Disclaimer: It's very simple, boys and girls. If you recognize them, they
ain't mine. Chloe Grisham Young, however, totally is.
AN: The first chapter takes place entirely within the universe of Highlander: the series. Dunno about place in the time line. Undecided I guess. In future chapters, should those eventually get written, we will move house into the LFN universe. I'll try and explain things as simply as possible for those of you who have no prior knowledge of that show. I did not get this beta'd. Enjoy, and please please please, as this is my first fanfic, do me the honour of R&R-ing… (
"I'm too young for you, you said so yourself."
"That was five years ago, Chloe. Things change, people change, you sure did!"
"No, I didn't. My age changed, a stupid number. If you thought I was immature then, I still will be."
"What makes you so sure of that? You're 24 now, you were 19 then. It's not like you'll be a teenager forever."
"Oh, but that's just it. I will be. Physically, of course, but that's not what I'm talking about. I mean the whole 'immature' teenager routine. That's me. The self-centred no-one-can-understand-the-depths-of-me-cause-my- thoughts-and-my-personality-are-so-totally-unique thing, the it's-me- against-the-big-bad-world-and-if-I-wanna-have-misgivings-about-that-ain't- none-of-you-gonna-stop-me routine. It fits me like a glove, Mac. It's comfortable, it's uncomplicated."
"And it will keep you from ever really looking at anything from someone else's point of view. It will keep you from having to take responsibility for your actions, and from achieving real intimacy with another human being."
"Intimacy, schmintimacy, I don't need that shit. Don't try and act the developmental psychologist with me, Mac, cause it'll only serve to prove my point, thank you very much."
"So that's it then… you'll simply refuse to grow up?"
"If that's what it takes, yes. I don't want to let go of the only thing that still connects me with my life before this whole immortal-mumbojumbo kicked in."
"You know that's not the answer. Clinging to it will not make it come back. That's not the way it works."
"I don't care how 'it' does or does not work, can't you just accept that? Please, save me the older-and-wiser routine. You may have been my teacher once, but you're not anymore."
"I see, so what I say doesn't matter anymore either. Why do I get the feeling you're acting the wilful teenager just to spite me for some reason?"
"Spite you? Hello! This is not about you!"
At this point they both threw their hands up in the air in a gesture of pure exasperation, both most likely contemplating how insufferable the other was being.
Chloe, perched on one of the stools at the bar, dug into her packet of cigarettes and hung one in a corner of her mouth while fidgeting with her lighter. Her bright red hair, fashioned in an exuberant variation of the out-of-bed look, rivalled the flames that shot from her eyes in MacLeod's direction. Said Highlander, slouched gracelessly in the booth opposite Chloe, was tiredly running his hands through his hair, trying to keep himself together.
Five years prior, he had felt very much attracted to Chloe, his then-time student. She had not hidden the fact that she felt the same way. When she had tried to put these feelings into actions, he had gently discouraged her, admonishing that she was really too young, and when that didn't ring home, he had played his I'm-your-teacher-you're-my-student-this-would-not- be-right trump card. It had been only a minor feat of self-control on his part. He had truly meant what he said, and hoped all the while that some day things would be different.
Then, circumstances had forced MacLeod to remove to France, his home away from home, and leave Chloe in Methos' care and tutelage. As far as she was concerned, it had done her a world of good. Upon finally returning to Seacouver, he, at first, would have agreed. He admired her for what she'd become: a strong-minded, outspoken young lady, with a style to match and enhance her natural beauty instead of hide it like before, and a skilled swordswoman. To assume that they could pick up where they left off was a great mistake on his part.
