Date: Mon, 27 Feb 1995 22:59:27 -0700 Reply-To: Greg Palmer Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Greg Palmer Subject: "Life's Blood" Part 3 *** Part 3 of "Life's Blood". A note about "Michael Barnes": he has nothing to do with the Quentin Barnes/Michael Moore character in "Turnabout". I think I was influenced by my subconscious in picking the name. Thanks to the kind readers who pointed this out to me! *** "If he wrote it he could get rid of it. He had gotten rid of many things by writing them." --Ernest Hemingway, "Fathers and Sons" "Life's Blood" Part 3 by Greg Palmer, Copyright (C) 1995 (Sorry folks, no sex or violence in this part. I think there's a mild profanity somewhere in here though.) The two Immortals faced each other at the table for a long moment, each trying to gauge the other's intentions. It was Greg who spoke first. "So...you obviously know about me," he said. "So why this confrontation? If you know my... story as well as I think, you also know I'm not a threat to you." He realized his obeisance, and it galled him. "Yet, that is." The other man studied his manicured nails for a moment, and then looked up. "Is that what you think our Game is all about?" the British Immortal said. "Lone Immortals confronting each other and then battling to the death? Whatever your Teacher has led you to think; it isn't so simple, my young friend. The Game is infinitely more complex. We make our allies and enemies, and those choices influence our destinies forever. We live through the centuries, even millennia, making the simple choices of whom we choose to call... friends." Barnes paused for a moment. "One of the cardinal rules of warfare is that a battle *cannot* be won without allies." "Allies? What am I worth to you or MacLeod, or to any one of us? I'm just a fledgling Immortal, one who wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell if the Gathering came upon us this day," Greg replied. He realized his self-depreciation yet was unable to avoid reaching that conclusion. Barnes looked down at his hands again, and then back into the other's eyes. "I've been watching you, Palmer," he said. "I've watched you train. You're right that you are not a threat, neither to me, nor to him, nor to any one of us. But you've also proved that someday you *will* be one to be reckoned with. MacLeod is no fool; he knows this. That is the reason he spends so much time training you; he is trying to shape you into what he would have you be." Barnes' cheeks became flushed, his words came more quickly. "I've lived for over a thousand years, my young friend. How long have you lived? Twenty years as a mortal, and two more as an Immortal who blundered about the world, running from and then mindlessly chasing the coward who killed his *precious* mortal lover--" An involuntary sound of naked pain came from deep inside Greg's throat. "Watch your tongue, Barnes, or I'll--" "You'll do what, cub? Smash my face in?" Barnes laughed, an almost pretty sound. "That's your problem, right there. You have almost no control over yourself, your emotions. In order to survive for any length of time as what you are, you must have self-control; discipline above *all* other things. This is what you lack." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "And it is what I have to provide... along with many other things." Greg's eyes narrowed. "So this is what you're about, Barnes. You forget, I already *have* a Teacher." Barnes opened his mouth in the middle of Greg's sentence, and began speaking the moment he stopped. "Do you? At this moment, MacLeod and Ryan are at the hospital, discovering your little... indiscretion. I know MacLeod; I know the way he thinks. And I'd be surprised if he isn't after your head already." The idea of Duncan MacLeod coming after him with a katana sent a cold shiver of fear up Greg's spine. "Duncan wouldn't... do that," he finished in a whisper, suddenly unsure of where he stood with his mentor. "It's a possibility you'll have to consider, I'm afraid," Barnes said matter-of-factly, his frigid gray eyes staring into the other's. "Although he is a Scot by birth; he is also very much the Samurai. In his mind, his Student's actions reflect upon himself." Michael Barnes smiled. "All the more reason to make a choice, now, before it's taken out of your hands." Behind his facade of calmness, Greg was furiously calculating his options. "So, say I go with you, Barnes. What then?" Barnes rolled his eyes like an adult talking to a foolish young child. "I'd Teach you, of course. Shelter you under my wing, so to speak. I can take MacLeod's head any time I wish, and he knows it. You'd be *safe* with me. Besides, how