Work Text:
Until Only One Remains
Duncan MacLeod brought his sword down and severed his opponent's head with a
perfect stroke. He waited for the Quickening, and when it hit, everything
seemed to explode at once. It didn't matter that Duncan and his opponent had
fought in an empty movie theatre in the middle of the night - glass
shattered, foam in chairs was ripped out and scattered everywhere, the
chairs themselves were ripped from the floor and flung into the air, as
Duncan received one of his most powerful Quickenings yet. He didn't even
realise that he was screaming until it had died down, allowing him to
collapse in the aisle, a ruined theatre around him.
Finally able to move after about ten minutes, Duncan pushed himself to a
sitting position and looked around at the remains of the theatre. Then he
grabbed his sword and got the hell out of there.
***
Duncan returned to the dojo, still shocked at the enormity of the Quickening,
knowing he should have expected it. He knew how few Immortals were left, and
each one that died released a Quickening containing the knowledge and
strength of every other Immortal in the chain up till then. Duncan felt
almost... invincible, now. He knew he was much stronger, and in the event of
being injured, would heal faster. And reanimate faster. He could probably
do a lot of things faster, now. Including swordfight. Somewhere, inside, he
knew that someone in this chain had killed Methos. He wasn't sure how he
knew, but he did. Knowledge and strength were only theoretical when passed
on, but he felt a very, very old knowledge inside, and he knew who it came
from.
And he could also feel Richie's in there somewhere. But then, that much he
had known, since the man he'd killed just an hour before had been the
Immortal to whom Richie had lost his head.
That was one loss Duncan had found it hard to adjust to; he took it almost
as hard as he had when Darius had died. Harder, in some ways, for Richie had
been his pupil. But at least Richie would live on in him... in memory as
well as through the Quickening.
As Duncan walked into the darkened dojo, Joe Dawson stepped from the shadows.
"MacLeod."
"What are you doing here this late, Joe?"
"I have to talk to you."
"I killed him," Duncan said. "I cut the head off the guy who killed Richie."
"I know," replied his friend, "and that's what I need to talk to you about."
They went up to the loft. Duncan still felt a pang of pain when Richie
wasn't there eating his food as usual. Richie would never be there again.
But his knowledge would live on.
Dawson got right to the point. "MacLeod, do you know how many Immortals
there were left in the world at 3 a.m. tonight?"
"No. How many?"
"Three. You know how many there are now?"
Duncan had been pouring coffee; he dropped the entire coffee pot on the
floor. "I killed Stewart at 3."
"3:05, to be exact. Which means, MacLeod, there are only two Immortals left.
You, and..." He didn't continue.
When Joe didn't say anything more, Duncan knew it was not good news. "Wait a
minute, Joe. Are you absolutely sure?"
"No. But every single Immortal that we knew of - every single one, bar two -
has died."
"You don't think... there might be one or two that you don't know about?"
Dawson shook his head. "One of our people was watching Arkin; remember him?"
"Yeah. He spent his entire life looking for and killing other Immortals."
"Arkin killed five Immortals we were watching, and one we didn't know about.
Then he was beheaded." Joe did not say who had beheaded him, and Duncan lost
patience. "Why are you avoiding his name? Is it that bad?"
"It's worse."
"What do you mean, worse? Kallas was bad, Grayson was bad. The Kurgan was
the worst, and Connor killed him..." Something dawned on Duncan. "No..." he
said, almost to himself. "Tell me it isn't who I think it is, Joseph."
"It is. Connor MacLeod."
"Connor and I are the only two Immortals left?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, my God." Duncan went over to the couch and sank down onto it. He stared
up at the ceiling. "I can't kill Connor."
"Mac, there can be only one."
"That's what it comes down to, I know. But Connor... he's my clansman. He's
my friend. He was my teacher. I can't..."
Dawson sat down as well. "You're not going to let him kill you, I hope."
"I might."
"MacLeod..."
Duncan got up again, began pacing. "Connor taught me everything I needed to
know about being Immortal. The Game. The rules. He even taught me how to
fight. He told me who to learn from. I'd be dead now if it wasn't for him."
"So, you figure you owe him one."
"I owe him my life, Dawson."
***
Connor MacLeod did not have a direct line on how many Immortals were left,
but he felt drawn back to Washington State. At first he tried to ignore the
pull, but eventually he couldn't. And when he gave in, he realised why the
pull was so strong, and why he hadn't met any other Immortals in the four
countries he'd travelled across in the previous three weeks. There were only
two left, and he was being drawn to the other one. So he gave in and took a
flight straight to Washington itself.
