========================================================================= Date: Mon, 29 Apr 1996 18:29:13 -0700 Reply-To: CF Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: CF Subject: ADULT: Waiting Games 1of3 REPOST Let's try this again. Thanks to our illustrious list goddess, this is hopefully =20 free. NC-17 rating for graphic heterosexuality (with a little bondage thrown in for fun) Disclaimer: All these characters belong to Rysher Entertainment, I'm only playing with them for a little while (I wish) and I promise (drats) that I'll give them back when I'm done (only till the next time, though). A heartfelt thanks to Fiona Davidson who not only alpha and beta read but who also contributed some great visualization with some wonderful adjectives (sometimes I feel like I'm running out of them). Comments, flames, etc. to cfc@goldrush.com CF cfc@goldrush.com Wimpy Western Wrider WAITING GAMES Part 1 of 3 Pop...pop, pop. That dark street. Two forms crumpled into heaps on cold pavement. Blonde hair reflecting a feeble bath of light from an overhead streetlamp. Unseeing blue eyes staring at nothing through a cloud of death. Gone. Just an empty shell. Lost forever. "TES-SA!" "Mac, wake up!" Duncan MacLeod awoke with a start and instantly sat up. The sweat pouring from him hit the cool air when the blanket fell away, sending him into a fit of shivers. Total disorientation. No idea where he was or who the person was who had shaken his shoulder to awaken him. As his head cleared and awareness returned, his nightmare quickly faded away as most nightmares do, only a glimmer of what had frightened him remained. "Are you okay?" Amanda. He couldn't see her but he heaved a breath of relief and relaxed a notch when he recognized her voice. Using the sheet to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he answered, "Yeah," then slowly sank back to the mattress. "You want to talk about it?" He felt the bed shift and then she was there, draped across his chest, stroking his cheek. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close. Amanda. They had said more things to each other in the past few days than they had in all the centuries of their acquaintance. Maybe that was why he had dreamt about Tessa. After twelve years, he'd finally committed to marriage and immediately, Tessa had been taken from him. And Anne. He'd resisted the idea of fatherhood his whole life but especially since the Lakota tragedy until Anne. And then, once he'd committed himself and had grown to cherish the idea, the chance had been snatched away as abruptly. Maybe his subconscious was warning him, Amanda's lips began to roam across his chest. "Maybe if I kiss it, it'll get better," she muttered seductively then squirmed against him. When that got no reaction, she lifted her head and looked directly at him, trying to see his face in the dark. "Come on, MacLeod, you killed the bad guy, our existence is no longer in jeopardy and tomorrow the sun will rise. What's bugging you?" "Nothing." Amanda abandoned her attempts to seduce him and sat up. "Bullshit. You're tense in all the wrong places, my dear. Something's wrong." Duncan leaned over and flipped the switch on the nightstand lamp, immediately illuminating the barge in a soft yellowish glow. "It's not important." In an effort to change the subject, he asked, "You hungry?" Then he climbed out of bed and slipped on a pair of sweatpants. "Ooh, goody," she exclaimed, giving up on finding out what was bothering him for the time being. "A midnight snack." Wiggling into his matching sweatshirt, she started to follow him toward the kitchen area. "Can I eat crackers in bed?" "I don't love you that much, Amanda," he teased. "Oh, pooh. What about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?" "The best I can do is ham and butter on a baguette which you will eat over the table and not in bed," he answered, his head buried in the refrigerator. "But I could have so much fun looking for crumbs, Duncan," she complained from the chair she'd taken at the table. "You really are insatiable, aren't you?" he laughed as he brought out the fixings for sandwiches. "I don't think so. I fell asleep, didn't I?" "Yeah, but the second you woke up..." "I can't help myself, you're just so much fun to play with. Just thinking about you makes me hot." "Maybe a beer'll cool you down," he stated as he tossed a can in her direction. "I'd rather have wine," she complained after deftly snatching the can out of the air. "You finished it. Be happy we have beer. The way Adam guzzles it, I'm surprised there's any left." "Party pooper. How could you run out of wine?" "Because