MacLeod, still weary from the Quickening, barely heard the words of the FBI agent. Luckly, the it hadn't been large, and the after effects were wearing off. Slipping his katana back into the inside of his trenchcoat, Duncan stood alone next to the decapitated body, his trenchcoat fluttering in the growing wind.
Mulder slowly approached the Highlander, his intense curiosity and desire to know the truth overruling his better judgement. Keeping his gun ready, but hoping he wouldn't have to use it, Mulder walked up until he could look MacLeod in the eye.
"You won't need that," Duncan said, looking down at the gun Mulder grasped in his hand. Never taking his eyes off the Immortal, Mulder uncocked the handgun but didn't put it away.
For the first time in his life, Mulder found himself at a loss for words. He was standing next to what might be the greatest paranormal discovery of the century, and he didn't know what to say.
Gathering his wits, Mulder looked Duncan straight in the eye, "What just happened here?"
There was obviously no turning back now -- Mulder had seen everything, and there was nothing Duncan could do about it.
"A Quickening," he said, as if it would answer all the agent's questions. Duncan offered Mulder a thin, tight smile. "I'll explain on the way, Agent Mulder."
From across the field, Joe and Chance silently Watched the two men confronted each other.
"Aren't you going to do anything?" Chance asked.
Joe stood silently for a moment, considering his words carefully, "Not yet."
Mulder rode shotgun in Duncan's black convertible. The rational, FBI agent side of Mulder was berating him on his lack of judgement. What was he doing? Riding in a suspect's car to God-knows-where after he had witnessed the man standing next to a decapitated body with a sword in his hand? It was possibly the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life -- what ever happened to "trust no one?"
But the believer part of him wanted to find out the truth about this. This was the kind of case Mulder had waited his whole life for -- *concrete proof* -- the kind no one could take away or destroy. Mulder wanted to find out more about this... he wanted to believe -- he couldn't just walk away.
The Thunderbird pulled to a stop in front of the familiar brick building which served as a dual home for DeSalvo's Dojo and MacLeod's apartment. Duncan walked up the cement steps and unlocked the dojo. As Mulder and Duncan entered, a second, very beat up car pulled up behind MacLeod.
Chance and Joe got out of the vehicle, slamming the doors shut behind them. Moments later, the heavens burst open and torrents of rain crashed down on them. Groaning, they hurried into the building behind Duncan, Joe's cane thumping on the ground.
Duncan flicked on the lights of the dojo, bathing the room in yellow light. The muted sound of rain thrumming on the building echoed dimly about the room.
Mulder looked over at the two newcomers, "Don't I know --" he began, staring at Chance.
"Yea, I'm Chance Harper. Call me Chance."
Mulder looked a moment longer at Chance before his gaze drifted back over to MacLeod.
"I assume that you're planning on explaining everything?" Mulder asked.
Duncan nodded silently and guided the group over to the elevator at the far end of the room. As the rusted cage made its way up to MacLeod's apartment, Mulder looked at the other occupants. He remembered now that Chance was from the restaurant and from his visit to the dojo earlier in the day -- strange that he couldn't remember that earlier, considering that he had a photographic memory. Who the pepper gray haired man was, though, Mulder had no idea.
Suddenly, an odd expression swept over the faces of Duncan and Chance.
"Richie?" Chance asked, looking over at Duncan.
"I hope so," Duncan said, his voice so low it almost rumbled.
Duncan pulled up the grate and entered the well-lit apartment. The entourage was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic young man.
"Mac, you're back! I was starting to get worried... Did you see anyone on your way ho --" Richie broke off mid sentence when he saw Mulder. His face blanched and he looked up at Duncan with an alarmed expression.
"He's here for an explanation, Rich -- he saw the Quickening," Duncan began, looking sternly at his protege. "I think you owe me one too -- exactly what are you doing here this late, hm?"
"I started closing after you left, and there was this car that kept driving by and stopping in front whenever I started to leave. I -- I was being watched, Mac, I *know* it. And it's wasn't a Watcher -- they usually stay hidden."
