Date: Tue, 12 Sep 1995 12:40:08 EDT Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: Dark Side Part 1 of Here's another one. This is sort of a sequel to "Hold Fast." You don't need to have read "Hold Fast" to understand this story, but it does contain spoilers for the earlier story. If you didn't get "Hold Fast," ask me and I'll send you a copy. This story takes place a couple of days after Finale II, which means it happens before the very short story I sent out, "Those Who Heal Themselves." The Dark Side of the Mirror by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu The phone rang. "Allo?" "Mr. Black?" "Yes." "She contacted me, just like you said." "So you're meeting her?" "Yeah, tonight at seven. The cafe on Rue Montmartre." "Hmm. Is there a church nearby?" "What?" "A church -- cathedral, chapel, shrine. Is there one near this cafe?" "I don't know." "What about a cemetery?" "How would I know? There's churches all over Paris!" "Hold on a moment while I find a map." "Mr. Black . . . are you there?" "Ah, yes, the cafe on Rue Montcalme will be fine. Keep her there at least fifteen minutes. You'll get your payment later." The phone clicked. "Duncan?" Amanda's voice floated back from the barge's cramped kitchen area. "Yeah?" Macleod didn't glance up from the mail he was sorting. "I thought you hated asparagus." "I do." "Then why did you buy some?" "What?" Duncan rose and crossed to her side. "I didn't buy any asparagus." "Then what's this doing in the bag you just brought home?" Duncan blinked at the bundle of greens Amanda waved at him. "I don't remember buying that," he repeated. "Ah, well, the memory often starts to go after four hundred years," she said sadly. "Amanda . . ." "Just kidding." Amanda tossed the asparagus onto the counter. "You probably just grabbed the wrong package or something." Duncan stood staring absently into the bag of food. "Duncan?" Amanda sighed and shook her head. She had seen that vacant stare before, and knew what it meant. She continued putting food away until Duncan came back to himself with a start. "Remembering something?" she asked. "Hmm? Oh, yes, I guess so." Duncan moved back to the table and contemplated the mail. "Should I throw this away?" "Oh, no, you can have it." "Duncan. You _know_ I hate asparagus too." "Oh, right. Then throw it out. Whatever you want." Duncan rubbed at his neck. "I'm going up on deck, Amanda." "Right, well, it's time for me to leave anyway. I'm meeting someone. I'll be back here at eight for dinner." Duncan turned. "Meeting someone? About what?" "Business," Amanda said airily. Duncan put his hands on his hips. "Is he a fence? A buyer? Or a potential partner?" "Duncan! I told you I'd given that up!" "Yes, you told me. Several times over the past two and a half centuries. And you haven't given it up yet." "Well, now I have. Anyway, you know I would never start working with another partner when I have you." "Oh, _that_ makes me feel better!" Laughing, Duncan led the way up onto the deck of the barge. The smile slid from his face as he paused and looked at the water of the Seine, flowing by. Amanda laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right, Duncan? Do you still feel bad about what happened with Kalas?" "No," said Duncan slowly. "Not Kalas . . . I guess I just need to think for a while." "Well, you sit down here and think, dear," Amanda said, placing her hands on his shoulders, "and I'll be off to my meeting." She gave him a quick kiss. For a moment, Duncan stared at her as if she were a stranger. Then he blinked and kissed her back. "Fine. I'll expect you at eight, then." A man in a long black coat paused on the roughly cobbled street, gazing down the hill towards a cafe. He pulled a diminutive pair of binoculars from his pocket and raised them to his eyes. A man and a woman sat at a table in front of the cafe, talking. The man looked nervous, the woman annoyed. She gestured quickly, leaning across the table. Her finger stabbed at the man's chest. The observer lowered his binoculars and smiled. He walked down the hill slowly, pausing every few feet to study the two at the cafe. Suddenly the woman broke off her tirade in mid-word. Her head swiveled, searching for something. She looked up the hill. The observer moved behind a small truck parked at the side of the street. The woman, no longer angry, got to her feet, spoke a few hasty words to her companion, and left the cafe. She hurried down the street, looked about anxiously at the intersection, and continued on. The observer didn't follow. His lips curved upward as he returned the binoculars to his pocket, but there was no smile in his eyes. Amanda returned to the barge to find Duncan presiding over a collection of bubbling pots, singing softly to himself. Amanda raised her brows and squeezed into the kitchen for a better look, tossing her raincoat onto the couch. "What are you making?" she asked. "Boeuf bourguignon," Duncan replied, gesturing to some of the pots. "And this one?" Amanda raised the lid to sniff and recoiled. "Eugh! I thought you were going to throw out the asparagus!" Duncan paused, frowning. "I thought it might not be so bad steamed and served with a hollandaise sauce." "Well. I hope you enjoy it." Duncan stirred the sauce. "I used Fitz's recipe for the hollandaise," he said softly. There was a sad light in his eyes and a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. "Well, in that case I might try a bite," Amanda conceded, "but don't expect applause." She left the kitchen to Duncan's care. "What was the song you were singing when I came in?" "Song?" "Yeah, you know -- la, dum, da-dee . . . " Amanda waved her hands vaguely, trying to capture the melody that had stuck in her mind. "Oh, that's an old, uh, Italian love song." Amanda cocked a brow at Duncan's telltale hesistation. "How old?" she asked, coming up behind him and placing her hands on his hips. "Is it . . . dirty?" "Very old, and no," said Duncan firmly, twitching free of