Date: Mon, 6 Nov 1995 23:46:18 -0500 Reply-To: Mike Breen Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Breen Subject: REVENGE AND REBIRTH I - The Dragon's Sword, Part 6 BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES - OCTOBER, 1995 Elaine, Rick, and Bernard had all headed home. Joe stayed and helped them clean up. He said, "Did it help? Telling that story?" Patrick nodded. "I thought so." "Help what?" Nancy said. "As you get older," Patrick said, "You'll find you carry... things bottled up inside of you. Yi's death hurt me more than any other loss, because it was directly related to the Game. Gwenna, Katherine, and Sarah, my other wives, died of natural causes. Gwenna died of a consumption of the lungs when she was in her mid thirties, Katherine died of the plague, and Sarah died of old age. But Yi... if I hadn't been Immortal or if I had never married her she would have lived to old age. Or she would have died earlier, I don't know. But she would have had the chance." "I'm going to become a Watcher," Elaine said later that night as they curled up in bed. "WHAT??" Rick said. "You heard me," Elaine said. "I took Bernard aside before we left. My training begins tomorrow." "What about your job?" "Screw the job, I want this. More than anything in the world." Rick stared at her for a long time, realizing that this was just the sort of thing _he_ would have suggested before they had seen Patrick behead the other Immortal on the Common back in January, what seemed like centuries ago. And Elaine would have been arguing, just as he was, against it. He could have said a lot of things, about moving around and following an Immortal, about the danger, about not being able to survive on one income, about not talking with him about it before she approached Bernard. But he stared deeply into her eyes and realized that there was no use in arguing with her. She had made up her mind so completely that she already _was_ a Watcher, all she needed was the tattoo. And perhaps she _had_ been a Watcher since that night in January but didn't know it, much like an Immortal after meeting their first death. The beheading on the common had affected her far more than him, it had transformed her. Meeting Patrick, Rebecca, Nancy, Joe, and Bernard had made her realize just what _had_ happened to her. He smiled, then chuckled. Knowing her, she'd quit her job tomorrow and when her training was completed, get _another_ job and say she had gone back to school. The old Rick, the impulsive romantic, turned back to her and said, "Ok." "Ok?" "Yup." "You mean it?" "Uh-huh. If this is what you want, I'll support you, and follow you wherever your new job takes you." "Oh, Rick! You know..." "No," Rick said, knowing what she was going to say next. "Becoming a Watcher is not for me. This is _you_." "Very good, Stink," VonHoffer said. "The bait has been found. All that remains is to bait the hook and hook the fish. You can leave now." Relieved that VonHoffer hadn't mentioned the police, Stink backed out of the office. VonHoffer turned to McKinley and said, "Get ahold of Ramus. Give him the address of this couple, and tell him the plan. Then, have him call me when all the pieces are in place." REDMOND, WASHINGTON, UNITED STATES, OCTOBER, 1995 Michelle Taylor sat in her supervisor's office. They had been joined by a young-looking man, tall, with scraggly red hair... red hair. Patrick had red hair, though it was more auburn than the red-orange that this man had, and it was curly, not scraggly. Patrick was on her mind recently. Alot. She stared at the gold band on her finger, a gold band that another man had given her recently. A gold band that Patrick _would_ have given her eventually, if only... If only. Her life was filled with 'if onlys.' "Miz Taylor?" Michelle looked up, startled, and rubbed the growing life in her abdomen. "I'm sorry," she said to her supervisor. "Just thinking." "I was saying that if you want to take this temporary position, we can afford to let you go temporarily. Windows 95 has been released and, quite frankly, we can afford to loose you temporarily. Besides, from what our friend here says, this position will end right as you would be going on maternity leave." It was a perfect opportunity. Her husband was currently working for Microsoft's Boston office for three more months. She could join him if she took this position with VonHoffer software. There was only one problem. Patrick was in Boston. She sighed. She and Patrick were finished, and had been since January. She was married to another man and was carrying his baby, which was an experience she would never have had if she had stayed with Patrick. But Boston was a big city. Was her entire life going to be governed by the fact that she _might_ see Patrick in a city of over half a million? She looked up and her supervisor and the other man, who's name was O'Riley, and said, "I'll take it." "Good. We'll have