An Honorable Man

I took a moment out to curse at myself and remind myself that there are guys you can hire for revenge shit. I had the money to do it. I even knew some guys. They would make it look like some kind of senseless cowboy job-something that I had nothing to do with. Surely, there were other people in the world with half an interest in taking MacLeod's sorry ass out. It would be easy, and it would be over.

Yeah, right. Something deep down told me those two I left at the bar would definitely catch on to anything resembling a contract-killing that got laid out on their boy. And so, there are just some things a girl has to do for herself.

Besides, it was probably just the nerves talking.

I never really did get good at pulling a B&E. Like I said, I did mostly courier work when I did "odd jobs." A B&E requires finesse, and I have never been a finesse person. Oddly, even with my lack of aptitude, it didn't seem all that hard waiting until MacLeod was out and then breaking into his apartment. Part of me was expecting at the least a burglar-alarm. Methos should have known better than to show me where the man lived-not until he was sure I was off of the revenge kick.

This just goes to prove that one is never too old to still make mistakes.

I had my gun, I had my sword, and I had a plan. It was a little different than my old plan, of course. My old plan was get him in a corner and blast his head into a fine, pink mist.

It was a plan they'd have appreciated in the neighborhood-even if it was against the rules of the Game, it wasn't against the rules I was raised with. It was a thing Kronos could have appreciated-it would be messy, but it would do the job.

But it was a thing I couldn't do.

I respected Joe-and this would've killed him. I respected Methos, and he would have killed me. And I couldn't really bring myself to do it, so I amended my plan. I had time to get myself resigned to the fact that this wasn't really what Kronos had been asking me for-but in its own way, the plan was a kind of payback.

(Not that a part of me didn't wonder where the old Genevieve got to-there was a day when I'd have just got wasted, and done what I had to do. Secretly, I thought about just shooting off his kneecaps. There isn't a whole hell of a lot you can do without kneecaps. It wouldn't be killing him in cold blood-it would be more like…a very sick revenge fantasy. I disgusted myself with the thought, and put it aside.)

I also had time to check out MacLeod's digs-the man knows how to live. Everything was tasteful and well ordered. His furnishings-top of the line, musical tastes tending to the classical and I even checked out his fridge. I figured, since we were about to become close friends, he wouldn't mind if I helped myself to a beer. I took a seat; I put the gun on the table, laid the sword across my lap, and flipped the cap off the beer. Then I waited, thinking about exactly what I wanted to say.

Although a part of me felt jittery about this, it was really no worse than waiting for a meeting with one of the bosses (you might know what that's like, and if you don't, you might be better off). The only difference was that I was the one calling the meeting.

He seemed to have felt my presence before I felt his. I smiled when I heard him ask, "Who's there?" I had no interest in answering. I laid the sword beside me, realizing that it being on my lap was just a bit much.

He opened the door, cautiously, and his sword was drawn. I continued smiling-hopefully not like a psychopath, but rather like I was happy to see him. And I was, because seeing him meant I could make my proposition; let the chips fall where they may.

"I suppose this is a weird way of dropping in on someone. But then, I'm kind of an informal person."

"You could say that." He didn't drop the sword and the way he was looking at me made me dead certain that he thought this was a revenge-thing. He was about to be pleasantly surprised. We were just going to talk. Or at least, that was what I hoped. I certainly didn't want this to turn into a challenge-not that I thought Duncan MacLeod would have any use for my head. That, in fact, was exactly the gamble I was making.

"I hope it's okay that I helped myself," I said, tipping the beer in his direction. "I figured you wouldn't mind. We need to talk."

"I'm listening."

He looked so tense and so on edge that I felt a little sorry for him-I was being cruel. He must be used to constant challenges, with his reputation. To him, "We need to talk," may just sound like code for "There can be only one."

"Look, I said we needed to talk. That does not mean I'm doing all the talking."

"Do you have to be surrounded with weapons just to talk?"

"Do you still have to hold the sword like you're ready to go? Look, I don't know what you're going to do-and you don't know what I'm going to do. That makes things fair. And I know you can appreciate fairness."

