Date: Fri, 9 Feb 1996 12:51:15 EST Reply-To: Vi Moreau Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Vi Moreau Subject: ELENA IN PARIS, PART X ELENA IN PARIS Part X When Duncan found Elena in a front room of the mansion she was on her knees in front of a Hunter who was also kneeling. Duncan could tell from the way the man sagged that the only thing keeping him from collapsing was her sword piercing his body--he could see the blade coming out his back. They were speaking very quietly--Duncan imagined what difficulty he was having speaking at all--and he caught only a few words of...it was Spanish! 'If this is Fernando Rios, she has him!' he thought. "...every night...'rezo'..pray..." he was saying "...to God..." for an Immortal? No, for an immortal soul. Whose immortal soul? Duncan couldn't see Elena's face. He moved closer, fascinated by this conversation, then realized there could still be other Hunters, and looked around. The hallway was deserted. Elena said, "...Fernando Rios, because I will not!" or something like it. She stood and pulled her sword out roughly, stepping back. Rios (it was Rios!) fell forward, moaning. She held her sword out in front of her as he had seen her do before. It was an important fighting ritual for her--she had done it before she entered the house, and before she had fought him. She whispered, "!'Dios mio'!"--"my God!" Then she looked at him--she must have just noticed he was there. She seemed to be studying him. Her jeans were dark with blood, and there was a large fresh stain on her chest; her hair, damp with sweat and pulled out of her ponytail, wildly framed her face. She looked terrible, and she looked beautiful, and as they stared at each other for a moment he felt the coldness in his heart, the coldness he had imposed upon himself so he could do this killing, start to melt away. The Hunter at her feet made a noise, and Elena killed him, then stepped around the body and came to Duncan. She nodded. "Yes, that was him. Duncan, I..." She looked around. "Where's Richie?" "I have to get back to him. It's not over yet! What about Aman..." The lady in question came out of the adjoining room. Elena turned--so that was the noise that had distracted Rios! "Thank you," said Elena, noticing that somehow Amanda looked as cool and collected as she had when they first came into the house, except maybe a little paler than usual? She didn't even have her sword in her hand, whereas Elena was still gripping hers so tightly her hand was cramping up. She eased off slightly. Amanda saluted, smiling ever so slightly, then asked Duncan, "What about Richie? Where is he?" "He's in the wine cellar, shot to death. I've got to get to him..." he turned to go. "I'll go!" said Amanda. "You two see if anyone's still moving. That way?" she pointed toward the kitchen, he nodded, and she darted away. Elena started to ask what happened, but she could guess; after all, she'd been shot too. "There's someone upstairs." When they burst into the bedroom upstairs they found it empty, a window open. Silently they gathered what information they could from the house. They searched the first floor--the dining room was the worst. Elena recognized Glenn Morrison, ('Bernie should be pleased,' she thought grimly) and the two who had been alive when they left still lingered. One man whom Elena had fatally shot was on his front, moaning softly, and Duncan finished him, wishing he'd done this earlier and not left the man to suffer for so long. Elena looked down on a man who was panting heavily; he had tried unsuccessfully to stem the flow of blood with his fingers, but a katana leaves a large, fatal chest wound. He looked at her; if she expected to see hate on his face she was disappointed--there was only pain and fear. As she brought her sword down she heard a gasp and turned quickly. Richie was standing in the doorway. The look of horror on his face frightened Elena--beyond him she could see Amanda, who was also obviously concerned for Richie. Duncan went to Richie, shielding the room with his body, pushing him back carefully. "Richie, are you alright?" Richie didn't answer; in fact, he pushed back against Duncan, straining to keep looking into the dining room. Duncan put his sword down, grabbed Richie by the shoulders and moved him out into the corridor. "There's no need for you to look at this anymore, Richie." "But I want to look, Mac. I wanna see what we've done, what I've done. We killed them all!" His voice sounded strange. Duncan was afraid Richie might become hysterical. "I know," he said, soothingly. "We had no choice. It was them or us." He forced Richie to look at him. "Richie, we had no choice," he repeated, convincing himself as well. But Richie wasn't getting hysterical. Duncan could see him fighting for control. "Mac, I....I didn't realize, you know?...I didn't realize there would be so much...so much..." Duncan knew the word Richie was looking for, but he waited, patient, supportive, his arms still on his young friend's shoulders. "....blood! Did you know there would be so much blood, Mac?" "Yeah, but it's over, Richie. Let's get out of here, OK? We'll talk later, alright?" Richie nodded, almost mechanically, and