the paperwork ready in an hour." Shortly after arriving in the Seattle area in January, Michelle had met Steve Pritchard, who had recently gone through a messy divorce and had lost custody of his two children. Their mutual pain seemed to draw them ever closer, ever faster, until the night in late January when, after a "friendly" dinner after a late night of work, she had invited him up to her apartment, and he rarely left after that. In March, she had agreed to move into his house. In May she had become pregnant, and they both had decided to keep the baby. Perhaps it was because the sting of Patrick's Immortality, and all that went along with it, was a barley-healed wound, who's scar ran deep. Perhaps it was his loss of his own children. They married later that month (she had kept her name), and after Windows 95's release extravaganza, he had been transferred to the Boston office "temporarily." Try as she might, she couldn't get a transfer to Boston, and his position became more and more permanent. Or maybe she hadn't tried to transfer hard enough. Memories of the Quickening she had witnessed in January still haunted her dreams. More than the Quickening, though, the expression on Patrick's face frightened her. He actually _enjoyed_ it. And that face haunted her dreams far more than the bursts of energy. Only sometimes it wasn't in nightmares. She was _fond_ of Steve, of that she had no doubt. She _liked_ him and could _learn_ to love him. She would have no problem spending the rest of her life with him, and she was happier with him than without Patrick. But the trouble was... she wasn't in love with him _now_. The trouble was... she was still in love with Patrick, despite everything that had happened to end their relationship. The trouble was, she was certain of what would happen if they saw eachother again. All the old feelings would come back, they would have a long discussion, realize that they never should have parted, she would leave Steve, marry Patrick, Patrick would adopt the baby and she would live with him until she died, decades from now, and an old woman, with Patrick still in love with her. The trouble was, she wasn't sure she _didn't_ want that to happen. O'Riley came to her house the next morning to bring her to the airport. In his rental car she was silent, not sure how, or if she even should, broach the subject. She was silent as they boarded the plane. Only when the seatbelt sign was turned off did O'Riley ask her why she was so quiet. "Is the baby bothering you?" he said. "No no, not that," she said. "The baby's wonderful. I just... there's someone in Boston I know and I'm not sure if I want to see him." "Oh? What's his name, maybe I know him." "Patrick. His name's Patrick O'Brien." "Tall guy, curly red hair, lives in a townhouse on Beacon Hill?" "That's him!" she said, not able to contain the happiness. "Yeah, I know him. He and his wife..." "WIFE?!?!" Several passengers turned and looked at Michelle. She blushed and lowered her voice. "He's... _married_? When did he get married?" "Look, Michelle," O'Riley said, "I don't want to pry into your personal life, but it seems to me that you and Patrick were, as they say, special friends, and maybe you don't _really_ love your husband. Maybe you were hoping for something to happen again between the two of you over the next couple of months. And maybe hearing all this is only going to hurt. I _don't_ want you to be hurt. Maybe this is something your better off not hearing." "No," Michelle said, shaking her head. "I have to know." O'Riley sighed and said, "Ok. ok. I don't know when exactly it happened but, she moved in back in early March, I think. They had apparently known eachother before. Then, back in June, he, her, and this college student girl, I think it's his ward, went off to Ireland. When they came back, he and Rebecca were married." Rebecca, Michelle thought. Patrick had told her about Rebecca after he had told her about his Immortality. Rebecca was the Immortal he habitually went to when he lost a mortal love. He had told her that despite everything, despite all their centuries of history, he _didn't_ love her. Either he had lied to her, or had lied to himself. "I'm sorry," O'Riley said, "Look, it happened real fast, so maybe he didn't know what he was doing." "Like me," Michelle said. "And maybe... just maybe... what you hope will happen, will." "Thanks," Michelle said, "but you don't plan your life around maybes." O'Riley looked at his watch and said, "I'll be right back. I have to make a phone call." BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES, OCTOBER 1995 The phone on his desk rang. He answered it, with a "VonHoffer." "Sir," came O'Riley's voice from the other line. "Where are you?" "Somewhere above Idaho, I imagine. I've got her with me, and there's good news." "What?" "She's still in love with O'Brien, and is hoping she'll see him. She hopes that when O'Brien