Date: Mon, 6 Feb 1995 01:42:44 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Ch 3. p 223-230 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland Jonathan came back to the world. Felt his body, again. Himself, inside that body. Defined the limits of that self. His knees pressing on the hard, uneven concrete. His muscles tight with strain. His throat raw, dry. He had been screaming, he remembered....remembered it as if it were a story, told about another man... His hand still clutching Duncan's, his arm wrapped around Richie's shoulder. Felt the other Immortal's memories, felt them as separate selves...Shared their collective relief, their exhaustion, and cautious hope. <<>> All three shared the thought. A triple echo, resonating through three separate consciousnesses. They looked into one another's eyes, seeing reason, seeing from a dizzying triple perspective, each one of them looking out and looking in. I t was too much. Too much. Jonathan's stomach lurched with nausea, and he let go. Pulled his arms, his body, away from the others. Away from their too close, too intimate embrace. Wrapped his arms around himself, instead. Creating a shield, a barrier, for his body and his soul. Waiting for the isolation, the separation that had always come. Waiting to return, fully, to himself. Waiting for the bitter emptiness that lurked in his inner heart to rise up and consume him. Waiting, like a child walking on the edge of a cliff, for that final push to free him, to let him fall, endlessly, away from the clamor and bustle of life. To fall to that final silence, that final rest. Alone. Waiting in vain..... They were still inside him. Still a part of him. He could not get their presence, their thoughts, their emotions, their too familiar presence, out of his mind. Duncan.... Richie.... Shonte....others, as yet unnamed, too many to count....parts of lives, fragments of memories...all part of him, part of his soul and life and mind, now.... Pressing in, with friendly concern, with interest, with anger, hate, disdain....with humor....with love... He tried to push them out. To push them away. There was no *out* to push them to. They were *him*....what ever *he* was now, they were a part of it. All of them. Parts of them. Inside. Forever. So this was what it meant, to be a fully realized Immortal. Not just the potential for eternal life, but the knowledge, the information, the access to other lives, other perspectives, other skills. Constantly available, constantly with him. He felt corridors, pathways, opening in his mind, new, previously unseen, unknown connections, ideas, understandings, branching out from his own. This was the prize, the thing they all strived for. His tiny portion, at least. And that portion, that endless, constant, eternal company of others, was more than he'd ever wanted. Far more. And he had no defenses, no way to shut them off. The voices, the thoughts, the host of others, stilled for a moment by the shock of the Quickening, the shock of separation from their now dead, once overpowering Immortal host, paused, gathered themselves, and burst forth, running rampant through his mind, chaotic, uncontrolled. Jonathan rocked himself, his mind reeling in the suddenly crowded shell of his body, his hands cradling his skull, trying to hold himself together, trying to reassert his dominance, his personal space and control, of the private inner places that were once his and his alone. "C'mon, Mac, we've gotta go." Richie's voice cut through the clamor in his mind, and Jonathan pried open his eyes, to see the two Immortals watching him, concern on their faces. Richie jerked his head at the approaching rescue vehicles, their lights playing across the ruins now, their tires screeching, doors slamming, as the uniformed emergency personnel jumped from their equipment and milled around at the perimeter of the disaster site, the fire trucks playing their hoses on the still smoldering wreckage of the helicopter, raising a sullen, ill smelling cloud of hissing steam, the other men and women clearly trying to decide where to start, who was left to rescue. None had yet noticed the three Immortals still crouched, half hidden, in the far side of the ruins. But their discovery was imminent. Along with Shonte's body. Jonathan glanced at her...at it. That small, pathetic shrunken huddled husk. No fit remnant of the heart and fire and passion of the woman who'd once inhabited it. All that was left of her mortal life, on this earth. That, and the memories, the thoughts and images, in his mind. He cursed himself for his cowardice, his fear. He wished he had dared to look in her eyes, her mortal body's living eyes, one last time. To at least have that sure, certain knowledge that she had indeed been gone. To have seen. To have known. To have looked. But it would have revealed all, bared his plans to the other. And so she had died, he had killed her, without even seeing her face, her eyes, the window to her heart and soul. One last time, in life. "Look at us, man." Richie indicated his blood soaked pants, the slashes in his clothes, his dust caked hair. "I don't look like I just survived an explosion. More like a war. And so do you." He pushed his