Duncan had been feeling the pull, too. He had felt pulled towards... the
destination seemed to change. Duncan, however, was better at ignoring things.
He ignored the pull, knowing that Connor would eventually show up. And what
was he going to say to him when he did?
***
Duncan was at Joe's when Connor finally did show up. He felt the buzz,
looked up, and there was his clansman, his chin almost on the floor. As he
got up to embrace Connor, Duncan saw him mouth the very same words: "Oh, my
God."
Duncan approached him slowly. "Connor."
"Duncan." Connor seemed to be in shock. "Are we the only two Immortals
left?"
"Yeah."
"I can't believe this."
Duncan gripped his clansman by the arms. "Connor... it's good to see you."
At that, the older MacLeod snapped out of it and hugged the younger one.
"Duncan!"
Joe Dawson had been standing behind the bar, watching. Duncan turned to him.
"Uh... Joe Dawson, meet Connor MacLeod."
They shook hands.
"I've heard a lot about you," said Joe.
"It isn't true - he lies," smiled Connor, indicating Duncan, and they all
laughed.
"So, can I get you a drink?"
"Yeah, that'd be nice." But before Connor could continue, Duncan interrupted.
"Joe's a Watcher. They watch Immortals. I'll bet he knows what you'll have."
Joe said nothing, merely hummed for a moment while he fixed the drinks.
Connor took a sip of his and smiled. "A Watcher, huh? For the last few
months there have been rumours, but I wasn't sure I believed them. So, you
also keep track of what we drink?"
"We keep track of everything," said Joe.
"Well, you get points for serving me Glenmorangie on the rocks."
They fell silent; Duncan and Connor looking at each other over their drinks.
Neither one wanted to bring up the topic of the Prize. "I was sorry to hear
about Tessa," Connor said, breaking the tension.
"Yeah, I got your fax. Thanks."
"And the boy? Where is he?"
"That's right," said Duncan, looking at Joe. "We kept Richie a secret. Few
people knew about him."
"So, he did become Immortal?"
"Oh, yeah. And a great friend. He was killed two months ago." Duncan looked
down. "I miss him."
"Yeah."
Then the two MacLeods looked each other in the eye. "You can have my head,"
said Duncan finally.
"I don't want it," responded Connor.
"Well, I don't want yours!"
"I don't think you two have any choice," put in Joe. "There can be only
one."
"Well, we just change the rules!" said Connor. But even as he said it, he
knew it would not work. The two of them could go off by themselves and try
to live normal lives, but they'd live *forever*, and they'd feel that pull
for the rest of their lives. They'd feel drawn to each other, to fight.
Connor looked at Duncan. "We have to fight, don't we?"
Duncan nodded. "We can't change the rules now, when we've lived with them
for four hundred years."
"Four hundred and seventy-seven," said Connor, but there was no smile in his
voice.
"You can still have my head."
"No." Connor stood up. "If we do this, we do it properly. We go home. We go
back to the Highlands and we do it there. And we fight, until only one
remains."
"I'm not going to fight you, Connor."
"I don't want to fight you, either, but we both know there isn't any
alternative."
Duncan nodded, and Connor turned to leave. "I'll book a flight out
tomorrow."
"All right."
When Connor had left, Duncan looked at Dawson with a cold sadness in his
eyes. "I don't think I can kill him, Joe."
"I doubt he thinks he can kill you, either."
"What are we going to do?"
"Go to Scotland. Take it from there."
Duncan nodded, getting up slowly. He knew Joe would also be booking the
first flight to Scotland. And probably calling whatever Watcher it was who
lived there. "See you, Joe."
***
Duncan went home and started packing. He didn't take many clothes, since he
didn't expect to be staying a long time... or coming back. He hadn't been
back to the Highlands for... well, a very long time. Duncan had never
returned there after his decision to leave, travel and learn from the people
Connor had told him about. He knew Connor had gone back, though. And yet
Connor seemed less Scottish than he did. He wondered what it would be like,
the two of them, back in the Highlands... trying to kill each other.
Duncan wished Richie were with him, to be his sounding board. Dawson saw
things from a Watcher's perspective; Richie had only ever seen things as
Duncan's friend. Richie would probably... no, scratch that... *would* have
advised him to go to Scotland and do what had to be done. He could almost
imagine Richie saying, "You know there can be only one, Mac." And because of
that, Richie was gone. Being Immortal had actually made Richie's life
shorter, not longer, and Duncan was sorry about that. But at least he had
had a chance to become the person he had always wanted to be. He had been
successful... and when Duncan thought about it, he knew that for all his
friends, Immortality had made them successful.
