|
Disclaimer:
Immortality, the Gathering, the Prize, Joe, Duncan, Methos, et al aren't mine
and I'm only borrowing them with no expectation of reward or money. Please
don't sue, I'm broke anyway. Aidan Logan and other characters unfamiliar from
Highlander: the Series or the Movie are mine and copyright does apply.
Further notes can be found at the end. Absent Companions "I always heard you should never eat at a place called Joe's. I don't suppose you'd care to disprove that?" Joe looked up to see an amused woman in her early twenties, with smiling grey eyes and dark brown hair that she had braided back at her temples. It fell forward over her shoulders until the ends curled around her waist, obscuring the design on the t-shirt. He grinned at her and waved at a stool. "Well, if you don't mind slow service, sit down and we'll see what we can do. Joe Dawson, proprietor." "Aidan Logan, starving traveler. You don't look like the hair is slowing you down." Joe rolled his eyes up, knowing he wouldn't be able to see his own salt & pepper hair, then looked back at her. "Nope, it's still there. However, there's only me and one prep worker in the kitchen. We don't officially open for another hour. Now, given that, what can I feed you that doesn't require a master chef?" Aidan stared at him for a second, then started laughing, an easy chuckle that made Joe glad he'd taken her casual challenge. "What I could really use, and please don't say a word about fat grams, cholesterol, or sodium, is a really good reuben sandwich, lots of chips, and a pint or so of dark beer, glass of water on the side." Joe's eyes widened in feigned shock, then he shook his head admiringly. "Yes, ma'am! Gotta love a woman who knows what she wants. I'll get you the beer now, if you'll be kind enough to show me some ID, and you can work on it while I work on your sandwich." While she was reaching for her wallet, he paused, thinking about her accent and phrasing. "Would that be chips in the American slang or the British?" "Damn, spotted again? Chips in the British vernacular, I believe you call them fries." She handed over the ID with a smile that made Joe think of the Mona Lisa and mysteries. He checked it absently, already sure she was legal from body language and a host of other subconscious clues. Joe drew off some Killian's brown ale, waited for the head to subside, then topped it off and handed her the stein. "Water on the side, right? Lemon?" "Please." She immediately drained off half the water, then took a long swallow of the beer. "That is wonderful. Thank you." "My pleasure, Aidan. Have a seat, or feel free to feed the Wurlitzer, and I'll be back in a few." Aidan watched him walk off with a rolling stride and a cane, one eyebrow lifted as she analyzed his walk. Then softly she cursed both herself for intruding and whatever late help hadn't arrived to assist him with set-up, in rolling Gaelic obscenities. She prowled behind the bar for a few seconds until she found the checklist for opening up. She glanced at it, nodded to herself, and got busy. When Joe came out ten minutes later with her sandwich and fries, he stopped short, nearly dropping the plate. Aidan's jacket lay on the bar; her hair had been intricately coiled up and secured with a couple of pencils in a style that reminded Joe of Japanese screens. The now visible t-shirt read "Dead Can Dance" on the back, and she was quite cheerfully sweeping the bar out in time to Billy Joel playing on the jukebox. Somehow the choice of tunes suited her: "Only the Good Die Young". "Aidan, that's not going to get you lunch free, you know. Now if you do windows...." Joe kept his tone cheerful as he set down the plate but he found himself wondering if she was humoring the cripple. She swiftly disabused him of that thought as she came back with the push-broom, looking for a dustpan. "Joe, it most certainly won't get me a free lunch, but it did get me that lunch quickly. I ate up your time, so to speak, in cooking for me, and I'm a woman who pays my debts. So I started on your opening chores. Only fair, I assure you, since you're saving me from a hideous death by starvation! "Although in my defense, I will note that the neon sign is on, and the door unlocked...." She trailed off thoughtfully, looking thoroughly content with her current lot. As Joe tried to decide what to say, he noticed the front of her shirt and started chuckling helplessly. "What is it?" Aidan set down her beer as quickly as she had picked it up, hoping Joe wouldn't fall over before she could grab his arm. "Only that your shirt describes how I feel so perfectly. 'Into the Labyrinth', indeed! Are you sure you shouldn't wear a waistcoat and have a pocketwatch on a chain?" "Ah, but you're not Alice, are you, to wonder which bottle is safe or to quibble over the sign on the cake. By all means, Joe, sit and talk for a minute. I'm headed to no particular destination and can certainly take the time to help with opening a bar in fair barter for intelligent conversation and such wonderful beer." He was spared from responding for another moment as she took a large bite of her sandwich; a blissful expression spread across her face. In the background the jukebox kicked over to Benny Goodman playing "Sing, Sing, Sing", and Joe finally laughed and sat down. "What the hell, Tuesdays are always slow. But I can't sit long, I'm afraid; one of my cooks called in sick." Aidan swallowed another bite of the reuben, washed the sauerkraut down with the ale, and lifted her glass in a toast to the music. "To Big Band: may it come back into style soon!" Throwing Joe a mischievous look, she said, "However, by all means, head back into the kitchen soon. I was minded to set up your bar for you, since I plan to be here for another hour, more like it will be two." She deliberately salted her fries and ate a couple, ignoring Joe's protests splendidly. "Now wait a minute, you're going to do what?!? Why are you here for the next couple hours? Not that I mind paying customers, of course...." She resolutely placed one finger over his mouth, cutting off his tirade before it got to full momentum. "Joe, I just put three dollars into that glorious museum you're denigrating as a 'Wurlitzer' because all of my music is currently packed and it's driving me mad. Since I'm going to be here listening and dancing for at least an hour, it seems only reasonable I should clean as I go. I have been in a car for the last three days straight, twelve and fourteen hours a day, and I'm so tired of sitting I could kill something. "You need help until your next person comes in, and I need to move! Why shouldn't we form a mutual aid society for the afternoon?" Aidan slowly removed her hand, head cocked sideways to watch for Joe's response, ready to keep arguing if it was needed. Joe shook his head as he conceded the battle of stubbornness, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yes, ma'am, I never argue with good help, and I like your taste in music. What else is loaded? But if you set up, I take the sandwich and fries off your tab. Least I can do." She beamed at him and replied, "Styx, Red Shoe Diaries, Rusted Root, The Honeydrippers, Jim Croce, The Blues Brothers, and