many fledglings have the opportunity to learn from one with ten centuries of experience?" Relief flooded through Greg's body, supplanting the fear. He quickly crushed the emotional response to Barnes' words, however. "You've explained your reasons for wanting me to become your Student; but I still don't trust you, Barnes." "I'd rather be disappointed if you did," Barnes replied. "However, my offer stands as is. You can risk death with me, or face it with MacLeod. Make your choice." He stood. "And hurry, because I'm leaving now." Without another word, Barnes turned and headed purposefully for the door. Greg remembered what Barnes said about choosing one's allies and enemies, and living with the choices forever. He thought about Duncan, and how good Duncan had been to him; Teaching him, and leading him from his path of vengeance. Then, he remembered the dream-image of MacLeod's angry figure chasing him with his sword. Unsure if he was making a terrible mistake, he called out to Barnes. "Hey, wait!" ************** Duncan and Richie stood in Anne Lindsay's office, partially unsure as to why they were there, and totally unsure as to where Anne was. The rapid clicking of a running woman's shoe heels became audible from the hallway outside. "Duncan!" Anne ran to her lover, embracing him. "I'm glad you're here. Something... terrible's happened to Dr. Martin, and Greg's gone!" She squeezed Duncan tightly, and made a noise; half gasp and half sob, into his shoulder. "Calm down, Anne," Duncan said, trying to soothe the emotionally distraught doctor. He stepped back and looked her in the eye. "We got here as quickly as we could. Now, what's happened?" "That's just it, I don't *know*!" Anne exclaimed. "I left Greg with Dr. Martin, and he said they'd be done in a half hour. Forty-five minutes after that, I went over to check on them." Anne's emotional pain distorted her features. "John was... was just... lying there on the floor! There was... blood..." Anne broke down completely. Richie's jaw dropped, and Duncan began to look contemplative. He put his hand on Anne's upper arm. "Is the man dead?" "No, thank God for that," Anne replied. "But he's got a severe concussion, dislocated jaw, and a broken nose." A fat tear rolled down her cheek. "Duncan, six of John's *teeth* were just... shattered." She tried not to sound accusing, but failed. "Did you know Greg was *capable* of doing something like this?" "No, of course not," Duncan lied. "He's seen a lot of pain, in a very short time. It think it might have just... broke him inside." Richie interrupted. "Anne, did anyone see Greg go out?" "Yes, he left in quite a hurry," Anne said. "There was a policeman asking around. A lot of people saw him leave, but I don't think anyone knew what direction he was heading in." Anne was beginning to regain her composure from being with Duncan. She looked back to him. "He's your nephew. Do you have any idea where he might be?" "No," Duncan realized. "None at all." "But I know who does." ************ The dimly lighted, smoky interior of Joe's bar housed a few late-afternoon patrons. A eclectic bunch of jazz musicians were practicing on-stage, preparing for the night's gig. Dawson was standing behind the bar, a small smile on his weathered face. Duncan MacLeod came through the door like a barreling steamroller. Locating Joe, he hurried up to the bar, not bothering to sit at one of the stools. "Dawson, I need to know where Greg is, *now*." Joe sighed and reached under the bar, producing a bottle of Glenmorangie. "Can't I get you a drink first, MacLeod?" "Joe, stop dicking me around," Duncan snapped. "I need to know where he went, and I need to know now." "You know I can't give out that kind of information, even to you, MacLeod," Joe Dawson said apologetically. "We've been watching him almost from the day he became an Immortal. I'm just surprised he hasn't done something like this sooner." Dawson looked sad. "I want to tell you what I know, MacLeod. But I have my oaths... my obligations. Greg's a good kid, it's just that he's had a rough time of it." He looked across the bar at Duncan. "Nobody ever said Immortality was easy, Mac." Duncan's voice rose, causing the few people in the bar to turn their heads. "That's no excuse, Dawson, and you know it!" Realizing he was being stared at, he lowered his voice. "Just because he's lost someone, doesn't give him the right to go hurting innocents!" "I know you're pretty pissed off at him," Joe said. "All I'm saying is to give the guy a break--" "No breaks!" Duncan glared at the Watcher. "Where is he?" "MacLeod, I can't!" Duncan turned his back on his friend and walked out of his bar. "I'm sorry...," Dawson