hand against the dark stained hole that had shredded the front of Duncan's shirt. "It goes all the way through, Mac. They're gonna notice. And I don't even have my passport. Those agency goons dragged me in on a mail plane with the diplomatic pouch. How'm I gonna explain being here, at all?" MacLeod shrugged himself loose from Richie's grasp. "Don't worry, we're going." His voice was brusque as he reached out, towards Jonathan. Touching his shoulder, offering his support. Lifting, pulling the other, still dazed, still silent Immortal to his feet. Richie moved to help, realizing what was going on. Jonathan felt their touch, felt their flesh on his skin, their thoughts crowding back the others in his mind, imposing order, on the chaos. Leaving him room to focus, and to think. He looked into MacLeod's deep gaze, stared into his dark, infinitely sad, infinitely weary eyes. Saw his own sorrow, his own grief, reflected, magnified, understood. Stumbled towards them, his legs, his body, not yet fully under his own control. His mind imitating, tracing the outlines, learning the patterns of control, of dominance over the others, inside, from their touch. Learning, and striving desperately to remember, and replicate it, on his own. "He's never taken a Quickening before. What a drag to start with this one." Richie shook his head, watching his own feet intently on the treacherous footing as the two Immortals staggered across the twisted landscape, half leading and half supporting Jonathan, and one another, as they slipped and skidded through the ruins. Trying to stay behind the ragged cover of the tilted, fallen walls. Trying to hide their presence from the emergency crews, who were starting to make their way onto the debris, calling out for survivors as they came. "It could have been worse." MacLeod turned his head sharply towards Richie. "The Quickening could have taken him.....and us." "Yeah, you don't have to point out the obvious. I know what just went down. I was here too, remember?" Richie's cockiness was back, in full force, and Jonathan found himself listening to the youth, seeing him, reacting to him, with different eyes, from a different perspective. With amused affection. >From MacLeod's perspective, he supposed. The youth continued, belaboring the obvious in a clumsy attempt at sympathy as Jonathan listened, and silently cringed. "I just meant, hell, Mac, he loved her. It's hard to deal with." "We all have to do things that hurt. That's the price we pay. Remember?" MacLeod's voice was harsh, and bitter now. Remembering his own past. His own sacrifices. Jonathan understood them both, understood them far too well....their private personal history, and pain. And he wondered if all his contacts with everyone, everything, for the rest of his life, would be filtered like this, through layers of other Immortal's understanding, other Immortal's experience? He shuddered. He was not sure he would ever know, again, what he truly thought, or believed. Not sure *who* he was at all, anymore. But he was learning. He was learning how to control the others, to separate out the threads of their thoughts and minds, from his own. To quiet them and to think through and around them. Then, through the subsiding Immortal tumult in his brain, Jonathan heard a faint, human shout. A weak cry, like a kitten, or a child. From almost directly beneath them. From the rubble. Didn't the others hear? "Wait. Stop. There's someone alive." He shook himself loose from their supporting grasp and fell to his knees, his hands flinging aside the scraps of wood and chunks of plaster piled between him and that faint, so faint sound. Someone alive. Someone who had survived. It was more than he'd hoped for. More than he'd dared dream. He hadn't killed them all. Hadn't wiped out the clan, with his too perfect revenge. His breath caught in his throat, in almost a sob, as he burrowed frantically down, MacLeod and Richie joining him in the digging, hesitantly. "Jonathan, the rescue team can do this." Richie took the plaster lathing Jonathan handed him and threw it behind them, out of the shallow hole the newest Immortal had scooped in the debris. "We *have* to get out of here. Now." His voice was pitched low, so as not to carry to the uniformed officers crawling across the rubble, his tone urgent. "No." Jonathan had no time, no breath for any other words. He *had* to find this survivor, *had* to try to make at least this one small step to atone. He touched a hand, a child's hand, pale, pale fingers jerking convulsively as he reached, and held tight. How could he let go, now? How could he let this lifeline break. His hand, all that was reaching into the suffocating darkness of this child's living tomb. "I've got a hand. Help me." The other two Immortals crouched down into the hole with him, levering off a heavy wooden beam that had fallen across the child's body, trapping...him...they could see it was a boy, now, underneath. Trapping, and destroying what it held. "Oh my god." Richie, his voice soft, filled with sudden pity, knelt by Jonathan's side, helping him lift the child out. The boy's mouth was bloody, where he'd bitten his lips to keep from crying out in pain. He did not whimper as