English is not my mother language and I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine.
THE GIFT
Duncan MacLeod shut down the engine and stepped out of the car. It was raining . December in Paris was incredibly warm and raw this year . Christmas trees and wreaths were swollen with water, Notre Dame could hardly be seen in a dense fog and the leafless trees stood like skeletons with lifted arms along the wet streets. Few passer-by with noses deep in the scarves hurried through the puddles, longing for the warmth of their houses where the crowds of buzzing relatives were already at the tables.
MacLeod lifted his face to the grey sky looking for the break in the clouds, but found none.
He sighed , opened the boot and began to take out the grocery bags. One of them tore and the bright oranges cascaded down into the puddle at his feet. He swore, bent down to pick the fruit only to drop baguettes into the water. Mac furiously threw all his packages back into the boot and slammed the lid.
What's happened to him? He overreacted… again. Lately he noticed that even small inconvenience made him strangely nervous. He almost yelled at the awkward old lady who'd stepped on his foot in the shop, he had a scrap with Maurice and undoubtedly offended him. Damn, he even shut down the telephone because didn't want to listen to Joe's excuses. The old Watcher couldn't follow him anymore so he had to assigned to him some wet behind the ears fool. Why on earth has he left cold and sunny Secouver to come to this dirty grey city? Why has he bought all this food if he was going to spend the holidays by the fireplace with the glass of scotch in his hand? Alone. When he saw Amanda last time? And Methos? Three years ago? May be five? And he's never even tried to look for them, to find out if they were still alive. Why?
It is the weather that makes him brood. MacLeod collected himself and tried to collect his groceries. Loaded chin-high with them , he turned to the barge and froze. Warm, yellow light streamed through the portholes. The whole barge was like a huge beacon which led mariners through the fog to their long forgotten homes.
Guests. Friends or foes. MacLeod reached inside his coat for the katana and the pile of the purchases in his arms swayed dangerously. And suddenly he decided against the weapon. The logic suggested that the possible opponent shouldn't have bothered to switch on the light.
On a halfway up the gangplank, the strong buzz sang in his heart. He halted suddenly alarmed. What if he hurried to relax and it was really a trap there. He made three more cautious steps on the deck.
The door burst open, and the two upper packages were unceremoniously pulled out of his hands.
"What's the…" managed MacLeod almost dropping the rest.
"Two minutes later and I'd have starved to death" with triumph, the world's oldest immortal set up his trophy on the counter and began to take out the groceries wincing every time he found something that didn't fit his tastes.
"My God, Mac, couldn't you bring something edible?
"Methos, what are you…?" MacLeod stopped abruptly and his jaw dropped. Only now he noticed that the interior of his barge had completely changed. There on the corner was a huge RED Christmas tree decorated with silver bells of different shape and size. The same bells but golden were hanging over the ceiling, every porthole was encircled by shining stars. And there was…
mistletoe above the door?
"What is it? You…"
Methos waited looking at MacLeod with big innocent eyes.
"It's not him, darling, it's me- another smiling face appeared from behind the coach, - sorry I'm a little busy- these damn wires are tangled!
"Amanda? Can anybody explain me what's going on here? You two appeared from nowhere, made here a terrible mess. I don't…"
"Can't you just enjoy yourself, MacLeod?"said Methos lazily , cutting himself a slice of ham. "It's Christmas, you know? Time to be happy. We are trying to improve your mood here."
"By eating my ham? Very funny."
"But there was nothing else!"
"If one of you had just remembered about the existence of the telephone I'd have time to cook something. But now…sorry.
Ignoring the protests, he pushed Methos bodily away from the counter and put the ham into the refrigerator.
"I told you, he would be pissed of,"-sighed Amanda, reappearing again with the roll of wires in her hands. Red, blue and yellow lamps attached to the wires blinked merrily, making Amanda look like a Christmas tree herself.
"Where to?" she asked Methos, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling.
"There!" he pointed at the skylight "But please switch it off first, I don't want you to get an electric shock."
"I won't, but you may, because it is you who are going to hang it –it's too high for me here."
MacLeod groaned.
"Who, me?" Methos looked deeply insulted, "it was your idea, Amanda! And if you want me to…"
"Methos, will you, please shut up and just help me? We don't have much time!"
To Mac's surprise, the Old man rose obediently from the coach where he was sitting and went to execute the order.
But the place where Amanda wanted to see her lamps was about twenty inches higher than the point where Methos could reach. And, as Macleod didn't have a rung ladder, they decided to use the bar stool. But the stool was terribly unsteady and Methos began to complain that he would surely fall down and break his neck.
So after the short time Macleod found himself balancing on the stool with his head propping the ceiling and his hands full of wires. He felt his friend's glances on his back and suspected (not unreasonably) that they were laughing at him. And realized with a shock, that the only thing he felt now was joy. Actually he wasn't so happy for a long, long time.
Presently he began to cook. And whatever he was doing: cutting bread, mixing salads, browning meat, when he heard his friends talking to one another, he had to bit his lips, desperately trying not to laugh. These two were going to drive him crazy. The wood was crackling in a fireplace, autumn rain was drumming at the portholes and MacLeod didn't want this evening to end. Ever.
