========================================================================= Date: Thu, 21 Mar 1996 21:05:09 -0800 Reply-To: CF Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: CF Subject: Side Effects 3of6 WARNING: NC-17 rating (for strong, heterosexuality) Comments, suggestions, and/or flames (but please don't flame me for the above-stated content...you were warned) to cfc@goldrush.com SIDE EFFECTS Part 3 Bringing herself out of her reverie, she realized that she hadn't told Duncan where she lived, however, he'd just completed the right turn that put them on her street. She experienced a moment of confusion but suddenly, she remembered. A pang of shame and guilt passed through her. Henry. Duncan stopped the car at the curb in front of 1701 Sycamore Street and swiveled in the seat to face Kate before he spoke. How he dreaded what he had to say but he couldn't put it off any longer. She needed to know that her brother was being taken care of. "The bartender at Joe's, Mike, has a brother-in-law who's a mortician..." The tears rapidly filled Kate's eyes then spilled over and started streaming down her cheeks in a heavy flow. No matter how long she lived, she would never find absolution for what she was about to reveal. Her brother was dead and, for that, she was thankful. "I want you to know, Duncan, I came to the bar tonight to warn you, not to stop you." She muffled a dry sob before she could continued. "Benton was so torn up that he'd given Henry your name that he made me promise to get in touch with you if anything happened to him. It took me two days to find you and the whole time I was so scared that I'd be too late." Her body trembled as she tried to curb the tears. In her present state, there was no way Duncan could leave her in an empty house to grieve alone. He quietly got out of the car, walked around to the other side and opened the passenger door. Offering a hand to her, he gently suggested, "Let's go inside, Kate." Like a zombie with no will of her own, she allowed herself to be led to the front door. She opened her purse and tried to find her house- keys but the front porch was too dark and her eyes were filled with tears so she couldn't see. A strong hand relieved her of her handbag and, within seconds, she heard the jingle of her key ring. Duncan held up the keys to the light streaming from the street, made a selection and pushed it into the front door keyhole. Success on the first try. The locked clicked and the knob turned freely. He didn't pause to take in the decor. Instead, he instinctively guided Kate to the kitchen, settled her at a small glass top table and started rummaging through the cabinets for tea. Finding none, he decided on warming some milk. The term L-Tryptophan and how it helped one to sleep came to mind but he had no idea where he'd learned it. He pour the milk into a glass and put it in the microwave for ninety seconds. "I suppose one of those things sure beats a wood burning stove," Kate pointed out, trying to lighten the atmosphere. She met his glance with a slight smile. "You bet," he replied and smiled back. "Microwaves and washing machines, the best inventions homo sapiens ever came up with." "What about computers and television?" "Not much of a TV watcher myself, I'd rather read, but some of my best friends watch." "Now, what sort of book does a man who was born during the Renaissance read? "I might have been born at the time of the Renaissance but the Renaissance never really reached the Highlands. We were sort of stuck in Crusades mode only for different reasons and we kept most of our plundering and pillaging local." "I still can't get over it. Immortality." She mulled over the possibilities. "What other inventions really impressed you?" "Indoor plumbing was a real biggie," Duncan laughed. The ding of the microwave announcing that the milk was ready interrupted. Duncan retrieve the glass and placed in front of Kate. She looked down at the glass and wrinkled her nose. "I'm supposed to drink this?" "It'll relax you." "I'd rather have a brandy," she declared. "That would relax me, too." He hadn't found a store of liquor when he'd searched through the kitchen cabinets. Possibly, she kept it elsewhere. He started checking the cupboards he hadn't investigated yet. "Okay. Where do you keep it?" "I'm out." She returned his perplexed look with a sheepish grin. "I didn't say I had any, I just said I'd rather have it. Benton and I finished it." Recalled the hours spend sitting around the dining room table, talking and sipping brought Kate new pain. Nine hundred years of living, gone with the single stroke of a sword. "God," she sighed softly. "I'm going to miss him." Duncan stopped his scavenger hunt and took a seat across the table. He didn't say anything. He just sat and waited patiently for what he knew would follow. "I hadn't know him long but in such a short time he'd become a vital part of my life. It was only four months but I felt like I'd known him forever. He told me stories you'd never believe." She dreamily stared off into the distance for a moment then caught herself and directed her gaze back toward Duncan. She suddenly remembered that she wasn't talking to just anyone and a nervous little laugh escaped her mouth. "But, then again, you're one of the friends he was telling me about." Duncan's rich chuckle filled her mind with warm memories. "Probably, but I'll bet his versions are considerably different from mine. He was quite the elaborator." "Such a gentle man. Who would expect a man who stood six feet ten and was built like a brick shithouse to be so compassionate?" "Well, in a roundabout sort of