Gods only know what else. I just kept seeing old favorites and punching them in. Oh, and lots of Billy Joel and Glen Miller. I always go a little mad with them. But it's a deal." "Not bad, not bad at all. We'll get along fine. Now, why is all your music packed? Are you moving?" He drew himself a beer and sat down, watching her savor the reuben, washing it down alternately with the beer and the water. "Hmm? Oh, the sandwich is wonderful, by the way. That myth is definitely shot. Yes, I'm moving, just haven't decided where. I like mountains and water, but I'm tired of the East Coast and in no mood for hot summers. The problem is that I'd best stop soon--I need to get unpacked and working sometime in the next few weeks." She started in on the fries with an intensity she hadn't shown the reuben, obviously as hungry as she had claimed. "What exactly do you do?" Joe studied her intently, mentally placing her in various roles and unable to decide which vocation fit this energetic, articulate young woman. "Translate, at the moment. Foreign literature to English for students, you know, the volumes with the original text on one side and the translation on the other? At the moment, I have a collection of Roman plays and poems to be translated and in my publisher's hands in five months, and no place to work. Maddening." Aidan chased the last salt off her plate with the last fry, killed her beer and set it down. "So. Where do you keep the dustpan and I'll come ask you any other questions as I go down the list. Such as what the night-life in this city is like, where the cleaners are, how many silverwares you want rolled, you get the idea." She tilted her head, inquisitive and self-possessed as any cat, and with something of a cat's look--all high cheekbones and pointed chin. "The dustpan, whiskbroom, mop and bucket are all in that closet, see me about the silverware when you finish that, and can you inventory and set up a bar?" Joe watched her secure her hair more firmly, and thought for a second that he saw a wink of metal at the nape of her neck. At that moment, all of his Watcher training kicked into full gear and he started to re-evaluate the young woman in front of him. Then the oak leaf pendant fell forward onto her t-shirt, sliding along its chain, and he cursed himself softly for jumping to conclusions. Not everyone who walks into your bar is an immortal, Dawson! Even if some days it feels like it! "Joe? Is something wrong?" The light, easy smile had faded off her face, and that steady, grey gaze caught him and held him like a firm grip on his shoulder. "I only want to help, but if it's a nuisance, then say so and I'll be off." "No, no nuisance at all, Aidan. I just... woolgathered for a second, I guess. Hell, yes, I'd appreciate the help. For that matter, there's a damn fine jazz combo coming in tonight, and I'll be doing a blues set around eleven or so, if you want to stick around or come back." Joe took care to resume his usual persona of affable bartender and watched the way her face relaxed back into that easy amusement. "Then I'll just go back to work and yell if I need answers. Would it be all right if my jacket stays here on the bar?" Her shoulders relaxed downward so imperceptibly it took Joe a few seconds to realize she'd been tense. "Certainly. Oh, can you handle bar inventory? There's a laminated sheet under the register, you read it as you're facing the alcohol." He indicated the register with a wave of his hand, still watching her. Something seemed slightly out of place in her mannerisms, but Dawson couldn't decide where. The music segued from Benny Goodman to Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" and Aidan's body relaxed completely. "Ah, ask me a difficult question, next! You're giving me instructions, that probably takes all the fun out of it. However, I shall overcome this minor travail, and prepare for the eve nonetheless, o my master!" She swept him an elaborate, flourished bow and Joe couldn't help laughing. Somehow all his suspicions seemed half mad. Aidan was a sensible, if flamboyant, young woman. She wouldn't be the first or the last mortal to carry a knife for protection against other mortals--if she was even carrying a knife! Why had he wondered if she was in the Game? Later, working in the kitchen, listening to the steady stream of songs coming from the front (Aidan really had paid for a fair bit of music on the CD jukebox), Joe Dawson reexamined his suspicions. Normal mortals wandered into his bar all the time, but on at least three occasions he had suspected Aidan of being an immortal. That was one too many, so what was nagging him? It couldn't be her ease with an older man; the last generation or so cultivated poise as assiduously as his had listened to rock and roll. The necklace around her throat shouldn't be it, although it had startled him. She struck him as a little too down to earth to be in with the 'new age' crowd, and she was most definitely not a punker. But someone had put careful, detailed craftsmanship into that oak leaf, and it was a decidedly uncommon ornament to wear--so why conceal it? Then the pieces fell into place and the Watcher knew precisely why Aidan made him so uneasy. It was three things in combination: her lack of concern about moving herself and her livelihood across a continent, the casual ease with which she put off questions about her origins and schooling, and, most of all, the pea jacket lying on the bar. At no point had she allowed him between her and that coat, which was long enough to conceal a short sword, and she had done it as reflexively as Methos would have. "Joe? Set-up is finished, and I suspect it's almost time to open for the other paying customers." Aidan stuck her head in the door and Joe saw, without surprise, that she was wearing the jacket again, although she still had his pencils in her hair. "Half a sec, Aidan, while I get the onion off my hands and I'll be out." Joe pried himself out of the chair, grateful that one of the other cooks would be in within the hour. Standing and cooking all night would not be good for his stumps. Somehow it didn't surprise him to come out and find that Aidan had done a fine job of setting the place to rights, with only a couple minor bobbles behind the bar. He opened a couple of the bottles she had set out, placed spigots in them, then nodded in contentment when he saw the carefully arranged glassware. She had bussed both their steins already, and polished the bar until lights gleamed in it and it exuded the faint smell of lemon and wax. All the tables and booths were ready, the floor spotless, and even the mirror had been cleaned. In the background he could hear a smoky-voiced singer working on a Tom Waits song and doing it well. "Damn, woman, if I thought you were staying in town I'd try to offer you a part-time job doing set up for me! I know you have a full-time job already, though." Joe was sorely tempted, and not just to get a damn fine worker. Sooner or later, if she kept coming in, he could ask MacLeod or Pierson if she was an immortal--and he wanted very badly to know. Deep down in his gut, Dawson knew the Watchers had no record of this woman, and that they