He put the sword away. He stood, just a bit hesitant, and I gestured to the sofa. I felt a little strange, inviting him to sit in his own place, but then, I had invited myself into his place, so I was definitely in a proprietary little mood. He looked down at the gun on the table.

"It isn't loaded," I said. "You can check for yourself."

He reached forward, and I watched him checking the chambers. Our eyes met, briefly, once he had satisfied himself that I was simply interested in talking. I leaned forward, just a little. I was about to tell a story.

"I brought that gun with me intending to use it to blow your head off. Those were hollow point bullets-Black Rhinos. I don't usually like that kind of a mess, but that isn't the point. I'm sure you knew what they were when I used them on you. I was going to kill you, but I changed my mind. Do you want to know why I changed my mind?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me." He sat back a little, seeming more comfortable. That was good. I wanted him to feel comfortable, if we were going to come to any kind of understanding.

"I changed my mind, because you are what I'd call an honorable man. There aren't a lot of those walking around. You could go up to a hundred different guys, ninety-nine of them will be assholes, but that last guy-he might be an honorable man. And that might only be on weekends. Mondays through Fridays, he could be a bastard. Or at least, that's my experience. You might know a better class of people."

He didn't seem to have anything to say about that. It didn't bother me, though. It helped me stay "on script."

"That's why I need to talk to you, MacLeod. Or can I call you Duncan? I mean, you can call me Genevieve. I want to be on a first name basis with you. Like I said, I'm an informal person."

"Sure, Genevieve." His look was one of anticipation. Who could blame him? I've held a gun on him, told him I wanted to avenge Kronos' death, shot him-and then there's the whole business about my being borderline "iffy" in the whole "destroy the world" thing. He may well have reasons to regard me as something of a fruitcake, especially if he was what I thought he was.

"I need the opinion of an honorable man. Do you know what the American Indians said about saving somebody's life?"

Something flashed across Duncan's face, although I'm not sure what. He took a deep breath, and his face seemed a bit more brooding, if such a thing is possible. He has one of those personalities that seem prone to moods. I could dig that. I get fairly moody, myself. I wondered if I hadn't stirred a memory, somewhere in there.

But he knew the answer.

"They said that if you save someone else's life, you become responsible for that person, forever," he answered.

"That's what they said. They had a point-I mean, think about it. You save the life of someone who got themselves in a position where they needed saving in the first place-and that person is only going to do it again. How did you do after I shot you?" I asked, suddenly, as if I was changing the subject. He knew full well that I wasn't.

"I know-Methos and I would have been right in the line of it."

"That makes me responsible for both of you, now," I said, simply.

His eyes widened in surprise when I said that, as if it was the last thing he ever expected me to say. That was what I wanted. Before he could respond to that, I had another question for him.

"Here's where I need the opinion of an honorable man. If someone was making a dying request-I mean, you can look into that person's eyes and you have no expectation that they are going to make it-you would keep that promise, wouldn't you?"

"If I could," he said. It was an equivocation, in my estimate, but I would allow him that. It was, in fact, a very good answer. It was an honest answer.

"Sure, if you could. Because, obviously, the world isn't perfect. Things happen. You can't always do the things you were going to do. So, if you made a promise, and for reasons beyond your control, you couldn't carry it out, that isn't necessarily betraying that person's confidence in you. That isn't going back on your word. It's just life."

This was beginning to wear at him-I was taking him a just a bit beyond his patience. He was shifting in his seat, not in an obvious way-just in a way I happened to notice.

"Where is this going?"

I could feel my palms getting sweaty as a part of me wondered if I was right about this guy. I usually have a good feel for people-but I have been wrong before. What I was about to offer him was completely insane-but I knew it was too late to give it up, now. Convinced of my insanity, I pressed on. Shit, it wasn't like the consequences if I were wrong would be something I'd have to live with.

"I knew-hell, Kronos might have known-that someone might try to stop him. He had to have known; or else he never would have asked me if I would take care of the person who did it. When I held him in my arms for the last time-I knew it was the last time. I made a blood oath-I'm not a superstitious person, but my family? They raised me to believe that you make an oath, and you keep it, or else you are asking for it." I shrugged. "Maybe it's bad luck. At the very least, it makes you a liar."

