Date: Wed, 28 Jun 1995 09:41:52 -0400 Reply-To: mikester@BIX.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Breen Subject: HOMECOMING - Part 2 Well! I guess it's true that characters can take on lives of their own! No one was more surprised than _I_ was that Patrick actually popped the question to Rebecca, and I was actually doubly surprised when I looked at the screen and saw that I had typed her saying "yes." And to everyone who requested the re-writes of the first two stories, they're coming, eventually, but Homecoming has taken priority. Anyway, without further ado, here's part 2 of Homecoming, which seems to have evolved into more of a character study than an action story... IRELAND, COUNTY CORK, JUNE 1995 "How long have you known eachother?" Alex said. "About eight hundred years," Rebecca said. "Most of our lives." Patrick and Connor had gone into town after breakfast. Patrick was insistent on getting Rebecca both a proper engagement ring _and_ wedding ring, along with a wedding ring for himself. They had gone to the local Catholic church and the priest was more than willing to marry them that afternoon (and, of course, Patrick spoke to him in an Irish brogue, which helped), after Patrick and Rebecca assured him that no, she wasn't pregnant. "Why didn't you get married before?" Alex said as she sat next to Rebecca with a cup of coffee, and handed one to Rebecca. Rebecca took the mug and said, "I really don't know. The subject has _never_ come up, even though, like Patrick said, we've posed as husband and wife too many times to count. Even on our fake passports, we're married You live long enough, and you think that _nothing_ will _ever_ surprise you. But this... you know I'm actually _nervous_? I've fought battles, stolen things, taken heads... and here I am nervous about marrying someone I've practically been married to for eight centuries." "That's understandable," Alex said. Nancy came in from outside then. She had been playing with John, who absolutely loved the Irish countryside. She poured her own coffee, sat, and said, "Have you chosen your bridesmaids?" "This is going to be a _very_ informal wedding, Nancy, but I'd love it if you stood with me." Nancy smiled and said, "Of course!" Then she said, "What about your name?" "What _about_ my name?" Rebecca said. "Well," Alex said, "this _is_ the nineties, _not_ the middle ages." Rebecca said. "I was thinking of hyphenating it. DeJeniere-O'Brien. There's no kids to have to think about having a mouthful of a name. But... I _am_ a product of my times. The first time I got married, I was fifteen. And when Ramirez suggested that I use my maiden name again after my first husband died... it took quite a bit of convincing. When I met Patrick I was still using my married name. And each time I've married mortals I've changed my name. So what I'm saying while I'm babbling nonstop is that I'm taking Patrick's name." "I was hoping you'd keep 'DeJeniere' in there," Nancy said. Rebecca shrugged and said, "Some things are ingrained. It wasn't until the 1970's that I stopped thinking that someone was going to cart me away when I went to vote." "What about a middle name then?" "Middle name?" "Yeah," Nancy said, "Rebecca DeJeniere O'Brien." "I already have a middle name. 'Marie.'" "How boring," Nancy said. Alex laughed and said, "You can sign things Rebecca D. O'Brien." "You should keep it _somehow_. Your artwork..." Rebecca thought on this and said, "You're right. I'll keep it as my middle name." "_That_ one," Patrick said. The jeweler opened his case and removed the ring that Patrick had indicated. He handed it over to him for inspection. Patrick looked it over. It was a simple affair, a gold band with a small diamond set into it. Choosing wedding bands had been easy. Being an "old-fashioned" couple as he put it, the wedding rings were simple traditional gold bands. Finding a simple engagement ring should be a snap, he thought. Right? Wrong. Each and every one he saw were too fancy. The craftsmanship on most of them were excellent, however, even the simple designs were too much for him. He inspected this one, and said to Connor, "Call me a product of my times, but I love this." Then he turned to the jeweler and said, "Can you resize it? Now?" "Of course, but it'll be extra for the rush job." "That's fine," Patrick said, pulling out several large bills (they decided before they left that credit cards, and even traveler's checks were a bad idea since they could be traced). "Will