Date: Thu, 28 Jul 1994 00:57:39 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CIRCLES, Part 4 of 5 (2/2) From behind, a soft voice spoke, the accents of a thousand places slipping into his ear. "You're disappointed she couldn't join us tonight," Connor MacLeod said, reading Richie's mood as usual. "Yes," was all the reply needed between the two. They turned and walked back around the concourse to the others. "She doesn't have a place with us..." Connor began. They had talked about it before, coming to no satisfactory conclusion. "I know," Richie answered. "But she's a part of my life. That connects her to us. To me." Connor stopped Richie and turned him around. "It would be safer if she doesn't know." "Duncan told Tessa..." Connor gave the youth a compassionate smile. "In four hundred years, both Duncan and I have told a total of five of our lovers. That only made things worst. Trust me. Trust us. We destroy a little something in mortals when they know about us. I want to spare you that lesson." Richie said nothing as he turned to the group of eight down the hall. Marla was saying something about his promised visits to Washington D.C. as he started toward them. Connor's hand on his shoulder stopped him again. "You must leave them, brother." The voice almost wasn't Connor's, instead it was deeper, more accented. Another Immortal. Another conversation he recently had. He had never accepted the fact he could no longer see the Russells, that their move was the perfect break. Marla was growing suspicious of his unchanging looks. "I know, Connor," he finally admitted to himself, and his friend. "MACLEOD!" The shout came from around the concourse. The few people remaining scattered, Angie and David moving the Russells to a protected stairwell. Duncan and Amanda took defensive positions blocking the mortals as Connor and Richie instinctively turned slightly back to back, giving them less area to worry with. Richie spotted the man down the hall first, or at least recognized the stranger before anyone else. He raised his fist with the diploma into the air and returned the salute. "MACLEOD!" Dougal MacLeod walked down the concourse, deep laughter filling the air. Richie met him halfway, the two friends clasping each other in a painful hug. "Tis' been too long, laddie," Dougal began. "Look at you, still a tender age if I saw one." "Don't you start," Richie warned, taking in the five years of changes that had affected the other. Time had filled out Dougal's teenage frame, lending a maturity Richie would forever lack. His features had become sharper, framed by a thick mane of black hair just short of Duncan's. "It's good to see you." "An' you as well," Dougal replied, as Connor approached. "I was wondering when you would finally find us," he said, clasping his kinsman's forearm. "Let me guess," came the voice of Marla, "you must be a MacLeod." Dougal looked surprised at being recognized by a stranger, an American at that. "Aye. Dougal MacLeod." He flashed the arriving people with a smile Richie remembered all to well. "How did you know?" "Good skin," Richie, Marla, Steve, and Gregor replied at once. They followed it by a short burst of giggles. Introductions were made, especially to Duncan. Dougal seemed awed by the third MacLeod demon, whose life was as famous as Connor's. Pleasantries aside, Richie got down to business. "What are you doing here?" Dougal just smiled, and removed a bone scroll tube, possibly as ancient as some of the antiques Richie peddled. Opening the end and removing a page of vellum, Dougal read. "Be it known among the clan, that on this day, the thirteenth of May in the year of our Lord 2000, in recognition of his sacrifice in service to the clan, we declare that henceforth Richard Allen Ryan bear the surname MacLeod, granting all rights and privileges due him as a member of the clan MacLeod. Signed this day by my hand, Angus MacLeod, Chief. Long live MacLeod." "Long live MacLeod," echoed Connor and Duncan, looking unsurprised. The other's reactions varied, from confusion to pleasant grins. Richie stood speechless, not really comprehending what he had heard. He still looked shocked as Dougal handed him the legal papers showing his change of name, signed in his own hand. Angie looked smug and told him he might read what he was signing after this. Congratulations again were heaped upon him, until Dougal excused himself, informing everyone his flight was less than an hour away. "You can't leave the moment you got here, Dougal," Richie begged, finally showing some life. "I have to, American! Your flights dinna wait," the Scot joked. "Besides, you promised to visit me at Oxford. Studying law doesn't take up all my time." With a poke in Richie's stomach, he was gone, racing to a waiting cab. "You both knew about this," Richie accused the MacLeod clansmen as they walked to the cars. The pinch of anger at being tricked was washed away by the knowledge he was now part of their family. *You always were, child. You just didn't believe it.* "Someone had to convince them you were worth adopting," Connor chided from one side of Richie. "Let that be a lesson to you," his mentor admonished from the other. "We MacLeods are a sneaky and untrustworthy lot." And with that, the two Highlanders grabbed him, rushing him to the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. On three, they flung him into the water, drenching him from head to toe. Richie stood, red hair dripping, looking at his collection of friends, all together, happy and peaceful. It had not always been so, especially for the two MacLeod Immortals. He raised his fist to the air and shouted at the top of his lungs... < < < < < Sunday, March 19, 1995 < < < < < "MACLEOD!" Richie shot around in his chair, looking out the bay windows of the chateau, almost knocking over the chessboard between him and Duncan. Again the voice from outside rattled the glass. "I'VE COME FOR YOUR HEAD, MACLEOD!" The redhead left his chair and moved to the nearest window. "It's Connor," he exclaimed, shocked. He turned at the sound of a sword being unsheathed. "You don't look surprised." "Dawson warned me he was on the continent," Duncan flatly stated, examining his katana. Richie felt a little betrayed at this revelation. His teacher had never been this secretive before. [Duncan did ask