Date: Mon, 20 Feb 1995 22:29:07 -0700 Reply-To: Tara O'Shea Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Tara O'Shea Subject: We'll Always Have Paris (4/4) We'll Always Have Paris By Tara O'Shea Part 4 "MacLeod has given me a very interesting suggestion." Niamh didn't face Darius, she knew exactly what look he would have on his face. That *I can't believe you're even contemplating that* look. "Which is?" "Stop running from Victor, and hunt the hunter." "He told you *what*?" Darius stood up, almost knocking over his tea mug in his haste. "Stop giving me that look, I knew you'd have that look. You heard me. You and I both know that if I face him on equal terms now, I would win." "He will not let you near him on equal terms. Surely you realise that." "What would you have me do? Hide? Become Sister Madeleine once more, *Oncle*?" she snapped. "I can't do that any more, Darius! Maybe once, but not now. It's the Gathering." "You don't have to play the Game..." "I have no choice! And someday you will see that you don't either. Holy walls may protect you, for now, but none of us really knows what the Gathering is. You could be driven mad if you don't fight. I could be, any of us! Someday I may be forced to fight you or Duncan, or Fitz and I can't do that..." Niamh found she was shouting, and she didn't care. "I can't. I don't want to ever have to hurt you." She beat her fists against his chest as he tried to quiet her. "Poppet..." "Dammit, don't call me that. I don't fear him nearly as much as I fear losing you." "How can you lose me?" "You are my oldest friend. Himiko is gone. This game will take us all, it has to." She looked him straight in the eye. "I'm going to die. Someone is going to take my head, and I'm getting tired of it, all of it." "Don't say such things." "You have been alive longer than anyone I know. Aren't you tired?" He could hear the tears in her voice, tears that she tried to hold in check. "I have seen wonders in these thousands of years that were undreamed of when I was a boy. Every step humanity takes fascinates me and I don't think that shall ever change." "You look at things with the wonder of a child and I envy that, because I know that you are wiser than I will ever be." She shook her head, smiling. "I am immortal, but I am still a human being. I'm not perfect, Niamh." "Yes you are. You are perfect." She stroked his cheek and then froze, as if the gesture startled her even though it was she who made it. "Just my luck, to finally figure it out, and you're a Catholic priest." "Niamh--" he took her hand in his. "Just what the world needs, an immortal Thorn Birds saga." She tore her hand from his and grabbed her purse. "I'm leaving. I have to go." Darius stared at the door as it closed behind her, suddenly at a loss. * * * Furiously wiping tears from her eyes, Niamh stopped at the curb, waiting to cross. This was ridiculous. They fought over nothing, less than nothing. She should not be so affected. "Oh, who am I kidding?" she muttered beneath her breath, just before a hand clamped over her mouth and she felt the cold pressure of a gun's muzzle at her temple. "Don't move, or I'll blow your head off." As that was a distinct possibility, Niamh froze, her heart pounding in her ears. * * * Richie pressed himself up against the stone wall, willing himself to be invisible as the gunman dragged Niamh back towards a dark blue van parked in the alley. As the tired squealed and it peeled out into traffic, Richie counted breaths and leapt on his motorcycle and followed. He must have been crazy. But then again, it wasn't like he hadn't done this sort of thing before. * * * Niamh fidgeted, hearing the handcuffs rattle and clink behind her. Her arms ached already, and she didn't have the foggiest idea who this mortal was, except that he must have been the gunman who took pot shots are her and Richie. "How much is he paying you?" "Shut up." "I'll double it." "I said *shut up*." Niamh recognised a trace of an accent buried beneath the non-accent he must have studied hard to cultivate. Eastern European. Definitely. "He's quite mad, you know." "I know." As they rounded a corner, Niamh was thrown against the side of the van, and she managed to get one leg beneath her. He glanced at her nervously using the rearview mirror. She balanced precariously, waiting. She heard the unmistakeable sound of a him cocking the gun. She felt them lean into another turn, and as she was hidden from his view, pulled her handcuffed hands underneath her so her wrists rested against the back of her calves. When the turn pushed her against the side of the van, she bit back a cry of pain as she slipped her feet through the circle made by her chained hands. Niamh jumped up and threw her arms over Vassily's head, trying to choke him with the handcuffs. The van weaved from side to side as he fought for control, steering with one hand and pointing the gun with the other as she tried to crush his windpipe. He squeezed off a shot, and Niamh screamed as