you've been staying here, that's how. We'll go shopping first thing in the morning." "I love shopping," Amanda declared as she grabbed the baguette and, using the knife he handed to her, sliced it down the middle. "Maybe we could buy you a new bedspread." Duncan cast a quick glance at the comforter that Tessa had bought years ago. "What's the matter with the one I've got?" "It's boring," she explained. "You need something with a bit more color. Something to motivate you to wake up happy." He took the sliced bread and began to butter both sides. "Anyone who wakes up happy is crazy," he stated matter-of-factly. "It takes you hours to become civil, Duncan. Maybe if there was something cheerful to greet you, you wouldn't be so grumpy." Duncan grew suspicious. Practically everything that came out of Amanda's mouth was subject to three or more interpretations. Number one, what did she really mean? Number two, how would it benefit her? And number three, how would it make his life a living hell? Over the years, he might have succumbed to her charms a time or two but he'd never really learned to trust her. And with good reason. After all, look at this latest mess she'd gotten him in to. "Okay, Amanda, you've set the stage," he said, warily. "If you spit it out quickly maybe it won't hurt me as much." "Hurt you?" she inquired, the perfect picture of innocence. "Why would I ever want to hurt you?" "I've yet to figure that out but you seem to manage it, and on a regular basis, too." Amanda put down the sandwich he had handed to her, got up and walked over to a spot directly behind him. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her lips to his left ear. "I don't mean to, Duncan. It just happens. You're my best friend. Who else do I have to bring my troubles to?" "I'm honored, now out with it." "Can I stay here awhile?" she asked, her big brown eyes pleading even though he couldn't see them. "Isn't that what you've been doing?" "Yeah but with the crisis over, I thought you might want me to leave." Duncan swiveled around in his chair to look at her. "Have I ever kicked you out?" "Not exactly, but there was that time you refused to let me in." "What happened? Did you forget the mortgage payment and the bank foreclosed?" "You know I never buy my places." "Okay, you forgot to pay the rent. How many months did it take for them to evict you?" "Five," she admitted. "But I was going to leave anyway. I never did like that condo. Too dark and dreary. I was depressed all the time." She let go of him and moved back to her chair. This time he could see her pleading, doe-like eyes. "So it's okay if I stay here awhile?" "For awhile," he acquiesced. Wishing that was all she wanted, Duncan knew by her expression that she wasn't quite finished yet. The way she kept chewing on her lower lip and toying with the sandwich warned him that the other shoe was about to drop. Amanda had insatiable appetites for other things besides sex. Adventure. Danger. A well thought out con, to which he'd fallen victim a time or two. And food. Food of any and all varieties were high on that list, exchanging rank only with sex. If she skipped an opportunity to eat, that was usually a good indication that something was bothering her and she still hadn't taken a proper bite of the ham sandwich. Duncan watched as she shredded off a piece of meat that had been hanging outside the edges of the bread and left it dangling from her fingers while she inspected it carefully. "Okay, Amanda," he began, his patience at an end. "What is it?" "What's what?" she replied, still pushing the envelope with the coy act, but when she tore her attention from the strip of meat and looked at him, she could see that she might have taken the role a little too far. Steam wasn't exactly coming out of his ears but his nostrils were flaring and his brow was furrowed. "Oh, okay," she gave in. "I'm having a little problem with the IRS back home." Duncan put his sandwich down and took a deep, calming breath. It wouldn't do to blow up until all the facts had been pried out of her. "Little problem like you owe a few bucks in underpaid taxes or little problem like you haven't filed in twenty years and they finally caught up with you?" "No, no, nothing like that. I've been filing every year like a good little girl but I got audited. Duncan, have you heard of an Immortal being audited? It was a nightmare. I couldn't exactly explain all my assets. I didn't think they'd go for 'excuse me, sir, but I acquired that waaay before the Internal Revenue Service was in existence and I don't think *that* should be subject to income tax.'" "How did they