Date: Mon, 20 Nov 1995 23:05:09 EST Reply-To: Vi Moreau Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Vi Moreau Subject: Elena Part VI Part VI of Elena Duncan and Elena spent two wonderful quiet days without even leaving his rooms above the dojo, the rest of the world completely shut out. They ate, slept and made love-- made love on the bed, on the sofa, on the floor. They couldn't get enough of each other. But more than anything else, they talked. Duncan told Elena about the Highlands, about Connor MacLeod, about Darius and Kalas and Kern, and a lot about Richie, and about Tessa. Elena told Duncan about her dim memories of her Indian mother, and her supposed Spanish father, who kept her as a drudge in his big house and sold her to Don Alvaro Duran y Agramonte when she was in her teens. Don Alvaro was a wonderful man who adopted her and raised her like a true Spanish senorita, even in the wilds of colonial Argentina, except for one point: his stubborn insistence that she learn to fence. He was a harsh taskmaster who pushed her to the point of physical and mental exhaustion daily, but she didn't get the point until the day of her fatal riding accident. After she fell from 'Demonio' and hit her head, Eugenio, her supposed bodyguard, raped her and abandoned her on the pampas to die. Surprisingly, she woke up in her own bed with the strangest, strongest, dizzying feeling of connection to someone closeby. It was Don Alvaro, and that day he made her solemnly promise to do one thing for him--to obey one special order he gave her. When the day came that a better 'espadachin,' a master swordsman, challenged Don Alvaro, he ordered her to run. It was the hardest thing she had ever done--that, and leaving Maria. She told him about Maria, and the baby, and the hopes they had for the future, and the night the Hunters came. "I keep thinking I should never have left her. But it was the only chance she had. If they had just come after me and let her live..." As always, when this subject came up her throat felt tight, and she found it difficult to speak. Duncan squeezed her hand. He knew how difficult this was for her, and how she blamed herself. He now believed she was a decent woman who had just been pushed into madness by pain and grief. At least he really wanted to believe it. If he could only help bring her back. "You did what you thought was best for her. It wasn't your fault, Elena." "I know that in my head, but not in my heart." She took a deep breath and went on in a more even tone. "I also know that no matter what we do, they die anyway. I have come to accept this. But she died so uselessly, so young, and with that child inside her. It was the worst act of brutality I have ever encountered, and I have seen things...I think that night something inside me was shattered beyond repair." Elena shook her head and wiped her eyes. She was sure making up for not being able to cry for the last year and a half. Duncan smiled at her. They were sitting in front of the fire, drinking his last bottle of wine. "You know the old saying, 'Time heals all wounds.' With us it's even more true. We have to live on, Elena. If you can't put the pain and the rage behind you, it will destroy you too. And that's not what Maria would have wanted. Or what Don Alvaro would have wanted. Or Darius," he added. "Darius was...a wonder. And Don Alvaro was a true Spanish 'caballero.' They would never have approved of what I've done." He took her face in his hands. He noted with satisfaction that the scar on her neck was almost gone, her voice not quite back to normal. "What's done is done. Now we have to move on." "Tell me, do you always know the right thing to say?" she asked. Duncan nodded, satisfied for now. Elena smiled, closed her eyes and snuggled into his shoulder. After a long silence, she sighed. "And now, we need to discuss Dawson and his...companions." "Yes." He had been dreading this, not knowing which way she would go, knowing the stand he would have to take. 'Please, God, I don't want to have to kill her, please...' He held his breath. Their discussion did not go well. Elena hoped he would join her in her crusade, but Duncan had enough killing Immortals and was not going out looking for more targets, not unless they attacked him or Richie, or her. This last surprised her a little. It surprised him, too. He also made her acknowledge that there was a difference between the Watchers and the Hunters. In the end she agreed not to harm Dawson at least until they all had a chance to talk. Duncan MacLeod, she found, believed talking could accomplish as much if not more than fighting. Maybe in this case he was right. Just before dawn she was rummaging through his drawers and came up with a t-shirt and drawstring pants she could cinch up and roll up to more or less fit. She was only about seven centimeters shorter, but he was so much broader that the shirt hung on her. Duncan was still asleep, so she went down to work the punching bag, hard, kicking it, taking out her frustrations, when she felt the Buzz. She turned, and Richie walked into the dojo, followed by Joe Dawson. At the sight of Dawson she felt something break inside her head. She picked up her sword from a bench and strode towards him. Richie intercepted her, drawing his own sword. "I can't let you take him, Duran." She wouldn't get past Richie easily. Did this boy think he could keep her from Dawson? Her voice trembled slightly, but not with fear. "You are in harm's way, Richie Ryan." "So sue me." Distantly, she heard Dawson say, "I thought we came here to talk!" At the same time she felt an Immortal behind her. "Don't do this, Elena !" She spoke over her shoulder through clenched teeth. "Nothing that happened between us gives you the right to tell me what to do, 'escoses!'" "You gave me your word! 