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“What did you see last night, Joe?”
“Mac, you know I don’t like working when you and Methos get together. That whole Adam Pierson thing…”
“I don’t care who was Watching. I want to know what happened.”
“Look, we’re not even sure if we should put it into the Chronicle….”
(Interrupting) “Joe, I need to know.”
Joe shifts his cane nervously, as if trying to make a decision. For the first time, he turns and looks Duncan in the eye. “It was like nothing I’ve ever seen or heard; and remember I was there for the Eiffel Tower Incident. The Watcher who saw it, a trained observer, still can’t quite believe what he saw; he can barely talk about it.” He sighs and shakes his head, ”The Quickening came on fast, and the energy was incredible. The kid was a new Immortal, hardly any kills; there was no way he could have built up that much power already.”
Duncan grunts impatiently, “That much I remember, it had quite a kick to it. But what happened while I was blacked out?”
Dawson gives the Highlander an appraising look; “You want someone to tell you you’re not crazy, huh? Well, you’re not crazy, or if you are, you’re not alone, because my guy saw it too. He said it was as if the Quickening had a purpose. All the usual fireworks gathered around one spot, like the eye of a hurricane – or a door in Reality – and then something came out.”
“He saw an animal?”
Joe gives a little disbelieving snort. “Yeah, an animal. If you want to call a giant, black and white tiger leaping out of thin air an animal. He didn’t see too much after that, though, ‘cause he ran like hell. This is one case I don’t think anyone will blame him for deserting his post.”
Duncan is nodding to himself, like he had been half expecting the whole story. He gets up from the bench, automatically adjusting his trench coat to hide the katana. “Thanks Joe, you’re a good friend. Part of me was hoping you’d say something else, anything else, but I guess I needed to hear it from someone I trust.” He turns to leave, then pauses with a half-smile, “Oh, and tell your ‘guy’ that he missed the best part.”
There is a moment of stunned silence before Joe yells at Duncan’s retreating back, “Mac? Mac! Are you going to— “. He sighs as MacLeod gets too far away to hear. “Yeah, right,” he mutters to himself, “I tell him everything; he tells me nothing. ‘Thanks, Joe, you’re a good friend.’ Why do I put up with him?”
Methos’ voice, coming down the stairs: “Duncan, you really shouldn’t
come here unannounced. Watchers do sometimes stop by…” The complaint
fades out into silence as he sees the cat for the first time. Still
on the staircase, he looks as if he will turn and run, but reconsiders
the action. Predators, he recalls from somewhere, will automatically chase
anything that runs.
Moving very slowly, trying to watch the animal without staring threateningly,
he reaches the bottom of the stairs without an incident. Speaking the kind
of soft-toned nonsense syllables that are supposed to soothe an animal,
he spreads his hands in an instinctive I’m unarmed gesture. He knows
from this that he is at least partially in shock, because why would a wild
animal (“It’s a bloody tiger!” screams the voice in the back of his mind)
care whether or not Lunch has a weapon.
The tail swishes again, negligently sweeping clear a chair «Sit» says something that isn’t a voice; giving a command that is not precisely in words. With logic -- and possibly his sanity-- having already been thrown out the proverbial window, Methos settles into the offered chair.
He licks his lips, trying to keep a tremor out of his voice, “I suppose ‘Nice Kitty’ is out of the question, huh?” The tiger’s muzzle opens slightly in response, an expression that somehow reminds him of a human smile.
« You… In the past… Warrior?» Crude, raw concepts drilled themselves into his mind. It felt like a question, so he nodded carefully. The mental presence seemed to accept the gesture.
« You… Now … Scholar/Historian?» He nods again; thinking things couldn’t get any weirder.
The mental communication seemed pleased, almost eager. « Good; you will teach language. » At the same time, the tigress sort of blurs around the edges and starts… changing. The shifting form soon resolves itself into a tall, attractive woman dressed in a medieval style tunic and leggings. She is speaking a musical language that seems to have its roots in Latin. Either that or it was the root of Latin.
He was wrong; things had just got weirder. This was completely off the scale for Weird.
On one occasion, MacLeod almost catches his admirer. Duncan senses what he thinks is an Immortal; at the same time he sees a shadowy figure bolt and run. There is a short foot chase through twilight Paris streets. Suddenly the figure turns a corner; Duncan comes around the same corner, finding a dead end and no one in sight. As he pauses to catch his breath, Duncan has a wary, almost hunted look about him. Clearly this cat-and-mouse game has been wearing him down.
Head and shoulders close-up of Methos as he pushes the blade back from his neck. “You know, Duncan, one of these days I’m going to run into you by accident and get the shave of a lifetime.” He pauses for a good look at his friend, “God, you look awful; what’s happened to you?”
Mac does look pretty bad, even for an Immortal: he’s tense and pale, and he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping or eating well for days. He peeks out to see if the street is clear, then gestures for Methos to follow. “Not here. I’ll tell you at the barge.”
Methos gives one of his little ironic half smiles, but he is obviously concerned. “It’s springtime in Paris, Duncan. What could put you in such a sorry state as this?”
Mac picks up his wine again, gulping it like the Scotch he wishes it were. “I think I’m being followed by a ghost Immortal.”
“A Ghost Immortal – by definition, isn’t that sort of, well …impossible?”
Duncan shakes his head slowly, “I don’t know. I can sense someone’s there, but I never see anyone. I feel like I’m being stalked. I can’t take much more of this.”
“Are you sure it’s not just Amanda playing a trick on you?”
Duncan seems to soften a bit at the mention of Amanda; he even smiles. “No, this isn’t Amanda’s style; too much effort, not enough attention.” He leans back on the couch, making a conscious effort to relax. “But enough about my problems. I haven’t heard from you in weeks, where have you been?”
Methos hesitates for a split second, but quickly recovers. “I’ve been busy, tutoring English as a second language.” Duncan shoots him a dubious look.
“A teacher – You? I always pictured you as the type who only does something for personal gain or self-preservation.”
A quiet mumble: “Funny you should mention self-preservation…”
Duncan: Hmmm?
“I said ‘Couldn’t resist her power of persuasion’ “.
Mac grins. “Her? I see; you don’t have to explain. At least one of us is getting some benefit out of springtime in Paris. Maybe I could meet your student sometime, see how she’s (wink) progressing?”
“Now that’s the Duncan MacLeod I know.”
“Ma Cloud, you don’ look so good; you should learn to relax more.”
Mac finds the wine bottle and shakes it accusingly; from the sound of it, there isn’t much left. “I’d be relaxed too, Maurice; if I never had to pay for my own drinks.”
“You should be nice to me, Ma Cloud; I did you a favour. I was only going to make a quick stop, but I stayed to give you a message. Can I help it if I got a little thirsty while I was waiting?”
“Fine, tell me the message then, if there one.”
“I’m hurt you don’t trust me…”
Duncan (muttered) “Only because I know you”.
“Your friend, M. Pierson, was here; with une belle femme no less. Said she was hoping to meet you. I tell you, when a woman like that says she wants to meet you, even at the cemetery, you don’t say no.”
“Wait, Me-- Adam actually said that, about the cemetery?”
“Oui, I’m certain. Of course, some women find strange things romantic. I remember one girl…”
“Maurice…” Duncan interrupts quickly, (the Frenchman looks up from his storytelling), “you can go now”.
Maurice wanders off, disappointed. Duncan sits alone, looking pensive.
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