Amanda said, "Come on, Richie. We're finished here." She took his hand and led him to the front door, but before they got there he turned back to Duncan. "Mac, you know that Immortal downstairs, she shouldn't have died that way! I really tried to get to her, I tried!" "I know you did your best, Richie. Sometimes, no matter what we do or how hard we try, they die anyway. Even other Immortals." "I wish..." Richie started, then he seemed to shake himself like he had before. He turned to Amanda. She smiled and whispered something Duncan didn't hear. They walked outside. Elena was leaning on her sword. Like Richie, she wanted to see what they had done, what she had done; she wanted to take responsibility for it. It was the only way she could live with herself. "We had no choice," Duncan had said, and he was right, but... "Can we get out of here?" asked Duncan. He'd been on battle fields before and had no desire or need to look at the dead. Somehow, each battleground seemed to be worse than the one before. He remembered what Darius had said to him when they first met on a killing field. How he missed Darius, even now! They walked out together, each keeping his council. Elena knew eventually they'd have to talk about this, and she was afraid that Duncan would somehow blame her, or that the sight of her would remind him of this night's work, he wouldn't want to look at her, be with her. She'd just have to wait and see what he said. But as sick as she felt after this night's work, she also felt like a boulder had been lifted from her shoulders. There was a certain freedom...now she could actually do something with her life besides killing! As for Duncan, a part of him was relieved it was over, but another part, the part that both loved and slightly mistrusted Elena, was afraid it would not be over for her. If she was truly just a killer as Dawson and even Richie had said; if this wasn't enough for her; it would destroy them both. "Richie will be alright. He's stronger than you think, Duncan," she said out of the blue. "I know. I just wish he hadn't had to go through this." There was another long silence, then Duncan started, "Elena..." "Rios was a religious fanatic on a mission from God to destroy the Immortals," she interrupted. She really didn't want to hear what Duncan had to say, not right this minute. "Why?" asked Duncan. "Because we want to rule the world?" "He believed we are some sort of hellspawn, sent by 'Satanas' himself. He really believed it, Duncan! And as for Maria..." She didn't know if she could explain to Duncan the genuine regret and sorrow she had seen on Rios' face. "If I live for a thousand years I will never...Duncan!" She broke off when she looked ahead. There were now over a dozen men with Dawson, Bernie and Methos. They were obviously Watchers, and her first instinct was to reach for her sword, but she overcame it. Amanda turned to them, but Richie had walked on ahead. "What's going on, Dawson?" he was saying. Duncan had a good idea of why the Watchers were here. "It's alright," he said to Elena. "Dawson?" he asked, walking up. "We're here to clean up our mess, MacLeod. Don't worry, we'll take care of everything!" Elena was furious. "What do you mean you'll take care of everything? We're the ones who took care of everything. We just did your killing for you!" "No one twisted your arm, Duran! Besides, you'd done quite a bit of killing already, hadn't you!" Duncan stepped between them. "It's over! No more!" He looked from one to the other angrily. "You're right, MacLeod," Dawson said. He sighed and said to Elena, "Can we just call it even?" "I'm willing, but what about your friends?" Elena had noticed the other Watchers whispering--she'd heard her name. Great, now they all knew who she was and what she looked like. How many of their brothers had she killed? "Am I going to have to look over my shoulder from now on for Watchers as well as Immortals?" "God, no! All we want is for the killing to stop!" He looked around at the others. "No Watcher wants you for an enemy; trust me on this!" Elena looked around too. "I gave my word that I wouldn't kill any Watchers, and I won't break my word," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "But I don't want anything to do with you Watchers any more. I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear you, are you listening to this, Bernie?" "But I thought..." "What did you think, Bernie? That everything would be alright? That I would kill ten people and go back to normal?" She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice. "I tried to help you..." "No, Bernie, you didn't try to help me. You only tried to help yourself. You let us do your dirty work for you. I shot Glenn Morrison in the dining room." She realized that sounded like Colonel Mustard from the game Clue--this was so absurd, she almost burst into hysterical laughter. "There are about ten corpses with him. I hope you have a strong stomach, Bernie!" Bernie glanced at his shoelaces. "Look, I...Senorita..." "If you or any other Watcher interferes in my life again, I will retaliate. Do you understand? Dawson?" "Yes," answered Bernie sadly. "Yeah, and you're very good at