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Duncan MacLeod rotated his neck, trying to get the stiffness out. He must have overdone his workout. The headache that had started this morning hadn't abated; in fact, it seemed to be getting more intense. The cigarette smoke in Joe Dawson's bar didn't help. He'd ask for a couple of aspirin before he headed off to Anne's. The summer season was over, Labor Day had come and gone, and things were quiet at the dojo. A weekend away would be welcome. The trees in their fall palettes would make the otherwise tedious drive seem new.
"So, the good Dr. Lindsey didn't say what was so important that she had to see you in person?" asked Joe.
"No, only that it wasn't anything about Mary, or her health or anything like that; just that she'd rather talk face to face. Do you have any aspirin, ibuprofen, or anything for a headache?"
"Sure," said the bartender, reaching under the counter for the bottle he kept there. "Didn't think people like you were bothered by little things like headaches."
"Not usually, but I'd rather be rid of it," replied the Immortal. "It will take me a good two hours to get to Anne's, and I'll be driving into the sun most of the way. I won't be more than a day or two - thanks for offering to keep an eye on my place while I'm away. Here's Anne's number if you need to reach me."
"Day or two, eh? Are you sure you two won't be having more than just a discussion?" smirked his friend.
"Nothing like that." Duncan returned Joe's grin. "We're still friends, and if she wants my advice, I'm flattered that she called me. Besides, it'll give me a chance to see Mary again."
"Well, be sure you strap that dog into the car. It would be a shame to have it fly out on those mountain roads. Somebody would probably shoot it. Mary will love it; it's bigger than she is."
"Good bye, Joe, and thanks again," said Duncan as he left the bar.
In the alley behind the bar, he unlocked his car, maneuvered the large black and white Dalmatian into the back seat and buckled it in. He pictured the look on Mary's face when she ran out to greet him as she always did, and a grin played around the corners of his mouth. She was growing up fast. She was six now, and full of mischief. He wondered what her latest trick would be - a cartwheel, or some new ballet steps, or maybe even a loose tooth. Perhaps he should have brought her a book instead of a stuffed dog. No; he had known the huge dog was perfect for Mary when he first saw it. He'd get her a book another time.
He felt better already. Guess the aspirin were working. He adjusted his sunglasses against the glare of the afternoon sun and headed off to Anne's, trying not to waste time pondering what she wanted to see him about. He wondered what she was cooking for dinner. As a physician, she was a miracle worker. As a chef -- well, not quite so good. She'd improved her skills once she found herself cooking for a daughter, but her repertoire was limited.
Indeed, the kaleidoscope of colors on the trees made the drive magnificent. But, as the sun lowered in the sky, the headache returned, this time with more intensity. He hit the button that raised the top of the convertible, thinking that might help. Duncan didn't want to admit it, but he was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong. He couldn't remember the last time he had a headache for no apparent reason. Besides, he was used to pain; after more than 400 years, he'd certainly endured his share of legitimate injuries. He'd survived broken bones, slashed limbs, drowning, falling off mountains. Why was a stupid headache bothering him so?
"You're just worried about what Anne wants," he muttered to himself. "Stop thinking and drive; you'll be there in half an hour." He glanced back at the dog, which just sat there with its felt tongue hanging out.
The sun was still above the horizon when Duncan pulled into Anne's driveway. Turning to release the dog, the ache in his head suddenly intensified into a piercing stab. He grimaced involuntarily and shielded his eyes.
Anne came down the drive to meet him. "Something wrong, Duncan?"
How long had it been since they'd seen each other? Six months? Eight? Too long. Anne looked good, as always. Her short brown hair was tucked back behind her ears, and judging from the red stains on her sweatshirt, she had been busy in the kitchen. Whether she was the victor remained to be seen, but Duncan was sure that there were some tomatoes that had fallen in battle.
"Nothing much, just a headache that's been threatening all day. I'm fine. Where's my Mary?" Duncan asked, looking around to see if the child might be hiding behind one of the trees to surprise him. "I have something for her. Hope you don't mind - I may have gotten a bit carried away."
"It's adorable! Mary's with my mom for a couple of weeks. That's part of why I asked you here. I'll explain more over dinner. Hope you're hungry; I think I've finally mastered a vegetarian lasagna. At least Mary eats it, and it's gone over okay at pot lucks at the hospital."
Duncan heard the forced cheerfulness in Anne's voice. "You didn't invite me here to test your lasagna, Anne. What's the real reason? We can certainly talk about anything after all these years."
Duncan looked at Anne, but she averted her eyes and said nothing. *All in good time,* he thought.
"Here, help me with this creature," said Duncan, handing Anne the toy as he opened the trunk to get out his bag.
"Your sword is in there, isn't it?" asked Anne.
"Of course; you know I always have it. I just put it away because I didn't want Mary to have access to it. But if she's not here..." He grimaced as a new pain shot behind his eyes.
"Duncan, come on inside; I'm sure the sunlight out here isn't helping. Sounds like you might be getting a migraine," said Anne, the nervousness leaving her voice.
Anne carried the dog up to the porch and set it in one of the rocking chairs. "I think he can stay out here for a while," she said. "I'll get you some water and some painkillers. What's the choice among immortals? Aspirin; ibuprofen; acetaminophen? Or do you need something stronger?"
"Joe gave me some ibuprofen back at the bar; they worked for a while," replied Duncan.
