Life is Too Short
by Jennifer L. Rowland
Note: Blame this one on the sickbed. It popped into my head during a day spent at home recuperating/preventing a cold from coming on and refused to go away until I let it out to play.
Highlander and all its characters are not mine and are only being borrowed. No infringement on copyright intended.
It had happened again. Once more, he and Dawson had had a falling out, about the Watchers, as always. One would think that after the last time, we'd be able to get past this, MacLeod thought. But pride kept both men from taking that first step toward making things right. Amanda was fed up with the both of them for acting like "immature schoolboys," and yet, much to Duncan's annoyance, seemed to be taking Joe's side.
"It's been his life for over twenty-five years, Duncan. He's been willing to give it up for you before, or did you forget about the time he resigned from the Watchers?"
No, he hadn't forgotten. That and the memories of all the other times Joe had gone out of his way to help him nudged at him to make the first move. But his stubborn Scottish pride wouldn't let him.
Duncan pressed the button initiating the elevator's descent to the dojo floor with the encompassing frustration he felt. Amanda called after him the same words she'd used on another occasion. "Duncan, remember. Life's too short...for him."
He took deep, cleansing breaths before yanking the gate upwards and walking onto the dojo floor. Surveying the practice weapons available, Duncan selected a bo and began performing the meditative kata that energized and relaxed him. He hoped that he'd feel better when he finished.
Moving to the center of the deeply polished hardwood floor, he stretched his body in the ritual steps, flexing and relaxing his muscles. Sweat beaded on his skin, beginning at his forehead and gradually spreading to cover his entire body. His normally shiny hair glistened with the moist perspiration that drenched it from the scalp. The rivulets that tickled down his ribs barely caught his attention, so focused was he on the movements. The periodic thwacks of the bo against the floor merely drew his attention to the exercise, away from the troublesome thoughts that seemed to plague his mind more often than not lately.
Thrust, step, breathe. Pivot, strike, leap. Turn, breathe, 2, 3.
He'd nearly succeeded in completely losing himself within the kata when the buzz of an approaching Immortal brought him back to the world at hand. The sensation emanated from the main entrance, so he knew it wasn't Amanda, who would have approached from the elevator. His katana was, unfortunately, upstairs. Grabbing a practice sword from the display case, he stood ready to accept a challenge. The practice sword wasn't nearly as elegant, nor as carefully honed, but it would serve its purpose.
MacLeod's eyes widened in amazement at the Immortal who greeted him. He'd been convinced that Kit had long since gone on.
"It took a couple of centuries, but I found you, MacLeod," Kit Gaspard spat.
"Kit. I'm surprised to see you."
"So I gathered," the other Immortal scowled. "You left me behind with those bloodthirsty murderers! You hoped they'd take my head and save you the trouble, didn't you?"
There was truth to Kit's statement, but MacLeod knew better than to say so. Kit was a good-for-nothing pansy who'd wanted things his way--the easiest way--no matter who or what got in his path. When the Revolutionists went after the aristocracy, he was a prime target, and MacLeod hadn't seen any particular reason to try and protect him from the crowd crying for the guillotine. It was a shame that Kit had made it out with his head intact--if for no other reason than he wouldn't be facing MacLeod now.
"You got out, I see," he said, instead.
"No thanks to you, MacLeod! I barely made it out alive. Some over- eager farmer gutted me with a pitchfork. Do you know how that feels?!"
"I've an idea."
"Well, you'll soon get a better idea. I vowed to have your head, and the time is now!" Kit lunged forward, slashing across MacLeod's abdomen with his first stroke.
Duncan reflexively grabbed his stomach, glancing only momentarily at the crimson smear across his palm. He raised his sword to block Kit's next stroke, countering it with a thrust of his own. Kit's blade was far superior to his own, and MacLeod wished for his own katana. He only hoped the practice blade wouldn't shatter against the power of Kit's broadsword.
The pair circled about the room, testing each other with eyes and false movements. Thrusts and parries crashed metal against metal, sending painful vibrations up each combatants arm. Centuries of experience didn't let the men stop to contemplate the discomfort. As if under a spell, the contest continued.
