2001-03-22 at 08:59 p.m.

Highlander: Thy Will Be Done

Part One: All Out Of Miracles

by The Vault

She was sitting at the bar in the airport, something sticky and sweet in a glass in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. It had a date, a time, a name, and an address written on it, in her handwriting. The date was today. The time was 3:47 pm, over two hours from now. The name was Connor MacLeod and the address was his, at a small antiques shop here in New York. She shook her head, her long blond braid slapping briefly against her black trench coat, and took another sip. This was sure as hell going to be big, the beautiful young woman mused. I just wish I knew what it was.

She shook her head again to clear it of the buzzing noise, then turned her head and gave a wolf-whistle over her shoulder. "Love that uniform," she called in accented, dulcet tones. The young man who'd been rising from his table and the remnants of his meal paused and smiled. She flipped back her trench coat; let him confirm for himself the fact that she was stacked.

"I'm a pilot," he said as he crossed the room to her barstool.

"Sure you are, sweetheart." She gulped at her drink again. "I love pilots."

"Then it's good fortune that we've met," he replied amiably. She flashed him a trademark grin. You wouldn't believe it if I told you, she thought, and glanced at the clock.

Out loud she merely said, "It sure is, Mister... Lionel."

"Not fair!" he protested. "You aren't wearing a nametag."

"It is convenient," she agreed.

"Is that a Scottish accent?"

"Aye," was the laconic reply.

"What brings you here to America?"

She examined the slip of paper again. "I've come to see a dog about a man," she quoted, and then laughed wickedly as if this was a wonderful joke. He laughed as well, a bit confused but willing to play along. "Can I buy you a drink?" she asked quickly, and turned on the stool so he could get a better look at her chest. If he'd known she had nearly three and a half feet of slim deadly steel sheathed next to this marvelous rack he might not have found it so entrancing.

"No, I'm afraid not," he said. "I'm about to have to go."

"Oh?" About twenty more seconds should do. "Why so soon?"

"I've got a flight-" He froze in consternation and peered at his watch.

"Aww, that's a shame," she purred, eyes calculating. Ten. Nine. Eight. "But I'd love to get with you someday. My name's Meggan."

"Thanks, Meggan, but I really must be going," he called over his shoulder, speed-walking away.

"Forgot your coat," she responded. He dashed back, snatched the blazer from the stool beside her with a sheepish grin, and sprinted away. Ah, the bosom has done it again. Which went again to prove that if you ever needed a moment of a man's time, let him see your tits. She smiled to herself, reading inside her mind the headline "Plane Crash in NYC Kills 342" as it vanished from tonight's newspaper. And twenty-four Canadian geese, incidentally, who lost life after a quick trip through Flight 857's engines.

"No, don't thank me. It's just my job," she replied to no one in particular, and slurped down the rest of her thick fruity drink.

Connor MacLeod. Lord and Lady, your life just attracts disaster, doesn't it. But don't fret. This is old Ivyblade's specialty.

"To Destiny!" she said, her Scottish accent lilting as she toasted the startled bartender with her empty glass. "May she someday learn to keep her hands to herself!"

**********

They rose up out of the subway, talking quietly in French, unremarkable among the crowds. In truth they were as two lions walking unnoticed in a herd of gazelles - danger personified, death on two legs.

But hey, this is New York. Maybe this sort of thing is expected.

"Want a hotdog?" the taller, sleek, black-haired man asked his companion.

"No thanks," the older man replied. If you'd known him you would have wondered at the strange defeated stoop of his stature, the sadness in his eyes. You'd also know that the weight of his five centuries and the concealed sword he carried within his khaki trench coat might have added to his drooping shoulders - and he'd endured enough loss to make any man sorrowful.

But Duncan MacLeod had never seen his friend so despairing. He paid for his hot dog and took a great bite as they continued down the sidewalk.

"He shortchanged me on the mustard," he murmured, and decided to tease the answer out of him. "I know that you didn't call me all the way from Paris just to eat a hotdog, Connor. You said you had something important to talk to me about."

