Date: Mon, 25 Jul 1994 01:51:27 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CIRCLES, Part 1 of 5 (1/2) Author's Note - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Be it known to all, this is a Highlander/Camelot crossover. With that said... It has been contemplated by those more knowledgeable than I, that each time we make a choice, a new universe is born. For each action, an infinite number of actions were possible, and each of these different choices will create a new universe. For a single man, a lifetime of choices results in a multitude of possible universes. The single man is Richard Ryan, Immortal, and this is one of the possibilities. CIRCLES by Kevin H. Robnett Part One - Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod - - - - - Saturday, May 13, 2000 - - - - - In the city, on a side street named Hudson, stood a building, far enough away from the bustle of people to escape careful scrutiny. Tall and old, it had seen many generations pass by. It had numerous incarnations, some as country home, city apartments, or mercantile store. In truth, though the exterior changed as much as the names on the deed, it remained the same, like its owner. Another generation had arrived, evidenced by the word 'MacLeod's' on the front glass. For the first time in two hundred years, it proudly proclaimed its true self for all to see. The antique bell pealed through the shop as Richie burst in, wrestling with the key caught in the lock. From outside, the sounds of New York traffic at ten o'clock in the morning followed him into the room. He stopped, surprised at the twentysomething woman leaning over an antique desk. Equally surprised, she turned around with a start, her brown hair threatening to explode from the bun it was currently in. She smiled when she saw the intruder, placing the papers in her hand back on the desk. In three steps Richie had made it to the desk and threw his arms around her, swinging her around in a circle. Their laughter mingled as they kissed each other on the cheek. "Oh, God, you're finally back" Richie exclaimed, finally setting her back on the floor. "You don't know how hard it is to run the place without you. Where's Connor?" "Well. I finally learn where I stand around here, Richard Ryan," she mockingly protested, poking him in the chest with her finger. Looking disgusted, she resumed her paper shuffling. "He got held up in Amsterdam. Now hold on..." she said, holding up her hand to forestall Richie's forthcoming questions. "He swore on his grave he would be here for your graduation tonight if he had to get off the plane and push." Richie gazed at Angela, an old friend he had known since childhood. "You know where you stand with me, Angie. You're first in my heart. If I could only get David out of the way..." "Leave my husband out of this!" she exclaimed, hitting him with the stack of papers in her hand. "Besides, you had your chance." Shrugging innocently, Richie added, "Can I help it if Duncan practically gagged me through the 'if any man here...' part? What do you want, effort?" "Yes. Speaking of which, make an effort to read these and sign them," she said, handing a set of papers to him. "I've got to run. I just stopped by on the way from the airport to drop these off. David and the kids are waiting at home, and we have to get ready for tonight. Oh, by the way.... Congratulations. It's good someone from the old neighborhood got an education." Again they embraced, this time for longer, ending with another kiss. As Angie ran out the door, purse flying, Richie added, "You only have a year left for your degree, honey!" and then the bang of the door ended the conversation. Grabbing a pen from the desk, he moseyed through the display cases and mounted photographs to a high backed chair in a secluded corner. Settling in, with one leg over the arm as usual, he started reading. He was deep into the 'parties of the second part' when the bell rang, signaling a customer. "Damn!" he quietly exclaimed, cursing himself for not locking the door. He was sure the sign was on 'Closed'. He cleared the last display case and started his speech. "I'm terribly sorry, but we're not..." Standing in the doorway was a silver haired man, cane in hand. A man Richie had sworn would never willingly darken the doorstep again. "Dawson..." Richie stopped dead in his tracks. "I never thought you'd come." The bearded man, looking much older than the last time they had met, shrugged. "I almost didn't. But your prospectus looked very intriguing. And Jeremiah always said your ideas were too good to pass up." Dawson let the door shut, once more ringing the antique bell... < < < < < Saturday, October 31, 1998 < < < < < ...as the young man entered. Gregor greeted him from the desk as Richie and Jeremiah continued their soft