"Okay, here are two more. Cheers," she smiled as she handed him a glass of water and the pills. "You can put your sword and stuff in the guestroom while I get cleaned up a bit. I'll put the cheese and crackers out. I've gotten so domestic, you won't recognize me. I have an excellent Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, but I'm not sure you'll want any if you're taking those pills."
"Just pour me a glass, okay? I'm fine," he barked as he walked down the hall to the guestroom. He saw that Anne hadn't changed any of the paint colors he'd chosen when he was renovating the house for her, and felt somehow gratified. He dropped his bag on the bed, taking just enough time to notice the vase of brightly colored snapdragons from the front yard on the table by the window. *Something must really be up,* he thought. *I don't think I've ever seen cut flowers in Anne's house. Certainly not in the guest room.*
"It's just a stupid headache. You know I can recover from a lot worse," he said with a wry grin as he returned to the living room.
"Right, Oh Mighty Immortal One," Anne smiled back. She had taken off the tomato-stained sweats and was wearing pair of beige slacks and a rust colored sweater. "Would you like some cheese and crackers now? Maybe it's just your blood sugar. Do immortals get low blood sugar?"
Not willing to admit that the headache had taken away his appetite, he forced himself to cut a slice of Jarlsberg and put it atop a water cracker. Maybe food would make him feel better. "Now, Anne," Duncan finally said, looking her straight in the eye. "Why am I here?"
Anne fumbled with her wine glass, took another bite of cheese, and then washed it down with a sip of wine, taking a deep breath. "This is harder than I thought it would be," she mumbled.
"Out with it, or I'm back in the car and out of here, lasagna or no lasagna."
"I'm leaving Seacouver," Anne blurted out. "Wow - that was a little more abrupt than I planned."
"What? Why? When?"
"I was offered a position as Chief of Staff of Good Hope Hospital in Indianapolis. It's a big promotion for me. And," she said quietly, lowering her eyes once again, "I met someone, and he lives there, too. I've already quit my job here. I'll be leaving in about 6 weeks. That's why Mary's at my mom's - she wanted to spend some time with her granddaughter before we move away."
An awkward silence hovered between the two friends for a moment. Anne got up and busied herself with dinner preparations in the kitchen while Duncan tried to digest what he'd just heard.
"What about Mary? What about the house?"
Anne spoke from the kitchen. "That's the main reason I asked you here, Duncan. I love this house, and that you built it for us was the most wonderful thing that anyone has ever done. But this move is right for me. And so is Jared. Mary loves him, and he loves her, too.
"I really want to talk to you about what to do with the house," Anne continued. "I know it's in Mary's name, but with us so far away, I'm afraid that if I let it sit, it will be destroyed in no time. And I don't know about being an absentee landlord. Renting it to strangers doesn't seem right. I thought I'd put it on the market, but that seems so cold-hearted. You don't sell a gift."
Duncan looked up from his wine glass and saw that Anne was watching him. "Let me think about this one a little, first," he said. "I mean, I'm happy that you've found someone special, and that you're being recognized for your talents, but it is something of a shock, coming out of the blue like this."
As they moved to the dining room table for dinner, the conversation was strained. After praising her cooking skills, Duncan pushed most of his lasagna around on his plate, and bypassed dessert. "It's just the headache, Anne," he apologized. "I'm going to read for a while and turn in early, if you don't mind. We can discuss everything over breakfast, before I head back home."
"I understand, Duncan," she replied. There are extra blankets in the bottom drawer of the dresser if you need them. Can I get you anything else?"
"No, thanks. I'll be fine. A good night's sleep and I'll be as good as new. And I really am glad you're happy. We'll work out something with the house tomorrow." Duncan walked down the hall and shut the door to the guestroom. He had loved Anne once; that relationship was over, and had been for some time. Maybe he just felt hurt that she hadn't ever mentioned this 'Jared' person to him. But then, he hadn't been in touch that often lately. It was probably just as much his fault that he knew nothing about her plans. He changed his clothes, picked up the Clancy novel he brought with him, and got into bed.
* * *
*Well, that was wonderful,* Anne thought to herself as she poured another glass of wine. *You really handled that with subtlety and tact. 'I'm leaving'. Sheesh -someone says, 'Out with it' you don't have to bludgeon him.*
Anne finished the dishes and watched the late night news before deciding she'd better get to bed. It was past midnight and she was still awake. She had played out the scene in her mind countless times before tonight, but in none of the scenarios did Duncan simply get up and go to bed. Anne went back out to the living room to get the latest Dick Francis book she had been reading. As she was turning to go back to her room, she heard the familiar sounds of someone being violently ill. She considered Duncan's privacy for only a moment as she knocked lightly on the door and then walked in. She was a doctor, he was her friend and former lover, for goodness' sake; she shouldn't feel guilty about walking in to see if he needed help.
"Duncan, are you all right?" she called out as she stepped toward the bathroom. She found him sprawled on the floor in front of the toilet, wearing boxer shorts and a sweat drenched T-shirt, obviously ill. As she touched him, she felt the fever that had taken over his body. "You're burning up; you should be in bed."
"Too much trouble; have to keep getting out to throw up."
"How long have you been like this?" Anne demanded.
"Don't know - didn't seem important to look at my watch. Been sick four or five times, I think."
"You're impossible. Why didn't you call me? Get back into bed; I'll bring you a basin so you don't have to get out."
As she helped Duncan to his feet, she realized he could barely stand. "Lean on me, and get into bed, quick. I don't think I can lift you if you pass out on the way."
Half walking, half crawling, Duncan reached the bed and collapsed. Anne brought the basin and set it on a chair next to the bed. "Open," she said as she put a thermometer in front of his face.
