Date: Sun, 2 Oct 1994 05:44:50 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Jacquie Groom <100045.3717@COMPUSERVE.COM> Subject: There can be only ... pt 2 of 2 The museum foyer was full of elegantly dressed people, milling around the sculptures, glasses of champagne in hand. Sam paused in the doorway, glancing around. As always at the beginning of a leap, he was full of doubts. Were there people here who knew him ? Why was he there ? Luckily, it soon became clear. "Paul - I'm so glad you could come," a beautiful blonde called out, coming over to where he stood. Instantly, he recognised her. The girl on the brochure. He put out his hand. She smiled, then turned as if to look for someone. "Duncan !" she called. "There's someone I want you to meet." The newcomer made his way through the crowds. Tall, dark and handsome, with long hair pulled back into a silver-bound pony-tail. As Sam looked at him, he heard a strange, rushing noise ringing through his head. Taken aback, he could not help staring. "Tessa ?" the newcomer questioned. "Duncan ? This is Paul Verduystert. He's the amazing man who managed to sort out the insurance. Without him, this whole show would have had to be cancelled." Slipping her hand through Duncan's arm, she smiled at Paul. "Paul, this is -" Duncan interrupted. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he said, looking warily at Sam. Sam put out a hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said, slightly nervously. So this was MacLeod, the man he was supposed to kill - or be killed by. MacLeod nodded, then he and Tessa were cornered by another dinner- jacketed man. Relieved, Sam slipped away. Leaning against a wall in the corridor, he was relieved to see Al appear. "So ?" he asked casually. Al scratched his head. "It's a strange business," he said with a sigh. "I've been trying to talk to Paul, back in the waiting room. He's one strange individual." "But he's just an insurance salesman," Sam protested. "What's going on, Al?" Al glanced left and right to check on what was going on. "Is that Tessa ?" he asked. "She's even more beautiful than her picture." "Al !" Sam prompted. "All right, all right. This Paul Verduystert might have lived for two hundred years, but he's achieved nothing at all. He was originally part of the Dutch- Belgian troups who were with the Allied armies at Waterloo." "Is that the ones who ran away ?" Sam asked, a stray memory surfacing in his swiss-cheesed mind. Al nodded. "He was crushed in the rush to get away from the battlefield. That was when he discovered he was immortal. And ever since he's been a coward, a failure, and generally a nonentity." Sam looked down at the body he was currently inhabiting. "He doesn't look that bad." Al raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's all part of his plan." "His plan ?" Sam asked. But just then the crowds of people seemed to find his quiet corridor, and he was surrounded. There was no way he could talk to Al without being conspicuous. And that was the last thing he wanted. A glass of champagne in his hand, he stood quietly, half-hidden by a huge statue of nothing in particular. From there he could watch Duncan MacLeod. Laughing, smiling, his dark eyes sparkling as he slipped an arm round his gorgeous girlfriend. Sam smiled quietly as he watched. MacLeod did not look like someone who deserved to be killed; his goodness and sincerity shone out like a beacon. As soon as possible, Sam tried to slip away unobtrusively. But as he left the foyer, he was intensely aware of a pair of dark eyes, following him, following his every move. And, as he strode purposefully down the street, he knew he was being followed. "Come on, Al," Sam muttered when he reached Verduystert's flat. And, sure enough, the gaudily dressed Rear-Admiral appeared within seconds of Sam closing the door. "What does Ziggy have to say ? Why does Paul want to kill Duncan ? He only met him tonight, didn't he ? " Sam asked as he switched on the coffee-machine. "That Paul is one mixed-up person," Al said, glancing down at his handset. "He's been studying Duncan for years, and has come to the sick conclusion that he needs to take Duncan's Quickening to make himself a better person." "What ?" Sam said, taking a gulp of coffee. "You can't be serious." "Oh, I am. He's made a life-time - and I mean many life-times - study of the Immortals. And he has chosen Duncan as the man who will best - supplement - his character, and make him the man he feels he should be." Sam looked puzzled. "Does the Quickening really work like that ?" Al shrugged. "Who knows ? I don't really believe in all this, no matter what Ziggy says." He was silent for a moment. "There's something else -" Sam groaned. There always was. "Paul is obsessed with Tessa. He thinks that if he kills Duncan, she'll fall in love with him." "He's mad," Sam exclaimed. "Told you so," Al said. "Anyway, he's