The noise and continued buzz had attracted Amanda. Both Immortals felt the approaching and increasing sensation as the elevator brought her downstairs. Duncan began goading Kit towards the doorway, hoping to give Amanda a quicker escape route should the other Immortal win. Another series of swinging slashes drove the Immortals to circle once again. Now Duncan's back was to the doorway. He was aware of Amanda's expression--one of entranced horror and fascination--but he didn't tear his focus away from deflecting Kit's attack. Another parry, and then Kit thrust forward, joust- like, with his sword. Duncan quickly sidestepped it, preparing to slash at Kit's arm with his own sword when he heard the scream of agony and Amanda's alarmed cry. Even Kit seemed taken aback for once, his hand dropping from the hilt of his blade as if he'd been burned.
Joe Dawson stared in disbelief at the metal disappearing into his stomach for a moment before he toppled to the floor. Duncan froze for only a second. With focused fury revealing itself in the murder in his eyes and the cry that tore from his throat, he leveled the practice sword and slashed across, severing Kit's head. As the beginning stages of the Quickening seized him, he pleaded for help from Amanda with words that proved unnecessary. Caught in the electrical ravages, MacLeod watched a scene that seemed unreal, but was painfully authentic.
Amanda dropped to her knees beside Joe, who was slicing his fingers on the blade in his frantic attempts to pull the sword free, as if that could stop the pain. The Quickening set MacLeod free in time to hear her soothingly tell the Watcher everything would be fine as she gently took hold of his slick, blood-covered hands to keep him from touching the wound. He hoped she was right, but there was so much blood, pulsing and spreading across Joe's shirt, beginning to pool on the floor.
"Call 911," MacLeod ordered Amanda, taking her place on the floor. She nodded, blinking tears away as she leapt to her feet and ran across the dojo to Mac's office faster than she'd ever fled any police squad in her long life.
"I couldn't....let our...friend...ship....go over something....so....stupid," Joe panted. He tried to pull his hands free of MacLeod's to clutch his stomach, his body spasming around the sword. "Oh, God, it hurts...."
"I know. I'm sorry, Joe," Duncan said, speaking for both the pain and their argument, hoping Joe knew that. The small smile that broke through the agonized expression on Dawson's face gave him his answer.
"When......'manda comes back.....please.....take the sword...." Joe swallowed, grimacing in pain as he did so.
"Just hang in there, Joe," MacLeod pleaded, gripping the Watcher's hands as if he could transfer some of his own strength and Immortality to him. His mortal friend's eyes were beginning to get a distant look that he knew all too well. "No, dammit, Dawson, stay here!"
Struggling with the effort to stay conscious, Joe stared at his friend. "Come on, Mac....you always knew.....I'd....go first...."
"Not this way," Duncan whispered, shaking his head. He closed his eyes briefly, then looked Joe full in the face, tears he wasn't ashamed to shed for his friend gleaming on his lashes.
Amanda ran back so swiftly and silently that neither of them were aware of her until she knelt by Joe's head. She lightly caressed his cheeks. "The ambulance is coming, sweetheart," she gently told him.
"Too....late...." Joe grunted, caught in another spasm of pain. He stared at MacLeod again. "Mac....the sword.....please......"
"He wants me to pull the sword out," MacLeod told Amanda.
"Do you think we should?" she cried. "Joe, honey, I know it hurts, but...." Tears rolled down her cheeks as Joe fixed his gaze on her. He pulled his hand free of Duncan's and held her own in his slick grasp. Duncan watched as Amanda abruptly came to a decision from her unspoken conversation with Joe. "Do it quickly," she said, looking into Joe's eyes to keep his attention away from Duncan's task.
Duncan took the hilt with both hands. Praying for forgiveness for the pain and damage he was likely to cause his friend, he pulled upward as fast as he could. It still wasn't fast enough to spare Joe the pain. The Watcher screamed in tortured agony.
Tossing the sword aside, MacLeod sat cross-legged beside his friend again. Joe's eyes were clenched shut and perspiration beaded across his face. Amanda still held his hand, crying unashamedly. Duncan took Joe's other hand.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Can you hang in for the ambulance?"