whispered after his friend. *************** Michael Barnes turned as the young Immortal's voice caught up to him. He looked back at his new Student and smiled. "So be it. I'm glad you made this choice, Greg. You've overcome your fear. I'd worried it might have taken longer." He reached into his suit and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them to Greg, who caught them deftly in his right hand. "What am I, your Student or your chauffeur?" "No, of course you're not my driver," Barnes replied cheerily, "I just don't want to be *yours*. Now come." Greg followed Barnes out to the sidewalk where he saw a brand new red 500SL convertible sitting by the curb. "This is *mine*?" he asked. Barnes waved his hand at Greg, as if to tell him that he had five more just like it at home. "It is now, Student." He walked over to the passenger door and put his hand on the door handle. "Shall we?" "We shall," smiled Greg, badly trying to duplicate the sound of Michael's accent. He walked around to the driver's side door, barely able to believe he was going to *drive* this car. They got inside and Greg sighed in contentment as his body relaxed into the leather bucket seat. With much screaming of burning rubber, the car leaped from the sidewalk and out into the street. "Where to, guv'nor?" Greg asked, with a terrible attempt at a Cockney accent. Barnes laughed. "You'll need to get on the freeway. Turn left at the end of the street, my friend." He gestured at the windshield. "God, I *love* this car!" Greg reached over and fiddled with the unfamiliar radio. After a moment he was able to adjust it to receive one of the local alternative music stations. The sound of Nine Inch Nail's "Closer" came roaring out of the car's sound system. Bloody Americans, thought Michael with a smile. **************** During the rest of the three hour trip to Michael's house, Michael sketched the details of his life story out for Greg. He was born in 855, in London; his first memories those of a decrepit orphanage run by the Church of England. In an incredible stroke of luck, he was adopted and raised by the Duke and Duchess of Barnes, and became heir to his father's duchy. "My father was a good man and a brave fighter, but... he had no desire for women," Barnes explained. In 877, after his father was killed in a duel by a slighted lover, Michael became the Duke of Barnes. He ruled for twelve years, until an assassin's dagger brought him into his Immortality. Fearing witchcraft but unwilling to execute the man who had brought them prosperity; the people of his duchy exiled him. He left his homeland and wandered Europe for decades, until he met Ramirez in Scotland. "Ramirez was a great man," Barnes said. "Much as you did, I knew nothing of what I had become. Ramirez Taught me everything he knew about being an Immortal. He Taught me how to fight. Without him, I would surely have been beheaded long ago. That bastard Kurgan took his head around... four hundred years ago, I think." After taking his first Quickening, Ramirez left Michael to seek his destiny. He learned swordfighting and martial arts from the people of the East, and returned to his native England, to find that his old territory was now called something else, and ruled by another family. "After all, two hundred years had passed. Things change. It was one of the hardest lessons I learned; trying to cope with the fact that generations of mortals were being born and dying, yet I remained the same. Many an Immortal has lost his head from the despair of watching his friends and then their children and grandchildren grow old and die," Barnes said. Michael re-established his wealth and power over the course of the next century. He became a businessman, increasing his vast fortune until he was one of the wealthiest men in all of Europe. "The antique business was especially kind to me," Barnes said with a rueful smile. In the late nineteenth century, Michael came to America to explore the developing country's market. Soon after, he permanently uprooted himself from Europe and moved there. "And I've lived here ever since," Michael said. "Your country has it's downside, but I'm a businessman, and this is the best place for me, now." "Sounds like you've had quite an eventful life," Greg said in awe. Imagine, he thought, living for a *thousand* years! He knew it was possible, but he'd never really considered the implications. He became dizzy from just trying to imagine all the things Michael had seen. And all the things *he* might see if he lived to be even half as old as Michael. Greg was shocked from his reverie when Barnes pointed and said, "Look Greg, there it is." He obviously took pride in his