He was beginning to see where this was going. At the very least, he realized what this had meant to me.

"But you see, Duncan? I didn't avenge his death, like I promised. Instead, I let you live. And when I thought you would get blown up-I made sure it didn't happen. So now, I'm responsible for you."

I looked down at the floor, partly to hide my own face. I didn't even really believe the load of bullshit I was dropping over here, but it would resonate somewhere in the mind of an honorable man. I knew he was seeing it, because I was tuned in, now. I was trying to read every move he made. When I let my eyes meet his, I realized I had done it-he was on the hook.

"There's only one way I can see for me to be out of this quandary. You see I can't carry out my promise. So that makes me a liar. And I don't want to be responsible for you." I reached for my sword and held it out, across my hands, so that there could be no question of what my intentions were. "So I want you to do a favor for me."

I tried not to smile out of sheer nervousness or the insane "Godfather" moment flashing in my head-I was about to make him an offer -oh, god, that I hoped he'd refuse. I paused, then I dropped my bombshell.

"I want you to take my head."

The effect I got was immediate. His jaw dropped.

"Really, Duncan, I mean it. I don't want to live. I don't know how I lasted in the Game as long as I have-you know, the only Immortal who ever showed any interest in me at all was Kronos. I don't even really believe in the Game. Consider this my dying request, since I'm only going to die, anyway. You be the one. Take my head."

He was appalled. "But, Genevieve, that's insane…"

There was an apt term for it. But it wouldn't do me any good to admit that. I had to continue this con-ahem, conversation.

I shook my head, sadly. "No, it isn't, really. Have you ever had a Quickening dream? I mean, you know, I can't be the only one who has these-a dream where you know for sure that what you are dreaming is the result of a Quickening? You know in your guts that the only way you are pulling up these images is because they belonged to someone you killed. Has that ever happened to you?"

I knew that he had when he didn't say anything. I put the sword down on the table, very gently. I then sat, with my hands in my lap, just watching him, knowing this could go horribly, horribly wrong if I wasn't right about him.

"Have you ever had a dream that you knew was from Kronos' Quickening?"

I knew I was out on a very long limb. I had only taken about a dozen heads over the last five years and could hardly be considered the expert on Quickenings. Also, the few dreams I had from them weren't all that exciting-consider what kind of Immortal would fall to me, for Christ's sake. I wasn't exactly whacking people of Kronos' caliber. It was only my impression that an Immortal as old as Kronos would make a distinct impact-especially one with his legacy of terror. Even if I was wrong about that much, I had known Kronos-I knew it would be impossible for anyone to know him, let alone do something as intimate as kill him, and not have it leave a scar, somewhere, on their soul.

All I needed to do was see the haunted look in Duncan's eyes to know it was true. My heart leapt-I was almost through this. So far, my guesses had been correct.

One tear, completely guileless, formed, and I let it fall. I didn't know where this came from, but I knew it didn't hurt if I cried when I got to this point. Most men are thrown over by a woman's tears. Since I look like a kid-it's even more pathetic when I do it.

"If any part of us lives on through our Quickenings, and I think it does-then something of him is in you. You took the head of someone who endured for four thousand years-and that makes you stronger. You could even win the Prize, because he made you stronger. If that's how it is, take my head." My voice broke, and somewhere in the back of my head, a little voice said that this was good. I went on, "Maybe a part of me will live on, in you. I know my head is worthless, but it's yours for the taking. And then, Kronos and I…"

At this, I let my voice trail off. For being an asshole this huge, I surely deserved to lose my head. Anyone could see what I was driving at-Duncan certainly would. It was a hopelessly romantic thing, after all.

Picture it folks, Kronos and me united in death. Okay, stop laughing. I told you I get sappy sometimes.

"Genevieve, I can't do that," he said. "I just can't."

