The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.

This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments.


A Splash of Color - Chapter 2

"What would you like to eat?" Duncan asked Dallas as he took the skates from her before she could drop them on his floor again.

She angled the hockey stick to lean it against the high-backed leather chair, dropped the backpack next to it, then shrugged out of her coat. He reached out to help her, but she backed away. The distrust in her eyes had faded, but it hadn't disappeared completely. She placed the coat and her hat carefully on the chair. "I like hot dogs," she replied.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm out of hot dogs." Behind him, Richie snickered.

Dallas frowned a moment, then her face brightened. "Pizza!"

Duncan shook his head. "No pizza, either," he said, thinking about the contents of his refrigerator. What did he have that would please a ten year-old's palate?

Richie stepped around him, and crouched in front of the girl. "Mac makes a mean grilled cheese," he said, tugging on the bottom of her teal blue sweat shirt. "You like grilled cheese?"

She nodded, glancing up at Duncan. "With tomatoes?" she asked. A smile played at the corner of her mouth. It was the first hint of a smile she'd shown since she'd arrived.

"I think that can be arranged," he answered.

"So what's with the shark?" Richie asked, pointing to the graphic that decorated the front of her shirt - a shark with a hockey stick clenched in its teeth.

She sighed as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "It's for the San Jose Sharks - my favorite hockey team."

Richie tilted his head toward the skates. "Is that a roller hockey team?" he asked.

While Richie made conversation, Duncan checked the refrigerator hoping he had tomatoes, and wondering how ten year-old girls felt about whole wheat bread.

"Duh!" she said. "Not roller hockey ... Ice hockey. Don't you know anything?"

Richie stood up. "I've led a sheltered life," he offered.

Duncan chuckled, softly, at his concise summary. "Why don't you go wash up, while I make lunch," he said. "The bathroom's back there."

Dallas glanced at the palms of her hands, wiped them on her jeans, then looked at them again. She shrugged. "Okay."

She turned to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder at Richie. He held his hand poised to pick up her hockey stick. "Don't touch that," she cautioned. "It's very valuable. Bernie Nichols and Owen Nolan signed it for me when Jake took me down to watch them practice."

"Excuuuse me," Richie said, holding his hands out as he stepped away. After she'd shut the door behind her, he picked up the stick.

"She told you not to touch that," Duncan reminded him.

"I won't break it," he said. He held it like a baseball bat and took a practice swing.

Duncan set one of the sandwiches he'd made into the frying pan. The butter sizzled when it met the hot metal. "That doesn't look right," he said. "I think you're supposed to keep it down lower on the floor ... er, the ice."

"Like you're an expert," Richie said, resting the stick back against the chair. He stepped away, adjusted the angle, then joined Duncan at the island counter. "So what are you going to do with her?" he asked, before tucking a piece of cheese into his mouth.

"I don't know," Duncan answered. "She would be safest on holy ground until she's old enough to take care of herself. And since she knows about us whoever cares for her will need to know as well. Maybe Joe knows of an Immortal priest or a nun who's running a school or an orphanage."

"Ah, Mac," Richie said with a grimace of pain. "You can't do that!"

"Well, what do you suggest I do with her?"

"You could take care of her. Since she already knows what she is, you could teach her like your friend was. It's probably what he had in mind when he sent her to you."

"I can't do that," Duncan said, wincing. The knife he was using to cut the tomato had slipped, slicing into his finger instead. He stuck the finger in his mouth and let the salty blood flow onto his tongue. The deep cut had already healed when he pulled it out a few seconds later. "And you have no idea what Jake had in mind."

"Well, I don't think he meant for you to pawn her off on a bunch of strangers."

"She's a little girl, Richie. She belongs with someone who can care for her properly, and I'm not that someone."

Richie got up from the stool he'd been perched on and walked over to the refrigerator. He pulled the door open. "If you don't want her, I'll take her," he murmured.

"Oh, and what are you going to do with her?" Duncan asked.

Richie set the gallon of milk he'd taken out of the refrigerator down on the counter with a loud thump. "I don't know, but I'll manage somehow. I can't let you stick her in a home. Been there, done that ... ya know what I mean?"

"Richie, she's a child, not a stray puppy. You don't know the first thing about raising a child, and neither do I. Maybe if she was a boy, I could manage, but a girl needs a mother."

"Your friend Jake seemed to manage okay."

Duncan placed the second sandwich in the pan. "Jake was married to her mother."

"Her mother? I thought Immortals don't have parents."

"We don't. Jake didn't go into detail. He just said he was married to her mother. I assume from his letter that she adopted Dallas before he met her."

"So where's her mother now?" Richie asked, as he stole another slice of cheese.

"She died a year ago." Duncan tried scowling, but it didn't work. Richie filched another piece.

"That means Jake's been raising her on his own. So why can't you?"

"Because I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

The sound of the bathroom door opening prevented him from commenting further. Not that he had anything further to say. Richie's question burned, but he didn't have an answer for it.

Dallas climbed onto the stool Richie had left vacant. She thumped her foot rhythmically against the side of the counter as she bent her elbow to rest on the top, then she set her chin in her palm.

