Feedback—Comments and advice are welcome. Flames and outright threats on my life are a waste of your breath and my time, as they will not be read nor considered. So, do yourself a favor, and just don't. Thanks!
Disclaimer-- Duncan MacLeod, Methos, Joe Dawson, and all such wonderful characters certainly do NOT belong to me. They merely show up in my life now and again and whisper stories in my ear. Especially Methos, he loves to get me into situations of obsession that I then have to "write my way out of". I think it amuses him. But, so as to avoid any legal banter, these characters belong to people with LOTS more money and LOTS more lawyers than me (seeing as I am a poor college student). Any other characters belong to amin (I). So bravo to Davis & Panzer and on with the story!
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Chapter 1
...................................................................................."Opera, opera, opera. MacLeod, after all the time we've known each other, you still haven't developed a taste in music." Methos tossed several CD cases down onto the desk he was sitting on.
Duncan MacLeod just grunted from the couch where he reposed behind a Tolstoy novel. Just then, the phone rang!
Before Duncan could put down his book, Methos had hopped up and grabbed the phone. "Hello."
"Methos, give me the phone," Duncan said but Methos held him at arm's length with one hand. They were like two kid brothers fighting over the phone, Methos constantly switching the receiver from hand to hand while he talked and keeping MacLeod at bay with the other.
"Hi, can I speak to Duncan, please?" A young female voice wafted over the phone line.
"Sure thing. Here you are, Mac. It's a giiiiiiiiiirl!" Methos relinquished the phone, drawing out the word "girl" like a teasing child, and resumed his perch atop the desk.
"Shut up!" Mac took the phone. "MacLeod."
"Duncan, it's Nadya Jamesson."
"Oh, hello, Nadya. How are you?"
"I'm just fine, thanks. Who was that who answered the phone?"
"That? Oh, that's just my friend Adam. He's a big pain in the behind."
Behind him, Methos put his tongue in his cheek and rolled his eyes, stretching his long legs out and sliding down to sprawl on the loveseat.
"So, Nadya. How have things been?" Duncan plopped onto the couch again.
"Things have been good, I'm graduating from university with honors next month and wanted to call you since I'll be back in town soon. Perhaps we could see each other, since I haven't seen you since…"
"…since you were a wee bairne." Duncan finished with a laugh, letting his Scotch brogue pour through.
"I wasn't that 'wee'. I was 13 years old. You're the one who's been world-hopping since then."
"That's true." The Scot conceded. "Well, come by whenever you like, Nadya. I'd love to see you again."
The two talked for a while longer and then Duncan hung up the phone.
Methos was staring at him, smirking. "Robbing the cradle in our old age, are we, MacLeod?" He cocked his head to one side in that annoyingly charming way that he had.
Duncan raised his eyebrows at Methos. "This from the man with 67...no, 68 wives?" He put the receiver back on the charger.
"69," Methos corrected him. "You forgot Alexa."
Silence. Then Duncan continued.
"For your information, Nadya is the daughter of some really good friends of mine, adopted. They were killed a few years ago in a car accident on their way home from visiting her at university. She's been amazing, recovering from it and moving on." With a sigh, he fell back onto the couch again. "She's about…oh, 21 now. It has been a long time."
Methos just smirked again and jumped up from the loveseat. "You go ahead and reminisce, MacLeod. I'm gonna get a beer." With that, he strolled to the fridge........................................................................................
Sunlight streamed through the trees in the park, the warmth lulling an old Immortal as he lay stretched out on the grass. Duncan was nearby, moving fluidly in a graceful kata.
The park was nearly empty early on this Thursday morning. It was only 10am but the sun was already high and warm and it was quickly putting Methos back to sleep, as was the whisper of grass beneath MacLeod's feet.
After a while, Methos pushed himself up onto his elbows, his black T-shirt rippling around his stomach as he bent one of his legs up at the knee, watching MacLeod.
"Mac, are you quite finished?" he almost whined, enjoying his attempt at breaking Duncan's concentration.
"No." The answer was low but definite. Duncan never broke a line of fluidity.
With a groan, the old Immortal sank back down on the grass.
"I learned long ago that you never interrupt Mac during his katas." A voice sounded as Duncan completed his meditations.
It would figure that only a woman could break MacLeod's concentration. She had been watching, silently. So quietly that even paranoid Methos hadn't noticed her. She was indeed about 21 years of age (though she looked rather like a kid to Methos), skin of milk chocolate, eyes like fresh earth and forest, a greenish-hazel unlike any Methos had ever seen, and long hair that fell in ripples, pinky-thick ringlets, about her shoulders—ebony black—harnessed by a pair of black, plastic-rimmed sunglasses set back atop her head. The cool morning wind flailed a soft denim skirt, split on both sides, around her legs, which were half hidden by the black, knee-high boots she wore. Her sky-blue, fitted peasant top matched beautifully with her skin complexion, lacing flirtatiously with the soft cords criss-crossing over her back.
Duncan's face broke into a huge smile, his dimples showing. "Nadya!" He rushed to the young woman, grabbing her up into his arms.