Fitz had been... well, a successful womanizer, but that was Fitz. Darius had
influenced many people, mortal and Immortal, to try to make the world a
better place. Amanda... she had been successful at whatever she'd tried...
aside from counterfeiting, that is. Duncan had never tried to find out who
had killed Amanda. He didn't want to know, because he knew that, had he
known, he would have hunted the person down and killed them. And, despite
her death, Duncan had never wanted to admit to himself that he had loved her.
So he hadn't asked Joe, and Joe hadn't volunteered the information.
When he was ready, Duncan called Joe. "I've left everything to you," he said.
The first thing out of Joe's mouth was, "What am I gonna do with a dojo,
MacLeod?"
Duncan had smiled, then. "Sell it. Turn it into a bigger bar. I don't know."
Joe could hear the smile in Duncan's voice, but he had to be serious. "Isn't
there someone else you want to leave it to... assuming you die, which I'm
not sure will happen?"
"No." MacLeod swallowed hard. "I would have left... Richie would have
inherited everything. But Richie isn't here, and you're my friend."
Dawson had reluctantly agreed. Now Duncan could get on that plane for his
appointment with his clansman... and with destiny.
Duncan picked up his bag, and turned a last time to look at the loft. A lot
of things had happened here. Him and Amanda together in that bed... Anne
yelling, "Duncan!" when he had nightmares. Standing there holding the
Spanish rapier: "Live with it, make it part of you..." The smile that had
crossed Richie's face... "I can't kill you, I can't!" during the episode
with Garrick... Dawson lamenting the fact that Watchers and Immortals could
not be friends, but finally deciding to ignore that rule. And Tessa... she
had never been here. That hurt him more than any of the other thoughts. They
were all gone. With the exception of Joe and Connor, everyone whom he had
loved was gone. And soon there would be only Joe and...
Duncan pulled down the elevator gate, got out at the bottom, exited the dojo
and locked it.
Then he drove the T-bird to the airport, where Connor would be waiting for
him.
***
He found Connor waiting at Customs. "Been waiting long?"
"Nah. I just got here. We're waiting to see if they'll let my sword through.
You'd better do the same."
So Duncan gave them the same story Connor had: they were both antique
dealers flying to Europe on business, and these swords were personal,
*antique* items, that just could not be checked with the rest of the luggage.
Duncan had always shipped a great deal of stuff at once, and his sword had
always gone along like that. But he hadn't even brought a bag large enough
to keep the sword in. And by the looks of it, neither had his clansman.
The man at the Customs desk looked extremely harassed. "Sirs, you *have* to
check them with your baggage. You cannot take them on the plane."
"Do you know how much a Japanese katana is worth?" asked Duncan.
The man's face showed he knew it was a lot.
Connor replied. "Anything from a few thousand dollars to hundreds of
thousands. These two are worth more than $200,000 each. If you lose them,
we'll sue you for their full value." He looked at Duncan, who was trying not
to smile.
Finally the man called the airline. Sounding chastened, he put the phone
down. "You must keep them in their transport tubes," he said. "We have a
special padlock to keep them closed. They'll open them for you at your
destination."
"Thank you." Duncan kept a straight face.
"Of course." Connor was determined to keep *his* face even straighter.
Feeling a little more cheerful - it wasn't often that they got to practice
their 'act' on people, especially unsuspecting airline officials - the two
highlanders got on the plane.
***
It had been a somewhat arduous journey, landing in England, hiring a car,
driving for a long time... But finally the two of them reached their
destination: the village of Glenfinnan, on the shores of Loch Shiel. "So,
this is where you lived, huh?" asked Duncan, his bag slung over his shoulder.
"Yeah."
"I lived... I don't think it's there anymore... a bit further north... the
other side."
Connor nodded. "That's where I went when I heard the rumour of a highlander
from the MacLeod clan being killed in battle and reviving."
Duncan smiled without much humour. "At least they didn't try and burn me at
the stake!"
"They would have if you hadn't got the hell out of there."
Suddenly Duncan stopped and looked at Connor. "Am I imagining things, or..."
"I don't think so. Say something to me."
"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."
"Well, we're not imagining things. Your accent has come back."
"So has yours."
They started laughing for no reason, except it was a happy feeling to be
back in the highlands, together again. And yet... the reason for them being
here was not a good one. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. And
one of them would.
"Shouldn't we be at the hotel yet?" Duncan asked. They seemed to have been
walking forever in the chilly air.
"Here it is," said Connor.
It was not a large hotel at all - just one for people passing through - but
it was cosy, and the woman at the desk was waiting. "I'm Connor MacLeod. We
have reservations."
"Ah, yes, Mister MacLeod. Two rooms, just like you asked."
