DISCLAIMER: Highlander is the property of Davis/Panzer Productions or a successor corporation; no copyright infringement is intended.
x
Note: This was my first attempt at a Highlander fic. (Here - believe it or not - slightly improved.) I didn't mean it too seriously; but I was laughably ignorant of canon. I really didn't know whether there was a rule applying to situations like this! I guess that shouldn't be surprising: in my area, I don't think we even saw seasons of the show in the proper order.
I never posted this anywhere, just kept it for my own amusement. But it might amuse others, too.
x
x
Duncan MacLeod burrowed deeper into his pillows, trying to shut out the ringing of the phone.
Then he came fully awake and rolled over with a grunt. He couldn't ignore a ringing phone, even at...God, it was 4:00 a.m. Especially at 4:00 a.m. There were too many people he cared for who might be in trouble, or already dead.
He probably shouldn't let himself care so much. But how do you break the habits of four hundred years?
Willing the call to be a wrong number, he pulled the phone into the bed and mumbled, "MacLeod."
"Mac?" He'd never heard this voice so shaky. "I...I'm afraid I need your help. Right now."
"Joe!" In one fluid motion, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Joe Dawson rarely asked for help of any kind; this had to be serious. "What's wrong? Where are you?"
"I'm...at the bar. Please come over right away." Duncan was already pulling his pants on. "No! W-wait. I'd better take time to explain. I want you to be prepared."
"All right. Try to calm down." Duncan kept his voice steady. "I'm listening."
"Okay. Maybe...maybe just talking about it will help." A deep, shuddering breath. "When I was locking up at closing time, a guy came out of nowhere and attacked me."
Duncan let out an oath. Had these muggers no decency?
Well, maybe his friend's disability hadn't been obvious, if he was just standing there locking a door. But Duncan still wanted to throttle someone. "Are you hurt, Joe?"
"N-no. I'm fine."
"Did he steal your night's receipts?"
"No. He wasn't interested in money, Mac." Despite the privacy of their connection, Joe lowered his voice. "This was no ordinary mugger. He was wielding a sword."
"A sword?" Duncan went rigid.
"Yes. I suppose the occasional drunk or druggie may run around waving a sword, but coming at me - a Watcher, a close friend of an Immortal - that would be too much of a coincidence, right?"
"Right," Duncan agreed. "He had to be one of us. Tell me what happened."
"I will. Somehow, dark as it was, I saw the glint of the sword out of the corner of my eye. So I hit the deck, and his first lunge went right past me."
"Did he just menace you and run off? Do you think he's still lurking around there?" Duncan's mind was racing. "Depending on what he knew about you, he was probably trying to send a message to either the Society of Watchers or me personally. I don't suppose you got a good look at him?"
"Yes, I did. And he was no one I'd seen before, even in a photo.
"Mac, he didn't just threaten me and leave. He showed every sign of wanting to send his message by killing me. Immortal style."
"Christ!" Duncan choked. "How did you get away?"
"Uh...there's something I've never told you." A touch of embarrassment in the voice. "A while back, Methos gave me a...gag gift. You and I were on the outs at the time, and I never did mention it to you. He gave me a sword cane."
"A sword cane?"
"Yeah. This was just an inside joke between Watchers, Mac! He actually gave it to me as "Adam Pierson," with other Watchers looking on. I never thought of it as a weapon. Hell, I need it as a cane just to stand up. But I have been carrying the thing, because I got a kick out of it.
"When this Immortal came back for his second pass at me, I was already on the ground. I didn't think I had a chance of surviving. But I wanted to go out fighting, as any man would. So I...uh...drew my sword, and started slashing at his legs."
Duncan closed his eyes, trying to picture it. He couldn't.
"I wasn't really hurting him. But I took him so by surprise that he lost his balance. Went down hard.
"For one instant, he was off guard. It was my only chance. So I...whacked his head off."
The eyes popped open. "You took his head?"
"Uh...yeah." Joe sounded apologetic.
Silence hung in the air for a full minute.
At last Duncan said, "I've never heard of a mortal beheading an Immortal. Wh-what happened to his power? Did it just...dissipate?"
"No, Mac. The power flowed into me."
He needed another minute to absorb that.
"I don't understand. That influx of power should have killed you."
"Maybe it did. I know I blacked out. No one else was here, so we'll never be sure. But if I was clinically dead...I'm ba-ack!"
Duncan's stomach turned over. "Joe, you're not imagining -"
"I'm not imagining anything." Talking had helped; he was relaxed now, seemed to be enjoying himself. "Mac, I...felt different, in a way I can't describe. I waited two hours, and the feeling didn't pass.
"Right before I called you, I tried something I'd seen Methos do once. To demonstrate...you know what. I sliced my hand with a knife.
"And the cut healed in seconds, leaving no trace. Just like his."
Silence stretched out for another minute.
Then Duncan said weakly, "I guess you're never too old to learn something new." He swallowed hard. "Sounds like you managed very well tonight, Joe. What sort of help do you need?"
He could almost see the wry smile. "Before the neighborhood wakes up, I'd appreciate, at the very least, some advice on what to do with the headless corpse in the alley."
"Oh. Yes. Corpse in the alley. I'll be right over."
"And, Mac? When you can spare the time, do you think you could give me some fencing lessons?"
x
x
The End
x
x
Afterword: And how is this opus "slightly improved"? Originally, even though I understood who and what Methos was, I referred to him throughout as "Adam Pierson." Why? I didn't know how "Methos" was supposed to be spelled!
A week down the road, I hope to post my latest and possibly last "attempt at a Highlander fic"...