Date:         Wed, 8 Jun 1994 23:36:09 EDT
Reply-To:     Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.BITNET>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.BITNET>
From:         Hobert@AOL.COM
Subject:      CHANGES,  Part 3 of 5  (Second Third)

          The phone number had led him to a private clinic.
Frustrated when no one would release any information
to him, he paced the parking lot, seething.  <Think, boy.
Who else would know Gregor?>  A quick check at the
college art department led to an art gallery, the owner
informing him Greg was preparing to open his own across
town.  Finally, by late afternoon, he was standing down
the street from "The Ages Gallery,  Photographs by
Greg Powers".  Banners proclaimed the Grand Opening
in two days.  Mako stopped him a good block from the
corner shop.

          <Wait.  Feel that?>

          Step by cautious step, Richie moved down the
street.  Five hundred feet from the shop he stopped,
a hint of pain pulsing in his skull.  <It's an Immortal!>

          <Care to take a guess?>

     <Greg?>  Opening his eyes in surprise, Richie exclaimed
"He doesn't know I'm here!"

          <He probably thinks it's the start of a migraine.>

     <Immortals get headaches?>

          <What do you think you are, boy?>

     <I'll tell you what is a headache.  It's this sword.
How can you stand it hiding back there, almost riding
up your butt?  And the point is sticking in my skull!>

          <Practice.  If you ignore it, most people won't
          even notice.  It's really about misdirection.  Keep
          their attention off the odd bumps and they never
          see them.>

      <Well, this is too much.  It's gonna hide somewhere
else.  Like on my bike.  Gee, too bad you don't have a butt
anymore.>

          <Do what you like, it's your head.>

     <Mako.>
     <Come on, Mako.>
     <God, I hate you!>

          Dusk fell as Richie went to the front glass door.
He jimmied the lock, but did nothing to silence the bell
that rang as the door opened.  Down the large room, Gregor
turned around sharply, eyes widening as he recognized his
surprise visitor.  <I like him without the leather outfit.
He doesn't look as insane.>  Now with a full goatee, but
wearing a lively shirt and slacks, Gregor looked less like
the crazed Immortal Richie had met, and more the respectable
photographer.  He stood in a maze of boxes, pictures and
equipment scattered around the room.

      "You don't seem so surprised to see me, Greg.  Or feel me."

          "Duncan called me after you left town.  I thought
          you might try and track me down.  He also told me
          about Tessa.  I'm very sorry.  She was a kind and
          loving woman."

     "Didn't stop you from badgering her.  Or me.  In fact,
you really crossed the line."

           "So that's why you're here?  Payback?"

      "In spades,"  replied Richie as he drew his sword and
doffed the jacket.  He coolly watched as Gregor moved to a
wall, pulling his sword from its display.  Richie, revenge
on his mind, made the first opening move.  Gregor didn't
seem as violent as the last time they played, preferring
to defend against Richie's attacks.  Around they sparred,
energy crackling as their blades connected.  Gregor sacrificed
a few lights when Richie got too close, still not overtly
attacking.  After five minutes of going around in circles,
he switched to the attack, and the fight began in earnest.
Once more, clothing was slashed as swords found their
mark on each combatant.  Gregor never lost his cool, and
Richie never let the simmering rage explode.  Calmly they
fought, slowly speeding up to a whirl of steel, still doing
only minimal damage.  The dance stopped when Gregor
unexpectedly moved to the left, his sword digging a deep
gouge from Richie's side.  Finesse was thrown out the
window as Richie retaliated.  The battle, slower and more
determined now, wove among picture stands and columns,
each giving as good as he got.  It slowed even more as
adrenaline was replaced with exhaustion.  Unable to raise
their swords from the floor, sweat and blood everywhere,
they stared at each other, faces not a foot apart.

          "Call it a night, Rich?  I'm really getting tired."

     "Not yet.  I still owe you."

     And borrowing a page from Gregor's own book, he
snapped his head forward, ramming his skull into his
opponent's face, knocking him down.  Leaving swords
behind, they fought with hands and feet, throwing each
other into walls and crates.  They were quickly reduced
to scuffling, punching, and hair pulling, finally ending up
rolling around on the floor.  They grappled until each was
too slick to grab.  Richie eventually trapped Gregor in a
headlock, twisting until he heard Gregor say 'Uncle!'.
There they stopped, Richie releasing the hold, as they
slumped on each other, breathing hard.  Richie found his
voice first.