should. To his surprise, Aidan looked sorely tempted. "Joe, I just don't know. I usually work or volunteer ten to twelve hours a week outside the house, just to make sure I come up from the translations periodically, else I hear a rumbling and realize I've not eaten or slept in forty-eight hours. And your 'Wurlitzer' inclines me favorably toward your place, to put it mildly. I can't wait to hear the bands tonight and yourself. "But, there are things I need to know. What's the night-life like, here? The libraries and museums? What universities do you have? How are the phone lines, because I have to have data links for my job. Are there martial arts schools and what kinds? I will admit to being most severely cozened, not least by your job offer. What can you tell me?" "Are you serious?" Her answer staggered him; that she would stay had never seemed a possibility. Aidan walked over to him, pulled out a stool and sat down. "I'm most earnest. Would you want three hours, four days a week or two hours, five days a week? May I have the key to the jukebox when I'm working? And is there relatively affordable housing within a twenty minute walk or drive?" Joe noted the casual adjustment of the jacket as she sat down and realized what had originally caught his attention: she moved and wore her clothes much like the other immortals he knew or had watched. But he shook the thought out of his head; that was for his report later, in his private journal. If he was right, he'd pass the selected entries on to her Watcher when one was assigned. "Well, tell you what, let's start on the other questions, and deal with housing last. I suspect someone in all my friends can find you something. However, for night-life, here's Friday's playbook to look through. The libraries are good, the universities not bad. One of my friends frequently stops in on weeknights, when it's not as busy, and he's teaching classes in art history. If he comes by, I'll introduce you. And the data links are just fine, I live on the 'Net some nights." "Last, and not least, if you'll take the job and agree to move into town, I've got a spare bedroom. You're welcome to stay with me while you look for a place to live. This includes immediate shower rights, as soon as I can draw you a map." He watched smugly as her jaw dropped; startling Aidan, he suspected and would later confirm, was an accomplishment. "I.... Joe, you can't possibly...." Aidan stopped, stared down at the floor for a long second, then drew a deep breath and looked back up at him. "You realize you know nothing about me; I could be an ax murderer! A part-time job is one thing, this...." Joe glared at her, overriding her voice effortlessly. "Don't give me that guff, lady. I know what I've seen. You're articulate, whimsical, perceptive--and courteous. I know damn well you helped with set-up because you knew I'd have trouble making up the time I spent on your lunch. Plenty of people would have said that was my own problem, I could have told you to come back when we're open. You got up off your duff and helped out. "Now, I want you here two hours a day, Tuesdays thru Saturdays, to do opening. No problem with the jukebox key. Do this joint good to let you run the music! Do you want to be paid in cash, or have me keep a tab for you?" Aidan stared at him, grey eyes bright with indignation, then amusement. "Ah, Gods, Joe, a tab by all means. I'm going to enjoy using it up when I'm off work! And I thank you very much, for everything. At the moment, I would commit perjury for a shower and a chance to dig out some of my clean clothes, but the idea of another sterile motel room turned my stomach. Done. Shall we shake on it?" Joe held out his hand to her, leaning on his cane and beaming. "Done. Always good to be able to help out a friend." He was not at all surprised that her handshake was firm, her hands strong and callused. "Now, if I can get one of my pencils back from you, I'll draw you a map." Joe waited expectantly, and was rewarded by her smile as she figured out which pencils he meant. She handed him one, her hair tumbling back down, and paid close attention as he sketched a map complete with landmarks and compass point. "If you're awake enough, come back around eight for the jazz. If you're sacked out and don't make it, I'll use the spare key on the landing to get in. Use the bedroom and the bathroom in the back of the house, they'll be the clean ones. Radio in the shower is set to the college station in town. Feel free to raid the music or the munchies, but try not to leave anything where I'll trip over it. Here's the number up here if you can't find something. I'll try to come by and check on you later. In the meantime... go get a shower and some sleep, Aidan. Call me when you get in, so I'll know you managed to read my map." Aidan ruefully shook her head, listening to him. "Damn, and here I had always heard it was Southern hospitality which was so exceptional. Right. Bathroom and bedroom in the back, call when I get in, jazz at eight if I can wake up. That's about five hours of sleep after I unload a couple bags. Easily workable. And I'll keep my gear in the room, Joe, not a problem. Thank you again." She studied the map one more time, then pocketed it as well as the house key he handed her. "No, thank you. Get going, you have got to hear this band tonight. I'll call Mac later and see if he can come by. Now get!" Joe shooed her along with one hand, as she headed to the door, laughing and making bad puns as she went, something about being 'band' already, and only here a couple hours. "Eight o'clock it is, Joe. A promise." Dawson watched her head to the door, moving with a long, athletic stride, and realized he was watching her ass. After she had blown back out the door, he reached behind the bar for the phone. When the answering machine picked up, he began speaking. "MacLeod, it's Joe. Can you come by the bar tonight? I need a favor or two...." ~*~*~*~*~ "So, what's this favor you need, Joe? I thought that was usually my line." Duncan sat at the bar, idly tapping his fingers in time with the music. A shot of his favorite scotch was in front of him, but Joe noticed he was ignoring it. Good, about time he cut back on the alcohol. Maybe he was about ready to talk to Methos again, too. They'd been carefully ignoring each other after the deaths of the three Horsemen in Bordeaux, which was a damn shame. They had a strong friendship, too strong to be shattered easily, but balancing Methos' long history against Duncan's morals wasn't simple either. Before the two of them could talk and reconcile themselves, Duncan needed time to wear down in his mind the sharp edged fact that Methos had been a Horseman, had killed and raped as a matter of course, a way of life. Just maybe, if Cassandra would quit dragging it up--maybe things would settle down. She was the only one who acted as if it were recent history. She insisted on seeing the destruction of her village as personal. To her, it was; to Methos, at the time, it hadn't been. Three or four millennia had to be the longest grudge Joe had ever heard of, even for immortals. Of course, most immortals would have settled it before now, or lost their heads