Date: Tue, 11 Apr 1995 08:20:40 -0400 Reply-To: mikester@BIX.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Breen Subject: THOSE WHO WATCH - PART 3 Warnings n' stuff: Violence, strong language, adult situations. Rated R. If anyone would like to mention and/or use Patrick, Rebecca, or Nancy in a story, feel free, so long as I can see it first, to make sure dialog and characterization is right. And if anyone would like their immortals shared, also let me (or everyone) know. In a shared universe like this, character cross-overs would not only be logical, but almost expected (well, it _does_ happen every now and then 8). Finally, before I begin, quite a few people have positively commented on the Bernard character, and many have wondered how I came up with him. For those of you who still are wondering but haven't asked, I was walking through the Boston Common with my brother, and we heard a sax playing. We followed it and came across an old sax player sitting _exactly_ across the street from where I pictured Patrick's townhouse to be. I was wracking my brain trying to figure out just _how_ to fit the Watchers in, since I steered "The Changeling" towards that direction, and once I saw that sax player, the whole story was pretty much there. All _I_ had to do was fill in the names and details. This story is dedicated to him, and all the other talented street musicians in and around Boston who make this city a more enjoyable place. BOSTON, MASS, UNITED STATES, LATE MARCH, 1995 Patrick slammed the door. "What?" Rebecca said. "It's him." "_Bernard_?" Nancy said. Patrick nodded, and looked out a window at the bench where Bernard usually sat during the daytime. "It's him." Bernard parked the car on Cambridge street and got out. Joe Dawson followed him. "Aren't you gonna say _anything_?" he said. "You harp on how good this place is, great music, I've just _got_ to see it, and you're silent the entire ride over." "I'm sorry, Joe. I've got things on my mind." He held the bar's door open for his friend. They were greeted by a smoke-filled atmosphere, and New Orleans style jazz blaring from the stage. They sat within sight of the stage, yet far enough away for conversation, and ordered beer. "It's O'Brien, isn't it." Dawson said. Bernard nodded. "What happened?" "He figured it out. He didn't tell me how he did it, though. He just said, and I'll never forget it, 'You know. You know all about me.' Then he called me a bastard. Joe, I was afraid of him. I've been watching him for thirty five years, and I was actually _petrified_ at that moment." Joe paused before commenting on Bernard's fear. Then he said, "Not surprisingly. O'Brien's one of the best. What happened then?" The two Watchers fell silent as the waitress arrived with their beers. Dawson paid and tipped her and she walked away. Bernard continued. "I... I took him back to this office space I rent to keep all my Watcher records... I... showed him..." Bernard stopped, not wanting to admit even to himself that he had broken the most fundamental Watcher rule. "You showed him his chronicle, didn't you." Bernard nodded. "There was no other way." "I know." "I just wish it could go back to the way it was. I had a good friend in him. He always spent some time with me every morning and every afternoon. Hell, he went out of his way to talk to me. It would have been easier for him to just walk down Beacon Street to the train station than cutting through the Common." "But it can't _go_ back. Nothing can be the _same_. You just have to hope somehow you can make it better. But we can talk about this for hours speculating on what may happen. There's something I _have_ to tell you." "Bloody hell," Samuel Leonard said as he felt the Buzz from Rebecca, Nancy, _and_ Patrick upon entering Patrick's townhouse, "Is the Gathering happening here?" Patrick ushered the younger Immortal inside and said, "Rebecca and I have set up house again, and the other one you felt is Nancy." Rebecca walked up to Sam, embraced him, and said, "Nice to see you again, Sammy." "Now you _know_ how I hate that," Sam said. "Been a while, Rebecca." Rebecca giggled and sat back on the couch. "Yeah, about two months," she said. "And this is Nancy, my latest Student." Sam extended his hand and said, "Samuel Leonard from Liverpool." "Nancy Peters from around here," she said and took his hand. "Nice little family setup you've got here, Patrick." "Well, we try," Patrick said. "But I have to tell you something, Sam." "Over the past two months," Dawson said, "four Watchers have been killed by an Immortal." "What??" Bernard said. "We _think_ it may have something to do with Darius and Horton. Stephen Conway was killed in London. He was assigned to Samuel Leonard. Juan Valasquez, assigned to Diego Gonzalez was killed in Spain. And Paul Kellman's Watcher, a woman named Josephine Stinson, was killed in Germany. The last one was Timothy Fisher, right here in Boston yesterday. He was assigned to Rebecca DeJeniere." "I knew Tim. He was a good man. How do you know it was an Immortal?" "They were all