this be enough?" "Aye, sir. More than enough." "You look thoughtful, Connor," Patrick said in the car on the ride back. "One of your oldest friends is getting married in about four hours, you're going to be the best man, and you're giving the groom the silent treatment. Aren't _you_ the one who suggested I marry her?" "It's not that, Patrick. It's _this_. This whole situation with the Watchers and Kalas. I'm worried about Duncan. And about all of us." Patrick paused before replying. Connor may not want to hear what he was about to say, but he had to say it. "Connor," he said, "I don't think it's safe for Alex and John to be here." "I know. I knew it the moment Duncan contacted me, but I still took them with me. I've been such a damn fool!" "Is there anyplace you can send them to?" "Not New York, that's for sure. My New York address is all over that disk, apparently." "I'd say they could stay at my townhouse, but _that_ address is all over the disk too." "I suppose they could go to Marikesh. I was doing some work there before Kane broke free from Nakano's cave." "Is that mentioned in the data?" "I don't know. It's probably my best bet. Patrick... there's something else I have to tell you. Ramirez's blade broke." Patrick was silent. An entire range of emotions went through him, from anger at Connor for treating what was almost a sacred blade to _both_ of them poorly enough for it to break to regret that _he_ never got the sword. Finally, he said, "How?" "Kane tried to fight me on Holy Ground. The Quickening started _without_ a beheading, and in one of his attacks, the sword literally shattered into dust. I forged a new blade for it, but..." Patrick knew it wasn't Connor's fault. He tried to defend himself against an Immortal who broke the most _fundamental_ rule of the Game and came out of the experience with only a shattered sword. It wasn't worth it to be mad at him. He said, "Hey, it's _your_ sword, and you were trying to defend yourself against a madman. I'm surprised nothing _worse_ happened." "Patrick, I know how you feel about that sword..." "I know. But there's nothing that can be done. It wasn't your fault, and I _seriously_ doubt that Ramirez would take you to task for it." "Oh ghods, they're _beautiful_!" Rebecca said looking at the wedding bands. "That's not all," Patrick said, removing the engagement ring from it's box and placing it on her finger. "Rebecca, it occurred to me that I've probably never said this to you in almost eight centuries. I love you." Rebecca smiled and said, "My turn, for eight centuries. I love you too." She smiled again and admired the ring on her finger. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. The church was small and intimate. There was a tiny old woman and an organ tucked in at the rear of the church. She was playing quietly. Patrick stood, dressed in a blue suit, at the side of the church. What am I _doing_? he asked himself. What _are_ you doing? came a thought from the depths of his mind. It was as if Ramirez himself were standing in front of him. Haven't you been _told_ that marriage to an Immortal is a mistake? What are you going to do four hundred years from now when you can't stand eachother? When all the conversations have run out? When you're just sitting there staring at eachother? We'll work it out. Mortals do the same when _they_ grow tired of eachother. They work it out and have a stronger marriage as a result. And they only have a few decades at _most_. You have _centuries_. Maybe even millennia. Just because it's longer, doesn't make it any more or any less real. I have faith that what we feel for eachother... yes, our love for eachother, will stay as strong then as it is now. As it always _has_ been. We were wrong in _not_ marrying eight hundred years ago, but we followed advice that _was_ sound perhaps for most Immortals. I know now that if we had married then, our episodes of "growing tired of eachother" would have been worked out _just_ like a mortal marriage. We should have done this _long_ ago. Perhaps. "Here goes," Connor said beside him, ending his internal dialogue. The music came up and Nancy appeared at the rear of the church, in a green dress. She walked up the aisle and stopped at her place at the altar. Then Rebecca appeared, in a white dress that came down to her ankles. Her hair was up and she carried a small bouquet. And as she walked down the aisle, Patrick thought that she had never looked more beautiful. Patrick and Connor took