Gundam Wing: The Highlander
CHAPTER 6 - A Lesson Learned
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence, 4xU.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Heero Yuy sat with his feet up on his desk, a cigar dangling out of the corner of his mouth. In front of him was the latest copy of the New York Times.
"Head-Hunter Stalks New York," screamed the bold black type that made up the headline.
The lieutenant slumped in defeat as he read the article, which told of the murder of Meiran Chang, a security guard at one of the countless office buildings in New York City. Her torso had been found in a trash can, but her head was still missing.
Duo sauntered his way into the office and knocked three times on the doorframe. "Good morning, sunshine," he joked as he took a seat across from Heero.
Heero rolled his eyes. "Very funny. You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
The detective grinned. "So I've been told."
"Now, what brings you to darken my doorstep?" Heero asked, emptying a bit of cigar ash into the wastebin nearby.
"Perhaps you'd be interested to know where Hilde Schbeiker of Forensics spent her afternoon yesterday," Duo sighed as he leaned back in the chair and let out a might yawn and stretch.
Heero raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me, please."
"She was talking to Winner in his shop on Hudson," Duo answered in a teasing voice. "and he had one hell of a sales pitch for her."
Heero half-smiled. "That ballsy broad. I never know what's going on with her." He took a final thoughtful drag of the cigar, then extinguished it in a nearby ashtray. "What did she and Winner talk about? Did he say anything?"
Duo's face took on an odd expression as he remembered the exact conversation. "Yeah...as a matter of fact, he did. He asked me if I liked fish."
Heero blinked, wondering if he had heard his friend right the first time. "Fish --?"
By now, Quatre was making great bounds of improvement and gaining control against Solo. His blows were stronger, his coordination getting stronger with every practise-fight.
Solo was visibly pleased with his student.
The two men took a break and made their way to the Jedburgh Market in the bright sunshine. Flags and banners cracked in the wind that blew in from the sea, surrounding a crowd that milled past farmers selling plump cows and wooly sheep, open fires, musicians, and hawkers.
Quatre and Solo watched Une in amusement as she viciously bartered for a flapping chicken in the midst of a group of shouting women. The Spaniard turned away for a moment to buy an apple, holding his hat with one hand to prevent it from blowing away in the skirling wind. He thoughtfully gazed up at Quatre's forge, now just a mere dot on the craggy mountainside, and bit into the shiny red fruit.
"You will have no family," he said with a touch of sadness in his voice, "for we cannot have children."
Quatre wistfully watched a group of little girls dance around a maypole to the lively music of a nearby band, then turned his eyes onto his wife as she triumphantly received the squawking bird she had desired.
"That'll nae please Une," he sighed. "I'll tell ye that for nothing."
Solo shrugged.
Une held up the sackcloth bag, the sides of which occasionally bulged out with the frantic struggling of the animal within. "Here's dinner," she called to Quatre. "Be off with ye, now. I fancy a new dress."
Quatre waved back to her retreating figure, then looked over at Solo, who was watching a nearby juggler with great intent.
As the highlander, too, began to watch the man's tricks, the garishly dressed clown fumbled with one of the balls, ending his show. The crowd sighed in disappointment for a moment, then clapped and whistled as he took a bow.
"You must leave her, my brother," Solo said, putting his hand on Quatre's shoulder.
Quatre scowled and walked off, Solo close at his heels.
They arrived at a grassy arena where huge, muscular men in kilts were tossing cabers forty feet long, occasionally pausing to indulge in the wild cheers of the crowd.
"I was born 2,437 years ago," Solo said, unfazed by Quatre's reaction. "In that time, I have had three wives."
Quatre stared at the young-looking man in surprise, trying to figure his age.
A whore sashayed her way past the two men, her skirts billowing in the wind as she ogled Solo. Grinning, the Spaniard took off his hat and bowed to her.
