Date: Sat, 13 Jan 1996 12:30:46 -0500 Reply-To: shannara@TWAVE.NET Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Kim Sefcik Subject: "'Til Death Do Us Part" (Part 05/13) CHAPTER 5 MacLeod's Loft Apartment Monday, 12:06am (as in just after midnight) Michelle lay sprawled out on the green-black leather couch which graced the far side of MacLeod's sparse living room/bedroom. The room was still and dark as Michelle felt more secure in the semi-darkness. She desperately hoped that Duncan would be back soon, that encounter with another Immortal earlier today really had her spooked. She'd never faced another Immortal before, not in real combat, and truth be told, she wasn't sure she wanted too. She glanced over at her sword which lay on the table in front of her, the moonlight glinted off it's polished surface. Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted, however, when she felt an all too familiar buzzing fill the air around her. The rusted freight elevator behind her rattled as someone pulled the bars up. "MacLeod?" she said, jumping off the sofa, which faced the elevator, and grasping her sword. "No -- Richard Ryan," came a young sounding voice, the caution obvious in his tone. "Who are you?" he continued. "I'm Michelle Webster," Michelle said, straightening up out of her defensive crouch, but still holding her sword at the ready. "I'm here to see MacLeod." Richie eyed her sword and suddenly felt very naked at his lack of a weapon, "Well, you're going to have one hell of a wait." Michelle eyed him suspiciously, "Why?" she stuck her sword out menacingly, "Did you kill him?" she demanded Richie chuckled at the thought, "Hell no. It's because he's still in Paris last I heard." Richie slid over toward the kitchen to turn on a light, and Michelle jumped as if to intercept him. "Chill, I'm just going to turn on a light," Richie said, flipping on a switch and bathing the apartment in a golden-white ambience. Michelle eyed him, the suspicion written plainly on her face. "So, I take it that you're an _old_ friend of Duncan's?" "I'm his latest student," Richie said eyeing her warily... for all he knew, she might be the one responsible for all the beheadings -- she didn't look very old or threatening, but then she could be a thousand and not look it. Some of the suspicion seemed to drain from Michelle face and she lowered her sword down by her side. "But you're not an _old_ friend?" "Old enough," Richie said as he waltzed into the kitchen and made a show of rummaging through the fridge in order to seem unconcerned. After producing a Diet Coke, he popped it open and jumped up on a stool next to the "island" counter in Mac's kitchen. "How can you drink that? It tastes like rust remover." "Yea, but rust remover doesn't give you a caffeine buzz." "Amanda always taught me that I shouldn't trust strange men, and you defiantly qualify as strange, ..." she said, eyeing Richie with a lopsided grin slowly spreading over her face, "...but still if you are one of Duncan's students--" she mused to herself. "Amanda?" exclaimed Richie, cutting her off. "Yea," said Michelle with pesudocausualness, she leaned up against the counter and looked over at him, "you know her?" "Mac's eternal flame? Hell, yea I know her..." Richie grinned as a flood of memories came back. He hadn't seen Amanda in a while. Michelle looked at him, the disbelief written plain on her face. "Yea. And just how am I suppose to know that you're telling the truth?" She had a point, "Okay, fair enough," said Richie as he sauntered into the living room and flopped down on the couch, "Alright, I first met her when she was doing a trapeze act for the circus. She's the best thief I know, oh, and she's got great legs." Michelle grimaced, "That's hardly what I'd consider objective -- but," she added, breaking out into a full grin, "it is accurate... although I don't make a habit of looking at her legs." "I should hope not." Richie said, he was beginning to trust her, she seemed genuine, and he seemed to recall Mac once saying something about Amanda picking up a new protege. "So, just what is Duncan doing in France?" Michelle asked, leaning on the back of the couch. "Eating French fries?" Michelle grimaced at Richie's horrible pun, "Actually, it's a long story... remind me to tell you it sometime." "We need to work on your sense of humor, Richie." Michelle smiled. For some strange reason she was beginning to trust this young Immortal. After an awkward pause Richie said, "So, what are you doing here?" "I thought that was rather obvious." "No, I mean, what are you doing looking for Mac?" Michelle vaulted over the back of the sofa and plopped down next to Richie, looking him straight in the eye she said, "Amanda was training me upstate in an Abbey..." she shrugged, "I got bored." An expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement crossed Richie's face, "You're kidding, right?" "Nope. Amanda said that she had to leave for awhile, and I got bored. Look, Richie, have you ever lived in an Abbey before?" "Well, no, but --" "Hope that you never