Once he turned and caught Methos staring at him with a strange expression on his face. They looked at each other for few seconds but then Amanda tugged on the Old man sleeve and Methos reverted the eyes smiling.
*Plotting something again* MacLeod thought, ignoring the strange feeling of uneasiness that suddenly overwhelmed him.
They laid the table. Lit the candles. Methos volunteered to open the champagne, because, as he said he was an expert in this as well as in many other things thanks to the wealth of experience.
MacLeod dared to question the said experience and got a long lecture from the Oldest man. And they laughed.
"I wish, Joe were here" said MacLeod, raising the glass. "To friends! To old and new, to those present and…
"To those who are gone," added Amanda softly and seriously.
And for the second time this evening MacLeod felt himself uncomfortable as if somebody had opened the door to the frosty night.
They drank and refilled the glasses.
"Lets sit down," MacLeod dragged back the stool." Someone here complained about being hungry. Or you just don't see difference between eating and drinking?"
"Well, I…" Methos broke off, as if he didn't know what else to say. Then he cast a quick look at Amanda and she nodded approvingly.
"I'd like to drink to the winner" Methos said, "To you, Mac."
"To the winner?" Macleod looked puzzled ."What did I win? One million dollars?"
"Oh, no, darling. You won much, much more. You won The Prize, Duncan," Amanda gently touched his hand.
"What? O, stop playing jokes on me! It's not funny…
"Nobody's laughing, Mac" Methos set his glass on the counter... and suddenly grasped MacLeod fiercely by the shoulders and made him look into his eyes.
"Try to remember, Duncan!"
Fear.
The warm yellow light and the interior of the barge disappeared. His friends' faces blurred before his eyes.
And he found himself there again. In the narrow dirty alley flooded with moonlight. On his knees beside the body of a friend… or foe. The last one! He heard his own voice – the wild toneless howling which made the silent houses shudder. And no human being has ever felt such a pain. Because thousands and thousands of souls were screaming with him now, unable to change anything, imprisoned in one body forever –friends, foes, beloved… Because, there was no measure for their despair and woe. Because the Gathering was over, and it made Duncan MacLeod the last. The winner. The One.
Their last sob died away. And he also fell silent, his throat sore. But the silence was more horrible then the screaming. He lifted his face to the dead starry sky and began to pray.
"We have to go, Mac"
"I don't understand…"
"What?"
"I don't understand. Why you should go, if, as you said I'd got the Prize"
"Are you sure?"
"You mean, I haven't really won?"
"No, you've won it all right, but are you sure it was your wish? I mean, did you really want us to come back?"
"You are kidding"
"Oh no, MacLeod, I'm dead serious. You were lost, despaired and in a terrible pain. You couldn't make the right decision in such condition.
"I tell you, I've already made it, Methos! You. Two. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere! You are staying!
"I hate to disappoint you, but it's impossible.
"I don't understand…"
"I am getting a little tired of hearing that, Mac"
"You did something, didn't you? Tried to make decisions for me? Once you said I couldn't fight your battles, what right do you have to fight mine? I know, what I wanted, it was a conscious decision and don't try to prove the opposite!"
"You may strike me if it makes you feel better, but it won't change anything."
"Boys, boys! Stop it! Don't be silly, Duncan. It's Christmas, time for presents. Don't try to spoil us this little joy. By the way, your sauce is going to burn."
"What?"
And he turned.
Nothing changed when he looked back. Almost nothing. The Christmas tree was still there, the candles, the mistletoe, even the empty glass on the counter. But he was alone.
After the moment hesitation MacLeod rushed to the door, threw it open and flung out to the deck, calculating how far they could have gone. That damn sauce. It was such an easy trick. Oh, Amanda…
He almost rolled down the gangplank. It was freezing. The quay was gleaming as the polished floor of the ballroom. MacLeod made few hasty steps, slipped and went down hard, the air knocked out of his lungs. He saw stars but it took him a minute to realize that they were real. The sky above him was clean. The same dead starry sky. He jumped to his feet, wondering if he would ever stop seeing this lifeless abyss in his nightmares. Slowly he stumbled back to the barge, ignoring the pain in his head. Came up to the gangplank and stopped unable to make the next step. He just couldn't go there again. The yellow light was still streaming from the portholes, but there was no life in it. The barge was empty. As empty as a seashell robbed of a precious pearl it had been growing for years.
MacLeod heard the car stopped somewhere behind him. The door opened and closed. He continued standing there with his back to the world. Then he heard the approaching steps. Closer, closer. The clip-clop of woman's heels.
Must warn her about the ice…- MacLeod thought but didn't move.
"Duncan! I'm so sorry I'm late! They delayed the flight because of a snowstorm. I should have come yesterday, but the exhibition… Duncan?
His feet froze to the ground, struck deep roots into it, refused to move.
"Will you forgive me?"
She went around him, looked into his face.
"Are you all right? What happened?"
Fifteen years without you - he wanted to say, but couldn't make a sound. His throat was still sore from that scream. One more moment and he folded her into his arms, pressed to his heart, wishing to knit with her body, grow together, be the one. So that no one could take her from him. Ever. Tessa…
MacLeod opened the door and let her in. But before entering himself he looked at the sky again. It was alive and loving now.
He whispered.
"Thank you, my friends"
And the stars smiled back at him.