"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," the loudspeaker boomed through its crackling reception. Duncan raised his head.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath for the thirteenth time. "I *really* hate this time of year."
He had been sitting in the waiting room for the best part of the day, as sterile yet musty smelling public relations offices tend to make people do. The extra-loud clock ticked away incessantly, slashing second after second off his life - not that that was really a problem for an Immortal, but still...
Duncan rose from his chair with a groan as underused muscles protested at being made to move, and also for being made to sit in the world's most uncomfortable chair in the first place. He paused while making his way over to the office door, and checked absentmindedly to see if the earth would kindly like to swallow him up.
"Oh, well," he thought glumly when the floor didn't develop a convenient gaping hole from where the devil's minions could appear before his eyes. "Shame that."
Pouting slightly, he trudged over and opened the office door, took a deep breath, then entered. The beady-eyed man behind the desk raised his head disapprovingly and looked pointedly over his glasses.
"Ah, MacLeod," he said monotonously. "You again."
Duncan gave him an apologetic look.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I really try not to come here, you know," he said with complete honesty.
The man smiled disinterestedly.
"The feeling's mutual, I assure you," he replied. "Well," he continued on while shuffling papers around the desk in front of him. "Another flashback review for you, is it?"
Duncan grimaced and nodded his head.
"Ok, then," the man said. "We better begin. This might take a *very* long time."
"Yay," muttered Duncan under his breath.
The man glanced up.
"What?"
Duncan looked at him innocently.
"Nothing."
The man stared at the highlander for a few more seconds before picking up a piece of paper off the pile on his desk. He then skimmed it and gave Duncan a disapproving look.
"*Way* over your yearly quota again, MacLeod," he commented; not the slightest bit surprised.
Duncan shuffled his feet, which was an interesting choice of embarrassed reaction to do considering he was sitting down.
"Yeah. Thought I might be," he mumbled. "It's not my fault. I can't help it."
The man looked at him suspiciously.
"I hope this isn't an addiction you're developing, MacLeod," he said warningly. "You know how we deal with those."
Duncan shivered.
"Yeah. Sorry. I really try not to, though. It's just that they spring up on me at every given chance. I can't stop them."
Silence followed this and Duncan suddenly snapped his mouth shut after realising his mistake.
"Oh, no," he whispered.
The man shook his head sadly then placed the sheet of paper down on his desk.
"Oh, dear," he said. "This *is* an addiction, isn't it?" Duncan shook his head quickly but the man continued on. "Look, MacLeod. Flashbacks are a privilege, not a right. We don't like it when people abuse that privilege. That's why we have strict penalties for offenders."
Duncan stared at him, eyes wide with shock.
"Nooo! Please, no!" he begged. "Please give me another chance. I promise I'll cut back on my flashbacks." He tried his most impressive pout followed by a stunning puppydog look, but unfortunately the man was completely immune to both.
"I'm sorry, MacLeod," said the man untruthfully. "It's the only way to break the addiction."
Duncan's eyes widened even more, and his bottom lip was threatening to explode if it became any bigger.
"No! Please!" he begged again. "Don't make me go... *cold turkey*."
The man smiled almost evilly.
"Oh, yes, MacLeod," he smirked. "I'm afraid that's what's going to happen. You are not only addicted, but you would *really* have to be stretching it to even call half of your flashbacks relevant." He shook his head sadly. "Really, MacLeod. People like you give our department a bad name. The entire FRC (Flashback Regulation CommissionTM) has a standard to uphold, and people must respect that. I am an officer who respects the laws regarding flashback use. Do you respect those laws, Mr MacLeod?"
'God, I hate these lectures,' thought Duncan to himself. 'I'm not a kid. I wish he would stop treating me like one.' Unfortunately he didn't have the guts to say that out loud so he just nodded then hung his head and fidgeted instead.
'Damn,' he thought to himself as the man looked down at his notes again. 'I used to be a warrior. Why do I always turn into a pathetic mess every time I enter his office? His way too cramped office... With *way* too many stacks of paper...'
He shivered again and tried to make himself a little more comfortable on the wooden chair that was making a valiant attempt to permanently embed itself in his spine.
"MacLeod," the man suddenly interrupted Duncan's thoughts. "Have you been listening to what I've been saying for the last few minutes?"
'Woops," thought Duncan. "Sorry," he continued on out loud. "Lost in my own thoughts there for a minute." His expression suddenly turned hopeful. "Hey, at least I hadn't fallen into a flashback."
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"True, but that doesn't change my mind. You're going cold turkey on the flashbacks and that's my final decision."
Duncan's face drooped again and he slumped miserably into his chair.
'Can't you pleeeeease give me another chance? Trust me. Come on, I can control my flashbacks. I promise!" He tried another pout followed by a pathetically pleading look. Once again the man refused to fall for it but decided instead to prove his point.
"Fine, MacLeod," he said. "I will give you a test run now, here in my office, and if you can control your flashbacks then I might just change my ruling to a less severe one. Ok?"
Duncan nearly jumped out of his chair in gratitude.
"Oh, thank you! I mean it. You won't regret this."
The man just rolled his eyes and gave a 'Yeah, I've heard that before' look. Settling back into his chair, he took a deep breath and gave Duncan a look.
"Ready, Mr MacLeod?"
"Yep."
"Ok, then let's begin," the man said. "So MacLeod, did I ever tell you about my wife?" Duncan gave him a confused look, but the man just continued on. "I lost her about a year ago and it broke my heart. She was killed and I couldn't do anything."
The man waited...
* * *
Two gunshots could be heard, piercing the silence in the dark night. Duncan raised his head and ran from the house, dreading what he would see. He reached the front street and stopped in his tracks in shock.
"No. TESSA!!! NOOOOOO!!!"