And of course he couldn't. He was just like me-he needed a reason to kill somebody. It had to be personal in order to feel right. I know it sounds strange that I think Duncan and I have something in common, but there it is. He had no personal reason to want me dead. Worse than that, killing someone like me might even be a little embarrassing. I mean, really, try to hold your head up after picking on someone smaller, weaker, younger, and obviously desperately unhappy.

"What am I supposed to do? What-keep living? Keep fighting-and for what? I should live knowing that I've failed? That I couldn't give him the one thing he wanted from me-oh, believe me, Duncan, the revenge, that was worth more than the virus to him. I don't know if there was anyone else for him to ask-he asked me. No," I said, shaking my head. "I should die."

"No."

The finality with which he said this let me know I had won. He wouldn't do the one thing I requested. It wasn't taking his head, but it was good enough for me. But still, sinking the blade isn't enough-you have to twist it to make it felt. Trying to "save the world" was a part of his code of honor-and that code was what had him heading to Bordeaux to face off with Kronos. So it was his honor that I had to wound.

"Look at me. Do you know a lot of women who survive in the Game? Especially ones my size? I've only been at it five years-feels like it's only a matter of time."

I had him there. Women are outnumbered by male Immortals and I may stand 5'5" in my stocking feet. There is no way I could be as strong as most of the men I faced. There is no reason for Duncan to know that I've been schooled in every dirty trick in the book, or that I use every one of them.

He shook his head. He was probably thinking of every young Immortal that he had ever known who had "died too soon."

"I'm going to lose in battle someday, just rest assured, I will. And I've as much as told you-I'm a walking suicide. I was trying to kill myself with booze when I met Kronos. I am a dying woman, and I want to remind you-I could have had this over with. I could have let you try to defuse that bomb and been blown to pieces, but I didn't. We could call this my dying request. We could even say that you owe me for having my having saved your life.

"On two counts, by your own admission regarding what the honorable thing would be-you should honor my request. It's only a little thing. If you don't want your apartment screwed up, we'll take it outside. We could spread out a blanket, I'd kneel, and it would be over. I hope you know what this means."

I rose, and being polite, he also stood. It's automatic with a person with any degree of breeding, and it only accentuated the differences between us. I noted, and not for the first time, that he was a beautiful creature-strong, handsome-that it was no wonder to me at all how he had built his reputation.

"Duncan, so long as I'm alive, I will feel responsible for you. I let you live-and I prevented Kronos' own revenge. Your head is safe from me. And if you ever needed help-you could call on me. Just remember, any time you do, it just makes it worse. Letting me live is a bad thing-on many counts. And so long as I live, I live knowing that I can never do the honorable thing."

Okay. You can read the words over and over and point out the fallacies in my argument-anyone can. Or rather, correction-anyone mortal can. I was basically saying that revenge would be good for me and that murdering me would be better for him. Morality doesn't play a part in this-how can it ever among killers and Game-players, people who have seen enough tragedy to sometimes forget what it is to be normal? When you accept that you have to kill to live, you are pretty damn deliberate about the compromises you need to make-do you know what that does to your conscience?

Either your conscience disappears altogether and you become a homicidal maniac bent on destruction, believing everything is permissible-or you become sensitive about every choice you have to make and hold yourself to a code of honor, having nothing else that you can really consider certain. Both ways looked like mistakes to me-it would be better to look for the middle ground and then hope like hell it never slides out from under you.

Maybe that was where I was standing, on the middle ground, when I was pushing his buttons instead of killing him. It was an answer that satisfied me-and it wouldn't have satisfied Kronos or Duncan.

We stood, regarding each other. At this point-other than take my head, he might do anything for me, just to satisfy the debt he now found himself in. I had just pledged myself to the same, but if you want to know the truth, I'd just as easily opt out. My conscience will always act up on the side of "Why is he still alive?" instead of on the side of "Shouldn't you go help that guy who killed Kronos?"

I had him. And if you want to know the truth-owing me would be a fate worse than death. Because I'll be honest about one thing-I knew I could die. I knew I was in huge trouble, and had been ever since I created the virus. Richardson's death and the two Immortal zombies that Methos and I fought let me on to that.