Duncan and Connor both signed, and the woman was amused to see their names.
"Two MacLeods. Are you brothers?"
"No, clansmen."
"From the actual Clan MacLeod?"
Duncan smiled. "The actual Clan MacLeod, yes."
"These days one can never be sure. We get tourists with Scottish blood who
claim to belong to almost any clan, but can't authenticate it. How are you
part of the clan?"
Connor and Duncan looked at each other. Saying they were born into it over
400 years before somehow would not wash, they could tell! Finally Connor
chose the best answer. "Our fathers were MacLeods of the Clan MacLeod."
"We've been away for... a long time," added Duncan.
"I see. Well, here are your keys. Everything you need should be in your
rooms. Supper is from eight to nine."
"Thanks," said Duncan, and they proceeded to their rooms.
***
To emerge a few minutes later, ready to see what they could see. They went
out and walked around the village for a bit, finally finding an open bar...
er, pub, where they could have something to drink, and talk.
It wasn't long before civilized talking turned into something else:
hysterical giggling and rowdiness on both their parts. "Well, I wasn't the
one who got into that duel on Boston Common!" laughed Duncan. "And got run
through... what was it, six times?"
"I think so..." laughed his clansman. "I apologised for calling his wife a
bloated warthog, and then he stopped."
"You were lucky." Duncan started laughing hysterically again. "I remember a
time... that girl in London..."
"Well, I only got knocked senseless. You're the one who wanted to pledge
your eternal love... by jumping from... what was it, London Bridge?"
"I wouldn't really have jumped!"
They looked at each other and fresh giggling broke out. "Well, she still
chose me!" grinned Connor. "Sometimes I got a good woman."
"But I got all the fun!"
The other patrons of the place were not quite staring at them, but they had
tolerant smiles on their faces. Eventually the two Immortals ran out of one-
upmanship stories, stumbled out, returned to the hotel and collapsed.
***
"Oh, my head!" Duncan looked at Connor with bleary eyes over the table.
"Mine too. We must look terrible."
"Yeah. Where are we going today?"
"We're going to look around a little."
So they took the car and drove around the area where they had lived. Duncan
finally got to ask a question he'd been wanting to ask for centuries. "Where
did you live, when Ramirez found you?"
"A couple of miles... that way," replied Connor, pointing. Then he slowed
the car, looking sad.
"What is it?"
"Heather, my first wife."
"You never told me much about her."
"She was beautiful and delicate. We were so happy. The only thing that would
have made us happier was children. And she didn't understand why I stayed
with her."
"But you loved her," said Duncan, as if that was obvious.
"You and I are similar that way, Duncan. We both love very much. Heather was
the love of my life. I never began to feel that until I met Brenda, and
then..."
"Yeah. I still sometimes wake up expecting Tessa to be there. And when she
isn't, the pain is the same as when she died."
"I know." It was true; Connor did know.
Eventually they came to another loch. They stopped the car and walked next
to it. "It's beautiful here," said Connor.
"Yeah." Silence for a long time. Then Duncan broke the silence. "Where do
you want to do it?"
"Anywhere in the Highlands... it's all our home."
"Agreed. When?"
"Tonight."
***
They didn't go back to the hotel, however. Best to keep savouring the look
and feel of home. It didn't matter that it drizzled for most of the day. It
didn't matter that they were going to have to try and kill each other. All
that mattered was spending time together before the inevitable.
They stopped at a small village for lunch. The girl who served them was very
talkative. "Are you foreigners?"
"No... not really."
"We've been away for a long time."
The girl looked at them carefully. "You're clansmen, right?"
"How did you know?"
"Something... I don't know. The way you two move, or... something about you
is familiar. Who are you?"
"I'm Duncan MacLeod, and this is Connor MacLeod."
"Funny," she smiled. "I'm Susan MacLeod. You'll find many MacLeods in this
area."
Connor and Duncan exchanged looks. They knew that, this used to be MacLeod
clan territory.
"Do you know the stories of the famous clan members?"
"Most of them." In truth, Duncan - and Connor too - had probably lived some
of the stories.
"Do you know the story of the clansmen killed in battle who revived?"
Duncan answered very quickly. "No."
"It's been in our clan for a couple of hundred years. It isn't a story we
bandy about casually, but for two more MacLeods... Would you like to hear
it?"
The two more MacLeods nodded.
"After a battle with the Frasiers, one of our clansmen was killed in battle
and revived. Everyone thought it was witchcraft, and they banished him from
the village. They never knew what happened to him."
"What do you think happened?" Connor had never gotten to hear about his
ordeal from the other side before.