Duncan took a long look at Richie, "We'll talk about this later, Richie."
Duncan turned back to Mulder, who had been listening with a great deal of interest. Watchers... it was a name of someone... or something. It made Mulder's spine tingle with anticipation -- this was going to be one hell of an explanation. He looked at Duncan with an intense, expectant look.
Mulder's expression unnerved Duncan... Mulder didn't act afraid or hateful... just intensely curious, and determined to find out the truth. So, for the second time in two days Duncan found himself explaining Immortals to someone -- surely that was record.
"Why don't we sit down first?" Duncan offered, gesturing to the sofa.
Richie looked warily at Mulder, not liking this one bit. He hopped up on one of the bar stools next to the island counter instead. First the spooky feeling of being followed and now the FBI showing up... this was too much for one day.
"I'll stand, thanks," Mulder said.
"Suit yourself," Duncan said, "You want to know the truth about me, Agent Mulder..." Duncan trailed off momentarily and looked over at Chance, who was leaning up against the frame of the elevator. Duncan desperately hoped that Mulder would take it as well as Chance did. Joe, who was standing next to Chance, offered Duncan a tight, sympathetic smile.
"...The truth is, agent Mulder... I'm immortal," Duncan paused, waiting for a reaction from Mulder.
"You must save a bundle in medical expenses, " Mulder said, after an ever-so-brief pause.
Duncan was taken aback... that was the last response he was expecting. "I don't think you fully grasp what I'm saying agent Mulder... I was born four hundred years ago in the Highlands of Scotland --"
"I grasp what you're saying perfectly well, MacLeod," Mulder said, his eyes alight with confirmation. "It explains everything perfectly. The fact that mention of these killings goes back for hundreds for years... and the fact that it's a beheading... that's the only way you could kill someone who could revive from any other kind of injury.
This was *not* the reaction Duncan had expected, "Yes, that's true..." he began cautiously, "Agent Mulder --" "Just "Mulder" is fine," Mulder interjected.
"Fine... "Mulder", how did you get involved in all this?"
"I work for a section of the FBI known as the X-Files. My partner, Dana Scully, and I deal with unsolved and frequently paranormal cases. I've been following this for several years now, since the New York incidents with Russel Nash."
Duncan allowed himself a small smile, "Connor," he said partially to himself. "Who?" Mulder asked.
"Another Immortal... a "kinsman" and good friend of mine."
Mulder looked at MacLeod again, his face alight. He was taking all this in, with an intense interest and acceptance that stemmed from his years of work in the paranormal. But the fact that Immortals actually *existed* hadn't fully registered with Mulder yet.
It was still something of a bizarre, intellectual idea that hadn't yet been fully comprehended. The whole affair still had eerie, surreal feeling, as if it wasn't happening. In fact Mulder was afraid that he might wake up any minute and find that it was all a dream.
In a way, it reminded Mulder of the time when Mr. Brockman had described Mulder's death, or when he had held the flask with the words "Purity Control" on the bottom. Not so much the fear or danger of the situation, it was the discovery of it all which excited him.
Then, a glimpse of the gruesome reality interrupted Mulder's stream of thoughts.
"Why?" he asked abruptly, "Why do you kill each other?"
Duncan sighed, "We don't know. Immortal's live with an ultimatum that "In the end, there can be only one." When we kill each other, the victor receives that loser's "Quickening" -- their life force and power."
Mulder cast MacLeod a sidelong glance, "You're serious," he said. It was a statement of fact. . "Dead serious." Mulder held his gaze with MacLeod a moment longer, "So you don't have a choice in the matter."
"Not usually, no."
"So that's why you killed that woman tonight? And that man that I have the picture of?"
"To a certain extent."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't want you take this the wrong way, Mulder. We aren't forced to fight by some supernatural force. But we are bound by honor, duty, whatever to the Rules of the Game, and when someone comes to fight, you either answer the challenge or run away."
"And what happens if you run away?"
"Eventually another Immortal will find you... we can't run forever."