"The last was Shakiko, a Japanese princess," he said after the harlot had moved on to the next male spectator. He patted the handle of the Samurai sword at his waist. "Her father, Kamakura, was a metallurgic genius. He made this for me in 593 B.C. And it is the only one of its kind."
His face grew sad, his gaze far-off as he reminisced. "Much like his daughter."
Drawing the Samurai, he tossed it to Quatre. The highlander caught it, testing its weight and taking a few small practice swings with the shining blade.
"When Shakiko died, I was shattered," Solo sighed. "I would save you that pain. Please...let Une go."
Quatre shook his head stubbornly. "She's my wife, man. I love her," he hissed. He watched her fondly as she gaily pushed through the crowd, ablaze with coloured silks.
"Then you will cause yourself great anguish," Solo said quietly. "I buried Shakiko with my own hands."
His eyes began to mist over. "I had to go on, never again to hear the sound of her voice, her beautiful laughter," he said, his voice beginning to break apart. "She left behind such a terrible silence."
MacLeod looked at his teacher sympathetically, and was about to say a kind word or two to ease his pain, but Une flew into his arms at that moment, kissing him and waving the cloth in his face.
"D'ye like it?" she asked hopefully. "Tell yer wife true."
Quatre still eyed Solo. "Aye, blossom. 'Tis fine."
Delighted, she danced her way around him, entwining him in the coloured cloth.
The wind-whipped waves on the stormy North Sea crashed against the Scottish coast, the cold sun reflecting off of its shining surface in brilliant displays of white flashes. Seagulls flew on the wind past high, rocky mountains that reached up into the fluffy clouds.
Suddenly, a giant stag with shining antlers appeared on the shore, rearing up in the gorse. Holding its head high and still, it watched as Quatre and Solo made their way down the rocky beach.
Quatre shivered in the cold, his teeth chattering. But Solo had no mercy for him. "Now for the last of our training," he said.
The Spaniard pointed to the stag, shouting above the surf.
"Trust in yourself," he said. "Let your mind feel the stag. His blood coursing through his veins. His heart beating."
In Quatre's brain, the sound of his own pounding heart was slowly joined by another, quicker-paced beat.
"I feel him," Quatre said, enthralled with the new sensation.
Solo smiled. "Excellent. It is the Quickening. We are at one with all living things."
The stag's nostrils flared as it sensed some paranoid danger in the air. Quickly, gracefully, the animal bolted into the distance.
At that moment, Quatre knew that his perception would be forever changed. The highlands, the sea, the trees...now they seemed like old friends that he'd never see the same way again.
"When we first met, you felt ill, remember?" Solo asked, a slight smile playing across his face.
Quatre shivered in a freezing blast of wind and nodded.
"Did you ever feel that way before?" the man continued.
The highlander's eyes flashed as his mind raced back to that fateful day five years ago. "Aye. When the MacLeods fought the Fraziers, and a black knight ran me through. Only it was different...it was more painful."
Solo paused to watch a group of herons swoop low over the waves, picking unsuspecting fish out of the crystalline water with their long beaks.
"That black knight was the Kurgan," he said in a low tone. "It is because of him that I sought you out."
Quatre blinked in surprise.
"There is great power in the Quickening," Solo explained. "But nature has not given us equal shares. Some, like you and the Kurgan, have more."
By now, Quatre was sure that his ears had frozen off. He couldn't have heard Solo right...could he have?
"When one of us takes another's head," the Spaniard continued, "the victor becomes stronger."
The two men clambered through rocks, away from the angry sea.
Shortly after, Quatre and Solo found themselves sitting on the bank of a deep-water pond, surrounded by ferns, its silence and extreme age protected by the dome of fir trees that towered over it.
The Spaniard shed his boots and yanked up his pantaloons, stepping gingerly into the pool. His body clenched up in reaction to the cold, yet he did not draw his feet from the icy water.
"Who is the Kurgan?" Quatre asked. "Where does he come from?"
Solo nodded. "The Kurgans were an ancient people from the steppes of Russia. For amusement, they tossed children into pits with hungry dogs to fight for meat."