Connor sighed deeply.

"Come on and tell me," the younger man continued, "or let me get back on a plane out of this stinking city."

"It doesn't stink," he said crossly, and sighed again.

"Out with it," Duncan pressed, and slid the rest of the hotdog into his mouth.

"I'm thinking about doing something, but I'm not sure that it's right."

"And you wanted my advice?" Duncan swallowed, wiped his mouth, threw the napkin away, and gave a deep chuckle. "That's a switch."

"You remember Rachel, right?"

Duncan smiled gently at the memory of the late middle-aged woman. A WWII orphan that Connor had saved from the Gestapo when she was five, Rachel had been raised by MacCleod as a daughter, nearly, and had run his antiques store with him. Although anyone who met Rachel and Connor together could have told you that she certainly didn't think of him as a father, and to this day Duncan wondered if Connor knew how she really felt...

"Of course I remember Rachel," he said at last. "She's a very sweet woman."

"You know that I've not talked to her in nearly a decade, right?"

"You what?" Duncan gave him a disbelieving look. "When did this start?"

"Right after I fought the Kurgan."

"I knew you had moved out, but - Not even to let her know that you were alive?"

"No," he said and Duncan, who knew him well, could see the faint tinge of an embarrassed blush high on his cheekbones. "I had my reasons, Duncan. I hadn't told her much about the Game - I had wanted her to be as normal as possible. I didn't want her to get entangled up in living with and feeling affection for an immortal. All it seems to bring is pain. It was selfish of me to keep her so close - not let her truly explore life. And if the Kurgan had won, I wanted her to at least have the comfort of not knowing I was dead."

"I see," Duncan said, and he really did. He'd had his share of disastrous romances across the centuries. Kate was by far the worst, though. He winced inside. Oh, Kate...

"And now..." Connor looked up at the skyscrapers, seeking to draw comfort from their glistening permanence. "I can't lie to you, Duncan, I'm tired of being alone. I've lived so close and not dared to speak to her at all for fear I'd get her in too deep. But I'm too fed up for that crap. I don't care any more."

"So basically, you want my permission to go talk to her," Duncan said nonchalantly.

"Well, when you put it that way," he said, and smiled for the first time the younger man had seen. "Do you think it would be wrong? Should I just leave her be?"

Thinking of Kate, it was Duncan's turn to sigh. "Ignorance isn't bliss, Connor, especially about someone you love. A person's most important right is to choose. Do you remember Kate?"

Connor looked at him with concern. "I couldn't forget her, Duncan."

"I don't think you were completely right in your advice all those years ago," he pressed on. "I shouldn't have just hidden it from her and let her live her life. I should have told her, whether or not she'd believe me. I should have given her all the information and let her make her own choice.

"Rachel knew about the rest of the world. She knew about life - and she knew that you were different, too. How could she not notice that in fifty years you never aged a day? And at any time she could have left, gotten married, had children. You'd raised her and given her an education. She was a capable young woman. She wouldn't have been afraid.

"She chose to stay. She loved you - probably still does! - and she wouldn't let anything come between the two of you; not some imaginary "normal life" and not your immortality. She wasn't afraid, Connor. I don't think you should be either."

The older man stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and exchanged a long look with him. "You really think so?"

"I know so." Duncan rubbed his gloved hands together. "Want me to come with you? I can watch your back..."

Connor laughed. "I don't think that'll be necessary."

"You're sure now?" At Connor's halfway warning look, he relented. "Well, I'll wait to fly back until tomorrow just to be safe. You know where I'm staying - promise me we'll get together before I leave, okay?"

"I promise," Connor said mildly, his solid face displaying his fragile, newfound hope. He withdrew a set of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on as he started away, but then paused. "Duncan," he said without turning. "Watch your own back."

And with a merry laugh that sounded almost like the old Connor, he walked on down the street.

**********

Rachel turned the key in the lock - and frowned in chagrin when the door swung open on its own. "Connor?" she called softly, her heart alive with hope. There was no response. There never had been.

