Author's Notes: This is set after the Series Finale, but before the movie. I wrote this fic years ago but am just now posting it. I'm going to post it as is, without revisions (at least that's the plan). I don't own any of the characters except Rochelle at this point. Please Read and Review.
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PROLOGUE:
Seacouver, 1993
"Don't worry about me; I'm fine," Richie Ryan muttered sarcastically as Tessa and MacLeod descended the stairs of the old Tudor house, their arms linked, visible relief spread across their faces.
MacLeod scowled, "I thought I told you to stay in the car." He felt Tessa gently squeeze his waist, a code-developed over time-for him to ease up on Richie, but he couldn't help it; he instinctively wanted to protect them. He tightened his embrace around her shoulders and kissed her neck, her hair, and finally, her lips. He inhaled the scent of her sweet perfume and could not imagine how he had gotten through the three hundred and eighty seven years he had spent without her.
Richie shrugged enigmatically and leaned against the wooden door frame. He had grown accustomed to their long, frequent displays of immense affection. Grown was the operative word. When he, a street tough orphaned thief, had first begun living with them, he'd thought it not very macho of MacLeod to show his emotions the way he did, so freely. But that was a year and a half ago. Now, he wished he could do what Mac and Tessa did so easily. Of course, he would need a girlfriend first.
"Go home," MacLeod whispered to Tessa.
Tessa pulled away from Duncan. "What about you?" Her large eyes were full of concern. She wanted him to come home with her, crawl into bed, and forget this whole nightmare had ever happened. But MacLeod motioned to the large room that held several computers.
"I want to make sure this guy has no other surprises lying around. All we need is a resurgence of Hunters." Tessa shuddered and nodded. She was disappointed, but understanding; she understood him so well, knew all his nuances. That is why she loved him so passionately. MacLeod turned to Richie. "Take her home; wait for me there."
Richie nodded, "No problem." He could not imagine life without Tessa either. He loved her as though she was-not his mother-but perhaps his older sister. He passed the engaged couple, and opened the large, stained glass door for Tessa, softy clearing his throat. Nearly two years with MacLeod had taught him some gentlemanly manners. The Highlander was a veritable dictionary of chivalry.
Tessa kissed MacLeod again, "I love you."
"Me too." He gave her a gentle nudge towards the door then turned and sat down at a computer. Tessa watched him, repressing a sigh, and wished he didn't have to act like her knight in shining armor after he had all ready won the duel. Richie cleared his throat again. Smiling slightly, Tessa nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the house. He, growing into a younger Duncan in many ways, was so good to her; it was very, very difficult for her to imagine that it had been such a short time ago he had been a thief who had broken into their shop.
Discreetly, Richie reached inside the car and pulled out a sweater for her. "Tess," he murmured softly. Tessa smiled in appreciation and wrapped the soft, light blue wool sweater around her; the night was chilly and rather damp. Almost eerie. She wanted to go home. Preferably with Mac, but he was in full Knights of the Round Table mode. Richie began to open the door, the handle making a click against the Thunderbird's black steel body; milliseconds later, before he could even let go of the chrome handle, Richie heard another click dangerously familiar; the click of a gun. A man whom Richie could not see jammed the gun into his back, ordering him to give over all his money. Tessa gasped in horror; she began to tremble.
"Give me your money." the gunman demanded again. Richie reached inside the pocket of his black jeans and removed his wallet. Hastily, he handed it to the man. However, as far as he could tell, their attacker was barely a man, probably no more than eighteen, not much older than himself. Richie knew why they were being robbed; years on the street had taught him what to look for. This was most likely a kid in trouble looking for money for a quick high, or to repay a debt to a dealer or bookie. The junkie demanded Tessa's purse.
"I, I don't have it with me." she stammered. Panicked, she looked towards the house in which an hour before she'd been held captive. She hoped to God that the power of her love, the power of her fear could bring MacLeod to their rescue. It usually did, during all those other times she had been in danger. But tonight, sadly, unfortunately, it did not.
"You left your house without your purse?" the boy asked sinisterly.
"This isn't my house. I, we were just getting out to stretch." Her blood was racing and she could hear it pound in her ears.
"Right," he obviously did not believe the transparent story. The teen spotted the diamond engagement ring on Tessa's left finger. "The ring."
"What?" Tessa asked.
"Give me the damned ring!" he bellowed. He snatched it off her finger, nearly taking entire ring finger with it; out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure moving behind the glass door of the house. In a panic, he fired two shots and ran, taking with him a hundred dollars in cash, a condom, an engagement ring worth a couple thousand dollars, and the hopes and dreams of three people.