find out about *that* kind of stuff if you've been careful?" He eyeballed her dubiously. "You *have* been careful about what you run through the bank, haven't you?" "Usually, but there was this lovely necklace that I just had to have..." There were those pleading doe-eyes again. "How was I to know what that form was the bank gave me to fill out when I wanted a cashier's check for fifteen thousand dollars?" "You filled it out?" Duncan jumped to his feet and started pacing around the small space. "I can't believe you filled it out. Any idiot knows not to fill out one of those forms," he fumed. "That's how they catch drug dealers. Never conduct a transaction anywhere or with anyone that involves more than nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars." "Well, it's not like we have a manual to follow. How was I to know? I got a little suspicious when they had me fill out another one when I wanted the matching earrings." "You filled out two of those forms?" Duncan sank down onto the couch in abject defeat. Dreading the answer to his next question, he still went ahead and asked it. "What did you tell the auditor when he brought them up?" Amanda carefully placed the sandwich on her plate, picked up their beers and joined him on the couch. Snuggling up next to him, she rubbed the side of her head against his chest like a cat trying to earn favor. "That bully had me so flustered, I didn't have time to think," she lamented. "You never have time to think, Amanda. Even if you did, you wouldn't. So, what story did you fabricate?" "I told him I borrowed it from you," she blurted out then squeezed her eyes shut in preparation for the explosion that was sure to follow. "YOU WHAT??!!" Duncan more than jumped to his feet this time. The action more resembled a bomb bursting under his butt which sent him into outer space. As he touched down, he began a herky- jerky tour of every free inch of floor space that he could find. Back and forth, pause, scowl, back and forth. "I can't believe you did that," he bellowed during one of those scowl/pause periods. "Why'd you have to bring me into it? Now *I'll* have the IRS on my tail." If Amanda didn't know him better, she would have feared for her safety, he was that angry. But she did know him and had every confidence that, once he calmed down long enough for her to explain, he'd see there really wasn't a problem. "I told them it was loan. And the guy was so nice about it, reminding me not to forget to deduct the interest next year. Wasn't that sweet?" "Oh yeah, real sweet, telling you how to write it off while sharpening his claws for me. I can't believe you did that." "You don't have to worry, love," she consoled as she stood up and tried to follow him around. "By the time he left me, I don't think he was capable of remembering much of the conversation." He stopped so abruptly that she collided with his back before she could bring herself to a halt. "You seduced an IRS auditor?" he asked incredulously. To keep her balance, her hands had grasped onto his bare back. Just feeling the corded muscles beneath the soft skin sent her heart into a tailspin. "On such short notice, it was all I could come up with," she rationalized. Her hands began to slowly work their way toward his chest and belly while her mouth started to wander. God, he felt good and she couldn't keep herself still. "But it wasn't one of my more successful conquests," she whispered into his ear. Duncan tried to wriggle out of her trap but she started teasing his earlobe, something she knew from experience would affect him. True to form, his attempt for freedom turned into a halfhearted effort. "What happened?" he managed to ask as he began to work his way toward the bed. "Well, part of him was willing," she whispered then dropped her hand to the front of his sweatpants as they walked. Satisfied with the results, she wrapped her fingers around his erection poking through the material. "But it just wasn't the right part. The poor man just couldn't get it up, but you never have that problem, do you, Duncan?" she thought as she let go of him so he could get undressed. Thank goodness her plan was working, otherwise, she'd be spending a cold night on the banks of the Seine. Not to say she wasn't looking forward to a night of making love with Duncan MacLeod. Never. He was the best lover she'd ever had the pleasure of being with, even after almost twelve hundred years' of experience. It was just, although she expected or wanted more, sometimes he behaved just like a man. He laid her down on the mattress. she delighted as his hungry mouth started to devour hers while he