========================================================================= Date: Thu, 18 Apr 1996 15:05:12 -0400 Reply-To: JJSWBT@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Wendy Tillis Subject: Isabel 04/13 Isabel By: Wendy Tillis jjswbt@aol.com Copyright April 1996 Part Four ============ The next day, Duncan arrived at the restaurant at 12:45. He got a table, ordered a bottle of wine and waited. La Madeleine's was a neighborhood restaurant - not fancy but the food was good and authentic. Madeleine, who owned the place and acted as chef, had been raised in Lyon. At 1:10, Duncan felt another Immortal and saw the door open. As expected, she was in street clothes today. Navy blue slacks, white turtleneck, navy blue blazer. her hair was pulled back in a braid. She looked very sophisticated and pretty - but oddly enough she still crossed the room like a ship under sail. Something in the way she walked - too many years as a nun, the self-confidence of age, a prideful assurance that everyone will clear a path for her? A few heads turned to watch her pass- she was an attractive young woman - but the heads turned back as she sat at Duncan's table. "Sorry to be late. Ray showed up unexpectedly." "You see a lot of him?" Duncan hoped he didn't sound jealous. "Some. I knew him - before. So, what did you want to talk to me about?" "Me? You invited *me* to lunch." "I invited you because I got the feeling there was something you wanted to say. Ever since the Halloween party you've been sitting on something." "Oh. That. I wanted to ask you about Darius. About what you said." "Hmmmm. Darius was a good friend of yours, wasn't he? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did." "But you meant it? You called Darius a fool?" "Yes, 'fraid so. We fought -verbally - every time we met. He wasted 1500 years of Immortal life stuck in one holy place or another. For what?? For *nothing*. To end up dead on the floor of his church at the hands of mortals who weren't fit to shine his shoes. He died without a sword in his hands - that's no way for an Immortal to die." Just then the waiter arrived to take their orders for lunch. Quiche Lorraine for Isabel, broiled sole for Duncan. When the waiter left, they continued. "But Darius was trying to set an example. To show that not everything had to be settled by violence. He spent 1500 years as a peacemaker. That's not foolish." "No? But who was he setting this example *for*? Mortals? A simple parish priest in his rectory doesn't have much influence on the affairs of men. Sure - he had a few talented pupils. But how many? What have they accomplished? Nothing. 1500 years and the world is as violent as it was before Darius sought holy ground. He'd have had more effect if he had gone ahead and conquered the world when he had the chance." "Fine - if he couldn't affect mortals - what about his example to us - to Immortals? Darius hated to see us fighting among ourselves. He wanted us to be able to talk to each other, befriend each other - the way he befriended all who came to him." "Duncan! Think about it. I know Darius hated the killing. *I* hate the killing. *You* hate the killing. But it is part of what we are. Darius would have had all the 'good' Immortals retire to holy ground. But what about the 'bad' ones? No amount of talking was going to convince Grayson or Kuyler to go live quietly on some holy spot. Who protects the innocent if we all cower on holy ground? Who stopped Grayson? Not Darius. Not a mortal. In the end, someone - some *Immortal* - had to stop him. Darius let you do it. If he had come off holy ground years before, Grayson would have done a lot less damage." "But. . ." "No buts. If all the good Immortals hide out until the end - we will *still* have to come off holy ground to finish it. Someone will have to fight the bad guys who have been playing the Game all those years. And - with no practice - who will win? Darius hadn't carried a sword in 1500 years - *could* he have taken Grayson? I doubt it. No - if evil isn't to triumph, some of us have to stay out here - have to keep killing. Darius got tired of the killing so he wanted the Game to stop. But it won't. The Game goes on." Duncan thought about what she had said. He didn't agree - but - there was something in what she said. If the good ones sat out the Game, the bad guys would win. Darius' message of peace worked as long as someone was there to back it up with force. She hadn't changed his mind- he didn't believe Darius had been a fool. But, maybe he wasn't totally right either. The food came and they ate in silence. After the plates had been cleared and the last of the wine poured, she spoke up again. " I am sorry Duncan. He was your friend. I should have learned by now to keep my mouth shut. Most of the Immortals agree with you, by the way. Me and my big mouth." She laughed. "No, you have a right to your opinion." "Well, you were certainly right about one thing. At least he was trying - my life hasn't exactly been a shining example to anyone." The coffee came, Duncan