"Leave me be," complained Duncan. I'll be fine."
"That's what you said before, and you sure don't seem fine to me. Put this under your tongue and shut up."
"Some bedside manner." But talking was an obvious effort, and Duncan succumbed to Anne's ministrations.
The thermometer beeped, and Anne removed it from his mouth. Duncan had nearly fallen back to sleep. He opened one eye, and the question was obvious.
"It says you have a temperature of 102.7. In my world, that is not good. I'm afraid I'm not up on your kind of medicine; can you tell me if this is okay?"
"Don't think so," Duncan mumbled, his speech labored. "Can't remember just getting sick before. Some nasty insect? ... have to work it through my system?. . Poison? Been a food taster...not this bad ... Be fine ... Oh, God ... look out, sick again."
Anne held Duncan's forehead as he retched. It was just as she had thought; there was virtually nothing left in his stomach, but she knew how much the dry heaves could hurt. She cleaned out the bowl and replaced it on the chair, bringing a damp cloth back with her to wipe Duncan's face. "Here, rinse your mouth, but don't swallow," she said as she handed him a glass of water. Try to get some rest. I'll be here if you need anything."
"You don't need to stay here with me," Duncan whispered.
"I know, 'you'll be fine'. Well, I'm going to be in that chaise in the corner. And that's it, so go to sleep."
But he was already asleep. Anne watched him for a few minutes, then took one of the blankets from the drawer and settled into the chaise.
* * *
*Duncan sank back down into the world of fever dreams. He was sailing on a ship. Didn't the captain know how much he hated being seasick? Why was he steering a course for the roughest waters possible? And why did he have to keep messing with the weather? First, the sun blazed down until he thought he'd melt. Then, they'd be in Arctic seas and he'd freeze. Wait; that couldn't be right. They couldn't get from the tropics to the Pole that fast, could they? Nothing seemed to make sense. But he did seem to remember a lady coming into his cabin. She had a beautiful smile, and the nicest pair of cool hands. He smelled peaches; he knew her from somewhere, but couldn't place her face. The ship must be back in the storm; he felt another bout of seasickness approaching.*
* * *
She was awakened by the sounds of restless tossing and turning about half an hour later, and she once again tried to offer what comfort she could to the heaving immortal.
"I think you have this down to a routine, now, Duncan," she said a few hours later. Every thirty minutes, plus or minus five."
"Kill me," Duncan mumbled.
"What!" exclaimed Anne.
"Please ... my sword... stab me... I'll wake up fine."
Anne felt as though a sword had pierced her own gut. Although she had witnessed Duncan's regenerative powers, as a doctor she couldn't even consider such an action. She knew she could never pick up his sword for such a purpose.
"There is no way I could do that, and you know it. Go back to sleep."
"Grmmph" was his reply, as he once again collapsed back into the pillows. His temperature had gone up almost another degree, and Anne was beginning to worry. If Duncan were an ordinary human being, she would take him to the hospital, get him on an IV to keep him from dehydrating, and run some blood tests to see if she could figure out what was wrong. It looked like the flu, but it wasn't flu season; she didn't know if immortals even got the flu.
But, she knew that the last thing she could do would be to bring Duncan to the attention of modern medical science. His immortality was a secret she would guard with her life. She didn't think she'd be guarding it with his life, though. One thing she decided was that unless he was dramatically better come daylight, she was going to call the only person she knew who might know something about this.
Five hours later, Anne made the call. "Joe? It's Anne. I'm really sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but it's about Duncan. He showed up yesterday evening with a simple headache, but he's really sick now, and I have no clue about treating immortals. His temperature is almost a hundred and four; he's thrown up all night, and he's drifting in and out of consciousness. I thought you might know if there are any immortal diseases going around that I should know about. Or anything that one does for immortals if they get sick?"
"I'm not sure. Let me check into this and I'll get back to you just as soon as I can. I have your number."
Anne returned to the bedroom. Duncan's normally healthy tan was pasty. His breathing was shallow, but regular. Pulse rapid, but strong. At least he'd gone two hours without throwing up. Just then, Duncan began shivering, his teeth chattering. She wiped the sweat from his forehead. In a little while, she knew, he'd be throwing the covers off, complaining of how hot he was. If his temperature went up any higher, she'd have to figure out a better way to cool him down. She considered immersing him in a cool bath, but knew she could never manipulate him from bed to bathroom, much less get him in and out of a tub. A sponge bath or alcohol rub would have to suffice. In the meanwhile, she opened the window a few inches to let some cool air into the room.
About an hour later, the phone rang, breaking the early morning quiet. Anne jumped at the sound, and reached for the cordless. "Hello? Joe?"
"Well, I learned something this morning," reported Joe. "I did a little digging, and there is a virus that has evolved right along with immortals. It's not destroyed by their immune systems the way human viruses are. Turns out it lays dormant for quite some time between cycles - about 500 years, more or less. Kind of like our winter flu season. There's not a lot of medical information, because 500 years ago, medicine wasn't anything near what it is today. It does seem that the virus affects only immortals, so I don't think you have to worry about you or Mary catching it. Duncan was away for a few days last week, dealing with another immortal."
"Stop, Joe," said Anne, preferring not to hear anything more about the violence of Duncan's lifestyle. "I get it. So this is a virus. I'll assume that like mortal viruses, there's nothing any antibiotics will do. Have any immortal doctors studying this come up with some vaccine or treatment regimen? How long does it last? What's the progression..."