their places at the altar. The priest faced the assembled congregation, which included Alex and John and several curious townsfolk. "Friends, we are gathered here to celebrate the love between Patrick O'Brien, once from very near here, and Rebecca DeJeniere. Though I don't know them well, I am always delighted to celebrate this most joyous of events..." The priest continued speaking of marriage as a sacred trust, meant for all eternity. But Patrick didn't hear. He could only stare at Rebecca and think that although this was the fifth time he had stood as a groom about to take a bride, this was possibly the happiest he had been. As much as he loved his other, mortal, wives, _this_ was the moment his life had been inexorably headed for ever since Ramirez suggested the two of them travel to France in 1197. Weather they had four more years together or four hundred, or four thousand, his life was now absolutely complete. The priest had finished his homily and now directed Patrick and Rebecca to face eachother, join their right hands, and say the vows they had hastily written that morning. "Patrick," he said, "If you would repeat after me. I, Patrick..." "I, Patrick..." "Take you, Rebecca..." "Take you, Rebecca..." "To be my wife..." "To be my wife..." "To love and cherish..." "To love and cherish..." "For all eternity." "For all eternity." "Now Rebecca, if you would repeat after me. I, Rebecca..." "I, Rebecca..." "Take you, Patrick..." "Take you, Patrick..." "To be my husband..." "To be my husband..." "To love and cherish..." "To love and cherish..." "For all eternity." "For all eternity." Then he turned to Connor and said, "The rings." Connor fished into his pocket and whispered to Patrick, "I suppose you'd take my head if I said I'd lost them." Patrick looked at Connor sideways and nearly burst out laughing. Connor handed the rings to the priest, who sprinkled them with holy water. Then he handed Rebecca's ring to Patrick, directed him to place it half-way up her finger and said, "Repeat after me. With this ring..." "With this ring..." "I declare my eternal love for you..." "I declare my eternal love for you..." "In the name of the Father..." "In the name of the Father..." "And of the Son..." "And of the Son..." "And of the Holy Spirit..." "And of the Holy Spirit..." "Amen." "Amen." He then handed Patrick's to Rebecca and directed her to do the same. "Repeat after me," he said. With this ring..." "With this ring..." "I declare my eternal love for you..." "I declare my eternal love for you..." "In the name of the Father..." "In the name of the Father..." "And of the Son..." "And of the Son..." "And of the Holy Spirit..." "And of the Holy Spirit..." "Amen." "Amen." "And now," he said to the congregation, "May I present Patrick and Rebecca O'Brien. You may kiss the bride." Patrick did so, joyfully. Rebecca returned the kiss just as joyfully. After a far-from-quiet afternoon spent with some of the townsfolk, Patrick sat in the kitchen of the cottage with Rebecca and Connor. Nancy, Alex, and John had gone into town for some more food (they hadn't expected any visitors or well-wishers, but they were welcome just the same). Patrick stared at his wedding ring and held Rebecca's hand. "I hate to bring an air of gloom on such a happy day," Connor said, "but we _do_ have to plan for the worst." Patrick stopped staring at his ring and said, "I know. We have to make contact with _both_ Immortals and Watchers." "We can't use the phones," Connor said. "They'd trace that." "I have an idea about that." "What?" Rebecca said. "Joe Ammamoto." "Who?" Connor said. "He's a teacher of mine. He was born Yoshihiro Ammamoto in Japan in the year 200 BC. He was found by _your_ teacher Nakano just after he became Immortal. He became a samurai, and thus a master of sword technique and martial arts. He trained me in the ways of the samurai, from swordsmanship to spirituality. I owe him nearly as much as Ramirez." "I _finally_ get to meet him. But how is he going to help us with the phones?" Rebecca said, with visions of John Belushi doing a "samurai phone repair" routine dancing through her head. "These days he works for Japanese intelligence. He's stashed some equipment and altered the records for just such an occurrence as this. He's due into Dublin airport tomorrow morning. He was able to come because he's accumulated quite a bit of leave time." He turned to his friend and said, "Connor..." "I know. Alex and John are leaving tomorrow morning for