beheaded." "Yeah," Sam said, "I know about bloody Watchers. In fact, it was Rebecca who told me about them. In fact, I've traced yours down." "You did?" Patrick said. "Why?" "To warn you. After Darius... Darius and I were very close. After I took my first head and left you, I felt I was adrift. I took mercenary jobs, fell in with organized crime, anything that would earn a few pounds, or francs or dollars. Darius took me in, and taught my spirit as you had my sword arm." Patrick nodded, recognizing the pattern himself. Ramirez had trained him in the ways of swordsmanship, but it was Aoife who had been his spiritual teacher. When Aoife died, Ramirez took over the spiritual aspect as well. But he had also been taught both physically _and_ spiritually by Mei-Ling and Yoshihiro Ammamoto. "Are all your teachers alive, Patrick?" "Some," Patrick replied. "Yoshihiro Ammamoto's still around, I believe, referring to himself as 'Joe.' So are some others I've picked things up from. But aside from Joe, all the most important ones have died. Ramirez, Aoife, Mei-Ling... all gone." "Do you know who the Immortal is?" Bernard said. "I think so. Some of our researchers came up with a connection between the four Immortals. Gonzalez, Kellman, and DeJeniere all knew Leonard. From our records, Gonzalez and Kellman both consider Leonard a close friend, _and_ Leonard even studied some sword forms under Gonzalez. DeJeniere, as we know, is the on-and-off 'wife' of Leonard's original Teacher." "O'Brien." "So you understand," Sam said. "I had to warn you. I don't want my other teacher loosing his head." "I know," Patrick said. "I nearly took Connor MacLeod's head because I thought he had killed Ramirez. But Sam, they're not _all_ killers. Some, in fact most, _do_ just _watch_." "We don't _really_ know that, now do we." "No, but a sixty-eight year old overweight street musician is _no_ killer. I've known the man for fifteen years..." "And you didn't know he was a Watcher." "True, but I cannot believe... he knew things about me that I didn't even _remember_. My entire life was painstakingly chronicled in seven different languages. I find it hard to believe that they've been watching me for most of my Immortal life only to kill me 800 years later." "But Darius... and Mei-Ling. Remember Mei-Ling, Patrick." "She's rarely from my thoughts these days. But the killers are the rare renegades." "But you don't _know_... I only came to warn you." "I know, and I appreciate it." Patrick walked over to where Sam was sitting and placed a hand on his shoulder. Fatherly, he said, "Look, why don't you calm down and come over tomorrow, and we'll talk again." Sam nodded, collected his coat and sword, and exited the townhouse. "I'll be by tomorrow, then," he said as he shut the door. "You think Leonard's the killer?" Bernard said. "All the evidence points that way. And I think you're next on his list." "Why?" "Leonard's barely a century old. He became Immortal in 1888. Aside from O'Brien, DeJeniere, and Darius, he really hasn't had much chance to meet many of the _important_ Immortals, the MacLeods, Mei-Ling, Amanda, Constintine... O'Brien's someone he nearly worships. Darius even more so. He hasn't lost many friends yet. And to loose Darius the way he did..." "I did get a call tonight, threatening me for killing Darius." Joe exhaled slowly and said, "You watch yourself." Patrick lay silent in bed, Rebecca snug beside him. He just _couldn't_ sleep. What if the Watchers _were_ out to kill him? Or what if the Watcher organization and information had been perverted by the ones who had killed Darius and Mei-Ling? "You may be Immortal, O'Brien," Rebecca said, stirring, "but you still need sleep." "I know. It's just that... well, Sam's fears have gotten to me. I've never seen him like this." "Patrick, in the grand scheme of Immortality, Sam's still just a kid. He hasn't _really_ lost anyone important to him before now. And for Darius to have been killed by mortals, it may be more than he can bear." "I know. And that's what frightens me. I just can't get rid of this feeling of foreboding. Something's going to happen involving Sam, the Watchers, and myself. I can feel it." "Rather poetic, isn't it?" Dawson said as he exited Bernard's car in front of his hotel. "What?" Bernard said. "Immortals killing Watchers. First one of us killed them because of a perceived threat to mortals, now one of _them's_ killing _us_ because of a percieved threat to Immortals." "Horton was a bigot more than anything, Joe. He killed Immortals not because he saw them as a threat to mankind, and he wanted to be a hero, although I'm sure he himself believed that, but because he hated and feared them." "I know, Bernard. Thanks for reminding me of that." BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE, MASS, UNITED STATES, EARLY APRIL, 1995 "I'm sorry about last night, Patrick," Sam said as he entered the townhouse. "It's just that I've never lost someone like Darius before. It'd be the same as if it were you." "Thanks, Sam, but there's really nothing to apologize about." "Sam?" Nancy