Kronos' and my legacy didn't end there. I was of the impression that this somehow got the attention of some people whose attention I didn't want. That being the case, I needed someone on my side-why not Duncan MacLeod?

You might be wondering, "Why didn't you do it?" Sure, I can tick off the reasons for you, but here's the big one: It had to end, somewhere. The past was the past-I couldn't bring him back. I couldn't put the pieces together and make a meaning of it-it was a tragedy; that was all. If Duncan didn't stop him, surely someone else would have.

The past was the past-you want to know who I learned that from?

Kronos. I said once that I never learned a blessed thing from him. It was a lie. I think he taught me more than I ever wanted, or needed to know. All of it was important. I'd keep every minute of it in my mind forever-but the most important thing was the thing he, himself, just didn't seem to know.

The past was the past.

*****

I went from there to my apartment. I must be a glutton for punishment-the place was right in the damn neighborhood. I was completely screwed on the rent, too-I paid first, last, and a security that looked like a mob payoff. Once settled in, safe and sound, I got out the scotch. I figured I'd toast getting that behind me-after all, even though I told Duncan that I could never do the honorable thing, in my own eyes, I just had. I hit the clicker, and cursed. Nothing but the basics-the cable still wasn't hooked up.

If there's anything I can always bitch about, it's network t.v. Anytime something I like turns up-it gets cancelled. A person can only take so many disappointments.

A few hours later, I was almost enjoying something on PBS-must've been the scotch at work. I heard a knock-but that wasn't what had me alarmed. What had me alarmed was that the person at the door was Immortal.

That had me very alarmed. I grabbed my sword and went to the door and opened it just a crack, knowing full well that the chain lock wouldn't stop anyone. If 35" of gleaming steel will slice through vertebrae, they will do a number on your run of the mill hardware-store security devices.

I felt a little relieved. Make your guesses and place your bets, folks.

"Oh, you. You know I don't recall leaving you my address, and you're too damn good-looking to be a stalker. But this is the second time you've bothered to find out where I was…I'm going to get all flattered…"

I undid the lock and let him in. Methos is fascinating enough as it is, without showing an interest-not that I flatter myself. I find insects, viruses, and train wrecks interesting. This does not mean I'm interested in quality time with them. It certainly did have me curious, though.

"Had a talk with MacLeod," he said, walking past me. I didn't mind him walking past me. It gave me a momentary, slightly drunken, pause to appreciate the rear-view.

"Did you, though?" I replied.

He inspected the bottle of scotch on the pizza box-and-newspaper-littered coffee table. The place was still a wreck from moving in. Not that I really brought a lot with me. I've resigned myself to the fact that I should travel light-no top-of-the line anything, here. After a pause, he looked at me.

"He said you offered him your head."

I shrugged, puzzled.

"Did you mean it?"

I shrugged, but smiled, heading toward the sofa.

The look I got told me he and I might just understand each other, one of these days, even if today wasn't one of them. It was one of surprise mixed with-something. I don't know quite what. But it was just enough to have me close to laughter as I sank into my seat-very nearly as if I was comfortable.

"Methos, I assure you my intentions towards Duncan are-honorable."

"Honorable?"

I simply nodded, then remembered what passed for manners with me. "You know, you can have a seat. Make yourself at home-not that this," I said, waving to indicate the whole area, "is all that homey. I mean, you know…" I grinned.

He looked momentarily torn. I was about to offer a drink, when he seemed almost ready to tear out of the apartment. I didn't know if it was something that I said, or what.

"No, I should get going, I was just…"

I got up as he seemed to look for a way to explain what he was doing. Of course, I knew what he was doing-he was checking to see if there wasn't some scam going on.

"Making sure I wasn't still planning on whacking Duncan," I finished, helpfully.

"Well, right…"

"But now you know I won't," I said.

Momentary apprehension-quickly dispelled.

"You won't."

He was so…cute…about not dropping this.

"You should really get going, Methos. Don't be a stranger."

I leaned against the door, smiling, after seeing him walk-just a bit rapidly, down the hall.

Strange, Methos wondering about what someone like me might do.

I'm mostly harmless. When I want to be.

On to "Baggage"

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