have to. I just needed a break." "So you came to see Mac?" Richie asked doubtfully, in all his experience Duncan could be somewhat... serious, but then he was the guy's student. Richie had always annoyed the hell out of his teachers, and loved every minute of it. But it was different with Mac, he couldn't get by with any of his old moves... MacLeod was teaching him to be... responsible. And wasn't as if he didn't like his newfound maturity, it just that he usually needed a break *from* Duncan. "Yea... well, okay that's not the *only* reason..." she began with fake guilt. "I'm listening..." Richie said, a smile creeping over his face. "Well... Amanda's been telling me stories, and I wanted to 'confirm' them with Duncan," she said with an evil glitter in her eye. It wasn't hard for Richie to guess what those stories were about. "Well, hey, I'll tell you what... it's late, do you want to spend the night here?" Richie suggested. "Richie," she said, a grin creeping across her face, "is this a come-on?" "Now do I look like the kind of person who'd do a thing like that?" he asked putting on his best sincere, lost-puppy expression. "Yes," Michelle grinned, "tell you what... I'll sleep on the bed and you can have the couch." "Hey, wait --" Richie protested, but Michelle had already vaulted over the back of the sofa and onto the bed. "Oh, here, you might need these," she said, scooping up a blanket and pillow from the bed. "But --" Richie began, but his protests were cut off by a blanket and pillow hurtling through the air and smacking into his face. ----------------------------- Their swords clashed, the metal ringing and sparks flying off the carbon steel blades. Richie pulled away and spun around, sweat pouring down his face. He whirled and once again faced the terrible countenance of his opponent -- Darth Vader. "If only you knew the power of the dark side," the figure rasped, his speech stifled by the black breath mask. Vader raised his light saber and brought it down toward Richie's sword arm. Richie raised his sword -- now a light saber, /when did that happen?/ he wondered momentarily, -- and parried the blow from the side, dancing out of the way just in time. The hum of his blue-green blade increased in pitch steadily until it virtually sounded like a telephone ringing. "One moment, please," Vader rasped, for no reason whatsoever, as he turned to an access panel beside him that Richie hadn't noticed before. Picking up a telephone receiver -- /where did *that* come from?/ -- Vader growled something unintelligible into the phone. Turning to Richie, Vader held out the black phone receiver and said in a clear soprano voice, "It's for you, Richie." "Richie, Richie, it's for you," came the feminine voice again. Richie felt himself drifting through blackness toward the voice. "Richie, come-on, the phone's for you." the Voice sounded urgent. "I'm sorry, he's asleep, and I can't seem to wake him up." the Voice said again. Richie was dimly aware of another presence through a haze of darkness. He knew he had to do something, but he couldn't quite seem to -- "Okay," he heard the voice continue, and then felt the cold plastic next to his ear. "Richie, it's Mike, WAKE UP!" Richie bolted upright, fully awake now, the last vestiges of his dream fading. Grabbing the phone from Michelle's hand, he put it to his ear. "Yea, what's up Mike?" he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Richie, how fast can you be down at the bar?" Richie rubbed his eyes again, and looked blearily at the antique clock on the wall next to the window -- 10:17 -- damn, he'd slept in! "Isn't it a bit too early, even for me Mike?" Richie said with a cockeyed grin. "That's not funny, Rich... look, it's serious -- Joe's been attacked," Mike lowered his voice, "by an Immortal!" Richie jumped to his feet, throughly awake now, "Just let me get dressed, Mike, I'll be right over." Richie virtually threw the phone at Michelle, and ran to pull on his shirt -- he had worn his jeans to bed. Yanking on his shoes and jacket -- not his leather one, unfortunately -- he glanced at Michelle, who was standing there looking at him like he'd gone insane. "Michelle, I want you to stay here, okay? I'll be back in a few hours." "Richie, what's wrong?" "I can't explain now, just stay put and don't go anywhere. Okay?" "Richie this is dumb, there's no reason why I can't --" Cutting her off Richie said, "Just humor me, okay?" Frowning, Michelle nodded, it seemed like she wasn't going to get a choice in the matter. Damn, she hated it when men tried to "look out" for her. Richie was out the back door, which lead down some steps into the alley below, and gone before she could voice any other protests. Kim Sefcik Watcher-in-training Internet: shannara@twave.net shannara@ravenwood.com | "I am Richie Ryan of the clan . . . wait, /~\ can we try that again?" @xxxxx| (|===============================- \____/\_/ "Being blind, you would wish all others blind | as well." -- Cleante, "Tartuffe" =========================================================================