It was Chloe's prerogative, really her way of thinking, to disagree with whatever someone else posed as true and right, always had been. In their short time together as student and teacher, less than a year, MacLeod had filed this away under Richie-like ways to deal with becoming immortal. Methos, on the other hand, had picked up more accurately on this juvenile quirk of hers, and actually nurtured and encouraged it. As a character trait, it is quite consistent with what Chloe so eloquently described as the 'teenager routine', so she embraced the whole of it as a life style, under the – in its own right pretty understandable – guise of not wishing to let go of that lovely childhood non-responsibility. Following Methos' powerful example, the only thing she wanted to be held responsible for was her own survival. Also, she wanted desperately to remain in the adolescent psychosocial moratorium of not making any definite choices yet and being pinned down on them, and she wanted to rebel against those who thought they knew better, i.e. Duncan MacLeod.
After a pleasant evening of drinking, laughing and general catching-up at Joe's bar, MacLeod, feeling the old attraction re-kindled, had tried to kiss her, to which the above heated argument had ensued.
After a long awkward pause, Chloe took another deep drag of her cigarette, and continued:
"No, it's not about you. But you always did think it was, didn't you?"
MacLeod sighed deeply, beginning to seriously lose his patience and wondering what he was still doing there. "You're wrong, Chloe. You do hold it against me that I said there couldn't be anything between us five years ago. And silly me, looking at you and talking to you, I thought you'd grown up, that the age difference didn't have to be an issue anymore. Believe it or not, I really did care about you back then, in more than a protective father-figure sort of way. I still do. But I guess I was wrong about you."
"Gee, ya think?" she replied sarcastically, stubbing out her cigarette furiously as if it was the culprit of some great evil. "You know, I don't really care what you think of me. You're not in my life anymore. You left." She added that last sentence softly, almost sadly. Before MacLeod had a chance to make a reply, she'd already untangled her long limbs from the legs of the barstool, shrugged on her coat with the Spanish rapier neatly tucked away inside as she'd been taught, and swayed her way out the door.
Let him fester in it, she mused. Serves him right, too. Who the hell does he think he is anyway.
The night air was cool and crisp, the noise of the city all but completely silenced. The mood she was in inclined her more towards walking the ten blocks to her apartment than trying to find a taxi. So she set off, in no particular hurry.
Only a couple of blocks down the road, the familiar buzzing sensation crept into her skull, disturbing her contemplations. "This is not what I need right now," she thought aloud. "Whoever you are, piss off! I'm not in the mood for horsing around."
"Tsk tsk tsk…" someone tsk-ed at her from inside the shadows in the alleyway to her left. "You should never admit that, little girl. Why give your opponent the advantage of knowing that your heart will not be in the fight?" The voice was low and musical, tinted with a Spanish accent, almost pleasant if not for its menacing tone.
"If it's an advantage, what are you complaining about?" Chloe quipped, feeling almost as self-assured as she had made it sound. "I'm Chloe Grisham Young, and we don't have to do this."
"Eduardo Reyes, and yes we do," was the sing-song reply, as he moved his huge frame out of the shadows. He stood about 6'8'' tall and had forearms the size of Chloe's thighs. He held his sword loosely by his side and a sardonic grin plastered firmly on his face, not seeming too worried at all. Chloe shrugged out of her coat and pulled the rapier from its sheath, mentally running down the list of 'dirty tricks feeble women could use when seriously outmatched' that Methos had taught her. She'd always wondered where he had learned them.
"Didn't your madre ever tell you to pick on someone your own size?"
He grinned even wider as they began circling each other. Chloe was reasonably certain that she at least wouldn't make too much of an idiot of herself. She had neither MacLeod's height, experience, nor sheer strength, but she'd managed to level him on the mat at least half the times they had sparred together in the last few days. Of course, she realized all too well that the practice mat and the real thing were worlds apart.