"Slow down, Anne," Joe continued. "This bug has just started to reappear after being in hiding for 500 years. It doesn't show up on the CDC tracking reports. Unless they're over 500 years old, immortal doctors probably never even saw a case of the disease, much less had the technology to devise a cure. But I do know someone who might be able to help - if I can track him down. In the meanwhile, the most pertinent piece of information I picked up is that while Duncan is sick, he's virtually mortal.
"Virtually mortal?" Anne echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"His healing process is so slow, that he would actually die before he could heal," Joe explained.
Anne felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. "Die, like in permanently, forever dead?" She thought of Duncan's request that she kill him. *Oh my God, what if I had given in and done it?* Anne forced her attention back to what Joe was saying.
"You've got it," replied Joe. "But look, Anne: as far as my sources can tell, the virus itself won't kill him. It just needs to run its course, as miserable as that may be."
"Well, I guess the best thing for Duncan is standard TLC. Surgeons don't get much practice with this kind of patient care, but being a Mom has caused me to brush up on my nursing skills. Thanks a million; I feel a little better."
"Do you need anything? I could drive out later this afternoon, or tomorrow."
"Thanks, Joe. I should be okay."
"I'll call you back if I find out anything else. And you be sure to call if you need me for anything. I know Duncan is in good hands. Bye."
"Good bye, Joe." Anne turned off the phone and went to the kitchen. She found a small piece of ginger in the refrigerator, left over from her foray into Chinese cooking, and sliced some to make some tea. She hoped immortal stomachs responded to ginger the way mere mortals' did.
After steeping the ginger, she let the brew cool down and brought a cup of it into the guestroom. Duncan was stirring, but wasn't really awake. His shirt and the bed sheets were soaked again. Anne gently pulled up the skin on the back of his hand. It formed a tent and was slow to flatten out again. "You're definitely dehydrated," she whispered.
"Duncan," said Anne, attempting to hide the weariness from her voice. "Here, I want you to take this." She took a spoonful of the tea and held it to Duncan's mouth. His glazed eyes stared in her general direction, but he wasn't focusing on anything. "Duncan," she repeated. "Open your mouth." She slipped the tea between his lips. "Let's see if you can tolerate that. Then we'll find you a dry shirt and some clean sheets -- again."
Half an hour later the tea was still inside Duncan. Anne gave him another spoonful. When that stayed down, she increased the dosage, and two hours later, Duncan had swallowed almost half a cup of tea. *This is taking much too long,* thought Anne. *Let's try something more effective.*
She went into the room she used as her office and unlocked the cabinet where she kept emergency medical supplies. There, she found her IV setup and a bag of D5W. Joe had mentioned that Duncan wouldn't heal like an immortal, so the IV should stay open. She just hoped she could get it started efficiently; that was another job the nurses normally did.
In Duncan's weakened state, he offered no protest, and Anne was able to start the IV. "Okay, now even if you don't feel better, I sure do," she said under her breath as she taped the needle down securely. "And if you're a good boy, I'll let you have some more ginger tea. Until then, I'm going to be right over there in the chaise, taking a nap. Right after I take a quick shower," she added.
* * *
*Pirates boarded the ship. The one with the hook for a hand seemed to be their leader. Duncan reached for his sword, but it wasn't under the bunk where he knew he had left it. There it was, across the room on the chair. He rolled out of his bunk and crawled over to the chair. Something had happened to his sword. He tried to swing it over his head to kill the pirate, but the sword was suddenly so heavy he could barely lift it. The pirate had a woman in front of him now. She was screaming for Duncan to help her. "NO!" screamed Duncan as he threw himself at the pirate but he was too late. The buccaneer had slit the woman's throat with his hook. The pirate shoved the woman to the floor and pulled Duncan up by his hair. Duncan struggled to escape, and then the woman with the cool hands appeared again.*
* * *
Anne brushed the hair out of Duncan's eyes. "Shush. Calm down; you're having another nightmare. Let's check that temp again. You still feel too hot."
*Up two tenths,* she noted as she read the instrument. *No wonder you're delirious.* She wished she'd asked Joe how long this virus took to run its course.
"Bathroom," croaked Duncan.
Great, thought Anne. "Let's see if you can sit up, first," she said aloud. Passing out is unacceptable." Anne helped Duncan rise slowly to a sitting position, propped up by pillows, watching him carefully.
"I'm okay," he said, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up the rest of the way. The color drained from his lips, and he began to sway.
"No you don't," exclaimed Anne and gently pushed his chest. He fell back onto the pillows immediately. "Like I said, you're too heavy for me to pick up off the floor. Wait here for a minute. Don't move!"
Anne hurried out to the kitchen and returned with an old wine carafe. She handed it to Duncan wordlessly. He was still sheet white, but she didn't need to see him blush to know what he was feeling. He looked at her with a pained expression, but she knew he understood that the alternative would be far more embarrassing. "I'll be right outside the door, Duncan. Call when you're finished."
"You've never been on that side of a sickbed, have you?" asked Anne after she disposed of the contents of the carafe. "We mere mortals don't like being sick either, but we've had more practice. The best thing you can do is relax and go with the flow. Admit that your system needs some help, and quit fighting."
Duncan slept fitfully all afternoon and into the evening. It was obvious he was in some other world, fighting half remembered battles, facing old friends and foes. As Anne started washing yet another load of sheets, she wondered if she was anywhere in his fevered thoughts. She checked Duncan's bag to see what other clothing he might have packed. She had already used the two clean T-shirts she found on the dresser. It was certain that nothing she owned would fit him, and anything of Jared's would be too small. If Duncan was going to be here for a while, he would need more than two shirts. Maybe she would call Joe after all. She might as well check to see if there was anything else she needed.