She was a small, petite thing of about 5'4 at the tallest but there was strength of form in her lithe figure that impressed even the jaded Methos. Even so, there was something about her that set the base of his spine sparking. He'd felt something like it before, though not terribly often. It set his nerves on edge but he masked it behind a well-practiced façade of lethargy.
He rose to his feet as Duncan set Nadya down on her feet again, commenting that she was indeed no longer a "wee bairne".
Nadya just laughed and commented that Duncan hadn't seemed to age at all. "Is there a Fountain of Youth that I don't know about, Mac?"
Methos just chuckled to himself. She was an astute one. The sound of his voice made her look beyond Duncan and spot the handsome young man with the smirking mouth.
"And who's this?"
Duncan turned, leading her over to Methos. "Nadya Jamesson, this is my friend Adam Pierson, the idlest man you'll ever meet."
One hand on her hip, Nadya looked Methos up and down, seeming to give him the third degree. But she didn't say anything; instead, she began to circle him, still looking up and down, as though she were inspecting a stallion. Her keen eyes roved over the slim swimmer's build, long legs, strong back, and arms crossed defensively over his chest. The 5,000-year-old Immortal suddenly felt like he was up for enlistment or something of the like.
Methos turned his head, following her, and cocked an eyebrow at MacLeod. Duncan just shrugged as Nadya circled.
Finally, she came to rest at Duncan's side again. "Not bad, Mac. He's cute. But he's not the same one you had around when I last saw you. That one was a redhead, wasn't he?"
Methos saw the pain cross the Highlander's face and felt a hurt inside his heart.
"He died a few years ago." Duncan's voice was low, sad, and it was not lost on Nadya.
She turned to him, her eyes saying more than was appropriate for her voice at that place and time. Duncan's own replied fathoms.
She quickly returned her attention to Methos, who still stood matching the young lady's posture with arms crossed over his chest. She stared at him, that one slender eyebrow piqued quietly, quite an imposing look for such a petite woman.
Then, suddenly, her face broke into a huge smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Adam!" She held out a small, slender hand.
His own face splitting in a cordial smile, Methos gave her hand a firm shake. "Any friend of Mac's."
Withdrawing her hand, Nadya looked up at him again. "So, the idlest man I'll ever meet, eh?"
"Not really. I'm a…student of nature," Methos replied, and paused, his chin coming up momentarily as he took a breath. Duncan immediately knew by his air that he was about to make some philosophical and obscure reference.
"Really? Seeking the answers to the universe?" Nadya inquired.
"Aren't we all? 'All that is needed to discover is the laws of nature; then man will no longer be answerable for his actions and life will be incredibly easy.' " Methos quoted drolly, his hands clasped before him. His body bent a little at the waist, his head inclining towards Nadya as he finished.
She smiled triumphantly. "Dostoyevsky. You are a scholar, it would seem." With that she reached up, pulling a blade of grass from his dark hair and completely disarming the seriousness of his stance.
Methos knit his brows together as she reached up to his head and then returned his gaze to her as she flicked the grass from her fingers before continuing.
"'However, of course, it is impossible to guarantee that life will not become, let us say, dreadfully boring.' "
The 'old man' returned her smile, his momentary surprise dissipating underneath a wave of handsome, witty charm. "Also Dostoyevsky. The same novel, in fact."
"Indeed, the same page. Notes from Underground."
At this, Duncan just laughed. "I think you've met your match, my friend." With this, he clapped Methos on the back. "Come on, Nadya. I'll bet you haven't had breakfast yet." With that, the three moved on.
..................................................................................Duncan soon found that Methos and Nadya were evenly matched mentally, though Methos did have the advantage of 4,980 years' more experience. But Nadya was strongly based literarily and the banter continued all through brunch. So much so that Duncan could hardly get a word in edgewise.
"Now that's simply ridiculous, to place Louisa May Alcott on the same level with Flaubert," Methos sneered over his coffee mug.
"No, it is not, Adam, and I'll tell you why. Alcott took the descriptive style of such authors as Flaubert and Goethe and made it accessible to children. That's why I'm where I am today." Nadya accented her point by jabbing her fork at Methos' chest.
"Hey, watch where you're pointing that thing, chickie. Ouch!" He suddenly rubbed his arm where she had finally poked him with the fork.
Duncan snickered. "Don't call her chickie."
"Yeah, too little too late, MacLeod." Methos glowered, looking at Nadya who ate calmly, as though nothing had happened. "I hope you didn't draw blood."
"Why? All you'll need is a tetanus shot, won't kill you." Nadya just grinned good-naturedly.
Mac smiled again. "You've certainly grown up, Nadya. Do you have lodgings?"
"No, the house was sold after Mom and Dad died. I was going to stay in a hotel until I found a small place."
"That settles it, you're staying with me."
Nadya shook her head. "No, Duncan."
"Why not?"
"Well, for one thing, I'm not a little girl anymore. You can't get away with 'babysitting' me."
"She's got a point, MacLeod. We don't want people thinking you're robbing the cradle." Methos garnered himself a kick in the leg for that little remark.