"Want some milk?" Riche asked holding up the plastic container.

"I'd rather have a Coke," she said, shifting to clasp her hands before her. She continued to kick the counter, and the constant pounding set Duncan's teeth on edge. He willed her to stop, but it had no effect.

"I don't think Mac, has any soda," Richie said. He took a glass and filled it with milk, then he set it in front of her. "Milk is good for you."

"Jake lets me have chocolate syrup in my milk," she said, wrinkling her nose as she eyed the glass.

Richie grinned broadly as he glanced at Duncan. "I think Mac's fresh out of chocolate syrup, too," he said.

Sitting up straight, she pinned Duncan with a disapproving stare. "You need to go grocery shopping," she said.

Duncan chuckled. Guess that puts me in my place. Recalling the broad range of food that filled his refrigerator, he turned to a shelf stacked high with cans and boxes - cans and boxes of the wrong kind of food. "I've got soup," he said. "Would you like some soup to go with your sandwich."

"Okay, as long as it's not any of that yucky stuff. Jake made soup with some really weird stuff in it."

"Does chicken noodle meet with your approval, mademoiselle?" He held the can of soup before her like a wine steward presenting a fine Bordeaux. She giggled in response, and he found the sound surprisingly delightful. She had also stopped kicking the counter much to his great relief.

"Chicken noodle is good. I like noodles," she said.

"I'm so glad," Duncan replied. He placed the first sandwich on a plate, cut it in half, then set it in front of her. He spooned some soup into a bowl and popped it in the microwave.

"So do you live around here?" Richie asked, as he poured another glass of milk for himself.

Dallas shook her head. "San Francisco," she mumbled, as she chewed a bite of sandwich.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Richie scolded.

She washed the sandwich down with a gulp of milk and a grimace. "You asked me a question when my mouth was full," she replied.

Duncan smiled at the very parental tone in Richie's voice. "What do you expect when you ask someone a question while their mouth is full?"

"You're no help MacLeod. Can't you see, I'm trying to establish a little authority here?"

"Right," Duncan said, suppressing a strong-willed chuckle.

He turned back to Dallas, who was busy spooning soup into her mouth. It was apparent, that neither of them had risen to authority figure status in her estimation. "So how did you get here from San Francisco?" he asked.

A trickle of soup crept from the corner of her mouth. She swept a glance over the counter. Anticipating her need, Duncan reached to grab a box of napkins from the shelf. Before he touched the box, she swabbed her mouth with her sleeve. He shook his head, then handed her a napkin. She wiped it over her, now clean mouth. Obviously, Jake had been so busy teaching her to fight with a sword that he didn't have time to teach her proper etiquette.

"I came on the train," she answered.

"By yourself?" Richie asked,

She nodded, then cast her eyes down at her bowl. "After my--" The soft thump of her sneaker hitting the island began again, and her shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath. "After my mother died ... Jake told me about how Immortals ... you know, how they fight and ... everything. He gave me a train ticket, and some money, and he told me how to get here ... if-if someone--" She took another deep breath, and glanced up at him. "You know," she said, her voice so low he could hardly hear her.

"Yes, I know," he said. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how to do it without alarming her. She was definitely skittish - not a surprise considering the circumstances.

"Didn't the conductor or anyone at the station ask where your parents were?" he asked instead. He couldn't imagine how she'd managed to travel all the way from San Francisco by herself.

She shrugged. "I found another girl my age, and I talked to her. She was with her parents and her brother. I told her mother that my Dad had to make some phone calls and he told me to meet him on the train. She said men were ... irresponsible, but she took me on the train, so the conductor thought I was with them."

"That was pretty clever." Duncan chuckled at her ingenuity as he offered her the second sandwich. She had only eaten half of the first one, and she shook her head to decline. He held it out to Richie, and he didn't have to offer twice.

"Oh, I'm very smart," Dallas said, without a trace of humility. "I got all A's on my last report card."

"All A's?" Richie asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Come on ... only geeks and nerds get all A's."

"I'm not a geek! And one was an A minus," she retorted, as though the minus could save her from the geek label.

"Oh yeah?" Richie teased her. "What did you get the A minus in? I'll bet it was math."

"No," she said, with an indignant toss of her head. "I'm very good in math ... and computers - those are my favorite subjects. It was in American history."

"What's the matter with history?" Duncan asked. He had no idea why he found her problem with history appalling. Perhaps it was because history was his life. He smiled as the need to defend his position overwhelmed him.

"Booorring," Dallas answered, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "All those wars and presidents and dates to remember. Yuck."

"History is not all wars and dates," Duncan said. "History is about people and how they lived."

Richie laughed. "Maybe because you lived through it, but we didn't. I agree with Dallas - booorring!"

Duncan began to counter Richie's argument, but he noticed that the girl had stopped eating. She had her head down and her hands in her lap. "What's wrong, honey," he asked.

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, and she sniffled. "That's what Jake used to tell me. That history was really interesting. We used to argue about it all the time."

