Date:         Mon, 26 Feb 1996 16:21:00 +0000
Reply-To:     Vasna.Zago@COLORADO.EDU
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Vasna.Zago@COLORADO.EDU
Subject:      A Terrible Beauty 4/4

A Terrible Beauty, Part 4

     "MacLeod, you look terrible," Dawson said as he poured him a hefty
shot of Glenfiddich.  "What's going on?  Anything I can do to help?"
     Duncan sat at the bar and shook his head.  His eyes were red from lack
of sleep and they stung.  "It's  O'Grady," he said, rubbing his face.  "Two
weeks ago I chased some punk immortal off his doorstep and I've been
watching him ever since.  I guess I haven't been getting much sleep."
     "Let me give you a hint about Watching," Joe said, leaning forward
across the bar.  "It's much more restful if you do it in shifts."
     Duncan looked at him.  "Very funny, Dawson."
     "I'm serious, MacLeod," Joe continued.  "You can't watch his back and
yours at the same time.  Something's got to give."  Dawson paused and
looked at his friend.  "And, at this rate, it just might be you."
     Duncan threw back the rest of the single malt and got to his feet.
"Thanks for the drink, Joe," he said.  "I have to go.  Night shift's coming
on."
     "Hey MacLeod," Dawson called as Duncan headed for the door.  "Watch
your back."  Duncan smiled thinly, raised a hand in farewell and slipped
out into the night.
     As he rounded the corner toward his car, he felt that familiar
prickling sensation that signaled another immortal and his stomach began to
sink.  He really wasn't up for this right now.  He glanced around as a
middle aged man came into view.  Duncan's heart sank even further.  Brian
Kearney.  Damn.  The man was good, Duncan thought with a sigh.  Swords
appeared as the immortals approached each other in the alley.
     "MacLeod!" Kearney said with enthusiasm.  "I'm so glad to have this
little opportunity to renew our acquaintance." He swept his sword down
gracefully and bowed.
     "Don't get your hopes up," Duncan said.  "It won't be for long."
     "Yes, it will be unfortunate when I kill you," Kearney shrugged.
"But, ce la vie!"  He assumed a fighting stance.  "En guarde, MacLeod."
His sword flicked up and met Duncan's for the opening parry.  He was good,
Duncan thought, as he returned the strokes.  In the past few decades, since
that aborted fight in San Francisco, Kearney had gotten faster and learned
a few tricks.  Duncan shook his head, trying to clear his mind.  He was
going to be in trouble soon if he didn't start to pay attention.  It would
have helped if he had gotten some sleep last night.
     Kearney lunged and his blade sliced into Duncan's arm.  Duncan yelped
with pain; an evil smile crept across his opponent's face.  Duncan renewed
his attack but somehow found himself in the corner of the alley.  He barely
had enough room to maneuver.  Kearney's blade flashed out again and before
Duncan knew what was happening, he was on the ground with Kearney's sword
at his throat.  His foot was firmly planted on Duncan's sword arm,
prohibiting any movement.
     "I'm sorry our reunion was so short," Kearney whispered, bending over
Duncan and sweeping his sword back for the final blow.
     Duncan looked around frantically, trying to find something to fight
with, a length of lead pipe, a board, anything.  He scrambled to reach a
brick that was lying in the rubble.
     Suddenly, a door opposite them slammed open and a light came on,
bathing the darkened alley in a bright glow.  "What the hell is going on
back here?" a man thundered, charging out through the door and confronting
the two immortals.  Kearney straightened up and quickly tucked his sword
away.  MacLeod threw back his head and silently thanked whatever God was
listening for his good friend Joseph Dawson.
     "We'll meet again, Highlander," Kearney hissed before running down the
alley.  Duncan tossed the departing immortal a weary salute as he struggled
to his feet.
     Joe walked over to where his friend was leaning against the wall,
catching his breath.  "Thanks, Dawson," Duncan said.  "You just saved my
neck."
     "My pleasure, MacLeod," Joe answered.  "But I'm not sure I would have
had to if you hadn't been protecting O'Grady with such determination.
Something's got to give."
     "I know," Duncan said.
     "I just don't want it to be you, MacLeod," Joe finished, smiling sadly
and slapping him on the back.  "Plus, I think I just broke the rules again.
 I'm losing track of how many times I've done that for you."
     "Try not to think about it, Joe, it'll just drive you nuts," Duncan
said, straightening his coat and walking off down the alley to his car.
     "I don't think I can count that high, anyway," Joe muttered to himself
as he went back into the bar and turned off the lights.