     "I think you broke my arm, old man."

          "Good, you deserve it, Rich."

     "God, you know how to get a heart pumping. Did I manage
to push your buttons?"

          "Like a pro.  I'm really impressed.  You got me good.
          I didn't know what you planned."

     "Are we even?"

          "Even.  For now."

     "I won't ask.  I see you're not planning on going back
into medicine."

          "I'm not ready for that yet.  Photography keeps me
          going right now."

     "Glad to hear it.  You and death don't mix so well. Trust me.
Say, got anything to drink?"

          "Get off me, and I'll check."

     "Ouch.  I think I'll just lay here awhile."

          "Good idea.  I'm glad you became an Immortal.  I
          haven't had this much fun with anyone since the sixties.
          And that was just too long ago, buddy boy."

          They laughed and talked for hours.  Richie filling in
what Duncan left out of his letters, and Gregor about the new
shop and newer outlook on life.  They both discussed their
plans for the future, girls, and Duncan.  For the first time
since his rebirth, Richie felt at peace.  Several times Gregor
made a half hearted attempt at pushing Richie off, but he
perversely held his ground.  Gregor switched tactics,  seeing
if the younger Immortal was ticklish.  Apparently, he was.

          "Greg, stop that.  Hee, hee.  I said...  Stop...  Hee..

< < < < <

                    ...Hee,  I'm going to scream, Richie... I said stop.
                    Hee. I warned...  DUNCAN!..," Tessa yelled.

          "Arrr.  He won't be back for HOURS, me pretty wench!
I'm gonna give ye one last chance to dump Cap'n Mac for me
or it's the plank for ye!" Richie replied, again digging his
fingers in the prone sculptor's sides.

                    "You are about... hee...  to get your parrot
                    punched out... if you don't..."

          "Don't what, me lass?" Richie teased.

                              "How about unhanding my fiance,
knave?"  Both Richie and Tessa stopped, glancing at the
owner of the accented voice, a bag laden Duncan, trying
hard to look angry with his friends.  He almost succeeded
except for the twinkle in his eyes.  "You dare attack the
mistress of the Pirate King, my boy?  Unhand my innocent
little Mabel, you scum, or..."

                     "I'm sorry, Duncan, but if you're looking for
virgins, they're all outside,"  Tessa pointed out, giggling
under her breath.  She gathered her robe, and made an attempt
at getting up.

          "Oh, no you don't!"  Richie exclaimed, grabbing her
again.  Once again they launched into a round of tickling,
Duncan dropping the bags and jumping into the fray with a
"Banzai!"  The engaged pair double teamed the young
instigator, soon reducing him to howling fits.  "I'll be
good.  I promise.  Hee.. Hee..  I'll cook breakfast...  Waffles...
I'll make waffles..."

                    "Belgium."  ordered Tessa.  "With strawberries,"
added Duncan.  They both stopped, and stared at the writhing
redhead.  "Well?"

          Richie propped himself on his elbows, eying both
parties.  "Keep your swords hid, I'll get right on it.  Hey,
since you're both here,  I'll go ahead and tell you.  I'm
moving into my own apartment."  He then rolled himself
onto his feet, rising, until Duncan pulled him back by the arm.

                    "No.  Tell him he can't, Duncan."  Tessa exclaimed,
a look of concern marring her face.

               "What's this about?  Aren't you happy
here?" Duncan asked.

          "I've never been happier.  But with you two getting
married,  I thought you'd want this place all to yourselves.
You don't need me disrupting the wedded bliss."

                "This is your home, Richie.  You're part of this family."

          "No, Mac.  I'm just a kid staying in the guest room."

                    "You stopped being a guest a long time ago,"
                    Tessa added.

          "Now look, I thought about this all night.  I know having
me around is inconvenient and..."

                    "We don't mind, do we Duncan?"

          "Well, what if I wanted someone to stay the night,
like Greta?  I'm not a hermit, you know."

                              "We don't  want you to feel you can't
                              bring someone over.  Tessa and I..."

