Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:35:58 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 08 of 20 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Duncan burst into the suite of rooms he and Dawson were sharing at the Paris Savoy, clipboard in hand. "Joe, you won't believe what I found," he began, moving from room to room. "There were two laundry trucks here the day Connor..." Duncan stopped, surprised by a naked woman in his bed. Absently, he set the clipboard in his hand on the dresser while gazing at the raven haired, ruby lipped female. The same one he had met on the plane a month ago. She writhed, opening her arms to him. Duncan started to speak as he ripped his clothes off, her mouth on his lips silencing the questions. Later, he lay relaxed, gazing at the stranger he so eagerly and surprisingly had sex with. He was glad he remembered her face this time, a lovely face. A memory surfaced as he ran his fingers through her short hair, just a snippet of sound. (So, brother.... How does it feel to bed your own sister?) Shocked, a word escaped his lips before he had even thought about it. "Morgana!" Her eyes flew open at that name, sparks flashing in their black depths. He managed to get out of the bed as her hands shot up, claws. He was turning for the door as energy sizzled from her fingers, shocking him into the wall. There he hung, helpless, pink bolts running up and down his naked body keeping him pinned. She slowly advanced, almost cackling, hands raised at him. "My, my. You are certainly well informed, Highlander. Not that it will do you any good. It's such a shame, really. I didn't want to get rid of you just yet. You're so...virile." She laughed in his face, grabbing his shoulders and flipping him back onto the bed. "How about one more... for old times sake." This time she was less than pleasant, taking much more than she gave, running her now sharp nails over his unprotected body, clawing his face and chest. Pain followed those scratches, trails of fire, angry red welts appearing on his skin. He still couldn't move a muscle, his only response an agonized scream. She rode him like a crazed beast, never letting up until she had rung every ounce of pleasure from him. He almost cried with relief when it was over. But she wasn't through with him. She whispered in his ear, sending uncontrollable shivers through his nude frame. The woman got off his aching body, collecting her clothing. He still couldn't move, his chest barely able to draw in air, each breath a torment. Once dressed, she came back into view, reaching her hand to his neck. "Goodbye, lover boy. You were the best since... well, how can one compare the two of you?" It felt as if a band of metal around his neck was slowly being heated, the pain constricting his throat. It burned deeper, almost as if it was beheading him. Panic slowly made its way from his gut as she cackled again. The sharp bang of the door as it flew open distracted her, ending the torment. A voice Duncan barely recognized as Joe Dawson's spoke. "Up to your old tricks, I see." The cane and footsteps sounded muffled on the carpet as the Watcher came into the room, just barely in the Highlander's limited field of vision. Morgana whirled, claws ready and aimed at the intruder. Orange flashes gathered in front of her, forming a ball. Duncan watched as it shot suddenly toward the cripple. He could barely believe the casualness Dawson possessed as he raised his cane, batting the globe into a wall. Orange tendrils shot out as it hit, unable to find a purchase on the smooth surface. It harmlessly discharged, a minor amount of smoke appearing where it burned the wallpaper. Morgana cried in rage, turning to Duncan on the bed, her hands moving fast. As she finished her incantation, a silver ball shot from Dawson's direction, spiraling around her until a silver wall had formed, encasing her. Red energy shot from the top as she screamed in pain. "I don't know who you are, mortal," she hissed behind the barrier, "but you have made a sorry mistake. Beware and be warned." With that, she clicked her fingers, disappearing in a haze of green smoke and a chilling cackle. The silver barrier faded as well. Dawson stepped over to the frozen Immortal, his hands turning blue. He ran them over Duncan, unresponsive muscles finally obeying as the glow came in contact with them. Seconds later, Duncan could weakly sit up. "She always did use too much theatrics," Joe joked, helping the Highlander to stand. "I don't think it's very funny, Dawson," Duncan hissed through the pain. They made their way with fumbling steps to the mirror, both examining the ugly red welts still on Duncan's body. His neck was a massive burn, all the way around. The clipboard on the dresser reminded him what he found this morning. Indicating it to Joe, he explained. "The day Connor checked in, there were two laundry trucks. Usually there's only one. I called the laundry service, and they confirm they only sent one. The other has to be a fake. A definite lead." Joe nodded his agreement. "That makes two, then," the Watcher said as he helped Duncan into a chair. Duncan looked at him, inquiring if Joe found anything as well. Dawson pointed to the spot formerly occupied by Morgana and said, "I think that qualifies as Clue Number One." Duncan nodded, silent from the pain. And waiting for his unnatural healing to start. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Ten hours later found him in the corridor leading toward his cabin on Freedom Station, walking unsteadily because of the torment he still felt. He was caught by surprised when Richie grabbed his shoulder, the buzz of the other Immortal lost in the haze of agony. He winced, almost crying out, as his student's hand on the welts sent ripples of pain through his torso. Richie turned him around, a look of shock appearing on his face at the sight of Duncan's wounds. The redhead slowly raised his hands as if to touch the claw marks on Duncan's face. "Mac... Oh my God, what happened?" Duncan gasped, Richie stopping short before touching his face. The redhead ran his gaze down the cheek to the neck, his hands moving down as well. He grabbed the collar of Duncan's shirt to open it, the Highlander's hands grabbing his wrists, stopping him. "No..." Duncan managed to croak, still possessing enough strength to momentarily stop the other Immortal. The exertion proved too much, overloading Duncan's pain threshold. He collapsed into Richie's arms, unconscious. When he awoke, he was lying on his bed, his shirt gone, the angry welts only throbbing a little. Richie came near, holding a metal bowl and cloth, the sleeves of his maroon jumpsuit rolled to the elbows. The redhead sat on the bed beside Duncan, placing the items on a shelf above his head. "You're not healing, Mac. These aren't going away," Richie said, concerned. Duncan opened his mouth to speak, trying to get a name out, but Richie shook his head. "Don't talk. Joe gave me a full report. Anything else can wait. Now, I want to try something. With your permission?" he asked, holding up his empty hands. Duncan nodded his approval. Richie placed his hands, palm down, just inches above Duncan chest. Slowly closing his eyes and throwing his head back, he mumbled words, sounds, unintelligible. A crackle of energy gathered in his hands, the familiar whiteness of a Quickening. Small bolts jumped from hand to chest, bringing the grateful rush of power, without the troublesome spark of personality. More and more energy passed between the two, jumping over Duncan's body and face. The welcome sensation of skin growing together, of damage repairing itself, of life pouring again into his blood almost made him laugh. It wasn't as speedy as Duncan was used to, but still the pain faded as Richie continued to increase the flow. Suddenly, with a snap, it was over, Duncan's breathing no longer the agony it had been. He looked up in time to see Richie keel over, time to guide the eternal boy down beside him as Richie lost awareness, lost in the sleep of the exhausted. Duncan also welcomed the bliss of sleep, healing sleep, hoping for once Richie wouldn't snore. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Duncan awoke first, free from the pain that had plagued him yesterday. A careful look showed the welts gone and forgotten. He lay there, content to listen to his friend breath, watching from behind as the redhead slept. {He still looks so young, so helpless.} His mind brought up memories of when they had lived together with Tessa, before Richie had Awakened. Even as the Gathering had blown around the family they had made, he had felt at peace with his tormented existence. He was surprised at not experiencing a twinge of guilt thinking about Tessa. Youth stirred beside him, trying to roll over into the space Age occupied. "Of all the beautiful women I've dreamed about waking up with, and look what I get..." Duncan joked as Richie rubbed his face with his hands. "Morning, Mac. Serves you right..." A yawn ended the thought as Richie absently stretched his arms. Ending with a *Humfph*, Richie turned his head to Duncan. "Remind me not to do that again anytime soon. What time is it?" Duncan brushed his black hair from his face, grinning down at the redhead. "Do you want Freedom, Florida, or Paris time?" Richie smiled as Duncan laughed. "Have you always been this frisky in the morning?" Richie asked, punching his elbow into Duncan's freshly healed ribs. He slowly sat up, throwing back the blanket Duncan had covered him with. "Only with my more energetic bedmates," Duncan replied, pushing Richie off the bed with his foot. Richie slid off, falling to the floor with a thud. Both Immortals broke out in laughter, Richie rolling on the floor, trying to stand and failing. "Don't laugh," Richie said through his chuckles. "Oh God, what will the neighbors think?" That sent him off on another round of giggles. At Duncan's look of puzzlement, he added. "It's bad enough I spent the night with the you, in your bed, by the way, but when the women hear I couldn't even *walk* out of the room the next morning..." After the pair had finished laughing, Duncan crawled out of bed, helping Richie to his feet. The redhead still couldn't stand by