A bluejay arrived at its home in the trees above, laden down with food for its own hungry offspring.
"I have fought the Kurgan three times," Solo continued. "In Babylon, Greece, and China."
He skipped out of the water, drying his feet off as he did. "The last time, I was lucky to get away with my head." The Spaniard paused to replace his boots. "The Kurgan is the strongest of all immortals. He is the perfect warrior."
Quatre shuddered, remembering the fearsome creature that he had battled at Loch Shiel.
"He cares about nothing or no one," Solo said intensely. "He is completely evil. If he wins the Prize, mortal men will suffer an eternity of darkness and slavery beneath his boot."
"How do ye fight such a savage?" Quatre asked.
Solo set his hand gently on his shoulder. "With heart, faith, and steel, my brother."
Quatre and Solo made their way down a woodland path just as the sunset changed from green to gold. Solo drew his Samurai and grinned. "Now. Let us see what kind of swordsman you have become. On guard!"
Quatre was already moving, his claymore spinning as he fought. He feinted as Solo ducked to avoid the deadly blade. Off-balance, the Spaniard retreated, warding off deadly thrusts as he did.
"In the end, there can be only one," Solo said, taking a swing at his opponent. "It is the Prize for which we all struggle. The Kurgan must never win it. Alone, I cannot stop him." He retreated again. "You may have a chance."
The sure-footed Quatre tracked him through fallen timber.
"If it came down to just us two," Quatre asked, "would you take my head?"
Solo didn't answer.
Quatre leapt forward, his sword now a whistling razor. Solo parried, but it was no good; the student had now become the master.
Solo lost his balance and toppled into a gully. Quatre was on him in a flash, blade against his throat.
Their breaths rasping, they held each other's gaze in the green twilight. What seemed like an eternity passed until Quatre leaned back and threw his sword down onto the ground.
He reached out to the fallen man. "Give me yer hand...brother," he said.
Solo smiled as Quatre helped him to his feet. His work here was done.
CHAPTER 6 - A Lesson Learned
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence, 4xU.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Heero Yuy sat with his feet up on his desk, a cigar dangling out of the corner of his mouth. In front of him was the latest copy of the New York Times.
"Head-Hunter Stalks New York," screamed the bold black type that made up the headline.
The lieutenant slumped in defeat as he read the article, which told of the murder of Meiran Chang, a security guard at one of the countless office buildings in New York City. Her torso had been found in a trash can, but her head was still missing.
Duo sauntered his way into the office and knocked three times on the doorframe. "Good morning, sunshine," he joked as he took a seat across from Heero.
Heero rolled his eyes. "Very funny. You're a real piece of work, you know that?"
The detective grinned. "So I've been told."
"Now, what brings you to darken my doorstep?" Heero asked, emptying a bit of cigar ash into the wastebin nearby.
"Perhaps you'd be interested to know where Hilde Schbeiker of Forensics spent her afternoon yesterday," Duo sighed as he leaned back in the chair and let out a might yawn and stretch.
Heero raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me, please."
"She was talking to Winner in his shop on Hudson," Duo answered in a teasing voice. "and he had one hell of a sales pitch for her."
Heero half-smiled. "That ballsy broad. I never know what's going on with her." He took a final thoughtful drag of the cigar, then extinguished it in a nearby ashtray. "What did she and Winner talk about? Did he say anything?"
Duo's face took on an odd expression as he remembered the exact conversation. "Yeah...as a matter of fact, he did. He asked me if I liked fish."
Heero blinked, wondering if he had heard his friend right the first time. "Fish --?"
By now, Quatre was making great bounds of improvement and gaining control against Solo. His blows were stronger, his coordination getting stronger with every practise-fight.
Solo was visibly pleased with his student.
The two men took a break and made their way to the Jedburgh Market in the bright sunshine. Flags and banners cracked in the wind that blew in from the sea, surrounding a crowd that milled past farmers selling plump cows and wooly sheep, open fires, musicians, and hawkers.