the bullet hit her in the chest. Vassily, coughing still, bent down and felt for a pulse. When he was satisfied she was dead, he restarted the van. He was going to have to charge dry cleaning costs too now, blood was a bitch to get out of silk. * * * Richie watched the van swerve, and heard the gunshot. He held his breath as it sat for a moment at a curb, then started up again. He followed close behind, worried. She may have been immortal, but a bullet would still do a fair bit of damage. * * * "Tess, where's Richie?" Duncan looked up from the book he was reading, and she settled down beside him on the couch. "I don't know, he left after Niamh did. I think he has a crush on her." "Probably." Duncan shrugged. "You don't sound very concerned." "He'll get over it." "Like I did?" She brushed a stray lock of dark hair off his forehead, and he caught her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. "I don't think it's that kind of crush. He's more curious than infatuated." "I think you are right." The phone rang, and Duncan grabbed it. "Mac?" Richie's voice was barely above a whisper. "Richie? Where are you?" "I'm at a warehouse, I followed Niamh--" "Richie, I *told* you--" "Mac, I think she's in trouble." * * * Niamh had the dizzying feeling of being carried over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The front of her blouse was soaked and caked with blood, and she still hurt just about all over. She was so tired of getting shot. Twice in one decade was more than enough. Vassily dropped her to the cold cement floor, and she listened carefully as he lit up a cigarette, then his footsteps faded into the distance, and the metal clang of the door being lowered and locked. She sat up slowly, her hands still cuffed in front of her. "This just isn't my day." She stood up, ears ringing, and froze as she heard the door. * * * "She's dead." Victor kept glancing back at the warehouse, nervously. This job hadn't gone at all well, and he just wanted to get the hell out of the country. "You have taken the body to the appointed place?" The voice on the other end of the phone still retained that monotone, as if he was discussing the weather, or the results of a football match instead of murder. Vassily shivered, and not from the chill. "Yes. Now, where's my money?" "I will bring it. But you must stay with the body." "Hey, you paid me to get her, you didn't say anything about babysitting a corpse." Hanging around dead bodies gave him the creeps, despite his chosen profession. Usually by the time they were cold, he was as far away as humanly possible. "If you do not, them I'm afraid you will be a corpse before long, and you wouldn't like that, now would you?" "Are you threatening me?" "Most likely she would get to you long before I would, my dear Victor." "She is *dead*. She's not going to be getting to anyone." "But of course." The line went dead, and Vassily hurled cursewords at the dialtone, furious at the turn this job was taking. * * * The door opened slowly, and Niamh clutched the first weapon she could find, a crowbar, in her cuffed hands, leaning against the wall in the shadow, her heart pounding. As a figure slipped inside, she almost swung before a thatch of blond hair caught the light. "Richie, you idiot! I almost brained you!" Niamh whispered fiercely, punching him in the shoulder. "So much for Richie Ryan to the rescue," he observed wryly, and fished two paper clips out of his pocket and took the bewildered Niamh's hands in his as he started on the cuffs. "Where they hell did you learn to pick handcuffs?" Niamh asked as the cuffs slipped off and she massaged her bruised wrists. "The same place I learned to avoid guys with names like Meat and Chainsaw. Come on, MacLeod is on his way." "*What*?" "Well, wouldn't it be nice to have a sword so you can take this guy?" They froze at the sound of a key in the lock. * * * Vassily, still swearing at his employer, switched on his torch so he could see as he lifted the door. He focused it on the spot where he had dumped the body, and saw it lying there, same as before. "Insane," he muttered, fishing another cigarette out of his pack and setting the torch down so he could light it. Pain bloomed in the back of his head, and he hit the ground heavily. "Don't you know smoking can be hazardous to your health?" Richie dropped the crowbar with a ring of metal on concrete, and Niamh tossed him the cuffs, which he locked around the hitman's wrists. "Let's get out of here." Niamh flashed him a smile. "What, leaving the party so soon?" A voice rang out from the door, where a man stood silhouetted by the setting sun, a menacing black shape. "You know, Victor, I was going to hunt you down just as you had me. Now you've gone and spoilt the surprise." Niamh *tsk*ed, picking up the crowbar Richie had dropped. The sound of the gun being cocked took some of the steam out of her. "Dammit, can't you play fair just this once?" she snapped, glancing nervously at Richie. "Ah, but the game is so