himself. "About this time, Mac, you usually drag me across the room and throw me in a chair." He pointed at the one next to the sofa, Duncan carrying the limp body across the room and set him down in it. "How 'bout breakfast?" Richie asked, head lolling on the backrest. "Not the cafeteria garbage. I know you keep food in here." By the time the Highlander had whipped up two omelets, Richie had regained some of his strength. They sat, eating off the coffee table. Duncan turned serious. "What exactly did you do?" he asked, bringing up last night. Richie sighed, aware that reality finally intruded. "I can't explain it, Mac. Other than I transferred some of the Quickening I have to you, overloading your system, so that the excess would heal the wounds." He continued when Duncan cautiously asked how. "A very wise, old woman taught it to me." Richie smiled at calling Es 'old'. "I've never used it before, and I understand now why she said it was a last ditch attempt. If you're not careful, you can pour *everything* out, leaving behind an empty husk." He took a sip of hot coffee to counter the sudden chill. "Thank you," Duncan simply said. Richie shrugged, embarrassed. "No need to thank me. We passed that point a long time ago." He suddenly shot up, wanting to leave. Windmilling his arms momentarily to get his balance, he fended off Duncan's attempt at help. "I will not be coddled in my own castle, Duncan MacLeod." "Whatever you wish, Richard MacLeod." Duncan walked him to the door, stopping him as he crossed the threshold. "You'll be all right?" "Aren't I always?" Richie replied, and the door slid shut. An ending, of sorts. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Time passes. It was dark in the room, a nameless cabin on Freedom, the only light a faint glow from the computer terminal. A voice spoke to the lone occupant in the room. "I trust everything is ready?" A silent nod from the resident. "Good. If everything goes well, I may authorize a brief respite. I'll contact you after it's over." The screen went blank, plunging the person into darkness. Darkness, like the blot on the person's soul. The traitor's soul. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Diary entry, December 5, 2025. Richie MacLeod. The PROMETHEUS should enter orbit in the next hour, if the deceleration burns take place. If that doesn't happen, we may attempt a remote linkup if they don't respond to short-range hails. We're going to standby alert once I finish this entry. Still no word on Connor, but Joe and Mac feel they're close. To top everything off, Morgana's involved. And that means... Damn! I was hoping they'd be dead by now. And I'm an hour away from seeing Augie and Jeremiah. I pray they're as pleased to see me. End entry, and go to standby alert." Richie watched as technicians moved to their stations at the soft pinging sound. Freddie rushed in, zipping the front of his maroon jumpsuit, a half eaten sandwich in his other hand. All stations were operating and staffed, including the medical station usually left empty. He swung his seat to face his terminal, patching through to Sanctuary's main hanger. Lucas' frantic face appeared on the monitor as Richie spoke. "How close are you guys?" In the background, people rushed in and out of a sleek shuttle, fumes escaping from relief valves, giving everything a hazy look. Breathlessly, the scientist replied. "The medical team is finishing loading the EINSTEIN now. We'll uplift in..." He stopped as he checked his watch. "...two minutes. I'll be off your starboard bow in twelve. Sanctuary out." The video faded as the blond man ran to the shuttle hatch, struggling with a large case in the press of scurrying people. Next, Richie keyed in Fitz's personal access, surprised to find the Englishman strapping into the seat of something other than the SEAGULL. "What miracle is this?" Richie began, watching Fitz look up, startled. "Something wrong with your shuttle?" the redhead joked. Fitz gave him an annoyed look, reaching for the com switch. "The DARIUS is still the largest transport, even without a StarDrive. If you'll excuse us, we have work to do." With that he killed the circuit, sending Richie's monitor to black. Properly chastised, Richie swung around in his chair, taking in the hustle of the command center, before resting his gaze on Wendy Mitchum. She noticed his gaze, and softly in his earpiece, she whispered, "Don't you dare start harassing us, Rich. Just shut up and let us do our jobs. That's what you pay us for." Sighing to himself, he stood, planning to pace and drive everyone crazy. A flash of light outside the windows drew his attention, coming from the back of the station. He had turned and taken a step toward the glass when the station jerked left, sending him tumbling to the floor, sliding into a console. Others were thrown from their chairs, their cries of pain mixing with a distant sounding explosion. Ceiling lights blinked off and on as Richie tried to stand, clutching the console for support. Lights turned scarlet as an automatic red alert began. =========================================================================