started to say something, then stopped, He started again. Stopped. Isabel looked at him curiously. "Yes? You wanted to say something?' " I was wondering about men and women." "Come to any conclusions?" she laughed quietly. "No. I mean, I was thinking of all the old male Immortals I've met - the ones 1000 years old or more. They seem to become less and less interested in the Game. More philosophical, more contemplative. I don't know - more serene? Whereas all the older females I know seem to become increasing involved in the Game. Becoming stronger, more fearless, deadlier as time goes on." Isabel thought about it for a moment. "What's your theory?" "Don't know that I have a theory. It just occurred to me this moment. It could have something to do with the fact that men raised in those eras had a lot more options than women. So that, over time, the men get tired of exercising their power - they just want to retire. Whereas the women, raised without power, come to enjoy it more as time goes on? I don't know- I'm making this up as I go." " Maybe women are just more vicious than men? " "Oh, I already knew that." "Very funny, MacLeod. You wait - one of these days." "One of these days *what* Sister Gabriel? " "One of these days the habit comes off for good and the Game starts again." Duncan feigned fear. " Thanks for the warning." "I mean it. I can still swing a pretty mean sword. If the urge , or need, arose I could rejoin the Game tonight." She stopped and turned her head to look out the window - not even aware of Duncan for a minute. He wondered what she was thinking about. She looked so sad. A moment later she shook her head and looked back at Duncan with a smile. "Well, I suppose I ought to get back. She reached for the check. Duncan reached for it simultaneously and their hands met for a second before he jerked his back. She looked up and their eyes met. " I invited you." " But a gentlemen doesn't allow a lady to pay." " Ah - the last remnant of chivalry is alive and well and living in Seattle. I'll remember that. Come on, Duncan, my treat." " All right. This time. Oh, yes. I meant to tell you. My friend, Richie, is due back this week. I'll bring him by to meet you." " I'll look forward to it. Call me. This week I'm pretty free. Father Matthew is tied up helping design the mural for the Center." "Great. I'll call. Thank you, for lunch." "Thank you. It's been along time since I had an afternoon like this. We should do it again." With that she left a pile of bills on the check, stood up and left. Duncan sat and waited for the waiter to come pick up the check. It *had* been a nice afternoon. ==================== Richie gunned the engine of his motorcycle one more time and then coasted to a stop in front of the dojo. He took off his helmet and looked up at the familiar building. The DeSalvo's sign needed painting. Duncan had owned the building for four years and he still called it DeSalvo's. Richie supposed that now it was named that in tribute to their dead friend. Richie checked his watch. 8 o'clock Wednesday night. A week before Thanksgiving. Duncan was probably at home. From their conversation a few days ago, it seemed Duncan was happy -happier than he had been recently. Richie wondered if there was a new woman in his life? He had mentioned a woman but she was a nun. Oh well, he would find out soon enough. He took a deep breath and prepared to go upstairs. These meetings with Duncan were always tough - at least for the first few minutes. Two years ago, Duncan had tried to kill Richie. *Would* have killed him if Joe Dawson hadn't been there to stop him. Afterwards, Richie had listened with great patience to explanations about Dark Quickening, Hayokas, magic pools, psychic overload and lots of other psycho-babble. He had listened - and kept his mouth shut. He forgave Duncan because it was so obvious that Duncan wasn't in his right mind. Richie frankly thought the whole Dark Quickening argument sounded like a very complicated explanation for a simple mental collapse. Duncan had had a bad year, he had been forced to kill too many old friends or to watch them die. Something had snapped. After he'd had time to deal with it, he got better. Why did they keep trying to make it into something else? Richie kept his own counsel on the matter - they didn't really want to know what a twenty-something still wet-behind-the-ears kid thought anyway. After the attack, Duncan had gone to France and stayed there for almost a year. Richie had hit the road. He enjoyed it, enjoyed being free. He kept his apartment here because he need a permanent address. Last summer, around the time of his birthday, he had returned. The reunion with Duncan had been painful and emotional - Richie tense, Duncan abjectly apologetic. After explanations, apologies, and more than a few beers , it had been almost like old times. Richie had stayed a few months, then moved on again. Duncan had shown him how to set up a mail drop that would remain good for decades. You picked an old and reputable law firm