said. Sam looked in Nancy's direction. "I would have acted the same as you if it were Patrick." Sam smiled at Nancy, who blushed. Then he turned to Patrick and said, "Did you really try to kill Connor MacLeod when you learned Ramirez died?" "Yes." "Who would have won?" "At that time? I would have. He was a century and a half old, while I was already five hundred years old, and had just come back from a century in the Orient learning martial arts and the ways of the Samurai. Now? Who knows? It's not something worth speculating about." Over the next week, Patrick, Rebecca, Nancy, and Sam spent quite a bit of time together. In fact, the developing feelings between Nancy and Sam were becoming obvious. And Patrick, feeling much the father trying to protect daddy's little girl paced around the house the night that Sam and Nancy went out alone together. "Will you stop it, Patrick?" Rebecca said. "she's not a kid, she's twenty-two years old. I was _married_ and was supposed to have had at least four kids by the time _I_ was twenty-two." "So was I. And that's not the point. It's _not_ the twelfth century anymore, Rebecca. Kids mature slower today than we did. And they have problems we _never_ had." "That's _right_," Rebecca said sarcastically. "_Our_ generation had it easy. The only things _we_ had to deal with were petty wars, plagues and Vikings. Nothing even _close_ to what these kids today have to deal with." "Rebecca, that's not what I mean, and you know it." "Well what the hell _do_ you mean, O'Brien?" Patrick shrugged and said, "I don't know, _really_." "It's not like she can get pregnant, you know." "I know... I know." "And it may even do her some good to get physically close to someone." "But Sam?" "What about Sam?" "This obsession of his with the Watchers..." he walked over to the window and looked at the empty bench where a few hours ago Bernard had been playing. "It's _not_ healthy." "You're not exactly calm about the Watchers either, you know." "But Sam's always been..." "Just a hair on-edge?" "Yeah." "Think of how he was brought up, Patrick. A dirt poor orphan, fated to wandering the streets of Liverpool until he took a wrong turn while trying to evade the law right into our carriage where he was trampled by our horse. Dickens couldn't have given him a worse life. If we hadn't found him..." "...he'd have ended up another Highsmith or Riley," Patrick finished for her. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think that every time I face a young, outwardly cocky, inwardly cowardly Immortal, I think that it's Sam without our influence? Don't you think I wonder what the hell will happen to Nancy if ever I _don't_ come back from a fight? If there will someday be no more Connor MacLeods in the world if something was to happen to us?" "Sam's problems are his own. You didn't create them, and you sure as hell can't solve them. As for Nancy... those are things that every mortal parent feels towards their children as they begin to blossom into adulthood. You can't watch her every minute of every day. Eventually she'll _have_ to get her _own_ life back. She's got her sword with her, and she's probably safer with Sam than with any mortal. Besides..." and at this she grinned, "don't you feel at least a little like Ramirez did when he got _us_ together?" At that Patrick did laugh. He scooped Rebecca up in his arms and led her to the bedroom. Joe Dawson reviewed Bernard's material, impressed. Reassignment would be a shame, if it came to that. Perhaps Bernard and O'Brien could come to an understanding about the entire situation. Dawson doubted it, though. O'Brien was, when you came _right_ down to it, a thick-headed stubborn Celt, who placed honor above all else. Not unlike another thick-headed Immortal Celt that Dawson was acquainted with. But that was a completely different situation, for where his friendship with MacLeod was something that had been developed through several trials, and sealed when Dawson killed Horton for him (an act that had been in vain due to Horton's bullet proof vest, but that was beside the point. Joe had pulled a trigger on his own brother-in-law, and that was enough for MacLeod). Bernard and O'Brien _had_ no trials to face together. And Ian would have insisted on Bernard being reassigned or retire from active duty. But Ian, rest his soul, was dead, and Bernard at least deserved a chance to finish his section of the O'Brien chronicle the way _he_ wanted. If he lived that long. That Leonard was the killer, he had no doubt. That Bernard was his next target, he also was certain. Neither Dawson nor Bernard had any information that there was a fifth Immortal in Boston. They knew when Rebecca arrived. Bernard deduced that Nancy had become Immortal. They also knew, though he had no Watcher assigned to him, when Leonard arrived. Leonard was still in Boston after Fisher was killed, and that could only mean he knew that at least there was another Watcher in the city, if not his identity. He hoped to hell that Bernard was careful. "Oh, Jesus, I've gotta go!" Nancy climbed