          "To be blunt, Mac, I can't take another day of being a
third wheel around here.  It's time I got my own life."  Richie
angrily shrugged his arm out of Duncan's grasp and stood up,
straightening his shirt.  "Sorry.  Look, we have a lot of work
to do today, planning a wedding and getting this place open
by tomorrow.  We can talk about this later."

                              "Don't do this,"  Duncan quietly pleaded.
The look he gave Richie was inhumanly sad.  The pain in his
eyes almost made Richie back down, but it was time to be
firm.

          "It's time, Mac.  Hey, guys, it's not like I'm moving
to Paris."  Richie flashed them his brightest smile, trying
to bring back some of the earlier frivolity.  "I'll still be around,
bleeding your bank account dry.  Speaking of which, how about
a raise, Captain?  I need to be able to support myself."

                              "We'll talk about it later.  Support
yourself by making that breakfast you promised.  And
make it a good one, we'll probably have to skip lunch
and supper to make Captain Bligh here happy," Duncan
instructed, getting a few parting shots in at Tessa.
They quietly argued as Richie moved to the kitchen,
pulling out the waffle iron.  <Nothing will change.  I just
won't be sleeping here.  I won't have to think about...>
*RING*  His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing...

> > > > >

          ...*RING* at three a.m., interrupting their drowsy
conversation.  Richie started to get up, but Gregor stopped
him.  "Let the answering machine pick it up.  This is more
important."

          Sighing, Richie lay back down on the floor.  Relieved
at the sign of encouragement, he went on.  "That's when
everything fell apart.  One minute, we're toasting their
marriage, and the next, this guy barges in and shocks me
into unconsciousness.  I wake up, Tessa's gone.  By that
night, she's dead and I'm Immortal.  I hide a couple of days
at the warehouse, knowing Mac has a lot to do, getting the
cops off his tail,, trying to keep me out of it.  I read in
the newspapers that Tessa's being buried in Paris.  He
didn't try to tell me, even contact me.  He didn't want me
there.  About a week later he shows up at the shop.    I'm
going by to grab some more food.  His car's outside, so I
wait across the street.  He comes out, and just stares at
the door.  That's when I walked close enough to buzz him.
He turned, and looked at me.  I could see it in his eyes.  He
blames me.  Every now and then, when we're alone, and it's
quiet, I can see regrets in his eyes.  The way he looks at me.
Maybe I should have died, and Tessa should have lived.  And
each time a little part of me wilts."

                    "Come on Rich, I don't think MacLeod would
blame you for being what you are. From what you've told
me, I can't see anything else you could have done.  He
probably blames himself.  He's always taken more on his
shoulders than anyone should.  Who am I to complain?
He saved me."

          "He saved me, too.  But it hurts, knowing he regrets
it.  I could have been like that kid.  Very easily.  Killing
people for a few bucks.  Scum."

                    <You are like that, boy.  Only you kill for less.>

                    "Don't even think like that.  I may not have
cared much the first time we met, but I do now.  It's a
wonderful thing to be alive.  Never regret it.  God, I was
such a mess.  I hope you know how sorry I am for what
I put you through."

          "Mac told me what you said to him.  I'm glad you're
getting help.  You're the first Immortal that I've really
known, except Mac.  You're certainly the coolest I've met.
And I know Mac values your friendship.  As do I..."  *RING*
Once again, the phone interrupted the conversation.
Gregor moaned, prodding Richie to get off.  *RING*
Untangling himself, Gregor pointed to the small refrigerator
in his office as he reached for the cordless phone on the
counter.  Richie quickly came back with two open beers,
handing one to the photographer.

          "This had better be good!...  Hey, Susan, wait, calm
down.  Take a deep breath  Talk slowly...."  Gregor's eyes
widened, and he limply sat on the floor.  "Oh my God.  When?"
Tears freely formed and fell, making circle marks on his
slacks.  "Was he...beheaded?...And shot?"  Richie slowly
removed the can from Gregor's shaking hand. "I'll be there...
as soon as I can.... Yes...  I love you, too.  Be strong."  Fazed,
he laid the phone on the floor, letting Richie grab it and
turn it off.  "Oh, Jacko..."

     "An Immortal friend?" Richie asked as Gregor stared into space.