"Well, at least let me set you up. I have a few friends…"
Nadya laughed. "Why does that not surprise me? OK, Highlander, have your own way, since I know you won't give up 'til you do."
Methos laughed. "Yes, he can be quite a…let's see…how shall I put this? I'm thinking of an animal…four legs, carries heavy weights..."
"Donkey?" Nadya posed.
"No, try three letters," Methos replied leadingly.
At his implication, Nadya laughed and Duncan glowered as his own words were turned on him.
As Nadya's musical laugh soon subsided and she returned to her brunch, Methos smiled quietly to himself. He liked this young woman; she was a challenge. He was always one for a challenge, every now and again.
.........................................................................................Though Duncan had done his best to dissuade her, Nadya had parted with the two Immortals and gone back to her hotel while Methos and Duncan headed back to the loft. Duncan was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked, almost brooding.
After the silence had far surpassed uncomfortable and bordered on maddening, Methos broke it. "OK. What is it, MacLeod? What have I done?" he drolled, figuring he must have done something.
"You were flirting with her," came the taut reply.
"What?"
Duncan stopped walking, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. "You heard me, you were flirting with Nadya, Methos."
"Come on, MacLeod!" Methos rolled his eyes again dramatically, throwing back his head and arching his back in a gesture of helplessness, his hands stuck firmly in his own coat pockets. The shaded lane was a tad chilly and his old hands had recently become sensitive to the cold for some reason.
"You were!"
"OK, fine. So what if I was flirting a little, what's wrong with that? She is 21 years old!"
"And you are 5,001, Methos!"
The other Immortal shrugged. "What's that got to do with anything? She doesn't know that!"
"No, she doesn't. And she never will!" Duncan then set off, walking at a fierce pace.
Now he had Methos worried. Mac never blew up without a reason. Hurrying to catch up, he inquired, "What's gotten you so wired, MacLeod? You're tighter than the springs in a grandfather clock."
"Don't tell me that you, an Immortal and a "student of nature", can't figure it out." Duncan stalked on.
Ouch! Methos winced, his hands clenching somewhat in his coat pockets. But he said nothing.
Duncan was silent for several paces and then he stopped again. "She's Immortal, Methos. At least…she will be…someday…if someone kills her before her time."
Methos cocked his head to the side again, staring at Duncan. The Scot was right; Methos now placed that feeling. It was indeed that faint signature of a would-be Immortal.
After all these years, you'd think I'd be able to place it by now.
"You really think she's an Immortal-in-waiting?" This he said out loud to MacLeod. No need to let the Highlander know everything that went on in his head.
Duncan nodded and sat down on the stone edging of a nearby fountain. "I've known ever since the first day I met her and her parents, when she was two years old. When you've been around them long enough, you learn to sense a would-be signature. And Nadya has one."
Methos shrugged. "So what's the problem? If she's to be an Immortal, then she will. It's the Game. You'll teach her." He was never one to be complacent about the horrors of the Game but he also knew that he couldn't avoid it anymore.
"No! She is never to know about the Game, she is never to be a part of the Game!" Duncan had suddenly grown vehement. He then hung his head, his hands clenching his knees till his knuckles whitened.
"I've seen what happens when Immortals-in-waiting become full Immortals. Especially now. They don't get it; they think it's all fun and games. At least in the old days, there was the reverence for superstition and power. Now it's all a game." He then sniffed and half-laughed at the irony of his own words. "Even if they take it seriously, it's too dangerous a time to learn. It's hard to know who to trust and who to kill."
Methos could almost see the memories of Richie fluttering behind Duncan's eyes as he sat next to his friend.
"Nadya's better than that; she deserves better. She has hope; hope to be with her family again when she dies someday. That's why I want her close by, then I can keep an eye on her; keep her alive. If I can keep her from being killed before her time, she can live a free life and die a happy old woman, never know about Immortals or taking heads or centuries of loneliness, guilt, and regret."
Methos shook his head. "Again, you are being existentially inaccurate. There's no way you can protect Nadya forever. How would you explain your never aging while, daily, she grows older? Hmm? That Fountain of Youth? I think not! If the Game wants her, MacLeod, it's going to take her, whether you try to stop it or not. Though I can understand why you'd try to prevent it."
Duncan straightened and stretched out his hand as though he were holding a choice in his palm. "How could I tell her that, unless someone kills her, chops off her head, she has no hope of seeing her family again? How can I destroy her hope?"
Methos stood up, his hands in his pockets again, and sighed, white petals from nearby apple-blossoms giving his dark hair a rather mock halo. "No one is asking you to do that, MacLeod. You can make a difference in the world, yes. But save everyone? Protect everyone? No. Believe me, you're not an archangel, and you are definitely not Jesus Christ. I've met Him; He was taller than you. Higher cheekbones."
With that, Methos began to walk towards the flat again. "If you want me, I'll be at your place, having a beer. All this philosophical talk has me parched."
Duncan soon sighed, shook his head and followed the beer-intent Immortal. He needed one himself, before his fridge was empty.