###


     Duncan crossed the quad, wending his way through the throngs of
milling students as he made his way to the cafeteria.  He glanced at his
watch.  He'd pick up a quick cup of coffee before heading to the library.
There seemed to be a  lot of people at the fountain today, he noted,
looking around.  A cluster of people and raised voices attracted his
attention.  Bright television lights stabbed the area.  Must be some kind
of protest, Duncan thought, inching forward for a closer look.
     Indeed, a group of students were having a confrontation with several
policeman.  Several university officials were standing off to the side,
unwilling to get involved but obviously interested in the outcome.
     As Duncan got closer, he saw that the students were forming a
protective ring around an elderly man, who was sitting on the ground, his
face grimly determined.  One of the students was yelling at a police
officer.  Upon closer inspection, Duncan realized with a shock that the old
man was Sean O'Grady.  He almost turned and ran, but stopped for a moment,
reconsidering, before sighing and beginning to push through the crowd.
     O'Grady spotted Duncan and got to his feet, a pleased expression
clearing the scowl from his face.  "Duncan!" he said loudly.  "Have you
come to join the fray?"
     "What the hell is going on here?" Duncan whispered, pulling Sean to
one side.
     "Well, now, I'm just trying to raise some money for a good cause,"
O'Grady said, indicating a nearby placard.  'Please Help a Starving Old
Man, Retired University Professor' the sign declared in bold letters.  An
upturned hat lay on the ground nearby, a few bills occupying it's depths.
     Duncan groaned.  "What exactly are you wearing?" he said, looking at
the tattered clothing O'Grady had on.  He hadn't seen some of those items
for months.
     "Um, just trying to make a point, don't you know." the old man
answered weakly.  "It helps if the look matches the request," he finished,
darting a sidelong glance at his friend to see how this news was being
absorbed.
     Duncan rolled his eyes.  "This is really the end, Sean," he said,
shaking his head.  One of the policeman pushed through the crowd and
addressed Duncan.
     "Are you responsible for this gentleman?" he asked.
     "No!" hissed Duncan, vehemently
     "Yes!" said Sean, with glee.  They looked at each other and Duncan
sighed and shook his head.  He'd created a monster, he thought ruefully;
call me Frankenstein.  Why hadn't he run when he had the chance?
     "Hey," a nearby student said.  "Stop harassing this guy.  He's got
every right to his freedom of speech."
     "Every right!" Sean nodded firmly, looking up at the policeman.
     "Not if you continue to disturb the peace," the officer said calmly.
"Look, the University won't press any charges if you'll just move along and
promise not to do this anymore."  He turned to the crowd of students, who
were starting to hiss.  "Let's break it up people.  Move along; go to
class."
     Duncan folded his arms and looked at Sean.  "How long has this been
going on?"
     "Uh, I've just been here an hour or so," was the quick reply.
     "I meant, how many days?" Duncan persevered, rising to his full height
to tower sternly over the old man.
     "Oh, that.  Not long, laddie," Sean said, looking down and sweeping
the ground with his foot.  "Just a day or two?" he guessed, looking at
Duncan hopefully.
     "Try a week and a half," the policeman said wearily.  "Look, Mr.
O'Grady, the University has been very generous so far but you're causing
them an embarrassment."
     "And well they should be embarrassed!" Sean said emphatically, nodding
his head.  "A dog couldn't live on the pension they provide.  Do you know
how much money I made today?" he asked, scooping the bills up.  Just then,
a young woman deposited a dollar in the hat, so Sean added that to his pile
and began to count.  "Thanks, lassie," he said, nodding in her direction.
"You've made a starving old man very happy."  She smiled at him warmly.
     The policeman and Duncan looked at each other, rolling their eyes
simultaneously.  Duncan tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow at the old
man, waiting while he leafed through the bills.
     "I made twenty five dollars!  In just a few hours!" Sean crowed.  "I
should have been out here years ago!"
     "I thought you said you've only been out here an hour?" Duncan demanded.
     "Er, well, laddie, time flies, you know...." Sean began lamely.  The
policeman shook his head and tried not to smile.
     "That's it," Duncan said, grabbing Sean's arm.  "Say thank you to the
nice policeman.  We're leaving."
     O'Grady bent down, snatched his hat up off the ground and tipped it
the direction of the officer as Duncan dragged him away.
     "Ow! Let go of my arm," Sean said, struggling against Duncan's grip.
"You're going to break it!"
     "If I do, it'll heal a lot faster than what I'm going to do to your
neck," Duncan hissed fiercely.
     A few minutes later they were securely ensconced in Duncan's office in
the Art Building.  Duncan locked the door and turned to look at Sean, who
was busy perusing the piles of books on the shelves.  Duncan made a lunge
for the old man, hands outstretched, but managed to stop himself and let
out an aggravated groan instead.  Sean looked at him in surprise.
     "Whatever's wrong, laddie?"
     "You are driving me crazy!" Duncan hollered.
     "Certainly you exaggerate," Sean said, smiling and replacing the book
on the shelf.  "How could a poor old man like myself drive a big strapping
lad like you around the bend?" He sat down in Duncan's leather chair and
began to thumb through the piles of papers on the desk.
     Duncan took a deep breath and collected himself.  "Sean, what were you
doing out there today?" he asked in a gentle voice.  "If you needed some
money, why didn't you just ask?"
     Sean stopped digging through the papers and looked at Duncan sadly.
"I know I've been a trial to you, son," he said.  Duncan was struck with
the softness in the old man's voice.  "I just thought if I could get a
little money together that I could go back to the old sod, you know?  I'd
like to buy a little stone cottage like the one I was born in, read and
smell the turf fire and listen to the curlews crying to the ships at sea."

