Date:         Mon, 31 Oct 1994 01:39:34 -0500
Reply-To:     Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         "Kevin H. Robnett" <KevinHR@AOL.COM>
Subject:      ALL THAT'S LEFT,  Part 1 of 3

Forward----------------

     Samhain.  Hallow's Eve.  Legend has it that on this night where witches
dance and spirits walk the earth, the devil appears, wearing a kilt and
playing a ghostly tune on his bagpipes.  To some, it isn't the devil, or
witches.
To those, the ghosts of the past return to haunt  them this night, wailing at

whatever keeps the spirits chained to this realm.  For one Immortal, the
pipes call to what was lost, never to be regained.


ALL THAT'S LEFT
by Kevin H. Robnett
For Claire...



     Duncan MacLeod eyed the plastic-wrapped package of meat, exhibiting
skills that showed he was using an eye that had raised beef, butchered it,
and eaten it in many shapes and forms.  After four centuries of practice,
all it took was a glance, and all the imperfections, the packer's tricks were

laid bare.  You might think such a useful talent would be helpful.  Instead,
it took what little fun shopping was and destroyed it.  Nothing passed
inspection.  Nothing in the last forty years.

     With a sigh of exasperation, he tossed the meat back on the pile,
closing
his eyes.  With a grim smile, he reached in, picking one at random.  Not even

looking at it, he tossed it in the basket, quickly looking around to see if
anyone was watching.  Not a soul.  Disappointing.

     When he and Tessa would go shopping together, now that was excitement.
He'd settle for pushing the basket, letting the French woman take all his
attention.  Watching her move, examine the shelves, pick something
unimportant for his approval.  He'd always smile, approving the selector,
not selection.  She'd grin back, her lips promising something more exotic
than Cool Whip.  After supper, with Richie safely tucked away.  But not
anymore.

     It took a trip to the supermarket with Richie, after Tessa's . . .
{Death.  Say it, MacLeod.  She's dead.} ...after her death, to realize what
he'd been missing.  Storming the aisles with Mr. Hormone had revealed
the little game played unnoticed all around him.  The young Immortal
had the art of shopping as mating ritual down to a science.  Chasing
short skirts through the dairy coolers, accidentally bumping single
women's carts.  And the more Duncan watched, the more he encountered
the looks he received from other shoppers.  The shy one smiling over the
pile of watermelon, the bold one brushing his basket with her hips.  He
had never thought that Little Debbie could be so . . .  enticing.

     Later that night, after Richie had left, Duncan toyed with what he
learned at the grocery store.  It was a fact Tessa was gone, never more
to share his life.  He was alone.  It was also a fact he loved the attention,

the flirting.  The hunger of a woman who wanted him.  Oh, that it could
still be her.  But he knew it had to be someone, soon, before he went mad
from the ache in his chest.  The ache to be loved and wanted.

     It was that ache that drove him to this place, so unimportant before.
It was the pain that made him spend so much time getting ready, from
what to wear, to being clean and alluring.  Tantalizing.  It only took two
trips for Richie to decide not to accompany Duncan to the store anymore.
For Duncan was now an avid player in this little game.

     This was why he was here, this Saturday afternoon.  Amanda had
left him . . .   {Hungry.}  His usual weekend dinner invitation to Richie
had been readily accepted.  Duncan was in the mood for something
fancy this week.  To celebrate, and reward his friend for his help with
Amanda's problem.  {Stroganoff,} Duncan thought, remembering how
much the youngster loved it when Tessa had made it.  {And French bread.
I've got a '42 and . . .   *cheesecake*.}  He reached out and grabbed the
frozen box of ready-to-eat dessert, tossing it on top of the pile in the
cart.  The memory of the heavenly taste drove all thoughts of the woman
with the spotted dress in aisle seven out of his brain.  Executing a sharp
one-eighty turn, missing the end display by inches, and off to the checkout
lane he sped.

     He was trapped in lane two, idly thumbing through a tabloid, when
a horn outside drew his attention.  Looking up, leaning around the young
girl in front of him, he focused on a gold corvette speeding past the
supermarket windows, the flash of the driver's face . . .