Marikesh. The less they know the better." The fog was rolling in from the sea as Connor helped Alex and John load their luggage into the car. He lowered himself to John's height and said, "You've got to take care of Alex for me." "Dad..." John said. "What's gonna happen?" "I don't know." John wrapped his arms around Connor's neck. Connor returned the hug, clinging to his son. Then they parted and Connor said, "I'll see you soon." He stood and turned to Alex. "Connor, I..." she said. "I know. Me too." They embraced, holding eachother for a long time. When they parted, there were tears in both of their eyes. "Good luck, Connor," Alex said. "Hey," he said, "I'll be along soon." Alex got into the car, and with one final look, put it into reverse and backed out onto the dirt road. With a cloud of dirt, they were gone. Connor walked over behind the house to where Patrick was practicing his martial arts techniques. He said, "Tell me again why I sent them away." Patrick stopped and turned to Connor saying, "For their protection. For them to get caught up with what's about to happen would be wrong." "I know. Thanks for reminding me." "Doesn't make it hurt any less, does it?" "Nope." They were both silent for a time. Finally Connor said, "Perhaps Ramirez was right about loving mortals." "What do you mean?" "I mean... the pain. Heather... she died over four hundred years ago and I still miss her. Brenda... I _still_ see her death in my dreams. Now Alex... Perhaps we _aren't_ meant for mortals." Patrick knew it was no use arguing with Connor when he was brooding. Instead he simply said, "I know you don't believe _that_." Connor shrugged and said, "I _don't_ believe it. That's the problem." Connor fell silent again. Then he smiled and said, "Maybe I should just find a nice Immortal girl to settle down with for a few centuries like you did." But Patrick was serious when he said, "Connor, would you leave Alex for an Immortal? Or if Brenda were alive would you leave _her_ for an Immortal? Or when Heather was alive, even when she was a old woman, would you have left _her_ for an Immortal? No matter how well you knew her?" Connor didn't answer. Patrick said, "I didn't think so. And let me tell you, if Michelle hadn't left it would've been _her_ I stood at that altar with yesterday instead of Rebecca. Rebecca and I would have wed eventually, make no mistake, but if Michelle was still with me it wouldn't have happened in _this_ lifetime." Connor said, "Thanks, Patrick. I needed to hear that." He walked down the dirt path towards the cliffs, leaving Patrick to practice his forms. By the afternoon, Connor's dark mood had lifted somewhat. He had gone out for a jog, and Patrick and Nancy were practicing swordwork. They both felt the tug that signaled the arrival of another Immortal. It wasn't Connor, for a car had pulled into the driveway. They stopped sparring and watched the car. A young-looking Japanese man in a three-piece suit got out. He had shoulder-length hair and a mustache and a wiry build similar to Patrick's. Rebecca joined them from where she was practicing her own forms and watched the man approach. "Greetings, Irelander," he said, bowing. "Been a long time." Patrick bowed low as well. Then he extended his hand. The other Immortal took it and smiled. "How are you, Joe?" Patrick said. "Been good, Patrick. Been good." Then he looked towards Rebecca and Nancy, laughed, and said, "Even _you're_ not _that_ good." Patrick smiled and said, "Joe this is Nancy Peters, my Student. Nancy, this is Yoshihiro Ammamoto, my Teacher. The third Teacher, actually." Joe bowed, and Nancy imitated his move. "Pleased," he said. "Yes, Joe, she _has_ taken a head. Yes she _is_ still with me. Yes I _am_ breaking the Rules by keeping her here with me, and no she's _not_ ready to be on her own." "I know. Did I say anything that would make you think I wouldn't support you?" "Everyone else has." Then he turned to Rebecca and said, "And this is my wife, Rebecca." "Rebecca O'Brien," Rebecca said, bowing. Joe returned her bow, then took her hand and kissed it. Patrick said, "It's gonna take me a _long_ time to get used to that name, Rebecca." Rebecca smiled and said, "You and me _both_." Joe said to Patrick, "You married one of _us_?" "Yes," Rebecca said, "I did." Joe blushed and said, "Forgive me, Rebecca O'Brien. How long have you been married?" "Twenty-seven hours, give or take a few minutes," Patrick said. "But we've known eachother eight centuries..." Rebecca