Waiting for fate to lead the way was not her style, so she made the first move. She swung in with a well-calculated blow aimed at the giant's right shoulder. He parried effortlessly and countered with a low swing towards her abdomen. Chloe realized she couldn't get her sword around in time to parry, so jumped back to avoid literally spilling her guts in the second move of the fight. This manoeuvre worked greatly to her advantage, because in the split second it took Reyes to jump forward to close the gap, she managed to sink down on her hunches, extend a leg and twist around, sweeping his legs out from underneath him. His momentum carried him neatly through into a collection of trashcans. He quickly picked himself up out of the garbage and glared at Chloe, looking at the same time surprised and very, very angry. She knew at that moment that if she played her cards right, she'd already won the fight. She'd succeeded in throwing her opponent off balance, literally and figuratively, and, no less important, in pissing him off. Reyes charged in ferociously. His great skill kept him in the fight still longer than Chloe had expected. But the harder he tried not to miss, the more agilely she dodged his blows until, finally, the perfect opening presented itself. His swings were becoming wider as he was trying to put more sheer force and speed into them. His sword arm was far extended to the left in front of his body, readying for a backhanded blow, when Chloe thrust forward and impaled her sword deeply in his abdomen. He looked down in shock and disbelief at the hilt of her sword sticking out of his body. She pulled it free and raised it above her head for the final blow.
"You shouldn't have called me 'little girl', muchacho." Then it was done.
This was only Chloe's second quickening. It would have surprised Methos or MacLeod or any one looking on with any knowledge of the Game that she, so young and inexperienced a one, could have killed so readily and almost thoughtlessly. In her case, her youth was exactly what allowed her to do so. Just as a baby who is thrown in the water will swim without ever having learnt how, so will a child readily and thoughtlessly apply that basic principle of justice: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. What you do to me, I will, given the chance, do to you. Or in this case: what you threaten to do to me, I will, given the chance, do to you. Reyes had sealed his death warrant with the words 'yes we do.' Mercy for a merciless one was something Chloe was incapable of. She knew only absolutely loyalty towards someone like Methos, who had never hurt her in any way, and only a child's innocent cruelty towards someone like Reyes.
When the last spark of Reyes' quickening had died out, she scrambled to her feet, picked up her sword and sauntered up and down the alleyway, slightly disorientated and not quite sure what to do next. The last time, Methos had been there with her to make sure the scene was left as sterile and clue- free as possible. What they did, however inevitable within the Game, was still murder in the eyes of society.
She stopped to once more look down at Reyes' headless form, when suddenly a sharp pain shot into her neck. She reached back to pull out a small dart. "What the…" she started. Then all went blank.
AN: The first chapter takes place entirely within the universe of Highlander: the series. Dunno about place in the time line. Undecided I guess. In future chapters, should those eventually get written, we will move house into the LFN universe. I'll try and explain things as simply as possible for those of you who have no prior knowledge of that show. I did not get this beta'd. Enjoy, and please please please, as this is my first fanfic, do me the honour of R&R-ing… (
"I'm too young for you, you said so yourself."
"That was five years ago, Chloe. Things change, people change, you sure did!"
"No, I didn't. My age changed, a stupid number. If you thought I was immature then, I still will be."
"What makes you so sure of that? You're 24 now, you were 19 then. It's not like you'll be a teenager forever."
"Oh, but that's just it. I will be. Physically, of course, but that's not what I'm talking about. I mean the whole 'immature' teenager routine. That's me. The self-centred no-one-can-understand-the-depths-of-me-cause-my- thoughts-and-my-personality-are-so-totally-unique thing, the it's-me- against-the-big-bad-world-and-if-I-wanna-have-misgivings-about-that-ain't- none-of-you-gonna-stop-me routine. It fits me like a glove, Mac. It's comfortable, it's uncomplicated."
"And it will keep you from ever really looking at anything from someone else's point of view. It will keep you from having to take responsibility for your actions, and from achieving real intimacy with another human being."
"Intimacy, schmintimacy, I don't need that shit. Don't try and act the developmental psychologist with me, Mac, cause it'll only serve to prove my point, thank you very much."
"So that's it then… you'll simply refuse to grow up?"
"If that's what it takes, yes. I don't want to let go of the only thing that still connects me with my life before this whole immortal-mumbojumbo kicked in."
"You know that's not the answer. Clinging to it will not make it come back. That's not the way it works."
"I don't care how 'it' does or does not work, can't you just accept that? Please, save me the older-and-wiser routine. You may have been my teacher once, but you're not anymore."