She rode the elevator up to the apartment, drawn by the sound of the video playing. It was beloved Connor, as young as ever. He was giving her the music box on the tape - which even now rotated on the table. Now she was a graduate, hugging him in joy. How lovely she'd been. How she'd always hoped...

The phone rang. She walked over to it, eager but perplexed.

"Rachel's Greatest Hits, eh?" said a voice as her hand hovered over the handset. "If you love life don't pick up that phone."

She turned. That voice; the accent and inflections were similar to Connor's - but a svelte young woman spoke it.

Rachel's heart froze in terror, so all she was really able to notice about the stranger was a swirling black trench coat and a secretive, cunning smile.

Meggan was just glad she'd finally figured out why she was here. Connor had been until recently leasing a place in upstate New York, and had been nowhere near this old haunt. It was the ringing of the phone that triggered the telltale buzzing for the last and most informative time.

"Why?" Rachel managed in an unshaken voice above the insistent ringing. "It is a bomb."

The girl tilted her head on one side. "You want to see Connor again." It wasn't a question. "Trust me and do as I say. First, we're going to jump to the building next to us, and find cover. I'll trigger the bomb then. In the confusion, you and I will escape. With luck, you'll be with him tonight."

"Trigger the bomb?" Rachel echoed. "But - my things -"

"Life and Connor, or faded memories, Rachel," Meggan said soberly. "Your decision."

That really was no choice. Heart strangely steady, she followed the young woman to the window.

The girl opened it and peered down, one foot on the sill. "Shit, it's farther than I thought," she muttered. "Here, child, put your arms around me and don't dare let go or this will be one very short escape." Rachel felt strong arms enclose her, and surrendered all her trust to the young stranger. Thus embracing, the blond woman lifted them both and stepped up onto the windowsill, then pushed off with an unearthly power. Rachel squeaked and clung tighter as they soared through the air, barely catching the strange words her rescuer whispered. After a moment that felt like eternity they were falling, and touched down on the opposite roof with a thud that made the girl lose her breath with a "Whoomph!" Quickly she set Rachel on her feet and dragged her behind a small brick shed. Eyes focused on a point just visible through the window they'd exited, she panted "Poof!" and flicked her hand. The still-ringing handset leapt off the phone with a small spark and lay on the desk.

"Five, four, three, two-" and then Rachel was shielded with the press of the stranger's body.

All the air seemed sucked away in a flash of brilliant white, and there came a noise beyond sound itself as the remains of Rachel's life were obliterated between one heartbeat and the next.

"Poof?" she asked the girl in disbelief, although she felt sick with loss.

"You can do it your way next time. Now move!" she barked, and they scurried down the fire escape on the opposite side of the building. On the streets the surrounding city was in uproar, an anthill overturned. The stranger thrust Rachel before her, shoved her into a run. "Move, child!" she bellowed as they trotted down the sidewalk. "Your life still counts on it, and the Meggan's all out of miracles now!"

Two city blocks seemed to be forever as they ran through the startled crowd of mooing human cattle. Rachel was tiredly grateful when the sleek black Bentley slid into sight, its backseat door opening for them. Within a moment they were in and the driver was off. They had made it.

Collapsed against the plush black interior, the girl was all concern. She loosened Rachel's collar, felt at her throat briefly for her pulse, found it fast and erratic, then laid a gentle hand over her heart and murmured two words. Instantly the adrenalin was flushed from the older woman's system, and her heart expertly restored to its normal pace.

"Your name is the Meggan?" Rachel asked, feeling better but still weary.

"The Meggan, the Ivyblade, just plain Meggan Ivyblade, or any combination."

"You are immortal, aren't you?"

Meggan grinned that sly, good-natured smile again. "Six hundred forty-seven years, and counting."

"Why would someone want to kill me, Meggan? And who?"

"The 'who' is a mad priest named Jakob Kell, Rachel, and the 'why' is that he's been systematically destroying all that Connor MacLeod loves in this world - and you were next on that list. But you and I will lie low this afternoon and try to contact Connor tonight with news of your safety."

