Date:         Sat, 11 Jun 1994 02:40:39 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 5 of 5  (Second Third)

         "American Airlines flight 224 for New Orleans, Atlanta,
and Tampa is now boarding at Gate 22."

         The announcement over the speakers drowned out the
ringing in the receiver.  Angrily, Richie slammed it back on
the pay phone.  <No answer, again.  Why doesn't Mac learn to
turn on his answering machine?>  Fifteen tries in the last
twenty hours had been the same.  No answer at either the
dojo number or Duncan's personal line. <Xavier couldn't have...>
Once again he paced around Gate 18, staring balefully at
the word "DELAYED" flashing next to the flight from Albuquerque.
Gregor had sounded relieved when Richie called him from the
motel in Abilene.  <He sounded so worried that I didn't make
it to Mexico.>  One last fling with the girls, Bobbie and Rikie,
and he had slept like a dead man on his first real bed in several
days.  A hot shower and a new set of clothes did wonders for
his disposition.  A short commuter flight and he was at DFW,
waiting for the arrival of his sword and bike.  It had taken
several hours to arrange the freight shipment, and now
weather delays.  He stormed by the food stand again,
glaring at all the happy travelers.  He turned around,
ready to make another pass by the restrooms when the
buzz hit him, almost causing him to bend over in pain.
He'd never felt another Immortal like this.

         <Oh God, this hurts.>

                           *He's real strong, honey*

                  [Don't worry.  Airports are safer than Holy Ground
                  these days...]

                                                    <Calm down, boy!  No
sudden moves.>

                                            /The Goddess will.../

         <QUIET!>  Richie turned and faced the trench coated
figure down the airport.  The hair was still short and simple,
the profile mysterious.  Even the white tennis shoes looked
the same.  The stranger was also scanning the crowd, finally
making eye contact with Richie.  They locked their gaze,
a small smile twitching on the Highlander's lips.  With a
sparkle in his eyes, he reached into his coat for his sword.
Richie panicked and did the same, his hand closing on empty
air.  The older man suddenly whisked his out of the coat, a
claw around nothing.  He laughed as Richie did the same,
confused at what was happening.  Six giant strides later,
the Immortal was face to face with Richie, grabbing him
in a big bear hug.

                  "We meet again, little thief!"  The accented laugh
sadly reminded him of Duncan.

         "You must be Connor MacLeod.  I don't' believe we were
         introduced last time."

                  "You're right.  You made a very hasty exit.  Is Duncan
                  with you?"

         "No.  We had... a disagreement."

                  "Then you must be an Immortal."

         "Yes.  I've heard a lot about...

< < < < <

         ...you.  They say you're a witch.  Possessed."  Duncan still
backed away from the apparition, sword pointing for the heart.
Eyes wide with fright and distrust.

         "They say a lot of things.  Know this, we are brothers.
I am Connor MacLeod, and I am like you.  We are Immortal."
With those heavy and fateful words, Connor stepped forward,
impaling himself on Duncan's sword.  Slowly, as the life faded
from him, he whispered, "I have come to teach you..."  Duncan
walked around the dead body in a panic, pacing until he came
to the rock, and sat...

> > > > >

         ...down in the chair, handing Richie the other cup of coffee.
"So there I was, no clothes and hitchhiking on the highway.
I'm here to get my bike and then... I really don't know."

                  "I'd like to know who taught you the lightning trick.
                  Ramirez taught it to me, but I haven't shown it to
                  Duncan.  Or anyone else."

         "A friend..."

                           /DO NOT TELL HIM !! /

         <What?>

                           /I promised Juan I would not tell anyone about
it./

         "...said never be afraid to experiment."  <Happy?>

                           /Loads./

                  "Well.  I'm very sorry about Tessa.  I know you and
                  Duncan loved her very much.  How is Duncan taking it?"

         "Not very well."  Richie took another sip of coffee,
then stared at the dark liquid.  "It's like he's given up.
He's moody, and depressed."

                  "He's never taken the death of his friends and
                  lovers very well.  I don't either, but Duncan usually
                  tries again after several years.  Don't know how he
                  does it."

         "What was he like?  When you first met him, I mean."