groped for the hem of her sweatshirt. as he caressed her bare shoulders with his lips while his callused palms abraded her breasts. as he flickered a nipple with his warm tongue... He'd stopped. As abruptly as the sensations had started, they had ceased. Amanda forced her eyelids open and met a steady, total cognizant gaze. Slowly, a beguiling grin spread over his face. "I'm not that naive," he proclaimed through his smile. "Nor that hard up, Amanda." "How could you be?" she asked with just the right amount of indignation. "I've been here for over a week." "You know what I mean. I just want to make sure you understand." She forced her muscles to respond and sat up fluidly, as though nothing at all was amiss. The fact that her entire body was humming with anticipation could not be revealed to him at any cost. A girl could lose her edge if she let it be known that his mere touch sent her into spasms of delight. "Understand what, Duncan?" she asked, the perfect picture of expectant enlightenment. He tantalizingly feathered his hand downward over her body and stopped at a spot right inside her left thigh. Gripping her momentarily, he started kneading her flesh and working his way upward. Unable to control herself, Amanda arched her body into his touch and exhaled a sigh of satisfaction when he didn't pull away. "I won't be manipulated with sex, Amanda, and you should know better than to try." He grazed his lips over her eyebrow then pulled back to regard her squarely. "You, on the other hand, are like putty under my fingers," he stated tenderly then his fingers delved into the warm, moist folds. Amanda drew a short, sharp breath as those expert fingers slipped into her and, drawing on her moisture, he set up a rapid, teasing stroke. Within seconds, he adeptly brought her to climax. Before she could gather enough sanity to confront him and call him every derogatory name she'd ever learn over her eleven centuries of life, the phone rang. "MacLeod." "Mac, it's Joe." "Joe." Ignoring Amanda's attempts to grab the receiver so she could hear too, Duncan sat up then relaxed against the shutters. "I thought you'd be on your way back home by now." He swatted her hand away again and settled in for a long, friendly conversation. "Thought I'd do a little sightseeing before heading back. Don't have much of a chance to get to France these days." "Well, before you leave, let's get together for lunch. Is Adam still around?" "Yeah, but he's real busy working on a little crisis control, which brings me to the reason why I'm calling you. Have you heard from Richie recently?" Duncan stared through the porthole and fixed his eyes on the night lights of Paris. Would there ever come a time when thoughts of Richie wouldn't bring worry? Thank God the young man had been long gone from France during all that Kalas business. "A couple of days ago. Why do you ask?" "I just heard from Mike that an Immortal's been giving him some trouble. Thought you might want to know." Fear tightened like a belt around Duncan's chest and he sat up straight in response. "Who?" "Guy by the name of Felix Klamath. Do you know him?" "Never heard of him. What do you have on him?" "Nothing. Nobody's heard of him on this side either. I suspect he's new and out head-hunting." "Yeah, but where'd he get Richie's name?" "You got me. Give Rich a call, maybe he can fill you in. I gotta go. Adam's taking me out for drinks. Sort of our last hurrah before the rest of the shit hits the fan. Say hi to Amanda for me." "Hi, Joe. Bye, Joe," Amanda shouted back before Duncan replaced the receiver on the cradle. "That was rude," she chided. "Maybe *I* wanted to talk to Joe." Duncan ignored her as his fingers quickly punched out Richie's number in the States. "*Hi*..." "Richie?" "...*this is Richie. I'm not here but, smart guy that you are, you probably figured that out already*..." "Damn." "...*You know the routine. Ciao.*" "Try the dojo," Amanda suggested while glancing at the wall clock that displayed one a.m. "It's only four o'clock in Seattle." Duncan flashed her a thank-you glance before his fingers started dancing across the telephone keypad. "Dojo." "Richie." At the sound of the familiar voice, Duncan released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Mac, what're you calling for?" Even over thousands of miles of telephone lines, MacLeod could hear tension in the younger man's voice. "Geez, it's gotta be, like really late there." "I just got off the phone with Joe. He told me about some trouble you're having. Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine. You ever heard of an asshole named Felix Klamath?" "No. What does he look like?" "Big dude, about six four, two seventy-five. Dirty blonde hair and rotten teeth. Typical low-life, druggie scum. Claims he found me in the yellow pages under the heading of loser but he's gonna be the one to eat it." The Richie Ryan bravado lost little impact over the telephone. "Watch yourself, Rich," Duncan instructed, still the teacher. "Don't get cocky, he's got a longer reach than you have by a good six inches. Keep moving, you're lighter than he is. Your only advantage will be to tire him out. I'm on the next plane out of here." "Don't, Mac." It was a command, not a request, something the younger Immortal had never attempted before. He'd cajoled, he'd whined, he'd sweet-talked but he'd never commanded and the fact that he'd done so slowly dawned on the young man. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, " he apologized. "It's just, I'm meeting him at ten. That's only six hours from now. It'll take you at least twelve to get back here, if you can get a flight in the next ten minutes. But all that's immaterial because it's my fight, Mac, not yours. This guy has nothing to do with you. He doesn't even know who you are." "Richie..." "If I win, you'll be the first person I call and it'd be a lot easier if I don't have to figure out which plane you're on. And, if I don't call, well, you'll know that I lost and you'll take his sorry ass for me. Right?" No response. "Right, Mac?" Duncan forced the words past the constriction in his throat. "Right, Rich." He didn't feel Amanda's hand, rubbing tenderly up and down his back. He didn't see the interior of the barge through the watery sheen that blurred his vision. His attention was focused on only one sense, hearing. Hearing Richie saying good-bye for what could be the last time. Hearing the click as the connection between mentor and student, friend and friend was broken. Hearing his own heart pounding against his ribs in a frantic rhythm. Hearing his own moan of helplessness escape his lips. "He'll be fine," Amanda offered, even though she didn't know the particulars. All she could tell by Duncan's posture was something major was afoot, it involved Richie and by default, would soon involve her. "You trained him well." "Sometimes, that's not enough," he proclaimed resignedly then got off the bed. Reaching for his sweats and putting them on, he announced, "I'm going out." Amanda knew better than to follow right away. However, the moment he was out the door, she hit the re-dial button on the telephone. Duncan was well aware that he should have prepared himself better for this day. He shouldn't have allowed the punk kid into his heart. Born in an age of computers and automatic weapons, Richie Ryan had neither the skill nor the warrior instinct to survive the life of an Immortal. Taking in the redhead had been a fool's errand and now he would pay. And he would pay dearly. The emotional price would be as overwhelming as when he'd lost Tessa. Richie was the son he'd never been allowed to have, the sometimes eager, sometimes reluctant, recipient of the over four hundred years' worth of experience that the Highlander had to offer. There had been rocky times, harsh words had been lashed out in anger or frustration by both of them but they had always been exchanged with an underlying love, a love that had never been fully expressed, which was an exact duplication of unspoken emotion between another mentor and his student. Connor and Duncan. Since Duncan was the connecting factor between both relationships, he feared this inability to be open about feelings rested with him. Had he always been unable to say how he really felt about a person? Had Little Deer or Anne or even Tessa ever wondered if his declarations of love were merely empty statements, that he wasn't capable of real emotional commitment? That was certainly the case with Amanda. Impending doom hadn't even allowed him to fully open up to her, their exchanges only implied, never really said outloud. What kind of emotional cripple had he turned in to? Looking up, he noticed the Eiffel Tower in the distance, lit up like a Christmas tree. For him, it would forever be a symbol of the battle between good and evil but had he really represented good? He killed. He watched and helped others kill. When properly analyzed, his entire life boiled down to only a matter of survival. Kill or be killed. There can be only one. What was the point? And now Richie could become just another statistic, another fallen Immortal in the Watcher annals and there wasn't a damn thing Duncan could do about it. 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