Date: Wed, 21 Feb 1996 21:54:00 PST Reply-To: Mike Goldman Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Goldman Subject: Counterfeit Friends (17/22)--HL Story BTW: Profanity warning. Sorry, Sean, decided to buck the (k)immie trend.. The ride to Joe's was a lot shorter than Rory remembered it. It felt like she had just buckled her seat belt and they were there. As she got out of the convertible, she looked over at Duncan. "You couldn't have made it just a *little* longer?" Duncan shrugged. "Time was the same. It's just the message you're bringing." Rory's eyebrows shot up. "And from whom did ye learn *that* bit of wisdom, pray tell?" Looking at her, Mac thought it was wiser not to answer right then. He began walking towards the door of Joe's and Rory was forced to fall into step with him. As they neared the door, there was the unmistakable presence of another Immortal. Both of them looked at the other and nodded to confirm they'd each felt it. There was another Immortal inside Joe's. Mac put his hand on the door and jerked it open, their hands going reflexively towards their swords. The first sight they saw was Joe standing behind his bar, hands balled into fists and head down as if he was staring at something incredibly interesting that had materialized on the bar top. The second sight they saw was a lanky redhead sitting at the bar across from Joe. The redhead turned at the noise made by Duncan and Rory. Rory took a disbelieving step forward. "Samuel?" she whispered. "Oh, aye," the man said, "it's me--though you're lookin' as if ye've seen a ghost." He smiled as he spoke, but the smile held no warmth, rather it had more of a predatory feel to it. Rory's mouth opened and closed a few times. "I heard you were dead." she finally managed to get out. "Ah, the same way I heard *you* were dead?" Rory swallowed hard. She tried stealing a look at Joe but Samuel caught her. "Oh yeah," he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at Joe. "Your lover and I have been havin' some rather interestin' conversations about you. I couldn't believe how much you hadn't told him about yourself. After all, honesty *is* the best policy, is it not?" "You *bastard*!" she cried, grabbing her sword hilt. Macleod decided this was an opportune moment and stepped in between the two as Samuel stood up. "I don't think this is the time or the place." he said to them. "Who are you?" Samuel asked. "Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod." "Never heard of you." he said dismissively. "She cut you in?" "No." "Then I have no need to talk with you." He neatly sidestepped Duncan and faced Rory again. "What do you want?" she said tiredly. "First, I want what you took from us." he said, "and, second, I want your head." Out of the corner of her eye, Rory saw Joe look up. "You can have the money. I don't care." she said. "How good of you." Samuel said mockingly. "Such the philanthropist." He put his face millimeters from Rory's. "Do you know what they *did* to me after they found out the money was missing?" Rory averted her eyes, but couldn't drown out his voice. "First they questioned me -- you remember what questionings are like, don't ye? Bright lights, several voices raining down on ye all at once and if they don't like the answers..." He continued. "Then they moved up to continual beatings when I couldn't tell them anything. Then, when they finally decided I was of no use anymore, they killed me." He moved so that she had to look at him. "Do you know how they did it?" He grabbed the collar of his turtleneck and pulled it down, exposing a livid scar on the side of his throat. "THEY SHOT ME IN THE NECK!" he yelled. Rory flinched from the volume. "And then left me to die!" "I'm sorry." she whispered, unable to avert her eyes from his neck. "You're sorry." Samuel repeated. "YOU'RE SORRY?" he screamed. "Do ye know what ye did to me? Not only am I dead in Ireland, but when Samuel Reilly's son or grandson tries to join up, all anyone's going to remember is that his ancestor was a traitor!" "And now you offer me the money as if that's going to cure everything." He reached out a finger and caressed her cheek. "It's gone far beyond the money at this point, darlin'. They took my life and I'm going to take yours--but there will be a certain poetic justice to it." He cupped her face in his hands. "Three nights from now is the anniversary of *my* 'death'. On that night, I will take your life and I will be reborn. I will let you know the place." With that, he let go of Rory's face and picked up a pair of gloves off the bar top and walked towards the door. As he walked by Macleod, he jauntily saluted him, saying, "Nice meeting you, whatever-your-name-is", then strutted out the door. The door closed with a sound of awful finality. Rory stepped hesitantly towards the bar. "Joe?" she said softly. "I was going to tell ye." "She was, Joe." Duncan put in. "You knew." Joe said flatly. Rory tried to put her hand over Joe's, but he jerked it away. "I'm sorry." she whispered, her voice cracking. "Sorry I found out?" he snapped. "Don't be! It certainly filled some rather large holes in your Chronicle. Samuel had some very interesting stories to relate. For example, I found out about--" and he went on to list quite a few historical incidents as well as some that had not been made general knowledge. After his recitation, he looked at Rory, eyes hard. "Should I go on?" Rory mutely shook her head. Duncan tried to intervene. "Joe..." "Stay out of this, Macleod!" he said, keeping his eyes on Rory. "I want to hear what she has to say." There was a long pause. The only sound was Rory taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know if I can explain this in a way that's going to help you understand any of this--" "Try." Ice cold voice. She bit her lip, then started talking. "When I joined, there were mainly different groups with the same goal -- there was no formal Irish Republican Army. We lived in a country where, many times, it was considered treason to sing or write about Ireland and we just wanted to be independent from England. In trying to do that, we watched our leaders and even our ministers hanged and many other people sent off to prisons. As time went on and things got worse, it seemed that violence was the only way to combat our enemies and the only thing that would bring about any results. Now...while I still believe in the goal, I no longer believe in the methods." "So terrorism no longer concides with your ideals." was Joe's sarcastic response. Duncan could see Rory's temper rise. "Immortals have been choosing their battles from the beginning! I chose mine. I daresay that you haven't agreed with every position an Immortal has taken over the years -- your American Civil War, for example?" "That's irrelevant!" Joe snapped. "It is?" Rory shot back. "Yes!" "How?" Joe opened his mouth, then shut it. He saw Macleod looking at him in interest and flushed. "We're not talking about other Immortals, we're talking about you." He mentally kicked himself for such a lame argument. "You were a terrorist killing innocent people in the name of some grand cause!" "And what about you, Joseph?" she asked. Joe's eyes narrowed. "What about me?" "What about Vietnam? How many people did you kill there?" Dead silence. Duncan didn't think it was possible for the tension to get any thicker, but Rory's next statement proved him wrong. "If I was Vietnamese, what would I have called you?" Duncan found himself holding his breath as Joe and Rory stared at each other, neither one wanting to give way. Rory broke first. "Ah, hell with ye. Hell with all of ye." She turned and walked quickly out of the bar, blindly stumbling into chairs as she went. As the door closed, Duncan turned to Joe who was staring after her. "Joe," Duncan began. As if he didn't hear Macleod, Joe picked up his cane, walked to the back of the club and disappeared up the stairs. To leave the thread of all time and let it make a dark line in hopes that I can still find the way back to the moment. I took the turn and turned to begin a new beginning still looking for the answer, I cannot find the finish it's either this or that way, it's one way or the other it should be one direction - it could be on reflection the turn I have just taken, the turn that I was making I might be just beginning--I might be near the end. "Anywhere Is" -- Enya =========================================================================