Anne headed for the pantry to see what kind of food she had on hand for her patient. Eventually, he'd need something more substantial than ginger tea. She found plenty of soup, some Jell-O and applesauce. Also a few bananas that were getting ripe. That, combined with her basic panty staples, should be enough for a day or two. Duncan wasn't ready for much food just yet. She'd ask Joe to pick up some juice and bread from the grocery store, and she should be set. Hearing the sounds of stirring from the bedroom, Anne went to check on her patient.
"I see you're up," smiled Anne. "Feeling any better? I have some news from Joe if you think you're up to a little conversation."
Duncan's eyes had lost some of their fevered glaze. "What did he say?"
"Well, you seem to have fallen victim to some kind of 'immortal flu'. Joe thinks you may have picked it up last week when you, er, met up with a colleague." Anne had never liked talking about the Game, although she knew it was part of Duncan's life.
He nodded almost imperceptibly.
Anne continued to relay the information Joe had given her. "It shouldn't be fatal, but you're likely to be miserable for a while," she finished.
"You're absolutely right about that."
"One more thing," continued Anne. "Joe said that while you've got the virus in your system, you're virtually mortal."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your magic healing won't work fast enough to keep you alive should you do something stupid like fall off a cliff or stab yourself in the chest."
"Joe's wrong. That's impossible."
Anne shook her head. Taking Duncan's hand, she carefully removed the IV. Duncan watched as a drop of blood welled up where the needle was removed. The hole remained.
Duncan stared at Anne for a moment, then spoke softly. "Thanks for not listening before. I guess I owe you my life."
"No problem. I didn't think you really meant it, anyway."
"Now, not to change the subject, but all the fluid you're putting in has to come out, and I don't think I'll ever get used to your damned carafe system."
'I'll take that as a request for my damned carafe. And the IV goes right back; you can't keep fluids down, and you're dehydrated."
"Well, you don't need to be so cheerful about it."
"Hey, just be glad you're a guy. It's a lot more complicated for those of us with indoor plumbing," retorted Anne.
"Point taken. Now if you'll turn your back or something, please..?"
His needs attended to, Duncan was asleep again almost immediately. Anne went to the laundry room to put the sheets in the dryer. A growl from her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten all day; she began reheating some of the lasagna.
* * *
*Duncan struggled to find his way across the room. It was dark, completely dark. The monster was coming at him. He had to save the girl. But he couldn't see. He couldn't see the girl; he couldn't see the monster. How could he fight an enemy he couldn't find? He reached out, feeling his way. No, he wasn't reaching... it was a sword he was swinging to keep the monster at bay. How did the monster know where he was in the dark? Just find a light, then you can kill the monster and save the girl.*
* * *
Sounds from the bedroom brought her back to Duncan's side once again. *Must be another nightmare,* she thought as she turned on the bedside lamp. He was groaning in his sleep, almost shouting. With four hundred years behind him, he certainly had plenty of subconscious memories for his fevered brain to draw from. Once again, she stroked his forehead and tried to calm him down. His eyes snapped open, but she was not what he was seeing.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he mumbled. "I should never have gone back inside. It's my fault." This time his eyes cleared, and this time Anne saw a hint of recognition in their brown depths. He looked down, away from her gaze.
"It's okay, Duncan. It's the fever talking. Another nightmare. Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes that helps." Anne sat on the edge of the bed and took Duncan's hand.
"She's dead because of me. I had to go check the damned computer. Richie tried to help, but he lived and she died, and...." Suddenly, his body was wracked by sobs. They had talked about Tessa several times, and she understood his grief at losing her. Anne remembered how she had felt when she saw Duncan 'dead.' She leaned forward and buried her face in his chest, allowing him to grieve without having to see her face as he mourned another woman. His hands stroked her hair, and soon his breathing returned to normal. Anne wondered if he would have any memory of the episode when his delirium passed.
* * *
Duncan's head hurt more than he ever remembered. His stomach felt like he had just done a thousand crunches. He was too hot, but too cold at the same time. Every part of his body ached - even his hair hurt. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. As he looked around, he remembered that he was in Anne's guestroom. He noticed a blanket tossed over the chaise in the corner, and the soft light coming in through the window was beginning to overtake the glow given off by the lamp. He had vague recollections of Anne being in the chaise. Trying to sit up set off another paroxysm of pain both in his head and abdominal muscles. What had he been doing? As he continued to look around the room, he saw the basin on the chair by his bed. Well, that explained why his stomach was so sore. Maybe he'd try to get up and get something to drink. A groan escaped his lips, and Anne entered the room almost immediately.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Thirsty" was all Duncan could get out.
"Okay - I'll bring you some ice chips to suck on. You're not ready to drink a whole glass of water yet."
She returned with a small bowl of ice. "Before I give you this, let me check your temp once more, please."
Duncan waited for the thermometer to register, trying to sort out what had really happened and what he had dreamed. He couldn't think clearly; everything seemed to be hovering just at the edge of his consciousness.
"Still almost 104," she said after removing the thermometer, and she spooned a couple of chips into Duncan's mouth. "This might make you feel cooler, too. Help yourself, but slowly - don't crunch them, just let them melt in your mouth. Not as good as M&M's, but better for you right now."