"So basically you're saying that a bunch of sword wielding immortals are out chopping each other's head's off until only one of you is left? Why?"
"That's a rather graphic way of putting it, but yes. Why?... Do you remember what I said about the Quickening?"
Mulder nodded.
"Well," Duncan said haltingly, "That last Immortal would have the collective strength of all the Immortals who ever lived. According to everything that we know, that last Immortal will receive the Prize."
"Which is?"
"No one knows... although most Immortals feel that it would give enough power to rule the world... Now do you see why we fight, agent Mulder? We run the spectrum just like mortals. Some Immortals are evil and want the Prize to exploit the human race, and we can't allow someone like that to win the Prize. Others simply play the Game. Whatever the reasons, it eventually comes down to the same thing... in the end, there can be only one."
The whole thing left Mulder somewhat uncomfortable. Immortals who were destined to rule the human race... some kind of princes of the universe? And many of Duncan's reasons left Mulder morally uneasy. However, Mulder saw that Duncan MacLeod, despite the fact that he was a killer, was a man to be trusted. He had a deep rooted sense of honor, and was, at heart, a good person.
"Mulder... we're not some sort of bizarre, supernatural creatures. We're just like you. We love, we hate, we feel... most of the time we live our lives just like the rest of you do."
"Yea, except you guys don't need health insurance," Mulder quipped. He paused and then looked back up Duncan MacLeod. "Well, this certainly qualifies as an X-File --"
"--which must remain unsolved." Duncan finished firmly.
Mulder said nothing.
"Not about Immortals. Not at the expense of our lives."
Mulder pulled his gaze away from Duncan and he looked around at the other three people in the room. The truth was the most important thing in the world to Mulder, next to finding Samantha, but Duncan did have a point. It wasn't fair to destroy these people's lives... Mulder caught himself mid thought. They *murdered* each other, just how normal was that? But then, MacLeod made it seem like they didn't have a choice in the matter. If you were Immortal, you would kill at some point in your life -- it was their nature.... and was that murder?
The silence in the room hung for a few more moments, and Mulder made eye contact with MacLeod again.
He allowed the silence to loom a few moments longer before speaking, "Okay, MacLeod. I'll keep your secret for now. But -- I want to know more about Immortals."
Duncan's expression softened, and the expectant, oppressive atmosphere slowly seemed to lift from the room, "That's where Joe comes in," he said.
"Joe?" Mulder asked.
"That's me," said the older man from where he was leaning up against the wall next to Chance.
Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by the shrill chime of his cell phone. Pulling the black phone from his trenchcoat pocket, Mulder flipped open the device he considered both a curse and a blessing.
"Mulder," he said, making no effort to disguise the annoyance in his voice.
"Mulder it's me," came the feminine voice of his partner, "and you're not going to believe this."
Mulder looked up at Duncan for a moment, "Try me."
"Mulder, I just finished the autopsy. According to his driver's license Drew Kerrigan was over 40 years old, and several packs of cigarettes found on him seem to indicate that he was a heavy smoker."
"Your point, Scully?"
"Mulder, his organs show *none* of the normal wear and tear associated with aging, and his lungs were pristine -- no signs of cancer or any of the other signs attributed to tobacco use. Furthermore, the end of neck looks like it was cauterized, and there are no signs of bleeding."
Mulder slowly lowered the cell phone from his ear and gazed incredulously at MacLeod, Richie, Joe and Chance, the full force of what he had heard finally sinking in.
"Your really *are* Immortal," Mulder said, his voice more confirming than incredulous now as the full force of this truth sank in.
"Mulder, Mulder are you there?" Scully's voice sounded thin and electronic though the cell phone's speaker.
Mulder jerked the phone back up to his ear, "Scully, I want you to meet me at DeSalvo's dojo -- take the elevator up the apartment. I think I've found your explanation."
"Mulder, Mulder what are doing? You aren't in MacLeod's apartment are you? Mulder he's *dangerou--" Scully's protests were cut off as Mulder flipped the cellular phone shut.