you to join him in Paris.] "You aren't going out to fight him, Mac. You're not that stupid," Richie said, moving to block the door. Duncan looked up from his sword. "He's been killing Immortals for months. Good ones. Friends. I don't think he's going to keel over from the exertion like you did. Kiem Sun got his potion right this time. I have to fight him. Or let him kill me." Duncan doffed his coat, sacrificing warmth and protection for maneuverability. He advanced to the door and Richie. The flat of Richie's rapier smacked against the Highlander's stomach, stopping him. "Run," was all Richie said, staring at Duncan, no hint of emotion showing on his teenage face. "He may come after you. Or someone else. I have to end this now." Duncan tried to convey all the emotions he felt to his friend. "If I don't come back..." he started, not able to finish. "There must be another way," pleaded Richie. Anger exploded in the Highlander's eyes, quickly repressed. "Do you think I want this to happen?" he said through clenched teeth. In frustration, he unloaded both barrels. "My teacher, my friend is trying to kill me. To save my life, I have to take his. The only winner in this fight is Kiem Sun, and it's KILLING ME!" He grabbed Richie by the shirt. Something snapped behind his eyes, and all the rage melted away. He slowly released the redhead, hands smoothing the bunched shirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take this out on you." He smiled weakly, unsure of what else to say. "Go, Mac, if you must," Richie counseled. "Whatever happens..." Duncan MacLeod silenced Richie with a finger on his lips. "No goodbyes. One day you'll understand." And then he was gone, out the door onto the lawn. From the window, Richie watched the two clansmen face each other. He remembered back to his earliest encounter with the two of them, and their sparring in Duncan's warehouse. It was one of the things that had intrigued him about Duncan. He had imagined what Duncan's training had been like, especially during his own training. He watched the centuries old friends draw swords on each other, intent on death. He cursed Kiem Sun and swore revenge on the Chinese Immortal. The first clang of swords drew him from his contemplation. He moved so he only peeked out from the edge of the window, hoping if he didn't watch, it would end, yet not wanting to draw his eyes away. Fascination and revulsion coursed through him as they fought, for the first time to the finish. His newly trained eye showed him marvelous details in the carnage, how Duncan was obviously holding back. He kept waiting for Duncan to seriously defend himself, waiting for him to attack. Comments in his mind led to the conclusion Duncan would let himself be beheaded before taking Connor's life. When Connor connected with a debilitating slice, Richie moved to the door, adjusting the grip on his rapier. For a brief moment, Mako tried to establish control, but Richie proved too powerful. Using adrenaline and Quickening both, he shoved Mako away. As he crossed the threshold of the front door, he saw Duncan kneeling, Connor ready to deliver the decapitating blow. Launching himself from the entrance, he shouted... "NOOO!" ...as he plowed into Connor, diverting the blade into Duncan's back, inches from the neck, where Connor's katana wedged itself into the spine. The two Immortals wrestled, Richie using every dirty trick he knew to keep Connor on the ground and on the defensive. The Highlander got a good roundhouse in, knocking Richie off. Richie thanked the gods as Connor followed after him, ignoring the dead Duncan for now. Richie retreated around the house, heading toward the garden. He hid behind a bush, waiting for Connor to come by, a quick headbash against his opponent sending him to the ground again. Again they rolled in the dirt, Connor having very little experience in nineties street fighting techniques. And Richie used them all. For once, the youngster didn't tire first. Connor's punches kept getting minutely weaker, each time, until Richie managed finally to stay on top. "Fight it, Connor. God damn it, shake it off," he yelled, shaking the struggling Immortal. Richie tried slapping him, but that only angered him more. Something went off like a light in Richie's skull. "Ramirez. You've got to take control. Fight the drugs. Please." Confusion registered on Connor's face, screwing up his features. Screaming gutturally, Connor tried pushing Richie off, unsuccessfully. Connor's eyes flew wide, face frozen in shock. Suddenly, small bolts of energy coursed up his arms, gathering in his hands, until they released into Richie's chest. The electrical push threw the redhead several feet. By the time Richie crawled back to Connor, the Highlander's whole body was covered in sweat. Different eyes looked up at Richie, holding no recognition. "Ramirez?" Richie tentatively asked, answered by the peaceful smile and the slow closing of the eyelids. Within seconds they opened again, a Scottish Highlander once more. "Richie?" Connor weakly asked, sweat still pouring off his face. Richie helped him to sit up. It was then they both heard the sound of a car approaching the other side of the house. The side Duncan was on. Richie lifted Connor into a standing position, mostly dragging him around the chateau. They turned the corner as the black sedan sped away, Duncan gone. Without stopping, Richie headed for his bike, praying Connor had enough strength to hold on. Leaving Connor propped over the Harley, Richie raced to the nearest katana. Duncan's. Then they were on the bike, speeding after the car, dust from the road billowing behind them. A chase Richie could not afford to lose. Epilogue - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - In the space between Amanda and Gregor walked another Highlander, a poet and lover. A warrior as well. "I am Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. I have answered my liege's call as another did a long time ago, named Gawain. A knight by virtue of his heart and soul, not his standing or training, forsaking his life to defend his king's honor. I am his champion by right. I am faith." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Concluded Tomorrow... Comments to hobert@aol.com =========================================================================