By now the girl was sitting at the table with them. "I think he was probably
in a coma, with shallow breathing, and they assumed he was dead. And then,
when he came around, they couldn't handle it."
"Makes sense," said Duncan.
"Yes, until you consider that about a century later, the same thing happened
to another clan member."
Duncan waited, but she didn't continue, so he had to ask her to carry on.
"The same thing. He was killed in battle and revived. But this time there
was no banishment, he left by himself. There were stories that his father
had seen him and that he was all right, but no one knows. To this day that
story is told, and no one knows how much truth there is to it. Probably the
same thing happened twice: a deep coma, or something."
"Is that what you think?" asked Connor.
"I think that what Shakespeare said about there being more things in heaven
and earth is true."
"Yeah, a kind of magic," said Duncan. That was Connor's description of the
what and why of Immortals.
"Exactly. I would have liked to have known more about it. We have many tales
like that."
Connor and Duncan spent the time in the village talking with Susan MacLeod
about clan stories and clan history, then they had to move on. "Are you
coming back this way?" she asked.
"Well, we haven't decided. Probably I will, or he will," replied Duncan.
"Stop in and say goodbye when you do, all right? I'll have some haggis ready
for you."
The two Immortals smiled, as Connor remembered explaining haggis to Ramirez,
and Duncan recalled Connor's description of the scene. "We like haggis,"
they said in unison.
"Good," said the girl.
***
It was almost nighttime. The two Immortals had driven and wandered around
the Highlands for the entire day. In some ways they had never been happier.
They were home. They were together. They had overcome evil... all the evil
Immortals were gone. But a nagging questions remained: if that was so, why
did they have to continue with this? There was no answer to that one, they
only knew they did.
Finally, Connor stopped the car. He turned to face his clansman. "So... are
you ready?"
Duncan nodded. "Yeah. Where are we?"
"I used to live near here with Heather. It was the happiest time of my
life."
Duncan understood that very well. "My time with Tessa was the happiest time
of my life. We had everything... almost everything," he amended, thinking of
the child he knew Tessa had wanted, but could never have, and would never
have hurt him to have. "Connor... what do you think the Prize is?"
"Power beyond imagination."
"Yeah, but... what does that mean, exactly?"
Connor opened the door and got out of the car, discarding his coat. "I don't
know."
Duncan followed suit. "Promise me... you'll tell Joe. He deserves to know."
"No. You will have to tell him."
"Connor... promise me."
"All right. But you promise not to sell my personal antique collection,
then."
"Fine."
They stood there, in the Highlands, staring at each other for a long time.
Finally, Connor stepped forward and hugged his clansman. "I have enjoyed
knowing you, Duncan."
Duncan was at a loss for words. He swallowed hard, nodding, as he let go.
"Me too."
Connor stepped back and took out his katana. "There can be only one."
Duncan did the same. "There can be only one."
***
The fight did not last too long. At first both Immortals had been worried
that they would not fight their best, but that idea was thrown right out
after the first few seconds. Something - the same thing that had drawn them
together - made sure they did. They were driven to fight, driven to want to
win.
Connor MacLeod used every trick with a sword he'd ever learnt. Everything
Ramirez had shown him. Everything he'd learned from all his subsequent
teachers. Everything he could.
Duncan MacLeod was doing the same. He could almost feel his teachers
whispering to him what moves to use: Hideo Koto, Mei Ling, Kiem Sun, the
Connor MacLeod of long ago...
The swords flashed in the moonlight as the two men fought. Not for any of
the reasons people normally did. Not for love, or money, or pride, or
patriotism. Not even for the age-old reason: good versus evil. They didn't
even fight for the Prize. They fought because they had no alternative.
Because in the end, there could be only one.
And when, finally, one sword finished it, there was only one.
Duncan MacLeod's sword flashed down a second too early for his clansman to
parry it, and it was over. Duncan fell to the ground, unable to believe what
had happened. He had won. He was the only one left. He waited for the
Quickening as he lay there in the grass, tears streaming down his face.
"Connor."
And then the Quickening enveloped him, and he was flung into the air. In the
space of a few minutes he relived all the experiences of all the Immortals
who had ever been, millennia of memories cascading through his mind, letting
him know *everything*. All the power, all the strength, all the sundry
things that had made up each Immortal life, became his. And all because of
that one sword stroke that had given him victory.
***
The girl named Susan MacLeod was pleased to see Duncan back. "Ah, so you did
some back, after all."
"Who could say no to haggis?" smiled the highlander.
"Where's your clansman?"
"He... couldn't make it."
"Hm. Pity. So, how long are you going to be here, anyway?"
"I don't know," replied Duncan. "Maybe a *very* long time."
THE END