Inside the house, MacLeod heard the shots and time stopped. Time, which for him and others like him, passed by slowly, like dripping tree sap. He spun on his heel and dashed out the stained glass door, jumping over cardboard boxes and milk crates in the process. He stopped just short of the bushes, spying two slumped figures lying still and inert on the cold, damp pavement by his car. Instinct told him to run to them, but the fastest gait he could manage was a slow and deliberate walk. It was almost as though his brain had been disconnected from the rest of his nervous system. His eyes were mainly focused on Tessa, who was lying very still, her eyes wide open; out of the corner of his eyes, MacLeod saw Richie lying dead. Subconsciously, MacLeod knew that would not last very long. Consciously, it was another person to grieve. Tessa, however, wouldn't be as lucky as Richie or MacLeod. She wouldn't come back to life, gasping for breath, lungs and heart and organs healed and working. She would not live to see
MacLeod labor endlessly to teach Richie how to survive in the Game, to kill before he was killed. She wouldn't live to see her wedding day, honeymoon, fifty or sixty years with Duncan MacLeod, the love of her life, Immortal.
MacLeod knelt at her head, cradling it gently, wiping the blood from her stained blouse, smoothing her hair, tears cleaning the splattered blood on her face. Her eyes were opened wide, depthless pools of shock and fear. Placing a gentle hand over her face, Duncan closed Tessa's eyes. Dimly, he felt his lap get wet and realized her body was growing heavier; her bladder had released and rigomortous was beginning to set in-death's final gifts. He whispered her name over and over, like a prayer, holding her lifeless body in his strong arms. Arms which could lift and hold a sword, kill at will, but only when necessary. Arms that had held Tessa for thirteen years, arms that could now do nothing more than offer protection from the cool wind, offer a safe haven, a place for her to be at peace, at rest.
Richie sat up, dazed, confused, healed, alive. MacLeod gently laid Tessa's body on the damp earth, his lips brushing her own in a final goodbye. Richie's eyes filled with tears as he realized what had happened. The tears disappeared as an even more shocking realization set in; he was Immortal. Duncan nodded in silent affirmation. He handed Richie his jacket and instructed him to return to the shop. Still dazed, Richie headed off down the street, back to the antique shop, and MacLeod, Tessa's blood like a banner across his chest, stood to the sound of police sirens and the sight of flashing red lights.
*Paris, the present*
A young woman walked through the streets of Paris, a pack on her back, an address in her mind, and a sword beneath her black leather jacket. Her head was bowed to the whipping wind that blew her hair back and made it appear as though flames were sprouting from her head. The Parisian winters were cold and wet and unrelenting. She was tall, with hazel eyes and a quick, determined stride. She had one goal and it was to find a man and a woman she had been searching for since she was thirteen. She was now twenty-three, although she looked no older than eighteen. Before her, the majestic bell towers of Notre Dame pierced the sky and acted as a signal that her decade-long journey was almost at an end. She crossed the Seine, walking along the Pont Notre Dame, past the famous church, to the opposite side of the Seine where a barge was docked; and on that barge a man and woman whom she had crossed an ocean to find. The girl slowed her pace as she neared the barge, her heart pumping, her mind racing. She felt the buzz, the unmistakable, indescribable sensation that another Immortal was near. She smiled ironically and approached the boat. On its deck stood a tall, dark-haired man, dressed in beige trousers and a crisp black turtleneck. He wore no jacket despite the frigid weather; he squinted in the harsh winter sunlight. To him, she appeared blurred and unfamiliar, like a recurring dream that faded with dawn's light. To the woman, his appearance was familiar, yet foreign and new. It had been more than ten years since they had last seen each other, during which much had happened. Some of which neither of them knew about. He raised his hand to better his vision and she thought she saw a glint of recognition in those dark eyes.
"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
The Clan MacLeod? This was new. She noticed he had no sword and thought it foolish and was about to say so, but thought better of it. That was not how she wanted to make a first impression; a new first impression. Mustering up all her courage, she walked up the plank of the barge and stood before Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. "I know," Removing her small sunglasses, she looked him straight in the eye. "You do not remember me?"
MacLeod stared at her blankly. "Should I?"
She was slightly hurt, but had not expected him to remember her. "No," she said quietly. "I suppose you wouldn't." Extending her hand, an old, yet forgotten aquaintence of the Immortal Duncan MacLeod reintroduced herself, "I am Rochelle Picaut, but you might remember me as Shelly Evans."