          "The best.  There's a wedding picture on the wall."

          Richie examined the photograph, labeled "Jason & Susan
Talbot, May 14, 1980".  In it, a young sandy blond man was
holding hands with a gorgeous redhead.  Behind them, Gregor
and another woman stood, the group flanked by a trellis of
greenery.  Gregor looked happy and dashing in his tuxedo,
no hint of the consuming madness Richie had experienced.

          "I've known him since, God, the eighteen forties.  I
was a doctor...

< < < < <

          ...Greg, Doctor Greg.  Come quick, the pony express
rider's been shot."  Hastily exiting the building, Gregor
rushed up the dirt street, following the little boy.  He saw
the unmoving body on the ambling horse as he cleared town.
Slowly approaching the spooked horse, he grabbed the reins,
leading the animal and rider into town.  A crowd had gathered
at his office by the time he arrived.  Gently pulling the
unconscious rider off the horse and into his arms, the
group noticed the bloody shirt and numerous bullet holes.
Quickly climbing the few stairs, he burst into his office,
moving to the one bed he had.  Laying the rider on the sheets,
he returned to shut the door and close the blinds.  He gave
the boy some money to fetch some supper for him, and told
the townspeople to go home.  In mid-sentence, he stopped,
getting a far off look in his eyes.  He hurriedly slammed the
door and moved to the rider who arched up from the bed,
wailing.  Gregor was sitting on the bed as the rider, Jason
Talbot, opened his eyes in fright, and sat up.

          "Welcome back, brother.  I am Gregor Powers.
We are Immortal and we cannot die..."

          Jason spent as much time as his riding let him,
often spending the night with Gregor rather than the pony
express bunkhouse.  Fighting lessons with swords were
moved to the creek, away from prying eyes of townsfolk.
The youth was a perfect student, often learning faster
then Gregor could teach.  The fateful day arrived, when
the student killed his first Immortal,  Running Elk.
Jason was ambushed by a renegade band of Indians, led
by a fierce war chief.  Unable to die, Running Elk broke
with the tribe, leading a savage life of terrorism against
the settlers.  The warrior knew not of the game, only
wanting the blond scalp of a hated white man.  A fight
between Calvary saber and hatchet led to the inevitable
beheading, the renegade band fleeing in the face of Jason,
blood-covered and crazed, as he lofted Running Elk's head
to the sky, shouting at the top of his lungs.

          Back in town, Gregor was caught by surprise as Jason
collapsed on the floor of the clinic,  telling the tale later
over a cup of hot cider by the fireplace.  Gregor was proud
and apprehensive, knowing Jason would soon leave.  The
first kill always started the student thinking of other
things, other places.  Teacher and student would be no
more, hopefully replaced by friends or comrades.
Occasionally enemies emerged.  Gregor doubted he
and Jason would ever be anything but friends.  The
pony express rider quickly mastered everything else
Gregor had to teach, and had a firm grasp of the rules
when the blight hit.  A blight called civil war.  Jason
came by the hospital, his horse loaded with everything he
owned.

          "You know I have to do this, Greg.  It's my home.  My family."

                    "I know.  And I certainly don't blame you for
                    wanting to be involved.  War always calls to our
                    kind.  It's just...  I can't follow."

          "I understand.  I'll miss you."

                    "We'll see each other again.  If you don't lose
                    you head, Jacko"

          "Will you stay here?"

                    "No.  This place is too close.  I think farther
                    west, probably the coast will be far enough.
                    I know someone..."

          "Until then, my friend.  Thank you.  I owe you."

                    "Always.  Got time for a drink before you go?"

          The bartender slammed the shot of whiskey...

> > > > >

          ...in front of Gregor.  "Come on, Greg, you've had enough."
Richie watched as his distraught companion downed yet another
mouthful of liquor.  Paying the bartender, he guided Gregor to
the door.  "You've got a flight to New York in six hours, and you
can't be carried onto the plane."

          "He kicked me out of his house.  I visited them about
two years ago.  I upset Susan.  Jacko looked at me like I was
a stranger.  We argued on the porch and he told me to leave
him alone.  Slammed the door in my face.  Susan was crying.
I never spoke to him again.  I never told him..."
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