trying. "Actually, Mac, it's a couple favors. Young lady I just hired wants some information on the local universities and dojos. And if you can think of housing that might suit her, I'd appreciate it." Joe stroked his beard, trying to look thoughtful and unconcerned. Balancing his friendship with Duncan, his nascent friendship with Aidan, and his obligations as a Watcher would be tricky. Some days, Joe mused, I should have gone into the circus juggling chainsaws.... Duncan raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a half-smile. "You hired someone new and you're going to this kind of trouble for her? Is she another relative, or what? When do we get to the part about, 'Mac, she's too young for you'?" By now, the smile was sincere and the brown eyes gleamed with mischief. "MacLeod, this one can take care of herself, and will. Aidan is.... Webster put her picture beside the word 'fey', all right? Just talk to her for me. I want her in town, I think she'll do this place some good. Hell, I even promise not to tease you if you ask her out! If I were ten years younger, I would!" Joe was pacing back and forth behind the bar as he spoke, barely watching Duncan's face. When he looked up, the other man spoke quietly, his expression serious now. "If she's that important to you, of course I'll try to help. What's her last name? Aidan is Irish, isn't it?" He absently shook his pony tail back over his sweater collar with one hand, watching Joe. The Highlander remembered the last time Joe had been this attached to one of his staff. It had nearly broken Joe's heart, as well as Methos', when Alexa Bond died. "The name she gave is Aidan Logan. I'll--" Joe never got into the second sentence. "The name she gave? Joe, what do you mean? If you don't trust her...." Duncan leaned forward over the bar, intent on Joe's voice as well as his face. Over the last few years he'd learned how to read Dawson, and something was prickling down his spine. "No, I trust her, beyond anything I can explain. She'd no more do something dishonest than you would. But Mac, I'm not sure if I'm losing my mind. Maybe I've been Watching too long, maybe I have immortals on the brain. I'd swear she is one! But there's nothing and no one anywhere close in the records and I just don't know what to think." Duncan took a deep breath, four centuries of control and experience washing down into place. "No, I don't think you're slipping, Joe. Your instincts have almost always been reliable. What does your gut tell you?" "My gut says she's an immortal, and not a new one either. I don't know how old. Very smooth if she is. But it also tells me she's a good one, in every sense of the word." Joe nodded once to himself as his agitation began to fall away. He had needed someone to ask him that so that he could hear his own answer. Maybe he'd just needed help with the soul-searching. "Okay, we'll go with that, then. What does she look like? Nothing like anyone from my past, I hope?" Duncan's temper flared at the idea that Dawson had deliberately asked him to meet a possible immortal, placed him in a position of meeting someone who might be an old enemy. Realizing that had never crossed Joe's mind, the Highlander controlled himself and marked that down as a plus for her. "Damn, Mac, I never even thought of that! No, she isn't in any of your chronicles. Caucasian female, definitely Anglo-Celtic or Celtic stock, that creamy pale skin some of the Welsh have. High cheekbones, pointed chin, aquiline nose, very expressive eyebrows and face. Almost feline in some ways. Dark brown hair to her waist, she had some of it braided back this afternoon. Grey eyes, thick lashes, no makeup. About five foot seven or eight, I'd say, broad shoulders, strong wrists, strongly muscled, callused hands. Short nails. "Wearing a 'Dead Can Dance' t-shirt, bright aqua jeans, good quality black high-tops, and a navy pea jacket. Color and type, actually. Oh, only one piece of jewelry--an oak leaf pendant about three and a half, four inches in both length and width. Extremely well made. She's well read and whimsical in her speech and her music." Dawson had been staring into the air above the bar trying to remember the details. From Duncan's face when Joe looked back at him, though, it was obvious she didn't match anyone the Scot had heard of. "Joe, I don't know of anyone like that, although something about the oak leaf sounds familiar. I could call Connor, he might know. But... I'm not sure I'm willing to tell you if she's an immortal. I have trouble with the idea of the Watchers sometimes, the feeling that I'm being spied on, and I know you and like you. She doesn't even have that. And choices for female immortals are... harsher sometimes, than for the men." Duncan floundered as he looked for the right words, only to be saved by a feeling at once familiar and strange. He felt a surge of immortal presence lap over him, knew it for the outskirts of her power, and realized he had never met this woman. He would know this presence again any time he felt it: definitely female, wide-ranging, and almost throbbing... pulsing was more like it, a very subtle vibration that felt like the murmur of a heartbeat. As he realized that, MacLeod felt the heart speed up as she sensed him as well. Joe watched as Mac's eyes widened, dark brown and startled, then his friend turned unerringly to watch the two doors as Aidan walked in. She had twined most of her hair into an intricate mass of tiny braids, pulled back from her face with pearl-handled combs and falling loose over her back. She wore a deep red poet's shirt, blue jeans, and dark brown boots and sauntered into the bar as unconcernedly as she had headed out that afternoon. Aidan felt him immediately, recognized the presence as distinctly male and powerful, but she knew Joe had seen her the moment she walked in. There was no way around this. Her shoulders shifted back in an almost instinctive check for her sword but through long practice she pulled calm around her as she moved through the crowd to the bar. "Joe, I thought you said Tuesdays were usually slow?" She eyed the tall, dark man appraisingly, managing to make it look like a female studying an available male, but she was getting uneasy. This one would be trouble to take. Tall, wide shouldered, narrow waist--the body indicated he trained hard. And the face... wisdom, courage, and strength of will. Unfairly handsome as well, she noticed, with deep brown eyes, lovely shoulder-length black hair, and a gorgeous mouth. Incredibly sensual, the way the cheekbones angled down to those lips. She dragged her mind back to the trouble she was in. He's immortal, I'll not be bedding him regardless of what he looks like! At least the collar on the sweater would make it hard for him to get to a sword if the sheath ran down his spine. Though, a couple of daggers under the sleeves would be invisible and easily accessed, Aidan noted grimly. "Yeah, well, usually they are. I said the band was good didn't I? What'll you have, Aidan?" Joe watched for any apprehension on her part, but she appeared unruffled. "A good stout if you have some on draught, or hard cider would be better yet. Sorry, did I interrupt something?" Aidan