He ran towards the crumpled motionless body, hardly even noticing the corpse of his friend - the boy he thought of as a son - Richie.
"NOOOOOOO!!!"
Suddenly the scene blurred...
* * *
The man's office refocused before Duncan's eyes.
"Oh. Woops," he said.
The man gave him a Look.
"MacLeod," he said while shaking his head.
"Oh, come on," protested Duncan. "That was unfair. You *know* I always have to flashback on that one. Tessa ones are allowed, remember?"
The man sighed loudly.
"Fine, MacLeod. We'll continue on then."
Duncan let out his breath in relief.
"Ok, MacLeod," the man said. "Did I ever mention that before my wife died, she had been in love with the idea of having children? I couldn't give her what she wanted, though; I knew I could never have a child to call my own...
He waited...
* * *
The year was 1724.
He was standing in a hospital waiting room expecting his girlfriend who was currently assisting in the Maternity Ward as a nurse. A few screams could be heard as the birth took place, and finally his love emerged from the room. He thought she was smiling like an angel; so content and deliriously happy.
"Duncan," she said in a French accent. "Did I every tell you that every time I assist in a birth I think of how much I want child of my own." She smiled prettily. Duncan took her hands into his and took a deep breath of misery.
"There's something I need to tell you, my love," he said. "I can't have children."
Her face fell and he could see the disappointment clearly in her eyes...
The scene faded...
* * *
"Give me a break."
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"Yeah, I suppose that could be classified as being in your flashback canon. New one too I notice. Ok, then, let's try one more."
Duncan prepared himself by staring firmly at the man in an effort not to regress.
"Ok, MacLeod," the man said. "My wife used to own a pet poodle called...Pootsies." Duncan gave the man a Look. The man just shrugged his shoulders in response and continued on. "Anyway, Pootsies was small and pink and had the cutest nose anyone had ever seen...
"Nose..." mumbled Duncan...
* * *
He felt the strangest, most potent buzz as he entered the apartment of the watcher Joe had asked him to check up on. He feared he was too late and Kalas had reached the man first. Entering the apartment he called out the Watcher's name. There was no response. He began to lose hope but then he turned the corner into the main room and saw a young man sitting on the floor next to about six or so beer cans, plugged into a walkman. The man acted as though he had just noticed him and pulled the headphones back.
"Mi casa es su casa," he said.
Duncan's mind processed that one and a couple of brain cells smashed into one another with a pop.
"Methos..."
The image faded...
* * *
"Ok, I'll give you that one."
The man shook his head sadly.
"I thought you said I won't regret this."
Duncan looked sheepish.
"My mistake."
Duncan, noticing that he wasn't exactly succeeding in proving his point, tried the begging again.
"Oh, give me another chance. PLEEEEEEAAASSSSE?"
The man took another deep breath.
"Ok, I have a different tactic to use this time," he said. "But if you fail this, it's cold turkey time for you."
Duncan grimaced.
"Ok, you won't regret this," he promised for the second time.
The man raised an eyebrow in disbelief. He paused in thought for a second then reached into his desk drawer and produced one of those little half-globe things which in this case had a miniature Santa and reindeer in it. The man leaned forward in his chair and shook the object, causing snow to fly around inside.
Duncan stared at it, entranced...
* * *
The year was 1600.
A young Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had been sat down by his parents, who had that 'We're about to give you a Talk' look. He stared up at them with innocent eyes.
"Mom? Pop?" he asked. "Wha' is it?"
They gave him consoling looks then his father turned to his mother and gave her a 'You're better at this' look. His mother let out a sigh.
"Dunkie," she started in the voice reserved for young children. She then shook her head and began again. "Nay, Ai s'ppose Ai shud treet ya like an adolt." She shook her head again. "Ock, me poor wee lad. Ai doo hete doin' this, bu'..." She sighed again. Duncan looked at her with confusion. He blinked his wide brown eyes a few times and pushed his already long locks out of his eyes.
"Aye, Ma? Wha' is it?" he asked again.
"Ock, Swit Mary, this is dufficult," his mother said. "Duncan - Ye noo Santa?" she asked rhetorically. Duncan nodded, confused. "Welll... Ock! Ai cannae' doo this!"
She ran from the room crying with motherly concern, leaving his father to do the duty.
"Ah, Lad," he said. Duncan nodded patiently. "Ai doonae noo how ta put this, sooo..." He paused to compose himself. "Santa doesnae exist."
He looked at his son meaningfully and the words sunk into the poor boy's skull like lead, destroying his innocence forever.
Duncan's heart broke, and he very nearly had his first death then and there.
* * *
Silence followed, apart from a few sniffles from the man behind the desk.
"Oh, that was a sad one, that was," he admitted through sobs. Duncan nodded his head sadly, wiping the tears from his own eyes.
"Are you really going to deprive me of those memories?" he asked slightly manipulatively, sensing a loophole in the man's conscience. Unfortunately the man caught on and raised his head with a snap.
"Rules are rules, MacLeod. I have no choice. They're going to have to go...for one month to begin with, and I'll see you then for a progress report."
Duncan's expression changed to one of shock.
"One month!"
The man nodded and Duncan fell back into his chair with a thump.
"One month isn't that long, MacLeod," the man said slightly consolingly as that Santa flashback had affected even him. "I'll see you back here in a month, ok?"
Duncan nodded absentmindedly and rose from his chair in a daze. Trudging dejectedly toward the door, he nearly tripped over his bottom lip as he exited. He plonked down in a waiting room chair, not even having the energy to make it out of the building. He contemplated his fate.
"One month," he mumbled to himself again. "How on earth am I going to cope for ONE MONTH?"
CHAPTER TWO: WHERE OH WHERE DID MY FLASHBACKS GO?