Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 00:13:22 EST Reply-To: Russet McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russet McMillan Subject: Mortality Rate, Part 8/8 Here's the ending at long last. Thanks for being patient. Now, the request for feedback. I really had to struggle with this one, and I can't tell if it's because of the first-person POV, or because I decided to tell the story bass ackwards, or because I just wasn't doing it right. So I'd really like comments, including negative ones -- especially comparisons to my other stories. Let me know if the experiment worked or flopped. Mortality Rate, Part 8 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu I went back to Joe's the next morning to find out what had happened after everybody split. Barbara and Joe were sitting together at one of the smaller tables, their heads bent together over a couple of coffee cups. Barbara was back in her corporate clothes, but without the china-doll makeup or the tightly bound hair. I paused in the doorway, and they both turned to look at me with that sort of sameness in their reaction that said they knew each other a lot better now. I had to work to keep a smile on my face. Not that I wasn't happy for them -- I was -- but, geeze, does _everybody_ have better luck with women than I do? I swallowed, and nodded at their greetings, and got myself a cup of coffee while I pulled my face back together. "How's MacLeod doing?" Joe asked at once as I sat down. I shrugged. "He's holding together, but I don't know. What set him off, anyway? I haven't seen him like this since Darius died." Joe sighed and sipped his coffee. "It could be a lot of things -- Fitzcairn dying, Charlie dying, that business with Kalas, or maybe breaking up with Anne." "And he bought that house way out in the middle of nowhere," I mused. "It's like he doesn't want any contact with people anymore." "So, maybe he needs some time to himself." "Then why doesn't he just go to the island?" I blinked. "Hey, maybe I'll suggest that to him. It might help a little. Thanks, Joe, I never thought of that." It wasn't much, but at least there was _something_ I could do. I gulped my coffee and burned my tongue, as usual. "So what about Pirelli?" I lisped, running the burned spot experimentally against my teeth. "We got him calmed down after a little while," Joe said. "Will he try to kill himself?" I asked. "I don't know." "I don't think he really wants to die," Barbara put in. "He's still blaming himself for his wife's death, but once he begins to see that he couldn't have stopped her, he can get back to living. It's a slow process, though. He has to grieve for her first. If he's lucky, maybe someday he'll be able to look back at the happy times they had, and cherish them for what they were." She sighed deeply. Joe was watching her face. "Is that what you want?" he asked softly. "To be able to cherish the happy memories?" Her mouth twisted. "There were no happy times. It was all a lie. Robert didn't care about me, just my money. I'm surrounded by people these days who don't relate to me as a person, just a financial institution." "Oh, come on," I protested. "Have _I_ ever said word one about your money? It doesn't have to be such a big deal." She blinked and focused again on the present. "You're right," she said, amused. "I guess I just have to know who my friends are." She shared a secret look with Joe. "What made you speak to Pirelli like that yesterday, anyway?" I asked. "How did you know that would get through to him?" She swallowed and glanced again at Joe, like there was something she hadn't told him and she was afraid how he would react. "I didn't know, not really," she said. "But . . . I've thought about it myself. About suicide. I considered it once or twice before, actually, but this time -- when I found out what Robert was planning for me -- I mean," she tried to make it sound like a joke, "if my own husband doesn't think I deserve to live, who am I to contradict him?" Joe reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "But you didn't do it." "No. I always hated doing Robert's work for him." The door opened behind me, and Joe turned with an impatient look. "Sorry, we're closed right now," he said. "There's a breakfast place just down the block --" "I'm not here for a drink," said the baby-faced young man in his three-piece suit and tie. "I'm canvassing the neighborhood. In the past few days, have you seen a woman, about 5 foot 6, dark hair--" As he walked forward, he could see around my shoulder, and his jaw dropped. "Ms. Wylie!" Barbara sat back in her seat with a resigned look. "Hello, Lucas." "We've been looking for you everywhere! We had to postpone your meeting with the bank director -- we were about to notify the police -- where have you been? Have these people been detaining you?" He glared at Joe. I pictured a puppy sinking sharp teeth into my ankle and growling excitedly. "No, they've been taking very good care of me. Lucas, I'd like you to meet Joe Dawson and Richard Ryan. Joe, this is Lucas Majors, my assistant." Joe curved his mouth and held out his hand politely. Lucas ignored him and kept babbling at Barbara. "You must return to the office with me, right away! Everything has been held up for two days. No one knew where to find you." He hesitated, frowning at her suit. "Perhaps Helen can buy you a change of clothes before the board meeting." Barbara rose to her feet smoothly, all business once more -- but if you looked in her eyes you could see that she was on the edge of laughter. "These clothes will be fine, Lucas. If the board doesn't like it, they can take their business elsewhere. Joe --" She rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "I'll be seeing you." "Dinner, soon?" he suggested. "Tonight. I'll get away somehow. Richie," she nodded at me, "it's been . . . very broadening." "I'll bet." I smirked. "See you around, then?" "Oh, yes." She glanced at Lucas, who was practically panting in his eagerness to drag her away. "I know who my friends are now." And with a wave, she followed her little guard-dog out of the bar. Joe sighed as the door swung closed. I finished off my coffee. "Hey," I said on a sudden thought. "She won't tell anybody about all this, will she?" Not that I really expected her to, but if she did -- a woman in her position, with money and power -- she might actually be listened to. "She won't tell," Joe said positively. I looked at his expression suspiciously. "You're going to make her a Watcher, aren't you?" He grinned and shrugged. "We have to recruit somehow." "She doesn't seem to appreciate the policy of non-interference too well," I said sourly. If she hadn't kept pushing on the Sarah Pirelli business, we could have avoided most of the trouble. Joe sobered. "Actually, she'll understand it better than most recruits. Mistakes make the best teachers." He looked inward, the way Mac does when he's remembering something from his long past. "What about Pirelli?" I asked quickly, to distract him. "Huh?" "Will you recruit him, too?" Joe frowned. "Maybe. We won't approach him until he's a little more stable. But in the meantime, we will keep an eye on him, to make sure he doesn't cause trouble with what he knows." I nodded, and a little silence fell. I considered another cup of coffee. I should really get going, but -- "Listen, Joe," I said. "About the damage to the bar. I've been thinking, and if you give me a little time I think I can --" Joe cut me off. "Don't worry, Richie. It's all been taken care of." I made a face. "Oh, no, I'm not going to let Mac pay my way this time!" "It wasn't MacLeod. Don't knock it, Richie --, everything's paid for." I figured it out and shut my mouth. I still didn't want my debts paid by someone else -- especially after I said the money didn't matter -- but in this case I think it was really for Joe's benefit, not mine. "Well," I said, not sure what to say. "I, uh, I should really get back to the dojo. See you later, huh Joe?" "Sure, Richie." Joe smiled goodbye at me, just as if I were a normal human being. I paused on the steps outside and pulled my jacket on, my breath making clouds in the morning air. And so it all ended happily. Joe got the girl, Mac kicked butt (_my_ butt!) in a sword fight, and disaster was averted at the last minute. And me? Well -- I guess I'm just trouble. =========================================================================