Doubled Edge 3a/10

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Doubled Edge by Katt Solano
Disclaimers & further hoopla in part 0
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Near North Ballachulish, Scotland...

"I believe you have something we want," the woman who had been driving said.

"Something that is ours," added the man.

Duncan made a show of inserting a magazine into the pistol and clicking the
safety off. "I've been given guardianship over it. It doesn't leave my hand
unless I've been told otherwise."

"The people who gave it to you are thieves," said the other woman. She was
identical to the driver. "We are the rightful owner of the Dragon's Tear
Pearl."

Slowly, Duncan shook his head. "You don't expect me to believe that," he
scoffed.

"What do you know of the people who came to you?" the driver inquired, her
tone pleasant, almost conversational but with a honed edge. Seeing that
Duncan didn't intend to speak, she continued. "I believe you met the ones
who call themselves Jetblayd, Ffyaz, and Rydr. They are but a few members of
a larger group called the Xeno Core who flitter about from place to place,
stealing very valuable objects."

"And you three are so much more trustworthy?" Duncan allowed his brows to
rise, showing disbelief and tempered amusement. "I suppose it's customary
for your people stalk others around for hours instead of just asking?"

"We had reason to believe that you would react violently if we simply
approached you in the airport," the woman continued, "but if it will ease
your mind, I am called Kala. My companions are Cerny--" she gestured to the
sole male, "--and Devaki."

"Pleased to meet you." Acid dripped from Duncan's words.

"The pleasure is ours, Mr. MacLeod," Devaki said, "I had the pleasure of
researching you. You are a very admirable man. Not many have kept their
values and honours for thirty years, never mind four hundred."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Duncan said, his grip tightening
on the gun.

"Our organization knows about your kind," said Kala, "We do not intervene
with your Game unless one of you forces us to."

"And what exactly are you people?"

Cerny looked quickly at Kala, as though asking for permission to speak. "Our
people are ancient as well though not in the same way. We have a duty,
passed down the generations, to protect and defend the human race at any
cost. That Pearl helped us do so."

"How?" Duncan inquired, genuinely curious.

Kala took over the conversation. "What I am about to tell you," she said,
her tone a serious threat, "is to remain a secret. It is only because Devaki
has assured me that you are trustworthy that I will tell you this. Also,
because since we know of your kind, it is only fair that you know of ours. I
need you to swear, on the thing you hold most sacred, that you will not
divulge this secret."

Jew clenched, Duncan looked at the woman. Her eyes were hard, glittering
like yellow diamonds. They were familiar, those eyes. At times, he'd seen
them in the mirror during times of great moral duress. Like when he'd
struggled over Ingrid's plans or Methos' past or even Joe's loyalty to the
Watchers. Worst of all, he saw honest caring and maybe even a little fear.
She was a leader.

"I swear," whispered the Highlander, "in the name of my clan, the Clan
MacLeod, and those whom I have accepted into my clan. I will not tell a
soul."

The woman, Kala, gave him the same intense look-over. Something must have
convinced her, despite Cerny's mew of protest. Slowly, she removed the gun
from her shoulder holster and laid it on the ground then signalled for her
companions to do the same. Duncan followed the suit.

"The families in our organization are called Ichor Born," Kala began, "Do
you know what ichor is?"

"The essence that flows in the Greek gods' veins instead of blood," replied
Duncan. He _was_ a history teacher.

Kala nodded. "When we reach a certain age, we are accepted into... the
family business, so to speak."

"And that would be?"

"Guardianship over a certain land. Our... initiation gives us powers that
aid us in this and this initiation is connected to the Pearl. We also...
record our missions in it. Almost all our history is in that tank your
friend holds: our identities, our homes, even the amount of power each of
the Ichor Born has. If anyone should access it..." She liked her lips.

Duncan could imagine her fear. It was the Watcher CD all over again. He
glanced back at the Jeep. Methos had stepped out of the vehicle, the
backpack slung casually over his shoulder, his hands in his jeans pockets.
He was staring at the Ichor Born especially Devaki and Cerny who had
re-positioned themselves to better guard their leader. Seeing Duncan turn
back, Methos nodded his head. He must have heard some of that conversation.

::Well?:: Duncan's expression asked.

Methos shrugged. "Your quest, your call, MacLeod."

*  *  *  *  *

Hilo, Hawaii...

Connor studied Tyce Beauregard as he came to the dojo at twelve sharp.
Dressed in a T-shirt and loose, cuffed trousers with a long bag slung over
his shoulder, he moved with uncanny grace and smoothness, as though the
entire world should part before him. And it usually did: yesterday being a
Saturday, noon was crowded but everyone seemed to move out of the way just
in time for Tyce to keep a straight path to the sparring mat. He was toeing
his shoes off as Connor stepped into the mats.

"Hi. I hope I'm not too early." He grinned engagingly.

"Not at all." Connor waved around the room. "No one wants to get up before
three in the afternoon on Sundays. Or they're at church."

"So, who am I going to spar with?"

"You're looking at him." Connor took his glasses off, laying them on the
bench where his katana was.

Tyce's grin seemed to falter; he'd seen Connor and Steve spar once before.
"Um... okay. You _are_ gonna take it easy, right? I'm rusty, young, and I
only studied for a few years anyway."

"I'll try not to draw blood." Connor smiled.