Joe opened his eyes, looking from one Immortal to the other. The distant look of one who was close to viewing eternity clouded his gaze once more. "....don't think....so....." he gasped out. A cough seized him, and he gripped their hands as he shook and spasmed through it. Duncan averted his eyes from the growing size of the red puddle on the floor, but neither he nor Amanda could ignore the small crimson stream trickling from the corner of Joe's mouth.
Joe struggled to speak again. "Thanks.....for....a helluva.....ride," he smiled wanly at them.
Amanda bent to gently press her lips to his. She kissed him long and passionately, but tenderly and innocently, all at the same time. The smile on his face spread to his eyes, but didn't keep the distance there from continuing to grow.
"I've.....always wanted.....to....do that," Joe grinned, clearly fighting to hide the pain. He gasped once, then went limp. His eyes permanently stared into forever, an eternal smile lighting his face.
Amanda dropped his hand, instantly hugging into herself and sobbing. Duncan sat there in shock, staring at the empty vessel that was once a vibrant life hosting the soul of a friend whose value he wasn't sure he'd ever really recognized until it was gone.
He felt a sob building in him, but he refused to give in to it until it grew to the point where he couldn't contain it any longer. Tapping in to his long-buried roots, Duncan let loose with the cry of a warrior, the likes of which he hadn't done since Richie.....
"No! NO! NOOO!" he screamed.
"Noooooo!" Duncan cried out, thrashing in the bed. He jolted awake, nearly smacking Amanda with his flailing arms.
"Duncan! What's wrong?" she asked, concern knitting her brow.
Duncan panted furiously, fighting to stay in the here and now, rubbing his face to convince himself that it all really had been a dream.
"I've got to make a phone call," he said, tossing the covers back.
"Now??" Amanda exclaimed. "It's 3 in the morning."
Duncan shrugged as he dialed Joe's number, determined to apologize first. "Like you said. Life's too short."
The End (c) November 4, 1997
by Jennifer L. Rowland
Note: Blame this one on the sickbed. It popped into my head during a day spent at home recuperating/preventing a cold from coming on and refused to go away until I let it out to play.
Highlander and all its characters are not mine and are only being borrowed. No infringement on copyright intended.
It had happened again. Once more, he and Dawson had had a falling out, about the Watchers, as always. One would think that after the last time, we'd be able to get past this, MacLeod thought. But pride kept both men from taking that first step toward making things right. Amanda was fed up with the both of them for acting like "immature schoolboys," and yet, much to Duncan's annoyance, seemed to be taking Joe's side.
"It's been his life for over twenty-five years, Duncan. He's been willing to give it up for you before, or did you forget about the time he resigned from the Watchers?"
No, he hadn't forgotten. That and the memories of all the other times Joe had gone out of his way to help him nudged at him to make the first move. But his stubborn Scottish pride wouldn't let him.
Duncan pressed the button initiating the elevator's descent to the dojo floor with the encompassing frustration he felt. Amanda called after him the same words she'd used on another occasion. "Duncan, remember. Life's too short...for him."
He took deep, cleansing breaths before yanking the gate upwards and walking onto the dojo floor. Surveying the practice weapons available, Duncan selected a bo and began performing the meditative kata that energized and relaxed him. He hoped that he'd feel better when he finished.
Moving to the center of the deeply polished hardwood floor, he stretched his body in the ritual steps, flexing and relaxing his muscles. Sweat beaded on his skin, beginning at his forehead and gradually spreading to cover his entire body. His normally shiny hair glistened with the moist perspiration that drenched it from the scalp. The rivulets that tickled down his ribs barely caught his attention, so focused was he on the movements. The periodic thwacks of the bo against the floor merely drew his attention to the exercise, away from the troublesome thoughts that seemed to plague his mind more often than not lately.
Thrust, step, breathe. Pivot, strike, leap. Turn, breathe, 2, 3.
