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 6
Duncan felt like he'd spent the night in a clothes dryer as he descended the stairs the next morning. He yawned and shook his head in an attempt to break the strong grip of fatigue, but he failed. He'd thought he would be the first one up, but the laughter that bubbled from the direction of the kitchen told him otherwise.
He stood in the doorway for a moment and smiled as he watched Richie try to flip a pancake under Dallas's watchful directions. Kneeling on a chair pulled up to the stove she giggled, as the pancake slipped from the spatula to land in the frying pan - a sad lump of batter.
"That's not the way you do it," she said. "Here, watch me."
Her attempt landed face up in the pan - a little lopsided, but much more pancake-like than Richie's. Glancing up, she noticed they had an audience. "Hi Mac," she said, breaking into a broad grin. "We're making pancakes."
"So I see," he said. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew him straight to the pot.
"Check this out," Richie said, shaking a red and white box under his nose. "It's all in here ... you only have to add water, and tada ... pancakes."
"Fascinating," Duncan replied. He ducked around Richie, then reached for the coffee carafe and filled a mug to the brim. Inhaling the fragrant steam, he leaned back against the counter to watch more of the Dallas Delaney cooking class.
He let the heat seep into his fingers for a moment, then - despite the scalding temperature - he took a long swallow. At least Richie made good strong coffee. "I've got some things to take care of today," he said. "Can I trust you two to stay out of trouble while I'm gone?"
The brief look Richie and Dallas exchanged oozed conspiracy and triggered an inner alarm. They were planning something - no doubt about it. Without a word, Dallas climbed down from the chair, then carried two plates into the dining room. Richie turned back to the stove. "Sure, no problem," he said, scraping the spatula over the bottom of the pan.
Only the faint rasp of metal on metal broke the static silence that crackled around him. Had one of them been listening on the extension when he spoke to Joe Dawson late last night? Did they know that Joe told him Sukhe Khan was still around ... and hunting for Dallas? Would they try to go after him on their own? His concern slipped into overdrive.
"What's going on, Richie?" he asked after a few moments.
Richie glanced over his shoulder, but he didn't meet Duncan's direct gaze. He shrugged, as he turned away again. "Nothing," he mumbled. "So what are you going to do today?"
Hoping that Richie might disclose the plot he and Dallas were hatching, he didn't answer right away.
Richie crossed the kitchen to set the pan in the sink. "Relax, Mac," he said, grinning as he punched Duncan lightly in the arm. "We'll be fine. Dallas promised to teach me how to play hockey. So what did you say you were doing?"
"Nothing as exciting as learning how to play hockey," he said, laughing. He hoped that was all they planned to do, but somehow he doubted it. "I have to meet with Jake's lawyer to get some of this paperwork squared away."
Richie's face reflected his low opinion of lawyers. "That ought to be fun. Do you think Jake told him about us?"
"Actually, from the gist of some of the letters Jake left, I think he's one of us."
"Mr. Stevens?" Dallas asked from the doorway.
Duncan nodded.
"He's an Immortal," she said.
"How do you know?" Duncan asked.
She shrugged. "Jake told me. They were friends. Sometimes he went to hockey games with us."
"Well, that ought to make things easier," Duncan said. He rinsed the empty mug and set it in the drain, then he took a step closer to Richie. He stared into the younger man's eyes, and pointed his finger for emphasis. "Stay out of trouble," he repeated. "I'll be back this afternoon."
Duncan whistled a few bars of Deck the Halls as he climbed the hill. Some other driver had taken the nice convenient spot in front of Jake's house, and he'd had to park a block away, but the meeting with Jake's lawyer had gone better than he'd expected.
The stores surrounding the building where Alan Stevens rented office space had sparkled with colorful lights and other glittery Christmas decorations. The festive atmosphere and the lawyer's jovial manner had brightened his mood. He'd even stopped to buy a wreath.
The fragrant circle of pine boughs decked with a red bow was a poor substitute for a tree with all the trimmings, but maybe it would help ease some of the pain he knew Dallas was feeling - even though she hid it well most of the time.
As he opened the door, the silence of an empty house greeted him, and a flicker of apprehension chilled him. "Richie?" he called out. No answer. He sensed no other Immortals as he set the wreath on the table in the hall. Wherever Richie and Dallas were, they weren't in the house.
Alert for any alien sounds or sensations, he walked quietly to the living room door. He stopped and frowned as he noticed a shadow that hadn't been there yesterday. He touched the hilt of his sword out of habit as he stepped into the room.