conversation across the room. Richie glanced from the nearsighted archeologist to the newcomer. The moment he saw the kid, alarm bells went off. He unobtrusively moved Jeremiah to the side of the shop, and prepared for the worst. By the time he got close, the youth had pulled a gun on Gregor and was shaking it threateningly. A glance between the two Immortals confirmed the plan, Gregor would take out the punk while Richie protected their guest. As Gregor grabbed for the gun, Richie turned and pushed the dark haired mortal, forcibly moving Jeremiah toward the back. Jerry's face froze in shock as the sound of gun fire came from the desk. Everything slowed to a crawl as Richie turned to look, and saw Gregor going down, clutching his stomach. The youth swung the gun and pointed at Richie, who tried to keep Jeremiah behind him. The punk took aim, and at that moment, Richie was swung around, Jerry moving to the front. As the sharp report of the gun going off echoed in the room, Jerry whispered, "I promised him I'd protect..." And then Jerry's lanky body was slammed into Richie, knocking both of them to the floor. They lay like that forever, as the sound of a siren came closer, Richie watching the life drain from his friend's sharply featured face. The blood felt sticky as it poured over his body on its journey to the floor, his ears pounding with the sound of the sirens... > > > > > Saturday, May 13, 2000 > > > > > ...as they passed outside. "Have you made any plans about staying somewhere tonight?" Richie asked, noticing the two bags outside on the sidewalk. "No," Dawson replied, glancing around the room. "I didn't even make plane reservations. I just got up and came." "From the west coast? What time did you leave?" Richie asked in a concerned voice, as he hopped off the outside step to the walk, grabbing both bags and returning inside, carefully locking the door this time. "One, this morning. I couldn't sleep. I've been thinking since I got your invitation. You can count me in," Dawson stated, grabbing one of the bags from Richie's hand. Richie motioned across the room to the old elevator in the side wall. "What about your involvement with the Watchers? I think this would break several of their rules," Richie asked as he pushed aside the elevator gate. After he punched the top of the two buttons, the lift grudgingly rose. "It's pretty much withering away." At Richie's look of surprise, he hastily explained. "With no more Immortals being born that we can tell, and the ones left killing each other faster than you can say 'decapitation', most of the organization has either been retired or shuffled around." "Like Travis." Richie pointed out, mentioning the Watcher assigned to him after Jeremiah's death. "Not a very sociable chap, but he seems to keep up." "He comes from the school of 'no involvement'. Anyway, with the Gathering in full swing, it seems our group has outlived its purpose. And I really have nothing else to do." The lift stopped, and Richie open the gate, revealing the multi-storied apartment. Dawson gazed around, mentally comparing it to when Jeremiah had lived here. Connor's old bedroom was still split into upper and lower floors for Richie and Gregor. And there was the little guest room that was added over the dinning area. Not quite the open loft Connor had made, but still very unique. "Why don't you stay in my room?" Richie asked, heading for the stairs leading down from the upper level walkway. "I really don't want to put you out. I can sleep on one of the couches." Dawson humbly replied, carefully following Richie down the stairs. "Nonsense. I'll stay with Greg and Connor can have the couch. Punishment for not being here on time." Richie entered his bedroom, placing the bag on the dresser. "You know pretty much where everything is." Watching as the elder gentleman stifled a yawn, he added. "Go ahead and take a nap. You still have several hours before we need to leave for the campus. I'll make sure someone wakes you up." Dawson eyed the king-sized bed longingly. "If you insist..." "I do," Richie turned to leave, but stopped just outside the bedroom door. "Joe... Thank you. I'm really glad you came. We need you." "He would have wanted me to," was all Dawson said in reply. He had picked a picture from the nightstand, one with Richie, Gregor, and Jeremiah, people he knew only too well. He stared at the twentyish mortal in the photo, as tall as Richie and as dark haired as Gregor. Jeremiah's glasses were also on Richie's nightstand, and Dawson gently picked them up as he sat on the bed and softly cried. Richie silently closed the door, leaving the Watcher to mourn and hopefully rest. Richie moved across to the sunken area and plopped down on a couch. He was excited at his unexpected guest, and could hardly wait until