"Thanks." He reached for the spoon, and it trembled in his quaking hand.
Without speaking, Anne took the spoon and gave Duncan some more ice. He accepted the fact that he was too weak even for this small task, and closed his eyes as he savored the refreshing chips. Before long, he had once again sunk into a deep sleep.
Duncan awoke to find Anne giving him a sponge bath. He still felt weak and shaky, but the fog in his head was lifting. "Your fever broke a while ago," she told him. She assisted him to the chaise while she worked on the bed, putting on dry sheets. He was able to walk - or hobble, actually, with her having to support only about half his weight. He even got his arms into the right holes in his T-shirt. He crawled under the covers, curled up on his side, and, breathing slowly and evenly, fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
The phone rang. "Hello," said Anne.
"Hi, Sweetheart."
"Jared. How was your seminar?"
"Fine, but it would have been better if you were here. Did you and Duncan get things straightened out? How did he take the news that you were leaving?"
Anne heard the unspoken, *and did he try to rekindle old flames?*
"Well, things didn't go exactly as planned. We haven't exactly gotten around to discussing the house yet, but I think he's okay with my leaving."
"What do you mean, you haven't gotten to the house yet? It's Sunday night. He got there Friday, didn't he? Why is he still there? What's been going on?"
"Relax. I've spent the last two and a half days cleaning up vomit, emptying urinals and doing laundry. I can tell you, there's been nothing the least bit romantic going on. Duncan came down with a really bad case of the flu, and I've been playing nurse."
"Mopping his fevered brow?"
"More like holding his head while he threw up. Trust me, he's been so feverish he hardly knew it was me. I'm pretty sure that the one time he was muttering about a woman, it was his former fiancée." Anne paused for a moment. "Jared, I love you, and I'm planning to spend the rest of my life with you. You have nothing to worry about."
Anne heard Jared take a deep breath. "I know," he said softly. "I just miss you, and don't really like the idea of another man in your house. But I understand that you wanted to tell him about us this way, and I hope I'll have a chance to meet him before you move out here."
"Thanks, Love. It means a lot to me." They spoke quietly, talking about nothing in particular for about half an hour before Anne finally begged off. "I really have to get to bed. This is the first chance I've had to get some uninterrupted sleep. Love you."
"Love you, too. Sleep well."
* * *
Duncan rubbed his hand across his chin. He definitely needed a shave. He opened his eyes, and Anne put her book down on the table by the chaise where she was sitting. "Good morning," she said. "Feeling any better? You slept through almost all of last night without any trouble."
"How long?"
"Let's see. You got here Friday night, and it's Monday morning. Two and a half days. What do you remember?"
"Not much. Being hot, cold, seasick, sore."
"Well, that's it in a nutshell, I guess. Didn't seem quite so simple while it was happening, though."
"What hit me?"
"You don't remember?" Anne explained about Duncan's illness once again.
"So that part wasn't a dream, then?" Duncan started to sit up. He saw Anne watching him from her chaise. He moved slowly, testing his strength very cautiously. As he tried to get out of bed, she raised her eyebrows and gave him her 'be careful' look. He was working too hard fighting off the lightheadedness to say anything, but he understood.
Duncan waited until the spots stopped swimming in front of his eyes before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He just sat there for a couple of minutes, regaining his equilibrium.
"The next step's going to be a lot harder," said Anne. "How about if I give you a shoulder to lean on?"
"I should be able to get to the bathroom myself, shouldn't I? Haven't I been managing for the last three days?"
"Not exactly like that." Anne glanced at the wine carafe, and Duncan's memory began to return. He felt his face grow hot.
"Tell you what," said Anne. "You let me help you to the door, and I'll turn you loose on your own. Just promise that whatever you're going to do in there, you'll do it sitting down. I'm no more able to lift you off the floor than I was three days ago."
Duncan shook his head, but allowed Anne to support him to the bathroom. When he returned, he made no effort to go anywhere but back to bed. Six steps to the bathroom and back felt more like a marathon.
"Do you think I could get something to eat? I'm a little hungry."
"That's a good sign. I'll bring you some soup. Give me a couple of minutes to heat it up."
"I can come out," protested Duncan.
"No way. Sit tight."
Duncan's eyes were closed, but he opened them when he heard her come back into the room. Anne was carrying a bowl of soup on a tray. He took about five bites before the spoon became too heavy to lift. Damn, he hated being so helpless. It went against everything he had trained for since he was a chieftain's son in the Highlands, and even more so after his first death.
Anne merely picked up the spoon and started feeding Duncan. She talked about Mary, and how much she would like her new 'pet', and that she would be sure to send Duncan pictures. She talked about her new position in Indianapolis.
"You'll miss the mountains," said Duncan.
"I'm sure I will. I'll just have to get used to it, I guess. But there's no shortage of cornfields."
"What about Jared? He can't have liked this visit."
"He knows that I had a life before we met. He also understands the value of friendship, gender notwithstanding. I'm sure he'd rather you were somewhere else, but he won't begrudge me the dubious honor of caring for you until you're well enough to get back to your normal routine."
"Does Jared --"
"No, of course not," interrupted Anne. "What was I going to say ... 'well, my last boyfriend died after he fell off a balcony, but he didn't die, so there was no reason for me to take up with John and get pregnant, but I didn't know that at the time, and then when I found out, I discovered that people like him go around chopping each other's heads off, so I broke it off.' I don't think so, Duncan. Give me a little credit. He 'knows' that you made your fortune as an antiques dealer, got tired of it and retired to run a dojo in Seacouver. I think he kind of thinks of you as my Bohemian fling."