     O'Grady looked down at his feet and fell silent while Duncan looked at
him, seeing him, it seemed, for the first time.  A little Irish man,
seeking nothing more than a hearth and a place for his pipe amidst the
rugged splendor of that blessed isle.  O'Grady recited softly:
          "'I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
          And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
          Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
          And live alone in the bee-loud glade.'"
     Sean looked up at Duncan.  "That's all I want, lad.  Will you help me
to get it?"
     Duncan took another deep breath, crossed his arms and leaned against
the door.  "We'll see," he began, a smile creeping across his face.
     The phone rang, cutting into his thoughts.  Duncan leaned across the
desk and lifted the receiver.  "Hello?" he said.
     "Professor MacLeod?  Please hold for Chancellor Bainbridge."
     "Professor MacLeod!" a cheerful voice at the other end of the phone
greeted him.  "I'm glad to find you in."
     "Who is it?" Sean whispered.
     Duncan put a hand over the receiver and mouthed 'Chancellor
Bainbridge.'  Sean rolled his eyes.
     "What can I do for you, Chancellor?" Duncan asked.
     "I understand you were involved in that little altercation out by the
fountain this afternoon?"
     "And how do you know that?"
     "Oh, one of the Deans happened to be passing by at the time and
thought he saw you with Professor O'Grady.  Is that true?" the Chancellor
said smoothly.
     "You mean Dean Reynolds, who happened to be passing by for about 20
minutes?" Duncan said sarcastically.  "I noticed that not a single
administrator was willing to admit he knew a harmless old man."
     "Now, Professor," Bainbridge said.  "Let's not get unpleasant about
this.  I merely called to see if you would come over to talk about the
situation.  Naturally, we want to explicate matters to the benefit of
everyone involved."
     "Naturally," Duncan said.
     "And, if you know Dr.  O'Grady and have an interest in his affairs,
then you are the logical candidate for the job, wouldn't you agree?"
     "I think Dr.  O'Grady is quite capable of handling his own affairs,"
Duncan parried.
     "After his display this afternoon, I'm not so sure," the Chancellor
replied.  "Let's be reasonable about this; let's talk.  What do you say,
MacLeod?"
     Duncan sighed.  "What time?" he asked.
     "Actually, I have a few minutes right now.  I think it would be in all
our interests to clear up this matter as soon as possible."
     "I'm on my way," Duncan responded and hung up the phone.  "You," he
said, pointing a finger at Sean, "will stay here until I get back."
     "Right you are," answered the old man.  "I'm just going to pop out for
a cup of tea, though, and come back directly."
     "NO!" yelled Duncan.  "Look, Sean," he pleaded, "this will only take a
few minutes.  Please just stay here until I get back.  Here," he said,
pulling a book off the shelf and thrusting it into O'Grady's hands.  "For
once in your life please do as I ask and just stay here."
     Sean winked at Duncan, settled back and opened the book.  "I was only
joshing you, laddie," he said with a grin.  Duncan shook his head and
headed out the door.
     As he ran up the steps to the Administrative Building, Duncan gathered
his thoughts.  If he played his cards right, maybe he could get the
University to shell out some money to fund Sean's trip to Ireland.  That
would take care of two problems.  Sort of an appeasement grant, he smiled
to himself.
     Chancellor Bainbridge greeted Duncan at the door to his office.
"Pleased to finally meet you in person," he said, extending a hand.  "Thank
you for taking the time to stop by on such short notice," he finished,
indicating a chair.
     "Let's cut to the chase," Duncan said, sitting down and folding his
arms.  "Are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?"
     The Chancellor blinked.  "Exactly what did you have in mind, Professor
MacLeod?"
     "You give the old man $25,000.  I'll convince him that the University
is honoring his lifelong work in mythology with a special grant and that he
needs to stop begging on campus."
     "That's it?"
     "That's it," Duncan said.  "What do you say?"
     "Well, those conditions sound remarkably like extortion," Bainbridge
smiled coolly.
     "That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" Duncan replied.
     "Just what I was thinking of your proposal," the Chancellor said.
There was a small pause.  "You are enjoying your tenure here as a visiting
professor, aren't you, Mr. MacLeod?"
     "What do you mean by that?" Duncan asked, suddenly angry.
     "Nothing personal, I'm sure.  I just think that a good friend such as
yourself would be best able to point out to Dr. O'Grady the hazards of
continuing on his present course of behavior.  And it would be too bad if
your relationship with an emotionally unstable and aging man caused any
dispersions to be cast on your character, influencing our decision on your
rehire next year.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe you have a
reputation in the community that bears watching?"  There was another pause.