way, I suppose you could've called him that." * * * "Benton, as I recall on the trip down, it was *you* who warned *me* not to get into any trouble." "Now is not the time for bickering over details, Highlander," Benton replied as he ducked away from a flying chair then dodged two sets of fists both directed at his face. "If you're not going to help then get her out of here." Duncan wrapped a protective arm around the young girl's shoulders. Weaving his way through the mayhem, he led her out the swinging doors of the St. Charles Saloon to the relative safety of the Columbia streets. However, it didn't take long for the fight to follow. First, a man came sailing horizontally through the entryway then came Benton, fists flailing against the same two opponents Duncan had seen him fighting off inside. A crowd of onlookers exited with them to watch the progress. Money quickly changed hands as bets were given and received. As always, if he'd been betting, Duncan's money would be on Benton. The big man was having no trouble. In fact, he was holding back, keeping his punches light and never taking the offensive. "Feel free to join in anytime, Duncan," Benton yelled over the din of encouraging shouts from the spectators. "I don't think so," Duncan shouted back, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. "You told me to stay out of trouble and I *always* do as I'm told. Beside, you're doing just fine." Two quick punches later, it was all over. Two men lay sprawled unconscious in the dirt and Benton wasn't even breathing hard. "Some friend you are," he accused Duncan as he wiped his bruised knuckles across his chest. His head darted around as though he was looking for something. "Where's the girl?" "She's right..." Duncan turned to his left but no blonde-haired, blue- eyed, little slip of a girl was standing next to him. "You lost her," Benton accused. "I give you one job and you can't even do that right. Where'd she go?" Duncan scanned the crowd and, after a couple of seconds, zeroed in on a head covered with fair hair snaking toward the fringes. "There she is." He pointed the direction out to his friend. Benton didn't pause. Immediately, he set out in pursuit, shouldering his way through the twenty or so men who had gathered around to watch the fight and were now settling their bets. Duncan caught up to the mismatched couple one block south of the saloon. They were arguing in front of Knapp's General Store. A crowd of curious prospectors was watching the big, tower of a man kowtowed by a verbal lashing from the smallest woman/child in all of Tuolumne County. (Author's note: pronounced Twal-la-me, accent on first syllable.) "...and further more, *Mister* Hanshaw, if I'd wanted saving, I would have asked for it. You had no right to start that fight. I was perfectly safe in there. Those men were just bein' playful. They've spend months up in the hills and they were only looking for a little entertainment." "In your bed, missy. Why, you're barely out of girlhood. I'll bet you didn't understand half of what they were saying. Come on, Cora." Benton tried to take her arm but she quickly wiggled out of his grasp. "I'll have you know I'm seventeen years old," she proclaimed with a vehement stomp of her foot. "That's plenty old enough to know what I'm doing." "Why doncha go get a job on Waldo Street, then. I hear Madame Lucy's been having trouble keeping girls. At least she could protect you from the likes of those ruffians." "How dare you!" During their argument, Duncan had worked his way to a spot directly behind Cora in order to watch Benton's volatile facial expressions. The entire scene was so funny but the Highlander, not wanting to take sides, controlled his mirth. But when Cora, who stood less that five feet tall, tried to reach Benton's face to slap it for the second time, Duncan just couldn't contain himself. He wrapped his hands around her tiny waist and gave her the vertical boost she needed. Cora, bless her heart, didn't even pause to investigate who was helping her. The sound of her open hand impacting against Benton's cheek reverberated through the crowd. Benton took an exaggerated step backward, stared at her with a blank, unreadable expression and stood there froze with his mouth half open in astonishment. The entire assemblage waited in mute amazement for the consequences. Duncan had twisted his body to the side to move Cora out of harm's reach but he still held her suspended in the air. It was as though they were all waiting for a volcano to erupt, or really, since they were in California, for the earth to shift beneath their feet. Five seconds passed. Ten seconds... It was like counting off the time between seeing a flash of lightning and hearing the crash of thunder. They all knew something was going to happen but they didn't know what it would be or how long it would take before the repercussions were felt. Twelve...thirteen...fourteen... The big boom they were all waiting for began to form. It started as a rumble from deep within Benton's chest and slowly worked it's way upward. By the time it broke the surface, Benton was laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach to keep it from hurting too much. "Okay, Cora," he managed to get out between the guffaws. "You win. I was way out of line. You can take care of yourself." He pulled a leather pouch from his coat pocket and threw it toward the spot where Duncan still held her off the ground. "Take this gold and use it to your best advantage. Invest it or buy a stage ticket out of here. It's yours to do with what you please." As Duncan let the girl down, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the pouch that was now grasped within her tiny hands. Six months of back-breaking labor. Six months of nursing sore muscles with nothing but hard ground for a bed. Six months of picking through crevices and shoveling up tons of dirt and gravel. Six months of standing or kneeling or wading in frigid water. Six months of fighting off vermin that wanted to strike it rich the easy way. "That's our entire poke, Benton." He couldn't keep astonishment out of his voice as he stated a fact that Benton had obviously forgotten. Benton hadn't forgotten. While he nonchalantly dusted the dirt off his shirt sleeves, he replied, "You're whining again, MacLeod. If I remember correctly, you said we've already made our fortunes. What do we need more for?" He bent over and patted the dust off his pant legs. Once satisfied that he was again presentable, he straighten and regarded Duncan squarely. "Besides, my Scottish friend, I'd say it's a fair price for that stunt you just pulled." * * * The silence between Kate and Duncan dragged on for several seconds as both remained locked in separate memories. "God, I want a drink," Kate complained as her eyes caught the now cooled, still untouched glass of milk. She placed her hands on the edge of the table, pushed her chair back then slowly rose to her feet. "Come on. Let's raid the buffet in the dining room and see what alcohol we can find." She stopped mid-step as though reconsidering her suggestion. "You do drink, don't you?" "Absolutely," Duncan replied and followed her out of the kitchen. The dining room, separated from the kitchen by a swinging door, was furnished in Duncan Phyfe copies, big mahogany pieces that made the formal room appear dark and heavy. In fact, as Duncan surveyed the attached living room, it appeared the entire house had been decorated in large, heavy, formal pieces, giving an overbearing feel to it. Thick tapestry drapes lined the entire wall behind a couch upholstered in heavy brocade. Dark, flocked wallpaper covered the others with huge, gilt-framed paintings of mediocre quality breaking up the monotony. The designer had tried for opulence but instead had achieved oppression. Kate pulled a bottle of Jack Daniel's from the middle cabinet of the buffet. Reaching for two tumblers behind the glass doors, she caught Duncan's perusal of the decor. "My mother, God rest her soul," she explained. "She had her own ideas about decorating." Kate's eyes followed the same trail that Duncan's had. "It feels like a cave, doesn't it?" Duncan relieved her of the bottle and glasses and moved toward the living room. He thought twice about sitting down on the couch, knowing exactly the type of person the woman had been who had chosen it. The entire room probably hadn't been used in years. Kate saw him hesitate so she flopped down on the couch, kicked off her shoes and folded her feet under her. "I moved out of here eleven years ago and hated coming back even just to visit. I always felt as though I was walking into a black hole. A place where no light was allowed. She always worried that sunlight would fade the furniture." Her throat constricted but she wouldn't allow herself to cry. She swallowed the urge and vowed to herself that she wouldn't turn maudlin. "After the accident, I moved back to be with Henry. With all the problems that came up afterward, I never found the time to re-decorate." A plaintiveness crept into her voice. "I suppose I'll have it now." Duncan sat next to her, carefully put the glasses down on the massive, hand-carved coffee table and broke the seal on the unopened bottle. After pouring two fingers worth into each glass, he lifted both of them and, handing one to Kate on his way, he settled into the plush cushions at his back. "To Benton," he toasted and held his glass up in salute. "To Benton," Kate echoed softly. Then, staring directly into Duncan's dark eyes, she whispered, "Who taught me about love." Duncan's expression perceptibly changed. The crease between his eyebrows deepened and the corners of his mouth slightly drooped while he completed the move that brought the glass to his lips. But instead of taking a civilized sip of the bourbon, he gulped down a hefty swig, paused then gulped down another one. If Kate had known him better, she would have recognized envy. "Hanshaw was a lucky man," he mentioned flatly and silently chided himself for feeling anything with regards to this woman. He had no right. Bloody barbarian that he was, he'd killed her brother and, no matter what she'd claimed earlier, they had no future. And he lamented the loss of potential, for here was a warm, charming, obviously caring woman with whom he could enter a relationship without secrets. Immortality, the Gathering, the Game, Quickenings. They were all known by her. Not even with Tessa had he had such an advantage to explore the natural progression of things. Tessa had fallen in love with one man but had ended up with someone totally different. He would never forgive himself for that. After her death, he'd promised himself he'd never do that again but then there was Anne, and all too quickly he'd succumbed to that same web of deceit. Immortals were doomed to a solitary existence but Duncan was not a solitary person by nature. Raised within the security of the Clan, he had a strong sense of the need to belong. He had a huge capacity to bestow and receive love but was forced to live like a tiger; wary and alone, seeking companionship only when need became to great. This was not living, it was merely existing and he hated it. End of part 3 ==================================================