Because of the other patrons that were around when Steve and Tyce sparred,
Connor hadn't had any chances to really watch the boy. Despite his
protestations, Tyce _was_ good. His technique was a bit sketchy, like he'd
learned a mish-mash of different styles. He also tended to project his shots
at times and was a little too fond of showy moves. But his speed and agility
more than made up for it. Connor, no lightweight in those two virtues, had
hardly ever sparred with a mortal who could make him sweat. This boy forced
him to pull out a few of his more creative moves.

It was so enthralling to be able to have a real work out, that Connor was
loathe to call a stop half an hour later.

Tyce froze at his word, eased into a relaxed position, and bowed. "Damn,
you're good!" he panted, swiping he rivulets of sweat from his forehead with
his arm. "Oh, man... I think I need to sit down." And he dropped right on
the mat.

"You're better than you said," Connor conceded, "I didn't recognize the
style you used."

"Oh, I just picked stuff up here and there," Tyce said vaguely, waving his
hand.

"I bet." Connor picked up his towel, wiped the perspiration from his face,
then slung the cotton terry over his shoulders. "So you've been doing kung
fu all your life?"

"Yeah." His own towel in hand, Tyce dug around his bag for his water bottle.
He took a healthy glug, swallowing half the contents before putting the
bottle back down. "Both my parents were into it; kung fu, kick boxing, tae
kwan do, arnis... you name it. They didn't see a reason why we-- my brother
and sister and I-- shouldn't join in their katas. 'Course they simplified it
for us." He chuckled. "And we got holy hell if we got  anywhere near the
real blades before we turned sixteen."

Connor allowed a grin to sneak up on his face. "Heh, heh. In your shoes,  I
wouldn't have been able to resist."

"Who said we resisted?" Gulping down the rest of his water, Tyce threw the
bottle back into his bag. "First time I got caught, my dad belted my ass so
badly, I couldn't sit for days! Had to sleep on my stomach."

"And that stopped your... ah... ventures?"

"Naw. I just tried harder not to get caught. There was even--"

The door hissed open and both men turned towards the sound. Alex strode in,
briefcase in one hand. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, spotting Tyce, "Were you
busy?"

"I was just about to go." Tyce caught up his shoes with a stretch and shoved
his feet into the ratty sneakers.

"Oh, please don't stop your session on my account."

"No, it's all right. We were finished, right, Mr. Montgomery?"

"It's Jack." Connor slipped his glasses back on. "Alex, this is Tyce, my
recruit into Chris' business. Tyce, my wife, Alex."

"Pleasure to meet you." Tyce accepted her hand with a bit of a bow. "Your
husband's one of the best with a sword I've seen, Mrs. Montgomery. He could
make a lot of money just performing his katas in the park. No, really!" he
added, hearing Connor scoff. "I wouldn't mind trying to help you beat me up
again. Do you??"

"No, not at all." Connor stood to walk his customer to the doors. "Have a
nice day."

"You, too." He bowed again to Alex. "You have a good one, Mrs. Montgomery."

Alex smiled politely and waved. "Thanks and right back at you." When the
young man left the building, she turned to her husband and asked, "Okay,
what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" parroted Connor, "What makes you think that something's wrong?" He
nudged the glasses further up his bridge, and then brushed his damp locks
from his face.

"Magic," joked Alex, "Come on, honey, spill it."

With a smile, Connor ran his hands through his shaggy hair once more. He'd
let it grow since leaving New York but had trimmed it after moving here.
Now, the flyaway strands just brushed the bottom of his ear. He knew that
Alex had a tenacious sense of curiosity; she wasn't going to let this go. He
peeked at the office door and, seeing that it was empty, took Alex's hand to
go there.

Once inside, Alex perched on one of the client chairs.
"Well?"

"He's good," Connor said, "The moves came to him automatically, like he'd
been trained to _really_ use a sword."

"Didn't he say that he'd been into martial arts for a long time?" Alex said,
recalling a past dinner conversation.

"It's different." The Highlander's eyes narrowed as he tried to express his
feelings in a coherent manner. "It's the difference between a college
fencing champion and me. He may know all the moves back and forth and bent
inside-out but I've lived by the sword."

"And so has he," Alex concluded. "Maybe he's a mercenary or an assassin or
something."

"Who uses swords instead of high-powered rifles?" Connor discarded the idea
as improbable. "Duncan told me that most of those Hunters are gone so,
normally, I wouldn't give a damn..."

"But you've got us now." Alex's smile was a bit strained, forced on in case
he guessed at her true feelings. Usually, Connor did anyway, but it made her
feel better.

He gathered her in his strong, lean arms, holding her head to his shoulder
and brushing his lips against her temple, her cheek, her hair. "And I
wouldn't trade it for the world," he whispered as he nibbled on her ear,
"You two make my heart glad."

It was all too easy to bask in Connor's love. It swept all around her like
the warmest, fuzziest, most comfortable blanket. For an old, crotchety
hermit, he could be incredibly sweet and romantic.

"Besides," he murmured a few seconds later as his hands travelled further
south and squeezed, "you make the sexiest sounds when we make whoopee."

Laughing, Alex took a swipe at Connor's arm.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"You'll heal." Nevertheless, she pressed a brief kiss on the injured spot to
make it feel all better. "So, what are you going to do about your mystery
client?"

"The only sane thing to do. I'm going to invite him for dinner."


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