'Palabra de honor,' remember? Or isn't your word any good?" He was angry and frightened both. Elena sighed and put down the tip of her sword. Richie didn't. Never taking her eyes off Richie's, she said, "You are right. I have given my word. My apologies, Richie. My 'Latin' temper got the better of me." She was furious with everyone in the room, especially with herself. For a moment she clearly saw the conflict on his face. Then he, too, got control. He saluted with his sword, a sarcastic flourish. "Apology accepted." She turned to Duncan, saw the katana held easily across his body. "I am going to my hotel room to clean up and get some of my things. I will return in an hour." "I asked Dawson here so we could talk!" "I am not in any mood to talk now. Please give me this time." She approached him, even trying a small smile. "I will come back a new woman, I promise." "Alright. One hour." He knew he wouldn't give anyone else such a break. And now he'd have to deal with Dawson. And Richie. Elena swept on her cloak and adjusted her sword under it. As she got to the door, Richie intercepted her again. She could tell he was still angry. "How about our date, Duran?" She knew how much Duncan loved Richie. She'd have to find a way to avoid fighting him. Damn her fool temper! It would cost her. For now, all she could say was, "Later." He nodded once and let her pass, and she walked out. She slipped around behind the dumpster where she had left her bag, took out Dawson's disks, wrapped them up and put them back in their hiding place. She then put the clip into Dawson's gun and went to her car. It had been ransacked, no doubt by Dawson's goons. She got in and started to drive away when she realized she just couldn't leave Duncan MacLeod the way matters stood between them. She had to go back and talk to him, right now. When Elena walked back into the dojo, Duncan was alone, as though he had been expecting her. Actually he had sent the other two upstairs to wait. He was particularly worried about Richie. He was itching to fight her, and she certainly had made matters worse between the two of them. He didn't know if he could stop them, and he knew Richie was not match for her. Plus, he didn't want her to go away angry like that, not even for a little while. Aware that she was still nearby, and that he needed to make some things clear to her, he had started to walk to the door to catch her before she left when he felt her approach. "I'm glad you came back." She faced him across the dojo floor, as she had the night they had fought. Her stomach fluttered. "There is something I have to say to you, Duncan MacLeod." He nodded. "First, I am sorry about Richie. I promise I will not try to take his head. I will work it out with him somehow. Second, I need to tell you what I really want." "What do you want, Elena?" He waited in agony. "I want to stay with you, 'escoses,' to share your life and your love and your bed, until one of us...until you tell me to go. That is what I really want. But," she smiled without humor, "as the song says, 'You can't always get what you want.'" "Why not? It's what I want too." He hadn't realized it, fully, until she said it. He went to her, to hold her close, but she held up her hand, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "We have some matters to resolve first. I will be back, and I will talk to Dawson, and I will talk to Richie, and then, maybe...we will see." "We can work this out, Elena. If we all try." "I hope so." She hoped so more than she had hoped for anything in a long time. Then she left. She asked for her room key at the hotel desk and said she'd be checking out. She intended to bring all her things to Duncan's. If things went well, she wouldn't have to make another trip. If not...well, he could dispose of her few belongings. As she stepped into the elevator, a man who had been standing nearby joined her. She was immediately suspicious; or was it just paranoia? Since Dawson had obviously warned the Watchers about her, they could have tracked her down. She was standing behind the man. She rummaged through her bag loudly, surreptitiously slipping the gun into one of her cloak's many pockets. Keeping her right hand in that pocket, she stepped out of the elevator in front of him. She heard a movement behind her, and swiftly pulled out her sword and stabbed the man as he pulled a gun out of his pocket. She stepped back into the elevator as footsteps pounded down the corridor. Elena pressed the 'door close' button, but as the doors were sliding shut a man and a woman were right there. She shot the man point blank, but the woman ran into him and pushed him forward. The body blocked the doors and the Hunter fired over it. The force of the bullet drove Elena against the back wall of the elevator with a cry. Then both women fired again, and the Hunter fell back. Elena, shot twice, used her sword for support to move forward and push the dead body out of the way with her foot. She heard yet another