< < < < < < < < < < < < < < <

     ...appearing behind one of the rocks.  "Come on, Duncan," the boy of
twelve cried, turning and climbing higher in the ruins.  Duncan huffed,
grabbing hold with his almost man-sized hands, following.  His heart
beat at the nervousness he felt, climbing the haunted tower.  Crumbling
to dust it was, lone and foreboding in the grassy valley.  They came here
often, wanting to get away from the village.  They came and fought, talked,
sometimes explored the other ruins around the rocks.  But never ventured
so close.

     Duncan stopped as the other boy reached the pinnacle, then with
a surge of effort, swiftly finished the climb.  Panting, he looked around,
admiring the view.  "Finley spoke the truth, you can see forever up here,"
the boy exclaimed, turning to face Duncan, grinning.

     "Aye, Ian.  But wha' if we ge' caught?" Duncan asked, grinning back.
"We're no' supposed to be here."  That fact Angus, Duncan's father, had
made painfully clear.  The pair couldn't sit for days after the 'lesson'.
The older absently felt his rear, trying to decide if it was worth it.
The younger could care less.

     The two were twins, the villagers swore, if not in body then
certainly in spirit.  Same dark hair, same mischievous grins, matching
builds and matching temperament.  Always together.  They shared
everything, including trouble.  Duncan was the elder by two years,
striving hard to grow into his father's expectations.  Ian had no
impetus, other than matching Duncan. Together, they were the best
at everything.

     It had been a long time since the lanky youth had wandered into
the village during a summer squall.  No one knew where he had come
from, only that he was hungry and frightened.  Old Mary, the washer
woman, had taken him in, and for the task of looking out for him, Angus
assigned Duncan.  Perturbed, the Scottish youth let the pest follow him
around.  They had never truly been apart since.

     Ian spun around on the precarious ledge, laughing, his arms spread
wide.  Duncan quickly followed suit.  They were princes of all they
surveyed.  Until startled from the voice below.

     "Ian.  Duncan.  Is tha' you, laddies?"

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

     "Sir," the cashier spoke again.  Duncan blinked, finally focused on
the old woman behind the register.  "That comes to thirty-seven dollars
and twelve cents," she continued, holding her wrinkled hand out as Duncan
fished his wallet out of his back pocket.  He still seemed distracted as
he walked out into the parking lot, bag in hand, taking a minute to scan
the cars, looking for the corvette.  Feeling foolish, he adjusted his shades
before walking to his car.  The ghosts of his past never had been quiet.

----------------------------

     The Highlander walked into the dojo, pleased with the bustle.  Not only
because the money it brought, but for Charlie's attitude.  There was still
a little jealousy on that front, the black man hurting at having to sell.
But it was hard for anyone to stay mad at Duncan for long, especially
when business was so good.

     He stood in the nook of the stairs, a clear view of Charlie and Richie
working out near the office door.  The new Immortal was terrorizing the
punching bag, never letting up.  Even from behind, Duncan could feel the
concentration the young man possessed, the buzz heralding his proximity
ignored as the redhead jabbed and weaved.  Charlie noticed his boss,
however, and started putting Richie through his paces, pressing the
redhead harder.  Like a fine race horse, Richie rose to the challenge,
performing for his mentor.  Duncan had to smile as he walked over,
still clutching the grocery bag.

     "I see you're working up an appetite.  I hope I bought enough food,"
he commented, interrupting Richie's workout.  The redhead turned and
grinned, breathing hard.  Sweat poured off his forehead, running down
his face until he wiped it off on his arm.

     "You know me, Mac.  I'll still be hungry," Richard Ryan replied.  The
phone rang, sending Charlie into the office, leaving the two alone.
"I hope Amanda got off all right," the redhead huffed.

     "Took her to the airport yesterday."  Duncan looked around for a
place to set the grocery bag, but nothing was handy.  Resigned, he
started for the freight elevator, turning back after a few steps.
"Hour and a half?" he asked.

     Richie grinned, already salivating.  "Sure.  Do I need to bring
anything?"

     "Just yourself," Duncan said, lifting the gate with his free hand.
"And maybe some deodorant."

------------------

     The pasta was ready to boil, the meat and sauce simmering.  He
was surprised how excited he was that Richie was coming up.  Since
Duncan had bought the building, they had eaten together at least once
a week.  It was strange living alone again, for the first time in thirteen
years.  Not having someone to come home to, having to make an effort
to spend time with Richie, not seeing the redhead for days.  {But that's
how it needs to be.  Someday, he won't come back.  Like . . . }

< < < < < < < < < <

     "Ian!" the old crone admonished, "How many times have I told ye no'
to come up here.  And you, Duncan MacLeod, should know better!"  The
boys just stood, looking foolish at the ground, the tower ruins rising
oppressively behind them.  Old Mary sighed, picking up the wet clothing
she had set down, handing it to Ian.  "Run these to the village, lad.  And
be hangin' them up, now.  You can help him, Master Duncan."

