Author's Notes: I only borrow Duncan and Connor, and Richie and Tessa. I swear.
Cannon plotlines are going to be shot to hell in this fic. Anything beyond the first season never happened. And I shall be twisting history to my own uses more than once before this fic ends. Physics, philosophy, literature, and poetry shall get their limelight too.
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February 23, 1998, Seacouver, Washington
In the five minutes it took Duncan MacLeod to exit his car and to walk the short distance to his kinsman's front door, he felt the presence of a fellow Immortal. But that was to be expected; after all, Connor MacLeod was his kinsman, his mentor, the very first Immortal he had met over four hundred years earlier. But he still glanced around him, to verify that he was indeed alone. In coming here, he had left a wake of three dead bodies, every single one proclaiming he was to be the one to finally kill the 'Great Highlander', but he won against everyone. Last thing he wanted was for his unasked for death spree to follow him to here. But he saw no one.
Duncan nodded, and he reached forward slightly to press upon the doorbell outside the townhouse. He quickly pushed his hand through his hair, and he situated his dark sunglasses further up his nose. He leaned forward to press upon the doorbell again, when the door opened, and for the briefest second, that 'presence' grew stronger, and Duncan forced a smile, and he cleared his head. "Ah, Connor, beginning to think you weren't home."
"No, no, I'm here, Duncan lad. Come in, please." Connor stepped aside from the door, to give Duncan space to pass through the entrance. He was shoeless, with his shirt untucked. Duncan guessed from his wet hair that Connor must have just got out the shower before he arrived. "Weren't expecting you for a few more days yet."
"I had some complications."
Connor closed the front door, and he followed Duncan into the interior of the house. "Complications? What sorts of complications?"
"For one thing, Tessa died."
"I'm sorry to hear that. She was a good lass, and she was good for you. Kept you on your toes." Connor motioned for Duncan to sit, and he did on one of the couches situated in the living room. "But that still doesn't explain why you're showing up on my doorstep of all places. I would think you and Richie would be grieving together." Connor paused in his search of his last bottle of scotch. "Oh dear god, please don't tell me Richie is...?"
"Richie's fine. He's with Joe. He thought it best if I talked to you alone. We both thought it best."
Connor padded into the living room, half-full bottle of scotch under his arm, and glass in each hand. He placed one on the coffee table in front of Duncan, with the bottle of scotch also. He folded himself into the armchair opposite, and he placed the second glass on the same table, only three or four feet in front of him. He gestured for Duncan to pour the alcohol into the glasses, if he wanted, and he asked, "How?"
"Car accident. We had traveled to Nice to celebrate our anniversary, and she was in the main part of town to buy for dinner, and a car ran her down. Didn't even stop to see if she was ok. Just kept driving."
"I'm sorry, Duncan."
"So am I," he nodded. "We had married, you know."
"I remember you had sent me an announcement. Five years ago, was it?"
"Yes. Five years ago next month." Duncan sighed, and he quickly swallowed his scotch. He reached for the bottle to pour another glass, and he inclined the bottle towards Connor, but the older Highlander shook his head. "In this tiny church we found in Paris. Darius officiated, and Sean Burns and Hugh FitzCairn were our witnesses. Richie held the rings for us, and he looked like he was ready to burst with happiness and excitement. I had been terrified he would drop the rings, but he proved me wrong. Tessa's parents threw a small reception for us at their house. Better than any wedding party could have been."
"I'll overlook the fact that you invited Sean and FitzCairn over me."
"They were already in Paris," Duncan shrugged, "and we needed witnesses."
"I'm kidding, Duncan lad. You know that." Connor's eyes pierced into Duncan's. The younger Highlander had removed the sunglasses when he had sat, and Connor could see now that Duncan's eyes were darker in his grief than normal. "I am sorry about Tessa."
"Thank you."
Connor held Duncan's down-turned eyes for several more seconds before he turned away. "But there were still other complications, yes?"
"Yes." Duncan paused, and he looked further down, turning his hands over in his lap, and seeing –not for the first time—how the light reflected against the wedding band he still wore. "Richie died. After we returned to Paris."