Rachel tried to relax and regain her strength, but a feeling kept nagging at her. Maybe the explosion should have been her first clue: nothing was going to be that easy, never again.

**********

"Rachel!"

The heartfelt cry of loss was drowned in a sea of sirens and frightened screams. It was a sound of love and hope shattered - and he was all alone inside it, alone as he had always been. There was no chance for anyone inside... anyone mortal, at least. He could not stay, couldn't bear to wait until the fire department pawed through the ashes, found her poor, charred and broken body - and it was all his fault!

It was too much, after years of the same agony and depression. No one saw him run blindly from the street, fleeing like a child in terror.

He supposed he had rented a car - or "borrowed" it, more likely. He didn't remember the details at all, just a confused blur of motion, anger, and grief until he woke up slightly in a deserted old church parking lot in Nebraska. Sanctuary, he thought, and his heart bled. The monk-like Watchers were gentle in receiving him, and not too obviously rapturous as he signed the release papers with shaking hands. They drugged him in a room separate from those they had already collected - time had taught them that even strong men could lose their nerve when confronted with that state of living death. Connor MacLeod drifted away while they connected tubes and wires, grateful for the darkness, hoping to lessen his grief in the mindless passage of years.

**********

The driver let them out in front of the NYC Hilton. Meggan flashed her passcard at the doormen, who swiftly bowed them in. "I want food," she told the concierge as they passed on the way to the elevators. "Something involving lots of cheeseburgers. Plus fries. Send it to Suite 4902."

"What?" she asked Rachel, alone with her in the ascending elevator. "Never seen an immortal jones for burgers?"

Rachel shook her head, startled that she'd been caught staring. "I'm just a bit out of sorts."

Meggan smiled sadly. "That happens to people around me quite a bit."

"I think I have to ask," she said carefully, "how you knew that there was a bomb in the building."

"Ah," the blond girl sighed, a bitter edge to her smile now. "My gift."

"Gift?"

"Ever since I was pre-immortal, I've had the power to tell sometimes when things are about to go wrong - when events will occur in a way that is not as it should be. I feel a buzzing in my ears, and I can see things that tell me what's wrong, and how to fix it. As the years went by, the warnings got clearer. Could I go through life knowing that I could help people and save lives, but not do it? Hell no! So I'm the world's fairy godmother, and usually no one knows."

She took a deep breath, and looked away. "The stronger the buzzing is and the earlier it occurs is usually an indicator of how important the problem is. I got up one night about a year and a half ago and wrote this down." Meggan handed her the slip of paper with the date, time, address, and Connor's name.

"But Connor wasn't there..."

"That puzzled me, too," Meggan admitted. "Then I realized. This starts and ends with him. I'm going to have to work for years to change all that's started going wrong right now. And if I don't succeed... well..." She shrugged. "Let's just say the world would prefer I would succeed, if it ever knew what the hell was really going on."

"I'm not sure I understand."

The elevator dinged. They stepped out onto an empty hall.

"Well, you can imagine how bothered I was, what with a strange immortal's name and address popping to mind at 3 am. So, I did some digging and talked to a close friend in the Watchers about him-"

"Watchers?"

"Oh, dear. I'll give more detail on that later. Suffice it to mean that I found out a lot about Connor's public life, at least. He seems to do what I do, but without even knowing it. The amount of powerful evil people he's pissed off over the centuries is astonishing. Yet he's still managed to survive, and they have not. Because of this marvelous luck, he's contributed to the well-being of the planet by completely and eternally removing some very bad people from the chance to receive the Prize. How much did he tell you about the Game?"

"Not a great deal."

Meggan nodded. "Probably in the interest of keeping his life with you as normal as possible. A noble intent, but it just makes my job harder right now." She gave Rachel a warm look as she opened the door to the massive, luxurious suite. "I think you were what made him feel most... human."

"Do you really think so?" Rachel asked, her spirits rising as they both stepped in.

"I am sure of it," Meggan said with authority. "Now sit down and relax, watch some cable, help me eat some hamburgers, and we'll call him as soon as the sun sets."

Go to Part 2