been practising with his sword for decades, just planning this event. And it's up to you to make sure it doesn't happen." "I'm not fighting Duncan MacLeod !" Sam spoke in his best I'm-not-going-to- debate-this-point voice. "S-a-m," Al pleaded. "Just listen for a moment. Duncan knows there is an immortal around. He would have felt the buzz when you showed up -" The buzz ? Was that what he had felt ? The tingling, eerie sensation, the rush of noise, momentarily deafening -" "He'll be searching for you." "What does Ziggy suggest ?" Al pulled a face. "Perhaps you'd better sit down, Sam." Sam sat. "Ziggy gives a 94% chance that if you let MacLeod take your head, you'll leap out, and Crazy Paul will be dead." Sam turned pale. "And what about the other 6 %" Al shrugged. "I don't like it any more than you do." "What if I just refuse to fight MacLeod ? He won't get killed then." "Then the chances are you won't leap at all. Paul will stay in your body, and you'll stay here. Ziggy is not too clear about which of you will be Immortal." "And Duncan ?" "That's not clear yet. But he's one of the good guys, Sam. He doesn't deserve to be hunted down by a madman like Verduystert." "I know," Sam said quietly. "I know." There was a knock on the door. Before opening it, Sam felt the strange, rushing buzz in his mind. "MacLeod," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Take care, Sam," Al urged. "I know," Sam muttered. "What did you say earlier ? Don't loose my head ?" "MacLeod ?" Sam nodded in greeting to his visitor. "Verduystert," MacLeod answered. And, staring into his eyes, he suddenly remembered him. A vague memory ... Waterloo. A Wellington night, with pouring rain turning the ground to mud. And the Highland Regiment, fresh from their triumph at the Duchess of Richmond's ball, torn to pieces by the fighting ... And the wretched remains of the Dutch-Belgian troups, their commanding officer desperately trying to control the men who had taken one look at the fighting, and had fled ... And the streets of Brussels, where a young man, dazed, wandered among the injured and dying. Where Duncan worked, trying to do what he could to help the men, helped by a motley assortment of locals and the highly bred wives and daughters of elite of British society, who had flocked to Brussels during the occupation. He'd called to him; he needed all the help he could get. The man had stared at him. And then he felt it. The buzz. And seen the man flee. But he'd had no time to talk, no time to investigate. And later, the battle won, he'd gone. Disappeared. And he'd never seen him again. Until now. Sam looked deep into MacLeod's eyes. Eyes that spanned the centuries, eyes that had known pain and agonies too many to mention. A man who deserved to live. Just as Paul Verduystert did not. Wondering just what he was doing, Sam grabbed his sword from the kitchen table. "There can be only one," he said. >From no-where, Duncan pulled out a double-handed, slightly curved sword. He held it in front of him, almost ritually. Then began flinging it around, drawing intricate patterns in the air. Sam stood there, ugly, crude sabre in his hands. He was no swordsman, but enough of Paul remained in the body for him to summon up the moves. He stepped back, swinging the sabre from side to side. Clash ! The metallic ring of sword on sword rang through the apartment. Again and again MacLeod lunged, with Sam's parries getting more and more haphazard. Until finally, exhausted, he fell to his knees. With a final, desperate glance at where Al stood, pale and shaken, Sam closed his eyes. And, as the powerful katana came down on his outstretched neck, Sam felt the familiar, almost comforting tingle as he prepared to leap. "You did it, Sam," he heard Al call. "Duncan's fine. They never find who killed Verduystert, but apparently he was mixed up in all sorts of dodgy insurance deals, so there are loads of suspects. " "And Tessa ?" Sam managed to say, before the sword reached him. Al's face turned bleak. "Not so good there," he started to say ... And then Sam was gone. He never quite got used to the inter-leap period. The strange fuzziness, not quite knowing who or what he was. It was as if he was turned into pure energy, touching and being touched by everything simultaneously. And then he was pulled, as if by a magnet, through the clouds, through the energy, into the waiting body ... Duncan looked down sadly at the body in front of him. He hadn't wanted to kill him, just to talk, to ask him not to bother Tessa so much ... But what could you do, when you were an immortal, and someone was trying to take your head ? He waited for a moment, knowing the shock would come ... And then it did, blue lightening flickering round the apartment, sending sparks all about, enveloping him ... Duncan sank to his knees. "Oh boy," he said. =========================================================================