     "Look Chancellor," Duncan began.  "You can't threaten me with loss of
tenure.  I have several successful businesses outside of this University.
I only teach here for my own amusement.  So," he concluded, leaning forward
in his chair, "unless you accept my proposal, we don't have anything to
talk about."
     The Chancellor sighed.  "That's too bad, Professor MacLeod.  I was
hoping we could come to an agreement, but the University simply cannot fund
such a venture at this time."
     "That is too bad," Duncan said, getting to his feet.  At the door he
stopped and turned.  "Look, I can probably convince Sean to stop visiting
campus.  He wants to move to Ireland anyway.  I might suggest, however,
that you reconsider your retirement policies.  It would be too bad, in
thirty or forty years, if you found yourself living at the same level of
poverty that Sean has."
     Duncan took a last glance at the Chancellor as he left the room.
Bainbridge was sitting in his chair with a look of profound worry on his
face.  Duncan smiled as he closed the door.
     "How did it go?" Sean asked, when Duncan arrived back at the office.
"What did he say?"
     Duncan shut the door and looked at his friend, shaking his head.
"Well, Sean, Chancellor Bainbridge is a tough man."
     "Aye, don't I know it!  A tougher man there never was," Sean answered,
getting up excitedly and approaching Duncan.  "What did he say, lad?"
     "He threatened to fire me, you know."
     "No! That lousy pig of man!  Doesn't he realize that you're one of the
best professors he has?" Sean exclaimed.
     "I really put myself on the line for you," Duncan continued, milking
this opportunity for all he could.  He fought down a grin.
     "And you know I appreciate it, laddie.  I appreciate it with all my heart."
     "Well, like I said," Duncan said slowly, "he put up a huge fight.  It
was touch and go for a while.  In the end, though, he agreed."
     "Agreed to what?" Sean said, shaking his hands in Duncan's face.  "Out
with it, man!  You're going to give me a stroke!"
     "And how many have you given me over the past six months?" Duncan shot
back, pointedly.
     There was a pause while O'Grady tried to determine if his friend was
serious or not.  "Ach, you're still alive," Sean finally said, waving a
careless hand.  Duncan turned away and began to hum to himself, examining
his bookshelves suddenly with great interest.
     "All right!  All right!" O'Grady said, shaking his head.  "You're a
hard man, Duncan MacLeod.  I'm sorry for all the trials I put you through."
 Sean's face softened, and he placed a hand on Duncan's shoulder.  "Truly,
my friend, you have been a great companion.  Someone dearer to my heart
isn't to be found in all the wide world."
     Duncan looked into Sean's eyes and smiled.  "Then, I think you'll be
pleased to hear that the University has decided to award you a grant in
honor of your work in mythology," he said, hoping Sean couldn't hear the
lie in his voice.  I'm going to have to sell a few things to come up with
the money, Duncan thought ruefully, taking a mental inventory of the
antiques he could part with.
     Sean beamed.  "Well done, laddie!" he said, clapping him heavily on
the shoulder.  "Is it a large amount?" he whispered.
     "I think you'll find it's enough for that little cottage by the sea,"
Duncan replied.
     "Well, now, I've been thinking, and maybe something a wee bit grander
would be more to my liking," Sean said.  "Perhaps a old monastery."  He
rubbed his hands together excitedly.  "That would take care of the holy
ground part that you've been carrying on about," Sean continued, oblivious
to the look of horror spreading across Duncan's face.  "And wouldn't it
look nice with landscaped grounds?  Can't you just see it now, laddie," he
said, spreading a hand across the sky.  "The International Institute of
Celtic Studies!"  Sean paused.  "Ach, life is grand, isn't it?" he
finished, slapping Duncan on the back.
     "Yes.  Grand," Duncan managed, choking.