The pale gold light of a winter afternoon filtered through the lace curtains that hung on the broad bay window. Blocked by the mass of a seven-foot Douglas fur, the light projected the dark shape of the tree across the patterned carpet. A tree - where there had been no tree this morning.
He shook his head and chuckled. "Looks like Santa's helpers have been very busy," he said to the tree, then he started to shrug out of his coat, but a very loud thwack from the back of the house made him freeze. "What the--"
He slipped the coat back on, as he raced through the dining room to the kitchen. Shouts, raucous laughter and the hint of an Immortal buzz emanated from the small paved yard at the back of the house. He pulled the door open, then stepped outside.
As he did, Richie whirled around to face the house. In his hands he held a hockey stick, instead of a sword. "Oh, it's only you, Mac," he said, with a relief-filled chuckle.
Steady on her skates, Dallas glided past him. With a quick flick of her own stick, she tucked the puck into the net behind Richie. "She shoots ... she scores!" she shouted, as she raised her arms above her head.
"Hey ... that's cheating," Richie said, as he bent to retrieve the puck. "That goal doesn't count. Mac distracted me."
"You're on D - you're not supposed to be distracted. You should have called time-out. The goal counts!" She spun around to coast backward on her skates. "The score's five-two - my favor. Hi Mac," she added with a quick wave of her hand.
"You have skates and I don't. You should have spotted me a couple of goals."
Dallas skated up to Richie, and stopped with her hands perched on her hips. "Well, you're bigger than me, so that makes us even."
"Oh yeah, well you know how to play, and I'm just a rookie."
Duncan slipped two fingers into his mouth, then whistled as loudly as he could. "Time out," he said, forming a T with his hands. "Can't you two play without arguing?" He could barely control an irresistible chuckle.
"She cheats," Richie said, grinning as he pushed on the front of Dallas's helmet so it flattened her bangs against her forehead.
"Do not," she mumbled.
"Okay, enough," Duncan scolded. "Now, who can tell me how that tree got in the living room?"
"Tree? What tree?" Richie asked, glancing at Dallas. "Did you see a tree, Shortstuff?"
Duncan glared at the conspirators. "The tree in the living room. About 7 foot tall, branches, needles - vaguely resembling a Christmas tree."
Richie scratched his chin as he shook his head. "Can't remember any tree fitting that description."
"Maybe ... the tree fairy brought it," Dallas volunteered.
Richie poked her with his elbow. "Shhh ... we didn't see any tree, remember?"
"Uh-huh," Duncan said. "Why don't I believe you?"
"Your suspicious nature, I guess. I swear ... we've been out here playing hockey all day."
Though he found it hard to muster up a righteous anger, Duncan stood glaring at the two of them for a moment, then he threw his hands in the air. "When you're ready to tell me about it, I'll be in the house," he said.
He took a deep breath as he shook off his coat. What could he do? This wasn't at all what he planned, but Dallas's smile was so bright. She fairly shimmered with enthusiasm over Richie's plot to suck him into a holiday whirl against his better judgment. How could he tell her she had to leave the tree behind? How could he tell her that she had to run from Sukhe Khan again?
Behind him, the door opened, then clicked softly as Richie shut it. "Mac ... I--" he began.
"Richie, I told you we wouldn't be here long enough to celebrate Christmas."
"But, Mac ... If you could have seen her face," he said. "I mean ... what has she got? She lost her mother. She lost Jake. Can you tell her she has to lose Christmas too?"
He closed his eyes as he drew in a deep breath. No, he couldn't. But that wasn't going to make their other problem go away.
"I talked to Joe Dawson last night," he said. "He told me that the Khan is still here ... and he's hunting for Dallas."
"Why? She's just a kid, Mac. And she's not even Immortal, yet."
Duncan shook his head. "I don't know Rich. Maybe he figures she'll hold a grudge and he may as well eliminate the threat now. Maybe, it's like Joe said - he's just a ruthless killer who'll do anything he thinks is necessary so he can win the prize. All I know is, I've got to keep her safe."
Before Richie could comment, the door opened, and Dallas came in, carrying her skates and her stick. She glanced from Richie to Duncan, and a frown of concern rumpled her brow.
"So what do you think?" Richie asked. He swung the hockey stick, barely missing the cabinet door. "I'd say I have a new career ahead of me. I'm gonna try out for a hockey team. Do you think I have a shot?"
Dallas lifted one eyebrow as she stared in disbelief, then she grinned. "Don't quit your day job," she quipped, then she bolted from the room.
"Why you little--" Richie chased after her. Their feet clumped through the rooms, then up the stairs.