her hands. "I learned it, er -- I guess I must have learned it in the seventeenth century, when I was in Verona. That's where I met Macleod." "Fitzcairn." "What?" "Verona. That's where you met Fitzcairn." "That's what I said." "No, you said you met _Macleod_ in Verona." "I did?" Amanda chuckled. "You really _are_ getting senile, my dear." "Well, you're more than twice my age," Duncan retorted, "so you should really be worrying." He cleared his throat. "How did your, ah, meeting go?" "What? Oh, the meeting! I don't think the guy really had the connections he said he did." "Was he trying to set you up?" Amanda bit her lip and considered whether to mention that she had sensed another Immortal during the meeting. "No," she said casually, "more likely he was just trying to get my money. I'll keep an eye out for trouble, though." "All right, the food's ready. Get the plates out, will you? There's a nice burgundy around somewhere that should go with this." Amanda shook her head and went to get the plates. There was no point in bothering Macleod with a matter neither of them could do anything about. "Duncan." Macleod looked up, startled, to where Amanda sprawled on the couch with a book. "What?" "Are you planning to sharpen that sword until you wear it away to nothing?" Duncan looked down. He didn't even remember picking the sword up. Sometimes tending to weapons could become so reflexive that it was almost hypnotic, but usually he at least recalled starting the process. "I haven't been at it that long," he said with a nervous laugh. "Only about half an hour. I've read two chapters while you were standing there." Duncan ran the oiled rag along his katana one more time, and found it razor-sharp. All the nicks from his battle with Kalas on the Eiffel Tower had been smoothed away. He lifted the weapon and felt its balance, at once natural and strangely unfamiliar. "Would you like to play some chess or go for a walk, or something?" Duncan looked up. Amanda had one leg curled underneath her and a book held in front of her face. She wasn't even watching Duncan. The shirt she was wearing had an open neck that left her smooth throat exposed and vulnerable. Her coat, and the sword that nestled inside it, were more than ten feet away. He was suddenly acutely aware of Amanda's presence. Usually, after the first shock of meeting, another Immortal's buzz faded quickly into the background. But Amanda's proximity was like the whine of an unpleasant insect in Duncan's ears. He found his wrist moving, swinging the sword easily back and forth in the limited space of the barge. He took one step forward, his weight low and balanced. Amanda lowered the book. "Duncan?" Duncan turned his unplanned movements into an exercise, pivoting away from Amanda and bringing the sword down in a neat arc that cleaved only air. Then he forced himself to straighten and set the sword aside. "No, I don't really feel like chess right now." Amanda put the book down and got to her feet. "Are you feeling all right?" Duncan touched the hilt of the sword, then clenched his hands and stepped back. "I'm fine." "You don't look fine. You look worried." Amanda came toward him. Duncan moved away as the buzz grew louder. Now Amanda was between him and his sword. Duncan shoved his hands into his pockets. "I _said_, I'm fine." Amanda raised her mobile brows at his vehemence. "Well then," she said, catching the front of his shirt playfully, "maybe we could think of something better to do than playing chess." "Not right now, Amanda." Duncan disengaged her hands and turned away to pace the barge, not looking at Amanda or the katana. "I guess I'm just a little on edge." He sat down at the table, then realized that Amanda's coat and sword were just an arm's length away. He got up and began to pace again. "On edge," Amanda repeated, watching him make a circuit of the room. "No . . . special reason?" "No. No reason at all." Duncan forced himself to stand still and smile at her. "Listen, Amanda, maybe you shouldn't stay here tonight." "What?" "I mean, it might be better if you went somewhere else. Just for a little while." Amanda stared at him. "Are you . . . expecting company? Someone you don't want me to meet?" "No, I'm not expecting anyone, I'd just -- rather be alone right now, that's all." "Alone. Really." Amanda crossed her arms. "This wouldn't have anything to do with another Immortal being in town, would it?" "What?" "Someone's after your head, and you want me out of the way, right? Three's a crowd, especially three Immortals. Who is it?" "No one. I told you, nobody's coming!" "If it's not another woman, and not another Immortal, why are you sending me away? Maybe you're just tired of me?" "That's not why I asked you to leave, Amanda --" "Isn't it? The high and mighty Duncan Macleod: always faces his enemies alone, doesn't tell his friends and -- and lovers when he's heading off to some new danger. I'm surprised you even let us stand and watch when you met Kalas. But then, that wasn't just _your_ fight, was it?" "No one is after me, Amanda!" Duncan found his katana in his hand again. He slammed it down hard on the table. Amanda stared at him. "Fine," she said, biting her lip. "Fine. Don't tell me, then." She crossed the room to snatch up her coat, stuffing her broadsword into concealment as her heels clicked a path to the door. Duncan stood with his head bowed, his hand pressed flat on the table beside his sword. Amanda paused on the steps. "You know," she said, "I might not be able to help you in a fight, but I wish you'd realize that you don't have to push everyone away. I wish you'd let someone stand with you, just once. I mean, that's what friends are for. That's what love is all about. Right?" Duncan didn't answer. Amanda slammed the door on her way out. Her buzz faded into the distance. Duncan slumped on the couch and stared at his katana, wondering what was wrong with him. =========================================================================