Date: Sun, 19 Feb 1995 10:37:57 -0700 Reply-To: Tara O'Shea Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Tara O'Shea Subject: We'll Always Have Paris (1/4) We'll Always Have Paris By Tara O'Shea Part 1 "So what do we know about Darius's friend?" Richie trailed after Duncan through the baggage claim, feeling absurdly like an errand boy, though he knew full well Darius couldn't have come and picked her up himself. "I spoke with Niamh a few days ago. She's having a rough time right now. She lost an old friend." "Old friend, huh? My kind of old friend, or your kind of old friend?" "Niamh's older than I am by about five hundred years." "Ah." Richie began scanning the crowds of arriving and departing travellers. "Do we have any idea what she looks like?' "Darius said she is small, with dark hair and blue eyes." "Small?" "Yeah. You know, fine-boned." "You mean, short." "Yes, Richie. Short." Duncan rolled his eyes. "Besides, I'll know which one she is." He never thought he would be glad of the specific nature of immortality until he had to identify another immortal in an airport terminal. * * * Niamh shouldered the sword case, grinning. Despite the long flight, jet lag, and customs, she was too excited by the prospect of seeing Darius again after so long to feel any of it. The buzz hit her head on and her grin widened as she looked about for MacLeod. She recognised him from the pony-tail and the jacket, just as Darius had described. He caught her eye and waved her over. "MacLeod," She shook his hand warmly. "It's good to finally meet you." "This is Richie." Duncan presented the boy and she shook his hand as well. "It's a pleasure...." Richie hesitated, not quite sure what to call her. "Niamh. Corrine is on holiday and only the customs fellows know she's even here." She winked and the boy relaxed. He grabbed one of the suitcases, as did MacLeod, and they made their way towards the parking lot. "So how long are you staying?" Duncan asked as they deposited her bags in the trunk. "I'm on to Osaka in ten days. Until then, I'm going to do the tourist routine. It's been quite some time since I've wandered Paris." "How long?" Richie couldn't hold his curiosity in check. "Oh my, a century at least. No, wait, more than that. I've lost track, really. Thank goodness for telephones, I don't know how I survived without them." Duncan chuckled. When they had last spoken, Niamh had been in the midst of tracking her mentor's killer. She had not been as cheerful, nor as talkative. It was nice to know that some of his kind seemed capable of bouncing back. Death was never something one got used to, no matter how long one lived. They piled into the Citroen and Niamh suddenly smiled. "I know your kinsman. Russell Nash, indeed." She laughed at the psuedonym. "It was completely by accident, we were both bidding at the same auction in Vermont years ago. '76 I think." "The Muramasa dai-sho?" "Yes, and he got them, the bastard. We scared the hell out of one another. Anyway, I'm on my way to Osaka next, to go through Himiko's effects. There is something terrible about being a scavenger. Living off of other people's memories. But, antiques are our business, the easiest avenue for me in any case." "Where are you from?" Richie leaned forward from the back seat. "Ireland." "You don't sound Irish." "Well, that was several hundred years ago. I sound about as Irish as MacLeod here sounds Scots." "Hey!" "Oh please, you sound like a Beeb newsreader." Niamh laughed. "We're all that way, when we get old enough. Put us somewhere and we'll fall into the local accent soon or late. Toronto is a bit tricky, you run into all kinds there. My slight whatever-it-is accent pretty much goes unnoticed." They pulled in front of the George V and Niamh smiled. "Ah, Paris." She sighed at the sumptuous lobby, smiling widely. "I wish I could afford to stay here," Richie mumbled, shouldering one of her bags as they traipsed through the lobby. Duncan chuckled. Entering her suite, Niamh stopped short at the vase of roses, a slow smile creeping across her face. "Let's go to the Church." * * * Darius looked up from his desk, eyes shining. The heavy wooden door to his chamber swung open, revealing Niamh and Duncan. "Cheri," Darius got to his feet and Niamh laughed, clasping his hands warmly. "Cher." "I am so sorry about Himiko." "Yes, well, no one else will be fooled by--" "Richie, why don't you head back to the barge?" Duncan grinned and Richie started. "Tessa will probably be wondering what's keeping us." "Yeah, okay." "Take the car. I'll walk." Richie looked confused but got the feeling that Duncan wanted him gone. So he went. He wasn't going to press it. Weird stuff always seemed to happen when they were visited by old friends, although they were usually Mac's old friends, not Darius's. * * * "Would you like some wine?" Darius produced a carafe. "Or mead?" "Mead. I have no head for wine." Niamh smiled, eyes bright. "Ah, but you have a stomach for whiskey," Darius pointed out, all innocence as he removed a bottle from his cupboard and filled her cup. "This is very true." She laughed gaily, taking a sip. "Your mead, however, is still a joy. I've missed it, you know I have no brewster's touch no matter how hard my teachers tried." She tapped the rim of her cup and Darius topped it up with the amber liquid. "Sister Coralie." Darius savoured the name and Niamh's laughter was like the chimes of silver bells, but