somewhere, paid them a retainer, and they accepted any mail or phone messages that arrived for you. A few months ago in Boston, Richie had spotted the offices of Panzer, Davis and Widen on Beacon Hill and had engaged their services. Now when he traveled, he knew where to check for his messages and what number to give out to people who might need to reach him. Duncan had a firm of solicitors in London, he'd heard Connor used a firm in New York City. Richie thought it was funny - a 200 year old law firm taking messages like an answering service - but lawyers would do anything for a buck. Richie went up the stairs to the loft. He could felt an Immortal inside - as expected, Duncan was home. Richie could picture him on the other side of the door, sword nearby but not in hand, waiting for Richie to knock before he opened the door. Ah, the games Immortals play. Richie had called Monday morning from California to let Duncan know he was coming. Richie knocked on the door and it opened immediately - Duncan had indeed been waiting for him. "Richie! Come in!" Duncan stood back and motioned for Richie to come in. Doing so also showed Richie that Duncan had nothing in either hand. It was subtle but Duncan always found a way to indicate that he was unarmed when Richie was near. Richie wondered how long Duncan would continue to feel guilty about the incident two years ago - knowing Duncan's conscience, probably forever. "Come in. How was the trip? Want a beer?" "Sure, thanks. You look good." "So do you - I like the new hair." Richie had let it grow and now sported a four inch long ponytail. "Really? I haven't decided about it yet. I think it will get hot in the summer - especially in a helmet. Is that new?" He indicated a beautiful tapestry covered sofa that stood where the old green leather one had been. "That? Yeah. I managed to slice through the leather of the old one - don't ask - so I had to find a new one. That one actually opens out to a bed." Richie laughed. "Finally solved the old guest sleeping quarters problem, eh?" " Yes. Of course, I haven't had any company since I bought it." "I could have told you that! Those fold-out beds are murder. I slept on enough of them as a kid - you know -'give the foster kid the sofa'. No one will ever stay here again. *I'm* glad I have an apartment to go home to." He grinned and they both relaxed. "It is good to see you again, Richie." "You too, Duncan." He settled back in a chair. " Before I forget. There is someone I want you to meet, right away. I mentioned her to you - Sister Gabriel. Her real name is Isabel. You'll like her. I told her I'd call to set up a meeting once you were here." "A nun, huh. You two got something going on?" "Richie! She's a *nun*. A real one." "OK, OK. I was joking. I'd love to meet her." "How about breakfast tomorrow if she's free? " "Sure, breakfast sounds good." Duncan went to the kitchen and picked up the phone. He dialed Sister Gabriel's. Richie could hear half the conversation. "It's Duncan. . . . . Richie got in tonight. . . . We were thinking of breakfast tomorrow. . . . 7 o'clock?" Duncan turned to Richie who nodded. "7 o'clock is good. . . . See you then. . . . . goodnight." Duncan hung up. "All set. 7 o'clock at the Country Kitchen on Mulberry. You know it?" "Sure, I'll meet you there. I guess I'll head home. I have cleaning to do before I can sleep. My apartment is probably under three inches of dust. ." "Just like always" Duncan joked. "Ha ha. Anyway, I ought to let my Watcher go to bed." "Your Watcher?" "Yeah, the guy is a joke. I spotted him three months ago. It's a good thing I knew what he was or he could have been in trouble. I lead him all over the country - mostly just to see him sweat. When you see Joe, you should tell him the guy needs more work." "You know I don't discuss Watcher business with Joe anymore." Richie frowned and Duncan saw the look. "It's for the best, Richie. In any event, that's the way it *is.* If you want to talk to him about this guy, you do it. Just remember what can happen." Richie felt bad that Joe and Duncan had drifted apart. Duncan had understood Joe's interference when Duncan had been out of his mind, but it had still rankled. When Duncan had returned to Seattle, he and Joe had had some long and painful talks. They had laid down firm rules for both of them. The rules were working but they had pushed the two apart. Duncan didn't spend nearly as much time at Joe's Place as he once had but he still stopped in every once in a while. He had been there twice since returning in September. Richie drained his beer bottle and got up. "I guess I won't say anything. Look Duncan. I'm beat. If you want me awake at 7 o'clock, I better go home." He stepped closer to Duncan and extended his hand. " Glad to have you back." They started to shake hands but ended up in a rough embrace. After a few seconds, Richie stepped back, grabbed his coat and left. Duncan sighed. It was going to take a long time to repair all the damage done between them. Luckily they had lots of time. ======= End Part 4