He'd nearly succeeded in completely losing himself within the kata when the buzz of an approaching Immortal brought him back to the world at hand. The sensation emanated from the main entrance, so he knew it wasn't Amanda, who would have approached from the elevator. His katana was, unfortunately, upstairs. Grabbing a practice sword from the display case, he stood ready to accept a challenge. The practice sword wasn't nearly as elegant, nor as carefully honed, but it would serve its purpose.
MacLeod's eyes widened in amazement at the Immortal who greeted him. He'd been convinced that Kit had long since gone on.
"It took a couple of centuries, but I found you, MacLeod," Kit Gaspard spat.
"Kit. I'm surprised to see you."
"So I gathered," the other Immortal scowled. "You left me behind with those bloodthirsty murderers! You hoped they'd take my head and save you the trouble, didn't you?"
There was truth to Kit's statement, but MacLeod knew better than to say so. Kit was a good-for-nothing pansy who'd wanted things his way--the easiest way--no matter who or what got in his path. When the Revolutionists went after the aristocracy, he was a prime target, and MacLeod hadn't seen any particular reason to try and protect him from the crowd crying for the guillotine. It was a shame that Kit had made it out with his head intact--if for no other reason than he wouldn't be facing MacLeod now.
"You got out, I see," he said, instead.
"No thanks to you, MacLeod! I barely made it out alive. Some over- eager farmer gutted me with a pitchfork. Do you know how that feels?!"
"I've an idea."
"Well, you'll soon get a better idea. I vowed to have your head, and the time is now!" Kit lunged forward, slashing across MacLeod's abdomen with his first stroke.
Duncan reflexively grabbed his stomach, glancing only momentarily at the crimson smear across his palm. He raised his sword to block Kit's next stroke, countering it with a thrust of his own. Kit's blade was far superior to his own, and MacLeod wished for his own katana. He only hoped the practice blade wouldn't shatter against the power of Kit's broadsword.
The pair circled about the room, testing each other with eyes and false movements. Thrusts and parries crashed metal against metal, sending painful vibrations up each combatants arm. Centuries of experience didn't let the men stop to contemplate the discomfort. As if under a spell, the contest continued.
The noise and continued buzz had attracted Amanda. Both Immortals felt the approaching and increasing sensation as the elevator brought her downstairs. Duncan began goading Kit towards the doorway, hoping to give Amanda a quicker escape route should the other Immortal win. Another series of swinging slashes drove the Immortals to circle once again. Now Duncan's back was to the doorway. He was aware of Amanda's expression--one of entranced horror and fascination--but he didn't tear his focus away from deflecting Kit's attack. Another parry, and then Kit thrust forward, joust- like, with his sword. Duncan quickly sidestepped it, preparing to slash at Kit's arm with his own sword when he heard the scream of agony and Amanda's alarmed cry. Even Kit seemed taken aback for once, his hand dropping from the hilt of his blade as if he'd been burned.
Joe Dawson stared in disbelief at the metal disappearing into his stomach for a moment before he toppled to the floor. Duncan froze for only a second. With focused fury revealing itself in the murder in his eyes and the cry that tore from his throat, he leveled the practice sword and slashed across, severing Kit's head. As the beginning stages of the Quickening seized him, he pleaded for help from Amanda with words that proved unnecessary. Caught in the electrical ravages, MacLeod watched a scene that seemed unreal, but was painfully authentic.
Amanda dropped to her knees beside Joe, who was slicing his fingers on the blade in his frantic attempts to pull the sword free, as if that could stop the pain. The Quickening set MacLeod free in time to hear her soothingly tell the Watcher everything would be fine as she gently took hold of his slick, blood-covered hands to keep him from touching the wound. He hoped she was right, but there was so much blood, pulsing and spreading across Joe's shirt, beginning to pool on the floor.
"Call 911," MacLeod ordered Amanda, taking her place on the floor. She nodded, blinking tears away as she leapt to her feet and ran across the dojo to Mac's office faster than she'd ever fled any police squad in her long life.
"I couldn't....let our...friend...ship....go over something....so....stupid," Joe panted. He tried to pull his hands free of MacLeod's to clutch his stomach, his body spasming around the sword. "Oh, God, it hurts...."