out of the covers, stark naked, and raced towards the bathroom. "Nancy?" Sam said. "I'll be out in a minute." "Nancy, where do you have to go?" "Home!" came the reply from the shower. Sam sat back in bed, relaxed for the first time in two months. There was a freshness about Nancy that he seemed to _need_ in order to survive. When it was all over... He laughed and sighed contentedly. That was how Nancy found him when she emerged from the bathroom, all freshened up. She smiled and walked over to the bed. Sam pulled her down to him and kissed her full on the mouth. She pulled away and said, "Now Sam, I _said_ I had to leave." "I know. See you tomorrow?" "What about tonight?" "There's something I have to do tonight, Nance. I have an important appointment that I _cannot_ break, as much as I want to." "Ok. Well, if you change your mind, Patrick, Rebecca and I are going to the Robyn Hitchcock show at TT the Bears tonight. You _may_ be able to get tickets." She leaned over and kissed him. "Have fun." "Oh, I will." Bernard got off the Roslindale bus at Forest Hills station as usual, to go to work. It was early in the morning, since he had to get to his park bench before the rush hour crowd. But something was wrong. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed. He stopped and looked behind him. No one. He walked to the entrance to the station, and was just about to go inside when the hilt of a katana struck his head, sending his consciousness spiraling into blackness and causing him to drop his saxophone case... When he woke, he was in a darkened room. He wasn't tied nor gagged, yet in the darkness he was just as helpless as if he were. He listened for a sound, _anything_ to betray his location. There it was. A faint glimmer of dimness on steel. A quiet squeak of a sneaker on hardwood. Bernard tried to think of something, _anything_, to convince his captor that he was no threat. As he was thinking, his captor spoke in an unmistakable Liverpudlian accent. "You're awake, mate. Good." "Could you turn on the lights?" "I'm sorry, but no. Can't let you see the way out, can we?" "What do you want from me?" "Retribution." "Retribution? For what?" "Darius. Mei-Ling Shein. Anton LeGris. Jason Talbot. Shall I go on?" "They weren't killed by _us_!" "YES THEY WERE, OLD MAN!! Yes they were." "The Hunters..." "The Hunters _started_ as Watchers..." "And not all Watchers end up as Hunters. _Very_ few go renegade, and those that do are dealt with..." "SHUT UP! You and your _kind_ are going to pay for what has happened." The Immortal left, slammed the door, and locked it. But Bernard had heard which way he had gone, and now knew the location of the door. "The new material was _great_," Nancy was saying as they exited the cab in front of the house early the next morning. "I especially liked the one about the Queen, where the violinist used that effect to make it go _real_ bassie. Did you _really_ see the Soft Boys?" "Several times," Patrick said. "A bunch of times in London and Cambridge, and once in New York..." Patrick stopped himself short. On their stoop was a man with iron grey hair and beard who was leaning against cane. "Can I help you?" Patrick said. "Patrick O'Brien," he said in a gruff voice, a statement, not a question. Patrick was silent, and folded his arms against his chest. He felt no Buzz from the man, so he was obviously not even a pre-Immortal. The man spoke again. "Patrick O'Brien of County Cork, born in 1157, met your first death in 1181, took your first head in 1186. Taught by Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, Aoife, Mei-Ling Shein, and Yoshihiro Ammamoto, among others." He turned to Rebecca and said, "Rebecca DeJeniere. Born in 1165, met your first death in 1186, took your first head in 1192. Taught by Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, Amanda, and Darius, among others." Finally he turned to Nancy and said, "And you're the youngest Immortal so far" Now Patrick _was_ uneasy. Although he knew the answer to the question, he asked it anyway. "Who are you?" "Dawson. Joe Dawson. I'm a Watcher. Duncan MacLeod's, as a matter of fact." "I don't know what you people want, but just get the hell out of here, and tell Bernard to find another Immortal to Watch. Goodnight." He turned and walked towards the door. "We can do this one of two ways, O'Brien," Dawson said. "Either you let me in and find out what it is that's brought me here, or I advertise it to the entire neighborhood." "It's one thirty AM, Dawson. I don't think many people are awake to hear it." "Do you want to take that chance? I know _who_ you are and _what_ you are. I know more about you than any Mortal alive besides Bernard. Hell, I know more about you than Michelle." Patrick inhaled sharply at the mention of his former lover. "Still hurt, O'Brien? What will hurt more? That she left or the blood of someone on _your_ hands if you don't stop it?" "Who's blood?" Dawson handed Patrick an old saxophone case and said, "Bernard's." <<>> =========================================================================