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Seasons in Time, part 4
Joe Dawson glanced up as Randi MacFarland knocked on his office door. "You got a minute Joe?" she asked.
"For you beautiful… anytime," the Watcher said leaning back in his office chair and letting his gaze travel appreciatively over the pert blonde's trim figure. Even doing research in the library, she was professionally dressed and always presented a pleasing picture. He supposed it was the news reporter in her… the one who always had to be ready to stand in front of a camera and look her best.
"I've been going over some of these chronicles and I've got some questions."
Joe nodded. He figured she would have. "Now who were you studying today?"
Randi paced back and forth in front of his desk. She was clearly too hyper to even contemplate sitting down.
"Well first of all was that immortal I saw MacLeod fight… Anthony Gallen. How can you people just let someone like that exist? I mean he's a murderer… a thief… an all-around bad person. Why not take him out?"
Joe sighed. "That's not what we do here. Who wins and who loses is between the immortals. Our job is just to watch and record their lives."
Randi whirled on him. "But don't we have an obligation to humanity? Shouldn't we winnow out those who are evil?"
"Randi… have a seat," Joe said with a patient, fatherly tone and a gesture of his hand. Once she'd sat and crossed her arms and legs, he continued. "My brother-in-law felt the same way. The problem is… how do we judge. What's evil and what's survival at one point in history is something else entirely further down the road. Here… let me show you a chronicle about an immortal who grew and changed over the years." Joe fumbled through a stack and pulled out the folder containing the highlights of Darius' life. He stared at it, sighing as he fingered the black label attached, which meant dead. "My brother-in-law killed this one. All he was or learned was lost." He handed the folder to Randi. "Read that and tell me what you think."
She gave him a quizzical look as she took the folder, glancing at the black file label and hefting in her hand. "He lived a long time," she said.
"Almost two thousand years. He was one of the oldest immortals left," Joe replied.
Randi's eyes grew wide. "Two… thousand years,' she said in a near whisper. Pulling the folder to her she opened it and glanced at the cover sheet. "A barbarian general who became a Roman Catholic priest," she murmured almost reverently.
"Read it Randi," Joe urged her. "You'll find it mesmerizing. I met him once… as true a man of peace as I ever knew. He shouldn't have died."
Randi nodded as she stood, hugging the folder to her. "I'll be back later, Joe."
Joe winked. "I'm sure you will." He watched her leave with a deep sigh, recalling the one time he had attended Easter services with his mentor in the Watchers, Ian Bancroft… Darius' Watcher. Himself a devout Roman Catholic, Joe had wondered how an immortal would see the tenets and creeds of the "one true faith" as his teachers… nuns… had once taught him. Yet every word Darius had spoken that long ago day had made Joe realize that here was a man who deserved to live. Here was man whose long life had helped him look deeply into the face of God and see the truth of the message.
Joe shook his head. "Damn you James Horton," he mumbled angrily. "Damn you to hell! Darius didn't deserve to die. You should never have interfered."
Several hours later, Randi sat back in her chair at the library table and pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes. While this file had been translated into English, it wasn't typed. Most of the entries were in a graceful longhand that made randi think of her great-great grandfather's letters to his wife during the American Civil War. Beautiful and graceful, the handwriting was nevertheless hard to read.
"Hard day's work?"
Randi glanced up, her perpetual smile firmly fixed on her face. "Just some light reading," she said with a touch of humor to Mike Barrett. The man was built! A touch older than she normally liked, and abit balding, but his tweed sports jacket failed to hide the muscles. The man moved like a soldier… an agent… indeed… rather like Duncan MacLeod. She closed the file.
"Darius huh?" Mike acknowledged. "I always liked him. Never met him but I've heard even some bad immortals talk about him with an almost reverent tone."
"Really? In a culture where they fight to survive and 'there can be only one' how was it they respected a man who gave it all up?"
"He changed their lives. He changed the way a lot of them thought about the game. Even some of the ones we currently look at as bad ones. Fifteen hundred years ago, the Watchers might have had a reason to kill Darius. He was brutal and ruthless… but so were most of them. It was a barbaric time and might made right. Most of them came out of a culture that said kill or be killed. That Darius rose above that… that he found a greater truth and then was able to survive against all odds for as long as he did… teaching that truth made him extraordinary."