"I see, so what I say doesn't matter anymore either. Why do I get the feeling you're acting the wilful teenager just to spite me for some reason?"
"Spite you? Hello! This is not about you!"
At this point they both threw their hands up in the air in a gesture of pure exasperation, both most likely contemplating how insufferable the other was being.
Chloe, perched on one of the stools at the bar, dug into her packet of cigarettes and hung one in a corner of her mouth while fidgeting with her lighter. Her bright red hair, fashioned in an exuberant variation of the out-of-bed look, rivalled the flames that shot from her eyes in MacLeod's direction. Said Highlander, slouched gracelessly in the booth opposite Chloe, was tiredly running his hands through his hair, trying to keep himself together.
Five years prior, he had felt very much attracted to Chloe, his then-time student. She had not hidden the fact that she felt the same way. When she had tried to put these feelings into actions, he had gently discouraged her, admonishing that she was really too young, and when that didn't ring home, he had played his I'm-your-teacher-you're-my-student-this-would-not- be-right trump card. It had been only a minor feat of self-control on his part. He had truly meant what he said, and hoped all the while that some day things would be different.
Then, circumstances had forced MacLeod to remove to France, his home away from home, and leave Chloe in Methos' care and tutelage. As far as she was concerned, it had done her a world of good. Upon finally returning to Seacouver, he, at first, would have agreed. He admired her for what she'd become: a strong-minded, outspoken young lady, with a style to match and enhance her natural beauty instead of hide it like before, and a skilled swordswoman. To assume that they could pick up where they left off was a great mistake on his part.
It was Chloe's prerogative, really her way of thinking, to disagree with whatever someone else posed as true and right, always had been. In their short time together as student and teacher, less than a year, MacLeod had filed this away under Richie-like ways to deal with becoming immortal. Methos, on the other hand, had picked up more accurately on this juvenile quirk of hers, and actually nurtured and encouraged it. As a character trait, it is quite consistent with what Chloe so eloquently described as the 'teenager routine', so she embraced the whole of it as a life style, under the – in its own right pretty understandable – guise of not wishing to let go of that lovely childhood non-responsibility. Following Methos' powerful example, the only thing she wanted to be held responsible for was her own survival. Also, she wanted desperately to remain in the adolescent psychosocial moratorium of not making any definite choices yet and being pinned down on them, and she wanted to rebel against those who thought they knew better, i.e. Duncan MacLeod.
After a pleasant evening of drinking, laughing and general catching-up at Joe's bar, MacLeod, feeling the old attraction re-kindled, had tried to kiss her, to which the above heated argument had ensued.
After a long awkward pause, Chloe took another deep drag of her cigarette, and continued:
"No, it's not about you. But you always did think it was, didn't you?"
MacLeod sighed deeply, beginning to seriously lose his patience and wondering what he was still doing there. "You're wrong, Chloe. You do hold it against me that I said there couldn't be anything between us five years ago. And silly me, looking at you and talking to you, I thought you'd grown up, that the age difference didn't have to be an issue anymore. Believe it or not, I really did care about you back then, in more than a protective father-figure sort of way. I still do. But I guess I was wrong about you."
"Gee, ya think?" she replied sarcastically, stubbing out her cigarette furiously as if it was the culprit of some great evil. "You know, I don't really care what you think of me. You're not in my life anymore. You left." She added that last sentence softly, almost sadly. Before MacLeod had a chance to make a reply, she'd already untangled her long limbs from the legs of the barstool, shrugged on her coat with the Spanish rapier neatly tucked away inside as she'd been taught, and swayed her way out the door.
Let him fester in it, she mused. Serves him right, too. Who the hell does he think he is anyway.
The night air was cool and crisp, the noise of the city all but completely silenced. The mood she was in inclined her more towards walking the ten blocks to her apartment than trying to find a taxi. So she set off, in no particular hurry.
Only a couple of blocks down the road, the familiar buzzing sensation crept into her skull, disturbing her contemplations. "This is not what I need right now," she thought aloud. "Whoever you are, piss off! I'm not in the mood for horsing around."
