Date: Wed, 11 Jan 1995 22:25:30 -0500 Reply-To: mikester@BIX.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Breen Subject: THE CHANGELING - PART I A few words before I start Here's the first part of the second adventure of THE IRELANDER! (get it? Came to me today. I kinda like the sound of it! Flows off the tongue better than "The Irishman." 8) Obviously I got _real_ inspired here. After the "test run" of "Two If By Sea," the much more complex story of Patrick O'Brien's origins just seemed to flow out, as did the story of Nancy Peters, briefly introduced at the end of "TIBS III." (Ooo! Foreshadowing! 8) Anyway, "part one" ended up being 45k, so I've divided it into three parts that'll be posted over three days. Again, TV series rules apply. Historical facts researched as much as possible, but I can't vouch for the actual dates of some of the events that took place in the far past. There were events that had general happenings during events in the timeline I came up with, so I adapted them to fit the story. After all, this _is_ a parallel universe. 8) Anyway, enough of my yappin'. CAMBRIDGE, MASS, UNITED STATES, JANUARY 1995 She was gone. Michelle Taylor had left Boston for Seattle. She had witnessed Patrick O'Brien take the Quickening after a fight with an Immortal who had been after his head for two centuries. In the days that followed, Patrick became completely absorbed in his work, a professor and researcher of history at Harvard University. He kept himself focused on his work, otherwise he would think of her. And when he thought of her he began to realize that perhaps she had been close to becoming the love of his 800 year long life. And now she was gone. But he had other things to keep him occupied besides work. Like Nancy Peters, the exceptionally bright young history major sitting across from him in his office. He had taken her under his wing early this semester, ever since she had spoken to him after the first class. And to all concerned, including Nancy, there was nothing more to that than a professor taking interest in a promising student. That was certainly one reason for his interest in her. And maybe if he were mortal it would be the only reason. But it wasn't. Nancy Peters was Immortal. Not that she knew it herself, she hadn't died yet. But she was. It was unmistakable. Patrick felt the faint Buzz from her on their first meeting, and whatever happened was to happen naturally, except that Patrick couldn't help thinking it would happen soon. Too soon. "Doctor O'Brien are you listening to me?" Patrick looked up and saw the general concern in Nancy's eyes. "Um, I'm sorry Nancy, but I wasn't." "I asked what other fields you're an expert in besides the Renaissance," Nancy said. "Of course. Medieval, especially twelfth century Ireland and fourteenth century England, Ming Dynasty China, the American Revolution, and the World War era. I'm sorry Nancy, but I've just been through a break-up. You see, we old people break up too," he said grinning. She smiled and then said, "I'm sorry." "There were certain things that she could not reconcile with our relationship. Someday I may tell you the whole story." He would have to, he thought, since the same thing may happen to her someday. "Look, Doctor O'Brien, maybe I should just go. I can tell you want to be alone." "No, Nancy, that's quite all right. I'm fine. Just because of a little break-up doesn't mean that I can't do my job." Eventually the afternoon wore onto early evening and the conversation turned from world history to personal history. Nancy put her coke can down and said, "I never new my parents. My biological parents. I was adopted." "Neither did I," Patrick said. "Seems we have a lot in common." Nancy looked at Patrick sideways and said, "Are you coming on to me Doctor O'Brien?" "Not at all. I know you have to be careful these days, Nancy, but coming on to you is the furthest thing on my mind. No offense." Nancy smiled and said, "None taken. I would have been _real_ disappointed if you were. Anyway, my adoptive parents died in a car crash two years ago, so I really have no family. Where are you from? Originally?" "Originally? Or recently?" "Both. You have an accent I can't place." Patrick decided not to lie to her. She'd find it all out soon enough. He said, "I'm from Ireland originally. I traveled around the British Isles for a while. I lived in Spain for a short time and then lived in China. Then I went back to Europe before settling here." "Wow, that's a lot of traveling. Just how old are you, anyway?" "How old do you think I am?" "I wouldn't put you past thirty-five." "I'm a lot older than you think, Nancy. I'm just well-preserved." He took a sip of his coffee. Nancy looked at the time and said, "Oh God, it's so late! I really should get going." Patrick suddenly had a strong feeling