"I know. I'm sorry, Joe," Duncan said, speaking for both the pain and their argument, hoping Joe knew that. The small smile that broke through the agonized expression on Dawson's face gave him his answer.
"When......'manda comes back.....please.....take the sword...." Joe swallowed, grimacing in pain as he did so.
"Just hang in there, Joe," MacLeod pleaded, gripping the Watcher's hands as if he could transfer some of his own strength and Immortality to him. His mortal friend's eyes were beginning to get a distant look that he knew all too well. "No, dammit, Dawson, stay here!"
Struggling with the effort to stay conscious, Joe stared at his friend. "Come on, Mac....you always knew.....I'd....go first...."
"Not this way," Duncan whispered, shaking his head. He closed his eyes briefly, then looked Joe full in the face, tears he wasn't ashamed to shed for his friend gleaming on his lashes.
Amanda ran back so swiftly and silently that neither of them were aware of her until she knelt by Joe's head. She lightly caressed his cheeks. "The ambulance is coming, sweetheart," she gently told him.
"Too....late...." Joe grunted, caught in another spasm of pain. He stared at MacLeod again. "Mac....the sword.....please......"
"He wants me to pull the sword out," MacLeod told Amanda.
"Do you think we should?" she cried. "Joe, honey, I know it hurts, but...." Tears rolled down her cheeks as Joe fixed his gaze on her. He pulled his hand free of Duncan's and held her own in his slick grasp. Duncan watched as Amanda abruptly came to a decision from her unspoken conversation with Joe. "Do it quickly," she said, looking into Joe's eyes to keep his attention away from Duncan's task.
Duncan took the hilt with both hands. Praying for forgiveness for the pain and damage he was likely to cause his friend, he pulled upward as fast as he could. It still wasn't fast enough to spare Joe the pain. The Watcher screamed in tortured agony.
Tossing the sword aside, MacLeod sat cross-legged beside his friend again. Joe's eyes were clenched shut and perspiration beaded across his face. Amanda still held his hand, crying unashamedly. Duncan took Joe's other hand.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Can you hang in for the ambulance?"
Joe opened his eyes, looking from one Immortal to the other. The distant look of one who was close to viewing eternity clouded his gaze once more. "....don't think....so....." he gasped out. A cough seized him, and he gripped their hands as he shook and spasmed through it. Duncan averted his eyes from the growing size of the red puddle on the floor, but neither he nor Amanda could ignore the small crimson stream trickling from the corner of Joe's mouth.
Joe struggled to speak again. "Thanks.....for....a helluva.....ride," he smiled wanly at them.
Amanda bent to gently press her lips to his. She kissed him long and passionately, but tenderly and innocently, all at the same time. The smile on his face spread to his eyes, but didn't keep the distance there from continuing to grow.
"I've.....always wanted.....to....do that," Joe grinned, clearly fighting to hide the pain. He gasped once, then went limp. His eyes permanently stared into forever, an eternal smile lighting his face.
Amanda dropped his hand, instantly hugging into herself and sobbing. Duncan sat there in shock, staring at the empty vessel that was once a vibrant life hosting the soul of a friend whose value he wasn't sure he'd ever really recognized until it was gone.
He felt a sob building in him, but he refused to give in to it until it grew to the point where he couldn't contain it any longer. Tapping in to his long-buried roots, Duncan let loose with the cry of a warrior, the likes of which he hadn't done since Richie.....
"No! NO! NOOO!" he screamed.
"Noooooo!" Duncan cried out, thrashing in the bed. He jolted awake, nearly smacking Amanda with his flailing arms.
"Duncan! What's wrong?" she asked, concern knitting her brow.
Duncan panted furiously, fighting to stay in the here and now, rubbing his face to convince himself that it all really had been a dream.
"I've got to make a phone call," he said, tossing the covers back.
"Now??" Amanda exclaimed. "It's 3 in the morning."
Duncan shrugged as he dialed Joe's number, determined to apologize first. "Like you said. Life's too short."
The End (c) November 4, 1997