"Oh, hell. How?"
"Shot."
"Know the guy?"
"No." Duncan paused again, and he again reached to pour himself more scotch. He swallowed the alcohol in one throw. "Something about a pretty girl, her jealous ex-boyfriend, and something not being resolved before Tessa and the trip to Nice."
"How old is he now?"
"Richie? Too young."
"You'll teach him?"
"Yes. I'd think the training would be good for both of us. Help us to reconnect, and help us both to heal." Duncan looked to Connor again. "We're moving back here. I hoped you might help, should we need it?"
"Of course, Duncan lad. I'm always here for you."
"I'm glad," Duncan nodded. "I've left three dead in my wake."
"All immortal?"
"Yes."
Connor gave a low whistle. "Didn't think you had it in you?"
"Didn't have much choice."
Duncan reached again for the scotch, but Connor quickly interceded, and he pulled the bottle from the table. "Oh, no. You've had enough for one afternoon, lad. Want anything more, I have water in the kitchen."
"Fine," conceded Duncan.
Connor paused in his retreat into the kitchen. Duncan conceding, and so quickly? For he would never admit, but Richie's exuberance often reminded Connor of Duncan when he was younger. Still did, sometimes. "Why don't you bring Richie by here sometime later this week? I'd like to see the lad, and perhaps I might be able to help you some?"
"I'd appreciate it, Connor, thank you." Suddenly, Duncan sat straighter. "This isn't another one of your attempts to introduce me to some, nice woman, is it?"
"Anytime," Connor shrugged. He rinsed out a glass, and he poured some water into it, before he returned to the living room, and he handed it to Duncan. "I hadn't planned to, but I could."
"Don't you dare," Duncan warned slowly. He sipped at the water that Connor had handed to him.
Connor gave a ghost of a smile, and he folded himself into the chair again, and he held Duncan's gaze for several seconds before he asked, "Are you staying for dinner?"
"No." Duncan rose. "But thanks."
"Anytime."
Connor saw Duncan to the door, and he watched Duncan re-adorn the sunglasses before he slammed the car door behind him. He sighed, and he closed the door behind him.
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Cannon plotlines are going to be shot to hell in this fic. Anything beyond the first season never happened. And I shall be twisting history to my own uses more than once before this fic ends. Physics, philosophy, literature, and poetry shall get their limelight too.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
February 23, 1998, Seacouver, Washington
In the five minutes it took Duncan MacLeod to exit his car and to walk the short distance to his kinsman's front door, he felt the presence of a fellow Immortal. But that was to be expected; after all, Connor MacLeod was his kinsman, his mentor, the very first Immortal he had met over four hundred years earlier. But he still glanced around him, to verify that he was indeed alone. In coming here, he had left a wake of three dead bodies, every single one proclaiming he was to be the one to finally kill the 'Great Highlander', but he won against everyone. Last thing he wanted was for his unasked for death spree to follow him to here. But he saw no one.
Duncan nodded, and he reached forward slightly to press upon the doorbell outside the townhouse. He quickly pushed his hand through his hair, and he situated his dark sunglasses further up his nose. He leaned forward to press upon the doorbell again, when the door opened, and for the briefest second, that 'presence' grew stronger, and Duncan forced a smile, and he cleared his head. "Ah, Connor, beginning to think you weren't home."
"No, no, I'm here, Duncan lad. Come in, please." Connor stepped aside from the door, to give Duncan space to pass through the entrance. He was shoeless, with his shirt untucked. Duncan guessed from his wet hair that Connor must have just got out the shower before he arrived. "Weren't expecting you for a few more days yet."
"I had some complications."
Connor closed the front door, and he followed Duncan into the interior of the house. "Complications? What sorts of complications?"
"For one thing, Tessa died."
"I'm sorry to hear that. She was a good lass, and she was good for you. Kept you on your toes." Connor motioned for Duncan to sit, and he did on one of the couches situated in the living room. "But that still doesn't explain why you're showing up on my doorstep of all places. I would think you and Richie would be grieving together." Connor paused in his search of his last bottle of scotch. "Oh dear god, please don't tell me Richie is...?"