bullet thud against the closing doors. She knew she was dying. If she pushed the lobby button...but she couldn't think clearly anymore. What she needed and didn't have was time. With the last of her strength, she pushed the emergency stop button, then slid down the elevator wall, dead before she reached the floor. When Elena opened her eyes, convulsing violently, she found herself lying on top of a man. It all came back to her suddenly, and she couldn't believe her good luck. She was still in the elevator--they hadn't gotten to her yet--and could hear a tiny voice from the elevator speaker. "...know you're stuck. We're working on getting you out. Please let us know if you're alright! Hello!!" She staggered up, fighting through the haze of pain and disorientation. Her throat burned with thirst--she must have lost a lot of blood this time. Precious moments were passing. She had to get out before they 'rescued' her. After all, there was a dead man with her. She used her sword to push open the trap door in the elevator ceiling and jumped up, catching the edges and pulling herself up. Suddenly the elevator gave a lurch and started moving downward. Great! She wondered wryly, not for the first time, at her 'luck' in being an Immortal. True, she healed more quickly from wounds than Mortals, but she was also wounded more often, and the amount of pain sure wasn't any less. At times like this, whimpering, her torso, arms and shoulder one big agony, it seemed to her that she was in pain almost constantly. She caught her breath and leaped for the access stairs in the elevator shaft, then climbed three steps to the nearest floor, stood on the sill, and tried to pull the doors open by sheer strength. She felt like Hercules from one of those late-night movies, and almost started giggling hysterically. If there was an enemy at each floor, she was dead, but she didn't even know if she could open the doors anyway. After a lifetime of effort she felt the doors give as the elevator pinged somewhere under her. She levered her arm in, then her shoulder, and slipped out into a blessedly empty corridor as the elevator doors closed again, trapping the edge of her cloak. She used her sword to cut herself free and walked toward the stairwell. As she opened the door she saw a large number five--the hotel had about a dozen floors, she thought. She heard voices and footsteps pounding up towards her and decided to go up herself. As she climbed up, quietly but quickly, she checked the gun. There were two rounds left in the clip. Hey, she was alive, she had her sword, a gun, a throwing knife, and her strength was coming back. She felt pumped, and only slightly out of breath. Almost four centuries of constant physical training had certainly paid off today. Things could be worse, like a locked door at the roof level--but no, not with the fire code. As she pushed open the door onto the roof she heard a bullet thud into it, just missing her head. The sound reverberated in the stairwell and in her ears, and she felt momentarily dizzy. Taking a deep breath, she ran across the roof and behind the nearest protection. When she turned back to look there was a man on the roof with an ax in his hand, and another one in the doorway with a gun. She shot the axman but missed the gunman, who ducked back at the last minute. She dropped the gun and ran to the edge of the roof. The nearest rooftop was about fifteen meters down and too far to reach anyway. But three meters directly below her was a beautiful small balcony. She felt outraged. There weren't any balconies on her side of the building! She heard footsteps and whispered comments. She immediately swung over the side, landing hard on the balcony and twisting her ankle on a metal chair. The sliding glass door was locked. Who on earth locked the door to their hotel room balcony twelve stories up? Cursing in fluent Spanish, she used the chair to smash through the glass and followed it into the room, limping. A couple sat up in bed with a start. The woman screamed, and the man put a protective arm around her. "What the hell...what do you want? My wallet's on the dresser. Please just take it and go! Please!" Elena said, "Sorry," and smiled her sweetest smile. Sensing movement behind her, she turned to see herself in the dresser mirror. Her whole front was covered in blood, even her face. No wonder they were terrified. She used her stained cloak to quickly wipe her face, then quickly pulled it back, freeing her arms. At the sight of her sword, their eyes got even bigger, and the woman screamed again. "Please!!" the man cried out. She pulled on the man's overcoat, adjusted the sword, opened the door, and looked out. Her bloodhounds could have easily come down the stairs again and be waiting in the hall, but again it was empty. "Gracias a Dios," she murmured, heading towards the bank of elevators--she might as well try that again. She heard a movement behind her and quickly turned the corner, barely getting a glimpse of the man who shot her three times. '!Maldita sea! All that effort for nothing!' she thought, as the world turned black. This is the end of Part VI or Elena. copyright by Vivian Moreau, 1995 Translations: 'espadachin' - master swordsman/woman 'palabra de honor' - word of honor '!maldita sea!' - damn it! 'gracias a Dios' - thank God =========================================================================