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Well? Are you intrigued? Do you want more? If you do, read and review and I'll post more.
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PROLOGUE:
Seacouver, 1993
"Don't worry about me; I'm fine," Richie Ryan muttered sarcastically as Tessa and MacLeod descended the stairs of the old Tudor house, their arms linked, visible relief spread across their faces.
MacLeod scowled, "I thought I told you to stay in the car." He felt Tessa gently squeeze his waist, a code-developed over time-for him to ease up on Richie, but he couldn't help it; he instinctively wanted to protect them. He tightened his embrace around her shoulders and kissed her neck, her hair, and finally, her lips. He inhaled the scent of her sweet perfume and could not imagine how he had gotten through the three hundred and eighty seven years he had spent without her.
Richie shrugged enigmatically and leaned against the wooden door frame. He had grown accustomed to their long, frequent displays of immense affection. Grown was the operative word. When he, a street tough orphaned thief, had first begun living with them, he'd thought it not very macho of MacLeod to show his emotions the way he did, so freely. But that was a year and a half ago. Now, he wished he could do what Mac and Tessa did so easily. Of course, he would need a girlfriend first.
"Go home," MacLeod whispered to Tessa.
Tessa pulled away from Duncan. "What about you?" Her large eyes were full of concern. She wanted him to come home with her, crawl into bed, and forget this whole nightmare had ever happened. But MacLeod motioned to the large room that held several computers.
"I want to make sure this guy has no other surprises lying around. All we need is a resurgence of Hunters." Tessa shuddered and nodded. She was disappointed, but understanding; she understood him so well, knew all his nuances. That is why she loved him so passionately. MacLeod turned to Richie. "Take her home; wait for me there."
Richie nodded, "No problem." He could not imagine life without Tessa either. He loved her as though she was-not his mother-but perhaps his older sister. He passed the engaged couple, and opened the large, stained glass door for Tessa, softy clearing his throat. Nearly two years with MacLeod had taught him some gentlemanly manners. The Highlander was a veritable dictionary of chivalry.
Tessa kissed MacLeod again, "I love you."
"Me too." He gave her a gentle nudge towards the door then turned and sat down at a computer. Tessa watched him, repressing a sigh, and wished he didn't have to act like her knight in shining armor after he had all ready won the duel. Richie cleared his throat again. Smiling slightly, Tessa nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the house. He, growing into a younger Duncan in many ways, was so good to her; it was very, very difficult for her to imagine that it had been such a short time ago he had been a thief who had broken into their shop.
Discreetly, Richie reached inside the car and pulled out a sweater for her. "Tess," he murmured softly. Tessa smiled in appreciation and wrapped the soft, light blue wool sweater around her; the night was chilly and rather damp. Almost eerie. She wanted to go home. Preferably with Mac, but he was in full Knights of the Round Table mode. Richie began to open the door, the handle making a click against the Thunderbird's black steel body; milliseconds later, before he could even let go of the chrome handle, Richie heard another click dangerously familiar; the click of a gun. A man whom Richie could not see jammed the gun into his back, ordering him to give over all his money. Tessa gasped in horror; she began to tremble.
"Give me your money." the gunman demanded again. Richie reached inside the pocket of his black jeans and removed his wallet. Hastily, he handed it to the man. However, as far as he could tell, their attacker was barely a man, probably no more than eighteen, not much older than himself. Richie knew why they were being robbed; years on the street had taught him what to look for. This was most likely a kid in trouble looking for money for a quick high, or to repay a debt to a dealer or bookie. The junkie demanded Tessa's purse.
"I, I don't have it with me." she stammered. Panicked, she looked towards the house in which an hour before she'd been held captive. She hoped to God that the power of her love, the power of her fear could bring MacLeod to their rescue. It usually did, during all those other times she had been in danger. But tonight, sadly, unfortunately, it did not.
"You left your house without your purse?" the boy asked sinisterly.
"This isn't my house. I, we were just getting out to stretch." Her blood was racing and she could hear it pound in her ears.
"Right," he obviously did not believe the transparent story. The teen spotted the diamond engagement ring on Tessa's left finger. "The ring."
"What?" Tessa asked.
"Give me the damned ring!" he bellowed. He snatched it off her finger, nearly taking entire ring finger with it; out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure moving behind the glass door of the house. In a panic, he fired two shots and ran, taking with him a hundred dollars in cash, a condom, an engagement ring worth a couple thousand dollars, and the hopes and dreams of three people.