Quatre and Solo watched Une in amusement as she viciously bartered for a flapping chicken in the midst of a group of shouting women. The Spaniard turned away for a moment to buy an apple, holding his hat with one hand to prevent it from blowing away in the skirling wind. He thoughtfully gazed up at Quatre's forge, now just a mere dot on the craggy mountainside, and bit into the shiny red fruit.
"You will have no family," he said with a touch of sadness in his voice, "for we cannot have children."
Quatre wistfully watched a group of little girls dance around a maypole to the lively music of a nearby band, then turned his eyes onto his wife as she triumphantly received the squawking bird she had desired.
"That'll nae please Une," he sighed. "I'll tell ye that for nothing."
Solo shrugged.
Une held up the sackcloth bag, the sides of which occasionally bulged out with the frantic struggling of the animal within. "Here's dinner," she called to Quatre. "Be off with ye, now. I fancy a new dress."
Quatre waved back to her retreating figure, then looked over at Solo, who was watching a nearby juggler with great intent.
As the highlander, too, began to watch the man's tricks, the garishly dressed clown fumbled with one of the balls, ending his show. The crowd sighed in disappointment for a moment, then clapped and whistled as he took a bow.
"You must leave her, my brother," Solo said, putting his hand on Quatre's shoulder.
Quatre scowled and walked off, Solo close at his heels.
They arrived at a grassy arena where huge, muscular men in kilts were tossing cabers forty feet long, occasionally pausing to indulge in the wild cheers of the crowd.
"I was born 2,437 years ago," Solo said, unfazed by Quatre's reaction. "In that time, I have had three wives."
Quatre stared at the young-looking man in surprise, trying to figure his age.
A whore sashayed her way past the two men, her skirts billowing in the wind as she ogled Solo. Grinning, the Spaniard took off his hat and bowed to her.
"The last was Shakiko, a Japanese princess," he said after the harlot had moved on to the next male spectator. He patted the handle of the Samurai sword at his waist. "Her father, Kamakura, was a metallurgic genius. He made this for me in 593 B.C. And it is the only one of its kind."
His face grew sad, his gaze far-off as he reminisced. "Much like his daughter."
Drawing the Samurai, he tossed it to Quatre. The highlander caught it, testing its weight and taking a few small practice swings with the shining blade.
"When Shakiko died, I was shattered," Solo sighed. "I would save you that pain. Please...let Une go."
Quatre shook his head stubbornly. "She's my wife, man. I love her," he hissed. He watched her fondly as she gaily pushed through the crowd, ablaze with coloured silks.
"Then you will cause yourself great anguish," Solo said quietly. "I buried Shakiko with my own hands."
His eyes began to mist over. "I had to go on, never again to hear the sound of her voice, her beautiful laughter," he said, his voice beginning to break apart. "She left behind such a terrible silence."
MacLeod looked at his teacher sympathetically, and was about to say a kind word or two to ease his pain, but Une flew into his arms at that moment, kissing him and waving the cloth in his face.
"D'ye like it?" she asked hopefully. "Tell yer wife true."
Quatre still eyed Solo. "Aye, blossom. 'Tis fine."
Delighted, she danced her way around him, entwining him in the coloured cloth.
The wind-whipped waves on the stormy North Sea crashed against the Scottish coast, the cold sun reflecting off of its shining surface in brilliant displays of white flashes. Seagulls flew on the wind past high, rocky mountains that reached up into the fluffy clouds.
Suddenly, a giant stag with shining antlers appeared on the shore, rearing up in the gorse. Holding its head high and still, it watched as Quatre and Solo made their way down the rocky beach.
Quatre shivered in the cold, his teeth chattering. But Solo had no mercy for him. "Now for the last of our training," he said.
The Spaniard pointed to the stag, shouting above the surf.
"Trust in yourself," he said. "Let your mind feel the stag. His blood coursing through his veins. His heart beating."