that she wouldn't make it home tonight. As she left, he put his coat on, locked his door, and unseen, followed her out. It _had_ to happen naturally. Nancy walked across Harvard Yard towards Mass Ave. It was late, and she had to hurry in order to make it in time for dinner at her dorm. She walked down Mass Ave towards Quincy Street. Half way down Quincy Street she stopped. She had a feeling that there was someone following her. Patrick ducked into an alleyway, hoping to Ghods she didn't see him, much less recognize him. He wished whatever was going to happen would hurry up and _happen_. Moreover, he had parked his car here this morning, on a whim. If it _did_ happen here tonight, it would be so easy to get her back to his apartment without anyone ever seeing her. Nancy turned back, chalking the feeling up to normal nineties paranoia and began to cross the street. Suddenly there was a van, out of control, speeding the wrong way down the street. Obviously drunk, the driver had no idea that Nancy was in the road, or if he did, was not able to stop in time. Nancy stood, transfixed, much like a deer staring into the oncoming headlights. Patrick had to keep himself from warning her or rescuing her. He could only watch as the van struck Nancy at full speed, and then sped off. He ran over to her and checked for her pulse. There was none. He would have to work fast before curiosity got the better of the residents of the street and before the approaching sirens came. He lifted her broken body, carried her to his car, opened the door and lay her down in the back seat. He sat in the drivers seat as two cruisers passed him, on their way to catch the van. Patrick pulled out of his parking space and headed, not to the hospital, but to his home. Nancy sharply inhaled. Her heart began beating again. She opened her eyes. And as soon as she did, Patrick felt the Buzz, fully, from her. It had happened. He walked over to her and said, "How do you feel?" "Strange. Is... is that you Doctor O'Brien?" Patrick nodded and sat down next to her. "Where am I?" she sat up and looked around. "This place looks like a mansion." Patrick said, "You're in my townhouse apartment on Beacon Hill." "What happened?" she said. "The last thing I remember was hitting the pavement. I thought I was dead." "You were," Patrick said. "But... but I thought that in a near-death experience I was supposed to see a light and go through a tunnel, or something like that. And why aren't I hurt? I could _feel_ bones break, but I'm fine now. Not even any pain." Patrick sighed and sat back. There was no easy way to explain this. He'd done it before a few times, become a Mentor to a new Immortal, but it was never easy. He decided the best tactic was to just come right out and say it. "Nancy, you don't feel any pain because you're not like everyone else. You cannot die. You're Immortal." "What?" she said. "What're you talking about, Doctor O'Brien?" "It's... simply that you can't die. You'll live..." "Forever?" she whispered. He nodded. "Or close to it." Nancy turned pale as a ghost. "And you? You're Immortal too, aren't you?" "Yes. Everything I told you today was true. You said I didn't look any older that thirty-five. That's because I was just under thirty when I met my first death and became Immortal. That was eight hundred and fourteen years ago." "Eight hundred..." Nancy was silent, attempting to absorb everything that he was telling her. "Remember me saying I was well-preserved?" she nodded. "Well, this is how I looked the day I met my first death. And you'll look as you do..." "Forever." she said, smiling slightly. "I _was_ born in Ireland. County Cork, actually. Everything I told you this afternoon was true, but I just didn't tell you when it happened. I traveled the British Isles for a century or so, I lived in Spain for about fifty years, Italy for a century, China for a century and a half. I fought in the American Revolution..." "I get the picture. Let me deal with what's happened to me first and then we can talk about your past." "Nancy, that's not all. Being Immortal isn't all fun and games and admiring yourself in the mirror two hundred years from now remarking on how few wrinkles you have. We have a great responsibility." He walked over to his weapon case and took out his Katana and a smaller European sword. He handed her the smaller one and said, "Get used to this. Have you ever fenced before?" She nodded and said, "Since I was a teenager." "Then that will make things easier. There are forces at work with Immortals that you don't understand yet. Great power. Our destiny is to battle eachother through the centuries until only a few remain at the time of the Gathering. Then those few will feel an irresistible pull towards a far away land, to fight for the Prize." "Prize? Fight? But I thought you said I