with a wicked edge. "Poor Sister Coralie." "You got her drunk." "Well, you helped." "The abbess was shocked." Darius pointed out and Niamh giggled. Duncan tried to picture the two of them with some abbess before he was even born. It made him smile. "To old friends." Duncan filled their glasses with the amber honey wine. "Aye, and new ones too." She raised her glass and the three of them drained their mugs. "Now then, why did you scoot our Mister Ryan out of here so forcefully?" Niamh turned to Duncan. "And why do you look so sheepish?" She owlishly regarded Darius. "There were a few things about Felice Martin's little *visit* to Seattle that we...um..." Duncan glanced away. "left out." "Such as?" "Richie and Felicia..." Darius looked uncomfortable. "I spared her because Richie begged me to." Duncan said, with a *don't look at me* look. "So he doesn't know she's dead?" "No." "Well, you didn't take her head, *I did*." Niamh was puzzled. "That's not the point." Duncan ran his hand through his hair. "It seems while Richie knows she could not be trusted, he wants to believe she might have changed." Darius explained. "Well, she didn't. As soon as she was safely far away from you and Richie, she went right back to her old tricks." "Look, I know she killed someone very close to you, and I'm not excusing that. If it hadn't been for Richie, I would have tracked her down myself simply because she threatened those whom I love." Duncan spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't want to argue with you, MacLeod. It's over and finished and done. You have to tell him. The boy needs to know the truth." Niamh frowned. "Yeah, well, I know that." "So why haven't you done it?" "I'm just waiting for the right time." "I'll tell him for you, if you like. After all, I'm the one who did it. Her quickening is a part of me now, the task should fall to me." She sighed. "He's a good boy, but you know what they say about love." Duncan shrugged. "Blind as a bat, I've got the track record to prove it," she smiled wryly. "You, you're the lucky one. Thirteen years, I hear." "Tessa is a charming woman," Darius raised his mug. "Duncan has amazing luck." "Luck had nothing to do with it." He protested, preening, and they laughed. "Oh, and so modest too." Niamh laughed, feeling better than she had in weeks. This trip had been a wonderful idea. * * * This trip had been a dreadful idea. Vassily hated Paris. He hated the rain. But there was a job to be done, and he prided himself on being the best in his field. He made certain he had enough clips and tucked the gun into its holster beneath the trenchcoat, whistling as he stepped out into the street. Another day, another hundred thousand dollars, that's what he always said. That was worth getting a little damp. * * * "So, what is she like?" Tessa asked as Richie threw his jacket over the couch. "Who?" "Darius's friend, Niamh." "She's okay." "That's not very descriptive." "I don't get it, all of a sudden Mac hustled me out of there, he even gave me the keys to the Citroen to drive home. He *never* lets me drive that car." "So you think something is up?" Tessa tried to sound curious, but she knew full well that Duncan hadn't told Richie about Felice. They'd had a fight about it shortly after Niamh had telephoned from Toronto to let them know she was coming. "Maybe. I don't know. Maybe the idea of more than the two of them in the same city just makes me jumpy." "So what is she like?" "Tiny. I mean, we are talking like very short here. And she's funny. I was expecting her to be like one of the others, I guess." "Grace, or Amanda." "Yeah, them. But she isn't. I guess there isn't really a 'type', if that makes any sense." "I think it makes perfect sense." Tessa shrugged. "People are all unique, why should immortals be any different?" "Yeah, but looking at her, it's hard to figure out how she lived so long. I mean, Amanda I can understand. And Grace...." "Grace never lacked for company," Tessa supplied, and he nodded. "Yeah, but it makes you think. We're talking nine hundred years ago. It's not like women's lib had hit yet, but she learned and survived." "That's what they all do. The ones who learn the most survive the longest." "And it's really weird thinking of her as older than Mac. She said she was *fifteen* when it happened. I mean, she doesn't look fifteen. I guess she does, but she doesn't act fifteen. Do they all do that? Kinda keep aging as the years go by?" "Why are you asking me? I can only tell you what Duncan tells me." "And he's never quite been into full disclosure." "He likes to have some secrets left." "Or maybe he just doesn't realise he's leaving anything out. I mean, you'll be talking and he'll say stuff like 'Well, I remember when Sam Beckett said to me' or 'I told Queen Victoria such and such, but did she listen to me, no...' and you're thinking, why doesn't he tell us these things? Doesn't he realise how cool it is to have met all those people? And he just shrugs it off." "Well, you get used to that." "Yeah?" "Yes, in a decade or two." She wrinkled her nose and they laughed. (to be continued in part 2) -- johanna@hydra.unm.edu * "Excuse me, my associate is applying * Lady Johanna Constantine * dairy foods to his body." * or just plain Tara * - Ray, Due South 13-10-94 * * * Ask me about DSOUTH-L@trearn.bitnet, the Due South Discussion List * * =========================================================================