Randi nodded. "The more I read and study the more confusing it all gets. How one immortal can impact so many others! They are all so intertwined and if what Joe says… Darius is only a prime example of how some of them changed the longer that they lived."
Mike leaned on the table next to her. She could smell his aftershave, something light that had been triggered by exertion. She breathed it in as she tucked a lock of blonde hair behind one ear and leaned thoughtfully on one elbow. "Well Darius was an exception rather than the rule," Mike explained further. "Most immortals are the same whether they fifty years old or five hundred years old. They are what they were in their first life. Take Joe's assignment Duncan MacLeod. He was the son of a clan chieftain and raised to…"
"To take care of the widows and orphans and help little old ladies across the cow pasture. I've got it." She tapped a lacquered nail on the folder. "But this man was a warrior who left the battlefield behind."
Mike shrugged. "There are those that say he changed when he killed that immortal at the gates of Paris in 410. Legends speak of an immortal so old that no one knew his name or his beginnings. We call him simply… the Ancient."
"And what do you say?" Randi asked coyly.
Mike shrugged as he stood erect. "I say he discovered something that changed his perception of the game. Call it a light quickening or insightful study on holy ground… but something changed him. I'd have loved to have sat down with him."
Randi nodded. Glancing at her watch she gasped. "Look at the time! I've got to get going. I may be on leave from the station but my cat has to be fed on time."
Mike chuckled. "And she has cats, too." His eyes twinkled merrily.
"Well cat actually. Miss Marple. She's a lovely oyster gray long-hair. Lots of personality."
"Do I detect an Agatha Christie fan?" Mike asked wryly.
"Well," Randi blushed. "I always did like a good mystery. As an investigative reporter, it stands me in good stead. Or did until I saw Duncan MacLeod and Anthony Gallen fighting with swords." She stood. "That's why Dawson gave me Darius' file to read. I finished reading Gallen's and I couldn't figure out why we let someone like that live."
"Ah… he wanted you to understand why we don't kill them… why we don't interfere."
Randi nodded. "I guess I better return this," she said, picking up the file. She held it to her chest as she backed away from him. "Thanks. I really like talking to you."
Mike chuckled and waved her off. After she vanished around a corner, he sobered. He'd have to inform Shapiro that Randi was interested in why Watchers didn't just kill the immortals. He shook his head. This blasted assignment was becoming harder… and harder.
-----
Dawn found Mike Barrett lying naked in Randi MacFarland's bed. She curled up next to him, the thin sheet wrapped about her. He stared at the ceiling and at the fan slowly revolving in the dark shadows, pushing the heated air down. Rubbing his forehead he tried to think how he'd ended up here. Had it been because he'd stopped to talk to her at the library? Was it because he'd waited for her to return for her jacket? Or was it his asking her if she liked Chinese? He'd offered to pick some up so that they could continue their discussion. "Call it extra-curricular insight," he'd winked at her. Maybe it was the plum wine she'd served with dinner.
Whatever it was, he was once more treading on dangerous ground. He liked her. He hadn't at first when Dawson first brought her in. He'd thought she would be trouble. She was… but not the type he'd thought. Instead of wanting to tell the public what she'd learned, she was enthralled by the immortals and wanted to know more. But with that reporter's questioning and instincts for digging at the truth, she was pushing into areas she shouldn't. Why didn't Dawson send her to Europe and the Tribunal?
Carefully Barrett extricated himself from Randi's sleepy embrace and swung his legs over onto the floor. He felt the cold of the hardwood floor and flexed his bare toes on the surface. Then he rose to stroll to the window. Quietly opening the blinds he stared out into the darkness of the night. Snow drifted in the circles of lamplight about the streetlamps. It spit and moved in circles about the wind. Likely it would melt by mid-morning if there were any accumulation. Somehow Mike didn't think it would accumulate.
The cold landscape seemed to mirror his own thoughts. Ice encased his heart. He'd made love to Randi… but he didn't dare love her. He might yet be told to kill her. While he'd prevented her from leaving the Watcher estate with notes, he hadn't stopped her completely from writing things down. While she'd chatted from the kitchen as she'd readied plates for dinner, he'd seen the steno pad on the table. She evidently had a good memory. He really ought to destroy that before he left and wondered why he hesitated.