------------------------------
Scully stalked out of the police station with an expression that said "prepare to die if you dare to come near me." She paused a moment to open an umbrella as she stalked out into the dark, wet parking lot.
The rain pattered on the blacktop, welling up into tiny puddles and draining in rivulets to lower ground. The sky overhead was completely blotted out by dark ominous clouds which had no intention of letting up on the downpour.
Scully unlocked the door of her Taurus rental car and, after shaking off the umbrella, slid into the driver's seat of the darkened vehicle. She was just about to turn the key when a pair of hands emerged from the inky dark of the back seat. The heavy, calloused black hands clamped a white pad drenched in chloroform over the agent's mouth before she even had a chance to scream.
Scully's eyes widened and she briefly struggled before the fumes from the chloroform overtook her and she slumped over, unconscious. The hands withdrew and took a cellular phone out from his trenchcoat.
"I'm done here," came the baritone voice of the owner of the black hands.
"Good," came the voice on the other side of the connection, "I'll take over from here."
---------------------------
"Who were you talking to?" Richie asked from his seat.
"My partner, Dana Scully."
"She's not coming *here* is she?" Joe asked.
"Of course. Look, she did an autopsy -- she already suspects that something strange is going on."
Richie opened his mouth for a rebuttal, but Chance cut him off, not wanting to start a verbal war between the two.
"Why don't we all sit down and have some coffee or something?" Chance said, shooting Richie a "leave it bee" look while moving from his perch next to the elevator to join the rest of the group.
Now that the worst was over, and they knew that they could trust Mulder -- at least for the time being -- everyone relaxed considerably. Duncan, wanting an excuse to talk with Richie, waved him into the kitchen, planning to make coffee.
As Duncan fumbled with the coffee maker, futilely trying to get it to cooperate with him, Mulder and Joe were engaged in an animated conversation in the living room, Joe describing the Watchers in general terms. He was hesitant to go into to much detail, mainly because of Richie and Duncan's presence... Immortals weren't supposed to know about the Watchers, Joe explained. And even though MacLeod and Richie knew about the Watchers, Joe did have *some* rules to maintain. Chance listened for a few moments, but he had heard all this yesterday, so instead he wandered into the kitchen with Duncan and Richie.
"What do you think of him, Mac?" Richie asked.
"I think we can trust him to keep his word."
"Are you absolutely sure, Mac? I mean he *is* an FBI agent."
MacLeod allowed a small smile to play across his lips, "I consider myself a reasonably good judge of character, Rich."
"If you say so," Richie said. He trusted his mentor, but something about this whole situation seemed, well, rather odd. Maybe he was just being overly paranoid, but something about being watched -- watched by someone dangerous, that is -- and then having an FBI man show up on your doorstep didn't strike Richie as pure coincidence.
"What about the guy who was watching me, Mac?"
"I don't know Richie. The only thing I can think of is a Hunter, but I thought that they had disbanded when Horton was killed."
"Oh, that's a great comfort Mac, I feel *so* much better now."
Chance spoke up from where he had been lounging against the counter, his back to the living room, "What are "Hunters"?"
"Watchers who decided that Immortals were abominations. They tried to kill every Immortal they found," Duncan said gravely, "After their leader, Horton, was killed no one's heard from them."
"Stranger things have happened," Chance said, speaking from experience.
"Maybe it was one of *his* people," Richie said, nodding in Mulder's direction.
"Somehow I don't think so Richie... he strikes me as the type who doesn't trust others easily. I don't think he'd have someone else assigned to watch you like that."
Mulder voice drifted in from the living room, where he and Joe were still talking animatedly. "You don't actually watch everything do you?" Mulder's mind had drifted into the gutter briefly, and he was having flashbacks to his pornography collection.
"Only the stuff we can't get arrested for," Joe said, a smile playing on his lips. That was the same excuse he had used for Amanda when she had been told about Watchers.
"Why?"
"Immortals are a race of people just like the American Indians, Japanese, or any other group you can think of. They've participated in mortal history and they and culture preserved, just like any of those other groups."