Inside the house, MacLeod heard the shots and time stopped. Time, which for him and others like him, passed by slowly, like dripping tree sap. He spun on his heel and dashed out the stained glass door, jumping over cardboard boxes and milk crates in the process. He stopped just short of the bushes, spying two slumped figures lying still and inert on the cold, damp pavement by his car. Instinct told him to run to them, but the fastest gait he could manage was a slow and deliberate walk. It was almost as though his brain had been disconnected from the rest of his nervous system. His eyes were mainly focused on Tessa, who was lying very still, her eyes wide open; out of the corner of his eyes, MacLeod saw Richie lying dead. Subconsciously, MacLeod knew that would not last very long. Consciously, it was another person to grieve. Tessa, however, wouldn't be as lucky as Richie or MacLeod. She wouldn't come back to life, gasping for breath, lungs and heart and organs healed and working. She would not live to see
MacLeod labor endlessly to teach Richie how to survive in the Game, to kill before he was killed. She wouldn't live to see her wedding day, honeymoon, fifty or sixty years with Duncan MacLeod, the love of her life, Immortal.
MacLeod knelt at her head, cradling it gently, wiping the blood from her stained blouse, smoothing her hair, tears cleaning the splattered blood on her face. Her eyes were opened wide, depthless pools of shock and fear. Placing a gentle hand over her face, Duncan closed Tessa's eyes. Dimly, he felt his lap get wet and realized her body was growing heavier; her bladder had released and rigomortous was beginning to set in-death's final gifts. He whispered her name over and over, like a prayer, holding her lifeless body in his strong arms. Arms which could lift and hold a sword, kill at will, but only when necessary. Arms that had held Tessa for thirteen years, arms that could now do nothing more than offer protection from the cool wind, offer a safe haven, a place for her to be at peace, at rest.
Richie sat up, dazed, confused, healed, alive. MacLeod gently laid Tessa's body on the damp earth, his lips brushing her own in a final goodbye. Richie's eyes filled with tears as he realized what had happened. The tears disappeared as an even more shocking realization set in; he was Immortal. Duncan nodded in silent affirmation. He handed Richie his jacket and instructed him to return to the shop. Still dazed, Richie headed off down the street, back to the antique shop, and MacLeod, Tessa's blood like a banner across his chest, stood to the sound of police sirens and the sight of flashing red lights.
*Paris, the present*
A young woman walked through the streets of Paris, a pack on her back, an address in her mind, and a sword beneath her black leather jacket. Her head was bowed to the whipping wind that blew her hair back and made it appear as though flames were sprouting from her head. The Parisian winters were cold and wet and unrelenting. She was tall, with hazel eyes and a quick, determined stride. She had one goal and it was to find a man and a woman she had been searching for since she was thirteen. She was now twenty-three, although she looked no older than eighteen. Before her, the majestic bell towers of Notre Dame pierced the sky and acted as a signal that her decade-long journey was almost at an end. She crossed the Seine, walking along the Pont Notre Dame, past the famous church, to the opposite side of the Seine where a barge was docked; and on that barge a man and woman whom she had crossed an ocean to find. The girl slowed her pace as she neared the barge, her heart pumping, her mind racing. She felt the buzz, the unmistakable, indescribable sensation that another Immortal was near. She smiled ironically and approached the boat. On its deck stood a tall, dark-haired man, dressed in beige trousers and a crisp black turtleneck. He wore no jacket despite the frigid weather; he squinted in the harsh winter sunlight. To him, she appeared blurred and unfamiliar, like a recurring dream that faded with dawn's light. To the woman, his appearance was familiar, yet foreign and new. It had been more than ten years since they had last seen each other, during which much had happened. Some of which neither of them knew about. He raised his hand to better his vision and she thought she saw a glint of recognition in those dark eyes.
"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
The Clan MacLeod? This was new. She noticed he had no sword and thought it foolish and was about to say so, but thought better of it. That was not how she wanted to make a first impression; a new first impression. Mustering up all her courage, she walked up the plank of the barge and stood before Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. "I know," Removing her small sunglasses, she looked him straight in the eye. "You do not remember me?"
MacLeod stared at her blankly. "Should I?"
She was slightly hurt, but had not expected him to remember her. "No," she said quietly. "I suppose you wouldn't." Extending her hand, an old, yet forgotten aquaintence of the Immortal Duncan MacLeod reintroduced herself, "I am Rochelle Picaut, but you might remember me as Shelly Evans."
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Well? Are you intrigued? Do you want more? If you do, read and review and I'll post more.