In Quatre's brain, the sound of his own pounding heart was slowly joined by another, quicker-paced beat.
"I feel him," Quatre said, enthralled with the new sensation.
Solo smiled. "Excellent. It is the Quickening. We are at one with all living things."
The stag's nostrils flared as it sensed some paranoid danger in the air. Quickly, gracefully, the animal bolted into the distance.
At that moment, Quatre knew that his perception would be forever changed. The highlands, the sea, the trees...now they seemed like old friends that he'd never see the same way again.
"When we first met, you felt ill, remember?" Solo asked, a slight smile playing across his face.
Quatre shivered in a freezing blast of wind and nodded.
"Did you ever feel that way before?" the man continued.
The highlander's eyes flashed as his mind raced back to that fateful day five years ago. "Aye. When the MacLeods fought the Fraziers, and a black knight ran me through. Only it was different...it was more painful."
Solo paused to watch a group of herons swoop low over the waves, picking unsuspecting fish out of the crystalline water with their long beaks.
"That black knight was the Kurgan," he said in a low tone. "It is because of him that I sought you out."
Quatre blinked in surprise.
"There is great power in the Quickening," Solo explained. "But nature has not given us equal shares. Some, like you and the Kurgan, have more."
By now, Quatre was sure that his ears had frozen off. He couldn't have heard Solo right...could he have?
"When one of us takes another's head," the Spaniard continued, "the victor becomes stronger."
The two men clambered through rocks, away from the angry sea.
Shortly after, Quatre and Solo found themselves sitting on the bank of a deep-water pond, surrounded by ferns, its silence and extreme age protected by the dome of fir trees that towered over it.
The Spaniard shed his boots and yanked up his pantaloons, stepping gingerly into the pool. His body clenched up in reaction to the cold, yet he did not draw his feet from the icy water.
"Who is the Kurgan?" Quatre asked. "Where does he come from?"
Solo nodded. "The Kurgans were an ancient people from the steppes of Russia. For amusement, they tossed children into pits with hungry dogs to fight for meat."
A bluejay arrived at its home in the trees above, laden down with food for its own hungry offspring.
"I have fought the Kurgan three times," Solo continued. "In Babylon, Greece, and China."
He skipped out of the water, drying his feet off as he did. "The last time, I was lucky to get away with my head." The Spaniard paused to replace his boots. "The Kurgan is the strongest of all immortals. He is the perfect warrior."
Quatre shuddered, remembering the fearsome creature that he had battled at Loch Shiel.
"He cares about nothing or no one," Solo said intensely. "He is completely evil. If he wins the Prize, mortal men will suffer an eternity of darkness and slavery beneath his boot."
"How do ye fight such a savage?" Quatre asked.
Solo set his hand gently on his shoulder. "With heart, faith, and steel, my brother."
Quatre and Solo made their way down a woodland path just as the sunset changed from green to gold. Solo drew his Samurai and grinned. "Now. Let us see what kind of swordsman you have become. On guard!"
Quatre was already moving, his claymore spinning as he fought. He feinted as Solo ducked to avoid the deadly blade. Off-balance, the Spaniard retreated, warding off deadly thrusts as he did.
"In the end, there can be only one," Solo said, taking a swing at his opponent. "It is the Prize for which we all struggle. The Kurgan must never win it. Alone, I cannot stop him." He retreated again. "You may have a chance."
The sure-footed Quatre tracked him through fallen timber.
"If it came down to just us two," Quatre asked, "would you take my head?"
Solo didn't answer.
Quatre leapt forward, his sword now a whistling razor. Solo parried, but it was no good; the student had now become the master.
Solo lost his balance and toppled into a gully. Quatre was on him in a flash, blade against his throat.
Their breaths rasping, they held each other's gaze in the green twilight. What seemed like an eternity passed until Quatre leaned back and threw his sword down onto the ground.
He reached out to the fallen man. "Give me yer hand...brother," he said.
Solo smiled as Quatre helped him to his feet. His work here was done.