they lifted him, despite the arm that dangled, obviously broken, at his side. A warrior's child. Jonathan blinked back tears of pride. A true child of the Dragon clan. A survivor. The square carved pillar had landed across his face. Its sharp edge, resting across his eyes. What was left of his eyes. Far beyond any surgeon's attempts at repair, the lacerated, blood filled, shattered orbs gazed blindly at the sky, as if seeking out the life giving touch of the sun. Jonathan ran his free hand lightly over the child's still, passive body. He seemed unhurt, beyond his face, his eyes, and the arm. Unhurt, except for the destruction of his world, his family, his clan.....and his vision. A blind child, a half trained assassin's apprentice, an orphan, sole survivor from a now impotent, devastated clan.... "Can you hear me?" He leaned close to the child, and spoke slowly, carefully, enunciating the words precisely. Watching the child's face, intently, as he spoke. Looking for a response, a flicker of awareness, of comprehension. A sign, besides the deathlike grip of the child's fingers, on his hand. "Tell me where you are hurt." "I am Fujio Shin. Where is my father? My mother? Tell me what has happened to my family. " The child's voice wavered, his lower lip trembled, then firmed. His hand loosed its grasp from Jonathan's and rose, questing, towards Jonathan's face. Touching it lightly, feeling his features. Feeling the face of the man who killed his kin. Had destroyed his world. All unknowing. All unknown. Jonathan bowed his head. He could not speak. Not yet. His throat had closed on him, when the boy, when Fujio, announced his name. His heart, his heart was too full for words. He had found a purpose in life, now. Here, with this child. He would stay, stay with the boy. With Aki's child, Hata Shin's child. The last child of the Dragon clan. Stay with him, and be for him his eyes, his family, his teacher, his protector. Until the day he died. It was his duty. His fate. He understood now why he had been spared, why he had survived, and conquered, the nameless power of the all consuming Immortal force that had taken and destroyed Shonte, and all the others. It was not because he himself deserved to live. It was because he still had a task to fulfill. A duty to carry out. This human debt, to finally repay. A chance, for some small balancing of the scales. He found his voice. Found it, a rough, choked whisper. Whispered the cruel truth, to the boy. The truth that he had to know, the part that mattered, now. "I am sorry, Fujio. Your family, your parents, are dead. The clan is dead. You and I are the last... of the Dragons." The rest could wait for later. But it must be told. The truth could heal, as much as it burned, as much as it hurt, while lies...lies could only kill. The child flinched, his small, delicate frame quivering once. Saying nothing. His face impassive. His ruined eyes incapable of communicating his feelings, of showing his emotions. But Jonathan could guess at them. Could guess at the tempest that swirled in this young boy's breast. Could predict, could almost feel his every thought. And could see, with preternaturally clear vision, what his role would be. His purpose. Jonathan turned and gestured sharply to Richie, to MacLeod. "Go. I will stay here, with the boy." Richie nodded, somberly, and backed away, MacLeod reaching out a hand to help him scramble up the side of the depression they had made. Jonathan watched them go. Watched MacLoed's eyes. Watched to see what promise they held, for his future. For his fate. The Immortal shook his head, his expression shadowed, his eyes hidden in the sharp edged morning light. He spoke, once. His final benediction. Final warning. "Remember who and what you are. It is not an easy thing, to be one of us. Not a light burden, to be shed at will. We will meet again, Jonathan. Remember that." MacLeod turned and moved away, disappearing, like Richie, into the glare of the rising sun. His aura fading. Leaving Jonathan alone. Truly alone, as a full Immortal, for the very first time. Alone with his own demons, his own Immortal clan. Alone with his conscience, and his fate. Gently, tenderly, he lifted the boy in his arms. Stood, and carried him up and out the sloping edge of the hole, towards the frustrated would be rescuers who turned, one by one, and looked at him. Waited, their hands empty, no other survivors found. Carried the boy to his future. Not entirely sure what it would be. Only that it must be, must be, better than the past. A woman stepped towards him, from among the uniformed group. Mariko. The sun full in her face, catching the smile she turned on him. Catching the relief, the joy and exultation in her expression. "Jonathan." There was a world, a universe of possibilities, in her voice. In that single word. He smiled back. Amazed that his muscles still remembered how. Feeling the glow that leaped between them. Smiled back, as the trauma team crowded around him, reaching for the boy, reaching for him, full of questions. Mariko stepped to his side. Took his arm, and helped him share the burden of the child's weight. Fended off the questions with her badge, and her authority. Led him to the nearest