###


     Duncan scrunched to one side as Sean's elbow dug into his side.  The
old man leaned across to look out of the tiny airplane window at the mists
below.
     "I really think you should take the window seat," Duncan attempted for
the umpteenth time.
     "No, laddie, this is just fine.  Really it is," Sean said, nearly
climbing into Duncan's lap as he strained to see out of the window.
"Look!" he pointed a bony finger as a spot of green appeared between the
shifting clouds.  "There it is!"
     Duncan smiled at the old man before turning his attention to the view
below.  On command it seemed, the mists parted and the incredible view of
the Dingle peninsula opened before them.  Duncan drew an awed breath.  As
many times as he had seen Ireland from land, sea or air, he was always
impressed with it's rich green fields, rocky coasts and hedges of yellow
gorse.  A round tower loomed near the horizon, it's broken pinnacle casting
shadows over the Atlantic Ocean as the white crested waves pounding against
the stony shore.
     "Better buckle your seat belt," he told Sean.  "We'll be landing in
Shannon in just a few minutes."
     Sean sat back, his eyes shining as he looked at Duncan.  "Thanks for
coming along, laddie," he whispered.  "It's grand to be seeing it with
someone who can appreciate what it means to me."
     Duncan looked at Sean fondly.  "I wouldn't have it any other way, my
friend," he said, patting the aged hand.  He settled back in his seat.
"Grow old along with me," he smiled.  "The best is yet to be."

The End
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