Date: Mon, 4 Dec 1995 05:45:54 EST Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: King for a Day, Part 6/6 King for a Day, Part 6 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu Duncan shifted his weight uncomfortably and glanced again across the room to where Joe lay, surrounded by monitors. "I don't know," he told the detective in a low voice. "He was -- tall. Over six feet. Chunky build. Late teens, early twenties. Short dark hair." "What was he wearing?" Duncan shrugged. "Jeans, a T-shirt." "Did he have any kind of a mask on?" "Oh, yes, one of those nylon panty-hose things. I couldn't really make out his features at all." Duncan looked again toward Joe's bed. "Did you notice anything about his voice? What did he say?" "I'm sorry, detective, I can't really remember," he said. "I was kind of distracted at the time." "Oh, yes, you were shot, weren't you?" "Mm-hmm." Duncan brushed a hand across his ribs. "It just took a few stitches, actually, but it hurt like hell at the time, and there was a lot of blood." "Your friend was quite worried for you." "Yes, uh -- that may have been what brought it on. The heart attack, you know." "Yes. I see." The detective made some notes in his book and smiled firmly. "Well, thank you, Mr. MacLeod. You've been quite helpful. I'm afraid, though, without more to go on, we don't have much chance of catching the man that did this. You don't think you could identify him in a line-up?" "I doubt it." "Because of the . . . ski-mask." "Yes. No, the pantyhose." "Right. Well, if you remember anything, or if Mr. Dawson has anything to add -- I hope he recovers soon, by the way -- please give us a call." "Yes. Of course. I will." Duncan flashed a distracted smile. As the detective left with his partner, Duncan could hear him murmuring, "Eyewitnesses -- what's the point? They can't remember if he was tall, short, fat, thin -- they don't even agree what kind of mask he had on!" "Typical," the other man grunted. Duncan seated himself beside Joe's bed and waited with his chin on his fists. "Hi, Mac," came a reedy voice from the patient. Duncan leaned forward. "What the hell were you trying to do, Joe?" he hissed under his breath. "Yeah, I'm glad you're alive, too," Joe murmured. His eyes wandered over the surroundings. "How am I?" Duncan glared. "Anne says you can probably get out in a few days, if there are no complications. Of course, _she_ knows it wasn't a heart attack. You're probably going to get a lot of lectures on diet and exercise from the other doctors." "Oh, great." "What you should be getting is lectures on common sense. Didn't anyone ever warn you not to electrocute yourself?" "At least _I_ had the sense to get killed in a hospital," Joe retorted in a whisper, and ended the argument by closing his eyes. A week later, Joe paused in the doorway of his bar and grinned as he saw a familiar red head. "Richie, hi." The young Immortal looked up. "Hey, Joe. You feeling any better?" "Getting there." If Joe moved a little more slowly and leaned on his cane a little more gingerly, no one was likely to notice. "Well, it's good you're up and around again, 'cause Mac's coming by here tonight. He'll be glad to see you." Joe blew an anxious sigh. "Is he still mad at me?" "Naw, I think he got all that out of his system. He went stomping around for a while, ranting and raving, but after all, he wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. He knows that." "I just hope he appreciates it. After four hundred years, I think he takes coming back from the dead for granted." Richie chuckled. "You know, it's funny in a way. All those Immortals who've come hunting Mac's head, wanting his quickening . . . and you got it just for offering him a ride home." Joe grimaced. "Oh, yeah, it's a barrel of laughs, Rich." Richie turned toward the door. "Here he is now." Joe shifted his position and stopped himself as he realized he had moved not to get a better view of the door, but to get closer to the nearest sword displayed on the wall. He and Richie relaxed with almost identical expressions of relief as MacLeod appeared. "So," Richie said with satisfaction as Duncan joined him at the bar. "Everything back to normal again, just like it was." "Not exactly," Joe and Duncan said in unison, with different inflections. Joe looked startled and Duncan laughed. "You first," Joe prompted. Duncan shrugged. "For the first time in almost four hundred years, I'm three days older." His gaze turned inward. "And I've learned a lot about myself." "Me too. Not to mention all I've learned about Immortality." Joe did not mention the possibility that he was a millimeter or so taller. "You would've learned more if you'd cut that guy's head off," Richie put in. Duncan shot his young friend a sardonic look. "No, thanks," Joe said fervently. "I don't really want to know what that feels like." "Aw, c'mon! It's the most important part of being Immortal!" "Well, I'm not Immortal. A taste was plenty for me. Anyway, I think I took enough from Anthony Cross -- he left a new addition for my collection." Joe pulled a sword down from the wall behind the bar. "Here, MacLeod, take a look at what Cross was packing." Duncan gave a low whistle as he inspected the blade. "Not bad. Spanish, eh? What, fifteenth, sixteenth century?" "About that, I'd say." Joe's eyes glinted with amusement. "Of course, you'd know better than I would." "So how does a nobody like Cross get hold of a sword like this?" Richie asked, turning the saber to catch the light. Joe shrugged. "I'll have to ask his Watcher. Same time as I explain why you --" he looked significantly at MacLeod "-- decided to spare the man's miserable life." "Still say you should've taken his head," Richie muttered. Duncan took a sip of his beer and smiled. "And why did I decide to spare his miserable life?" Joe's brows quirked. "I figure it was because you didn't want to destroy my bar with the quickening." Duncan laughed and took the sword back from Richie, looking it over once again. His eyes widened as he read the inscription on the hilt. "Joe, do you realize who made this sword?" Joe nodded. "None other than the chief metallurgist to King Phillip of Spain." Richie glanced back and forth from Duncan's surprise to Joe's smirk. "Is this supposed to mean something to me?" Duncan put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Let me tell you about a fellow called Ramirez . . . " =========================================================================