"I'm not going to touch that one."
When the bowl was empty, Duncan could barely keep his eyes open.
'Sleep. It's still the best thing for you. Call if you need anything. Remember, I refuse to pick you up off the floor."
* * *
Anne slept in her own bed that night. The next morning, she heard noises in the kitchen and found Duncan fumbling with the teakettle. Glowering at him, she escorted him to the couch in the den and told him she would bring him a cup of tea.
"But I feel much better today. Really. I'll go nuts if I stay in bed."
"Fine. But sit on the couch. No walking around until I say it's okay."
"Yes, ma'am," Duncan joked. "Any chance of some toast with that tea? Or eggs? Or waffles? I need to get my strength back so I can get out of your hair."
"Toast for starters. We'll see about more after that."
Duncan turned on the morning news while Anne fixed breakfast. She brought him his tea and a plate of toast with a jar of honey. Watching her all the while, Duncan deliberately picked up the knife, dipped it into the honey jar, and meticulously spread it on his toast. Anne pretended that she didn't notice his hand shook as it returned the knife to the tray.
Duncan kept up the pretense that he felt fine for about half an hour after breakfast. He wouldn't admit to being weak, shaky, and tired, but he put his feet up on the couch and was asleep before Anne could suggest he go back into the bedroom. She brought a blanket out and covered him. Although he still felt quite warm, it was nothing like the raging fever of the previous days.
"Guess I dozed off for a few minutes," said Duncan when he woke up.
"Just a few," said Anne. "Not much more than a hundred and eighty, but who's counting?"
"Sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for. Sleep is what you need. It doesn't really matter where you get it, although I think the bed is better suited to someone your size. Want some soup?"
"Not just now, I think."
"Fine, but I do want you to try to keep up with fluids. I've got some juice, water, tea, and even some Jell-O. Slowly but steadily, please. Or would you prefer the IV?"
Duncan looked at his hand and saw the needle mark left by the IV. His eyes opened wide, and Anne swore his face paled several shades.
"You didn't remember that I had to force fluids into you?"
"That's not it - I guess it didn't register until just now what you said about me being 'mortal'. That would have healed almost as soon as you removed the needle. When did you take it out?"
"Sunday morning."
"Two days." Anne saw sweat break out on Duncan's forehead, saw the way he started swallowing rapidly and wasted no time bringing the basin to him.
"Guess I won't put this away just yet," murmured Anne as she wiped Duncan's face. "How about getting back into bed?"
This time he put up no argument. Duncan accepted Anne's supporting arm and curled up in bed. For the first time since he arrived, Anne was worried about Duncan. She had never seen him afraid, not outwardly, and there was no question that the look in his eyes when he saw the IV wound was fear.
* * *
Joe was wiping down the bar when Anne called. "Slow down," he said into the handset. Let me take this in the office where it's quiet." Joe called to Mike to keep an eye on things and went to the back room.
"Joe, he's a different person. I don't know what he's afraid of, but he's definitely retreating into himself. I keep telling him that once he's over the virus, he'll be his old self again, but I don't think he believes me. It's been two days; his temperature is practically normal, but he can't keep any food down, and he won't leave the bedroom. Two days ago I could barely keep him in bed. Now the only thing he seems to do is scratch himself to see if he heals. His arms are a mess. There's no fire in his eyes. He's a stranger. What do you think I should do?"
"Just leave him be, Anne. I'm sure that once the virus is out of his system, he'll perk up. It will take time, that's all. According to what I've been able to find out, ten days is average, two weeks is common. Sit tight; I'll be there in a couple of hours."
"Thanks, Joe. Bye."
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, cowering in bed. No fire in his eyes? That bothered Joe more than he liked to admit. He asked Mike to take over for him, and left the bar. He got into his car and began driving to Anne's.
It was just after noon when he walked up the driveway and knocked on the door.
"You know you have a large black and white dog on your porch?"
"I'd forgotten all about it. Bring it inside."
Joe retrieved the toy and handed it to Anne. She looked a little drawn and haggard, but she still had that room brightening smile.
"You know where the guestroom is," she said as she put the dog on the couch.
"Sorry it took a little longer to get here. I stopped by Duncan's place and grabbed some clothes. Is he still in his funk?"
"With a capital F. I was trying to convince him to bathe; he won't let me near him for a sponge bath, and he's getting really odiferous."
"Let's see what happens," said Joe as he walked toward the guest room. "Hey, Mac,' called Joe as he entered the room. The sickroom smell washed over him. "Anne said you weren't quite up to snuff yet, but I thought you might like a little company," he continued as he walked straight to the window, pulled back the curtains, and raised the sash. "What are you trying to do, asphyxiate yourself?
"Go away, Joe. I'm sick and I need to rest."
"You stink and you need a good scrubbing. I think you've gone beyond the sponge bath phase. Bath or shower? You choose or I will."
"I said go away."
"And I said you need a thorough cleaning. Anne, would you please draw the gentleman's bath."
"As you wish, master," smiled Anne. "Bubbles?"
"I think we can spare him that." As the tub filled with hot water, Joe tried to engage Duncan in conversation. Duncan merely pulled the covers higher over his head.
"Okay, Mac, what's it going to take to get you into the tub? Do I threaten you with your own sword? Or maybe I should tell you that you probably haven't been this skuzzy since you were a kid in the Highlands. I know; we'll update your Watcher file with a picture of you hiding in bed.
