Chapter Fifteen - Merry Christmas

It was Christmas Eve 1920 when Rose had arrived in Paris. There was a bit of a flurry falling from the night sky as she made her way up to the Hotel Saint Dominique. Once she found her way the front of the hotel she felt the distinctive immortal buzz. From the top window in the very middle of the building appeared the head of Duncan MacLeod.

"Merry Christmas, Rose!"

"Merry Christmas, Duncan!"

"Come on up, we've got dinner! Been waiting for you!"

Rose skipped up the stairs with mounting joy. It had been hours since she'd had any warmth or food and weeks since she had the company of a good friend. But from the sound of things, Mac had even more company.

"MacLeod, you didn't tell you were expecting...such lovely company!" said the man as Rose stepped in the door, he was another immortal like themselves.

"This is Rose MacLeod–"

"My god, MacLeod! You didn't tell you got–"

"No, Rose was my student–"

Rose noticed the two men seemed to enjoy cutting the other off. MacLeod's friend also seemed to be a big talker.

"Well, then good to know you're not taken in with this ungentlemanly character. Hugh Fitzcairn, Miss MacLeod. Charmed to meet you." Fitzcairn kissed her hand, bowing deep and low. Rose looked to Mac, he rolled his eyes and Rose winked. "Rude of you not introduce us, MacLeod. Really!" He proceeded by pulling a chair out for Rose.

"You know," said Fitz, now throughly inebriated. Rose smirked through her glass at MacLeod. She remembered quite a few of Mac's tales about his best friend. "I ran into Thackery last week, and he said Rebecca and Amanda were in Paris, and said too that Ryan was in town with his wife. Didn't peg him as the marrying kind."

"I haven't seen Ryan in...must be sixty years..." Mac said with interest.

"Old war buddy of MacLeod's!" Fitz laughed as he washed down his Christmas turkey with another glass of wine.

"How old?" Rose asked.

"Met him during the Civil War. Let's see...Tommy Ryan's got to be five or six hundred–"

Rose spat out her wine back into her glass and proceeded to choke on her mash potatoes.

"Rose, you alright?" asked Mac.

Fitz immediately got up and began fussing over the choking Rose.

"Fitzcairn, come off it!" Mac admonished.

"The young lady is choking, MacLeod! Have you no manners?" he said, acting quite affronted, though clearly trying to impress the coughing Rose.

"I nah 'oking!" Rose protested through her food as she tried to swallow it–with difficulty.

"I think she'll live, Fitz, why don't you let her swallow?"

Rose grabbed the pitcher of water and washed down the rest of her food. She gave one last cough and proceeded.

"Say that name again," she demanded weakly, her voice squeaking from the attack on her throat.

"Tommy Ryan."

"Irish, looks in his twenties...round face, blond curls...?" she gestured by circling her finger around her head. "Smokes a lot?"

"That's the one," MacLeod confirmed. "Yeah, he smokes even more than you, Rose."

"Mac, I know him! I met him on Titanic! I thought he died!" she shouted, ignoring Mac's sly comment.

"He might've a few times..." Fitz mused.

"How come you never mentioned him?" Mac asked, half-demanded.

"I don't like talking about it," Rose shrugged. Mac shook his head before Fitz could ask anything about Titanic.

"Well, Tommy Ryan's been immortal longer than I have," said Mac.

"But not as long as I have!" Fitz interjected, clearly too far gone to be of much help, Rose and MacLeod shrugged.

"I think I'm going to bed," Rose said, getting up.

Tommy Ryan, an immortal. What was next?

The next day, Duncan was invited to the house of some well-off mortal friends and took Rose and Fitz along.

"You have a lovely home, Madame Tour," Rose said, sleepily before she excused herself and slipped out of the townhouse for some fresh air. Fitz was entertaining so long as he wasn't putting moves on her. He was never inappropriate just...annoying. MacLeod was playing with the couple's young son in a game of checkers.

Rose buttoned her coat, preparing for a short walk. It was a little brisk outside. Her katana tucked in a deep pocket, rested safely in its saya and tapped her leg as she pulled her long overcoat around her body.

It was a clear night, full of stars in the sky and people in the Parisian streets, chattering and skipping their way merrily past shops and enjoying their Christmas. Passing a narrow alleyway, Rose heard some shuffling. Normally, she would have ignored it but something egged her on as she tried to pass. At first it was pure curiosity, then she felt the buzz.

Something immortal was stalking around in the alleyway and Rose began stalking it. She undid her coat as she advanced around the corner, and slowly unsheathed her katana, at first keeping it under her coat. Then as the footsteps seemed to be coming toward her around another corner and as it became darker and darker (as she was walking in the narrow space between buildings) she pulled her sword out in front of her. She would be ready to attack.

This was her time. She would now have to face another immortal in combat. And she would not try to get back to Duncan tonight. She would go back to Duncan that night. Tonight was the night.

Rose drew closer and closer until she knew the other immortal was right on the other side of the corner. She could hear the sword scraping on the ground... She could hear each breath...

She swallowed and narrowed her eyes.

With one swift movement Rose swung around the outside to attack and with a loud, violent crash of steel and steel as their swords met and their voices shouting...Rose fell silent. So did the immortal in front of her.

Neither of them did anything but gape in absolute disbelief.