your name, kid?" he whispered. "M-Michael," the young man stammered. "Michael Anderson." "Well, Michael Anderson," Duncan said. "This is your lucky day. I'm going to throw you back into the pond. And if I ever fish you out again, your head is mine! Stay away from the old man," he finished and let his sword drop. The young man ran down the alley and disappeared around the corner. Duncan sighed and leaned against the concrete wall, shaking his head. His worst nightmare had just come true. End of Part 3 ========================================================================