ambulance, and helped him lay the child on the medic's stretcher, helped him ease Fujio in, then stepped into the ambulance with him, as he ducked and climbed aboard. He would not be separated from his charge. Never again. He would not lose this child. Not this one. The medical technician covered the boy with a blanket as the ambulance started off with a lurch, the siren wailing above their heads. Fujio held out his hand, waving it in the air. Reaching, grasping, blindly, for Jonathan's reassuring touch. "Where are you? Dragon-san.....where are you?" "I'm here. I'm here." Jonathan closed his fingers around the boy's. Held his hand. Held the small hand nestled in his own. Safe. Enclosed. Secure. And vowed to never let him go. Not until he was his own man. The medic held up a syringe for Jonathan's approval. "This will make him sleep. Help the pain a bit." Jonathan nodded and watched as the woman gave the boy a shot. Fujio's desperately clutching fingers relaxed in Jonathan's grasp. His rapid, fluttering breathing slowed, eased. And then, he slept. The nightmare of his life at bay, for the moment. And Jonathan would be there, beside him, when he awoke. To keep that nightmare at bay, forever. "He is one of the Dragons?" Mariko leaned against him, her warmth, her weight, stirring against his side. Another promise for the future. "Yes." This bitter nettle must be grasped. "He...and I... are the last. Mariko, it was a mistake. All a mistake. It was not them." He paused. With the technician there, there was so little he could say. She nodded, and touched her fingers to his lips. Her eyes deep and wise in her young, unlined face. "I understand. We can talk later." Later, yes. But for now, he had to let her know. Let her see and understand the depth of his commitment to the child. " I have vowed my life to help him. Until the end." He held her gaze in his own. Let her see the promise, the absolute certainty, in his eyes. She met his glance, and smiled. Nodded. A wistful, tender look floating across her face. "You told me last night that you could never have children. Is he then to be the child of your heart?" Her voice held calm acceptance. No revulsion, no hate. She had seen beyond her anger, and had seen the child for what he was. An innocent, an injured pawn in an adult world's vicious game. "Yes. I will raise him as my son." Jonathan had to make his priorities clear. Had to let this woman know where he stood. What he stood for, now. He would stay here, rebuild the shrine at the entrance to the Dragon's lair. Make that his home, and refuge. Safe from other Immortals, and close to the boy's heart, and heritage. The last Dragon. "And I would be honored, Jonathan, if you would let me help." She stared at him, her eyes laughing, her expression trying to remain serious, as a mixture of expressions crossed his face, reflecting the astonishment in his mind and heart. Surprise...confusion, that was the one he was sure of, at least.... Had he just been proposed to? By a proper Japanese girl? In Japan? He realized his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it with a snap. Glared at the hapless technician, who bent over Fujio, fussing with his blanket, and tried hard to pretend she hadn't heard, or seen, a thing. Mariko grinned at him frankly, now. Gave his arm a squeeze, and laughed. Lightly. With sincere warmth, and humor. "It's all right, Jonathan. I can wait. You don't have to give me an answer now. But I just wanted you to know where I stand...since it seems you're making plans for the rest of your life, here." She smiled, looking at him, at the boy. "I just thought I'd see if I could fit in, too." Hardly the rest of his life....or maybe more than that....some new Immortals had very short life spans, he now knew. Some barely lasted a day, a week. So far, he'd managed just that. Barely. But the rest of his life? Mariko, the boy, both might live longer than he .... and a boy could use a mother....and this boy could especially use one who could handle a gun....she probably even knew how to fence.... He knew his mind was chasing itself in circles, to avoid the reality of his thoughts, to avoid giving him a rational response to this unexpected offer. Images of Mariko..overlapping, conflicting...played through his mind, drawn from his memories.. .the tough undercover cop...the polite young police investigator mangling her public school English....the graceful, elegant woman....the angry, vengeful daughter...the passionate lover...all these and more, made up the measure of this woman, this surprising, complex woman who was offering, boldly, to share her life with him. Him and an unknown orphaned boy. He looked at her. Worked up a smile. One that reached his eyes. One that came from his heart. "I'd be honored, Mariko. More than honored, to accept your offer. Please, come share my life. My love." Their eyes held one another. Their hearts, their souls, entwined. Their future, all that they could see of it, all that they would let themselves see, glowing with the rosy promise of love. ... Aloha... Comments, constructive criticism, all are welcome. That's all, folks. For now. =========================================================================