sees her he'll leave Rebecca for her." VonHoffer smiled and said, "Very good O'Riley. Anything else?" "Just that she's married to a man she doesn't exactly love, and is carrying his baby." "Excellent," VonHoffer said. "You've done well," he hung up and relayed the information to McKinley, who smiled. Then he said, "Is Ramus ready for today?" "Yes," McKinley said. "And Stink? have you told him to concentrate on Peters?" "Yes. All the pieces are in place for phase one. All that remains to happen is for the clock to advance two more hours." Elaine had spent her entire day with Bernard. She wanted to scratch at the tattoo that she now wore on her left wrist. "Don't," Bernard said. "The irritation will go away in a day or so." She had sat with Bernard on his parkbench for the morning and afternoon, listening to him play and teach her. At one point he said, "I was actually going to recruit you and your husband if you hadn't asked me." "You were?" Elaine said. "Uh huh. We recruit potential Watchers from people who have somehow found out about Immortals. A friend of mine was recruited in Vietnam after an Immortal who he saw die saved his life." "And you?" Bernard took his sunglasses off and wiped them with his shirt. Then he said, "It's similar to his, but it's kind of a long story." "I'd love..." "I know, you're a sucker for long stories. That's why I know you'll make a terrific Watcher. Ok..." KOREA, SOMEWHERE ALONG THE 38TH PARALLEL - JULY 1952 "Our intelligence says that a Chinese platoon is going to attempt to push just below our position," the Lieutenant said, "so it's our job to see that they don't ever make it out of this hollow. Cartman, you take the second unit up the eastern ridge. Monroe, you take the third up the western ridge. Willis, you take the forth down this hollow, take up an entrenched position on the eastern side. I'll take the first unit to the western side. When they come, we hit them hard and fast with everything we've got. Ok?" "Yessir," Sergeant Cartman said. "Yessir," said Sergeant Monroe. "Sir?" Sergeant Bernard Willis said. "Yes, Sarge?" "How do we know it ain't a trap?" "We don't, Sarge. But those are our orders." "Yessir." "This is crazy," Bernard said to his second in command, Corporal Matt Johnson. "We fortify the hollow and the ridges, but there's the cliffs above the ridges. It would be so _easy_ for the Chinese to ambush _us_." Johnson said nothing. Private Gus Mallon said, "Whatsamatter, Sarge? You scared or something?" "Not scared," Willis said. "Just thinking logically." "That's a surprise," Mallon said. "One of _you_ thinking logically?" Bernard stopped and clenched his fist at Mallon. Johnson said, "Sarge... Sarge... it ain't worth it." Bernard unclenched his fist and approached Mallon. When his face was mere inches away from the Private's, he looked up and said, quietly, "I know precisely _why_ you don't like me, and I also know you've made it known you either want me transferred to an all-Negro platoon or you transferred at least out of my unit, which the Lieutenant has refused several times. I've got news for you _Private_, I've earned my position here. And I don't like you. But while we're stuck together, while you're under my command, you'll follow my orders. Understand?" Mallon said nothing. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND??!!" "Yes," Mallon said, quietly. "I... DID... NOT... HEAR... YOU!!" "I understand," Mallon said, louder. "I UNDERSTAND WHAT??!!" Though Bernard wasn't a tall man, he was solidly built, and carried himself well. He could be a formidable presence when he wanted to be. "I understand SERGEANT WILLIS!" "Don't let Mallon get you down," Johnson said after they had taken up their position. "I think you may have finally broken him." "Good. 'Cause I ain't gonna let any racist Private undermine my command. The Lieutenant put me in charge of this unit three months ago, and I don't intend on letting him down." "You aren't," Johnson said. "He knows you're a good soldier. Cartman's up for promotion, and the Lieutenant want's to appoint _you_ second in command." "Really?" Bernard said. "Really." "Smitty," Bernard said. "Check the radio. Do you hear anything?" "Nothing yet," Private Smith, the communications officer said. "Damn." Bernard wiped the sweat off of his brow. "It's hotter than the Goddamn Louisiana swamp in August." "You from Louisiana, Sarge?" Johnson said. "Yup. New Orleans, actually." "Well Jesus, we're practically Neighbors. I'm from Texarcana." "You don't sound like you are." "I've been around," Johnson said. Bernard was silent. Then he said, "If you're from the South, how come..." "How come I ain't a racist asshole like Mallon?" "Yeah." "'Cause I discovered a long time ago that everyone's human. No matter what the color of their skin." Hours passed. The sun was now at its hottest. Bernard wiped the sweat from his brow again and said, "How much longer. Smitty, anything _yet_?" "No... wait... yes... Intelligence reports... they're coming." "Ok, guys. This is it." The unit raised their weapons, all ready. Bernard knew that across from him, the Lieutenant's unit was doing the same, as were Cartman, above him and Monroe above the Lieutenant. Off in the distance, Bernard could hear the sound of equipment heading their way. Getting closer. "That doesn't sound like men," Bernard whispered to Johnson. The sound was getting closer. Closer. "That sounds like..." Closer. "What _is_ that..?" Closer. "Fuck! Those are tanks headed this way!" Three Chinese tanks rolled into the hollow and stopped. Waiting. "Damnit." Bernard crossed over to Smith's position at the radio and said, "Get me the Lieutenant." "But Sarge, the tanks can pick us up." "I don't care... They're gonna find us anyway." Smith obeyed and handed the headphones and microphone to Bernard. "Lieutenant..." Bernard said. "I can see them, Willis. I've tried to radio both Cartman's and Monroe's units. Neither answer. Take only _one_ man and find out what happened and see if you've still got a retreat route. Tell your men to retreat if you aren't back in ten minutes. I'm going to investigate Monroe's unit." "Yessir, but retreat _where_?" The lead tank fired just above their position. "Don't worry about that," the Lieutenant said. "Just get going. We'll regroup at the nearest M*A*S*H unit. We're gonna need them. And Sarge, when we get out of this, I'll let you into the nearest officers' club and buy you a drink 'cause you were right." Bernard handed the equipment back to Smith and turned to Johnson. He said, "The Lieutenant's lost contact with Cartman and Monroe. You and I are gonna go up to their position and find out what happened, _and_ to see if our retreat's been cut off. Smitty, radio a M*A*S*H unit and tell them we need choppers NOW!" "Yes, Sarge." "Mallon, if we aren't back in ten minutes, take the men and find _some_ way out." Mallon looked up and said, "Sarge?" "DO IT!" "Yes, Sarge!" Bernard and Johnson arrived at Cartman's unit's position, only to find the entire unit had been wiped out. "Jesus," Johnson said. "Let's get out of here. This smells like a trap." Six Chinese gunmen appeared from behind some cover and pointed their guns at Bernard and Johnson. "MOVE!! NOW!!" The Chinese opened fire. Bernard and Johnson returned their fire. Bernard took out two, Johnson took out another three. Bernard took a bullet in the gut as he was taking one out. The last Chinese fired at Johnson, getting him in the leg, and causing him to fall. Bernard fired and felled him. Then, on the ridge above, another unit appeared and began to open fire. "Our retreat's been cut off," Bernard said to Johnson. "No shit," Johnson said. "Come on, I'll help you back." "Leave me, Sarge. I'll be OK. Save yourself." "Don't be an idiot," Bernard said, as he lifted him up and began carrying him back to their position. As they were retreating, Bernard took another bullet in the shoulder. Eventually, reinforcements came and pushed the tanks back. The M*A*S*H choppers and busses came soon after that. Bernard lay on a stretcher. He didn't know what happened to Johnson. Johnson had taken two more bullets, one directly in the heart and Bernard doubted he'd make it. His own gut felt as if someone had punched him repeatedly, and his shoulder was numb. He had lost a lot of blood and felt consciousness slip away. He welcomed the darkness... When he came to, a nurse was standing over him. "Good," she said. "You're awake. Doctor Pierce, he's awake." A tall, dark-haired doctor walked over to Bernard's bed and said, "Good afternoon, Sarge, I'm Doctor Jekyl and over there is my lovely assistant Nurse Hyde. Welcome to the wonderful world of the 4077th, where the unexpected is generally expected." Bernard smiled and said, "How bad is it, Doc?" Doctor Pierce got serious and said, "Not bad at all. You only took two bullets, and the one in your shoulder missed the collar bone. Most of your platoon wasn't so lucky. How do you feel?" "Tired. Hungry. And like a horse kicked me in the stomach." "That's a good sign. What about your shoulder." "Yeah, a horse kicked me there, too," Bernard said. "Doc, my unit... Smitty, Mallon, McPherson, Johnson, and Clarkie." Pierce was silent for a second. Then he said, "Smith, McPherson, and Clarke didn't make it. Mallon's going home. He lost a leg." Bernard closed his eyes and said, "And Johnson?" "He's milling about somewhere, probably bothering some nurses." "What??" "He was the luckiest of your entire platoon. He didn't get hit at all." "You're mistaken, Doc. He took one in the heart, one in the leg, and one in the back." "Listen, Sarge..." Pierce said. "You're obviously a little dis-orientated. Johnson carried your stretcher off of the bus. There was a lot of blood on his uniform, but it was probably mostly yours." "I am _not_ shell-shocked!" Pierce was silent. "I'm not crazy, Doc. I