said. "...and have been together on and off for most of it," Patrick finished. "Must be," Joe said. "You haven't been married two days and already you complete eachother's sentences!" They all laughed, then Joe turned serious and said, "Let's have a look at these Irish phone lines and see what we can do. Once I have all the equipment installed, I'd like to study your sword technique, Patrick." "I was hoping you'd say that, old Teacher." Nancy observed Patrick and Joe for quite a bit of time. Patrick held a ladder and Joe climbed it to inspect where the phone lines came into the house. "Do they work?" Joe said. "I don't know," Patrick said. "We haven't dared to use them." "You bought a house without knowing if the phones worked?" "Well... it's not as if I couldn't afford it," Patrick said. "How do they look? We can move our base if they're not up to snuff." "No," Joe said, "I can, as you Westerners say, 'Mickey Mouse' it." Rebecca joined Nancy then. She looked at the younger Immortal and said, "Something's on your mind." "It's Patrick," Nancy said. "I've never seen him so..." "Eager to please?" Rebecca said. Nancy nodded and said, "He's like a puppy dog." "And since Patrick usually doesn't take any crap from anyone, you're wondering about this?" "Yeah." "Nancy, Joe Ammamoto's his Teacher." "But he said that Ammamoto was his _third_ teacher." "The fact that his lessons weren't first doesn't dilute the quality of the lessons learned. Ammamoto had as much of an effect on Patrick as Ramirez did. Mei-Ling... she had an effect on him on the combat level, the martial arts, but not the deep connection a true Mentor forges. It is these few Teachers that make us into what we are. Ramirez and Ammamoto for Patrick. Patrick and whoever you find once you're ready to leave us for you." They began walking along the dirt road towards the cliffs. "And you?" "I was lucky enough to have three, actually. Ramirez, Amanda, who always told me it was rather poetic that she was teaching an Immortal named Rebecca, since _her_ Teacher was named Rebecca, and Ceirdwyn. Connor had Ramirez and Nakano. Joe mentioned Nakano. And as for Ramirez... he never mentioned any of his Teachers to Patrick, Connor, nor myself, though he often spoke of Methos." "Methos? Wasn't he the one that Kalas was after in France? How Kalas discovered the Watchers?" Rebecca nodded and said, "Though not many of us actually believe he exists, or ever did exist." "Who's he supposed to be?" "A very old, very powerful Immortal," came Connor's voice from behind them. He looked winded and sweaty, but he looked better than he had when he left for his jog. "Methos apparently is so old that he cannot remember much of anything before his first beheading, over five thousand years ago." "Five _thousand_?" Nancy said. "Incredible, isn't it?" Connor said. "But it _could_ happen. If you keep your head for the next five thousand years, you'll still be alive, and as pretty then as you are today." Nancy laughed and blushed. Connor grew serious and said, "Make no mistake. Methos exists." "You've seen him?" Rebecca said. "You know him?" "No," Connor said, "but Duncan has. They have become fairly good friends, too, from what he tells me." Connor looked back at the house and said, "Ammamoto, I presume." Nancy nodded and said, "Patrick's following him around like a puppy." Connor smiled and said, "It's to be expected." Several hours later, they went inside and Patrick introduced Joe and Connor. "It is a pleasure to meet you," Joe said. "I have wanted to meet the elder Highlander for several decades now." "And I, you," Connor said. Patrick passed out coffee and tea. He sat between Rebecca and Joe and said, "Joe's come up with something." "When you're in the intelligence business," Joe said, "you learn things that no one else knows. For instance, there are literally _hundreds_ of communication satellites up there, still powered, that for one reason or another are not being used. Some are derelicts, some are obsolete, some are redundant back-ups. It is these redundant back-ups, that are rarely monitored, that we're interested in. "To put it simply, by this time tomorrow, this house will have a direct phone link with one of these redundant satellites. And by manipulating our signal over several other redundants before feeding it into the main satellite, we can make our telephone calls untraceable. We can also give people we need to contact a specific number to call, with the country code of your choice. They