"Shut up! Just stop talking and I'll take a bath." He stripped off his shirt and got shakily to his feet. Joe reached to support him, but Duncan pushed his hand away. "I can do it myself," grumbled Duncan.
"I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything," said Anne as she left the room.
As Duncan lathered and scrubbed, Joe sat on the edge of the tub. He began speaking slowly and calmly, telling him what else he had found out about the flu. "This is not a twenty-four hour bug, and you're no different from any other Immortal who comes down with it. You thought you were cured as soon as you could get out of bed. You weren't. You had a setback, and it sent you into a pool of self pity, driving poor Anne crazy with worry. You should be ashamed."
"So this is my fault now?" exclaimed Duncan.
"Of course not. You got sick. Deal with it. Get over it. And then get back to the dojo and build your strength back up. Anne and I will be in the kitchen. Holler if you need something."
"How about a razor and mirror first? I could use a shave."
Joe handed him his shaving kit and a mirror, and then headed for the kitchen
* * *
As Duncan scraped away five days of stubble, he nicked his chin. Swearing under his breath, he wiped away the blood. That hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach came back again. *What if someone comes for me while I'm like this? How can I protect Anne? Or will she have to protect me? What if I never recover sufficiently to be able to defend myself in the Game? Will I have to spend the rest of my life hiding on holy ground? Will I still able to feel other immortals? Can they detect me? Will I start to age?*
"Damn," he swore out loud. But somehow, telling himself to snap out of it didn't cut through that wall of anxiety that had built up over the previous days. He climbed out of the tub, dried off, found the sweats he had packed and joined Anne and Joe. He forced a smile and sat down at the table.
"Can I get you some tea?" asked Anne.
"Yes, please."
Anne poured a cup of the steaming liquid. "Extra honey. The glucose will do you good."
Duncan accepted the proffered cup and held it between his palms, enjoying the warmth. "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to shake this fear of losing my immortality," he began. "And -"
"Don't feel so bad, Duncan," Anne interrupted. "While you were in the tub, Adam Pierson called. It seems that there have been about thirty cases of this flu reported. Depression and anxiety seem to be a common side effect. Face it: You've always been very much in control. Feeling helpless goes completely against your nature. You're susceptible to this fear, and you will be as long as you're carrying the virus in your system."
"Sorry, but I have to get back," said Joe. "I can't leave the bar in Mike's hands too long, you know."
"Joe, you know Mike's a perfectly good manager. Feel free to stay," said Anne.
"No, I really do need to leave." He stood and started for the door. "Mac, you take it easy and listen to the doctor. She knows what she's talking about."
"Thanks for coming Joe. It did help," Duncan said somberly.
"Don't get up; I'll see myself out. And I wasn't kidding, Mac. Anne, you call me if this guy gives you any trouble whatsoever; I'll be back in a heartbeat to sit on him."
Anne got up and kissed Joe on the cheek. "Thanks," she whispered in his ear.
"No problem. Take care."
"Can we go into the den?" asked Duncan when Anne returned to the kitchen. "I think I'd be more comfortable on the couch."
"Now you're being sensible. Sure." Anne picked up her cup and followed Duncan to the other room. He took the cup from her hands and put it on the table.
"I've had some time to think, Anne," Duncan continued, taking her hands in his. His voice shook as he started. "First, I meant it when I said I was happy for you. But I think I'm a little jealous, too. No, please. let me finish," he said as Anne started to speak. "I'm not looking to rekindle our relationship; I like the way it has evolved, and I like where we are. I think I wasn't ready to admit that you could have found someone else. It's not logical - I certainly didn't expect you to pine away the rest of your life, but somehow, a part of me didn't want to see you with another man. Maybe it's because you left me, that you couldn't deal with who I am.
Anne spoke softly. "I'm moving away, but I'll always carry a part of you with me. Just as you had Tessa, and all those other special women in your life. They were still there when we were together. There's room. Jared is a big part of my life, but you'll be there, too."
"Will I see Mary?"
"Of course. You're her favorite uncle and always will be. As a matter of fact, I was hoping that the four of us could get together before the move."
Duncan took Anne in his arms and held her tightly, smelling the peach shampoo she used. He nuzzled her hair, then pushed her to arm's length to look at her face. He saw happiness through the tears in her eyes, and hugged her again.
"This house will always belong to Mary," he said as the embrace ended. "I'll be more than happy to be the landlord. I'll have my lawyer work out the papers before you're ready to move out. If you, Mary and Jared want to come here for vacations, or ever move back, the house will be here for you."
"You are something special, you know." Anne wiped her eyes. "I'll get something for those scratches. Doctor's orders."
Duncan looked down at his arms. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could swear that they were healing. Maybe he could believe Joe and Methos after all. He would do his best to be a good patient. It might not be so bad to have someone looking after him for a while.
Anne and Mary were moving. That was reality. He'd try not to dwell on the way his chest tightened when he thought about it. Long distance friendships were difficult, but certainly not impossible, especially in this day of air travel and email. He hoped Jared would understand that he wasn't competition and allow him to stay in their lives.
He was already thinking about what he'd get for Mary for her new room in her new home when Anne came back with ointment and gauze.
"Where are you, Duncan?"
"Hmmm?"
"You're a hundred miles away."
"No, I'm right here with a very special friend. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being part of my life."
She sat next to him and rested her head on his chest. "And thank you for being part of mine."
The two friends sat there, under the watchful eye of the large black and white Dalmatian, and enjoyed the peaceful afternoon.
The End
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