much more interesting with a few twists thrown in, don't you think?" "Let the boy go, he is none of your concern." "And lose my advantage? Even if you didn't care whether I took your head or not, a bullet hole in MacLeod's proteg is certainly a deterrent to your bashing my head in with that crowbar." "You would think, in eight hundred years you would have learned how to fence with your left hand. For heaven's sake, Inigo Montoya did." Niamh covered her fear with exasperation, and mocking him made her feel better even if it didn't do a damn thing to improve their situation. "If that is what passes for wit amongst your friends, I'm sure I'm doing them a favour." Victor stepped over the body of his unconscious henchman, and glanced back at it, sighing. "Vassily really didn't understand our game." He aimed rather haphazardly and shot the hitman in the head. The sound of the gun echoed in the warehouse, louder than Niamh remembered it, and she held back a cry. After all, the man had shot her. Richie, however, had turned a particular shade of white not unlike curdled milk. "So much for honour among thieves." Niamh stepped in front of Richie, as if she could block him from a bullet as easily as she could block him from Victor's sight. "Silly girl, I have never stooped to thievery." "What you took from me certainly wasn't given freely." Niamh took a step towards him, fury shining in her eyes. Gun or no gun, she wanted this man's head. "Wasn't my arm payment enough, you little bitch?" Victor spat, moving the gun from Richie to Niamh. "What do you plan to do? Shoot me and then take my head?" "That is the general idea, yes. It's worked rather well for me, since the advent of firearms anyway. Before that, I tried crossbows, and I'm afraid they really weren't to my taste. Poison works rather nicely as well." "And here I thought you were a sportsman." Victor froze as he felt the cool kiss of steel against his neck, and MacLeod's voice mocked him from behind. "Drop the gun." It clattered to the floor, and Richie picked it up, levelling it at Victor. Niamh, however, simply walked around him and took the sword MacLeod held out for her. She swung it, relishing the sound the katana made as it cut through the air. Then she smiled at Victor, and carefully and deliberately repeated the same move with her left hand. "You want my head?" she taunted. "Come and *take* it." Duncan stepped back, removing the blade from Victor's neck. Victor removed his own blade from his coat, swinging it experimentally. "Do you think you could beat me with one hand tied behind your back, so to speak?" "I think it's time you and I had a fair fight." Richie slipped out from behind them, to stand at Duncan's side, the gun still in his hand. Duncan took it out of his hand, and removed the clip, as Richie seemed transfixed by the two opponents circling each other. "Come on." Duncan tugged at his shoulder, heading out the door. "But Mac--" "She's challenged, and all we can do now it wait." "But what if he--" "Then he does. But either way, we go home." As the first clear chimes of steel against steel came from inside the warehouse, Richie kept looking back as they headed towards the car. * * * Darius looked up as the buzz hit him, his grey-green eyes anxious. Niamh leaned in the doorway, smiling, and feeling a little-- no, a *lot* guilty for the past twenty-four hours. "After... after it was over, I walked. Bloody and bleeding, I walked along the river, thinking." "Thinking about what?" "All the women... all the strong immortal women, and the weak ones too. I was no better or worse than they were, really. Maybe I was just lucky. But I don't feel sorry for killing him. What a thing to be telling your father confessor..." "A thing you are telling a friend who was worried about you." "I rang MacLeod before I came here. Richie paced a hole in the floor, apparently." "So you're leaving?" "I moved my ticket to Osaka up a week." "I see." "I'd love to stay... I really would, but I just can't right now. Not with everything spinning around in my head the way it is. I'll have a hard enough time going back to Himiko's without falling apart at the seems." "You're not the falling apart type." Darius laughed. "You overestimate me." Niamh shook her head, but cracked a smile anyway. "Take care, poppet." "I will miss you." She looked into those familiar eyes, and couldn't lie. "But I'll come back, soon. I promise." He clasped her hands, caressing her wrist with his thumb. "I'll hold you to that, *niece*." "Goodbye, old friend." Niamh impulsively hugged Darius, and he looked at first as if he didn't know what to do with her. Then he folded his arms around her, sighing. She pulled back, her mouth suddenly dry. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek and she looked into his clear grey-green eyes, searching. For something... "Soon." She smiled. FINIS -- 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 * * =========================================================================