know what I saw." "Hawkeye?" said another Doctor from behind him. "The Lieutenant's awake." "Be right there, Trap." Then he turned back to Bernard and said, "We'll talk later, Sarge." Bernard was up and on his feet not long after arriving at the 4077th. On his first day out of bed, he went to find Johnson. He found him at mess. He glanced at the man dressed in woman's clothing, shook his head, and approached the table where Johnson sat. "Mind if I join you?" "Sure, Sarge," Johnson said. The two ate in silence. Finally, Bernard broke it by saying, "So... what kind of man takes three bullets, one in the heart, and arrives at a M*A*S*H unit well enough to load his buddy off of the bus?" Johnson looked up and said, "Huh?" "Tell me, Johnson, how'd you manage that one?" "I didn't..." "Damnit, Johnson! I carried you back to the unit! You were in rough shape." "Actually, Sarge," Johnson said, "_You_ were in rougher shape. You'd already taken two bullets. My leg wound turned out to be just a graze. Once the busses and choppers arrived, I was well enough to help." "Jesus, Johnson..." "Sarge... you had lost a _lot_ of blood. People see things when they're dieing, things that aren't _really_ there. Sarge, you saved my life, and I'm grateful for that." Bernard sat in silence. At the food counter, Doctor Pierce was complaining. "The potatoes are runny today," he was saying, "and the beef is Au de Olde Shoe. Wonderful army cooking, just like Mom never made." Maybe Pierce and Johnson were both right. Maybe he _had_ hallucinated. War was hell, he'd be the first to admit it. Maybe the combination of shell-shock, pain, and loss of blood had made him see things. The Lieutenant had taken it hard, but was still in once piece. Bernard had taken to sitting with him for hours, just talking. One afternoon, the Lieutenant said, "I'm gonna be out of here soon. I'll understand if you want to transfer out of my command." "No sir," Bernard said. "It wasn't your fault. I'll go back out with you. I was just missing my saxophone, and thinking." "About what?" "Johnson. Remember how I told you I saw him take three bullets?" "Uh-huh." "I've been thinking that maybe that's not what happened." The Lieutenant looked around, saw that no one was within earshot, and said, "You know that's not the truth." "What do you mean?" "I mean you saw what you saw. Johnson _did_ take a bullet in the heart, and miraculously recover." "What are you saying, sir? That I'm not crazy or that you are?" The Lieutenant pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a tattoo. Bernard had seen it before, and had wondered about its significance, but the Lieutenant had never been forthcoming. He said, "This is the seal of the Watchers. We watch Johnson and others like him. Johnson is Immortal." Bernard's eyes widened. "You _are_ crazy!" he said. "Am I? Ask yourself, Sarge, you saw what you saw. You carried a dieing man on your back, only to see him, days later, as if nothing had happened. He _is_ from Texarcana, or somewhere close to it. He discovered he was Immortal after the battle of the Alamo, where he died and revived after the Mexicans had killed everyone else." Bernard couldn't help but believe the Lieutenant. The evidence had been right before his eyes. He found himself saying, "Why do you watch them?" "History, mostly. Record their lives and preserve their story. They live in secret, among mortals, which is why Johnson didn't tell you what he is. If mortal men found out..." Bernard nodded, knowing the implications. The Lieutenant continued, "So _someone_ has to preserve their stories. That's how we began." "And why are _you_ telling me this. Obviously your organization is secret too." "Because I want to recruit you, Sarge. When the war's over, I want you to become one of us. You're a good man, Sergeant Bernard Willis, and I think you'll be doing more good for us." BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES, OCTOBER 1995 "And when the war ended," Bernard said, "I went to Chicago where the Lieutenant was living, and Watching an Immortal. He trained me, and I went on my first assignment." "Patrick?" "No, that came much later. It was a young Immortal named Harold Richfield. He lost his head in 1957. Then I was in research for three years until 1960, when Patrick's last Watcher, a woman named Mary Horrowitz, retired. I had proven myself well with Richfield and with research that the O'Brien assignment was awarded to me. And here I am." Elaine came home that evening to an empty house. She expected Rick to be there, waiting for her. The house was dark and empty. "Rick?" she said. She turned on the lights and felt a hand over her mouth. She couldn't scream, his grip was too tight. He whispered into her ear, "Make a sound and you're dead." She felt something blunt hit the back of her head, and consciousness slipped away... =========================================================================