"Even when that culture is self-genocidal?" Duncan decided to interrupt, "Mulder, we may be genocidal, as you put it, but in return look at all the life we are allowed to experience..." The pounding of the rain had slowly increased in intensely until it was a steady drone on the roof, casting a confining, hypnotic effect to MacLeod's sparsely furnished apartment. Mulder gazed at the rustic, raven haired Scotsman before him.
"Exactly how old did you say you were?"
"Four hundred and four."
Mulder felt a lump catch in this throat. *Four hundred and four*, intellectually he could imagine such a time span, but emotionally he couldn't grasp what it would be like to live that long. The slow passage of time ravaging and destroying everything you held dear, and yourself remaining unaffected. Mulder felt a sudden sympathy for the Scotsman.
His thoughts must have registered on his face, because Richie spoke up, "I know, it's a hard idea to get used to... I'm Immortal and *I* still haven't adjusted."
"You too?" Mulder began, "How --"
"19 -- 21 really," Richie said, and allowed a small grin to play at his face at Mulder's expression, "I haven't been Immortal for very long."
"Oh... But there's still one thing I don't understand."
"And what's that?" Joe asked.
"I understand what you three are doing here," Mulder said, indicating Joe, Richie and Duncan, "but how exactly did *he* get involved?" asked Mulder, looking over at Chance, who was still leaning up against the counter watching the proceedings.
Chance grinned broadly, "I have yet to figure that out."
"Oh, you're just lucky I guess?" said Mulder.
"Actually, that's exactly right." At the four confused looks he got Chance continued, "I've got strange luck."
"Well, yea, sure we all do sometimes --" Richie began.
"No, Rich, I mean I really have *strange luck*. At least... people say I'm "lucky." It all started thirty years ago when I was the sole survivor of a plane crash," Chance started to go into a monologue, but abruptly decided against it.
"Okay, let me put it this way, an average day for me consists of saving suicide jumpers, smashing Elvis-lookalike potatoes into blenders, delivering babies in restaurants, suddenly having millions of dollars in my bank account, and winning the scratch-off tickets whenever I need a few bucks." Silence.
"Well, it wouldn't be any weirder than anything else that's happened in my life lately," Mulder said, breaking the stillness, "just wait until Scully gets here, it'll send her though the roof! In a matter of hours I've caught up with Immortals, a conspiracy --oh, sorry, Joe, an *Organization* -- that has eluded all detection by the CIA and FBI, and one very lucky guy. Speaking of Scully, I wonder why she hasn't gotten here yet."
"It's pretty nasty out there, maybe she's stuck somewhere," Richie said, not concerned in the least. The last thing he wanted was another federal agent around.
"Maybe, but normally she would have called me if she was caught somewhere."
As if on cue, Duncan's kitchen phone rang. It was a sharp, piercing sound against the thrum of rain.
Duncan pulled the kitchen phone off its hook on the wall, "Hello," there was a pause, "Joe -- it's Mike," he said holding the phone out to the Watcher.
Joe thunked into the kitchen and took the proffered phone, "Yea, what's up Mike?"
After a pause, Joe said, "He did?. . . Are you *sure*, Mike?. . . No, I don't doubt you, it's just that that's rather irregular. Okay, Mike tell him we'll meet him there . . . Yes, I'll give you a call when I get back in. Oh, and Mike -- can you do the books tonight? I have a feeling that I won't get a chance tonight."
"You're not going to believe this, Mac, but Carlson said he wanted to talk to you about yesterday," Joe said, hanging up the phone.
"Me? Why?"
Joe shrugged as he walked back into the living room.
"He doesn't want you to bring your sword, either."
"Something about this doesn't feel right, Joe," Duncan said.
"We won't find out unless we meet with him... there aren't any other Immortals in town besides you and Richie right now. Carlson and I are old friends, Mac. I trust him."
Duncan didn't look satisfied, but realized that he had no reason not to go. "Alright, let's go. Richie, I want the three of you to stay here until we get back, okay?"
"Yea. Sure," Richie said, as the pair stepped into the elevator and slammed the grate with a final thud.