stalled for time instinctively, mind reeling off names and descriptions of male immortals. Something was trying to surface and she needed it now, damn it, not in half an hour when it might be too late. Something about Ramirez.... Duncan had caught his breath as the impact of her presence lessened. It did that whenthe other immortal was close enough, and she was within arm's reach now. "No, Joe was just telling me you were new in town and needed a place to stay. From the hair, you would have to be Aidan Logan, right?" He watched to see what she would say, cautious but beginning to understand the effect she had had on Joe. Despite herself, Aidan chuckled. "Well, I suppose I could be Rapunzel.... No, don't the tales claim she was blond? It is distinctive, isn't it? Yes, I'm Aidan, and you are...?" She let the sentence trail off, hoping for a name. "Duncan MacLeod. I'm a friend of Joe's. Shall we grab a table and talk about what you want in the way of housing? I'm not in the business, but I bought an old home a year or so ago and I can give you some idea of what the market's like." He watched her as Joe turned away, but her face reflected only mild amusement and interest. For just a minute she reminded him of Methos. Duncan quickly pushed that thought away, intent on this new immortal. "Thanks, Joe." Aidan reached out for the cider, quickly reviewing the name. Connor MacLeod she knew very well; they were good friends, buying each other dinner when they were in the same city, and occasionally storing things for one another. No great surprise, given that Connor had been Ramirez' last student. Duncan, though, she didn't know. Had Connor mentioned him once? That pig-headed Scot could be incredibly close-mouthed about personal things. "Half a moment, good sir. Joe, did you manage to get your friend from the university?" Aidan continued to play for time. The longer this took, the better her chances were. She had learned patience and cunning long ago and would not abandon them now. "You're talking to him, Aidan. Mac, make nice to the lady; I don't want to lose my new employee." Joe butted out of their conversation, partly because of other patrons, partly to let them sort this out. He knew that look on Duncan's face. Aidan had a long lifeline, all right. Aidan waved at a booth with a clear view of the doors. "An' it suit you, good sir?" She half-bowed, one arm at the small of her back, the other waving to the booth. At no point did she take her eyes off his, although she was relaxing a bit. Possibly, if he was a friend of Joe's, this would turn out well enough. Her normal humor was reasserting itself, as well. If he wanted a challenge, she would give him the fight of his life. Until then, though, she would enjoy the band and the drink, she mused; not to mention the view. Definitely a pleasure for the eyes, this one. That began to trigger the memory. Who was it who had discussed a young immortal that reminded her somewhat of Ramirez? "Certainly, fair lady, but are y' hungry?" Duncan used the bantering courtesy without thought, then decided it suited her well. "No, tho' I do thank you for your offer." She would reserve bread and salt until she knew he was safe. Deliberately, though, she flashed him a dazzling smile, both to put him off guard and gauge his reaction. It would be interesting to see how much this one caught in the conversation ahead. Caught, there's something in that; what was he in or who did he catch? That was part of the reference to his looks.... Aidan's mind worked furiously as they moved through the few dancers to the booth she had indicated. Duncan couldn't help himself. She had retreated behind a persona and he wanted to talk to her, not some mask she wore for protection. "You aren't from any African tribes, are you?" Deep brown eyes brimmed with mischief and the smile threatened to overflow his mouth as he watched and waited for her to catch his meaning. He was already sure of the answer. Aidan's composure broke and she stared at him as if he were mad. "African? With this skin...." Abruptly what he was asking fell into place. She threw her head back, roaring with delight as the tension evaporated. "I haven't heard it put like that before! No, I'm not head-hunting--Gods forbid! May I buy your next drink, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod? I needed that." Joe had glanced quickly in their direction at the laughter, then he relaxed a little. That would be all right then. Those two were going to get along like a house afire, he suspected. "Aye, you can. Did you already know m' name, then?" Duncan settled himself more comfortably into his seat, sipping his scotch as she took a long drink of the cider. "Actually, I suspect I know a kinsman of yours. Connor MacLeod?" She watched carefully, wary all over again. This was the tenuous part with other immortals, hoping that alliances and friendships didn't drag you into fights you never wanted. And this whipsawing of emotions - fear of challenge, anticipation of the adrenaline rush, wary pleasure at the possibility of a new friendship - was the most debilitating part of meeting new immortals. At times, she became tempted to challenge just to end the back and forth. "Connor? He's the older of the two of us. Same clan, different vintage. A friend of yours, I hope?" Duncan had not expected this, but he took it in fairly well in stride. Connor mentioned enemies who got away, but not always new friends. "Well, I bought him dinner three weeks ago up in Boston, and I think I still have some Italian daggers packed away for him." Aidan tilted her head; she was curious, tired of the indecision, and had no stomach for killing a relative of Connor's. "So, are we going to fight?" "I certainly hope not. What are you doing in Joe's?" Duncan was beginning to enjoy the lady's company. Already he knew she ranged from being gloriously blunt to being as delicately evasive as the perfume he could barely smell. "And how d'you know Connor? Just like him to not mention a lovely lady." "Truth? I was ravenous and came in to see if the food was any good. One of Joe's staff had called in sick, so I helped out. Of a sudden, I had a part-time job and a place to stay while I hunt for living quarters." Her voice and posture shifted and became subtly more formidable, which startled Duncan. "Or am I intruding in your territory?" "Of course not. Are there really immortals fools enough to claim territories?" The idea struck him as both startling and staggeringly impractical. "In the five boroughs of New York City, there are six younglings under a century--and Connor. Older immortals stay out unless they're on good terms with him. What do you think?" Aidan watched Duncan over the top of her glass. His answer should give her some formidable insights into him. Now, who caught him? No, that doesn't feel quite right.... MacLeod pondered what she had said, then replied resolutely, "No. It's an area he lives in, aye, and he's been there long enough that a fair number of immortals know the risks. But he makes no claims, nor tries to keep others out. He's simply good with a sword, and short on patience with fools or villains." Duncan's last statement made Aidan smile