will be, for all intents and purposes, calling _that_ country, though it will be _here_ that the calls will come to." Joe was as good as his word. Late the next afternoon, he had the satellite connection ready for their first call. Patrick looked around the room and said, "Who should we call, then?" "A Watcher, most likely," Joe said. "I agree," Connor said. "You, out of all of us in this room, know a Watcher the best." Patrick nodded, and said, "Except that Bernard's not in Boston. He's in New Orleans." "So," Rebecca said, "maybe he left a message on our machine." Patrick dialed their phone number. After four rings, the machine picked up. "You've reached the home of Patrick, Rebecca, and Nancy. Leave a message." "Patrick, this is Tom McCarthy. I'd like to set up a meeting with you and the managers of the O'Brien Corp. Give me a call." "Patrick, it's Fred Young from Harvard. I need to know if you'll be teaching in next year's spring semester. Call me." "Rebecca, it's Danielle Winters at the Winter Gallery. We'd like to do a show featuring you. Call me at 555-4556." "Patrick, it's Connor. Bad news. Call me." "Patrick, Tom again. Where the hell are you? You leave the country or something? Anyway, give me a call." "Nancy, it's Ronnie from work. Are you back yet? Call us at the store." "Patrick, it's Bernard. Things have gone from bad to worse. Call me at (504)555-9874 if you get this message. I know I'm probably risking being found out by leaving this number, but it's Friday, eleven at night. If I don't hear from you by tomorrow at midnight, I'm moving again." Patrick scribbled down the message and hit the erase code. He then dialed the number that Bernard left and said, "What time is it in New Orleans?" Rebecca did a calculation and said, "Almost midnight." "Damn, I hope I'm not too late." The phone rang once... twice... three times... four... "Hello?" came Bernard's rough, unmistakable voice. "Bernard. Patrick." Patrick put it on speaker for everyone to hear. "Thank God, Patrick. I almost didn't answer it. I was about to leave for..." "Don't tell me, Bernard, it's best if I don't know where you're going. You should still go." "I was planning on it. Can this call be traced?" "No. I have a friend here who helped us with that." "Good. Well, the bad news is that the woman who had the disk is dead." "Bad news? Why is that bad news?" "Because Kalas now has the disk." "Holy good ghods." "Holiness has nothing to do with this. I managed to contact Joe Dawson in Paris through a Watcher named Adam Pierson..." "The same Pierson who programmed the fucking thing in the first place?" "The same." "When this is done, don't be surprised if I kill him." "You'll have to get in line, Patrick. I wouldn't be surprised if this meant he was through with the Watch..." the line became static. "Satellite's moving out of orbit," Joe said. "Have to switch. You may loose the connection, but I can re-establish." His fingers whirled over the computer keyboard. "Try it now." "Pat?" came Bernard's voice, "you still there?" "Yup. Still here. We had to compensate for our expert hijacking of the international phone system. Remind me to tell you how we did it when we get back." "I'll be sure to." "What _does_ Kalas intend on doing with this, anyway?" "This is where the bad news comes in. He has it rigged to upload all its information to every major newspaper in the world upon his death. And he's challenged Duncan MacLeod to a fight. If MacLeod wins, it's over. If he looses, we're safe." "Until the next time he decides to take a head!" Connor said. "He can't _do_ this! Duncan _has_ to beat him!" "This is the whole thing," Bernard said. "He could very well become the last Immortal through blackmail. So if Duncan sacrifices himself to save Watchers _and_ Immortals, who's next on his list? Connor? You? You're both probably on there somewhere, since neither one of you exactly keep a low profile among Immortals." "Damnit." "The satellite's moving out of range again," Joe said. "Finish it up." "Thanks, Bernard, for the update. If _anything_ changes, anything in the slightest, call this number, (617)555-0000. That'll connect you here." "Will do. Take care of yourself. Watch your head." "You too, Bernard. By the way, Rebecca and I got married two days ago." "You did? Congradu..." The connection faded. <<>> (c) 1995 Mabnesswords As usual, e-mail mikester@bix.com or mikeb@usa1.com with comments! =========================================================================