*set after the ultimate finales of both Highlander: The Series and Highlander: The Raven.
For those not familiar with The Raven, Nick Wolfe has been turned (somewhat dubiously, many fans might say) immortal in that last episode. I share this here, though there is only the slightest need to be aware of it in advance of the work below.
The Bird's-Eye View
in which the Highlander goes seeking a Raven
and instead a Magpie finds
Funny we should meet,
The three of us here on the street,
You know I've wondered what I'd say.
And now the moment's here,
Suddenly it's crystal clear;
Some things ain't never gonna change.
From where I stand I see an old familiar story,
Only last time I was in your shoes.
Now it's looking like it's my turn to be lonely,
And I'll tell you I don't like the view.
It was raining hard in Paris, drenching the city and leaving the streetlights' struggling to illumine the darkened afternoon, their beams streaky as any Impressionist's rendering.
Duncan MacLeod was in the city on a layover. He was in from Tasmania, where he'd been most recently. Most recently since he'd last left Paris, going on seven months now.
He'd been so many places, more (he wished he could say) than he could remember. But he could remember them all. Tasmania was only the newest in a string of locales he had blown into like a leaf on the wind. The only thing he had asked for? That they were all places he had never been, places that held no memories. Uncluttered landscapes independent of the mark of Duncan MacLeod in any of his incarnations.
Sometimes his destinations were thoughtless decisions. He'd find himself at an airline desk, requesting the next flight out of wherever he was. This had caused the occasional problem where hard to obtain visas were concerned. There had been some difficulty, but nothing that really diverted him (he had wished to be diverted). And so in seven months he had slowly, non-intentionally and indirectly made his way around the globe. Not exactly any competition for Phineas Fogg.
And so here he was, back in Paris after a grueling barrage (he welcomed the stress) of layovers, missed connections, over-bookings, delays and endless meals of airline food (he feared he was developing a taste for it). Yet, still ready to leave on a momentary whim, as he had accustomed himself. Duncan's mind had settled on one thing alone over the past half-year; if one place no longer suited him, he would search and try out another. He had spent barely a sennight in the same bed.
He had packed to leave the Australasian island as soon as he had gotten Amanda's note. His hand instinctively went to his trench coat pocket now, pushing past the purple velvet box also occupying that space. At the crisp feeling of the linen-weight paper against his fingertips, he relaxed. He already knew what it said without having to take it out and try to skim it again in the downpour.
Duncan, it read, in an undeniably elaborate Amandine stroke, so beautiful it would have made medieval monks weep.It is time you came to see me, as I cannot get away and it is dull as tombs around here. If you can possibly catch a flight out, we can easily burn Paris to its foundation. Remember our dance recital on the Eiffel Tower? Well, news-flash, it doesn't have to be the end of the world to raise a little hell.
The note was signed with a great flourish, and enclosed with a business card adorned by a purple gargoyle sticking out his tongue at the reader, below which was the address for, Sanctuary, club privee.
Duncan was on the street headed for that address now. It occurred to him once more that he should have taken a cab-at least then he would not arrive to be presented on Amanda's front stoop more resembling someone just off a water ride at an American theme park than someone ready to raise a little hell.
He did have to admit that he had puzzled over the note at first. Last November Amanda and he had not parted easily, as had usually been the case (save when Amanda left him behind to take the fall for something). That is, he had not parted easily. As for Amanda, he couldn't say. She had been resolved.
He thought back to the sight of her as she had boarded the plane for Tahiti, despite the considerable effort and pressure he had allowed himself to exert over her to get her to stay. He did not rule out her leaving as a possible trigger for his recently self-enforced tour of the un-MacLeod charted regions of the globe.
His response to the note had been swift on several accounts. At the time it had seemed a good diversion, since running from continent to continent had yet to ease whatever he was trying to ease. Secondly, he was curious as to how Amanda knew where to find him. That she had gone to the trouble of sending the letter to his solicitor in Paris, to be delivered to him the next time he contacted his bank for extra cash, seemed to smack of some need, some importance. Knowing that Amanda did not often show signs of need, except in moments of intense stress, he was intrigued.
Duncan MacLeod had been born a chieftain's son, trained to think first of the needs of his people, to care for and protect them. Only lately there had seemed so few people he could call his own, even fewer whom he seemed able to protect. He had lost Tessa and Richie. He had lost Anne-in part, he believed because he had not been able to shield her from the world of immortals-and then, Amanda had walked away from him as well.
Thirdly, Amanda had not written him an actual letter in over a century. Not that her note exactly qualified as a letter. She mentioned nothing of what she was doing in Paris, how she had been, if she had seen anyone or run into any trouble. But that was like her. Her letters of a century ago had been filled with all kinds of juicy bits, but rarely things close to herself. Things tangential ruled the pages of her only occasional missive. Who had given the most fabulous party, or perhaps a trip someone else had taken, a recent art exhibit that had caught her eye.
This was odd when Amanda's seeming self-absorption was taken into account, but Duncan knew better than to trip over that old and deceptive landmark. Amanda loved to be in the middle of things, with everything swirling around her at an unbelievable pace. It made it easier to hide. To hide behind gorgeous frocks and whirlwind romances. Exotic intrigues and high-living lifestyles cluttered the vision, and made the real Amanda more difficult to see.
Deep in thought along these lines, Duncan mis-stepped and nearly put himself off the curb and into the path of an oncoming Citroen. No hazard to himself, surely, but he had no reason to die today. No reason. Today he was going to see the woman who made his heart glad.
He smiled at his near-calamity, and sighed with both relief and anticipation. Two more blocks and he would be to the club. He could make out the purple awning over the front door just up ahead through the rain.