in smug contentment, which shifted to fond pleasure and then brief, tearing grief. For a long moment she lost herself in memories, far from the bar and the jazz. From the expression on her face, Duncan didn't think it was anywhere she wanted to be. "Aidan. Aidan, come away, come back. Aidan." Duncan caressed her name with his voice, pulling her back to the here and now, away from the memories. She focused on him again, a little shaken, seeing him clearly once more. "Aye, Duncan, I'm here. Thank you. I was just remembering why and how I met Connor. It was because he's good with that katana of his. "And I do agree with you, but some immortals are staking out cities or regions, and trying to defend them." She shrugged. "I suppose that's one way to hasten the Gathering." "I'll remember that." Duncan watched her face, wondering if this was a good idea, but he continued, asking, "If it won't hurt you, will you tell me how you met my clansman? And what are you doing with some of his daggers?" Without thinking, he reached for one of her hands. Both of them already knew they weren't going to fight tonight, whether they had bothered to admit it aloud or not. "No, Duncan, it won't hurt. Ten years ago, I found out that the Kurgan was finally dead at the hands of Connor MacLeod. I had a long-standing promise to fulfill, but I couldn't track down Connor's whereabouts to do it. After six months and no luck, I finally resigned myself to the court of last resort: Darius." Aidan smiled fondly, remembering her old friend. "Goddess, but I miss him. No one else has given me a good theological argument in years. I never expected to lay offerings on his grave. I always thought he would outlast me. " "Aye, we all thought so. He was a good man." Duncan's hand tightened convulsively on hers and she returned the grip, communing silently with him in shared grief. "Darius sent
me to New York, said I needed to go to Nash Antiques. Thank Gods
I'd bought the stuff in the "Gods, that man is blunt. He looked me up and down and said he could barely see how I had fit into the dress. So if I had no sword, what business did I have with him?" Duncan flushed in embarrassment at his cousin's behavior, but at the same time he was trying not to laugh as his eyes and mouth clearly betrayed. Aidan grinned at his predicament and took pity. "Feel free to snicker; I certainly did. I had deliberately chosen the outfit for that very reason. I knew he'd be able to see any weapon I was fool enough to carry, and I wanted him to know it, too. I guess it worked. I asked him if he was Connor MacLeod, former student and avenger of Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez." The Spanish names rolled off her tongue lovingly. "You know Connor; he just nodded and waited to see what I'd say next. So I asked him where he wanted the cases put? He's always so silent, he makes me taciturn myself. I hoped to the Gods he drank, but I wasn't about to ask him and I didn't tell him cases of what.... I've rarely met a Scot who didn't like good whiskey, however." Duncan grinned and waved her on with her story. He could just see Connor watching this strange immortal, trying to figure out her game and unwilling to challenge her just yet.... Aidan radiated impish delight. "I wish you could have seen the look on his face as I kept bringing in the stuff.... I had cases of Glen Moray scotch, 1784 Warres port, 1887 Chateau Mouton Rothschild champagne, and 1972 Quintarelli valpolicella. One case for each century Ramirez had been dead. "My head still hurts thinking about the hangover the next morning. Connor and I got so drunk that neither of us could stand up. We kept telling more stories and drinking more wine; we were alternating the port and the valpolicella. We finally started to sober up, because we couldn't even crawl to get the next bottle. Of course, I doubt we could have worked the corkscrew either," she mused, her expression far away. "When we could finally stand, he offered to buy me breakfast. Trying to call the taxi was bad enough, but getting the door open.... We literally fell inside. "We've been good friends ever since that night. As soon as I have a new address, he'll ship my belongings out for me. And I still have his Italian daggers, because he asked me to store them until he asked for them back. Since it's only been a couple years, I'm assuming he'll remember eventually." Aidan fell quiet, lost in her own thoughts and concerns. Duncan released her hand to signal the waitress for refills on their drinks. When the fresh glasses arrived, he caught Aidan's eye and raised his Scotch for a toast. "To Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, teacher of my teacher, and to Darius." Aidan raised her glass and touched it to his. "And to all the others, gone but still loved. They live yet while our memories do. Slainté!" Her eyes were steady as they met his and both drank in silence. After a few minutes, she reached a hand out to his. "Duncan? Does Joe know about you?" He had been rapt in the band, giving her time for her own thoughts, but he looked up and seemed wary and a bit unhappy to her eyes. "Shall we trade question for question?" Aidan raised an eyebrow, mouth quirking a bit. Did the Scot think to best her this way, then? He truly had no idea.... "Done. You first." "Yes. Joe knows I'm immortal. And he has his suspicions about you." Aidan closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if an old wound had flared up. But as she exhaled, she relaxed again. Her eyes met his calmly when she opened them again. "Your turn." "Did you study with Ramirez?" Duncan suspected he already knew the answer to this, but he wanted to hear her say it. "Yes, I did. He was my second teacher and I loved him dearly. In many ways he was a father to me, and I had never had one before. Perhaps it was all the practice he got on nephews and nieces before he died the first time. "My turn. I believe I've finally remembered where I heard of you. Did you travel for a while with Amanda Darrieux and Hugh FitzCairn?" Duncan laughed, remembering good times with those two. "Yes, I did, at several different times! Where did you hear about that? Oh, damn, I hadn't meant that for my next question. I don't suppose..." Aidan pursed her lips, and looked at him wryly. "Ah, ah, Highlander, you'll not charm an extra question out of me, even with those lovely eyes of yours. I've been immune to men's wiles for ages now! To answer your question, Rebecca Horne told me two centuries ago when we met in London. Something about a young immortal who had actually caught Amanda at her stunts and rather than challenging had stood both Amanda and Rebecca a drink. She told me your name but I forgot it and remembered only the description. She thought highly of you, by the way. "Mine again. How old are you, to be this strong?" "Four hundred and five, milady. I was found on Midwinter's Eve one century after Columbus claimed to have discovered the New World." Duncan watched her face carefully as he riposted. "And how old are you, to have studied with Ramirez?" Aidan looked at him, then shrugged. "'Claimed' is right. Idiot braggart. Gods. Well, I suppose I could be irritating and tell you