tonight. [As are we all,] answered a voice in his head, still possessing the remains of a French accent. Richie silently answered, throwing his legs on the coffee table. [Monsieur, since your directive that only one of us should communicate with you at a time, I have allowed myself the privilege of standing the watch on the important occasions. Seeing as I am one of the oldest in this relationship.] [Not in five years. We do not know if he is even here. I am sorry.] The internal conversation was interrupted by a soft chime, the signal that someone had pressed the outside bell. Richie got up and excitedly flew up the stairs, descended on the slow elevator, and burst into the showroom as a female figure opened the recently locked door. Twin tinglings in the base of his skull identified her and the man outside as Immortals, and the lovely visage smiling at him belonged only to Amanda. He arrived at the door as Duncan finished arrangements with the cab driver, and away the taxi sped, leaving his friend on the sidewalk surrounded by a mountain of suitcases. "Hello, Richard," the dark haired woman intoned, holding her hand out. Richie dutifully kissed it, a custom long out of date before he was born. After the token of affection, she waved the hand in the Highlander's direction. "I think Duncan might need a little help with my bags. I really didn't know what to expect, so I packed for anything." [You mean you packed everything, madam!] [Pardon', sir. I will remain silent.] Duncan MacLeod gave his former student a grateful smile as they gathered the seven bags between them. They barely managed to make it to the elevator without damaging any of the merchandise on display. Out of breath, they dumped the bags in the lift as Amanda pressed the button. "When did you start displaying Greg's work?" Duncan inquired as they rose. "Uh, about two years ago. They do very well, and draw the younger crowd. We hold poetry readings every month, and business is booming. Both antiques and other stuff. 'MacLeod's' is becoming very popular," Richie replied. The elevator creakingly carried all the weight to the top floor, where the group moved along the walkway to the small guest room. On seeing the tiny accommodations, Amanda trapped Richie against the wall, playing with his shirt. "Don't you think we might could have, say, your room? I don't know if there is enough space for all my clothes..." she begged, wetting her lips for maximum effect. Richie looked pleadingly at Duncan, who was testing the bounce on the bed. Duncan looked back, eyes sparkling in amusement, and only replied, "You slept with her first, metaphysically speaking." Giving his former mentor his most dirty look, Richie once more faced Amanda, as she breathed huskily in his face. He sheepishly answered, "I would, but... Joe Dawson's already in it, taking a nap. I'll be staying with Greg, and that leaves this room and the couches. If you'd rather..." That bombshell got Duncan off the bed quickly. "You invited Dawson? Here? And he came?" Duncan asked as he came up behind Amanda. Extricating himself from Amanda's clutches, Richie moved to the door. "Under the circumstances, he has every right to be here. As much as you. And yes, he accepted. I'm surprised he didn't tell you." "I haven't talked to Dawson for a week. We left a few days early and flew to Montreal to visit Fitz." Duncan replied, again sitting on the bed, this time in shock. "Well, he's here. Just be careful. This isn't very easy for him," Richie warned. "I'll leave you to unpack. If you're hungry, I've got sandwich stuff in the kitchen." Richie had turned to leave when Duncan called after him. "Feel like a spar? I hear you've cleared the second floor," Duncan asked, all innocent and guileless. Richie turned back. "I don't want to through another one with you again. Ever." The disgust was still very evident in his voice, as was the look he gave Duncan. In softer tones, Duncan continued. "If we don't, the memory will haunt you forever. Trust me. You used to." "Fine. I'm through arguing with you," was all Richie said, stopping on his way to the emergency stairs for his katana. Duncan followed until they had descended to the second floor, a big empty room filled only with support pillars. Richie stripped off his shirt, throwing it by the stairway door. At Duncan's questioning glance, he explained. "You wouldn't believe how fast I go through shirts." "Do you always play this rough?" Duncan asked, concern creeping into his voice. "I play to win," Richie replied moving through a quick stretching exercise. Each took a few moments to prepare, until they felt ready to begin. Face to face they stood, for the first time in five years. They stared at one another, then... =========================================================================