Randi's arms slid around him. She was still wrapped in the sheet, a bit shy and coy still. "The bed got cold," she whispered as she kissed his back.
Mike donned a teasing expression as he leaned back against her, feeling her form against his back… warming it. "So I'm a bed warmer."
She laughed. And there was something of the spoiled little girl in that laugh. "Silly boy… of course you are."
Mike turned and pulled her into an embrace before him. He stared soberly at her trusting eyes and then lowered his mouth to hers, gently kissing her and letting her increase the pressure and urgency of the kiss. Suddenly he lifted her against him and opened his mouth wider as he pressed against her. She groaned. Her hands moved to around his neck and the sheet gradually fell to the floor. Her legs encircled his hips as she ground against him.
He lifted her until he entered her, staggering slightly. He hadn't made love like this in years. She pulled back and clasped his neck as she rode up and down on him. Her eyes were wide and bright, Her nipples hard and erect. Her mouth opened as she gasped again and again.
Her movements excited him. Mike leaned an arm against the wall for leverage while he likewise began to move with her.
"Harder!" she hissed.
With a laugh he slammed her back against the wall and gave into his own need and urgency. Randi yelled and her nails dug into his shoulders. "Oh God!" she shouted.
He shuddered in his release and then collapsed against her. Slowly she slipped down the wall until she stood on the floor. "Wow," she panted and lay her cheek against his chest.
"Yeah… wow," he laughed. "You really could drive a man to drink."
She laughed and sighed deeply.
He lifted her into his arms and turned to lay her on the bed. He hovered over her, kissing her slowly and deeply while his hand moved to between her legs.
"Umm… that's nice," Randi murmured almost half asleep and smiling in pleasure.
Mike Barrett sobered and wondered what the hell he was doing. Then he closed his mind to his doubts and fears as he lowered his head to kiss her again.
-----
The telephone's ringing woke Joe Dawson from a sound and dreamless sleep. He stared into the darkness of his room for several moments and then turned to fumble for both the lamp and the pnoe's receiver. "Yeah… Dawson here."
"Joseph. I'm sorry. I forgot the time differential."
"Why is this? James? Is that you?"
"Yes Joseph, it's James. I'm in Paris."
Joe rubbed the side of his face. "What do you want?"
"I need to see Lynn. Can you arrange it?"
"Hell James. You want to see her… call her and arrange to meet her somewhere. Just don't come here. You're a dead man if you do."
"Only if Duncan MacLeod sees me. You won't tell him will you Joseph. After all… there's our Watcher oath to consider."
"Amazing how you seem to pick and choose what part of the oath to accept and what part to break," Joe snapped back at his brother-in-law.
"As do we all. I didn't call to argue with you. I'm flying into Seacouver tonight. I need to see you… talk to you… I need to have you act as a go-between Lynn and myself. She won't take my calls."
"With good reason. You killed her fiancé!"
"That was an unfortunate accident," Horton protested. "Please Joseph… if you had a daughter… what would you do to mend a breach?"
Joe remained silent as he thought of Amy. He had a daughter… a daughter he couldn't claim; a daughter who only knew of him as a family friend. Joe closed his eyes and felt the lurch in his heart. Emptiness crept over him. "I'd try my damnedest to be the man she wanted me to do," he finally replied with a hollow voice."
"Excellent."
"Listen… don't come into town and do not come to the estate."
"Naturally."
"The boat… that cruiser we have? It's not being used. From the airport take a taxi to it. It's moored at the harbor, slip number…"
"I can find it. I okayed the funding to buy it. I even used it several times. Excellent choice Joseph."
"Just call me when you're there," Joe snapped. He had the oddest feeling that this might be a major mistake… but if Horton was insistent on coming back, Joe had to try to protect MacLeod. Hell he had to protect them both. They'd kill each other!
"Will do, and thank you Joseph."
The click on the line told him Horton had hung up. Joe held the receiver against his chest. He had damage control to do tomorrow. Then he'd meet Horton tomorrow night and see if he could work something out that would let Lynn and her father reconcile. Again he thought of Amy and sighed. Rolling over, Joe hung up the phone and turned off the light. He doubted he'd get any more sleep.
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