"Tsk tsk tsk…" someone tsk-ed at her from inside the shadows in the alleyway to her left. "You should never admit that, little girl. Why give your opponent the advantage of knowing that your heart will not be in the fight?" The voice was low and musical, tinted with a Spanish accent, almost pleasant if not for its menacing tone.
"If it's an advantage, what are you complaining about?" Chloe quipped, feeling almost as self-assured as she had made it sound. "I'm Chloe Grisham Young, and we don't have to do this."
"Eduardo Reyes, and yes we do," was the sing-song reply, as he moved his huge frame out of the shadows. He stood about 6'8'' tall and had forearms the size of Chloe's thighs. He held his sword loosely by his side and a sardonic grin plastered firmly on his face, not seeming too worried at all. Chloe shrugged out of her coat and pulled the rapier from its sheath, mentally running down the list of 'dirty tricks feeble women could use when seriously outmatched' that Methos had taught her. She'd always wondered where he had learned them.
"Didn't your madre ever tell you to pick on someone your own size?"
He grinned even wider as they began circling each other. Chloe was reasonably certain that she at least wouldn't make too much of an idiot of herself. She had neither MacLeod's height, experience, nor sheer strength, but she'd managed to level him on the mat at least half the times they had sparred together in the last few days. Of course, she realized all too well that the practice mat and the real thing were worlds apart.
Waiting for fate to lead the way was not her style, so she made the first move. She swung in with a well-calculated blow aimed at the giant's right shoulder. He parried effortlessly and countered with a low swing towards her abdomen. Chloe realized she couldn't get her sword around in time to parry, so jumped back to avoid literally spilling her guts in the second move of the fight. This manoeuvre worked greatly to her advantage, because in the split second it took Reyes to jump forward to close the gap, she managed to sink down on her hunches, extend a leg and twist around, sweeping his legs out from underneath him. His momentum carried him neatly through into a collection of trashcans. He quickly picked himself up out of the garbage and glared at Chloe, looking at the same time surprised and very, very angry. She knew at that moment that if she played her cards right, she'd already won the fight. She'd succeeded in throwing her opponent off balance, literally and figuratively, and, no less important, in pissing him off. Reyes charged in ferociously. His great skill kept him in the fight still longer than Chloe had expected. But the harder he tried not to miss, the more agilely she dodged his blows until, finally, the perfect opening presented itself. His swings were becoming wider as he was trying to put more sheer force and speed into them. His sword arm was far extended to the left in front of his body, readying for a backhanded blow, when Chloe thrust forward and impaled her sword deeply in his abdomen. He looked down in shock and disbelief at the hilt of her sword sticking out of his body. She pulled it free and raised it above her head for the final blow.
"You shouldn't have called me 'little girl', muchacho." Then it was done.
This was only Chloe's second quickening. It would have surprised Methos or MacLeod or any one looking on with any knowledge of the Game that she, so young and inexperienced a one, could have killed so readily and almost thoughtlessly. In her case, her youth was exactly what allowed her to do so. Just as a baby who is thrown in the water will swim without ever having learnt how, so will a child readily and thoughtlessly apply that basic principle of justice: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. What you do to me, I will, given the chance, do to you. Or in this case: what you threaten to do to me, I will, given the chance, do to you. Reyes had sealed his death warrant with the words 'yes we do.' Mercy for a merciless one was something Chloe was incapable of. She knew only absolutely loyalty towards someone like Methos, who had never hurt her in any way, and only a child's innocent cruelty towards someone like Reyes.
When the last spark of Reyes' quickening had died out, she scrambled to her feet, picked up her sword and sauntered up and down the alleyway, slightly disorientated and not quite sure what to do next. The last time, Methos had been there with her to make sure the scene was left as sterile and clue- free as possible. What they did, however inevitable within the Game, was still murder in the eyes of society.
She stopped to once more look down at Reyes' headless form, when suddenly a sharp pain shot into her neck. She reached back to pull out a small dart. "What the…" she started. Then all went blank.