I'm twenty-three years older than Lao-tse, but you've played fair enough with me. Pass me a pen and I'll work out the math. Let's see, six hundred twenty seven plus one thousand nine hundred ninety-seven is... two thousand six hundred and twenty-four, found on Imbolc Morn. Our birthdays are fairly close." She took pity on his gaping mouth and closed it with one finger, then collected his shot-glass on the way to the bar. "Joe? A glass of beer or wine, whichever Duncan drinks, and two large glasses of water. I'm weaning him off the Scotch. Also, I need some bread if you have any." She watched him carefully to see how much he was catching. She liked Joe Dawson, found herself trusting him more than she should, but Aidan had been taught concealment by a master. "Yes, ma'am! If you can get him off the hard stuff, I'll buy you sandwiches for a week." Aidan stared at Joe. "Get him off the hard stuff? Has he been drinking to excess? I only meant for tonight." "He and a good friend of his, Adam Pierson, had a fairly serious fight. Not bad enough to destroy the friendship, but.... They're both stubborn, so it could be awhile." No reaction to Pierson. How old is she? Would she know the name Methos? No good way to work it in, though, and the old man wouldn't thank me for blowing his cover. Oh, well. "Mac's been taking it pretty hard." "I'll see what I can do over the next couple weeks. Thanks for the warning." She took the basket of cheese toast and the drinks back to the table. "Duncan?" "Hmm? Oh, thanks. You're not what I'm used to in the older immortals. You're still having fun, aren't you?" Duncan had lost his good manners in the sheer shock of her age. More than two millennia? Six centuries before Christ? No wonder she swears by a Goddess--but which one or ones? "Yes, I am. May I offer you bread and salt, brother?" She held out the cheese toast and the salt shaker, waiting to see his reply. "And they that take bread and salt with ye are as your brothers, and your hand shall not be lifted against them.... I don't want to fight, Aidan, but my feelings toward you aren't likely to stay brotherly." Aidan saw the intense sensuality in his eyes, and if he was anything but an immortal.... She gave him the compliment of responding with the truth. "Duncan, I am sorry. If I were willing to make an exception, you would be high on the list. But I never take immortal lovers. I won't do that to them or to me." She watched him, hoping that just once someone would understand. "Why not? Well, hold on." Duncan took a piece of the toast, sprinkled salt on it, and tore it in half. "Here. Bread and salt, Aidan." "Bread and salt it is, Duncan." She ate the piece slowly, famished again. She realized suddenly that it was after nine and she'd had nothing since the reuben at noon. MacLeod smiled and pushed the basket at her. "Have you had dinner yet?" "No, I haven't. I wasn't willing to share food with you until I knew if you would challenge and then we started talking...." She shrugged and took a bite of another piece of the toast. "Will you explain? And then we can get some dinner. What are you doing tomorrow?" Aidan looked at him, then nodded slowly. "I'll explain, and I'd like dinner. I suspect we have more friends in common then we've mentioned. I have to be here at ten to open up, but I'm free at noon." "All right, tomorrow afternoon we'll look over the property listings in the newspaper and the real estate magazines and start checking out likely places. It's no problem, my class is in the morning." "Thank you. I appreciate it. And the explanation is very simple, at least to me. When you take a lover, one or both of you becomes vulnerable to the other. Come the Gathering it would be a chink in their armor, or mine, or both. I won't do that, to them or to me. I just won't." Duncan stared at her in astonishment. He could see some of her reasoning, but he'd never heard that philosophy from another immortal. Sean Burns would be rolling in his grave, and some of his memories were flinching in the back of Duncan' s mind. "Aidan, you can't be sure you'd have to fight them. How can you stand to take only mortal lovers, knowing you'll outlive them? God, woman, how strong are you?" "Not strong enough, some days. I haven't taken a lover in eight years." Aidan stared fixedly over his head, holding her composure by nails and teeth. "Ask me some night when I can get well and truly drunk, and I'll tell you, if you're up to it. But not tonight. "As for whether we'd have to fight? Immortals are always entangled in strife and death. I know that much. And the Romans had a saying which I've seen at work more than once: 'The Fates lead him who will. Him who won't, they drag.'" The remorse and old pain in Aidan's face made her age more believable somehow. "Can you understand this?" "Aye, I can understand. I don't agree, but I can see why you live this way. But how can you stand it? You're refusing to take lovers from the ones who can understand you best, the ones who might just outlive you, instead of the other way around. It's so nice to be able to talk to someone who thinks in terms of decades, not months, who can remember the same things, the same times you do. "And there's nothing that compares with a lover who's as skilled as you are. Don't you get tired of training them in bed? I'm four hundred and Amanda is still showing me new things. How do you stand it?" Aidan stared at him, startled, surprised, and pleased. Even Methos had never been this blunt, and Connor had never asked for an explanation. He had accepted her 'no' and they had stayed friends. But very few ever asked her reasons, and then tried to point out errors in logic. "Some days, I don't bear it well at all. And yes, I get tired of training them. But I can accept enthusiasm in place of skill. Bear in mind, what do I have to compare them to except other mortals? "The worst is watching loved ones die. I know they'll be back in another body, another life. But I hate watching that slow decay take a person I've loved, giving them all the small miseries and enfeebling restraints. That's the worst of it. I can bear them leaving me, but not the pain they go through as they end." Duncan, face solemn, shook his head at some of the images that conjured in his mind. How many had she lost that way in twenty-six centuries, to be able to explain it so vividly? "I'm sorry, Aidan. Shall we go get some dinner, before this gets too maudlin? I promise to discuss housing and dojos and the annoyances of moving, instead of anything depressing." Aidan smiled suddenly, and MacLeod understood why Connor traded meals with her and Joe had offered her a job. She simply enjoyed life and made it contagious. "By all means, I'm starving. And yes, I would really like to discuss housing. I want my music back, and my books!" Duncan raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "After you, then. One thing. Will you mind if I check occasionally to see if you're willing to make an exception yet?" Aidan chuckled as she stood up. "No, not at all. You won't be the first. If it makes you feel any better, my first teacher thought I was mad. Ramirez just thought I had gone a bit too far, but he stayed out of the