     "Bu' . . . " Duncan began, only to quiet at Mary's glare.

     "You be helpin' your friend, and I'll see Angus hears no' of this," Mary

said, leveling the angry gaze with the hint of a smile.  "Or I could pu' a
hex on ye . . . "  A shooing motion of her hands, and the two boys were off,
running as fast as they could to the village.  "And I better no' catch ye
around here again, me laddies!" she yelled after them, following at her
hobbling pace.

     The two reached Mary's hut, out of breath.  Without speaking, they
began hanging the wet clothes on the lines, too fearful for conversation.
When they had finished, Mary was just appearing up the meadow.  Duncan
gulped, rushing to Ian.  "Tomorrow?" he asked, not waiting for an answer
before he took flight, glad he wasn't the one living with the old woman.

     The young Highlander ran across the way, barreling through his own
door as his mother called him.  "Duncan . . .   Duncan Mac . . . "

> > > > > > > > > > > > > >

     "...Mac?" Richie asked again.  Duncan looked up sharply, startled.
The sudden movement shifted his center of gravity, his hand reaching
to check his fall.  It landed against the pot of boiling water, the sudden
pain as he burned his hand making him jerk it away.   He stuck it in his
mouth automatically, sucking on the wound as the flesh began to blister
and bubble.  Richie looked on in concern, the whole episode lasting less
than a second.

     "Dmmnm" mumbled Duncan as he turned away, circling until he
settled on the refrigerator.  He started across the kitchen toward
it as Richie came around the sink island, a sympathetic comment
already started.  Opening the door, reaching for the ice, Duncan got
a good look at the hand.  A nasty burn.  He vainly searched for an excuse
as he grabbed some ice.  "I seem to be distracted lately . . . "

     Richie turned to the food, taking over the chores of cooking.  "Why the
ice?  Your hand should heal in a couple of seconds."  Without flourish,
the redhead dumped the pasta in the water, reaching for a wooden spoon
to stir.

     Duncan weakly smiled.  "Because it still hurts . . .  as you keep
pointing
out."  Taking a moment to examine his student, he was surprised at how
he had dressed.  Nice shirt, new jeans.  Ironed, even.  Almost a copy of
Duncan himself.  "Got a date tonight?" he asked, taking a glimpse at his
healing hand.

     Richie smiled.  "Why, yes," he replied.  "With a very old friend."
He briefly glanced up, looking at Duncan before returning to his stirring.
*DING*  The bell of the timer was startling in the quiet atmosphere.

     "Anyone I know?"  Duncan gingerly drew out silverware as Richie
drained the pasta into the sink.

     "Mac . . . " Richie implored, dishing the noodles onto the two plates.
"You're the oldest friend I have.  Besides, it was time I upgraded my
wardrobe."  He ran his hand down the front of his shirt, straightening
the few wrinkles.

     It took a moment for the realization that Richie dressed up for
tonight to sink into Duncan's brain.  It also set off a very small alarm
bell.  Duncan just stared as Richie poured the meat and sauce over the
pasta.  "Well . . . " the Highlander finally said.  "It does suit you.
 Living
on your own seems to be doing some good."  He pointed to the oven,
Richie walking over and pulling out the French bread.  With little gasps,
the youngster juggled the piping hot bread to the plates, a sigh of relief
escaping once he was through.  A quick washing of hands in the sink, and
the cooking was done.

     Richie grabbed the plates as Duncan grabbed the wine and glasses.
"Yeah, just remember that fact when you get the bill," the redhead said
as they moved to the sitting area.  He opted for the sofa while Duncan
sat Japanese style on the floor next to the square coffee table.

     Richie spent a lot of time staring at his food, playing with it, giving
Duncan an opportunity to examine his friend.  There was very little
conversation, a fact setting off another bell.  {He wants to ask me
something,} Duncan thought.  {I hope it's nothing drastic.  Like wanting
to leave.  Things really haven't been too swift between us lately.  It's
kind of funny, the way he gets when he's nervous.  Reminds me of Ian . . . }
=========================================================================