                  "Gosh, that was so long ago.  He was very independent.
Rebellious.  He was used to getting his own way.  He had trained
all the younger warriors in the clan for several years, and really
chaffed when I wanted to teach him different skills.  I needed
someone back then, and he needed to replace the clan that had
abandoned him.  I guess he was trying to prove he wasn't the
things they accused him of.  Accused me of.  He ran into his first
challenge and provoked a fight with a very old Immortal.  He lost,
of course, and then got so angry that the other wouldn't take
his head.  He became possessed with tracking him down.  He'd
disappear for days.  I kept trying to talk to him, warn him, but
he wouldn't listen.  One day I had...

< < < < <

         ...had enough, Duncan MacLeod.  You ignore my every word,
you dinna' practice anymore.  There is nothing more I can do.
Go, and get yourself killed.  That's all you really want to do."
Connor paced back and forth, angry and upset.  Duncan stood
stunned in the doorway of the cottage, not believing his own
kinsman would say this.

                  "What are you babbling, old man?"

         "You canno' stay here any longer."

                  "You're sending me away?"

         "Aye."

                "This is my home..."

        "No more."

                  "But I have so much to learn..."

         "You know the rules.  You know how to defend yourself.
         You ignore everything else.  What more is there?"

                  "You dinna' approve of what I'm doing."

         "It is no longer my place."

                  "I just..."

         "It's done.  Leave, and dinna come back.
         There is nothing for you here."

                "There never was.  All you cared about was your
 precious Heather and Ramirez.  They are dead.  I'm alive.
I needed you, but you need no one.  Think about that when
you're alone at night, and no one cares."  With those hateful
words, Duncan stormed to the back of the small cottage,
throwing his few belongings in a sack.  He paused at the door,
anger gone, replace, by sadness.

                  "Will we see each other again?"

         "The world is a small place."

                  "Will you take my head?"

         "Maybe."

                "Then I guess there is nothing more to say."  And into
the night, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod walked...

> > > > >

        ...past the pair at the table.  "He didn't come back?"
Richie asked,  caught up by the story his friend had never told him.

                "I don't know.  I left about a week later.  The area
                  had too many memories."

        "When did you see him again?"

                "A hundred years later,  in France.  It was difficult,
                  but we managed to put the past behind us.  We don't
                  talk about it now.  I was there for him, he was there
                  for me.  That is what we remember.  But still I regret...
                  You must find him.  Now.  Heal the wounds you have caused
                  each other.  Don't make the same mistake I did.  I..."

        "Richard Ryan, please come to the desk at Gate 18.
Richard Ryan to Gate 18."

        "That's my stuff."  Richie announced as he got up.
He held out his hand.  "Thank you.  I'll think about it."
The two Immortals, bound together by a common love,
firmly shook hands.

                "Do you have any plans for the next few days?"
Connor casually asked as they walked to the gate.

        "Not really."

                "I'm attending an antique conference and convention
                  here in Dallas.  Would you like to attend?  I could use a
                  second opinion."

        "I don't really know much about antiques."

                "But you have worked with Duncan for awhile."

        "Yeah.  O.K.  Let me get my bike."

                "I'll meet you at the south exit.  You can follow me into
town."

        "You know Dallas?"

                "Since all this was a cattle ranch.  I'll tell you over
supper."

        "See you at the exit."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

        With one phone call, Connor had changed his room to
the Presidential Suite.  They had supper in the air, in the
revolving restaurant in Reunion Tower.  Across the way,
Reunion Arena gleamed in the lights, people still scurrying
to set up for the weekend conference.  They talked for hours,
Richie enjoying the quiet companionship.  He was surprised
at how much Duncan and Connor were alike, finally realizing
that Duncan probably idolized this man.  As the bar closed
upstairs, Richie and Connor moved to leave.  In the crowded
elevator, talk turned to mundane matters about the weekend.

        "Care to join me for a five mile run in the morning?
         Or are you too old for it?"

                "How about I get a banquet room, and we see how
                  well Duncan taught you.  Or are you to young for it?"

        "Lead on, MacDuff."

                "That's MacLeod."

        "An antique by any other name..."

                "...is called junk."

        So absorbed by their conversation, neither noticed the
single figure following them through the dark corridors of
the hotel.  Once they entered the suite, the young oriental
pulled a cellular phone from his pocket and began to dial...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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