discussion. He swore that he was only trying to keep me from losing my head, as no man had ever managed to teach a woman how to protect her heart." As the two walked out, Duncan grinned at Joe and said, "I promise, I'll have her home at a reasonable hour so she can open up the bar." "MacLeod--you'd better. I'll know when she gets in." Joe grinned wickedly at the bewilderment on the Scot's face and the mischief on Aidan's. Always good to add new friends to the group, he thought cheerfully to himself. She'll hear me play another night.... ~*~*~*~*~ "Joe, I'm done for the morning! Anything else you need, ere I frolic in the winds all feather and talon?" Aidan leaned in the door, her head at waist level. At the last moment, Joe realized she was dodging the tangle of equipment in the hallway. "Is there anything you could do to clear that hall? Fire marshall'd have a fit," Joe growled as he swung up from his chair. "I don't do miracles, my sorrow to say. Shall I explain to the band on my way out, however, that their chances of getting full pay for the gig will increase immeasurably should they create order from this monstrous mother of Night?" She regarded him from calm, wicked eyes and the tones and shadings of that purring voice told Joe the new band had irked her this morning. "What did they do? And how bad did you scare 'em?" He viewed her merry villainy placidly, aware that she kept herself firmly within check. A week in her company had taught him that, as had her handling of the ambitious drunk two nights ago. Joe had never seen a man frog-marched by pinkie and ear; it had been an entertaining experience. "They have, as of yet, done nothing so bad it warrants reporting them to the paymaster-general, that being you. However I have informed them that should you find objection to my set-up for the morning, I shall take it out of their finger calluses and so polish the bar." She regarded him in mock consternation. "The young of this day have no appreciation for a finely-turned threat, I regret to say. But they do seem to have taken the hint. They may even be set up in time to run a sound-check by three, but again I may be optimistic." Joe sighed and headed for the door. "Then, yeah, I need one more thing: help navigating this rat chase that used to be my back hallway! How's the house hunting going?" "It goes well indeed; if this building is as promising inside as out, I'll hold title on it by the end of the week. Duncan and I both think that it will be no problem to buy something zoned residential/commercial as I'm self-employed. That I don't need much space for my work is irrelevant, apparently. Lawyers. We should never have taught the little buggers to write. Obviously we didn't teach them to think! Ah, well, they're good for running title searches, and with cold, hard cash I don't need them for much else." Aidan shoved, pushed, levered, and forced items out of the way with complete disregard for anything that wasn't the walls, the floors, or Joe. "A warehouse, though, Aidan? Why? Do you folks just like space?" He broke stride for a second as he realized his error. "It took you long enough to admit you know me for what I am. Were you just trying to win MacLeod the bet? And I have my uses for the space; I'm a disgusting pack-rat, I fear, but I forget to leave something behind in trade, do you see." She cleared the last guitar case out of Joe's way and looked back. "Okay, so I know what you are. What bet?" Joe gave her a suspicious look as it began to sink in that he'd been had. "How much trouble will renovating this be? You need to start writing soon, don't you?" "It's a storehouse, Joe, not a warehouse. There's a difference in design. A warehouse is usually on one floor, occasionally two, and sprawls. This is four floors and no more than fifty feet on a side, and it's built of brick, timber and glass, not cold metal and unfeeling concrete. I can make this quite livable. Besides, it has windows." Aidan looked hugely pleased with herself, which amused Joe. As they came out into the front of the bar, he noticed that the band was moving much more quickly in setting up their gear, despite being.... "Barefoot? Aidan?" "They can't seem to work doormats, Joe, possibly because there are no moving parts? I grew tired of mopping the floor." She smiled at the bassist, teeth flashing. He nodded to her, very politely, and watched warily as she kept going. Billy Joel was singing in the background, from Aidan's programming Joe didn't doubt. She sang along with the last chorus, in a surprisingly good, smoky mezzo-soprano. He thought that "I Go To Extremes" might just have to be her theme song. As the jukebox kicked over to Robert Plant singing "Hangman, hangman, wait a little while," Aidan shivered slightly, and resumed the discussion. "The refurbishment won't be too bad, Joe. It was originally built to be a weaver's sweatshop and thus needed solid floors, high ceilings, and lots of lighting. I'll have to put in skylights to make the fourth floor livable, but I have no expectation of taking a protégé anytime too soon, so that can wait until later in the year. The main problem will be the sheer footage of floor and wall to refinish, and modern inventions will help immeasurably. "Then too, I speak very good Latin. The translations will take less time than my publishers think." Aidan shrugged her overcoat on, and kissed Joe on the cheek. "I need to scout some of the hardware and equipment rental shops. I'll be in late again, I fear, but I will come by to hear this band tonight. As for the bet? Duncan said it would take at least a month for you to betray your knowledge to me. Of course, he didn't know when he made the bet that I was staying in your guest bedroom." She chuckled softly as Joe shook his head and then scored a point in the air for her. Aidan paused to coil her hair at the back of her head, pinning it neatly into place. It was still damp from the morning's thunderstorm, but at least this way it wouldn't soak the back of her car seat. "You'll train him one of these days. How many bets has he lost to you this week?" The casual rivalry between Aidan and MacLeod continued to surprise Joe; he wouldn't have thought Mac would compete against a female immortal that way. Aidan, however, took great glee in winning--which she had done in five of the seven contests Joe knew about. Without being obnoxious in victory, she kept him on edge, ready to spar if not yet with swords to the best of Joe's knowledge. Wonder if she is trying to teach him? "Most of them, I regret to say. Soon enough he'll discover not to take my wagers. Later, Joe. Gentlemen, I will return this evening. Behave." Five full seconds after she had closed the door behind her, when they were sure she wasn't coming back in, the entire band exhaled in noisy relief. Joe smiled at them. "Guys, that was my cleaning crew. She'll be back for the late night set. About my back hallway?" Go
on to Absent Companions, part 2 Highlander
Stories: Aidan: Series
| HL: Aidan: Freestanding
Stories & Tidbits Opinions? Comments? Questions? Constructive criticism? Send them here, please! Flames will be fed to the radiators; life's too short. Graphics courtesy of Boogie Jack |