"Richie's fine. He's with Joe. He thought it best if I talked to you alone. We both thought it best."
Connor padded into the living room, half-full bottle of scotch under his arm, and glass in each hand. He placed one on the coffee table in front of Duncan, with the bottle of scotch also. He folded himself into the armchair opposite, and he placed the second glass on the same table, only three or four feet in front of him. He gestured for Duncan to pour the alcohol into the glasses, if he wanted, and he asked, "How?"
"Car accident. We had traveled to Nice to celebrate our anniversary, and she was in the main part of town to buy for dinner, and a car ran her down. Didn't even stop to see if she was ok. Just kept driving."
"I'm sorry, Duncan."
"So am I," he nodded. "We had married, you know."
"I remember you had sent me an announcement. Five years ago, was it?"
"Yes. Five years ago next month." Duncan sighed, and he quickly swallowed his scotch. He reached for the bottle to pour another glass, and he inclined the bottle towards Connor, but the older Highlander shook his head. "In this tiny church we found in Paris. Darius officiated, and Sean Burns and Hugh FitzCairn were our witnesses. Richie held the rings for us, and he looked like he was ready to burst with happiness and excitement. I had been terrified he would drop the rings, but he proved me wrong. Tessa's parents threw a small reception for us at their house. Better than any wedding party could have been."
"I'll overlook the fact that you invited Sean and FitzCairn over me."
"They were already in Paris," Duncan shrugged, "and we needed witnesses."
"I'm kidding, Duncan lad. You know that." Connor's eyes pierced into Duncan's. The younger Highlander had removed the sunglasses when he had sat, and Connor could see now that Duncan's eyes were darker in his grief than normal. "I am sorry about Tessa."
"Thank you."
Connor held Duncan's down-turned eyes for several more seconds before he turned away. "But there were still other complications, yes?"
"Yes." Duncan paused, and he looked further down, turning his hands over in his lap, and seeing –not for the first time—how the light reflected against the wedding band he still wore. "Richie died. After we returned to Paris."
"Oh, hell. How?"
"Shot."
"Know the guy?"
"No." Duncan paused again, and he again reached to pour himself more scotch. He swallowed the alcohol in one throw. "Something about a pretty girl, her jealous ex-boyfriend, and something not being resolved before Tessa and the trip to Nice."
"How old is he now?"
"Richie? Too young."
"You'll teach him?"
"Yes. I'd think the training would be good for both of us. Help us to reconnect, and help us both to heal." Duncan looked to Connor again. "We're moving back here. I hoped you might help, should we need it?"
"Of course, Duncan lad. I'm always here for you."
"I'm glad," Duncan nodded. "I've left three dead in my wake."
"All immortal?"
"Yes."
Connor gave a low whistle. "Didn't think you had it in you?"
"Didn't have much choice."
Duncan reached again for the scotch, but Connor quickly interceded, and he pulled the bottle from the table. "Oh, no. You've had enough for one afternoon, lad. Want anything more, I have water in the kitchen."
"Fine," conceded Duncan.
Connor paused in his retreat into the kitchen. Duncan conceding, and so quickly? For he would never admit, but Richie's exuberance often reminded Connor of Duncan when he was younger. Still did, sometimes. "Why don't you bring Richie by here sometime later this week? I'd like to see the lad, and perhaps I might be able to help you some?"
"I'd appreciate it, Connor, thank you." Suddenly, Duncan sat straighter. "This isn't another one of your attempts to introduce me to some, nice woman, is it?"
"Anytime," Connor shrugged. He rinsed out a glass, and he poured some water into it, before he returned to the living room, and he handed it to Duncan. "I hadn't planned to, but I could."
"Don't you dare," Duncan warned slowly. He sipped at the water that Connor had handed to him.
Connor gave a ghost of a smile, and he folded himself into the chair again, and he held Duncan's gaze for several seconds before he asked, "Are you staying for dinner?"
"No." Duncan rose. "But thanks."
"Anytime."
Connor saw Duncan to the door, and he watched Duncan re-adorn the sunglasses before he slammed the car door behind him. He sighed, and he closed the door behind him.
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