VII - Untitled

Inside the boathouse she had inherited as per Duncan MacLeod's will, Gabriela María Cuadra Saavedra was packing her bags. Paris was too cold. Buenos Aires was not that different, but at least it did not snow heavily like now. Her mind ground to a halt upon feeling the buzz. She grasped her sabre and walked out.

Darla was standing still. Snowflakes fell over her, but her face gave nothing away. Her eyes widened when she noticed the owner of the boat appeared. She produced her sword and let the two small blades out. Gabriela stood at her same level.

"You found my little present?" she asked sarcastically.

The reply was a hard blow over her that she managed to block. Darla pushed hardly using her blade, while Gabriela barely managed to keep her at bay. Darla moved her sword away only to strike again, this time aiming at hurting the other's arm. Gabriela deflected the blow but could not prevent her opponent's knee contacted her stomach.

"You've lost your mind, woman." Darla spat up acidly as she retreated.

Gabriela stood up and wiped a trace of blood off her mouth. She went forward, slicing Darla's arm. The younger immortal seemed unaffected by the wound and deflected a posterior attack. The Argentine immortal attempted a fencing passado, but encountered a firm defense. Frustrated, she rammed recklessly at Darla but the other avoided the thrust and severed Gabriela's forearm. The maimed woman fell on her knees.

"Hell!" The shriek did not startle Darla, who stiffly did the same with the other arm.

"That was for Christophe."

Gabriela gasped in pain. Darla hit her hard in the face with the the grip of her sword. The blow made Gabriela fly over and fall hardly with her back to the ground. Darla put her sword up and closed her eyes. She thumped heavily against Gabriela's kneecaps, each a perfect horizontal line. A crack was heard, then a shriek. What had been legs, now were two separated things: on the one hand stumps; on the other, knees and forelegs.

"No!" Gabriela cried, her tears mixing with the blood on her mouth.

"That was for my lost friend."

Darla went up to Gabriela's head and stared right at the vanquished rival's face. Her sight blurred with tears but she did not shed any. She moved the sword over her head and let it fall heavily over the other's neck. The dim sound that followed seemed deafening.

"That was free."

Her feet began to shake, and then it was her whole body. Her skin burnt, her blood boiled, her eyes ached. Energy possessed her. She felt invigorated as the pleasant pain circulated through her body. She soared surrounded by a cloud of a green vapour that her pores absorbed. She felt her bitterness for MacLeod's death. Then bolts of lightning stroke her. She screamed.

Then it was over. She fell over the corpse. She stood up and took one last glance. What had been her former friend was now a headless body which was slowly being covered in snow, as the white underneath slowly tarnished of red. She walked away, feeling no sadness.

-----

A cemetery in Boston. Darla Hails, wearing a pink short-sleeved shirt and a white long skirt, moved past the rows of tombstones with a couple of flowers in hands. She stopped by a grave that read "Eleanor Hails 1948 - 1984. Beloved wife." She grinned sadly and left a flower by it.

She carried on walking and halted upon finding another tombstone, this one nameless. It was a shabby stone compared to the others, but she would not complain. She knelt and placed a flower by it. She felt emotion overcoming her. She did not resist. Tears tripped down her face.

She felt a buzz. She turned. Methos was watching from a distance. He had had a haircut. She wiped the tears and waved. He approached.

"I thought you'd be here. The Sister of Death in her backyard."

She smiled and shook her head.

"I haven't taken a head in more than a month. I'll have to change my nickname."

He grinned. "Darius sends his regards... he was the priest in Christophe's funeral... Joe kept the affair to himself, and the Watchers have no clue that there are immortals who know about them."

"It's... a nice grave." She said slowly after some instants of silence.

"Something ordinary would have annoyed him. So would something luxurious. It's a unique stone." Methos scratched his head.

"Like him." Darla grinned.

"How did you do manage to take her head?"

She looked away. "I realised I would have become like her eventually if I carried on pursuing your head. You knew that and that's why you tried to talk me out of my..." A pause followed. "Headhunting." She returned her eyes and fixed them intently upon Methos.

Methos kissed her cheek in farewell and moved away. When he was almost lost he turned and said one last thing to her: "That was not the reason."

She watched him disappear and returned her eyes to the grave. Then why? A funny feeling rose from her guts and hit her hard in the face. She knelt and began scratching the earth with her fingers until they bled. She stood up and produced her sword. She used it to dig. When the hole was deep enough and her knees were at ground level, she sunk the blade in the soil and heard the sound of the wood being cracked. She tore off a piece of a coffin, then another, until the body was at sight. A neatly dressed man, whose severed head was above his shoulders. Greyish hair and a funny moustache, over a face which was beginning to decay. That was not Victor.

She got off the hole. Her sober face hinted nothing. She hid the sword, removed the dirt off her clothes and began moving away. Why Victor had passed out as dead? She couldn't know. Why Methos had played along? She couldn't know. Perhaps he did not want her to wish upon someone she would never have. Perhaps the hoax was intended to toughen her character. Only they knew. She knew one thing only: she would find Victor and there they would settle things. They would remain together or they would part for good. Or maybe... one of them would lose the head to the other.

END