retaliating, aren't you?" said Dawson sarcastically. Duncan knew Elena's short temper; he knew Dawson hated and feared her but wouldn't be shy about letting her know; he knew how she felt about the Watchers; so he was ready when she lunged for Dawson, but she was so quick, no telegraphing, that she almost got past him. He blocked her, holding her by the upper arms. "We were just leaving, right, Elena?" It wasn't meant to be a question. Duncan knew Elena wouldn't kill Dawson, but that left her many options. And she had a particular dislike for this particular Watcher. Duncan wasn't going to give her a choice. She was angry. She just wanted to punch Dawson, just once. But she knew Duncan wasn't going to let her do it. "'Si, querido". Let's go home." The two of them drove back to Paris in silence, although Richie and Amanda in the back seat did a lot of whispering. By the time Duncan dropped them off at their rented house Richie looked almost...like Richie, except he wasn't smiling as much as usual. Duncan got out with them. "Do you want to talk?" "No, you know, I bet the two of you have a lot to talk about, and I guess Amanda and I...we'll be fine. I'll be alright, Mac, I just need to put it behind me, for a while, anyway. I'll talk to you tomorrow or something." "If you need me," he said to his young friend. "I know. Thanks a lot; I mean that." Duncan nodded and got back in the car. Elena still didn't say a word. They returned to the barge and each took a long, hot, cleansing shower. When Elena finished she sat at the desk, waiting, fidgeting, but as soon as Duncan came out she couldn't begin to say what was on her mind. !'Cobarde'! she called herself. Duncan asked her, "Feeling better?" "No. Should I be?" she retorted. "That's not what I meant." "What do you mean, 'escoces'?" Here it comes, she thought. Duncan winced. "You know you only call me 'Scotsman' when you want to distance yourself from me. Is that what you want, 'querida'?" He was using her own term of endearment; there was some hope. "No, that's not what I want, Duncan. Do you remember what I told you in the dojo? I want to stay with you, to share your life, your love, and your bed. And you said you wanted the same thing. That hasn't changed for me. Has it changed for you?" "No." She felt such an immense relief she wanted to cry. But it wasn't over yet. "You asked me once if I was nothing but a cold-blooded killer. After what happened tonight, what do you think?" "Elena, I killed a lot of them myself. And nobody forced me to be there. How can you think I'd blame you?" "You don't?" "No! But I do need to know...what you're going to do now. You've been through a terrible time. Is it truly over?" "You know, this didn't turn out the way I thought, Rios didn't turn out to be who I thought. I thought killing him and the other Hunters would end something for me, and it did, in a way, but now I have more doubts than when I started. And I'm thinking, 'What have I done?' There's so much blood on my hands, Duncan!" She paced, then stopped in front of him. "Look, there are only two things I'm sure of. One is that I'm finished with killing for now. I hope no Immortals show up!" She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "Do you trust me, Duncan MacLeod? Because the second thing I'm sure of is that loving you has been the best thing that's happened to me in so long! And now I've led you into a killing spree! God, I'm rambling, I don't even know what I'm saying! I think I'd just like to take some time off. Do you think we can do that? Together? Just the two of us?" Duncan looked out the porthole at the rushing water of the Seine. Maybe it would work out, for a while, anyway. He'd been with Tessa for twelve years, but Tessa didn't cross him at every turn. Tessa had generally trusted his judgement. Elena, on the other hand, had more than just a mind of her own; she had other ways of enforcing her wishes. Did he trust her? He trusted that she wouldn't lie to him, and that she would not go after his head without something drastic happening. He trusted that she would keep her word and try to do the right thing. If circumstances changed, he trusted that she would tell him, and they'd deal with it. What else did trusting someone mean? For now, he had to take the chance. He couldn't not trust her. He looked at her face, her high cheekbones, her grey eyes filled with hope? fear? love? He caressed her face with the back of his hand, traced her lips with his fingers. She seemed to be holding her breath. "Yes, I trust you, Elena. And I'd love to show you Paris in the spring. Starting tomorrow." He smiled. Elena smiled in return. She had been holding her breath. She felt like the phoenix rising from the ashes. "Let us do nothing but make love for the next fifty years! What do you say, 'querido'?" "Si, Elena." 'La pesadilla', her nightmare, still came again than night, and the next, but after a few months it faded away. End of ELENA IN PARIS Translations: 'rezo' - I pray 'cobarde' - coward 'escoces' - Scotsman 'querido, querida' - beloved 'la pesadilla' - the nightmare copyright by Vivian Moreau, 1995 =========================================================================