home. Their higher vantage point made the whole place easy to see. On a cliff overlooking the Pacific, Michael Barnes' estate sat like a white jewel among the rocky gray crags of the cliffs. It was huge, with some walls made from polarized glass, some from white stone. A giant, neatly clipped lawn sprawled all around the house, and ended just before the cliff. "Where?" Greg feigned not being able to see it. "Is it next to that huge resort hotel over there?" Barnes laughed. "I sometimes have trouble believing it, myself." Greg drove the Mercedes up the half-mile long driveway and parked the car by the front door, in a small cul-de-sac. As soon as the two Immortals got out of the car, a uniformed guard emerged from a small windowed shack near the entrance to the cul-de-sac, and drove the car away. Michael and Greg walked up the wide steps to the front door of the mansion. Standing eleven feet high, it was made of solid hardwood and tooled with intricately carved figures. Greg saw a knight, a Western dragon, swords, and countless other fine details. Barnes started to reach for the doorhandle, but noticed Greg looking at the door. "Like it? I hope so, it set me back fifty thousand dollars." "For a *door*?" A butler opened the door from inside when Barnes didn't immediately open it himself. "Hullo, sirs," the butler said in a sharp British accent. "Good evening, Geoffrey," Michael replied. "Would you be so kind to take my young friend's coat and then go and bring two single-malts to the smoking room?" Greg took off his jacket and handed it to the butler. Looking oddly at Greg, Geoffrey took the jacket and said to Michael, "Yessir, right away sir." He turned and walked away. "Shall we adjourn to the smoking room?" Barnes said. "I think we have much to discuss." "Yeah, OK," Greg said. He followed Michael through ornate hallways and sumptously decorated rooms, until they got to a small room with a thick red carpet, carved wood paneled walls, and a few comfortable looking chairs surrounding an antique wooden table. Leather-bound volumes lined the shelves on two of the walls, and a silver tray with two thick-bottomed glasses half full of Scotch sat on a small table next to the door. "Please, sit, my friend," Barnes told Greg. Greg went to sit down in a soft chair and Michael picked up the two glasses. He handed one to Greg and sat down himself. A carved gold box with a glass lid sat on the table. Barnes opened it and retrieved two fat cigars from it. "Would you care for one?" he asked. "They're Cuban." "No thanks, Michael," Greg said. Barnes put one of the cigars back in the box as Greg took out his crumpled pack of Marlboros. Lighting their smokes, Barnes with a filigreed gold lighter, and Greg with his transparent plastic green one, Barnes began to speak: "You have many discoveries ahead of you, my friend. I plan on Teaching you everything Ramirez Taught me, so long ago, and also the things I've learned for myself over the centuries." Greg stretched and yawned involuntarily, and realized with a shock how rude it must have seemed to his Teacher. Barnes didn't seem too perturbed. "Forgive me, Greg. It's late and you're tired from the drive here. I've had the servants make up a room for you, if you'd like to sleep now. We can continue in the morning." "I'm sorry, Michael, but you're right. I *should* get some sleep. I've had an extremely stressful day," Greg replied. "Think nothing of it. Do you desire some female... companionship? My staff is quite willing and able to serve." Barnes smiled at his Student. Greg looked as if Barnes had slapped him. He quickly recovered. "No, thank you," he said tersely. "Of course, as you wish," Barnes said. "Your room is down the hallway, second door on the right. Pleasant dreams, my friend. You're in for quite a day tommorow." "Thank you, Michael. I'm looking forward to it." With that, Greg placed his untouched glass of Scotch on the table, butted out his smoke in a crystal ashtray, and stood. He turned and walked out the door and found his room quite easily. Barely noticing the size and grandeur of the room, he saw a set of silk pajamas lying on the neatly made four-poster bed. He changed his clothes, throwing his jeans, shirt and shoes onto a chair. Turning off the lights and flopping down onto the bed, he was half asleep when the smell of perfume reached his nose. That's the kind Yvette wore, he thought, in a kind of waking dream state. Suddenly, he became fully awake as he felt a soft hand running lightly over his thigh... [end part 3] Aww...a cliffhanger ending (of sorts). Stay tuned for part 4...coming up soon! =========================================================================