couldn't die? Doctor O'Brien, what are you getting at?" Clutching the sword, her voice was on the edge of panic. The entire night's revelations threatening to crash down on her all at once. "Nancy, please, calm yourself. You'll get used to this. Ours is the battle between good and evil. Our responsibility is to prevent an evil Immortal from winning the Prize." Nancy took a deep breath and brought herself back under control. "And this Prize is?" "The power of all the Immortals who've ever lived. Enough power to rule this planet. Forever." "But I don't _want_ to rule anything. I just want to teach history and research past cultures..." "I know, and you still can do that. You have time to do _anything_ you want. I don't want the Prize either. But in the end, There Can Be Only One. We _must_ keep an evil Immortal from being that last one and claiming the Prize because mankind would suffer an eternity of darkness from which it would never recover." "I think I'm beginning to understand. It's been quite a day. I woke up, had breakfast, went to classes, got killed and entered the battle between good and evil." She looked at the sword and said, "And how do these come in?" "This is what we battle with. It's part of the Rules of the Game. The only way you can be killed is if your head is cut from your body. You'll have to face an evil Immortal someday, and the sooner you learn, beyond fencing, how to fight, the better you'll be. And the better _off_ you'll be." "So you're saying that I'll live forever until someone else cuts my head off. And I'm supposed to cut heads off." "Basicaly, yeah." Nancy looked at Patrick for a long while and then said, "Doctor O'Brien?" "Yes?" "Will you... teach me?" Patrick smiled and said, "Of course. But when we're together as two Immortals, you can call me Patrick." Considering everything she was going through, Nancy was accepting her new status extremely well. That, Patrick knew from experience, would change. Once the initial euphoria of eternal youth wore off and the gravity of her situation and responsibility sank in, it would hit her. Hard. And Patrick had to make sure that he was there for her. This was the most critical time of her hopefully long life. If she set out too early, she could loose her head, or fall in with an evil Immortal, and become evil herself. Patrick _had_ to prevent either of those situations from coming true. Nancy was admiring his apartment and all it contained. She said, "All this stuff... is it yours?" "Yes," Patrick said. "Acquired over eight centuries." "My friend said you lived on Beacon Hill. I wondered how you could afford it on a professor's salary. Now I see." "Finances accumulated over eight hundred years add up," Patrick looked at his watch. "It's getting late. Why don't I make us something to eat. We do have to eat, you know." "I should really be getting home..." "You probably _don't_ want to do that, Nancy," Patrick said as he rummaged around the kitchen. "There are Immortals out there who purposely take the heads of new Immortals. A friend of mine was telling me of this Immortal who tried to romance a new Immortal into becoming bait to trap more experienced ones." "And what happened to him?" "My friend took his head." Nancy was silent, taking this all in. Patrick, knowing that she still wasn't completely getting it, plowed on with what he was saying, "As long as we can get away with it without the school's grapevine becoming a nuisance, you should stay here." Nancy looked at Patrick and said, "You're probably right. I don't feel like dying again any time soon. You have a guest room?" Patrick pointed her in the direction of his guest bedroom. "Get yourself settled in. You like fajitas?" "Love them," she said. "Good. Damn." "What?" "No guacamole. You can't have fajitas without guacamole." She came into the kitchen and said, "I can go get some..." then realized what she said. Placing her hand on the front of her neck she said, "On second thought we could do without the guac." Patrick smiled and said, "Nonsense. You can't have fajitas without guacamole. You'll be fine. Why don't you begin stir-frying that chicken. I'll just run down to the store and get a jar. I'll be back in ten minutes." "Doctor O... Patrick, I'm..." "I know," Patrick said, "But I can't be here all the time. Just lock the door and don't let anyone in. I have a key." He put his overcoat on turned to Nancy and said, "By the way, if you feel... strange just before I come in, don't let it frighten you." He left and locked the door. Nancy watched him leave and felt a sudden sense of _loss_ like nothing she had ever felt before. As if someone had tugged a bit of her soul away from her. <<>> (c) 1995 Mabnesswords Mike Breen e-mail me with comments. mikester@bix.com =========================================================================