Duncan stepped around to her side taking care not to startle her. Gently, he lifted her chin with his hand. Her lip quivered as she pulled her head away from him, and he couldn't help noticing the tears that welled up in her eyes. She sniffled again and wiped the back of her hand over her eyes.

"It's my fault he's dead," she mumbled.

"Oh no," he said, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened as he held her for a moment. He released her, then lifted her chin again, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with tender strokes of his thumb. How could he comfort her? Even though she knew about Immortals, she was way too young to understand it all. "You shouldn't think that - it wasn't your fault. It's just the way things are with us."

"No," she said, pulling away from him. "It is my fault. Jake said Sukhe Khan was coming for him, and that we had to leave, but I made the all star team ... for the first time. We stayed for the game ... so I could play. We were going to leave right after. Jake went to get the car while I took off my skates, but the Khan must have been waiting for him outside the rink. I ... I s-saw the Quickening."

Duncan closed his eyes, feeling her fear, knowing, yet not knowing what that experience must have been like for her. "Did you see him--" he began to ask, but he couldn't finish the question.

She wiped her arm over her eyes. She didn't look up at him. "N-no. Jake told me that if I ever saw a Quickening to go to the church and wait for him. I waited all night, hiding from the priest so I didn't have to explain ... but he never came, and I knew he was dead."

She jumped off the stool and ran blindly across the room to the bathroom. Duncan followed her, but she shut the door. The lock clicked softly.

He leaned against the door. "Honey, it's not your fault," he said. "You can't blame yourself. Come on out."

With his ear pressed against the door, he could hear feet shuffling against the floor, and the faint sound of sobbing. "But he waited for me ... so I could play in the game," she said, at last.

The lock ticked again, and he opened the door slowly. She moved into the doorway with her back pressed against the frame. "We should have left," she said with a loud sniffle. "We should have left before the Khan found him."

He crouched down, then encircled her arms with his fingers and held them lightly. She didn't look at him, but she didn't struggle either. "Dallas, Jake was a grown man," he said. "A very old grown man with lots of experience in these matters. He knew the risks, and he took the chance that he would win the fight. He made the decision to wait ... not you. When you make a decision, you face the consequences on your own. Do you understand that?"

She sniffled as she shrugged her shoulders, but he had no idea whether she understood - or whether she believed him. He slipped his arm around her and pulled her to his side. The tension in her shoulders eased, and he brushed her bangs back from her face. "Did Jake tell you what to do if I wasn't here?" he asked.

She nodded, then slipped out from under his arm. Crossing to the chair, she reached into her backpack, then pulled out a slip of paper. "He said if you weren't here, I was supposed to find this man." She handed him the paper.

He unfolded it and laughed as he read the name and address scribbled on the paper. "Joe Dawson? Did Jake know Joe Dawson?"

"I don't know," she answered. "He was my mother's friend."

"Mac," Richie chimed in. "Do you think her mother was a Wa-" He hesitated. "Er ... one of Joe's people."

"Could be," Duncan answered. He reached out to take her hand. "Did your mother have a tattoo on her wrist?"

"Uh-huh," she replied, nodding. "She said it was for a special club she belonged to."

Duncan glanced over her head, and he caught Richie's inquiring look. "I think I need to go see our friend, Joe." He ruffled Dallas's silky hair with affection - still unwilling to admit she was stealing into his heart.

"I have to go out for a little while," he told her. "Will you stay here with Richie until I get back?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Richie, then looked back at Duncan again. "I guess," she said. "Can I play with your computer?"

Horrible images of crashed hard drives and lost files filled his mind. "I don't think there's much on there that would interest you," he said, hoping to dissuade her, but he had nothing to offer in its place. Somehow he didn't think his chess set or the books that lined his shelves could compete with the lure of electronic wizardry.

"Do you have Windows 95?" she asked.

"Well, yes, I do ... but--" He realized with a sinking feeling that she was already miles ahead of him. She was just a child, yet this discussion had suddenly vanished like the White Rabbit down the hole. He couldn't think fast enough to catch up with her.

"Then you have Free Cell, and Minesweeper. I'm real good at Minesweeper."

"Uh, Mac," Richie said, walking over to join them with a broad smirk on his face. "You-ah, also have Doom."

"Cool! I love Doom," Dallas exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled with anticipated pleasure. "Bet I can whip your butt!"

Duncan groaned. "Doom? I don't remember anything called Doom." This whole conversation was slipping away from him fast, along with any semblance of authority he might have had.

"Yeah, you do," Richie insisted. "I bought it about a month ago, and since I don't have a computer ..."

"You put it on mine ..."

"By George, I think he's got it," Richie said, winking at Dallas. She grinned, as she nodded.

Duncan groaned again. They'd just met and already they were partners-in-crime. He was in serious trouble. "I think it's time for me to leave," he said. "Don't screw around with any of my files." He yanked his coat from the rack, then picked up his sword.

"You really should back up your files up every week," Dallas said, with the tone of a teacher scolding a recalcitrant student.

Duncan pulled the gate down on the elevator. "I'll try to remember that," he said, shaking his head.